Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Surprise an early update. Oh and ten points to anyone who can spot the AYLNO reference. (Or a chocolate frog... but only one, because they're yummy.)
Fall Out

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Harry drifted off into a restless sleep. Not much time passed before he began to dream.

Standing amongst the headstones, he was quick to recognize the setting… Riddle's Graveyard. It looked exactly the same as it did the day of the Triwizard Tournament. Slowly, he crept around the cemetery, half expecting Cedric to appear—to start accusing him with empty eyes. His death was Harry's fault after all. Harry knew it wasn't real, that it was just his guilt, but it was always terrifying. Harry didn't want to go on; he willed his feet to stop—

Harry tried desperately to wake, yet something was off about this dream. A slight wind could be felt on his cheeks, and a growing chill crept through his bare feet. He could feel the frost covering the ground... what was wrong? It was too vivid… too real.

An evil cackle filled the air, chilling Harry to the core. Suddenly, he realized this was a vision, not a dream. His fear only caused the evil wizard's laugh to increase.

Voldemort can sense my fear, Harry thought with a start.

"Why yes, Potter," Voldemort's hiss escaped Harry's mouth. "Now, Fenrir come." Harry tried to look up at the sky. Was it the full moon already? But instead his face turned towards the evil werewolf, its red eyes peering straight into his soul. "Bring him to me," Voldemort commanded.

Harry bolted up in his bed; he could still feel the eyes upon him. He was marked and now the werewolves were coming. Something had to be done and fast. His first thoughts drifted to Snape. He needed the man's help. Could he go to Snape? He really wanted to. But he was on his own; he had to deal with this himself.

Crawling to the end of his bed, he leaned down and retrieved his Occlumency book from his trunk. After putting on his glasses and casting a lumos with his wand, he opened the book to the most promising technique. In his first attempt, he thought he was making progress until the pain in his scar intensified. I need Snape; Harry thought. Surely he would help me—if not for me, then to protect Hogwarts. A couple of failed attempts to occlude sent Harry out of bed and over to his friend. His mind was made up. He had to at least ask for Snape.

"Ron," Harry whispered urgently as he shook the sleeping boy. "Ron, please, wake up."

Moaning, Ron began to stir. Rubbing his eyes, he said, "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Voldemort!"

That had Ron awake quickly and climbing out of bed. "Did you have a vision?"

"Sort of. Look…this might sound crazy, but I need to get to Snape. He's the only one who can help." Assuming he will help.

"But, Harry, are you sure?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused. The pain from Harry's scar doubled, causing him to cry out and his knees to buckle. Catching him before he could fall, Ron said, "Let's go."

They walked together, Harry holding tightly to Ron in order not to fall. Descending the stairs, they were somewhat surprised to find the Common Room occupied by a couple of staff members.

Looking around the room, Harry saw McGonagall, Dumbedore and—"Snape, please," Harry begged, reaching his arms out to the man. He was relieved to see Snape, but at the same time, fearful of rejection.

Snape quelled Harry's fears by instantly rushing to his side. In one swift motion, he scooped the boy up into his arms. Harry clung tightly as they flooed down to Snape's quarters. The man was so fast, they were gone before anyone could say another word.

"Try not to think about anything, Harry," Snape instructed as he set the boy down on the couch. Sitting next to him, Snape pulled him close and then entered his mind. Harry could feel Snape pushing his thoughts aside, searching out the evil intrusion. It was a much harder task this time than before back at Grimmauld Place. At the time when he was five, Snape had already started to be nicer to him. But this time Harry kept thinking about all the situations with Snape—all the hurt and desperation. But slowly, patiently, the man cleared Harry's mind, pushed out Voldemort's connection, until Harry was cognizant of nothing except the rise and fall of Snape's chest. Completely relaxed, he finally slipped off to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he awoke in a warm soft bed. A thick blue comforter was tucked around him. At first, he was confused, until he remembered the night before. He smiled to himself, remembering the speed with which Snape reacted. There hadn't been any hesitation.

Rolling to his side, he surveyed the unfamiliar room. It was clean and simple, with only the traditional bedroom furniture. No personal trinkets were found in the room, suggesting that it was reserved for guests. There were no windows, yet the room was still illuminated with natural light. Looking around for the source of the light, he was surprised to find nothing.

Magic is wonderful, Harry mused.

Wanting nothing more than to stay wrapped in the bed's warmth, Harry continued to contemplate the wonders of magic. His life had changed so much since the day Hagrid showed up and called him a wizard. He had gained so much, a vault filled with gold, an owl, a new school, and new friends… so much more than he had at the Dursley's. For a while, he even had a Godfather.

But the more he gained, the more he risked losing. He had lost Sirius.

And now he thought about Snape. The man who tormented him for five years… Snape had hated him. Yet, over the summer, something had changed, or at least Harry thought as much. After that… well Snape's tormenting ways had an even harsher bite, because Harry had trusted the man. Last night, Snape had made it evident that he was once again worthy of trust, just like he had over the summer. But would things change again?

This fear kept Harry in bed.

There were two possible outcomes. One, Snape would be somewhat civil. Perhaps explaining the last few weeks as some horrible misunderstanding. Otherwise it would be, "Get out, Potter. I'll be nice next full moon."

Harry pulled the covers tight around him. The bed was warm, safe. But he knew he had to get up, face the world. Either way, he had to know.

With a sigh, he pushed off the covers. Retrieving his glasses off the bedside table, he slipped them on. Climbing off the bed, his feet met ice-cold stones. Slowly, he crept across the room.

Opening the door, he found it led to a short hallway. There were two more closed doors, one directly in front of him and the other at the end of the hall to the right. To the left the hallway opened up into a dining area. Harry made his way to the table and was pleasantly surprised to see a plate of toast—complete with strawberry jam—waited for him.

Ah, toast with Snape, Harry realized.

Where was Snape? From the table, Harry could see the couch he sat on the night before, so he knew he was still in the man's quarters. The room was completely silent, with the exception of the crackling fire.

Settling down at the table, Harry picked up the first piece of toast—still warm and crispy. He washed it down with a swig of ice-cold pumpkin juice. As he took the next bite, the door beyond the couch opened up and in stalked the Potions Master.

Snape looked angry, a full scowl fixed on his face. But as soon as he caught sight of Harry, he schooled his expression until it was completely unreadable. Harry briefly made eye contact, but then looked away.

Suddenly, eating toast became an all-consuming activity, requiring all of Harry's attention. He was only slightly aware of Snape crossing the room and then sitting down opposite Harry.

The silence was awkward. Harry wanted to say something. Hundreds of questions flowed through his head, but none of them seemed appropriate.

It was Snape who broke the silence. "I trust you slept well," he prompted.

Harry's head shot up. It was such a strange question—civil—cordial. "Yes," he replied politely. Snape took a drink of his coffee. Where did the coffee come from? Harry wondered. Shaking off the distraction, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. "What was Voldemort doing last night?"

"He used his mental connection to you to help direct the werewolves," Snape explained.

"How?"

"You recall the potion I told you about?" Snape asked. "The one the Dark Lord is using to control the werewolves."

"Yes," Harry replied. He remembered Snape mentioning something about a potion back when he first arrived at Grimmauld Place… not that he knew anything about it.

"Well, he used his connection to you to get into your mind and then merely commanded the werewolves to come."

"It didn't feel like that." Harry shuddered as he recalled the evil eyes piercing into his soul.

"No, I expect not," Snape confirmed. "He stayed as far away from your conscious thought as possible."

Harry pondered that for a while and then it occurred to him, "Could Voldemort tell that you helped me?"

"I would not be so careless."

"Oh," Harry replied. He continued to eat his toast, trying to formulate his next question. He wanted to ask if Snape hated him—or if the man would go back to hating him… Instead he blurted out, "Do you know how my relatives are?" Where did that come from? Do I really care? Harry mused. He was curious and perhaps mildly concerned.

Snape did not seem to be fazed by the rapid change in subject and continued to explain in the same manner. "They are about the same as before. An Unspeakable from the ministry has been watching them. They sit around all day. At night, they move to eat and relieve themselves."

"Do you have any idea why?"

"Yes," Snape replied and then paused, contemplating whether or not to continue. "They were given a derivative of the potion given to the werewolves."

"What potion is this? Is it in a book or something?"

"No, it's not in a book," Snape replied. "It's called the Feratillis Potion. Now, no more questions about the potion."

Harry waited for a moment and then disregarded Snape's comment to ask, "Did you create the potion?" Snape's reply was a scowl and Harry wisely kept his mouth shut after that.

As Harry got closer to finishing his last bit of toast, he took smaller bites in order to make it last. He still hadn't asked the one question that was driving him mad and Snape didn't seem like he was going to start talking anytime soon. Oh spit it out, Harry berated himself. Finishing the last of the toast, Harry said, "Once I leave, are you going to go back to hating me again?" His tone was a little more bitter than he had intended, but at least he didn't yell—or cry.

"You're the one who didn't want anyone to know things had changed," Snape accused. "Too good to be the evil git's friend?"

"Clearly, you don't know much about me," Harry retorted. He hadn't noticed Snape's confirmation that sentiments had changed between them. Nor did he catch the man mention the word "friend"—two things that were completely atypical for Snape and he would never admit to saying. Harry continued, "and when was it I said I didn't want anyone to know?"

"Back at Grimmauld Place," Snape replied. "You said, 'please don't tell anyone about, er… you know.'" The man bitterly mocked Harry's whining tone and then stared at the boy—daring him to deny his words.

"I wasn't talking about our relationship," Harry defended himself. "I just didn't want you to run off to your little Slytherins, to talk about Famous Harry Potter, and all his stupid little—"

Snape cut off Harry's ranting, and said, "Clearly, you don't know much about me."

Harry attempted a scowl, but ended up looking like an annoyed little boy about to stick out his tongue.

"Then what did you mean when we were going through the barrier at King's Cross. You said that when we returned to school, you didn't want something. I could only assume you didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore."

"Well perhaps you should have listened," Harry replied angrily. "What I said was, 'I don't want to lose you.' If you had just listened to my whole sentence." Snape sat back in his chair, he looked a little off guard. Harry continued, "I told Ron, Hermione and Ginny—on the train to Hogwarts—that things had changed…that I trusted you. I wasn't embarrassed to let people know."

"That much is obvious after your little fit in class."

Harry turned away as his cheeks blushed. Yesterday, he had made a fool of himself. And he still didn't know how much trouble he was in. No, he didn't want to talk about that… "So the past three weeks, you've treated me like crap," Harry accused "because you thought I was embarrassed by you?"

It was Snape's turn to scowl. "No, of course not." Harry was not convinced, so Snape continued, "Albus did not want us to get too close."

"Meddlesome old man," Harry shouted. "Why would Dumbledore care… I mean, what does it matter to him?"

"Think, Potter," Snape snapped. "What could possibly go wrong if suddenly the Boy-Who-Lived became friends with a spy?"

"Voldemort!" Harry gasped. "He'd—"

"Yes," Snape confirmed, "but don't worry about that now. I've been given instructions to gain your trust."

"Voldemort wants you to gain my trust?" Harry asked. Snape nodded yes. "But why?"

"I cannot tell you everything."

"So, you're only going to be nice to me because your Lord has commanded you."

Snape's scowl turned into a glare, and Harry had the distinct impression that he had crossed the line. "No, Potter, you are just going to have to trust that you don't know everything."

Harry had the grace to look ashamed, although he did believe he would do better with more information than less. He lifted his mug to take another sip of pumpkin juice only to find he had already finished it. I'm already messing this up, Harry thought.

Snape changed the subject, talking in a more conversational tone. "Do you have any explanation for receiving five weeks of detention from Professor Quinn?"

Choking first and then laughing, Harry had completely forgotten about that. "I thought it was four weeks," chuckled.

"You think this is funny?"

"Er… no," Harry schooled his behavior.

Harry started shivering—not out of fear—he was getting too cold. With bare feet on the stone floor and only thin pajamas for warmth, the meager fire wasn't enough.

"Why don't you go an take a shower and get dressed," Snape suggested. "We can talk about this later."

"Shower?"

"Yes, I'm sure you've used one before."

"Well, can I at least have some floo powder to return to the Gryffindor Tower?" Harry asked. It would be a bit awkward wandering through the hall, clad only in his pajamas.

"Albus had some of your belongings sent down here. They're in the bathroom."

"The bathroom?" Harry hadn't seen a bathroom before. Surely the man didn't want him to shower in his bathroom… That would just be too weird.

"Yes, the bathroom," Snape held off his sarcastic comment. "… Isn't there a bathroom in your room?"

"You don't know? These are your quarters."

Snape scoffed. "These apartments adjust to the Professor's needs. Albus added a room for you to stay in last night. Now come on, surely there must be a bathroom." Harry followed Snape back to the room he had stayed in the night before. After entering the room, the bathroom door was obvious. "See, your bathroom."

"It wasn't there before," Harry defended himself.

"Right," Snape replied as he left the room.

"Git," Harry said quietly to the closed door. He smiled to himself, realizing that he'd just used the term sarcastically.

Walking over to the bathroom, he felt light—relieved. Surprisingly, he wasn't worried about the trouble he was in. For some reason, he figured everything would work out okay.

The bathroom was nothing grand, a tub/shower, sink, small mirror, and a toilet. It was stocked with the bare essentials, all school issued. On the counter top was a set of his clothes. He briefly wondered who gathered up his belongings until he read the note atop the pile. It read, "Don't forget about quidditch practice, mate. Ron."

Figures Ron wouldn't forget about Quidditch, Harry laughed to himself. On the surface, it seemed a bit shallow, but Harry knew it was Ron's way of saying everything would be okay.

Taking a long shower, he spent his time basking in the warmth. Afterwards, he dressed quickly, standing on his tiptoes to lessen his contact with the cold stone floor. They should really consider getting some rugs. Then he combed his hair, in an attempt to make it look orderly. But while he was brushing his teeth, the unruly locks stuck out at odd angles, creating his patented "just out of bed" look. Sighing, he slipped on his maroon colored jumper with the large golden H—the first of his Molly Weasley collection. With a mental note to kill Ron next chance he got, he left the bathroom to go and find Snape.

It wasn't hard to find the man. The door right across from him was open, exposing an impressive library. The only thing extravagant about Snape's private quarters was the massive shelves of books. The ceiling in the library extended to about six meters high, the walls completely covered. Hermione would die. Snape sat at the far side of the room behind a simple desk. Harry approached quietly and took a seat opposite Snape.

The man didn't look up from his work, so Harry sat there quietly waiting. He noticed an open door behind the man. From what Harry could see, it seemed to be a private lab. Harry leaned as far over in his chair as possible without falling, in order to get a better look at the lab.

"Harry," Snape said so abruptly that the boy nearly fell out of his chair. "What explanation do you have for five weeks of detention?"

Wow, Snape, straight to the point… "I wouldn't stand in the corner," Harry replied, somewhat defiantly. He would not back down—he knew Quinn had no right to publicly humiliate him.

"Professor Quinn gave you five weeks of detention and had to send you out of the room, simply because you didn't want to stand where directed."

"No… well sorta, but not like you think."

"By all means, do enlighten me."

"It was a punishment," Harry snapped. "You know, face the corner."

"What?" Snape asked, sounding incredulous.

"I think he has a superiority complex or something," Harry reflected calmly. "He wanted to bring me down. He said I needed to learn my place."

"Why would he do that?"

Because he's a stupid idiot, Harry thought. Instead he explained, "Hannah, Susan, and Lavender needed help with the Contego Promoveo Shield. So I showed them how it was done. But I wasn't allowed to do any magic, just sit and watch."

"And what did you do to earn that restriction," Snape prompted.

"I haven't been able to practice magic at all in the class, all term. Quinn said I was too young, regardless of the fact I still have my sixteen-year-old mind."

Snape sat pondering the information for a while. Harry was glad Snape wasn't angry with him. In fact, the man seemed to understand Harry's motives—if not agree with them.

"What did you do in transfiguration to earn a detention," Snape continued.

Harry sighed… maybe he wasn't going to get off so easy. "Um, well, I deserve that one. I got frustrated in class… McGonagall, she warned me about my language, told me I'd get detention if I continued... And I— I sorta said, good luck in finding the time." Harry blushed at the last part and no longer maintained eye contact with Snape.

The man didn't have any reaction to Harry statement—no anger—his emotions were unreadable. Why do I feel so ashamed, so regretful? Harry wondered.

"And then you had an outburst in my class," Snape added.

"Yes," Harry replied. He had felt regretful before, but now he felt down right guilty. "About that. I'm really sorry about what I said—for calling you a bastard. I didn't mean it. Er… I'm sorry."

"I may have deserved that," Snape admitted. Harry let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding and then gave the man a weak smile. In response, Snape fixed a deadly glare on his face and spoke, in the manner that made even the most defiant student's quail. "If you ever act so disrespectfully in my class again, you will find yourself skinning newt eyes until you graduate. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quickly—automatically. The corner of Snape lip turned up, into the tiniest of all smirks. Instantly, Harry's mood relaxed—for a moment.

"Would you happen to know why Draco Malfoy was found left in the hall, in a full body bind?"

"Er…" say no, say no! Something in Snape's eye told him that the man already knew the truth. "Yes, I do," Harry said, feeling a bit crafty. Snape's glare hardened and Harry was forced to elaborate. "I did it… Malfoy was going to say another one of his stupid little insults. I’d had enough—he deserved it…" Harry's resolve was weakening. "He…I… er, I'm sorry."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for attacking another student," Snape replied. "And you will serve one detention with me." Harry felt a little put out, but didn't have the will to complain. Instead, he subconsciously twisted his face into a firm pout. "Anything else you would like to add to yesterday's list of behavior."

"Er… you didn't say anything about my little explosion. I heard glass breaking…" Harry had the stupidity to point out.

"You had a lot of pent-up emotion, finally released in an emotional outburst. It's not uncommon for young wizards to produce accidental magic in those instances," Snape explained. "I trust you will try to control yourself in the future." Harry scowled in response. Snape continued, unfazed, "Now the headmaster has asked to see you at noon." Oh God, I don't want to think about that. "It's nearly time to leave." It's almost noon already? "Would you like to speak to the headmaster, or would you rather I go in your stead."

Harry choked, "You can do that?"

"Albus will understand the situation after someone explains what happened."

"I thought I was going to be expelled for sure!" Harry exclaimed.

"Not today, Potter," said Snape in mock disappointment. "Unfortunately, not today." This made Harry smile—his full, carefree and goofy grin. "Now, would you like me to speak with Albus or not?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Yes, please."

Snape got up to leave. "You may look at the books, but don't touch anything else." The man pointed his wand at his laboratory door. "And do not attempt to enter my lab." The door swung shut with a bang. Harry doubted he could get in, even if he was foolish enough to try.

"Yes, sir," Harry responded. As Snape left the room, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It felt nice for someone to take care of things for him—to have someone willing to take care of things. He was not alone.

With Snape gone, Harry wandered over to the shelves of books. First, all he did was brush his hands against the many covers—to make sure they were in fact real. Then, he skimmed the titles on the spines. Expecting to see numerous potion manuals, he was pleasantly surprised to find nothing of the sort. This particular row of books contained countless adventure stories. One title caught his eye, "Under the Ice and to the Center of the Earth."

Book in hand, he sat down on the couch and began to read. Two chapters went by before he noticed the time. His stomach was starting to growl and Snape still hadn't returned. He got up, carefully leaving a finger in his book to save the page, and made his way to the dining area.

A small feast was waiting for him—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, a fruit salad, and some bread rolls. Carefully, he set down his book, open to his spot. Then, he sat down and dug in, eating like a ravenous young teen. Half way through his meal, the book called to him. After all, the expedition team had just been cut off from the outside world—and one of the wizards was an evil spy…

Finishing his meal—with his nose in the book—he got up and made his way over to one of the armchairs. Curling up into a more comfortable position, he continued to read.

He was in that position when Snape returned through the floo. Upon seeing the man, Harry's first reaction was to ask, "Is this real? I mean I know it's fictional… But are there really caves underneath Antarctica? Have there been expeditions?"

"What?" Snape asked confused. Harry blushed when he realized he had just ranted on about a story—not even allowing Snape a moment to catch his bearings. I am such an idiot. Snape, however, did not seem bothered. Rather, he walked over to Harry, and pushed up the book in order to read the cover. "I see," he said. "No, that story is just fictional. Yes, there are caves under Antarctica. And yes, there have been numerous expeditions in those caves. I have several nonfiction books on the subject, including a couple of transcribed journals."

"Journals from actual explorers?" Harry asked, his excitement back.

"Yes, from actual explorers," Snape replied. "If you would like to read them, you may. But I suggest you finish the book you're already reading first. It's much more exciting than the others."

"Okay," Harry replied, once again returning to his book.

Snape took a seat on the couch and said, "Harry, we need to talk."

Looking up, Harry moaned, "That bad, huh?"

"On the contrary," Snape began. "Professor Quinn's detention has been reduced to one day. The detention will be served for disobeying his orders that you not do magic." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape waved him off. "Regardless of how you feel on the matter, he had good intentions. If you had a problem with his decisions, you should have talked to him after class or gone to your head of house."

Harry laughed at the last part, like McGonagall would have done anything.

Snape scowled, but continued, "Professor Quinn has been informed that humiliation is not an appropriate form of discipline and therefore will not be asking you to stand in the corner again. He also has been informed that Defense Against the Dark Arts is imperative for you to learn, so you will no longer be restricted from practicing in class."

For a moment Harry wished he had gone to the meeting, so that he could have seen Quinn get told off by a team of Hogwarts’ most firm teachers. On second thought, being in a room with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Quinn, and Snape—all discussing his behavior—no, that didn't seem like a good idea at all.

"Minerva," Snape continued, "has decided to cancel your detention, on the basis you were under stress." From his tone, Harry could deduce Snape had a different opinion on the matter.

"Wow, that's unusually nice for McGonagall," Harry remarked.

"It shouldn't surprise you, not being accountable for you actions. You are Gryffindor's Golden Boy after all."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the comment didn't hurt like it normally did. Snape hadn't said it in a hateful manner, more as a tease. The man did have a point. Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lived did get away with a lot. Not that Harry ever asked for any of the special treatment.

"Also," Snape continued, "it has become obvious that in your eleven year old body, the course load for a sixth year student is too much. Especially considering your involvement in Quidditch as well."

"I'm not giving up Quidditch," Harry said so quickly he hadn't thought what he was saying before the statement left his mouth.

"I'm not asking you to give up Quidditch," Snape snapped. "Now, listen to what I have to say before you start your whining." Harry glared, but kept his mouth shut. "In light of your difficulties, it has been decided you will not be required to write essays, for the time being. Instead, you will arrive to class ten minutes early, to be quizzed orally on the material."

"Really?" Harry smiled. Wait till I tell Ron!

"Yes, but it does not mean you don't have to study hard and learn all the important concepts," Snape lectured. "And remember, you will have to know it well enough to answer questions in detail. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Harry replied. He was still excited about the prospect of skipping the essays, but he was beginning to feel a bit concerned about the questions. Some of the things Snape asked in class… ugh, this might not be so good.

"Do you have anymore questions?" Snape asked.

"Er… no, not that I can think of."

"Good, now I have work to do," Snape replied. Here it comes, time for me to go, Harry thought. "So you may go… or you can stay and read if you would like." Harry nodded vigorously to respond. "Just as long as you're not loud or annoying," Snape added.

Harry followed Snape into his library. The boy headed to the couch, book in hand, while the man returned to his desk. They sat in silence; the only sound was the scrape of Snape’s quill and the occasional gasps of surprise from Harry.

In no time at all, the hour for dinner arrived. Harry only put the book down after strict instructions not to read at the table. It may have been out of his hand, but not out of his mind. Harry described the book’s plot thus far, as well as his opinions on the characters and his predictions for the future. Snape, paying half attention, nodded in response.

Towards the end of the meal, Harry remembered Quidditch. "I have practice tonight," Harry reflected. He felt a bit disappointed that he had to leave, not that he could stay in Snape's quarters forever anyway.

"Do try not to injure yourself," Snape replied.

"Well, I should go," Harry said, getting up from the table.

"I have one more thing I wish to discuss." Snape paused, to think for a moment and then continued. "Despite the fact we are on better terms, you will still treat me with respect. I don't care if you call me Snape in private. But in class it is Professor Snape."

"Oh, yes sir, of course," Harry promised.

"And you will arrive to class on time," Snape added.

Now Harry realized what else he had done to make Snape think he didn’t value the relationship forged over the summer. In his first class with Snape, he had barged in late, not showing the public respect Snape demanded… but he had been excited about—wow, I've completely forgotten about that, the wandless magic.

"It wasn't my fault," Harry started. "Malfoy, he, well that doesn't matter." Harry was no snitch. "Anyway, I couldn't reach my wand. I wasn't about to leave it in the hall. So I accioed it—wandless. I think I can do it all the time." Quickly he glanced around the room for an object. Deciding on his book at the coffee table, he held out his hand in its direction. Accio book, Harry thought. Instantly, the book flew into his hand. He turned to Snape, smiling.

"Put it back," Snape commanded.

Harry blushed; he had forgotten Snape's statement, "No books at the table." "Er… I'm sorry, sir," Harry apologized and got up to return the book.

"No, sit," Snape ordered. "I mean wandless, try to put it back."

"Oh, okay," Harry replied. He put the book back down on the table. How to put it back, he pondered. Ah, Wingardium Leviosa. He stared at the book chanting in his head the command, even emphasizing the correct syllables. For a moment, the book quivered, but getting excited, Harry lost his concentration. Trying again, he managed to make the book move up a bit, but as soon as it lost contact with the table it went crashing to the floor. Harry looked up at Snape and shrugged.

"Perhaps with practice," Snape considered, "you may be able to do more. We will work on it, along with Occlumency." Harry nodded; he was actually looking forward to his lessons with Snape. "But don't tell your friends about it," Snape added, "at least for the time being."

"Okay," Harry replied. "I really must get going, though. Ron will go crazy if I'm really late to practice." Harry got up, retrieved the book (Snape said he could borrow it) and made his way over to the door. Opening it up, he realized it led into Snape's office. He hadn't remembered a door in there before.

"It's a secret door," Snape replied, knowing what Harry must be thinking. "If you come to my office and knock, an alarm goes off in my apartments to alert me. So I am always available. Most students don't know about my quarters, of course. And—"

"I won't tell anyone about it," Harry said before Snape could ask. "Thanks for everything." Snape didn't respond.

Just as Harry was stepping out the door, Snape called to him. "And Harry, I want you to remember. You can come to me, anytime you need my help."

Harry nodded in response and stepped out into the empty dungeon. Many people in the past had said he could "come for help." But with Snape it felt right—it felt true.


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