Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Hi – hope you’ve all had a good Christmas. This is a short update for you as am snowed under with Uni work at the moment I’m afraid.

This is more of a cookie really before the action resumes. Not to say that this isn’t important in itself – Harry’s war on being a ‘Big Boy’ has a lot more mileage in it …

I Want Bobba! Losing the Battle

Harry was fed up with being a ‘big boy’; what had just happened was the last straw.

Everything had been going well. Snape had got him all settled in his new ‘big boy’ bed; which, to Harry’s delight, was a miniature version of the batman’s – with the same silver and green embroidered duvet with the three cobras on it. The only difference was that it had rails to stop Harry falling out of bed. Harry had been contentedly sucking on his fingers for the last ten minutes, watching Snape with sleepy eyes as he told him a story about some big doggy-wolf and a full moon. He was half aware that Snape didn’t quite look himself – and hadn’t since they had been to see Dwaco - but, then again, Nape had so many different looks that Harry never quite could tell exactly what he was thinking.

Anyway, after Nape had finished, and Harry had been almost asleep, the trauma had occured. The batman had said a curt good-night and switched off the bed-side lamp. Harry’s eyes had snapped wide open at this; it was as though Snape was about to leave without giving him ‘Bobba’ – what Harry had affectionately named his night-time bottle. Harry was very confused by this.

‘Nape – Bobba,’ he had called, stretching out his hand.

Harry loved his night-time bottle. It wasn’t really a baby bottle, he reasoned, because he fed himself it. The soothing, warm liquid made him feel sleepy and he loved the sucking noise he made and the reassuring feeling this gave him. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night and felt a bit scared, he could hug the bottle to himself and slurp on it until he felt better. He had absolutely no intention of going to bed without it.

‘No Potter,’ Snape had said getting to his feet, ‘You’re too big for a bottle. Madame Pomfrey has informed me that it is extremely bad for your teeth – and since you do not seem to have that many to begin with I’m sure you do not wish to jeopardise those which you do.’

Harry had scowled. He didn’t quite know what Nape was babbling about, but he had understood what he had said about being ‘too big’. He was sick of hearing about what big boys did. He was always having to stop his fun to go to the potty ‘like a big boy’, or eat up all his yucky peas or stinky cabbage ‘like a big boy did’. Now he couldn’t have his bottle? That was it as far as he was concerned. If this was what big boys did then he didn’t want to be one.

He thought fondly back to when he was littler. He had a vague image of being cradled in sturdy, warm arms; a bottle (not Bobba, a different one) being raised and dropped gently in a reassuring rhythm into his mouth, and smiley green eyes looking fondly down at him as he suckled. He hadn’t had to worry about anything then. He was not going to give that up - and that was the end of the matter!

‘Bobba!’ he now insisted, sitting up in his bed and absentmindedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists.

‘Lie down please,’ Snape said, pursing his lips as the signs of yet-another Potter tantrum began to surface.

Snape was not in the mood for Potter’s antics. He wanted to sit in his study in quiet contemplation. He had gone straight to Dumbledore after leaving the hospital wing and filled him in on what Draco had told him of the predicament of the Pickle children. Dumbledore had swiftly fixed a meeting for appropriate members of the Order for the following day, giving them both time to think.

Snape knew that they would have to move quickly to save the Pickles (if indeed they were all still alive to be saved), but, despite his first instincts, he knew that there was no sense in storming Lucius’ Manor to free the children; more casualties may result than would be saved. It was something that needed careful and subtle handling, and Snape was therefore impatient to give it his full attention without any interruptions from his young charge.

He had thought in the back of his mind that perhaps this hadn’t been the ideal time to transfer Harry to his toddler bed, nor to stop the bottle that he had used to get him off to sleep over the past few weeks. But Madame Pomfrey had given Harry a brief examination and informed Severus quite haughtily that the night bottle must be stopped immediately because it was damaging his teeth, and that he was most certainly too large for the crib he had been using. She had also said that doing both would be conducive to Harry’s potty-training which was a definite positive as far as Severus was concerned.

Perhaps, if he had questioned her further, Poppy might have explained to Severus that he would need to cajole and encourage Harry to comply, but Snape had been distracted, and so, without advice, he had simply instigated the changes.

‘NO!’ Harry shouted, ‘Me want BOBBA!’

Snape closed his eyes briefly as he fought for control over his fragile temper. Why the infernal brat had to come up with such degrading names for everyday objects was quite beyond him.

Bobba,’ he said, spitting the word at the toddler as a slight flush crept up his neck ‘is not for you. You have had something to eat and drink and you can’t be hungry, so that is it for tonight. Now, lie down and go to sleep.’

Harry glared into Snape’s black eyes for a moment as he tried to decide how mad he was about this new development. He thought about what the big mean-bat had said. Not hungry? What did that have to do with anything? There was always room for his Bobba. He frowned. His cheeks were flushed with tiredness, and he could feel the warmness spread over face and neck.

‘I want BOBBA’, he squealed in such a high-pitched shriek that Snape actually winced; the tiredness was making Harry’s frustration ten times worse than it would usually have been. He kicked off his blanket and arched his back, straining with anger and screeching till he was red in the face – ‘DWINK NOW! BOBBA NOWWWW!’

Snape watched silently for a few moments as Harry’s wails and kicks got stronger. A tantrum was the last thing he needed. He fingered his wand, a silencing spell forming at his lips just before he stopped himself. Very uncharacteristically, he almost considered giving in just so that he could have some peace and quiet to concentrate on the Pickles’ escape – almost. He knew if he did that, however, he would be sending a message that might make Potter even more insufferable than he was now.

‘Come on Potter,’ he said, ‘stop this right now. If you’re thirsty then you may have a sip of water from your cup, but as I have said, you are too old for a bottle and you will not be getting one.’

At these words – ‘will not’, Harry felt the last desperate hope leave him. He had a hazy awareness that having his bottle was now completely out of his control, and he didn’t like it. He knew instinctively that the batman wasn’t going to give in, and he wailed louder. His anger, sadness, frustration, and everything else suddenly exploded. He got to his feet and picked up Cheep-Cheep and started tearing at him in a fit of temper – wanting the stupid yellow bird to feel as bad as he did. Cheep-Cheep squawked loudly (doing nothing to help Snape's irritation) and tried to peck the small fingers in retaliation. Unfortunately, since he was only a stuffed toy, his beak wasn't sharp and so it didn't have any effect.

Snape reached forward and wrenched the bird from the toddlers vicious grasp – realising that if the toy was ruined then the young boy would be even more distraught. A headache was beginning to pulse at his temples, but he decided to simply ignore the tantrum for the time being in the hope that it would simply burn out.

It didn’t.

‘MEAN NAPE!’ Harry screamed, holding his hand out for the bird, which Snape ignored; then, flinging himself down on the bed, ‘BAD CHEEP-CHEEP.’

After five minutes of Harry carrying on, and Snape simply watching, the tantrum got even worse. Harry grabbed hold of the railings of his big-boy bed, ‘NO BED; NO BIG BOY!’ he screeched, and then, to Severus’ surprise, banged his head against it.

Snape wasn’t sure quite what to do. He sat forward on impulse, but he didn’t think the intolerable toddler had hurt himself and so he kept his resolve to ignore the behaviour.

‘BAD!’ Harry shrieked again. He had lost all power of reasoning now and was simply indulging himself in the tantrum. Banging his head had felt extremely satisfying in his frantic state – it seemed to voice his exasperation – and so he did it again; several times.

Snape watched the head-banging edgily, wincing on every impact between railings and skull, before he couldn’t stand any more. Deciding that he couldn’t ignore a baby – which was really all Harry was – hurting himself, he reached down and picked him up. This was more difficult than it sounded given the "baby’s" current state and that Harry didn’t miss a beat. He screeched and bucked himself against Snape, kicking and punching the batman as hard as he could, his face almost purple. Snape felt the strangely strong blows, and, with annoyance, realised that some of them might even bruise him.

‘Stop that!’ he commanded. Unfortunately it fell on deaf ears.

‘BAD! MEAN! WANT BOBBA’ Harry cried.

Snape decided that there was no point in trying to reason with an out-of-control toddler. He sat down on a chair and, with some difficulty, repositioned Harry so that he was on his lap, facing outwards.

‘You are out of control,’ he said, ‘so I will sit with you and hold you, until you are able to regain a modicum of it back. Then you are going to sleep.’

Harry wriggled and squirmed. Snape wasn’t holding him fast so that he couldn’t move, but just enough so that he couldn’t hurt himself anymore. A firm arm was secured around Harry's stomach, holding him loosely in a sitting position; the other was free to stop the kicking or punching when it got too violent.

At first Snape’s grasp frustrated Harry. He screeched louder than ever and thrashed all four of his limbs in a peddling motion, arching his back and neck so that his whole body was rigid. Snape did not react, but held Harry differently so that he was face down over his right arm, bottom up, to make the arching impossible. Almost patronisingly, he patted Harry’s rear.

‘You are really too old for such infantile behaviour,’ he said, as Harry, still screeching, dangled over the forearm - angry that his temper was being foiled.

Eventually though, and much as he hated to admit it, the toddler started to find the strong arms almost comforting. A small part of him seemed to appreciate the fact that Snape was taking control of the situation that he couldn’t. Five minutes and a lot of bawling later, and Harry finally relaxed back onto the batman’s lap, sobbing quietly. He turned slightly and nestled his head into Snape’s bottle green shirt, wetting it with tears. He was really tired now, and didn't have any energy left to put up a fight.

Snape sighed and allowed the boy to cuddle into him for a few moments. He then cradled him back in his arms slightly, permitting Harry's head to rest in his armpit as he rocked him back and forth on his arm. He decided that he could make this concession if it meant that Harry might fall asleep.

Harry, even in his distraught state, appreciated the position. He liked the feeling of being babied; cradled in sturdy arms, like in the memory of his mother. Unfortunately for Snape, who wouldn't suffer for it till the following day, it made being a ‘big boy’ even less appealing to the toddler.

After a few minutes, Snape laid the young boy back down on his bed to little protest.

‘I’m delighted that you managed to calm yourself down enough to go to sleep, Potter,’ Snape drawled. ‘And might I say what a lot of fuss over nothing!’ He tucked the covers around the small boy and replaced a disgruntled Cheep-Cheep on the pillow. ‘Perhaps in future you will try and refrain from injuring yourself when something does not go your way.’

Harry blew a bubble of snot in response. He felt very tired and cold. His pyjamas were soaked with sweat from his exertions.

‘Coldy,’ he said, wiping the snot away with back of his hand.

Snape sighed. He pointed a wand at the small boy, and then hesitated suddenly. ‘Are you wet aswell?’ he asked suspiciously. Harry simply shrugged, too tired to worry about such things, and so Snape reached down and felt his nappy – luckily it was dry. He flicked his wand without the need for any incantation and a split-second later the red and blue striped pyjama suit was bone dry. Harry felt nice and warm again and, though he was still mad with the batman, he half-smiled.

As Snape left the room, satisfied that the boy would soon be asleep, Harry rolled onto his tummy and babbled an apology to his beloved canary.

He yawned sleepily as he closed his eyes. Nape might have won the battle, but Harry was sure that he would win the war.

Chapter End Notes:
Hope you enjoyed it. What did you think of the tantrum depiction – those of you who have kids or younger brothers and sisters? How do you think Snape handled it? I think he could have avoided it with a bit more ground work!!!

Will try and update soon.


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