Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:

I own it not, promise!

Well, okay, I’m going to try to start wrapping up year three. I would like to have a start going on Year Four a little before or after Christmas—I have an abnormally large break.

Chapter 33: Adventures Good and Bad

After Harry’s discovery, he spent five hours in the dorm, looking at his picture of his parents and thinking. When he emerged, Neville gave him a small smile and Hermione patted him on the arm. They had gone to ask Professor Lupin why Harry seemed so shaken, and after Hermione’s hesitant “Do you want to talk about it?”, the subject was dropped.

Harry wondered how his parents had been fooled.

But after a few days, he let it go and concentrated on the festivities. Christmas was just around the corner and most of the students were headed home. Harry, of course, was staying, after the disastrous events of last year’s Christmas, and Neville had agreed to stay to. At first Hermione had been headed home—“I don’t know how to ask my parents to let me stay, after I haven’t seen them for so many months,” she fretted—but after Dave heard, he told her to just stay put with her friends. “Your mum and I would love a Christmas to ourselves,” he said. “Stay with your friends, we’ll be fine.”

Harry had great fun showing Hermione and Neville all the secret passages he’d spotted on the map, and they spent the days leading up to Christmas exploring all day and turning up to the kitchens, coated with grime, for Tookie to fuss over and feed. Hermione also had found a hidden nook in the library filled with books and cushions, and the three spent a couple hours there one Saturday hiding from Peeves.

Christmas dinner was, as always, amazing. There were only four other students staying, mainly a pack of tough faced Slytherin seventh years who were cramming in extra study time for their NEWTs, and they didn’t even bother to talk at the table, just mumbled to each other in between mouths of food. Harry and Neville and Hermione pulled crackers and ate food and laughed and talked with Professor Snape—who, though a bit surly under all the spirit, still engaged them in a theoretical discussion on magical creatures.

“I don’t understand why wizards need things like elves and brownies,” Hermione said as Neville loaded up her plate with more food. “I mean, with magic, it’s already ten times easier than it is for the Muggles. Why do they need more?”

Snape gave a tight smile and took a sip of pumpkin juice. “Magic is about power, Miss Granger. And the more magical beings under your control, the more power. It’s a status symbol, really. A bit unnecessary, at times, but the elves themselves do not object.”

“That’s because they’ve been conditioned! It’s brainwashing!”

Hermione and him continued the argument all through the night, with Neville and Harry joining in every now and then. The discussion eventually turned to whether half-humans, like centaurs and merfolk and werewolves, were considered as wizards or magical beasts. Hermione fought that of course they were wizards, but Snape put forth a pretty convincing argument that they were beasts, and Harry had said that it depended on the situation. Snape’s eyes looked triumphantly at Lupin after that, and Harry couldn’t figure out why.

After Christmas the days sped by. The students returned, and Harry soon noticed one Gryffindor that had a familiar, unwelcomely surly look on his face. Ron, muttering monosyllables and picking at his food while glaring at Hermione, had foolishly left his rat at the school over Christmas. Crookshanks had, apparently, slipped into the boys dorm one day and devoured Scabbers raw. Ron seemed to just be angry at Hermione for wrecking his possessions, but Percy was crushed.

“That rat was my best friend for years,” the boy said glumly. Harry patted him on the arm and Hermione felt just awful, though Percy didn’t blame her in the slightest.

The good will between Harry and Ron ended, though, and the weeks flew by. Divs continued to be awful, while Hermione seemed slightly less overworked. Malfoy continued to taunt Harry in class about Black, in cryptic statements, though never loud enough for Snape to hear. He never gave Malfoy another detention, but Harry just had to remember the shock on the prissy boys face to feel a slightly warm glow inside.

However, imagining Malfoy’s face beaten to a pulp would have been better. Hagrid had lost his petition and his hippogriff, Buckbeak, was to be sentenced to death. Hermione had spent the whole afternoon after they had found out crying into Hagrid’s heavy coat, while Neville and Harry had pet the animals beak sadly. They took to spending a great deal of time with the condemned creature and Hagrid, stroking the bird-half’s feathers and studying.

Ron Weasley continued to be a harbinger of doom to the trio. Not only did he glare at Hermione and loudly talk about how rude it was for people to sic their animals on other peoples poor defenseless rats, he had cornered Neville outside in one of the gardens and started to tease him about not knowing the passwords to the common room. He chanted the whole weeks passwords at the boy, only stopping when he was distracted by Crookshanks running through the garden, hissing.

Later that night, after Harry had scolded Ron (“It wasn’t his cat, was it? Leave him be.”), he and Neville had lingered in the common area with Hermione, finishing their paper on aconite for Professor Snape. As soon as they hit their beds, they were fast asleep. Harry woke up in the middle of the night thinking he had had another nightmare. There was an awful keening happening, a noise that sounded like—

“Neville!” Harry yelled, and he threw himself out of his bed. Neville, his face pale and scared, was sitting up in bed, holding his wand and crying. The curtains over him were ripped and torn, and on the floor was a knife—rusted and deadly looking. The other boys were waking up as well.

“Longbottom, shut up!”

“Lardbottom probably had a bad dream!”

“Neville, are you all right? Be quiet, it’s three in the morning!”

Harry had immediately checked the boy over—unharmed, except for that terrible look on his face and that awful, terrifiying wail—and pulled him into a hug. The boy was frozen and did not move.

“Someone, quick, go get Percy! Dean, please!”

Dean and Ron, scared at that point by the detatched, frightened look on the boys face, had run and fetched Percy, Hermione, and Professor McGonnagal.

By that point, Neville was just whimpering. He would drop his wand, and Harry had his wand drawn as well and was rubbing the boys back with his hand. Hermione immediately did the same, and the boy finally stopped making any noise and was suddenly, scarily, silent.

“Mr. Longbottom, what’s the meaning of this?” McGonagall had asked, and Percy had said “Neville, what’s happened? Come on, chap, tell us.”
Neville had just swallowed several times, then whispered the answer.

“Black. It—It was Black.” He swallowed again, then started to cry.

“Professor, he must have had a knife—look, this isn’t any of ours, and the curtains are all ripped!” Harry said, and McGonnagal had looked concerned and then immediately took charge.

Black had indeed been there—let in by the portrait.

“Recited all the passwords of the week! I am the very model of a modern major general to Rex Laudanum!” Sir Cadogan had said, and the castle had been combed top to bottom, but no Black was found.

Neville had later told Harry and Hermione, while they hid by the corner fire in the common room, that Black’s cousin Bellatrix was one of the ones responsible for his parents mental state.

“Gran told me this summer,” he said. “S-showed me all the newspapers about the trials and stuff. She—“ he shivered, and Hermione bundled a blanket around him, “She looks like him.”

Neither of them knew quite what to say or do, so it was a very quiet week for the three before it all blew over.

Professor Snape continued to teach them Latin, and Neville was always the best at it. It helped him in remembering the passwords, and soon he was as cheerful as normal, if a little bit warier. Snape had also taken to teaching them basic defensive charms, like expelliarmus, in case Black caught them unawares.

With regular lessons, extra lessons, playtime with Buckbeak, and studying with his friends, the rest of the school year went quickly for Harry. He worried about his grades and dreamt about Quidditch and talked to his friends and was, mostly, an average thirteen year old boy. Sometimes, though, a look that was half worry and half rage would come over his face, and you could tell his mind was on Sirius Black, should he show himself again. But he never did, and before Harry knew it, it was the end of May and he was meeting with Professor Snape for one of his last Latin lessons of the year.

“First declension?” Harry guessed as the man pointed out a word. He yawned. “Sorry, Professor, Hermione has us up late studying every night.”

Snape inclined his head, frowning. “Quite. Gender?”

“Feminine. Erm—sir?” Snape looked at Harry wordlessly, waiting for him to continue, which made Harry nervous. He looked at the floor. “I was—I was wondering if I—“

“Spit it out, Potter,” the man drawled, and Harry blurted it out.

“Where am I going to stay? This summer? The—are the Dursleys—“

Snape looked at the boy and sighed. He had fought, yes, and fought hard, but Dumbledore would not budge.

‘The same deal as last year, then, Severus—after a few weeks. It’s too dangerous, with Black on the run, to leave him without the blood protection.’

‘It’s hardly a protection if his blood ends up splattering the walls that protect him.’

Nothing he said had changed it. The boy was going back.

“You’ll be with your relatives, yes, for a few weeks.” Severus saw the boy deflate and continued, wishing he could say different. “Then with me again. The same as this past summer. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Harry brightened at that. At least it wasn’t the whole holiday—and if it was anything like last years break, it’d be easy. He grinned and wrote ‘imperative’ on his chart, then crossed it out.

“Thank you, sir, really. For—for the summer.”

“Finish your chart, Potter, and shut your mouth.” Harry did both.

After Harry handed in his Latin and went over a few theoretical questions for potions. Snape gave him a rare smile—he’d revised all his Potions stuff for hours with Hermione and Neville—and poured tea for the both of them.

Harry gave a happy smile. “I like tea,” he said, taking a long sip that scalded his tongue. “You’re tea’s the best. Professor Lupin’s tea’s all right, but—“

“When have you had tea with the beast?” Snape snapped, and Harry looked down in his cup.

“Er—after Dementor lessons. To—to warm me up. Sorry—“

“And how have those been going, Potter?” Snape asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Well—I’ve gotten so I can make an umbrella cloud—just a shield, really. It doesn’t repel them, or anything. Professor Lupin says I just need more practice. But I haven’t really had many lessons with him lately, since he’s always so ill and I think he feels all awkward because I asked him about Pettigrew—“

“You asked Lupin about Pettigrew?”

Harry nodded and took another sip of his tea. “Yes, before Christmas holidays. I think it upset him, though, so I didn’t ask again.” He put the cup on the table. “Could—sir, how did that happen?”

“How did what happen, Potter? Black’s madness?”

“No. How did—if he was working for Voldemort, how did he trick my parents that bad? How could he fool them into thinking he was still—I just don’t understand. I mean, if—and he never would, but if Neville had betrayed me and gone dark, I would know. Didn’t he ever—weren’t there signs, or something?”

Snape had a look on his face like he was debating something, and he too put down his tea and started to talk seriously.

“Sometimes there is a madness in the human soul that people never see until it is too late. Sometimes there are signs—things that happen over the years that make people doubt, things that show you a person’s true colors—and people ignore them, because they tell themselves they know that person. But the truth is, Potter, you never really know a person.” Harry thought about how Snape would hate it if he knew Lupin had said those exact words to him. “I knew, though. I was never fooled by Black.”

“You—you knew him?”

Snape sneered. “He was my school day equivalent to Finnigan and Malfoy, only much worse.” He leaned in, and ugly, angry look on his face. “He tried to kill me once, when we were young.”

Harry, who had taken another sip of tea, choked on it. “But—why didn’t they arrest him then?”

Snape’s ugly look got darker. “Because the Headmaster believes in second chances.”

“What did he do? How—why?”

Snape had a considering look on his face. “He played a prank on me, a prank that nearly cost me my life. He sent me down into a place where a monster was waiting, and if it hadn’t been for one boy’s bravery, I would have died.” A strange look came over Snape’s eyes, and he said shortly. “Your father saved my life that day.”

Harry was filled with a sudden pride—his father!—and a feeling of hate towards Black. “But he—if they’d arrested him then, my parents would—“

“There’s no guarantee they would have lived much longer,” Snape said, then quickly added, “But they could have.”

When Harry left Snape’s quarters for the dorm that night, he found that instead of burning hot, his anger burned cold.

He hated Sirius Black. He hated him.

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The next day, Harry went to breakfast to see Hermione sadly stirring her oatmeal and Neville solemnly salting his eggs.

“Why so quiet?” Harry asked as he helped himself to some bacon, and Neville gave him a small glance.

“Hagrid sent a letter,” he said, pushing over a rough piece of parchment with runny ink. “Buckbeak’s execution’s today. After our Divination exam.”

Harry morosely moved his bacon around his plate. With the news of Buckbeak’s upcoming death and the reminder of the Divination final, he was no longer hungry.

The whole Divination class was sitting unhappily at the bottom of the ladder.

“She’s seeing us one by one, she said,” Ron grumbled. He had let up on Neville and Hermione after whole incident with Black—though Harry suspected that Percy may have given him a few sharp words as well. Now the boy was only perpetually grumpy. “The bat. Should’ve pulled a Hermione here—I’ve never even seen anything in those stupid crystal balls. Have you?”

Harry shook his head. Neville shrugged. “I always see the other side of the table through it, does that count?”

The boys settled themselves down for waiting. Harry, and Ron were the last ones seen and were playing a tense hand of Exploding Snap when Neville came down the ladder, falling the last few steps and landing on Harry.

“Oof—oh, sorry—oh!” The cards exploded as soon as Neville got off Harry, leading to him toppling down again.

“How’d it go?” Harry asked as they untangled and Ron headed up.

Neville shrugged. “I told her I saw the Grim—that made her happy enough. I tripped, though, on my way in, broke the orb. Bet I get marked down for that—unless she Saw it and put out a shoddy one on purpose.”

Harry snorted and started to gather up the singed cards. “Doubt it.”

Ron came down looking surly and kicked the ladder before telling Harry to go up and storming away. Harry shrugged and headed up the stairs, with Neville promising to wait for him.

“Don’t worry,” he said before disappearing into the heights of the classroom. “I don’t think I’ll take long.”

The room was hot and the air was thick and Harry was immediately tired. He kept glancing out the window, where the Hagrid’s hut could be seen, and thinking of what the giant man would be doing for Buckbeak, which made him predict that Buckbeak would escape the knife and fly away.

Just as he was about to leave (with a grade far less than spectacular, he thought), he heard Professor Trelawney start to speak. Or, he assumed it was Professor Trelawney. It sounded like she’d swallowed embers and burned her throat.

“It will happen tonight.”

Harry turned and saw her standing, her face tight and her hands clenched, her eyes staring straight through Harry. She looked like a tightly pulled rubber band, and Harry thought she might have some fit.

“Professor? Are you—“ But Trelawney did not acknowledge him, just kept talking in that horrible, rasping voice.

“The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight…the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master.”

Harry felt like it was hard to breathe. Was she really having a vision? He listened very hard as his mind raced.

“The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than he ever was. Tonight…before midnight…the servant—“ here she started to wheeze and her voice became more strained. “The servant…will set out…to rejoin…his master…”

Harry ran from the room and was bound straight for Snape’s quarters. His feet seemed to be pounding out the prophecy as he ran—tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight.

Neville ran after him, calling out and asking what was wrong, and they were joined with Hermione as they ran into the depths of the school. Harry was about to throw open the door to Snape’s classroom when Hermione grabbed his hand.

“Harry, no!” she hissed, and she pointed to the sign on the door.

EXAM IN PROGRESS. DO NOT DISTURB.

Harry had never been so willing to bear Snape’s wrath in his life.

“We’ll wait, and you can tell us what’s wrong,” Neville said firmly, dragging Harry away from the room.

The group ended up making their way to Hagrid’s as Harry described the woman’s vision.

“The servant has to be B-Black!” Neville said, a scared look on his face. “We need to tell somebody—he’s going to bring You Know Who back!”

Hermione was skeptical. “But it says that the servant will escape, doesn’t it? And Black already escaped Azkaban months ago. That doesn’t make any sense. Besides, she’s a nutter. Has she said anything worthwhile all this year?”

“She does know when I’m about to break something,” Neville pointed out.

“That’s because you get this look on your face like ‘Dear God, I think I’m about to break something!’” Hermione snapped. “She’s a fake.”

“But what if she’s not faking this time?” Harry asked. “What if it’s real?”

”Then it will keep until Professor Snape finishes his exam.” They were near to Hagrid’s house and could hear the giant man wailing, so Harry nodded. Hermione seemed relieved.

“Can you imagine if we busted in on his exam?” Neville asked, faking a shiver. “Never mind being scared if V-Voldemort came back, Snape’d skin us.”

They went for tea with Hagrid with comforting smiles on their faces, but deeply worried within.

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The visit with Hagrid was depressing. The man spent the entire time snifling and telling them what a good hippogriff Beaky was. They tried to comfort him, but Hermione was so upset she started to sniffle. They were ejected from the house by Hagrid, who didn’t want them to witness the actual act. They waited nearby, Hermione bursting into tearss when they heard the dull thunk of the axe, and they were about to head back up to the castle to get Snape when Neville noticed something darting over the ground.

“Hermione—Harry, look—Scabbers!”

And Scabbers it was. Hermione had a look on her face, a look that said that this was the chance to make it up to Percy, and she set off at a run immediately. Harry took off after her, and Neville followed them, and they chased the rat until Neville did a flying tackle and snatched it up.

“I got it!” he said, his face pink with happiness and exertion. “Look, now we can give it to Percy and Ron won’t make—agh!”

For just as Neville was about to finish his sentence, a large black dog—a familiar dog, Harry thought, and dismissed it—leapt upon the boy, grabbing hold of his arm, and dragged him away, into the Whomping Willow.

Harry suddenly knew they were about to dive down the rabbit hole again.


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