Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Robe and Mask

"Come in," Harry said, opening the door wider, but as Hermione tried to cross the threshold, a wicked green light flashed over her. She yelped and jumped back, shaking her hands as though to rid them of a sharp pain.

"I knew it!" Draco exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. "They're up to no good, and she's the ringleader!"

"Mr Malfoy is a bit prone to jump to conclusions," Snape smoothly broke in. "The wards simply aren't responding to Harry's magic at this time. Do come in, now."

After Snape's invitation, the Gryffindors were able to pass through the doorway without incident. Harry scanned the crowd. Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Parvati, Colin, Dennis . . . along with a few first- and second-years. No Ron. He wasn't sure whether to be upset or relieved at that.

There weren't seats enough for everyone, so they all remained standing. Nobody much seemed inclined to speak, at first; in fact, most of the Gryffindors seemed positively terrified to be within the private quarters of the dreaded Potions Master. Of course, most of them hadn't visited before, so that was easy to understand. Neville, however, looked so nervous that Harry suspected there must have been an accident that very day in class.

Maybe there had been one before the first-year Hufflepuffs had arrived, Harry mused. That would explain why Snape had been so on-edge about Harry's firecall having distracted him during class.

Harry opened his mouth to say a few choice words, something along the lines of I have it on good authority that you can't kick me out of Gryffindor just for getting adopted, if that's what this is all about, but before he could speak, Snape was opening the conversation himself.

"Miss Granger," he began. "I'm rather surprised to see you this evening. I would have expected you to await my reply to your letter."

Recognizing the criticism, Hermione lifted her nose a fraction and airily asked, "Oh, were you planning to reply? Given that I saw you reading my letter at breakfast this morning, and it's now nearly curfew, I'd concluded you'd decided not to bother."

Snape gave her a smile as thin as a razor's edge. "I needed time to consult with my son."

Uh-oh, Harry thought. Talk about throwing down a gauntlet. He felt his whole body tense as he waited to see what the Gryffindors would do with a comment like that.

A ripple of discontent coursed through the visiting group, so palpable that Harry could practically smell it.

Hermione, however, appeared a bit stunned. "You showed Harry my letter?"

"Of course." Snape levelled a glare at her, as if to say, Did you miss the part where I mentioned that he was my son?

Hermione looked away to focus her gaze on Harry. "I didn't mean any offence. I hope you understand, it's just that the whole thing seems . . . weird."

"It's not weird to me," Harry announced, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And I happen to think that my opinion is the only one that matters. If you have a problem with me being Professor Snape's son, it's your problem, not mine."

Hermione bit her lip, looking as though she most definitely had a problem, but what she said was, "We're not here to argue with you, Harry. We thought you might appreciate a show of support."

"Support," Harry slowly repeated, his eyes bugging out a bit. Everywhere he rested his gaze, reluctant nods greeted him. Well, except for Neville. His nod actually looked a bit more definite than the rest, and he had a slight smile on his face as well. For all that though, he didn't look overjoyed. He was shifting on his feet, a bundle of nerves.

It occurred to Harry that he didn't really know what might have transpired up in Gryffindor Tower, though something evidently had. "Um, I suppose you all know, then?" he asked, rather belatedly. "About Professor Snape adopting me?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, once you'd said you were going to have the headmaster make a general announcement, Ron didn't see any reason not to . . . ah, vent his spleen. He was a bit taken aback this morning when no such announcement came, Harry."

"Serves him right," Harry coldly returned. "So what exactly did he vent about, then? Just my adoption?"

Hermione gave a tiny shake of her head, answering an unasked question as well as the obvious one. "He kept . . . ah, most of his complaints to himself," she said out loud.

Harry had a feeling Hermione had had something to do with that.

"But he told everyone about the adoption and your change of house," she added.

"I'm still a Gryffindor!" Harry thought to stress, glancing all around to make sure everyone understood. "It's just that I'm in Professor Snape's house as well, now. But when my magic comes back I plan to return to the Tower and all that." There was so little reaction to that comment that Harry couldn't help but scathe, "If I'm welcome?"

"Of course you're welcome, Harry," Hermione gasped, clearly taken aback. "What would make you think--"

"How about that whole scene with Ron? How about the fact that the lot of you are standing there all grim like I'm in trouble or something?"

Ginny spoke up, then. Harry had to lean to the side to see her, since she was sort of buried at the back of the group. "My brother was a real git," she announced in a tone that made Harry think that she, at least, had heard the worst of Ron's accusations. "I'm sorry about that, Harry. But if we look sort of grim, maybe it's because you aren't being exactly welcoming, yourself."

Harry bit his lip. "I . . . thought maybe you'd come down here all formally like this to tell me you didn't consider me a Gryffindor any longer."

Ginny stared at him like he'd grown an extra head. "No, Harry, of course not! We all love you!"

Someone in the middle of the crowd snickered, which made Ginny's face go approximately the same shade of red as her hair. "Not like that," she growled, turning to elbow the offender.

"I love you guys too," Harry returned, swallowing. He was careful not to look directly at Ginny as he said it. "It really bothered me that I might have to choose between my house and my father."

A few of the Gryffindors stiffened at that. Harry nearly sighed. "Well, he is," he insisted. "Here, look." And with that, he was walking over to the bookcase and standing on tip-toe to retrieve the fancy embossed adoption contract. As he began to unroll it, Colin whipped a camera from inside his robes and snapped a photo. Harry blinked from the bright flash.

He handed the scroll to Dean and Seamus, mostly because they were trying to look over Hermione's shoulder to see it better.

Hermione gave him a contemplative look. "Nobody doubted your word that it was done through official channels, Harry."

"Yeah, I know. But seeing that makes it real," Harry answered. "Right?"

A vague chorus of affirmative answers drifted through the crowd of Gryffindors as the parchment was passed around. Hermione got it last, and handed it back to Harry without so much as looking at it. Instead, she was casting a cautious glance at Professor Snape. "Listen, Harry," she said. "Your . . . er, father, looked pretty angry over breakfast when he read my letter. And it occurred to me then--probably should have occurred sooner, come to think of it--that getting you mad at us wasn't going to do you any good. If you need somebody to talk to, I want you to feel you can come to us."

Harry yanked his hands from his pocket and stood up a bit straighter. "I have a father to talk to, now. How do you think we started getting on so much better, Hermione? I've been talking to him about everything for months."

"I understand," murmured Hermione, sounding like she actually didn't. "But you might need somebody else, sometime. You know, a more . . . er, youthful perspective."

Harry knew it was wicked of him to reply as he did, but some part of him really needed to. Was it just that he wanted to shock the Gryffindors? Was he still trying in some measure to get back at Ron, even though Ron wasn't even there to hear it? Maybe, he reflected, his reply had more to do with Snape. His father had asked him ages ago to give Draco a chance, and Harry was willing to, now, but he'd never really said as much to Snape. What better way to admit he had changed his mind than to say so to Snape and the Gryffindors all at once?

"If I need somebody my age to talk to," he lightly said, "it's good to know I have my mates upstairs. But don't forget, I've also got Draco right here to bounce ideas off of."

The ripple of dismay this time was palpable, a low murmur that seemed to soak into the walls before it faded off. Hermione, Harry couldn't help but notice, was gritting her teeth so hard it sounded like they might snap. "If you should happen to need a Gryffindor perspective," she grated, clearly at the end of some sort of tether, "we're here for you."

Harry felt bad, then. He shouldn't have said that bit about Draco; it was almost like throwing down a gauntlet of his own. On the other hand, he didn't want to hide who he was. Not about the adoption, not about his membership in two houses, and not about who his friends were.

All his friends.

Sensing perhaps that Hermione was about to blow steam out both ears, Neville stepped to the front of the group and took both Harry's hands in his. Neville's fingers were cold and trembling, and he still looked horribly nervous, but then again, why wouldn't he, with Snape just five feet away, arms crossed, looking over the whole scene like a hawk about to pounce? Harry had a feeling his father was just waiting for anybody to put one word wrong, and he'd rake them so far over the coals that they'd be charred for weeks.

"Harry," Neville said, his voice sincere for all it was wavering with tension. "We don't understand, all right? Why you would like this idea of . . . but we don't have to understand, that's the point. You're our friend and house mate and Seeker too, when you're up to flying again, and that's all there is to it."

Ginny pushed her way to the front, then, fishing something out of her robes as she moved. "We made this for you, Harry. All of us."

As she pushed a small bouquet of herbs and flowers into his hands, Harry felt tears rise to his eyes. "A well-wish?" he questioned, though it was hardly necessary to ask, really.

Ginny nodded, her own eyes a bit moist. "We can't be inside your head, you know. We can't know how this all came about unless you tell us, which you really haven't--"

"You haven't bothered to visit," Harry pointed out.

"I've been down here six times," Hermione retorted. "And you never told me what was going on, either."

"I didn't want to fight about it! And besides, you knew I was getting on better with Snape, and with Draco as well. I didn't hide that!"

"What matters," Ginny sternly interrupted, glaring at them both before her gaze softened, "is that no matter how . . . wrong, all this seems to us, we see that it doesn't strike you that way, and we've realised that we need to support your decision. We wish you well, Harry. And we'll welcome you back as soon as you can get back up to the Tower."

"You tried to get Ron to come say this as well, and he wouldn't come, would he?" Harry asked mournfully. Sighing, he held the well-wish cradled in one hand and said, "Thank you for this. It . . . it means a lot."

Ginny turned to address Professor Snape, then. "I wish you well too, sir," she said, the declaration clear and honest.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," Snape murmured, bowing his head slightly.

Hermione cleared her throat, the rasping sound echoing in the dungeons. She looked as though she were grasping for words. Was she trying to make herself wish Snape well, but unable to go through with it? Or did she have something else to say? Whatever her intent, Snape spoke before the burgeoning silence became too oppressive.

"It is past curfew," he pointed out, his head moving slightly as he counted the visiting students. "Thirteen Gryffindors out of their dormitories at such a late hour," He shook his head, making a little tsking sound with his tongue. "I do believe the behaviour before me is a matter for the house counters."

"Please, sir--" Harry protested. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco smirking.

"You must let me handle this, Harry," Snape interrupted, his tone stern.

"But Professor--"

"Enough, Harry," Snape said, his voice level. He stared a moment longer at the boy, and when Harry remained silent, quietly announced, "Twenty points to Gryffindor." He waved his wand to solidify the command.

A stunned silence followed the pronouncement. It was Neville who finally squeaked to Seamus, his voice hushed but still clearly audible, "To? Did he say to?"

"No, you're hallucinating, Longbottom," Draco put in, his tone rather nasty.

"That's quite enough, Draco." Snape then addressed Neville, who was quaking a bit by then. "Yes, Mr Longbottom, I said to. However, I shall be forced to take back an even greater number of points if you and your friends linger much longer. Much as I laud your efforts here toward Harry, I believe it is well-established that I do not approve of students wandering the halls at night."

Hermione nodded. "I'll be down to see you tomorrow, Harry," she promised, her voice suggesting that she'd be down there every day if she could manage it. To check on things, to be there in case Harry needed her . . . "I think I know the way by now. I . . . I wish I didn't have to go home for the holidays; I'd rather stay here and see more of you--"

"Hermione," Harry softly said, "you don't understand, yet. I'm fine here. I'm looking forward to having a family Christmas for once."

"Your reply, Miss Granger," Snape announced, holding out a small, parchment scroll. "Not as prolix as your own, I'm afraid."

"Mine wasn't long!" Hermione objected.

Snape gave Harry a sidelong glance, which had Harry looking away. So Hermione did know some fancier words than Harry had figured on . . . well, Snape was always reading her essays. It figured that he would know. "Miss Granger," Snape expounded. "When I ask for twelve inches on a subject, you invariably give me thirty. I have yet to see you be succinct."

Hermione scowled, then quickly schooled her face into a more neutral expression as she turned toward Harry. "Good night, then."

"Good night," Harry echoed, saying it several more times as he ushered the Gryffindors out. When the door finally closed behind them, he leaned on it, his knees almost buckling with relief.

"That went as well as could be expected," Snape neutrally remarked.

Harry nodded. "Thanks for the points."

Snape waved a hand as though to say it hardly mattered.

"No, really, it was great," Harry insisted. "I never thought you'd give Gryffindor any points, sir."

"Ah, well. I can always take an extra twenty off Mr Longbottom the next time he melts his potions desk."

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. Neville had melted many a cauldron, but his desk, this time? "Did that happen today, sir?"

Snape's flaring nostrils were enough to answer that.

"Well, it was brave of him to come, then," Harry decided.

Snape didn't reply to that, but then again, he didn't need to. The points sort of spoke for themselves, didn't they?

Draco loudly snorted. "Oh sure, Severus. Give them points for stealing my brilliant idea."

"Your idea?" Harry questioned, eyes puzzled.

"Well-wishes are for babies, Harry," Draco complained, his tone biting. "I thought of making it an adoption thing. Your house mates there are just a bunch of plagiarists."

"I do believe you would admire any Slytherin who saw a good idea and passed it off as his own, Draco," Snape pointed out.

"Yeah, well they're not Slytherins!"

"They're my friends," Harry reminded him. "I don't appreciate their efforts any less than I appreciate yours. And besides, Draco, it's not like I don't know who dreamed up the first well-wish for me. The credit's all yours."

Draco twisted a lip, but brightened a bit as he realised, "Well, at least this time Granger'll know better than to help you look up the plants. Her, and all of Gryffindor. You'll have to do your own research, so that's all right, then."

"I could always write Padma," Harry threatened.

He'd expected a reaction from Draco, but it was Snape who took exception to that. "You," he announced, casting his full gaze on Harry, those eyes dark with insistence, "will comport yourself as a proper young wizard this time, which means discovering your friends' wishes for yourself."

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured, lowering his eyes. It hadn't occurred to him that asking Hermione before was any big deal. It came to him now that he'd disappointed Snape. He realised that he didn't like how that made him feel. "So . . . what plants do I need to look up?" He thrust the well-wish out a bit so Snape could see it better.

His father crossed his arms. "I do believe an appropriate consequence for last time is that this time, you must fathom that out as well. I will tell you this, though. Your friends may not have a way with words, but they have spoken their fill by means of that little token you hold."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Snape could be so very Slytherin, sometimes. "You're just trying to pique my curiosity so I'll do the research."

"Draco?" Snape oddly questioned, but the other boy understood what he meant.

"It's not your average well-wish, that's for certain," Draco responded. "Sneaky, in fact. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be so brave."

"All right!" Harry admitted, laughing as he flopped down into a chair and set the well-wish on the table in front of him. He waved for the other two to sit down, too. "That's enough! I'll decipher it!"

"You'd think Granger could tell you to your face what she really thinks," Draco went on, undeterred.

"Oh, but she did," Harry insisted, his laughter dying an abrupt death. "Really, I'm not sure whether I should be irritated at her attitude or touched by her concern."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Snape asked, eyeing him carefully.

"I can't believe you didn't pick up on it," Harry murmured, shaking his head. "Hermione said they'd come to offer me a show of support. And that's what it was, a show. I mean, she doesn't really support my decision; she just thinks she ought to act supportive. You know, so I'll have somewhere safe to run when the adoption turns out to be a disaster. Not that I think it will," he rushed to say. "I'm talking for Hermione."

"Obviously," Snape wryly returned, stretching his legs out. "I can't fault your analysis of Miss Granger's intentions, though I did sense a tad more sincerity from others in the group."

"Yeah, Neville and Ginny," Harry agreed. "But that makes sense. Neville knows what it's like to long for parents, and Ginny was trying to make up for Ron being so foul. Decent of them both, really. I mean, the truth is that you've been worse than foul to Gryffindor all these years."

"I told you, Potter, Severus had to do something about Dumbledore's total prejudice against Slytherin--"

Snape gave a long suffering sigh as he reached for his wand. "Ten points from Slytherin--"

"No," Harry interrupted. "Please. I call him Malfoy every now and again when you're not around. We don't mean it in a bad way, Professor, not any longer."

"Defending Slytherin already," Snape nodded, surprise lurking in his eyes as he slipped his wand back into his cloak. "I must admit I approve."

"I was defending Draco," Harry murmured. "Long past time to return the favour."

"I suppose you two are indeed getting on, then," Snape remarked, relaxing still further.

"Yeah, I suppose we are," Harry admitted. He glanced over at Draco, expecting a smile, or at least amusement, but the Slytherin boy's silver eyes were hard and glittering. "What it is?" Harry asked. "What's wrong?"

Draco shook his head as though to clear it, and adopted a rather bored façade. "Oh, nothing. I was just remembering something."

"Draco," Snape prompted in a low, intense voice.

"It's nothing," Draco snapped. "Leave it, Severus." With that, he was stomping from the room.

"Uh . . . did something I said get to him?" Harry asked.

"You intimated that you trust him," Snape remarked. "How much did you mean that?"

Harry leaned forward, his gaze on the well-wish. "Uh . . . I don't know how to measure it. I mean, I think he's on my side, now. But I still can't say I really understand why he would be, all things considered. I mean, he always hated me, before. Why would he risk being disowned, risk being killed, to help me? See, this is why I try not to think about it, Professor. Because it doesn't make any sense, what he did, and the longer I think about it, the less I trust him."

"But . . .?"

"But it doesn't make sense, yet there's so much to it," Harry sighed. "The wand. All the tutoring. Darswaithe. And even with my friends, it's like he's on guard to protect me. You saw it in the Pensieve; he jumped right in to make sure Ron couldn't throw a hex my way. Yeah, okay then. I do trust him, I guess. I just don't know why he'd want me to."

Snape tapped a finger against the side of his face as he pondered something.

"Professor?"

"Go tell Draco I wish to speak with him, alone," Snape announced.

"About me?"

Snape gave him a cool look. "About him."

After the office door closed behind the two Slytherins, Harry fetched Sals from her box, and squinting at her half-camouflaged form, went to bed. He didn't know how long Snape talked with Draco; he only knew that the other boy hadn't returned by the time Harry drifted off to sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Snape wasn't there for breakfast, the second day in a row. From what Hermione had said, Harry knew that Snape had eaten in the Great Hall the previous day. He wondered if Dumbledore's note had had that effect. Was Snape going to eat more meals with his colleagues, as suggested?

Of course, Harry didn't know that Snape was in the Great Hall again. For all he knew, the man was back to skipping meals. Harry had been hungry enough during his life to get pretty upset about someone passing up perfectly good meals that were freely available. He did know that he really shouldn't nag Snape about things, but he couldn't help but wonder what he could do about the man's tendency not to take good enough care of himself.

Draco seemed unusually quiet, and rather disinclined to eat, but that couldn't be because he disliked the food. Harry had got up first, and had successfully used the Floo to order "whatever suits." He was rather pleased that despite his lack of "urgency," as Snape had put it, the Floo had still seemed to work for him. Maybe, Harry reflected, having faith that he could perform a particular type of magic also helped his powers flow.

Draco had ended up with poached eggs and rye toast, but instead of eating anything, he just kept swirling the tines of his fork through his egg yolk. He looked like he hadn't got any sleep at all.

"Draco," Harry prompted.

The other boy raised bloodshot eyes but didn't reply.

"What is it?" Harry gently asked. "Didn't talking to Snape help? It always helps me."

Draco's reply was so quiet that Harry almost missed it. "It didn't help me."

That surprised Harry. As far as he was concerned, Snape had quite a keen way of analyzing problems and seeing solutions. He thought it must come from all those years of taking his Head of house duties so seriously. "Didn't Snape have any suggestions at all?" Harry pressed.

"He wants me to do something I can't do," Draco murmured, letting his fork clatter down onto his plate.

Harry thought back, trying to make sense of that comment. Really, he could only think of one thing it might mean. "Oh . . . um, he wants you to testify against your father?"

Draco jerked so sharply that the feet of his chair skittered on the dungeon floor. "What are you playing at?"

Harry blinked, then stared. "Nothing. Are you all right? You aren't making much sense."

"Well, what did you mean, he might want me to testify against my father?"

"About what Darswaithe did. About finding the Portkey your father spelled."

"Oh, that." Draco seemed to slump. "No. My father's rather immune to prosecution, if you hadn't noticed. As far as I know, he's never even been charged for abducting you--" He drew in a shaky breath. "Sorry. Didn't mean to mention that."

Harry acknowledged the apology with a nod. "What does Snape want you to do, then?" he questioned.

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco said, standing up. "I'm going back to bed."

"Brooding in our room isn't going to help whatever's troubling you," Harry pointed out. "Weren't you the one who told me to stop sulking?"

"I," Draco stressed, "was up half the night arguing with Severus, and it's not as though he gave me a magic potion to make my problems all go away. So if you don't mind, I'm going to try to sleep, now."

"Potions can't solve all my problems, either," Harry protested. "Listen, if talking to Snape didn't help, why don't you try me? Maybe it's like Hermione said last night . . . you need a more youthful perspective?"

Draco scowled. "The day I take advice from a Muggleborn-- Never mind. I can't tell you my problem, Potter. It's as simple as that."

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

Draco's tone was weary as he answered, "Harry, you are my problem."

With that, he was closing the bedroom door with a definite thud. Not willing to leave it at that, Harry went to pull the door open and found it stuck fast. Draco had secured it with a spell. Harry pounded, then realised there were probably silencing charms up as well.

Well, if Draco needed solitude that badly, Harry reasoned, he ought to have some. Anyway, it wasn't as though Harry could do anything about it. He couldn't even contact Snape, since this definitely didn't qualify as an emergency. Sighing, Harry worked a bit on a Potions essay, careful to include plenty of those transitions Snape thought were so important, then went to study the bookshelves for some texts that might help him unravel the Gryffindors' well-wish.

It didn't take him long to conclude that he was going to need Madam Pince to direct him to the right kind of books. Once, that would have meant owl post and a delay of several hours, at least. Now, Harry used the Floo, though first, he had to scoop up Sals, who had slithered in sometime after breakfast. At least she was fully visible, now.

Harry lifted her to his face and gave her a mock growl. "What am I going to do with you?" he grumbled. "You know better than to sleep in the Floo!"

It must have been Parseltongue he'd spoken, since Sals replied readily enough, saying that the fireplace was the nicest spot in the whole house.

Harry sighed, and let her curl up around his neck as he sat in front of the hearth and tossed in some powder so he could contact the library.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Snape didn't ask after Draco when he came in that evening, but he likely thought that the Slytherin boy was just reading or studying in the bedroom, as often happened. How was Snape to know that Draco had spent the entire day holed up in there, the door spelled so Harry couldn't even get in?

Harry didn't want to get Draco in any trouble--or at least, not any more than he was apparently in already, but he had a feeling that Draco's depression, or whatever it was, would just get worse if something wasn't done about it.

"I'm really worried about Draco," he admitted, wandering into the office where Snape was taking off his teaching cloaks and draping them over the back of his desk chair. "I tried to talk with him, but he pretty much refused. And then he slept all day. Or pretended to. Do you know what the matter is?"

Snape neatly evaded the question. "What did he say the matter might be?"

Harry sighed. "He said his problem is me. How can that be? It's ridiculous. I think he knows I actually do trust him now . . ."

"What if he's afraid that one mistake will have him losing your trust?"

"Well, he doesn't trust me much if he thinks that would happen," Harry retorted. "Look at what happened to Sals. I didn't hold that against him."

Snape came to stand just in front of Harry. "I think it will all work out. Perhaps it is as you said, before, Harry. Draco has been trapped too long down here."

Harry sighed. "Well, there's nothing for it, unless you've reconsidered my invisibility cloak idea? You know, let him fly a bit around the pitch wearing it . . . nobody would know . . ." Snape was giving him such a dark look that Harry abruptly shut up. He knew the man didn't approve of Harry even having such an item. All Harry needed was for Snape to go all fatherly about it and decide to confiscate it until Harry left school. "Never mind," Harry quickly covered his mistake. "Bad idea."

"To say the least," Snape caustically put in. "I understand that the item has been passed down to you from James, but you have put it to more than sentimental use these past several years. I strongly suggest you place it in your trunk and keep it there, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir, perfectly clear," Harry all but gulped.

"I think perhaps there may be something we can do for Draco, all the same," Snape mused, his expression lightening. "Perhaps we can go somewhere for Christmas."

Harry blinked with astonishment. "Are you serious? That'd be great! But uh . . . would it be safe? You know Draco's father's going to be looking for him . . . not to mention me . . . and then there's always Voldemort out to get me . . ."

"I think something can be arranged. After all, Harry, neither Voldemort nor any of his minions will have reason to suspect we aren't here. The place I have in mind should be at least as safe as Black's old house. No, safer still, as the fireplace has never been on the Floo network."

Harry felt his face go chill, and wondered if the blood was draining from it. "But Professor, Sirius' house was so unsafe that Lucius got his hands on me there . . ."

"Only because Lupin led him to it, and you accidentally ended up outside the building proper. That won't happen again. Everything will be all right." Somehow, those last words sounded like Snape was talking about several things at once. "Shall we go inform Draco?"

-----------------------------------------------------------

Snape wasn't too pleased when he realised that Harry's door was charmed shut and that silencing wards were blocking out his every call for Draco. Unlike Harry, however, Snape knew how to deal with it. He drew his wand from a deep trouser pocket and made short work of Draco's makeshift wards, then strode straight in without even knocking.

Draco was sitting cross-legged on his bed, awake but staring into space. He cast Snape a cursory glance when the man flung the door wide, but other than that, didn't react.

"How would you like to go away for Christmas?" Snape opened the conversation.

Draco briefly looked up, his silver eyes wounded. "I . . . I don't have any place to go, Severus. I thought you understood, my relatives have sided with my father, every one. But you and Harry will be wanting to have a father and son holiday, I suppose--"

"No, Draco," Harry said, coming to sit beside the distraught boy. He hesitated a second, then laid a hand on Draco's knee. He almost expected to feel the Samhain needles again, or at least a sick reluctance churning in his belly, but no . . . it was all right. Maybe, he was finally over it, finally healed, inside and out. "We want to get away from the dungeons for Christmas," Harry explained. "All of us. Snape and I never once considered not having you along. Don't be silly."

Draco gave a weak smile, though distress still lurked deep in his eyes. "Oh. Well, that's all right, then. I think if I had to look at these stone walls all through the holiday . . . well, never mind. Yeah, let's get away." He drew in a deep breath and looked fully at Snape. "Anyplace in particular?"

"Yes, but I do believe I'll keep it a surprise," Snape smoothly returned. "I'll go request dinner for the three of us."

"When can we leave?" Harry asked, eager to be somewhere else now that he knew it was a possibility.

"The Hogwarts' express will take most of the students home for holidays on Saturday morning. I think . . . that evening," Snape decided. "We'll be gone most of a fortnight, so pack accordingly."

Harry laughed. "Three days to get packed. I think I can manage it."

Draco dragged himself slowly to his feet, acting more like a man of sixty than a boy of sixteen. "I think I'll have a shower."

"No," Snape sternly announced. "Wait until after dinner, and until after you show me what you've accomplished today in your courses."

"Well, that won't take long," Draco muttered under his breath.

Snape ignored the comment, though later he did insist on Draco catching up on the work he'd neglected during the day.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Ready, Harry?" Snape asked, eyeing the worn duffle Harry was carrying hefted over his shoulder. When Harry nodded, Snape turned to Draco, who was levitating an entire trunk behind him.

Harry couldn't help but goggle. "We're only going to be gone two weeks!"

Draco gave Harry a superior sort of smirk, the kind of expression that would have once had Harry longing to smack him. Now, his main reaction was relief that Draco was finally acting more like himself. Harry suspected, however, that the problem, whatever it had been, hadn't really been solved; Draco was just managing to ignore it. Avoidance . . . it was a technique Harry recognised in himself as well, though he wouldn't have known what to call it if not for that book of Snape's.

"I can't possibly live out of a duffel," Draco drawled, his tone suggesting the prospect to be a fate worse than death. "Some of us have standards, Potter. Some of us have a certain je ne sais quoi without which we'd just be peasants . . ."

For once, Snape didn't threaten points over the "Potter" part of the comment. Harry liked that.

"Some of us know how to pack," Harry teased back. "You don't bring your entire wardrobe with you on a trip, Malfoy. You prioritize."

Draco laughed. "Please. You prioritize; I'll accessorize."

"Enough banter," Snape announced. "We'll all Floo together--"

Harry swallowed hard, all amusement abruptly vanishing. "Ah . . . didn't you say this place was off the Floo network?"

"Unless you want to walk across the grounds to the Apparition boundary, which would put you in full view of any Death Eaters lurking about, not to mention the few Slytherins who have stayed here for the holidays, flooing is the best way to depart."

"Portkey," Harry suggested, grimacing.

"I haven't one prepared," Snape said, narrowing his eyes. "You've been using the Floo a bit of late. Don't tell me you still think it will roast you alive."

"Well . . ."

"Harry, you will be with me. My magic will pull you through regardless of the state of your own."

"And mine," Draco chimed in.

"But--"

Snape looked him square in the eyes. "You are my son," he stated quietly. "Can you truly believe I would do anything to bring you to harm?"

"Or do you think you know magical principles better than Severus does?" Draco added.

Harry thought about that, and nodded. "All right. I guess I'm just remembering . . . ah, Samhain. I think I sort of have a thing about fire, after that." He swallowed. "But if spell residue from the Floo made Sals sick, she certainly can't go through it with us."

"Excellent point," Snape announced. "You have her in your pocket, there? Wrap her around your wrist."

Harry did, angling his body away from Draco. Incanting something under his breath, Snape touched Sals lightly with his wand and changed her into a coil of gold. Harry gasped, but before he could protest, Snape was assuring him, "She'll be fine, Harry. Much better than if she had to floo in her corporeal state."

Draco regarded the bracelet with distaste. "We could always leave her here," he pointed out, clearly not enthralled with the prospect of bringing Sals along on holiday. "She's a snake; she knows how to take care of herself."

"She's a nice little snake," Harry sternly announced. "You shouldn't judge her as evil just because she's a snake. I mean, I got over you being a Slytherin, didn't I?"

To Harry's surprise, Draco sort of paled. It wasn't a good look on a boy who was already so fair-skinned to start with.

"Shall we just go?" Snape suggested, his voice all at once exhausted.

-----------------------------------------------------------

They flooed to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry stumbling a bit as he exited the fireplace into the room familiar from his long Occlumency sessions with Snape. It surprised him a bit that Draco had managed to Floo through, considering the Fidelius Charm and all, but Harry supposed that at some point, Dumbledore must have told Draco about the house's true purpose.

"The Death Eaters know about this place," Harry protested. "It can't be safe for us to spend Christmas here."

"The wards will keep them out of your house," Snape returned.

"Wait, your house?" Draco questioned, looking around.

"Inherited it from my godfather," Harry quietly replied.

"Oh?"

"Sirius Black."

Draco gaped, and Harry didn't know if it was because of Sirius' criminal record, or the fact that Harry's godfather had been a relative of the Malfoys. Maybe Draco knew from Death Eater gossip that Wormtail had been the one who had belonged in Azkaban? Either way, Harry didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to be here. "Professor," he protested, "this really isn't a good place for me to spend the holidays."

"I never imagined it was," Snape returned. "I merely needed a safe place from which to Apparate us." He beckoned to Harry, and when the boy stepped close, pulled him into a warm, firm embrace. "Do you remember doing this in Surrey?"

"I'm hardly likely to forget," Harry murmured, cheek against his father's chest. "You said I'd have enough sense to hang onto you the next time."

"And so you do. Apparition will likely still not agree with you, but with me to absorb the worst of the shock, you shouldn't find it quite so arduous a process." He glanced over at Draco. "I will be back for you in just a moment."

Draco assumed an expression that was bored, smug, and superior. "I've known how to Apparate since I was fifteen," he informed his teacher. "You really ought to teach Harry. But by all means, please do return for me, as I've no idea where to Apparate to."

Snape ignored the barb.

A moment later, Harry felt himself melting and reforming, the sensation sickening, but not nearly as much so as when he'd suffered it unaided. Snape's body was taut as he tried to cushion the impact Harry felt. It helped, it really did.

When Harry could open his eyes, he found himself in a small stone cottage. Sparsely furnished, it had the look of a place that was seldom, if ever used, yet there was no layer of dust such as one would expect. Something about the place was vaguely familiar, but Harry was certain he'd never seen it before. His brow furrowed as he puzzled over that.

Setting down his duffel, Harry studied the room more closely. No, he'd definitely never seen that huge stone fireplace before, or the window view overlooking a fragrant meadow.

Fragrant . . .

That was it; the place smelled familiar. Harry breathed it in, sorting out the scents. Clear, clean grass . . . the slightly musty odour of a thatched roof above . . . acrid ashes sitting in the hearth . . .

Other scents came to him, phantom ones he couldn't smell just now, but they'd been here once. Memory brought them wafting back. Hot cider and oatmeal, the pungent odour of Muggle salves. He heard rain against the eaves, though it was a clear day, now.

But he'd been here when it was raining, hadn't he . . .

"Devon!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "We're in Devon! This is where you took care of me after Samhain!"

Snape inclined his head. He had been studying Harry closely, and holding his shoulder in case the boy still needed support, but at that he let go and stepped slightly away. "My own little cottage in the wilds," he lightly mocked himself. "Albus refers to it as a 'shack,' I do believe. But short of Hogwarts, it's as safe a place as there can be. The entire meadow surrounding us is unplottable, and the house itself coated in wards. Of course there is no blood-protection here, but neither do any Death Eaters suspect its existence." Snape returned his gaze to Harry's. "I will return for Draco now, if you feel secure?"

Harry nodded, and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a bit. Well, it was December . . . Ironic, really, that the dungeons were warmer than this cottage, but then again, Snape kept them well-spelled. Except for during the night . . . "Yeah, go get him," Harry answered. He didn't think he was nervous, really, but some part of him must have been, for he heard himself babble next, "he's probably been all around Sirius' house by now."

"Your house," Snape gently corrected.

"Could you help me get a solicitor or whatever wizards use?" Harry suddenly asked. "I don't want it. I think I'd like to give it away."

"That's a discussion for after the holidays, I believe. I will be back in a moment with Draco."

Harry nodded, and watched his father Disapparate.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Draco was less than impressed with the cottage. "I thought we were going on holiday," he complained. "This whole place is smaller than the measly quarters they allot you at Hogwarts!" Harry elbowed Draco. Hard, but the Slytherin boy chose not to take the hint. "And just one bedroom," he continued. "And that bathroom looks like it hasn't been re-spelled in a hundred years! Honestly, how are the three of us supposed to survive here for two weeks?"

"We can always go back to the dungeons if my house offends your sensibilities."

Draco stilled. "Oh, no, not the dungeons." He gave a theatrical shudder. "I'd rather go camping than go back there just yet . . . wait. Did you say your house, Severus?"

Snape merely nodded, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Oh," murmured Draco in belated understanding as he sat down on his trunk. "Well, it's . . . ah, lovely, Severus. So . . . um, cozy, yes. And quaint."

"Give it up," Harry groaned. "You are one lousy liar."

"Am not. Weasley believed me when I told him you'd never slept in Snape's bed."

"As I recall, he didn't," Harry returned. He looked all around the small room they were in, which appeared to be some sort of general purpose space. A rather tattered sofa along one uneven stone wall, a rough-hewn dining table shoved up against another, and in between, nothing but a rug that looked as though it had been crocheted out of rags. There wasn't even any kitchen, though several crates on the table suggested that food might have been laid in. "Where should we put our things, sir?"

"I thought you and Draco could share the bedroom," Snape answered, waving toward the door.

Draco had already been in there. He nodded slightly. "Sure. I'll just transfigure the big bed in there into two smaller ones, like before." He drew his wand and flexed it as though already visualizing what he had in mind.

Harry couldn't believe the Slytherin boy's insensitivity. First insults, though unintentional, and now this? "We can't put you out of your room, Professor," he earnestly insisted, walking over to where Snape was beginning to Incendio a fire to ward off the pervasive chill in the cottage. "Really. I'd rather sleep on the floor than take your bed again."

Draco scoffed. "Wizards don't ever sleep on the floor, Harry. All you need is a stick of wood and a minimal knowledge of Transfiguration, and voilà, a proper bed appears."

"Draco exaggerates but he does have a point," Snape murmured. "If I cared to, I could turn this place into something a bit grander. At any rate, I insist the two of you share the room. I want you both to have a happy Christmas."

Harry could have told him that he could be just as happy camping out in the living room, whatever Draco thought of the prospect. To refuse again, though, would be ungracious. "Thank you, sir," he softly said.

Snape gave him an irritated glance, which Harry supposed must mean that thanks weren't needed between father and son. Harry happened to think they were, but that was one more thing he decided not to argue about.

"Just go settle in," Snape advised. "Feel free to move anything that's in your way. Make yourselves at home. Actually, Harry, you are at home."

Right of abode, Harry remembered, nodding. The whole concept still seemed strange to him; he was too used to thinking of himself as without a home. It was nice to have a room in Snape's quarters, but sometimes, he still felt like a guest there, though he knew he really shouldn't. This place . . . Harry glanced around, again. He liked the dungeons well enough, he supposed, but there was something about this place that he really liked. A lot.

Maybe it was the lack of clutter, or the comfortable, worn feeling all around. It seemed the opposite of the house he'd grown up in, the house that had never been a home. Harry smiled. He didn't feel like a guest, here. It was like things were just right.

When Harry entered the room, Draco was lying idly on the bed, flicking his wand to and from to make his clothes levitate themselves over to an armoire that had seen better days. The clothes proceeded to wrap themselves around wooden hangers, which Harry though a pretty neat, if relatively useless trick. He for one didn't think that wizard had to mean lazy. "What's that?" he asked, prodding a slightly dusty box beside Draco on the bed.

Draco barely spared it a glance. "Found it stuffed in the armoire," he answered, shoving it over toward Harry. "Must belong to Severus."

"I'll go ask him what to do with it, then," Harry answered, since there wasn't really anywhere else to put it except on the floor. That hardly seemed polite. He was just turning away with it when Draco came up on his knees on the bed, and leaning forward, neatly snatched it from Harry's hands. He lifted the largish box to the side of his head and shook it to and fro.

"What are you doing?"

"Maybe it's a Christmas present," Draco trilled, a wicked grin lighting up his features. "I wonder if it's for you or for me." He began to lift the top off the box.

"If it were a present it would be wrapped," Harry objected. "Put it down; it's Snape's personal stuff, whatever it is."

"He said to make ourselves at home," Draco reminded Harry, whipping the box top off before the other boy could protest further. "Hmm. Just some old clothes," he commented, pulling something black out of the box and shaking it out.

Something fell to the stone floor. As Harry went to pick it up, his breath hitched, his hand freezing in midair.

Draco realised at the same moment just what he was holding. "Shite!" he exclaimed, shoving the garments away with both hands and jumping back from the ominous black fabric that settled gracefully to the floor, splaying itself out in a long line suggestive of the human form. Beside it, almost at the level the head, lay the item that had fallen from its folds.

Side by side on the grey floor they lay.

Robe and mask.

Hooded robe, Death Eater mask.

Harry stiffened, his whole body feeling like it had gone into some sort of paralysis. It wasn't clothing lying there before him, it was the last person he'd seen wearing the evil garments Voldemort demanded of his followers.

Lucius Malfoy, in full Death Eater regalia.

Harry's eyes felt on fire as fury boiled up inside him, as a longing to hurt as he'd been hurt seemed to consume his every cell. He could feel it again, everything he'd suffered at this man's hands. The thirst, the needles, the burning.

Draco was yelling something, his hands gesturing wildly, but Harry couldn't hear anything past the roaring in his ears, an avalanche of sound made up of nothing but his own screams on Samhain. Layer past layer of agonized wailing, sensations rushing through him, fear and pain and horror . . . and then something else, coming in the wake of all that. A hatred too intense for words. Vengeance beyond Azkaban, beyond the petty niceties of trial and accusation and sentence. Vengeance that wouldn't wait, that didn't care that Unforgivables were called that for a reason.

His hands jerked upwards, palms facing out, fingers widely spread as power ricocheted through him like a Bludger gone berserk. Heat rose through his skin and spilled over into the air. Wild magic, unfurling itself like a banner, unleashing itself to blast the house and occupants and meadow all around.

Except, it didn't.

Harry could feel the magic lashing forth from him, could feel the hatred and rage eager to immolate the countryside itself, but he felt something else, too.

Power. Control.

With a scream of absolute pure fury, he yanked his hands together and stretched his arms forward to point at the horrid clothing on the floor. A flaming emerald jet of magic shot from his fingertips to immolate the offending garments. It went on and on, a blaze of anger, of raw magical energy, the air filling with acrid smoke as the clothes caught on fire and the mask began to melt. Harry kept screaming, his throat rasping with hoarseness, his lungs deprived of oxygen because he couldn't stop long enough to take a breath.

The mask's mouth and eye holes contorted as though in pain as the clothing twisted in the fire, and Harry could see Lucius lying there, Lucius burning . . .

Time seemed to slow, and almost stop. Draco was moving sluggishly, but Harry saw that only from the corner of his eye. His whole field of vision was taken up with the fire. A pyre, now, reaching up almost to the thatch roof overhead, the flames a brilliant Avada Kedavra green.

It might have gone on forever, but Harry felt himself abruptly yanked from behind, his hands pulled to his sides and forcibly held there, a palm clapped over his eyes to blind him like on Samhain. He struggled, his screams changing calibre from full-throated adult rage to frightened adolescent horror. Time snapped in on itself, the room seeming to jerk as though the whole world had been yanked elsewhere by a Portkey.

The roaring in his ears stopped, his senses filling with present instead of past. Draco, white-faced, water spraying from his wand as he fought the fire back from the ceiling. Hand hands holding him, the grip fierce. Bitter smoke clogging his nostrils and lungs.

Harry coughed, sputtering, and heard Snape murmur, "Thank Merlin, you're out of it, now. Breathe, Harry . . . yes, good. Come on now, sit down on the bed with me."

For a long moment there was no sound except the swish of water splashing against stone, and then Snape spoke again. "Are you going to be all right, now?"

Harry leaned weakly on Snape, feeling light-headed and ill. He tried not to glance at the floor, but his gaze seemed pulled there. The robe and mask, ruined beyond recognition, lay in a puddle of water blackened with ash.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say, the words coming from some deep core of certainty inside him. It frightened him, this certainty. This wasn't like a seer dream, to be questioned and analyzed and doubted from start to finish. This was true prophecy, or perhaps more aptly, it was simply truth.

"Oh, the house isn't damaged," Snape replied, his hand rubbing circles against Harry's back. "For wild magic, that was remarkably well-controlled. In fact, I don't believe I would term it wild at all. Your powers did what you most wished."

Harry shook his head, hair flying wildly as he tried to make them understand. "No. Wasn't talking to you. Him. Draco," he gasped, the words slipping out of his grasp the minute he tried to say them. Taking a moment, he consciously tried to calm himself, dragging in breath after cleansing breath.

Draco's silver eyes clouded over with puzzlement and fear in equal measure. He glanced at Snape. Harry felt the man shrug. "Pardon?" Draco asked.

Another breath. Then Harry looked again at the charred remains of robe and mask, a testament to all the evil that had filled his life since he was one year old. "I'm going to do that again someday," he said through gritted teeth. "To another set of clothes. One with your father inside them. And when I do, it'll hurt you. And so . . ." he almost couldn't say it, since he hated Lucius Malfoy so very much. But he didn't hate Draco, and no matter how evil Lucius was, he was still Draco's father. Draco might wish him in Azkaban, but he didn't wish him dead.

But Harry did.

He looked Draco full in the face. "I'm sorry," he said again, the sound a rasp of pain and resolve. He knew what it was to lose a parent . . . but that wasn't going to stop him when it came to Lucius, it just wasn't. Unable to bear those silver eyes a moment more, Harry closed his own, turned his face into the warm, soft wool of his father's cloak, and wept.

Chapter End Notes:

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Forty-Eight: Truthful Dream

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


You must login (register) to review.
[Report This]


Disclaimer Charm: Harry Potter and all related works including movie stills belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Bros, and Bloomsbury. Used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made off of this site. All fanfiction and fanart are the property of the individual writers and artists represented on this site and do not represent the views and opinions of the Webmistress.

Powered by eFiction 3.5