Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Time For Cocoa

Snape came in that evening while Harry and Draco were eating dinner. "Ah, good," he remarked as he wearily hung his robes and took the chair between them. For all the comment, though, he didn't help himself to any food.

At Draco's quizzical glance, Snape seemed to remember something. His expression darkening, he caustically requested, "The next time Harry stops eating entirely, could you see fit to mention the matter, Draco?"

Draco cast an accusing glare Harry's way. "You didn't eat yesterday? Not anything? I thought you were sneaking meals at odd times to avoid us."

Harry flushed. "I had some chocolate-covered raspberries--"

"Harry," Draco drawled, "just because your relatives starved you as punishment doesn't mean you have to do the same thing to yourself."

"I wasn't!"

"No?" Snape challenged, his cool black gaze steady on Harry.

"I just wasn't very hungry," Harry started to explain. "I . . . I don't know. I suppose I might have learned early on that skipping meals goes right along with being upset."

"You didn't skip meals as a child; you were abused," Snape corrected, his voice harsh. "Do not do that to yourself again."

"I won't," Harry promised, brow furrowed.

"You won't," Draco echoed, shaking his head. "Just like that, you won't. Where's your sense of strategy? Here you have a perfect opportunity to blackmail Severus into eating more regularly, too."

"I don't want to blackmail anyone."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he looked at Snape. "He doesn't care to apply a little judicious blackmail? When's this boy going to get a bit more Slytherin?"

"No doubt Harry will act as Slytherin as he likes when he feels that to be his best strategy," Snape said, his black eyes flashing as though to say he didn't care to be challenged on the point again. "But that is up to him."

Harry appreciated Snape's comments, but the topic still made him uncomfortable. "So, are you hungry, sir?" he changed the subject. "Can I get you something?"

"I ate dinner with the Order," Snape admitted.

"I thought you never stayed . . .?"

Snape looked a bit amused. "While I was spying, Harry, it wasn't a good idea for me to get too social with the side of Light. I had an image to maintain. By the way, Arthur Weasley sends his regards. I dare say he thinks you've been a good influence on me."

"And vice-versa," Harry quietly acknowledged.

"That as well," Snape agreed, his amusement turning dark. "Molly Weasley had no end of conversation on that very topic. Just as well she can talk and cook at the same time, else we'd all still be waiting dinner."

"Ugh, she cooked?" Draco asked, no thought in him of tact. He pretended a bit of contemplation. "Ah well, I suppose she'd have to as the Weasels can't afford a single house-elf. Pitiful. No offence, Severus. So what did you end up eating, stewed newspaper clippings with a side of old shoes?"

"She makes excellent cheese sauce, I'll have you know!" Harry erupted, and then turning to his father, pressed, "How did it all go?"

"With the Order?" Harry had meant with Ron, actually, but Snape kept right on talking. "Minerva gleaned from a feline memory that Voldemort seems determined to cast his net across the English Channel. We've warned the wizarding authorities in France that attacks on Muggleborns may begin at any time."

"The Dark Lord blabs his plans to cats?" Draco questioned.

"He grows giddy watching torture and speaks immoderately," Snape corrected. "The cat that happened to be there for the Lake District atrocities has no understanding of what it witnessed, but when Minerva managed to draw the memories out, she realised what Voldemort had said." Snape folded his hands together and seemed to bolster himself before speaking again. "Draco, you should be aware that indications now suggest Voldemort wants you returned to him alive."

The Slytherin boy froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "What indications?"

"Your father has withdrawn the warrant he put out for your death, but the reward being offered for your person has tripled. Students in Slytherin are now being suborned to simply remove you from the Hogwarts grounds."

Draco slumped. "It's going to be torture, then."

Snape nodded in grim agreement. "No doubt as part of the interrogation. You've been living in a room with Harry Potter for months. Voldemort will want to know what you've learned."

Draco shivered all over. "Excuse me, please. I feel a need for a shower."

Harry felt his own flesh crawl at the look on Draco's face. And no wonder; after witnessing Samhain, the Slytherin boy knew only too well just what kind of fate awaited him at Voldemort's . . . or possibly his own father's, hands. "I'm . . . sorry," he whispered, realizing as the words slipped out how inadequate they were. He hadn't regretted being friends with Draco before, but now, hearing that the friendship actually put the other boy in danger?

It was an awful feeling, just awful.

The Potions Master drew in a breath. "Draco . . . I am sorry to have to tell you this, so soon after the other, but you need to know. Mr Weasley will resume his detentions tomorrow."

Narrowing his silver eyes, Draco assessed Snape's expression. "There's something more; I can tell. Well? Let's have it, Severus."

"Harry's friend will be taking dinner with us until further notice."

At that, Draco curled a lip. "Salt for my wounds?"

"Separating Harry from his friends weakens him," Snape calmly observed. "And as your life depends on a Harry strong enough to defeat Voldemort, I expect you to fully support this new plan. You will cease being rude to Mr Weasley, is that clear?"

"As Lubaantum," Draco coldly answered, turning his back on them.

Harry waited until the bedroom door was closed. "Lubaantum?"

Snape waved a tired hand. "Wizarding crystal. Quite renowned, though I doubt Draco's ever seen any. Lucius wouldn't have approved as it's not European."

Harry thought that was more information than he probably needed, but in his rush to find out about Ron, he didn't stop to wonder why his father was a bit less succinct than usual. "So . . . um, Ron. You aren't still going to make him write lines, are you?"

Please say no, he thought. Please please please say no . . .

A mocking glance from those black eyes announced that Snape knew exactly what Harry was thinking. "As it turned out, Mr Weasley himself supplied the solution to our dilemma. Not unlike what you did a few months back when you demanded that extra test from me." A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Your friend claimed that his grades had taken a sudden downturn ever since he was obliged to spend so much time doing lines. He was behind in all his classes, he said. Well. What could I do but insist he join the nightly revision I am already running for two other students in his year?"

Harry's breath caught. "I imagine he tried to back out as soon as he heard that."

"Mmm, quite valiantly. I told him that of course his studies were paramount and out of deference to that, we would consider his lines at an end, just so long as he continued studying here until such time as I pronounced him competent in each subject." Snape smirked. "The Weasleys hailed me as eminently reasonable, which left their son adrift in a fog of objections no one was listening to."

"And then," Harry surmised, "you mentioned that since we usually began our revision over dinner, he might as well join us."

"The coup de grace," Snape murmured.

"Well, that should give him lots and lots of time with us," Harry recognised. "Though we'll have to make sure it's not just studying he sees. Thank you, sir."

Snape merely nodded his head.

"So, going back a bit to this morning . . ." Harry ventured, "Are there any solicitors in the wizarding world? I really don't know how anything works. Can you tell me what needs to be done about . . ."

"The matter of your house? Shall we discuss it in the office?"

Harry didn't know why it mattered if Draco overheard, but he nodded and followed his father down the hallway. "So," Snape began as he shut the door and took one of the two leather chairs that faced the desk, "as I understand it, you wish to divest yourself of the property."

"And Sirius' vault," Harry added.

"Albus has the key," Snape volunteered. "As executor, he has instructions to hold it and all deeds until you reach your majority."

"Then we need to talk to him."

Harry's father shook his head. "Tell me, why this haste to rid yourself of the things your godfather wished you to have?"

"I . . ." Harry leaned his head back on the chair back. "You know how I feel."

A flick of Snape's wand had the fire in the office grate merrily blazing to life. "Yes. You feel responsible."

Harry groaned. "Please, sir, can we not go over this whole thing again? I do understand that there are other ways to look at the matter, but I still feel horribly guilty."

"Perhaps so," Snape admitted, laying his wand aside. "Nevertheless, it's far too soon for you to lay aside the bequest. You may feel differently later."

Staring into the fire, Harry vowed, "I'm never going to change my mind. Never, sir. I swear."

"Harry, you are sixteen, not sixty."

"Sixteen's mostly grown."

When Harry would have continued, Snape held up a hand. "Trust me when I say that someday, you may well be grateful that I required you to wait. You told me at Christmas that you wanted to know what it was like to be a child. That you wanted to be able to depend on someone. So . . . can you bring yourself to depend on me, on my wisdom in this matter? Harry . . . let me be your father in this. "

Put like that, it was hard to refuse. Actually Harry thought he might start bawling or something. Well, not really, he supposed, but there was sort of a tight feeling in his throat. "All right." He nodded to emphasize his agreement.

Snape favoured him with a small smile. "Excellent."

Harry didn't think so. Oh, the father part was, but not the house part. He still didn't want it. It was a strange feeling, though, the idea that now he had somebody to help him with decisions like that. Somebody to give him advice. Somebody who cared enough, even, to give him advice he'd rather not have heard.

No, not somebody.

A father.

Feeling less alone than he had in a long time . . . well, less alone than he ever had, really, was probably what gave Harry the confidence to venture, "About Ron. Can I suggest, sir . . ." Unsure how to phrase it, Harry chewed his lip.

"Yes?"

"It's just . . . remember, I told you Ron doesn't do subtle? Well, why don't you try sitting him down for a talk? I think he'd appreciate being treated like a friend of your son's, instead of um . . . like some bothersome insect you'd just as soon swat."

"I'll treat him as your friend the moment he begins acting like one," Snape replied, his black eyes implacable.

"That's not right for you to wait for him to make the first move," Harry pointed out. "You're the responsible adult. The professor. You're supposed to be more mature."

"Supposed to be?" Snape slanted him a glance.

Harry sighed. "The way I hear it, back when I was blind you were taking points off Ron just for glaring. And don't say you did it because the behaviour was inappropriate. You've been taking unfair points off Gryffindor for years, for no other reason than that . . ."

"Yes?" Snape asked, rather darkly.

"Well, you hate Gryffindor," Harry said, his tone suggesting that that was pretty obvious, after all.

"I . . ." Snape snapped his mouth shut, only to resume speaking a moment later. "Well. There is one Gryffindor whom I assure you most emphatically I do not hate."

"Yeah, I remember." Harry grinned a little bit, the memory still one that warmed him. "You don't hate me at all." When Snape said nothing, Harry went on, "Honestly, I don't think you hate Ron either, do you? Or Hermione. Hmm, maybe you do actually hate Neville."

"Hatred is a very strong emotion," Snape merely said.

Harry didn't know what that might mean, but he figured they might be heading into dangerous waters if he kept on, so he only said, "Well, think about what I said, okay? Ron's more likely to see what's in front of his nose if you don't get in his face."

"That is a horrible concatenation of imagery," Snape saw fit to inform him.

"I'm talking to my father, not writing an essay," Harry retorted.

"Your essays show the same flaws," Snape countered.

"Will you sit Ron down for a talk or not?" Harry asked, exasperated.

Snape levelled a serious glance at him. "I will consider it." Harry figured that would have to be good enough. For now, anyway.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Snape merely watching the flames, apparently content to just share in Harry's company. Harry, however, was anything but content. Their fight was obviously over, which was all well and good, but he knew he still needed to talk to his father about it. Draco and Snape could apparently just skip that part and go on. Maybe it had to do with being Slytherin. Harry didn't think he was exactly an overemotional Hufflepuff, but neither could he just ignore the awful things Snape had said and done.

"I . . . I'm a bit surprised you still haven't brought up what happened on Friday night," he hesitantly admitted as he turned toward his father. "Not the Ron part. I mean, the Draco and me part."

Snape shrugged. "Are you asking if I've plans to punish you yet further? I thought five hundred points was likely chastisement enough."

"Points and being locked out," Harry ventured, biting his lip until it really hurt, that time.

Snape glanced up, his black eyes deeply shadowed, yet glimmering with surprise. "That wasn't punishment. I was simply occupied."

"With . . ." Harry had been going to say Draco, but decided it would make him sound like an ungrateful jealous little shite. "With something more important than me," he amended, only to realise that wording wasn't much of an improvement.

"It was not more important," Snape corrected, closing his eyes. "It simply could not wait."

"But why'd you have to lock me out?" The question came tumbling out on its own, sounding so plaintive that Harry cringed.

When the Potions Master opened his eyes, Harry realised the man looked absolutely exhausted, as though he were suffering from a fatigue that went far beyond the physical. "Never mind," he hurriedly said. "You should go get some rest, I think, sir."

Snape shook his head. "That can wait, especially given how deeply I slept last night."

Harry blinked. "So that's why you didn't answer my knock?"

Sitting up straighter, Snape urgently pressed, "You needed me in the night?"

"No . . . well, yes. But just to talk. I guess . . . well, I couldn't help but notice that you were avoiding me all day Saturday."

A sigh broke the air. "I admit that I was still angry. But that is not why I locked the door. I . . . needed to eliminate distractions."

"Draco isn't a distraction, but I am?"

Snape's long hair swayed as he denied that. "Draco has helped me before with the task I was engaged in. And you . . ." His voice dropped. "The full truth is that I locked you out because I would prefer you not know certain things."

Harry tensed, his fingers almost clawing the leather arm of the chair as his dream danced before his eyes.

"My Dark Mark was flaring," Snape quietly admitted, his voice a low hush, barely audible against the crackling of the flames.

"The Death Eater gathering," Harry breathed, appalled. He'd asked once how Snape was managing, and the man had put him off, and Harry had been only too willing to forget the matter. But he shouldn't have been, he realised now. "Oh, sweet Merlin. No wonder you were so cross about Ron, that night. Are you in horrible pain very often?"

"The pain commenced some hours after your friend left. And as for often . . ." Snape paused, clearly reluctant to divulge, "I have found a way to tolerate it, but my solution is . . . inelegant."

Harry understood, then. "You and Draco were working on the remedy all day yesterday."

A low curse crossed Snape's clenched lips. "Remedy is far too kind a term. You have probably heard that the Mark is somewhat akin to your own curse scar? That it cannot be removed?"

Harry slowly nodded, his eyes wide with distress.

"It cannot be magically removed," Snape corrected, all at once sounding much the teacher. "Skin can always be sliced off. However, the Mark returns as the wound heals, which happens at a preternatural rate, as the spell's purpose is to keep me marked. Do you follow me thus far?"

Harry swallowed back the foul taste that had risen to his mouth. "Yeah. You've been cutting it out of your arm over and over, haven't you?"

"Essentially," Snape admitted. "Even that strategy would be of little effect, however, if not for a topical Potion I began developing shortly after Samhain. Necessity truly is the mother of invention, I have concluded. This Potion greatly slows healing, and so delays the need for another session with the knife. Don't look so ill, Harry. I put a strong numbing agent in the Potion, obviously."

"And so yesterday . . ."

"The Mark had grown back. When Voldemort began to call his followers, I felt it. Draco helped me cut it out again."

Ashamed that he'd looked so obviously nauseated, Harry rallied, "I could have helped you, Professor. It's not just Draco who can stomach . . . oh, I think I understand. Draco has to help you because you're applying a little of what that book called aversion therapy."

"It started that way," Snape admitted. "You were blind and in the hospital wing, and the Mark had grown back--I first cut it off myself back in Devon. Healer Marjygold visited you in the cottage and gave me a salve that worked remarkably poorly . . . It was not until we returned here that I could develop something better . . ." For a moment that stretched out almost endlessly, Snape closed his eyes and simply rested. Then he added in wandering tones, "Did I say poorly? It might have been a Longbottom creation, it was so inefficacious. Hog's swill, truly. Perhaps that was the active ingredient . . ."

"Sir . . ." Harry cleared his throat, recognizing not only that Snape was rambling, but that he'd been doing so earlier, too, when he'd spoken of Lubaantum. The man's behaviour began to make more sense. "Perhaps you should have an early night, after all?"

"No, I want to finish this," Snape insisted, wiping a hand across his weary eyes. "Where was I? Oh, yes. The next time the Mark flared, I decided that Draco might benefit from getting a good look at what Voldemort does to his followers."

Snape was rolling up his sleeve by then, turning back the fabric in neat, methodical folds to bare a large expanse of bandage on his forearm. It looked just like a Muggle wound dressing to Harry, except for the lack of any tape.

As Snape began to peel the dressing back, Harry cried out, "You don't have to show me, Professor! I believe you!"

"It never occurred to me that you didn't," Snape calmly returned. "But now that you know, there is no reason why you should not see."

Beneath the bandage was an expanse of . . . well, the best Harry could do was liken it to raw meat.

Snape flipped the bandage back down and unrolled his sleeve, neatly buttoning his cuff as he spoke. "As for last night, Harry. I simply didn't hear your knock. You didn't assume the worst, I trust?"

By then, Harry was ashamed he'd doubted the man. "I thought you must have gone out," he exaggerated. Snape probably knew it was a bit of misdirection, but he didn't comment on it. "You were just asleep, then?"

"More like comatose," Snape admitted. "Even now, I'm still not quite my normal self. And for that you may blame Draco. While my back was turned, he laced my herbal tea with an overdose of the Painless Sleep I make for you."

"But mine's made five times normal strength!" Harry gasped. "Oh, dear. That's a bad mistake for him to make."

"It was no mistake, I quite assure you," Snape drawled. "The young man had seen how worn out I was after hours in pain, had realised that a direct assault on the Mark entails a magical drain besides. Undisturbed sleep is actually the best treatment. He meant well."

"Yeah, but what if he'd accidentally given you enough to do you harm?"

Snape gave him a look. "I assure you, I would have taken a purgative at once."

Harry gaped a bit. "You knew at the time?"

Snape softly snorted. "I am a Potions Master, after all." He tapped the side of his nose. "Not much gets past this."

"I guess not," Harry murmured. "I'm surprised you drank it in that case."

"In retrospect, I see I should have gone to speak with you first." Snape briefly hung his head in his hands, then sat up again, his dark eyes seeking out Harry's gaze. "I must ask your forgiveness, I think. It is no excuse . . . but by then I had been in agony for some hours. Looking back, I can only think I was not quite in my right mind."

"It's all right." Harry drew in a breath. "Caffeine must be an antidote to the Potion, huh? I thought it was weird this morning, you drinking all that coffee. Why not just use some Pepper-Up, though?"

"I did use some," Snape told him. "I needed all my faculties for the Order meeting, after all. Caffeine helps the effects of Pepper-Up last a good while longer, hence the coffee."

"But it's all worn off now," Harry noted, frowning. "Maybe you should take some more?"

Snape shrugged. "I believe I told you once that Potions aren't the solution for everything. At this point I merely need more rest. Natural rest would be best, I do believe. One would think I'd be more used to the process of dealing with the Dark Mark by now. I have done it several times."

"I don't remember you ever locking the door before, though," Harry pointed out.

"You're just not often up and about at the late hour when the pain usually strikes. I would use a charm to silently summon Draco, and leave you to sleep."

That made sense. "How come you wait until the pain strikes to cut it off, though?" Harry had to wonder. "It seems like you could avoid feeling Voldemort's call completely if you . . . er, sliced the Mark off as soon as it started to show at all?"

Snape sighed. "A reasonable supposition. However, there are other matters to consider." Another sigh, this one a long, tired one. "It's quite a literal matter that a curse scar cannot be destroyed, Harry. The flesh that's taken off me will not decay, and since Voldemort's magic is inside it, it is not something I can merely leave for the house-elves to sweep away. Nor can I allow it to sit out unprotected. Without a physical connection to my own magic, the spells forming it could become unstable and begin to permeate the air and building around us. To counter this problem, Draco was helping me renew the stasis Potion I have been using for . . . storage. We did that first. By late afternoon we had proceeded to deal with the Mark itself."

"Oh God," Harry thickly groaned, imagining all those hours with the Mark burning . . . no wonder Snape had succumbed to the lure of being comatose for a while. No wonder, even, that he had needed help in the lab. "What did you do in Devon, sir? You said you first cut it off your arm, there? You didn't have a stasis Potion ready to receive it, did you?"

"No such Potion existed, not then. This has been trial and error." Snape looked a bit grim. "Back in Devon, Albus took the Mark away with him after he came bringing supplies for you. We had high hopes that perhaps we could confound Voldemort should he attempt to track me through the Mark. All we accomplished, however, was to spill dark magic inside Hogwarts. Hence the urgent need for a stasis Potion."

"You're really good at what you do," Harry admitted, a little bit in awe. "And you're really brave."

Snape frowned, but didn't say anything.

When Harry glanced at Snape's sleeve, he almost fancied he could see through fabric and bandage to the bloody flesh beneath. "I have to hurry up and kill that son of a bitch," he realised. "Because until I do, you'll keep on doing this to yourself."

The frown reached the man's eyes. "Why do you think I kept it from you, Harry? You have long had more worries than anyone your age should. This problem is mine."

"Yeah, but I could end it--"

Snape leaned forward, his tones urgent, his dark eyes not so much endless tunnels now as filled with earnest intent. "Someday you shall, I have no doubt. But only when the time is ripe, Harry. Only when you are grown and ready. If you push yourself into battle unprepared, you will lose us the war--"

How could the man be so dense? "I don't care about the war," Harry cried. "I care about you!"

"Ah." Snape's whole body seemed to marginally relax. "Yes. I . . . Thank you, Harry. That's . . . good to hear, hyperbole and all."

"Huh?"

"Hyperbole. Exaggeration. That is, I'm certain you're concerned about the war as well. But as for caring about me . . . well. If you attempt to help me before you are ready, you can only make my situation far more dire."

That was certainly true. Harry gave a jerky, reluctant nod.

"Enough of that," Snape decided. "So. Did you come to me in the night merely to inquire about the locked door?"

Say yes, something inside Harry urged him. Tell him that's all you had on your mind, and that everything's fine now. Because everything is.

But fine or not, was that the kind of relationship he wanted to have with his father? One in which he pretended he wasn't bothered even though he was? What Snape had said had been just horrible. And yeah, it seemed like they were past it now, and it wasn't like Harry wanted to hold a grudge or anything, but . . . well, he couldn't just sweep it under the rug.

Even if Snape could.

Harry brought his knees up to his chest and hugged his legs as he looked at his father with wide, distressed eyes. All at once the ring hanging around his neck felt unbearably heavy. He reached beneath his jumper and pulled it out, turning it over and over in his fingers as he admitted, "I was pretty worried about the things you said, Professor."

"In the heat of anger, people say hurtful things," Snape returned, looking straight into his eyes. "I refuse to believe you are not old enough to realise this."

"Yeah, but--"

"Another thing you might keep in mind," the man interrupted, "is that quite often family members are the ones who say the very foulest things of all. Think about it. People will say things to their family that they would never dream of saying to a mere acquaintance. The closer the bond, the more willing people are to test it to its limit."

Harry couldn't help but scoff, "By that measure, Professor, my Muggle family and I were as close as two peas in a pod. They had no end of foul things to say to me."

Snape tapped his fingertips together. "True. I should keep in mind that you lived fifteen years without a decent model of family. So. Perhaps you should refresh my memory as to what was said."

Harry doubted Snape was that forgetful, but if the Slytherin wanted to play it that way, fine. "You said it was unforgivable, what I told Draco."

"I said it was indefensible," Snape corrected. "Which is not quite the same thing."

"Yeah, well you said I didn't deserve to be your son," Harry blurted. "What was that?"

"Equally indefensible, I should think." The man gave a heavy sigh. Then, proving that his memory hardly needed refreshing, he detailed, "I do believe my exact words were, At the moment you are being stupid and you don't deserve to be my son. And at that particular moment, Harry, you didn't. I expected more of you."

"Yeah, but the way you handled the points also showed that you didn't want me any longer," Harry confessed, looking down at his hands as they fiddled with the ring. "And that really hurt. Maybe more so than the comment, because that might have been off-the-cuff, but to accomplish the points thing, you had to give it some thought. And you still did it."

"I took points from Ronald Weasley, not you."

"No, you didn't. You used Ron so you could punish me without punishing Slytherin. But if I'm really your son, I'm in Slytherin too. Taking points only from Gryffindor is like saying I'm nothing to do with you." When Snape didn't reply, Harry pressed, "Can't you see that?"

He looked up to notice Snape regarding him thoughtfully. "You felt I had somehow denied the adoption by so doing?"

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. "I even had a bad dream about it. Because . . . well, you said the adoption became real when it was real in your mind, remember? And if it wasn't any longer . . ."

"You daft boy," Snape softly murmured, picking up his wand. He waved it all around, incanting spells that sounded vaguely like the ones he'd used to ward his quarters, and as Harry watched, a brilliant green glow began to creep forth from deep in the walls. "There, Harry, there they are. Strong and thick as ever, protecting you. Now, watch."

He spoke again, a chant involving tempus, but the warding spells reacted not at all, remaining a steady, constant glow.

"That was a time spell," Snape explained. "Showing you the condition of the wards for the past few days. Did you see them so much as flicker?"

Harry shook his head.

"They never wavered because I have never wavered. Would you like to watch the spells spun all the way back to the beginning?"

"No." Harry thought a moment. "But if belief is all you need to make the magic take root, why did we need Wizard Family Services at all?"

Snape paused to think too. "I think perhaps we needed them because you needed to believe, too."

"Yeah, the adoption wouldn't have seemed real to me without the legal end of things, I guess," Harry realised. That explained the dream, too, didn't it? After all, it had been about nothing but legalities.

"Having availed ourselves of the legal process has certain advantages, however," Snape continued. "Suppose you were to grow angry enough that you no longer wished me for a father--"

"That won't happen, sir," Harry interrupted. "I promise."

"I speak in hypotheticals." Harry couldn't help but notice that the man looked pleased, even as he went on, "As I was saying, if you were that distraught, the spells might flicker, but I seriously doubt they would vanish, since now those selfsame spells rest on a contractual as well as an interpersonal basis. Do you follow? You are very secure here. Nothing short of mutual repudiation can erase a magically binding contract. And I assure you Harry . . . in fact, I promise, no matter how irate you or I might become, I will never repudiate you. Never. Do you begin to understand?"

The dream faded further away, dissolving into the mist where nightmares were born. Except that this particular nightmare had died. He'd just been hysterical, or something. Nothing in that dream could possibly be real, let alone prophetic.

"Yes, I understand," Harry murmured. Some part of him must still have needed reassurance, though, for he heard himself asking, "Um, so . . . I guess you think I do deserve to be your son, then?"

That time he thought he caught an idiot child crossing the man's lips as he stood up. "Come here, Harry," Snape said, opening his arms and then folding the boy into them in a warm, close hug. Harry pressed his cheek against the soft black fabric covering his father's chest, a feeling of reassurance swallowing him as the man's heartbeat thrummed, a steady thud, thud, thud, the rhythm as faithful as the man himself. Knowing he was home, Harry leaned completely against his father and melted into the embrace.

"You miss my point entirely," Snape whispered, one hand moving up to stroke the boy's hair. "This, what we are . . . Harry, deserving has got nothing to do with it. Think about it for a moment. How could a bloody irritating Gryffindor deserve to be my son? For that matter, how could a former Death Eater with a bad temper and abysmal family ties of his own deserve to be famous Harry Potter's father?"

For once the phrase didn't trouble Harry. Snape wasn't using it to belittle him, not this time. He was making a point. A weight lifting from somewhere in the region of his chest, he dropped Lily's ring and wrapped his arms around the man, squeezing him tight. They stood there for a long while, just holding each other.

Accepting.

Snape finally stepped back, his dark eyes somehow looking satisfied. He murmured an incantation to make the warding spells descend back into the granite walls, then gruffly admitted, "I suppose I should correct my error." His wand flicked through the air. "Two hundred fifty points to Gryffindor. Two hundred fifty points from Slytherin. There. I trust that is better?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Though I still think that what I say to Draco down here isn't a school matter, sir. It's not like we were disrupting a class."

"I suppose you're going to claim that if two Gryffindors were screaming abuse at each other in the Tower when Minerva walked in, she'd say it was a private matter?"

"The Tower's a student area. This is my home."

Snape began to look a bit sour, probably from having taken so many points from his own house. "A valiant effort," he sneered, "but I made it clear from the start that I didn't care to have squabbling disrupt my home."

"Draco was squabbling just as much as I was," Harry mildly pointed out.

Every inch a Slytherin, Snape took that as an opportunity to change the subject. "Have you and Draco worked things out? You seemed quite amicable over dinner."

"Yeah, we're okay," Harry admitted. "I mean, I apologized."

"And?"

"Uh . . . he's forgiven me, I guess."

"Hmmph. I think perhaps Mr Malfoy needs to be in on this discussion." Snape said a charm, and a moment later, there was a tentative knock on the door. When Snape threw it open, a thin, grim smile was on his lips. "Mr Malfoy, how kind of you to join us. What time is it?"

Draco's silver eyes almost bugged out, the question was so bizarre. "About half-past eight, I think . . ."

"Look at your watch," Snape purred, menace in each syllable.

"What's this all about?" Draco asked, glancing to Harry for help. But since Harry had none to offer; he mutely raised his shoulders.

"Look at your watch!" Snape barked.

A bit unnerved, Draco did, then retorted, "It says Time for cocoa, Severus! So you're thirsty, are you! Shall I floo for refreshments?"

Snape's hand lashed out to grab Draco's wrist and yank it close. He peered down at the watch himself, then shook his head. "Pardon my presumption. I thought it would point to Time to apologize."

"Oh." Draco took a step back, then glanced from Harry to Snape and back. "Well, actually, it did say that all day yesterday."

"Yes, I know," Snape drawled. "Did you in fact apologize? Harry here seems to have missed it."

Harry held up his hands. "Whoa. I wasn't complaining. I said we worked it out."

"We did, Severus," Draco insisted, and when the Potions Master still looked sceptical, added, "We're not first-years. We don't need our Head of House to tell us what to do and when to do it."

"Good. Now sit down, both of you." He pointed his wand at the two leather armchairs.

"He just told us what to do and when to do it!" Draco complained to Harry.

"Better just do it," Harry advised.

When the boys were both in their place, Snape began to pace back and forth in front of them, as though considering his words. At length he stopped in front of Harry. "You," he said, enunciating each word clearly, "are my son."

Walking two paces, he looked Draco in the eye. "You are my son in all but name."

Stepping back from them both, he continued, "We are a family, gentlemen. Granted, we are far from typical. An orphan by circumstance, an orphan by choice, and a man who never thought to be a parent at all, but here we are. A family. And as a family, we need to reach an understanding. Namely, that this ridiculous rivalry between the two of you has got to stop. As I have told you both, I care about you both."

Draco had looked a bit apprehensive toward the start, but by the end he was his usual scathing self. "All this because I don't like Harry's snotrag friends?"

"You don't care for Mr Weasley," Snape conceded. "But that is not what has made you be so rude about his presence here. Your worry is that in going to such lengths to have him reconcile with Harry, I am somehow choosing Harry over you."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Snape shook his head.

"And you," he accused, stepping back to Harry, "worry just as much that Draco's love of Potions will have me preferring his company to yours."

"You do spend a awful lot of time hovering over a cauldron together," Harry murmured.

Draco's mouth dropped open still further. "For pity's sake, Harry! You had a mother and a father willing to die for you, and now you have Severus here who'd do the same! All I've got is a Death Eater foaming at the mouth to torture me, and a mother who hasn't bothered her pretty little self one bit over that fact!"

Snape looked a bit put out by that, Harry thought. "Were you not listening? You have me just as much as Harry does," he insisted, the words not quite a roar, but not too far off, either.

His arms crossed, his eyes hooded, Draco drawled, "Well, I appreciate all you've done for me, Severus, and I understand that you'd have liked to adopt me as well, --dearly liked, I think you said-- but the fact remains that I don't have you the way Harry does."

Snape summoned a third chair over from the wall and sat in it, leaning forward to speak about as intently as Harry had ever seen. "What do you think a family is?" he asked Draco, black eyes steady. "A piece of paper stamped and approved by some imbecile working for a Ministry adjunct office?"

When Draco said nothing, Snape briefly rubbed his temples.

"He's awfully tired," Harry told Draco. "Your fault. Don't give him my sleeping draught again. He ended up comatose."

Draco's silver gaze shot to Snape's. "Oh. Oops. Sorry there, Severus."

Snape huffed. "Harry tried to talk to me in the night and thought I was ignoring him, Draco!"

"I didn't think so," Harry insisted. "I just . . . um, wondered."

Draco huffed too, then. "Honestly, Harry. You ought to know better than that." Then he grew a bit more repentant. "I didn't do it in order to worry you."

Harry nodded. "Right. Well, enough of that. Like I said, Severus here is pretty tired. If you ask me, we ought to fetch him some cocoa and send him off to sleep."

"Mr Potter, I do believe I can regulate my own bedtime, thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry said sweetly, turning back to Draco. "Do you know what kind of cocoa Severus likes best? Chocolate, double chocolate, chocolate mint?"

Draco smiled at Harry's easy tone, and said in a mock whisper, "Well, I don't know as Severus is really the cocoa type, but if we want to get some down him, I say we throw in a splash of Galliano."

Turning a mild glare on Draco, Snape growled, "Mr Malfoy. Don't you think you've laced enough drinks for the time being?" Relenting then, he loftily informed them, "I'd be delighted to have Harry serve up cocoa once we've finished. Now, answer my question, Draco. What do you think a family is?"

"As far as I can tell," Draco answered in a cool, smooth voice --a defensive voice, Harry thought--, "a family is made of people dedicated to turning you into what they want. People who toss you away without a qualm once they've decided you're not worth the effort."

So much bitterness, Harry thought. But he could empathize. Probably Snape could, too, based on what he'd said a few moments before. The Potions Master wasn't going to admit to his own pain so openly, though; he'd never discussed his family, not even when Harry had hinted at it before Christmas. Wanting Draco to feel like he wasn't alone in his sentiments, Harry added, "Yeah, sometimes families really ronk. Mine was more the lock-you-in instead of the chuck-you-out type, though."

Snape grimly regarded them both. "I'm tempted to assign twenty inches on the topic."

Uh-oh. Harry could tell he was seriously contemplating it. "I say we learn by experience," he volunteered, smiling brightly, and not just in jest. "Really, sir. A wise man once told me that's the best way to make a concept sink in."

"Remarkable lack of subtlety," Snape lamented, ignoring the praise. "However, as an idiot child demonstrated to me not so very long ago, some things need to be talked through." He paused, a look of extreme exhaustion pulling at his features. "In all the ways that count, both of you are equally my son, is that much clear?"

"Guess we really are brothers in that case," Draco joked, but Harry didn't laugh, not that time.

"Then as brothers," Snape continued right on, "the two of you need to start communicating better."

"Oh, sweet Merlin, he's been reading that damned book," Draco moaned.

Snape ignored him. "Constructive criticism is in order, I do believe. Emphasis on constructive or there may yet be essays assigned tonight. Harry, you go first."

"Sir?"

"Tell Draco something he does that bothers you, and suggest a way for him to improve."

Harry thought this was stupid, and unlike Snape, but perhaps the man's fatigue explained a great deal. Probably it was better to humour him. "Um . . . hmm. Well, he--"

"Talk to Draco," Snape sighed, sounding a bit impatient that time.

"You call my best friend a weasel."

"He calls me a ferret," Draco drawled back.

"Well, you were a ferret for a while, weren't you?"

"Harry, that is not helpful!" Snape erupted.

Oh right, constructive . . . "I'd like you to call him Ron. Remember your Hermione theory? It's harder to stay at odds with someone when you're on a first-name basis?"

"Hermione's at least a bit pretty," Draco grumbled.

"Oh, really?" Harry raised an eyebrow, fascinated.

"Gentlemen, we can discuss our love lives another time--"

"She's not part of my love life," Draco said, glaring at them both. "And she's not likely to be. I don't fancy a walking library for a girlfriend, let alone . . . never mind. But yes, I can make nice with your little friend and call him Ronnie."

"No sarcasm," Harry warned.

Draco gave a rather regal nod.

"Now you, Draco," Snape prompted.

The Slytherin boy looked down his nose at Harry. "You scrape your toast and it's simply got to stop. Every morning, scrape, scrape, scrape, the rhythm so smooth and regular I think I'm at the bloody symphony. I might understand if you ordered it burnt to begin with, but no, it arrives a perfectly done medium-amber. But are you satisfied? No. Scrape, scrape, scrape--"

"Be serious, Draco," Snape wearily commanded.

"Oh, but I am."

"Fine." Clearly, Snape was too tired to press the point. "At least be constructive."

"Order crumpets instead," Draco haughtily advised.

"Sure," Harry mildly agreed. For some reason Draco wanted to make a joke of things, but it wasn't worth an upset. He glanced at Snape and saw that this little family counselling session was likely at an end. "Sir? Shall we go have that cocoa now?"

For a lark, he ordered it with toasted crumpets, neatly laying one on each saucer after he poured. Snape even got the Galliano out and laced his as suggested, though he declined to share the liqueur. Draco stuck his tongue out when Snape's back was turned. Harry almost spewed his cocoa.

When they'd all drunk their fill, Snape leaned back in his chair and lightly rubbed his abdomen. "That was excellent cocoa, Draco. Truly excellent." Quirking a smile at Harry, he continued, "I do believe an adjustment is in order. Two hundred fifty points to Slytherin."

Draco strangled a laugh. "Excuse me? Two hundred fifty points to Slytherin for cocoa Harry ordered?"

"Ah, but it was your idea," Snape reminded him, eyes hooded. "Time for cocoa. Quite a sound idea that was. Well worth points."

"He really is tired," Draco remarked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny," he informed Snape.

"Clever, I thought," Snape murmured. "Are you going to have a problem with it?"

"No."

"Are you certain? No identity crisis?"

Harry laughed. "No. It's fine."

"Well it's not fine with me," Draco objected. "My own Head of House, the Potions Master, wouldn't give me one measly point for improving the Lotion Potion, but I get hundreds because my watch had a clever suggestion for a late-night snack?"

Lotion Potion . . . Harry froze, a bad feeling beginning to spill out from his heart. "Lotion Potion?" he echoed, his voice a croak.

"Yeah, it's for the--" Draco abruptly went silent.

"It's all right," Snape informed him, passing a hand in front of his eyes. "Harry knows what we were doing yesterday."

"Oh, good." Draco glanced at Harry as if to check how the Gryffindor boy was taking things.

"It's . . . it's that skin cream you gave Severus for Christmas, isn't it?"

"Oh, good guess, got it in one." Draco beamed, delighted as ever to show off. "I found a way to numb the Mark a bit even while it's burning. Not that it does much; Severus says it only takes the edge off, but every little bit helps, I suppose."

"Are you all right, Harry?" Snape pressed. "You've gone pale."

"Uh, I think the cocoa disagreed with me," he quietly invented. But what was he going to do, admit that the phrase Lotion Potion had confirmed a seer dream? Damn it all, he had seen a glimpse of the future!

Quite obviously, Snape didn't believe for a moment that cocoa was the problem. "Harry. I won't lock you out again, all right? Next time my Mark flares, you will help us renew the stasis Potion."

"I'll show you how to make the Lotion Potion, too," Draco volunteered.

"See if you can help Draco settle on a less inane name," Snape bid.

Worse and worse. In the seer dream, Snape had termed that name vapid. Harry knew a strong urge to scream in frustration. He'd seen a real conversation, no if's and's, or but's, which meant the rest of it was true, too! What was he going to do?

Harry forced himself to calm down. The dream was . . . well, it was what it was. An idiotic conclusion if ever he'd heard one, but it made a strange sort of sense to Harry. It was a seer dream, yes. That much seemed clear. Did that mean it had to come true? Did it even mean what it seemed? And even if the answer to both those questions was yes, the dream hadn't been about his real relationship with his father. It had just been about legalities.

"I think Lotion Potion is quite a clever name, actually," Harry murmured.

"Teenagers," Snape muttered.

"Brothers," Harry corrected, because the moment before, he had finally understood the truth, the full truth. Paradigm shift . . . this one had been a while in coming. He wondered if that was because of what Snape had said. Had fifteen years of bad family experiences blinded him in ways far more profound than Lucius Malfoy's needles?

Maybe so, but now he could see the truth. As much as he liked the fact that his name and Snape's were side by side on those adoption papers, the paperwork wasn't what had made them father and son. Commitment was what did that. And since Snape was committed to both his sons, Harry and Draco couldn't be anything but brothers. They really were a family, all three of them, just as Snape had said.

"I thought you didn't like that," Draco murmured. "When I said we were brothers earlier, you didn't even smile."

"Because it's serious," Harry said, sensing now that he'd hurt Draco's feelings. Maybe that explained the you scrape your toast nonsense. "Sorry I laughed so much the other time when you said it. I didn't get it. But I do, now."

"Oh, you do," Snape softly confirmed. "Both of you do. The sheer level of sibling rivalry in this home has defied belief. Whether you realised it or not, you two have been acting like brothers for some time."

"Well, that just proves you have two normal sons, I think," said Draco. "That's what the book says, anyway."

"The damned book?" Snape mocked.

"Information can be misused as well as used, Severus," Draco returned. "I told you Harry and I didn't need you to interfere. We can get along on our own."

"Good point," Harry said, turning to Draco. "By the same coin, Severus and I can get along on our own. I don't need you lecturing me ten hours a day about how I should treat him."

Draco's eyes sparkled. "Well, at least you're finally calling him Severus, though not to his face, I can't help but notice."

"That's just what I mean! What I call him is between him and me, and so is whatever else I might have to say to my father!"

"Oh, father," Draco approved. "That's even better."

Harry threw his hands out in disgust. "Oh, you're hopeless, you are."

Draco laughed. "No, I'm not. I'm just having you on. Well, sort of. I'll try to watch it, all right?"

"All right."

Snape cleared his throat. "Well. As you two seem to have matters well in hand, I do believe I'll have that early night Harry suggested."

Once he was gone, Draco turned to Harry. "Would you like to play some Wizard's Scrabble or something?" When the other boy shook his head, Draco wheedled, "I'll give you five points an E . . ."

"Another time, I promise," Harry assured him. Strange to think that Draco needed reassurance, too. "Right now I have some writing to do, that's all."

"Oh, very well. I suppose I should get caught up on my own correspondence. Shall we work at the table together?"

"Think I'll work in the bedroom."

"Love letters, is it?"

"I wish. No. Just . . . regular stuff."

Draco nodded, then got his things and settled in at the table. Harry went into the bedroom and shut the door. What he had to write was personal, but not because it was a love letter. In fact, it wasn't a letter at all.

He fetched the journal Dudley had given him from his overstuffed trunk. He'd never used it before, but now, he had a lot to think about. Writing it down, he thought, would help.

It did. As it turned out, it helped a lot.

 

Chapter End Notes:

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Missing

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


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