Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 6: Secrets

Albus of course noticed Potter and company were spending a lot of evenings under Severus’s watchful eye but, because he wasn’t as omnipotent and omniscient as the world believed, misconstrued events entirely. “Come now, Severus,” he said jovially, “aren’t all these detentions a little extreme?”

Severus didn’t have to act to summon up a glare, for he particularly disliked Albus’s jolly-him-along routine. “Potter needs to learn not to do magic in the halls.”

“I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson, Severus.”

Severus hated the way Albus said his name, as if it belonged to him, as if saying it gave him power over Severus. He glowered uncommunicatively and walked away.

If Potter had been the boy Severus had been expecting, the arrogant hero with no thought for anything but his own pleasure, Albus would have given the brat free reign and let him get away with anything. But children needed discipline. They needed to learn about rules and limits and taking responsibility for their own actions, otherwise they grew up to be Lucius. To spoil a child was the greatest unkindness an adult could do, children needed to learn self-control and self-discipline, they needed to learn that their actions had consequences. And it wasn’t Albus’s fault Potter already understood these things, Albus would gladly have indulged the boy and taught him to be self-centred and arrogant.

Albus wasn’t getting his hands on Potter if Severus could possibly help it. Not this strangely adult Potter who was so fiercely devoted to his few friends, who was surprised when people were kind, who... Who couldn’t do magic.

This secret was too big for him. Severus was too full of secrets, jammed in on top of each other until he thought he would explode. Still, he would have forced himself to deal with it if not for one other factor: he knew someone who knew a lot more than he about magical theory. And, honestly, he just didn’t want to have to deal with training up Albus’s precious hero in secret all by himself. It would be nice not to be the only adult.

“You want to tell Professor McGonagall Harry doesn’t have magic?” Granger repeated in surprise.

“Only if the idea is acceptable to you. I believe she could be useful.”

“You trust her?” Potter checked.

“I would hardly have suggested this if I didn’t, Mr Potter.”

Considering his private opinions of Albus, it might have surprised someone resident in his head that he could so certainly trust the woman commonly supposed to be Albus’s right hand. But Severus knew as few did that Albus didn’t have right hand men or women. Albus was Albus, keeping his own council, making his own decisions, relying on other people only for mundane business.

“Besides which,” he added, “I intended, should you agree to tell her, to require a secrecy vow of her before informing her of anything.”

“What’s that?” Potter inquired.

“A lesser class of Unbreakable Vow, where she would swear on her magic not to reveal what we tell her.”

The children looked at each other. “And you think this will help?” Potter asked.

“I do.”

Another exchange of glances. “Okay,” Granger said finally, speaking for all of them. “You can tell her.” Her eyes turned fierce and she added, speaking for herself, “But if she does anything to hurt Harry we’re gone. My parents may be Muggles but we can protect him.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Granger.”

At least, Severus severely hoped so.

-

It wasn’t too hard to track down Minerva and ask for a private word without anyone getting nosey. It was more difficult to broach the subject he really wanted to talk about. Severus sighed and poured her a cup of tea. Minerva accepted it with a quiet word of thanks and sat back in her chair, watching him. They were in his chambers, sitting in his living room. Despite his reputation among the students as an antisocial old bat, it wasn’t uncommon for one of the more intelligent teachers to visit him for a chat. Normally, that was Minerva.

He actually liked Minerva. She had an astringent quality lacking in his other colleagues and could match him for sarcasm. Plus, of all the teachers of his school years she was the only one who’d ever stuck up for him as even his own Head of House hadn’t, the only one who’d tried to curb Potter and friends. She hadn’t been Head of Gryffindor then, or Deputy Head, so her efforts hadn’t been especially successful, nor had she realised the full extent of their iniquities, but she’d tried. It was more than just about anybody else in his entire life had bothered to do.

Later, she’d never pitied him or feared him or given him sidelong looks as the untrustworthy spy. She’d never tried to make him into something he wasn’t, either. She just accepted him as he was. Which did mean they sometimes had terrible rows, since they were both stubborn people and when they were alone neither of them bothered with the polite lies used on strangers. But a good row could be cathartic if raged against someone who would take it in the right manner and not resent him for it the rest of his life.

“I want to tell you about something Albus knows nothing about,” he blurted.

Minerva sipped her tea. “But?”

“I need to ask you to take a secrecy vow.”

That did surprise her, her eyebrows lifting slightly, but then she sighed. “Very well. What’s one more vow?”

“Not here,” he said hastily when she lifted her wand. “There are others involved.”

When he led her into his office to find Potter, Granger, and Longbottom waiting for them she was definitely surprised but nevertheless made the vow, Granger watching with bright-eyed interest.

Three quarters of an hour later, though, surprised was no longer the word. Astounded might be more accurate. Severus, at least, had been able to work up to this one strange fact at a time, rather than having all of it dumped on him.

While Minerva tried to assimilate everything she’d been told, staring at the three children as if they’d suddenly become ghosts, Severus remembered something she’d said earlier. “What did you mean, ‘what’s one more vow’?”

She gave him a look of mocking. “You don’t think you’re the first person to demand assurance of me, do you?”

“Surely Albus wouldn’t need more than one vow.”

“That’s not—” Her voice went silent and she snapped her mouth shut, swallowed hard, and sighed. “Damn secrecy vows.” She said a spell Severus didn’t recognise and for a moment she glowed all over with yellow strands of light that entangled her like a kitten that had gotten itself caught up in a skein of yarn.

“What was that?” he asked sharply while the children exchanged startled looks.

“Those,” Minerva said, once again her prosaic and unglowing self, “were the secrecy vows.”

“So many?”

Minerva, my dear,” she said in uncanny imitation of Albus’s accents, “I’m afraid this information is too sensitive to risk anyone finding out about it. Would you be so kind as to consent... By the time I’d realised it was going to get this bad it was too late to worry about it.”

“Dear Merlin,” Severus murmured. He’d known Albus was a bit off his rocker, but he hadn’t known he was paranoid too. Severus himself had only two secrecy vows from Albus, but then he’d had to be able to act as a spy and drip feed information to the Dark Lord. Voldemort had never asked for a secrecy vow.

“One day,” Minerva said, “it will be impossible to reconcile all the vows and my magic will be gone.” Longbottom went white and she smiled. “Oh no, it’s not so bad. I wouldn’t mind having no magic, I think. No more secrets, no more wars... And it’s not so terrible a thing to be Muggle, just ask your friends.”

Said friends had been conferring. “We think we can break the vows,” Hermione said when Harry nudged her.

The three magicborn stared at her and she flinched but didn’t back down. “They’re called unbreakables for a reason, Miss Granger,” Severus said sharply. This first year, this child, thought she could do the impossible? Ludicrous!

“There’s no such thing as perfect security,” Potter spoke up.

“It’s an unbreakable vow, Harry,” Longbottom said, sounding as if he thought his friend was mad. Severus agreed with him there.

“Maybe if there was only one,” Granger told him, though she obviously didn’t believe it. “But you saw them. Professor McGonagall’s got so many they’re all tangled up in each other and all we have to do is pull them the right way and they’ll all fall apart.”

“And you truly believe you can do this?” Severus asked incredulously.

Potter tilted his chin up in unconscious determination. “Yes.”

“We’ve been... playing,” Granger said. “Magic’s a bit like a computer program: if you can corrupt part of the program then the whole thing fails.”

“Miss Granger,” Minerva recovered her voice, “if you believe there’s even a chance you can pull this off then I for one am willing to try.”

Potter and Granger glanced at each other, then Granger nodded. “Okay, Professor. Um... this might hurt a bit, I don’t know what breaking the magic will do to you.”

“Understood.”

“Right.” Granger took a deep breath and said, “So if you’ll just...” Potter dragged a chair out into the centre of the office, away from the desk. “Um, yes, sit there. And we’ll...” The pair pulled aside for a brief whispered conversation while Minerva took the offered seat, looking a trifle nervous but also eager.

Granger gave Potter a sharp look wrapped in reassurance, a contradiction that made Severus blink, and the pair came to stand in front of Minerva. Granger took a deep, slightly shaky breath, and drew her wand. “Professor, please don’t move. Stay as still as you can.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Longbottom and Severus sat watching. “Neville, could you...?”

Longbottom nodded and carefully, slowly, but competently began conjuring cushions onto the floor behind the other children. Granger and Potter clasped hands, standing sturdily with feet shoulder-width apart and shoulders against each other as if for support, and Granger lifted her wand. From this angle Severus could just see Potter close his eyes, concentrating, as the girl beside him grimly drew glyphs in the air.

There weren’t fireworks. There was no flashy magic, no dramatic flourishes, just two children propping each other up and silent wandwork. But suddenly Minerva gasped as if stung and then Potter and Granger fell back, despite their attempts to catch themselves, onto the cushions Longbottom had conjured.

Severus and Longbottom stood swiftly and went to them. Minerva was sagging back in her chair and the two children just lay there sprawled across the cushions. All three looked exhausted, as if they’d just spent the entire day casting heavy duty spells.

“Are you all right?” Severus asked.

Potter waved a hand in silent assent; Granger murmured something that might have been a “Yes, sir”. But Minerva shakily pushed herself upright, her eyes wide with amazement. “Minerva?” he asked uncertainly, forgetting the children in the room. He’d never seen her so shaken.

“Albus Dumbledore’s private library is on the third floor behind the statue of Sir Tristam the Tired!” she declared.

“Um?” Longbottom said from where he was kneeling by his friends. Severus very nearly echoed him.

Minerva’s eyes focussed on Severus, burning brightly with joy. “They’re gone! All of them, they’re gone!” In her enthusiasm she tried to stand up, only for her knees to give way beneath her. Severus managed to catch her before she could fall on top of Granger, and set her back in the chair.

“I take it that means the operation was a success,” he said dryly, studying the three exhausted participants. “Mr Longbottom, if I give them a dose of Pepper-up Potion do you think you’ll be able to get those two back to your commonroom before it wears off?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He glanced at Minerva, almost punch-drunk on a combination of joy and tiredness, and bit back a smile. “In that case I shall entrust them into your capable hands while I attempt to return Professor McGonagall to her quarters.”

Longbottom darted a look at Minerva, then smiled up at Severus. “Good luck, sir,” he dared to say.

Severus did smile then. “Thank you, Mr Longbottom. I may need it.” Retrieving Pepper-Up Potion from the office cupboard (sometimes students refused to go to Poppy so Severus found it easier to always have some on hand), he dosed the three with it and watched Longbottom lead Potter and Granger’s slightly wobbly steps out into the corridor before turning to Minerva.

“Severus,” she said, smiling at him. “Severus, they’re gone. I can say things without having to worry about whether something will happen to me.”

“That’s very good, Minerva. But can you walk?”

“I can say anything,” she told him.

“That wasn’t the question,” he pointed out, trying not to laugh. He’d never seen Minerva in a state so resembling tipsy, but if she remembered this later (and didn’t die of embarrassment) and also remembered him laughing he wouldn’t have to worry about Albus ever again because Albus would be busy planning his funeral.

Dear Merlin, Albus planning his funeral. What a terrible thought. Sappyness and he-was-really-a-good-man and... He shuddered. Severus immediately resolved to outlive the man. That or add a codicil to his will firmly stating that Albus not be allowed anywhere near the arrangements.

“Anything,” Minerva repeated happily.

He did snort faintly, but managed not to laugh. “Come on, Minerva,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

-

The next day happened to be Saturday and Minerva didn’t turn up at breakfast, so Severus knocked on her door after he’d eaten. Minerva was by nature a night owl and not a morning person, but during term she made a point of always being up at seven. There was no answer to his knock and he hesitated. It was possible she’d just decided to skip breakfast... He snorted at the thought. Minerva, miss a meal? She considered it her duty to be visible at every meal and the only times he could remember her not turning up were when she’d been so sick she’d been confined to the hospital wing. He knocked again.

The door opened a crack and one eye peered at him. “Oh, it’s you.” The door opened to let him in.

“Thank you for that enthusiastic welcome,” Severus said sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

Minerva waved a hand at him, half in apology, half brushing him off. Though she was dressed her hair hadn’t been put up in its customary bun and she yawned widely as she sat down on her couch. Severus sat opposite her; on the coffeetable between them a steaming pot of tea sat amongst a trio of tea cups like a bustling mother hen with her chicks. Apparently he’d interrupted her before she could have her first cup, for she pounced on the full cup and lifted it to her lips.

Severus smiled to himself and watched her. “Pukka Khyber?” he asked as she drained the cup, already looking more awake.

Minerva poured herself another cup. “The reason the British don’t need coffee,” she agreed. She sipped at her drink, then sighed and looked at him. “I still cannot believe what those children managed to accomplish.”

“At this point,” Severus said, “I find it easier not to worry about what might be plausible or not.”

Minerva shook her head in agreement. “No magic. That boy has been in my classes for over a month and I didn’t even realise it. In fact, I can clearly remember him casting spells in front of me.” Severus just shrugged. “And while the teacher in me is appalled that you have all elected to keep it a secret, I personally cannot fault you, Severus. If it should become public knowledge that the Boy Who Lived is a squib...”

“I know.” It was a great relief to be able to talk this over with someone. Somehow holding these sort of conversations in his head just didn’t have the same effect. “But people have expectations of him. They will expect further heroics of him, whether he has magic or not. And his friends are prepared to support him.” He hesitated, then asked the question he’d been struggling with for some time now. “How much should we tell them?”

“Everything,” she said immediately, then smiled darkly at his stunned expression. “Oh, I don’t mean you should tell them the details of the things that haunt your nightmares, but everything useful.”

“They’re only children.” It was a stupid thing to say, but he was surprised. He hadn’t expected that answer.

“That’s Albus’s excuse. And his method, doling out only such information as he thinks is needed. Do you trust your own judgement so much?”

“No.”

“Albus wants Harry – you have no idea how much of a relief it is to be able to actually say that. Albus wants Harry to play the hero, to fulfil his plans. And those two friends of his are going to stick with the boy, you can see that as well as I. So the question is, will we help them or hinder them. I’m not Albus. I would rather give them the means to help themselves.”

“I admit I didn’t expect that of you.”

“Those children rid me of a lifetime’s collection of secrecy vows. Only minor unbreakables, Severus, but unbreakables. And they are only eleven. If allowed to grow, if fostered without being checked, what do you think they might be capable of? The problem I see is that they will need everything of which they are capable. On his return Voldemort will surely want revenge on the boy who dealt him such a major setback, child or no. And Albus...” She grimaced. “Well, you know Albus. He means so well, he has only the best interests of the wizarding world in mind, but he forgets the individual. And frankly, his impression of the world is not always quite in alignment with reality.”

Severus smiled grimly. “It is a relief to hear those thoughts from someone not myself.”

“It is a relief to be able to speak them without fear of horrified looks,” she retorted.

“So... We help them. Three eleven-year-olds.”

“Children or not, they have enemies. They will need our help.”

“Very well. We aid.”

Minerva’s eyes met his. “We aid.”


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