Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Childhood Memories

Harry had successfully adjusted his glasses and started reading Magical Traditions of the Ivory Coast when he became aware of a change in the room. He looked up. Snape was still sleeping and he seemed fine. His breathing was normal, now, and his cuts were mostly healed. Harry looked around the room. Remus Lupin was standing motionless in the doorway. Harry put down the book and walked over to the werewolf.

"Are you looking for me, or him?"

"You. Professor Dumbledore wants you to come to his office at noon. He said to make sure you're presentable."

Harry reached up to his hair. It was uncombed and slightly oily to his touch. He had come straight to the hospital wing that morning, neglecting a shower, and now that he thought about it, he had spent most of the previous day in the questionable fumes of Snape's potions lab.

"Do I have time for a shower?" he asked ruefully.

"Yes. You have an hour, so with drying spells, you should be fine." Remus gestured towards the door, and Harry nodded and started outside. Remus, to his surprise, walked beside him. Harry wondered if this was permissible by Snape's rules. He supposed he was walking to Snape's rooms, but he knew quite well that Snape was not there.

Harry didn't know what to say. Neither, apparently, did Remus. It wasn't until they were down the last set of stairs and walking along the dungeon-level corridors that the werewolf spoke.

"Harry ... were all those things in the paper true?"

"Which things?"

"The things about your relatives -- the Dursleys. How they treated you."

Harry let out a harsh sigh. "It's not important," he said. "It's not such a big deal. I was never in any danger."

"That," Remus said softly, "was a yes."

Harry scowled and walked faster. "Fine, yes, but people don't need to be so melodramatic about it!"

"No need to be melodramatic about being locked in a boot cupboard for ten years," Remus said tonelessly.

Harry tried to explain. "Look, it's not like they didn't let me out for the day, most days. Even when I was being punished, I'd get let out twice to use the bathroom. And it was a fairly large cupboard. Big enough for a mattress. My cot fit there when I was little." They had reached Snape's door. Harry stopped and looked at Remus. The werewolf seemed, if anything, angrier than before. "I could stand up straight in it when I was seven," Harry tried.

"Bloody hell!" Remus roared. He growled. "If Dumbledore knew, I swear I will rip that man's throat out!"

"You will do no such thing!" Harry yelled. "Dumbledore was protecting me from Voldemort the only way he could. Besides, where would we be without him?" He looked anxiously at Remus. He had only seen the werewolf murderous once before. The anger was more frightening from this usually gentle man than it had been from Sirius.

"Harry, that doesn't even meet Muggle law for treatment of prisoners of war!"

"Well, I survived it, okay?"

"Don't you ever dare have children."

"What?"

"If you can consider that not important...." The animal growl was back. The back of Harry's neck prickled. Harry whispered Snape's password, and the door opened. Remus moved forward, and before Harry could recover from his surprise, was inside Snape's rooms.

"Get out!" Harry snapped.

"We, dear child, are still talking. I'll wait. Go clean yourself up, and think about what I've said."

"Well, wait out in the hall! These are Snape's rooms. He wouldn't want you here!"

Remus shrugged. Harry saw a sparkle of mischief compete with the anger and sadness in his eyes. "He won't smell me, Harry. Take your shower, now. I promise not to cause any mayhem."

"No," Harry said angrily. "You are not welcome here, Remus." Remus flinched, but Harry ignored it. "You know it. I know it. Snape is a very private person. I am not going to leave you to poke around his things while I take a shower. Now stop being an utter prick and go away."

Remus took a couple of deep breaths. "Harry," he said seriously, "we need to talk."

"No we don't. You need to talk. You want to tell me how frightfully shocked you are and ask if you can do anything, now that everything is okay."

"I don't think everything is okay," Remus said gently.

"Well it is!" Harry insisted. He sighed. "Look, I'll talk with you, all right? Later. I'll arrange a time soon. But not here."

Remus's jaw clenched. "Agreed," he said, with obvious reluctance. "Don't forget dinner tomorrow." With that, he went to the door and let himself out. Harry waited for the footsteps to turn the corner before whispering a new password to the door. He was certain a werewolf's ears were good enough to have overheard his earlier whisper.


After Harry had showered and combed his hair, he went and looked at his limited selection of clothes. On Severus's suggestion, he had thrown out everything of Dudley's, except for a fuzzy flannel shirt which he particularly liked. He still had Ron's jeans, which he had reluctantly agreed not to wear out of the room, except for possibly while visiting the Weasleys -- Harry thought that part of the argument had ended without a resolution. He looked at the red robes, which he had not yet worn, but decided the garment was too flashy for a conference with the headmaster. "For dinner tomorrow," he murmured, and drew on the green robes, instead. It was too hot to wear both robes and trousers, but Harry had never been able to bring himself to wear nothing under his robes, though he knew his wizard-born dormitory-mates often did just that, in the warm months. He pulled on one of the undergarments that resembled cotton biking shorts, and then high socks, so his bare legs would not be obvious, then finished off with the walking shoes, which were still so new as to be shiny. When he checked the time, he saw he had ten minutes, which was just about what he'd need to get to the headmaster's office without getting sweaty on the way.


A minute before the appointed time, he was stepping off the spiral staircase into Dumbledore's antechamber. He lifted a hand to knock, then paused at the sound of voices.

"Headmaster, no offense, but a face in your fireplace is not the same as a person!"

"I could bring you to the Ministry offices, if you would rather," Dumbledore's pleasant voice replied, "but you might find the journey unnerving. I would like you to speak to Harry, first --"

Harry forced himself to knock. He realized, now, that it would be Mr. and Mrs. -- No, he reminded himself, Dr. and Dr. -- Granger in the office. He would have been better off in trousers and a shirt. Shrugging, he pushed open the door in response to Dumbledore's invitation.

"You wanted to see me, headmaster?" he said politely.

Dumbledore, with a slight smile, gestured to his Muggle guests. "Harry, I believe you know the Grangers?"

"We've met," Harry said neutrally. He reached out a hand to Hermione's mother, who, judging by Hermione's stories, was the decision-maker of the house. "Hello, Dr. Granger." She shook his hand perfunctorily, and Harry did the same with Hermione's father. "Dr. Granger."

He scanned them quickly and thought he had won some points with Hermione's mother. She looked slightly more open. Probably she got demoted to "Mrs." a lot.

"The Grangers are concerned, Harry, over rumors about you in the Muggle press."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you mean libel, headmaster?" he said sharply. He forced himself to soften his expression and tone, and smiled at Hermione's mother. "I suppose it's not their fault, really. I can't go and tell them what actually happened, so it's just people jumping to conclusions."

"Why don't you tell the Grangers what did happen, Harry?" the headmaster suggested. Harry nodded.

"Well, Hermione's probably told you about --" He stopped and looked at Dumbledore. "This will be confusing if I can't use his name."

"In my office, you may use his name."

Harry nodded and looked back to the Grangers, deliberately making eye contact with each of them. "There's a wizard who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort.' His real name was Tom Riddle. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill a lot of people, actually, but me more than most."

The Grangers were listening, if a bit tensely. Harry glanced over at the headmaster. "My mother gave me protection from Voldemort by dying to save me, when I was a baby. Dying for someone is a very strong, natural magic -- I don't need to explain that to you, right? Old stories are full of it. Everything from the Bible to 'Beauty and the Beast.'"

Hermione's father nodded. He looked intrigued. Harry wondered if he was the origin of Hermione's passion for research.

"Professor Dumbledore had used more formal magic to extend that protection to my mother's blood relatives, so I was safe in my aunt's home over the summer. Apparently Voldemort finally sussed that. He had my aunt and cousin killed, so that the Death Eaters -- his followers -- could attack me in the house."

"But you weren't killed."

"No. I ... I'd just run away. They'd got worse. I was locked up most of the time and they wouldn't even let me finish my homework. I decided to come here and just tell Dumbledore that I couldn't stand it anymore."

Hermione's mother gave him a warning look that Harry recognized immediately. It was the look Hermione got when she wanted to be nice, but felt obligated to chastise him.

"The timing is what concerns me," she said. "Why should you decide this just at that hour? Isn't that a bit of a coincidence?"

"It's not a coincidence at all. The Death Eaters needed my blood relatives clear of the house to attack them. I needed them clear of the house to break out. I'd smuggled up some tools before, when they'd had me do some gardening, but it wasn't until everyone was out of the house that I could do something so noisy as bash a hole in the door and saw clear the section with the locks."

Harry was suddenly overtaken by the memory of breaking the starter hole in the door. He had hit it repeatedly with a hammer, and the splintering of the wood had been so fiercely satisfying that he had almost decided to forgo using the saw. Involuntarily, he curled his arms around his chest and tried not to tremble. He couldn't manage to summon any mourning for the Dursleys, but somehow the memory of destroying that door, with its five padlocks, made him more angry and frightened than any thought of attacking Death Eaters. Now, he wanted Remus's quiet concern. He could rage at Remus, he knew. Remus would never hold it against him. And Remus, even if Harry completely lost control, would be safe.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry wanted to scream. Of course I'm not all right, you blind old fool! I've spent more than half my life being locked up and insulted and treated like some dangerous animal. He choked down the thoughts. Remus. I'll go find Remus. Sod Snape's stupid rules. He took a deep breath. Be sane, friendly, and courteous.

"Sorry, sir." Harry looked up. "It's still too close." That implied it was Uncle Vernon's death that upset him, he knew. The problem wasn't that the attack was too close, it was that life at the Dursley's was starting to get far enough away. Still, both the headmaster and Hermione's parents seemed to find the statement reassuring. "May I go, now?" Harry asked pleadingly.

The headmaster looked enquiringly at the Grangers. "Have you any further questions for Harry?" he asked.

Hermione's father looked at Hermione's mother. She shook her head. "No." She offered her hand to Harry. "Thank you for speaking to us, Harry."

"No problem. Tell Hermione I say hi, okay? And thanks for the food."

Hermione's mother nodded pleasantly.

"What food?" Dumbledore asked. Harry turned to see the headmaster frowning at him. He felt like he'd been caught stealing from the kitchens.

Harry looked down at the floor. His shoes were really very shiny. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had new shoes.

"Hermione and Ron sent me food over the summer, professor. They always do that."

"And nobody mentioned this?" Professor Dumbledore pressed. His voice was low and angry. Harry stepped back, surprised and a little alarmed.

"Well, you knew they didn't feed me much. You said so yourself."

"That they didn't feed you enough was obvious from looking at you every September. That you've required outside assistance to maintain that unsatisfactory level was not."

Dumbledore's voice was a low thunder, now. Harry stepped back, again, and found he was almost touching the door. He looked up in time to see the headmaster rub at his forehead. When the old man looked up, his anger was gone, replaced by sad concern.

"It's not your fault, Harry, but ... why don't you ever tell anybody when something is wrong?"

Harry flooded with embarrassment, betrayal, and fury. He had said he was miserable. He had asked to stay here. No one had ever asked for details; no one had ever wanted to hear about it.

"There was never any point!" he bellowed. "No one ever wanted to do anything. No one ever wanted to know!" He wrenched the door open and fled outside, sending the heavy slab of oak crashing shut behind him.

He had the regretful thought that he had not managed to act as reasonable as he should have, but he knew he couldn't do any better, now. He fled down the corridor and halfway up the stairs, stopping at a window alcove on the landing. There, he sat, shoulder pressed against the corner of glass and stone, his knees up to his chest, and struggled against the press of sobs collecting like rocks in his throat.

What does it matter if I cry? he thought defiantly. There's no one here. If Snape catches me and tries to bully me, I'll just go to Remus. I'll tell him Severus was mean to me, and he'll take me in.

He let the hard lump of distress come up. The sound was frighteningly loud in the empty stairway, and immediately followed by a rush of tears that, once started, seemed unstoppable. Alarmed, Harry got up and ran, looking for someplace more private. His recently corrected vision was blurry again, but he realized he was by the Defense against Dark Arts teacher's office, and stumbled to the door, then, when it opened, inside. Remus was not in the room. Harry collapsed face down on the worn brown couch and let the storm take him.

He was nearly done, only hiccuping slightly, when the door opened. Harry pressed his face into the cushions. Footsteps hurried towards him.

"Harry?"

He felt Remus sit on the edge of the couch, beside him. Tentatively, one of Remus's slender hands settled between his shoulder blades. Remus thumped him helpfully a few times after the next hiccup, then let the hand just rest on him again, with comforting weight. It felt almost feverishly hot. Harry wondered if that was from the lycanthropy.

"Harry?" Remus asked gently. "Are you all right?"

"No," Harry said defiantly, turning over. "I'm not all right. Why does everybody care now? They're dead now, and it doesn't matter. They didn't have to die, you know. Someone could have let me leave, and they'd have been fine, and I'd have been better, and I might feel like someone actually cared, rather than everyone pretending they care once there's nothing for them to do."

He pushed himself back into the corner of the couch to sit with his knees drawn up. Remus looked at him sadly.

"I wish I'd known."

"You knew I didn't want to go back there! What did you think that meant? Have I ever been fussy? You knew I was ready to run off with Sirius when I didn't even know him!"

"I thought it was just that they hated your parents, Harry. You'd told me that. And didn't approve of magic."

"And hated me."

"Harry...."

"What did you think I meant?" Harry screamed. "That they wouldn't buy me sweets?"

His throat hurt. He buried his face in his knees and tried to stay completely still. He heard Remus shift on the couch.

"Nobody expects that, Harry. Decent people don't --"

"What did I ever say to make you think my relatives were decent people?" Harry asked indistinctly.

Remus sighed. "One tends -- most of us tend, Harry -- to assume it of people, at least when dealing with their own blood." The couch softened as Remus's weight left it. "Rest a moment. I'll get us both a cup of tea."


Remus came back a few minutes later with sweetened tea and a damp washcloth for Harry's face.

"My eyes hurt," Harry grumbled, as he rubbed white spots of salt from his glasses.

"I know a spell for that," Remus said cheerfully. He pulled out his wand and tapped it a few inches in front of each of Harry's eyes. "There," he said. "Better?"

"Much," Harry admitted, drinking the warm tea gratefully. The burning feeling in his eyes had gone away, and his vision was clear again.

"Of course," Remus said wryly, "now no one can tell you've been crying. That's not always the best thing."

"I hate crying. It just lets people know they've won."

"Harry..." Remus sighed. "Harry, love, you are far too good at acting like nothing's wrong."

"I'm not going to whine!"

"But you see why no one suspected? Yes, you said you were unhappy, but you never seemed depressed. You were no more insecure or violent than many boys your age. On the whole, you've always seemed quite normal, and we assumed your problems at home were similarly normal." Remus sighed. "Of course, one of us should have realized that your idea of 'normal' trouble was bound to be skewed by a mile."


The rest of Harry's visit with Remus was fairly peaceful. Remus apologized for pushing his way into Snape's apartments that morning. He seemed to want to say more, after that, but Harry was fairly sure he didn't want to hear it. He hurriedly asked Remus how he was settling in, and when the next full moon was, and they talked pleasantly about Remus's lesson plans and more seriously about what Harry had already taught the members of Dumbledore's Army. When Remus realized that Harry had not had lunch, he invited him to stay, but Harry, with a sudden twinge of guilt, declined.

"I'm not even supposed to be here. Snape will be furious as it is."

"This is what makes me worry!" Remus exclaimed. Harry looked at him, confused, and the werewolf continued, almost plaintively:

"You don't respect rules, Harry. You don't go and do things you think are stupid just because someone tells you to. You would have made a much better Marauder than I did. Now, suddenly, Dumbledore puts you in that man's care and you are doing anything he says, even things you say you don't believe in, like avoiding me--"

"I'm not avoiding you!"

"Very well. Getting explicit permission to--"

"I came and saw you when I needed to, didn't I?"

Remus was silent for a minute. "Yes," he conceded finally.

"Well, there you go. Don't worry."

Remus's kindly eyes narrowed and darkened. "Why did you leave?"

"When?"

"The Dursleys. Why did you leave? Why now? What changed?"

"I don't want to talk about the Dursleys anymore, today."

"You're avoiding the question," Remus snarled.

"I need to go. I'm here without permission."

Remus jumped up, teeth bared and eyes feral. "What made you care about permission?" he bellowed.

For the second time that afternoon, Harry found himself backing towards the door, only this time, it was deliberate.

"You," Remus snarled, "are frightening me."

"Well, it's mutual, Professor," Harry dared, taking another two steps back and feeling for the door handle.

Remus's face went blank and his eyes closed. He swayed slightly. For a moment, Harry thought he would fall. When he opened his eyes, he focused on Harry with his usual gentle intensity.

That's it, Harry thought suddenly. That's what makes me feel special. It's that when I'm with him, I have his complete attention. Most people are thinking about last week's game, or that their nose itches, or if they did their Transfiguration homework well enough, but when Remus finally focuses on you, he does it completely.

"I'm sorry," Remus said sincerely. "I am frightened, Harry."

"Snape is not the Dursleys."

"He's telling you what to wear!"

"Yes. And he cares enough to get me something he approves of. And let me pick things out, actually."

Remus snorted. "Don't tell me Severus paid for those red robes."

"Yes, he did." Harry felt a formless unease creeping through his stomach. "Why?"

"Fire-dyed raw silk! Severus can't afford that!" Remus exclaimed.

"You picked them out."

"Yes, and you're James's son. I know what sort of money you have. Good lord, Harry, Malfoy would respect those robes!"

"I've got to go," Harry said. He left.


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