Severus
Severus had collected his Sixth Year's homework assignments Friday at the end of class. Harry had hardly looked at Draco for the entire class period—a pleasant change from the usual death glares they levied at each other. Severus had looked up as Draco approached his desk with his assignment in hand. Draco's face was set in a practiced blank expression. He nodded at his head of house as he placed the scroll on Severus' desk and strolled out of the classroom, ignoring the other Slytherins. Harry, however, held back until nearly everyone had left, making a show of cleaning up spilled ink on his desk and fiddling with his shoelaces. Finally, he approached the desk and handed over his scroll.
"Did you arrange that detention?" he asked, his voice deliberately low.
"Detention, Mr. Potter?" replied Severus, his eyes not leaving the open book on his desk. "Oh, you mean your little jaunt in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid and Mr. Malfoy? The whole faculty room was in stitches over it. Hagrid said you and your partner did an excellent job—that you're both naturals at it." Severus looked at and met the boy's eyes. Harry looked incredibly tired—no, more than tired. Worn was a better word. He chanced a smile, knowing that he was virtually hidden behind Harry who was standing between himself and the door.
"Not my idea, Mr. Potter," he said, looking Harry in the eyes. His lips twitched. "I wish I could claim it as my own, but I believe you have your own Head of House to thank…."
Harry's mouth dropped open.
"Minerva?" he hissed.
"She seldom uses her best detention ideas on members of her own house," Severus replied, feigning disinterest. "You must have really set her off with your behavior." He gave Harry a significant look, daring Harry to protest. Harry did not. "My poor snakes have long suffered from her cruel and unusual punishments, however. Several years ago, she claimed to have caught members of the Slytherin Quidditch team spying on the Ravenclaw girls through a convenient knothole in the shower room wall." Harry gulped but did not tell Severus that the twins had created that very hole. "She took the whole lot of them to St. Clementine's Magical Home for the Demented for an evening of assisting the residents at bath time. She said that if they were interested in seeing nudity, she'd give them nudity. Marcus Flint was never quite the same after that experience."
Harry swallowed hard and looked like he might sick all over his shoes.
"Homework, Harry?" asked Severus.
"Right. Here." Harry thrust the scroll at Severus and practically ran out the door.
/
23 February, 1997
Sunday
Dear Harry:
Thank you, but I am quite sure I will not be needing any rubber bands from Hagrid or anyone else. Rather, I am certain that my virility will enable me to father any number of children, should I so desire, being strong enough to overcome the advanced age of any potential partner. The question, then, is not whether "Sybs" is too old to give me children, but whether I am eager, or even desirous some day, of reproducing.
Ah, you are not accustomed to me addressing your questions at the beginning of my letter, are you? Well, today I will get right down to the root of the matter. I have never wanted children—for reasons numerous and varied, ranging from my own parental role models to my exposure to any number of dangerous ingredients in the past, present and future to my decidedly unpleasant disposition in general. However, lest my negativity put you off, I am not opposed to children in general, or to parenthood. Some people (say, for instance, the Weasleys) are meant to have children. Others (say, for example, Argus Filch) are not. There are others, like your friend Hagrid, that have all the love in the world needed to raise a child but none of the common sense. Still others, such as the Headmaster, would likely have been very fit, capable parents yet either chose not to reproduce or were incapable of doing so. It is a complicated situation made more difficult by the freedom most humans have in being able to reproduce without license, lessons or financial resources to raise a child.
However, were I desirous of passing on my genetics, I would not do so while the Dark Lord lives—while the world is subject to his whim in any way. It is not a world into which I would bring a child, should I have the desire and the opportunity, and my particular situation relative to the Dark Lord makes the decision even easier.
That being said, I would not discourage others from procreating, and my reluctance should not influence any decision you might make on this subject—providing you are at least 25 years old, in a stable relationship and have steady and lucrative employment.
And while I do not argue that getting rid of "Tom" has with it many inherent benefits, the good it will do for the whole of the wizarding world—and a good part of the Muggle world—far surpasses in importance any benefit to me. I do thank you, Harry, for thinking of me, but retain your brains please and do not do anything foolish before you are prepared—fully prepared, with adult help. I will "get on with my life" regardless—though my life, as you are well aware, may "get on" in a different direction should the Dark Lord meet an untimely end. First of all, I would no longer have to plan grisly, retaliatory detentions for students who flagrantly break rules and go back on their promises.
Speaking of which…Minerva did fill me in on your detention with Hagrid and Mr. Malfoy. She assures me that you have learned your lesson and are prepared to toe the line. What that means, Harry, is that you will be in your dorm from curfew until breakfast and that you will apply yourself to your studies and restrict your extra-curricular activities to those sanctioned by the school—Quidditch, organized clubs, study in the library and of course post-Quidditch celebratory parties involving nothing stronger than butterbeer. Notice, please, that following Mr. Malfoy about under cover of invisibility cloak is not "sanctioned" by Hogwarts, and more importantly, not by your guardian or myself either.
As for your five-word answer, I must admit it to be inspired. However…I am relatively certain that in a catatonic state, you would not have the presence of mind to cover yourself with an invisibility cloak before leaving your room. Since you rose to my five-word challenge, let's get that mind of yours cranking again. Now, in five words, convince Professor Slughorn to share the memory the headmaster has asked you to retrieve.
My missive is not lengthy tonight, but I have a pile of essays from my NEWT class that I must get to, and an appointment with your head of house as well. Seems I have won a bet, and she owes me a game of chess.
Regards,
Severus
/
Later that night, feeling a touch light-headed after heartily defeating Minerva at chess and drinking some very old scotch with his very old friend, Severus hung his robes over the high hack of his dressing chair and sat on his bed to remove his boots. He stretched his feet, inspecting his threadbare socks and mentally adding shopping for replacements to his list for his next visit to Hogsmeade. He pulled off his socks, tossing them to the laundry hamper in the corner, and sat for a moment, lost in thought.
It was already getting late in February. There were only four months left of the school year. Four months for Draco to finish his task—or for Severus to do it for him.
Should he give Harry some idea of Albus' limited time left on earth?
No. There was always the possibility, slight though it may be, that Albus would survive this mess.
But how could he? How could he survive the curse that threatened to end his life even before the end of term?
For a moment, only a moment, Severus allowed himself to think about the many scenarios he and Albus had covered in their regular meetings. All of them started out differently, but had the same outcome. Dumbledore dies by Draco's hand, Severus' hand or from the effects of the curse. The Ministry, already weakened, falls to Voldemort. Voldemort gains control of Hogwarts and puts Severus in the Headmaster position.
Albus was sure the Ministry would fall. Severus did not want to believe him, but he did.
With Voldemort in control of the Ministry and of Hogwarts, Harry would not be—could not be—at Hogwarts for his seventh year.
Where would he go? Who would watch over him?
That night marked the beginning of many nights of fitful slumber.
-Harry-
Harry had been lagging all day, plagued by a persistent headache and an uneasy stomach. The stomachache he could readily explain—he and Ron had visited the kitchen just before curfew and procured the remains of the treacle tart from dinner along with a liter of pumpkin juice. They'd gorged themselves just before bed—to Hermione's disapproval and Ginny's general disgust—so it was no wonder his stomach was protesting this morning. He picked at his food at lunch and was glad to see that Ron was looking a little green around the gills as well. He suffered through Charms, fortunately a theoretical lesson instead of practicals, and trudged into Defense class with Ron. Snape took his time with his introduction and explanations today—they were just beginning a unit on differing effects of the same spell used verbally and non-verbally—then told them to pair off to practice. Lavender managed to nab Ron so Harry and Hermione faced each other.
Harry had not uttered his first spell—he was doing the verbal blocking spell to Hermione's non-verbal body-binding curse—when his head seemed to explode with pain. Reflexively, he grabbed at his scar as Hermione's curse hit him full force. He fell to the ground, frozen, mouth open morbidly in a rictus of pain, hands plastered to his forehead.
Hermione, horrified, lifted her wand to cancel the spell but a hand grabbed her arm.
"No," he hissed. Snape cast his Patronus first, watched as the white mist split and cantered off in two different directions, then turned to Harry and did a hover charm instead. Hermione glanced around, but no one had noticed what was going on, not even Ron, who was reluctantly trying to revive an unconscious Lavender. Snape quickly maneuvered Harry out into the hallway.
"Take him to the infirmary before you cancel the spell," he instructed. "And urge him to occlude or, if there is a privacy screen, to transform. You are excused from the rest of class. Go! He may be frozen but he can still feel pain!"
Five minutes later, Harry had awoken screaming. Madam Pomfrey forced a pain relieving potion down his throat and stood by as Hermione coaxed her friend to calm down and occlude. She didn't leave his side until the Headmaster came in an hour later.
/
26 February, 1997
Wednesday
Dear Severus:
What the hell is the rat bastard doing calling you in the middle of the day? Oh—like maybe you wouldn't be doing something else on a Wednesday afternoon when you're a Hogwarts professor? Ron told me that Dumbledore himself came to class and called you out in the hall and then Dumbledore came back in without you. He just said he'd be finishing the class, picked up where you'd left off and had people keep working on the verbal/non-verbal spell pairs.
I did manage to occlude when Hermione cancelled the Petrificus spell. Madam Pomfrey force-fed me a pain potion and once that started to work I could concentrate enough to bring up my barrier. I didn't want to—I wanted to know what was going on. But sinking into my bubble felt too good. I started to feel like I was back at Shell Cottage, floating in the ocean current, bobbing in the waves. So different than Hogwarts in the middle of winter.
Dumbledore was there when I woke up. Well, he was the one to wake me up, I guess. I think I'd fallen asleep while I was occluded, after the pain went away at least. He told me right away that you were still gone but that he would let me know when you returned. He let me go back up here—to my dorm room—and Ron gave me my Defense assignment with your letter that Dumbledore returned at the end of class. We went down together to dinner—of course you weren't there. When we came back up, Ron made sure I was OK then left me to read your letter. I couldn't stand being alone up in the room, though, and came back down to the common room so I could be distracted by something other than thinking about where you are.
It's almost 7 o'clock and no word yet from Dumbledore about you. I know it's only been a few hours, but that's a few hours too many for you to spend with Tom and company. I don't like it—especially since it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. It can only mean he's happy, or mad, or planning something.
I'm not going to get anywhere worrying like this, so I may as well change the subject and try to lighten things up a bit. And the best way to do that is to go back to the subject of your cozy little relationship with Professor Trelawney.
Hermione and I spent some time in the yearbooks section of the library on Monday but couldn't find any trace of a Sybil Trelawney. Hermione (brave Gryffindor that she is) asked Madam Pince who told us that Professor Trelawney is a graduate of Beauxbatons. Ooh la la! A French girl, Severus! We did discover, through some clever grilling of Madam Prince by Hermione (turns out Madam Pince is a Beauxbatons graduate as well) that you are indeed interested in an older woman—older by nearly ten years, in fact—one that had a bit of difficulty in her studies and may not be "the sharpest tack on the board." I hope this doesn't surprise you. I bet you'd not like your kids (on the off-chance you decide to make a few of them) to have Crabbengoyle type intellects so you might want to choose brains over beauty next time.
Have you considered dating Minerva? I know she's quite a bit older than you are, but she's really clever and almost as no-nonsense as you are. She's really demanding and strict—I think you'd like that in a partner. And she's powerful too. She's really not that bad looking if looks are important to you (and they must be since you are so gaga over Sybs). I've seen her in her night robe several times with her hair down (now don't be jealous) and he hair is so long she could probably spread it out and run around the school naked and no one would know.
AAAUUUGHHHH! I did not just think that…say that…write that.
Since I'm trying to kill time and not do my "real" homework, I'll answer your question. You wanted me to convince Professor Slughorn to give me that memory—using only five words. (Where did you get this game anyway? Why not seven words? Or four?)
How about…?
"Cough it up, fat boy."
Hmmm. That one might not work.
"I won't hold you responsible."
I like that one—but it needs a set-up. Five words aren't enough.
"The memory for a shag."
(I kind of suspect Slughorn might be gay so that one would likely work, but neither Dumbledore nor the war effort nor even ending your days of working for Tom is worth that kind of sacrifice.)
"Do it for Lily, Professor."
I think I might be on to something with that one.
Ginny is staring at me. I'm sitting on the floor in front of the couch and she's sitting across from me. I think she's wondering why I keep chuckling. If she only knew what I was writing about.
I need to end this letter and at least make an attempt at my other homework. So here's your question—or assignment.
Describe me (that's Harry Potter) in five words.
Regards,
Harry
/
At 9:45, Professor McGonagall stepped into the common room through the portrait hole. The third-years playing with the hula hoop dropped the toy to the floor and the very noisy game of exploding Snap paused as students turned their attention to their head of house.
"Carry on," she said, maneuvering around a group of fifth-years who were spread out on the floor studying and making her way over to Harry and his friends in their customary spot near the fireplace. They were all staring at the professor as she approached, Harry unable—or not trying—to hide the apprehensive look on his face. He has been very antsy the last half hour, his body feeling achy and tired, his annoying headache threatening to erupt into a migraine.
"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster would like to speak with you in his office." She paused as Harry paled then stood, quickly shoving his text books and loose parchment and quill into his book bag. When he had left the room, slipping quietly out the portrait hole less than a minute later, the Professor addressed Hermione and Ron.
"He may be late," she said quietly. "Do not be concerned—he is not leaving the castle and he will be fine."
Hermione and Ron looked at each other, forgetting that they had been avoiding each other for months, and nodded at their head of house. She nodded back to them and made her way back to the portrait hole, stopping to speak to several younger students as she passed.
Ginny Weasley watched her go and stared a long minute at the portrait hole door. Sighing, she looked down at her homework again and wondered how the word "Harry" had gotten doodled into the margin of her Defense essay.
-Severus-
It had been so close…so close. Poisoned mead, undoubtedly meant for Dumbledore, fallen into the hands of Horace, poured into cups offered to students. A birthday, a coming of age, nearly made tragic.
And Harry was the hero now, having saved his best friend's life with a bezoar. If he could remember only one thing Severus taught him in Potions, he had chosen wisely.
It needn't have happened at all. If Harry had come to him instead of to Horace, there would have been no poisoned mead. He, Severus, could have made the antidote to the love potion. But Harry had taken Weasley to Horace; Horace was their Potion's professor now. Harry would never have gone to Severus. He couldn't be seen going to Snape for help. And that, that decision, no, that necessity, had nearly cost Ron Weasley his life. And Severus could not forget that Harry, too, had a glass of poisoned mead in his own hand.
It was troubling enough that a Hogwarts student had given Harry love potion laced-chocolates. It was a miracle that Harry hadn't eaten them himself, though that would have prevented the terribly long day Severus had had yesterday, brewing the potions to totally purge the toxins from Weasley's system. He was a very sick young man, despite the fact that the bezoar had stopped the poison's progression and neutralized enough of it to stabilize him and keep him alive.
When he had flooed into Poppy's office after hours Saturday night to deliver the first doses of the specific antidote, he'd found the office empty and had peeked out into the infirmary to find her speaking to the Headmaster. Sitting at Weasley's bedside, however, were Harry and Hermione. The fact that it was after curfew registered briefly with him but he set aside his concern given the unusual circumstances. Severus had had a brief meeting with Arthur and Molly Weasley before they left the school. Molly had thanked him profusely for preparing the antidote. His standard reply didn't work here—before this year, he would have said "It's my job as the school's Potion Master." But this year, Horace Slughorn was the Potion Master but it was Severus Snape that had more experience with specific poisons and Severus Snape that Albus Dumbledore had tasked with the Weasley case. So Severus had only been able to accept the Weasley's gratitude and assure them that Harry was doing well.
The Headmaster was his undoing. Albus looked up past Poppy and spotted Severus in the office doorway.
"It is ready, Severus?" he asked. Immediately, all eyes—all eyes belonging to conscious bodies, anyway—were on him. He took a small step into the room, staying close to the door.
"Yes, Headmaster," he replied, letting his gaze rest briefly on Harry before returning it back to Albus and Poppy. He held up a divided box with vials of measured doses. Poppy immediately moved forward.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, back to your dorms now."
"What is it?" asked Harry, his eyes fixed on the box in Severus' hands.
"The antidote," said Poppy. She and Severus began speaking in hushed voices as he gave instructions for the administration of the potion.
"But I thought….I thought…the bezoar…" Harry looked from Ron to Severus to the Headmaster, confused.
"The bezoar neutralized enough of the poison Mr. Weasley ingested to save his life. It prevented it from spreading even further to his organs and stabilized his system. It did everything a general antidote can do. The antidote that Professor Snape has prepared is the specific antidote for the type of poison in the mead. It will purge the remaining poison from his system and stabilize him further."
Harry nodded and Hermione voiced her thanks. "Thank-you, Professor. I imagine you've been brewing all day."
Severus didn't answer, acknowledging her words with the barest of nods.
"I imagine you'll want to get started on the next batch, then?" asked Poppy. When Severus again nodded, she cautioned. "Get some sleep first, Severus. These will hold us over for the night. I'd recommend you begin with the restorative for the digestive system first in the morning."
Severus stepped back into Poppy's office without a word, and Hermione pulled a reluctant Harry by the hand as they left the infirmary.
/
2 March, 1997
Sunday
Dear Harry:
You have had an eventful week, as have I. When we last spoke privately, in the Headmaster's office on Wednesday evening, I am sure neither of us anticipated what was soon to come. Just as you needed to see me to assure yourself that I was alive and well, despite my having been summoned at an unusual time, I needed to see you to know that you were not harmed in any way by the events of Saturday. You skated on the edge at every turn, Harry. It could easily have been you that drank the poisoned mead, or worse yet, all three of you—leaving no one to provide aid or to even call for it. Your quick-thinking with the bezoar saved your friend's life and I commend you on your ability to think clearly and act appropriately in the middle of such chaos.
I want to assure you again, as I did with Professor Dumbledore on Wednesday, that I am unharmed after my day outside the castle. The Dark Lord is stepping up plans, plans that are likely to come to fruition as he is gaining ground at the Ministry and with certain other factions. It is imperative that Albus take full advantage of the time he has left to set his counter plan in motion and advance it as far as possible while he is here. I know of no other way to say this Harry, so I'll be blunt. I do not think the Headmaster will survive this summer. The curse is too aggressive and we have held it at bay too long. It is not fair that he ask you to be responsible for what he is preparing you to do, but even I see that he must pass off the task to someone. I wish it were me, but I cannot so openly serve two masters. Remember Harry—always remember—you are not alone in this. You have friends, you have Minerva, and you have me. While I must exist in the background of your life, not openly handing you clues or helping you on the front lines of your battle, do not ever doubt my support or my loyalty.
I checked in on Mr. Weasley an hour ago, delivering the next batch of restoratives to Madam Pomfrey. I believe that at least one good thing—in your mind, anyway—has occurred because of this crisis. Miss Granger was sitting beside your friend, holding his hand while he slept. Perhaps at least one stressful element of your year will have eased now and the feud will have fizzled and been forgotten.
Just as you attempted to add levity to your letter near the end, so will I, for I must respond at least in part to your previous letter, with its suggestion that I begin to look at Professor McGonagall as a love interest.
Harry, you have discovered our little secret. Please keep it close as we are not yet ready to go public with it.
Now to address your five-word phrases to convince Professor Slughorn to share the memory. First of all, I will not comment on the sexual orientation of any Hogwarts professor but at least I am assured that yours does not lean toward relationships with persons many times your age or currently employed at Hogwarts. I will say, however, that your last suggestion—"Do it for Lily, Professor," holds merit. Think about that one, Harry. You are of course not restricted to five words when you speak with him next, but you must deliver enough in the first sentence or two to hold his mind open to the possibility. Perhaps it is not what you say that truly matters, but how you say it, and how you present yourself as the orphaned son of one of his favored students.
I will close with my five word description of you, as you requested.
"He is just a boy."
Do not be offended, Harry, but read instead the lyrics of a song from the musical "Les Miserables." Perhaps you have heard of the novel by the French author Victor Hugo on which the play is based? The play follows the struggles of several characters in the early years of the 19th century in Paris. The song is "Bring Him Home" and someday you and I will go see the play together and hear this song in context.
God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there
He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy
You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live
If I die
Let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
Warm Regards,
Severus
/
The melody filled his head as he finished his letter. He wondered if this was too much to leave at Harry's feet, but he thought it wasn't.
"He's like the son I might have known, if God had granted me a son."
Severus glanced at the clock on the table to assure himself that Harry was where he belonged. He wanted a drink; he desperately wanted a drink.
Instead of pouring himself a drink, though, he went over to the old Victrola, carefully removed an album from its cardboard cover and placed it on the turntable.
Alcohol was a drug, but so was music and Severus got drunk that night to the sound of the Beatles.