Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Under the Net

Day 6 Continued

 Darkness had fallen on the Potioneer's Society, and Harry felt the familiar stabbing pains that had graced him last night. This time he was willing to admit that he was lonely, that he missed Snape and Evelyn, and that this strange place made him feel cold (the unfamiliar cramped room, the shabby bed he slept in). Even the snores in the other room sounded alien. Having now gone back in time twice with Snape, Harry had become oddly accustomed to the sounds of his professor sleeping. Harry had found the sound of Snape's soft snores almost comforting, however odd he felt admitting it. Sighing softly to himself, Harry glanced at his writing table, where the parchment still lay. He had been shocked when he read that Snape was coming for him tonight, for he thought that his part of the mission was still unfinished. Although, this was not to say that he was complaining that Evelyn already knew roughly who McTavish's associates were. Despite the insistence that he was finished, Harry still felt there was more he could have done. But the feeling of relief far outweighed this.

An awful thought occurred to Harry that perhaps Snape's reason for coming to get him tonight was not what it seemed. What if Harry's job was not done yet, but Snape was coming to get him because he didn't think Harry could handle it? What if Snape thought he was weak? Harry closed his eyes, wondering. All of the uncertainties rose up around him. What if Snape had been ignoring him because he thought that Harry was too much of a coward? Snape was so brave, and strong. Perhaps he did not want to be around Harry because of that, and he was ashamed to be seen with him. He thought that this might have had something to do with it, but the fact was that Harry had no solid understanding of why Snape had been pretending he didn't exist. It both worried and infuriated him that he had no concrete answer for why. What pained him the most was that he was so afraid to ask. He hoped that the plan would go well tonight, and that he would work up the courage to ask when he saw Snape again.

Fears and doubts crept up on Harry, and feeling restless as he bided his time on his bed, he wondered if Snape too was anxious for tonight. Glancing at his watch, Harry was amazed that it was only nine-o-clock. Four and a half hours would have to pass before the moment came for him to slip through the bars in the gate and meet Snape. That moment seemed so far away, and suddenly, another wave of loneliness hit Harry. He hadn't realized how much he had been looking forward to seeing Snape since he had gotten the message, but now that the clock seemed to have stopped, he understood just how badly he wanted to talk to him. Biting his lip, Harry once more glanced over at the quill and parchment on the table by his bed.

Despite the fact that he had already written back to tell Snape of his agreement with the plan, Harry picked up the quill. He needed someone to talk to. He was afraid that he would not get to see Snape like they planned, and that fuelled his need to ask the question he had been trying to for so long. A part of him did want very badly to know why Snape had been ignoring him before this. It bothered Harry more than he let himself admit, and sitting there, in the darkness, he hoped that it was Snape who answered back, and not Evelyn. Harry hoped that he would have the guts to ask the question he had been trying to speak since they had arrived in the past, and Snape had begun to actually meet his gaze again.

"Is anyone there?" he wrote, and then tapped the parchment. It glowed blue briefly, and then the writing disappeared. He waited for what felt like forever, but it was really only a few moments.

Fresh ink welled up on the page in the form tiny, cramped writing.

"Is something wrong?"

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes. Is everything alright? Have you discovered something?"

Harry suddenly felt a little bit of the pinching tightness in his chest fade away. For a moment, his pain was lifted.

"Everything's fine. I haven't discovered anything. My mentor has been asleep for a while. He went to bed at eight thirty. Most of the researchers here turn in early, what with them all being pretty old."

"If you have not discovered anything, what are you writing for?" inquired Snape's handwriting. The words looked more neatly formed, as though Professor Snape had taken a few moments penning this answer out, perhaps because he was thinking deeply. "You are still in agreement with the plan?"

"Yes, the plan is fine. It's just that ... I'm -" Harry paused in writing, before taking the plunge and finishing his sentence. Just ink. That's all it was. Some things were easier to say on paper. "- lonely. And I can't sleep. Besides. It is not as though I can go to bed."

The response took a long time, and Harry, for a few horrible moments, thought that Snape had simply rolled up the parchment, scoffing. But he replied. The words looked hesitantly written at first, but became more definite as the sentence progressed.

"I feel a little lonely myself, actually. Evelyn has been gone a little while. She went to get bread so we would not have to waste time getting it tomorrow, and after that she planned to visit Ellery's grave for a while. She left me so I could rest before I leave to get you tonight."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that Snape had not made fun of him, although he was not really sure where to go next with this conversation.

"How's the tunnel?" he penned back.

"Well, for now."

Harry stalled, lost for words. But Professor Snape continued for him.

"Does it look like you will be able to sneak out tonight?"

"Yes, it's been really quiet this evening. It's cloudy too, so it'll be darker sooner."

"Good. I will be waiting."

Harry paused, gathering courage. Finally, what he had been dying to say burst from within him. He did not consider that his question was abrupt.

"Why were you ignoring me back at school? What made you stop? Is it just because none of them are here to see you speaking to me?"

It seemed as though, like Harry earlier, Snape was having trouble finding the right words, for the response took a long time. When it finally came, with much crossing out, it said this, and only this.

"I see. You must think I am an awful person. And you are right, in many ways."

Harry didn't know what to reply, so he set down his quill. But in a minute or two, the writing changed again, and he read the words, half afraid of what they would mean. It seemed as though Snape had something more to say after all, and that he had been anticipating this question.

"After I arranged with Dumbledore for you to live at the Weasleys' home, and made sure you were safe, I took a step back. I stopped talking to you, or addressing you in class. I was not specifically trying to ignore you. There were a lot of reasons why I did not speak to you in the hallways, or after class on the many attempts you tried to reach me. I am not angry with you. You are a good person. But if you will let me explain, perhaps ... perhaps you can at least begin to understand."

Snatching up his quill, Harry scribbled the words "Tell me."

So in time, Snape proceeded. "I shall try my best. You see, Harry, a lot of students in Slytherin house have families who supported the Dark Lord, whom you know as Voldemort. A lot of them still do support him, even though it has been many years since he was in power. It poses a surprisingly large problem. Students of those parents expect me to favour them, because they believe that I am still loyal to the Dark Lord, because, as you know from what I told you while we went back in time the last time, I was once a follower of his. I turned spy for Dumbledore, but the Dark Lord, as well as his other followers, believed that I was spying on Dumbledore for them, and not the other way around. Dumbledore believes that the Dark Lord is still out there, and that one day, he may return to power. That is why my act is still so valuable. I must continue pretend that I am loyal to him, by showing those who remain faithful. That is why I have not been able to interact with you extensively, and why I favour certain students in Slytherin, so as not to let on that I have sided with the light. It is not that I want to do either, but for the sake of those who are faithful to the light, I must continue to play my part, so that one day if the Dark Lord does return, I can work from within to bring him down. But, sometimes, when fighting for what is good, you hurt people. I know it has hurt you, and I am sorry. Does that make any sense at all?"

Harry sighed, his chin in his hands. He didn't like to be told these things. He didn't like to think that Voldemort was still out there. Somehow though, he couldn't be angry at Snape, as much as he had been at least. Snape's words made sense, although it seemed as though he had anticipated this question from Harry, for it sounded oddly planned. Either that, or Snape was leaving something out. If it was as simple as it seemed, Harry wondered why Snape had not just told him earlier of what he had written. If it was this easy, why hadn't he said so? The burning feeling of injustice in Harry's gut diminished, leaving him feeling cold and empty. He had not been so much angry at Snape as searching for a reason why, for Harry had long wondered what had made Snape begin his silence. It seemed to Harry that just when Snape was starting to get to know the real Harry, not the carbon copy of James Potter, that Snape had pulled away.

"It does make some sense, I guess. But why didn't you find me, and tell me you were just acting?" Harry tapped the parchment and sent his reply over to Snape. The reply took many minutes.

When Snape's handwriting returned, it was careful, cautious, but with a definite waver in the smooth lines of his letters, unlike the cool response previously Yet, the reply was not complete.

"I ... as I said, that was not my only reason. You see ... you remin-" here Snape's sentence cut off, and without even crossing it out he had begun a new one, not completing what was being originally said. This time the writing was messier, almost frantic. "Something's happened, I have to go."

"Wait! What's wrong?"

But there was no reply.

"What's happened? And what were you going to say?" whispered Harry aloud, confused. "Was it ‘you remind me'? I remind you of what?"

Harry felt his stomach sink. With a cold, sick feeling he understood. He still reminded Snape of his father. Even though he had gotten to know Harry better, he still saw James, and it was too much for him. Maybe that was why Snape seemed to have more to say when they were communicating with the parchment. He didn't have to see Harry, and therefore, did not see James' looks. After all, everyone said that Harry looked like James, and Harry knew all too well that Snape had not liked his father. He had thought him to be lazy and arrogant. Harry had heard the spiel all to many times before they had gone back in time, although Snape had not even bothered to insult his father since they returned, for he had been completely silent around Harry. Snape had probably still been thinking of those hateful words despite his silence.

Thinking of Snape's hate of his father, Harry briefly remembered their last trip back in time, when Snape had been force fed the potion that had made him hallucinate and relive parts of his past. In his delusional sate he had been talking about Harry's mother, Lily. From how it had sounded to Harry, Lily had stopped being friends with Snape and started to hang around Harry's father. Perhaps Harry reminded him of his best friend being stolen from him. She must have meant a lot to Snape if he was still angry at James after all these years.

"Angry enough to be unable to stand the sight of his son," Harry muttered, voice shaking, feeling sick.

He wished he had not asked why Snape had been ignoring him. Blinking rapidly, Harry realized that Ron and Hermione had been right. Snape would never be his friend.

Feeling empty inside, worried, and ill, Harry lay back on his bed, the parchment lying on a pile of books by his beside, instead of folded up and hidden in a book as it usually was.

He could not sit still, however. Not when the parchment was blank. Even if he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, he was still worried about Snape, though he wondered why he was wasting his energy on this. However much he wanted not to care, the pale colour of the parchment, devoid of ink made Harry want to scream after a half-hour of staring at it. So, he slid out from under the thin covers, taking pains to make his bare feet silent upon the wood floor. Terror hammered against his rib cage, threatening to burst like a beast from within. He licked his dry lips, and tiptoed out of the room, thinking of the water bucket. At least his thirst was something to distract him from the parchment, and perhaps, when he returned to his bed, it would have a response. But what if Snape was hurt? Or they had been discovered? What if both Evelyn and Snape were killed, and Harry was stuck in the year 1613, alone? Thoughts such as these were equally stifling as the summer night, wafting in through the open windows. But even the soft sound of crickets down below could not calm Harry, for he could not stop such terrible thoughts. He wished for anything to distract himself, so Harry tried once more focus his thoughts on the cool water in the bucket by the door, the metal dipper for drinking hanging beside it, which he knew lay not too far from where he was. Despite his strong desire to reach it, he took great pains as he passed his mentor's door, not wishing to wake him. The man was fair, and while a little strict, he was kind. But Harry did not want to have to explain his clammy hands and pale face to anyone.

Through the hall and into the front room Harry went. The room that held the door leading to the corridor outside had a small wooden table and some chairs, a few cupboards, a wood stove - mostly for heating during the winter - and of course, the water bucket. Harry slid around the table and reached for the metal dipper. He sunk it beneath the dark, still water, which was charmed to stay cool.

As he brought the dipper to his lips, he heard a noise. Thirst now the last thing on his mind, he froze. There were voices out in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder to check that his mentor's door was still closed. Carefully, Harry replaced the dipper. He tiptoed closer to the door, trying to keep his feet away from the crack. Though the room he was in was dark, and despite the fact that it would have been extremely difficult to see a shadow where he was standing, he did not want to take any chances. The voice he was hearing belonged to McTavish, and he too seemed to have a reason to be secretive. Harry listened intently, taking in the hushed words, catching snippets here and there.

"-hurry, Morgan said ... urgent. At ... usual ..."

Despite his still body, rigid as a board, an intense battle was raging within Harry. It had sounded like McTavish was leaving the Potioneer's Society, but where was he going at nine fifteen, when the rest of the researchers were sleeping? Part of Harry knew that it would be very dangerous to even consider following him to eavesdrop, and that he should not risk getting caught when he had to meet Snape later that night. But a larger part of Harry was burning with both curiosity, and a desire to act. That larger part also knew that he had plenty of time before he had to meet his professor, if the plan was even still going to take place. Harry wondered wildly if Snape was even in any state to come and get him. The fear of what Evelyn and Snape may have been dealing with back at the house and the disappointment and anger at his recent revelation of why Snape was ignoring him added fuel to his desire to act.

The thought of going back to his room tortured him. Why do that when he could follow McTavish? Instead of sitting idly by as he waited for Snape's reply, he could be gathering information. Important information that could make their mission go from nearly impossible, to simply difficult. For a moment, Harry thought of what Snape would think if he chose to follow McTavish. He would probably say something about Harry being a foolish Gryffindor. Harry frowned, but then began to consider that Snape might be, for lack of a better word, almost proud of him for gathering such information, if it was indeed crucial. Snape had been a spy, so surely he would congratulate Harry for good undercover work? Perhaps then, Snape wouldn't ignore him so much. A little voice in the back of Harry's head reminded him that Snape had already stated his reasons for his lack of contact with him, and that Harry being a disappointment was not one of them.. Yet, despite the dangers, despite the possibility that Snape might not like what he had to do to get the information, Harry wanted desperately to do something. And while he did not want recognize it within himself, some small part of him knew that his reason for tiptoeing out of the door and after McTavish was fuelled by the need to prove himself worthy to Professor Snape. To show that he was deserving of attention, and not only that he was more than just the likeness of James Potter, but that he was brave enough to save them all. Even so, he tried very hard to pretend that it was for noble reasons that he crept behind the party of four now striding across the grass in the moonlight, and into the depths of the quiet London streets, but in that he failed.

The darkness of the streets kept his unsure intentions at bay, for now, with no words having been passed between the four men walking far up ahead for some time, Harry's wariness increased. Finally, someone spoke. Harry only barely caught what the tall, blonde haired man said.

"I have important news, James," were his words, and he sounded nervous. "I do not think you will like what I have to say."

"I know, and be quiet," spat McTavish. "You can tell me when we get there."

Harry felt a shiver of excitement and foreboding run down his spine as questions raced through his mind. The wind began to pick up as the dark clouds rolled across the horizon. It was lucky that it was dark and windy, for it made it easier for Harry to tail them undetected. Sliding from shadow to shadow, always a block behind, Harry followed in a state of rapt anticipation. They walked down the damp streets that ran by the river, for the Thames flowed directly along one side of the Potioneer's Society (some parts of the higher floors even jutted out high up over the river). The darkness surrounded Harry, the glittering water to his right travelling along with a soft, steady rushing sound that mixed with the wind.

After at least twenty minutes of walking, Harry saw McTavish's crew turn right onto a small dock. They followed it to the end, and entered a creaky looking fishing boat with a small cabin. The flicker of a candle being lit illuminated the grungy windowpane, the dark shadows of the men silhouetted against it. From afar Harry watched the boat rocking back and forth steadily in the flow of the Thames, still tethered. Now hiding in a clump of bushes by the banks, Harry bit his lip, thinking hard. There was a thick tangle of netting on the deck, right beneath the open window. He would be able to hear everything that they said, but was it worth the risk?

"Didn't come all this way for nothing," Harry whispered under his breath, and, mustering all of his Gryffindor courage, he took one last look at the window to make sure that nobody was looking. Then, he slid down the grassy bank, and bent over double he crept across the dock.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he swung himself over the railing and into the boat. He wasted no time waiting to see if his efforts were detected, and he tiptoed over to the pile of net. Harry lifted the net slightly, nudged aside a filthy filleting knife beneath it and lay down, pulling the damp, fishy smelling mass over himself. It took a moment for the blood in his ears to quit rushing enough for him to properly hear the voices that were drifting down to him from the open window. They did not appear to have heard him, and beneath the net, where only slivers of light could reach him, Harry felt he was concealed well. He forced himself to calm his breathing, and then he lay as still as he could, listening.

" - really hope this is worth my time, Morgan," said McTavish icily. " Why this could not wait for next week's meeting, when we have an alibi for being out, I do not know. However, I do have a few matters I might as well discuss with you tonight. But first, your news?"

The next voice was low and shaky, an underlying anxiety very apparent in the words it spoke. " I think somebody is catching onto us."

Harry clamped his hand over his mouth to cover up the sound of his heavy breathing.

"And what gives you that impression," was McTavish's reply. Much to Harry's relief, he sounded fairly unconvinced. "I did take care of the old man's friend. I threatened her well enough. I think she should have the sense to leave now."

"That's just it ..." began Morgan, sounding as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. " I only realized it after, but when I obliviated the old man, I didn't - well -"

"Didn't what?" barked McTavish.

"When you oblivate someone completely," said Morgan tentatively, clearly trying to find the best way to explain what he had done, "you ... you usually need to do two charms, right? The first to wipe out the more recent memories from the past few days, and the second to wipe the older memories, see? But ... I only ... I ..."

He did not seem to be able to continue, but McTavish clearly figured out what he meant.

"Do you mean to say, you only did the first charm?" hissed McTavish. He let out a roar, which Harry supposed meant that Morgan had said yes.

"But that will jeopardize our whole plan!" spat a furious voice, presumably belonging to one of the others that had come along. "How could you possibly forget to do the second charm?"

Morgan mumbled unintelligibly, and hushed, angry voices overlapped as they argued, trying to keep it down.

"Wait a moment - I do not understand, " someone said, their voice deep and calm. Silence fell once more. "The first charm will have wiped away his memories of the Potioneer's Society and the experiment, so he won't breathe a word about that. Then why is it so bad that he remembers what happened before he met us?"

"Because, Geoffrey," said the other man who had cried out angrily with much impatience, "The old man will have remembered that he can do magic in the first place, but he won't remember that we destroyed it with a potion, and when he tries to do magic, it will be obvious what we have done! Right, James?"

"Correct. But for now ... I do not think we have to worry about any interference. Eight more days and it will be ready. I've made enough to buy us some proper influence, which means that by the time Evelyn can gather any of her allies - all of which, thanks to my late brother, are conveniently scattered across the country in hiding - we will have gotten so high up the ladder that she won't have a chance at stopping us. Unless, of course, any of you have noticed anything suspicious?"

There were a few murmurs here and there.

"That idiot Peakes will be of no trouble, I should think," said Geoffrey rather boastfully, "not after what I did to his last apprentice, especially when he has no way of proving it was us. Besides, he doesn't have a sniff as to what we're really up to."

Harry felt his stomach clench tightly. The light tone of which the statement had been said made him nauseous.

"See?" McTavish said smoothly. "Nothing to worry about. Can we move onto more pressing matters now?"

"Go ahead and start without me, I have to take a piss," said Geoffrey casually, the others murmuring in response.

The scraping of a chair could be heard, and the boat rocked slightly in the water. Harry could feel his heart hammering hard against his chest as the door opened. Under the net and beneath the window he felt fairly confident that he wouldn't be seen, but he couldn't see where Geoffrey was going. The boat swayed as he walked from the door and to the side of the deck, and Harry closed his eyes, waiting with baited breath. His eyes snapped open when he heard the trickling sound nearby. He could just see the silhouette of Geoffrey now, standing with his back to him by the boat railing, parallel to where Harry lay. When he was finished relieving himself, Geoffrey turned around, starting to make his way around the tangle of netting and crates strewn across the deck.

Harry heard a scuffle, and a stream of curse words as Geoffrey got caught on something and tripped. Suddenly, a foot descended on Harry's fingers. He had no time to move them. He bit his tongue hard to keep from crying out, hoping the crunching noise would not give him away. Geoffrey moved his foot, the scuffling sounds of him righting himself reaching Harry's ears, which were pounding with the sound of his heart. Tasting blood, Harry lay stock still, holding his breath. Unable to see the man properly through the net to gauge his reaction, Harry wondered ... had Geoffrey felt it? Had he realized what he had stepped on? The heavy breathing of Geoffrey nearby kept Harry on edge, but soon he heard him take another step away from him. He was just daring to believe he might be alright when he got the shock of his life. Harry felt two knees land on either side of him, pinning him so he could not escape. A hand groped over him, and latched onto his throat through the net, and Harry could barely see through it. He saw the flash of something shiny. The blade of the dirty filleting knife he had pushed aside earlier was slitting the net open.

"Hold still!" spat Geoffrey through gritted teeth as he tried to drag Harry out of the hole he had made in the net. Harry thrashed harder, trying in vain to free the man's hands from his throat, but he was having no luck.

Harry let out a piercing cry as he felt a sharp, splitting pain in his shoulder. The knife had sliced a deep gash in it. He stopped struggling in his shock and was dragged out through the opening in the net to be dropped unceremoniously on top of it, clutching his gushing arm as Geoffrey panted in fury. With watering eyes, Harry saw that one of the other men had stuck his head through the window above him. Looking up, Harry saw those cold McTavish eyes staring down at him, glaring at him from a face so like the one that had sentenced Harry to death back in late September.

Harry closed his eyes. What had he done?

Chapter End Notes:
Poor Harry never learns, does he? Well, I am sure you guys saw this coming, what with how smoothly things were going before. What do you think happened to Severus back at Evelyn's? Cheers!

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