Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

S.T. Snape
 

It surprises me still that my son is in Gryffindor, despite the fact that three weeks have already passed. What surprises me most is that Harry has not gotten into any trouble yet, especially because he is a Gryffindor. I am not bothered by his house as much as I would have thought, for Lily shared the same one. However much I would have loved him in Slytherin, I sometimes think that it is better this way, because if I were both his father and head of house, things might get a little messy. I know Minerva will look after him well, and I am quite glad Harry has not befriended Draco Malfoy. He is a right little twit, and all the years of having to pretend to get along with Lucius have made this discovery quite unsurprising.

Despite his dislike for Draco, friends it seems Harry has not had trouble in making. He did indeed befriend Ronald Weasley. He had ended up sitting next to the youngest Weasley on the train, which he told me later, as well as a girl named Hermione Granger. They had gotten along fairly well despite Granger being quite bossy, and since then I have seen the trio walking around the grounds together. I am grateful that Harry found friends so quickly, because that had been one of my greatest fears, besides him not doing well sleeping in a dormitory. So far, however, he has taken the transition very well. He has not come to my door in the middle of the night. We often have tea after classes, but that is about it. I am very proud of him, because I know all too well that Harry does not like being away from me.

The heads of house are due for a meeting with Dumbledore in a few minutes regarding our new batches of students, and so, rather reluctantly, I swim to the surface of my thoughts and emerge. This meeting is bound to be extremely dull, as it always is every year, and so I cannot help but feel my heart sinking as I leave my quarters. I would much rather be with Harry, and I wonder what he is doing right now.

 

 

~~~

 

Harry puzzles over the question, and he looks to Hermione.

"I don't know either," she mutters, as Ron scratches his head. "I've looked at our textbook and it doesn't say anything about adding beetle wings, but I'm sure Professor Snape mentioned something about it."

"I'm pretty sure he said so too," Harry said, frowning.

"So, why don't you go ask him, Harry?" says Ron with a shrug. "I mean, he is your dad after all."

"Yeah, but he's going to a meeting tonight," Harry says with a frown, tapping his quill on his half-finished essay. "By the time he's done it'll be curfew."

"Oh well," mutters Ron. "I guess we will just have to figure it out ..."

"Hang on," Harry says, remembering something. "Dad has a notebook that he keeps the first year potion recipes in. If he's made any changes to them - and believe me, he does do that lots - they will be in the book. Helps him keep track of it all."

"Won't he mind if you look at it?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands.

"No, it won't bother him," says Harry confidently. "He lets me look at the book all the time. He taught me a bit about potions last year."

"Was he as strict with you as he is in class?" Ron asks, amazed.

"Not always, but I listen better to him than a lot of the others in our class," Harry says with a shrug. "He has to be really strict because brewing can be really dangerous. The students that find him really hard are the ones that don't get how dangerous it is to be making potions."

"I suppose," Ron says, frowning. "Still, he could at least smile. Does he even smile at all?"

Harry laughs.

"Sometimes," he says with a grin. "I'll go take a look at the book. Be back in about twenty minutes."

It is not too much longer after this that Harry arrives. He stops in front of the door to his father's office, secretly glad for a reason to come here, for in many ways it is home. As his hand touches the doorknob a click rings through the air, and Harry goes over to the portrait on the wall. It is of a stern looking man with a snake resting on his shoulders. He wears a locket with an ornate S on it.

"Hello, Salazar," Harry says cheerfully.

"Ah, young Mr. Snape," says Salazar as he strokes the shiny scales of the snake. "I trust you are getting on well in your classes?"

"They're really interesting," Harry tells him honestly. "It's nice to finally get to go to classes like all the other students!"

"Is Gryffindor House to your liking?" asks Salazar rather distastefully. "I cannot fathom liking that house ... but if it suits you ..."

"Oh I like it a lot," Harry says with a bit of a laugh. "I know you wanted me in your house. Well, I think so did Dad, but you can thank Mum for that. For his dislike of Gryffindor, I find it funny that Dad even married Mum."

"Indeed," Salazar says under his breath. "But enough chatter: I presume you wish to come inside?"

"Of course. Right, monkshood's the password."

"Correct," Salazar tells Harry as he bows his head slightly. The portrait swings open, and Harry climbs through the hole.

The painting swings shut behind him and Harry goes over to one of the many book cases on the wall. Up near the top he spies the shelf that his father keeps the first year potion recipes on. Looking around for something to stand on, Harry drags a simple wooden chest over to the bookcase. He reaches up and grabs the leather book, and while standing on the chest he flips it open to the first page. Harry skims down the list of potions, written in the spidery handwriting he could read in his sleep, and flips to the correct page. Down the list of ingredients he looks.

"Hah, he did change the recipe!" Harry says triumphantly as he notices the small star beside beetle wings, which his father had once mentioned was his symbol to indicate ingredients or steps that vary from the original instructions.

The book shuts with a snap and Harry places it back on the shelf. He jumps down from the wooden chest with a grin on his face, and lands with a thump beside it. He pushes it back against the wall where it was, and then he stands and stares.

"Hang on, where'd this come from?" he asks himself, puzzled as he finally pays a second of attention to the chest now that he has accomplished his mission.

He shuffles on his feet for a moment, looking at the latch. It is simple and made of metal, but there is no lock. Surely if his father had not wanted him to see what was inside it would have a lock? The box is out of place in the room, and Harry looks around to the other furniture, taking in how rough the box looks compared to all the other wooden furnishings. He takes a step closer to the box, and then he falls to his knees and opens it. The rusty hinges creak noisily, but Harry pays no attention to this. He looks down, seeing green material. Harry fingers the fabric. It is camouflaged.

"An ... army uniform?" Harry whispers, slightly puzzled, especially because it looks like it is a muggle one. His grandfather's, perhaps?

The uniform sits on top, and the smell of old leather boots fills his nostrils. Gently, Harry lifts  the folds of the uniform, and sees the boots. They look well worn, and there are scuffs all along them. With great care he reaches down to pick up a helmet. Harry fingers the scratches and dents on it, his brows furrowed with wonder. He goes to replace the helmet, but then he notices that something had been under it. A small leather case lies there. It looks so out of place with the dusty contents of this box, which smells of dirt and old leather.

Harry looks behind him, but nobody is there, and he carefully places the helmet with its green camouflage bits on top beside him. He takes the small case as though it could shatter beneath his fingers, and slowly he opens it. Red ribbon and shining metal meets his eyes. There is a lion at the centre of the medal, which is shaped like a cross. Harry's eyes travel to the banner beneath the lion, the metal words drawing his eyes.

"For Valour," Harry mutters. He looks at it for a few moments more, then he carefully shuts the leather case.

"Grandpa won a medal?" he asks himself, because he can only think of one person whose things these could be. Harry remembers how his Grandfather fought during the Korean War. He wonders why his Granddad never mentioned that he won a medal. Then again, Harry had only been six when he died, so perhaps he just never got around to mentioning it. Harry figures that his dad probably didn't have the heart to mention it, either. Harry can tell that his father misses Granddad a great deal.

Not knowing what to think of it all, Harry gently sets the medal and its case back into the wood box, wondering what it was earned for. He replaces the helmet, and he is just about the cover it all back up with the army uniform when he sees something wrapped around the ankle of the boot. Curiously, Harry grabs a hold of a metal chain, and he pulls it up to his eye level.

"Cool," mutters Harry, for these could only be his grandfather's identification tags.

Harry holds the slightly dulled metal up to his eyes. Fascinated, he traces the numbers stamped into the metal, and then he looks for his grandfather's name.

He feels his mouth fall open, for the name stamped into the metal is not T.A. Snape.

It is S.T. Snape.

"Dad?" he gasps, dropping the tags. He leaps back as though burned, and shuts the box quickly.

Heart pounding and realizing that he should not have looked in the box, Harry does not even say goodbye to Salazar as he leaves for the corridor.

Dad fought in a wizarding war, as spy, not a muggle war, Harry thinks wildly.

He does not know what to make of it, and when he gets back to the common room he completely forgets why he left in the first place.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asks, looking up from her assignment.

Ron has long given up on his work, and is playing chess with Seamus. Harry is glad for this, and unable to keep it to himself he spills bits and pieces of the story to Hermione in a jumbled mess, and she looks as shocked as he does.

"Is that why he limps?" she whispers to Harry.

"He told me that his injury was from when You Know Who tortured him for being a spy, and they couldn't heal it because it was dark magic," Harry says to her, puzzled. "But after finding the box, who knows if that's the truth? I mean, he's never told me any of this stuff."

"Maybe he finds it hard to talk about," Hermione suggests, looking worried.

"There was even a medal, Hermione," Harry says in a low voice.

"A medal? What did it look like?"

"It had a red ribbon, and there was a lion on the medal, and it said ‘for valour'. He must have gotten it for bravery, or something? I dunno."

Harry is astounded when Hermione's mouth falls open.

"What?" he asks, suddenly worried.

"Harry," croaks Hermione in a low voice, "that was a Victoria Cross! We learned about it in Social Studies at my old school."

"Oh. What is it?"

"What is it? It is the highest decoration for bravery! The Queen herself has to approve the recipient for the award!"

"Seriously?" Harry asks, unable to believe it.

"Seriously," Hermione says breathlessly. "Wow ... a Victoria Cross. You're sure he's never said anything about serving?"

"Yeah, didn't say a word," Harry mutters, brows furrowed. "What on earth was he doing fighting in a muggle war?"

"Search me," Hermione mutters back.

"What if what they said on the train was true, Hermione?" Harry asked. "I mean ... if Dad was in a muggle war. And if they let off a firework in class, maybe ..."

"Will it change your opinion of your father?" Hermione said thoughtfully.

"No ... but ... I just want to know if it really is true."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I ... I don't know. It's just ... the whole war thing sort of would make sense ... even what they said on the train too because I can't think of a time when I've ever gone to see fireworks with Dad. See, he and Grandpa used to stay home on bonfire night every year. Grandma always told me Dad was keeping Grandpa company, because my Grandpa was a muggle and he fought in Korea, so he never liked all that stuff because it gave him bad memories, or something. Even after Grandpa died though, Dad wouldn't go. I just thought it made him miss Grandpa.

Hermione did not seem to know what to say, but she shared a worried glance with Harry, a look that like his, was full of questions.

 

~~~

 

I'm exhausted by the meeting, and I barely can keep my eyes open by the time that I am standing in front of Salazar.

"Harry came by," he says to me.

"Is he in bed already?" I ask without thinking.

"Presumably, although up in his dorm, I imagine," Salazar says to me, a little amused.

"Oh, right," I mutter, mentally kicking myself for forgetting that he is a student now. "What was he here for?"

"I did not ask. He left in a hurry though. He was probably looking for you."

"Did he seem alright?" I ask, wondering why he had been in a rush.

"Fine, I think. He was probably just disappointed you were not here."

"I could have sworn I told him of my meeting," I say, but I shake my head. Perhaps I have been more absent minded lately than I had thought. "Well, goodnight, Salazar. Monkshood."

"Goodnight, Severus," says Salazar as he bows and the portrait opens at the mention of the password.

I stumble into my quarters, and I wash up quickly before going to bed. I fall into the mattress, my knee aching something fierce. I apply some of the homemade ointment I created years ago with a little bit of brewing, and I lie back on the pillow with a sigh of relief, my leg already numbed. I miss Harry right now. Even just knowing that he was in the other room would make me feel better. I comfort myself with the reminder that he is coming to tea tomorrow.

Still though, somehow I have found that I do not sleep as well when he is not down here with me in my quarters. I hate being away from him, but then again, maybe that is because the last time I was away from him for more than a few days wasn't the best experience.

It takes many hours for me to fall asleep. When I do I am plunged into dreams of liars and traitors, guns and mines, of children left behind, and of abandoned ships in hostile seas.

 

***

 

It seems like forever when Harry finally arrives after classes. I have a plate of biscuits on the table. They are peanut butter, his favourite kind. The house elves do not make them, because there are students with allergies, and so I had to learn to bake them early on, after my mother found out they were his favourite. This batch turned out well, although Harry's forbidden to mention that I can bake to any of my students. It's a sort of deal we forged when he was younger, because I'd have a real job intimidating students if they knew that.

"Hi Dad," Harry says with a smile. He looks a little downcast, for some reason.

"How have you been?" I ask, pouring him a cup of milk.

"Good," he says, but I can tell that he is leaving something out.

"Are you absolutely sure?" I ask lightly. "You seem like something is on your mind."

"Well, there is one thing," Harry mutters under his breath, looking like he just wants to get something over with as he picks at the biscuit on his plate.

I have to hold back a smile, because he looks so sheepish. I feel less of an urge to smile when it occurs to me I might have to answer questions about girls. I cross my fingers under the table that I can avoid that topic for another few years. The thought makes me miss Lily immensely.

"Well, first, I just want to say that I think you should give students copies of the revised recipes you use in class," Harry says to me plainly (and almost sternly). "Lucky for me, I could double check that we did in fact have to add beetle wings to our burn mending potion. Our textbook doesn't have that instruction, and your question about beetle wings confused some people."

"Ah, that's why Salazar said you were here the other day," I say, not bothered in the least. "So you checked my recipe book?"

"Yes," Harry says. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, you can feel free to check it if there are any inconsistencies with the course material and my instructions," I say to him, amazed that this is all that is bothering him. "I will definitely follow your suggestion. Sometimes I forget that the textbooks aren't exactly on the same page as my class material, so thank you for reminding me."

I have misjudged what was bothering him, and I realize this in moments.

"There's ... another thing though," Harry says quickly.

"And what is that?" I say slowly, trying to decide what he wants to ask.

"I ... I found your box."

I set my teacup down quickly, before I drop it. My hands are shaking, and I grip them together tightly under the table.

"Box? What box?" I ask innocently, although without meaning to, my words come across as rather dangerous, although I don't notice at first.

"I-I know I shouldn't have opened it, but I'd never seen it before, and it wasn't locked, and then I thought it was Grandpa's stuff so I looked through it a bit ‘cause he never minded me asking him questions and ... and ... his name wasn't on the tags. Yours was. I know I shouldn't have looked - and I won't do anything like that again, Dad. I'm really sorry." Harry is shrinking down in his chair, and it takes me a moment for me to understand why. He was always more emotionally intuitive than I. Just like Lily.

Breathe, Severus.

I force myself to relax, and Harry's shoulders lose their tenseness, and relief shows on his face because I no longer look angry.

  "No, you shouldn't have looked," I add quietly, and Harry looks down at his lap guiltily. It's clear he's sorry. Quietly, I add, "But what is done, is done." 

"There was a medal," Harry whispers to me after some time, when he realizes that I am not planning on elaborating. I know I am pale as a ghost, and maybe this is why he says it so quietly. "It was a Victoria Cross, wasn't it? For bravery. Was it yours? Why didn't you tell me? Were you really a soldier? Why were you in a muggle war?"

I have no words for this, and I open my mouth, trying to speak. I look away from him as I begin to say something, although I have no idea where I am going with my sentence.

"You have to understand ... I ..."

He looks at me, eyes wide, looking for answers.

"Harry, this story is not easy to tell," I say to him in a low voice, trying to stay calm, but I know I sound shaky. "It won't be easy to hear either."

"Please, can you tell me?" he whispers, hardly daring to speak.

How can I do this? How can I talk about what I have never told anyone? And then I remember that I do not have to tell him all the details. Only the ones he needs to know. But even speaking of it will bring all of the memories back to me, and I am afraid it will break me. But I see in my mind's eye Lily standing on that pier with her hair waving in the wind, her hands on her belly and her baggy clothing fluttering in the breeze.

"For your mother, I will," I say to him, my voice shaking. "It is a long story. I had to tell you eventually ... but you will not be given all the details. There are some things no man should witness, let alone a boy." Twenty-two, could I have even been considered old enough for that? When I look back on it, I feel like I was just a boy as well. I thought I was so grown up back then. But I wasn't. Only after the war did I realize that in my heart, I had still been a boy, just a boy who was in too deep, playing spy and trying to prove himself to the world.

"Okay," whispers Harry. I wait a moment, and he looks at me intently. I wish I had a day to work myself up for it. Or maybe a week. A year. And then I realize that I've been working myself up for this since I first held Harry, and I'm still not sure I'm completely ready. The realization that has slowly been dawning on me the past few years sinks in further now. As I take in a deep breathe, I finally understand that I'll never be ready. I start to speak anyway.

Chapter End Notes:
Well, that gets the ball rolling. Originally I had this chapter go into the first part of Severus' story ... but it was a bit long. Thought I'd let you guys suffer and wait a little first ... hehe ... *ducks jinxes* Next chapter should be up at relatively the same time/day next week though. Mondays are pretty good for me, so you won't need to wait horrendously long. Oh, and some of Severus' peanut butter biscuits go to those of you who left reviews on the first chapter - I was a little angsty about getting this one off the ground, so thanks!

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