Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Catching Up

The stranger was tall and slender, dressed in what looked like brown leather trousers—though the material looked a bit odd to Harry—and light robes worn over a weirdly-fastened thick waistcoat, both of which were green. The neck of the robe was encrusted with rubies. Into the belt was tucked what looked alarmingly like a sword. He was pale-skinned and fair, his blue eyes kind but defensive. He had an air about him—or maybe that was just the possible sword giving Harry that idea—that he was not a man to be messed with.

“Harry Potter?” the man spoke.

“Yes,” Harry said warily. “Who are you?”

To his surprise and slight embarrassment, the stranger lowered himself swiftly onto one knee with the grace of someone who had had plenty of practise, and bowed his head slightly. “My name is Lyle Mentuta. I imagine your mother has mentioned me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “My mum? You knew her?” he said eagerly, for a moment forgetting that this man was a total stranger who had somehow sneaked into Hogwarts and was carrying a weapon.

Lyle looked up at him sharply, his eyes widening. “What … what do you mean, knew, sir?”

Harry was rather taken aback at ‘sir’, but answered, “My mum’s dead.” The horror that spread quickly over Lyle’s face shocked him in return. “You didn’t know?”

“No … I …” Lyle swallowed, trembling; he closed his eyes and bowed his head again. A tear slipped down his cheek. “Forgive me … I was not prepared for this,” he whispered. “Lillian was … Lily was …” His breath hitched and he couldn’t continue.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said awkwardly. “I thought everyone knew.”

“May I ask—how it happened?”

“Voldemort killed her,” Harry replied. “And my d—James.”

Oops. He probably shouldn’t have said that—correcting himself was a sure way to get someone, at some point, to put two and two together. At that moment, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care too much … he was puzzled and intrigued by the man before him. Despite his almost fearsome appearance, Harry couldn’t help but trust him. The man had the same innate goodness about him that Dumbledore and Hagrid shared.

At this statement, though, Lyle looked up. “James too?”

Harry nodded.

“May they rest in peace,” Lyle whispered. “But … your father—he is still alive, yes?”

Harry started. “What?”

“Severus,” Lyle said. “I understand he teaches here—Potions.”

“Yes but—how d’you know he’s my father?” Harry demanded. “I thought nobody knew that!”

“Lyle?”

They both whirled around. The subject of the end of their conversation had just entered, his wand outstretched. After the shock wore off his face, Snape lowered his wand. “Don’t think I am not pleased to see you; but what are you doing here? On second thoughts,” he added quickly as Lyle opened his mouth, “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He looked pointedly at Harry and back again.

Lyle looked confused, but nodded. “All right.”

Snape strode forwards and tugged on Lyle’s arm, practically dragging him out of the Hospital Wing and out of Harry’s earshot.

Affronted, Harry waited a moment before creeping out of bed and pressing an ear to the keyhole. He couldn’t hear a thing. Damn. Snape must have put up his custom silencing charm.

-

By the time Severus had finished speaking, Lyle had his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is all my fault … I should have stayed.”

“Don’t you dare,” Severus almost growled. “You did the right thing. Lily wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“But if I had left my post, stayed with you two …”

“Then you might be dead too. Don’t try to second-guess history, Lyle; believe me, it eats you up inside.”

“So …” Lyle paused, his eyes unfocused. “Your son doesn’t know.”

“Not yet. Like I said, he’s only just found out he’s my son. I didn’t think it a good idea to tell him everything about his mother at once—his head might have exploded. Not to mention, this school year hasn’t exactly been quiet anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Severus waved his hand. “Later. Now, I have a favour to ask. Harry’s been injured and I think I know why Poppy cannot find the cause of his pain. Can I ask you to take a look?”

-

When Snape and Lyle re-entered the ward, Harry was carefully tucked back in bed, looking perfectly innocent. Or maybe not. Snape gave him a wry look.

“Tried to listen at the keyhole, did we?”

Harry glared at him. How could he possibly have known? “No.”

The two men chuckled, and Harry folded his arms and glowered. “Harry,” Snape said. “Could Lyle take a look at your shoulder?”

Harry sat up straighter. “What?”

“I am trained in Healing,” Lyle answered, “and I believe I know what is troubling you. May I?”

“Er … yeah, okay. Go ahead. It’s that one.”

Harry kept as still as he could as he felt Lyle’s deft fingers examining him. He almost felt the wince. “Broken in four places,” Lyle muttered. “That won’t heal quickly.”

“Lyle,” Snape said, in almost a warning tone.

“So my shoulder is broken?”

For some reason, Lyle and Snape exchanged glances. “You have four broken bones, Harry,” Lyle said. “They’re bad breaks and they’ve been broken several days; so I’m afraid they will still hurt for a while after I’ve mended them—”

“That’s okay,” Harry said quickly. “Just as long as you can actually mend them.”

“Certainly. But this will hurt. Hold onto something.”

“Hold on,” Snape said quickly, and cast another silencing spell. “We don’t want to wake the Headmaster, or bring Poppy running.”

At first Harry was offended at the thought that he would make enough noise to wake Dumbledore, who after all had been given a sleeping potion by Madam Pomfrey, but didn’t get a chance to convey his opinion as pain seared through him. “Ow!” He bit his lip hard after he had let the first moan out, but it didn’t stop him going red with embarrassment. A hand slipped into his and gripped it, and he returned the favour as the second stab of pain kicked in. Looking down, he realised the hand was Snape’s.

Eventually, the pain stopped searing; Harry thought the overall level of pain was the lowest it had been since the Quidditch match, and Lyle asked Snape to fetch a sling. After being instructed firmly to rest his shoulder and arm, Lyle bound him up and declared his work done.

“Thanks,” Harry said in gratitude. “That feels much better.”

“The pain should be gone in a couple of days, and you should keep off it for a week,” Lyle said. “If it hurts longer than three days, let me know.”

“Okay. Um—how will I let you know?”

“Harry,” Snape interrupted. “You and I need to talk. Perhaps somewhere a bit more … private, than in here.” He glanced nervously around, as if worried Madam Pomfrey would walk in on them at any moment.

Harry stifled a yawn. “I don’t mind talking now. I’m wide awake.” He got sceptical looks in return. “Well, I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.”

“Well …” Snape hesitated. “All right. But you’re going back to bed afterwards, and I won’t hear no for an answer.”

Harry rifled through his bedside table and found writing utensils.

Dear Madam Pomfrey,

Shoulder much better. Have discharged myself.

Please let me know when the Headmaster is allowed visitors.

Harry Potter


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