Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 12

“How did you become a healer?” Snape asked Covey as they sat sipping wine and waiting for the house-elves to bring their dinner.

“I was pants at everythin’ else,” she said, the twinkle back in her eye.

“I highly doubt that,” Snape retorted.

Her smile was mischievous when she responded. “My grand-da was a healer. He was a great wizard. I like ta think a wee bit o’ his skill rubbed off on me. An’ ye? Why did ye become a potion’s master?”

Snape relaxed back into his chair, enjoying the drink and the company. “It was what I was best at.”

“An’ how did ye decide ta teach at Hogwarts?”

Here Snape hesitated. On one hand, she already knew about his dark mark. On the other, there was no sense rubbing her nose in it. Instead, he answered, “Albus needed a teacher and I was in a position to offer my services.”

“Do ye like it, then?”

Snape scowled and Covey laughed.

“I prefer the older students,” Snape replied. “The ones who can think for themselves and don’t need constant babysitting.”

“Aye,” Covey said with a smile. “I ken that.”

A spread of food arrived and they sat in silence while they filled their plates and their stomachs. More small talk ensued until Snape noticed that Covey was barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Pardon me for saying so,” Snape said, “but you don’t look in any fit shape to Apparate back home this evening.”

Covey glanced up at him, bleary-eyed and young-looking.

“You are welcome to stay in my quarters if you like. You can have my bed and I can sleep on the couch. Or, if you prefer, I could sleep in the hospital wing.”

“Sevvie,” she murmured, settling back into the couch and lounging against its padded arm. “I thank ye, but it really isna necessary.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not usually so drained,” she commented. “I’ve been plannin’ ta connect my flat ta the floo network fer some time,” she uttered, stretching languidly and tucking her feet up underneath her, “but I’ve been so busy.”

“Covey,” he said, “if you prefer not to stay here, I could escort you to an inn in Hogsmeade.”

“Nay, tis fine. Would ye mind if I just kipp’d on yer sofa fer a few winks?”

“Not at all, but the bed is much more comfortable,” Snape replied.

“Tis fine here,” she said, sliding down until she was lying across his sofa.

Severus nearly moaned at the sight of her lounging in his study, arousing parts of him he hadn’t thought about in quite some time. Ignoring the sudden tautness of his trousers, and glad he was still wearing his robes, he said, “Let me get you a blanket.”

By the time he returned with a warm blanket and pillow, she was already asleep. Firelight played off her blue-tipped spiked blonde hair, making it look like it was waving in a gentle breeze.

She lay on her side, her hands folded under her pale, smooth cheek, her lips pursed as if in concentration. She looked young and whole, and entirely too beautiful for the likes of him.

Taking a deep breath, he spread the blanket atop her and placed a warming charm on it. Then he gently slid a hand under her head to lift it so he could slide a pillow beneath. He felt a momentary impulse to kiss her forehead, but refrained, instead trailing his fingers softly from brow to chin.

“Sleep well,” he breathed, before forcing himself to head to his own bed chambers. He wondered if she’d still be there come morning, doubting that she would be.


Harry gasped awake, looking around with a start. Instantly, Madam Pomfrey was by his side.

“You are looking a bit peaky, dear,” she said, holding out a potion. “Nutrient potion. You missed breakfast.”

Harry reached for his glasses, which lay on a side table. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon, dear.”

He looked at the medi-witch questioningly. She was usually brusque and to the point. She had little time for endearments and less time for coddling. Why was she being so nice to him?

“Can I go to lunch, then?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, pursing her lips. “I need to get a few more potions in you, and Professor Snape wants to see you before you are released.”

“Snape?” Harry asked. “How come?”

Instead of answering his question, she said, “I will let him know you are awake.” She fussed with his sheets before adding, “Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have stopped by several times to see you. I told them you were resting and were not to be disturbed.” Then, she bustled back off toward her office.

Harry wondered what Snape wanted. But, more importantly, he wondered what he should tell his friends. He’d so far evaded their questions with half-truths and redirection, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they weren’t at all fooled and were just waiting for him to fess up.

But how do you tell your best friends that your relatives had beat you unconscious and burned you for doing magic? How did you tell them that the people who were supposed to keep you safe had tried to their hardest to break you?

And maybe they had, Harry thought wryly, considering he had blocked out most of the memories from his childhood. Lost in thought, Harry didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

“Why the frown, Mr. Potter?”

Harry jumped. “Sorry, Professor,” Harry said. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Snape nodded curtly. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, sir.” Harry said, noting Snape’s skeptical expression at his response.

“Any residual pain?” Snape asked in his deep voice.

“No, not at the moment.”

“Very well,” Snape said and then handed over a potion.

Recognizing the color and consistency, Harry guessed, “Mind strengthening potion?”

“Yes,” Snape said.

Harry unstoppered the vial and drank. The potion tasted like grass and bitter lemon.

Snape pulled a chair over with his foot and sat down. He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers.

Harry felt like he was being examined like some odd potion ingredient.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter.”

Harry barely kept his mouth from falling open in shock.

“I realize now that I have been quite unfair to you, stemming from my obviously incorrect assumptions regarding your upbringing.”

Harry surreptitiously pinched his thigh, wondering if this was a dream. Not only had Snape apologized, he had also addressed him with a modicum of respect. Snape seemed to be waiting for a response, so Harry mumbled honestly, “I don’t know what to say, sir.”

“You needn’t say anything at this time,” Snape said, still gazing at Harry.

Harry squirmed, feeling uncomfortable. This was not the Snape he knew, and he didn’t know what to do with this new seemingly repentant side of the usually cruel wizard.

“The next thing I wanted to discuss,” Snape intoned, “was yesterday’s healing session.”

Harry tensed, his defenses rocketing into place. He did not want to talk about his memories, least of all with Snape!

“I presume the images I saw in your mind were memories?”

“Yes,” Harry gritted out, daring the professor to challenge him or ask him what he’d done to deserve his relative’s harsh treatment of him.

“Have you told your friends what happened to you?” Snape inquired. “Mr. Weasley or Ms. Granger, for instance?”

“No.”

“Any reason?” Snape inquired.

“I… they… I just…” Heat rushed into Harry’s face. He hung his head, feeling suddenly ashamed.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, remaining silent until Harry met his gaze, “it is our collective and professional opinion that it would be in your best interest to speak with someone about what happened to you. Your healing sessions have just begun. If yesterday was any indication, you are going to need assistance dealing with the memories as they surface.”

Harry shook his head, as much in confusion as in denial.

“People don’t block out memories for no reason. Clearly you did what you had to do to survive. Now those memories are being forced into the open, whether or not you are ready to deal with them. It is only logical that you have someone that you can speak to about this.”

Harry felt his gut twist. He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to him. He couldn’t even tell Ron and Hermione. “Who?” Harry forced out in a whisper.

“Healer Cook suggested a Muggle talk therapist,” Snape informed him.

“A Muggle?” Harry asked, surprised.

“She thought it would be easier for you to speak with someone who did not know you. Someone who had not heard of your name and wouldn’t have any preconceived notions about you.”

Harry gaped. Who was this wizard sitting before him? Normally Snape would have taunted him about wanting to wallow in his fame, see his name in the newspaper. Did Snape really understand how much he hated being famous for something he couldn’t even remember? And something so odious as well?

Snape cleared his throat before continuing. “Healer Cook said that she would find you a Muggle therapist who specializes in child abuse if you were amenable to the idea.”

Ah, Harry thought, nodding. Healer Covey had come up with the idea. That made more sense.

Snape took his nod for assent and said, “Very well, I shall inform her of your decision.”

Harry thought to correct Snape, but stopped himself. As much as he didn’t want to tell anyone, telling a Muggle who knew nothing of his past would be easier than telling his friends. And considering how often he had nightmares about Voldemort and his parents dying, he imaged these uncovered memories were likely to haunt him equally, if not more, in the coming weeks.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape added, “the headmaster asks that I relay a message. He begs that you do not block your friends out, for as hard as it may be to confide in them, he feels confident that they will stick by your side and be your best allies in working through this.”

“He asked you to tell me that?” Harry queried.

“He did,” Snape responded. “Also, if you find yourself unable to keep up with your schoolwork, or are in need of any other kind of assistance, you may seek any of us out: myself, the headmaster, or Madam Pomfrey. We will do all in our power to see you through this, as we would any child who has suffered through what you have.”

Harry felt, once again, that he’d fallen into an alternate reality. Snape, the king cobra of the dungeons, was offering to help famous Harry Potter? He shook his head, stunned.

“The offer stands, Mr. Potter, should you need it.”

Harry looked up, surprised by the sincerity… and was it regret?… in the potion’s master’s eyes. “Thank you, sir,” he breathed.

Snape nodded. “You may return to your dorm now.”

Relieved, Harry flipped his legs off the bed and bent to put on his shoes.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter?”

Harry glanced up.

“Do remember what the headmaster said about your friends.”

Stymied, Harry was about to reply with ‘I will’, when, as Snape opened the door of the private room, his two friends burst in, concerned and defiant expressions on their faces.

“Harry!” Hermione screeched. “Are you alright? We’ve been so worried.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said. “McGonagall wouldn’t tell us anything.”

Harry glanced at the door and met Snape’s gaze. It wasn’t soft or patronizing, and the man wasn’t rolling his eyes at the teenage drama. Instead his glance was calculating, measuring, assessing.

Somewhat reassured that Snape hadn’t been given a potion to change his personality altogether, Harry returned his attention to his friends, vowing to tell them just a tiny bit of the truth. They’d always been there for him before. Why should this be any different?


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