Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
I have an additional beta, badgerlady, thanks for all her edits!!!
Chapter 18

Severus dressed in a pair of black trousers with a pin-striped gray button-down shirt. Beside him, Covey wore navy blue slacks and a salmon colored silk sweater that accentuated her curves in a way that made Snape want to take her to bed rather than to the appointment they had made.

Kissing the tip of her nose instead, Severus growled, “Later, I would like to ravish you, Ms. Cook.”

To which the comely witch wiggled her eyebrows and replied, “Promise?”

Snape bit back a groan.

Together, they apparated behind a rubbish skip (dumpster) in an alley in London before making their way to the block of buildings in which the Stanleys had their office.

“After you, madam,” Snape said, holding the door open for Covey.

Covey sashayed through the entryway, looking back over her shoulder with a smirk, knowing that Snape was looking at her bum. Snape cursed the saucy witch as he followed her inside, where they sat on the stiff chairs of the waiting room.

The two Stanleys entered and promptly stretched out their hands in greeting.

“Dr. Snape and Dr. Cook,” Dr. Roland Stanley said, shaking both of their hands. Dr. Marsha Stanley did the same.

“Please do come in,” Dr. Marsha Stanley invited them.

Snape and Covey followed the two therapists into their joint office and settled themselves onto the couch across from them.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Snape said.

“Aye,” Covey said, “we appreciate yer time an’ yer dedication ta yer profession. An’ ta our Harry o’course.”

“You are very welcome,” Dr. Marsha Stanley said. “And please, call me Marsha.”

“And me, Roland,” Dr. Stanley said. “It’s gets a bit confusing otherwise. Dr. Stanley,” he pointed to his wife, “and Dr. Stanley,” he pointed to himself.

“Of course,” Snape acknowledged.

“Remind me of your professions again,” Roland said politely.

Snape spoke up, his voice commanding respect. “I am a professor of Chemistry and one of the teachers at Harry’s school. Dr. Cook is a pediatrician who specializes in working with abused children.”

“Ah yes,” Roland commented nodding his head. “Do you mind if I take notes?” he asked, looking up at both of them.

“Not at all,” Snape said.

“Also,” Roland said, “before we begin, I must remind you that, due to confidentiality, we cannot reveal what we have discussed with Harry, at least not without his written consent.”

Snape held up a hand to stave off the conversation. “That is of no concern.”

Covey broken in then. “What he means is that we arna here ta discuss Harry’s therapy sessions precisely. We trust ye are both professionals an’ are doin’ what is best fer him.”

“Without giving us any specifics,” Snape said, “do you feel that he has been receptive to your techniques?”

“We haven’t had enough sessions to accurately gauge his progress as yet,” Roland responded.

“That is true enough,” Marsha added, “but I must say, I have had the feeling that Harry is leaving something out, something important, that has made therapy, shall we say, less relevant to him.”

Roland nodded. “I have sensed that, too. That Harry is holding something back. Until he trusts us enough to tell us, he may struggle to incorporate our therapeutic advice and techniques.”

Snape and Covey shared a glance; Covey nodded.

“You are both correct in your deductions,” Snape said.

“Tis why we are here tonight,” Covey clarified. “Ta explain ta ye both just what it is that Harry hasna been allowed ta tell ye.”

Snape watched as the Stanleys exchanged worried glances. Covey’s wording had aroused their suspicions. Secrets were never conductive to therapy.

“Before we begin, however,” Snape said, opening the Muggle briefcase he’d transfigured for this visit, “we will need you to sign a customary confidentiality agreement.” He pulled out the two sheets of paper and handed one set to each of them. “Standard procedure, I’m sure you understand.”

The therapists looked at each other in some alarm. Everyone in the room knew there was nothing standard about this.

Snape spoke to allay their concerns. “The agreements simply state that you will not discuss anything we talk about here outside of this office. Nor will you put anything in writing or into records of any sort, or publish anything about what we discuss, now or in the future.”

The Stanleys shifted uncomfortably.

“What about Harry?” Marsha asked.

“You are, of course, free to discuss this with him. It is because of his need to speak freely that we are disclosing this sensitive information to you,” Snape informed them.

Roland frowned as he reached for his reading glasses.

“Please take all the time you need to read the agreements. We are in no hurry,” Snape advised them. That wasn’t strictly true, but the agreements were straightforward and there was no hidden agenda. Albus, Covey, and he had decided this would be the easiest and most understandable means of getting the Muggles to agree to the terms of the International Statute of Secrecy, without having to explain it to them.

Strictly speaking, the confidentiality agreement wasn’t enforceable per se, but their signatures would bind them magically such that they would not be able to speak or write anything about the magical world outside of their discussions with Harry or amongst themselves as needed for therapeutic purposes. If they tried, they’d find themselves tongue-tied or suddenly distracted.

“We can wait outside while ye go over the document, if ye like,” Covey offered.

“Is this really necessary?” Roland asked. “We are professionals, after all, and our code of ethics prevents us from speaking about our clients specifically.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Snape said simply.

“Ye will understand why tis necessary after ye hear what we have ta say, ye ken?”

Marsha and Roland shared a look.

“It seems pretty straightforward,” Marsha remarked. “There’s nothing in this agreement that impedes or prevents us from treating Harry, nor anything that goes against our therapeutic standards.”

“Very well,” Roland conceded. “Would you like us to sign these now?”

“Aye,” Covey said. “Then we can tell ye what we came here fer.”

Snape watched with satisfaction as Marsha and Roland signed the agreements.

“Do you mind if we make a copy of these?” Roland asked.

“Not at all,” Snape replied. “But let us speak first. What we have to tell you will likely be a bit hard for you to believe, a bit incredible, if you will. Yet it is information that we believe is crucial to your ability to treat Harry, and for Harry’s ability to receive the type of therapy he needs.”

Snape felt the Stanleys’ intense gazes on him, half curious and half doubtful.

Never one to beat around the bush, Snape began succinctly. “Centuries ago, the world was a much more magical place. Some of the humans back then had what would today be referred to as magical powers. They were called witches and wizards. Some of them are in the history books: Merlin, for example, Joan of Arc, King Henry the VIII, Mozart, DaVinci, Aristotle, and many more.”

Snape ignored the doubtful looks on the Stanleys’ faces. “In more recent history,” he continued, “humans became jealous of the witches and wizards and violence erupted. Eventually, the magical folk went into hiding. They started their own schools and communities, and kept their powers from their non-magical neighbors.”

Pausing, Snape looked to Covey, then back at the Stanleys. “We are still called witches and wizards today.”

Silence hung in the room, and then Roland said, deadpan, “Magic.”

Snape and Covey both nodded.

Clearly thinking they were both pulling his leg, he quipped, “Let’s see your magic wands then.”

Without missing a beat, Snape and Covey both pulled out their wands.

Marsha cleared her throat. “We are both very busy professionals, Dr. Snape and Dr. Cook. Perhaps some would find your joke amusing,” she said, getting to her feet; her husband followed suit. “But we have more important things to do with our time than…”

“Please,” Snape interrupted, “hear us out.”

Looking wary now, the Stanleys reluctantly sat back down on the edges of their seats, prepared to stand again at any moment.

“Do you have a pen, sir?” Snape directed at Roland.

“A pen?” Roland repeated.

“Yes, a pen, an instrument used for writing.”

“I know what a pen is,” he muttered, pulling one out of his suit jacket.

“Set it on the table, please,” Snape requested. When he did so, Snape continued. “Marsha, what is your favorite small animal?”

“Small animal?” Marsha asked.

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was it about Muggles repeating everything you said as if they were completely daft. “Yes, a small animal.”

“I don’t see how this is relevant…” Marsha interjected.

“Humor me,” Snape insisted.

“Very well,” Marsha said with a sigh. “A rabbit.”

“What color rabbit?” Snape asked, sensing Marsha was reaching the limit of her patience.

“White with brown eyes,” she bit out.

Snape pointed his wand at the pen on the table, said a simple transfiguration spell, and sat back in amusement as the Stanleys first gasped, and then swore, at the small white bunny with big brown eyes and floppy ears nosing around their coffee table.

Sensing they were about to refute the evidence hopping around before them, Snape looked at Covey and said imploringly, “Do something.”

Covey stood, drawing all eyes to her. She pointed her wand at her head and her blue-tipped spiky blond hair turned green and grew rapidly to the floor. With another flick, her hair turned blue, then purple. Another flick saw it braid itself into long plaits. Another flick of her wand, and both she and Snape were wearing traditional robes.

“This is what we normally wear, ye ken?” she informed the Stanleys, pointing the wand at her head and returning her hair to normal.

With a shaking hand, Marsha reached out toward the bunny. “Can I touch it?” she asked.

Snape nodded.

Marsha petted the bunny with wonder.

“How is this even possible?” Roland murmured, his eyes round.

Snape smirked. “Some quirk of nature, I imagine.”

Roland shook his head, clearly not wanting to accept this new reality. “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of elaborate ruse?” he asked.

“I assure you it is not,” Snape replied.

Marsha scooped up the bunny and held it close. Looking up, she said, “I take it Harry is a wizard?”

“Aye,” replied Covey. “But he couldna well tell ye when ye didn’t even know about our world, ken?”

“We had no intention of telling you,” Snape added, pocketing his wand. “But it has come to our attention that the reason his relatives gave for abusing him was to rid him of his magic, which they saw as an undesirable trait.”

Roland laughed nervously. “I would think most of us would love to be able to do whatever it is you just did with your…”

“Wand,” Snape said sardonically.

“Yes, that,” Roland said.

“Unfortunately, Harry’s relatives don’t share your view.” Snape said.

“How did you come to chose us?” Marsha asked. “Surely you have therapists in your own world that would understand Harry’s heritage better than we would.”

Snape looked at Covey and knew she was thinking the same thing that he was: How much to tell them.

“For reasons that were entirely beyond his control, and not bad in the least, Harry has become a bit of a celebrity in our world. He did not wish for his very personal past to become public knowledge.”

 “But surely you could have found someone trustworthy,” Martha replied

“It wasn’t worth the risk,” Snape said with finality.

“Were Harry’s parents a… a witch and a wizard?” Roland asked.

“They were,” Snape replied.

“And why didn’t they raise Harry themselves?”  Roland inquired.

“His parents were murdered when he was one year old,” Snape said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marsha said.

“What happened to the person that murdered them?” Roland inquired.

“He’s still around, causing trouble,” Severus said.

“Is he a wizard too?” Marsha asked.

“He is,” Snape said, knowing that he needed to change the subject before they realized they would become a target if Voldemort ever discovered their connection to Potter. Directing their attention to the signed confidentiality agreements, he asked, “Would you like me to duplicate those for you?”

Together they nodded.

Snape pointed his wands at the papers. A copy of each document appeared.

“Bloody hell,” Roland breathed. He looked to his wife with excitement. “That surely would be useful.” Looking back to Snape and Covey he said, “There’s no way you could teach us how to do that, is there?”

“Sadly, no,” Snape said, a genuine smile tipping his lips at the childlike wonder in the man’s eyes. For a brief moment, he could understand Arthur Weasley’s fascination with Muggles.

“Ye have ta be born with it, I’m afraid,” Covey added.

“If you could do that, Roland, we’d have a house full of old cars,” Marsha said to her husband. Then looking at the witch and wizard, she said, “He collects old cars.”

Looking abashed, Roland cleared his throat. Snape could see it was taking the man great effort not to ask a thousand questions about the magical world. “Is there anything else we need to know to better help Harry? About this… stuff?“ He gestured around the room, indicating the rabbit now dozing in his wife‘s hands.

Snape looked at Covey.

“I canna think o’ anythin’ specific,” she said. “Ye can, o’ course, contact us if ye have any questions.”

“That would be very helpful,” Marsha said. “I imagine we will have many questions as time goes on.”

As Snape and Covey rose to leave, Marsha said, “What do I do with the bunny?”

“Keep it if you like,” Snape said. “Or I can banish it back to the woods if you prefer.”

Marsha looked imploringly at her husband. “We could keep it in the office,” she said. “The children would love it. It could be a great therapy tool.”

Roland smiled ruefully. “How could I possibly say no to a magical rabbit?”

Snape reached out to take a copy of the confidentially agreements. Seeing a paperclip on the table, he transfigured it into an identical copy of Roland’s pen that was now a bunny. “Your pen, sir,” he said, handing it to Roland.

Roland looked as though he’d just won the lottery. “Blimey.” Looking up at Snape he said, “this is going to take some getting used to.”


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