Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 32

A/N: Dialogue excerpt from end of Chapter 28, Book 5. All rights belong to JK Rowling.


“On the count of three, then: one-two-three-Legilimens!”

Snape was walking through Potter’s mindscape, rolling his eyes at the trivial things he found there: Ron and Hermione laughing, Remus patting him on the shoulder, Sirius embracing him, Cho Chang leaning in for a kiss…

“I’m trying,” Potter complained. “But I don’t know HOW to do it.”

“Clear your mind,” Snape said. “Focus…”

“TEACH ME!” Potter shouted. “Teach me HOW! I don’t know how to do it!” Potter said, pulling at his hair in frustration. “Sir,” he added as an afterthought, dropping his hands.

Snape eyed Potter as if he were some odd potions specimen. Did the boy really not know how to clear his mind? Could he be that obtuse? Was it truly not an act just to infuriate Snape and make his life miserable?

“Potter,” he said, “are you honestly telling me that you can’t clear you mind?”

“How would I know how to do that?” Harry demanded.

“I thought it’d be obvious,” Snape said, now loosely holding his wand in his hand.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Harry stated. “Sir.”

Sucking in a breath and willing himself to be patient, Snape finally said, “Have a seat, Po– Harry.”

The boy obeyed.

“Tell me, what do you think about when you are on a broom, playing Quidditch?”

“I think about catching the Snitch. And about if we are winning, or how many goals ahead or behind we are. And how that affects our chances at the House Cup.”

“Really?” Snape replied. “Tell me, once you see the Snitch, once you have it in your sights, what do you think about then?”

“Catching it,” Harry replied instantly. “As soon as I can.”

Snape paused, stroking his chin. “You think about catching it,” Snape repeated, deadpan, looking at Potter as if that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“Yeah, I…” Harry began, but then a puzzled look came across his face. “I guess I don’t really think about anything when I’m pursuit. Everything in me is a hundred percent focused on catching it. I don’t need to think about it, it’s like a reflex, I suppose.”

Snape looked expectantly at Potter, waiting for the boy to make the connection.

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Harry expressed in wonder. “I’m a hundred percent focused and my mind is clear when I’m going after the Snitch.”

“And why is that?” Snape coached.

“Because I already know the end result. The Snitch, in my hand. I don’t need to think. Everything in me already knows.”

“Exactly,” Snape said, feeling satisfied at the look of dawning recognition on the boy’s face. “Want to try again?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, just give me a minute to think about this.” After a few moments, Harry nodded. “Ok, I’m ready, let’s give it a go.”

Snape raised his wand. “One-two-three-Legilimens.”

Snape was once again inside Harry’s mindscape, but this time, he was surrounded by darkness. Not an ominous darkness, just emptiness. As if no one was home. He prodded the darkness with his wand, but it merely shifted and slid; no openings were revealed that he could pursue.

He doubted that Potter’s shields could hold up under a full assault, but it was definitely a start. In the past he might have pushed past them just to prove he could and then given Harry a hard time about it. Instead, he pulled out.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. For a first attempt, that was excellent.”

Harry beamed at him.

Snape set his wand on the desk and looked Potter dead in the eye. “You were able to show me memories you wanted me to see months ago. You were able to take me into your memories and hold me captive there last night. You have the makings of an incredibly strong Occlumens. You need only training and discipline to master the art and nuance of it. But your natural inclination is already strong.”

Harry stared at him, looking startled. “But you said I was terrible at it.”

“You are, in the sense of learning first things first. But you, Mr. Potter, never seem to do things the way you are supposed to. You skipped all of the first steps—shielding, protecting your thoughts, guarding your mind—and went straight to showing others your memories, or holding them captive in them. That is not the normal order of things.” Sighing, Snape said, “I suppose I should stop looking for normal when it comes to you and take a page out of Covey’s book.”

“Covey?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“Yes,” Snape replied. “She had a very specific and well-thought-out plan when it came to your healing. And yet, when she tried to follow that plan, your magic rebelled. It led her to other places, demanding she follow your magic’s direction and not the other way around.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “I didn’t know that.”

“What you do not know could fill an ocean,”

Harry’s mouth turned down in annoyance at the jibe.

“And that is why,” Snape said, “I am going to train you. You are a blank slate. With discipline and determination, I have no doubt you can become an Occlumens to rival Dumbledore himself.”

Harry gaped at him. Finally, a small smile slipped across the boy’s lips. “Can you tell me something, sir? Why does Dumbledore not want me to go through that door? What is in there that I mustn’t see?”

“That is not something I can answer.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both,” Snape said. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“I disagree,” Potter said stubbornly.

“Do you?” Snape said. “Well then, I suggest you take the matter up with the headmaster. He is the one who makes the rules, not I.”


Harry had never had a pet before, although he’d always wanted one. He had Hedwig, of course, and she was dead useful, but it wasn’t the same as having a pet you could snuggle with and sleep with and hang out with all the time. Earl Grey had taken a liking to Harry from the moment he’d moved in to Snape‘s quarters, and the feeling was mutual.

Harry’s belongings had already been moved to Gryffindor tower, heralding his return, yet Harry stood in his first-ever bedroom holding Earl Grey and lamenting leaving. Yes, he wanted to return to school and his friends, but he didn’t want to leave the safety of Snape’s quarters behind, nor the comfort and acceptance of the black cat who always seemed to know when he needed her.

“You‘ve already corrupted my cat. Surely you aren‘t planning to kidnap her now too, are you?” Snape asked.

“No, sir,” Harry said, reluctantly setting her on the floor. Earl Gray looked put out. She stretched her paws up to rest against Harry’s knees, as if asking to be picked up again.

“Sir?” Harry began, but then decided better of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “Thanks. For letting me stay here.”

“Harry,” Snape said, “ask your question.”

Harry fidgeted. It was stupid really. “I was just wondering if I could come visit sometimes. The cat, I mean. Earl Grey.”

Snape sighed. “I suppose it would not hurt for you to visit. Perhaps after Occlumency lessons.”

Harry grinned.

“But only,” Snape said, raising a hand, “if you come prepared and do well. If not, no cat.”

“Deal,” Harry said, feeling just a little bit lighter about leaving.

 


 

Harry made his way to Snape’s office for another Occlumency lesson. He was getting somewhat better, but with all that was going on, he hadn’t practiced nearly as much as he should have. He knocked on the door and was bidden to enter.

“Good evening, sir,” Harry said.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape nodded.

Harry noticed that the man looked harried and a bit out of sorts. So he wasn’t entirely surprised when Snape started without further preamble.

“Ready?” Snape asked, lifting his wand.

Harry, standing opposite Snape across the man’s desk, nodded. He barely noticed the Pensieve sitting on the desk. It was always there and, on occasion, Harry had seen Snape removing his memories, though he didn’t dare ask what they were.

“On the count of three, then. One-two…”

The door burst open and Draco Malfoy stood there, panting, looking surprised at the sight of Snape with his wand trained on Harry.

Slowly, Snape lowered his wand. “What is it, Draco?”

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Draco said, shooting Harry a curious look. “But Montague has just turned up jammed in a toilet on the fourth floor.”

“How did he get in there?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know, sir, but he’s a bit confused.”

“Very well,” Snape said, stowing his wand. “Potter, we will continue this lesson tomorrow evening.”

“Okay,” Harry said, returning Draco’s considering look with a glare.

Harry had taken two steps towards the door when he realized he’d left his book bag on a chair in Snape’s office. He stepped back inside and flung it onto his shoulder. As he turned around, pain shot violently through his scar. He cried out, stumbling forward, clutching his forehead.

Blinding, excruciating waves of pain coursed through his head. He felt himself falling forward and tried to reach out to break his fall, but before he knew it, his face hit something very hard and he felt, as well as heard, his front teeth snap. Simultaneously, his wrist hit something else equally hard in a very awkward position, twisting sharply. He cried out again in pain, only to gag on a glutinous fluid.

The room began spinning and his vision blurred to darkness. Then, coughing, spitting out blood, and in agonizing pain, he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the Great Hall. The long house tables were gone and he was surrounded by hundreds of smaller desks, the heads of students bent over rolls of parchment, writing furiously. The edges of the room seemed to slide out of focus, misty and dim.

“Oh no,” Harry moaned. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Where the teachers usually sat was now a large chalkboard with the words “DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS -- ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL.” Beneath that, was a charmed clock that showed the remaining time for the exam.

Harry looked around frantically, cradling his injured wrist to his chest and wiping the blood from his mouth with his other hand. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a too-thin version of teenage Snape, looking around Harry’s own age, his hooked nose precariously close to the parchment he was writing on. His hair hung in a lank, greasy black curtain around his pale face. Harry groaned. This couldn’t be happening to him. Snape would NEVER believe this was an accident.

Dizzy, and still in excruciating pain from his throbbing scar, his missing teeth, and his aching wrist, Harry looked up, hoping beyond hope to find a way out of Snape’s memories and back into the man’s office. But even though he’d been in a Pensieve before, he had never been the one to extract himself. Dumbledore had done that, and Harry had no idea how the wizard had done it.

Thus, with a heavy heart, Harry was forced to watch, from Snape’s perspective, the utterly disgusting and intolerable behavior of his father and Sirius. He felt sick. This wasn’t any different than how Dudley treated him. Snape, like Harry, had done nothing to incite the ill treatment. His father and Sirius had merely gone after Snape because he was different, unpopular, poor, and they were bored.

Beyond feeling sorry for Snape, he also felt the landscape of his life sliding out from under him. Who was his father, anyway? At least his mum had tried to stand up for Snape. But his father had been arrogant and cruel, just as Snape had always claimed. Harry had always thought of his father as someone to look up to, but now… Now all the things he’d believed shifted into what the rest of his life had always been—an illusion.


A vice-like grip suddenly closed around Harry‘s upper arm.

“Having fun?” Snape’s adult voice said, vicious with fury.

“Sir!” Harry exclaimed, his speech slurred due to his missing two front teeth. “I wawn’t…” But his words were cut off as the scene fell away beneath him, spinning and going dark, before he was flipped once and then landed back on his feet in the Potions master’s office.

“So,” Snape said, his face white with rage, his pupils dilated, making his eyes look completely black. “So… been enjoying yourself, Potter?”

“No!” Harry replied, “Sir, I…”

“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” Snape interrupted, seething.

Harry shuddered. He’d never seen Snape so angry.

“Pwease, I- “

“You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!” Snape bellowed.

“No, I woulwn‘t…” Harry said desperately.

“Get out, get out, I don’t want to see you in this office ever again!”

Snape threw Harry from him, and Harry cried out, the motion jostling his already injured wrist. Harry wanted to explain, wanted to demand that Snape look at him, see his two missing teeth—evidence that it had been an accident, but one last look at Snape’s livid face told him the man was beyond reason at the moment. Deciding to give Snape time to cool off, Harry raced out the office, his heart in his throat. He heard the office door slam and lock behind him as he went.

Two floors up, he found a deserted classroom, shut and locked the door, and sat in an empty desk, his head on his uninjured arm. Why did these things always happen to him? It wasn’t fair! But then, his life had never been fair: not his parents dying, not his abusive relatives raising him, and not Snape’s unjustified hatred of him.

At least now he understood where Snape’s rage stemmed from. It still wasn’t fair that Snape took it out on Harry, but now Harry knew that Snape’s hatred of his father was warranted. He knew the feeling of being humiliated and ostracized all too well. He swore loudly.

There was so much more at stake now. Snape was the one adult who seemed to care whether Harry succeeded or failed, lived or died. Or at least he had. And Harry was not willing to give that up, even if he had to go crawling back to the man for forgiveness.

His tongue flicked up to the hole in his mouth where his two front teeth had been. The pain had lessened some. Would Snape look in his Pensieve? Find the teeth floating there? See the blood mixed in with the memories? Make the connection?

Harry doubted it. Snape was too inclined to believe the worst of him, perhaps the worst of everyone. And after what Harry had seen, both in Snape’s childhood memories and the memories in the Pensieve, Harry couldn’t really blame the man for his pessimistic attitude.

Pulling a piece of parchment from his book bag, he transfigured it into a piece of fabric and used it to make a sling for his arm and wrist. With the pain he was in, he reckoned it was broken. He thought about going to the hospital wing, but then he’d have no evidence to convince Snape, and he knew he’d need that evidence. And so he waited. He thought he’d try Snape’s quarters around 8 pm. In the meantime, he’d attempt to distract himself by doing some homework.


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