Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

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Potions

Snape, he found Snape fascinating.  There were no other words that worked.  

The man himself was hardly a specimen of beauty, despite being dark and sleek and deadly.  He gave the dullard chills, but he absolutely fascinated the freak.

Never before had he met someone who hated Potter as much as he, but it seemed likely that Snape hated him just as much, if not more.

Of course, there was that unfortunate set of circumstances that made Snape think he was Potter, but that just meant that he would have to show him otherwise.  

Snape’s jibe about his being a celebrity made more than a few of the Hufflepuffs giggle nervously.  

His housemates looked at him in askance, but he shook his head.  It was difficult to become angry when he found himself in complete agreement with the man.  

He found himself thinking that if Snape wanted to find a way to make him feel bad about himself, then he was going about it the wrong way.  Not once during his litany of insults or subtle jibes regarding Harry’s intelligence did the man resort to curse words or physical violence--threatened or otherwise.

He wondered if that was intentional on Snape’s part, or perhaps due to a requirement of all teachers within Hogwarts.  He decided that he would need to find the school handbook--provided there was one, of course--and read it thoroughly.  It was important to him, to the freak, that he understood all that Snape was allowed to do to him.

After all, a threat without accompanying behavior was only empty words.  

Words--though they could malign and belittle--did not draw his blood or break his bones.

Of course they still could hurt.  He wasn’t dismissing the pain that words could draw; rather, he appreciated the chance that only words gave him to survive another day.  

Internally, the freak wondered if he were in some way broken.  

Probably, was his disheartening thought.

. . .

“It’s very nice to meet you, Professor Snape,” He said, offering his hand to the man at the end of class.  

He wasn’t overly offended when Snape didn’t take his hand, choosing instead to look at him as if he was somehow lacking mentally.  

Slowly he dropped his hand and cocked his head as the man spoke.

“Somehow, I very much doubt the veracity of your words, Potter,” The man spat.  “If you are somehow hoping for leniency on my part, then I can assure you, yours is a hopeless case.”  

He smiled, making Snape frown at him.

“I appreciate your bluntness, Professor.  I appreciate it when people are honest about how they feel about me.”

He very nearly said ‘Potter,’ but opted out at the last second.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go?  Another professor’s time to waste with your idiotic blunders?”  Snape sneered.  “I shan’t be writing you or your nasty little friends anything resembling a note, so don’t bother whinging for one.”

“I’d hardly say that I know you well enough to ask for such privileges, Professor.  As for friends,” He frowned.  “I can’t say that I know what having one of those feels like.  I’ll let you know.  Bye!”  

He ran out of the classroom.

Behind him, Snape stared at his retreating figure with a confused look.  

“Impertinent child,” He growled, stalking off toward his office.  

He had more important things to do than try to figure out the son of Potter.  He was all too certain that his colleagues were jumping at the chance to do so, and he wasn’t about to get riled up about the same.  

. . .

“Snape?  He terrifies me,” Neville whispered to him the next day during Charms.  

The other boy was white faced and shaking, a clear by-product of being around Snape’s imposing figure for an entire hour.  

“Yeah, but did he hit you?  Did he grab you and throw you across the room when he was angry at you?”  He pressed when his head of house wasn’t looking at them.

“N-N-No,” Neville stuttered.  “But he loomed.  And he got in my space.  And it felt like all the air in the room was being sucked out and that he was the one responsible.”

They weren’t able to talk again until after class as Flitwick spent the rest of the period having them practice rudimentary wand movements.

“Proximity,” He stated as they packed their bags up after class.

“I beg your pardon?”  Neville asked in confusion.

“You don’t like how close he is.  That’s your trigger.  Maybe we could talk to him?”  He suggested.

“Noooooo,” Neville moaned, thumping back down in his chair and covering his face with his hands.  

“Come on, I want to show you something in the library,” He suggested, pulling Neville by the arm when the other boy made no move to get up.

“Now you sound like Granger.”

“Who?”

“Granger,” Neville explained sedately on their way to the library, “Is a girl in Gryffindor who should have just been sorted into the Library and left there.”

Harry’s eyes were wide.  

“No, really,” His friend protested when he saw the look on Harry’s face.  “All she does is read, sleep and quote passages from books.”

He scratched his head as they came up on the entrance of the library.  

“Don’t imagine she’s going to be very popular,” He muttered in a low voice.

“None of the first years will sit with her, so she keeps sitting next to me--which is bad.”

He stopped in the middle of the stacks and stared at Neville knowingly.  He felt a chill go down his spine at the idea that Neville had experienced any of what he had.  It was an oddly comforting thought, horrific as it was.

“Let me guess, without her around, you can blend into the background, but when she sits next to you, you stick out like a sore thumb?”

Neville sighed morosely in response.  

He looked so glum that Harry had to stop and remember why they were there at all.  

“Come on,” Harry said, changing the subject as his memory regained its footing.  “I want to show you what I found.”  

“Sure,” Neville answered, quiet voice barely distinguishable amid the mild sounds of the library.

He gently dragged Neville through the general areas of the library until they got to the back wall.  Scanning the books in front of him, he soon grinned and pulled one down.  It was an old tome, and should have been too heavy for him to lift, but there seemed to be some kind of magic embedded between its pages that made it a workable weight.  

Carefully, he carried it over to the nearest table and presented it to Neville.

“‘Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon?’” Neville read out in a questioning tone.

“It’s the handbook for Hogwarts,” Harry explained.  “Madame Pince showed me where it was.”

Neville gave him an unimpressed look and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“The reason I’m showing you this is the section at the back.  Look here,” Harry said, flipping back to the appendix.  “Back in the, oh maybe late 1960s, Hogwarts adopted a stance against physical punishment.”

“Dumbledore became the headmaster sometime around then,” Neville pointed out, dropping his hands back down to his sides as he peered interestedly at the book.

“Well, it’s never been mandatory, but the professors here are encouraged to sign it.”

“How do you know?”  Neville asked, looking at him curiously.

He shrugged.  

“Madame Pince told me.”

“She hates first years.”

“Maybe it’s just Gryffindor first years?”  He countered.

“No, Percy Weasley told me it’s all first years,” Neville argued.

“Who?”

“The Gryffindor prefect.  He’s kind of like a smarmy older version of Granger.”

Harry covered his mouth to keep from snorting aloud.

“That’s terrible.”

Neville scowled.  

“You try getting pranked by the Weasley twins for sitting next to her.”

“Are they related to Percy the prefect?  And Ron in my house?”  He asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it mean stuff?”  

“Sometimes,” Neville looked uncomfortable.  “But everyone seems to like them and no one in Gryffindor ever reports them.”

It was Harry’s turn to scowl.  He hated bullies.  They didn’t care if he were Potter the freak or Potter the dullard.  They had always turned on him and often had gotten his classmates to do the same.  

Silently, he vowed to talk to Granger, but perhaps without Neville present.  

“Okay well, Madame Pince likes me for some reason,” He said, trying to get them back on topic.

Neville grinned evilly.  

“Maybe it’s because you’re Potter.”

He shuddered.  

“I hope not.  Look, she didn’t even use my name.  Didn’t try look at my scar either,” He added.  

He rather liked Madame Pince.  She treated him like a human.   

Maybe she can see the freak, he thought.  Maybe she likes freaks.

He hoped so.

“Anyway,” He tried again, giving the other boy a glare for getting them sidetracked.  “Look at the list of people who signed the code.”

He slid the book closer to Neville and watched as the other boy bent his head over it.

“Professor Snape!?” Neville spat out incredulously.  

“Shh!  Are you trying to get her upset?”  Harry hissed.

They stopped and looked around, feeling certain that they were about to be descended on by an irate librarian.  When no one appeared, they slowly began to relax.

“Professor Snape can’t hurt you,” Harry whispered, jabbing his finger at the page.  “He promised when he signed this.”

“He doesn’t have to do it himself.  He can get someone else to do it for him,” Neville shot back, voice also in a whisper.

“Hogwarts won’t let him.”

“What on earth does that mean?”  Neville demanded.

“It means,” Harry answered, raising his voice a slight amount.  “That if he hurts a student--directly or indirectly--then Hogwarts will know and cast him out.  Look, it happened in 1973 with the Arithmancy professor.  Hogwarts dumped him outside the wards and refused to let him back in.”

Neville’s eyebrows had disappeared under his bangs, so great was his surprise.  

“He can still loom.  And vanish my potion.  And threaten,” Neville argued slowly, awkwardly shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Stop that,” Harry ordered, pulling the other boy’s hands out.  “You look ridiculous,” He added with a grin to show he wasn’t being mean.

“And everyone else will laugh when I fail,” Neville continued, looking at him balefully.  

“Why do you have to fail?”

“Because I’m worthless.  Nobody, right?”

Harry’s jaw clenched and his eyes watered at the mournful acceptance in Neville’s voice.  

“But, that’s what they think,” Harry argued desperately, grabbing Neville’s hands.  “Why do we have to let them be right?”

“Because they’re older and they outnumber us?”  Neville offered, staring down at their hands in wonder.

He squeezed Neville’s hands and then let go.  

“For now they outnumber us.  For now.  Come on, we gotta get to lunch.”

To be continued...

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