Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you, absinthe, for the edits. :)

The amount of maths it took me to get the dates to be accurate should have been less than half an hour.

Spoilers: It wasn't. But! Accuracy achived. Well done, author, we're expecting the same effort for you exams come December.

TW for mentions of killing and racial prejuadice and grief.

One of the biggest canon divergence of the books if you don't, you know, count the whole...story. Any female chracter has not attended Hogwarts before 1850 (books 1969) Ie Molly Weasley, Narcissa Malfoy etc.
History, as Told by Dumbledore

"When Tom Riddle was at Hogwarts, he was a remarkable student. A great student who won the Headmaster's favor with his brilliant mind, and ranked high among the students with his looks and charm. However, he was under the influence of many, many minds similar to his own, but on the wrong path."

"The… Uh, Grindelwald you spoke off?"

"Among many," Dumbledore nodded, "I was, unfortunate to say, the only one that took notice of his declining state."

"You couldn't stop him?" Harry asked, prodding the fabric of the sofa.

Dumbledore was quiet, silent. The twinkle in his eyes had ceased, and the lines looked older for a moment, "Tom Riddle graduated at the same time Grindelwald was defeated. During his seven years of education he accomplished a great many things - things most men are unable to accomplish during their whole lives."

Harry looked up at Snape, maybe for comfort, maybe to see his reaction. He just throws the cut up vegetables into a pot, leaving Harry to look at Professor Patel, but she only offers a small smile.

Both aren't enough to mask the discomfort in his chest.

"Is that when he, well…"

"Not yet. Around two decades later, I became Headmaster of Hogwarts, slowly convincing the Board of Governors to accept more and more students into hadn't paused his mission, however convincing more people into the campaign he'd started during school, visiting the Ministry on a daily basis, writing books, speaking to authority figures, and attempting to collect support to pass his ideas and laws into the state."

"But he was unsuccessful?"

Dumbledore nodded, "I may have had a say in the matter, reminding the Minister about the chaos Grindlewald had caused with similar ideals. He, Tom Riddle, came to me after a year of me being Headmaster, requesting a job. I denied him, knowing what he planned to do to our students whom I was struggling to tempt away from his ideas. We had been accepting students -and teachers- of all backgrounds since 1850. I think you were among the first generation of new students, Professor Patel?"

Professor Patel nodded, her lips wide in a smile, "Yes Headmaster. I remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday."

Harry scoffed, "I don't think Tom Riddle was pleased with that."

Dumbledore nodded, but did not laugh, "Indeed. In 1851, one year later, he rose to power under the name of Lord Voldemort, marking his arrival with strange disappearances of innocents and terrorizing the masses."

"And is that when he started to-" Harry pointed at his forehead, pulling his bags apart, "-Do this?"

"Five years later, the Minister, unable to deal with the rising threat, was forced from office, Tom Riddle took a drastic, lethal step. He took on the job of 'cleansing the world of mudbloods' himself. He and his group of despicable followers, the Death Eaters, as they called themselves, raided homes, killing children, infants, their bodies found with a scar similar to your own on their foreheads. The families…" he sighed, rubbing his knees, "They were tied and left to suffocate in the flames the Death Eaters set on the house."

Harry touched his scar, biting his lip and clenching his fist, "All this because they were different?"

"Ignorant hatred."

Both Harry and Dumbledore turned to face Professor Patel when she spoke, and even Snape eyed her as he passed them to place the pot on the stove. Professor Patel looked up, her eyes widening in panic, holding both hands in front of her, "I didn't mean to interrupt, Headmaster."

"All in good intention, my dear. And you aren't wrong. I do not know what exactly drove Tom Riddle into such murder spree, but I do know he had a big weakness. Superstition."

Harry faced Dumbledore, "What does superstition mean, sir?"

"Belief void of human reason, and knowledge," Snape said, stirring the broth a final time and hitting the ladle on the brim of the pot before closing its lid.

"He killed those children because of a superstition?"

"No, my boy," Dumbledore said, a heavy, solemn air weighed on his shoulders, sinking them down. "He tried to kill you, because of a superstition."

Snape took the seat beside Harry, clasping his hands on his lap tightly, "Headmaster, if I may request."

"Too early, Severus?"

"Undeniably, on both sides."

Dumbledore nodded, clearing his throat and stroking his beard, "In 1861, I met with a woman under the name of Sybill Trelawney to interview her for a teaching position, during which I was disinclined to continue the subject at all. I had agreed to meet her solely because she claimed she was under threat due to her divination abilities."

"...Divination? Telling the future?"

"You're familiar with the word, I see."

"A friend taught me...but that's impossible! She can't tell the future!" Harry then paused, looking up, saying very quietly, "Can she?"

"Nonetheless, she made a prediction - a prediction that could very well be Tom Riddle's demise. A prediction that Tom Riddle used to mark you, Harry, as his end."

"I'm- I don't understand," Harry said, rubbing the side of his head, "How could she predict me? If this was in 1861, I must have been a baby."

"If we had the prophecy -as she called it- at hand," Dumbledore looked up, making Snape flinch behind Harry, "Perhaps we could shed some light on your confusion."

Momentarily, there was silence between them, occupied by the sound of the boiling broth, crackling fire, and Snape's deep sigh. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds. An awkward silence stretched between them.

"Severus-"

"Haven't you memorized it already, Headmaster?"

"Things often get lost in one's head, when filled as much as mine."

Snape sighed once again, running a hand through his curtain of hair, "Headmaster-"

"Severus," Snape looked up, one hand pulling back stray strands of hair. Dumbledore tilted his head to the side, "Please."

Another sigh, then:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

"You really memorized it, sir?" said Harry half-jokingly, attempting to brighten the clearly dampened mood.

"I am very close to turning you into potion ingredients."

Harry blinked, scooting away from Snape, "Potions aren't real."

Snape scoffed, smirking through his fingers, "We're talking about a 'prophecy', are we not?"

Swallowing heavily, Harry turned around, "So, Ms. Trelwely said someone born at the end of the seventh month will kill the Dark Lord? But what is the power she's talking about?"

"Trelawney made an outlandish assumption, littering it with delicate literature she doesn't understand," said Snape, shaking his head, "Someone foolish enough to be there, foolish enough to listen and naive enough to not take seriously directed the message to the worst possible person."

Harry hung his head, "To Tom Riddle?"

Snape paused, leaning back, "To Tom Riddle."

"And Tom Riddle thought that I was going to kill him."

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

Harry scoffed, standing up, clenching his hands with the emotion that was brewing in his chest. An emotion called anger.

"And he decided that was enough to come into my- into their house and-" Harry clenched his eyes shut, biting his lip. When he spoke, it was in a whisper, because he didn't trust his voice not to crack like the logs in the fire behind him, casting heat against him, "and kill them?"

Dumbledore nodded very slowly, "Yes."

Harry didn't manage to stop from crying that time. He did try. He really did. Eyes closed, hands covering his face, he paced around the room, squeezing his wrist and scratching his arm when he felt tears rise.

"Harry?" Professor Patel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, stepping his way, tilting her head to get a better look, "Harry."

Harry shook his head, looking up at her with blurry vision, "Why did it have to be me?" came out in a broken whisper.

Professor Patel opened her mouth to answer, but she closed it just as quick. The tears finally broke the barrier, sliding down his cheeks like delicate rain, like stranded snow. like drops of wax.

Then it was a storm, bawled into the Professor's chest, her arms circling around him and dropping with him to the floor, hands smoothing down the back of his head, rocking him gently from side to side. Too gentle, compared the boy in her arms.

"Why me!" was amongst the words muffled by the fabric of her dress, until those too turned into silent tears, and the occasional sniff between his trembling fingers.

The fire continued, and so did the hand cradling him, continuing to slide her fingers between his damp hair. Harry didn't know how long he lay sprawled on the floor with his head on Professor Patel's lap, his burning cheeks drying on her skirt.

"Harry?" Professor Patel spoke to his ear, pulling his hair back from his forehead, "Would you like to sit on the sofa? Or drink some water?"

Harry shook his head.

"I don't want you to get sick, Harry."

Harry shook his head, "Professor, please…"

Professor Patel nodded, rubbing the back of his head, "Of course. Only a few minutes more, alright?"

A nod, and Professor Patel's shoulders sagged forward, a sigh of relief escaping her lips, "Thank you, Harry."

Indeed, after a few moments, Harry swiped at his eyes and straightened his back. Without a word, Professor Patel led him to the sofa, and Harry wasn't surprised when he found both Dumbledore and Snape were gone.

"I asked them to leave," Professor Patel said, sitting him down, "I wanted you to have some privacy."

Harry nodded in thanks, and latched onto her sleeve when Professor Patel rose to leave.

"I'm just going to get you some water, Harry," she assured him, easing his hand off her sleeve, patting it when she placed it on the sofa, "Just going to bring you water. Would you like me to call Professor Snape and the Headmaster in the meantime?"

"Not yet."

Professor Patel nodded. Her footsteps disappeared towards the kitchen, followed by the sound of water being poured and the footsteps coming back. The glass was pushed into his hand, and the Professor drew circles on Harry's back as he gulped the water down.

"Better?"

A nod.

"May I call Professor Snape and the Headmaster back in? The broth shouldn't cook for much longer, either."

Hesitance.

"I will ask them to not mention anything."

A hesitant nod.

Professor Patel rubbed his back a final time, "Thank you. I'll be back."

The door to the staircase opened, and the noise carried down before disappearing entirely. Harry placed the cup down, leaning his head on the back of the sofa, hands covering his face. The emotion that had caused him to cry his heart out had passed, and he felt the inkling of shame circling his head.

He dropped his hands when he heard three sets of footsteps climbing the staircase. Not long after, all three adults entered, Dumbledore first and Professor Patel last. Dumbledore and Professor Patel both wore a smile, while Snape was stern as ever, though his eyes were creased with... something.

Harry wondered if it was a concern, before dismissing the thought entirely.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Dumbledore sir."

"Quite alright, Harry," Dumbledore assured him, sitting back down, "I understand if you wish to not hear anything further."

"No, I…" Harry rubbed his nose with his finger, twining his hands together, "I want to finish it. Please."

"Are you certain?"

Snape's eyes followed Harry while he carried the pot from above the fireplace to the kitchen. Harry nodded, straightening his back, "I want to listen."

"Of course. Well, when Tom Riddle learned of Professor Trelawney's prediction, he took it to mean your parents, who had thrice fought against him, and who had birthed a son, you, at the end of July. My spy, who was working in Tom Riddle's ranks, let me know of the situation. We asked James and Lily to hide, and they entrusted their location to a friend," Dumbledore paused, looking behind him, "Severus?"

Snape looked up from the bowls he was filling, raising a brow, before shaking his head. Dumbledore nodded, turning around, "The friend, tasked with alerting them of any news and providing food and necessary goods, betrayed them."

"Where was the Ministry when all this was happening, sir?"

"The Ministry had no evidence, or so they knowing there was a masked man under the name Voldemort claiming the lives of citizens, they denied any evidence was linked to Lord Tom Riddle, whom they saw as a strong, fundamental supporter of the state."

That wasn't surprising. Harry wiped his nose again, "So he attacked their home?"

"Yes. The rest I am about to tell you isn't known to the general population, so I must ask you to keep it secret. Do I have your oath?"

"Yes, sir."

Pleased, Dumbledore continued, his voice quieter, "Tom Riddle entered your home in Godric's Hollow, on October 31st, 1862, defeating James Potter-" Harry flinched, clasping his wrist, "-who bravely fought to protect his family. Next, he started to scavenge the house in search of you. What he didn't consider was the love your mother Lily has for you. We are unaware of the details, but Tom Riddle was caught in a fire set by either his followers or Lily Potter, obtaining great damage."

"But he survived?"

"With great damage, but yes. He did, while Lily Potter…" Harry nodded for him to continue, clutching his hands to his lap, "Lily Potter, too, was lost, at the door to your bedroom."

Snape took their silence to bring three bowls, handing one to each of them, excusing himself to take one down for Malfoy. Harry wrapped his hands around the bowl, finding it harder to concentrate on the comfortable, spicy aroma wafting from Snape's food.

"How did I survive?"

"Ah, well," Dumbledore put his spoon down, "Three people were there as well, that night. Hogwarts' gamekeeper, the friend who we discovered had betrayed them, and the Order's -the Order of the Phoenix, that is, who fought against Tom Riddle during the struggle- spy. The spy in question was the one that rescued you, going to great lengths to bring you to safety only to hand you over to Hagrid -the gamekeeper- at my order."

Dumbledore took a spoonful, humming, "I believe he'd have taken you with him personally, if I had not intervened."

The bowl was gradually burning his skin, so Harry readjusted it, turning his potatoes with his spoon. He wasn't the only one not eating, as Professor Patel seemed to be waiting for something, her bowl sitting on her lap. She did nod for him to continue, however, smiling in reassurance.

Lifting his spoon, Harry blew on the food, making sure it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, but warm enough to heat his stomach.

The meals at Malfoy Manor couldn't compare.

When Snape returned, Professor Patel stood up and asked him something about the ingredients, coming back to sit down with her eyes bright and a hand hiding her grin.

"Where have you stopped in your story, Headmaster?" Snape asked, taking a seat.

"Right when I was about to say Hagrid brought me young Harry -fear not, Severus, I have not- and I met with Professor McGonogall to leave him with his aunt and uncle."

Harry almost dropped his spoon, "My what?"

"You had no other family, Harry," Dumbledore said, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, "I fear if we'd left you elsewhere-"

"They must have had friends," Harry argued, dropping his spoon in the bowl, "They couldn't have been the only ones."

"Harry-"

"What about the spy?" this time, Harry's voice had gained some strength and confidence, the words spat more aggressively than intended, "He sounded very eager to take me! Why wouldn't you let him?"

"If you would listen, Harry-"

"My aunt and uncle were the worst sort of people!" he stood up, the food splashing in the bowl, "Because of them-!"

Professor Patel put her bowl down, "Harry-"

"Potter."

Harry closed his mouth when Snape's hand wrapped around his arm, tugging him down, "Dwelling on the past won't fix it. Mistakes happened. Unfair mistakes. Mistakes people have paid for and are continuing to pay for, whether you were there to witness it or not. Sit."

Harry paused, swallowing thickly. He listened to the hand wrapped around his arm, sitting back down, hanging his head.

"I just want things to be different," Harry said, defeated, glancing at Snape, "Is that wrong?"

"No," Snape was quick to say, placing his spoon down, "However, it is wrong to judge the Headmaster's work by the outcome and not the intention. We cannot predict the future."

"Trelawney can, apparently," muttered Harry, stuffing his mouth with another bite.

"No, I don't think she can," Professor Patel said rubbing her hand, "It was because Tom Riddle took it to mean the truth, did it become a part of reality."

"Can you expound on that, Professor Patel?" Snape asked, bending forward, hands clasped in front of him.

Without looking at either adult in the eye, she continued, "We often forget we can be wrong. I think what Tom Riddle did, was to ignore any evidence that might have contradicted this assumption -which in itself cannot be found in reality- and instead managed to build a loop where he makes it a part of reality by acting on it. I don't have a word for it, but I have done some passive research. There's an extract from a work that is quite descriptive of the topic we're discussing."

"Do you remember parts of books you read?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

Professor Patel grinned, "I take pride in my ability to memorize and remember...things."

"The text in question, Professor?"

"In Ibni Khaldun's Muqaddimah, he has said regarding history, and this is my own rough translation from Arabic, there are various reasons that make untruth affecting history unavoidable," Professor Patel paused, looking like she was doing a lot of thinking, continuing with a much slower pace, " Partisanship is one of them, for opinions and schools. If the soul is infected with partisanship regarding an opinion or group- well, I think the right word is sect- it accepts the information agreeable to it without a moment's hesitation. Prejudice and partisanship obscure critical ability, and prevent critical investigation. The result is that falsehood is accepted, and… carried forward, would be a suitable word. Francis Bacon and Arthur Schopenhauer and even Dante observed the same effect in their works."

"How fascinating. Thank you, my dear. This is the reason we take pride in our school's faculty."

Professor Patel smiled, head still bowed.

"As I understand, we've put the explanations behind us. How do you wish to continue, Headmaster?"

"I must ask Harry, first," Dumbledore, moved closer to Harry, twinkling eyes meeting with his, "Harry, would you like to come to Hogwarts?"

Harry's lips parted, and he felt the words he wanted to say get sucked out of him, lost on his tongue. When repeatedly opening and closing them didn't bring them back, he took a deep breath and nodded, a wide grin on his face.

"Very well. We will have to discuss an education plan, as Harry hasn't been to school before."

"Harry has received lessons in reading, writing, and the basics of mathematics, Headmaster," Snape intervened, tapping Harry's bowl for him to eat, "With lessons throughout the year, I'm confident he will catch up to his peers."

Harry exchanged the warmth of pride for the spice in the broth, even if it had gone a little cold.

"I will make sure to discuss it with the teachers, and limit electives to only one class. It's just lucky the students his age are starting the harder classes this year," Dumbledore said, "And the final question. What house should Harry be in?"

At this, both Professor Patel and Snape glanced at each other before quickly turning, both speaking at the same time.

"Not Gryffindor," said Snape.

"Slytherin," said Professor Patel.

"Wonderful," Snape muttered sarcastically, tilting his head to face Professor Patel, "Do you wish me an early death, Professor Patel?"

Professor Aisha covered her mouth slightly, "All in good intention, Professor."

"What a lovely idea for my epitaph."

At this, Professor Patel masked her approaching chuckle with a cough, clearing her throat and looking away from the group.

"Are we not agreed on the matter?" Dumbledore asked, "I wish to hear your opinions at the end of the summer."

"What do you think, Headmaster?" Snape asked, "Surely nothing other than Gryiffondor."

"I do not wish for Harry's identity to be revealed yet, if ever," Dumbledore added solemnly, glancing at Harry, who had put his empty bowl next to Dumbledore's, "Though I fear that will be unavoidable."

"You don't want backlash from students, parents, and the ministry," Professor Patel said, "They will make unlawful assumptions, no matter where we place Harry."

"Why?" Harry asked, finally speaking up,"It is just a house, why does it matter where I'm put?"

"If everyone thought the same as you, Harry, we wouldn't have this discussion in the first place," Dumbledore said, "We will think about it then, correct?"

Both Snape and Professor Patel nodded.

"Anything else I should know about?"

"I would like to speak to you about a few things, Headmaster," said Snape, picking up the bowls and stacking them together, the metal clicking against one another, "Privately."

"Have Harry or Draco been to purchase their school supplies?" Professor Patel asked, handing her bowl to Snape, "If not, I can accompany them to Diagon Alley."

Snape faced Dumbledore, "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked up, and shook his head, "Not yet, I think. I have a few arrangements to make at the ministry, regarding Harry. Please wait for my short return before taking the boys anywhere," at Professor Patel's nod, Dumbledore lifted a finger, shaking it knowingly, "Where did you say your Aunt and Uncle resided, Harry?"

"4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, sir."

"Just as I predicted. They have moved after you were given under their care, that is the reason we couldn't find you, if you had any doubts. Severus, my boy, before we talk, allow me a few minutes with Professor Patel."

Snape froze, looking between the two, but eventually nodded, gesturing toward the door for Harry to follow, "Come along, Potter."

"One thing sir!"

Dumbledore indicated for Harry to continue. Harry took a deep breath, and looked right into Dumbledore's eye, "Did you try looking for me?"

A nod from Dumbledore relieved Harry's shoulders, and his chest glowed at the rest of Dumbledore's sentence.

"I've exhausted the search only very recently. Three years ago, I believe, when we did find your family, but not you with them."

"When… When I started working for Edwin."

"Yes. Anything else? No? Thank you for talking with me, Harry."

Harry stood up, returning Dumbledore's smile, and waited for Snape while he placed the empty bowls on the counter, leading Harry down the staircase with a touch to his back. The door closed behind them, leaving them momentarily in darkness until they reached the last step. Soft light was filtering through the window, lighting a stripe that led to the counter where Malfoy was seated, swinging his legs, tapping the spoon on the counter.

"Draco, you damage the counter, you'll have to answer to someone other than me.."

Immediately, Draco straightened his back, almost falling off the counter, "Don't scare me like that!"

"If you're bored," Snape pulled the spoon from his grip, dropping it in the bowl and putting that aside, "I have many tasks at hand. Jars need resorting."

"I don't want to store jars."

"Floors need sweeping."

Malfoy groaned, leaning back on the counter, "Tell the floors to sweep themselves."

"Draco."

Malfoy lifted his arm, peaking through, "Is Patel going to do anything?"

"I, for one-" he helped Malfoy from the counter, looking around the store. Harry, who instantly knew what he was looking for, pointed at the corner of the room beside the door that led down to the laboratory.

"The broom, sir," he then added, feeling a burning, foreign emotion tangling his heart, giving it an unfamiliar and dirty tug.

"You've heard your friend, dearest. Get sweeping, Draco. Ali?"

Harry glanced up.

"You know how to sort the jars?"

"Yes sir."

"Stay clear of any herbs beginning with the letter 'g'. My trunk is behind the counter-" the door upstairs opened, making him glance up. He lifted a finger, pointing it between the two, "-Do not fight, do not cause a ruckus, and do not embarrass yourselves. Am I understood? Good."

He exchanged a nod with Professor Patel, who'd just come down, and went upstairs.

"He gave you chores?"

"The worst."

"You just have to sweep, Malfoy," Harry said, rolling his eyes and walking around the counter, flipping the lid of the trunk off, "Start sorting jars, then you can complain."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," Malfoy hissed, purposefully bumping Harry as he snatched the broom, "You have the bigger task, why don't you own up to it?"

Harry stopped, his hand touching the lid of a jar. He turned to Draco, eyes narrowed, "Did you-"

"You know," Professor Patel cut in, touching Harry on the shoulder, "I used to resort jars when I was younger. Have I told you about the time I mislabeled two herbs, bringing down the wrath of both a customer and my mother?"

Professor Patel kept them busy until Dumbledore left, a promise to visit soon as a parting gift.

Chapter End Notes:
I sincerely believe Harry's reaction was normal for any child who could have been in the situation to have. Rowling doesn't go into much of Harry's psychology, and it's swept to the side as unimportant. I don't want to do that with this story, and go into an orphan point of view as someone with a similar experience.

Stay safe, guys.

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