Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 23

 “I’m sure you know that his situation is… less than ideal, headmaster,” Snape said, as the two of them navigated the west wing corridor of the castle. They were in search of Peeves who, rumour had it, had flooded the girl’s lavatories out of spite when his usual taunting had failed to achieve the desired reaction from Moaning Myrtle.

 “As a matter of fact, I do. I recall Minerva pointing out when we left young Harry there that they were… what was it, now? ‘The worst sort of muggles imaginable’,” Dumbledore nodded.

 “So then why was the boy left with them in the first place?” the potions master asked, exasperated.

 “I feel sure you know why, Severus. But might I ask, why this is suddenly of consequence now? After all this time?” he asked.

 “Headmaster?”

 “Surely this is not the first time you’ve become aware of Harry’s treatment by his relatives?” the older wizard asked, raising a brow.

Snape bristled. “Previously I was not… in a position to… act upon my observations… But now…”

 “Now? Now that you’ve grown to care for the child?” Dumbledore surmised.

 “He has expressed a wish not to return there this summer,” the potions master told him plainly, refusing to engage in any further game play with the headmaster.

 “Ah.”

 “Is that all you have to say on the matter?” he demanded.

 “I suspected this might happen,” Dumbledore told him. “After all, Harry really has become very attached to you…”

 “I hardly think that–”

Dumbledore smiled gently. “Come now, Severus.”

 “Contrary to your evident belief, headmaster,  I am not here to discuss this with you simply for your endless entertainment, or to leave you with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. The boy is miserable and wishes to remain in my care over the summer break. I am here to establish the feasibility of the request, nothing more.”

 “Alas, you and I both know it is not feasible in the slightest, my boy,” he said, a glint of sadness replacing the usual twinkle. “The bl–”

 “–The blood wards protect him. Yes, I am aware,” Snape snapped, impatient.

 “You are aware, yet here you are. A tick box exercise perhaps?” the headmaster suggested.

 “I can protect the boy as well as any blood wards,” he said.

 “I have no doubt that you would try Severus, but you and I both know that there is no greater protection for young Harry,” Dumbledore told him.

The potions master sighed.  “There is no possible way for us to replicate their protection?”

Dumbledore considered it for a moment.

 “None that are guaranteed, or that do not put little Harry in grave danger. However…”

 “Yes?” Snape urged

 “There is an ancient belief that the blood wards can - in some instances - replicate themselves, so to speak. That is to say, that they can - under rare circumstances - follow the one they protect to a new place of sanctuary. One that doesn’t require the presence of the original benefactors…” Dumbledore said, thoughtfully.

 “How is that possible?” he frowned.

Dumbledore looked him dead in the eye.

 “Love,” he said, simply.

 “W…what does that mean?” Snape asked, a familiar irritation with the headmaster’s crypticism creeping in.

 “It means, that for the blood wards to be ‘matched’… for them to be anywhere close to replicated, as you put it, outside of the Dursley’s home… Harry would need to see you as his family,” Dumbledore explained.

Silence.

Snape frowned – it felt almost too easy.

 “And by family, Severus, I don’t mean as a mentor… or even as a guardian,” the headmaster continued. “No, Harry would need to see you as his family in the truest sense of the word.”

Severus Snape exhaled, as he felt every hope or chance he had to remove Harry from the clutches of his relatives slip away.

OOOOOOO

 “So what did he say?” Ron whispered, casting a sideways glance at Professor Quirrell who had his back to them, writing something on the chalk board.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “He said he’d ask Professor Dumbledore.”

 “Wh-whoever is talking, I trust you have finished c-copying down the incantations from Chapter Thirteen,” Quirrell called over his shoulder.

Ron quickly picked up his quill and jotted down a couple of words before checking to see what the professor was doing again.

Satisfied that the DADA teacher was not invested enough to turn around and follow it up, he looked back at Harry.

 “Do you really  want to spend all summer with Snape?” he whispered, grimacing.

 “It’s better than my relatives,” Harry whispered, ignoring a disapproving look from Hermione in the row behind. It had been a long day and he was just glad to get to his final class – that didn’t mean he had to be enthusiastic about notetaking. “And besides, he’s a good guardian and he–”

 “M-Mr P-P-Potter, Mr Weasley, I sh-shall not warn you again!” Quirrell called.

 “Bloody hell! Has he got eyes in the back of his head?” Ron hissed.

Without warning, the professor flung down his chalk and spun around to face them.

 “Are you incapable of following instructions?!” he cried.

The two boys stared at him wide-eyed, but didn’t respond.

Seemingly gathering himself, Quirrell adjusted his turban and considered them both for a moment.

 “D-detention t-tonight, Potter. Th-this classroom, 7pm sharp.”

A moment passed as Harry waited for the professor to dole out Ron’s punishment too, but eventually he frowned, realising that wasn’t going to happen.

The red head shrugged, giving him a sympathetic glance.

Sighing, Harry picked up his quill and began to write.

Detention with Quirrell. The perfect end to a perfect day.

OOOOOOO

 “It’s pretty weird isn’t it?” Ron commented as they left the Great Hall and accompanied Harry down to Professor Snape’s quarters. “I mean, it wasn’t as if Harry was talking to himself, was it?”

 “Well I didn’t hear you owning up and taking your punishment,” Hermione pointed out.

 “It’s fine,” Harry shook his head, too tired to care. “What good is it going to do us both being in detention?”

 “See?” Ron pulled a face at her.

 “Ron’s got a point though, Harry,” Hermione told him, rising above the red head’s behaviour. “It is a bit odd.”

Harry shrugged. “He caught me talking in class.”

 “He caught you both talking,” she corrected him. “Yet it’s only you he wants in detention. Seems a little strange, doesn’t it?”

 “What are you saying?” he asked, stopping as they reached the entrance to Snape’s quarters. 

 “Just… be careful, that’s all,” his friend said. “And maybe tell Professor Snape. Just so he knows.”

Harry nodded. “Alright, I will. I’ll see you both later, after detention.”

Once his friends had gone, Harry muttered the password and moved the portrait to one side, stepping inside the now-familiar living space.

His guardian was sitting on the sofa reading a book, but he placed it down beside him when the boy walked in.

 “Good evening.”

 “Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me,” Harry explained.

Snape inclined his head, gesturing to the seat beside him.

 “Come and sit down.”

Harry obeyed, and seeing that the potions master’s face bore a grave expression, he began to wonder what the topic of conversation would be.

Perhaps he had already found out about the detention with Quirrell?

Or was he angry that Harry had skipped lunch to practice with the rest of the Quidditch team for the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin match?

Or perhaps…

 “Did you speak to Professor Dumbledore?” he asked, almost hoping the answer would be no.

 “I did.”

 “What did he say?” Harry asked, expectantly. “Is there something he can do about blood thingys? Can he make new ones?”

 “No,” his guardian told him after a pause. “I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done.”

For a moment, Harry struggled to take him what the professor had just said.

And then a million feelings rushed through him all at once – sadness, fear, anger…

 “That’s a lie!”

It came out of his mouth before he even realised it had.

 “It is not–”

 “Yes it is! You don’t want me so you’re lying about talking to Professor Dumbledore!” Harry yelled, jumping up from his head.

 “Sit down at once, Mr Potter,” Snape ordered, his voice dangerously low.

 “No! I don’t want to sit here with you! You’re a liar!” he shouted.

Snape reached out and took the boy by the arms to still him.

 “It most certainly is not a lie. I can assure you that I spoke to Professor Dumbledore just as we agreed,” he said. “Now you will desist with this abhorrent behaviour at once. Screaming and shouting will not get you what you want – you are not your cousin.”

Harry just stared at him, breathing heavily as the wave of anger began to pass and made way for something else.

Hot tears began to roll down his cheeks, steaming up his glasses and making his skin prickle.

 “It’s not fair,” he sobbed, finally accepting the potion master’s words. “It’s not fair, I don’t want to go back there.”

 “I’m sorry Harry,” was all Snape said.

Fixing his eyes to the ground, Harry continued to sob.

Two strong arms folded around him and brought him closer, and for a moment Harry was tempted to concede and bury his face in the black robes. But then the anger came back and he tried to wriggle free, fighting hopelessly against a strength he could not match.

So he did the only thing he could think to do – he brought his fists up and pummelled them against the potion master’s chest.

And Harry pummelled and pummelled until eventually, he felt himself released from his guardian’s hold.

 “I hate you!” he cried.

And then he fled from the room.

OOOOOOO


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