H.P.

‘I’m asking him tonight after training,’ Harry said, as he, Ron and Hermione joined the queue in the dungeons. Potions was the final class of the day, but there was no relaxed chatter. The Slytherins waited with sullen faces, looking just as enthusiastic for class as Harry had been for the last three years.

Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, but for once Malfoy was minding his own business, whispering to Crabbe and Goyle at the far end of the corridor.

He didn’t have to make an effort to keep his voice low. Without anyone to wake him up, the nightmares continued until he was hoarse from screaming, but his silencing spell had held. No one in Gryffindor had heard a sound. He hefted his backpack more securely on his back. His vial of dreamless sleep was tucked in the front pocket – proof that he was ready to go back to the Tower. That much wasn’t a lie.

‘I’ll do well on this potion, then I’m going to impress him in training. I’ve caught up on all the defensive magic that I’d mastered before Christmas, so he’ll be in a good mood. I’ll be packed up and back in the Tower tonight, you’ll see.’

‘Snape’s a walking bad mood. Dementors have nothing on him.’ Ron muttered. He pushed himself from the wall as the door to the classroom swung open. ‘You better work with Hermione if you want to ace this potion.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘Professor Snape will just think I did all the work. He’ll be more impressed if Harry does well with you as his partner.’ She didn’t give them a chance to object, filing quickly into the classroom and sitting beside Neville.

Snape no longer needed to say a word to enforce silence. All that could be heard was the clatter of cauldrons being set up and the flutter of pages being turned. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were united in their misery, exchanging gloomy looks when they didn’t dare sigh out loud.

With a wave of Snape’s wand, the ingredients list appeared on the blackboard and Harry wasted no time in heading for the store cupboard. He needed all the time he could get if he was going to get a good grade.

An elbow dug into his side, and a heel landed heavily on his toes, but Harry jostled back just as aggressively, using shoulders and elbows to carve a decisive path to the ingredients. What was left of them, anyway. The cupboard was starting to look sparse, with empty containers dotted between the vials.

Harry grabbed for the last jar of rat spleens only for Goyle to snatch it out of his hands as students tried to avoid incurring Snape’s wrath. Was this some new tactic to assign detention? Give them a potion that there weren’t enough ingredients for?

A summer living in the dungeons and more detentions than he could count had taught Harry something useful. He ducked down and pushed aside the boxes at the bottom of the shelves, grinning as he pulled out a full jar of rat spleens. He surreptitiously tucked it under his cloak while the others squabbled quietly but furiously, trying not to attract Snape’s attention.

Harry returned to his desk without having to dodge a single tripping hex and offloaded the ingredients. At the cauldron beside theirs, Neville twisted his fingers and bit his lip as Hermione surveyed what he’d managed to bring back with dismay.

Harry silently held out the jar while Snape’s back was turned, earning a grateful smile. If Snape’s plan was to fail a bunch of them on purpose, then it wasn’t going to be Gryffindors who were caught out.

The Potions Master patrolled up and down the rows of desks, peering down his long nose at their work. More often than not the quiet was punctuated by his pronouncement of a potion’s shortcomings as though Snape was the brewer’s answer to Trelawney.

‘Too much lacewing,’ he declared, looming over Dean and Seamus. ‘Rectify it, unless the pair of you intend to drink the congealed mass this will become in three minutes.’

Harry peeled and stirred, working on his potion without having to deflect any missiles aimed at his cauldron. Had Snape’s telling off really worked? Was just a few weeks of relentless detentions and the absence of favouritism enough to break the Slytherins?

As they reached the final step of the instructions, Harry stood on his toes to look into Hermione’s cauldron. He and Ron hadn’t quite matched Snape’s request for azure if hers was anything to go by, but it was a decent pale blue. He had a shot at impressing Snape and that meant a decent chance of convincing him he was ready to go back to Gryffindor.

Wood scraped loudly against the stone floor, shattering the quiet and distracting Snape from his latest critique. Nott stood, pale-faced and wide-eyed at the front of the room, clutching a chair for support.

Instinctively, Harry’s fingers curled around his wand. Had Nott been cursed? The door was shut, no one had their wand out, and the other Slytherins were all at their cauldrons, staring open-mouthed as their housemate.

Snape wove quickly through the desks, but before he could reach him, Nott’s legs crumpled, first one then the other, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

‘Shit,’ Ron breathed.

It took only a moment for the shock to pass, and Pansy rushed out from behind her cauldron, but Snape stepped decisively into her path. ‘Stay at your desks,’ he ordered, kneeling beside the unconscious student. It was enough to hold back the surge of Slytherins who retreated warily behind their cauldrons, craning their necks to get a better look as their Head of House performed a medi-wizard spell and took Nott’s pulse.

Harry recognised the barely perceptible widening of his father’s eyes, and his stomach sank. Whatever happened to Nott was serious.

‘Ms Parkinson, fetch Madam Pomfrey.’ Snape turned to Zabini as Pansy hurried from the room. ‘Mr Zabini, was Mr Nott unwell at the start of class?’ The Potions Master inspected the contents of their cauldron, using a spell to decant some of the solution into a vial.

‘No, sir. He was fine.’

‘He was fine until he went into the ingredients cupboard, sir.’ Malfoy volunteered. His voice was flat, his tone almost a challenge.

‘Raise your hand if you went into the ingredients cupboard,’ Snape said. The class exchanged nervous looks and hands crept up, one from each pair. Harry raised his but Malfoy’s remained in his pockets.

Snape’s black eyes were impenetrable as he noted Harry’s hand amongst the others. ‘If your hand is in the air, go to the back of the room, touch nothing. Yes, that means you Mr Goyle. The rest of you, cast a stasis spell on your cauldron and remain where you are.’

A nervous muttering erupted as half the class made their way to the back of the room. No one else looked on the brink of collapse, just pale and nervous.

‘Professor?’ Lavender called out. Harry followed her gaze to where Nott lay. The skin on his left hand had turned a vivid red and blisters burst open along his fingers.

With a flick of his wrist, a vial appeared in Snape’s hand, but as he unstoppered it to decant over Nott’s skin, the unconscious Slytherin began to convulse. Immediately, their teacher began to chant under his breath as he poured the potion over Nott’s hand, and some of the students began to cry, covering their mouths to stifle the sounds.

Zabini’s knuckles were tight as he clutched the edge of his desk, and even Crabbe and Goyle exchanged worried looks. But as Harry scanned the faces of the Slytherins, cold, grey eyes met his. Malfoy’s friend was sick or cursed, lying on the floor of the classroom but there was no fear or concern on his face.

Nott’s convulsions began to ease but Snape only stopped chanting when Madam Pomfrey arrived. ‘It’s poison, likely bloodroot that’s been absorbed through the skin. I haven’t confirmed the source but the students at the back are most at risk of contamination.’

‘Dear Merlin,’ she gasped, with nowhere near Snape’s ability to hide her emotions. ‘Send any students along who have been contaminated and I’ll deal with them once Mr Nott is stable.’ A stretcher appeared beneath Nott, lifting him smoothly from the ground.

‘What the hell?’ Dean whispered, but Harry was watching Malfoy, who wasn’t even looking as his housemate was stretchered, unconscious, from the room.

One by one, Snape scanned the students and inspected their hands before declaring each uncontaminated. When it was his turn, Harry held his hands palm upwards and Snape inspected them carefully, his brows drawn tightly together. When he finally declared him free of contaminants, he did it on a deep exhale, a fraction of the tension in his shoulders easing.

Harry hovered by the door, waiting for everyone else to be excused. He fidgeted with his bag as he tried to contain himself until the door closed behind the last Gryffindor. ‘This was Malfoy. You should have seen the look on his face,’ he burst out as soon as they were alone.

Snape looked up at the ceiling as though he were calling on Merlin for patience he didn’t possess. ‘I do not have time to indulge in your rivalry with Draco. There is a dangerous toxin in my classroom poisoning my students; your training will have to wait until tomorrow.’

‘He didn’t care that Nott was sick,’ Harry insisted. ‘Everyone else was worried except him.’ He dropped his bag onto one of the desks and made to pull out a chair, but Snape swooped in on him and grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Touch nothing, unless you wish to join Nott in the hospital wing.’ A vial of dreamless sleep appeared in his hand, and he thrust it towards Harry as he led him firmly to the door. ‘Stay in the Tower tonight.’

Harry didn’t take it. He opened the front pocket of his bag, sensing his opportunity to persuade Snape that he was ready to return to Gryffindor slipping through his fingers. ‘But I don’t need any more dreamless-’

‘Harry,’ Snape snapped, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. ‘Do me the courtesy of following a simple instruction so that I can find the toxin that’s poisoning one of my students.’

No sooner had Harry taken the vial than the door slammed shut in his face. Snape didn't want to hear it, as usual. He was just going to have to try again tomorrow. If he'd seen how calm and unaffected Malfoy had been, he wouldn't dismiss Harry so easily.  

He tucked the green vial into the front pocket of his bag with the other. Two full dreamless sleep potions would be even more convincing than one. 

S.S.

Severus strode towards the store cupboard. There was no way that Nott could have accidentally come into contact with bloodroot. Not even the NEWT students brewed with it, and regardless, none were so stupid as to misplace dangerous toxins in the general stores.

He clenched his teeth as he took in the state of disarray. Empty jars were interspersed with heavily depleted ingredients - spider’s legs shouldn’t be anywhere near Venomous Tentacula leaves. There was a strong chance he’d been assigning detention for failing potions where the students didn’t have the ingredients.

On the middle shelf on the right, a jar had cracked open where it had been wedged between the salamander eyes and the frog spleens. Shards of glass surrounded the deadly plant and bloodroot cuttings had fallen along the shelf and onto the jars below. Either the entire class had been immensely fortunate that they hadn’t touched the exposed roots, or the jar had smashed while Nott had been in here alone.

There was a brief knock at the door. Of course, the headmaster could be relied upon to be all-knowing. No doubt one of the portraits had rushed to tell him that one of the students had been poisoned on his watch. It would begin with the headmaster, but how soon before magical law enforcement began to take an interest? If the adoption services caught wind of an investigation, they would never agree to put Harry in his care. At best there would be yet more delay, leaving him vulnerable to the Dark Lord.

He turned as the headmaster closed the door and gestured for him to look. The headmaster stared for a long time, not just at the offending ingredient, but at the cupboard in its entirety. ‘When did you last take inventory?’

Severus pressed his lips together and looked away. He had lost too much respect for Albus for that disappointed tone to work, but it was too long ago to admit. It was a relief, however, that he hadn’t had to answer the question of whether he had mislaid the bloodroot. The headmaster knew well enough that the most dangerous ingredients were kept in his private stores.

‘The bloodroot was amongst the ingredients for today’s potion and the poisoning didn’t happen until part-way through the lesson. No one else in the class was contaminated, so it was likely planted after most students set to work,’ Severus said.

‘You believe Mr Nott was the target?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he answered. ‘Bloodroot is potentially fatal, but the safest place to be contaminated is my classroom and in my presence. Whoever planted it would have been confident that anyone poisoned would recover. The only person who will suffer a detriment in the long term is me.’

‘Your efforts to control your house haven’t had the desired effect. The aurors will see this as attempted murder – I do not think they would so easily believe that the perpetrator judged the risk to life to be so low.’

‘The aurors will see it that way because they will suspect a Slytherin student was the culprit. Murder by werewolf barely warranted a meeting when the perpetrators were Gryffindors,’ he replied bitterly.

‘Mr Nott’s parents will demand we act.’ That Severus’ wouldn’t have went unsaid. His mother would have dismissed it had she been told, not out of malice but because she would rather have believed it was a prank gone wrong than have another problem heaped onto her shoulders. His father wouldn’t even have read the letter.

Severus levitated the fallen roots and collected them carefully in a jar. Bloodroot was damned expensive. If the aurors didn’t insist on taking it as evidence, he’d certainly have it for his own stores. ‘The adoption will be in jeopardy,’ he said matter-of-factly. He placed the bloodroot on the desk between him and the headmaster, finally meeting his employer’s sombre gaze. ‘This was a performance and not a very convincing one, but it doesn’t need to be. This will raise concerns with the adoption authorities about the safety of children in my care and that’s all they need to refuse to take it further. The protections around Harry have never been weaker.’

The headmaster sighed, using the edge of his robe to clean his half-moon spectacles. ‘It’s premature to despair. I can see to it that aurors who are sympathetic to our interests are assigned.’

‘And one of my students will be expelled.’ He might be Harry’s father, but he was still a Head of House. They were his students being influenced to make terrible choices and because they were Slytherins the punishments would be harsher, the judgement more severe. Not an immature mistake but a proof that they were always evil. They were condemned as soon as the Sorting Hat made its decision.

‘Are you certain it was one of the Slytherins?’ The headmaster began to inspect the shelves, spelling open the boxes of surplus ingredients that hadn’t made it to the shelves. Severus grit his teeth and summoned the empty jars, decanting a large container of wasp wings as he considered the question.

‘I’m not popular amongst any of my students at present. Both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike have reason to want to stop the adoption, but bloodroot is not easy to procure. I would surmise that either an older student or a parent had a hand in this.’

‘The children of Death Eaters perhaps? Your attempts to persuade them away from joining up still aren’t going well?’ With a wave of his wand, vials and jars zoomed onto the shelves, rattling as they shuffled into place.

‘I have betrayed them. All that I can do is show them the reality of what they’re considering. I can tell them we’ll protect them and that they can come to me, but they need to believe it. I do not have their trust.’

‘And punishing them is regaining their trust? The house points have never been so low.’

‘This is ample demonstration why. I must have control. This shouldn’t even cross their minds as an option and in my classroom no less.’

‘And your cure for Harry? The best decisions aren’t made when we are under a great deal of stress. I would be happy to assist in your research.’

Severus clenched his teeth, slamming down an empty vial so hard that it cracked. ‘I do not want the help of a man who was happy to see how the prophecy played out.’

‘Then we are in a similar position. All I can do is show you the reality of your decisions.’ With a final wave of his wand, he banished the dust on the nearest set of shelves so that the now fully stocked jars gleamed in the torchlight. ‘And tell you that if you require assistance, I will provide it.’

The next morning, Severus paced the length of his study, his fingers clasped tightly around his wand. It was hard to think amongst the reminders of his failures. Books on dark magic were piled high beside parchments covered in his looping script. His latest vial stood smoking on his desk, the experimental potion little more than grey sludge at the bottom of the glass. It didn’t even bear testing. The adoption paperwork remained in the drawer, the space for a guardian’s name pressing on nerves.

What was this latest incident but a reminder of how likely a target he was. And what would become of his son then? Not a child but a pawn of the headmaster’s. Who would make sure that he studied for his OWLs? Who would persuade him that his life had value, that he had time left to be a child and to rely on the adults around him?

In the living room, the portrait thumped open and there came two thunks as Harry tossed down his bag and then dropped onto the couch. With a flick of his wand, Severus cast a subterfuge spell over his desk so that the book titles rearranged themselves, the letters jostling into position and new ones appearing in Herbs of Great Britain and The Healer’s Compendium.

‘Are we still training today? I thought you might be busy planning detention for life for Malfoy and his mates,’ Harry called out.

‘I can hardly assign detention to Draco for something I have no evidence he was involved in.’

‘Come off it. I bet he’s the only one in our class bar Hermione who even knows what bloodroot is. If I’d done something like this, you’d be screaming for me to be expelled.’

‘If you’d done something like this, you’d deserve to be expelled. I am dealing with it. Draco Malfoy is not the only student in this school with a connection to the Dark Lord. It is a small mercy that the Slytherins are focussing their ire on me instead of you. I can assure you that I am more than capable of outwitting a few teenagers,’ he said, feigning confidence.

'What do you mean, focussing on you? What does Nott have to do with you?'

'A poisoning occured in my classroom to one of my students. I'm quite certain whatever foolish student was responsible was attempting to disrupt my class in particular,' he replied, cursing at himself silently. That was a careless mistake for a former spy to make. It would do no good for Harry to find out how badly this impacted his chances of being adopted.

Two small vials of pale green potion sat on the coffee table beside Harry’s open school bag. ‘Where did you get those?’ he demanded. He’d been careful to give Harry only as much as he needed to prevent over-exposure. If the foolish child had dared break into his stores, the alarm spell would have sounded.

Harry took a breath and lifted his chin. ‘I knew I wouldn’t have nightmares when I was in the dorms, so I didn’t take my potion the last couple of nights. I want to go back to the Tower.’ The words sounded rehearsed, his desperation to go back to Gryffindor palpable.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You become distraught, Harry.’

‘When I have the nightmares. I didn’t have a nightmare when Ron stayed over, and I haven’t had them the last couple of nights, even after what happened to Nott. You can ask Ron if you don’t believe me.’

Severus opened his mouth to issue the same denial he had every other time, but Harry interrupted, his green eyes wide and imploring. ‘I don’t want to keep having nightmares, Dad. This will fix it. Please.’

Something twisted in his chest. It did Harry little good to spend the latter part of the evening alone in the dungeons for five nights a week. Returning to the Tower wasn’t likely to permanently stop the nightmares, but Harry’s frustration grew each time he awoke drenched in sweat. If there was a chance that being in the dormitory might give him a brief reprieve or reduce them at all then he couldn’t deprive him of the opportunity to try it.

‘Very well,’ he relented. ‘You may return to the Tower.’ Harry’s face lit up with sheer delight. The boy’s scar hadn’t been a problem yet - it had been weeks since the Dark Lord returned, and he hadn’t yet attacked Harry in his sleep. Or else, the child was sufficiently able to defend himself. He let out a long breath. ‘If your scar bothers you, you must tell me.’

H.P.

‘I will. I promise.’ A huge grin spread across his face. He’d done it – he was going back to the Tower. Everything was going to be better now. The Gryffindors would see that he was still one of them and Snape could get a decent night’s sleep. Maybe then he’d give it a rest with trying to get the world record for most detentions issued in one term.

‘Come, show me that you can evade capture and disarm an attacker.’

Harry jumped to his feet, snatching up his wand from the couch. ‘I’ve shown you I can do that already, even with my nerve damage. Last week Remus said I was ready to practice against multiple attackers. He said he’d help with my training if he’s not working.’

Snape shook his head. ‘That’s not necessary. If you require more of a challenge, we can begin work on offensive casting.’

‘I doubt I’m going to learn anything that’s going to help me off Voldemort, unless you’re planning on teaching me unforgivables. Death Eaters tend to go around in packs. I wanted to practice fighting off more people.’ Snape and Remus had different duelling styles. He was getting good enough to defend against each of them separately, but fighting off both of them at the same time would be a real test. If he could master that then maybe he stood a decent chance if he was ever captured again. He couldn’t rely on the ghosts of his parents appearing, or his dad coming to save him, every time he was in trouble.

‘Don’t joke about unforgivables; you saw enough of those this year already. You will be able to match the Dark Lord one day, the prophecy speaks to that.’

‘I’d rather know I can get away if I get stuck in another graveyard with a dozen Death Eaters,’ he persisted. ‘We can just call Remus and see if he’s home,’ he said, reaching for the floo powder.

Snape summoned it and caught the pot in one hand. ‘No.’

‘Why not? He said he didn’t mind.’

‘I will decide if and when we introduce someone else into your training. I have a great many things I’d like to do with my evening and none of them is argue with my son.’

‘He did my training last week so it’s not some secret. What’s the big deal?' Harry narrowed his eyes. Something was off with Snape. His arguments didn’t make any sense. 'Are you in a fight with Remus?’

Snape clenched his jaw and Harry recognised that look. He let out an irritated growl and thumped back down onto the sofa, crossing his arms. ‘Do you have to be horrible to everyone?’

Snape’s eyes flashed with anger and something else that almost made him wish he could call back his words. Sitting was a tactical mistake - it was too easy for Snape to loom over him. ‘I may not be your father yet, but you will speak to me with respect. If you still wish to return to the Tower, I suggest you get up and show some enthusiasm for the training I have planned.’

Harry dragged himself to his feet and took a pinch of floo powder from the pot without a word. This proved it; he had to go back to the Tower before Snape completely burned out and alienated every ally he had left.