Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Story Notes:

"Spiral of Despair" or "Harry goes through Purgatory" is the second part of the “spiral” series which has been parked for a couple of years on my computer, and which is now completed. A bit more expeditious than the first part, it nonetheless plays out from one end of summer until the start of next, and follows the characters during their first year after leaving Hogwarts. The story could probably stand on its own, but it is preferable to have read the first part, because there will be references (and spoilers) to events which took place during the previous year (a seventh year at Hogwarts, see “Spiral of Trust”).

Warnings apply to some chapters, not being consequent themes of the story.

Chapter 1 At the Burrow

Because it was an exceptionally fine and bright summer day at the Burrow, Harry was blinded and saw almost nothing when he dived through the door into the Weasleys’ kitchen. He was sweaty and thirsty from playing Quidditch, and made eagerly for the tap to have a drink of water. He was almost halfway through the dusky room when he realized that Mrs Weasley was seated at the kitchen table with a guest. Harry froze for a moment, then took an involuntary step forward toward the guest who rose to stand. He probably saw Harry more distinctly than Harry saw him, but the characteristic long hair and hook-nosed profile of the guest was unmistakable. Harry was surprised by the strong feelings that surged up in him at the sight of the wizard, and was at a loss for a moment of interpreting them, because there was a great dose of ambivalence included, but after only a fraction of a second all feelings summed up and resulted in Harry’s face breaking up in one big smile and an enthusiastic greeting of Professor Snape.

“Charming, Mr Potter, charming,” Snape responded sarcastically, but could not stop a small smile from appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Severus is back from his holidays, Harry. He’s here about my book,” explained Mrs Weasley. “It’s ready for the press next week, but apparently there are still a few references to check.”

“And since it was you who led me to accept the role of proof-reader, and because the time is tight, I thought it only fair to claim your assistance, Mr Potter,” said Snape silkily.

Last year, which had been his final and seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry had reflected on the inequality between Muggle-born children and children from magical families concerning the knowledge about the magical world in a wide range of matters – like the vital importance of not taking pity on monsters or demons, for example, which young wizards and witches normally were taught at an early age. Harry had repeatedly experienced the draw-backs from his lack of basic education in magical sujects, and had therefore suggested to Mrs Weasley that she write a book which was to be an instruction for young Muggle-born magical children and their families to understand the magical world.  

Mrs Weasley needed a distraction from mourning her son, Fred, who had died a little more than a year ago in the battle against Lord Voldemort, and had dedicated herself to the task with something close to mania. Professor Snape, headmaster of Hogwarts, was the natural choice of sponsor for the book. And because he had on several occasions been condescending towards Harry because of his occasional blanks in education, Harry had, a bit out of spite, suggested to Mrs Weasley and her editors that Snape be asked to check references and make sure that all subjects were correctly addressed.

The rest of the Weasley Quidditch team were entering the kitchen at this point and more greetings travelled through the air and cups of water were handed out.

“I don’t know where to put you two to be able to work in peace,” Mrs Weasley complained to Snape. “I always wrote when the children were at school. Right now, everyone seem to be at home, even Charlie and Percy.”

“I was going to suggest that Mr Potter make the sacrifice and accompany me to my house,” said Snape. “We’ll work quicker if he’s not subjected to constant distractions.” Snape was glancing at Ginny who had sneaked up by Harry’s side. Ginny tossed her head and replied:

“Oh, he won’t mind in the least. I’ve had so much trouble keeping him away from his books this summer. I might just as well let him have his fill for a day or two.”

Ginny had been sick and tired of school last year, but passed her NEWT exams with good enough grades all the same. She had decided not to enter higher education in the fall, however, but had been recruited by a London-based Quidditch team and was to play in the higher league. On the side, she planned to work in her brother’s joke shop in Diagon Alley. Harry, on the other hand, had found himself drawn to both theoretical and practical studies after Voldemort’s demise, with a thirst to learn and to prove himself, and had scored high on all his NEWT exams.

“So you see this as a reward, do you Mr Potter? That wasn’t my intention at all. I’ll have to come up with something else then to punish you for getting me involved in this kind of mundane project,” drawled Snape.

Harry only grinned back. He couldn’t say why he felt so elated by Snape’s visit. Maybe he had not had faith in Snape’s promise at the end of term that they were bound to meet again. Their truce was too brittle, too new-found, after a year of antagonism, of misunderstandings and of adventures that had on many occasions led one of them to actually save the other’s life, or reputation, and the other way around.

No, Harry was not sorry to go away and work with Snape at all. He had spent the entire summer with the Weasley family, Ginny being his girlfriend since the end of the war and very much in charge of planning amusements for them both. In the beginning of summer, they had visited the south of France in a large party together with Bill Weasley’s wife’s family. Harry had enjoyed himself, but the activities had been mainly social, or physical, with swimming, sunbathing, eating and dancing. Only when they returned to the Burrow a couple of weeks ago had he been able to pick up the work on some projects of his that were left unfinished from last year.

“Ron, do you think we should show Professor Snape our Swallowscope before we go? Do you have time?” Harry glanced at Snape.

“If he’s interested…” Ron said.

“Why not?” said Snape. ”You’ve made progress with your incantation on inanimate things, then?” he added to Harry.

“I have. The paper’s nearly finished. I was going to send it to you. And I thought it was time to actually test the implications for Swallowscopes that you suggested last term.”

A Swallowscope was a magical item, a sort of box constructed from diverse magical materials and intricately imbibed with charms and spells. It was used in St Mungo’s magical hospital to contain pain and other bodily adverse reactions from patients that were not treatable by potions.

“Mr Weasley got hold of a discarded one, and Ron and I have figured out how it works, mended it, and now I’ve started to ameliorate it with Ancient Magic,” Harry explained enthusiastically while leading Snape over to a shed where Mr Weasley kept a myriad of things, mostly modified Muggle artifacts.

Ron and Harry took turns to explain their work to Snape. Ron seemed to have inherited Mr Weasley’s intuition for mending broken items and working out the magical mechanics behind various functions whereas Harry stood for the new ideas and the inventions. The aim was to make the Swallowscope more sensitive of human emotions and thus improve its alleviating effects on adverse bodily reactions. Snape hummed and nodded and seemed quite interested.

“I need to try out an alternative principle to see if it’s more effective - it’s quite difficult to get it all right,” said Harry.

“It’ll need to be tested in authentic situations at St Mungo’s too, later,” Snape pointed out.

Ron and Harry started to discuss various details that were still to be solved, but Harry soon noticed that Snape grew impatient.

“I guess we need to be going,” he interrupted Ron and glanced interrogatively at Snape who nodded.

*

Harry had visited Snape’s house at Spinner's End once before, almost exactly a year ago. This time he was in a better position to observe the details of the neighbourhood than last time, because he was less distraught and more alert. The streets made the same ruff and desolate impression that he remembered from last year, however. Harry wondered why Snape kept living in his childhood home despite not having many happy memories from the years with his family, as far as Harry understood.

A soon as they entered Snape’s small living-room, Snape started to arrange the set-up for their work. He had a list of references that needed to be checked, and he picked out books from his library and arranged them in piles by subject.

“At a pinch, we can always consult Hogwart’s library, but this should suffice – it’s not as if it’s advanced science all the same. Let’s start from each end of the list and meet at the middle. But first…” Snape turned around and fetched something from a travel trunk in a corner. “Here you are. A late birthday present,” he said, handing a rectangular package that looked like a wrapped-up book unceremoniously over to Harry.

Harry received it dumbfounded, and to his horror suddenly felt his eyes sting and his throat clump. Taken by surprise once again by his feelings, he shook his head inwardly to himself – decidedly he had trouble with handling kindness, especially from a quarter where he had learnt to expect none. He blinked ferociously and had to clear his throat several times before he managed to croak a ‘thank you’.

“Well, open it,” Snape said a bit impatiently. “And no need to be overwhelmed, Mr Potter. I did get a present from you too, didn’t I?” Harry frowned as he sat down in one of Snape’s armchairs and started to tug at the wrapping.

“Oh…” he said as it dawned on him, “you mean the protecting incantation that I wrote to you?”

Snape nodded.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Harry muttered.

“It coincided,” said Snape.

“July 10th?” Harry ventured, committing the date to memory.

“Hmm,” Snape confirmed. “I’m much obliged to you, especially for the parsel phonetics,” he went on.

“We can try it out if you want. I can read the curse and you can test the effect of the incantation,” Harry proposed. He was speaking of a curse that only affected those who bore the dark mark and the effect of which was to strangle the person in question. It was an old curse by Voldemort, created to control his Death Eaters. It had been rediscovered last year and used by criminals on an attack on Snape. Both Snape and Harry were subject to serious threats by criminal gangs who fought each other in the void after Voldemort, supported by remaining Death Eaters who particularly resented the betrayal of Severus Snape, former Death Eater and of Harry, the victor over Voldemort. Thanks to Harry’s counter-acting incantation Snape would be able to defend himself to that particular curse at least. The parsel magic with its hissing, snake-like, syllables was central to its strength.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Harry exclaimed. He had opened his present and discovered an old leatherback with golden engravings. “It’s about Ancient magic, too!” he continued enthusiastically. “It’s a book that not even Dumbledore possessed!” Harry had plunged into studies of Ancient magic last year and borrowed several books from the late headmaster’s library. “And it’s my own, I get to keep it,” Harry said greedily, but as he did, he glanced uncertainly at Snape as if he was not entirely sure.

“Of course!” Snape snorted. ”That’s the definition of a present. Didn’t you… ?” Snape interrupted himself with a frown, and Harry deduced that Snape thought it was odd behaviour of Harry to doubt his right to keep the book. He cursed his years with the Dursleys and felt even more embarrassed. He had managed better when celebrating his nineteenth birthday with the Weasleys a few days ago, but it was easier to expect kindness from them, and they only gave small everyday gifts which Harry loved to receive, but would be less liable to be overwhelmed by. “I found the book in Reykavik, on Iceland,” Snape added, choosing not to comment on Harry’s obvious inexperience with presents. “It’s written in Middle English as you can see, translated from an Old English version which in turn stems from Old Norse.” Harry grinned happily.

”Thank you!” he said again, making sure his voice was clear and firm this time.

They started to work efficiently, checking item after item on the list, occasionally making small changes to an expression in Mrs Weasley’s original text. While working, Snape switched to using Harry’s first name quite naturally and amicably, but as soon as he grew more conscious of who he was addressing, he reverted to using ‘Mr Potter’. It was confusing, thought Harry, but he knew it had to do with the past, with Snape’s difficult relationship with his father at school, accentuated – he knew that now – by Snape’s deep love for Lily, Harry’s mother. Snape’s feelings for Harry must be at least as ambivalent, if not more so, as Harry’s own. It was a miracle that they had reached this far from the almost hatred that had subsided between them during so many years. But the sudden revelation of Snape’s loyalty to Lily and to Dumbledore, of his amazing deed in double crossing Voldemort and of his immense sacrifice in doing so, had changed Harry’s opinion of him radically. Which wasn’t to say that the man wasn’t as difficult as a manticore to handle sometimes, Harry thought to himself when Snape grumbled something with ‘Mr Potter’ again. Apparently he wanted to know if Harry needed to eat. Harry had been hungry for quite some time, having played Quidditch for several hours that morning, but since he did not want to interrupt their work, he had said nothing.

The sight of him wolfing down the sandwiches that Snape offered made it obvious, however, and Snape made vague excuses.

“I never cook while I’m here – I take my meals at Hogwarts. Do you want to return to the Burrow for the evening to have a cooked meal?” Harry chuckled a little. After all, he used to live for weeks on only sandwiches at the Dursleys.

“Oh, I’ll survive,” he said lightly. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Already early in the evening, however, Harry started to feel his eyes stinging and his head getting heavier. He struggled on for a while, but at last he was forced to admit:

“I’m sorry, Professor, I need to get some sleep. I was out with Ginny last night – she enjoys dancing in the clubs in London. I still got up early this morning to have some reading done, but the night out is catching up with me and…”

“Miss Ginny has the appetite for life equal to that of a swarm of grasshoppers,” Snape said drily. Harry grinned apologetically. He would do anything for Ginny but it was hard sometimes to comply with her demands.

“If I can get a few hours sleep, I’ll be quite restored. I’ll wake up early and continue the work – I’ve no problems at all getting up in the mornings,” he assured Snape.

“Hmph… I’ll go on for a couple of hours. More of a night worker, myself,” Snape muttered but showed Harry upstairs to a small spare bedroom. Last time that Harry had spent the night in Snape’s house he had slept on a mattress on the floor in the living-room because he had been assailed at the time by violent nightmares, which had proven not to be nightmares at all, but a spectre trying to kill him from the other side of the grave.

Harry went to sleep fast and deep. He couldn’t say what woke him up. Only a faint light of dawn filtered through the curtains, but Harry was suddenly alert, cast the cover aside and walked slowly to the window. Without knowing why, he positioned himself close to the wall and lifted a rim of the curtain carefully to peer outside. There, on the other side of the street, opposite the entrance to Snape’s house, he saw a figure that made his blood freeze.

Chapter End Notes:
Snape’s birthday date is not true to canon, I’m afraid, but I need it to be in the summer for the plot in this story.

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