Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Green Card: It's not my blood
Smoke
July 1996

The smell of the roast the Professor had made permeated the small cottage, leaving the teen in the fire sitting just to the side of the burning logs rocking as he debated the merits of coming out.

Was he ready to leave his nest? Would it be safe without him? Would he be safe without it? Would it be worth trying to eat anything at all?

“Potter, here,” the Professor said, setting a pewter mug as close as he could to the boy without being burned before backing away several feet. “I got you a treat.”

Slowly reaching over, Harry grabbed the mug and looked into it with interest, shivering slightly coolness of the open air in the cabin before snuggling back against the burning wood. He had let the fire die down somewhat now that he didn’t feel like he was drowning, much to Snape’s relief, but it meant the cabin was now far too cold for him to comfortably leave his nest. The smoke also didn’t hang so thickly in the air, making it harder for him to breathe but easier on the Professor. It was a balancing act, but one which he was happy to do.

Especially for treats.

“Whose is it?” Harry murmured hoarsely, taking a sip of the mug of blood once it had reached a decent temperature.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Snape said with a smirk. “It’s probably a cow’s. The butcher had just finished with one, and I asked for whatever the freshest blood was that he had. That’s also where I got the beef for the roast.”

Harry nodded, slowly sipping on the cup of blood as though it were hot chocolate or a strong coffee. He did want some of the roast, but his nest… the thought of leaving it even to get food was terrifying. It was his home within their home, but he had lost too many nests to wizards to trust even the Professor around it.

“Potter, I know you want some,” the Professor said, rolling his eyes as the boy stared at his plate, an almost animalistic desire in his eyes. “Go get yourself a plate and leave mine be.”

Harry shook himself and shied back into the flames slightly. He did want it, but…

Placing his now empty mug away from the fire, he turned back to the nest and began fussing with it out of stress, pushing piles of ash to one side then the other, piling charcoal against the back wall. He didn’t want to leave it. It was almost complete. Almost ready.

“Potter, I have no desire to come near your nest or extinguish your fire,” the Professor said almost angrily. “I do, however, want to make sure you are being fed.”

Pushing another pile of ash against the back wall, Harry curled up against the burning wood pile, knowing he was fully hidden. He was still exhausted from the trek here, but knew the Professor meant well in wanting to feed him. And he did want some of that roast though.

“Would it be better if I sat in the kitchen?” The Professor asked quietly, moving farther away from his fire.

Harry nodded, rubbing his hand over his stomach as it growled lightly, knowing the Professor would see neither motion but not being able to bring himself to say it out loud. A slight rustle and a sigh were enough for him to know the Professor had, in fact, moved to the kitchen.

Grabbing several handfuls of ash, he quickly scrubbed himself down, being sure to throw some over his shoulders to try and get his back before turning to face the exit of the fireplace. Thirty paces to the kitchen, grab some meat, thirty paces back. He could do it. He wouldn’t get too cold or too wet. He would still be able to breathe. His nest would still be there when he got back.

Clambering over the logs, he quickly ran to the kitchen, the chill of the stone floor immediately causing his feet to ache and the clean air causing his lungs to burn.

“Use the utensils, Potter,” the Professor said with a sigh from his new seat as the soot covered teen tore into the kitchen, eyes wide and frantic as he searched for the food. “And a plate. Please use a plate.”

Harry blinked at the potions master in confusion before grabbing the plate which was sitting next to the oven and nearly dropping it immediately.

“Cold!” he rasped in shock, looking at the Professor as though he had been betrayed.

“It was hot,” Snape said, calmly taking a bite of his own roast. “You took too long to get out here.”

“It’s too cold!” Harry murmured, letting out a small cough before reaching a bare hand towards the roast which sat on the counter.

“No, no, no, Potter!” Snape admonished with a sigh, pointing at the tongs and knife which were still on the pan. “I want to save some of that for me for later and I am not a fan of soot. Either wash your hands, or use the utensils.”

Harry bared his teeth, a reaction less threatening due to his lack of fangs, and hissed at the Professor at the mere suggestion of using water to wash himself before grabbing the tongs and quickly slicing off a rather small chunk of the roast, thankful the utensils were warm from sitting on the hot roasting tray. Throwing it onto the plate, Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation of grabbing the offensively ice cold plate. He hated how the cold made his joints hurt and the mere idea of picking up something as icy as the plate made him question his decision to follow the Professor’s rules.

But the Professor was helping him and had, in the eyes of the ministry at least, purchased him for the purpose of maintaining the temperature of the room in which he made several of his more heat sensitive potions. This was his way out, his escape from ministry servitude and detention. Or “torture” as the Professor called it, though he was still unsure if he agreed with that assessment. He was subhuman, after all, so it wasn’t that bad of treatment.

“Potter, if the cold bothers you so, use the hot pads to carry the plate,” the Professor said, sipping on his tea in a way Harry had begun to realize meant he “wasn’t” paying attention to what the boy was doing. “Your lips are already turning red, take the plate and get back to your fire.”

Nodding and shivering violently, Harry grabbed the hot pads which were next to the stove in disgust before throwing them back down. They were just as cold as the plate! Colder, even, because they hadn’t been warmed recently. A pained and wheezy whimper ripped through his throat as his hands throbbed from the feeling of being plunged into ice. They had only just healed from being torn by the door, they couldn’t take much more!

Plate of roast abandoned, he bolted back to his fire, whimpering as he ran, the stub of his tail tucked firmly between his legs. He was safe there, pain free there. Humans couldn’t get him if he stayed there and neither could the cold.

“Potter?!” the Professor said in shock at the teens cries as he tore from the room, leaving a trail of ash behind him.

Standing quickly he followed the boy’s trail back to the living room fireplace, listening as small, pained sounds continued for several moments. Clearly he was not ready to be away from his fire for long, but what had pained him so much that he had abandoned the meat which had been provided to him.

“Potter, what happened?” He asked gently, once the cries had died away and the normal sounds of the demon shuffling around behind the fire recommenced.

There was a long pause before the boys surprisingly meek voice spoke out.

“Cold!”

“I know the plate was cold,” Snape said with a frown. “But the hot pads…”

“Cold! Too cold!” Harry repeated, curling himself against the back of the burning pile of logs, his hands and feet buried under piles of embers.

Snape frowned slightly, tapping a finger to his lips before going back to the kitchen and grabbing the boy’s plate. Though not overly cold to the human touch, it had clearly been too much for the fire demon to handle. The hot pads were a different story entirely. While the plate still had some of its retained heat from being warmed, the hot pads were perfectly room air temperature. For a human, this was fine, but for a creature who lived in fire and flame?

Picking up the boy's plate and adding another slice of meat to the plate as well as some of the drippings, Snape returned to the living room and set the plate by the fire.

“I apologize Mr. Potter,” he said as he inched the plate closer to the fire so it could heat up. “I did not realize the hot pads were so cold.”

“Too cold,” Harry corrected him, slowly turning around and looking curiously at the human on the other side of his fire. He had behaved poorly and was still being given food?

“Does the cold cause you pain?” Snape asked, honestly curious.

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded, slowly climbing around to the side of the fire where he could reach the offered plate. “It … it is extremely painful. Like … what would be a human thing … I don’t remember … an ice bath? Or an… an ice cube?”

Snape nodded slowly. “Like trying to hold an ice cube?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, pulling the now warmed plate slightly closer and pulling off strands of meat. “Makes my fingers hurt. And my bones.”

“It makes your bones hurt?” Snape grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “When did this start?”

“Before,” Harry mumbled in response, pulling off a few more meat strands.

“And did the ministry…” Snape began, his mouth clicking shut almost immediately as the demon shot him a fiery glare. “Of course they did.”




February 1994

“Up and attem, freaks!” the guard of block B-72 called, kicking the doors of the rooms as he passed. “You got places to be!”

Shivering violently as he huddled over his small flame, Demon 53328 looked at his woodpile in dismay. Even if he put every piece of wood he had into his fire, it wouldn’t last until he returned. There was no way. He’d have to restart again when he got back.

If he got back.

He had only been there a month, but knew there were some within his block who had been there much longer. And some who had been here who had perished at the hands of the keepers. If he kept his head down and his fire lit, he would survive. He had to. If he wanted to ever get out of here, he had to survive.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang at his door, the shrieking sound of metal on metal grating against his ears as the locking mechanism was undone.

In a panic, he grabbed the burning tinder of the small fire he had made and shoved it into the fireplace, frantically scooping at the ashes on the ground in an effort to make it look less like he had been burning his fire in the middle of the room again. He had been punished the last time he had been caught doing so and been told not to do it again, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of keeping his fire in such a small area as the tiny fireplace he had been provided in his “room.”

Though the Ministry publicly stated they provided safety, lodgings, and employment for even the most dangerous of creatures, their version of this required an almost antiquated understanding of the requirements for each of these.

Yes, lodgings were provided. However these were little more than prison cells. Within his own room, Demon 53328 had a slab bed made of stone so as to not be flammable, a small fireplace, a self emptying waste bucket, and a small allotment of firewood. Books and all flammable materials other than those provided were strictly prohibited, as were most forms of entertainment.

It was a small room, but it was dry, easy to heat with a small amount of fuel, and provided him with more room to move than the cupboard under the stairs had.

He had tried to make it more homely as he was given more items, however those items would routinely go up in flames should he not manage to stretch his wood allotment for the entire week. It had been a gut wrenching feeling watching as the last remains of his school uniform burned, the golden crest withering away under the heat as he cried knowing he wouldn’t live to see morning if he didn’t burn something.

Grabbing the ministry issued robes from the hook by the door, he knelt down over the place he had kept his fire relishing the heat which remained in the stones as he waited for the guard or keeper to open the door. He was determined to prove his humanity, even if it meant kowtowing to whatever ridiculous ministry person came through the door. If they expected a fight, they would not get one here.

“Kneel, 53328… oh, you already…” the guard said, stumbling over his words slightly before sneering. “You have been summoned to the healers. Pack your bag and extinguish your flames.”

A pang went through his heart as he looked at the dwindling fire in the back of his fireplace. To extinguish it was to extinguish his hope for the day. Since that first week, he had managed to keep at least a few embers going even when he was gone to ‘work.’

Yes, employment was provided. However it was little more than meaningless tasks with little compensation. His ‘job’ for the last few days had been to sift through the ashes of a few high profile officials and make sure there were no remains of any parchment. There never was, but it made them feel better to know someone was looking.

Before that, he had been assigned to cleaning the ministry’s cafeteria’s range. He hadn’t minded it, as the house elves would occasionally slip him food, but once it was discovered this was occurring, he was quickly reassigned to his current post.

Sighing sadly, he snuffed the flames with his hands before gathering the small pile of wood he had managed to accumulate and binding the sticks together with his single remaining shoelace. If they wanted him to gather his things, he doubted he would be returning to this room.

Begrudgingly, he followed the guard down the hall. The cold of the cobblestone floor leached into his feet quite quickly, leaving them numb and aching, and the dampness of the air causing his breaths to come in gasps. Though it wasn’t a long walk to the healers ward, he was feeling quite dizzy and out of breath by the time he arrived.

“Sit it over there,” one of the healers said, motioning vaguely towards the fire.

“You heard him,” the guard barked at him, whirling around at the teen and causing him to stumble backwards, the restraints on his wrists responding immediately to the motion by slamming together. “Don’t try to run, demon. We’re onto you.”

“I …,” Harry started trying to explain before letting out a harsh round of coughs, preventing him from finishing his thought.

The healer rolled his eyes before ushering the teen over to the fire, making sure he was sitting on the ground. The guards meant well, sometimes the creatures did get a bit out of hand, but it wasn’t frequent enough to really warrant quite that much force. Besides, the demon looked more scared than anything. However, after having worked with creatures for as long as he had, he understood the consequences of what could happen better than most.

A scared animal was more liable to lash out, bite the hand that fed it so to speak. A magical creature was much the same, with the added repercussions of having quite a bit more bite behind their bark. While a muggle animal could bite, kick, or run, a magical creature might do all of the above and then blow up the area in an effort to escape.

No, keeping them calm was just as important as training them. Or breaking them.

Letting the demon catch its breath by the fire, the healer pulled up a chair and waited calmly for a few moments before speaking to it.

“Demon 53328,” the healer started calmly.

“Harry,” Harry interrupted, hoarsely, glad to be near the fire. “My name is Harry Potter.”

“That was your given name,” the healer said gently, trying not to anger the demon in front of him. It would only make things worse later. “Your designation is Demon 53328. That is what you are to be referred to as now.”

“I don’t want to be ‘Demon 53328,’” Harry snarled, staring into the flames. “I want to be Harry. I want to go home.”

“I bet you do, but you should watch the attitude,” the healer said, almost good naturedly. “Now…”

“Why? Why won’t you let me go home or back to the school?” Harry interrupted sadly. “I’ve been good. I’ve followed all of the rules. I’ve never once fought back. I’ve done my job. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Please, let me go home.”

The healer sighed, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a vial of dark red potion. This had been provided to the boy his first night in his room, however he had refused to take it. Instead, he had taken the vial and thrown it into the pitiful fire he had managed to create when he found he couldn’t leave the room. Other than that incident, he had been a model of good behavior, but he needed that potion. His transformation was nowhere near complete and if they were to get a good idea as to how powerful he was going to be, they needed to hurry the transformation along.

True, forcing his transformation may stunt his growth, but it was a risk they had to take. Half transformed, he was more prone to magical and emotional outbursts. No, no, it was better to be done with it in one fell swoop rather than allow the transformation to take place over several months to years.

“You haven’t completed your transformation, Harry,” the healer said, ignoring the eye roll from the guard. “Wouldn’t you like to just be done with it? I know you’ve been hurting. All I want is for you to feel better. Then maybe the fact you’re a fire demon can be addressed. You’ve remained remarkably well controlled for your species as is, who knows, maybe you’ll be an exception and be allowed home with restrictions.”

Harry looked at the healer skeptically. He doubted very much that the guards had been reporting on his condition to the healer, but the healer did seem to know about him. Or seemed to, at least.

“How?”

“How, what?” the healer frowned, looking at the demon in confusion.

“How do I … you know… get done with it?” Harry asked, pulling his knees to his chest as best he could and resisting the urge to sidle closer to the fire.

“You mean you don’t know?” The healer frowned, looking at the boy in confusion. He had been given the potion to drink, after all. If he didn’t know what it was for… No, no, he was just being an obstinate teen. “All you have to do is drink this potion. You were provided with it, however you chose to pour it in your fire on your first night rather than drink it.”

Harry blinked a few times, trying to remember the potion before finally realizing he had thought it was lighter fluid. “It wasn’t labeled. I didn’t know what it was.”

“Now, that can’t be true,” the healer admonished him gently. “All of our potions are professionally made and labeled…”

“I swear mine didn’t!” Harry shot back, anger seeping into his voice momentarily before he backed down, looking frantically over at the guard knowing any anger would be met with force.

“And that is an improbability,” the healer said calmly. “Be that as it may, your time is up. You have been given a month to take your potion voluntarily and did not do so.”

“Because I never got a new one!” Harry couldn’t help but cry, drawing the attention of the guard back to them.

“Oi, hands on the ground!” the guard yelled, pulling his wand out with a flick as Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Now, you have the option of taking the potion voluntarily or the choice will be removed from you,” the healer said popping the cork out of the potion vial and placing it on the ground between the two of them expectantly.

“I’m not a demon, though!” Harry yelled out, shying away from the vial. “Please! I’m not!”

“It was not a human the Dementors were after,” the healer continued. “They saw you for what you truly were. That is why they attacked you. It is unfortunate, but now we must deal with the repercussions of this incident. Trust us; it’s better this way.”

Harry looked at the healer incredulously, his hands shaking as he took in the vial. It was quite small but something about the red liquid made his skin crawl.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine. Have it your way,” the healer said calmly, before turning to the guard. “Restrain him.”
Chapter End Notes:
Yes, this is going to continue getting darker for a while.

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