Chapter 6
“The First Hogsmeade Weekend”
Summer lasted for several weeks after the school term started. During a time when everyone should have been wearing heavy cloaks and sweaters the sun was blazing and warm, keeping the brats in cool cotton and loose robes. Severus himself didn’t bother taking his winter things out, as even the dungeons stayed at an acceptable temperature.
Bloody damned heat.
However, as all hated things do, the heat wave eventually ended with a rain storm that lasted for four days, cooling everything off quite properly, if Severus did say so himself.
His seventh years were well on their way with the Slytherin Capers (geared at Peeves this year–could they out-prank a poltergeist? Severus had a ‘yes’ of five galleons in the staff pool), and Severus didn’t think he’d ever felt this proud an individual who adored his craft. He’d wished for many, many years to have just one student who was bright and intelligent, who loved potions as he did, and he’d found her.
Emily Shacklebolt.
He was unashamed to say that he was pouring knowledge into her like a funnel, making sure with every note and every chapter that she was soaking it all in. He supposed it was her Ravenclaw way of dealing with grief; Severus was all too glad to take advantage of a pupil’s thirst for knowledge. He gave her books to read after she finished the textbook and extra lessons during her free periods. In that tiny girl he’d found genius and if he could convince her when she got older, his successor.
It felt very, very good.
The rest of the student body was a hulking mass of pure academic ineptitude. He scared the wits out of the new ones during the first hour of the year and spent the rest of the week reminding the older students just what kind of bastard he was. Not an easy task, being the most hated man in all of school, but he managed it all the same.
He did not see Harry again for many weeks. There were rumors going around about Potter, whispers from the students, as well as loud, obnoxious complaints about his teaching methods. From what Severus could decipher, Harry taught a lot like he did.
That was to say, he was a life-sucking bastard.
He didn’t know just how much, however, until All Hallows Eve. He’d been aware that his Slytherins hated Defense Against the Dark Arts–he’d heard them complaining about it more times than he liked to think about. But it wasn’t until he entered the common room and heard the end of a conversation between Stevens, Webbons and Flock, that he realized the situation was actually more serious than he’d thought
He’d received a new book geared specifically toward talented children just that morning from one of his Potions colleagues, and had swept into the common room to look for Ms. Shacklebolt. He’d expected to find her curled up in her favorite chair, her tiny nose stuck in a book with nothing but her fly-away hair peaking over the top.
He most certainly hadn’t expected a congregation of his brats, listening avidly to Ms. Webbons, her cronies hunched around her.
“Don’t let him get to you–he’s already taken forty-five points this week and if Snape finds out, we’re dead. We’re blaming it on Abbott because the kid’s already blind and dumb, so adding ‘stupid’ to that equation doesn’t really hurt much.” Severus stopped mid step, eyebrow both furrowed and raised at the same moment.
“But he calls us mean names!” Emily yelled from the floor, and several others of the first year agreed. “He can’t get away with it!”
“Oh, yes he can. He’s a teacher, remember?” Webbons answered, fists on her hips. “He was Professor Snape’s tyro. He knows all about us. My dad even told me he used to party here in the common room with Draco Malfoy.”
There were gasps. Draco, one of the most famous Slytherin pranksters ever to come through Hogwarts, had a portrait up by the gag closet. Severus could see him smirking from where he stood.
“No way. Here?”
“Here,” Webbons said, just as firmly. “He knows all of our tricks. So, I hate to say it, but we’ve got to act like good little Gryffindors. I don’t want to attract his disfavor, if it’s all the same to you.”
Oh, now that was too much. Acting like Gryffindors? Honestly. “And why, precisely, are you counseling what appears to be most of Slytherin House on conduct in Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Severus asked, silkily, and had the pleasure of seeing many of the faces pale as he slipped out from behind the notice board, where he hadn’t quite been hiding.
“Professor!” Webbons shrilled, and Severus was torn between amusement and uneasiness to see her go pale as Peeves. “I’m...sorry. We were talking about..ah...”
“Professor Potter.” Oh, the title was sticky in his throat. “Tell me, why exactly are you counseling the younger years in good behavior?”
And because they all looked so miserable, and Emily burst into tears, Severus knew something was wrong, more so than just normal house rivalry. Not that Potter was head of Gryffindor house–that belonged to Granger--but still. “Explain to me what has happened and I will rectify the situation.”
“Professor...we can–“ Webbons almost said ‘handle it’, but changed it at the last moment. “Uh...we...” she sighed. “It’s nothing, really, and I don’t like to whinge.”
“Pretend you do.”
She swallowed. “Professor Potter...he treats us very badly. I mean...bad. Worse then even you treat anybody.” She stopped, seemingly horrified by what she said, but Severus waved it away. He was miserable and he knew it. Webbons continued, eyes locked to his face. “He gives us more homework than anyone else, gives us detentions for sneezing, makes us answer impossible questions. You know normally we can handle it, but it’s like he knows how we’ll react, and twists it all around before we can do anything. Professor,” and now, Severus knew this was getting to them, because he heard tears in her throat, and even the other seventh years, sitting in arm chairs or pretending to study, had their eyes downcast. “He’s the worst teacher, ever!”
“Yes, he is,” Severus managed to smirk, before casting an eagle eye around the room. “Stop sniveling, all of you. I’ll talk to Professor Potter and get things..straightened out, because I have a feeling I know what might be troubling him.” Understatement of the decade. “Do not change who you are to suit an ill mannered bastard.”
“So, does that mean keep doin’ pranks?” Emily asked, her brown eyes shining, damp with tears, and Severus couldn’t help but snicker back.
“If you didn’t I would be most displeased. Now, off with you all, the dinner hour is about to begin and I won’t be accused of keeping you all from your evening meal.”
That livened the spirits of his little snakes up, and though he glared at them, he was proud of their tenacity all the same. He liked it when they were self sufficient–it made him feel as if he was doing his job as a teacher by not doing much of anything at all. Slytherins needed room to stretch their arms out, and imposing rules and guidelines on them beyond the minimum was not the way to keep Slytherin House a happy House.
Just as grudges were in no way productive to furious Potions Masters with a group of terrified, bullied children.
He was nearly seething as he followed them up to the dining hall. If Potter thought he was going to get away with treating his students like rubbish, he had another thing coming. His glower darkened, sending Flitwick into sputters when he passed him and Minerva into a, “Well, really!”
Slytherin House, according to the counter, was down more house points than anyone else.
He took his seat beside Sinistra and Potter and glowered at the boy’s turned head so hard that the little beast had no choice but to look at him. Harry turned from Professor Clooney, eyebrow arched, and asked, “What is it you need, Professor Snape, or is the glare a mandatory expression on your face?”
Severus bared his teeth in a sneer. “It pleases me to see you are as ignorant and self involved as ever before, stooping so low as to hurt children, Mr. Potter.”
At that, Dumbledore looked up, as did most of the other arriving professors, but Severus ignored them. The boys smile darkened. “I’d never hurt any child, professor,” Potter said, setting his knife and fork down from the kidney pie he’d been about to settle into.
“Oh, yes, you have, and you are. You are hurting my students, and I ask that it stop, right this instant. A grudge, even one as substantial as yours–“
Dumbledore’s voice cut him off. “Severus, Harry, please come with me,” he said in a low voice, and with a pleasant expression on his face, motioned the two of them out of the hall through the back door.
The staff lounge was a warm, long paneled room filled to brimming with mismatched, dark wooden chairs. A large wardrobe sat in one corner by a flickering hearth, and the tea pots on the table beside it were already steaming for the after dinner drinks the women took by the fire.
It was perfectly, wonderfully, calm.
And Severus, as soon as he entered beside Dumbledore, let his temper go. “A grudge, even one as substantial as yours, does not give you the right to treat Slytherin house like rubbish.”
“Ahh. So, what you’re saying,”, Potter snapped, crossing his arms across his chest. “is that it’s perfectly justifiable what you do to Gryffindors, but not what I do to Slytherins?”
Harry, for many of the same reasons the other professors did, decided to keep to a single uniform for teaching his classes; he wore robes in a shade of the deepest, darkest blue, so dark they looked black from far away. They were cut comfortably to allow for movement and stopped at the knee, but were also stylish, with a long vest underneath that showed a white collar at the top and slender slacks below.
He looked like sin personified.
“If the situation calls for punishment, I will not hesitate,” Severus bared his teeth, furious at the edge of lust he’d just gotten. “If you’re alluding to your own celebrity here at this school, I’ll have you know quite plainly that you were all ignorant, muggling half-wits, and you deserved every single barb and lost point you earned.”
“No, I don’t think we did.” Severus could see Potter’s hands shaking. “You held a grudge against my father and made every Gryffindor who passed through Hogwarts doors pay dearly for it. Touche’, Severus.”
Severus snarled. He couldn’t help it. “At least I taught my students to the best of my ability, and didn’t assign extra hours worth of homework and detention because they breathed wrong!”
“Oh, I remember doing plenty of extra essays for you because I had one single ingredient wrong in my potions, Professor,” Potter snapped back.
“Because you have a gift, and you squandered it on meaningless drivel when you could have been a brilliant Potions expert! If you’d once, once applied yourself like you did in your seventh year–“
“Oh, would you like to bring the tyro to light, professor?” Potter snarled, though all the blood had left his face. “Would you like to tell all of your-- how do you put it?-- your little snakes? Would you like them to know just why I’m not a potions expert, and I lived in France for almost seven years, wishing like hell that I’d never known you?”
“I will not be addressed that way!” Severus bellowed back. “You know nothing, you stupid, petulant little boy!”
“YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” Potter roared, and from far away, the Great Hall went quiet. “You took my life away from me, you took my home away from me, for a JOKE!”
Severus was aware that Dumbledore was silently watching, but he couldn’t see anything beyond his blind rage and his grief. “It was not a joke!”
“Caring about me wasn’t a joke to you, professor?” Harry sneered back, his face ash white. “Do you know what its like to stand in a room of your peers and know that they’ve been told you laid prostrate on your teacher’s bed while half of Slytherin House laughed?”
“Do you know what its like to stand in a room of your peers and know they’ve been told you hold the Dark Mark on your arm, and are not to be trusted?” Severus snarled back, but Potter didn’t even hear him.
“It was all a joke to you. You pretended to care about me and it was laughed in my face. Do you have any, any idea what a fragile child I was? How much I had lost, how much I was aware of never having? You offered me peace and you threw it in my face!”
Before Severus could snap back, Dumbledore gripped his arm, and Severus clamped his jaw shut. He stood, shaking so hard he was sure his teeth chattered, and with a whirl of robes, turned and stalked toward the dungeons.
Potter followed with Albus hot on his heels, and as soon as the lounge door slammed open, Potter was right there, in his face. The entrance hall’s fantastic acoustics carried their voices over the silence. “You’re a spineless, cold hearted snake. You didn’t give a bloody damn about the contract. It was all a game to you, nothing but a joke! I’m sure I’ve gone down in bloody history as the best joke you’ve ever done.”
Severus was shaking in fury, despite Dumbledore’s tight squeeze on his arm. “I cared about the contract–I wouldn’t have offered it to you and signed it myself and logged it with the Ministry if I didn’t! I taught you everything I knew, and this is how you repay me?”
Harry was almost in tears.
Snape snarled, horrified by the emotion the stupid, idiotic Gryffindor was giving him because he felt the same thing rising in his throat. “You were like a bit of clay, easily molded into whatever whim I decided for you. You’re determined to look at me as a villainous, treacherous old man, but surely you cannot see what is right in front of you?”
You stupid fool, can't you even tell when someone's in love with you?
“All I see is someone who took sick amusement and joy in hurting a sixteen year old boy. You’re a bastard, Snape, a filthy, disgusting bastard who beds broken boys and plays games with them, who lets his students laugh at him because he limps, because he needs just a scrap of affection from someone.” Harry snarled, and not for the first time, Snape heard the power and fury in the boy’s voice, in the magic crackling around him.
And he sneered.
“Power play, Mr. Potter? How amusing. Go back to your supper, I’m done with you tonight.”
Severus spun on his heel, robes flapping around his ankles, and stalked down the stairs to his subterranean lair. Back to safety, back to quiet. Someone was following him but Severus didn’t stop, didn’t dare turn around. He had been foolish in an incredible, indecent fashion. His words could have put the whole mission in jeopardy, but he couldn’t stop his mind, his words, his wretched, wounded heart.
He stood trembling in pain and rage, snarling the password to his rooms and lifting the wards. He pushed through the doors, and would have let an awe inspiring slam echo in his wake if he didn’t feel strong, but elderly, fingers on his shoulder.
“I apologize, Headmaster,” Severus said between clenched teeth, without turning. “Please, leave me be.”
“No, Severus, I think not,” Albus murmured and followed him into his rooms. Dumbledore got his way, no matter what, no matter the feelings and emotions involved.
Emotions. Oh, yes–Severus did love Harry Potter, had loved him for more then a decade, and to hear the boy spit such twisted, ugly words at him, in spite of the fact that each hateful and sobbing cry were justified, made a curl of self loathing clench his gut.
He stalked over to the shelves by his desk, stepping over a small pile of scrolls. Several glass bottles resided inside his liquor cabinet, varying in size and shape. He removed one with a red tinge.
Oh, yes. He wanted to bathe, positively drown in Firewhisky tonight.
“I don’t suppose you have enough for two?” Albus asked, settling himself in the armchair by the fire.
Had it been anyone but the Headmaster, anyone at all, Severus would have tossed them out on their ear. Instead, he filled two glasses, ignored the shaking in his hands, and brought decanter, glasses, and himself to his sitting room. The fire, on Dumbledore’s doing, was cheerfully snapping away, the flames licking the top of the grate. The wood crackled with a joy it shouldn’t have felt at a time like this.
“An excellent year for Firewhisky,” Albus murmured. After a long moment, in which Severus didn’t bother looking at him, he added, “Had it been anyone but you, they would have cracked.”
“I have cracked.” Right down to the center of myself.
“No,” Dumbledore murmured, and in that voice, Severus could hear both empathy and joy. “You have not, Severus. I knew you were strong enough when I asked this of you so many years ago, and...I suppose I hoped you would find happiness. It seems I was correct on both accounts.”
“Happiness?” Sesverus couldn’t believe the man had the unmitigated gall to sit there and talk to him about happiness.
“Mmm,” Dumbledore murmured, and sipped his drink. “I find that things usually work out in the end, despite the odds. We all need a little bit of Hufflepuff in us from time to time, after all.”
“I don’t need any Hufflepuff anywhere near me, thank you so much.”
“Perhaps Gryffindor, then?” Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling.
“You insulting old meddler. Get out of my rooms.”
Albus threw his head back and laughed in a way that Severus hadn’t heard for quite some time. He scowled. Twice. How dare the old man laugh at him! He was going through emotional trauma, and he was being laughed at!
“You pretended to care about me, and it was laughed in my face!” Harry screamed.
Severus dropped his face into his hands.
Dumbledore sobered. “Have a chocolate, Severus. He will know soon enough. Ah, but I must take my leave...I have a feeling Harry will be waiting for me in my office.”
“Good luck to him,” Severus muttered under his breath as he shoved a coconut cream into his mouth.
- = - = -
Despite Snape being a prick, despite Dumbledore being a manipulative old coot, despite Herm–...Granger being herself, Harry loved his job.
He knew he would, when he first received the letter from Dumbledore; he’d even fantasized about how it would be, what he would teach, what he could show the children. During his fifth year when out of some misguided attempt at rebellion he, Ron and Hermione had formed the D.A., Harry had loved it. Seeing Neville get a summoning charm right on the second try, watching Dean perform a perfect Patronus, and knowing it was because of Harry’s guidance that they were succeeding, had given him a feeling of pride that he hadn’t felt since.
He’d known he’d love teaching when he finally got around to it.
Hermione tried to approach him quite a few times when he first started as Defense teacher, but every time he saw her coming, he turned on his heel and strode in the opposite direction. He’d chew off his own leg before letting her anywhere near him to say what she wanted to say to him. Fuck that. He didn’t need anyone trying to understand him–he wasn’t here permanently, and he’d be damned if he was going to pretend a friendship with someone who had so viciously done nothing when his life started to fall apart. Who had claimed to love him when all she had done was judge.
He didn’t want, or need, anyone.
He didn’t really know why he had agreed to stay here, in truth. All he’d felt was betrayal, and hatred, and anger when he’d seen all that endless, blind compassion in Dumbledore’s eyes like the man even cared what had happened to him. All he’d tasted in his mouth was revenge, thick and chalky.
The damning thing was that under all of those bitter feelings, the need to protect, help and be needed was as sharp as glass shards. It angered him, and scared him, and woke him up from a dead sleep every night.
He’d never been so lonely, angry and confused in his life, and that was saying something.
Whenever such unwanted moods struck him, he read student’s essays (abysmal, the lot of them), made his clocks, or talked through the Floo with Anna, who couldn’t have been prouder of him. She should be, she’d all but shoved him into the Floo when he and Severus left France.
Besides, the sadistic streak in him was cheered every time Snape looked at him guiltily, every time Dumbledore nodded at him sadly.
He didn’t get many chances to act on that streak until the sixth week into the semester. He kept a polite distance from Snape–silence at meals but for “Pass the salt, please.”, ignoring him in the halls, and basically pretending he didn’t exist. He would strike up a conversation with the fascinating Madame Clooney instead. She was the art teacher this year, obviously a new program at Hogwarts, and Harry shared many of his wood working techniques with her, which she admired greatly.
And if Snape’s nostrils flared in jealousy now and then, eyes narrowing every time he glanced at him, well, that was just more incentive to flirt with Madame Clooney, now wasn’t it?
The morning everything changed started like any other morning. Harry got up, got dressed in the darkest midnight blue robes he owned, and tried to become accustomed to draped cloth hanging off of him again.
He strolled to the great hall, had breakfast with the charming Madame Clooney, and ignored Snape’s infuriating silence beside him. The only time he spoke to the git was to offer a curt, “Good morning.” to him before he went on about his day.
He was midway through a lecture on deflection spells with fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors when Snape opened the classroom door.
Today he was concentrating on deflecting dark spells for all his age levels, starting with the easiest spells for the younger years, and concentrating on the Patronus spell for his seventh years. He had a classroom full of fourteen year olds who were all either staring avidly at him or taking notes, and he hadn’t thought in a million years that Snape of all people would come to his room.
Probably to see if he was harassing the Slytherins.
Harry’s teeth set on edge, and he tried his best not to glare too darkly at the smirking man. “Is there something I can do for you, Professor Snape?”
Snape glanced across the students dismissively, and met Harry’s angry gaze with a low sneer. “Professor Dumbledore asked me to bring you your paperwork for the next quarter.” Snape took the long way around the classroom, ignoring the staring students who were looking at him, half in horror, half in wonder–probably at seeing him in the sunlight. Harry barely repressed the snort at the thought.
“Couldn’t it have waited until the end of the lesson?”
Severus sneered. “Of course it could have.” Which is why I did it now.
Spiteful bastard.
Harry took a very deep, very cleansing breath. “Thank you, Professor. We were just finishing up our lesson.” Something in Harry’s cold, dead, sadistic heart twitched. “Would you like to stay for a demonstration? It’s obvious your Slytherins will listen to you,” his voice positively dripped with good will, “and I’m sure the Gryffindors will listen to me. It’ll be like...dueling club, all over again.”
Snape had suspicion written in every line of his face. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“Not even in the name of education? I’m sure these children don’t know the first thing about defending themselves–and who better to show them than two war heroes? It won’t be long, just a few minutes of your time?” Harry added his charming smile to the effect and could visibly see when Snape gave in, at the narrowing of his black eyes.
Harry had counted on his competitive streak.
“All right, class. Irons, Mariot, I want you both to get the desks near the front pushed back. Let’s make a proper space, we’re going to need some elbow room,” Harry said, purposely calling on a Slytherin and a Gryffindor to get things moving. Though the two glared at one another they acquiesced. Harry removed his wand from his sleeve and set it on his desk, shucking out of his long robe as Snape did the same, glaring all the while. Harry picked up his wand again and surveyed his young students, who had pulled their chairs from behind their desks to see their professor.
“Excellent. Now, who can tell me what a wizard, or witch, should do when starting a duel?” A timid hand raised in the back, and Harry pointed. “Johnson.”
“Well...first, you should always try not...to have a fight?”
“Very good, two points for Gryffindor.” How weird was it assigning points to these kids? “But say you have to fight, because if you don’t, as soon as you turn away the guy’s going to kick your backside all over the English countryside. What then?” Harry arched a brow. “Irons.”
The Slytherin boy climbed to his feet. “If they’re aggressive, you should use one of the three body binding charms.”
“And they are?”
“Immobulus, Petrificus Totalus, and...er....Stupefy?”
“Yes. Two points for Slytherin,” Harry said, ignoring Snape’s arched brow. “We must always try to body bind our opponents when we are in a duel we do not wish to be in. If that fails, we use...what?”
“Expelliarmus!” the class cried, and a few of the girls giggled.
“Right you are,” Harry smiled at them and rubbed his hands together. “Now, worth five points, what is the shield spell you use when blocking defensive spells?”
The kids stared back at him, silent, some of the girls who reminded Harry most painfully of Hermione muttering to themselves as if going through their dictionary of spells, and finally, one of the Slytherins lifted her hand. “Ms. Sparks?”
“Is it...Protego?”
“Yes, it is,” Harry watched her blush with pride. “Five points for Slytherin. Now....Professor Snape, are you ready to show these children the proper dueling methods?”
Snape had been watching him, silently, glaring, but when Harry turned to face him, the look vanished from his face. “I suppose. Let’s get on with it.”
“Fantastic.” Harry lifted his wand, tapped it on his palm twice so red and gold sparks shot from the tip, and watched Snape do the same in front of him. “When entering a duel, always show your opponent that your wand is in working order. Many a wizard has fallen because their wands weren’t working properly, were engaged in other spells they’d forgotten to end, or were in general disarray.”
Severus was watching, seemingly surprised Harry knew so much about..well...anything. No, professor, I’m not an idiot, Harry thought, with sadistic glee.
“After doing such, you bow to your partner.”
A Gryffindor girl in the back raised her hand. “Why?”
“Because it’s proper dueling custom. You bow to your partner as an equal, to show both your power and your pride in being a wizard, or witch.”
That seemed to satisfy the children, because Harry nodded at Severus, turned, and started the paces. “You walk five paces away from your partner, and pivot on the heel of your foot.” He did so. “And raise your wand in one of the classic dueling positions. There is wand arm straight out, other curled above you,” he demonstrated. “Or raise your wand arm above you, the other straight out.”
Harry demonstrated that as well, as Severus, standing in the sunlight pouring from the classroom windows, managed to look bored and alert at the same time.
“Now, who can tell me what spells to use first in a duel? Yes, Mr. Notre?”
The young man looked perplexed a moment, thinking, then said, “Disarm your partner?”
“Yes. We always want to attempt a–“
Harry wand flew from his fingers and smacked into Severus’ palm. “And we must always be on our guard when standing in front of a potential opponent,” Severus smirked, and twirled Harry’s wand in his elegant fingers.
Harry hackles came up almost immediately . Is that what I am now, Severus? Your opponent? “Please give me back my wand, Professor Snape.”
“No.”
The kids in the class gasped.
“You will have to retrieve it, Mr. Potter, as a wizard. I’m sure a Golden Boy such as yourself can manage it.” Snape smirked that evil little smirk of his.
Harry ground his teeth at the titters from the class. He would be damned, damned if he was going to be ridiculed in his own class–he’d been ashamed of what and who he was for most of his life, and Snape wasn’t going to come into his class and destroy the students respect for him.
“Accio!” he snarled, and his wand flew back across the room to slap into his palm. He heard a few gasps from the children but didn’t take his eyes away from Severus’ shocked expression. “We will be going into wandless magic in your sixth year,” he told the students, without blinking from the surprised black eyes. “We are supposed to disarm our enemy. Can anyone tell me what happens if we are unable to?”
Since he was not looking at the class, one of the girls from Slytherin said over the other murmurings, “Offensive spells.”
Harry saw it coming a mile away.
He blocked Snape’s jet of fire easily with aProtego, of which he let disappear after the fire had died down, then shot his own without waiting for a breath. Snape deflected it, and it glanced off Harry’s protective barrier.
The classroom faded, the children disappeared, the sunlight dimmed, and it was only Snape and Harry in the room. All of Harry’s hurt, his anger, his pain went into his fighting, into each spell he threw, into each protection and hex he gave.
There was so much hate in Harry. Once upon a time, ages ago, he’d been an impressionable boy, an ignorant, misunderstood young man who just didn’t get that there were people out there who wanted to hurt him for their own ends.
He understood now.
It was dangerous to be doing what they were doing, but he couldn’t stop himself. His rage was so huge, his pain so deep, that he feared in the dark corner of himself still conscious of his actions that he would kill Snape, or injure one of the students. He and Snape were fighting like men possessed, airing all past transgressions in an environment not suited for such a thing.
He was cracking stones, he was sure of it. A window smashed, and he heard several of the girls scream.
Harry barely heard, or saw, any of it. Snape was hunting him, his dark eyes full of laughter as he threw spell after spell, taunting him, waiting for his defenses to fall so he could attack.
What Snape didn’t bother to realize was that Harry had grown up.
When Snape threw a particularly vicious Refashio spell, Harry caved, as though his protective spells had failed. He slumped against his desk, nearly falling to one knee. Snape let up, almost immediately, and took a step towards him in concerned victory. Harry, seeing his chance, dropped, rolled, and came up behind him, clamping a hand on Snape’s throat. He pressed his wand tip to a greasy temple.
Crucio, you fucking bastard.
He felt Severus’ entire body tense under his own and for a stunning moment, Harry was nearly sure he’d said it aloud. It was only after he thought for a moment did he realize the words had only been in his mind. Severus shook in his arms, though in fear or fury Harry could not tell. He did not let the man go but loosened his grip on the slender length of his throat enough to let him breathe.
That he had almost cast an unforgivable didn’t surprise him.
That he didn’t want to, especially not on Snape, did.
The stunning realization was not for the classroom, however. He came back to himself in that moment, looking over Snape’s shoulder at the shocked, wide eyed children, and said with a voice that didn’t even tremble, “If this were a real duel, I would have killed Professor Snape. You must do what you can to win–if you were fighting for your life, you would be hard pressed to give it up for honor. Do what you can to protect yourself–even lie.”
Harry lowered his voice to a parody of intimate concern, and murmured just for Snape’s ears, “Isn’t that right, Snivellus?”
Snape jerked away, stunned, and Harry let him go to address the class. “I want a foot of parchment on what you’ve learned today on Monday next week, and I want you to use chapter five and six of your textbook to refine your theory. You’re dismissed.” The children began to pack up, voices swelling with excitement.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Professor Snape?” Harry asked, as he turned back to his desk to gather his paperwork. He could see from where he stood, that Snape’s defenses were around him like his robes–stifling and firm–and even then, Harry could see the hurt he’d caused the man.
Good.
“Simply to inform you that Professor Dumbledore wishes for you to chaperone the next Hogsmeade weekend,” Snape said with clenched teeth. Ohhh Harry had damaged his pride.
Good.
Harry couldn’t help rubbing it in. “Sorry I had you in a choke hold. Your throat all right?”
“It’s fine,” Snape swept his cloak around him and turned like the great bat he resembled, striding towards the door.
“You can see if Poppy has any bruising salve!” Harry laughed after him as Snape stormed through the door.
It echoed with an all mighty bang after him.
And Harry, for his part, smirked, even if the nagging feeling of doubt and fear wriggled in his chest like a worm.
- = - = -
At the time chaperones were being assigned for the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Severus had thought it imperative to join his rambunctious little snakes on their outing. Not only to protect them, but to keep them from attracting the Dark Lord’s attention, which would then lead to kidnap, rape, torture, or worse–initiation.
To the naked eye Hogsmeade was full of laughing children, cheerful couples and aging mothers going on about their shopping. To Severus it was full of dangers–sharp objects, strange old men going into the Hog’s Head, and too much commotion to see the children properly. Like the other chaperones, he kept a hawk’s eye on the running, squalling, screaming brats, he more than the others because unlike his fellow professors, Severus had experienced the horror and the fear of Voldemort’s self-righteousness right close up and personal.
Nothing short of divine intervention was going to keep his mind in his greasy head on his greasy shoulders today. He should have stayed in his dungeons.
Hogsmeade was a cacophony of sound. Students laughed and screamed, pockets bulging with dung bombs and Canary Creams he knew he’d have to confiscate later. Little mouths chattered, young teenage couples held hands and made disgusting cow eyes at one another, and a light snow began to fall on the village.
He was cold. He was grumpy. And he was bloody tired.
Sleeping had become a rare commodity after Potter’s blow up at him during dinner, and even worse after the mock fight he’d shown his students. Some part of him wanted to say that it was just Potter teaching the students about fighting to save their lives. However, that part was very small, while the greater bits were totally sure Potter had done it to humiliate him. A very small, very unimportant part whispered, you were scared of him.. Knowing he’d been bested by his former student angered him every time he thought of it, so he did his best not to.
Little prat.
They hadn’t spoken for nearly two weeks, but at least Potter wasn’t being sarcastic toward him anymore; in fact, he wasn’t acknowledging Severus’ existence at all, aside from the infuriating smirks.
And Severus was losing sleep over it.
How perfectly vile.
The mistreatment of his Slytherins had eased, and Severus had barely kept himself from treating the Gryffindors any differently, the effortless little bastards. On Dumbledore’s order, of course.
He growled, and at his side, Emily looked up. “Are you okay, Professor Snape?”
“Fine. Have you your list?”
“Yes. It was in my wand pocket, like you said. Are we going to buy our stuff now?”
She sounded so pleased, so overjoyed at the prospect of purchasing ingredients to make their concoctions that Severus almost smiled. Instead, just because he was Severus Snape, he smirked down at his sweet little academic salvation. “Indeed we are. Why don’t you run along to the apothecary, Ms. Shacklebolt?”
He barely heard her as she assented and ran off down the street, because his attention was firmly on that of one Draco Malfoy, just emerging from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Severus thanked Merlin for his long stride as he caught up with the young man before he went in the opposite direction. “Mr. Malfoy?”
The boy had grown up to be a magnificent, handsome man. His long blond hair was tied back with a velvet ribbon, the expensive, rich smell of his clothing evident to anyone breathing near him. His cologne was warm and musky, the diamond at his ear and on his wedding band simple, but this boy of barely twenty four screamed money.
What Severus was surprised to see were Draco’s children, who rarely accompanied their father to the villiage. The infant in Draco’s arms cooed in delight at the sight of Severus, and he glared down the beak of his nose at it before meeting Draco’s eye over the curly blond head. “Mr. Malfoy.” Then down, to the little boy grasping his father’s leg, clutching a bag of tricks. The fourth generation Malfoy to be a prankster. Severus’ heart swelled with pride. “Good day to you, Master Malfoy,” he said, and then to the little baby, “And you, Madame Malfoy.”
It was always proper respect to bid good day to children of such powerful men, for that’s exactly what Draco had become. Malfoy Manor was his, all debts and bank accounts as well, and even the more...distasteful things.
Severus had been there to hold the screaming young man as he received Voldemort’s mark, after all.
“Hello, Professor Snape,” Draco answered, reaching out one handed to shake Severus’ hand. “I brought the children to see Hogsmeade with me today. Say hello, Tybalt.”
The little boy looked up from the folds of his father’s robe and squeaked, much to Severus’ amusement. He saw Hufflepuff written all over that little boy if he didn’t change in the five years he had left to come to Hogwarts, but didn’t dare say it. “Buying young Tybalt practical jokes, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus gestured at the boy, who blushed into his father’s robes again.
“Mmm.” Draco smiled. “I had to bribe him into going to Rose’s Acceptance.” He cradled the little girl, almost gently, in his arms, and smiled when she cuddled against his chest “I can assume you’ll be there?”
“Of course. If time and circumstances permit,” Severus answered. Draco’s eyes cut to the left, and ever so carefully, Severus followed the light flicker of attention. A Death Eater of their unfortunate acquaintance was lurking by the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, carefully pretending not to be watching them. One of the Dark Lords better henchmen, Severus noted, and watched Draco’s expression as it fell into calm neutrality. He changed the topic of their conversation as easily as he could. “Here to see your investment?”
Draco’s dimples winked into existence and he grinned back at the Weasley twins shop with amused determination. “They’re a gold mine. I don’t know how it is they only gathered a handful of OWLs between them, because they’re utterly brilliant. I’m glad I went into business with them when I did. It’s absolutely booming now.”
“It’s been some eight years, has it not?”
“This December. All I contributed was a bag of gold my father sent me for Christmas sixth year, and look at it now.”
“Tripled in profits.”
Draco smiled rakishly. “Just the way I like it.”
There was something lurking in Draco’s expression, however, that did note bode well in Severus’ stomach. Draco looked positively uncomfortable.
For a moment he thought something might be wrong with Mrs. Malfoy, and said so. “How is Susan?”
“Hmm? Ah, she’s fine.” He waved a hand away, only to have it caught in tiny fingers. “Mother Bones is visiting, which is coincidently why I’m here. I know she means well, but the woman is vile.” He paused, gray eyes flashing. “Professor, tell me...how are...your new colleagues?”
It clicked, immediately. Harry. Of course Draco would want to know about Harry, but now was neither the time nor the place, not when they were being watched so carefully. “You’re not alluding to Mr. Potter, are you, Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco smirked. “You were always quick on the ticket, professor. Do tell him I said...hello.” It was said with savage glee for their stalker, but Severus had known Draco for a very, very long time and could see the unease in silver gray eyes.
“Good business to you, then. A student is waiting for me, my academic salvation, as it were,” he said, just to see Draco laugh. ”Good day to you, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Likewise, Professor Snape.”
And he would have gone to the apothecary, if he hadn’t seen several of his little seventh year snakes in the front window of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, pooling together a handful of galleons and sickles. Their mischievous air turned his stalk into a sputter, his growl into a sigh.
Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes had bought Zonko’s out after eight years of steady success, but a change in ownership couldn’t take away an atmosphere that, even twenty five years later, made Severus’ toes curl with pleasure. It was stocked wall to wall with everything his Slytherin heart could have ever desired: Exploding Balloons, Frog Spawn Soap, Belch Powder, No-Heat Fireworks, and Screaming Yo-Yo’s. Dungbombs and hiccup sweets had their place in many, many fantastic jokes, usually paired with Nose Biting Teacups and a pinch of Belch Powder–if he remembered correctly, he’d reduced Professor McGonagall to hysterics his last year of school that way.
So, instead of reprimanding his young charges over their plans, he stepped into the shop himself. Once, many years ago, he would have stopped the crowd of tittering young fools to horror, but as he had calmed a bit in his dotage, or rather his reputation had, he only got a moment of silence and several wary glances. Ahhh. Yes, soon enough, it was going to be time to scare the little miscreants into mind numbing horror once again.
However, that day wasn’t today. “Ms. Webbons.”
At least the girl had the decency to look horrified. It did wonders for his ego. She bit her lip and hid the coins behind her back, her goons, Stevens and Flock, standing beside her in an effort to keep the list in hand hidden.
Right.
“What is it, exactly, that you are doing, Ms. Webbons?”
“Nothing,” the girl answered coolly. Severus could see her hands moving...obviously passing her handful to one of her goons.
Too bad three of the coins managed to fall.
Severus arched a brow and stooped down where they’d rolled to the toe of his boots. “Try again, Ms. Webbons.”
“Oh...” She glared ferociously at her companion and Severus could almost see Flock’s spine melting. It would have been amusing if it weren’t so pathetic. “We were planning something for...uh...the Capers. Sir. Peeves is going to be in the trophy room tonight, so we were planning on...setting a trap for him.”
“Ms. Webbons, you know and I know that the tricks in this store won’t affect Peeves in any way.” Severus arched his other brow. “Are you going to try another lie and have points deducted from your own house, or are you going to tell me the truth?”
She thought about it for a moment–he could see the Slytherin cogs turning in her head, before she sighed quietly, defeated. “We were buying them for Professor Potter, sir.”
“Professor Potter.” The words tasted disgusting. Professor indeed. “And what exactly were you planning, Ms. Webbons?”
“We...we were going to buy Dry Heave Draft and put it in..in a bucket, over his door,” she answered in a small voice. “And get Snipping Socks for his wardrobe.”
Severus couldn’t help but snicker. Honestly. “Ms. Webbons, while the notion is fantastic, five points to Slytherin, attacking a professor is not. For one, he’ll know you were there. Two, it won’t be hard to trace back such a thing to the three of you. Three, do you really want the wrath of Harry Potter on your heads?”
That seemed to wake something up in her. “Oh. I never...thought of it that way.”
“Just because he limps doesn’t mean he has any problems seeing or hearing, Ms. Webbons. Mr. Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once, did he not?”
Oh, yes. Blood and tears and pain and wounds so deep that it left scars on their bodies. Limps and old pain and potions to relieve the tension in aching wounds that would never fully heal, never fully closed.
“Yes, sir,” the young woman said with a small voice.
“He is a very powerful wizard, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
Severus glared. “Then do not provoke his attention or his anger, Ms. Webbons–five points from Slytherin for your foolishness. Now get out of here, the three of you, before I begin assigning detention.”
Severus savored his reprimand, or tried to, in any regard. He heard Ms. Webbons utter an undignified squeak and looked up in time to see Harry Potter coming out from the back rooms of the store with George Weasley and his wife. Not that Severus saw much of anything, other than the shocking image that was standing before him.
Harry had come to Hogsmeade as a blond, and would be leaving a brunette. Potter, at some point, had dropped all of his glamours. His hair was dark, glossy, long and sticking up everywhere despite it being pulled back in a ponytail. The earring in his ear reflected silver against the black silk of his hair and gave him an adult, rakish look. His eyes, flashing and green, hid behind the black spectacles of his youth, and the famous scar bolted across his forehead as a reminder of his lot in life.
Severus felt his throat grow tight as this beautiful, familiar face. Those green eyes, that hair, the complexion, pale but with a healthy, warm glow. Older now, wiser, but as beautiful as it had ever been.
Harry was holding a wizard photo in hand, the one of the Weasleys and Draco, with an odd expression on his face–half anger, half pain. The same photo in the Slytherin common room, actually, and Snape could see as all the pieces fell together, as Harry realized that even the ever good Weasley twins had been in on his betrayal. If Severus wasn’t mistaken, George Weasley had told Draco Harry was gay, after he found out about Fred and Harry's brief flirtation.
Potter was looking right at him.
“Hello, Professor.”
Severus threw his shoulders back, taking on as imposing a stance as he could and cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter.”
But like everything else in his life, everything else in his pitiful existence, Severus closed it down, boarded it to contemplate during some other time, some other place where he wasn’t standing in front of an audience.
When nothing else was said, when Potter just stared at him with a mixture of betrayal and sadness, Severus turned on his heel, and with all of the grace of a lumbering baboon, left the shop.
And those who did not wish to die a most painful death totally ignored the blush staining his cheeks.
OR
Back to White Chocolate chapter list
_____________