30 Sept 1991 - Monday
Monday morning brought September to a close and restlessness to all the classes. Snape felt like Potions were the worst this Monday, and having to face first years was only encouraging the migraine that threatened.
He had taken points from several Gryffindor girls that were whispering nasty comments under their breaths about Hermione Granger; their teacher had exceptional hearing! It had also been in the middle of his lecture, and that was intolerable.
As soon as all his students were settled upon their benches and brewing the simple Wit-Sharpening Potion Snape began to pace up and down the aisle of students. His pace appeared relaxed but he hand shot out like a cobra and caught Ronald Weasley by his wrist. In his hand was a sprig of mint.
"Ow!" complained the Gryffindor with a scowl as he tried to release his wrist from his teacher's iron grip.
"Mr. Weasley," intoned Snape in that dark voice of his that bode ill for whomever it was aimed at. "Can you tell me what the result would be in the folly of you putting that sprig of mint into Mr. Malfoy's potion at this point in the brewing?"
Ronald's eyes flitted angrily toward Draco as if him being caught was was the Slytherin boy's fault and he expected him to answer. Draco had listened to the lecture so he just sneered at the youngest Weasley.
"Obviously you do not know the answer," Snape's voice cut sharply, "or you would not have attempted such a suicidal stunt." Snape dropped the boy's wrist and snatched the mint sprig from his fingers. "Thirty points from Gryffindor and a week's worth of detention, Mr. Weasley." He then turned on the boy and gave him an evil smirk, "With Filch."
"Bloody...!" Ronald's imprecation was cut off as Dean Thomas slapped a hand over his mouth.
Before Dean could say anything Snape walked toward the front of the class and smoothly intoned, "And another ten points for language, Mr. Weasley."
"Good going, you prat!" hissed Lavender Brown, who was usually one of the redhead's admirers.
Snape whirled sharply at his desk and pinned a stony gaze upon Miss Brown, who gulped audibly. "Would anyone like to tell me the answer to my question?" When no one raised a hand, Snape moved his gaze to Hermione. He gave her a thin smile that some children called his 'sour stomach smile'. There was encouragement in his eyes, though, that smoothed Snape's expression. "Miss Granger? Would you enlighten us, perhaps?"
Hermione smiled nervously, then replied with confidence, "The mint sprig would react with the Armadillo Bile causing poisonous fumes."
"Five points, Miss Granger." He gave the girl a nod of approval and she grinned happily at Draco and Harry. Meanwhile, Snape returned his dead-eye gaze back to Ronald Weasley. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. You nearly killed all of your classmates. A pity you would not have survived for a stint in Azkaban."
Snape was pleased to see that the boy paled suitably.
Snape pointed at Messrs. Thomas and Finnegan directing them to empty desks away from their cohort. He then stared down at the youngest Weasley. "Tell me this, Mr. Weasley, what are the ingredients in the Wit-Sharpening Potion?"
Ron grimaced, gave a quick look to the disarray of ingredients on his table, and refused to answer. Snape's lips thinned at the flash of insolence and hatred in the child's eyes. Ronald Weasley was a child Snape believed he could truly despise. The boy was loose-lipped, rude, and rarely reigned in his temper when he ought. His association with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had brought out the bully in him. The three Gryffindors had taken to teasing and bullying Hermione and then Neville Longbottom simply because the round-cheeked boy had chosen to sit with the bushy-haired girl.
Through Staff Meetings and the gossip at meals Snape learned that of the three boys Ronald Weasley was gaining the reputation of being "lazy and mouthy". The other two managed to keep their tongues to themselves around their teachers.
"One. Last. Chance, Mr. Weasley. Clean up that mess and gather the appropriate ingredients." Although he did not raise his voice, Snape words carried his threat very clearly to the boy. Snape moved away to look upon his other Gryffindor he had lately taken an interest in.
Neville Longbottom was slowly beginning to improve through regular study sessions with the Twins and Hermione. A standard complaint amongst all of the teachers was that Longbottom never read his textbooks. It was Harry who brought to Snape's attention that he thought Neville couldn't see the words in his books. It was rather worse than needing glasses; Neville could not read. Actually, he could read, but his level was barely above that of a seven year old boy!
Hermione had volunteered to teach Neville but Professor McGonagall felt the girl's own education might suffer. During her free period Minerva began to teach Neville his alphabet and how to write. Either the Twins or Hermione would read the next's day's class lessons to Neville so he did not get too behind in his magical work.
"I understand from Professor McGonagall that your memory faculty has much improved, Mr. Longbottom," said Snape coolly. The small boy, who so strongly resembled the Cherubs of Muggle mythology, managed a small, if slightly nervous, up to his teacher.
Neville's reading of his textbooks had gotten much better over just a few days, and with it his comprehension, his memory, had improved by leaps and bounds. He did not always understand, immediately, what his friends read to him, but he was listening more, and once his brain had a chance to cogitate the details, his understanding improved.
As if an accidental brush of his teacher's fingers touched Neville's shoulder, the man again spoke, "Prove to me what Professor McGonagall says, Mr. Longbottom. Brew a perfect potion, and I shall allow you to take it to your next reading class.
"Thank you, Sir," Neville replied softly. Harry, who was nearby and heard the exchange, sent a gentle smile to his teacher, his 'Dark Man'.
Snape moved once more amongst the first years. He monitored the technique (shaky, unsure, some over-confidant), and concentration (uneasy, too tight) to one's work. Even at eleven there was potential to be seen in a child. Snape was always looking for that rare student who cared enough about his work to do well.
"I wish I had a ruler," groused Harry to himself as he studied his poorly cubed ginger root; they were all different sizes.
Snape Summoned a new ginger root. "There is no precise measurement in terms of a ruler, Mr. Potter." He placed the Ginger root before the boy and held up the tip of his pinkie finger. "There is magic within ones hands, Mr. Potter," he instructed in a voice that only the boy could hear.
Harry could feel the importance of his teacher's guidance and so he lined up the ginger root to his own pinkie tip. He felt the tiny jolt of his own magic as he called upon it as he once more began to dice the ginger root. Using his pinkie as a ruler his cubes were much more uniform, and even though he did not have a Muggle ruler to rely upon, he knew he was cubing his root the right way.
The Potions Master silently swished away as Harry grinned at his triumph.
Moments later the slow, deadly voice of the teacher cut across the classroom halting all the work going on. "A zero, Mr. Weasley. Clean up that abominable mess," he glared down at the butchered ingredients.
"Those are the right ingredients!" protested Ron.
"That is a confusing disarray of a variety of ingredients, Mr. Weasley. No thought or care was taken and you have done nothing more than to destroy your ingredients. They are useless. Now," he sneered with a sharpness that had the boy thinking he might get killed with the anger in his teacher's eyes. "Clean it, and... Get. Out."
The Potions Master was not at all pleased that the Weasley boy kept shooting dark glares towards Miss Granger as he cleaned his table. It was more than he just blamed her for his execrable performance, in his eyes was a promise of damning retribution. It would not go well with the boy if he tried to exact a reprisal, Snape decided. He would make sure that Filch understood to make the boy's detention as unpleasant as possible. The smile Snape smiled, was a deadly grimace, that fortunately no one, not even Ronald Weasley, saw.
Potions class finally ended and the students brought their samples of Wit-Sharpening Potion to Snape's desk. He had selected the potions of three students to be bottled for the Infirmary.
Unsurprisingly to Snape, those three had been Hermione, Harry, and Draco, his best students.
As for Longbottom, his potion was nearly perfect. It was a touch cloudy but its efficacy would not be terribly affected. He handed it back to the small Gryffindor who did his best to temper the pleasure at doing well from his smile. He failed, of course, but he was a Gryffindor and all of them invariably wore their emotions on their sleeves.
"Look, Hermione," gushed Neville. "I did good!"
"That's wonderful, Nev! I'll walk to our next class with you." Neville, like a gentleman, quickly pocketed his potion, and then slipped his arm over Hermione's. She giggled and they walked out.
As the students were shoving books and parchment, quills and ink bottles into bookbags Snape stopped Harry. "Mr. Potter? A moment, if you would?" He saw Draco hovering uncertainly near his friend. "To your next class, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter will be along when I have finished speaking to him."Draco finished putting his stuff into his bookbag, and gave Harry a nod before making his way out of the Potions classroom.
Harry put down his bookbag and sat back down at his desk as Snape straightened the samples for today. Snape picked up one phial, swirled its contents, and scowled as the liquid within turned from grey to pearly blue. He then held it out towards Harry. "Mr. Potter, can you tell me what is wrong with this sample?"
Harry tilted his head sideways at the phial and then frowned at it as he tried to recall all of the lectures he'd heard so far. "Too much of... something, sir, but I'm not sure which ingredient."
Snape smirked. "A slight trick question, Mr. Potter. All the ingredients are correct, but the potion was kept boiling too long."
Harry smiled in admiration. "Did you learn that in Potions class here, Professor?"
Snape put down the sample with the others and moved from his desk to one beside his Snake. He had to enlarge the desk so it would accommodate his adult size before he seated himself on the narrow and uncomfortable bench.
"My mother taught me most of the finer aspects of Potions and when to gather fresh ingredients," Snape said, doing his best to keep the tightness from his throat. Any mention of his mother was often painful.
Harry's eyes lit up. "Could I help you sometime, Professor?"
"Gather ingredients?" Snape was a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm in the child's eyes.
"It sounds really interesting, sir!" Harry didn't say that such an excursion would give him a chance to spend more time with Dark Man... er... the professor.
"I find the gathering of ingredients to be..." Snape paused a moment, but then continued since he felt an odd compulsion to impress the boy. "To be... one of my favourite things about potions brewing."
Harry smiled, mostly to himself. He knew what this small bit of knowledge about his teacher was; it was gold. He then looked up. "So, uhm, could I go sometime, sir?"
"After the first snow I shall be harvesting snowdrops. It takes a delicate hand to pluck the blossoms so as not to bruise them. Do you think you could do this, Mr. Potter?" Snape crossed his arms over his chest to regard the young boy who would not lower his eyes. Or, take a breath.
Finally, Harry puffed out, "Yes, sir! I could do that." He gave his professor his most hopeful look; a widening of his eyes and a very slight shadow of a smile upon his lips.
Snape nodded in acceptance. "Very well then, Mr. Potter. You may help me."
"Yes!" Harry slapped his palm over his mouth. "Oops. Thank you, sir," he amended a little more quietly.
Although Snape did not smile, he was pleased by Harry's obvious joy and found himself genuinely looking forward to the first snow. "Now then, Harry," the child's expression sobered instantly at the use of his first name. "We did not get a chance to go over your time with the Headmaster other than for me to learn that he attempted to Legilimens you."
"Professor Dumbledore shouldn't be allowed to do that," mumbled Harry sullenly.
"No, he should not." Snape shifted slightly. He felt uncomfortable having to warn a student, to warn Harry, about the older man. True, in the last few days he'd learned more about the Headmaster that gave him less of a reason to trust the older man, but he'd been so used to obeying the older wizard that it was difficult. It made him feel ill knowing that the Headmaster might actually be a threat to Harry. And, in Snape's eyes, using Legilimens on a student without his or her knowledge, was a threat.
"Harry, would you tell me what you and the Headmaster talked about?" Snape asked, delaying the warning he had planned about Dumbledore.
"He told me a story about Nicholas Flamel. It sounded too fantastic, at first, but then... then he..."
"It's not real, sir, is it?" Harry asked the Headmaster.
Dumbledore smiled, "The Philosopher's Stone is quite real, my boy! I've brought it to Hogwarts to better protect it."
Harry stared at the aged man. "It's here? But, how? I mean, are you sure no one can get it?" Harry understood that the Stone could extend one's life, and that must be powerful magic. It seemed to him that something that powerful shouldn't be at a school but in some kind of really secure environment like a vault. It also bothered Harry that the Headmaster spoke so easily about the Stone. As if it wasn't important, yet the story seemed to make it important. He found Professor Dumbledore to be a confusing and worrisome man.
Harry shifted on his chair and glanced anxiously towards the closed office door. When he looked back, he was alarmed at how close the Headmaster's face was to his. He edged back when he saw that the harmless twinkle had now a hard, threatening edge to it.
"Oooh I'm a very clever wizard, Harry, and I had other clever folk help me as well. No one can get the Stone. Trust me."
Trust me? That exhortation made Harry wary. He never gave trust automatically to anyone. He'd been hurt enough to know that trust had to be earned.
Suddenly, something clicked in Harry's mind as he recalled the frightening meeting Draco and he had with the monster on the third floor corridor. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "The Philosopher's Stone? That's what the three-headed monster is protecting!"
The Headmaster was unable to reply to Harry for at that moment the office door swung silently open and there stood the Dark Man. Harry's heart soared at the sight, but only for a moment. The Headmaster touched him, and Harry couldn't stop the strong flinch that made his head connect solidly with the back of the chair.
Snape reached over and wiped the single tear that slid down Harry's cheek at the bothersome memory. "I am so sorry I did not get there sooner, Harry. This will not happen again, I promise you." Snape then leaned a bit closer, his dark gaze capturing Harry's green-eyed, still slightly glistening eyes. "Listen carefully to me, Harry. Do not ever go anywhere alone with the Headmaster. Keep Draco, Hermione, the Twins or even young Mr. Longbottom close, so if you cannot avoid him, one of them can come and get me."
Harry reached into his bag for a handkerchief and blew his nose. Snape smiled inwardly at the child's forethought.
"Professor?" Harry worried the handkerchief so strongly between his hands, he had almost tied it in a knot. "Isn't the Headmaster is supposed to be a good man?"
"Albus Dumbledore is a man, Harry. And, as any man, he does his best, but sometimes his best is not enough." Harry frowned, not quite understanding. Snape sighed. This was not an easy question to answer with a yes or a no. He believed that Dumbledore had the good of the Wizarding world at heart, but was he good to individuals? Snape wasn't certain he could even answer that for himself. Not while he still felt betrayed by the man. Not while Dumbledore intended to send Harry back to abusive relatives. Not while that venerable, secretive, manipulative, powerful wizard claimed to have no trust for Harry Potter!
Before Snape could blurt out something that reflected the sudden anger of his thoughts, Harry answered his own question. "He scares me."
Snape leaned his elbow upon the surface of the short desk. Inwardly, he whispered, "He scares me, too."
Tea. It was the universal balm. Snape escorted Harry through his office and into his private quarters where they both quietly fell into the routine of fixing tea in the kitchen. In his cupboard were a few chocolate chip biscuits, an indulgence of Snape's when he sometimes felt overwhelmed by the essays he had to grade. Harry arranged them on a small platter that he then placed on the tea tray. As Snape steeped the tea, he allowed himself a small smile. The ease with which the two of them worked in the kitchen felt good to him. It reminded him of easier times.
"Your grandmother taught me how to cook," Snape said. Wonder at himself for imparting this personal tidbit was masked as he picked up the tea tray and carried it to the living room. Harry, momentarily stunned, had to walk fast to catch up before seating himself on the sofa.
"You knew my grandmother, sir?" asked Harry in disbelief.
"Well, I knew your mother, so by default, I knew your grandparents as well." Snape poured the tea and handed Harry a cup. He then seated himself with his.
"How did you meet my mum?" asked Harry, blowing his breath gently across the surface of the hot tea. It was chamomile they were both imbibing.
"We were both eight years old when we met," Snape began, leaning his head against the back of his chair. He ignored the tightening, wincing pain in his heart as he drifted back to those days. "A park separated our two neighborhoods, but it was overgrown and not really used anymore. The swings were good, though. I liked the swings. If I got high enough I always thought I might touch the sky." Harry smiled as he took a sip of his tea. He understood the feeling. Snape saw the smile. "You know the feeling?"
Harry nodded. "There was a small park down our street. A couple of times, Mrs. Figg, when she was sitting me, would take me there. She liked the walk. But, I always liked the swings. It felt like... like flying." Harry smiled, but blushed as he recalled how he and Draco had to stand with their noses against the castle when Snape had taken over flying class.
Snape agreed, "It does, does it not?" He marveled at how at ease he was feeling this moment. Never did he care to think of the past, but somehow he felt a pleasant relief at sharing these personal memories with Harry. It was... disconcerting for he wasn't the type to dwell upon the past and his memories were so very private. However, he felt deep down inside that in sharing these memories, but only with Harry, the boy would understand how precious they were.
"I would go whenever I could get away from chores and play in the park," Snape was interrupted by an amused snort that wasn't covered up well. He gave Harry a mock scowl softened by a slight smile at the corner of one side of his mouth. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Strange though it may sound, I was a child once, and I did play."
Harry was immediately sorry and apologised. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just kind of hard to imagine that any adult I know was ever a kid." He frowned as an image of Uncle Vernon as a miniature version of Dudley, but with a mustache, popped into his mind. He shook it away.
Snape sighed sadly. "Many of us adults forget that we were once children." He sipped at his tea and resumed his story. He told Harry of the pretty, red-haired girl with the green eyes who floated when she jumped from the swings. In that very second, Snape had known the girl was a witch.
--1968--
"You're a witch!" Eight year old Severus enthused as he ran from his hiding place and over to the swings. The pretty girl, her cheeks flushed pink and her green eyes shining, grinned at him.
"Get away, you raggedy freak!" This insult came from a thin, plain looking girl with dishwater blonde hair. She stepped in front of the other girl and menaced Severus by looking down upon him. He backed away a step.
The other girl looked around the thin one at him. Her smile was inviting, playful. "Oh, Tuney! Stop it. He means no harm."
"Just look at him, Lily!" snapped the one called Tuney. "He looks like one of those homeless beggars in town." She glared at Severus. "Are you a beggar? Have you come to us for money? For food? Well, you'll get nothing, you worthless piece of..."
Lily pushed the older girl aside who yelped indignantly as she fell back to the ground. "Don't be mean, Tuney!"
"Fine! I'm telling mother!" Tuney jumped up then ran from the old playground while Lily walked over towards Severus.
"I'm Lily Evans. Just ignore Petunia. She's a prat." Lily stuck her hand out.
"Severus Snape," he said with a smile as he took her hand. "You're a witch."
"So how come my grandmother taught you to cook, Sir?" asked Harry as he smiled at the thought of his mother calling Aunt Petunia a prat.
"My mother was talented at many things, but, unfortunately, she could not cook," sighed the Potions Master. He glanced in woe at his thin frame. "Your grandmother, though, was a true witch in the kitchen." He smiled in fond memory of savory meat pies, an unbelievable, three-layered cake for one of his birthdays, and chocolate chip biscuits. Oh, those had always been his favourite. He leaned forward and picked up one of the biscuits and bit into it. "Not quite as good as your grandmother's but I believe rather close. What do you think, Harry?"
Snape watched as Harry experimentally bit into the biscuit. He thought it was wonderful and said so. "Did you make these, Sir?"
Snape turned to his bookcase and summoned a book. It was cloth covered with hearts that had been cut out and pasted all over the front. It was worn and stained, but Harry could tell that the simple book with ragged looking pages, was a treasure beyond compare. Snape ran his slim fingers down the front of it, smiling softly.
Harry, so used to his teacher's more dour and stern expressions, rather liked the man's smile. He hope to see more of them. To his surprise, Snape handed the book over and Harry took it, carefully.
On the front were embroidered letters that read, Severus Snape's Cookbook. Embedded just below that, part of the book's cover, was an old black and white photograph of a much younger and smaller Snape, grinning, as he held a platter heaped with what only could be chocolate chip biscuits.
"Your grandmother made it for me. She had made similar ones for Lily and your aunt," Snape said by way of explanation.
"I never saw anything like this in Aunt Petunia's kitchen," sighed Harry. He couldn't imagine his fastidious aunt even allowing something so plain in her perfect house. "What happened to the one my mum had?" Harry looked up at Snape.
Snape shook his head. "I do not know." Unfortunately, he had too good of a suspicion as to what had happened to it. Lily's cookbook, like everything else she owned, was gone. Turned into galleons for the war effort. Her jewelry, keepsakes, her collection of silly romance novels all disposed of by the Headmaster. Had Dumbledore kept any of it? Not, according to the goblins at Gringotts. All that Dumbledore had saved was a ridiculous invisible cloak Potter had once owned. Snape's eyes narrowed darkly. Couldn't that bastard have at least saved the photographs of Lily?
Harry opened the book to the first page and saw what he assumed to be his grandmother's handwriting. He smiled as she had written, "To my dearest Severus on his ninth birthday. With these recipes may your tummy always be happy. Love, Mama Lea."
"Hagrid gave me a photograph album for my birthday when he came to take me to Diagon Alley for the first time," Harry shared. "There was a photo in there of my grandparents at my parents wedding. Grandpa was real tall and thin and my grandma was short and sorta soft like. I thought she always looked like she might have hugged a lot." Harry sighed, suddenly unhappy as he uttered, "Uncle Vernon burned that, too."
Photographs? Where had Hagrid gotten those? Snape wondered. "Lea Evans was a very affectionate woman," Snape agreed with Harry's remembrance of the photograph. "Your grandmother was a very kind and warm person. Just as Lily was." Of course that beast Dursley burned the photo album! He'd destroy anything that had the potential of making Harry happy. Snape was looking forward to a visit with those Muggles.
For a moment, both were silent, their thoughts both upon Lily.
Harry had a tiny spark of jealousy at learning that the Professor had known his mother. He sighed away the jealousy, though. It meant little when he knew he had his teacher, his Dark Man. Professor Snape could probably tell him many stories about his mother.
Snape's heart was in pain as his memories flowed around his mind, almost drowning him. He knew it was good of him to tell the boy about his mother. Everyone else had known her when she was at Hogwarts, or when she was wife to Potter. No one, but he, had known her as a child. A sweet and pretty girl who laughed at silly things, screeched at bugs, couldn't get enough of key lime pie, and loved to fly on the swing.
Where Petunia was dull, abrasive, and a bully, Lily was bright, brave and a champion.
And Snape was learning that Harry reminded him more of Lily than of the arrogant, braggadocio that the young James Potter of Gryffindor had been.
The rest of the tea was pleasant and was spent over Harry telling Snape how he was doing in his other classes and in Slytherin. By the end of tea, Harry was laughing over some prank that the first years had pulled on the obnoxious Marcus Flint and Snape was amused (though he'd be certain, as Head of Slytherin House, to never admit it).
--Dinner that Evening--
The Headmaster waved a small note over his staff towards Professor Snape. The wizard snatched the fluttering note from the air without leaving his gaze upon his roast beef. Tapping it with his fork the letter opened and he quickly read it. Breaking the Headmaster's bid for some bit of privacy between himself and his Potions teacher, Snape chose to reply aloud.
"I cancelled my classes for today due to... some rather important business, Headmaster."
Albus' forehead creased in irritation for a moment but then he inquired, "I noticed that Mr. Potter missed the rest of his classes, Severus. Did your 'business' have anything to do with him?"
The Headmaster expected at least an explanation from Snape. All he received, though, was... "Yes, Headmaster."
Albus' lips thinned once he realised he was getting no further. Snape simply smirked, and then took a bite of his dinner.
2 Oct 1991 - Wednesday, Malfoy Manor
Dobby popped into his master's study holding a large scroll in his long fingers. Lucius, going over the estate books took the mail from the house elf and waved him off without looking at him. He dropped the mail on a corner of his desk and went back to the books.
An hour later, Lucius was finally finished with the books, one of the most dull jobs a patriarch must pay attention to and he was glad to have it done. Once he got through the mail, then he and Narcissa would have a free afternoon in which he planned to cook for his wife.
He smirked, as he picked up the mail. He didn't cook often. It gave the kitchen elfs apoplexy for a week when he did so. However, he enjoyed doing such small things for his beloved wife. Especially when she was so appreciative of his efforts later.
Sealed around the scroll was a neatly written letter in black ink. It was from his sponsored daughter, Hermione Granger. He began to read the letter.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,
Thank you so much for the lovely weekend and for sponsoring me. I am looking forward to my re-Sorting and am in the hopes it can be accomplished soon. Draco and Harry have been telling me how great Slytherin is and I suspect that is where they'd like me to be. I confess, I'd like to be there, too. What do you think?
I am also looking forward to your Winter Ball. Draco hasn't said much about it, but I have heard a lot of the Slytherin girls talking about it. I've never been to a ball. Mrs. Malfoy, if you have some time, could you help me in picking out something appropriate for the ball. I don't want to embarrass you and Mr. Malfoy.
Mr. Malfoy I have enclosed all the Quidditch Little League information for you. I think Harry and Draco are hoping this can be done. Maybe before the first official Hogwarts game?
I made a copy of all the information, so if you have any questions I can help with, do let me know.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Lucius put down Hermione's letter and turned his attention to the thicker scroll that was all of the information Hermione had sent to him. Leaning back in his leather desk chair he began to read.
Hogwarts - Breakfast
Over breakfast Harry's mind was once again on the Philosopher's Stone. He knew he should probably just forget about it and the three headed dog, but it worried him. He could care less about the Stone. His concern was more for someone getting to it. How could he be certain that the monster was enough. He stabbed his fork at his scrambled eggs. What if the Headmaster wants me to get the Stone? And, I get eaten by... Fluffy?!
Stupid, his thoughts laughed at him. I think a monster like that huge, ugly dog would be enough to scare anyone away, wouldn't it?
"Are you going to tell us what's been bothering you, yet?" asked Draco peevishly. Ever since saturday his friend had been moody, speaking very little, and his patience with Harry was wearing thin. It was very annoying that Harry was stabbing his food with his silverware and not eating anything.
Hermione snatched the abused fork from Harry and he glared at her. For extra measure, he gave Draco a glare, too. "What?" he snapped at them both.
Hermione scowled. "What's going on, Harry? You're worrying us to death."
In answer, Harry just got up from the table and walked out of the Great Hall. Draco and Hermione looked at each other before abandoning their meals, and running after their friend.
Up at the staff table, Snape caught the Silver Trio, as Minerva had recently dubbed them, leaving the Great Hall. Dabbing his lips with his napkin, Snape smoothly left the staff table, going through the narrow door that was just behind his chair. Using a few of the castles secret passageways he quickly caught up with the three friends and followed them silently.
Draco and Hermione jogged to catch up with Harry who was heading down the Armory Corridor, the corridor lined with display stands of medieval armor. At the end of the corridor was a large tapestry that covered an open arch that led to a balcony that overlooked the Quidditch pitch. Hermione, the clever witch, cast a Warming Spell that kept them from the chill breeze as they all three sat down on the balcony.
Harry, doing his best to delay the inevitable, asked, "Hermione, how come you know these spells? I just got my Wingardium Leviosa to work."
"You should read more, Harry," she replied seriously. "They're all in our textbooks."
Draco's mouth dropped. "No way! You did not learn a Boil Jinx from a textbook!"
"The Warming Spell I did. That's next year, but it's an easy spell and I've seen a lot of the Gryffindors casting it. The Boil Jinx I saw some seventh year Ravenclaw girls practicing it," she shrugged, suddenly conscious of perhaps she was showing off. "I just, well, remembered it."
Harry chuckled, "You're wicked, Hermione."
Draco shoved his shoulder affectionately against hers, "I'm glad we're not enemies, Hermione. I'd wind up with my ears on my arse."
Hermione smiled and giggled. Teasingly she shot back, "I know a spell for that!"
"No! No!" both boys laughed and squashed her between them. Draco then leaned forward. "C'mon, Harry. Give. What's been going on? You've been, like spooked, ever since the Headmaster kept you in his office."
"Did he hurt you, Harry?" Hermione asked softly with compassion.
Harry knew just what she was implying and he paled, "God, no, Hermione! Nothing like that. He just, well, he told me a story." Draco frowned, his mouth pursed tightly as his arms crossed over his chest. "It was weird. Not the story, but him. Like he was being all sort of nice and grandfatherly, but he scared me. And, don't ever take lemon drops from him."
Draco shook his head. "Father said Dumbledore laces them with Veritaserum."
"What's that?" asked Harry.
Hermione was the one to reply, "It's like truth serum, Harry."
"Is that legal?" Harry was once more appalled.
"According to Hogwarts: A History a Headmaster is allowed to use a diluted form of Veritaserum on the students, but only within the confines of his office. The Veritaserum must be taken voluntarily." Hermione sounded like she was quoting from the book.
Harry glowered. "Offering it in a lemon drop is sneaky."
"Kind of Slytherin," mused Draco with a touch of admiration.
"How does your father know about this, Draco," asked Hermione.
The boy just shrugged. "So, what was the story?"
So Harry related to them the story of the Philosopher's Stone. "You remember that three headed dog?"
Hermione frowned. "What three headed dog?"
Draco explained, "Well, you remember that day when Professor Snape made you cry?" she nodded. "Well, we went to go find you, but sort of got lost and we wound up on the third floor corridor."
"The one the Headmaster warned us against at the Feast?" she asked.
Draco nodded, "Yeah. Anyway, there's a real old door up there and we thought it might lead back to where we came, but it's some kind of room and there's a huge dog behind it with three heads."
"Really huge," whispered Harry. Just thinking of that dog made his heart jump.
"Is it a Cerberus?" Hermione asked.
"A what?" both boys exclaimed.
Hermione dug around in her bag and brought out a book covered in red leather. The title was 'Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them' by Newt Scamander. There were several strips of parchment bookmarking places between the pages. Hermione opened the book to one. She pointed to an animated drawing of a three-headed dog that took up one page.
"Ew, it's drooling," remarked Harry.
"Is this what you saw?" Hermione asked as the Cerberus crouched down and began to growl silently.
Draco nodded worriedly and then shut the book. "That's the monster."
Hermione frowned as her fingers tapped the closed book. "Why would Professor Dumbledore bring something as valuable as the Philosopher's Stone into Hogwarts?"
"He's obviously hiding it," said Draco.
"But why?" asked Harry. "And from who?" Harry shivered. "I think it's dangerous."
Hermione agreed, "If someone who shouldn't got hold of it and they could brew the potion, they'd be immortal."
"A wizard that's powerful enough isn't going to be afraid of a big old three headed dog," scoffed Draco.
"Harry, why did Professor Dumbledore tell you about the Philosopher's Stone?" asked Hermione.
He shrugged. "I don't know. But," Harry frowned remembering the Headmaster as he looked at him. Those twinkling eyes with that hard edge. "I don't... do you think he thinks I want it?" he looked confused and stricken.
Hermione's expression was shocked. "Don't you dare go after it, Harry!"
He glared. "I don't want it! Why do you think I'd go after it?"
"You just had that look," she said vaguely. Draco leaned forward and peered at Harry's face. Harry looked away from them both until Hermione touched his shoulder. "Be honest, Harry. Haven't you thought about getting it?"
Before Harry could answer, Snape stepped forth from the shadows and onto the balcony. Hermione let out a startled yelp as they all three looked up at the imposing Potions Master who glared darkly down at them.
"I had better not catch any of you gallivanting off after that Stone," he warned.
Harry scowled at his teacher, "If you were eavesdropping, sir, then you know I don't want it!" Harry turned a darker, disappointed look upon Hermione. "I never thought of going after the stupid rock 'cause I never wanted it."
Snape glared at Harry'. "I am not saying that you would steal it, Mr. Potter. I am implying that you might play the hero and go after the stone before someone who should not does." Snape watched the boy's reaction closely.
Harry's shoulders drooped as he looked down at his hands. "Professor Dumbledore says my parents were heroes." Harry's fingers curled into the cloth of his robe before looking upward and into his teacher's eyes. His voice was hard and filled with betrayal as he declared, "They died."
Snape motioned the Trio to stand up. As they did so he asked Harry, "Why do you think the Headmaster believes your parents were heroes?"
Harry replied uncertainly, "They fought against You-Know-Who?"
Snape slowly shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter. Your parents fought and died to protect you. Because they loved you. That is what makes them heroes."
"Oh." He said, feeling a bit stupid. He also wasn't comfortable being chastised in front of his friends for something he didn't even want to do.
Snape's fingers touched the boy's cheek. "Harry, your parents were heroes for you... not for anyone else. You mattered."
Harry drew his arms across his chest. His breath hitched. He felt confused but he knew he wasn't. A part of him was pleased that his parents had loved him so much but the fact is, they still died. His breath hitched again. It made him mad that his parents were dead. It made him mad that Dumbledore had brought something dangerous to Hogwarts.
"Why are you still worrying about that Stone, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked.
"Well, it's dangerous, isn't it? What if someone gets it and hurts my friends?" asked Harry hotly.
"Laudable though it is to have your friends best interests at heart, Mr. Potter, it is not up to you to worry about something that we adults are taking care of." Snape's tone held a warning.
Harry, angry at being misunderstood, shouted, "What if you get hurt?"
Snape stiffened. He hadn't expected that, but he should have known to. After all, the boy clearly saw him as his protector... daddy, his mind whispered a reminder. Drawing his robes around him, he stood tall and replied a bit cooler than he meant to, "You need not worry, Mr. Potter. I will be well." He stepped out of the way of the balcony entrance and addressed the Trio. "Your first class of the day will be starting soon. Go."
Hermione stepped ahead of both boys to be followed by Draco.
Harry, still stinging from the rebuke and warning brushed past his teacher. A gentle hand to his shoulder stopped him.
"Thank you, Harry," Snape said only soft enough for the boy to hear.
Harry's hand went to the one on his shoulder. His fingertips brushed the back of his teacher's hand. Without looking back, he trotted to go and catch up with his friends.
--The Afternoon--
"...buttons into knuts, knuts into buttons," griped Draco as he, Harry, and Hermione left the Entrance Hall towards the Great Hall. They had just completed Transfiguration class. "Can't we do anything more interesting?"
"Transfiguration is difficult, Draco," said Hermione. "It's like breathing..." she was interrupted by a dark scowl from the boy.
"I don't want to breathe buttons and knuts!" he declared sarcastically.
Hermione huffed, "I didn't mean it like that! You have to know what you're changing something into."
"I think I know... Ow! Harry!" Harry had just lightly punched Draco's shoulder.
"What's your dad doing here?" asked Harry as he indicated the figure of Lucius Malfoy sitting at the staff table.
Draco stared up at his father in puzzlement. The elder Malfoy gave his son a polite nod and an acknowledging smile. Still confused, Draco just gave his father a quick smile before sitting down for lunch at the Slytherin table.
More students filed into the Great Hall and amidst a low buzz of speculation from all the students, Dumbledore quieted the noise by clanging his spoon against the side of his goblet. He rose from his chair and smiled down at the students.
"Before we indulge in our lunch, I have an announcement to make. Hogwarts has just instituted the very first Quidditch Little League." Conversation broke out amongst the students and Dumbledore had to clang his spoon a bit harder against his goblet. He grinned. "Our little league is just for the first years. Since you will not be playing for the House cup..." that elicited a few boos and the Headmaster gave them all a soft, admonishing glare. "You will be playing for a very nice prize." Dozens of faces lit up with interest.
"What's the prize?" shouted someone from the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore continued, "The winning team will get a day at Hogsmeade." The Great Hall erupted in cheers since the first years weren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade until their third year. Dumbledore's smile widened and his eyes twinkled brightly. "Allow me to introduce your new Quidditch Little League coach and referee, Lucius Malfoy!"
Draco's jaw dropped in utter shock as he stared up at his father rising from his seat to the sound of cheers; loudest from the first years.
When the commotion had died down enough that Lucius did not have to shout, he looked out over the students, his eyes alighting briefly upon his son. He smirked, pleased at having given his son such a shock.
"Tryouts will be this afternoon. That means, for today only, that afternoon classes are cancelled." There were more cheers, except for one lone Gryffindor at the Slytherin table. Hermione let out a huff of indignation. "There will be four House teams and so I will be looking for a captain from the fourth to seventh years for each team. I look forward to seeing all of you after lunch."
Lucius seated himself to the noise of students eating and chattering about the new little league team. Lucius caught Hermione's eye and winked at the girl. Draco elbowed her good naturedly.
"Harry, we get to play Quidditch now!" enthused Draco. "I want to be Seeker! What do you want to be?"
Harry's eyes were bright with anticipation, but the truth was, he'd never played the game. He'd heard of it and he'd seen one of the practices, but he had no idea if he'd be any good. It didn't matter, he was caught up with the other first year Slytherins as they all discussed the game.
Hermione ate her salad and stuck her nose in a textbook. Inwardly, she smiled for her friends.
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