Chapter Text
Harry had a hard time getting used to sleeping in his new bed.
The softness of it was off-putting, making him feel like he was going to drown any second. He even tried sleeping on the floor, which made sleep an option for a little bit.
But then Ron woke him up, under the impression that he'd fallen off instead of leaving it voluntarily, and he had to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning on the unnatural surface.
This resulted in him being barely able to keep his eyes open in the morning which was considerably Not Good.
On the positive side, it was Friday already: one more day till the weekend, which he could spend looking for a solution.
On the more negative side, the first lesson was going to be Potions, and Merlin knew he was going to need every ounce of alertness for that, if even a fraction of what the older students said was true.
Everyone was saying that Professor Snape was strict, but there were still two possible variants. Either he was the Lawful Strict sort and was going to treat everyone equally strict, or he was a Petty Strict and would inevitably choose Harry as his target.
Hearing what was said about his preferential treatment towards Slytherin and unexplained hate towards Gryffindor, Harry was leaning towards the second option.
Breakfast passed in relative silence, Ron too busy stuffing his mouth, for which Harry was thankful. At least he had some time to try and attempt to appear vigilant.
Hedwig swooped down mid-breakfast, dropping off a note, which turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting him for tea that afternoon.
Sparing half a thought on how the man had sent him a note with his own owl, he scrawled an answer on the back of the note and sent it back.
The Potions class - a double lesson with the Slytherins - took place in the dungeons, not far from the Great Hall.
It was considerably colder though which somehow helped with staying awake. The walls of the classroom, lined with all sorts of pickled specimens in glass jars, held his attention quite well, too.
He barely had the time to take out his textbook and quill before Professor Snape swooped inside, his cloak billowing after him as if he’d ran the entire distance between the classroom and wherever he had been before that.
Similarly to Professor Flitwick, he started the lesson with a roll call.
And just like the tiny man had done, he paused just before Harry’s name.
“Ahh, yes,” he drawled, “Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity.”
Malfoy and his cronies sniggered at that. Harry had a bad feeling about it.
“Present, sir,” he still said, hunched over the desk.
Professor Snape scoffed slightly, continuing with the roll call.
He looked up at the classroom once he was done. Perfect, Harry thought. He looked like he was going to give a speech.
Harry readied his quill. At least noting what he said would keep him awake. Hopefully.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Professor Snape began, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet still clearly heard. Was it magic or dungeon acoustics? Who knew. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death; if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Harry noted everything down dutifully, happy it was helping him stay alert.
“Mister Potter!” Uh oh. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
What kind of a question was that? This was the first lesson! If they were expected to read ahead, why had no one said so?
“I…don’t know, sir,” he said, hoping that that would be all.
Honestly, he should’ve known better.
“Tut, tut.” Professor Snape sneered at him. When did he move so close? “Fame clearly isn’t everything.”
Whoever said it was? He didn’t even know he was famous until a month ago! At least the anger livened him up a little.
“Let’s try again, Mister Potter.” The glint in Professor Snape’s eyes was downright diabolical. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Harry remembered hearing about it somewhere, or maybe he read it in one of the books? Something about swallowed hair…
“In a stomach, sir?” he tried.
“Whose stomach,” the professor nearly growled.
“I don’t know, sir.” Maybe it would be better if he just gave the man what he wanted and stopped even trying?
“Last one, Mister Potter. What’s the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Harry had no idea, but became alert enough to notice the standing - nearly jumping - Hermione and her outstretched arm; she must’ve been at it since the first question!
“I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I think Hermione does, though.”
A few people laughed but only the Gryffindors. That didn’t spell anything good.
“Sit down, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape snarled, and Harry realized he had just upped his difficulty level for interactions with the man for the next seven years. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the ‘Draught of Living Death.’ A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of aconite.”
Turning around, Professor Snape stalked back to the front of the class.
“Well?” he called out when nobody dared to move a muscle. “Why aren't you all copying that down?"
The classroom filled with the sound of quills scratching on paper. Harry bent down to write again.
“And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mister Potter.”
Aww, heck. He didn’t think he could count on any improvement anytime soon.
They got divided into pairs based on some random factor Harry couldn’t really identify, but he was still thankful because it landed him with Hermione.
And if he had learned anything in the past week, it was that Hermione always knew the correct answer.
They would manage to brew the “simple potion to cure boils” despite Harry currently being half-zombie.
The next half an hour passed for him in a weird state of borderline deliriousness. Harry felt kind of like he was back in the Dursleys' kitchen, dicing, cutting, and crushing various ingredients.
Professor Snape said to follow the recipe on the board, but Harry couldn’t really see all the way to the front. He figured the recipe in the textbook would be exactly the same, deciding to follow it instead.
He was just going to add dried nettles when somebody clutched his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Boy! What are you doing?” someone hissed, and in a moment of confusion, Harry thought he was back on Privet Drive.
“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” he said on auto-pilot, before realizing his mistake.
The hand on his arm tightened slightly. He hunched down further, attempting to save the situation with submissive behaviour.
“What did you just say?” Professor Snape drawled. It might have seemed neutral, but Harry could hear that he was seething with anger.
Well. It had been fun to stay at Hogwarts for an entire week.
“I’m sorry, sir, I just-” he attempted to explain, but Snape didn’t let him.
“Did you mean ‘Petunia,’ as in, ’Petunia Evans’?”
“Umm.” Harry knew that that was some sort of trick question. He had no idea where the trick was, though. “No, sir. I don’t know anyone named Evans.”
Professor Snape let go of his arm, straightening up. Harry thought he was in the clear until he saw the absolute rage on his face.
The classroom was silent.
Too silent.
Harry looked around, surprised to see the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces.
“I’m sorry, is that someone important?” he asked, blinking, his brows furrowed.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, the smug expression gone from his face, exchanged for something uncomfortably close to pity, “your mother’s maiden name was Evans.”
“Oh.” Well, that was awkward. He turned back to the professor. “In that case, Aunt Petunia must be the same person you asked about. She goes by Dursley now, though.”
Professor Snape looked like he’d just eaten a toad or something.
Waving his wand, he made all of their potions disappear.
“Class dismissed,” he said. “Mister Potter, stay behind.”
That was most definitely not good.
The class cleared out quickly, no one wanting to stay even in the general vicinity of an angry Professor Snape. Ron hesitated at the door, but one look from the man got him scrambling to leave.
“Mister Potter.” Professor Snape turned back to him, but that seemed to be the end of his resolve.
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I do not even know where to begin,” he said, his eyes closed. “For the first time, I hope I am wrong. I last saw Petunia years ago, so let me ask you this: are you happy in her household?”
Had Harry been a little less reserved, he would have snorted. Happy? Yeah, sure.
But this was getting too dangerous for his tastes, and getting into trouble with both the school and the Dursleys was the last thing he wanted.
“I am grateful that they took me in and provided me with clothing and food, sir,” he said with practiced ease. Sure, all he got were rags and scraps, but it was better than nothing. And honesty was always a nice touch.
Professor Snape narrowed his eyes.
It seemed Harry needed to work a bit harder to dismiss his suspicions.
“Let me ask something else then,” he said. Harry didn’t dare relax. “Why were you adding nettles to your potion?”
Oh, something easy. “That’s what the textbook said, sir.”
“I told you to use the recipe from the blackboard.”
Why would the recipes be different?! Harry thought. That was completely ridiculous.
“I can’t see the blackboard, sir,” he said instead. “I thought the textbook would have the same recipe.”
“When was the last time you went to an optometrist?” Professor Snape folded his arms.
Harry scrunched up his forehead. “Opto-what?”
“Where did you get your glasses?”
“Aunt Petunia brought them home one day when the teachers complained that I couldn’t see the blackboard even from the front row,” Harry offered helpfully. That was a good thing, right? Normal?
Seeing Professor Snape’s brows climbing up his forehead told him it was not, in fact, a good thing.
“In that case,” he started in a tone that Harry didn’t like at all, “we will go to Madam Pomfrey and get you a checkup.”
Oh no. A checkup was not something that Harry could get without revealing the worst parts of his home life.
“Is this really necessary, sir?” he asked, trying for the “rational adult” tone that Aunt Petunia always used. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stuff to do. I can just swing by the Hospital Wing after classes.”
“And am I to believe you will do so?”
Great, a Smart Adult, just what Harry needed right now.
“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape crouched next to him, “we can help you. We can keep you safe.”
“That’s what they always say,” Harry grumbled, unable to keep his frustrations bottled up anymore, “and then they meet Aunt Petunia and suddenly I’m an ungrateful, spoiled child, they treat me like a liar at school, and then I have to spend a full week in my cupboard.”
“A cupboard, Mister Potter?” the man repeated. “She puts you in a bloody cupboard?”
“Well, yeah.” Shrugging, Harry started wondering when he could leave. There was still a bit of the lesson’s time left, so maybe the professor would lose interest before then. “Dudley needed a room for his toys, and freaks don’t deserve nice things.”
Professor Snape looked as if he was just told that cauldrons could fly on their own.
“Oh, Merlin,” he whispered. Standing up, he whooshed to the other side of the room. “‘Spoiled rotten,’ he said, ‘treated like a prince,’ he said. Even house elves aren’t treated like that!”
Uh-oh, angry adult. Step one, try to leave the danger zone. Maybe he would forget before the next lesson.
Slipping out of the chair, he picked up his bag and took his book from the desk but decided not to risk getting the parchment and quill too.
He was halfway to the door when Professor Snape caught him.
“Where are you going, Mister Potter?” he demanded. Harry turned around, alarmed, staring straight into the man’s eyes. “I don’t believe you were dismissed.”
Oh, right, this was school.
Then realization dawned in his eyes. Realization of what, exactly, Harry had no idea.
“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape began. “Harry. Sit down.”
So far, no one had called him "Harry" in anger yet. Was that good or bad?
Deciding it was better to follow the directions, he walked back to his seat.
Professor Snape took a stool from the row in front of Harry and sat down on the other side of his table.
“I am not angry,” he said.
That was a lie.
“Well, I am not angry at you,” the man added with a roll of his eyes. “I should have said that earlier. I apologize for that.”
Harry hadn’t seen apologies be used as a technique to get him to admit to doing something wrong yet, but he wasn’t going to fall for it.
“I also apologize for my earlier behaviour,” Professor Snape added. “I was operating under… incorrect assumptions.”
That was very unusual. Unusual was nothing good in a situation like this.
“I knew your aunt when we were children,” the man added. Oh? “She was in no way fit to take care of children back then, and I do not believe she’s changed much.”
That was it. If Harry nodded to that, the man would tell his aunt, and then he would be in big trouble.
“Aunt Petunia is a very good mother and aunt,” he said. That was the furthest thing from the truth he’d ever said, but sacrifices needed to be made.
Professor Snape looked very sad for some reason.
“Child,” he sighed, “you are under the impression that I am on your aunt’s side. I am not.”
There was nothing that Harry could say to that.
“I do not know why you were placed in her care,” the man continued. “In fact, I am certain that in her will, Lily listed her and her walrus of a husband as people she did not want you to go to. Once I find out what happened, I will make sure you will never return there.”
Suuuure. Just like what the other three people who had managed to figure out something was amiss had said.
“You don’t believe me.” Professor Snape noted. “Understandable. You have heard that before, and yet no one has done anything about it, have they?”
“No.”
“Do you know what an Oath on Magic is?"
“No, sir."
“Taking an Oath on Magic means that if the taker was to break it, they would lose their magic," Professor Snape explained. “Can you recognize the significance of that?"
Harry could only nod. He would never take an oath like that if he didn't fully mean it!
“I, Severus Tobias Snape, solemnly swear that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Harry James Potter will never return to the Dursleys’ household, nor will I allow him to be placed in another abusive home. Furthermore, I will do everything in my power to ensure that he will have the remaining part of his childhood in conditions appropriate for a child. So mote it be."
Harry might've had some idea of how serious the Oath was when the professor had explained it, but only when feeling the swirl of magic settling around the man did he realize that there was no way for Professor Snape to change his mind.
He truly was on Harry's side.
“I never knew my middle name was ‘James,’” Harry offered, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks.
And while Professor Snape had no idea how to react to that or how to calm him down, he was at least trying.