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Harry had knocked, and he had been hyping himself up to do so for embarrassingly long before that, so it really shouldn’t have still caught him off guard when Snape opened the door to his office.
“And to what,” the dour potion’s master sneered, “do I owe the pleasure of seeing the Golden Boy at this decent hour, 10 minutes before curfew?” His hand was still on the door handle; he clearly couldn’t wait to slam it shut in Harry’s face.
Harry almost lost his nerve and gave up right then and there. But he shook his head and stood up straight. He needed this. He was going to do it. With a deep breath, he steeled together all his Gryffindor courage. “I wanted to talk to you,” he managed.
Snape raised an eyebrow. Whether it was surprise or distaste, Harry couldn’t tell. Probably the latter. “Are you not already talking to me?”
Harry stared, cheeks flushing. Annoying git. No, no—stay calm, Harry. You need him in a good mood.
With a great sigh, the professor seemed to acknowledge that Harry was waiting to be let into his office, and at last let go of the door handle to step back and gesture him in.
“Thank you, sir,” he reminded himself to say once inside as Snape closed the door behind him.
Crossing his arms once more and jutting his chin into the air, Snape prompted, “Well?”
“I—” His voice cut out as his heart leapt into his throat from where it’d been pounding in his chest. It felt like there were eyes running all over his back, tensed so tight it hurt, but a glance showed him only the door. He shook his hands out and took a sharp inhale, feeling a little lightheaded from anxiety.
“Do sit down if you are going to quiver on your legs like a sorry leaf.” Snape’s face was as blank as his voice.
The breath left Harry as if through a straw. “Oh. U-Um, thanks. Sir.” He settled himself down at the very edge of the students’ chair in his office. Across the desk, Snape was making himself comfortable in his own seat. He crossed his hands on the table and silently watched Harry squirm. He waited.
“Er— Well, the thing is—” A full-body shudder. Harry hugged himself tightly, squeezing his upper arms to stay grounded on something other than the tingling in his gut. He could hardly hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. Maybe that was for the best. He drew on every ounce of bravery and hope and desperation that had driven him here. “I heard some students talking about, um, something you helped them with.”
Nearly imperceptibly, Snape’s eyebrows raised.
“A-And, well, I know that you, er— kind of hate me—” cringing, he rushed forward before Snape could give more evidence to those words— “but I thought that m-maybe you might be willing to… Because you’ve helped me before…”
Snape was being… unexpectedly patient with the way Harry was stumbling over his own words like a clown, as if he hadn’t rehearsed this conversation for days. He didn’t even sound that irritated when he prodded, “And what, exactly, are you thinking I can help you with?”
Harry shrunk into himself with how sharply his muscles tensed.
Snape recognized his obvious discomfort—Harry anticipated that. He didn’t anticipate that the man, with a consideration Harry hadn’t thought he possessed, would rephrase his question to be just a little easier, a little less all on him: “What did you hear I helped other students with?”
A deep breath. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his shoulders where his clawed self-squeezing had migrated upwards. He swallowed. Over the drowning sound of his own heart pounding, Harry could just make out his own murmured words: “Their gender transition.”
Oh lord. It was out. In the air with Snape. In an instant, Harry jolted back into his body, suddenly hyper-aware of where he was: in an office, with the door shut, with his harshest professor, who already distinctly hated him. He vaguely recalled that being one of his reasons for going to Snape in the first place—because it wasn’t like the man could hate him much more—but looking back now, Harry didn’t know what the fuck had he been thinking. He was about to become the Boy Who Died—
“Potter.”
His wide eyes snapped onto Snape’s. But he didn’t look any more vicious than before. If anything, his face seemed to have smoothed out a bit, which made no sense.
“Take a deep breath.”
And shit, Harry was in no position to disobey right now, so he tried his best, strangled as it was. His breath halted in his lungs when Snape moved, garnering black eyes for a long second. So slowly that it came through Harry’s racing mind as a decent speed, Snape’s hand came up again. He set a small lavender vial onto the table, and slid it closer to Harry.
“Calming drought,” he explained.
He probably should have been more worried that it was poison, but in that instant, the idea of instantly alleviating the rope coiling around his lungs and esophagus was tempting enough to cast that extra cherry of fear aside. Besides, if Snape wanted to kill him for this, he was a goner no matter what he did.
He popped the stopper out and downed it in one gulp, surprised at the nice, chamomile-like taste. A couple seconds later, any lingering fear of being poisoned drifted away with the rest of his anxiety as a wave of relaxation washed over his body, loosening his taut muscles from head to toe. His breathing pipe opened and panic released its grip on his lungs. He sighed, settling back into the chair. His next inhale was easy. “Thanks.”
Snape didn’t grant that a response. “Are you capable of continuing this conversation now?”
He nodded, calm thrumming in his veins. His heartbeat was still slowing, but it was slowing, and his anxiety had receded to good day levels. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Please. You’re hardly the first.”
“To freak out in your office?”
“Or to ask for gender-affirming care.”
Harry’s eyes widened, locking on Snape’s and glistening with renewed hope.
“Yes, for once, the rumors seem to be correct here. I am as shocked as you in that, believe me.”
Lips twitching, he dared to let the bud of hope bloom in his stomach. “Then… you’ll help? Me?”
“It’s that or fail at my job as a Potion’s Master and a professor entrusted with his students’ continued health.” He raised a brow. “I take my role at this school seriously, unlike some.”
So that hadn’t changed. Maybe that should have upset Harry, but really, it blanketed him in relief. That hadn’t changed.
“How much do you know about gender care in the wizarding world?”
“Uh…” Harry scratched his neck. “Not much… The people I overheard mentioned some, um, potions?”
“Yes, that is one option. There are other spells as well, though potions are the most common among wix. Assuming you can read, for as atrocious as your schoolwork is, I can send you some books on the subject.”
“Yes, please, sir. I would appreciate that. Um, I think I’d still like to try the potions, though.” His voice died down, “If that’s okay…” He looked up hopefully.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, it will likely be… challenging to avoid being called the Boy Who Lived in our world, what with your fame.”
“Oh. No, I’m not… I am a boy. I’m not sure how I got known as the Boy Who Lived here, since I was born… but I’m just really glad it happened that way, so I’ve decided I won’t question whatever magic was involved.”
“That is… rather curious.” Snape shifted back in his chair. “Nevertheless, that certainly makes things easier for you. Is ‘Mr. Potter’ still correct, then?”
Harry nodded.
“Very well. As it is nearly curfew, will you be amenable to discussing the specifics tomorrow? Depending on which choice you make, you can start then.”
“That would be perfect, Professor.” He tried to inject every bit of the overwhelming gratitude flowing through him into his words. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Potter. Now, you had best get going if you wish to avoid getting points deducted for being out of bed.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry hopped up and touched the doorknob. He wavered. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“I am the Head of Slytherin, Potter. You will find that I know how to keep a secret.” He raised a brow. “I may not be anyone’s kindest professor, but I am not a monster, Potter.”
Harry opened the door, keeping his back to Snape to hide the hint of a smile on his face. As he stepped through, he spoke quietly, “I don’t know, Professor. You’ve been awfully kind to me tonight.”
He closed the door and left before Snape could respond. As he bound down the dungeon hallways toward the Gryffindor dormitories, he let himself grin in full.
A couple days later, Harry begins receiving daily potion deliveries with breakfast.