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sua_layAuthor: Rimau Sua Lay
Rating: overall NC-17, Angst, Drama, Action/Adventure, First Time
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Snape, Ron/Draco, (Sirius/Remus)
Date: December 2002 - ?
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Sherbet Lemon?
Summary for Book Two: -Voldemort has a plan. To make it work, he needs his most loyal Death Eaters and their progeny. After a vicious attack, two Slytherins must decide if blood is thicker than potions.
Shifting his book bag to his side, Harry wiped his sweaty palm on his robe.
It was early. Everyone in the seventh year dormitory had still been sleeping as he'd sneaked out of the Gryffindor tower. It wasn't as if he'd actually planned to sneak out again. He'd woken up before dawn, and since he hadn't managed to go back to sleep, he'd decided to
go searching for some peace of mind.
Saturday had been wonderful. Remus and Sirius had spent the night at Hogwarts. Instead of studying, Harry had stayed with his godfather, loving every minute.
By mutual agreement, they hadn't spoken of the war. Instead, Sirius had told Harry about the times he'd been still a student at Hogwarts, reminiscing about all the adventures the Marauders had shared. Remus had commented on the most outrageous tales, trying to get his friend admit that some of his stories were highly colored by time and a very active imagination.
It had been glorious to escape the reality even for only one day.
Waking up this morning, he'd returned back to the here and now. There were things he needed to do, mostly studying. He was certain Hermione had forced Ron to spend the previous day reading. It was amazing how she could find the energy to do everything.
Harry had collected his books and tried to read in his bed, but Neville's loud snoring and the soft whimpers coming from Dean's bed were too distracting. Somehow, he couldn't concentrate on his reading and sooner or later his mind would start to wander to Sirius and Remus. He wondered what they were doing now.
That of course lead him to think of the missions they were on, making him worry. He couldn't stop thinking about how unreal yesterday had felt, because it had been a fantasy in a way.
It was the one thing he really didn't need right now. But the more he tried not to think about it, the sharper the thoughts became.
Annoying. For once he was actually willing to spend the day studying, and now he couldn't.
Eventually, Harry had shoved his books into his bag and got out of bed. He'd dressed quietly, making sure he had his wand with him. After leaving a short note on Ron's nightstand, he walked out of the dormitory.
Now he was here, in the familiar corridor, hesitating outside Snape's door.
It was not unusual for him to come here at weird hours. Especially in the beginning, when he had been haunted by strange dreams. No matter the time, he'd always been allowed in. Sometimes he wondered just exactly when did Snape sleep. The man seemed to be awake
every time he came to his door.
He'd never come here like this before; not without a good reason. Sometimes, he'd spent hours in the dungeons, doing his homework or holding a book in his lap, his mind working on something quite different. Snape had allowed him to stay, waiting for him to either come to some kind of conclusion on his own or start talking. This time, there was nothing bothering him. Not really.
Only the silence and being alone bothered him. The dark thoughts weren't swirling around his head, but they were waiting somewhere close.
Dumbledore would undoubtedly call this a pre-emptive strike. To hit the enemy before they could hit you.
Wiping his hand on his robes once more, Harry took a deep breath and then planted his palm on the ornament on Snape's door. He'd chosen to walk here, not sure if he should come after all. It was morning, so officially, he was allowed to be walking around the castle. If he'd decided not to come to see Snape after all, he could have just strolled around.
A few seconds later the door swung open, revealing the Potions master. Snape looked like he'd been expecting him. "Come on in, Potter." It was the usual curt command.
Harry followed him inside, closing the door firmly behind him.
The sight that greeted him was different from the neat chambers he was used to seeing. There were various boxes on the floor, some open with weird looking herbs inside. The acrid smell of bile came from the other end of the room and the comfortable chair Harry had claimed as his was covered in something that looked suspiciously like Veela hair.
It was quite obvious Snape was busy. Working hard to prepare the Order for whatever it was they were about to face.
Hesitating a little, Harry stood by the couch, wondering if he was welcome. He didn't exactly need to be here; he knew that if he left, he wouldn't exactly be reduced into a gibbering idiot in the matter of hours.
He wanted to be here. It was so much easier to stay in the dungeons. They were the last place anyone would come to look for him.
"You're busy. Do you want me to leave?" Harry asked Snape's back. The professor had walked back to the table as soon as he'd closed the door. He was obviously in the middle of chopping something. "I could come back later."
Snape turned to glance at him, his eyes shining with cold amusement. "Sit down. Unlike some of us, I can work and listen at the same time." The jibe was so obviously a reminder of several occasions Harry had been daydreaming during the Potions class.
Reading the meaning behind the words, Harry plopped down on the couch, his bag on his lap.
He'd brought his Potions textbook with him. After missing a whole day of studying, he'd decided to work on the subject he wasn't all that good at. Besides, he'd done his Potions homework in here a couple of times before, and Snape had graciously explained to him a thing or two when he'd been at a loss even after reading the chapter twice. Sometimes his professor hadn't even used the word 'idiot' during those explanations.
Harry fingered the thick book, thinking about all the things he needed to memorize before taking N.E.W.T.s. It was almost enough to plunge him back to depression.
Instead of opening the heavy volume, he kept watching Snape. The man was moving around the table, adjusting jars and piles of roots. Something squirmed on the table, but one stab of Snape's knife seemed to take care of that. After everything was the way the professor seemed to prefer it, he grabbed some daisy roots and resumed the chopping.
"Snape?" Since the man had told him not to call him professor when they were alone in the dungeons, but had not offered him the use of his first name -- not that Harry had expected for that -- he simply called him by his family name. Just like Snape always called him Potter. "Can I help you with anything?"
The reply was the much anticipated snort. "Even in a hurry, I am not desperate enough for your help, Potter. We wouldn't want the Order to suffer more from the cure than from whatever poison they may encounter, now would we?" He finished with the root and poured the thin slices to a bowl. Then he grabbed another root. "Your style of cutting usually leaves much to be desired."
Harry smiled slightly at that. Sure, he'd asked for it. "Okay. Tell me if you change your mind." He leaned back on the couch, still watching his teacher.
These rooms seemed like a second home by now. It was rather amusing for a Gryffindor to find the Slytherin dungeons homely in any way.
Maybe it was because he'd spent so much time here these past two months. When they'd first agreed on this with Snape, he'd come here twice a week. When he'd realized his old nemesis had actually meant it when he'd said he could come by whenever he needed, his visits had become more frequent.
Even now, Harry refused to be ashamed of those visits. Snape had never seemed to mind his rants and bouts of doubt. Had never made fun of him when he was confused and lost. The jibes came only when they wouldn't cut to the bone, never when they would truly hurt.
At least not outside the classroom. There, everything was possible.
"Actually, there is something you could do, if you're just going to sit there."
Snape's words jolted Harry out of his thoughts, and he realized the man had stopped the slicing and was staring at him. "What?" He didn't say anything about the barely veiled comment on his silence. He felt good. Didn't really need to talk about anything.
It wasn't exactly the first time he wasn't babbling the moment he stepped through the doorway or out of the fireplace. He'd been stunned when he'd managed some intellectual conversaton with his professor.
Gesturing at the bookshelf, Snape said, "If you have nothing else to do, you could get the Scamander book and read out loud. There's no need for us to waste the whole day. Like I said, I can actually work with Potions ingredients and listen at the same time."
"Oh." Harry realized it was a good idea. That way he didn't have to sit in silence and wonder if he should actually say something. "I have it right here." He pulled the small book out of his bag. He'd thought it would be refreshing after an hour or so of suffering through Magical Drafts and Potions.
The look Snape threw at him was surprised. "I'm amazed you actually have that book."
Harry grinned. There was a lot his professor didn't know about him, no matter how many secrets he'd shared with him. "It's good to have a manual close at hands whenever Hagrid's teaching about something new." With the visible classification of every poisonous and otherwise dangerous creature, the book was a life savior. Literally.
"I would imagine so." The sneer was back.
Opening the book, Harry flipped through the first few pages, shaking his head at things Ron had written on them. "All right. You want me to read the introduction too?"
"No." Snape had already turned back to his roots, his sharp knife making soft background noise as it sliced through the shriveled greens. "Start with the creatures themselves."
Harry nodded. " 'Acromantulas. The Acromantula is a monstrous...' "
He'd read about the magical creatures a dozen times before, but he didn't find reading the book again boring. After six and a half years studying at Hogwarts, he'd managed to bump into most of the non-lethal creatures. A couple of lethal ones too. He made a few comments about them as he read and was glad Snape just listened.
When Harry got to Dugbogs, Snape made an indelicate sound. After a questioning silence, he made a curt comment about the Dugbogs being highly underestimated. They did feast on more important roots than Mandrakes, and would be very vicious if annoyed. Apparently, their eyes were highly valuable in various love potions.
Harry shuddered at that. He was quite sure it couldn't be true love if it forced you to give the one you had a crush on anything made of Dugbog eyes to drink.
He kept on reading, pausing every now and again to have Snape make more observations. Most of his tales dealt with potions, which wasn't exactly a surprise.
Slicing the various ingredients he would need in his potions, Snape let his mind drift as Harry read to him. He made sure to comment on the creatures every now and then, when a familiar name awakened some memory of a thick skin or slimy intestines. Potter's voice was a pleasant buzz in the edge of his consciousness.
He was rather glad the boy had come to him this early in the day. He hadn't slept well. Strange nightmares had kept him awake. His dreams had reminded him of ages past, of the years he had cursed Hogwarts, not knowing the old castle would one day be a safe haven.
Usually these dreams were a warning, as if his Dark Mark knew of things to come. It worried him. The more frequent the Order meetings were, the fewer the dark gatherings were. He hadn't been called to his old Master since Yuletide.
That meant something big was approaching. Voldemort would scheme with some of his closest Death Eaters -- probably the Gryffindor traitor and Lucius Malfoy -- and when it was time to act, he would call all the others to marvel at his plan.
Snape didn't like it one bit. It would leave him very little time to act. Perhaps too little to stop whatever was coming from happening.
There would be casualties. People would be hurt, even die. And Poppy would need fresh batches of potions.
At least this was something he could do now. He didn't have to sit in his rooms and wait. No matter how morose, brewing potions to help the wounded in the battles that would come was something he was best suited for.
By midday, Harry had finished with the book. He was actually surprised the reading had taken so much time. Must be because of all the things they had talked about.
Snape put away his knife, washing his hands on a basin before calling for the house elves for lunch. It was a familiar ritual by now. Every time Harry was here, they shared a meal together; neither wanted to go to the crowded Great Hall to eat.
Since the white strands of hair were still spread on the comfortable chair, Harry took a better position on the couch. He was starving, even though he hadn't even realized he was hungry before Snape mentioned food. The sight of the tray full of steaming bowls made his stomach growl.
The sound was surprisingly loud in the room.
"Go ahead and eat." Sitting on the other side of the couch, keeping his distance, Snape waved at the tray. "Brains need nourishment in order to work, and I do believe yours need as much help as possible."
Harry snorted as he piled food on his plate. "We can't all be geniuses, you know." He was proud of the sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Deciding not to grace that with a reply, Snape grabbed a roll.
They ate in silence. Harry had found out that he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet. Sharing every meal with hundreds of other teenagers all talking at the same time could be somewhat disturbing, especially if you were feeling a bit tense. The novelty of eating without having to discuss anything with anyone had not yet burned away, and he smiled as he refilled his glass.
Snape saw the faint twitch of lips. Curious. It almost looked like the boy was getting back to the way he'd used to be before this outbreak of -- what Snape considered -- sanity.
Everything Potter had said had been true. Astonishingly, he hadn't wallowed too much in self-pity, had never said things that would require Snape to show sympathy. Had never asked for pity or praises. That had been a surprise to Snape. It hadn't exactly shattered the image he'd had of the hope of the wizarding world, but he'd realized he could actually stand his presence.
Not that he'd ever actually admit that to anyone.
When they had finished, Snape sent the dishes away and then grabbed a dusty thick potions book from the shelf. He returned to the couch to read it. Even he didn't remember all the dark potions by heart, and needed some studying before choosing which potions he needed to make right away.
He snorted at Harry's surprised look. Students! They never thought about the vast amount of work their teachers did for every class. It was extremely annoying to see that they still didn't understand even the simplest of lessons their teachers had tried to teach. They didn't need to know everything; they needed to know the basics, and then where to find more information.
Oh the joys of educating the young ones.
Harry watched his professor sit on the other side of the couch with a book. He couldn't help but to stare. Snape had rarely stayed so close to him, or acted quite that relaxed in his presence.
He rather liked it. It was almost like staying at the common room, minus all the noise. He didn't really want to leave yet, no matter how strong the bile smelled from the other end of the room. Since Snape so obviously needed to read, he decided to try the potions book as well.
Ten minutes later he realized he was still staring at the introduction on page five.
Harry couldn't really concentrate on the text. He kept thinking about how strange it was he wasn't all worried right now. Well, sure he was worried for Sirius and Remus, but he didn't feel the apprehension build up inside him like weeks ago.
After months of fighting desperation, he was slowly realizing that he might be able to survive the absurd mess that was his life after all. He was even beginning to see the irony of the whole thing.
All the answers had already been there, in his mind. He just hadn't seen any of them behind the overwhelming anxiety. Once he'd started to let out the jumble of confused thoughts, he'd been able to think about everything a bit more coherently. Had seen what Snape had obviously seen all the time. It hadn't been easy to accept. He was still not certain he wanted to accept it.
Life was what one made of it, but it was never fair. Sure, it was unfair he was treated like the savior of the wizarding world, when all he'd ever done was to have been loved by his mother. It was unfair that everyone expected him to be the hero, but that was life and nothing he did or said could really change it.
Accepting that had made things easier somehow. He no longer felt the all consuming dread when thinking about the future. It would come whether he dreaded it or not. Voldemort and he did share a bond, and due to it, he would most probably have to face the Dark Lord some day.
Brooding on it wouldn't help him that day. Trying to keep a level head would. That's what he was trying to do. Make sure he didn't store all his fears inside his mind, letting them fester there.
Harry turned his gaze back to the book, trying to concentrate on the text.
Potions. Potions ingredients. Preparing the ingredients. Getting proper tools with which to prepare the ingredients. Harry browsed through a couple of chapters, getting more frustrated every minute.
He'd always tried in class, had done his best. Even at Divinations, before realizing what an utter crap it was. He even understood most of the things he was studying, especially the magical creatures and DADA. Potions, however, were a mystery to him. He knew his Herbology, could calculate things, like his Arithmancy teacher could tell. Still, he couldn't find himself interested in Potions.
Annoyance made him even more determined. He slowed his pace, reading everything with thought. He could do this. Even Neville had managed to pass potions every year.
There were explanations on every page. The text wasn't all that complicated, but for some reason he simply couldn't grasp the point of most of the things he read. It was almost as if the author of the book was trying to contradict himself every now and again. First they said potions were the craft of a meticulous and patient mind, then there was a page that described intuition and something called 'sharpness of the eye'.
Harry wondered if the author had been somehow mentally ill. Wouldn't surprise him. Everyone so enamoured with potions must suffer with instability, probably due to spending so much time in the fumes. Maybe Snape was simply an exception to that rule.
It was infuriating, because he knew his lack of success in the Potions class wasn't because he didn't try. He did. He listened in the class, paid attention to every instruction Snape gave. He read the books, did his homework. And yet he was feeling he should be doing better.
"I suck at Potions!" Tossing the book to the side, Harry slumped on the couch. He hated this.
Snape raised his gaze from the book he'd been reading and nodded. "Yes, that is a rather accurate term." It was just a plain statement. He didn't even seem to be all that gleeful about Harry's words. "But if you study hard, you'll pass the N.E.W.T.s."
Looking highly suspicious, Harry glanced at him. He still wasn't sure if Snape was joking or not. What a strange notion; Snape having a sense of humor. "You sure?" He flustered a bit as he saw the raised eyebrow. Of course Snape would be sure. "Why? You know I've been doing the reading. Why do I... suck?"
"Because you have absolutely no eye for details."
That was certainly not true! "Sure, I do," Harry protested. He could prove that simply by showing Snape one of his Divinations papers. He'd got excellent at painting very vivid and detailed descriptions of his own death during the years.
Snape didn't make any comment on the petulant tone, even though it was slightly amusing. Once Harry had realized his comments during these moments he was in Snape's private rooms wouldn't lose Gryffindor House points, he'd stopped worrying about the things he said.
Impudence and snotty remarks were always met by scathing sarcasm. Honesty was usually appreciated.
"No, Potter, you really don't. You can handle the rudimentary potions well, because they are simple. A few ingredients and a certain way to make them. When there are various ingredients and variables to take account of, your work is a dismal failure. Maybe you were predispositioned to focus on only one thing at the time." It was said with confidence coming from teaching the boy for years.
Harry tried to figure out if it had been an insult or a compliment. Somehow he didn't think it was either. "Explain." A familiar command usually said by Snape.
Turning a little towards his student, Snape wondered how to make his point so that even Potter would get it. He could use any number of potions as an example, could mention various ingredients that would need special preparation before mixed together. Could probably talk until he ran out of words, but he was certain he wouldn't be understood.
"Quidditch." Seeing the blank look on Potter's face, Snape sighed. "It's like you and Quidditch. Maybe if you were a Beater, you'd be able to see all the nuances of potions as well."
Harry realized he looked like an idiot with his mouth hanging open. Had Snape just compared Potions to Quidditch? "So you mean..." He thought about it for a moment, glad that he wasn't prompted for a quick answer, unlike in the classroom. "You mean that since the Seeker focuses completely on the Snitch, he doesn't have to pay attentions to all the details of the game?"
It actually made sense. He always trusted the Beaters to make sure no one was brained by a Bludger, trusted the Chasers to get out of his way when he swooped down from the sky, trying to catch the Snitch.
"Something like that." Snape nodded. Maybe when the war was over, he would write a textbook for idiots. Maybe an 'Idiot's guide to Potions', explaining all the important things using Quidditch terms.
"I don't think that's really true." A memory of a gleeful smirk came to Harry. "If it was, Malfoy would be just as bad in Potions as I am." No matter how he wanted to blame Malfoy's good grades on the favoritism Snape still showed on him, Harry had to admit that the Slytherin was truly skilled in Potions.
Was probably practicing for his future as a murderer. Backstabbing was always so messy. Better use poison.
Snape's only answer to that was a cold stare.
"So I'll have to pay attention to the details." He could do it. Harry was sure he could. To hide from the stare, he grabbed the book, and tried reading some more. If he was indeed to pass the exams, he would have to at least remember the stuff he read, even if he didn't really get it.
Disappearing behind the book, he missed a rare sight. Snape's lips curled into a genuine smile. It lasted for a few seconds, until the man was able to get his expression back under control. Not letting his amusement show, he returned to his task of selecting poisons against which he would probably have to find counter measures.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 08:04 pm (UTC)*giggles*
Harry finally has a place where he can be comfortable in his own skin-I'm glad for him. And the tension you have building up-first Malfoy, now Snape's dreams-you're teasing us about something big!
Thanks for the update.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-02 11:30 am (UTC)Something
wickedbig this way comes indeed...no subject
Date: 2006-05-02 03:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-02 07:00 pm (UTC)Personally, I like fics where Harry likes to fly and Snape likes potions and neither totally understands the other's passion, but can deal with it. Also, Snape not calling Harry an idiot is a high praise indeed.
*squee*