Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I understand, thank you very much for keeping me updated. I’m sure that his family will be understanding.” Arthur Weasley said, shifting uncomfortably on the hearth as he finished speaking with the auror. 

“Of course, Arthur. I know your family is close with the boy. 13 years old, and left alone for weeks!! What was Fudge thinking?” The man flickered in the fire, almost as if he was shaking his head. “We are still a bit short staffed, what with the additional patrols. We won’t be able to move him until after the weekend. But we will ensure he’s safely back with his family before the end of next week.”

“Indeed, it won’t do him any good if we put him in even more danger trying to help him. Thank you, Kingsley. I won’t take up any more of your night.” The head in the fire nods briefly before disappearing and the fire flares back to normal. Arthur Weasley carefully pulls himself to his feet, and sits down on a plush armchair. He had promised his wife that he wouldn’t work while they were on vacation in Egypt. This, however, was a personal call. He knows that his son’s best friend, Harry Potter, isn’t on the best of terms with his relatives. However, it was absolutely absurd of the minister to put the teenager up in a room above a pub without any adult supervision. No, this was one of those things where what is ‘right’ is also what is difficult. Sighing deeply, the red haired man sinks deeply back into the chair and closes his eyes.

Unnoticed by Arthur, two of his sons slip quietly out of the living room and upstairs. After digging through his bag for a moment, Fred retrieves a box of softly glowing white muggle chalk. As he draws a large circle around them, George taps an unassuming shaving kit bag twice with his wand. Both boys plop down onto the threadbare rug in the center of their room with the same contemplative look mirrored on their faces. Unrolling the transformed container, George pulls out a collection of rolled parchment, a small package of chewing gum, and a few other odds and ends. 

“Father means well” Fred muses quietly, tapping his chin. “Yes, but I do wish he understood.” George contemplates the items in front of him, an unspoken plan semi-formed. He continues on, “maybe…. maybe we can force him to see? Or some kind of proof?” Fred shakes his head in dissent. “No, brother, I think it’s too late for that. Even if we convince him, it’ll be too late to do anything.” George absentmindedly picks up the package of gum, lost in thought. Truly, it is a good thing that their father is so kind and optimistic. Even if he was unwittingly sending Harry, unarmed and unable to protect himself, into a potentially volatile situation. To someone like their father, leaving a child alone is the worst kind of neglect he can imagine. Little does he know… 

George shakes his head to clear that line of thinking. While their father had been very concerned for Harry after learning that he ran away, he seemed to think that Harry simply needed a guiding hand to help him face the embarrassment. He thought it was all a misunderstanding compounded by an ignorant adult and a wayward teenager. Truthfully, Fred & George figure there is a whole lot more to the story. That kind of accidental magic doesn’t just happen willy-nilly. Something must have happened to push him over the edge. And, having been privy to ministry-inside information, they know his aunt was the only one who’d been obliviated. Harry is probably going to be in actual, physical danger if he goes back. But their father had been disinclined to believe them, even after they reminded him of the bars on the window and Harry’s general underfed stature. 

Holding up the pack of gum, George consults his twin. “Do you think?” Fred narrows his eyes suspiciously, but nods. “Yes, but we’ll need irrefutable proof. And that object oath spell, you reckon?” An evil grin spreads across George’s face. “Oh, he’ll love that! Yes, for sure. Memories this time? There isn’t much time.” Picking up a large vial from the kit, he tosses it to his brother with a gleeful whoop. The air above the chalk line shimmers, but the CensorChalk has been perfected, and maintains their silence. As with many of their inventions, imbued objects have replaced the need (and legal restrictions) of spells. Clever spellwork & potions have come together to form many of their most utilitarian inventions. One day, they’ll sell them to underage wixen & squibs alike. 

“Ok, the bars, the locks on the outside of the door, anything else?” The question pulls George from his thoughts. “Maybe that cupboard? How his homework was locked up and whatnot. It might help ingratiate Harry to him, knowing that he isn’t allowed to do homework.” Fred nods in agreement, and the two work in a practiced synchronicity. Starting with the bars on the window, each boy pulls out his own memory and they hold the shared memories up to each other with a whispered pars differentia. This useful spell was one they created by trial, error, and an urgency of time. Since they so often were seeing the same thing, this spell took their separate memories, and melded them into one, vivid one that kept the minute differences. Whenever they got stuck on a particular problem, this spell allowed them each to literally see through the other’s eyes. 

The vial is writhing with fat silver streaks and little snips of gold barely visible. Since their recipient had received these doubled & parsed memories before, he would know they were not tampered. In fact, these memories produced by the twins were often more reliable than ‘normal’ due to the two points of view encompassed into singular memories. With a silent nod to each other, they each hold their wands to the sealed object. In unison, they recite “I swear on my magic to not share the content of these memories for any reason other than to help the subject. So mote it be. Sacramentum objectum. ” Gold swirls around each of their outstretched hands and wands and then sinks into the vial, invisible.

“Ok, Forge, letter or transport?” George considers for a moment before responding. “You can write the letter, Gred. I have a few ideas I’ve been considering for this…” He trails off with a soft frown, and pulls a large muggle notebook out of the kit, followed by a muggle pencil. “Object switching” he states, placing the palm of his hand to the cover of the notebook. It flips open to his notes on the subject. He absentmindedly pulls out a rag, too, and wipes away the chalk circle. Fred, with parchment and quill in hand, retreats to the desk nestled by the window. Pulling out a different box of chalk, blue this time, George starts off drawing two medium sized circles. In each, he draws what looked like a slightly wide letter ‘M’, murmuring “ ehwaz”. Next comes an ‘R’ with an accompanying “ raidho” . After a few more minutes, George sits back to study the circles. This time would work, he’s sure of it. He’d tried many iterations before, but one of the tombs they had toured earlier today had given him an idea. He quickly scrawls out some nonsense on a scrap of parchment and pulls out a small vial. Walking over to his twin, he holds out the vial. “Testing material. Lunch today?” They quickly parse out two memories from lunch and add an oath that they will “enjoy their memories of this delicious meal”. 

Tracing down the runes, positions, and placement of items, George can almost feel the nerves creeping in. There is a lot riding on today’s success, but pressure always motivates him to success. He knows his older brother is still in the lounge visiting with his parents. Going to find him, they return a few minutes later. Eyebrows jumping in surprise, Bill assesses the circles. “This might just work, little brother. Travel and communication?” Nodding, George grabs his notes. “I was thinking, because we’re trying to share memories and a letter, that I want to communicate. That way, if there are object wards, they may allow these to pass. Since they are communication. ” He goes on to share his notes about placement, intent, and the failsafes he’d planned out. Kneeling down to look at the runes and circles, Bill is absolutely blown away by his brothers’ genius. “These runes are already imbued with magic. The chalk?” 

“Yeah! We needed a way to bypass casting. It’s so porous, it soaks up the imbuing potion really well. It’s muggle, so it doesn’t trigger any traces. And, as you can see, we can use ready-made spells or basic imbuing.” The chalk was Fred’s pet project, so he answers that one from across the room. From the looks of it, he’s currently re-writing the letter for the 3rd time. They both know there is a lot riding on the success of their plan. “Smart little brothers, as always. Ok, let’s try…” He starts mentioning a few small changes, and George copies them into his notebook and makes the suggested changes. “Would you be willing to make a copy of these? Just in case they vanish or banish.” He adds the last part with a grin that assures that has definitely happened before. Bill copies them, and they start with the copies. After a few fails, a small fire, and one success, they are ready to try the originals. Whispering a destination to his brother, George steps back to let Bill sends the message across the room.

“The moment of truth?” Fred asks, turning to see his grinning twin and older brother. After receiving confirmation, he snags the bottled memories. “I swear on my magic. So mote it be.” He confirms the silly oath they made, and swallows the memories. Slammed with twofold memories of their lunch, he feels a little nauseous for a moment. After it passes, he grins wickedly. “Yummy! Kofta.” Bill and George share a high five, and Fred carefully slips the letter into an envelope and seals it. After addressing it, he contains the two items in a subsection of the package. He fills the topmost section with the scrolls of parchment and pack of gum from the kit. He seals it all up and addresses it with a graceful calligraphy The Potion’s Prince . 

Handing the completed kit to his twin, Fred digs around in the expanded kit and pulls out a small round bottle with a viscous blue liquid in it. He tosses it, rather carelessly, to Bill. Reflexively snatching it out of the air, Bill eyes the potion suspiciously. It looks strangely familiar, but he can’t figure out why. Turning it over, he reads the golden label MANA POTION and can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “The muggleborns are going to go crazy over this one! Magic replenisher?” He uncaps it and smells it cautiously. It smells vaguely of juniper and sand, and he absolutely does not recognize the scent. The twins are sharing a look that screams mischievousness. “Well, yes” says Fred, “but, no” says George. “Imagine something more potent…” Fred jumps in “but doesn’t last as long.” They both turn to face their older brother as they finish in tandem “A BOOST!!”. 

Bill knows this vague, roundabout description is the best he’s going to get. He knows his little brothers, despite their pranking nature, won’t give him anything (too) dangerous. Shaking his head at their antics, he asks a question that he knows they will actually answer. “Ok, where are we sending this one?” Much to his surprise, the twins hesitate and glance at each other. “Well…” George starts. “One professor Severus Snape.” Fred finishes, looking sheepish. “But! You can’t tell anyone that we talk to him during the summer!” Other than a small look of surprise, Bill doesn’t say anything to this revelation. Instead, he has the boys write down the address for him while he double checks the circle, the items, and the mystery potion he’s about to take. 

The Mana Potion slips down his throat with a cool burn, almost like swallowing muggle mouthwash. And then, Bill briefly becomes a superhero. He feels like Merlin himself, magic coursing through his veins and a soft glow pulsating around him. He places his hands on the magic circle and pushes the items to Britain. Sending the items from Egypt should have drained him for a few hours, at the least. With the use of the potion, he feels the items through their entire journey. A reverberation travels through the connection as the package meets the wards on the other side, and he gently forces them through into Professor Snape’s personal residence. As the tether releases and snaps back on him, he flies backwards across the room. The excess of energy easily absorbed, Bill feels a surge of renewed magic power. 

“Ahhh, looks like he’s compatible, brother.” Fred says to George. “Indeed. He’s going to be opening tombs with his bare hands tomorrow” George responds, smirking at the unnatural glow emanating from Bill’s eyes. “You might want to go cast a few spells before you see mom again. Your eyes should stop glowing after a few big ones. Send a few Patronuses and you’ll be right as rain.” Feeling both the power surging through him and a mild annoyance at the twins for neglecting to tell him about any long term effects (as desirable as they might be…) Bill silently binds and suspends the two menaces. At their laughter, he also silences them. Sending a few Patronuses to gather some friends at their favorite local pub, he cancels the spells and leaves his cackling brothers.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape is skimming his favorite Swedish potion journal when he feels something pushing at his wards. His first thought is on Draco, who he thought was asleep upstairs in the guest bedroom. Barely on his feet and six different punishments devised for the brat sneaking out later, a small box appears on the shabby coffee table in front of him. The item has been very carefully pushed through his wards without triggering them. Normally, he would be very concerned, but seeing the address on the outside of the box soothes him. Slightly.

The Potion’s Prince. This particular magic is definitely new. And he will have to have extensive words with the twins when he has figured out how, exactly, they accomplished it. Curiosity wins over caution and he sits back down in his favorite chair and pulls the box towards him. They are in Egypt this summer, so there have not been many letters exchanged. They obviously have been busy, nonetheless. The thought has a wicked smile crossing his face ever so briefly. He has a feeling the transport, at the very least, was accomplished with the help of their Mana Potion. They had stumbled upon gold with that particular invention, but he was terrified of what some might do with it. They had agreed to keep it under wraps until they figured out how to control and counteract its effects. 

Opening the box, Severus starts with the pack of gum. It is wrapped in a handsome forest green package and decorated with an elegant golden script. The matte packaging creates a stark background for the fine lettering. It is a much more simple design than many of their items and the potion’s master finds himself insatiably curious. Glamour Gum, he reads, before opening the pack and slipping out a single stick of the gum. Plain matte black paper encompasses the stick, and it feels like something very high-end and muggle. Carefully unwrapping the gum, the inside of the paper is covered in white script. At first glance, it looks purely decorative. However, upon closer inspection, he can read all the details about the gum. 

An item that would provide between 30 minutes and 7 hours of a simple glamour spell, slow-released through chewing the gum. The spearmint flavour, muggle in design, would start to diminish after a while. However, the gum wouldn’t disintegrate and would last the full 7 hours. Carefully re-wrapping the item, Severus pulls out the scrolls enclosed with the items. This is all par for the course for communications between the three of them. Despite appearances, Severus Snape has the utmost respect for the troublemaking teens. Driven by curiosity and seemingly encouraged by failure, the boys are always coming up with fascinating products unlike any he's ever seen before. While they often attribute their ideas and successes to ‘fulfilling a need’, the potion’s master knows that it is just one small part. 

Severus Snape has been in contact with the wild Weasley twins since the summer after their third year. He can’t really call it a mentorship, seeing as he learns just as much as they do through their various dealings. It had all started with a small piece he’d written for a rather obscure journal out of Sweden. Many of the words in the Swedish language are filled with great amounts of intent and meaning, to a much greater extent than those produced from Latin and Romance-based languages. The paper he’d written had been mostly speculation and theory, merely suggesting ideas of implementation and only the barest hint of utilizing it with potion making. It had started as little more than a 2am flight of fancy that quickly snowballed into a research paper. He’d sent it in on a whim and, wanting to keep anonymous, he’d signed off as The Potion’s Prince.

He quickly forgot about the article published on his paper until he received a very peculiar letter from a wizard in Britain seeking his advice on a project. Gemini (who he quickly learned was actually two wizards who seemed to share a singular mind) had been doing practical research using runic engraving with potions to imbue items with latent magic. That in itself wasn’t an entirely new concept, but the way Gemini paired it with spellwork was beyond comprehension. At the time, Gemini had achieved very promising results but hadn’t yet been able to produce what they were aiming for. They shared with him their research and findings for a particular endeavour involving imbuing muggle chalk with latent magic. Common sense said the product was impossible, but their research proved otherwise. Intrigued, he had conducted his own research, noted his findings and advice, and copied the memories into a small vial. He had then imbued the memories with a very strict oath ensuring they could not be misused. 

Of all the various outcomes imaginable, Severus Snape had never expected a return message detailing who ‘Gemini’ was and their intent on making products for sale. They assured him that they want a balance of utilization, science, and fun. But they insisted they would not use his research without his permission, now enlightened by their identities. After a brief consideration, the potion’s master had agreed to continue researching, mentoring, and learning with the young protegees. They constantly pushed him to look at new solutions to old problems and encouraged him to experiment with both potions and magic as he hadn’t done since his teenage years. They often sent him samples of their finished products, and he kept many of them as prized possessions. (And used a few of them on many occasions, constantly awed by their ingenious creations.) Something he had yet to uncover was how they had accomplished the imposed time limits on their various items. They often had a specific, yet arbitrary, activation time. Additionally, they were often enchanted to expand in the face of banishing and transfiguration magic. Severus would never ask about this particularity, mostly because he found it to be a fascinating puzzle to work on in his free time.

When the twins presented him with an idea or item that could be….twisted maliciously, he did his best to explain the alternate point of view. They always took his advice without offense and either withheld the product or changed it drastically. One of these items was their Mana Potion. While harmless in theory, the idea that they had created a potion that had the potential to grow one’s capacity for magic was absolutely unfathomable. While not all subjects had experienced long-term effects, they all had a significant magical boost for at least 30 minutes after consuming the product. The potion’s master had immediately locked up that product and written a very long and, admittedly, fearful letter to the boys. They had immediately responded in thanks and never mentioned that potion again. Despite endless curiosity, Severus refused to research that particular blend they had created. He feared that any knowledge gained from the boys’ innocent concoction could somehow be prised from him to aid Dark Lord in his rise. 

Realizing how much time has passed, Severus pulls his focus back to the scrolls of research included with the chewing gum. No matter how many times he goes through this familiar ritual, he never fails to be impressed with the thorough testing and research performed by the two young men. The gum acts exactly as it is supposed to, however it seems that they are having troubles producing different results. Their end goal is to produce a line of the gum with each flavour producing different results. It makes for absolutely fascinating reading and Severus finds himself quickly engrossed. This particular recipe provides a simple glamour spell that turns ( all) hair a dirty blonde colour with soft waves. He laughs to himself, noting that the ‘all’ is underlined a few times. 

There are a few miniature vials included in the package in a striking red, blue, pink, and orange colour. According to the notes, the blue peppermint  is supposed to turn the chewer’s eyes blue. The pink bubblegum changes the skin tone slightly, and the orange mango affects the voice by a full octave. George, who is exceptionally skilled with runic magic and imbuing inanimate objects, can’t seem to get the potions to solidify into the gum. The vials do practically the same thing as the gum; they provide a 7 hour, undetectable glamour. However, they can’t figure out why the spearmint is the only one acting compatibly. Setting the glamour shots back in their velvet pouch, Severus reads the additional notes provided, including what they have tried. He can’t help the wave of surprise that washes over him as he reads through the extensive list of spells to which the Glamour Gum is immune. They don’t have the ingredients (or monetary resources) to create the potion needed for the Thief’s Downfall. He’s going to have to invest in testing that one, if simply for his own curiosity. Otherwise, it looks like the magical output is low enough to be virtually undetectable and immune to dispelling. 

Already marking down his own notes, the potion’s master notices the second layer to the small package. He can’t imagine what else the boys could have even had time to create, but he begins unpacking it carefully. Noticing the letter is addressed to Professor Severus Snape , he immediately stills. Knowing this can’t bode well for him, he slices through the seal and opens the letter. Wearily keeping an eye on the bottle of memories pulsating with far too much magic, he begins to read the letter. 

Dear Professor Snape,

To begin with, we do so implore you to forgive us. While we endeavour to remain humble on our journey through this life, we do pride ourselves on our problem solving abilities. There are few problems in this world that cannot be solved with logic and determination. However, a friend of ours is in trouble and we have been unable to help him despite our best efforts. Since time is of the essence and you have never been one to judge us on age above intelligence, we come to you seeking assistance.

Please understand that we do know the implications behind our words on what is to follow. We do not come to you with these accusations lightly. A friend of ours, a young boy a few years below us, might be in danger from his family. You, as someone who is aware of our family situation, might be inclined to assume that we are not the proper judges of this situation. And, quite honestly, you would be right. We did not want to do something drastic again, that might just exacerbate the problem. This is a delicate situation that requires a level-headed adult to step up and make the right decisions. 

Enclosed with this package is all of the memories we could provide you with in order to highlight our concerns. These memories will be particularly biased as we, the concerned citizens, are the ones providing them. We merely hope you can see our point of view and give our friend the consideration he deserves. The second page of this letter will unlock once you have viewed the memories, explaining the identity of our friend and his current situation. 

Thank you for taking the time to look into this matter,

Fred & George Weasley

Severus sarcastically wonders if this particular subject is the reason the squirming silver mass of memories had left him feeling so uneasy. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he decides a drink is in order. And maybe a quick check on his godson to ensure he is sleeping. Tonight was going to be a long night. Grabbing the large potion bottle, a laugh startled over the professor. The twins had reverse-engineered a custom spell of his and locked their memories with an oath. Faced with a rather innocuous promise, Severus agreed quickly and delved in.

…………

The flying Ford Anglia pulls up to a very mundane muggle neighborhood. Parking outside a second story window caged by shining golden bars secured to the outside frame.

Pausing the memory, Severus quickly rewinds to see the larger scene. Upon closer inspection, he can tell that there are no other windows or doors with bars on them, even on the first floor.

Leaving Ron in the car, the twins scale down a thick rope and drop onto the manicured lawn below. While one of the boys quickly picks the lock on the front door, the other looks around and keeps watch. Once inside, they maneuver towards a nondescript cupboard under the stairs. Again, one picks the lock while the other keeps watch. He has a muggle torch, and pauses briefly over a photo. The family looks vaguely familiar, but the memory looks around some more. He steps away, briefly looking in the kitchen when he hears a whisper and turns back towards the now unlocked cupboard.

Severus is less than 10 minutes into this memory and is already feeling a heavy sense of dread coiling in his gut. Rewinding to the brief foray into the kitchen, he pauses the memory again. It was obvious that neither twin had spent much time in this particular room, seeing as the memory was very dark and rather vague. Not understanding the muggle world, it was obvious that the Weasley boys had not realized anything was amiss. To him, however, the locks threaded through the cupboards and the large bike lock wrapping through the handles of the fridge spoke of a very concerning situation.

He really doesn’t want to see any more of these memories. He can tell by the pulsing emotions and moods attached that he hasn’t even made it to the ‘concerning part’ yet. Severus has a feeling that he’d be willing to offer help to even Sirius Black himself by the end of these memories. Knowing that he’ll need the whole story and, possibly, irrefutable proof, Severus continues to play the memories through.

Working together in near-silence, the boys pull out a standard-issue student trunk. Briefly leaning into the cupboard with the lit torch, they quickly scan the area for any other personal belongings. They see some rags, cleaning supplies, and other odds and ends. They silently nod to each other in agreement, and back out of the small cupboard. It smelled quite strongly of chemicals and something particularly pungent, and they were wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Outside the memory, if one had come across Severus Snape, they would have rushed him to St. Mungo's in an instant. Despite the warm living room lit by a roaring fire, his face was as pale as death. His limbs quivered, and sweat was forming along his hairline. His neck and jaw were tensed uncomfortably and his breath was coming in strained heaves.

Inside the memory, the professor had paused at a moment that caught his eye. Something obviously missed by the two boys. In fact, if he had to guess, neither one had actually seen the little sign above the door, but their two peripherals had combined to form the full picture. Scrawled crayon and tacked above the door where peering eyes wouldn’t notice, was a sign. Proudly proclaiming “Harry’s Room’. What might be even worse, however, is that Severus recognizes the sharp smell permeating the air. It’s a smell that clings to a space for years after it’s been vacated. A smell very, terribly, familiar to anyone who had been in dungeons hosted by Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. 

Someone had lived in this cupboard. Bled in this cupboard. Relieved themselves, been sick, sweat, shivered, and...luckily...not died in this cupboard. This was a smell that had absolutely no place in a muggle suburb. Severus closed his eyes, carefully Occluded his mind, and then looked back through the memory with careful detachment. Almost hidden from sight, small toy figures were stashed on the small nook created where the wall met the stairs. Another small gap looked to house pencils and scraps of paper. The floor was stained in an area that suggested there had once been something rectangular. Like a rug… or a small cot. Playing the memory forward, he paused once more at the sign tacked above the door. He had a sinking feeling about who this mission was urging him to save.

Ascending the plushily carpeted stairs, the memory skimmed across the photos adorning the wall. A young, obese blond boy was the subject of most of the photos. At the landing was a family photo with the young blond boy, an older man who was obviously the boy’s father, and a very familiar horse faced woman with dark hair. They stop in front of a door embellished with a number of locking mechanisms and a strange plastic flap cut into the bottom of the door. After releasing the various locks, the door swings open and a loud clang echoes throughout the room. After a moment of stunned silence, the memory finally looks at the offending item. It’s an empty can of off-brand ravioli that has been cleaned of every last drop of sauce. Ignoring it, the boys take in a barren room, a stained old cot with a single ratty blanket, and…. The memory cuts off.

The next few snippets of memory show carefully anonymous details of the boy-in-question. Slipping bread rolls into his pockets during the feast, flashes of bruises, welts, and scars across a too-thin back, a dreadful pair of duct taped trainers… the confusing blur continued for another two minutes before the memories finally ended. 

………………

Severus is dreading reading the second page of the letter. He really just wants to go to bed and forget about everything he has seen tonight. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he pulls out the still-blank parchment. “I have watched the memories” he says, tapping it with his wand. The letter reveals itself, starting with where his wand makes contact and bleeding out towards the edges. Short and succinct, he breathes a sigh of relief. The letter simply identifies the victim, which he’d already deducted for himself. Details the known events of the summer (something happened to cause the surge of accidental magic, the boy ran away, the minister decided to let the teenager live alone, unsupervised, for a few weeks above Diagon Alley.) Finally, the letter set the timeline for returning the boy (between 2 and 9 days), and highlighted the added details of the obliviation for the visiting aunt but not for the family he lived with. 

It’s another hour before Severus finally finds himself in bed for the night. Despite the late hour, sleep is a distant idea. Instead, his head is filled with distant memories of the Evans sisters, the unrelenting bullying of Potter Senior & his friends, and an absolute revulsion that he pretends is aimed at the Potter Junior instead of himself.

Chapter Text

Sunlight dancing across his face, Harry Potter groans as he sinks more deeply into his plush pillow. He had not been deemed worthy of the luxury of curtains when he’d moved into the now-barren wasteland that was, once, Dudley’s Second Bedroom. Being up with the sun was one of the numerous household rules at #4 Privet Drive, and the brightness of the sun streaming in through the window is telling him he’s already late. As various punishments sift through his sleepy brain, the soft bedding and cozy blanket bring Harry’s spiraling thoughts to an abrupt halt. With a manic smile, the now wide awake boy sits up and looks around in awe and wonder. 

It has been precisely one week since Harry ran away from Little Whinging and found himself living in the rooms above the Leaky Cauldron. The surreal state of his new accommodations has not, quite, sunk in yet. Each day he is met with a bubbling sense of joy and freedom, weighed down slightly by a foreboding understanding that it’s simply too good to be true. Little glimmers of hope decorate the room in superficial ways. His nicest (ratty old) outfit hangs proudly in the wardrobe. A postcard from the magical district in Paris is propped haphazardly against the lamp near his bed. And, most notably, his school books, parchment, quills, and ink are spread across the small desk by the window. 

Harry knows that the clutter is a weak facade… a brave front put on by a scared child ready to run at any given moment. His grab-bag, an old canvas backpack carefully patched at the seams and reinforced with duct tape, betrays his unease. At his side at all times, the bag contains emergency funds, packaged food, his invisibility cloak, a photo album, and his wand. The teen knows that his trunk, his clothes, and even his schoolwork are all replaceable. The items in his pack, however, are absolutely irreplaceable. He understands that this particular mindset probably hints at a few deeply problematic issues. Regardless, he also understands that he would put life and limb on the line to protect his few, meagre belongings.

“Wow, aren’t we insightful this morning?” he mutters to himself as he finally pulls himself to his feet. While the newfound freedom has been invigorating in many ways, it has also given him way too much time for insight and self reflection.

“You know, talking to yourself is probably not the strongest argument for proving you are the… what was it? Oh, yeah, “ perfectly capable young adult.” I still can’t believe that foolish minister fell for that and left a child to live alone.” The voice, an odd mix between snarky and motherly, manages to catch him off guard every time she speaks. 

Harry turns to face the mirror, belatedly realizing the hands-on-hips pose is making him look like the petulant child she accuses him of being. While she has the habit of being spectacularly annoying, he is actually rather touched by her motherly affections. The mirror, Gina, is often looking out for him and giving him quite useful advice. While the two often have playful arguments, it is the closest thing to a motherly relationship he’s ever experienced outside of Molly Weasley. From a few casual questions at the pub, Harry had learned that all the rooms have talking mirrors that come and go as they please. Gina seems to be the minority when it comes to conversationalisim, advice, and friendliness. Not that he is complaining! He is undeniably fond of the kind and kind-of-sassy mirror.

It is actually due to Gina’s advice that he is venturing out into the alley today. Harry, who has never once turned in quality summer work, has been working tirelessly on his schoolwork since his arrival. Being a 13 year old boy he is, of course, dying to go shop the streets, ogle the broomsticks, and fill both pockets and stomach with sweets. It is the uncanny dread that this won’t last long that has thus kept him inside, nose buried in books and parchment. He doesn’t have the same drive to prove himself as Hermione, but he has felt a little pang of shame each year. Handing in essays written by torchlight and scrawled out on the train is not something he is proud of. It has always been necessary, so he simply does his best. This year, with such a golden opportunity to live up to his potential, he just can’t help but push himself. 

Gina’s laugh, which sounds like delicate bells and warms his soul, follows him as he ducks into the bathroom to change. Blushing, he quickly jumps in the shower after brushing his teeth. He emerges from the bathroom squeaky clean and red cheeked 10 minutes later. “You know” she drawls, giving him a kind but stern look. “Just 5 more minutes spent on that hair would make a world of difference…” It was an old argument and Harry just gives her an embarrassed head-shake. Old habits are hard to break and it had been beaten into him quite early in life that any wasteful hygiene habits were an expense his relatives were not going to take lightly. The soft, sad look Gina is giving him says she understands a little too much of what he isn’t saying. 

“So!” He says with a loud clap and an overzealous false cheer. Then, with the shy sweetness that had endeared him to her so, he continues, “will you go over my shopping list with me?” 

By the time Harry Potter ventures out into Diagon Alley the sun is directly overhead. The bright light washes throughout the alley, chasing away the shadows of doubt that have been clinging on so despairingly. The young boy is dressed in his nicest rags and clutching a scrap of parchment while he walks through the alley. Wide eyed and full of wonder, Harry doubts he will ever get used to magic. And he’s ok with that. Gringotts glints in the distance ahead as if beckoning him in the right direction. To some, he probably looks lost or overwhelmed. The trained eye, however, would notice a grim set to his jaw and eyes that flicker between escape routes. The tense muscles in his shoulders are aware of anyone brushing against his backpack. His too-large trainers hardly make a sound on the cobblestones while his ears pick up every shop door opening. Harry’s innate sense of self-preservation is in a state of constant turmoil here as his focus is repeatedly drawn towards the fantastical storefronts and magical wares being offered. A heady sense of danger weighs down the air while childish joy and laughter work to counteract it.

It’s nearly one in the afternoon when Harry returns to the streets with his newly acquired funds. In his humble opinion, having pockets filled with gold is asking for trouble. His enquiries about bank cards and checks had almost resulted in him being chased out of the bank. The goblins had looked personally offended at his questions while the patrons who overheard had quickly shuffled as far away from him as possible. One posh old man with a top hat had started yelling about mudbloods and purity before he’d been subdued. After that…excitement… Harry had quickly finished his business and practically ran out of Gringotts. The bright streets outside do little to lighten his mood as he makes his way towards Flourish & Blotts. 

Reference Books. What a very Hermione thing to be looking for during summer holidays. In hindsight, Harry feels like an idiot that the thought of research materials while outside of school has never even crossed his mind. Not that he would have had the opportunity to expand his resources… he barely has ever had time to skim his class texts before scrawling out what was barely more than unfounded guesswork. Reveling in his newfound clarity of thought, Harry realizes there are probably wizarding libraries outside of Hogwarts. Maybe even one here in Diagon Alley! The heavy shame of the criticism he received at Gringotts colours his cheeks as he decides to wait on that one and ask Hermione once they are back in school. For now, he’ll fork out the funds to salvage his pride. 

Gina had been rather vague when she suggested he utilize his ‘personal library to expand upon the points he wishes to make’. Or something like that. Apparently, he is supposed to be using his previous year’s textbooks as well as additional research materials to hypothesize on the topics given over the summer. He’d always thought they were supposed to use next year's textbooks (which he never was able to acquire early, and the list didn’t even go out until the end of summer!) Suddenly, it all made so much more sense. It would explain how his classmates, who rarely went above and beyond, were able to provide solid summer work. More than anything, though, Harry is deeply disappointed that not a single person thought to tell him this. Not even a teacher, or… does Hogwarts have advisors? Is his Head of House in charge of his success? Is this something like the permission slip for Hogsmeade, where only those on good terms with their guardians are allowed to progress? 

Slipping quietly into Flourish & Blotts, Harry nervously flattens his fringe and ducks his head as a noisy group of teenage witches exit next to him. He is starting to wish that he’d started with hitting Muggle London, where he could go utterly unnoticed at all times. He picks up one of the wooden shopping baskets near the door and almost drops it when a small tingle shocks through his fingertips. Then, like magic, the basket lifts out of his hands to hover next to him. It’s slightly shimmering and follows him as he walks towards the section labeled for charms books. The little basket bobs and weaves through the shelves to follow him throughout his shopping. It nudges him when he pauses for too long, almost as if encouraging him to just add the book to the growing pile. He can’t help but feel enamoured of the charming little thing.

Harry exits the bookstore almost two hours later with over a dozen more books than he originally set out to acquire. The whole journey had ended up being somewhat of an ouroboros task as each new informational discovery led to a plethora of new questions. After asking a young shopkeeper about the enchantments on the basket, the young man had excitedly told Harry how the runic carvings worked to hold the enchantments ‘similar to the way a broom works, of course!’ This information had led to many more questions the teen had never thought to ask and 4 different books on runic magic, broommaking, enchantments, and magical cores making their way into his happy little shopping basket. Harry had never even considered that brooms had magical cores similar to those used in magic wands and, when he mentioned that, a dusty old tome that seemed to radiate warmth was suggested by the associate. Something the young man had said about ‘soaking the runes in the potion to activate it’ caused Harry one last detour to the potion’s section. Adding his last two finds, Runic Engravings for the Advanced Potioneer and Ingredients 101: From Abraxan to Zander. Standalone Components, Reactions, and Preparation Methods, Harry made his way to the checkout counter. 

Harry Potter walks out of Flourish & Blotts with his pockets considerably lighter, a complimentary shrinking tote bag full of books, and a fierce blush burning his cheeks. He had, blissfully, forgotten the events of last year’s disastrous encounter with Lockhart. When he’d been accosted for a quote at the time, Harry had mumbled something about enjoying the bookstore. There, behind the counter and blown up to an alarming size, was an awkward photo of him holding his purchases. Captioning the image was his quote, magically highlighted to stand out from the paper. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the clerk had instantly recognized him and started gushing. An opulent peacock quill was thrust at him as she practically dragged him behind the counter to sign the offending newspaper clipping. After even more gushing, she gave him an extravagant friends & family discount and a thick canvas tote bag that automatically shrunk all purchases set inside of it (their logo proudly printed for all to see). Mortified, Harry shuffles off towards the information center to find the muggle shopping district Gina had told him about. 

Brick Lane Market is an open air market off of Knockturn that slowly fades from Wizarding to Muggle. Instead of a secret entrance and heavy charms, it is an area that caters to magical folks of all kinds. According to Gina, it’s not dangerous and dark, just simply different. A mixture of an open air market and flea market, you never know what you will find in the area. The purveyors often display mundane muggle items, but small carvings tell a story about what goods can be requested. The matronly mirror had shown him a cheat-sheet to copy down before leaving and had double checked his work carefully to ensure he didn’t accidentally offend anyone or shop any booths not appropriate for young teenagers. (He had two different books on creatures & customs, and proper wizarding etiquette that she had suggested after the third time he had mildly offended someone within her earshot.) 

Harry was a bit nervous to make his way down Knockturn Alley, but he trusted that Gina wouldn’t lead him astray. She had assured him (at length) that most of the fear and rumours were simply a product of prejudice. Many magical beings that had been shunned from society worked and lived in the alley. The ministry had passed so many laws on non-wizards, that it was practically illegal to exist within society for them. Hence, they were regulated to areas away from Wizardkind. As someone who had extensive experience with being judged on-sight, the Boy-Who-Lived could definitely empathize. He had lost count of how many times he had been blamed for things he was innocent of simply because he was ‘Harry’. Whether it was Dudley, Draco, Snape, or even Ron, his version of events rarely seemed to matter. Steeling himself for this next adventure and promising himself to keep an open mind, Harry ventured down the street that led to Knockturn Alley. 

According to the map, Harry is about halfway to Brick Lane when he spots the large and very-familiar frame of Hagrid. He is about to call out a greeting when he remembers Hagrid’s response last time they came across each other in Knockturn. Hagrid laughs briefly, claps a large hand onto a very small man’s shoulder, and heads off in the opposite direction. The short man, wearing what looks like a VERY heavy and possibly furry trench coat, buckles to his knees from the friendly pat. The stranger looks quite dirty and keeps looking around fearfully. Harry only hesitates for a moment before remembering the promise he made to both himself and Gina. He quickly crosses the alley and offers a hand up to the stranger who, upon seeing him, flinches and almost drops what he’s holding. Little shuffling and snuffling sounds are coming out of one of his pockets. He covers the pocket with one hand and looks up at Harry very suspiciously.

Harry smiles awkwardly and holds his hands palms-up in the universal signal of being unarmed. “Hey! Sorry, I was just wondering if I could help you? I saw you talking to Hagrid so I was going to say hi.” The man simply stares at him, and Harry can feel his smile morphing into a grimace. “Or, not, sorry. I’m sure you’re fine. Oh! You dropped something, here, let me just…” Harry leans down slowly, trying not to alarm the man, as he grabs the intricate mottled ring that was rolling away from the man. Palm flat, like he’s trying to coax a horse to eat from it, he offers up the item. The man snatches it with a speed and dexterity that betrays his bulky clothing and timid mannerisms. His dirt encrusted hand grabs Harry’s wrist in a painful wrench as he pulls the boy closer. Alarmed, Harry tries to pull away, but the grip is unyielding. Frightened, Harry looks up and meets the other’s eyes. 

“Yeh wanna help, eh? Ok. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll give ‘em to yeh at a good discount. Take ‘em and go, though, yeah?” The mysterious man is, obviously, raving mad. And very strong. He keeps casting his glance down a narrow side street behind him but his iron clasp does not weaken. His other hand, the one that had been covering the pocket, roughly shoves something sharp and cold into Harry’s unwilling hand. He forces the boy’s hand to close around the handful of…something. Hissing in pain and annoyance, Harry finally regains his faculties and decides he needs to speak up for himself. 

“Wha?” He articulates, smartly. He is staring at the pile of sharp gold he is gripping unwillingly in his hand. “Hunned galleons, yeah?” The grubby man is rubbing his fingers together greedily with a strained smile stretched across his face. It looks utterly unnatural. “Uh, yeah, no?” Harry tries again, barely able to string his thoughts into words. He has no idea what is going on. “Ohh, yeh gonna bargain with me, yeah? Thought yeh was gonna help. Fine, seveney-five, take it or leave it.” Harry blinks in confusion. Bargaining? Is that what he’s doing? Is this part of that wizarding etiquette thing? He shakes his head vehemently, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this situation. “OK!” The man hisses at him, angrily. “Fiddy, but you did’n get em from me, yeah? Yeh pop them in that bagpack of yers and don’ look back, yeah? Final offer.” The stranger is on his feet now and Harry isn’t sure when that happened.

Much to his relief, Harry’s wrist is finally freed. The hand holding the unwanted contraband is shoved roughly towards his body as the man demands his payment. The alarm crossing the stranger’s face is enough to kick Harry into action as he pulls his backpack around and fishes through an inside pocket. He hands over the gold stashed there, 45 galleons, and tucks his unwanted purchases into the now-empty pocket. “It’s what I’ve got. Take it, I’m out of here.” He says to the other with attempted confidence. The man grins like a shark and scampers off down a dark alley. Mourning the loss of his gold, Harry sets off towards Muggle London once again. He is pretty sure that he feels eyes tracking his every move, and there might even be someone following him. As the champion of Harry Hunting, it doesn’t take him long to slip in and out of the crowds and disappear down Brick Lane. 

Starting at the furthest edge of the market, Harry browses through the various stalls and wares. He slowly starts calming down as the busy chatter from the crowds washes over him. It’s about a third of the way back towards Knockturn when he notices the first symbol carved into a booth. Harry surreptitiously checks out the Key from Gina and determines they carry specialty food & drink. A few booths further down is another of the same, but this one carries a symbol Harry had been waiting to see. He steps forward, under the awning of the tent, and feels a light tingle across his skin. After the sensation fades, there appears a small, empty square on the corner of the table. Harry carefully presses his hand flat against the surface. The chalkboard menu perched nearby goes blank and then carefully fills itself in with what is supposed to be a wizarding menu. Squinting at the board in confusion, Harry leans in closer. No doubt about it…the menu is written in Gibberish. Or maybe it’s Gobbledygook? 

Harry is about to admit defeat and order from the muggle menu when a little body leans in next to his shoulder. “Hmm, that’s not quite right, now is it?” The tiny blonde girl looks at him like she’s staring through him and into his soul. “You’re funny! Souls don’t look like much. Like mist, or fog, really.” He just gapes at her with his mouth open as she taps her chin thoughtfully. “Oh! I know!” A radiant smile lights up her features as she makes a triumphant sound. “Are you left handed?” He nods dumbly, and she nods in agreement. He switches his Flourish & Blotts tote bag over to his right hand and places his left in the space on the table. The letters on the menu shudder and rearrange into perfectly clear English. 

Harry smiles and turns to thank the young girl, but she has disappeared. He looks around for a moment and doesn’t see even a hint of her. Next to him, where she was just leaning next to him, is a tiny white daisy. He shrugs it off as it’s hardly the most surprising thing that has happened to him today. He turns towards the order pickup area after requesting and paying for the lunch special. After a moment’s hesitation, he gently picks up the little blossom. He carefully tucks it in his shirt pocket and scopes out his next stop. Just behind the booths is an unassuming small clothing boutique. The mannequins in the window are dressed gaudily, but he can see racks of denim and neatly stacked tables of basic tees. In the center of the window display is a little pile of brightly printed unisex basics, including a baseball cap. 

Clothes shopping is a quick and (mostly) painless event for Harry. After a small sizing fiasco, the teen leaves the store with his first ever new jeans, tees, trainers, socks and underwear. An artistically faded black baseball cap with a brightly colored logo is jammed down over his unruly hair. For the first time in his young life, he is dressed head-to-toe in clothing that not only fits him, but was purchased for him . The soft cotton tee fits him comfortably and the zip-up hoodie will keep him warm as the evening cools off. The simple navy blue trainers don’t squeeze his toes at all and the narrow shape of the shoe keeps his heels from sliding side-to-side as his old ones were prone to do. Most importantly, however, is the soft and cushy sole caressing his sore feet. He can’t feel the pavement cutting through the worn bottoms, and the soft material absorbs the impact of his steps. (The shopkeeper had been almost insultingly happy to throw away Harry’s old hand-me-down trainers after he’d changed.)

The new jeans, though comfortable, are proving to be an obstacle. The slim fitting dark wash jeans are the nicest Harry has ever owned. They are made with just enough stretch to move comfortably with him and they don’t bunch, chafe, or sag anywhere. Harry has always stored his wand in his back pocket, and (before this) had no plans of changing that particular habit. Dudley’s old jeans, tied to fit his slim waist with an old pair of shoelaces, had very deep back pockets. The young wizard could store his wand, safely, with more than half of it fitting into the pocket. The loose fabric never pulled taut against the wand and it was never in danger of breaking or falling out. In his new pants, Harry can feel the wand digging into his backside with every step. Worse, still, he can feel it slowly working its way out of the pocket with each step he takes. Especially in Muggle London, this is absolutely unacceptable. For a short term solution, Harry tucks his wand in his backpack. 

Brick Lane is a fun and lively mix of all sorts of people. It is obviously a tourist attraction, teeming with nonstop foot traffic. Now that Harry was a bit more informed, he is able to notice the subtle clues about the various people he sees. Pointed ears here, sharpened teeth there, and he swears the peddler across from him had glowing amber eyes a minute ago. Despite how exhausting the day has been, Harry feels a heavy blanket of contentment settle over him. 

Crossing over a small stone footbridge, Harry pauses for a moment to look over the side. There is the same little blonde girl from earlier, dancing an ethereal ballet while a man who must be her father sings in a foreign language. The air around them twinkles with tiny lights as his smooth voice lilts around words that seem to hold magic themselves. The girl, her eyes closed and a peaceful look on her face, turns towards Harry and waves with a smile. Unsure if she can see him or not, he waves back before turning to continue his journey. A stall that is enclosed on three sides catches his eye as he walks past. There is a sweet, almost cloying smell, in the air around the booth. Red smoke crawls heavily past him as he steps up to see the symbol carved in the corner. Checking his Key, he quickly spins on his heel and walks away. He can hear jeers and laughter, but Gina had warned him heavily against this particular type of seller. 

Near the end of Brick Lane, just before the road turns to cobblestone and welcomes you to Knockturn Alley, is a book peddler. The perimeter of the space is enclosed with tall bookshelves and small tables are piled and stacked with an array of books and magazines. On a few tables, there is one single title on a stand by itself. Intrigued, Harry steps into the makeshift shop space. Flourish & Blotts had provided more than enough books to hold him over for the next year, so he isn’t sure why he feels so inclined to shop books today. Nothing seems to have prices listed, but he does notice small dots of colors on the corners of the covers that match with a Key hanging near the exit. Touching nothing, Harry continues through the shelves in a bit of an awed state. There are muggle books, enchanted to have moving pictures and sounds. Many of the books on the small pedestals are opened up to proudly show off an autograph or notes. Still, many of the books seem haphazardly strewn with no sense of organization. 

A nondescript leather-bound journal is the first ‘book’ to catch Harry’s attention and break him out of his stupor. The parchment is thick without being brittle and a long white ribbon threads through the pages and wraps delicately around the cover. An elegant hand-painted watercolor daisy decorates about a third of the cover, fading beautifully back to supple brown leather. Seeing this as a sign, Harry grabs the book to gift Hermione for her upcoming birthday. In what appears to be a discount-box of old books, Harry snags two more books on charms and enchantments. Ready to leave, he turns towards the exit and promptly trips on a small box he hadn’t previously noticed. He carefully bends down to assess the box and determines he hasn’t damaged it in any way. Inside are a few foreign language books, all marked with the red-coloured dot indicating they are on clearance. 

Thinking back to the beautiful singing from earlier, Harry sinks to his knees in the grass and pulls the box close. He picks up a children’s book with a beautiful illustration of a stuffed rabbit as he absentmindedly hums the tune from earlier. Placing the children’s tale carefully to the side, he retrieves the next. While the first book had looked to be either Greek or Cyrillic, this one contains Egyptian Hieroglyphs. It is another picture book, but this one contains graphically detailed illustrations of the mummification process. Feeling slightly nauseous, he puts that one aside too. The next book out of the box looks to be another journal, encased in an emerald green leather cover. An intricate black swirl clasp locks the book shut. Noticing a smudgy film on his fingers, Harry uses the inside of his new shirt to polish over the metal. As the black patina cleans off, he reveals a beautiful silver serpent clasp with detailed scales and tiny ruby eyes. It is absolutely beautiful! Smiling, he tries opening it once again working the latch against what he assumes is years of rust and buildup. “C’mon, open up!” He says, as he gently pushes against the latch.

With a soft snick the metal releases and the book falls open. To his dismay, Harry discovers that the journal is already filled out from cover-to-cover in small, cramped handwriting. He’s about to put it back when he changes his mind. The journal is absolutely beautiful, even if it’s already full. He can see it being something he displays, similar to the prized pieces on show around him. Plus, it’s discounted to little more than a dollar discount bin. Smiling, he secures the journal and finishes up his shopping trip down Brick Lane. 

Just as he exits the Alley, he notices movement in a window display of a corner shop. An enchanted dragon figurine is pouncing on dust particles, rolling around wildly, and puffing little tendrils of smoke. Upon closer inspection, Harry can see a few older brooms displayed, a fancy cauldron with a small dent, and various other curiosities. This shop seems to feel almost like an extension of the ones he visited on Brick Lane. Sure enough, carved above the corner of the doorframe, he sees a familiar symbol. Gina had summarized it as ‘inviting’, but had explained that it’s a shop that caters to all. From werewolves to muggleborns, everyone is welcome in shops marked by the little sunburst symbol. Harry is feeling a bit exposed without his wand and with the encroaching shadows of sunset. He almost decides to come back tomorrow, but then the little dragon prances over and puts his little feet on the window and Harry is utterly and completely sold.

The sun has officially set by the time Harry is bustled out the side door by Madam Clara. His bulky purchases are all neatly piled in his beautiful new trunk. Well, new to him, but Harry couldn’t possibly be more enthusiastic. The simple black trunk is unassuming, a bit dented and scuffed, and can hold almost twice as much as his old trunk. The train case design offers trays and compartments to keep small things organized towards the top. They splay outwards to reveal the larger, expanded trunk below for the rest of his items. With the added purchase of a separator, Harry was able to turn the space into 6 deep sections for his books, clothing, and other belongings. In addition to the expansion charm, the trunk comes with featherlight and anti-Muggle charms, too! It will always be easy for him to hoist the large trunk and, no matter how hard he tries, Uncle Vernon won’t be able to unlock or open the trunk.

Harry is now sporting a sleek black leather armband made for holding his wand. With a flick of his wrist, the armband releases the wand to slide forward into his hand. To holster his wand, all he has to do is simply drop it along his wrist. (Easier done with sleeves, but Harry isn’t particularly fond of sleeves.) His third and final purchase from the store sits proudly on his shoulder puffing smoke, stalking in small circles, and nudging up against his neck. Madam Clara, proprietor of Fortuitous Furnishings, was a little unsure about letting someone so young leave with the miniature enchanted dragon. The endearing little menace was prone to starting fires and causing chaos. However, Diavol had taken to Harry immediately and seemed content with the boy. They had seemingly bonded immediately, Harry making soothing little hissing noises at the dragon and the dragon immediately huffing fire and butting his nose against Harry’s hand. While she knew she would miss the little enchanted dragon, she could tell from the boy’s smile that Diavol would be cherished and well taken care of. 

Once back at the Leaky Cauldron, the exhaustion of the day hit Harry like the Hogwarts Express. He’d learned from Madam Clara that Diavol liked to sleep in the cauldron that had been in the window display with him. Harry wasn’t sure what sort of potions residue might be in his, so he opened up his trunk and took out one of the small dividing boxes. He placed it on the window sill and lined it with one of his old t-shirts. Diavol nuzzled Harry’s neck before spreading his wings and coasting down onto the windowsill. By the time the young wizard was done getting ready for bed, the little dragon was fast asleep curled up in the makeshift bed. Within minutes, Harry followed suit, dreaming of ethereal singing and playful dragons.

Chapter Text

EGYPT, FRED & GEORGE WEASLEY

Fred Weasley sits up in his bed, blinking slowly in the early morning light. Rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes, he tries to sort through the fuzzy memories from the day before. There is a sinking feeling in his gut as he looks around for any evidence of communication from Professor Snape.

“Nothing yet.” George, having obviously been up for a while, is hunched over the writing desk with books, journals, and chalk spread out around him. Without looking up, he holds out a plate piled with a delicious looking breakfast selection. Fred bites into a piece of toast that turns to cardboard in his mouth. Contacting the Potion’s Prince had been their backup, backup plan. He glances over at his twin, hoping the other had been struck with inspiration overnight. Feeling entirely uninspired himself, the redhead decides to check in with the rest of the Weasley family.

SPINNER’S END, SEVERUS SNAPE

Severus Snape isn’t the type of man to wake up calmly or slowly. This morning is no different, as he sits up at precisely 7AM, eyes wide open and body rigid. His mind always takes a bit longer to boot up, but one would never know that by looking at or even speaking to him. He is already halfway to his attached bath on silent feet before his treacherous brain reminds him of the events that took place the night before. Emotions swirl through him; guilt, anger, betrayal, and worry. The potion’s master has to take a few deep calming breaths before he is able to look at the situation objectively. 

To make an informed decision, one needs to know all the relevant information. In order to gather information, one needs to do research. Objective research happens to be a specialty of his. Lathering his hair on autopilot, Snape formulates a plan for the day and starts making a mental list. After toweling dry, the professor dictates a note to Draco while he makes a simple porridge. As he sits at the table he scans through the headlines of the Daily Prophet, his scowl deepening at each mention of Sirius Black. As much as he hates the man, there is something that just doesn’t add up about the whole situation. Sirius had never been at a Death Eater meeting, had never been spoken about, and was not marked. But that was a mystery for a different day… his plate was already full with one helpless case he was reluctantly dragged into. He would not, by any means, be volunteering to help any other antagonists.

Mood worsening by the minute, the surly man stomps silently through his house and enters his potion’s lab. Added through Wizard’s Space after his 5th year, it is his favorite part of this miserable old house. There aren’t many fond memories here, but his mom building him his own lab was a standout moment. Warded to their magical signatures, his father was unaware of the space even existing. Severus had spent many a summer day hiding out in the protected space, imagining a bright future inventing potions and being hailed and recognized for his genius. Scoffing at his past naivete, Snape shakes his head trying to physically dislodge the memories. He sweeps over to his ingredient pantry and starts taking stock. 

EGYPT, FRED & GEORGE WEASLEY

“Please tell me you have a plan?” Fred has spent a rather terse hour with his family, unable to focus on anything going on around him. George looks up with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. Pausing dramatically, he waits until his twin raises an eyebrow in question. “Plan? No. But…” He drags out the pause, trying to add some much-needed levity to the situation. “I think I figured out the binding agent! It was the dyes, they were breaking down the elastomer and that’s why it was dissolving.” He proudly thrusts out his notes and Fred, finally pulled out of his stressful musings, reads over them. Realization dawns on him how they can use this to their benefit and he scrawls out a new note, yellow, with banana oil. “Ohhh! An aging component! Brill, brother.” Lost in the fervor of invention, the two boys are temporarily distracted from a fate out of their hands. 

A loud knock on the door brings the situation back to the forefront of their minds. Sun is streaming in through the windows, and the streets outside are bustling with tourists. A quick game of Bezoar, Parchment, Wand has Fred striding over to answer the door. He is met by his father wearing an uncharacteristically grim look on his face. He asks to come in, and soon he is perched on the corner of one of their school trunks. They patiently wait for their father to gather his words before he finally starts speaking. 

“I know you boys are worried about Harry. Honestly, so am I. But children can’t be left unsupervised, especially one who attracts trouble like our young Mr. Potter. This information could be dangerous to him, too, so I don’t want anything I say here to leave this room. Even to Ron.” He makes eye contact with each of the twins, awaiting their nods of understanding. Taking a deep breath, he continues. “As you both know, Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban prison. What you don’t know is that we have reason to believe he is going after Harry. He was heard by the guards, mumbling about him being at Hogwarts right before he escaped. Additionally, he escaped not long before the incident with Harry’s family. Until we know more details, we can’t be certain of anything… he may have even incited the incident with a compulsion or potion or something. He obviously wields powerful magic that we know nothing about.”

The twins are aghast at this information, a shared look conveying a single message: did we mess up? Is Harry in trouble? “So…” George starts, but trails off. Fred picks it up, “what happens now? Is Harry going to be safe? How do we know he’ll be more safe with his family if they were influenced?” Both young men look to their father, hoping he has the answers they have been floundering to find. They trust their father and know he has only kindness in his heart. “Thank you, dad” George adds, suddenly. Their father had obviously noticed how distraught they were and shared this sensitive information to help them understand the situation better. 

“Well, Merlin protect me from your mother’s disappointment, but I am going to be taking an international Portkey on Monday morning. I’m meeting with the minister and we’ll go to fetch Harry together. And I’ll talk to his family myself, to ensure that he will be safe with them.” He gives his sons a soft smile. “He’s lucky to have you two looking out for him. I don’t want you thinking I don’t hear your concerns. We just have to ensure we don’t do anything rash or unplanned. It could seriously endanger his life otherwise! But, I promise you this, I will do everything I can to make sure Harry is safe.”

The boys thanked their dad, hugged him, and promised to come down soon for lunch before joining the family. As soon as the door closes behind him, George is drawing a haphazard circle around them. As soon as the ends meet and the chalk lines glow softly, Fred is panic ranting. “What if, oh no. Did we mess up? I thought we did the right thing, y’know. Go to an adult. Ask for help. Should we tell dad? Should we tell the Prince? Should we talk to Harry? What, do, I just don’t know…” He slumps to the ground in front of the desk, his hands in front of his face. Humming softly, George plops down in front of his brother. “No, brother. We did the right thing. We gave him a potential 3rd option. Without us, it’s be murdered or starved and maybe worse. We don’t really know what summers are like for Harry, but we know they’re worse than he lets on. Right?” Fred nods his head vigorously. “If nothing comes from what we did, we did our best. If the Prince can help with protective magic or something, we helped. Either way, it’s better than nothing. Than not trying. Because Harry deserves it.”

 Spirits lifted and optimism restored, the boys write out a quick note to Harry and roll it carefully in a small tin full of Lucky Charms. One of their trial projects that is nearing completion, they are quite proud of this one. Designed after the strange little dried marshmallows in muggle cereal, the tin of sweets contain a diluted fast-acting luck potion. With powdered silver, pearl dust, and shrivelfig, the treat contains a very small dose of euphoria and luck. The trinket treats are opalescent pastels in the shapes of rainbows and clovers and unicorns. The boys had managed to capture the powdery sweet taste of the inspiration and, with the help of the Potion’s Prince, capped the effects with a mild antidote mixed in. Eating even dozens of the treats will result in little more than a stomach ache. While the Charms were just a clever disguise to pass a letter to Harry, they figured that he can probably use all the luck and euphoria possible after the summer he’s had. 

With that done, the boys head down to grab a quick lunch and join the rest of their family at the bazaar. 

DIAGON ALLEY, SEVERUS SNAPE

Noon finds one Severus Snape striding purposefully down Diagon Alley towards Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. A mix of polyjuice and glamours leave the intimidating man short, stalky, and entirely unassuming. Nobody scatters out of his way or looks at him in fear and, quite frankly, he hates it. Once in the cool darkness of the shop, he accidentally bumps into someone. Annoyed, he shoves roughly past them and walks straight through a slightly shimmering wall at the back of the shop. It doesn’t take him long to purchase the ingredients needed for the Thief's Downfall potion. He’ll have to harvest the boomslang & nightshade himself and he already has plenty of cherry and sage. With that, he selects the necessary ashwinder eggs, Jobberknoll feather, and Diphylleia blossoms. 

Exiting the hidden room, available only to those who have passed their mastery tests in Potions, Severus Snape runs into the same careless stranger. Barely catching himself from sneering at the teen, he turns towards the exit of the store. A muttered apology from the kid stops him in his tracks. Pretending to shop through a display of obviously low-quality Pyrite, he quickly sifts through his memories to place the voice. Only years of training as a spy keep his eyes from bulging as rage pours through him. Poor abused Harry Potter is out flaunting his obnoxious wealth and obviously just begging Sirius Black or any number of real Death Eaters to attack him. Turning towards the unruly child to yell at him and drag him kicking-and-screaming back to his hotel room, the potion’s master is once again frozen on the spot.

The kid before him is utterly and completely unrecognizable as Harry Potter. A faded baseball cap is perched on a head of dark, cropped hair. The unruly mop that screamed James Potter’s Son is nowhere to be seen. The hat inconspicuously covers the scar that usually mars his forehead. His ugly round glasses frames are absent, as are his startling green eyes. Instead, some kind of undetectable spell or item is making them a soft hazel brown. Severus absently wonders if the twins had provided Glamour Gum (potions) to him for his eyes. It’s at this time that he also notices the more alarming changes in Potter. Usually a fan of hideous oversized clothing, Harry has changed into items that fit him well. A glance down at the shoes shows that the duct-taped pair that had lasted an impossibly long 3 years have been replaced, too. The long-sleeved shirt, loosely fitted to his body, shows a frame much too thin for a healthy teenager. Weirdly, there is what seems to be a ceramic dragon curled on his shoulder, softly puffing smoke.

Severus Snape gets the feeling that, for the first time ever, the real Harry Potter is visible. Quickly forming a plan, he moves over to the recipe books and pretends to shop the dismal selection. He silently casts an eavesdropping spell so he can hear the exchange and is quite alarmed to hear what the boy is asking for. There is no way Mr. Potter is in any way capable of brewing adequate runic potions. Additionally the questions he is asking the incompetent apprentice are, quite obviously, for some kind of experimental project. Unable to hold his tongue any longer after the dunce claims that ingredient swaps can’t affect the end result, the potion’s master inserts himself into the conversation. He casually mentions that he read about the theory of ingredient replacement in a book by Daya Thomas. He also, offhandedly of course, mentions that he found some fascinating recipes in a book titled An Idiot’s Guide to Runic Potions by EZ Masterson. 

Grinning up at him, Harry thanks him for the information and says he will definitely check them out. The idiot apprentice, then, has the audacity to claim that they don’t have merit due to the authors being from dirty blood. The young boy’s eyes light up with fire and then the shopboy’s hair proceeds to catch fire as the little ceramic dragon casually sneezes and sets his head alight. With a lazy wand wave, Severus casts an auguamenti with an absolutely unnecessary amount of force and sufficiently drenches the idiot. Harry covers his grin with an awkward fake cough as the apprentice casts a hasty drying spell. With a false cheerful voice that is practically dripping with ice, Harry lets the boy know that his prejudice is obviously keeping him ignorant. 

“I pity you, really. You don’t even realize it, but if you took the time to pull your head out of your ass… well, even my mudblood classmate, a 13 year old, mind you, she invented a drying spell that won’t affect the humidity in the air. You do realize why that’s important, don’t you? I didn’t, but she’s kind and doesn’t judge me for growing up with muggles or that I didn’t learn to read until the 4th grade. Instead, she simply taught me and I’ll have the courtesy to do the same for you.” With that, the boy-who-lived, golden hero, saviour of the wizarding world smiled and dropped two billywig wings on the counter. The air, sucked dry of any humidity and imbalanced, sparks the volatile wings. A lilac powder hangs, suspended in the air, and then shivers and disappears up the apprentice’s nose. He snorts, snorts again, chuckles, and then bursts out laughing. Roaring with uncontrollable laughter, he sinks to the floor behind the counter. Harry turns to face his (unrecognizable) professor. “Thank you for the book recommendations. I appreciate the information!” And, with that, he spins on his heel and exits the shop.

Severus Snape wants to laugh out loud and maybe even whoop or cheer. This isn’t a feeling that he has had in a very long while. Just when he thought there couldn’t be any more surprises about Harry Potter, he goes and teaches a (mostly) harmless lesson against prejudice in the best way imaginable. Undiluted billywig effects will wear off, at most, after 3 minutes. Judging by the wheezing and sniffling coming from behind the counter, they are already wearing off for the poor, unfortunate dunderhead hiding behind the counter. At this point, his only sustained damage is to his pride. With a smirk and a sarcastic “pleasure doing business with you, I’m sure”, the disguised professor exits the building and whispers a quiet point-me spell to find Harry Potter. He drops his glamours and applies a strong disillusionment charm on himself instead. It’s time for research.

Two hours later, an exhausted Severus Snape apparates home to Spinner’s End. He puts the takeout bag with street tacos on the table and calls for Draco. Upon entering the room, Draco closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “Ohhh, my favorite kind of bribery. What’s up, Uncle Sev?” 

Smiling grimly, Severus starts his proposal. “How do you feel about accompanying me on a rescue mission on Monday?” One vow of secrecy and 4 street tacos later, he has a plan in place.

Chapter Text

“...as if I didn’t have better things to do on a Friday night.” The silky smoothe and utterly recognizable voice drawls from the fire. 

“I understand, Professor. Please tell Dumbledore that Harry will be safely back with his relatives by Monday afternoon. I’ll be picking him up at 10AM and the Minister and I will deliver him home, personally.” 

“Indeed. Oh, and Arthur? Please see to it that you remind the twins that they need to procure an indigenous ingredient for the summer project they chose. It would be quite tedious to have to fail them at this stage.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement or response, the professor pulls his head from the embers. As the glow fades from green to orange, the Weasley patriarch smiles to himself as he heads out to join his family. Though the surly potion’s master will obviously never admit it, it’s clear that he cares about the boys’ success.

+    +

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, is currently The Boy Who Is Bored Out of His Mind. Two full days spent exploring the Alleys and Muggle London left him with the itch of freedom. His motel room, originally a symbol of freedom and happiness, now feels like a gilded cage. Rolling his eyes at his own dramatics, he scrubs a hand across his face and looks around at his (quite out of control, if he’s being honest with himself) book collection. Deciding that is probably the best starting place, he sits atop his bed and lays them out carefully by subject matter. Those with overlapping topics get placed into a subcategory between the other two tomes. Within a matter of minutes, Harry has everything neatly sorted. He gently places aside the two journals. He wishes he could send Hermione’s to her now, but she’s still in France for another week. Warily eyeing the large stack of charms books, Harry reads over his summer assignment notes for the hundredth time. 

“ Pick one spell outside of the 3rd year curriculum to write a paper on. 24” of parchment in total, dedicate 8 inches each to; Theoretical Usage, Practical Usage, Proposed Improvement.

Additionally, your class project this year will be creating a Charmed Object. You will utilize your learnings from the above-mentioned paper, a spell from the attached list of 3rd year charms, and creating a usable & enduring charmed object. Be sure to take lots of notes from planning to completion, as the project needs to be accompanied by a 12”-24” paper describing the process from start to finish. 

24” Paper due at the start of class on day one as well as an outline of the object you wish to create. You will not be graded on the outline, however it is your only chance to receive feedback and advice on your idea. All projects will be graded on theory and process as well as finished product. Great research and a well written paper will ensure a passing grade even if the Charmed Object does not function as intended. “

Only slightly trepidatious, Harry picks up a glossy yellow book titled Cohesive Catalogue Composed of Charms from Abaci to Zwang. He is grinning maniacally as he settles back on his pillows with the book. “Reference materials, who knew?!” As he reads through the book, he jots down spell ideas for his paper. Obviously magically expanded, each page is dedicated to a single… well not spell, but word. Rather than depicting magical illustrations of wand movements and highlighting incantations, as in their textbooks, the volume reads more like a thesaurus. At the top of the page is a word written in large, bold text. Below it is a phonetic spelling of the word along with notes on language and origin. Filling the rest of each page is a flowery definition full of seemingly superfluous language. It is unlike anything Harry has seen before and utterly fascinating.

Wielding a muggle pen and notebook, Harry notes down various spells that pique his interest with a paraphrased definition. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was allowed to use his wand outside of school. Despite all the verbiage insisting otherwise, Harry still isn’t sure that these are actually spells. They seem to be little more than fascinating words. Less than halfway through the book, he has already found Norwegian, German, English, Latin, and Chinese words. The language ‘defining’ the words also seems weirdly vague. Rather than defining the spellwords, the book seems to be defining how the words make you feel or what kinds of situations the words would be used to describe. Additionally, the usage seems to encourage ‘pointing and feeling’ rather than wand movements and incantations. It’s all very strange (albeit enthralling.) 

It’s a few hours later when gentle chiding from Gina pulls Harry from his studies. Though she always scoffs at having to remind the teen to feed himself, she never fails to notice if he’s gone too long without a meal. Smiling and thanking her, he decides to take a real break and head downstairs into the pub to eat. He chats idly with Tom, reads up on the escaped convict, and eats a wonderful meal. When he finally heads back upstairs, it is with renewed vigor.

Looking at his list of spells, Harry decides he has plenty to choose from for his assignment. He quickly scribbles a note at the header describing which book he used for the list. Wistfully missing his best friends, he can practically hear Hermione encouraging him to use muggle bookmarks or booktabs. She never could really understand his explanation that ‘books can’t look important, that is just bully-bait.’ Wiping at a stray tear, he decides it might be time to work on another pet project. With one last look at his spell list, he carefully puts aside his Charms’ homework.

Fidelius (trust and faith, hide and keep)
Accio (summoning)

Geminio (Copy)

Yutorio (similar to a calming draught)

Misneach (boosts courage)
Abience (Sudden urge to avoid something)

Patronum (Guardian)

Williwaw (Harsh, cold wind)

Cicurate (reclaim from madness)

Fuliginous (obscure, darken)

Lagom (balance, perfection)

Cacoethes (inexplicable urge to do something stupid)

Lacuna (blank space, missing part)

Xiào​ shùn (obedience)

Übergeben (transfer)

Harry can’t quite articulate the feeling, but there is a feeling of impending doom that seems to be slowly settling over him. Always one to trust his instincts, he knows he doesn’t have much time to finish his homework and projects. Rotating through them is helping him maintain focus. And, he’ll never admit it, but eating regular meals has done wonders for his attention span. Allowing himself to feel a small spark of pride for his accomplishments this summer, he carefully moves the imbuing potion books, his cauldron, and his newly acquired potion’s ingredients over to the desk.

After (another) quick check of his notes and sketches to the books on runes, he pulls out two carefully wrapped packages from his trunk. He turns on every light in the room and then sits down and opens the ornate handheld mirror. The second package opens to reveal a small engraving set. He starts repeating the mantra in his head “ Journey, passage, manifestation, gateway, flow. ” First in graphite and then with the engraving tools, he carefully carves the bindrune into the back of the mirror. Every book he’s read, including the ones mentioned by the stranger at the apothecary, refer almost entirely to intent. Runes are an olde magic that are both finicky and powerful. Many different people using different runes and even different potions could all end up with exactly the same end result if they were all focusing on the same outcome.

A soft, golden light starts emanating from the runes as Harry turns his focus to his Cauldron. Remembering seeing a note about Speedwell blooms in the little green journal, he retrieves it from its place in his backpack. Not quite eidetic, he has a pretty good memory and finds the page rather quickly. Veronica Persica, a wonderful and quite common potion ingredient used in runic imbuing potions, ensures safe travels of both the physical and theoretical variety. While the runic base potion can be made with typical potion base or water, I recommend a customized saline. The purity helps maintain the potion maker’s intent and adds another layer of magic to the final imbuing. Commonly available in muggle markets, saline can also be created by adding .9 grams of Sodium Chloride (non iodized salt) to 100 milliliters of water, boiled for 20 minutes. At the 20 minute mark, add 7 drops of blood (willingly offered for protection and success). The base will ripple from center-outwards and the surface will shudder. Lower the heat to a simmer and the solution will become crystal clear, ready for imbuing ingredients, enchantments, and item submersion. 

Speedwell, moon opal, and half a dozen other ingredients simmer happily in Harry’s cauldron. While the base potion was concise, the imbuing potion itself is almost entirely open to interpretation. EZ Masterson’s book provided a few helpful suggestions and some colour theory to ensure the final potion has the right aura. The opalescent orange and white with specks of bright blue speak to tranquility, happiness, health, purity, and hope. Another olde and utterly vague piece of the process is the ‘enchantments’, heavy emphasis on the ‘chant’. Rather than casting spells, the journal encourages him to speak powerful words into the potion and ‘push’ magical intent at it. Trying really hard not to imbue the potion with his current feeling of utter stupidity, he starts quietly listing out “ Eudaimonia for happy travels. Sturmfrei for freedom. I want Gina to be able to visit at will, safely. Please?” And with that, he tries to ‘push’ his magic and intent into the potion. Just as he is worried he might just give himself a bloody nose and a headache, he feels warm tingles travel through his fingertips and the potion softly glows golden. He gently places the mirror into the potion, and carries it over to the windowsill to be ‘bathed in the moon’s glow’. 

After quickly getting ready for bed, Harry is asleep before his head hits the pillow. Usually a light sleeper and early riser, he is utterly disoriented when he wakes up just before noon the next day. He still has a bit of a pounding headache from all the homework the evening before, so he decides his paper and project outline can wait until tonight. Using a pair of tongs he has never even pulled out of his potion’s kit, he pulls the silver hand mirror out of the now milky-white potion. He sits it in the sunlight to dry and fully complete the imbuing process and heads downstairs for brunch. With nothing but time for the first time…ever? He leisurely walks around the Alleys with Diavol riding happily on his shoulder. And, when he eats ice cream for lunch, he can’t even regret the stomachache that follows that particular choice. 

The next day, Sunday, it is finally time to test out his project. He is more nervous than he has ever felt with schoolwork or an exam. And, if he’s being honest with himself, this is more important than any of those. He holds the mirror up and carefully tilts it to-and-fro. The distance between the surface and the reflective backing has expanded greatly. It seems to radiate magic and warmth, and nothing about it seems even remotely dangerous. He holds it up to Diavol who puts his feet up on the glass and sniffs it curiously. The surface ripples and the little dragon seems to huff in approval. Taking a deep breath, Harry approaches the dresser mirror that Gina usually prefers. 

“Gina?” He waits with bated breath and almost heaves with relief when she shimmers into existence. Harry must look as nervous as he feels because she is quickly fussing over him and asking if he’s ok. 

“I don’t know if I did it right, but I made an enchanted mirror. If it works, I thought maybe I could see you sometimes after I go back to school?” Coming across as the young boy he truly is, Harry scuffs his sock clad toes against the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, you sweet, foolish boy… I would love that! Someone has to make sure you eat!” Her stern tone is betrayed by the sweet smile and extra glistening eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve managed, kiddo.”

He holds up the mirror, and slowly becomes more excited as he explains the rune and process he used. She nods along encouragingly, though she honestly has no idea about any of it. She just has to see it the first time, and if she can feel the magic, she can ‘jump’ to it. Then it will be part of her network until the magic is intentionally removed. When the now-grinning boy holds up the ornate silver hand mirror, she immediately feels waves of magic and warmth coming off of it. She can tell it’s safe, but it feels a little (ok, a LOT) different than other mirrors. Not wanting to discourage Harry’s happy mood, she closes her eyes and follows the feeling. There is a little bit of a squeeze and then a cool breeze engulfs her. It’s quite calming, and then Harry’s gasp makes her open her eyes. She is, for the first time in her life, standing. Looking down, she can see a cloudy outline of her hands.

She reaches out slowly to touch the cheek of the panicking young man. Her hand drifts through his cheek harmlessly, but her hand leaves behind a moment of golden glow that she knows he can feel. “Am I a ghost?” She asks, curiously. She looks like a sunlight bathed spectre to her eyes, but she isn’t sure.

“I, uh, probably shouldn’t have used the ‘manifest’ rune. Oops?” She laughs and the sweet bell-like sound pulls him out of his stupor. “Wow! I can see you. And feel you! Are you able to go back ok?” She closes her eyes and with little effort pops right back into the dresser mirror in the room. 

“Yup!”

“This is so cool!!” The young boy is grinning and radiating a happiness that is much too rare on a boy as young as he is. “You’ll come visit me sometimes? At Hogwarts?”

“Of course!!” She reassures him. After congratulating him and complimenting the strange creation he made, she gently urges him to go eat and enjoy the sunshine before he finishes his homework. She feels quite motherly, but can’t be bothered by that. She truly wants nothing more than to protect this sweet boy.

+    +

MONDAY MORNING

Harry had just gotten back to his room after breakfast when there is a knock at the door. Frozen on the spot, he considers his limited options. Just as he is eyeing the window, a familiar voice sounds from the other side of the door. “Harry? It’s Arthur. Weasley? Tom said that you came back to your room after breakfast.” Sighing in resignation, Harry approaches the door. The uncanny dread that has been coiled in his belly for a week now has his breakfast threatening to reappear. 

The door opens to reveal Mr. Weasley standing at the threshold, holding his hat in front of him with his shoulders hunched. Harry bites back a hysterical laugh as he realizes it looks like he’s here to inform him of a death in the family. Knowing exactly what is coming next, the boy looks up at his friend’s dad. “Hullo Mr. Weasley. Where are you taking me?”

The redheaded man’s brow furrows. “Harry…”

“It’s ok. I understand, really. Where are you taking me?”

Heaving a sigh, Arthur nervously grabs at the back of his neck. “In about 30 minutes we’ll be meeting Minister Fudge down in the Lobby. Together, we’ll escort you back to the Dursleys. After conducting a few safety and perimeter checks, I’ll have a word with your uncle. Help him understand that everything with your aunt was just an accident. And then I’ll pick you up again on the morning of the first of September to make sure you make the train on time.”

Harry is, honestly, completely thrown off. Nobody has ever bothered to explain their plans. He’s always simply been moved around wherever without consideration or question. Honestly, as long as they got him away from the Dursleys, he wouldn’t fight it. “Ok. Thank you, sir. I’ll be down in a minute. I just have to pack up and make sure I don’t forget anything.” He tries giving the older man a smile, but he’s pretty sure it looks as strained as it feels. Just as Mr. Weasley is turning to leave, he makes an exclamation and pulls out a small metal tin and hands it to Harry. 

“From the twins. They were worried about you, wanted me to give you these. They’re quite fun, luck charms, you see?...” The man is starting to excitedly talk about breakfast cereal for some reason, and Harry is trying very hard to politely nod. Suddenly remembering the time crunch, Arthur agrees to meet the boy down in the Lobby at 10 and retreats down the hall. Shoving the tin into his back pocket, Harry closes the door and strongly resists the urge to slide down onto the floor and cry.

It doesn’t take long to pack. Within about 10 minutes, Harry has his new trunk loaded and organized with all of his new purchases. Diavol is safely snoozing in the empty section of trunk and the mirror now holds a place of honour in his grab-bag. Whatever happens, he can’t lose Gina. After a small hesitation, he dumps out the cauldron of imbuing solution except for a small vial’s worth that he saves. Rinsing it to the best of his ability, he loads it into his trunk as well. A long-sleeve tee expertly conceals his wand and holster. He briefly wonders if he should put in the colored contact lenses or wear his hat, but he decides against it. He would rather save his ‘disguise’, just in case he needs it later. Or needs to make a run for it, if Uncle Vernon decides to act on the threats he’d made as Harry ran for it. Shuddering in fear, instincts take over and he veers sharply towards the window. 

Mourning his trunk, knowing he’ll have to leave it behind and hope that Mr. Weasley brings it to the Hogwarts Express for him, Harry scrambles over the windowsill. Not a skillset he’s tried out in his new, fitted clothing, his leg gets caught up on the locking mechanism. Grateful that he didn’t rip anything, he bends himself in half to squeeze through the small opening. A loud clattering causes him to jerk in alarm and smack his head into the top window. Wincing, he looks down at the floor in confusion. Small, iridescent charms are scattered about and a note with his name is halfway out of the tin. Suddenly, the conversation about cereal and the twins and luck comes back to him. 

Shoving the sparkly treats back into the tin, Harry quickly closes and locks the window. His frown deepens as he reads the note in confusion. Absentmindedly rubbing his head, he briefly wonders why he hasn’t bothered to buy any Tylenol or pain potions this whole time. 

Harry,

Eat one of the charms for good luck (30 min). LOSE DAD. Go with the Minister and whatever happens. Please, trust us. We’re getting you away from your awful relatives. 

Fred & George

Noticing the time, Harry quickly shoves the letter and tin into his backpack. (No more back pockets.He might have to reconsider these jeans.) He is a little suspicious of the twins, but hope wins out and he quickly eats a tiny rainbow. It’s weirdly delicious and then he floats happily out of his body to watch himself tug his trunk out the door. Time seems to be moving slowly for him, and he spots Arthur and the Minister before they see him. He hears them talking about Vernon and Dudley and gathers that they are at the Ministry to pick him up. A floaty, happy feeling tells him that this is a good thing. Hoping his face doesn’t look too dopey, he greets the Minister as he approaches the two men. They quickly fill him in on his visiting family, and he feels his face break into a sappy smile. 

“Oh, they came to get me? Awwh, I’m so happy!” He isn’t sure why he is saying these sappy lies, but they feel right, so he rolls with it. “I was so worried that Uncle Vernon would be angry about what happened and then I ran out without apologizing or anything. What a relief!”. The tension seems to roll off both men as Harry prattles on about how happy he is to see his family. Arthur still seems intent on joining the Ministry jaunt until Harry is suddenly struck by a memory of Ron telling him about his dad forgetting his mom’s birthday last year.

“Say, Mr. Weasley, isn’t it Mrs. Weasley’s birthday today? I feel like Ron mentioned that…” The redheaded man’s eyes go comically wide. He stutters a bit before Harry comes to his rescue. “Since my family came to get me, and I’m definitely safe with the Minister of Magic himself, why don’t you head back to the Burrow to meet your family? That way you’ll have time to decorate, pick up a cake, flowers, whatever it is that you usually do.’ Agreeing hastily, Arthur hurries over to the floo and takes his leave. The Minister slaps him on the back roughly and comments about what a great memory he has. Nervously wiping sweat from his brow, he leads Harry over to the floo as well. 

Arriving directly in the Minister’s office, Harry is faced with a tall blond man and a shorter blond boy. They are, most definitely, not his family. Quickly understanding why the note said to ensure Mr. Weasley didn’t accompany them, he greets his ‘family’. Faux Uncle Vernon shakes hands with the Minister, sucks up to him about his great power, and then grasps Harry by the arm and bodily forces him out the door. Ensuring he doesn't give anything away, Harry puts his head down and follows obediently. He can feel the floaty feeling from the charm wearing off, but they are already exiting the muggle exit from the Ministry. 

Glancing around suspiciously, Faux Vernon pulls Harry & Faux Dudley into an alleyway. With a painfully tight grip, Harry feels the world squeeze in on him. Like being forced through a straw, he is about to implode when he suddenly comes back with a cheerful pop. The pressure gone, his breakfast makes a hasty reappearance. Once he is done vomiting, Harry looks up to see a house he doesn’t recognize. “Fred? George? Where are we?” 

The Faux Dursleys look at him in alarm right as another wave of nausea rolls over him. Wondering if he’s allergic to good luck or something, Harry gives in to the black fog closing in around the corners of his eyes. He blissfully falls unconscious on the doorstep of an unknown house with two strangers pretending to be his family.

Chapter Text

“Uhhh…” Draco looks imploringly up at Severus.

“This can’t bode well for me. It’s nearly time to floo back to the Manor. The disguise I gave you should be wearing off in the next 4 minutes, and I don’t want Potter to see you. Go ahead and head inside. And remember our agreement, not a word of this to anyone. Even your mother.” Severus Snape doesn’t look over to Draco until the final, gentle, admonishment. The boy nods sullenly and heads to the door. The wards shimmer lightly as they allow him access. With a single glance back, he disappears.

With a subtle featherlight spell, the professor quickly gathers Harry Potter and carries him inside. He fills a glass with water, and bids his Godson farewell before casting a light enervate . Bright green eyes blink at him owlishly and he quickly hands over the glass of water. Harry gulps it down with a quiet thank you, but seems to be waiting for an explanation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he considers his words carefully. This conversation is most likely going to set the tone for their next 11 days of cohabitation. He takes a deep breath to start talking before sighing again. The letter from the Weasley twins had insisted that they were acting on their own, but he’d hoped that they would at least tell Harry after he’d agreed to meet with them.

“Well, this isn’t the Burrow. You’re not Fred or George. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill me, so I’m assuming you’re here to help me?” Harry raises his eyebrows in question, but does not make any attempt to move or argue. It’s Snape’s turn to blink stupidly at the other.

“Very accurate observations, Potter. I guess there is hope for you, yet.” The sarcastic drawl that leaves his mouth was not what he had intended. New revelations about the young Potter had him feeling an uncomfortable swirling of guilt. He was hoping to shelve his, admittedly, rather childish bias upon taking the boy in. That must have been too much to ask of himself, he realizes, and sighs heavily in resignation. Finally looking up to stare down whatever ungrateful complaints might be coming, Severus is shocked into silence as the teenager grins at him with an unhinged joy that should never be directed his way. 

“Professor Snape! Wow! You’re the one that saved me?? Thank you! Sir.” The overenthusiastic boy scuffles around to sit up properly. He fidgets a minor amount as he politely smiles and waits for… what, exactly? An explanation? The potions master is ready to just give up this whole endeavour and throw the insane child back onto the streets. “Am I staying here, or are you dropping me off somewhere else? The castle! Or back to Diagon? I won’t leave the room even once until September if necessary. I promise! Sir.” The child keeps tacking on honorifics as if an afterthought. Biting back the sneer that is begging to grace his face, he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I have…agreed to take over your care for the remainder of the summer. You are to stay here until the first of September. For a number of reasons, it is to be kept silent that you are staying here, do you understand?” Potter nods intently, eyes wide and sincere. “I will show you to your room in a minute. But, first, we will go over the basic ground rules.” Another sharp glance ensures the boy understands his sincerity. “I’m an early riser, so I will leave you breakfast there” he gestures to a translucent box sitting on the kitchen counter. “Dinner will be ready between 5 and 6PM each evening, I’ll notify you when it is ready. You will be responsible for your own lunches, and cleaning up after yourself at all times. All meals are to be eaten at the table, and you are absolutely never to eat in your bedroom. Understood?” 

Harry nods in quick agreement before Severus continues. “I expect no less than 2 hours spent on homework and studying each weekday. You are free to go outside, but you must stay within the fenceline. All homework and projects are to be completed either here in the living room or at the dining room table. Absolutely no wandwork or brewing will take place while you are here. You are welcome to read at your leisure in your room.” Harry is starting to look a little panicked and nervous, but Severus can’t be bothered. The kid obviously needs structure in his life. “And, finally, lights out by 10PM each night, and I expect you to be out of bed by 9AM each morning. Does this all sound amenable?” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I really am grateful!” There is a certain timid tremor to his words, but he seems sincere. Remembering some of the more concerning memories from the twins, Snape decides to deviate from his usual speech, which he has been giving to Draco for years now. 

“Potter?” He waits for the surprised green eyes to meet his. “If you need or want something, I expect you to ask. If I am unable to allow something, I will explain my reasoning. Saying no is part of a guardian’s job, it’s not a punishment. You are a guest here and will be treated as such. Your room is meant to be a private sanctuary, but you are not limited to that space. Meals will be provided, but you are welcome to snack or make a sandwich if you so wish. I’ll have to learn to be patient and… kind. And I expect the same courtesy from you. As you may have gathered, I am not particularly fond of children. Understood?” Potter’s silent nod leads to a sarcastic eyebrow raise from the potion’s master.

Ducking his head shyly, the child seems to fortify himself before making eye contact again. “Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you.” 

Feeling entirely emotionally drained after the long afternoon, Professor Snape firmly ends the conversation. Pointedly ignoring the flinch when he pulls out his wand, he offers to re-size the boy’s trunk & send it up to his room. “We are going to eat lunch before I allow you to retire for the day. Do you need a stomach soother?” The questioning frown and irritating confusion lead to him summoning 2 vials from his personal collection. Handing the little blue vial to the boy, he encourages him to take it. With a shrug, the boy downs it and then looks down at his stomach with a pleased grin. Rolling his eyes, the potion’s master measures out a half-dose from the purple potion vial and sets it on the counter as he moves to whip up a quick lunch.

Catching the boy eyeing the potion with curiosity, he offhandedly asks “what do you think it is?” Without moving from his seat, the boy ponders for a moment before hesitantly noting his observations.

“Well, blue and purple potions for medicinal purposes tend to be for sleep, relaxation, mood boosting, and antidepressants. I think I smelled lavender when you uncorked it, but it’s only just past noon, so I’m assuming it’s something meant to relax?”

The answer is so unexpected that Severus can’t help the look of utter surprise as he considers the boy. Their encounter at the apothecary led him to believe the boy was studying potions over the summer, but his answer points to logical & theoretical knowledge. Someone like Miss Granger would have rattled off every purple potion from textbooks. Harry’s answer speaks to knowledge over fact memorization. Nodding in approval, he turns to pull two plates out of the cupboard. After sitting down, he casually summons the potion and hands it to Harry who, with a small grin, takes it.

Snape observes silently as the teen holds the vial up into the sunlight to check the clarity. He swirls it once, counterclockwise. Uncorking it, he closes his eyes to sniff the contents. With only a slight hesitation, he lists off his findings. “It’s a true purple in color, even in sunlight. The swirl test shows a slight cloudiness that is evenly dispersed. There is no sheen or particulate. It contains lavender, sage, and… dragon claw? That means that it provides clarity and mood lifting, enhanced by the fact that you used a crystal stirring rod… either quartz or amethyst? I don’t know what the potion is, but I would guess it acts somewhere between a pepper-up and a calming draught.” 

The proper response, of course, would be some kind of praise or compliment. But, before he knows it, Severus is smirking at the teen. “Well, well, well. Looks like he can learn.” Not quite what he meant to say, he grimaces at himself. Harry looks sufficiently disappointed at the answer but shrugs and hands the bottle back to his professor. After mumbling a thank you for the meal, he quickly digs in. After finishing eating, he asks to be excused and offers to take his professor’s plate, too. Temporarily stunned at the stark differences between this boy & his godson, Severus nods agreeably. As Harry is washing the dishes he speaks so softly, Severus almost misses it.

“I learned a lot this summer, I’ve never had reference books before. But most of my potions would pass if it wasn’t for the sabotage. I’m mediocre, not a failure.” 

Huffing in disgust, Severus feels his visceral response fighting the potion in his system. The half-dose isn’t enough to quell the anger and vindictiveness he has been harboring since his own childhood school days. Icy cold, the words that leave his mouth are far from the kindness he promised just an hour earlier. “It must devastate you, so, Potter. To be on an even playing field, to be held to the same standards as your peers? I will not throw myself between you and petty childhood drama like a pathetic human shield. You deserve everything that comes your way, and I know better than to believe the wide-eyed childish innocence you attempt to project. I will not have you blaming your shortcomings on others.” With that, the professor turns on his heel and storms out of the dining room to retreat to his potion’s lab. As the adrenaline ebbs and the potion pulses gently in his system, he feels nothing but a dull ache of self-loathing. 

    +   +    +

Harry quietly makes his way through the now-silent house towards the stairs nestled into the far wall of the living room. He had let his mouth get away with him and he was lucky that Severus had parted with nothing more cutting than his words. He would do well to remember his place here, his place around adults. Harry was the best when it came to being unobtrusive, silent, and hopefully forgotten. It was pathetic, really, that he’d managed to lose track of his survival skills in the span of little more than a week. He had just been having fun identifying the potion and the look on Professor Snape’s face… well, Harry wasn’t used to seeing pride aimed his way. It wouldn’t do to forget himself again. 

At the top of the stairs, there are 3 doors. One is closed and seems to radiate a certain animosity and the other two are open to reveal a small bedroom and a bathroom. Seeing his trunk nestled neatly at the foot of the bed, he steps into the room and closes the door quietly behind him. There is a cracked, yellowing light switch to the left of the door, but flipping it on doesn’t do anything. The twin sized bed is nestled under the only window in the room, so Harry crawls up onto the narrow windowframe and opens up his backpack. Digging around briefly, he finds his muggle pen & notebook and pulls them out. It takes him less than 10 minutes to note his observations from the house. The bottom three stairs creak in the center, the railing is loose and makes a soft thump if used, and the bathroom door squeaks. His bedroom doesn’t have a lock on the inside or outside, and the bathroom locks from the inside. The light switches in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom do not work. And, finally, there seems to be some kind of basement where Professor Snape retreats to. 

With his notes committed to memory and nothing but free time, Harry eyes the little hand mirror sadly. He can’t believe he became this weak and dependent so quickly! Tears burn at the corners of his eyes and he blinks furiously. Determined not to wallow, he vacates his new window seat and makes his way over to his school trunk. Upon opening it up, he barely bites back a yelp of surprise as Diavol jumps right at him. Smiling and feeling immediately less lonely, he catches the little dragon and whispers to him. “Hello you little devil! I missed you too. Be extra careful not to set anything on fire here, ok? I don’t want to get kicked out.” Diavol huffs and snorts quietly before nuzzling into his hand and shivering under a gentle stroke. Seeming to understand him, the dragon allows him to nestle him onto his shoulder. Almost like he can sense the anxiety, the little creature seems to rumble with something akin to a purr. 

After setting up Diavol’s little nest-in-a-box on his nightstand, Harry pulls out a few more of Dudley’s old clothes to fashion a makeshift pillow for the uncomfortable windowsill. It’s not wide enough to comfortably sit, but there isn’t enough light anywhere else in the room. Feeling relatively safe in the room (a private sanctuary Snape had called it), Harry pulls out a few books on runes, charms, wandcraft, and even the green leather-bound journal. Despite the rather depressing ending to lunch, Harry can’t help but open up the journal to potions research again. Whoever had written the journal understood potionmaking so intrinsically that Harry is able to follow along easily. Rather than recipes or even mentions of individual potions, the author seems to focus entirely on the theory and process. Previously one of his weakest subjects, Harry now understands potions down to a scientific level. The journal easily explains theories like intent, the effect of timing, harvest and preparation methods, as well as an extensive thesaurus of every single ingredient. Additionally, the author (S.S. was the only name Harry had found) lists substitutions along with their pros/cons and varied uses for every single ingredient. Never the biggest fan of potions, Harry is nonetheless starting to refer to this journal like a bible. 

It is in the middle of a fascinating entry detailing the substitutes for basilisk scales and the potential ways to increase the potency of horned serpent with various spells that the teen hears a quick rapping at his door. Startled, he snaps the journal shut and has it stashed under the pillow before even realizing where he is. “Coming!” he calls out, hastily adding a “sir”, before getting up. He quietly apologizes to Diavol who coasts down to his abandoned window-seat to curl up in the last of the evening sun. In just a few quiet steps, Harry opens the door to see a rather pained look on the face of his least favorite professor. “Is everything ok, sir?” He plasters a polite, bland smile on his face and shifts his weight to his back foot. He isn’t quite sure what is going on.

“Dinner.”

With that, the man stalks down the stairs with a startling grace and lack of noise. Feeling even more unnerved, Harry slips into the restroom to wash up before heading downstairs to join for the meal. He wasn’t sure what to expect, and the strained silence is definitely even worse than the angry words his professor had been snarling at him during lunch. There is no awkward small talk, no pretense of polite chatter, just the echoing clatter of silverware. Harry’s stomach is twisting uncomfortably the whole time, and he barely manages some veggies and a small serving of meat before he can’t bear to be in the room any longer. With a stilted request to be excused, he retreats to the kitchen and begins cleaning. 

“Potter!” The stern reprimand almost causes him to lose his grip on his soapy plate. Tensed, he looks over to where Snape is still finishing his dinner. “Leave that. Household spells aren’t my specialty, but the dishes and leftovers are easy enough.”

Harry nods dumbly and looks around for a towel. Not seeing one, he hastily dries his hands on his jeans and looks around, not sure what else is expected of him. Snape stares at him intently for a minute and then puts him out of his misery and excuses him for the night. Scampering back upstairs, intentionally stepping on one of the creaky stairs, Harry retreats back to his so-called sanctuary. Planning on a long day of Charms homework tomorrow, Harry pulls out his book on Runes and quickly loses himself in the ancient language. He doesn’t want to anger Snape, but he just came to a section on the rune Isa that he wants to reference in his transfiguration essay. Drawing a quick sketch (with a line through it to break any accidental intent or imbuing), he jots down the meaning and the book and page number where he’d found it.

A quiet throat clearing pulls his attention to the imposing figure standing in his doorway. He curses himself quietly for forgetting to shut his door properly. As he goes to explain himself, he is silenced by a hand waving him off. “Potter, I would be the epitome of a hypocrite if I stopped you from taking notes while you read. I know you’re not doing coursework, I’m assuming just an interesting point caught your eye?” The man smiles, a strained and uncomfortable looking thing, and Harry has to bite his lip to keep from snorting in laughter. Realizing that his professor is attempting that ‘nice’ thing he mentioned earlier, the teen answers honestly.

“Yes, sir. I was reading this book I found on runes and came to Isa. I already finished my Transfiguration essay, but I think I want to research this a bit more and add in some comparative theory. I think I can re-write it tomorrow, and replace Common’s Law with utilizing Isa as a simple way to accomplish permanent transfiguration. Rather than delve into why things change back, I think it would be more interesting to delve into workarounds.” Quickly realizing he had spoken much more than intended, the boy stopped his train of thought and hastily added on a “sir.” In the doorway, Professor Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose again, and Harry has the distinct feeling that he has managed to annoy him. Again. 

“Potter?”

“Yes? Sir.” 

“Please cease with the endless honorifics. While I expect a reasonable amount of respect, this isn’t necessary. In fact, it’s quite tedious.” A stern look is followed with a comment Harry is definitely not expecting. “For both of us.” Harry nods agreeably, not quite sure what is coming next. “Did you already finish your assignment for Ancient Runes? If not, it is not only allowed, but encouraged to tie your work across multiple classes. You could expand on your research for Isa and utilizations for freezing charms and transfigurations.”

Harry is absolutely blindsided by this. First, he has never had an adult ask after his homework before. Even Mrs. and Mr. Weasley never asked about it last summer. Secondly, this is the type of advice he had been wishing was available at school to him! While he feels a bit disenchanted that it’s coming from Snape, of all people, he is going to capitalize on the opportunity. “Actually, sir, I’ve been wondering about something.” He quickly assesses the man’s body language and determines he is relaxed and content to have this conversation. “I didn’t really know what the electives were. I didn’t see class descriptions anywhere, and even Hermione wasn’t entirely sure how we’re supposed to choose. Percy mentioned various professions that the different classes are useful for, but…” Harry tapered off there, not quite sure what to ask. He knows that the endless babbling is only going to set Snape off again. With a fortifying breath, he quickly finishes off his trailing question. “Well, sir, could you maybe explain what the electives are for? Unless it’s too late to change anyways.” His professor has looked increasingly agitated through his question, and Harry is starting to get nervous. Right as he’s about to say nevermind and forget this moment of insanity, the potion’s professor responds.

“What electives did you choose? And why did you pick them?”

“Well, sir” Harry winces at that. It’s a survival habit from living on Privet Drive and he can’t seem to shake it. “I chose the same ones as Ron. I figured he would know the best of all of us. Hermione wrote down every single class, so I didn’t follow her lead. I’m currently signed up for Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.” As he’s talking, Harry pulls out his notebook and flips open to the page where he’d written the electives and taken notes from Percy. He stands cautiously and walks over to where his professor still stands in his doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Taking a glance at the notebook, Snape frowns and then casts a quick tempus. 

“Mr. Potter, can we move this discussion to the table?” After Harry has grabbed his pen and a second notebook, he follows Snape into the dining room. The professor gestures at him to sit and then casts a spell Harry recognizes. “ Gemino. ” With a few taps of his wand, Harry has his scribbled notes back and Professor Snape has a blank sheet with only the class names written in neat, blocky lettering. Sinking right into lecture-mode, Snape starts talking softly but very clearly. “Divination won’t help you foresee your future, the way you noted. Have you ever seen visions or lost chunks of memory?” Taken aback, Harry shakes his head. “Ok, then you most likely don’t have the sight. This is more of something innate, not learned. And even then, it’s very open to interpretation.” As he is speaking, the notebook paper fills in a succinct summary of what he is saying. “If you want a more learnable method to determine upcoming events, you could always take Arithmancy. It’s a class that mixes magic and math used in rituals, some potionmaking, and advanced runes. I would recommend Arithmancy if you want to consider studying warding, cursebreaking, banking, alchemy, and advanced astronomy.” 

“Care of Magical Creatures is a very versatile class. Personally, I think everyone should take at least one year to have an understanding of basic animal and familiar care. It also comes into use for potionmaking and even herbology. And OWL or NEWT is required in CoMC for careers such as magizoologist, magical woodcrafting such as wands or brooms, postal services, and Auror. Ancient Runes is, honestly, very underestimated. Most careers will not require more than an OWL, however you’ve already found how utilitarian runic engravings can be. If you find yourself lacking in power or skill, you can compensate with runes. If you are somewhere unable to use magic, runes. They are incredibly powerful when understood and used correctly. In my opinion, you will want at least an OWL no matter what career you seek.” Harry hungrily stores away every single piece of information. He can’t believe nobody has gone over this before… not a single person he & Hermione had asked in the common room had been able to adequately explain the classes and their purpose.

“I expect you already know what core class OWLs and NEWTs are required for the various career paths?” Harry snaps his head up at this question and stares at his professor with wide eyes. With a small grimace, he shakes his head. Snape scoffs quietly, but does not say anything condescending at his admission. He pulls the page of notes back towards him and talks him through the various career path expectations. He highlights certain classes that he will want to aim for no matter what future he seeks. Harry’s mind is reeling from all the information he’s been given. After thanking him profusely, he tentatively decides to ask for a copy for Hermione. The conversation has gone easily, and the professor is being genuinely helpful. The question is met with no resistance and he is immediately provided with a few copies. Grateful, he can’t help but wonder…

“Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Why aren’t we taught all of this?”

“Well, it is the job of your head of house to act as advisor to students. I know each house fulfills these duties differently. In Slytherin, I personally oversee trajectory for my house. I meet with each member individually, once a month. We discuss their interests, career interests, hobbies, and classes they’re struggling with. This process differs between each year, but that is what a 3rd year such as yourself would expect. 4th years and above are allowed to sign up to tutor younger students in exchange for extra credit points in whatever course they are teaching. Thursdays and Sundays, I spend an hour in the common room to answer any questions, address any concerns, and help out where needed.”

    +   +    +

Severus Snape blinks in alarm and quickly summons his always-hot teapot and some loose leaf chamomile. He isn’t sure why the young Gryffindor looks like he’s about to bawl, but he decides to act proactively. Harry accepts his tea with a watery smile but says nothing. Hating everything about this entire situation, he (tries to) word his next question carefully. “I am assuming that things are done quite differently in the red & gold house?” Harry nods morosely and still looks dangerously close to tears. 

After another 20 minutes of questioning, Harry looks marginally less tearful and Snape is radiating anger. If he relaxed his control even a bit, he knows the windows would be rattling. He has never held much respect for the brash and asinine lions, but he’d always thought their behaviour was a choice. He hadn’t realized they were truly abandoned children left to their own devices and rewarded for acts rather than educational growth. It’s said so softly that he almost misses it when Harry mumbles “I should have let the hat put me in Slytherin after all.” Seemingly over his bout of almost-tears, the boy seems resigned to simply pout. Severus, on the other hand, just felt his world come to a screeching halt. “Excuse me?” He chokes out, not quite believing his own ears.

The infuriating boy simply shrugs his shoulders and gives a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, the hat wanted me in Slytherin. But Hagrid had told me all about how all evil wizards are from Slytherin and about how my parents were both in Gryffindor and how I was going to be, too. And, well, Draco was the first Wizard my own age I’d ever met.” Harry grimaces here, and Snape carefully doesn’t react. He knows the type of attitude his godson had at 11, knows he’s barely any better now. Continuing on, Harry shrugs again “he, uh, was…rude?” Snape almost wonders why the boy is being so vague before he remembers his own irrational outburst at lunch. Oh. 

“Yes, my godson can be a bit of a ponce. Especially at that time. All confidence and zero charm.” 

Harry is obviously taken aback by this admission, but doesn’t reply directly. “So, yeah. And then Ron, on the train. Draco was rude again, Ron was nice, and by the time I put the hat on I wanted nothing to do with the house of snakes.”  Severus can’t help but wonder how differently things would have turned out with Harry in his house. He voices just that, and they both point out the absurdity of the situation. Light laughter (on Harry’s part) and a small smirk (from the professor) inject some much-needed levity to the evening. Just as they are about to part for bed, Severus asks one last question that has been bothering him for a few minutes now. 

“Potter?” The boy turns back from the doorway to the living room. “When did you talk to Hagrid before sorting? He told you that in the boats?”

Confusion washes over Harry’s face for a moment before he responds. “Oh, no, sir. It was when he came to get me.”

“Get you from where?”

“My relatives.” He states it simply, but seems to grasp that his professor doesn’t understand. “It’s a bit of a story, but” he pauses here, and nervously chews on his lip. “I’m not sure what protocol is for muggleborns, actually. Looking back, I honestly can’t blame my uncle for being upset. My relatives wouldn’t let me have my letter. I didn’t know what it was, or that I was a wizard. But they hate anything out of the ordinary and owls, letters zooming down the chimney, in the eggs, and flooding the house… well, my uncle went a bit barmy. He decided to run for it and the second night we were in this little shack on an island when Hagrid showed up right after midnight. Knocked the door right off the hinges, scared everyone. Uncle had a gun, but Hagrid just bent it right up and” here, the boy pauses. He’s obviously hiding something, probably Hagrid’s umbrella wand. “Well, he gave me a birthday cake! Gave me some food. He stayed there at the cabin that night, and then took me to Diagon Alley the next morning! Went to Gringotts, that’s how I knew about the Philosopher’s Stone, and then we went shopping for my school supplies. He dropped me off back with the Dursleys after that, but luckily they took me to the station on the 1st. He kinda forgot to tell me how to get onto the platform? But, luckily, the Weasleys walked by right then! They were talking about the platform and muggles, so I followed them.” 

Finishing the most rambling and concerning story Severus has ever heard, Harry bounces on the balls of his feet as if restless. “Ah, ok. Sounds like the quite the adventure. Goodnight, Mr. Potter.” With that, Harry climbs the stairs towards his room, stepping heavily on the creaking 3rd stair. The notebook he’d been handed earlier with class notes had a very thorough list of observations that had noted the creaky stairs. Suspicious by nature, Severus wanted to think the boy had plans to sneak out past bedtime. His story, however, stands as a stark reminder that it’s probably little more than a defence mechanism. Closing his eyes in exasperation, the professor retreats to his chair by the fire and summons a bottle of scotch. He has questions, and lots of them. Making a quick mental list, he decides he should probably start with Muggleborn Introduction Books for Harry in the morning. He is about to ask himself who could have possibly thought the bumbling idiot was cut out for muggle introductions, but he knows perfectly well who would have set the whole thing up. The same person who set elementary tasks to guard a priceless artifact. A priceless artifact that was not-so-subtly retrieved in front of a curious 11 year old. He scoffs at all the ‘luck’ Harry seems to think graced his suspiciously predetermined path.

Rubbing his temples, Severus drinks right from the bottle. 10 more days, he can do this. Right?

Chapter Text

Living with Severus Snape, most hated potion’s professor, wasn’t anything like Harry had expected. The man was not nice, was not patient, and used sarcasm to cover for every emotion. However, for the first summer in Harry’s life, he had access to 3 meals a day, a space to call his own, and an adult willing to give him advice and mentor him. It helped, he assumed, knowing that his professor had gone out of his way to save his life during the previous year. Additionally, there were a few miniscule hints here and there that led Harry to believe that maybe (just maybe) he was earning the man’s respect. Or, lessening his hatred? Nonetheless, the teen considered it great progress!

The first week together had been blissfully uneventful. The teen rarely saw his professor outside of mealtimes. He was not given chores and little was required of him outside of cleaning up after himself. Harry wasn’t entirely sure where Snape went everyday, but he didn’t dare ask. And, honestly, he didn’t really care. The man in question spent each evening between 7PM and 9PM in the living room, reading and writing various articles and parchments. Harry Potter has admitted, on many occasions, that he isn’t the brightest wizard of his age. He is perfectly average, thank-you-very-much. But he is ashamed to admit how long it took for him to realize that Snape’s presence during the evenings was for him. It had started with a question about his transfiguration paper. And then some advice on how to change his electives. By the time Friday night’s curfew rolled around, Harry was almost in tears with happiness and gratitude. While the man was still short-tempered and quite hateful, Harry had never felt so supported in his life. To have someone push him to do better, question his understanding, offer advice… it almost seemed that this is what parents did! Or, maybe an estranged uncle? 

Having done more homework in the past 2 weeks than ever in his life, Harry is grateful to spend Saturday in his room reading. He had spent most of the day learning about customs and etiquette in the wizarding world and his head is spinning with information. From what he knew, Ron was part of a very old pureblood family and Hermione had read probably hundreds of books at this point. But, between the three of them, they had committed just about every wizarding faux-pas possible! And not a single peer, mentor, teacher, or parent had ever said anything to any of them. Knowing that Snape would be insufferable on the topic, even if he did eventually answer him, Harry decides he needs to talk to Gina. She is, after all, the one who immediately recognized the need for him to learn these social skills. Not sure if he can speak to her without drawing Snape’s attention (and probably ire), he decides to play it safe and ask the man himself. 

Mirror tucked safely in his back pocket, Harry cautiously descends into the living room only to jerk to a surprised halt as something slices into his arm. He swallows his instinctive yelp of pain and immediately feels alarm wash through him. While the events last year had assured him that Professor Snape wasn’t trying to kill him… maybe the other man changed his mind? Or maybe he was tired of having to care for a freak like him? As his thoughts spiral, his body crouches into a defensive position ready to protect his vitals from incoming blows. When nothing else happens, he looks up and finds Snape deep in some crazed project. His back is to the stairs, the table is strewn with parchment, ink, crumpled up trash, and… knives? Yup. An array of knives gold, silver, opal, and even one that looks like bone. 

Torn between turning around to sneak back upstairs and asking after this insane project, Harry carefully clears his throat. Snape whirls to look at him, wild eyes, wand drawn, and… a bulging cheek? The professor sneers at him, but the effect is lost as he is mid-chew in what can only be a gigantic gumball shoved into one side of his mouth. Snorting as he bites back laughter, Harry quickly turns the sound into a cough and politely covers his mouth. Snape, who strangely has blond hair, blue eyes, and slightly tanned skin, stares at him through his strange disguise. The teen removes his hand from his mouth and aims for his best impression of sweet and innocent. The professor taps at his cheek with his wand and the gum disappears. There is no levity to his tone as he speaks. “Mr. Potter, pray tell, why are you bleeding?” 

While the question itself could be considered caring, the tone says otherwise. “Uh?” Harry mumbles, a bit thrown. He glances at his hand to see it soaked in blood and is suddenly aware of a cooling wetness by his mouth. Grimacing, he uses his shirtsleeve to wipe hastily at his mouth. “I’m not sure, sir. Something hit me when I got down here, but I’m not sure what it was.” He tries smiling innocently again, but feeling the pull of slightly dried blood tells him it’s probably more horrific than anything. Snape continues to stare at him, so Harry does everything he can not to fidget. He fails miserably. “Sir?”

“Well? Get over here, boy!” The nickname, for lack of a better term, has Harry flinching and poised to run back up the stairs. Professor Snape rubs the bridge of his nose and speaks more softly. “I’m sorry. Please come over here, Harry, so I can heal you.” Biting his lip nervously, the teen makes his way over to the messy workspace. Still speaking deliberately softer, his professor asks where he is cut. While the man heals his arm, Harry sneaks a glance at the table. Sitting innocently on a cutting board, is a piece of chewing gum. Other than just the knives, Harry now sees scissors, a razor blade, and many other sharp objects he doesn’t even recognize. “I’m sorry” his professor says, still strangely reticent. “I didn’t realize the curse I had used ricocheted. Are you OK?”

The teen looks at his professor in surprise, but the surly man looks genuinely apologetic. “Yes, sir. Thanks for patching me up!” He smiles again, genuinely grateful that he hadn’t managed to upset their tentative truce. Rolling his still blue eyes, Snape waves his wand one last time and Harry’s face and hand tingle for a moment. The teen glances down to see that his hand is now spotless, and he has a feeling his face is now cleaned of blood, too. “Wicked! Thanks. What are you working on, sir?” The man’s shoulders tense, and it seems for a moment like he is going to go back to being terse. Instead, he sighs heavily and gestures to the armchair kitty corner from him.

Sitting with a grin, Harry listens to an enthralling (though seemingly unrelated) story about the Weasley twins and a potion’s article. After some backstory, however, Professor Snape starts detailing the Glamour Gum. Upon completion, the gum cannot be cut, severed, ripped, or anything of the sort. The gum chews softly and perfectly, however the boys want to have the various products be used simultaneously. And, as Harry himself witnessed, it’s absolutely unfathomable to chew multiple pieces at the same time. Professor Snape had recommended changing the formula to something akin to a breath mint or cough drop, but the twins are set on their original idea of gum. Seeming impassioned by the challenge, Snape is gesticulating wildly by the end of the story as he details all the methods he’s tried so far. 

Not entirely sure if his input will be welcomed, Harry speaks up very hesitantly. “Sir? What about Chiclets?” At the confused frown from his professor, he expands on his idea. “They have them in quarter-machines at the shopping mall and sometimes even the grocery store. In the muggle world. They are tiny little squares of gum, with a little candy shell. Multicolored. I’ve never had them, but Dudley loves them. You don’t eat just one, you eat a handful of them. The quarter dispenser gives you like 20!” There is a spark of interest in Snape’s eyes that Harry has never seen before, so he is feeling incredibly emboldened. “Do you have parchment and quill?” Snape summons a muggle pencil and hands him a blank, slightly crumpled piece of parchment. Wondering if the dispenser idea will help the twins, Harry carefully sketches out the dispenser and does his best to show the little pieces of gum. As an afterthought, he sketches out the sprinkle container his aunt pulls out for Dudley’s cocoa in the winter, with various little portions each containing a different color sprinkle. He neatly writes down a description of the sketches, too. With a grin, he hands the parchment over to Snape. 

His professor looks like he’s going to be sick. Over the past week, Harry has come to realize this  look on his face generally means he’s happy or proud of something Harry has done. Usually, the look is followed by an overtly snide comment or insult. It only took the teen a day and a half to compartmentalize this quirk and take the look as a compliment and ignore whatever follows. Tonight, however, he is pleasantly surprised. “Good work. I’m going to send this off to the twins tonight.” Severus Snape, dungeon bat extraordinaire, even attempts a smile. It’s equal parts horrifying and endearing. With a wide sweep of his wand, the mess is vanished, the deep cuts in the table are repaired, and a few things in the room are set back to rights. Before his professor can leave, Harry jumps to his feet and holds up his hands. 

“Uh! Sir! Wait! Gina. I want your permission to talk to Gina.” Sighing heavily in relief, Harry looks at Snape expectantly only to find him looking vaguely disgusted.

“Mr. Potter, I have not put any constraints whatsoever on your communications. Unless, are you hoping to use the floo?”

Harry turns visibly green at the mention of floo and shakes his head vehemently. “No, sir. I’m sorry, I’m not communicating well. I would like permission to call Gina and speak with her. But since I can only do that by using the enchanted mirror I made, I wanted to check with you. I know you said no experiments or casting, but I made it in Diagon.” As the teen nervously rambles, he pulls out the hand mirror and holds it up to his professor. “See, sir?” He tilts it so the mirror-space is visible. 

Looking pensive, Professor Snape starts to reach for it but stops halfway. “May I?” With a nod, Harry parts with one of his most prized possessions. Without the mirror, he may never get to talk to Gina again! But he trusts his professor, he does. Harry has to give it to the man, he is impossible to read. On the other hand, the teen is shifting nervously on his feet and practically wringing his hands. Completely unfazed by the emotional turmoil radiating from the young man, Snape turns the mirror over and studies the runes etched into the back. His eyebrows raise as he mouths something, tracing over them with a sort of reverence. “You made this?” A nod. “Without help?” Another nod. “And it works?” A nod that turns into a shrug. The professor raises a single eyebrow in question. 

“Do you mind if I call her? I think it’s easier to show you.” This time, it’s Snape’s turn to nod silently. “Gina?” Harry calls out softly. She materializes almost instantly and Harry barely catches a gasp of surprise from his professor before Gina starts scolding him.

“Where have you been?!” Harry ducks to hide a smile, immediately connecting this moment to Molly Weasley. “You left without saying anything! It’s been almost a week, and you didn’t even tell me you were leaving! Are you ok?” Ignoring his sheepish pout, she reaches out towards him and a warmth like sunlight sinks into his cheek and jaw. He smiles at her, a radiant and sunny smile, and her eyes start glistening. This boy just has that effect on her. Now that she has checked on him, she turns a sharp eye to the tall, imposing man standing nearby. His face is carefully blank and his arms are crossed defensively across his chest. They always say that eyes are the window to the soul, and that is especially true for this gentleman. She senses, strangely, a flicker of envy and sadness. Far stronger than that, however, is a burning curiosity and thirst for knowledge. “Gina.” She states, holding out a ghostly hand. “Nice to meet you…” she trails off, giving him a chance to introduce himself.

“Snape. Professor Severus Snape.” He holds out his hand and she softly sinks through it, just to feel him out. She gets the sense he is someone jaded and cold, but not incapable of love and light. She is proved almost immediately right as a look of unbridled happiness floats across his face as the warmth passes through him. 

“I take it you are the reason Harry wasn’t sent back to live with those monsters he calls family?” It’s blunt, she knows. But it’s the best way she has of finding out how much he knows and how trustworthy he is. She hears Harry harrumph, but her eyes don’t leave Severus’s. 

“Yes.” His eyes immediately cloud with darkness and she smirks. Good. Harry probably doesn’t realize he murmurs, shouts, and even cries in his sleep. That, and he isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is. Gina smirks viciously at the professor and then turns back to Harry. “Ok, mijo, what did you call me for?” Her smirk has transformed into a playful smile. “You have questions about that book I had you pick up?” Harry nods earnestly and she sees the professor tense up awkwardly out of the corner of her eye. He has misconstrued the topic, as she intended. “Let’s go catch up! Unless, of course, your professor wishes to be part of the conversation?” 

Harry, innocent as he is, has no idea why Snape ushers him upstairs so quickly. The teen would be alarmed, but Gina’s tinkling laughter is so warm and reassuring that he doesn’t even care to ask. He settles down on his bed and enthusiastically fills Gina in on the events of the past week. She gasps in all the right places, cheers on his escape from the ministry, and gently coos at him when he admits to blacking out after popping away from the ministry. After that, he brings out his etiquette book and opens to his first marked page. “So, I accidentally offended the heir of a powerful family on my first day of school. What would you recommend?” And, with that, Gina rolls her eyes fondly and starts giving Harry thorough notes. When Snape walks by on silent feet, sometime around midnight, he finds the boy passed out face-down in a notebook. Gina has one hand softly weaving through his hair as she plays with Diavol. 

Looking up at the man, she motions for him to come in. He’s confused for a moment until he remembers she isn’t actually corporeal. He quietly steps to the bedside and extracts the notebook and etiquette textbook from the boy’s grasp. Once those are on the nightstand, he pulls the covers up to cover the boy. With one last caress, Gina motions to the mirror and the bedside table. Snape wants to be annoyed with the ghostly figure bossing him around, but he just can’t bring out that reaction at the moment. Placing the mirror carefully away from the edge, she whispers a thank-you before sinking back into the mirror and away. The dragon, which Snape had forgotten about since the apothecary, jumps up and coasts to the boy’s pillow. The little ceramic figure that shouldn’t be able to do any of the things it’s doing huffs and glows for a second before snuggling up to the boy. Harry reaches out in his sleep and cuddles to it. 

+   +   +

The last Monday before school starts is accompanied by a thunderous rainstorm. Severus Snape, in quite a thunderous mood himself, finds it fitting. His steps sound heavily on the cobblestones as he passes through the edge of the castle wards. It’s late, much later than he had planned, and his robes are weighed down with rain and mud. The delicate nature of the plants he had to gather from the forest tonight mean that he needs to avoid casting any unnecessary spells. Wanting nothing more than to throw spells or, maybe, a punch, he spins on the spot and apparates away with an echoing pop. On his porch is an unassuming wicker basket which opens to a number of small sections. He carefully moves each freshly picked ingredient into a separate compartment before sealing it with a snap. Finally able to spellcast, he banishes his saturated robes straight to the laundry basket. Followed by mud removing, drying, and warming charms, he steps inside. 

Snape breathes deeply as he enters, stomach growling as he smells roasted chicken, herbs, and veg. The potter brat sits in the living room, curled up on the couch with a large yellow book, wearing a gigantic ratty old muggle sweater. The strange ceramic dragon is prancing around on top of his notebook, pushing around a pen laying on top of it. He gives his professor a small wave before continuing to read. Stomach growling but no time to cook his own meal, the professor stalks swiftly towards his potions lab. Once his new ingredients have been properly stored, he goes to check on his pet project before starting the brewing project that has been forced upon him by a man with absolutely no regard for his personal time. 

Potion has sat for 48 hours and still refuses to simmer. Colour remains emerald green and the consistency is much too thick. Dragon’s blood proved much too volatile (see experiment 3.C ). If potion does not reach simmer by 72 hours, I plan to add 1 gram crushed Fire Seed. 

Severus is just putting away his notes into their warded desk drawer when a knock sounds at the door. He knows that he is in no mood for continued socialization, however he also knows the boy will take it personally if he sends him away without reason. 

“Enter.” The warded door clicks open at his command and the young Potter enters with wide eyes. 

“Wow! This is quite the space! It’s incredible, sir.” Snape’s face must reveal his irritation, as the boy continues on quickly. “Sorry, sir. I just wanted to let you know that I made dinner! There is chicken and veggies in the stasis box for you. I figured I should let you know in case you want to eat before you get too caught up.” This damn kid is just so infuriating sometimes. He wants nothing more than to stomp around his lab acting surly and taking his anger out on the chopping board. With a heavy sigh, he looks at the brat. Green eyes look back, unsure, but he’s smiling and still hovering near the door. 

“Thank you, Potter. I appreciate it. I just need to put this potion back in stasis and then I’ll be right up.” The boy nods happily before turning to leave. He pauses to look at an article pinned on the wall and then starts hissing softly. In the blink of an eye, a number of consecutively disastrous things happen. The experimental potion, not yet back in its stasis bubble, starts simmering and then boiling before exploding out of the cauldron. Snape, caught entirely off-guard and not used to having anyone else in his lab, has to choose between shielding Harry or his new crystal stirring rod. He almost chooses the rod, but with a snarl he engages a thick shimmering wall between them and the cauldron. As the potion splashes over the wall it blinks out of existence. The worktable crumbles, his robes are saturated, and… Harry is completely dry and safe. 

“What. Did. You. Do?!” Snape snarls and takes two menacing steps towards the boy. Alarmed, instead of running, the teen sinks down to a crouch with an arm thrust over him. “OUT!” He yells, about to cause another accident simply from anger. Harry whimpers and scampers out of the room. With a few swift motions, Severus vanishes the spilt potion and his soaked robes. As with all failures, he quickly siphons a bit of the potion into a vial before vanishing that, too. His hair and face feel dry, but he quickly moves to the dampening station to wash up and remove any residue. Once changed back into a spare set of simple black robes, he ascends the stairs ready to dole out punishment.

The idiot child is hiding. He isn’t in the living room, kitchen, or dining room. A cursory glance showed him not in his room or the bathroom, and he didn’t see him outside. Anger mounting and patience effectively gone, Snape uses a quick point-me to find him. Frowning, he makes his way back to the bedroom and engages the light. There, nestled into the corner between the wall and the wardrobe, is Potter. He’s curled up around himself, rocking, and mumbling. Trying to muster up as much patience as he can, the man calls out to him. It comes out cold and vicious and Severus hates himself a little more than usual. Summoning a calming draught, he floats it over to the boy and has it bump softly into his hand a few times until he looks up at it. Gulping in fear, he looks up at his Professor. 

“Purple and blue potions for healthcare are?”

“Blue and purple potions for medicinal purposes tend to be for sleep, relaxation, mood boosting, and antidepressants. The calming draught is easily recognized by its shimmering hues and distinctive scent. Meant for recognition and recognizability, these factors help patients relate this potion to the calming effects it brings on, making it easier for consumption even during moments of fear and panic.” As he stiffly recites these facts, Harry uncorks the potion and downs it in a large swallow. His eyes flutter closed and he takes a few deep breaths before finally looking up at his professor. “I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea what happened.”

Severus tilts his head in acceptance and then asks the boy “What sort of punishments do you receive at school, during detention?”

With wide eyes, the teen starts hyperventilating again. “Umm, rapping our knuckles. Mr. Able had a paddle. Mrs. Jenkins made me clean the kitchen.”

With a heavy frown, Snape tries to process this. “Mr. Potter, at Hogwarts, if you will.”

“Oh! Umm, we went to the Forbidden Forest at night to track what was killing unicorns, and I saw Voldemort. Other than that, umm, oh! I had to sign fan mail for Lockhart.” 

Snape can’t help it, as he feels himself instinctively rubbing at the bridge of his nose again. Why does even the simplest conversation with this insufferable child lead to unpacking a traincar’s worth of baggage? “Please forget that I asked. Normally, one would assign lines or have you cleaning the muggle way. Potionmaking is a very volatile and dangerous art, never to be taken carelessly. I am assigning you a paper that will hopefully help you to understand the nuances of ingredient reactions. Do you understand?”

Harry’s panicked breaths effectively show again as he frowns, nods, and then makes direct eye contact with his professor. “Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you.”

With a curt nod, the professor motions for him to gather his school things. By the time the teen has made his way downstairs with 6 textbooks, multiple sheafs of parchment, and a muggle pen, Severus has lost all steam. Honestly, he doesn’t even care at this point. He just wants to return to his lab and brew that damned potion for that damned wolf and get it all over with. But, he has a responsibility, so he will set a simple paper for the boy to complete. After half heartedly assigning 12” on the uses of Aconite, Snape eats dinner quickly and retreats back down to his lab. 

Wearily eyeing the destroyed workbench, Snape is struck with recognition. It didn’t bleach and shatter with the potion, it reverted . Specifically, it reverted back to the broken kitchen chair his mother had originally transfigured to build the bench for him. The potion did not absorb into the wood but, instead, puddled beneath the broken pile. Thinking carefully, Snape’s cloak would have still been heavily enchanted from the drying and warming spells he’d applied at the door. Harry, in his muggle clothing, didn’t have anything magical on him. Curiosity burning through him, he picks up a scrap of parchment and transfigures it into a mouse and sends it scampering through the puddle. One step into the puddle and the mouse reverts to parchment once more. 

Potion’s Master Severus Snape spends almost 3 hours of wild excitement running tests on the crystal clear brew that exploded out of the cauldron. He takes concise notes, conducts various physical tests, and tries a multitude of examining spells. Whatever the potter brat did, he increased the temperature of the brew in a way that activated the Thief’s Downfall . As an esteemed master, he knows what most likely happened. However, he needs proof. And, like any good science experiment, repeatable results. With that, he rushes out of his lab to find the boy. The house is bathed in darkness, so he thinks maybe Harry called it an early night. However, a slightly wavering light from the dining room table catches his eye. He is sure it’s not a lumos, but the professor is suspicious nonetheless. 

“Potter?”

The boy looks up at him in surprise, a muggle torch clenched tightly in his teeth, a leather journal in one hand, and a pen in the other. With a frown, the man activates the light above the table. Flinching from the bright assault, Potter drops the torch with a clatter and grimaces. “Yes, sir?” 

“Why are you working by torchlight?” He asks, quite reasonably. The boy seems to think otherwise as he stares unblinkingly at his professor, like a cornered animal. “Harry?” 

Slowly, as if Severus is the unreasonable one, Harry states “you turned off the lights.”

Tics and habits are quite terrible, entirely disastrous when unintentional, for a spy. That being said, the potion’s master feels his hand float to his face, entirely without consent. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath, he asks very calmly “I apologize, I’m used to living alone. Is there a reason you didn’t turn them back on? Did you not feel like you had permission?” 

This whole conversation is moving at a glacial pace, both of them walking on eggshells around the other. Apparently, they are both entirely baffled by the actions of the other. “Your lightswitches don’t work, sir.”

“Lightswitches?” 

Pointing to the cracked, yellowing plastic covers on the walls, Harry reiterates his statement. 

“Potter, the muggle electricity has been disconnected from this house for longer than you’ve been alive. We use Wizarding lights here.” A blank look from the boy speaks volumes. Of course, the boy grew up muggle and the Burrow probably wasn’t equipped with updated lighting. But there were a number of rooms at Hogwarts that use Wizardlights. It was one of the few ‘modern’ upgrades in the past millennia! Unless… “Mr. Potter, how do you use the lights in your dorm? The communal bathrooms?”

The teen ducks his head, shame obviously colouring his cheeks. “I…don’t. I never could figure them out and thought they were on a timer or something. My torch doesn’t work at school, but I just use a lumos if I ever need light and they are off.”

“Did Professor McGonagall or the prefects or Head Boy & Head Girl give you a tour when you were first shown your dorms?” 

“No, sir.”

“Laundry? Emergency contact? Temperature control? Any of it?”

“No, sir.”

The potion’s master sits down heavily at the table. “Thank you, for dinner, by the way. It was quite delicious.” The teen smiles at him, but doesn’t speak. “I think it’s time you finally have the muggleborn crash course introduction to the wizarding world.”

It’s over an hour later that Harry drags himself upstairs to bed and Severus heads back down to his lab. He never got to ask the student about his suspicions, but tonight was (apparently) not the night for that. Anger shifted towards the house of lions yet again, he finishes cleaning and vanishing the mess from earlier and sets to prepping the base for the wolfsbane potion. This part, the only part that can be made ahead of time, is so simple he can practically do it in his sleep. Throwing down the messy paper the boy had just been finishing when he’d gone upstairs, the potions’ master begins brewing the Wolfsbane Base. 

The mindless routine of base potions has never bothered Severus Snape. Cathartic, an ignorant young version of himself had once referred to it. Tonight, however, he keeps replaying various conversations with the young Mr. Potter. Every new tidbit seems to uncover 20 unanswered questions (and at least a dozen pressing concerns.) From Hagrid leading his muggleborn introduction to seeing Voldemort drinking unicorn’s blood , to never being taught how to turn on Wizarding lights, it seems the young man has been on the receiving end of a plethora of shortcomings. Not to mention, a werewolf teaching at the school this year and Dementors on school grounds. Severus is pretty sure that both of those factors are indubitably worse than the threat of so-called ‘Death Eater’ Sirius Black.

With a frustrated huff, he accidentally slams the decanter down too hard on the workbench. It sloshes onto the aconite paper the boy wrote and Severus considers just vanishing all of it for a moment. His chicken scratch writing (which makes so much more sense, now, knowing the kid has been doing homework by torchlight & lumos for 2 years.) is a headache in itself. Feeling a small pang of guilt, he siphons away the saline and reverses the running ink. Finishing it off with an ink drying spell, he goes to move the paper to his work desk when part of the second paragraph catches his eye.

…If potion-spell simul does not enhance the poisonous properties of the Aconite, then the Wolfsbane will act more closely to a magical creature Animagus Potion. With intent to force control and counter madness, the use of Cicurate (reclaim from madness), власть (power/control), and Xiào​ shùn (obedience) could be used to enhance the effectiveness of the retained humanity. In theory, this could give the werewolf control over their transformations or (perhaps very painfully) sever the curse of the wolf from the wizard. 

In addition, engraving the cauldron with Uruz for strength and health and Kenaz for controlled energy and transformation could help to further stabilize the potion. Naturally, each additional school adds stability but also opportunity for mistakes…

An alarm goes off and, on autopilot, the potion’s master removes the potion from heat and transfers it into a specialized jar. Vanishing any leftover mess, the man washes up and heads upstairs. Tomorrow… well, tomorrow he is going to swallow every ounce of pride he has and demand Harry to walk him through his insane paper. As Severus lays back in his bed and closes his eyes, he continues to contemplate on the Wolfsbane potion improvements suggested by a 13 year old dunderhead that has never brewed above an E-level potion in two years. Remembering his comment about sabotage, he winces. Ok, maybe a certain blond-headed godson of his had something to do with that. But, still! That doesn’t explain how he suddenly is spellcrafting! Those spells mentioned are, technically, power words. But not, technically, spells. How would a sheltered, ignorant child know those?! 

Tossing and turning in frustration, Severus finally falls asleep a few hours later. A journal lays next to him in bed with a dicta-quill where he has put all of his overflowing thoughts just to get them out of his brain. 

Powdered aconite has the least potent poison, use instead of crushed.

Anamagus potion is but a step in a ritual, avoid control of change, focus on severing.

Sectumsempra for a clean separation, less painful than ‘cutting’.

Willow bark and lavender additions still safe, will ease any pain.

Reclaim from Madness, Cicurate, counter to the Cruciatus? Study! 

+   +   +

Harry James Potter has done something wrong. Again. And he really isn’t sure what. He has been living in relative peace with his Most Hated Potion’s Professor . But, this morning when he arrived in the kitchen for breakfast, said man was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He quietly enquired about the problem and was handed a bowl of porridge and some fresh fruit and told to eat. Stomach roiling, nerves making him jittery, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to eat more than a bite or two. A few sharp glares later, and he has managed to choke down well over half of it. He pushes his dishes away, steels himself, and turns to face his professor.

Vanishing the dishes to the sink, Snape sits down across from him and pulls out some wrinkled parchment. As the man smooths it out for him to see, he recognizes his own scratchy handwriting. Oh. “Do you want me to re-write it, sir? I’m sorry the writing was so messy.”

Snape shoos away his words as if they are flies and he taps his finger smartly on the surface. “Tell me about how you came up with all this. From the beginning, please. I think you’re really onto something, but I’m having troubles following some of your conclusions and some of your theoretical research. You refer to some information I've never even heard of as if it’s common knowledge, and others” he slides his finger up to the ingredient preparation paragraph. “Others, like prep methods and countering poison? Not common knowledge for you, yet, but common enough for anyone over 5th year.” 

“May I grab my books?” With a positive confirmation, Harry scampers up the stairs, pausing only to gleefully turn on the hall light. If he had happened to look behind him at that moment, he would never have believed his eyes as Severus Snape smiled at the act. Returning a moment later, he spreads out a number of reference texts. Snape recognizes two of them and stacks them off to the side while the teen separates the others into 3 stacks. One of the stacks is runic carvings and imbuings, so the professor also removes those. Gesturing for him to go ahead, Harry grabs a large yellow Charms book he’s never seen or heard of before. The title reads Cohesive Catalogue Composed of Charms from Abaci to Zwang. As the boy walks him through the spells (and his doubts on whether or not they will actually work), he casually browses through the book. Stopping at a seemingly random page, he turns the book so Harry can read the incantation: incandescenza. The professor, in an act totally unbelievable, twirls his wand handle-first to the teen. 

“Well, only one way to find out. This one is harmless, so go ahead and give it a try. I’ve never seen a book of incantations before, but I am admittedly curious.” Potter is staring at him, dumbfounded.The professor continues, “the trace won’t know it’s not me doing magic. Especially using my wand. And, the thing about incantations, is they are more about magical intent than spellcasting. It’s a type of Olde Magick, often used for household magic, family spells, and it’s the type you often see in children doing accidental magic. Nostalgic types call it ‘wish magic’, and it can technically always be done without a wand. But, the wand will help you focus.”

Harry reaches out, reverently, and takes hold of his Professor’s wand. The glossy black wood warms comfortably in his hand and he smiles softly. Reading over the incantation one last time, he closes his eyes and pictures a softly glowing ball floating above the center of the dining room table. “ Incandescenza!” He opens his eyes and stifles a gasp at the beautiful glow before him. A bright ball of light, just like he pictured, floats above them. He grins and looks to his professor “it worked! They work!”

With a small, indulgent smile, his professor agrees. After Snape has made a copy of the charm book (with permission from Harry), he asks a question that he seems to have trouble wording. Harry quickly realizes that it’s because he’s trying to word it nicely. “Sir, are you trying to be polite while also asking how I suddenly stopped being a complete dunderhead at potions?” His potion’s professor winces but then nods.

“You’re learning tricks and theories that I didn’t learn until my mastery, Mr. Potter. I understand that you’ve been researching and working really hard on this, but it’s still… honestly, it’s impossible. A lot of what you’ve written about in your paper you wouldn’t possibly know without having an expert mentor or years of practical research.” At this point, the professor grimaces again “I know you didn’t learn this from me. So, I’m just curious where you learned it. Potionmakers covet their research and textbooks suffer for it. Those that are willing to publish and share their findings receive accolades and their work is often only shared in obscure publications and at conferences. There hasn’t been a new textbook on the subject published in over 50 years.”

Harry is surprised not just at the information but also how forthcoming his professor is being. “Wizards really are stuck in the past, aren’t they?” The teen shakes his head as he pulls over a green leather-bound journal. “Honestly, sir, this journal taught me all of it. I couldn’t have made the mirror for Gina without it, and I referenced it for properties of Aconite as well as the potion/spell simul . I didn’t realize how…sacred potion’s people are. If I had known…well, I bought this from a clearance bin, not knowing. But, yeah.” He holds out yet another of his prized possessions to his professor, making for twice in almost as many days.

“Mr. Potter, that explanation was far from articulate. Do you care to try again?” After a bit of blushing and stumbling over his words, the teen finally explains the origin of the journal, how he’d been reading it for fun, and how he always seems to be able to find information he’s looking for on potions from it. “I don’t think it’s shady, like the journal from Mr. Malfoy last year. I think it’s just handy? I wasn’t looking for the base imbuing potion for the mirror, just remembered it was there. And then, well yesterday? I’m assuming you were working with Horned Serpent?” With a wide-eyed acknowledgement from his professor, the boy continued “well, I figured it out after the fact. But I’d been reading about using that as a substitute for basilisk, and about how it responds to Parseltongue. And when I saw that article you had hanging on your wall, I accidentally switched to Parseltongue thinking about it.” 

Professor Snape finally takes the journal from his student and goes to open the clasp. It won’t budge, even with a bit of wiggling, so he looks expectantly back at the boy. Frowning, Harry hisses at it and it opens up with a quiet snick . Looking even more sheepish, he admits he hadn’t realized it was opening with parseltongue. With a creased brow and an intense glare, the potion’s master flips a few pages, reads some, flips some more, reads again. Finally, he looks up at his student. “Mr. Potter, is this a joke?”

“What, sir?”

The professor holds up the book, open to a page on Polyjuice reversal. “Polyjuice Reversal? Sir? I don’t get it.” The professor looks at it intently again and then asks Harry to read the page out loud. With a bit of stumbling over ingredients he hasn’t heard of and a few words that don’t seem to make sense, Snape starts laughing a bit wildly. 

In living with Professor Snape for 2.5 weeks, Harry has seen him smile twice. However, laughter is simply terrifying. His professor never even acts happy or laughs at a joke or anything! He is hesitant to interrupt whatever is happening, but… “Sir?”

“Who wrote this journal, Mr. Potter?”

Flipping to the front cover, Harry points out where it’s signed. “I don’t know, sir. It just says S.S. here, but I haven’t seen a name otherwise….oh! It’s your journal, isn’t it? Did you write this?! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Snape looks at him then, a bit wildly. “No, I didn’t write it. I think this is a journal written by none other than one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Salazar Slytherin. And, Mr. Potter, I cannot read a word written in this book. I can only assume it’s written in Parselscript, as it’s a language I’ve never seen in my life.” 

“Oh.” 

And with that wild turn of events, and a memory Harry will never quite believe is real (Severus Snape laughing, of all things), their last week comes to a relatively anticlimactic end.