Fic: An Accident in Time (Harry/Snape)
Title: An Accident in Time
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 37,500
Warning(s): chan (15), bottom!Snape; mentions additional pairings: Harry/OMC, one-sided Harry/Ginny, and Ron/Hermione
Prompt/Summary: One evening, Harry opens the door to an unexpected visitor, and is faced with a boy who looks and sounds like a younger version of Severus Snape. Exactly like a younger version.
A/N: My snarry_swap fic, written for winoniel. I meant to write a cute, fast-paced little story. But then Severus kind of kidnapped my plot and ran away with the story. He might be a bottom, but he's awfully toppy all the same, if you ask me.
A million and one thanks to my brave betas, afina_shining and leela_cat!
An Accident in Time
Day One
The knock on the door came just when Harry had set his dinner dishes to wash themselves in the sink.
Harry sighed and glanced at the clock, then shook his head and went to answer the door, expecting to see either Wesley Charlton, his ex-lover who kept trying to come back to him, or Ginny, who kept hoping that perhaps someday he would figure out that being gay was just a phase and come back to her.
What Harry had not expected upon opening the door was see a gangly adolescent boy, dressed in too-large wizarding robes, glaring at him with all-too familiar black eyes.
Reeling with vertigo, Harry clung to the door and blinked at the boy - young man - who looked like a younger version of Severus Snape.
Exactly like a younger version of Severus Snape.
'Potter.'
And he even sounded like him. The voice was younger but unmistakably Severus Snape.
'Um …'
The boy who looked and sounded like Snape narrowed his eyes in a hard, impatient stare.
'You are Potter, aren't you?' he demanded.
Harry blinked, swallowed, and firmly told himself to stop acting like an idiot. If the boy had to ask who he was, he couldn’t be Severus Snape, no matter how similar he looked. Not when they had known each other for over fifteen years. Besides, the last time Harry had seen him, Snape had been a grown man of forty-odd years.
So Harry made himself smile politely and answer, 'Yes, I am Harry Potter.'
The boy gave one, sharp, short nod. 'You look a lot like James Potter. You related?'
Once more, Harry had to grip onto the door, feeling dizzy, as though the world had just hiccoughed off course and proceeded to spin in a different direction.
If the boy knew James Potter, who had been dead for longer than this boy seemed to have been alive …
'Snape?' Harry asked faintly.
The boy’s black eyes grew sharper, more wary and distrustful, and the thin body swaddled in the black robes twitched ever so slightly. Tense, ready to bolt, his gaze so intense Harry wondered vaguely if this was what Legilimency looked like on a less trained wizard.
'Yes?' the boy said cautiously.
Harry swallowed. 'Severus Snape. Oh Merlin.'
The boy - Snape - took a sudden step forwards, his eyes alert and demanding. With his sharp, hooked nose looking even larger in the face of a teenaged boy, he reminded Harry of a predator ready to strike.
'You know me?' the young Snape asked, his voice vibrating with breathless urgency.
Harry nodded weakly. 'Yeah. Yeah, I … know you.'
The boy gave another sharp nod and bounced back on his feet. 'Good.'
Before Harry had opportunity to ask, an envelope was thrust in his face. A familiar, spiky hand had written his name and address on it.
'It said you’d explain this.'
Harry looked from the envelope to Snape’s face and saw the fear the boy had been trying to hide in the slight relaxation of his body’s tension. He shook his head, took the letter, and stepped back from the door, holding it open for his unexpected guest.
'You'd better come in.'
The boy who was Snape did not move.
'It said you'd explain,' he repeated.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Look, I have no idea what is going on. Yes, I know you, but not like you are now. I need to sit down and read the letter and understand this situation, and I’d rather not do that out here in the open. It’s getting late and it’s getting chilly.' He sighed and added, 'And I’ve got the feeling that the situation can't be dealt with in five minutes. So, come in, sit down, and give me a moment to read this.'
Snape hesitated, gave him a sharp look, and then seemed to decide. Keeping a wary eye on Harry, he sidled through the door, never turning his back to Harry. Harry, being familiar with Snape's paranoia - some of which came thanks to one James Potter - closed the door and then turned towards his living room.
'Come in here and sit down,' he said over his shoulder. Taking the rustling behind him as indication that Snape followed him, Harry walked through his little entrance hall into the spacious living room. Heading straight to his armchair, Harry plopped down, thankful to sit.
Snape sidled in behind him and moved cautiously over to the sofa, where he perched on the edge. The tension in his body and the way his wary eyes darted from Harry to every corner of the room and back again told Harry that this Snape would jump up and run at the merest hint of imagined danger. He wanted to say something reassuring and calming, but he couldn’t think of words that would work on Snape.
Deciding that reassuring Snape could wait until he understood what was going on, Harry merely gave the boy a smile and concentrated on the letter in his hands.
A standard, brown envelope, the address written in black ink. Nothing extraordinary. A few checks with his wand revealed no jinks or curses. The letter had been written by Severus Snape with no harmful intention towards the receiver. Harry swallowed, ripped the envelope open, and let the folded parchment slide into his hand. After another quick glance at the boy, who was watching his every move with distrustful caution, Harry began to read.
Potter,
I am writing this in the firm hope that it will never become necessary. However, in the event of my life once more becoming subject to fate’s mockery, I will need you to know.
Although you were a very unwelcome witness to the event, it may have slipped your execrable memory that I did not escape what has grandly been termed the “Battle of Hogwarts” unscathed. Even now, almost ten years later, I am not free of the damage I received that night. It is this damage that will have sent an adolescent boy with my name and my face to your door with this letter.
In plain words, so that even you can understand: I was cursed, and the effects of that curse still linger. The result you have now seen with your own eyes. Yes, Potter, that boy is me.
For you to take the required action, you must understand what happened, and so I will attempt to explain the details of my condition.
This is not the result of a single curse that hit me during the battle. Do not go haring off in an attempt to find curses that reduce physical age. No such curse exists. If it did, wizards and witches would have been using it for centuries. No, my unexpected youth is due to an unfortunate combination of spells, and the resulting irregular reaction of magic.
The original, attempted curse was an Aging Spell - sub-category Senescere Exsecratio, type Chronos Epirroi, with an attempt at a triple circulation (ask you friend Mrs Weasley née Granger for the explanation if you don’t understand) - cast by one of my former Death Eater comrades. You have seen the effects of Aging spells of the Chronos Epirroi type, I believe, when the Misters Weasley endeavoured to trick a certain Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. The sub-category Senescere Exsecratio, however, is classified Dark, as the spell’s intent is to harm and finally kill the victim. The curse cast on me was meant to speed my aging three-fold.
Unfortunately, the caster had neither the power nor the ability to cast the curse correctly. It would not have mattered if the spell had failed. However, the incorrectly cast curse had unforeseen results when it collided with a Disarming Spell, an Expelliarmus, I believe. I suspect Longbottom cast it. The result was the opposite of the original intent - not aging but de-aging.
As the curse failed, the effect is highly irregular. It is neither lasting nor cumulative. That means I have not steadily grown younger, Potter. Instead, the curse flares up erratically, with no discernible trigger, and I suffer from what I have termed “youth flashes”. These flashes regenerate me for unpredictable time spans. Sometimes mere months, but other times years.
During these flashes, I regress to the person I was at that age. I have no access to knowledge and skills I acquired after that point in my life. I do not remember what has happened in the years that I have lost. Occasionally, though, I retain dim memories of the past that will become my future.
Take your time understanding this, Potter. I know you will have trouble untangling the mess that passes for your brain.
I do, however, remember most of what happens during a flash.
In general, the youth flashes neither last long nor do they de-age me significantly. However, some flashes have cost me a considerable number of years, and I suspect that, one day, a flash will de-age me into an underage wizard.
Since you are reading this letter, my suspicion is correct. I can only hope I have not grown too young to reach you before someone else reaches me.
This is the reason I came to your home, Potter. I need help, your help, as much as it pains me to even write it down.
No, I do not need help finding a cure. I doubt there is anything you could do for me in that respect. However, there are people who would very much like to catch me underage, and they are not disgruntled former comrades of mine. I seem to have a talent for gathering contacts who seek to use me for their own benefit without any thought of my health or well-being.
This past decade, I have been seeking a cure for my condition. You are aware that I have not yet been successful. Still, the time spent in research was not entirely wasted, though I doubt you are aware of my achievements. I would be surprised if you even read the News in Magical Research page in The Daily Prophet.
Other wizards and witches do, however, and for several years I have been in close contact with Healers at St Mungo’s, as well as a number of Unspeakables. They have all shown great interest in the physical, mental, and magical changes I undergo during a youth flash, and their help and insights have been invaluable in some respects.
Yet, as I implied above, my contacts seem ultimately only interested in those insights they can gain from my condition. Both St Mungo’s and the Department of Mysteries have repeatedly suggested I undergo further tests to discover how my body and magic react to the youth flash, to determine the workings of my mind and memories during the regression or regressed state. For the sake of magical science or, Merlin forbid, the greater good.
I have read the outlines of several of those “tests”, and I refuse to be an object they can vivisect for their pleasure.
However, now that I am underage, I have no power to refuse their demands. Legally, I am a minor without a guardian, which places me in the power of the Ministry. Say what you will about the “new Ministry”, Potter, they will not protect me. They will cite the “greater good” and hand me over the moment the request is made.
You will stop them, Potter. I invoke the Life Debt that you owe me to protect me from the Ministry and St Mungo’s alike. You will take care of me until the flash has passed and I have returned to my proper age. This includes care of my physical, mental, emotional, and magical well-being. I shall consider the Life Debt null and void when this is over.
Yours sincerely,
Severus Snape.
Exhaling noisily, Harry let the letter fall into his lap.
Well. That explained a lot.
'So?' an impatient voice asked, and Harry looked up at the boy Severus Snape had become. He was leaning forwards with his eyes intently on Harry’s face.
'Does it explain? The letter? What is going on?'
Harry nodded slowly. 'Yeah. Yeah, it …' He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he could tell the boy. 'Yes, it explains your problem.'
'And? What happened?'
Harry bit his lip and glanced down at the letter. He had no idea how to do this, how to tell this boy that he was actually a grown man and that his current youth was due to a magical accident. Snape hadn't left him any clues, either. It would be easier if he remembered, at least a little. But he said he usually didn't remember. Usually.
Cautiously hopeful, Harry looked back up again and asked, 'How much do you remember?'
Snape frowned. 'Remember about what?'
Harry shrugged helplessly. 'Everything. Your life. What happened to you.'
The look he got in response was so pure Severus Snape that Harry felt as though he had been de-aged, too - into an eleven-year-old.
'I don’t know what happened to me, Potter. That’s why I'm here!'
'Yeah, but … I mean, what was the last thing you remember before you woke up this morning? Or whenever you woke up today.' Slowly, Harry’s brain digested the unexpected news and moved into work-mode. 'What happened after you woke up? How did you know to come here? And that I would be able to explain?'
Snape stared at him for a moment. He hunched his shoulders ever so slightly, an instinctive gesture of self-protection that Snape probably didn't even realise he had made, or thought was so slight no one would notice. It made Harry ache inside.
'It was a letter,' Snape said after a moment of silence.
'A letter?'
'Yes, a letter. I … found it. It was addressed to me. Severus Snape, underage wizard, it said on the envelope.' Snape stopped, watching Harry intently.
Harry, having no idea what was going on inside of the boy's head, nodded encouragingly. Snape hesitated a little longer, then went on, 'I thought … But there wasn't an explanation in there. Only your name, and that you would explain it to me, and your address and Apparation coordinates.'
Harry nodded again, wondering why Snape tensed further. Perhaps he thought he would get into trouble because he Apparated without a license. 'Okay, so you read the letter and Apparated here.'
Snape's hands were hidden by the robes' overlong sleeves, but Harry thought he saw them clench.
'I did not Apparate,' the boy said with painful formality and superficially hidden vulnerability. 'I am not of age and do not have my Apparation license.'
'Oh.' Harry remembered the glimpses he'd had of Snape's childhood. 'You came the Muggle way?'
A short, sharp twitch of the boy's head answered him. 'Knight bus.'
Harry opened his mouth to ask - how he got the money, if someone had recognised him - but bit his tongue. Better not. It could only end messily. Instead, Harry asked, 'Okay, but what about that letter? How did you get it?' Had Snape somehow managed to develop a spell that timed the appearance of the letter with the youth flash that would make him underage?
'I found it,' Snape repeated stiffly.
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Okay. Let me guess. You woke up, this morning or whenever, you were in a house you didn't recognise, and you imagined the worst. So you started rooting around to try and find out what, where, who, why, and how. Right?'
Snape pressed his lips into a thin line and shuffled his feet. A very faint rose colour spread over his cheeks. 'Yes,' he admitted grudgingly. 'I found that letter in a drawer.' He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and looked challengingly at Harry. 'It was written in my own handwriting.'
His tone was so belligerent that it took Harry a moment to understand why. Snape probably thought Harry would think him crazy. Harry tried for a reassuring smile.
'Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course it would be.'
Snape's eyes widened in surprise - or perhaps shock - before he managed to control his expression. 'So.' He swallowed, trying to appear unconcerned. 'So, the house … that was my house?'
Harry shrugged but nodded. 'Most likely, yeah.'
Snape nodded as well, but slowly, thoughtfully. 'I … I thought the house looked … looked as though someone like me might be living there. As though I might be living there.' He looked back at Harry, and this time couldn't hide his confusion and fear. 'But why would I have written myself a letter?'
'Um …' Harry's mind raced, trying to come up with the best explanation. Something that was straightforward, not too shocking but still believable. He came up blank. Finally, he shrugged and handed Snape the letter he had brought Harry. 'Here. Read this.'
Snape looked from him to the letter and back at him. Slowly, he reached out and took it. He stared at Harry for a while longer before he lowered his eyes to read. He tilted his head slightly so that his hair slid forwards and veiled his face.
Harry sat back in his armchair and waited. He couldn't see Snape's face but the sudden tension in the thin body told him more than that would have. The trembling of his skinny, pale hands - not yet potion-stained - was barely discernable. After several quiet moments, long enough for Snape to have read the letter at least twice, the boy looked up.
His face was sickly pale. His eyes were wide and panicked. Yet his voice was calm, though tight enough to make Harry wince with the effort it must cost Snape not to scream.
'So. A magical accident did this.' He paused and took a deep, shaky breath. 'How old am I?'
Harry hesitated, considering, not sure whether he ought to answer outright. Snape had already gone through quite a lot, from not knowing where he was and what had happened to him, to be forced to go visit a stranger and trust him to explain. But on the other hand, Harry remembered only too well how much he had loathed being left in the dark by adults "for his own good".
'How old am I?' Snape repeated.
Harry sighed and gave in. 'Can't say for absolutely certain, but around forty-eight, I think.'
What colour there had been in Snape's pale face rushed out. His eyes were wide, dark holes in his thin face. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a choked gasp. His breathing sped up unnaturally.
'Oh, shit.' Harry jumped up and grabbed the boy's shoulders. Snape twitched and made an aborted move to jerk away. 'Breathe,' Harry ordered, trying to remember what Auror training had said about calming down victims or relatives. 'Relax. Concentrate on breathing.'
Snape spat a few, choked words and flailed his arms. He struggled to get up. Harry pushed him back down.
'No, don't move, don't talk. Concentrate on breathing. Everything else afterwards.' Wrapping one arm around Snape's thin, shaking shoulders, Harry groped for his wand and cast a simple Breathing Charm on Snape. Immediately, Snape's breathing evened out.
Snape made a soft sound and another attempt to get away, but it was half-hearted and Harry had no trouble keeping him on the sofa.
'Don't get up,' he said. Reaching out, he gathered a blanket and spread it over Snape's thin shoulders. 'Here. Just sit here and calm down. It's all right. You'll see.' He patted Snape's shoulder and made move to get up.
A hand shot out of the tangled robes and grabbed his wrist. For such a thin person, Snape was surprisingly strong. Harry looked down and met panicked eyes. He gave his best, reassuring smile.
'Hey, don't worry. I'm not going away. Just into the kitchen, making a pot of tea. We could use it, don't you think? You just sit here. I'll be back in a moment, and we'll talk some more. Okay?'
Snape stared at him and took a couple of deep breaths. His dark eyes were sharp as he looked up into Harry's face, and again Harry wondered if Snape was trying to use Legilimency. He projected thoughts about tea to the forefront of his mind and kept his reassuring smile steady. After a moment of searching Harry's face, Snape let go of his wrist.
'Okay.' His voice was trying very hard not to be shaky. 'Okay, I, I…'
Harry gave his shoulder a squeeze, but then went into the kitchen without trying to reassure the boy again. It wouldn't help.
In the kitchen, Harry needed only a few, quick flicks of his wand to start the tea preparations. He wasn't all that good with household charms, but preparing tea was one he could do in his sleep. While he arranged teacups, cream and sugar on a tray and waited for the kettle to sing, he kept an ear out, listening for Snape. All was quiet, though, and when he returned a couple of minutes later with the tray floating before him, the boy was huddled on the sofa, the blanket wrapped around him.
'Here.' Harry pulled the small table Hermione had kept on insisting he needed over and placed the tray on it. 'How do you drink your tea?'
Snape blinked at him and then at the teacup Harry held out to him. 'Oh. Sugar. Please.'
Harry added some sugar and handed Snape the cup. 'If you want more sugar, feel free.'
Snape accepted his cup slowly and sipped. 'It's okay, thank you,' he said very politely.
Harry doubted it, but didn't say anything. He simply fixed himself a cup and sat down in his armchair.
After they had sipped their tea in silence - and Harry had kept watching Snape - he spoke up. 'So, you know what happened to you and what brought you here, and I suppose you have a lot of questions.'
Snape stared into his tea. He was quite obviously debating with himself what to ask. Or perhaps whether to ask at all.
'You never said if you were related to James Potter.'
That wasn't quite the question Harry had expected, but he shrugged and answered nevertheless. 'Yes, I was. He was my father.'
Snape looked up. 'Was. He died, then?'
Harry looked at him, searching for something like glee in Snape's face, but there was only wariness.
He nodded. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'He died. A long time ago.' It felt odd to tell Snape. After all, he was directly responsible for the Potters' deaths. Somehow, Harry couldn't blame him any longer, though. After all, Snape's plea to Voldemort for Lily's life had allowed Harry's mother to sacrifice herself for her son - and had, in the end, helped Harry to win.
Snape stared at him so intently that Harry wondered whether he had read Harry's thoughts. The next question came unexpected, nevertheless.
'Your eyes,' Snape said hesitantly. 'I …'
'Oh.' Harry grimaced and suddenly felt a lot more awkward. 'I. Yes, well, I have my mother's eyes.'
Snape's face twisted, crumpled. He looked as if he was about to cry. 'She married him.'
'Yeah.' Harry bit his lip, and then decided he'd better tell Snape, to get it over with. 'She's dead, too. They died the same day. Voldemort killed them.'
At the mention of the name, Snape jumped and grabbed his left forearm. Harry's eyes widened - but so did Snape's. The boy stared down at his arm, pushed up the long sleeve. His forearm was unmarked.
'I … I thought …' he whispered.
He looked so pained and confused it hurt Harry to go on. 'Yeah. Um. You are.'
Snape's head snapped up. 'What?'
'You, your older self, were marked. With Voldemort's Dark Mark.'
Snape's eyes went unfocused. 'I … did it, then. There are … boys in my House who …'
Harry sighed. 'Yeah, you did. You were a Death Eater. But when Voldemort threatened my mum, you went to Dumbledore and, um. Well, told him you'd do whatever he wanted if he kept my mum safe.'
Snape's eyes, wide and afraid, fixed on Harry's face. Harry made himself go on, 'It didn't work, obviously. A close friend of my parents betrayed them to Voldemort, and he found them. He was actually after me, because a prophecy had told him about a child being born with the power to defeat him.' Harry shook his head and pointed to the scar on his forehead. 'He hit me with the Death Curse, but I survived.'
'That's impossible!' Snape burst out. He sat up so suddenly the tea sloshed onto the saucer. 'There is no defence against Avada Kedavra!'
Harry looked down at his hands holding the cup. 'He gave my mother the chance to step aside. But she didn't. And when she died … for me …' He shrugged uncomfortably. 'Dumbledore said that my mum's sacrifice protected me. And I kept only the scar.' He didn't say anything about the Horcruxes. Snape didn't need to know about that.
'Why Dumbledore?' Snape asked after a pause.
'Huh?'
'Why did I go to Dumbledore? To keep Lily safe?'
'Oh.' Harry nodded. 'You wouldn't know that, of course. Um, Dumbledore was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. The Order fought against the Death Eaters. And Dumbledore was known as the only wizard Voldemort was ever really afraid of. So, yeah, you went to him. And he gave you a position at Hogwarts,' Harry went on, anticipating what would probably have been the next question. 'You were the Potions master. That's how I met you, by the way.' He grimaced at the memory.
Snape gaped at him. 'I was a teacher?'
'Yeah.' Harry had to chuckle at the boy's expression. 'Not the career you'd have chosen, was it?'
'No.' Snape snorted. 'Definitely not.'
'What would you've liked to do?' Harry asked, suddenly curious. He had never thought about it before.
Snape eyed him over the rim of his teacup. 'Why do you ask?'
'I'm curious, I suppose. I mean, one of the first things I ever got to know about you was that you were the Potions master but wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. But after the war, you went into private potions brewing.' Harry shrugged. 'I just wondered.'
'Oh.' Snape licked his lips and sipped his tea. He looked a little discomfited. 'I … I want to go to St Mungo's.'
Harry blinked, surprised. 'A Healer?'
'Yeah.' Snape looked up defensively.
Harry blinked some more. 'Oh. Um.' He cocked his head. 'Yeah, actually, I can see that,' he said thoughtfully. 'In sixth year, they seemed to always ask you. Dumbledore, he said something about you saving his life with a potion, I think, but with Leanne, that was probably a spell to stop the curse and-' He stopped, seeing Snape's bewildered face. 'Sorry, just thinking out loud. But, yes, I can see you as Healer.' He grinned. 'You don't have any bedside manner, though.'
Snape narrowed his eyes at him, and Harry sighed. He probably thought Harry was laughing at him. And, most likely, wouldn't believe it if Harry told him otherwise. Harry backtracked the conversation to what they had been talking about before to find a way to go on.
'Um. So, anyway, you were teaching at Hogwarts when Voldemort vanished the first time. Everyone thought he was dead, except Dumbledore. And he was right, of course.'
'What about you?'
'Me?'
'Your … parents had been killed, you said.'
'Oh. Yes.' Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Well, since all of my grandparents were dead, I was given to my only living relative, mum's sister.'
'Tuney?' Snape was incredulous. 'But she hates magic!'
Harry nodded and gripped his cup a little tighter. 'Yes, well, she wasn't all too pleased to be saddled with me.'
Snape's eyes were uncomfortably shrewd. 'I see. She called you a freak, too, did she?'
Harry nodded, surprised. Then he remembered that Snape must have had more contact with Petunia than Harry had seen in his memories. He'd probably seen some of the resentment Petunia had held for the magical world after it had become obvious that she wouldn't be part of it. 'She did. And my uncle, too.'
Snape's face showed an expression of disgusted disbelief. 'She married? Who would have wanted to marry someone like that? Ew.'
Harry was startled into a laugh, and then decided not to try and stifle it. It wasn't nice, laughing at Aunt Petunia. But she had never been nice to him, either.
'Hey, my uncle wasn't a lot better,' he said. 'He thought exactly the same way she did. But he looked like a walrus. And my cousin was even more stupid than my aunt and uncle together, and he looked like a pig! Well,' he amended, 'in the end, Dudley, that's my cousin, kind of redeemed himself. But my uncle was glad I was gone, and I can tell you, I was more than happy to never have to see them again!'
There was that shrewd expression on Snape's face again. He looked as though he understood a lot more than Harry had wanted to say. Well, if his home situation had been anything like the few flashes that Harry had seen in the man's memories and the Pensieve …
'Um, anyway. I left the day I turned seventeen. And besides, I spent most of the year at Hogwarts, so that was all right.'
'Gryffindor, right?' Snape interjected.
Harry felt his hackles rise at the smirk the boy gave him. He could see the adult Snape in that. He reacted the same way he had done as a boy: thoughtlessly.
'Yes, well, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,' Harry snapped. 'But I'd already heard that Voldemort had been in Slytherin, and I didn't want to be in the same House as the murderer of my parents, so, yeah, Gryffindor.'
Snape stared at him. Harry blinked. Whoops. Perhaps he shouldn't have told him that bit about Slytherin. Hastily, Harry went on, 'And anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, now. I've been out of Hogwarts now for longer than I was there, and-'
'Played Quidditch?' Snape interrupted again.
'Yes, I-'
'Seeker?'
Harry growled. 'Yes, yes, all like my father, thank you. You don't have to say it again. I've heard it more than enough from you.'
Snape shrank back a little at the harsh tone. 'So I gathered correctly from my older self's letter to you that I don't like you much,' he said stiffly.
Harry fiddled with the handle of his cup. 'No, you don't like me at all. You loathed my father, and I happen to look a lot like him, so you loathed me on principle, too. And I didn't like you much, either, because you were a perfect arsehole to me right from the beginning.'
Snape's eyes had gone wide at the swearword. He looked cautiously delighted, like a boy who'd been disciplined for using "language" and was delirious at having caught an adult using it.
Harry huffed. 'Yeah, you were an arsehole, so I was an arsehole right back at you. Didn't stop you from saving my life, and more than once, too.'
'I did?' Snape now looked gleeful.
'Yeah. Well, the first time, which was during my first year, so you can see I had a really interesting time at Hogwarts, that first time was because you owed my dad a Life Debt. But you kept saving my life afterwards, too. Um, I think. Well, you more or less told me that it was for my mum's sake.' Harry flushed a little at the white lie. Snape hadn't exactly told him … and if the man had thought that he would survive the war, he'd never have left certain memories in the "secret Pensieve", Harry was sure.
Unfortunately, Snape was sharp enough to see that something didn't match up. 'I told you? Not likely, if I didn't like you that much.'
Harry ran his hand through his hair again. Snape's mouth twitched into a hastily suppressed smile, and Harry thought he could tell what had amused the boy. Stupid hair, sticking up and out.
'Uh, no, you didn't exactly tell me…' he admitted. Chewing on his lip, he thought about what to tell the boy, and then shrugged. The truth, as best as he could, of course. 'Okay, listen. I'll give you the short version of what happened after Voldemort returned.'
Snape sat up, face serious and concentrated. Harry nodded at him.
'So, he came back with the help of the man who betrayed my parents, when I was fourteen," Harry said, and then continued with a very short version of his fifth and sixth years, leaving out Sirius's death. That wasn't something he wanted to discuss. Not then, and not with Snape. When he got to the end of his sixth year, he stumbled. 'Shit, this is going to be difficult."
'Difficult, how?' Snape asked, eyes narrowed. 'And you shouldn't swear in the presence of children.'
'Shove it,' was Harry's snorted reply. 'Difficult because … Well. I don't know how you'll react to it.'
'I did something bad, didn't it?' Snape said quietly. He sat very still.
Harry took a deep breath and told Snape about the events atop the Astronomy tower. Snape was still, silent, and very, very pale. Harry went on, more slowly, 'It was his idea. Dumbledore's.'
'That I kill him?' Snape gasped. His hands shook badly.
Harry nodded. 'Yes, and you didn't like it one bit. You told Dumbledore you wouldn't do it, but he made you do it. Kind of blackmailed you into it.'
Snape blinked. 'W-what?'
'Oh, yes. He said you had promised to do whatever Dumbledore needed you to do, so there. And … and he kept throwing my mum at you. You know, that you'd promised to do anything to keep me safe for her sake, and so on. Well. But the thing is, no one knew at the time you did it.'
Snape's teacup clattered against the saucer, and Harry saw that the boy was shaking all over now. He got over to the sofa, sat down next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Hey, it's okay now. It's over. Everyone knows, now.'
Snape made a little noise like a whimper. Harry took his cup and refilled it, adding more sugar than last time, and made Snape drink the tea. It helped a little. The boy stopped shaking.
'Here, are you all right?' Harry asked.
Snape laughed, but it was choked and sounded more like a sob.
'Okay.' Harry said softly. 'Do you want me to tell you the rest? What happened until Voldemort died? Or would you like to go to bed?'
Snape shook his head quickly. 'No, tell me,' he demanded. 'I want to know …'
Harry nodded and squeezed Snape's shoulder again. The boy leaned into him, just a little. Harry went on, quickly recapping the year of Snape's tenure as headmaster and talking in broad strokes about his own mission until he came to the night of the battle. He had to pause then, to sort through his memories. It had all happened so fast.
Snape didn't urge him on, kept listening silently as Harry told him how he had seen Snape that night and how, intent on killing the man, Harry had followed him.
'But you led me to the Headmaster's room and then kind of vanished.' Harry still remembered his confusion and anger at Snape disappearing like that. 'A hidden door, or something, I don't know. The room was empty. I looked around, saw the Pensieve. It sat right there, on your desk. It was obviously full of memories.'
He paused and rubbed his nose, still a little embarrassed. 'In hindsight I know you set it up for me. Then, I was too angry. Thought I could hurt you, looking into your memories again. So, I poked my head into it and saw a lot of things that I was actually meant to see.
'Dumbledore had given you some last orders for me. You were meant to pass them on close to the end, though how you were meant to do that, I don't know. In the event, I got to know things a little early, but it didn't matter. I got the information and acted accordingly.
'There was a battle. You fought, though no one ever knew on which side. I think you didn't fight on any side but to keep as many students safe as possible. That was when you were hit by that botched curse. Um. I got rid of Voldemort. Oh, I actually told him that you'd been on our side all the time. There were memories in that Pensieve that were … pretty convincing. The memory where Dumbledore ordered you to kill him, too. So, when everything was over and you were found alive, I told the Aurors what I'd seen, and they questioned you under Veritaserum, and then you were cleared. So. That's it.'
Harry looked down at Snape and found the boy watching him. He was still pale, but he'd obviously recovered. And there was that uncomfortably astute look again. Harry had known Snape was clever. Hell, he'd been the Half-Blood Prince! But, somehow, Harry had always associated this cleverness with the adult Snape. Not with the teenaged Snape. Yet here was the boy, clearly a teenager and also clearly hearing a lot of things that Harry hadn't said.
'My older self hadn't thought he'd survive, did he? That was why he let you have the memories?'
Yup, sharp as a knife.
Harry grimaced again and nodded.
Snape stared at him some more but didn't ask any more questions. After a while, he went back to staring into his tea. Harry let him. The boy needed time to think about what he'd heard.
The chiming of the clock in the hall made both of them jump. Harry glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight.
'Okay, late!' he said and got up, flicking his wand at the tray. Snape looked up at him, clearly worried what would happen now. Harry sent the tray to the kitchen before he turned back to the boy. 'So, um. The letter said I was to take care of you. I'll do my best. I promise. But tomorrow we'll think about what happens next. You need rest. And some time to work through all the stuff I just told you. Come on, I'll show you where you'll sleep. Or, that is, would you prefer to sleep here on the sofa?'
Snape blinked. He looked around. He looked at Harry. 'Do you have a guest room?'
Harry grinned and waved at him to follow. 'Not exactly a guest room. It's more an extra room, kind of a study. But there's a bed there. In case one of my friends needs a place to crash.'
Snape followed wordlessly up the narrow, winding staircase to the small room next to Harry's bedroom. Harry opened the door and let him enter.
'It's not much,' he apologised. 'But it is a bed. And you probably won't mind sharing space with my books,' he added with a grin, seeing the boy eye the shelves. There were some of his old textbooks, both from Hogwarts and from Auror training, as well as the remainders of the Black library. Harry had taken the books he wanted to keep when he'd closed up Grimmauld Place and given the rest to the Ministry for safekeeping. Crammed in side by side with ancient tomes on the Dark Arts were the few novels Harry had collected, mostly Muggle and wizarding crime fiction.
'Books are okay,' Snape said absently as he trailed along the shelves that lined two walls. The bed took up a third, and a wardrobe the fourth. Harry went to the wardrobe and got bed linens out. While the boy murmured excitedly over the selection of books, Harry fought to get the bed made. That was a charm he'd never managed, and so he had to do it the Muggle way.
When that was done, Harry took away Snape's book to show the boy the bathroom and where Harry slept. After telling Snape to wake him in case he needed anything, Harry wished him a good night and got ready for bed himself.
There was a lot he had to think about as well.
Notes:
Language disclaimer for the translation: I don't speak Greek, and my Latin has seen better days. I used online dictionaries for the translations.
senescere: verb, to age
exsecratio: noun, curse
chronos: noun, time
epirroi: noun: influence (on)
Day Two
*
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 37,500
Warning(s): chan (15), bottom!Snape; mentions additional pairings: Harry/OMC, one-sided Harry/Ginny, and Ron/Hermione
Prompt/Summary: One evening, Harry opens the door to an unexpected visitor, and is faced with a boy who looks and sounds like a younger version of Severus Snape. Exactly like a younger version.
A/N: My snarry_swap fic, written for winoniel. I meant to write a cute, fast-paced little story. But then Severus kind of kidnapped my plot and ran away with the story. He might be a bottom, but he's awfully toppy all the same, if you ask me.
A million and one thanks to my brave betas, afina_shining and leela_cat!
An Accident in Time
Day One
The knock on the door came just when Harry had set his dinner dishes to wash themselves in the sink.
Harry sighed and glanced at the clock, then shook his head and went to answer the door, expecting to see either Wesley Charlton, his ex-lover who kept trying to come back to him, or Ginny, who kept hoping that perhaps someday he would figure out that being gay was just a phase and come back to her.
What Harry had not expected upon opening the door was see a gangly adolescent boy, dressed in too-large wizarding robes, glaring at him with all-too familiar black eyes.
Reeling with vertigo, Harry clung to the door and blinked at the boy - young man - who looked like a younger version of Severus Snape.
Exactly like a younger version of Severus Snape.
'Potter.'
And he even sounded like him. The voice was younger but unmistakably Severus Snape.
'Um …'
The boy who looked and sounded like Snape narrowed his eyes in a hard, impatient stare.
'You are Potter, aren't you?' he demanded.
Harry blinked, swallowed, and firmly told himself to stop acting like an idiot. If the boy had to ask who he was, he couldn’t be Severus Snape, no matter how similar he looked. Not when they had known each other for over fifteen years. Besides, the last time Harry had seen him, Snape had been a grown man of forty-odd years.
So Harry made himself smile politely and answer, 'Yes, I am Harry Potter.'
The boy gave one, sharp, short nod. 'You look a lot like James Potter. You related?'
Once more, Harry had to grip onto the door, feeling dizzy, as though the world had just hiccoughed off course and proceeded to spin in a different direction.
If the boy knew James Potter, who had been dead for longer than this boy seemed to have been alive …
'Snape?' Harry asked faintly.
The boy’s black eyes grew sharper, more wary and distrustful, and the thin body swaddled in the black robes twitched ever so slightly. Tense, ready to bolt, his gaze so intense Harry wondered vaguely if this was what Legilimency looked like on a less trained wizard.
'Yes?' the boy said cautiously.
Harry swallowed. 'Severus Snape. Oh Merlin.'
The boy - Snape - took a sudden step forwards, his eyes alert and demanding. With his sharp, hooked nose looking even larger in the face of a teenaged boy, he reminded Harry of a predator ready to strike.
'You know me?' the young Snape asked, his voice vibrating with breathless urgency.
Harry nodded weakly. 'Yeah. Yeah, I … know you.'
The boy gave another sharp nod and bounced back on his feet. 'Good.'
Before Harry had opportunity to ask, an envelope was thrust in his face. A familiar, spiky hand had written his name and address on it.
'It said you’d explain this.'
Harry looked from the envelope to Snape’s face and saw the fear the boy had been trying to hide in the slight relaxation of his body’s tension. He shook his head, took the letter, and stepped back from the door, holding it open for his unexpected guest.
'You'd better come in.'
The boy who was Snape did not move.
'It said you'd explain,' he repeated.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Look, I have no idea what is going on. Yes, I know you, but not like you are now. I need to sit down and read the letter and understand this situation, and I’d rather not do that out here in the open. It’s getting late and it’s getting chilly.' He sighed and added, 'And I’ve got the feeling that the situation can't be dealt with in five minutes. So, come in, sit down, and give me a moment to read this.'
Snape hesitated, gave him a sharp look, and then seemed to decide. Keeping a wary eye on Harry, he sidled through the door, never turning his back to Harry. Harry, being familiar with Snape's paranoia - some of which came thanks to one James Potter - closed the door and then turned towards his living room.
'Come in here and sit down,' he said over his shoulder. Taking the rustling behind him as indication that Snape followed him, Harry walked through his little entrance hall into the spacious living room. Heading straight to his armchair, Harry plopped down, thankful to sit.
Snape sidled in behind him and moved cautiously over to the sofa, where he perched on the edge. The tension in his body and the way his wary eyes darted from Harry to every corner of the room and back again told Harry that this Snape would jump up and run at the merest hint of imagined danger. He wanted to say something reassuring and calming, but he couldn’t think of words that would work on Snape.
Deciding that reassuring Snape could wait until he understood what was going on, Harry merely gave the boy a smile and concentrated on the letter in his hands.
A standard, brown envelope, the address written in black ink. Nothing extraordinary. A few checks with his wand revealed no jinks or curses. The letter had been written by Severus Snape with no harmful intention towards the receiver. Harry swallowed, ripped the envelope open, and let the folded parchment slide into his hand. After another quick glance at the boy, who was watching his every move with distrustful caution, Harry began to read.
Potter,
I am writing this in the firm hope that it will never become necessary. However, in the event of my life once more becoming subject to fate’s mockery, I will need you to know.
Although you were a very unwelcome witness to the event, it may have slipped your execrable memory that I did not escape what has grandly been termed the “Battle of Hogwarts” unscathed. Even now, almost ten years later, I am not free of the damage I received that night. It is this damage that will have sent an adolescent boy with my name and my face to your door with this letter.
In plain words, so that even you can understand: I was cursed, and the effects of that curse still linger. The result you have now seen with your own eyes. Yes, Potter, that boy is me.
For you to take the required action, you must understand what happened, and so I will attempt to explain the details of my condition.
This is not the result of a single curse that hit me during the battle. Do not go haring off in an attempt to find curses that reduce physical age. No such curse exists. If it did, wizards and witches would have been using it for centuries. No, my unexpected youth is due to an unfortunate combination of spells, and the resulting irregular reaction of magic.
The original, attempted curse was an Aging Spell - sub-category Senescere Exsecratio, type Chronos Epirroi, with an attempt at a triple circulation (ask you friend Mrs Weasley née Granger for the explanation if you don’t understand) - cast by one of my former Death Eater comrades. You have seen the effects of Aging spells of the Chronos Epirroi type, I believe, when the Misters Weasley endeavoured to trick a certain Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. The sub-category Senescere Exsecratio, however, is classified Dark, as the spell’s intent is to harm and finally kill the victim. The curse cast on me was meant to speed my aging three-fold.
Unfortunately, the caster had neither the power nor the ability to cast the curse correctly. It would not have mattered if the spell had failed. However, the incorrectly cast curse had unforeseen results when it collided with a Disarming Spell, an Expelliarmus, I believe. I suspect Longbottom cast it. The result was the opposite of the original intent - not aging but de-aging.
As the curse failed, the effect is highly irregular. It is neither lasting nor cumulative. That means I have not steadily grown younger, Potter. Instead, the curse flares up erratically, with no discernible trigger, and I suffer from what I have termed “youth flashes”. These flashes regenerate me for unpredictable time spans. Sometimes mere months, but other times years.
During these flashes, I regress to the person I was at that age. I have no access to knowledge and skills I acquired after that point in my life. I do not remember what has happened in the years that I have lost. Occasionally, though, I retain dim memories of the past that will become my future.
Take your time understanding this, Potter. I know you will have trouble untangling the mess that passes for your brain.
I do, however, remember most of what happens during a flash.
In general, the youth flashes neither last long nor do they de-age me significantly. However, some flashes have cost me a considerable number of years, and I suspect that, one day, a flash will de-age me into an underage wizard.
Since you are reading this letter, my suspicion is correct. I can only hope I have not grown too young to reach you before someone else reaches me.
This is the reason I came to your home, Potter. I need help, your help, as much as it pains me to even write it down.
No, I do not need help finding a cure. I doubt there is anything you could do for me in that respect. However, there are people who would very much like to catch me underage, and they are not disgruntled former comrades of mine. I seem to have a talent for gathering contacts who seek to use me for their own benefit without any thought of my health or well-being.
This past decade, I have been seeking a cure for my condition. You are aware that I have not yet been successful. Still, the time spent in research was not entirely wasted, though I doubt you are aware of my achievements. I would be surprised if you even read the News in Magical Research page in The Daily Prophet.
Other wizards and witches do, however, and for several years I have been in close contact with Healers at St Mungo’s, as well as a number of Unspeakables. They have all shown great interest in the physical, mental, and magical changes I undergo during a youth flash, and their help and insights have been invaluable in some respects.
Yet, as I implied above, my contacts seem ultimately only interested in those insights they can gain from my condition. Both St Mungo’s and the Department of Mysteries have repeatedly suggested I undergo further tests to discover how my body and magic react to the youth flash, to determine the workings of my mind and memories during the regression or regressed state. For the sake of magical science or, Merlin forbid, the greater good.
I have read the outlines of several of those “tests”, and I refuse to be an object they can vivisect for their pleasure.
However, now that I am underage, I have no power to refuse their demands. Legally, I am a minor without a guardian, which places me in the power of the Ministry. Say what you will about the “new Ministry”, Potter, they will not protect me. They will cite the “greater good” and hand me over the moment the request is made.
You will stop them, Potter. I invoke the Life Debt that you owe me to protect me from the Ministry and St Mungo’s alike. You will take care of me until the flash has passed and I have returned to my proper age. This includes care of my physical, mental, emotional, and magical well-being. I shall consider the Life Debt null and void when this is over.
Yours sincerely,
Severus Snape.
Exhaling noisily, Harry let the letter fall into his lap.
Well. That explained a lot.
'So?' an impatient voice asked, and Harry looked up at the boy Severus Snape had become. He was leaning forwards with his eyes intently on Harry’s face.
'Does it explain? The letter? What is going on?'
Harry nodded slowly. 'Yeah. Yeah, it …' He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he could tell the boy. 'Yes, it explains your problem.'
'And? What happened?'
Harry bit his lip and glanced down at the letter. He had no idea how to do this, how to tell this boy that he was actually a grown man and that his current youth was due to a magical accident. Snape hadn't left him any clues, either. It would be easier if he remembered, at least a little. But he said he usually didn't remember. Usually.
Cautiously hopeful, Harry looked back up again and asked, 'How much do you remember?'
Snape frowned. 'Remember about what?'
Harry shrugged helplessly. 'Everything. Your life. What happened to you.'
The look he got in response was so pure Severus Snape that Harry felt as though he had been de-aged, too - into an eleven-year-old.
'I don’t know what happened to me, Potter. That’s why I'm here!'
'Yeah, but … I mean, what was the last thing you remember before you woke up this morning? Or whenever you woke up today.' Slowly, Harry’s brain digested the unexpected news and moved into work-mode. 'What happened after you woke up? How did you know to come here? And that I would be able to explain?'
Snape stared at him for a moment. He hunched his shoulders ever so slightly, an instinctive gesture of self-protection that Snape probably didn't even realise he had made, or thought was so slight no one would notice. It made Harry ache inside.
'It was a letter,' Snape said after a moment of silence.
'A letter?'
'Yes, a letter. I … found it. It was addressed to me. Severus Snape, underage wizard, it said on the envelope.' Snape stopped, watching Harry intently.
Harry, having no idea what was going on inside of the boy's head, nodded encouragingly. Snape hesitated a little longer, then went on, 'I thought … But there wasn't an explanation in there. Only your name, and that you would explain it to me, and your address and Apparation coordinates.'
Harry nodded again, wondering why Snape tensed further. Perhaps he thought he would get into trouble because he Apparated without a license. 'Okay, so you read the letter and Apparated here.'
Snape's hands were hidden by the robes' overlong sleeves, but Harry thought he saw them clench.
'I did not Apparate,' the boy said with painful formality and superficially hidden vulnerability. 'I am not of age and do not have my Apparation license.'
'Oh.' Harry remembered the glimpses he'd had of Snape's childhood. 'You came the Muggle way?'
A short, sharp twitch of the boy's head answered him. 'Knight bus.'
Harry opened his mouth to ask - how he got the money, if someone had recognised him - but bit his tongue. Better not. It could only end messily. Instead, Harry asked, 'Okay, but what about that letter? How did you get it?' Had Snape somehow managed to develop a spell that timed the appearance of the letter with the youth flash that would make him underage?
'I found it,' Snape repeated stiffly.
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Okay. Let me guess. You woke up, this morning or whenever, you were in a house you didn't recognise, and you imagined the worst. So you started rooting around to try and find out what, where, who, why, and how. Right?'
Snape pressed his lips into a thin line and shuffled his feet. A very faint rose colour spread over his cheeks. 'Yes,' he admitted grudgingly. 'I found that letter in a drawer.' He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and looked challengingly at Harry. 'It was written in my own handwriting.'
His tone was so belligerent that it took Harry a moment to understand why. Snape probably thought Harry would think him crazy. Harry tried for a reassuring smile.
'Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course it would be.'
Snape's eyes widened in surprise - or perhaps shock - before he managed to control his expression. 'So.' He swallowed, trying to appear unconcerned. 'So, the house … that was my house?'
Harry shrugged but nodded. 'Most likely, yeah.'
Snape nodded as well, but slowly, thoughtfully. 'I … I thought the house looked … looked as though someone like me might be living there. As though I might be living there.' He looked back at Harry, and this time couldn't hide his confusion and fear. 'But why would I have written myself a letter?'
'Um …' Harry's mind raced, trying to come up with the best explanation. Something that was straightforward, not too shocking but still believable. He came up blank. Finally, he shrugged and handed Snape the letter he had brought Harry. 'Here. Read this.'
Snape looked from him to the letter and back at him. Slowly, he reached out and took it. He stared at Harry for a while longer before he lowered his eyes to read. He tilted his head slightly so that his hair slid forwards and veiled his face.
Harry sat back in his armchair and waited. He couldn't see Snape's face but the sudden tension in the thin body told him more than that would have. The trembling of his skinny, pale hands - not yet potion-stained - was barely discernable. After several quiet moments, long enough for Snape to have read the letter at least twice, the boy looked up.
His face was sickly pale. His eyes were wide and panicked. Yet his voice was calm, though tight enough to make Harry wince with the effort it must cost Snape not to scream.
'So. A magical accident did this.' He paused and took a deep, shaky breath. 'How old am I?'
Harry hesitated, considering, not sure whether he ought to answer outright. Snape had already gone through quite a lot, from not knowing where he was and what had happened to him, to be forced to go visit a stranger and trust him to explain. But on the other hand, Harry remembered only too well how much he had loathed being left in the dark by adults "for his own good".
'How old am I?' Snape repeated.
Harry sighed and gave in. 'Can't say for absolutely certain, but around forty-eight, I think.'
What colour there had been in Snape's pale face rushed out. His eyes were wide, dark holes in his thin face. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a choked gasp. His breathing sped up unnaturally.
'Oh, shit.' Harry jumped up and grabbed the boy's shoulders. Snape twitched and made an aborted move to jerk away. 'Breathe,' Harry ordered, trying to remember what Auror training had said about calming down victims or relatives. 'Relax. Concentrate on breathing.'
Snape spat a few, choked words and flailed his arms. He struggled to get up. Harry pushed him back down.
'No, don't move, don't talk. Concentrate on breathing. Everything else afterwards.' Wrapping one arm around Snape's thin, shaking shoulders, Harry groped for his wand and cast a simple Breathing Charm on Snape. Immediately, Snape's breathing evened out.
Snape made a soft sound and another attempt to get away, but it was half-hearted and Harry had no trouble keeping him on the sofa.
'Don't get up,' he said. Reaching out, he gathered a blanket and spread it over Snape's thin shoulders. 'Here. Just sit here and calm down. It's all right. You'll see.' He patted Snape's shoulder and made move to get up.
A hand shot out of the tangled robes and grabbed his wrist. For such a thin person, Snape was surprisingly strong. Harry looked down and met panicked eyes. He gave his best, reassuring smile.
'Hey, don't worry. I'm not going away. Just into the kitchen, making a pot of tea. We could use it, don't you think? You just sit here. I'll be back in a moment, and we'll talk some more. Okay?'
Snape stared at him and took a couple of deep breaths. His dark eyes were sharp as he looked up into Harry's face, and again Harry wondered if Snape was trying to use Legilimency. He projected thoughts about tea to the forefront of his mind and kept his reassuring smile steady. After a moment of searching Harry's face, Snape let go of his wrist.
'Okay.' His voice was trying very hard not to be shaky. 'Okay, I, I…'
Harry gave his shoulder a squeeze, but then went into the kitchen without trying to reassure the boy again. It wouldn't help.
In the kitchen, Harry needed only a few, quick flicks of his wand to start the tea preparations. He wasn't all that good with household charms, but preparing tea was one he could do in his sleep. While he arranged teacups, cream and sugar on a tray and waited for the kettle to sing, he kept an ear out, listening for Snape. All was quiet, though, and when he returned a couple of minutes later with the tray floating before him, the boy was huddled on the sofa, the blanket wrapped around him.
'Here.' Harry pulled the small table Hermione had kept on insisting he needed over and placed the tray on it. 'How do you drink your tea?'
Snape blinked at him and then at the teacup Harry held out to him. 'Oh. Sugar. Please.'
Harry added some sugar and handed Snape the cup. 'If you want more sugar, feel free.'
Snape accepted his cup slowly and sipped. 'It's okay, thank you,' he said very politely.
Harry doubted it, but didn't say anything. He simply fixed himself a cup and sat down in his armchair.
After they had sipped their tea in silence - and Harry had kept watching Snape - he spoke up. 'So, you know what happened to you and what brought you here, and I suppose you have a lot of questions.'
Snape stared into his tea. He was quite obviously debating with himself what to ask. Or perhaps whether to ask at all.
'You never said if you were related to James Potter.'
That wasn't quite the question Harry had expected, but he shrugged and answered nevertheless. 'Yes, I was. He was my father.'
Snape looked up. 'Was. He died, then?'
Harry looked at him, searching for something like glee in Snape's face, but there was only wariness.
He nodded. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'He died. A long time ago.' It felt odd to tell Snape. After all, he was directly responsible for the Potters' deaths. Somehow, Harry couldn't blame him any longer, though. After all, Snape's plea to Voldemort for Lily's life had allowed Harry's mother to sacrifice herself for her son - and had, in the end, helped Harry to win.
Snape stared at him so intently that Harry wondered whether he had read Harry's thoughts. The next question came unexpected, nevertheless.
'Your eyes,' Snape said hesitantly. 'I …'
'Oh.' Harry grimaced and suddenly felt a lot more awkward. 'I. Yes, well, I have my mother's eyes.'
Snape's face twisted, crumpled. He looked as if he was about to cry. 'She married him.'
'Yeah.' Harry bit his lip, and then decided he'd better tell Snape, to get it over with. 'She's dead, too. They died the same day. Voldemort killed them.'
At the mention of the name, Snape jumped and grabbed his left forearm. Harry's eyes widened - but so did Snape's. The boy stared down at his arm, pushed up the long sleeve. His forearm was unmarked.
'I … I thought …' he whispered.
He looked so pained and confused it hurt Harry to go on. 'Yeah. Um. You are.'
Snape's head snapped up. 'What?'
'You, your older self, were marked. With Voldemort's Dark Mark.'
Snape's eyes went unfocused. 'I … did it, then. There are … boys in my House who …'
Harry sighed. 'Yeah, you did. You were a Death Eater. But when Voldemort threatened my mum, you went to Dumbledore and, um. Well, told him you'd do whatever he wanted if he kept my mum safe.'
Snape's eyes, wide and afraid, fixed on Harry's face. Harry made himself go on, 'It didn't work, obviously. A close friend of my parents betrayed them to Voldemort, and he found them. He was actually after me, because a prophecy had told him about a child being born with the power to defeat him.' Harry shook his head and pointed to the scar on his forehead. 'He hit me with the Death Curse, but I survived.'
'That's impossible!' Snape burst out. He sat up so suddenly the tea sloshed onto the saucer. 'There is no defence against Avada Kedavra!'
Harry looked down at his hands holding the cup. 'He gave my mother the chance to step aside. But she didn't. And when she died … for me …' He shrugged uncomfortably. 'Dumbledore said that my mum's sacrifice protected me. And I kept only the scar.' He didn't say anything about the Horcruxes. Snape didn't need to know about that.
'Why Dumbledore?' Snape asked after a pause.
'Huh?'
'Why did I go to Dumbledore? To keep Lily safe?'
'Oh.' Harry nodded. 'You wouldn't know that, of course. Um, Dumbledore was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. The Order fought against the Death Eaters. And Dumbledore was known as the only wizard Voldemort was ever really afraid of. So, yeah, you went to him. And he gave you a position at Hogwarts,' Harry went on, anticipating what would probably have been the next question. 'You were the Potions master. That's how I met you, by the way.' He grimaced at the memory.
Snape gaped at him. 'I was a teacher?'
'Yeah.' Harry had to chuckle at the boy's expression. 'Not the career you'd have chosen, was it?'
'No.' Snape snorted. 'Definitely not.'
'What would you've liked to do?' Harry asked, suddenly curious. He had never thought about it before.
Snape eyed him over the rim of his teacup. 'Why do you ask?'
'I'm curious, I suppose. I mean, one of the first things I ever got to know about you was that you were the Potions master but wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. But after the war, you went into private potions brewing.' Harry shrugged. 'I just wondered.'
'Oh.' Snape licked his lips and sipped his tea. He looked a little discomfited. 'I … I want to go to St Mungo's.'
Harry blinked, surprised. 'A Healer?'
'Yeah.' Snape looked up defensively.
Harry blinked some more. 'Oh. Um.' He cocked his head. 'Yeah, actually, I can see that,' he said thoughtfully. 'In sixth year, they seemed to always ask you. Dumbledore, he said something about you saving his life with a potion, I think, but with Leanne, that was probably a spell to stop the curse and-' He stopped, seeing Snape's bewildered face. 'Sorry, just thinking out loud. But, yes, I can see you as Healer.' He grinned. 'You don't have any bedside manner, though.'
Snape narrowed his eyes at him, and Harry sighed. He probably thought Harry was laughing at him. And, most likely, wouldn't believe it if Harry told him otherwise. Harry backtracked the conversation to what they had been talking about before to find a way to go on.
'Um. So, anyway, you were teaching at Hogwarts when Voldemort vanished the first time. Everyone thought he was dead, except Dumbledore. And he was right, of course.'
'What about you?'
'Me?'
'Your … parents had been killed, you said.'
'Oh. Yes.' Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Well, since all of my grandparents were dead, I was given to my only living relative, mum's sister.'
'Tuney?' Snape was incredulous. 'But she hates magic!'
Harry nodded and gripped his cup a little tighter. 'Yes, well, she wasn't all too pleased to be saddled with me.'
Snape's eyes were uncomfortably shrewd. 'I see. She called you a freak, too, did she?'
Harry nodded, surprised. Then he remembered that Snape must have had more contact with Petunia than Harry had seen in his memories. He'd probably seen some of the resentment Petunia had held for the magical world after it had become obvious that she wouldn't be part of it. 'She did. And my uncle, too.'
Snape's face showed an expression of disgusted disbelief. 'She married? Who would have wanted to marry someone like that? Ew.'
Harry was startled into a laugh, and then decided not to try and stifle it. It wasn't nice, laughing at Aunt Petunia. But she had never been nice to him, either.
'Hey, my uncle wasn't a lot better,' he said. 'He thought exactly the same way she did. But he looked like a walrus. And my cousin was even more stupid than my aunt and uncle together, and he looked like a pig! Well,' he amended, 'in the end, Dudley, that's my cousin, kind of redeemed himself. But my uncle was glad I was gone, and I can tell you, I was more than happy to never have to see them again!'
There was that shrewd expression on Snape's face again. He looked as though he understood a lot more than Harry had wanted to say. Well, if his home situation had been anything like the few flashes that Harry had seen in the man's memories and the Pensieve …
'Um, anyway. I left the day I turned seventeen. And besides, I spent most of the year at Hogwarts, so that was all right.'
'Gryffindor, right?' Snape interjected.
Harry felt his hackles rise at the smirk the boy gave him. He could see the adult Snape in that. He reacted the same way he had done as a boy: thoughtlessly.
'Yes, well, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,' Harry snapped. 'But I'd already heard that Voldemort had been in Slytherin, and I didn't want to be in the same House as the murderer of my parents, so, yeah, Gryffindor.'
Snape stared at him. Harry blinked. Whoops. Perhaps he shouldn't have told him that bit about Slytherin. Hastily, Harry went on, 'And anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, now. I've been out of Hogwarts now for longer than I was there, and-'
'Played Quidditch?' Snape interrupted again.
'Yes, I-'
'Seeker?'
Harry growled. 'Yes, yes, all like my father, thank you. You don't have to say it again. I've heard it more than enough from you.'
Snape shrank back a little at the harsh tone. 'So I gathered correctly from my older self's letter to you that I don't like you much,' he said stiffly.
Harry fiddled with the handle of his cup. 'No, you don't like me at all. You loathed my father, and I happen to look a lot like him, so you loathed me on principle, too. And I didn't like you much, either, because you were a perfect arsehole to me right from the beginning.'
Snape's eyes had gone wide at the swearword. He looked cautiously delighted, like a boy who'd been disciplined for using "language" and was delirious at having caught an adult using it.
Harry huffed. 'Yeah, you were an arsehole, so I was an arsehole right back at you. Didn't stop you from saving my life, and more than once, too.'
'I did?' Snape now looked gleeful.
'Yeah. Well, the first time, which was during my first year, so you can see I had a really interesting time at Hogwarts, that first time was because you owed my dad a Life Debt. But you kept saving my life afterwards, too. Um, I think. Well, you more or less told me that it was for my mum's sake.' Harry flushed a little at the white lie. Snape hadn't exactly told him … and if the man had thought that he would survive the war, he'd never have left certain memories in the "secret Pensieve", Harry was sure.
Unfortunately, Snape was sharp enough to see that something didn't match up. 'I told you? Not likely, if I didn't like you that much.'
Harry ran his hand through his hair again. Snape's mouth twitched into a hastily suppressed smile, and Harry thought he could tell what had amused the boy. Stupid hair, sticking up and out.
'Uh, no, you didn't exactly tell me…' he admitted. Chewing on his lip, he thought about what to tell the boy, and then shrugged. The truth, as best as he could, of course. 'Okay, listen. I'll give you the short version of what happened after Voldemort returned.'
Snape sat up, face serious and concentrated. Harry nodded at him.
'So, he came back with the help of the man who betrayed my parents, when I was fourteen," Harry said, and then continued with a very short version of his fifth and sixth years, leaving out Sirius's death. That wasn't something he wanted to discuss. Not then, and not with Snape. When he got to the end of his sixth year, he stumbled. 'Shit, this is going to be difficult."
'Difficult, how?' Snape asked, eyes narrowed. 'And you shouldn't swear in the presence of children.'
'Shove it,' was Harry's snorted reply. 'Difficult because … Well. I don't know how you'll react to it.'
'I did something bad, didn't it?' Snape said quietly. He sat very still.
Harry took a deep breath and told Snape about the events atop the Astronomy tower. Snape was still, silent, and very, very pale. Harry went on, more slowly, 'It was his idea. Dumbledore's.'
'That I kill him?' Snape gasped. His hands shook badly.
Harry nodded. 'Yes, and you didn't like it one bit. You told Dumbledore you wouldn't do it, but he made you do it. Kind of blackmailed you into it.'
Snape blinked. 'W-what?'
'Oh, yes. He said you had promised to do whatever Dumbledore needed you to do, so there. And … and he kept throwing my mum at you. You know, that you'd promised to do anything to keep me safe for her sake, and so on. Well. But the thing is, no one knew at the time you did it.'
Snape's teacup clattered against the saucer, and Harry saw that the boy was shaking all over now. He got over to the sofa, sat down next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Hey, it's okay now. It's over. Everyone knows, now.'
Snape made a little noise like a whimper. Harry took his cup and refilled it, adding more sugar than last time, and made Snape drink the tea. It helped a little. The boy stopped shaking.
'Here, are you all right?' Harry asked.
Snape laughed, but it was choked and sounded more like a sob.
'Okay.' Harry said softly. 'Do you want me to tell you the rest? What happened until Voldemort died? Or would you like to go to bed?'
Snape shook his head quickly. 'No, tell me,' he demanded. 'I want to know …'
Harry nodded and squeezed Snape's shoulder again. The boy leaned into him, just a little. Harry went on, quickly recapping the year of Snape's tenure as headmaster and talking in broad strokes about his own mission until he came to the night of the battle. He had to pause then, to sort through his memories. It had all happened so fast.
Snape didn't urge him on, kept listening silently as Harry told him how he had seen Snape that night and how, intent on killing the man, Harry had followed him.
'But you led me to the Headmaster's room and then kind of vanished.' Harry still remembered his confusion and anger at Snape disappearing like that. 'A hidden door, or something, I don't know. The room was empty. I looked around, saw the Pensieve. It sat right there, on your desk. It was obviously full of memories.'
He paused and rubbed his nose, still a little embarrassed. 'In hindsight I know you set it up for me. Then, I was too angry. Thought I could hurt you, looking into your memories again. So, I poked my head into it and saw a lot of things that I was actually meant to see.
'Dumbledore had given you some last orders for me. You were meant to pass them on close to the end, though how you were meant to do that, I don't know. In the event, I got to know things a little early, but it didn't matter. I got the information and acted accordingly.
'There was a battle. You fought, though no one ever knew on which side. I think you didn't fight on any side but to keep as many students safe as possible. That was when you were hit by that botched curse. Um. I got rid of Voldemort. Oh, I actually told him that you'd been on our side all the time. There were memories in that Pensieve that were … pretty convincing. The memory where Dumbledore ordered you to kill him, too. So, when everything was over and you were found alive, I told the Aurors what I'd seen, and they questioned you under Veritaserum, and then you were cleared. So. That's it.'
Harry looked down at Snape and found the boy watching him. He was still pale, but he'd obviously recovered. And there was that uncomfortably astute look again. Harry had known Snape was clever. Hell, he'd been the Half-Blood Prince! But, somehow, Harry had always associated this cleverness with the adult Snape. Not with the teenaged Snape. Yet here was the boy, clearly a teenager and also clearly hearing a lot of things that Harry hadn't said.
'My older self hadn't thought he'd survive, did he? That was why he let you have the memories?'
Yup, sharp as a knife.
Harry grimaced again and nodded.
Snape stared at him some more but didn't ask any more questions. After a while, he went back to staring into his tea. Harry let him. The boy needed time to think about what he'd heard.
The chiming of the clock in the hall made both of them jump. Harry glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight.
'Okay, late!' he said and got up, flicking his wand at the tray. Snape looked up at him, clearly worried what would happen now. Harry sent the tray to the kitchen before he turned back to the boy. 'So, um. The letter said I was to take care of you. I'll do my best. I promise. But tomorrow we'll think about what happens next. You need rest. And some time to work through all the stuff I just told you. Come on, I'll show you where you'll sleep. Or, that is, would you prefer to sleep here on the sofa?'
Snape blinked. He looked around. He looked at Harry. 'Do you have a guest room?'
Harry grinned and waved at him to follow. 'Not exactly a guest room. It's more an extra room, kind of a study. But there's a bed there. In case one of my friends needs a place to crash.'
Snape followed wordlessly up the narrow, winding staircase to the small room next to Harry's bedroom. Harry opened the door and let him enter.
'It's not much,' he apologised. 'But it is a bed. And you probably won't mind sharing space with my books,' he added with a grin, seeing the boy eye the shelves. There were some of his old textbooks, both from Hogwarts and from Auror training, as well as the remainders of the Black library. Harry had taken the books he wanted to keep when he'd closed up Grimmauld Place and given the rest to the Ministry for safekeeping. Crammed in side by side with ancient tomes on the Dark Arts were the few novels Harry had collected, mostly Muggle and wizarding crime fiction.
'Books are okay,' Snape said absently as he trailed along the shelves that lined two walls. The bed took up a third, and a wardrobe the fourth. Harry went to the wardrobe and got bed linens out. While the boy murmured excitedly over the selection of books, Harry fought to get the bed made. That was a charm he'd never managed, and so he had to do it the Muggle way.
When that was done, Harry took away Snape's book to show the boy the bathroom and where Harry slept. After telling Snape to wake him in case he needed anything, Harry wished him a good night and got ready for bed himself.
There was a lot he had to think about as well.
Notes:
Language disclaimer for the translation: I don't speak Greek, and my Latin has seen better days. I used online dictionaries for the translations.
senescere: verb, to age
exsecratio: noun, curse
chronos: noun, time
epirroi: noun: influence (on)
Day Two
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