10

Chapter Ten

30

Harry's summer developed into an odd sort of routine. Once he finished researching he went back to prep work. At first he was excited that his work didn't involved finely mincing anything, but it turned out bezoar stone was even more difficult to deal with. Snape insisted on only fresh stones, which involved washing stomach acid off before he could begin the process of chopping, which involved something an awful lot like a miniature jackhammer, and behaved as such. It created a giant mess until Harry learned how to deal with it, by which time Snape was very short with him and inquired frequently whether or not Harry wanted to fetch the stones directly from the goats' stomachs himself.

Harry spent Saturdays at the Burrow, insisting that Snape required him to be up absurdly early and that was why he needed to leave by eight. Ron and Hermione would come over for dinner on Wednesdays, during which time Snape would conveniently disappear into his room. It was weird at first, but after a few weeks it was just as normal as the Burrow, or Hogwarts, especially when they discovered Harry's room, and how similar it was to the dorms. Harry didn't bother trying to convince them Snape had done it, and merely shrugged when questioned.

Being a Basilisk wasn't much better than at Hogwarts. He had no pipes to explore, just the basement room. He said nothing, not wanting to inconvenience Snape any further. For the most part he no longer felt guilty about taking up space at Spinner's End, but there was no way to get around the fact that being a giant, deadly snake was awkward.

The solution for how he was to ingest the potion by himself was so obvious and Harry and Snape so embarrassed that they spent the night separately so they wouldn't have to look at each other. Harry was flipping through one of Snape's old potions books, using his wand to turn the page, when it suddenly hit him—he could still use magic in his changed state. With a simple levitation charm he could feed himself.

With that problem taken care of, all their attention was focused on the new potion. When the first try was completed a new obvious problem presented itself, though the answer wasn't nearly as clear as Wingardium Leviosa. There was no way to tell why he wasn't changing: if it was due to the potion or the randomness of his transformations. The only thing Harry enjoyed about this—and he wasn't about to say anything—was that Snape now spent most of his nights in Harry's basement room, rather than the potions lab or his own room. Having the company was a welcome change; while they spent most meals together out of convenience and brewed together because Snape needed ingredients prepped, there was very little actual interaction.

Now they were stuck together again. Not surprisingly the first potion failed, but it gave them a week and a half before Harry changed. There was a lot of chess and a lot of awkward silences. Despite Harry's first impressions of the two rooms prepared for him and Snape's insistence that he was welcome, without the distraction of homework or papers to grade, they were back to square one in terms of their relationship.

After the first change it was back to work. There were bezoar stones to be jackhammered—Snape was convinced that was a key ingredient—Aconite root to be chopped, and a seemingly endless supply of ingredients that needed preparation.

The second potion was finished a month later. It caused Harry to change immediately, which Snape insisted was a good thing. It meant they only needed to reverse the potion, which seemed very difficult to Harry.

The scary part came when he didn't change back. Harry hadn't realized what happened until Snape came down the next morning and let out a litany of swears in Parseltongue. Harry woke up and started whipping around and hissing in panic. What if he was stuck like this forever? What then? Eventually a well-placed freezing charm stopped him, and a flask of calming draught was fed to him. Then another, and another, as it proved much more difficult to sedate a giant snake than a human.

Harry stayed a Basilisk for three days. Snape kept him company the whole time, including sleeping on a couch, leaving only to prepare meals. Harry was touched by this, but he was in a constant state of panic and too occupied with that to fully appreciate it. Snape owled the Burrow cancelling Harry's Saturday visit, informing them they were at a delicate state in their current potion and Harry couldn't be spared. This provoked an angry response from Ron, but Harry was too scared to notice.

He changed back in the middle of the third night. He was so relieved he burst into tears, waking Snape. Harry was curled on the rug in front of the fireplace and Snape rubbed his back, exhibiting the first sign of affection since graduation. Harry slowly came back to himself, and ate the chocolate bar Snape gave him with no argument.

"That was—"

"Don't," Snape interrupted. "It is over, there is nothing to worry about. I have learned much from this, and I am relatively confident it will not happen again."

"Relatively," Harry echoed shakily. "Good to know."

"You know this is a trial and error process," Snape said.

Harry nodded. "I know." Then he yawned, and his body deflated. "Calming draught's still in effect," he said. "Merlin, three days later? How much did you give me?"

"Enough to calm a Basilisk," Snape said, helping him to his feet and setting him on the couch. He covered him with a blanket and brushed the hair off his forehead. "Sleep however long you need. I will begin the next version of the potion on my own." He started to leave, and Harry grabbed his wrist.

"Stay?" Harry asked, eyes already closed. "I got used to you here. What if I turn back? Please stay."

Snape hesitated for a moment. "If you insist." He disentangled himself from Harry and moved to the other couch.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, almost entirely asleep. "Missed this."

Snape was spared having to answer by Harry falling asleep.

31

The third potion took ages. It was delicate, and Harry actually did have to beg out of several dinners to help Snape. The closer it came to the first of September the more tensions mounted, cumulating in Harry throwing a handful of frog brains at Snape, who yelled that he was docking fifty points from Gryffindor. They stared at each other, fuming, and then Harry burst into laughter, and Snape managed a small but genuine smile.

The only break they took was for Harry's birthday. Harry spent the day at the Burrow, feeling awful that he couldn't stay past eight, but insisted the fairy wings needed to be added exactly at five minutes past eight. He apparated back to Spinner's End with a new cauldron all the Weasleys and Hermione had chipped in on—solid gold with a tungsten lining. It was beautiful and practical and more than he could ever have asked for.

He was bursting with excitement to show Snape, and thus didn't immediately notice the setup in the kitchen. He levitated the cauldron in—it was much too heavy to carry—and started to tell him about it before the scene hit, and the cauldron fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

"You have yet to use your new cauldron, and already it is dented," Snape remarked dryly. "You are the pinnacle of grace."

"There's a cake?" Harry asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "The pinnacle of observation as well. It is a cake, a small cake. It has not escaped my knowledge that it is your birthday."

Harry half-sat, half-collapsed into a chair. "Thank you," he said, blowing out the single candle. The cake split itself in half, two plates appeared, and they hovered over to each man. Forks appeared before them, and Harry took the inaugural bite. "Merlin this is good," he mumbled through the cake.

"I am glad you think so," Snape replied.

They ate the cake in silence—it was small, each half perfectly sized. Harry had already had a great deal of cake at the Weasleys, and this was just light, fluffy and small enough not to feel like he was stuffing himself. Harry sighed, and pushed his empty plate away. It hovered over to the sink, washed and dried itself, and put it back in the cupboard.

"So what're we working on tonight?" Harry asked. "I don't suppose it's fairy wings? That's what I told the Weasleys."

"Not until next week," Snape replied, finishing off the last of his cake. "I have work to do, but it is your birthday, and you will take the night off."

Harry sighed. "I don't like taking the night off," he said. "I've told you. It's boring. Spinner's End isn't exactly bustling with activity. Come on, let me help."

"Ungrateful prat," Snape said lightly. It was almost a term of endearment by now. "If you insist, you may use your new cauldron to brew a solution of Oculos Ius."

Harry blinked at him. "Without you?"

"You must learn to do these things yourself," Snape said. "I have prepared exhaustive instructions. You are capable."

"Okay," Harry said, a bit hesitantly. "Sure."

"I suggest stopping by your room before going downstairs," Snape said cryptically. "Your upstairs room, not the one in the basement."

"Um, okay," Harry repeated. "I'll meet you downstairs, then."

"Don't forget to fix that dent before you attempt to brew anything," Snape said as he left. "Dents smaller than yours have caused quite a problem."

"Right."

Snape vanished into the basement, and Harry sent his cauldron down to the basement before going up to his room. There was a small package at the foot of his bed. Harry approached it with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. To say he hadn't expected a gift from Snape was to say he might have a small preference for finding a cure for his condition. He couldn't have been more surprised if—he really didn't know, that was how surprised he was.

There was no note or card, which he expected, as much as he was expecting anything. There was a small box, and inside was a two-by-four inch hinged frame, and in that was a tiny portrait of Dumbledore, who smiled up at him.

"D-Dumbledore?" Harry stammered.

"Hello, Harry," the portrait said happily. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Harry said dumbly. "I thought you were at Hogwarts?"

"There are many portraits I frequent," Dumbledore replied. "Severus requested I add this frame to my rotation."

"Oh," Harry said, still feeling very behind on what was going on. "It's good to see you, Professor."

"You, as well," Dumbledore said. "I am very glad to see you and Severus are getting along so well."

Harry shifted awkwardly. "Yes, well, turns out I like potions," he said. Even now, with a portrait only a few inches tall, he could feel his piercing blue eyes and was sure Dumbledore knew he was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth.

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll let you go back to it, then. I'm sure I will see you again soon."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Have a good night."

Dumbledore tipped his head at Harry, and walked out the side of the frame. Harry continued to stare at the now blank portrait for a few moments before closing the frame. He tucked it safely into his sock drawer, and went down to the basement. He had no idea what to say to Snape so he settled on nothing, instead investigating the dent in his new cauldron and repairing it. He was about to ask where to put it when he saw a new table against one wall, empty except for a scroll.

"Instructions for Oculos Ius," Snape said before Harry had a chance to ask. "The bench is yours."

"Thank you," Harry said, setting up his cauldron and gathering the ingredients from the apothecary. "And, y'know, thanks for the portrait."

"Alert me immediately if your potion at any point fails to look as it should," Snape replied, disregarding the thank you entirely. "You must be very careful. It would not be wise to experiment accidentally."

"Of course," Harry said, and got to brewing.

The distraction of his birthday over, and his first successful batch of Oculos Ius made, all focus returned to the new potion. The week before the first of September Snape owled Hogwarts and informed them he was in the middle of preparing a particularly volatile potion and could not return for at least a week. Harry didn't say anything, but he was both amazed and grateful that Snape would take off work to finish his potion, especially with the angry owls from Minerva.

The potion was finished Wednesday, and Harry tried it that night. It was another case of waiting around for nothing to happen, though this time Snape once again had grading; he was teaching his class from home, giving papers and grading even more harshly than usual. Harry sat around twiddling his thumbs. Occasionally he'd go upstairs and talk to Dumbledore, who always seemed to know when to appear, but their conversations never went beyond pleasantries, not with Harry's condition.

Friday night Snape informed him that he needed to return to his teaching position on Monday. Harry wasn't thrilled to be going back to the Chamber of Secrets, but he was looking forward to being an apprentice, whatever exactly that meant. Hopefully it would provide him with a steady workload, which he was sorely lacking.

32

Harry spent Sunday running back and forth between his basement room and his upstairs room, trying to pack both simultaneously. He was also bringing his cauldron, which he left by the front door so he wouldn't forget it. He hadn't put on shoes yet, just socks, and Snape had hardwood floors. He sprinted down the stairs, suddenly remembering where he had left the portrait of Dumbledore, and when he stepped off the last stair he slid forward uncontrollably, slamming into the cauldron and collapsing on the floor, cursing angrily.

Snape calmly stepped out of the sitting room. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes," Harry muttered angrily, massaging his shins. "Yeah, I'm fine. Would it kill you to keep your floor less polished?"

"Apparently it might prevent your death," Snape replied. "Are you nearly finished? I would like to be at Hogwarts in time for dinner."

"Yeah," Harry said, standing up and wincing slightly. "I was just getting Dumbledore's portrait, and then I'm ready."

Snape nodded. "We have a stop to make before we leave. When you have finished slamming around, and once you remember to put your shoes on, come fetch me. I will be in the sitting room."

Harry looked after him, intrigued. Whatever this was, it was new. He grabbed the portrait, wrapped it carefully in a sock and stuck it in his trunk. He put on his shoes—obviously, he wasn't that dull—and hovered his luggage downstairs, setting it next to his cauldron.

"I'm ready," he called, sticking his head into the sitting room. "Where're we going?"

"You will see," Snape said cryptically. "Leave your belongings here, we are not going far and will come back for them."

"Okay," Harry said and, with great surprise, followed Snape out the front door. He didn't think they had walked anywhere together; when shopping needed to be done they'd apparate to Diagon Alley, and the only time they had been outdoors together was an occasional respite in the back yard, which was rather scraggly. Snape had enchanted the local field so Harry could fly, but that was in the other direction. Harry bit his lip against again asking where they were going; it would only irritate Snape.

As they walked the houses slowly became brighter and larger with lush green lawns and cheerful flowerbeds, very different from Spinner's End. They stopped at an unremarkable intersection, and Harry watched as Snape visibly collected himself.

"This way," he said, turning right, leading Harry down Gail Glen. They walked to the very end of the street where it dead-ended into a gently sloping field.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

Snape turned to face the house they were in front of, and Harry examined it. Two stories, light blue, with a large picture window on the first floor. There was an overhang sheltering the front door, and a small, single story wing on the right side. A small bank of narrow windows rose from the roof, and off to one side was a chimney. It was okay, but Harry didn't see anything special about it.

"Snape?" he asked, prodding gently.

"This is—was—your mother's house," Snape said, voice sounding choked and restrained. "The Evans house."

Harry's eyes widened and a powerful sense of—of something washed over him. His mum's house. Where she had grown up. Which bedroom had been hers? Did she look out onto the street, or into the back yard? Harry thought it would be easy to slip onto the overhang from the middle window on the second floor—had she done that? Or sat on the safer, flat roof of the extension? Had his dad ever come here? Did he kiss her goodnight by the front door? Harry hadn't realized he was feeling faint until Snape firmly grabbed his upper arm.

"Perhaps I made a mistake bringing you here," Snape said, almost apologetically.

"No," Harry said. His voice sounded far away, and he shook himself. "No, I'm glad you did."

"I did not spend much time here; Petunia made it—unpleasant." Harry nodded absently. "Every now and then I would sneak over at night and we would sit in the attic—that row of windows at the top—and stay up talking."

"About magic?" Harry asked. That's what he had seen from Snape's memories; then again, he hadn't seen his mum's house at all.

"Not mostly, no," Snape replied. "We would talk about what nine year olds usually talk about. Who was mean at school. Which teacher assigned the least amount of homework. Our favorite books. I believe Lily's were The Chronicles of Narnia."

My mum had favorite books, Harry thought numbly. She read them here. In her house.

"I thought—" Harry cleared his throat. "Your memories, you talked about magic."

Snape nodded. "Are you ready to move on?"

"Which was her room?" Harry asked. "Which window?"

"It faced the backyard," Snape replied. "The right corner room on the other side of the hallway."

Harry wanted to go in, wanted to so badly he had to keep his feet in mind at all times in case he started walking. Instead he spared one last glance at his mum's house, memorizing the address. 16 Gail Glen, Cokeworth, England. "Okay," he said. "We can go."

Snape started down the slope, and Harry suddenly realized where they were; it was the field Petunia had run up after Lily made the flower appear in her hand. Once they were on the grass Harry could see the field ended at a lake, the one from his window in Snape's basement. And there, there was the dead tree where Snape and his mum first met, and the little peninsula with the willow tree where Snape had turned leaves into birds. Harry almost had to stop, but Snape was walking quickly and he didn't want to fall behind. He led them to the break in the trees where he had once laid in the grass with Lily.

"This is where we talked about magic," Snape said. "Here, and by the dead tree on the hill."

"I saw," Harry said quietly. He plucked a leaf from the tree and watched as it flew away. "Did you spend a lot of time here?"

"Yes."

Harry sat in the grass, looking out over the landscape he had seen so often from his room, the view that was permanently etched into his mind of his mum and Snape as children. Snape sat next to him, but he hardly noticed. He didn't know he was crying, either, until a late summer breeze whispered over his face, cooling the tears. He wiped them away unthinkingly.

"I'm sorry my dad was such an arse," Harry said. "I know why my mum stopped talking to you, when you called her that and said you were going to be a Death Eater, but maybe if it weren't for my dad…" He didn't know what. Maybe they would have stayed friends. Maybe Snape would have been a part of his life long before they were forced together. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"It is of no use to think of such things," Snape said. "Coming here is not wise, either, but I thought you might want to see it outside of an enchanted window or a memory. Remember that lingering in the past cannot lead to anything good."

Harry nodded, but he didn't get up, and neither did Snape. He rubbed his eyes, willing himself to stop crying. "I wish—"

"No," Snape interrupted. "Don't."

Harry nodded distractedly. "Yeah, okay."

Snape hesitantly rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry leaned against him, not really thinking about it. He wasn't here with the hated and feared Professor Snape; he was here with Severus, his mum's friend.

"Snape—" he started again.

"Don't," Snape repeated softly.

Harry nodded again. "I have to go now."

"A good decision."