- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Characters:
- Harry Potter Severus Snape
- Genres:
- General Drama
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 01/31/2004Updated: 07/22/2005Words: 484,149Chapters: 73Hits: 73,081
Resonance
Salamander
- Story Summary:
- Snape adopts Harry in this story that stretches from the end of year six until Harry starts his Auror apprenticeship. Harry defeats Voldemort and has to deal with not only with his now greatly increased fame, but also with some odd, disturbing skills he inherited from the Dark Lord. Both he and Snape fumble around trying for some kind of family normalcy, which neither one is very knowledgeable of. Harry survives his seventh year at Hogwarts with a parent as a teacher and starts his training as an Auror.
Chapter 12
- Chapter Summary:
- Harry throws a small birthday party in the Great Hall. The pile of presents from his admirers is daunting but not as much so as the one he receives from Professor Snape.
- Posted:
- 04/02/2004
- Hits:
- 1,165
Chapter 12 - The Offer
Days past. Harry ignored the Prophet--he had no desire to read the other side of the interview with Skeeter. He learned how to charm parchment to do some interesting things, but he didn't know how the Map knew where everyone was. He'd made a copy of the physical part of the Map with his additions and even gave it modes where it showed just a normal map of the school with the current classrooms labelled or with an additional charm, it showed the secret passages, including the one to the Chamber of Secrets that Harry also realized the old Map lacked.
He made two more copies and sent them off to Ron and Hermione, feeling anxious about their replies after he did so.
His friends didn't reply by the next day, making Harry realize that he needed something else to occupy himself. There weren't any potions to work on. Bored, Harry wandered the castle and the bailey. He wondered if he should start up a new hobby, like sketching, or violin, or anything. The bailey was too small for much flying which was a shame as the weather was beautiful, but then again the sun was shining like this the day Voldemort showed up. If the Ministry would just catch the remaining Death Eaters, he could go flying again around the much larger outer grounds.
Feeling frustrated and caged, Harry sat beside the fountain and rolled up his sleeves to get some sun. He tried to imagine what Voldemort’s remaining followers were doing right now. They didn’t seem particularly close in his dreams. He hoped that meant they didn’t have any good plans after the Dementor one failed so brilliantly.
That night, Harry woke jarringly, shaking with chills. He jerked the drapes aside and turned up the lamp. His breathing sounded harsh and urgent in his ears. The sight of the curved walls of the dormitory calmed him somewhat. He pulled his legs against his chest and hugged them while he waited for the remainder of his distress to fade.
Remembering Pettigrew's falsetto words of reassurance from the dream, he started shaking again. Wormtail had been leaning over him, stroking his forehead about where his scar was. Harry felt a bit as though vomiting might improve his stomach. He grabbed his robe and shrugged into it as he stumbled down the steps. The Fat Lady slammed closed as he stepped out into the corridor.
By the time he made it to the boy's toilet, his stomach had calmed even though his shivering hadn't. He ran the water hot and held his hands under it a while before washing his face. Feeling better, he walked back to the common room and sat on the couch. The clock read three-thirty. The room was utterly silent. Harry really wished he had someone to talk to, as he wondered tiredly what had brought on this new dream. He toyed with the notion of going to Dumbledore, but the thought of him coming to his office door with an expression like McGonagall's dissuaded him.
When his eyes tried to fall closed, he went back up to his dormitory room, took a large sip of potion, and crawled back into bed.
Harry woke when the light came through the window since his drapes hadn't gotten reclosed. He got up, fuzzy-headed, thinking that a bath sounded like a treat, and that he would have to do it before the day heated up, or it wouldn't be as pleasant.
Harry's bath made him late for breakfast. As a result, everyone finished before him. Sprout and Hagrid hovered a bit over coffee before moving on and leaving him alone. The Hall became as quiet as the common room had the night before.
Harry wished in vain for some kind of distraction, but the day oozed by slowly, mind-numbingly.
That night, Harry took the potion before lying down at ten. Early, but then sleep was what he wanted most. Exhaustion pulled him easily into sleep as he snuggled down between the covers.
Harry was cold--so cold he could barely move. He looked around himself groggily. The air was foul and dank. He was looking at the edge of something woven, like a basket or a coarse sack. Eventually, a figure approached and reached out to him. It was Pettigrew again. Harry tried to jerk away and managed to turn his head. It made him dizzy to do so. A hand stroked his forehead as Pettigrew chanted vague phrases of comfort. Harry jerked away from the hand again and caught sight of thick snake coils surrounding him.
With a cry of surprise, Harry tumbled out of bed. He crawled, gasping, to the center of the floor on clumsy limbs that felt alien to him. He huddled there and waited for the panic to ease. His stomach rebelled. He swallowed hard several times since he didn't feel capable of making it down to the toilet.
When he finally came to himself, he looked at the clock which read four-forty-five. Almost morning. In fact, the sky looked to already be brightening. The thought of imminent daylight and company at breakfast soothed his rattled nerves enough to give him strength to get off the floor.
Harry sat through breakfast in near silence, giving one syllable replies to Hagrid's attempts at conversation. As badly as Harry longed for company, he didn't actually want to participate in it. He also wasn't very hungry, although he drank a lot of coffee. Harry was still pushing his scramble around on his plate when everyone else got up to leave. He peered into his empty coffee cup, only vaguely aware of the movement around him.
At the door to the Great Hall, Dumbledore paused to look back at Harry, who sat with unusually bad posture on the far end of the long table. The headmaster stepped out and let the door close. "Severus," he said to the retreating backs of his teachers. When Snape turned, Dumbledore gestured with a tilt of his head that he should return.
Snape came back down the steps and over to the old wizard. Dumbledore said quietly, "Talk to the boy; something is bothering him unusually so." When Snape raised a brow in surprise, Dumbledore added, "I am not unaware where Harry has been spending most of his time."
Snape huffed. "Why do you not speak to him?"
The old wizard sighed as his gaze focused beyond the wall. "Because he will not have me to rely on forever." He tossed his head at the door to the Great Hall to urge Snape back in.
Snape shook his head, pushed his hair back and opened the door. Potter still sat near the far end of the Hufflepuff table, looking more forlorn than usual. He didn't stir as Snape approached. Frowning at his own discomfort, Snape sat on the bench beside Harry, facing outward.
It required nearly a minute to conjure up words and an appropriate tone of voice. "Did something happen?" he asked factually.
Harry jumped lightly as though, as unlikely as it seemed, he didn't realize Snape was there. Harry cleared his throat and replied, "Potion stopped working."
"It does not completely eliminate dreaming, that is why it is safe to take regularly," Snape explained. "Are the shadows moving in?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
Harry shook his head. "Different dream." He didn't elaborate.
Snape watched the boy's hands rubbing over each other as though to warm them, even though the Hall temperature was quite comfortable. "Does this other dream lead you to believe that you are in danger?" he asked, being as specific as possible.
Harry considered that before he shook his head.
"If it does, you will inform someone immediately?" Snape half asked, half ordered.
"Yes," Harry replied faintly. He hadn't looked up from his plate that was barely touched.
"The dream has removed your appetite?"
Harry nodded and swallowed hard as though to demonstrate his nausea.
Snape stood, having run out of issues to discuss. He watched Harry push his plate back to make room for his elbows on the table. The boy put his head on his hands, looking rather defeated. Snape departed, unwilling to probe further.
Dumbledore came by Snape's office about an hour later. "You spoke with Harry?" he prompted.
Snape put down the crate of marble blocks he was sorting through for student spell practice. Many were cracked or had serious burn marks. "He is suffering from a new nightmare."
"Did he tell you what was in it?"
"No, and I didn't pry. Unless it is critical to, it seems unnecessary," Snape went on, although he felt a bit like he was post-justifying.
Dumbledore stepped over to the desk. "I am concerned the dream represents some real danger to him."
Snape replied, "I asked that specifically. He says it does not."
"Hm," Dumbledore muttered as he picked up one of the cracked blocks of pure white marble and examined it.
Snape commented, "I think if we are willing to trust his retelling, we should be willing to trust his interpretation."
Dumbledore set the block back down. "I want you to keep an eye on him for the next few days."
Snape studied the headmaster a little suspiciously. "Meaning?"
"Speak to him if this continues. Check on him, make certain he is sleeping, because clearly he is not."
Snape blinked in surprise and gave Dumbledore a dismayed look.
"Severus," Dumbledore said congenially, "it is very little to ask, especially compared to what has been asked of you in the past. I have worked hard to keep him unattached to me. Now, when my immediate future is even less certain, I do not wish to tether him to me more than he has managed on his own."
With a frown, Snape turned away to pick up another crate of blocks to sort. Dumbledore hovered a moment, as though to verify Snape wasn't going to protest further, before he departed.
The dream woke Harry just after midnight, which wasn't suprising considering he'd crawled into bed at nine. He stumbled from the room again, unable to not satifsy his urge to flee, if only from one room to another. The common room was its usual silent self as he dropped onto the couch. He stared at the book shelves and wondered what he was going to do.
It was two when Professor Snape headed up to the Gryffindor Tower. As he approached the end of the dark corridor where the portrait guarded the entrance, he huffed his annoyance at this task. The house passwords were all set identically for the summer and the Fat Lady opened to Periwinkle. As he stepped into the common room and eyed the staircases to the dormitories, it occured to him that he didn't even know which floor the boy slept on. There were only seven floors to search, he thought in further annoyance.
It wasn't until he stepped across the room that he noticed the figure in striped pyjamas curled on the couch before the empty hearth. He turned one of the lamps up slightly and considered the still form. At least Potter was asleep--that simplified his task, but it was a tense sleep, not normal and probably not restful. The boy even appeared to be shivering although the room certainly wasn't cold. As well, the crocheted throw pillow his head rested on would have only seemed comfortable to a monk from an exceptionally strict order.
Snape surveyed the room. The houses all had spare bedding accessible somewhere. He tried one of the wardrobes--it contained games and sundries random. The next one had games as well but the top shelves had pillows and blankets. He pulled down one of each.
Using a transpose spell to avoid disturbing Potter's sleep, he swapped the pillows before covering him. Potter still shivered. Snape was beginning to be somewhat curious what this dream was. He went to the hearth and opened the flue before lighting the logs that were stacked decoratively on the grate. The room didn't need the heat to his senses, but the fire would provide more than one kind of warmth.
Harry woke up early the next morning. His first thought was that his memory of leaving his bed again must be mistaken as his head was on a very soft pillow. That was, until he opened his eyes and saw the common room. He fingered the blanket and noticed the black remains of a pile of logs glowing in the hearth. Sitting up and scratching his head, he wondered at that. If Dumbledore or McGonagall had come in, they'd simply have woken him and sent him back to his bed, he was certain. Maybe Dobby had done it, he considered, or one of the other house-elves. He stretched and, feeling better than he had the morning before, he went down to wash up.
At breakfast no one paid him any more attention than usual, leading him to assume the house-elves had bedded him down. He relaxed at that notion and forced himself to eat enough to cover the burn in his queasy stomach.
Harry wandered the castle most of the day, because if he sat still he felt chilled and sick again. His friends’ replies arrived and out in the sunshine, on a bench beside the keep, he read them. They were impressed with the maps. Hermione offered a few possible ways the Marauder’s Map knew where everyone was although she had to admit they were unlikely to really work. Ron was visiting his brother in London and his letter had a return address there. He described a little of what he'd seen in the city in a way that made it clear he was holding back hard to not make Harry feel bad.
A chill overtook Harry at that moment. He folded the letters haphazardly and stuffed them into his pocket as he stood up to walk around the bailey perimeter yet again.
That evening, exhaustion drove Harry to his bed. Nothing short of nodding off in the library three times in a row could have done it. He took a sip of potion before pulling the covers up with painful reluctance.
His unease was more than justified. His dream this time was a confused blur of bloody white fur, animal panic, and an odd gulping swallowing of something still struggling ever so slightly, although part of him seemed to find that quite satisfying.
Harry fell down the steps to the common room and immediately vomited the little dinner he'd eaten. He rubbed his mouth on his pyjama sleeve and suppressed the sob that tried to follow.
"Potter?" a voice asked as someone stepped in through the portrait hole. Harry looked up in surprise as Snape turned up one of the table lamps before coming over to him. "You are unwell. Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey."
Harry managed with some assistance to get to his knees. "No, it's the dream," he explained as another bout of shivering overcame him. Snape pulled out his wand and Scourgified the mess before stepping away. Harry watched him step straight to the corner wardrobe and pull down a blanket. Surprise at the implication of that erased Harry's fear. Dazed, he let himself be wrapped up and pulled to his feet.
Harry stepped toward the portrait hole and out, with Snape keeping a grip on his arm for support. Harry insisted on stopping at the toilet.
As he leaned on the sink to wash up, Snape said, "You are certain you are not ill?"
"It's just the dream," Harry insisted. He bent down, washed his face, and rinsed his mouth before washing the edge of his left sleeve. As usual, the warm water was a blessed relief to his panic. Finished, he finally had to turn it off. He glanced at his dripping face in the mirror and shivered again, despite the warmth of the room and the steam still rising from the basin. He tugged the blanket tighter around himself and held it with his left hand. He felt dizzy so he leaned heavily on his right, propped on the sink edge.
"She's cold," Harry explained. "He doesn't know to keep her warm."
Beside him, Snape straightened and said in a very serious tone, "To whom are you referring?"
Harry closed his eyes with a whinge and replied, "Nagini."
Snape grabbed Harry's arms and steered him to the bench along the wall where he sat him down. Crouched before him, Snape said, "Occlude your mind, Potter. Now."
In a tired voice, Harry said, "I've been trying--I can't."
"Look at me," Snape ordered.
Harry raised his eyes to his teacher's unnaturally dark ones.
Snape said, "Put your emotion aside, Potter. You know how to do this. Force her out."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know if it's me or her."
"It does not matter," Snape said in a sharp tone. "The result is the same."
Harry forced himself above the sickening fear. He organized his thoughts with no little effort, concentrating on the discomfort the tight grip Snape caused his left wrist. Like a switch being pulled, the second existence went away. Harry blinked in surprise, fearful it was just going to come back again in the next moment. After a minute of relief, his shoulders fell as he relaxed.
"Better?" Snape asked snidely.
Harry nodded and accepted the towel that was handed to him. He dried off his face and patted down his damp sleeve. With a hint of impatience, Snape held Harry's arm out and used a drying spell on it.
"Thanks," Harry muttered. He'd left his wand beside his bed and he wasn't very good at that spell anyway.
"You should return to your dormitory," Snape commented.
Feeling almost himself. Harry stood up, hugging the blanket to himself for moral support.
As he escorted Harry back to the Gryffindor common room, Snape said, "Do not fall asleep without Occluding your mind first."
Harry nodded and stopped at the base of the stairs to the boy's dormitory. "Thank you, sir," he said honestly.
Snape didn't reply beyond tilting his head to the side.
Harry’s previous uneasiness around Snape returned with a vengence. He delayed going down to breakfast so that he would have to sit on the close end which was usually where Hagrid, Sprout, and Filch sat. Through breakfast he occupied himself with steering a reluctant Hagrid toward the topic of wombats, and avoided looking over at the occupants on the end of the table.
Feeling better than he had in days, Harry went back to his reading about parchment spells. Several times he thought of taking a break and checking if Snape needed help with anything; each time he vetoed the idea immediately.
Occluding his mind before falling asleep worked well to keep his mind from wandering, and after a few days, he didn’t even have to think about it consciously. Safely separated from the horror of it, he thought back to the dreams to try to remember if there were any clues to Pettigrew’s location. Other than being in a cellar, he couldn’t recall any.
Harry fell back to his previous routine, fearing that he was going to spend the entire summer at Hogwarts. Pettigrew didn't seem to think he was in any danger, which didn't give Harry much hope. His notions of visiting Ron in London or the Burrow were now seeming to be only so much fantasy.
At dinner one evening the next week, Dumbledore observed, "It is almost your birthday, Harry."
Harry glanced up at that and thought about it. It was July eighteenth. A month of the summer was gone already.
"I think perhaps a small party is in order," Dumbledore continued. "Why don't you invite a few close friends--not as many as I invited last time if you please. You can have the Great Hall for that evening."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, feeling a bit honored by the offer. "I'll do that.”
Harry used one of his new parchment spells to make up invitations. At first he was going to make them very elaborate, then decided all that showed was he had way too much time on his hands. He went instead with a simple animated flourish at the bottom.
Hermione wrote back the next day, accepting his invitation and asking if she could bring her parents as Ron was bringing his whole family and she wanted them to meet again. She also made some suggestions about his new Map and thought it was coming along nicely.
Harry wrote again to Neville, telling him to bring his grandmum. Neville replied the next day, sounding surprised to be invited, which made Harry think he needed to try harder with his shy friend.
The day before Harry's party arrived. He got up early and asked McGonagall to take him to Hogsmeade to get favors. She seemed to have much less to do now that they had all been there for over a month.
As they entered Honeyduke's, someone gasped and everyone turned to stare. Harry put his head down and looked around the shelves, determined to not be affected. He was uninspired though. Up at the counter he said to the clerk, "Anything new and interesting? I need party favors."
The lady in a pink striped apron said, "We have you on a chocolate frog card."
"Newer than that," Harry said, trying to sound easy-going. "A little tacky to hand those out at your own party."
"There isn't anything newer than that. And I'd hand them out at my party, especially if they had me on them. Oh, except these." She pulled out a box of red, shiny-wrapped sweets. "The wrapper is grain and sugar, so you can eat that. And inside each is different. All of them are fruit flavored and they turn your eyes the color of that fruit. Low-key, but tasteful."
She rang him up for those and as he reached for his package, she said, "Can you sign this for me?" as she held up his chocolate frog card. "Headmaster Dumbledore signed his," she pointed at the card pinned behind a sheet of glass on the wall behind her. Harry had never noticed it there and it looked like it had been there a while, given the amount of dust on the glass.
Harry shrugged and she happily slid the card over to him as well as handed him a never-out quill. When he gave it back, she stared at it a long moment before smiling at him and turning to slip it behind the glass next to Dumbledore's.
Late that evening, Harry stepped into the Great Hall in search of a snack, and stopped just inside the doorway. A massive pile of presents had been stacked on a table near the fire. Since it was his birthday coming up, he feared they were all for him.
"A bit startling, isn't it?" Snape's voice came from behind him.
"Those aren't for me, are they?"
Snape ignored the question and stepped over to the table. "I believe Professor Sprout has been intercepting the owls bringing these over the last week. The piles are sorted into people you might know . . ." He picked up a long narrow box. "Such as Victor Krum. And complete strangers." He gestured at the larger pile on the end.
Harry gaped at the varied and colorful packages. Some of the wrapping had wizard pictures on it with little moving scenes. "Well," Harry said quietly, "this makes up for a lot of birthdays with absolutely no presents." He reached out and picked up a strangely shaped box with maroon and gold wrapping. Curious, he shook the thing and then glanced at the tag. Alarmed, he set it back down gingerly at full arm's length.
"What is it?" Snape asked.
"Fred and George," Harry said and breathed out in relief when nothing untoward sprang out of it.
"I would imagine that nearly everything a seventeen-year-old wizard could want is somewhere in this assortment."
"Yep," Harry agreed, trying to keep the restlessness from his voice as he eyes roamed the pile. Some of the larger boxes from total strangers worried him. Fortunately, none of them appeared to have air holes. He stepped around to the other side, stopping beside Snape. "Do I have to write thank you notes for all of these?" Harry wondered aloud.
In his driest voice, Snape replied, "Having never faced this dilemma, I do not know. Perhaps if Mr. Lockhart were here, he could tell you."
"Having spent detentions helping him answer his mail, I think I know what his answer would be." Harry sighed. The presents felt like a burden now. Like a pale substitute for something more meaningful.
"There is perhaps one thing you still wish for that is not here," Snape stated as he picked up a silver-wrapped box, looked it over casually, and set it down again. Harry looked up at him in question as he went on, "A home besides this castle, perhaps?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
Snape put his hands behind his back and appeared to bolster himself with a small frown. "It is not too late to be adopted, for example."
Harry laughed lightly. "Oh, you mean those twenty-seven offers of adoption McGonagall sorted through?"
"There were that many?" Snape asked sharply.
With a shrug Harry replied, "More than last time, according to her. She thinks it's because I'm less hazardous now. I'd like to think that's not true," he added, a little put upon. He looked over the piles again and sighed faintly.
"Don't want to take any of them up on their offer?" Snape asked.
Harry shot him a look of humored disbelief. "Not really."
Snape took a half step closer. "Any particular reason?"
"I don't know any of them . . ." Harry stopped. His brow furrowed as he tried to find words to explain. He couldn't deny that, in a fanciful moment or two, he'd entertained the notion of being adopted by Lord Frelander, if only because it would mean hanging out on a nice estate instead of here at the castle for the rest of the summer. In reality the idea was awkward and strange, and he sensed that it wouldn't really address that deeply buried longing. With his hands Harry gestured that he couldn't explain.
"What if someone you knew very well wished to?" Snape asked evenly. "Someone who understands what has happened to you over the last six years."
Harry hesitated answering. Thinking about it meant opening up those buried memories again and since his life didn't depend on it, he really didn't want to. It threatened only to breathe new life into that tangle inside him. They both stood in silence for a long minute. Finally, Snape stepped closer still, making Harry look way up at him.
Quietly, Snape said, "Myself, for instance."
Harry blinked at him. "What?" he asked loudly. The question echoed in the vast Hall.
"I think we know each other rather well," Snape commented easily.
After a long stare of disbelief, Harry said, "You aren't joking--are you, sir?"
"Have you ever known me to joke?"
"Not about something like this." Harry thought about it more. "Maybe not at all. No, that's not true," Harry corrected himself. He was scrambling for time to think. "I thought you hated me," he said.
Snape straightened at that. "Have I given you that impression at all in the last three months?"
"Uh, no. I guess not." He swallowed hard. "I don't . . . You . . ."
Snape backed up a step and put up his hand to halt Harry's speech. "You certainly don't have to answer now. And there is no time limit on your answer."
"I'm seventeen tomorrow; isn't that a litle old to be adopted?" Harry commented negatively.
"By wizard law, one can be adopted up to the age of financial independence, considered to be the average age to finish an apprenticeship, which is twenty."
"You've, uh, researched this," Harry observed. Snape returned a look that said, of course. Harry stared at him again, trying to slow his fast circling thoughts. "You are seriously offering this?"
"I have been thinking it over since the end of last term."
Harry frowned and stated darkly, "This is Dumbledore's idea."
Snape held up one finger. "His idea, but not his instruction. He made himself very clear on that point. And I admit, the idea was . . . quite startling at first."
"But he talked you into it," Harry suggested quietly.
Snape suddenly stepped forward again. "You talked me into it, Mr. Potter," he said sharply, stunning Harry. "Everytime I, rather surprisingly, looked forward to your company in the dungeon. Everytime I showed you a spell and, no matter how complicated it was, you required only at most three or four tries to produce a reasonable replication of it, and I would think to myself how proud any wizard parent would be of you."
Harry dropped his eyes to the stone floor as the gap inside himself twisted around like a snake.
Snape went on, "I do not offer this simply out of gratitude, in case you think that true." Harry continued to stare at the floor and didn't respond. Softly, Snape said, "Consider it, Harry. You certainly know where to find me." With that, he turned and stepped away.
Harry felt a bit like he did staring down at Voldemort's body, as though someone had taken his heart out and haphazardly put it back in upside down. He stood in the vacant Great Hall for a long time, watching the flames make his shadow flicker across the uneven floor.
Author notes: Next: Chapter 13 -- Acquiescing