Chapter Text
Harry looked up at the high table at the end of the hall, where Professor Quirrel sat beside a pale woman with black hair, a hooked nose, and an expression that read she was anything but pleased with her neighbor. He felt like he'd seen her before somewhere, though her features were distinct enough he didn’t think he’d forget them easily enough. But the niggling feeling in the back of his mind of recognition didn’t go away.
“Hey, who's that – next to Quirrel?” Harry asked Ron, who glanced up from his plate.
“That’s Professor Snape, Potions.” Percy Weasley cut in very curtly, looking where Harry was. “Normally I’d say to watch out for her…but I’ve heard she’s been rather easy going so far this year. For Snape, anyway.”
“She looks a bit nicer too. New robes, and I dare say she very nearly smiled earlier.” Fred added, with a grin to his brother. Harry hadn't seen anything he'd call anything but a scowl. “Bit of a… glow about her, eh?”
“That's just the grease.” George piped in with a chortle. “Can you imagine, though? Snape with a beau?”
The boys laughed for a bit, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her – when she turned to look in his direction, something felt wrong. Her eyes were black, not much shined through, but Harry got the distinct impression she was worried about something.
His scar stung.
The first time Harry had Potions class, he wasn't quite certain what to expect – he definitely wasn’t expecting to be called on immediately. After a few rapid fire questions Harry didn't know remotely anything about, Professor Snape’s expression shifted. It was a bit softer than the initial accusatory tone she'd had. He'd felt like she was angry with him before, but it had faded away.
“You, Mister Potter, and all your classmates have been born into a dangerous world. The last ten years have been peaceful, but it has been a false peace. Regardless of if you were born to a Pure Blood families, if you’re a half blood, or born to muggles; the world as you know is about to change.” The room was quiet as the grave, except a shallow gulp was audible from Neville.
“Without proper guidance, instruction, you will find yourself helpless as an adults. You will be left in the dark, but the questions you don't have the answers to will be life or death. It's my job to see to it that by the time you dunderheads graduate, you can answer any question before I’ve asked them.” Snape made eye contact with Harry specifically, and while he felt the weight of her stare, no pain accompanied it.
Both Gryffindor and Slytherin students looked at one another in confusion. Neither of them were expecting this. Even Malfoy looked a bit paler than usual, turning to his friends to whisper.
“Now,” Snape said sharply, moving back to her desk with a wave of her sleeve. “You're never too young to learn how to brew a healing potion, and it’s remarkably hard to screw up – though I’m sure you’ll all manage.”
Neville, of course, got injured. He began to break out in boils, to which he got briefly chided for.
“Foolish boy,” Snape hissed under her breath, but stopped class to send him to Pomfrey’s. “I hope the rest of the class is paying attention, because I never want to see this mistake made again!”
Harry began to get the impression that her reputation may have been a bit flawed. She was a bit scary, sure, but he thought he may actually enjoy this class in the end.
While trying to look for books on Nicolas Flamel in the restricted section under cover of cloak, Harry stumbled onto an odd scene. Outside, he saw a figure in black walking out across the grounds, to where another shadow waited by the whomping willow – which was unusually still.
Harry made his way down stairs and across the grass, getting as close as he could. They wouldn't be able to see him anyway, so Harry thought he was safe. It didn't take long to recognize Professor Snape, both in tone and posture. Her arms were crossed, and she didn't sound thrilled. The other figure was a man, maybe a bit older than her, with scars across his face.
“-but I know what I felt, what I've heard.” Snape said sharply. “It isn't safe to have him at Hogwarts.
“I agree with you, Severus, but there isn't much more we can do right now. Dumbledore doesn't think it wise.” The man said, though he didn't sound very happy either.
She scoffed, and Harry could nearly audibly hear her roll her eyes. “Dumbledore is brilliant in many regards, Lupin, but he's too focused on the so-called larger picture. There are things I’m not willing to sacrifice - not again.”
“Once Sirius is freed, we can do more. He can follow either of them far more easily than we can. You might not like Sirius, but you know he’d die before hurting James or Harry.” The man reassured her. “If Quirrel is a follower of He Who Must Not Be Named, we’ll find out. He won't try anything, not yet. He’ll try for the stone first.”
She made a noise, but it wasn’t particularly in agreement with him, though she wasn't arguing either.
“…How is he?” She asked, more quietly this time. The other man laughed, shaking his head.
“I suppose you don’t mean Sirius? Prongs is fine, a bit stir crazy being cooped up and unable to move around much yet. A bit infuriated at how long it’s taking the Minister and Dumbledore to get Sirius out, but he knows we can't come public yet with You Know Who still alive.” ‘Lupin’ paused, looking at her. “And I think…he might be afraid for Harry, and for you.”
“I can handle myself.” She said firmly, sounding almost insulted by the comment.
“Prongs has lost a lot, Severus. He's just worried.”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to Harry, I swear it.”
“…Severus, I can smell blood on you.” The man told her, looking down at her lower leg. “He's not going to be happy-“
“Quirrel was looking for the stone again, I did what I had to do. I'll be fine. I just wish Hagrid didn’t have so many damned dogs..”
Harry didn't know what to think as he listened. Stone? What stone? They’d mentioned Quirrel, but the man in question didn't seem capable of properly tying his shoes, let alone being a threat. But, at the same time…they both sounded deadly serious. Professor Snape wasn't someone Harry took to be a fool. If she was concerned, there had to be a reason.
He'd have to tell Ron and Hermione, but maybe not everything. Harry wanted to figure out some things for himself. Maybe, he needed to ask the source.
“Professor?” Harry asked, in detention. He’d purposely broken a handful of bottles in Potions, just for this outcome. Now that Hermione had figured out the Philosopher's stone, Harry had to finally act Snape had clearly been upset by it, snapping at him over it. A few older students in passing winced when they heard, wishing him good luck as Harry stood outside the classroom, waiting to get called back in.
“Less talking, more writing, Mister Potter.” Snape glowered down at the papers she was grading, not bothering to look at him.
“Are you protecting me from Professor Quirrel?” Harry asked blankly, watching her head snap up in surprise.
“I overheard you.” Harry said innocently, or tried to, but her eyes narrowed. “Talking to …Lupin.” Harry finished, remembering the name she’d used.
“You have that bloody cloak, don't you? Of course you do, you’re far too much like your father.” She hissed, half standing up in her seat. “Do you know how dangerous it is to talk about these types of things? You don't know anything!”
“Well, I know that Quirrel is bad, you and Lupin are trying to help someone else named Sirius. I tried to ask Hagrid about anyone named Sirius, but he turned a bit white and didn't want to say.” Harry answered, remembering how Hagrid had fully left his cabin to avoid talking to Harry. Normally it was easier to weasel information out of the grounds keeper.
Professor Snape just looked at him with displeasure written all over her face. She didn't want to tell him anything.
“I'll continue breaking things in class and getting detention until you tell me?” Harry offered. “Unless you start to not give me detention for it, or push me off on another teacher, but then the other students will think you've gone soft.”
“I will remove more house points from Gryffindor than have ever been given.” Snape sneered, countering his threat.
“That's fine,” Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Either McGonagall will give them back, or people stop treating me like I'm some kind of savior. Can't say I mind much either way. I don't think you can or would expel me, either.”
“You are so very much like your father sometimes. Which is not a compliment, Mister Potter.” Snape said, somewhat angrily. Harry thought it was, regardless.
“So? It's either you tell me now, or I run off and do more foolish, dangerous things.”
She looked like she was sucking on a lemon. “...Sirius Black is your father’s best friend – and he’s the man who was blamed for betraying your parents. He is currently in Azkaban for involvement in the deaths that occurred.” Snape answered after a moment. “However, he’s innocent. A complete toerag, a mutt, and a cad – but, none the less, he is innocent. Their other friend, a rat named Peter Pettigrew, is the one who betrayed Lily and James.”
It took a minute to process what she’d said. Harry hadn't even known they’d been supposedly betrayed. The fact a friend had turned on them, and led to their deaths…it made him feel ill.
“My parents friend let them be killed?” Harry asked in a small voice. She looked sympathetic, and moved her hand as though she was about to reach out to him, but stopped just short.
“The man I was speaking to was another friend of your parents. Remus Lupin. And yes, we’re investigating Quirrel’s motives.” Snape answered, then folded her arms in front of her. “We, as in the adults, are doing this. We are trained, we have experience, we know what to expect from Death Eaters. You, however, are a child with an apparent suicide wish and a silly cloak.”
Harry opened his mouth to complain, but she waved a hand, and suddenly no sound was coming to him.
“We will keep you safe, we’ll handle Quirrel. Harry, you need to stop sneaking about.”
Harry found a present on his bed, wrapped in red and gold. It was book shaped, though larger than any of his textbooks or novels. It wasn’t his birthday, it was well past Christmas – so, why? His initial skepticism over it was beaten out by his curiosity, as he tugged the bow and paper off.
There was a note inside, but it wasn’t signed.
‘Harry, I’m sorry this is so late, and I’ve got so many years to make up for – but I hope you like this. I’ll see you soon. I love you dearly.’
Harry’s brows drew together, confused. The writing wasn’t familiar to him, though they sounded very familiar with Harry. Who on earth would write him such a thing? He had no family, outside of the Dursleys, and Harry thought Voldemort would be more likely to tell him he loved him than Aunt Petunia.
Harry sat on his bed, and flipped open the book. It was a photo album, he realized with some surprise.
The picture that took up the first page was him and his parents. His mother was smiling and laughing, while his father held Harry up above his head. Flipping a page, Harry saw himself sleeping on his father’s chest, a fat cat beside him. Another picture on the same page was his parents at their wedding. On the opposite side, he saw pictures of them in school. Harry was able to put some names to faces now, recognizing the scarred boy as Remus Lupin. A number of the pictures looked as though someone had been cut from them – Pettigrew, Harry assumed.
He spent some time looking through the photos, there weren’t many pages, but a few stopped him. Still pictures, muggle photos, of a little red haired girl, and a little black haired girl. The captions below them read out, ‘Lily Evans and Severus Snape.’
One picture, they looked like first years, in their robes. Side by side, holding hands. Nothing marking their houses yet, maybe it had been taken before they left on the train. Harry wasn’t certain why that particular picture made him cry, maybe it was seeing his mom at his age – maybe it was understanding how alone his Professor must now feel.
He forgot, temporarily, about the sender.
Of course, Harry did not sneaking about.
Snape just didn't understand - No, Harry thought - she should understand. It hadn't been her parents who’d been killed – it hadn't been her childhood that had been lost to the Dursleys because of Voldemort. All those smiling faces in photos, he could have had that. If Harry could stop him here, now, from getting the stone, he had to do it. To prevent anymore memories from being lost. Ron and Hermione followed him, but Harry had no intention of getting them hurt either. He wanted to do something, to make something from his parent’s sacrifices.
Harry faced down Quirrel, wand at the ready. There weren't a lot of spells he could do yet, but expelliarmus should work just as well on a Professor as it would another student. The weight of the stone in his pocket, Harry felt the sudden shift in the man’s stance.
“Kill him,” a voice hissed, sending a shiver of pain and fear through Harry’s head. But as Quirrel drew closer, close enough to touch, the man was suddenly sent flying backwards – shattering The Mirror of Erised in the thousands of shards, flickering moments of wishes from years past before the magic was lost.
“Foolish boy,” a familiar voice spoke, stepping in front of Harry. She had one arm out, like a wing in front of him. Snape stood tall, facing down the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. “I told you to let us handle this.”
“Severus,” the same voice called as Quirrel reached above his head to pull down the turban. “Have you truly strayed so far from me?”
“I was never with you.” She said quietly but her tone was venomous. “You killed the woman I loved most.”
Harry watched as Quirrel lifted his arm out, revealing a skull and serpent tattoo on his arm. He pushed his wand down into it, and the snake began to writhe on his skin. Snape stumbled slightly, nearly dropping to a knee. From the sound she’d made, she was in agony.
“Your ties to that mudblood will be your end, Severus. They always were. You could have had power - true power, yet you sacrifice it for a useless boy.” Voldemort told her, and Quirrel’s wand rose. “Goodbye, Severus Snape. I will remember you.”
“Don't-“ Harry began to yell, reaching out for his teacher. She’d not moved even from her collapsed position, still blocking him from Quirrel and Voldemort. In the back of Harry’s mind, he heard the scream of his mother. He didn't want another voice lost inside his nightmares.
“SECTUM SEMPRA!”
Harry jerked backwards as the spell shot over his head, slicing off Quirrel’s arm entirely. The man screamed, falling to his knees, as Voldemort yelled at him from the back of his skull. Quirrel looked up, shaking and pale.
“…Y…you?”
Harry turned to look over his shoulder. Behind him stood a tall thin man, with shaggy messy hair, and circular glasses.
“You will never touch my son or anyone I love ever again.” The man snarled, and with the flick of his wrist, Quirrel hit the wall. The DADA professor didn't move after that, and Harry had no idea if he was alive or dead.
“That will be enough, James.” Came a calming call, as Dumbledore stepped past the man. With a strange looking wand, Dumbledore cast a long spell. A crystalline shape enveloped Quirrel’s head, and pulled away with the parasitic remains of the once known Lord Voldemort kept safely inside.
“Glass made of the breath from a dying dragon, enchanted with tears of a siren, and willingly given by goblin craftsmen. Wielded, of course, by the Elder Wand. This container will keep the last living remnant of Voldemort, unable to latch onto another. It was made purely for this purpose.” Dumbledore said, nearly wistfully as he caught Harry’s eyes. “Though, I fear, it will not be the end of our troubles.”
Harry had stopped caring much about Voldemort, he’d stopped hearing really anything Dumbledore had said. His focus moved to be squarely on the other man. The man who’d called him his son. The man Dumbledore had called James. The man with glasses, and familiar eyes. A man Harry had seen in photos.
Snape had been working with Lupin, who she said was friends with his parents. They were trying to free Sirius Black, another friend of his parents. They'd mentioned someone else, someone named …what was it?
Prongs?
The man began to fall to his knees in front of Harry, only for Snape to jerk forward and catch him under the arm– the first time she’d moved from in front of Harry. Now that Harry could look him in the eyes better, he looked nearly gaunt, tired.
“You shouldn't have pushed yourself, you haven't been walking that long-“ Snape began to chastise him, and Harry had never seen her look so worried before.
“I wasn’t about to lose you and Harry.” He said turning his attention to the latter. “Are you alright, Harry? He didn't hurt you, did he?”
“…Dad?” Harry whispered like a hope, feeling something like a wall break in his mind.
“Harry,” James said, eyes watering, holding out a hand to him. “I'm sorry it took me so long.”
Harry broke down soon after he spoke, falling into his chest.
His father had been in the infirmary for the last two days, getting his strength back.
His father, Harry still remarked in his head with some awe and astonishment. His father was alive, truly alive.
And, of course, the whole wizarding world knew about it now.
Harry made his way to the infirmary, grinning back at his friends who sent enthusiastic well wishes his way. It barely seemed real, as Harry drew course. He spent his time thinking of all the ways his life could go now, realities more endless than finding out he was a wizard. But before Harry walked all the way into the infirmary, he paused in the doorway. Another figure was with his father, standing beside his bedside
Snape, Harry realized, feeling some happiness at seeing the Potions professor as well. He'd not seen much more than a glimpse of her since she’d protected him from Quirrel and Voldemort. He wanted to greet the both of them, but stopped short of calling out to them from the doors.
His father had his hand up, holding her cheek. He was smiling up at her, while she was clearly wiping away tears from her eyes. It felt like something Harry wasn’t meant to witness, not really. Something intimate. A moment of weakness and care he'd never seen from his teacher before.
“You know, it's strange... they used to be at each other’s throats in school. Despised one another.” A voice said from behind Harry, getting his attention, though he was happy to look away.
The man behind him was the one Snape had spoken to before, the scarred man – Remus Lupin.
Was his father involved with Snape? That didn’t seem right, Harry thought, his father had only been awake part of the year. What about his mum, shouldn’t he still be in mourning?
“I'm not sure exactly what their relationship is now,” Lupin said slowly. “But I think she was important to him, while he was effectively trapped in his own mind, his own body – a feeling of which I have the utmost sympathy.”
Harry glanced back at the scene before him. There was clearly worry there, sadness, but love as well, he thought.
“How?” Harry asked quietly.
“She was there when none of us were.” Remus answered simply enough. “I suppose that sounds rather unremarkable, but Severus spent years visiting him. Talking to him. Multiple times a week. Keeping him grounded. Even though there was no guarantee he’d ever wake, she was still there. And James could hear it all.”
Harry could nearly picture it, it wasn't too far from the scene he was seeing now, except now his father was sitting up – he was animated. He was reassuring her he was okay. Harry realized his father had been alive as he long as he had, he’d been without his wife as long as Harry had been without his mother. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing that he could begin to move on now, to find someone again.
Harry didn't feel too upset when he saw his father press a chaste kiss against her hand.
“Padfoot is going to not react well to this, though.” Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But that's why I'm here.”
“Padfoot?” Harry asked, frowning. Prongs, now Padfoot?
“Sirius. Sirius Black, your godfather, is set to be exonerated and released from Azkaban.” Remus answered with a sideways smile. “Hi, Harry. I’m Remus, your other godfather. We've not been properly introduced yet.”
Harry felt himself starting to smile. The danger wasn't gone, but he didn't need the Mirror of Erised anymore. His family was here.