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Harry Potter stalked through the cold brick halls of Hogwarts towards the ground floor holding a blooming red handkerchief with one hand over the bloody form of the other.
His two friends were back in the warmth of the Gryffindor dormitory. Harry used the term “friend” loosely at the moment as they abandoned him to the cruelty of Dumbridge.
He rounded a corner and fell to the floor as he walked into the fully robed form of his potions professor, Severus Snape.
“Watch where you’re going, Pott-” the man paused as he noticed the boy’s hand. “What happened to your hand, Potter?”
“Like-”
“Keep your voice down,” the professor hissed. It was past curfew and they didn’t need others coming to their location.
“Like you bloody care,” Harry muttered while making his way to stand.
“5 points from Gryffindor for swearing, Potter,” Snape said as he spun on his heels. “Follow me.” He did not turn around to check if the boy followed.
Harry followed Snape down the eerie–long shadows moved under the light of the professor’s lumos–halls and staircases to the dungeons. The door to the professor's private rooms opened without Snape having to speak and Harry stood awkwardly by the door as the professor moved about.
“Go sit on the sofa,” Snape ordered as he grabbed potion vials from the red oak cabinets and a bowl off the top of his wooden desk.
Harry walked slowly to the sofa as he took in the intricate detailing of the professor’s room which was nowhere near as dreary as he expected them to be. The upper walls were made up of bare wooden planks while the lower portion of the walls was painted green while the fireplace was made up of black bricks that matched the tiled floor. There was a silver chandelier hanging over the cream sofa, armchair, and small coffee table that lit the room enough to properly move about although he noticed that there were other candle stands on top of furniture to further brighten working areas. A single portrait hung on the wall next to the fireplace although the shadows cast upon it kept him from making the picture out.
Snape placed the items on the table with a quiet clack. He pulled the handkerchief away from the wound before grabbing Harry’s hand to look at the wound. He frowned at the angry red scabbing that red ‘I must not tell lies.’
“Does anyone know, Potter?” Snape asked as he released the boy’s hand.
Harry sat quietly–his arm falling back to his side—as he watched the professor pour potions into the bowl and pull his own handkerchief from his pocket and soak it. The green smoke that came from the liquid made it slightly difficult to see.
“Potter?”
“Ron and Hermione know, and I tried telling Professor McGonagall, but she told me to keep my head down,” Harry grimaced. The soaked handkerchief stung against his hand.
“How many times did you try telling her?”
“Once! But she didn’t even let me explain,” Harry complained.
“How long ago was that?”
“The day after my first detention with Dumb-Umbridge.”
Snape looked up sharply. “That was over two months ago.”
“I know, but-”
“She should have listened,” Snape motioned for Harry to grab the handkerchief before he stood and went to grab the small first aid kit he kept in the bathroom cabinet. “However, you should have gone to another professor.”
Harry scoffed, “Like who? My own head of the house didn’t listen, the headmaster is too busy, and I barely know Professors Flitwick or Pamona outside of class while Sybil is bloody useless with her prophecies, and you hate-”
“I don’t hate you, Potter,” Snape sighed as he pulled white gauze from the kit.
“The way you treat-”
“I am the head of the Slytherin house,” Snape cut in. “If I am seen acting friendly with you, I’d make the children who prefer dark magic avoid me, and that is not something I need. Not to mention that I would isolate myself from the purebloods and likely be targeted first if the dark lord is revived.”
“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what to say.
“Before Hogwarts, Lily—your mum—and I were the best of friends growing up.” The faintest of smiles ghosted across the professor’s face. “But I was sorted into Slytherin while she went to Gryffindor; however, that didn’t stop us from being friends although we had to hide any signs of it after our fifth year when the dark lord started recruiting.”
“I didn’t know. Aunt Petunia never spoke of you.” Harry glared downwards at the damp blue wrapping–murtlap essence.
“Petunia never like me and later Lily because we had magic when she did not,” Snape mused as he moved to sit on the armchair.
The table cleared—likely the work of a house-elf–and two steaming mugs appeared.
“It’s hot chocolate unless you’d prefer something else,” Snape said.
“Thanks,” Harry muttered as he grabbed hold of it. He sighed as the taste of rich milk chocolate burned across his tongue. “Professor, will you tell me about my Mum?”
“Very well,” Snape agreed. “I’ll tell you some stories about her until you finish your drink, but you will sleep immediately after.”
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said before taking another–small-sip having already decided to savor this time for as long as possible.
Harry didn’t notice when he fell asleep with his mug still half full while listening to the low tone of the professor’s voice. He didn’t notice when the professor took the mug from his hands and place it on the table, or the way the professor picked him up with gentle arms, or hear the professor whisper to the portrait. He didn’t notice when the professor placed him on the bed, or the way the professor tucked him tightly under the heavy silk covers. He didn’t see the way the professor looked back at him wistfully, and later the portrait of two children sitting side by side–one redhead green-eyed girl next to a boy with dark black eyes and hair. He didn’t hear the professor leave through the passage to return to his patrol with a scowl across his face.
Harry didn’t notice that he slept through the night–his usual nightmares foregoing–as he dreamed of the stories the professor shared of his mother.
Harry woke early the next morning and changed into the robes–a house-elf must have brought him from his own chest–before grabbing his bag. He took his cloak from his bag and hurried out of the professor's room, the dungeon, and up toward the great hall avoiding the ruckus of his peers as he passed. He ducked behind a knight and removed his cloak of invisibility.
Harry jumped hearing a loud “moo” come from behind him and he spun to come face to face with a cow.
“What in-”
“Harry!” That was Hermione calling to him as she ran out of the great hall and Ron was likely to be with her.
“Bloody hell mate, you should have been here this morning!” Ron whispered loudly without even a good morning. “Someone pranked Umbridge.”
“Really?” he asked as a distinct flare of black robes caught his attention from the edge of his peripherals. “Does anyone know who did it?”
“No, but they left a letter and-” Harry ignored him in favor of staring at the smirking professor.
Snape nodded towards the cow that was beginning to make its way upstairs. The brand “7” showed proudly on its flank.
Harry could only laugh as he remembered the story that the professor told him about how the professor and his mum once set up a muggle prank by numbering three livestock 1,2, and 4; and how others spent weeks searching for the missing “3."
He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take the professors (specifically Umbridge) to figure out what was happening and stop searching for whichever number was missing.
Harry–like the many other muggleborn students who eventually realized the prank–couldn’t stop laughing when the professors excluding Umbridge gave up on finding the “5th" cow, nor could he stop laughing when his fifth-year professor disappeared later that year.