Chapter Text
It was late, and Severus was in a foul temper. On top of the usual giddiness of the Halloween feast and the inevitable packs of sixth and seventh-years attempting to sneak onto the grounds to observe arcane Samhain rituals under the night sky, this year there had been near mass hysteria as students evacuated the Great Hall for their dormitories while the Heads of House tracked down a blasted mountain troll. And then, on top of having to direct his prefects in subduing their Common Room’s replacement Halloween feast before it turned into a full-blown rave and consoling more than a handful of overwrought Slytherin first-years who were unable to fall sleep, he’d had to assist Albus and Filius in levitating the still-stunned troll back to the third floor corridor without the rest of the castle being the wiser. There was no clear evidence but Severus was certain that Quirrell was somehow responsible for the troll’s release from the maze of protection that had been set guard on the Stone that Dumbledore had insisted on housing in Hogwarts this term. Severus had never liked the man but this autumn, on return from his travels on the continent, the newly appointed DADA professor bore a darkness incongruent with his usual bumbling bashfulness.
Now it was almost midnight and this most cursed of all cursed days was almost over and he’d yet to even begin his annual observances. As he stormed back along dim hallways towards his quarters, he could not get rid of the sight of the damned Potter brat’s insolent face staring up at him in the girl’s toilet. Just like his father he was, preening in the midst of chaos that he’d caused, being awarded points for disobeying rules and acting the hero. Arrogant, insufferable…
As he took the stairs two at a time, cloak swirling, heading in the direction of the passageway that would lead from the castle entrance down to the dungeons, Severus’ quick pace was slowed and his internal ranting paused by the sound of whimpering. Oh Circe, what now? Would this infernal day never end?
He was brought up short by the sight and sound of a something scuffling at the huge oak doors of the darkened entrance hall. At first he’d thought it was two children fighting but, as he got closer, it became apparent that it was a single miscreant, trying to unlock the front doors, stuttering over a mispronounced spell in the dark.
“Alloomora! Alleymore! Alo – Open! Please, open!”
The student was clearly in tears as he spoke, tugging futilely at the handle of the doors set to the Headmaster’s nightly warding and waving his wand to no effect. Severus cast a Lumos as he strode forward within grabbing range of the student who, startled at the light, spun, dropped his wand then scrabbled about for it on the stone flagging. Naturally. Harry bloody Potter.
The Potions Master struggled to keep his tone cutting and precise. “Potter! What in the blazes are you doing out of your dormitory at this time of night? Are you looking to be expelled?”
“No, sir.” The words came out quiet and tear-soaked. “I’m sorry.” There was a rustle and further scrabbling on the floor as the brat dropped and tried to pick up a crumpled piece of paper.
“Give that here.” Severus snatched the paper from the boy’s small hand.
“No! It’s not – !”
Severus unfolded the page, clearly torn from a book, and readied himself to give a scathing indictment of the consequences to be expected for defacing Hogwart’s library property, when his eyes scanned over the red-inked paper and the blood drained from his face.
The page was from a history book, Wizarding Events in 20th Century Britain, and among the small printed text was a bolded headline: Godric’s Hollow, October 31st 1981. Wedged between columns of writing were two grainy photographs, black and white portraits, their subjects turning to face the camera on an endless loop. With thick red ink, words had been scrawled across each image. On the first, Blood Traitor, and the second, Mudblood, and beneath both of these a phrase so foul his brain was unable to fully process it.
Without thought, he leaned down and grabbed Potter by the neck of his pajama shirt, pushing him back against the door. “How dare – !” He had no idea of what he was accusing the boy.
“No, please, Professor. I didn’t! It’s not – . I found it! Someone put it on my bed. It’s my mum and dad and someone put it under my pillow!”
The child was sobbing as Severus hastily let go of him. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his forehead as he stood, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. Occlude, occlude, occlude. A moment later, slightly calmed, he opened his eyes and looked down on the distraught child huddled on the floor, crying into his knees. Severus sighed, shoved the hateful piece of paper into a pocket in his robes, and knelt in front of the boy.
“Potter.” He attempted to keep his tone steady and quiet as he reached forward, placing one hand gingerly on the boy’s knee. “Harry.”
Potter’s head jerked up and he looked, wild-eyed, into his teacher’s face.
“Harry, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Neither statement seemed particularly true or helpful to Severus but he couldn’t think of anything else that might do under the circumstances. For the first time, he was struck achingly by the sight of his best friend’s eyes peering up at him damply from James Potter’s small face. Damn, damn, damn. He gave the boy’s knee an awkward pat then let go, shifting over so that they both sat side-by-side, leaning back against the wooden doors. He set his wand on the ground by his side, dimming the Lumos slightly until they were held in a warm glow.
“I didn’t know.” Potter’s small voice, still choked with tears, spoke into the vastness of the entrance hall.
Severus glanced over at him. “Didn’t know what?”
“I didn’t know it was tonight. On Halloween. My aunt said it was a car crash but Hagrid told me the truth. About Voldemort and how he killed my mum and dad. But I didn’t know it was tonight. And someone wrote those things. I don’t understand all the words, what they mean, but they’re all horrible and red, across their faces. Why would someone do that?” He was looking imploring at Severus as if he might be able to right this disaster, as if he could say something that would make this make sense.
“I don’t know.” Severus forced himself to keep breathing steadily, to not let this child know how distressing it was to hear his plaintive voice. It had been so much simpler to just despise the boy. What possible reply could he give that would be adequate?
“And I’d never seen them before. Hagrid said they were famous but I didn’t know they were in books. And someone put those red words all over their faces.”
“You’d never seen – ? Potter.” He shook his head. “Harry. Are you saying that those were the first photos of your parents that you’ve ever seen?”
The boy nodded. “My aunt doesn’t like to talk about them. It makes her angry.”
“Damnit, Petunia.” The words are muttered under his breath with loathing.
“Wait! ‘Petunia’?” Potter stared at him, confused. “Do you know my aunt?”
“We are acquainted.”
“Does that mean – ? Did you know my mum?” The boy was desperate for the answer.
“Yes.” He felt an unexpected rush of emotion flood through him as he spoke slowly, measuring his words. “We were in the same year together. At Hogwarts.” He gathered himself. “She was my friend.”
The boy turned to face him, perched up on his haunches, face greedy for anything Severus was willing to share about his mother, about Lily. “You were friends?” There was something of awe in Potter’s voice.
Severus closed his eyes briefly before speaking. He had no idea how much of this he was going to regret revealing. “Yes. We grew up together – a place called Cokeworth. In the West Midlands. I was homeschooled so I wasn’t in Primary with her. We met in the park. When we were nine… She was my best friend.”
Inexplicably, the boy began to cry. Huge, silent tears poured from his eyes. Before he was aware of even considering how to respond, Severus had wrapped his arms around the child and pulled him close to cry into his shoulder. He couldn’t think of anything to say so didn’t, but found that he was rocking Potter slightly from side to side, his chin resting on the boy’s unruly head of hair. Harry had borne two months of Severus’ bitter resentment without cause since arriving at Howarts, and now let himself be held by him with what felt like complete trust. How could he be so easily without a grudge?
After some time, Harry’s sobs subsided, and Severus eventually pulled back from him, keeping one hand on his bony shoulder and running the other through the boy's thick, black hair once. Harry scrubbed at his face, wiping his nose and cheeks into his sleeves without seeming embarrassment.
Severus crouched up. “I want to get something. To show you. Will you be alright waiting here?”
Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around his pajama-clad knees once more.
“Here.” Severus stood, unfastened his cloak, then knelt again and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders. “May I see your wand?”
Harry handed his wand over without question and Severus found that it was receptive enough for him to be able to cast a Lumos with. He handed it back to the boy, lit with a small defuse, yellow light. “I won’t be long. Not more than ten minutes.”
Severus paced quickly from the entrance hall into the dungeons, intent on keeping this simple promise to not leave a first-year, Lily’s baby, alone in the dark by himself for too long. He was back at the front doors before seven minutes had passed, slightly out of breath, and knelt on the stone floor once more, setting a small pile of objects, including his own wand, on the ground at his side.
Harry looked up at him, expectant, curious, and very tired. Severus did not need to cast a Tempus to know that it was already November 1st, All Saints Day.
“I’m going to show your Head of House and the Headmaster the damage done to that book, to your parents’ images. If we can determine who is responsible for such sacrilege, they will be disciplined accordingly. Later, if you want to know, I can explain about – “ he swallows “ – about the vile words used to deface their memories. But for now, you need to know that that kind of hateful language will not be tolerated at this school. If you or anyone of your friends ever encounters it, I want you to tell me, or another of your teachers, immediately. Do you understand, Harry?”
Severus didn’t think that the boy did fully understand but he nodded, nonetheless, and the Potions Master considered that likely counted as a promise Harry would keep. He picked up the clothbound book he’d brought from his quarters and handed it to the boy. “Modern Magical History. It’s not the most recent edition but it does contain a fairly accurate accounting of the significance of you and your parents, your impact on our world. As well as my not infrequent comments scribbled in the margins. Take them with as many grains of salt as you need.”
Harry smiled up at him as if he got the joke, and perhaps he did.
“You may borrow it for as long as you like.” He paused, almost imperceptively. “I didn’t know your father very well. We were… not friends. But please ask me about your mother. I would be honoured to share what I know of Lily with her child.”
Harry beamed at him from inside the enormous swath of black cloak and Severus found that the boy’s obvious delight at this prospect of coming a step closer to his parents was shunting aside his own more sensible trepidation over where this will lead, what it would cost him – and Harry – to form any sort of meaningful bond. It was inevitable that, if there were to be any sort of honesty between them at all, Lily’s boy would sooner or later discover all the ways that Severus had betrayed her. This could only end in heartbreak.
Apparently, however, Severus didn’t give a damn. He once more moved over to sit at Harry’s side: “I know it’s already very late but I was wondering if you would like to join me in a tradition.” He picked up a worn paperback and held it for Harry to see the cover: Tom’s Midnight Garden. “It was your mother’s favourite childhood book and it reminds me of her. I read it every year on this night.”
“Yes please.” This was followed by an enormous yawn. “I’m not tired, honestly.”
“I see.” Severus felt the smile stretching across his face. “Perhaps we’ll see how far we get and I can read you the rest at another time if needed.”
“Okay.” His voice was very sleepy. Severus doubted they would get past the second page.
He lit the candle he had brought and set it on the floor in front of them, then handed Harry a small framed Muggle photo. “She was not much younger than you here. Her tenth birthday. Her father, Mr. Evans, took it. Would you hold it for me, carefully, while I read?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, please! Thank you.” Harry clutched the photo frame carefully in both hands, then placed it on his lap, balanced between his stomach and his propped up legs. One hand rested on the edge of the frame and, to Severus’ astonishment, Harry tucked his other hand in the crook of his professor’s elbow and rested his head in at his shoulder.
Trying to keep his pleased surprise to himself, Severus opened the novel, pages coming loose at the binding here and there, turned to the first chapter, and began.