Always - Chapter 2 - A Slytherin in the Gryffindor Towers

-2-

A Slytherin in the Gryffindor Towers

Days passed and Snape found himself recovering quickly, thanks to a warm place to sleep, adequate food and companionship. Word had not yet spread to the other houses that the dreaded Professor Snape had returned from the dead, but the Gryffindor students seemed to be taking his presence in stride. As an adult in the throng of a gaggle of students, Snape found himself being asked questions and for his thoughts on one class problem or another. At first, the queries had annoyed him, but then he realized that, for the first time since he’d come on at Hogwarts as a teacher, the students weren’t afraid of him, but rather, seeking his advice.

“So you see,” he droned one morning to an enraptured student, “precise measuring is the key to any potion or draught. That is why it’s imperative that one sees that the scale is weighing accurately before you measure your ingredients.”

“I understand now, Professor Snape, sir. Thank you so much!”

The young girl, just past her eleventh year, threw her arms around Snape in a grateful hug, then trotted off to her potions class. Snape felt a sad pang. He’d been a student and then a teacher there at the school since he turned eleven. Now, he was neither, and the absence of it made him feel bereft.

“Excuse me, Professor. I was wondering if you could show me the correct way to pronounce this spell.”

Snape looked down at the lad over his long, large nose, making the boy gulp. “Let me see it.”

“That one there, sir.”

Snape looked at the word. “Accio. Put your emphasis on the ‘A’. The C’s have a hard K sound, like ah-key-oh, not ah-see-oh.”

“Accio pen!” the student said as one of his classmate’s quills rose and moved to the young wand flourisher.

“Well done,” said Snape a little less dryly than he ever had before. “Practice is the best means of mastering spells.”

He rose from one of the great chairs he’d been sitting in and made his way to one of the tall windows. The leaves had begun to change. Soon, winter would be upon them. One of the first years came to stand beside him, gazing out at the vista from the castle.

“It’s a lovely place to be, isn’t it, Professor?”

Without even realizing he had done it, he found his hand ruffling the ebon tressed girl’s hair. “Indeed it is.”

He took his meals in the Gryffindor apartment, eating alone, feeling unable to face his former colleagues, but at lunchtime that day, Harry, Ron and Hermione made an appearance.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” said Harry, carrying in a dinner tray. “Thought you might like some company for lunch.”

“Did you now, Mister Potter?” he drawled. “Did you think you could, at your whim and fancy, pop into my private rooms unannounced and share a repast with me?”

Harry thought for certain the old Snape was back, complete with disapproving glower, when the older man’s mouth twitched trying not to smile.

“Blimey! You had me going there for a bit, Professor.”

“It is hard to break old habits, but I am finding less cause for them.” He sighed softly.

“After all you have done for me, you are welcome at any time. Your trust in me is most admirable.”

Snape looked down at the trays that the students had brought, surprised that not only was there typical fare, but some muggle treats that he, as a child, had often wanted to try but was too poor. Harry must have seen them and smuggled some in.

“You don’t have to spend your days coddling an old man should you wish to be elsewhere.”

“If you want us to go, Professor, we’ll clear out,” Harry offered. “But you’re not old, you know. You’re only thirty-eight.”

Snape drew out his wand and conjured a table that the four of them could sit comfortably at. “I have had little experience in being someone who people wish to be around. I was once told I had the graces of a rock and it seems that James Potter was being quite honest at the time. I do have the social skills of a rock.”

The four ate their lunch together, Snape actually speaking to them as equals. “Do you know,” he said casually, his drawl so familiar now, “that the first year students are actually coming up to me and asking my advice?”

“You are a very skilled wizard, Professor Snape. And quite brilliant too.”

“Inventive in my younger years, though I truly regret creating the sectumsempra curse.”

Harry felt bad for using that curse on Malfoy, even if Malfoy had deserved it back then. “I didn’t know what it did, Professor.”

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t blame you for using it. Malfoy was always jealous of your fame, Harry. And I encouraged it. I just hope that I am no longer considered a Greasy Git by you, Weasley.”

Ron turned as red as his hair. “Didn’t know you for being what you were then, Professor Snape. I feel bad about that. ‘m sorry.”

“I had no choice. I could not risk jeopardizing my students.”

They talked more with Snape, not as teacher and students, but more as peers. After lunch, Ron and Hermione headed off to their classes, but Harry hung behind. “You go on ahead. I want to ask Professor Snape something. I’ll catch up.”

Ron and Hermione nodded, leaving Harry at the apartment door. “Professor? I know it’s not one of our best moments together, but I wanted to talk to you about the occlumency lessons.”

Snape had tossed Harry out of his classroom after frustration and anger had fueled Harry’s own bout of Legilimency that had pierced the shroud which he kept around his true thoughts and memories. “It frightened me that you were able to snatch a bit of memory, as the dark lord already had a link with you. I feared if my duplicity was discovered, he’d destroy everything for which we’d worked so hard.”

“Can we talk more later about what I saw, Professor?”

Snape took a deep breath. “Yes. Come here later this evening after supper. We’ll talk.”

“Thanks, Professor Snape,” Harry said as he gathered up his books and headed out the door. “I never pitied you,” he said suddenly, turning back. “I ... I understood you a little better.”

Snape nodded, then gave Harry a small smile. “I know. Off with you or you’ll be late. I’ll see you later.”

Harry nodded, ducking out into the stairwell. Snape removed the table and stood, straightening his coat and cravat. He couldn’t remember when he decided upon this particular suit for his daily wear, but the darkness of it had always suited him, giving him a somber air that was at home with his lack of outward emotion. He sighed softly, then headed out into the stairwell and down to the Gryffindor common room. Students were gathered there, doing homework or relaxing between classes. Before long, they had noticed his presence and quickly began to ask his help with homework. Snape was happy to give them help, but stalwartly refused to give them easy answers, which earned him further respect from the children.

As he was finishing up with one student, Snape heard a small whimper from a corner. He crossed the room and leaned over, his black hair draping around his face in curtains as he found the young girl. The child looked terrified, her eyes red from tears. His somber appearance made her draw back from him, but Snape persisted. “Come now,” he said softly. “I may look awful and mean, but I wouldn’t hurt you, child. Tell me what has you so upset.”

She gazed up at him, eyes wide. Snape sighed softly, then lowered himself to the floor so he wouldn’t be towering over the girl. He held out his hand and conjured a candy bar from the stores that Harry had brought him. “Do you like chocolate? I’ve never had a bar chocolate myself and I’m afraid it might taste terribly like tripe.”

“Chocolate is good,” the little girl said softly. “Y’ve never had it before?”

Snape shook his head. “I couldn’t afford a bar chocolate when I was your age. I could scarcely afford my books when I first arrived here at Hogwarts. Could you show me how to open the bar?”

The little girl took the bar from his palm, deftly opening the wrapper with her tiny hands. She broke off a piece and held it out for Snape, who took it from her. “My name is Professor Snape. What’s your name?”

“Deidre ... Deidre MacNair.”

“What has you so sad, Miss MacNair?”

“Imma scared th’ bad man will come back and hurt me like he hurt me mum an’ da.”

Snape’s brow furrowed. “What bad man, Deidre?”

“Vollymort.”

“May I tell you a secret?”

Deidre nodded. “Ya.”

Snape leaned in close to her. “Vollymort is gone and he’ll never come back. Harry Potter and all of his allies made sure of it.”

“Ken ye be sure, Professor Snape? You were dead, weren’t ye?”

Snape’s fingers went absently to his neck scar. “Not completely, but close enough. But see, I was given a second chance. Vollymort is gone forever, I promise.

“Now, eat a bite of chocolate. It’ll make you feel better.”

Deidre ate a piece of chocolate, then smiled up at Snape. “It’s a good chocolate. Better than the frogs.” Her eyes welled up. “I miss me mum an’ da. They died down there in th’ courtyard. I know they were fightin’ again’ Vollymort, but I miss ‘em just the same.”

Snape rose to his feet, holding his hand out to Deidre. She latched onto his long fingers and stood beside him. “Your parents were very brave, and you are too, going on in your schooling even while missing them. If you find yourself sad and lonely, you must come find me or Professor McGonagall. Do you understand, Deidre?”

“Aye, Professor Snape. Thank ye for makin’ me feel better. Here’s ye chocolate.”

Snape patted the girl’s head gently. “You go ahead and keep that, Miss MacNair. You might need it and I have more, all right?”

Deidre nodded. “All right.”

“Off with you, then. You may honour your parents’ sacrifice by doing your very best here.”

“Thank ye, professor.”

Snape couldn’t help but smile a little. The Gryffindor students had come to expect his presence there and were quite kind to him, often bringing him little trinkets and sweets. Some even brought him herbs and other ingredients for potions on their way out around the campus. Wanting to stretch his legs, Snape decided he was well enough to stroll through the halls. It wouldn’t be long before the whole of the school would know he was alive, so why not chance it.

He went back to the apartment and drew out his long, black cloak, sliding it on over his frock coat with a bit of stiffness, but little more. He took a deep breath, then opened the fat lady’s portrait panel that protected the door to the Gryffindor wing. Once the panel was secure, he set off at his normal pace through the hallway and down the stairs. He caught the familiar scent of parchment and ink, wood fire and stone, and his heart constricted a little. Now he was just a man there in the great old school. He remembered how so many of his students had dreaded potions with him as the teacher and it filled him with regret. He could have inspired students to become potions masters, but instead, he had let his own bitterness fuel his acidic tongue.

He heard gasps from students he passed in the hallways, and his wary side returned, giving them reason to allow him plenty room in passing. Whispers of him being a ghost too angry to be transparent filled his ears, but he paid them no mind. The staccato click of his shoes against the stone floor marked him to be a man of flesh and blood and no incorporeal spirit.

Before long, he found himself standing outside McGonagall’s classroom. The students within were practicing transfiguration before their finals and doing a wondrous job of it in spite of all that had happened in the weeks prior. McGonagall spotted him, her mouth dropping open for a moment before acknowledging her colleague. She nodded to him and in the former potions master strode, students gasping and whispering as they witnessed Professor Snape arise from the dead.

“No, students, you aren’t seeing a ghost,” Professor McGonagall said dryly. “Professor Snape is, indeed, very much alive. Continue practising transforming your gerbils into teacups.”

“Professor McGonagall,” said Snape.

“Professor Snape, I didn’t expect you from the Gryffindor tower so quickly. Are you feeling well?”

“Much better, thank you. I do, however, find myself growing restless. I have been without classes and students for the first time in nineteen years. I was wondering if there was something I might do to assist.”

“Well, as it so happens, we are missing a few key instructors, most notably Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts this late in the term, as well as Muggle Relations. I wouldn’t want to overtax you, professor, but we could do with some assistance in covering those classes.”

Snape bowed his head. “I would consider it a privilege to substitute in those classes. I wouldn’t ask for my old post back, professor, of course, but temporarily assisting would give me time to take my mind away from recent events.”

“Of course. I believe potions is coming up on the next hour. Why don’t you head on down to your classroom.”

Snape nodded, bowing before McGonagall, then turned on his heels, departing the classroom, but not before noting one splendid transformation of a gerbil into a finely patterned china teacup. “Very good,” Snape said as he passed. “Very good indeed. The blue willow pattern is quite fine.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she gawked at the departing form of Snape. McGonagall couldn’t help but smile herself.

Snape stalked through the corridors and hallways, as impassive and imposing as ever, smiling inwardly as students gasped and gave him wide berth. He was one of the two teachers who could silence a class with merely a word or a glance. His long black cloak billowed behind him as he moved with the stealth and speed of a predator. For a man who had been shortly on death’s door, it was if the events had never happened.

With guilty pleasure, he banged open the door to his former classroom, causing each student within to jump. “Take out your potions book and turn to page two hundred and fifty-nine.”

Snape paced down the row toward his desk at the head of the class, whirling around and glaring down his long nose at the students.

“Well? Page two hundred and fifty-nine.”

One of the students raised his hand. “Professor Snape? We ... we ... um ... we.”

“Spit it out, Bodkins.”

“You’re supposed to be dead, sir.”

Snape swooped in, towering over the boy named Bodkins, his cloak gathering behind him. “I hate to disappoint you, Bodkins, but as you can clearly see ... I’m ... not ... dead.” He drawled out each word, pausing between them for full emphasis. “Now turn to page two hundred and fifty-nine.”

The former potions master paced back to the head of the class. “Now, can anyone tell me what restituit saneteur is?”

Snape looked around the class. “Anyone? ... No one? Pity. Restituit saneteur is a draught that will, when properly brewed, heal virtually any wound, no matter how close to death one might be. However, if brewed incorrectly, will cause extreme vomiting and/or diarrhea, severe cramping and general malaise. Elkins ... do not think that brewing this draught incorrectly will let you escape from my class in the future.” Snape droned on, his voice level and calm. “You will follow the recipe with the exception of adding four Calendula flowers, seven dried hawthorn barbs and a quarter of a gram of powdered yarrow root.”

“Professor?” asked one timid Hufflepuff girl. “The ingredients list calls for five Calendula, four hawthorn barbs and a third of a gram of chopped yarrow root.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I do know that, Hawkins. I also know that there was a series of unfortunate misprints in that book and through my own experimentation, I learned the correct ingredients and forms. Now ... take four cups of water, add to it one half a unicorn hair and the herbs. Bring it to a low simmer, stirring it no more than four times in a counter-clockwise direction, and two in a clockwise direction.”

Snape watched as some followed his commands and others chose to follow the book’s instructions, bemused but watching with an impassive glower. “If you have brewed your potion correctly, it should resemble the color of a fresh orange. If you have not brewed it correctly, it will resemble the color of burnt milk. And smell five times worse,” he added casually.

He returned to his desk, writing down notes and taking attendance. He could already tell one potion had turned horribly wrong as a pungent, acrid smell filled the classroom. Within moments, he had slunk to the cauldron billowing orange fumes. “Fellwicke? What do you think went wrong with your potion?”

“I dropped in a bit too much yarrow. I weren’t too careful in me measurin’.”

Snape surprised them all by taking a sniff of the potion and eying the color of the brew. “Proper measurement is very important, Fellwicke. This draught, however, can be salvaged. Add one Calendula flower and half a hawthorn barb.”

Snape addressed the class, his voice commanding, but not disdaining. “Proper measuring is very important. I’ll write the corrected potion ingredients on the chalkboard. Be sure to write it down.”

As Snape used his wand to write the corrected potion recipe on the ancient chalkboard, he could hear whisperings between the students as they worked. “If you have something to say, Bellamy, say it loud enough that the entire class may hear.”

Bellamy blushed and started to shake her head but Snape wouldn’t allow it. “Bellamy, repeat aloud what you whispered to Oswain ... now.”

“You’re different, Professor Snape. You’re more ....”

The girl trailed off, blushing as red as her hair. Snape arched a brow, icily saying, “I’m waiting.”

She gulped and uttered, “You’re nicer, Professor Snape, sir.”

“Nicer? You call me nicer?” The class gasped and put their heads down. “That’s quite kind of you to say, Bellamy. I find I rather enjoy being nicer. Unless you’d rather have old Professor Snape back, that is.”

The students didn’t know whether to say yes or no, to which Snape couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “I’ll take your silence as a wish to have the new and improved Professor Snape. I agree.”

Snape went around the room to inspect the potions and was pleasantly surprised, pointing out where improvements could be made without degrading any student. With a quick wand wave, vials flew from their crate to land beside each cauldron. “Remove your cauldrons from the fire and pour the condensed potion into your flask. Be certain to label the potion, the date it was brewed and put an expiration of eighteen months on it. Should you find yourself injured, two drops in a cup of tea should be enough to cure minor ailments. If wounds are not healing, continue with two more drops. If eight drops has not cured the issue, then see a mediwitch promptly. I am rather proud of your work today. Now, homework. I want you to research three different healing drafts and diagram the differences in their ingredients and uses. The school library has a very good series of books on plants and potions. It will be due Wednesday next.

“Once your area is cleaned, you are dismissed.”

The change within him made Snape feel better about himself than he had in years. The students had actively participated in one of his classes and they made progress rather than disasters with their potions. His Defence Against the Dark Arts class went just as well, showing students defensive spells and disarming spells. Before the class was over, even the most timid student was disarming and defending with ease.

He knew that before long, each student would be capable of summoning a patronus. Any that had a scrap of love in them, that is. He thought back to his summoning of his own patronus, leading Harry to where he had hidden the sword of Gryffindor. He had loved Lily for so long and so deeply, knowing full well she would never be his, but still, in his heart, he loved her. She was so capable of seeing the beauty in him, even when Snape refused to see it in himself, but his joining the death-eaters had sealed his fate. He had driven her away from him forever. And then, his own recklessness had gotten Lily and James killed and turned their son into a hidden horcrux. The thought of his actions and the consequences of them made his will waver and he nearly went down, but for a brawny Gryffindor third year.

“Are you all right, Professor Snape, sir?”

“Yes, yes, I am now. Thank you, Trent. I’m still recovering from my injuries. I fear I may have overtaxed myself.”

The boy, Alain Trent, smiled softly. “Take care, professor. That was the best DADA lesson we’ve had all year. I’d hate you to miss classes.”

Snape was surprised by the boy’s words, but didn’t show it. As a teacher, he was being praised. “I will, Trent. Off with you. You mustn’t be late for your next class.”

Though tired, Snape was feeling more himself and for the first time, he was actually looking forward to his next set of classes.

As he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, he felt a twang of remorse, over how things might have been had he not pursued the dark arts and had, instead, remained true to the love that had made him feel more complete. As quickly as the thought arrived, Snape banished it. Lily was dead. As handsome as James Potter had been, Lily would have had no romantic notions towards greasy-haired, crooked toothed Severus Snape.

When he arrived in his apartment, he noticed that a tray had been delivered to him with a meal at the ready. Beef roast with herbed potatoes, asparagus, Yorkshire pudding and a luscious lemon trifle sat at the ready with a half carafe of sweet red wine.

Readily famished, but not yet desiring to join the rest of the staff in the great hall, Snape gratefully thanked whoever brought the food and ate in reserved silence.

“Oi, Harry!”

Harry turned to see Ginny striding towards him. He had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. “Ginny!”

She flung herself into his arms, kissing him fully on the mouth. “You’ve been avoiding me!”

“No,” Harry said hastily. “No, not at all! I’ve been ... Ginny ... Snape’s alive.”

Her eyes widened as much as the day she’d come down to find him in her dining room his second year at Hogwarts. “Snape? That git’s alive?!”

Harry pulled her to him to silence her with his lips on her mouth. “It was all Dumbledore’s plan. Every last bit of it. Come with me.”

Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand and led her to the gryphon statue that led to the Headmaster’s office. He spoke the password, knowing McGonagall hadn’t changed it and knowing, even if she had, she’d have let Harry know it. The hidden staircase appeared and Harry pulled her up with him, taking the stairs two at a time. Harry had kept Snape’s tears in the flask, proof of his innocence and dedication to Harry’s survival. He strode to the pensieve and poured the silvery contents into the bowl.

“This is the most precious gift Severus gave me that night when we both were sure he was going to die. You’ve got to see it.”

“Okay, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “How do I ...?”

“Oh, sorry ... just put your face into the bowl. It’s kinda weird, but you’ll get used to it.”

Ginny nodded, sticking her face into the liquid, then watched the scenes play out as Harry had that night after finding Snape in the boatshed. She seemed to be there for an hour, but when she pulled back, tears were streaming down her face. “All this time, he was protecting you? Just because he loved your mother and he never loved another? Oh, Harry!”

She pressed herself against him, sobbing softly.

“And that was after Mum ended the friendship, and Dad had been horrible to him. I hated him, Ginny, I hated him so much that I wanted to kill him and all this time, he was doing it to protect me out of love for my mum.”

Ginny wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve, then gazed into Harry’s green eyes. “You care about Professor Snape, don’t you?”

“Yeah ... I do. He’s not bad at all. I mean, I understand how he felt, being bullied and teased, and then he lost his only real friend to the man who’d been so bad to him ... if he’d not fancied the dark arts, Mum would have accepted his apology, I think, and I dunno ... Professor Snape might have wound up being my dad.”

“Perhaps your eyesight wouldn’t be so horrible then,” she said lightly, smiling at him.

“I’m going to do all I can for him, Ginny. He’s done so much for me. He didn’t have to, but he did, and it nearly cost him his life.”

“I’d expect no less from you, Harry Potter. After all, he’s your unofficial guardian. Clearly, after all that, he’s grown to like you, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, yes, he has. And ... um ... now that Voldemort is gone for good ... would you be my girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley?”

She gave him a mock slap to the head. “I’ve been your girlfriend since that bitch Umbridge was there. You were just too stubborn and thick-headed to notice. You were afraid for me, I understand that, but we’re stronger together. That’s why Hermione and Ron wouldn’t let you go off alone.”

Harry grinned at her. “I promise I’ll never send you off again, Ginny. I love you too much.”

“And I love you too, Harry Potter.”