His love for Potions I ✔

Chapter 11: The thief

The first clue was Neville's frantic hand gestures the next morning over breakfast, the universal signal for 'Snape, right behind you!'

Harry and Ron froze, and across from them Hermione smiled bright and fragile.

"Good morning, professor," she chirped.

"Potter. I require a moment of your time after your classes today."

"...what's this about, professor?" Harry asked, twisting to look at him.

Ignoring the question entirely, Snape swept away towards the staff table.

"He doesn't make any sound when he moves," Ron hissed. "He must be part vampire."

"I don't think you can have part vampires," Hermione said doubtfully. "It's not in any of the books."

"He can't get you on anything," Ron said brightly. "So don't worry about it."

Harry thought about professors that could read minds, stolen boomslang skin, the look in Malfoy's eyes as he got swelling solution all over himself, and thought it probably wouldn't be that simple.

"He probably just wants to yell at someone," Harry said brightly. "Or have me scrub slugs again."

"You really should talk to Professor McGonnegall about him, Harry," Hermione added. "He's not being fair to you."

"And have Professor Snape tell her Harry's been opening the Chamber of Secrets and letting off fireworks and things?" Ron challenged. "I don't see that ending well, do you?"

The argument proceeded apace in a friendly way, and Harry let himself relax for a while.

#

Snape was standing at the front of the Potions classroom, holding a giant blue book. He pointed to a stool. Harry sat, avoiding meeting his eyes, mind empty as if waiting for a snitch to dart into his field of vision.

"Sit. Read."

The book Snape handed to him was a huge, ancient thing bound in dragonhide, almost bigger than Harry himself. He propped it on the counter and peered at the parchment, deciphering the old-fashioned handwriting.

And upon such time as the Thief was Found, it was found that he had been a Master, and all were Aghast that such a thing could be done by one of their Own. So it was agreed that None should buy from him and None should sell to him. He was No One, and his mastery nothing. For truly, is it not the Blackest of sins to take the work of another, prepared by their hands and for their purposes? Are we not a Brotherhood?

At which point Harry stopped reading and simply stared at the text, feeling numb and awful and like the lowest pond scum. It's not as if he made a habit of stealing, when he didn't have a good reason. Food, sometimes, but that was different, he didn't think even Professor Snape would argue with that-

He glanced up at Professor Snape and revised that to, Professor Snape would probably argue with that somehow.

"Are you trying to get yourself expelled, Potter?" his professor asked softly. "There are easier ways."

"No, sir."

"I am waiting for an excuse, then. I expect it to be exceptional."

Harry thought about excuses, and reasons, and Hermione. He thought about his dreams of the future, which if they involved him living to be a grownup, often involved Professor Snape at some point apologizing to him for being a git and admitting that he was really great at Potions, and could they... do something vague and undefined together. Create a new potion, maybe. Without Snape yelling at him for being an idiot, preferably, but Harry's dreams weren't quite that detached from reality.

"I didn't do anything," Harry said heavily. "But if I had, it'd only be if it was important."

"Important. Twelve year olds do not do important things, Mister Potter. That is what adults are for."

Harry couldn't think of a thing to say to that.

"You are aware that in case of important things - emergencies - the correct response is to go to an adult?"

Harry turned this over in his head. Snape was still speaking in that scary, soft voice, near a whisper.

"Professor McGonnegall didn't believe me last year, about Voldemort," Harry said, staring at the book in his lap.

"Then choose a different adult, Potter," Snape snapped.

Harry jerked his head up and met his professor's eyes in blatant shock.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, very, very slowly, "Are you asking me to trust you?"

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Never speak of this again," Snape said.

"Right," Harry nodded sharply, and hopped down off the stool. It wouldn't be right or kind to talk about a professor's lapse into temporary insanity.