Severus Snape did not care for springtime. Every April, he sneered at pretty little flowers erupting from the soil and harrumphed at the sight of birds returning from the south, and he scowled at the itch of pollen in his eyes. Wizards did not have allergies, of course. Just . . . discomfort and an occasional sneeze. So, no, Severus did not care for spring or spring like things, but he tolerated the change of seasons fairly well, if only because it meant the end of another school year was nigh.
This year, however, spring was especially bleak. Little things annoyed the professor, things he normally overlooked. He snapped at students for stirring their cauldrons too loudly and snarled at Third Years who added ingredients from too great a height above their cauldrons. He got headaches from the bursts of sunlight in the Great Hall's tall windows. Mrs. Norris' paws hitting the flagstones were like cymbals in his head, and he gave Filch a tongue lashing for letting "that fleabag" wander about on its own. When the fleabag in question tried rubbing against his leg through his not-quite-cat-hair-proof robes, he growled at her. There may even have been some cursing.
This spring, in fact, everything seemed duller and tepid and annoying, from the children's piping voices to the pitter pat of the warm rains on the windows. Everyone else around him, he felt, was uncivil and discourteous and overwhelmingly obtuse, and he greatly wished he could take a cane to each of their backsides. Half the student population he'd like to hang by their thumbs - one area in which he was in complete agreement with Filch - and the other half he wanted to send to bed without supper.
Of course, Severus did not say any of this. He did not even complain overmuch about any of his students or colleagues, their actions or attitudes, no matter what chiding the Headmaster gave him about the issue. He was just . . . frustrated. Yes, that was it. But even worse, his frustrations sank deep into his core and had pervaded every one of his daily tasks. He could not pinpoint the cause for the longest time, until he realized that when the First Year Slytherins came in for class or dinner or tutoring, his level of ennui rose exponentially. It was then he realized that his sense of frustration and annoyance increased whenever Harry Potter appeared to notice Severus, and his young face turned to stone, whether at meal times or during class or when the brat was coming inside, drenched and shivering, from Quidditch practice in the rain.
All in all, Severus did not understand what was wrong with Harry Potter, and it frustrated him greatly. This frustration had finally led to his current situation, a little more than a week after his discussion with the Headmaster about Quirrell.
Severus was in his office, seated at his desk. Two Slytherin First Years occupied the seats opposite him. It was heading into late May . . . and Severus had just concluded a conversation with the Bloody Baron that made him wish the man were corporeal so Severus could blast him to smithereens.
The ghost was just so . . . frustrating! He would never divulge Harry Potter's secrets, the bloody Bloody Baron had pronounced, and he seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction in relaying the message, too.
With a shake of his head, Severus glared at the two children. He would not dwell on the Baron now. Not when he had fresh victims, er, students to question. First, to take them off guard and loosen their tongues. "You know, of course, why I have called you into my office, correct?"
The two students exchanged a glance. "No, sir," they said together.
Right. The hard way, then.
"From my records," he said, flipping through one of his grade books, the one which automatically updated First Years' grades after he finished marking one of their assignments, "I see neither of you have failed to submit a single one of my assigned essays and yet, you, Miss Bulstrode, seem incapable of rendering your work in penmanship which does not cause my retinas to bleed, and as for you, Mr. Nott, your footnotes often rival your essays for length and relevant content."
He paused, letting them work out what he had said before listening to their promises to do better. Mr. Nott's assurances were especially piquant, and Severus was hard pressed not to smile at the boy's wit even whilst wondering how he'd come by it; Nott Senior was not known for his stimulating repartee, after all.
And now to drop the boom: "Alas, the third part of your little trio, if I may use the term, is not present to receive due criticism on his work for my class. This is most vexing. I trust you understand."
Another exchanged glance between them. Another, "No, sir."
Severus drew himself up and slapped his palm on his desk top. "Where is Harry Potter?"
The children jumped.
"I don't know, sir," said Bulstrode, the first to recover. "Have you checked the pitch? He's often there."
"I have, and he was not, and that is not the point at all. Mr. Potter has been absent in more ways than one of late, and I wish to know why. Since you two seem his closest . . . comrades, I find it prudent to put you to the question." He smiled, a quick baring of teeth. The girl visibly recoiled.
"He's indisposed," Nott said a moment later. He had the same rat face as his father, but it seemed that was the only thing he possessed of the man, if he was truly chums with Potter.
"For three months?" Severus growled.
The brats exchanged another look. One would think they were Legilimens, or at the very least, plotting something. Something of a rules-breaking nature. He would have none of it. He gestured to Bulstrode with his wand. "Tell me what you know."
After a quick glance at her co-conspirator, Bulstrode said, "Well . . . you remember how it was at the beginning of the year?" Her face was pinched, as if she had been the focus of his derision and contempt at the time.
"Go on," Severus said instead of answering.
"Well, erm . . ."
"Oh, spit it out, Millicent!" Nott interrupted. "Maybe he can help. Professor, Harry overheard you and Professor Quirrell talking together after our last Quidditch match, and he's sure you're planning to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, either for yourself or on orders from You-Know-Who, who he's also sure is going to try and kill him again."
"Teddy!" Bulstrode gasped. "That's Harry's business! You know he-"
"It's this business which is like to get him killed, too, right?" Nott turned to Severus and glared. "He's been all kinds of out of sorts ever since then, and it's your fault, really."
Severus jumped to his feet, still reeling from the explanation. "My fault!"
Bulstrode nodded. "You've been treating him dreadfully in class, sir. You've ignored Rule One, and made it harder than ever for him to trust you. If he ever can again," she finished softly.
"It's true," said Nott. "He used to enjoy spending time with you, he told me, and playing chess or talking. But now he's just angry."
"Not just angry," Bulstrode said. "He thinks you betrayed him."
Severus stared at the two children. Harry felt betrayed. Over an understandable misunderstanding. Assuming, of course, that these two Slytherins were not lying through their teeth. There were several ways to ascertain their veracity, and Severus made use of one of the easiest and least detectable ways available to him.
With a wordless Legilimens, Severus explored the surface of the Nott boy's thoughts, touching no deeper than the edges. Underneath his adamant expression, the boy was calm, collected, and had quite an organized little head on his shoulders. From the memory Severus saw first thing, he recognized the day that Harry bloody Potter decided that Severus Snape was The Bad Guy. The evening of the game against Hufflepuff, when every Slytherin had been flying high on the five-minute win Harry had given them . . . and he recalled his conversation with Quirrell in the woods, or enough of it to understand the boy's reaction anyway. And now, too, he knew what Dumbledore had been alluding to, as if the Old Coot could not have just told him out right and spared the two of them a lot of pain and angst. Damn him.
And damn his own pride, for thinking the worst of Harry automatically, even if it was natural for him to think ill of Potters in general. No wonder Harry did not want to spend the summer with him, if he thought Snape was a thief or worse, out to murder him. He should have known, after months spent in Harry's company, that the Boy Who Lived to Give Him Grief would not have openly disdained him for no good reason. And betrayal, or the appearance of it, that would be the greatest reason of all for disdain from this boy, who had lived every day for the last ten years feeling betrayed by his "family," who did not care for him. And who had spent the last few months feeling betrayed by the wizarding world for not taking an active interest in his welfare excepting as far as he could do things for them. Never caring about Harry for himself.
Now he was in a quandary. How to let the boy know he was mistaken about his Potions Professor's motives without getting into the history of his own involvement with the Dark Lord? That was nothing he wanted to shed light on. How could he do it without having the boy find out the worst about him: what he had done years ago that had gotten Lily and James Potter killed. Then Harry would be shunning him for a different reason, a valid reason. He needed . . . he wanted to protect the boy and take him out of his relatives' care, but to do that, Harry needed to trust him. It would take a certain amount of finesse . . .
"Er, Professor?" The girl in front of him coughed politely. "You aren't really trying to steal the Stone, are you, sir?"
Severus stared at her with cold, expressionless eyes, and let her own flushing skin advise her of his innocence. He did not bother to ask the two of them how they knew - now - what the hidden treasure was which Potter had confessed to knowing about months ago. He would put money on Hagrid's loose lips every time. It didn't matter, in the end.
"Are we done, sir?" the boy had the temerity to ask.
"Almost," he snapped. He held up one finger to caution them. "You must tell me - I want your word - if Mister Potter gets it into his head to do anything about the Sorcerer's Stone. I know all about your little night time mission to the tower with a crate full of Norwegian Ridgeback," he kept in a sour smile as both sets of eyes widened at his words, "so don't try to deny he's capable of harebrained schemes. I want your oath as Slytherins that you will inform me immediately if Potter tries anything foolish." He had seen too much Gryffindor courage (read: stupidity) in the boy's Slytherin green eyes to ever assume Harry would just let the Stone get stolen out from under him. "Promise me."
"Yes, sir," Nott said promptly, and Snape immediately wrote him off.
Bulstrode, on the other hand, hesitated before agreeing, and he was almost convinced she would hold to her word.
"Excellent. That is all."
The children escaped his office with alacrity and Severus went back to his deliberation as to how he could reconcile with Harry without making it obvious the boy's friends had informed on him. A tricky puzzle at best, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had several weeks left till the end of the school year. Exams were starting in a couple days, so he could wait until they were done before approaching Harry - no sense in making final exams more nerve wracking than normal for the boy.
-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-
On the last day of exams, Severus was coming down the central staircase, thinking about Harry Potter, when who should nearly crash into him but this same boy.
"Good afternoon," Snape said smoothly. The boy stared at him as if seeing an Inferius. He seemed agitated, wringing his hands together. "You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, smiling a little to put the boy at ease.
"I was -" Harry began, then trailed off as if he had no idea what to say.
Severus was struck by a sudden realization. Harry's behavior was far too anxious for a boy who had just finished his exams. He was near panic; it was in his eyes, and Severus had an inkling as to why. On his way to the staff room to meet with Minerva because Albus had been called away to London suddenly, Severus knew, somehow, that Harry knew about Albus, too. "You want to be more careful," he said in warning. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something."
Harry flushed, but turned to go outside.
Snape called him back. He needed to make sure that Harry didn't do anything as foolish as try to stop a thief who was likely working for the Dark Lord. The boy could be killed, or worse if he got involved, and Severus could not allow that under any circumstances. He needed to stay within the safety of Slytherin's walls tonight, and every night, until Quirrell's connection to the Dark Lord was exposed and he was safely locked away. The only way Severus could think of at the moment to keep Harry from getting in trouble was to say, "Be warned, Potter - any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure your last days here are quite miserable. Good day to you."
He strode off in the direction of the staff room, not looking to see where Harry went. He did catch a glimpse of the Bloody Baron, far enough away from the boy that he did not seem to be hovering - and perhaps Harry did not even realize he was still being trailed - but still close enough to protect him, if it came to that. Good. That was one less worry. At least the Baron would let him know if Harry tried to be some Gryffindor hero.
-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-
A chime sounded in Severus' sitting room in his private quarters late that evening, alerting him to someone at the entrance from the dungeons, which was odd for several reasons. First, other Professors and - especially - the Headmaster invariably approached his rooms via the Floo. Secondly, no students should be out at this time of night, and besides, none of them were made aware of where his personal quarters were, except a select few, including Harry Potter, but they had always been shown to them via his office. What it meant, then, was a student was likely in trouble and Filch had caught them and, rather than wait till morning to present the miscreant, he had decided the middle of the night was best.
Frowning, Severus approached the "front" entrance of his rooms and cast a simple "Reveleo" to see who stood on the other side. The door (from his perspective only) went transparent, showing Theodore Nott in the dungeon corridor. Alone. Curiouser and curiouser.
After donning a spare black teaching robe hanging on a hook by the door, he cancelled the spell and opened the door, openly scowling. "Do you know what time it is, Mr. Nott? Well after curfew, I dare say-"
"Professor," the boy broke in, "I need to tell you something about Harry."
Severus' heart immediately picked up speed. His hand clenched around his wand, and he used it to gesture the boy inside. He checked the corridor, but no one seemed to be lurking about, before he closed the door. "Where is he? Is he hurt?" It would be just like that little demon! After everything he had done to try and keep him safe, too!
"No . . . I don't think so. Well, I'm not sure where he is. I think . . . I think he's going after the Stone. I heard him and Millicent talking earlier, and they said the Headmaster had been called away. I think Harry believes someone will try to get the Stone tonight."
Unsaid, of course, was that Harry thought Severus was going to steal the Stone. But Harry might actually be right about someone would try for it; this would be the perfect chance, after all, for Quirrell, who had been growing more furtive - and pungent - every day.
If Potter was right and Quirrell (who was working for the Dark Lord somehow) was trying to steal the Stone, and if the boy was giving in to his Gryffindor tendencies, then he was in a boatload of trouble, not least when Severus got his hands on him!
"How long ago?"
The boy startled. "How long?"
"When did you hear them talking?"
"This afternoon, just before dinner."
Just after he had spoken to Harry on the stairs then. No wonder the boy had been frazzled, making plans to sneak out, and then caught by the Professor he thought loathed him. "Why did you not tell me sooner?"
The boy bit his lip, uncharacteristically appearing worried. "I was keeping an eye on him tonight, and I would have stopped him from going . . . but he must have sneaked out with that cloak of his because I didn't see him leave, and when I checked a bit ago, he just wasn't there. That's why I came to you, sir."
"Very well," Severus said, his mind racing ahead to what Harry might be encountering at this very minute. "Thank you for telling me. Go back to your dormitory now."
"But, sir!"
"No arguments. Go to your dormitory now!" He opened the door to the corridor and fairly shoved the boy through it.
"Please, sir, I just wanted to say . . . Fluffy likes music."
Severus paled but nodded, then closed his door on the boy. He turned quickly and made his way to the fireplace. He would take the Floo to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and if he had any kind of luck at all, Quirrell would be there and not stealing Stones nor killing Harry Potter.
The Floo billowed green flames around him, leaving him to stalk out of the fireplace and into the dark and deserted classroom. Damn. He stalked to the door and into the second floor corridor and continued stalking until he reached the third floor corridor where the door to Fluffy's room was.
As he approached, he saw the door already opened the merest bit. Deep throated growls emanated from the room. The monster was awake, it seemed, and in a temper. Well, what had the Nott boy said? That the beast liked music?
Severus eased the door farther open and slid inside the room whilst humming the school song, the rendition the Headmaster seemed fond of singing each benighted Opening Day Feast. The three-headed hell hound with sharp, pointy teeth turned towards him, jaws opening wider. Severus hummed louder.
Then the beast yawned, blinked heavily and turned around three times and laid down, his third muzzle resting half on the trapdoor leading to the maze below. Double Damn. Still humming like mad, Severus grabbed an armful of Cerberus mouth and thrust it off the trapdoor. The hell hound squirmed and murmured in his sleep like a happy puppy. For Merlin's sake . . .
Severus kept humming until he had the trapdoor open and had dropped down into the Devil's Snare below. The vines pulled tight around him and wrapped him in their coils, but he simply relaxed and the snare loosened, letting him fall through into the room below.
That must've been Pomona's contribution, he thought, as he brushed off his robes.
He walked forward, keeping one eye peeled for anything charmed (by Filius) or transfigured (by Minerva) and the other watching for a foolish Slytherin boy who was liable to get them both killed.