Fellowship & Fairydust

By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count:

Rating: PG-13 for brief language, violence, and depictions of abuse

Summary: A disabled Harry comes to Hogwarts story. Everyone expects him to be like his dad, but how can he be with such a different past? A Slytherin Harry takes on Hogwarts in an unusual way.

“All right, Snape,” Moody said as they left Harry’s room.  “Out with it.  What are yeh plannin’?” The older man turned gnarled features onto Severus in a way that would be intimidating to anyone else. 

“Now,” Severus answered easily enough as they walked into the sitting area of his quarters.  “Why would you think I’m planning anything?  I’m just a simple professor,” he said with a sarcastic lilt to his tone. 

“Snape, even if I didn’t know yeh, I’d be suspicious,” the other man said, taking a seat before it was offered. 

Frowning at Moody’s egregious lack of manners, Severus did not immediately answer.  It was only after Moody cleared his throat and accused him of “checkin’ out,” did he deign to speak to him again. 

“I hardly consider you a reliable confidante,” was his sneered response. 

 Levelling a weary glare at him, Moody snarled, “Well, I’ll admit; your company ain’t sunshine and roses either, but I’m not complainin’, am I?”

Raising an eyebrow, Severus snorted in disbelief.  “You complain all the time!  I’ve met hags with better manners than you!”

To Severus’ ongoing annoyance, Moody laughed outright at his words, even going so far as to slap his knee a few times.

“I don’t see why I should trust you with anything,” Severus added, not entirely under his breath. 

Suddenly serious, Moody frowned and narrowed his eyes.  “Harry’d disagree, I think.”

Severus scowled darkly and added, “The boy has enough problems without a demented vagabond like you in his life.”

“And what’d that make you, Snape?”  Moody replied, his lips twisting in what could have been a sneer. 

“In comparison with you, I am practically the upper echelon of gentility!” He growled, resisting the urge to bodily throw Moody out of his quarters. 

Moody’s sneer morphed into a crooked smile at Severus’ words, and he leaned back against and put his hands behind his head comfortably.

“How do yeh propose to keep him safe, Snape?  Dumbledore’ll have him go back to those piles of slop he calls his relatives at the end of the year, and yeh know Harry won’t agree.  Much as I hate to admit it,” here he cleared his throat loudly, “Harry seems ta listen to yeh; much as he can, anyway.”

Severus frowned at the thought.  What could Dumbledore possibly be getting out of this, other than a highly volatile weapon for a boy?

“Harry is not going back there,” Severus snarled.  His fingers twitched at the thought, but he kept his magic under control.  “I’ve already had my barrister start the paperwork,” he admitted softly, glancing back at Harry’s room, even though he knew the boy was fast asleep. 

“And if Dumbledore gets in the way?”  Moody dropped his relaxed pose and leaned forwards, both eyes staring forcefully in his direction. 

“Then I’ll pick a different method,” was his simple answer. 

Moody looked thoughtful at his words.  “Seein’ as how you’re a potions master, that shouldn’t be too hard, I’m guessin’.”

Severus nodded.  “A little blood magic, and the ministry won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“You’ll have to tell him,” Moody countered, blue eyes still staring back with intensity.  “Consensual magic is almost always stronger.  Course,” the older man’s smile thinned, “It’d be stronger still if yeh were combinin’ his blood with more than one family’s.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”

“Now come on Snape.  I hear that havin’ two daddies nowadays is very fashionable,” Moody said, the corner of his mouth curling up with a wicked grin. 

. . .

Minerva was, in a word, furious. 

How dare Severus try to insinuate that she wasn’t competent enough to do her own job?  How dare he, of all people, even suggest that he knew better than she did when it came to the safety of the students?

How dare he!?

“Minerva,” Albus said, breaking into her musings with that infuriating calm voice of his. 

“What?” She snapped back, her mind still suffering the indignations that Severus had foisted on her. 

“You mustn’t worry so,” he chided her.  “It will ruin your complexion,” Albus added with a twinkle blossoming in his eyes.

She scowled back at him. 

“You might think this amusing Albus, but I do not!”

“Now dear,” Albus responded, laying a wizened hand on her forearm.  “They could have easily have taken this public.”

“So what if they had?” She spat.

“Minerva,” Albus’ expression hardened and she forced herself to regain some of her usual calm.  “Having the masses side against the school would be very bad publicity.  Your job, and likely mine, would be at stake.”

For a moment, she floundered.  Then, “Are you saying that you don’t believe me about what happened in class that day?”

Albus did not respond immediately.  “I know that you were hesitant as to the validity of his illness,” he said finally. 

“You think that I should have sent the boy directly to the infirmary,” she growled. 

With a sigh, he answered, “It would have been easier.”

“What happened to treating him like a regular student?” She retorted. 

“Would you not have sent a regular student to Poppy if you suspected them of being ill?”  His blue eyes were piercing in their intensity.

“I—,” she turned away. 

He moved around so that he could see into her face again.  “Did he not look ill?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted in a whisper.

“You didn’t?  What didn’t you do?”

“I didn’t look.”

For a moment, Albus merely regarded her silently.  Then, “How do you expect to make inroads with him as a student if you refuse to even see him?”

“Albus—.”

“Minerva,” Albus’ old hands reached out and grasped her own. “We discussed this.  How can you expect him to trust you if you only ignore him?”

“It isn’t as easy as that!”

Albus looked back at her mournfully.  “And what of your regard for Lily and for James?  You would dare ignore their only son—.”

She interrupted.  “That is precisely why it isn’t easy! He isn’t them.  He isn’t what they were like.  He—,” awkwardly, her eyes tried to fill with tears.  “He is everything they were not! I look at him and see them standing broken before me.  I see him and I remember their bodies crushed under the rubble of that house.  I see him and I see Death!”  She ripped her hands out of his and edged closer to his office door.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Albus’ voice was hushed. 

“Because you were the one to make him like that!” She screeched.

Albus flinched as though she had slapped him.  She wished she had.

“I am not responsible for the accident that caused his condition,” Albus finally answered, his voice older than it had been a moment before.

“You made him go there to begin with,” she retorted with a frown.  “I told you that they were the wrong sort, but you made him go there.  You made him go,” she said, pointing a finger at his chest, but not actually touching him with it.  “If you had listened to me, none of this would have ever occurred!”

“Accidents happen, Minerva.”

“Don’t try to tell me that your decision to send him back was an accident.”

“He needed to regain his strength through his own methods.”

“Don’t tell me that drivel,” she sneered. “You wanted him to be miserable.”

“I wanted to help him learn to be self-reliant,” was Albus’ calm answer. “At least to an extent.”

She sniffed in distaste. “Then you must be overjoyed now, since he is.”

“I never expected him to run away,” Albus admitted in a soft voice.  

“You never expected him to have a will of his own,” she corrected.

Albus didn’t respond.  He just looked at her. 

“Would you like to know how I know that?”  She asked with a tight lipped smile. 

“Because you hoped the same, my dear?”  Was Albus’ sombre response.

Her smile was bitter.  “And what are we going to do about it now?”

“There is only one thing we can do, my dear,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes abruptly back.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at his suddenly bright tone. “And that would be?”

“Agree to Severus’ reparations and make amends,” Albus answered, with a knowing smile.  “Harry’s a good boy.  He’ll forgive you.”

“As I remember it, he hasn’t forgiven you yet.”

“But you are different.  He doesn’t yet have anything to truly hate you for,” Albus calmly pointed out. “Simply tell him the truth of what you see in him.  He’ll understand.”

“I wish I had your faith,” was her final biting remark as she stalked out his office.

. . .

Moody had finally left after telling Severus to think about it.  He did have to admit that the idea, while ludicrous and inane in every possible way, would protect Harry from just about everyone around him, but that still didn’t mean that it was worth it. 

First of all, for it even to have a fighting chance at working, he and Moody would have to formally register themselves as being in some kind of bonded relationship. 

That right there was enough for Severus to hex the man silly just for suggesting the idea.

It would be different if they actually were together, since magic could recognize the existence of a loving relationship, despite the lack of a formal bond.  However, since that was most definitely never going to happen—never, never, never, Severus’ mind vehemently swore—the only other option was that they go the official route.

Of course, there was one other option, but Severus would rather eat his own wand than let Moody play grandfather to Harry and—ugh—father to him. 

“What’s it matter anyway, Snape?  Your reputation would probably only gain,” the other man had said with a twisted expression of near maniacal amusement. 

“You do understand that for the magic to actually work, we would have to agree to live together for at least a short while?”  Severus had spat back, feeling more than a little ill at the idea. 

“I’d better start packing,” Moody had replied, winking at him in a manner that had made him start edging backwards.  “Oh come off it, Snape! Yeh know as well as I do that the official routes are more pomp and grandeur than actual feeling.  It wouldn’t mean a damn thing in the long run.”

“And that,” Severus had hissed, pulling himself up to his full height, “is why it would never work.  Magic recognizes intent; surely you remember that from your distant schooling years? We would have to make at least a token effort at becoming a family for any of this to have even the slightest chance of being accepted by Harry’s magic.” 

A family—bloody Merlin in Azkaban, what was the world coming to?

Apparently the dreaded “F” word had shaken Moody as well, because the man had left shortly after with hardly another taunt. 

The idea of having a family with anyone was completely preposterous, but yet, that was what he seemed to be willing to do for the boy-who-lived-to-frustrate-him.

But with Moody?  Could he make the necessary sacrifices, play the necessary part in order to make Harry as safe as he possibly could be from the meddling hands of the Ministry and Dumbledore?

On the other hand, if he tried to do it his way and adopt Harry—legally or illegally—would it be enough without the addition of Moody’s extra magical contribution?

Really, what it boiled down to was the question of whether or not he could he afford to take that chance.

. . .

The holidays, despite fervent wishes otherwise, could not last forever, and as a result, professors and students alike soon found themselves facing the beginning of another school term. 

On the train back to Hogwarts, an unlikely trio of two Gryffindors and one Slytherin could be found occupying one of the compartments.  The only thing they had in common with one another—aside from their year and their destination—was Harry Potter. 

Teddy explained to the other two that he had received a missive from Professor Snape informing him that Harry was safe and being taken care of, but like the Gryffindors, he’d feel a lot better if he could see his friend with his own eyes. 

“I hope that he’s been staying away from Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said, surprising the two boys with her statement. 

“Finally seeing the truth, I suppose?” Teddy asked bluntly.

Hermione growled and said, “I’d have to be a fool not to, Teddy.”

Still though, admitting that she no longer trusted her head of house had been a hard statement to make.  Luckily, Teddy realised that and stayed away from the subject after that.  He knew how hard it was to go from trusting adults to suddenly not. 

“You don’t think she’d do something to hurt any of us, do you?” Was Neville’s hesitantly spoken question.

“I’d keep out of her way for a while,” Teddy responded thoughtfully, drawing a hand through his hair, causing it to briefly stand on end.  Unlike Harry’s wild mess, his hair actually responded to a comb, and though he didn’t usually care if it was neat, he could at least make it so.

“You know that Snape will have done something to get back at her,” Hermione mused aloud.

“I’d sure like to know what,” Teddy answered with a scowl.  It was one thing to show favouritism in class, but it was another to actually mistreat a student, and in front of witnesses, no less.

“It’s really neat that Professor Snape cares so much about his students,” Neville said wistfully in the space that followed. 

Turning to look at the round faced boy, Teddy said, “Well, he has to. He knows that no one else is going to step up to advocate for the Snakes.”

Silence fell after the small boy’s profound statement, and eventually they turned to other less threatening topics of discussion.

. . .

Harry blinked awake.  This was his last night in Snape’s quarters, at least for the time being.  He cast tempus with his wand and watched as a set of glowing numbers appeared in the dark beside his bed.  It was just after 3 am. 

He wondered what woke him. He felt unnaturally awake, but he wasn’t sure if that was from doing so little over the last few days, or something else.  Truthfully, he had never had so much bed rest; certainly not within his memory.  Blinking, he stretched and yawned and decided to go to the loo. 

After returning, he tried to lie back down, but sleep was being elusive now, and after another ten minutes or so of lying wide awake in the dark, he decided to get up. 

Pulling on his leg, he quietly flipped out his crutch and silently crept to the door. He wasn’t in the mood to sit and read.  He needed to take a walk and hopefully get rid of some of the nervous energy that was flowing rampantly through his system. 

Is it because classes are starting again tomorrow? He asked himself, feeling only hesitant agreement from within his heart at his question. 

It could be, or it could be something else.  He almost turned back around after leaving the safety of his Professor’s quarters, but in the end decided to keep walking.  He just needed a little physical activity and then he was sure he could convince his body to go back to sleep. 

As he had mentioned to Teddy, he usually listened to his hunches, but sometimes, he needed to see what happened if he ignored them.  It wasn’t always a bright idea, but it kept him alert and focused, and he needed that to keep him safe.  He couldn’t afford to get complacent, no matter how much Snape’s steady presence made him wish he could be. 

He had made a full circuit of the corridor that Snape’s—Severus’ quarters existed on, when abruptly he sighted something he couldn’t remember seeing on the way.  It was an open door that he could have sworn had not been open moments before. 

Creeping quietly in that direction, he lifted his crutch slightly off the floor and slowed his breathing down to near silence.  There was no light coming from the room, but Harry’s night vision in his prosthetic eye was good enough for him to see the insides of the classroom without casting lumos.

Peering around the edge of the doorway, he eyeballed the space inside, trying to see if anyone was in there.  It was possible that something like a ghost or Peeves had brushed past, creating just enough of an air flow to make the door creak open of its own accord; maybe not likely, but infinitely possible.

But it was empty—at least so far as he could tell.  He was turning to leave then, when something caught his eye.  Curious, he stepped into the room and crept forward to see if he could determine exactly what it was that he had seen. 

A few more steps in and he suddenly stopped still, his eyebrows raised and his mouth briefly open as he stared back at the magnificent mirror that was sitting opposite him. 

Squinting, he saw that there were words written across the top:  Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. 

Harry had always been good with words, and especially after losing so much of his hearing, he had taken to playing with letters in his mind in the place of talking with other kids.  It didn’t take him very long to realise that the phrase was backwards.

I show not your face but your heart’s desire, he thought with a quizzical expression. 

Glancing around once more to make sure he was alone, he took another step forward.  He knew that it couldn’t be safe being so close to a magical artefact, but he was confident that his professor would be able to help him if he wound up in trouble.  He couldn’t imagine that such an artefact would have been left out if it was truly dangerous, and besides, it wasn’t as though he were afraid of death.

The sight that greeted him was . . . surprising.

I show your heart’s desire, he thought, stepping even closer, though not close enough to touch the thing itself. 

Staring back at him was him, but where Harry had crutches and scars across his head, this Harry had none of that.  The sight made him scowl.  His quasi-mirror self shrugged as though to say, ‘What can I do?’

He shifted again and suddenly could see another figure stepping out from the mist surrounding his other self.  It was Snape and he watched in interested silence as Snape slipped a hand around his shoulder and then gave a small proud smile.  On his other side, he saw Moody clomp up to stand beside him, and then abruptly, the mirror began filling even further. 

A red haired woman pushed her way into the picture, resting a pretty hand on Snape’s shoulder, even as a dark messy haired man showed up to smirk beside her.  Behind them were scores of people who all seemed to bear some vague resemblance to him. 

He could see his family, his biological and his personally chosen and despite the fact that this was obviously his heart’s desire, he soon found himself turning away from the sight; his eyes brimming with tears as he did.  Magical images were all well and good, he supposed, feeling rather miserable as he quickly backed out of the room, but what good did it do him if he couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel them?

He had both been enchanted with the sight of himself healthy and whole, but at the same time, the sight had infuriated him.  He quickly shuffled back to Snape’s quarters as he thought over his reactions to what he had seen.  Did the mirror mean to imply that his family would have only wanted him uninjured?  He knew that Snape and Moody were fine with him the way he was, but having never met any other family members aside from the Dursleys, he wasn’t at all certain that they would have responded the same way. 

He knew that the Dursleys were a special category, but they weren’t the only ones who had reacted with horror to his physical predicament.  They weren’t the only ones to shun him for being different, although they were special in that they had been the first.

Safely back in Snape’s quarters, he quickly crept back into his bed—the one that the castle had provided for him.  It was real.  It was soft and the covers were warm and he knew that it would always be there for him to use.  He could embrace his pillow. 

He couldn’t embrace his long dead family, and considering what he looked like now, he wasn’t sure that they would have ever been able to embrace him. 

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