In Somnis Veritas

4

In the weeks that followed, Severus Snape saw rather more of the Potter spawn than he would have liked.

For some reason unbeknownst to the potions master, the boy had formed some sort of strange attachment to him. Whilst the other first years practically shook in his presence, Potter did not seem to in the least bit frightened of him. In fact, the child frequently sought his company.

Every Friday, as the professor was packing away and preparing for the weekend, the little brat appeared at his classroom door. Snape's scholastic support, it would seem, had begun to stretch beyond that of the potion's world, and he had somehow found himself helping with Transfiguration, Herbology and even Defence Against the Dark Arts assignments.

Those Friday evenings consisted of Severus' guidance around whatever piece of work the boy had brought with him, followed by the scratching sound of the tip of Potter's quill against the parchment. Aside from this, the two often found themselves sitting in comfortable silence, Severus attending to his own work whilst the young Gryffindor focused on his assignments, his handwriting much improved since the time he had first attended.

Often, the boy would be so engrossed in the latest assignment that time would slip away from them and dinner in the Great Hall would be missed. On such occasions, Severus found himself calling for one of the elves from Hogwarts kitchens, who would promptly see to it that the boy was fed, thus ensuring that he did not find himself in front of the school board on charges of starving the scrawny eleven year old.

Of course, the boy didn't need much help when it came to getting into scrapes. He'd nearly killed himself during his first week, hopping aboard a broom he barely knew how to fly and chasing the Malfoy boy to the top of the castle. Such a feat would have gotten most first year students expelled and yet remarkably, it landed the brat a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Just like his father.

That particular Friday evening, the 31st October, was of course one of the biggest celebrations in the wizarding calendar year. That hadn't deterred Potter, however, and he had appeared right on time.

"What is it this evening then, Potter?" Professor Snape asked when they were seated in their usual position on the front bench of the classroom.

"Defence, sir. Boggarts," Harry told him, taking out his text book.

The potions master rose a brow. "Boggarts? Surely that topic is better reserved for third year..."

"Yeah, I think it is. But Professor Quirrell said it's a Halloween special," Harry said, sniggering a little.

It was all Severus could do not to smirk. So even this little whelp could see what a pathetic specimen his DADA professor really was.

He composed himself, however – it would not do for the boy to see anything but his sternest side.

"What do you know about Boggarts, Potter?"

"Not much, sir... I know they like to hang out in musty old wardrobes and stuff..." Harry began.

"If by 'hang out', you mean reside, then you are correct Mr Potter – boggarts are nuisance creatures that tend to dwell in the lesser-frequented corners of one's home," Snape told him, evenly. "Tell me, how would you recognise one?"

"Well... Quirrell said that they turn into whatever you're most scared of."

"Professor Quirrell," Snape reminded him. "Am I to assume that this assignment is to detail such things? Where one might find a boggart, how one might recognise it, how one might... put an end to it?"