Book Two: Snape's Memories

Chapter One

In a panic, a thin undersized boy hurtled down a stone staircase that was clearly intent on changing where it came out onto the third floor. If it did that, he'd have to double back, and he'd been even later than he already was.

As soon as he realized this, the boy hopped up onto the stone railing. As the stair ponderously moved, the boy leapt into the air, counting on his magic to slow his fall down to something survivable before he hit the second floor landing. He tucked into a tumble that he'd learned from his many falls from his broomstick.

In his head, he heard his best friends berating him for trying to break his neck. Really though, it wouldn't matter if he broke his neck on the staircase, that would be preferable to the fate that would meet him if he didn't get his arse down to the dungeons five minutes ago

Harry was late for Potions class.

Again.

He was sure that this time Snape would follow through on his threat to make him into potion ingredients. He sprinted down the stair behind the tapestry, not being able to remember the incantation that Hermione had used that had flattened the stairs, as much as he tried.

He slid around the corner by the humpbacked witch, then past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. As he ran, he cursed Ron out in his head, wondering why Ron hadn't bothered to wake him up before he left.

Finally, he was in the stone hallway that led to Snape's dungeon. The door was still open, which meant that class hadn't yet started. Harry took some gulping breaths and tried to walk in as unobtrusively as possible.

The classroom was empty.

After a second, Harry realized that it was Saturday. The rest of his class was off in Hogsmeade, but Harry was in detention with Snape. At least he hoped it was Snape.

He looked down at his hand, which was still raw and bleeding with the cuts Dolores Umbridge had forced him to carve into his hand. Even after he'd soaked it in murtlap, it still bled. He noticed that the blood had soaked through his right sleeve. Little droplets were appearing on the floor.

"Let me see that, Potter."

Professor McGonagal had appeared beside him. Harry thought he remembered seeing her standing in the corridor in her cat form.

"You know, James was just the same," she was saying as she waved her wand over the cuts, "Couldn't tell a lie to save his life."

The blood stopped dripping onto the floor.

"Thank you, Minerva." Snape's voice cut in, just as Harry was beginning to hope that perhaps his detention was to be served with Minerva. She was very stern, but like Dumbledore before her, she never used methods of discipline that were likely to leave permanent scars.

Snape, on the other hand...

"Permanent scars, Potter?" sneered Snape.

Shit. Had he said that out loud? Had he been slipped a babbling elixir? Was he down here so Snape could give him an antidote?

"Actually, Potter, I was hoping we could just have a word." Harry stared at Snape, who smiled and leaned against his desk. The expression was a little ironic, but there was none of the usual nastiness in it.

Harry looked around the classroom again. McGonagal was gone, although Harry thought she might just be outside the door. He realized that without transition, they were standing in her office. No, Harry realized, it was Dumbledore's office. Snape was leaning against the Headmaster's desk.

Harry started scrambling in his pocket for his wand. Behind Snape, the huge snake, Nagini, was drawing back to strike.

"Professor!" cried Harry, "Move!" he pointed his wand, with no thought for what spell he would use.