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Anularius	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11886 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Two—Lily’s Eyes
            Harry woke slowly. He knew before he opened his eyes that his hands were bound behind his back and his legs to the legs of a chair. He had, unfortunately, been in this situation more than once. The years since the war had been Voldemort-free, for a little while, but they had hardly been quiet.
            “You need not keep still,” said an unexpectedly high-pitched voice from next to him. “I can tell when someone is feigning sleep.”
            Harry still took a moment to roll his neck and ease the tight muscles there before he opened his eyes. Whether Snape knew it or not, Harry had to be ready to move if he got the chance, and there was little more embarrassing than being brought down by a spasming muscle or something else stupid his body decided to do.
            He was in Snape’s quarters at Hogwarts. Even though he’d never seen the inside of them, Harry was sure of that. The thick stone walls couldn’t belong to anything but a room in the dungeons, and the fire that flickered damply off to the side was beneath a carved mantel with snakes crawling along it. It was the only elegant or pretty thing in the room, assuming that your taste in elegance ran to serpentine curves. The rest of the furniture was old and stained, or worn, in the case of the fabric couches. Harry wondered for a second whether Snape just liked squalor, or what, but then he caught a glimpse off to the side of a door that opened into a shining Potions lab.
            It’s not that he doesn’t care about cleanliness, he just spends his energy on it elsewhere, Harry thought, and finally turned, slowly, to look at the man who stood in front of him.
            Snape looked so young that Harry wanted to blink. In fact, he thought it at least possible that Snape might be younger than he was. He would be, what, twenty-three or twenty-four by now? And Harry was twenty-five.
            But his face was sharp enough, and the lines around his mouth and nose could probably cut. His hand tightened on his wand as he stared at Harry, and then he made a noise like a snarl and pressed forwards with the wand, stabbing into Harry’s throat and tilting his head back.
            Harry breathed through his nose, and made the best of it.
            “Who are you?” Snape whispered. “You have—you have her eyes…” For a second, his gaze dropped, but his wand never faltered. “Are you related to her?”
            “Yes,” Harry said, with perfect truth. The wand made speaking painful, but it would have made nodding more so.
            Snape leaned in until it seemed as if it was his nose and not his wand or the ropes pinning Harry to the chair. “Tell me how,” he said in a rabid voice.
            “I’m her cousin,” said Harry. It was the vaguest term possible, and the safest. There was no way that he could tell Snape the truth. Merlin knew what he would do with it. “I never had any contact with her when she was alive, but I watched her from a distance sometimes.” Yes, this deception would work well, if he could pull it off. He paused, then added, “And you, too. You’re Severus Snape, aren’t you?”
            Snape pulled back with narrowed eyes, his body inclined as if he was about to cast a fire curse, a stance Harry recognized. Harry worked his hands together behind his back. His only chance if that happened was to turn and hope that the curse hit the ropes and the chair. At least enough for him to survive, that was.
            “You’re lying,” said Snape.
            Shit. Harry should have remembered that it was easier for a Legilimens to detect lies. Since all Aurors now learned some Occlumency during their training, he had probably held out against any casual probing into his mind. But he had been looking Snape carelessly in the eye, and that had to stop.
            Looking away, Harry shrugged. “Believe what you want. But you don’t have the right to hold me prisoner here.”
            “Neither do you have any right to try to steal what I had rightfully bought, and knock me down in the middle of Knockturn Alley.” Snape swayed back a step. He was still watching him, and Harry’s skin prickled with the knowledge. He hated looking down when he should be looking up, meeting Snape’s eyes on an equal level. For now, though, this was the best thing. “Tell me what you wanted the bowl for.”
            At least it is a bowl. Harry’s head was so full that he’d wondered if the bowl had been a real memory or a mistaken one. Right now, he bowed his head and sullenly churned his hands in the ropes, wondering if there was a way out.
            No. Snape had not only conjured the ropes, he’d probably conjured the knots as well. It was what Harry would have done.
            “It used to belong to my family,” said Harry sullenly, and kept his head bowed.
            “The same family you share with Lily? The family of Slytherin?” Snape laughed for a second, and Harry thought he was genuinely amused, if only by the fact that Harry was continuing to lie. Then, abruptly, Snape surged forwards and grabbed Harry’s chin. “I tire of this. Legilimens.”
            Patience must be something he learned with bloody old age, Harry thought, panicked, and threw as much strength as he could into his rather pathetic Occlumency shields.
            They held for a second, and then buckled under Snape’s harsh onslaught. Harry could feel pieces of the truth spinning past him. His thoughts were so frantic that it seemed to be taking longer for Snape to pick up the relevant memories.
            Harry used that moment of grace as well as he could. He slammed his head forwards and into Snape’s chin, causing blinding pain to flood his face, and Snape staggered away with a muffled cry.
            Harry followed the blow with his body, spinning the chair as best as he could, hitting Snape’s legs and knocking him down again. That meant Harry fell as well, of course, but he had one big advantage. His tied fingers were near enough Snape’s dropped wand that he could grab hold of the shaft.
            Harry managed to grab it, by dint of straining and wriggling until he thought he might have sprained something in his wrist, and then he managed to wave the wand, too, and mutter, “Relashio.”
            The ropes around his legs let go. The wand had probably been aimed more at them, after all, although his hands would have been more bloody useful, Harry thought, and rolled to the side as Snape tried to lash out at him with something. Harry had no idea whether it was a foot or a fist, and he wasn’t staying around to find out.
            The wand flew away from his hand.
            Harry’s legs were still free. He kicked himself away from the chair, turned so that his hands were gripping the edge of a table and could offer some help in keeping him upright, and hammered a kick at Snape’s knee.
            Snape leaped backwards out of the way. His eyes were alight in a way that Harry had never seen before, and Harry wondered for a moment if it was because he’d never seen Snape in the middle of a battle that wasn’t life and death. Maybe he would have looked like this when he dueled Lockhart in Harry’s second year, if Lockhart had been a worthy opponent.
            That’s the last thing you should be thinking about, idiot, Harry scolded himself harshly, and twisted smoothly out of the way of the next hex Snape fired.
            “You know that this can end only one way, when I am the only one armed with a wand,” Snape said in an almost coaxing voice, and pressed towards Harry. If his jaw hurt where Harry had hit him, it didn’t show in his voice. “If you calm down and tell me your secrets, I could be merciful. Anyone—anyone who might have a link to Lily is precious to me.” He paused for a moment. “And you were not lying when you said you were related to her. Only the other part of the story was a lie.”
            Harry fumbled behind him on the table with his hands, trying to use Snape’s words to cover the sound of his movements. Something should be there, had to be there, come on, come on, something he could throw, he would have something in hand in a second, and Snape might still be distracted with his mumbling…
            His hand closed on the handle of something. Harry whirled and tossed it at Snape half over his own shoulder.
            Snape let out an oath and fumbled for it, and Harry saw it was the silver bowl that had the S on the side, the bowl he had tried to take from Snape in the alley. Harry cursed. He needed that bowl.
            His panic flooded the room in what felt like a wordless burst of power, at least to him, and the bowl soared towards him from Snape’s hands. Harry caught the slight handle that curved out from the side in his teeth, and then began to run clumsily towards the door, calling now for his wand with the same wandless wish magic.
            It soared out of Snape’s lab, and Harry would have cheered if his mouth wasn’t occupied. He would get out of here!
            Then Snape grabbed the wand.
            Harry came to a halt, panting, not far from the door. He had the bowl, but it could be taken from him, and Snape had his wand. Harry didn’t dare leave it here. Who knew what Snape might be able to find out from a time traveler’s wand? And there was Dumbledore, too. If Snape took the wand to him and he analyzed it…
            Snape was studying Harry narrowly. Then he nodded. “I knew you had Auror training,” he said. “And I saw no reason to treat you kindly because of that, not after what the Aurors have done to me.” The bitterness in his voice was as shocking as raw ginger. “But it is more than that. You have been through a war.”
            Harry cursed to himself, and then turned and leaned the silver bowl on the door, twisting so that he cupped it between the door and his bound hands—which were really starting to ache. “Hasn’t everyone?” he asked. “I assume that most people know about Voldemort and fought against him at some point.”
            Snape gaped at him. Harry was about to add a sarcastic little aside about how Snape didn’t have any reason to forget the war this soon when Snape whispered, “You said his name.”
            Shit. If that was unusual in Harry’s time, it must be even more unusual two decades in the past, when so many wizards would be suffering from the wounds the Death Eaters had inflicted.
            “Who are you?” Snape demanded again, and this time he looked intrigued enough that Harry thought he would actually prefer an answer in words, rather than Legilimency.
            “I can’t tell you that,” said Harry, and shook his head when Snape opened his mouth again. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with you not being able to read my mind. I’m sure you could. But this is important to the war. Let me go. I have to do things, and I won’t trouble you again as long as you let me take the bowl.”
            He thought that tactic would work with Snape. The man might be curious, but he also seemed to have a dislike of getting involved with anything he didn’t already know intimately. He had never shown any interest in getting Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws in trouble, for instance; he already had the rivalry with Gryffindor to occupy him.
            But a second later, Harry realized that that tactic might have worked with the Snape he knew. This one was ten years younger, and restless with it.
            “You’re talking like the war’s not ended,” said Snape, and in seconds he was right in front of Harry again, as close as he had been when Harry sat in the chair, but at least he wasn’t jabbing his wand into Harry’s throat this time. “Are you—” His voice went dead.
            Harry stared at him, only to find a disbelieving stare locked on him in return. He wondered what could have attracted Snape’s attention for a second, then realized. It was his forehead.
            Shit! Harry kicked out with one foot, intending to trip Snape up, knock him unconscious, get his wand back, and Obliviate the inconvenient bastard, but Snape, gaping or not, wasn’t that much of a fool. He stepped out of the way easily and said, “No,” with no breath behind his voice.
            “Right,” Harry said. “I can’t be here, and you can’t see me. Let me go. A lot more depends on this than—than I can explain.”
            Snape didn’t seem to hear him, this time, not even to react to or deny his words. He moved forwards and seized Harry’s head, bearing it back and brushing his fringe out of the way to see his scar at the same moment. Harry growled a little at the uncomfortable position. Snape might have been deaf, might have been blind, to everything but the faint line of the scar on Harry’s forehead in front of him.
            A second later, Snape pulled away and walked towards the corner of his room. He stood there with his hand on the mantel, looking lost.
            Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. His hands hurt, and he wanted to find out if Snape was going to let him out or not. “Can you—well, can you let me go?”
            Snape shot him a baffled glance. “How should I do that?”
            “It’s called letting me out of these ropes and opening the door,” said Harry dryly. He couldn’t believe Snape was really that stupid. Taken off-guard, maybe.
            “No,” said Snape, turning around and folding his arms in a definitely unpromising way. “How can I let you go? You are Lily’s son. Her son. Grown up and come back in some manner I don’t understand—” He blinked abruptly. “Come back. A time traveler?”
            Harry cursed wearily. It seemed everything the Unspeakables had told him was going to be useless after all, and through no fault of his own. “Yes. Now, you understand why you have to let me go?” He gave Snape a pleading look.
            “No,” said Snape, and he spent a moment frowning at the floor, to the point that Harry wanted to kick him just to make Snape look up again and pay some attention to him and the circumstances. But then Snape did look up, and his face was set in a way that made Harry think the extra attention might not be a good thing after all. “How could I let Lily’s son go into danger, having made the vow I did? You probably know about the vow,” he added.
            “Yes,” said Harry tightly. Of all the things he had thought he might have to deal with when Snape captured him, this was not one of them. “But I promise, time travel is safer than you think it is. And I came back searching for something, and the bowl is it. Since I already found it, I can leave soon.”
            “Really?” Snape cocked his head. “What are the chances that you ran into me by coincidence and the bowl is what you need? Besides, I need the bowl for my own research. We might as well conduct our research together.”
            Harry flexed his fingers. “Can you please take the ropes off?”
            “If you promise to stay put.”
            Harry grimaced again. Snape had probably already decided he was a Gryffindor and likely to keep his word—or maybe he just thought that Harry would do it since he was Lily’s son. Either way, he was right. “Fine. I promise.”
            Snape nodded and released his hands. Harry brought them around in front of him and began to massage them. Snape stood where he was, but his gaze was deeper and more thoughtful than before. “Why can we not conduct our research together? I will have more facilities than you do, if you came back in time without more preparation than this.”
            Harry hesitated for a second. He had actually intended to destroy the bowl, not research into its origin or capabilities, or bring it back to Hermione if he found it impossible to wreck it on his own. Still, he did have a potential place, now that he thought about it. “Do you know if, if I inherited something in my own time, the things I inherited would still recognize my claim to them now? There’s a house I own, that we could go to, and it’s standing empty, but I don’t know if it would be possible to get in.”
            “If you mean Lily’s house, it was partially destroyed,” said Snape.
            “My parents’ house, you mean?” Harry stressed, and was rewarded with a grimace of Snape’s own. Yes, this Snape still hated his father as much as ever. He had probably only got along with Harry so far by carefully erasing all the features that reminded him of James and concentrating on Harry’s eyes. “The one in Godric’s Hollow? No, I know that.” He swallowed down a lump in his throat at the memory of going there during the original Horcrux hunt. “This is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Sirius’s house.”
            Snape went so still that it seemed as though he’d cast a Living Statue Spell on himself. Then he said in another raw, ugly tone, “So the murderer decided to leave everything to his godson when he finally perished in Azkaban?”
            Harry wanted to say something desperately, but he doubted he could alter Snape’s prejudice against Sirius, first of all, and for a second, he didn’t want to affect the timeline. He ended up shrugging. “It’s going to be useless if the house doesn’t recognize me.”
            Snape shut his eyes. “Was it Black’s decision to make you his heir?”
            He still spoke the name with a world of loathing, but he was getting past it. Harry sighed a little. In a way, it would have been much better if Snape’s loathing had convinced him to let Harry go and get on with researching the bowl by himself. “Yes.”
            “Then the house should recognize that you have the aura of his decision about you, if it still belongs to him in name,” said Snape, and gave a stiff motion of his shoulders that wasn’t a shrug. “As long as he still owns it in prison.”
            “He does.” Harry was sure of that. After all, Sirius hadn’t been cleared by the Ministry in fifth year, but he had managed to enter the house and give it to the Order of the Phoenix all the same. “And it would be secure.”
            “It would.” Snape spent a moment studying him with hooded eyes. “You haven’t told me what you hope to learn from the bowl.”
            Harry closed his hand into a fist. He wondered for a second how greatly the timeline would be affected if he did tell Snape about Horcruxes. He had known about them in the end. Would it matter so much if he learned the same knowledge a few years earlier in the future?
            Yes. Because he might be smart enough to figure out I am—was—one, and then Merlin knows what he’d do. Harry was finding this Snape dangerously unpredictable, and not just because he was younger.
            “I can’t tell you that.”
            “Then perhaps I cannot let you have the bowl.”
            Harry rubbed his forehead. God, his scar hurt. He would be happy to let someone else take the burden of this, if anyone else could have. He would have liked to toss the problem of destroying the bowl in Snape’s lap and go back to traveling through time. To go home.
            “You can count on me not to reveal the information,” said Snape softly. Harry blinked his eyes open and focused on him. Snape was watching him with eyes that resembled some of the Unspeakables’, Harry thought, or Hermione’s. They were so eager for information, and so set against letting a bit of it out. “Who would ask me? Who would believe me? Who has to know, as long as no one else sees you here?”
            Harry shook his head restlessly. “You might not tell someone, but you would act differently if you knew.”
            “Differently enough to change history?”
            Harry nodded. “I think so. And I can’t take the chance.”
            “You will have to.”
            Harry snarled at him, balked. “How can you stand there and look so patient? You should be dying to get rid of me, or hurt me, or something! Do anything you can to get me to go away! Aren’t I the image of James?”
            Snape’s face paled for a moment, and his jaw did clench, but then he said, “No. Perhaps I think that—might think that—in the future, based on years of brooding about what you look like. But right now, you are the image of Lily’s son who went through a war.”
            Harry stared at the floor. He would just have to hope that he could either Obliviate Snape afterwards or that the knowledge wouldn’t affect the timeline. One of the Unspeakables had a theory that any changes that were caused would be erased gently by the motion of time itself, like waves washing out marks on a sandy beach. Harry hoped that was true.
            “This is one of the artifacts Voldemort left behind to make himself immortal,” he said carefully, watching Snape’s face. “I need to destroy it, and I need special means to do so.”
            Snape stood looking at him with his hand on his left forearm. Then he nodded and said, “After I have done my research, I will help you destroy it. In the meantime, we should make haste to this house of yours. I cannot hide you in my rooms forever.”
            Only Snape would make it sound as if he was granting me some kind of favor, when he was the one who kidnapped me in the first place, Harry thought sourly. He didn’t like this, neither having Snape help him nor the time delay in the destruction of the Horcrux, but he reckoned it was the best deal he was going to get.
            The careful way Snape watched him as he fetched his wand and went to the door, and the way he insisted on carrying the bowl himself, said that, yes, it was.
*
Severus1snape: Thank you!
Talented_Mrs_Lupin: Thank you!
moon: Great! I haven’t done one before, so I wanted to try.
Guest: Thanks! I hope that it stays good.
moodysavage: And not that Harry knows it, but his attempts to manipulate Snape have only made him more interesting.
LeaniaSTL: Thanks! And, well, Harry thinks things are slightly ridiculous, but Snape would beg to differ.
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