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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21281 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2 - Return to Hogwarts

Harry landed outside the massive iron gates. Repaired now, (and feeling glad that he understood how the repairs had taken place) the two stone hogs were again back on their perches, and snorted as he pushed open the screeching metal to begin the long walk up the path. Both the statues and the metal had a dusting of frost clinging to them. Only to be expected really so close to Christmas. He remembered his anger when Snape had met him at these gates and needled him all the way up to the school at the start of his sixth year. Even now, he still felt that intense burn of anger at Snape's blatant prejudice against him, and his hatred of Harry, all based on a dislike begun a quarter of a century earlier.

It was hard to reconcile the man Harry had begun to know in letters with the bitter teacher Harry had so disliked and distrusted. But both were the same man, and if Harry was serious about getting to know the older man, he would have to make his peace with Snape's cruelty to him over the years. His first ever potions lesson still caused rage. Even now. Maybe he would have tried harder if he had felt that Snape hadn't already judged him and found him wanting. Certainly, he had proven that Snape had the knowledge to make him good at potions: that sixth year under Slughorn's tuition (with a healthy amount of help from Snape's old potions book) he had shown that he could achieve in potions. And it was only now, as he contemplated his career and read the books needed to develop his mind that he was able to appreciate potions and the man who had so thoroughly mastered them.

His long slog up the frozen gravel path gave him time to examine the outline of Hogwarts, searching in case some obvious shape was missing. To him it all seemed as it should have done, but it was the inside that he would need to give his real attention to. He was one of the few pupils who had visited three of the four House common rooms, and he had wandered the castle corridors so many times over the years that he knew many of its hidden nooks and crannies. Even Mcgonagall had not scoured the castle as he had. Why would she? She was, presumably, from a happy home, one where she was loved. To her, Hogwarts had been a school, not the first place she had ever felt she belonged.

As Harry crossed the courtyard to the imposing front doors, he couldn't help but still picture this space as it had looked only six months before. Now it was rebuilt, and new flower beds were laid, bare patches of soil in frosty ground. Some hanging baskets swung gently in the frigid air. Soon, everywhere there would be new life. Harry was sure that Professor Mcgonagall had done this deliberately, wanting to enforce a sense of newness, of freshness. Anything, in fact, to detract from the recent terrible history of this space.

Inside, the stern witch was standing, her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised some cracked brickwork.

“Ah, Harry.” she welcomed, a smile touching her lips and eyes.

Harry moved closer, wondering what had snagged her attention. A long scar walked up the wall. It had been there in Harry's time at the school and wasn't a result of the Battle.

“Should I repair this?” Minerva Mcgonagall asked, musingly. “It was here prior to the Battle, but I'm not sure we want a Gemino-copy of Hogwarts. A pseudo Hogwarts.”

Harry considered. “It would seem a little like a parody, a Leprechaun Gold version,” he said finally. “It's a building, and things will change, decay, even break over the years. But we don't want to force the building into a single 'correct' version. Let time re-create this crack.” He paused, then added, far more diffidently, “Don't you think?”

“I do, Harry. Very much so.” Minerva flicked her wand and the long thin crevice vanished.

Once gone, she turned her full attention to him. “So, where would you like to start today?”

Harry considered. “I had a look at the castle as I walked up the path,” he offered whilst he thought, “it all seems as it should. I take it you've checked all the teacher only areas I wouldn't have ever visited?”

“Yes,” said the witch, “although you could perhaps start with the Head's office. It is very much a place that varies according to its occupant, but the basic core of the room remains the same. I've had a look, but a second, younger, pair of eyes is always welcome.”

Glad for the instruction, Harry nodded and headed off to the office that had been Dumbledore's, Snape's, and was now the home of the acting head, Minerva Mcgonagall.

Just before he turned the corner, Mcgonagall shouted after him, “Oh, by the way, the password is 'Rebirth'”

“Thanks!” Harry called back before he vanished out of sight.

As he walked along the familiar halls, he kept his eyes open, checking that nothing was missing that should have been present, or that something that should not have been there was erroneously placed. Paintings were passed, their residents looking at him with curiosity before flitting to other portraits to whisper about him. Harry had been used to such attention as a boy, and now he was very good at ignoring such focus. It didn't make it any less irritating though, especially when he was trying to concentrate.

As fond as he was of Hogwarts, walking its passages in winter was still no fun undertaking. His breath rose in pale clouds about him as he moved along the corridor. It was during the height of winter that he had always been most grateful for the tapestries as they had, at least, tempered some of the coldest aspects of the stonework.

Harry hadn't gone the most direct way to the office. He was in no hurry; he had the entire day to wander around the castle and 'try it on for size'. His expertise would be needed for those more hidden parts – the secret passages, the Room of Requirement. He wondered if Mcgonagall had spoken with the house elves to ensure the kitchen was up to scratch.

“So! Villain! Stand and fight!” Sir Cadogan was in a portrait that wasn't his and was wildly waving a sword in Harry's direction, completely unaware that with each swing he knocked the true occupant's wig further and further off his head.

“Sir Cadogan?” Harry was startled. “Aren't you rather lost?”

“Ha! Ha! Brave sir! When I heard that the noble Harry Potter was once again within these famous walls, I had to speed you on your quest!” the knight bellowed, much to the wigged man's discomfort. In fact, the true resident began edging out of the frame and vanished. One hand reached back to snatch the dropped wig out of the picture, then it too was gone.

“Are you back up by Divination?” Harry asked, walking on.

Sir Cadogan trotted alongside, sometimes disappearing before coming back into a nearby picture. “Indeed, sir, indeed!” he shouted, moustache twitching. “And what brings you back here?” he gasped, after panting along behind Harry for a few moments.

“Just trying to make sure everything has been repaired properly. It'll make the Protective Spells work better, apparently, if the school is as close to its old form as possible. Something about spell memory? Anyway, Professor Mcgonagall wants Hogwarts re-opened as soon as possible. She thinks, Kingsley thinks, and I agree, that it'll do a lot to get the Wizarding World feeling normal again.”

“Indeed, sir! A noble cause!”

“And,” Harry went on, more to himself than to the painted figure, “maybe we can finally put this awful war behind us. Just think,” he continued, after a long moment of silence during which Sir Cadogan fell over and struggled to his feet, “of all those Muggle borns last year who didn't get to come to Hogwarts. All the ones who are missing this academic year too. If we can get Hogwarts open for September, then we can start re-building. Making it clear that anyone, whatever their background, has a place in the Wizarding World.” Harry shook himself, suddenly aware that he was talking to a dead knight, a dead, crazy, knight.

“Sorry,” he offered. “I best get on with it.”

“Never fear, Harry Potter!” Sir Cadogan fairly roared, “Sir Cadogan shall accompany you!”

“Great,” Harry muttered, very quietly.

Outside the Head's office, just before the great griffin staircase, the painted knight cried his goodbyes and left Harry to say quietly to the guarding gargoyle, “Rebirth.”

The griffin began to turn, revealing the winding staircase that Harry was so familiar with. After allowing the stone creature to complete half of its revolution, Harry stepped on and was carried up, walking the remaining steps into the office.

It took his breath away. The traces of Dumbledore that had been here on his last visit, exhausted from the final fight with Voldemort, were gone. Hogwarts banners hung on the walls, and tartan cushions were strewn on the chairs that stood next to a low table. It was now clearly the province of the Scottish witch.

On the walls, the familiar portraits hung, a great number of them peering down curiously at this invader. Dumbledore, his image right behind the main desk, twinkled at him, a warm smile on his lips.

“Harry!” Dumbledore said, sounding truly pleased. “I wasn't expecting you yet, dear boy. Minerva tells me that you have been helping with the rebuilding of the castle. Thank you.”

“Well,” Harry answered, aware of the other old heads looking at him with interest, “I haven't done much really, other than cast more Reparo spells than I can count. Professor Mcgonagall wants to cast the protective charms soon, so I agreed to take a look and check nothing obvious had been missed that needed attention.”

“Ah, especially, perhaps, those areas of Hogwarts that really shouldn't be well known to a student?” Dumbledore asked, still smiling.

“Exactly.” Harry grinned. He glanced around. “Everything seems fine in here though. It's difficult to tell, seeing as your things aren't here any more.”

“Minerva has the absolute right to decorate this office as she sees fit, and it does reflect her heritage.” Dumbledore indicated the tartan cushions. “Those, for instance, are made with her family's tartan. And she, most sensibly, has placed a Hogwarts banner in here, rather than demonstrate her own bias towards Gryffindor.”

Looking around, Harry spied the old battered Sorting Hat. “When Hogwarts reopens, will there still be Houses?”

For a moment all of the painted figures seemed to freeze, then as one they began talking. All except Dumbledore. “As you can plainly hear,” Dumbledore said, almost shouting over the cacophony, “my esteemed colleagues all have an opinion.”

The hubbub died down a little and the white haired man was able to speak at a more normal volume, “I would certainly hope that Houses continue here at Hogwarts. It has been a part of this school since its inception.” Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore forestalled him, “I understand that the Sorting Hat was most opposed to Houses during the final years of the war, which, at the time, was excellent. Now, though, I think perhaps we should reinforce those aspects of tradition that make this school what it is. If, in a few years time, the then Head decides to end the House system, I shall not object. I shall, of course, advise, but whoever is in charge of Hogwarts has the right to decide what they feel is best for the school and its pupils.”

Face thoughtful, Harry nodded. He wasn't entirely sure having Houses was the best way to heal the wounds between the two factions in the war, but he acknowledged that it was highly likely that Dumbledore understood far more about the issue than he did.

“Has anybody ever tried having Heads of Houses who weren't from that House?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Dexter Fortescue, his ear trumpet having been firmly in place throughout the conversation, now spoke loudly. “Tried it in my day,” he all but yelled as his neighbours in nearby portraits winced at the volume, “Most Houses accepted the change readily. Not Slytherin.”

“Of course not Slytherin!” Phineas Nigellus Black piped up angrily. “None of you prancing poppingjays know at all what it's like to grow up in Slytherin, knowing the rest of the school is against you! No other House could understand that, and so the Head of Slytherin House must be a Slytherin.”

Dumbledore winked at Harry as he said innocently to Phineas, “Well then, we could always re-Sort in year six. Maybe that would spread a deeper understanding of being part of a different House and help foster cross House friendships.”

Phineas nearly fell off his chair. “Re-Sort?!” He shrieked. “Re-Sort?! Never! Not while I'm here!”

Stomach hurting from holding in his laughter, Harry looked around the room. “There aren't many Slytherin Heads to have an opinion, are there? What does Professor Snape think?”

Albus went quiet. “Ah.”

Phineas Nigellus was nowhere near as quiet. “He's not been allowed a portrait!”

“What?!” Harry yelled, quite as outraged as Black seemed to be. “Not allowed a portrait?! But he was Headmaster. He should have one!”

Fury drove Harry into abortive action. He paced the room, came up against a wall, swung round and started off again.

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore said, “Professor Snape technically abandoned his post. As such, he is not entitled to a portrait.”

“But...” Harry gasped, so shocked he could hardly form words, let alone form ideas, “he kept the students safe whilst Voldemort was trying to rule the school! He - he helped me, Ron, and Hermione destroy a Horcrux! He - he left because ... the only way he could have stayed was by killing one of his colleagues! How is that something that is punished?! He did the right thing and now no-one is to be allowed to remember him?!”

Professor Black clapped Harry's speech. “Hear, hear!” he agreed. “Well put!”

The other paintings around the round were filled with muttering occupants. Several had visited neighbours and were now whispering together making the room sound as though a steady breeze blew through it. One witch was trying to talk quietly to Dexter Fortescue but he said loudly, “Eh?! What is it Lizzie? Speak up!”

His wheezy voice stilled the others, who began to chuckle. Next to Dexter, Elizabeth Burke, a Slytherin former Headmistress, looked deeply irritated.

“I only said,” Burke began crisply and coldly, “that yet again Slytherin House is being overlooked. I say nothing of that foolish Umbridge woman, although many of the things she wanted were actually very reasonable, but she was suspended, so it is of course absurd to suggest that she be granted a portrait. But Severus Snape certainly deserves one! He nearly gave his very life.”

“There must be a way,” Harry said, not agreeing with Professor Burke's comments about Umbridge, but prepared to accept her help, “surely, there must be a way. Professor Dumbledore? Is there any way it could happen?”

Albus scratched his nose, eyes unfocused as he considered the problem. “Yes, Harry, I believe there is a way. Not perhaps an easy route. But if you are determined that Professor Snape should receive his due...”

“I am.”

“... then I think that between us we can convince the school to grant us what we want.”

“The school?” Confused, Harry glanced at the brickwork that made up the walls. “That decides?”

“Well, yes and no. The Ministry can make decisions about the portraits, about the staff even, but it is the very fabric of the building itself that has the final say.”

“You mean,” Harry spoke slowly, trying to come to terms with this strange notion, “like when Umbridge was declared Head after you'd gone? She couldn't get in here could she? The office closed itself against her? Is that what you mean?”

Professor Burke answered, rather than Dumbledore. “Exactly. The school decided that she wasn't really the Head. Which means, at the moment, that the school has decided that Professor Snape does not deserve a portrait.”

“How do I go about changing its mind?” Harry asked, feeling foolish. He was talking about changing the mind of a castle!

“Contact the Ministry. Now that there is someone sensible in charge, the school will probably give more value to the Ministry's decrees. That, plus the building might be unaware of the full details of Snape's Headship. You need to inform the Ministry, the public, the school, anyone who will listen!, so that the right decision can be made.” Elizabeth made it sound like it was easy, but Harry saw nothing but problems.

“Erm,” he began, “not to be difficult or anything, but Kingsley is quite busy with other stuff at the moment. Like rebuilding and repairing buildings and relationships. I don't think he'd be interested in one portrait to be honest.” Harry felt nervous saying it, this former Headmistress was so intimidating that he was deeply grateful that he hadn't attended the school under her leadership.

A pair of tightly pursed lips showed him that she wasn't impressed with his answer nor his attitude.

“I - I want it done,” Harry put in hurriedly, “but right now there are just so many other things. I'll do it, I promise. Just, just give me time.” Even Harry could hear the faint wheedling tone in his voice and hated it.

“I had heard tell,” Elizabeth Burke snapped, her voice so cold that frost practically fell off each word, “that you nearly became a Slytherin. And that you saved Snape's life. I would have expected more of you than mere excuses.”

Harry frowned. “Look, it's all very well for you,” he retorted, anger beginning to burn, “you don't have to deal with all the work involved in making the world fit and safe again. I do. People want to see their great hero out, his sleeves rolled up, getting stuck in. I'm trying to help here, help at the Auror office, because Kingsley wants my presence there, and I'm trying to keep him sweet because I'd like to be an Auror some day when this is all over and I've had a chance to actually sit my damned NEWTs! So don't give me agro for not immediately leaping up and seeing to it that some picture gets stuck up on a wall. I'll do it, but Professor Snape himself would no doubt rather my energy went on helping the living, rather than creating a memorial for him!”

Burke's furious screech was cut off by Albus Dumbledore. “That will do, both of you. Elizabeth, you may not like it, but Harry is right. Severus himself probably cares little about his Hogwarts portrait. But Harry, I hope you do keep your promise. I would like a chance to thank Severus myself for all he gave to this school and to this terrible war.” Albus sighed softly, “Not that he'd accept my thanks with anything approaching graciousness.”

Voice cracking slightly, Harry spoke, “I know, Professor. I keep in contact with him to make sure he doesn't cut himself off from everyone completely. I - I haven't even dared to mention what he did, or what I found out.” Without looking at the picture of the stern woman he muttered, “Sorry, Professor,” in her direction.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry strived for normality. “Everything here seems as it should be, apart from that one oversight. I'd better get on.”

The ex-Heads of Hogwarts looked down on him. Some held vaguely disapproving expressions at his sudden outburst, others seemed to be softly smiling. Harry got the impression that the witch he had been arguing with was not a popular figure. Maybe it was the old Slytherin problem again: people were prejudiced against the Slytherins, but then they behaved so appallingly that other people's prejudices were completely justified. This witch had seemed to approve of some of Dolores Umbridge's ideas! No wonder she and Harry had butted heads. Even now, with Umbridge so close to a trial that could land her in Azkaban, couldn't Harry find a single redeeming feature for the squat, selfish, power-hungry witch.

With a wave of his hand aimed at Dumbledore, Harry left the room, sure that the paintings would be discussing him and his temper tantrum the moment he was out of sight.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master