Harry Potter and the Price, part 3 (Patreon)

Dude… where is this coming from?

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Severus levitated his chest into the kitchen. While not as grand as the kitchens one might find in a manor, it was easily three times the size of Severus’s own. Considering the amount of food he had brought, he would need the storage. He moved to the pantry and began levitating the supplies into place. He quickly found that the cupboard had an expansion charm so that if he had multiple items, all extras would disappear behind the one in front.

“Aunt Petunia said magic wasn’t real.”

“Your aunt is a dunderhead,” Severus said. Harry stared at him with large eyes. Harry smaller than Draco, and Narcissa despaired that Draco was the smallest boy of his friend group. Severus assumed that meant Harry was much too small for his age.

“Can I do magic?”

“Not until you are older.”

“Why?”

Severus took a deep breath. He had asked the Fae to stop the infernal war—to offer him some third alternative where he could escape the clutches of both benevolent dictatorship and utter madness. This was their solution. Clearly they expected him to raise Harry to be a force powerful enough to challenge Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Either that or they expected him to hide the boy until both wizards died of old age. Either way, Severus had to be a better teacher to Harry than he had been to his students at Hogwarts. True, his role was equally involuntary, but this time he would face more than Albus’s disappointed expression if he failed.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll stop asking questions,” Harry said when Severus had been silent too long.

Severus turned and found Harry had already slipped off the kitchen stool and appeared ready to find a cupboard he could hide in. There were only eight rooms in this Fae fortress and three of those would only open for Severus—the library, the potions room, and the office. That left Harry with few choices. But more importantly, Severus did not wish to create a child that was afraid to ask questions. Their fates were tied together. This child must grow strong enough that when he was a man, he could face down unspeakable power that cowed Severus.

“I appreciate your questions,” he started. Harry blinked at him, clearly not convinced. Severus patted the stool and then sat in the one next to it. Harry moved slowly, but he did settle back into the seat, his suspicions still evident. “I am not a nice man,” Severus said. “And I am unaccustomed to children. I am often going to do or say things that you will find difficult. I will try to do better, but I have spent many years being as disagreeable as possible, so I may fail many times.”

Harry frowned at him, studying with such intensity that he could be practicing legilimency for all the focus he brought to the task. “You’re nicer than Uncle Vernon,” he finally declared.

Severus snorted. “I suspect that is a low bar. And to answer your question, every wizard is born with a magical core, but that core must grow. Right now, your core is growing and unstable. If you tried to practice magic you could lose control or damage your core.”

“Lose control? Like make my teacher’s hair turn blue?”

“Perhaps. Did you do that?”

Harry shrugged.

“Do not shrug, child. You have a voice. Use it.”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”

“That is called accidental magic.” Severus wondered who in the ministry had cleaned up that mess and erased the appropriate memories. If Harry was already having those sorts of accidents, that implied he was powerful and he needed the guidance of a witch or wizard, and Dumbledore had left him with Muggles. The greater good, Merlin’s ass. Severus disliked the feeling that this keep was a prison—a spacious and comfortable one, but a prison nonetheless. However, now that he was out of Hogwarts he was starting to suspect that had been a prison as well, as had Petunia’s home. Dumbledore had placed all his chess pieces in well-disguised prisons where he could control them. Severus would rather be owned by the Fae. He focused on Harry, who watched him curiously. “Accidental magic happens because your capacity to hold magic grows slower than your actual magic.”

“So when can I practice magic?”

The official answer was eleven, but if Severus had to teach Harry to not just defend himself but challenge the most powerful wizards of their age, he had to be more flexible. “Some magic, like potions, you might be able to practice as young as nine or ten. Some magics, like ancient runes, will need to wait until you are eleven or twelve. Maybe older.”

“So I can’t do anything now?” Harry looked at the floor and was the picture of despondency.

“You can do many things now,” Severus said as he considered the skills the boy must have before he began to practice. “Maths will prepare you for arithmancy. Gardening in that large greenhouse off the grand hall will prepare you for herbology. Cooking and learning knife skills will prepare you for potions. Learning mindfulness and meditation can prepare you for legilimency. Latin will make many subjects such as charms and spell-crafting easier.” Severus had always argued that Hogwarts should offer primary school classes to young Muggleborn so that they developed prerequisite skills, but his voice had been discounted. However, Harry’s education was his his hands. To know that this child was his and his alone was a heady and terrifying feeling. He considered the other skills that Harry would need to survive Voldemort and his followers.

A twinge of guilt caught Severus under the ribs. He must prepare this child to fight against people he knew. This child would challenge Voldemort, and therefore he must remove Lucius and Avery and Travers from the field. And by the time Harry was ready for that fight, their children would likely have joined the battle. Little Gregory Goyle and Theo Nott, lDinea Carrow and Pansy Parkinson and all the others. Severus just prayed that Narcissa was strong enough to keep Draco out of the coming battle.

“In addition, you can study history and strategy. Great wizards and risen and fallen, and by studying their lives, we can learn from their successes and failures.” Harry blinked. Perhaps Severus had provided too much of an answer for a six-year-old child.

After a long silence, the boy focused on the part he had understood. “Math can be magic?”

“Math can lead to magic later. Are you good in math?” Severus prayed the child was not a complete dolt.

“I can count to a hundred, but sometimes I need someone to help me in the middle,” Harry said. “And I can add and mostly subtract, but that’s harder.”

“An excellent start,” Severus said. He considered the jars of foods, all with their shimmering stasis spells. “Count as I place the jars away, and show me how you can count.” Severus levitated the jars more slowly. Harry tried to go from thirty nine to fifty and eighty escaped him entirely, but he could, with some redirection, count well enough. “Adequate,” he said. The moment the word came out, he wished he had offered something more appropriate—something that would encourage the child. However, despite the lackluster nature of Severus’s compliment, the child beamed at him.

“Can you count by twos?” Severus asked.

“What does that mean?”

Severus decided to forgo magic for a moment as he picked up a jar of chocolate treats. He showed it to Harry before he put it in the pantry. He picked up a matching jar and said, “Two.” Severus repeated that until he got to twenty. Harry’s forehead wrinkled as he watched. Now Severus would find out what he had to work with. If the child could learn a new skill quickly, Severus might be able to turn him into a battle mage capable of surviving.

“Your turn,” Severus said. He picked up his wand and began levitating the jars in place.

“Two. Four. Six. Seven.”

Severus pointed to the previous jar. “That was seven.”

Harry ducked his head. “Eight,” he corrected himself. They continued until twenty. Harry had struggled once they reached double digits, but he had persevered without an excessive need for correction. When Severus paused, Harry asked, “Why would I skip numbers?”

Harry was too young to discuss mathematical groupings, and Severus did not want to force the boy to learn skills without understanding the reason. That would create an adequate student. Severus had found his students were far more likely to pass their OWLS if they didn’t understand some of the underlying concepts. Students who did would enter tests with the fallacious belief they could choose whether to stir thirteen or sixteen times depending on the strength of the hensbane provided. Merlin save him from headstrong students and arbitrary OWLS.

However, Harry would not survive if he were merely adequate.

“Come. Let’s move to the library.” Severus left the kitchen and entered the long corridor that ran along the backside of the grand hall. The library, potions lab and office were all deep into the mountains, but glittering stalactites provided lighting. Harry followed, his too-large sneakers slapping against the marble floors. Severus needed to retrieve the clothing and transfigure it to be smaller. There was a great irony in the ancient and noble families providing the most luxurious garments only to have them worn by Harry Potter.

The library was a long room with heavy mahogany shelves that went so high in the air a ladder or magic would be required to reach the top. Severus was grateful the room appeared to be warded so Harry could only enter with Severus. Severus pointed to the table just inside the door. Take a seat, please.” Being polite required an effort that Severus could only hope grew easier over time.

He pictured the scroll bag he wanted and reached into the trunk, his fingers immediately finding the strap. Severus pulled it out and set it on the floor next to Harry. Each scroll stood on end, tucked into an individual pocket inside the square bag. “Count these, and if your number is correct, I will tell you the secret of counting by skipping numbers,” Severus said.

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Then we will have lunch.” Severus raised an eyebrows in challenge, and Harry considered the bag the way a curse-breaker might an Egyptian tomb. Leaving the boy to his task, Severus began to sort the titles from both his own library and the packages that had been sent to him. Unsurprisingly, he had an excess of volumes on healing magics. More shocking was the sheer number of books on Dark magic. The families had parted with rare and valuable family tomes, risking having them destroyed if they were found in Hogwarts. Albus wouldn’t have even needed to fight with the Wizengot about whether the books should be destroyed or held in isolation with the Unspeakables. They had put a lot of faith in Severus’s ability to bring back the Dark Lord. He placed those volumes on a high shelf deep into the library.

“Thirty-two,” Harry yelled out as enthusiastically as any Quiddich fan.

Severus returned to the table.

“Did I get it right?” Harry squirmed in his seat.

“You did.” Severus sat next to him on the other side of the scroll bag. “Now watch.” Severus touched the first row and whispered, “One, two, three, four,” before loudly saying, “Five.” Then he touched each row. “Ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty.” He watched as Harry’s eyes grew wide. “Thirty-one, thirty-two,” Severus finished.

“You did that so fast! It’s magic.”

“It’s counting by fives.”

“Can I do that?” Harry asked as he touched the scroll bag reverently.

“Eventually. You start with counting by twos.”

Harry nodded with an enthusiasm Severus was unaccustomed to seeing in students. Severus wondered if he should push a little harder. Now that the wonder was fresh, this might be the best time to start him on written work.

Severus pulled out a quill and ink pot as well as a blank scroll. “If you write you numbers, one to fifty, I can show you how to start practicing counting in groups.”

“With that?” Harry looked askance at the quill.

“Yes.” Severus trimmed the nib and the plumulaceous barbs before showing Harry how to dip into the ink and write.

“It’s so hard,” Harry said as his number 2 vanished under a blot. Severus cleaned the scroll with a wave of his wand.

“It is,” he agreed. “But it teaches precision. When you are brewing potions, which will be the first magic I will teach you, you must be absolutely precise in every movement. You cannot twitch the stirring stick or your potion will not carry as much magic as it should. Writing with a quill will teach you control.”

“Control?” Harry considered the quill unhappily.

“Magical control,” Severus said, hoping to bribe Harry the way his once bribed Draco with chocolate.

Harry narrowed his eyes and glared at the quill, but he picked it up and began his numbers again, more carefully.

“One to fifty, please,” Severus said before he returned to sorting his books. Having an endlessly expanding trunk was quite a boon, but now Severus had to unpack a keep’s worth of furniture and supplies. He had brought enough food to last for two or three years, perhaps longer since a child would eat less at this age. However, they could not stay in this mountain until the boy was in his twenties or thirties and prepared to take on the Dark Lord. Severus only hoped the Fae planned to refill the pantry when the food ran out or this would be the least effective insurgency in the history of rebellions.

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Harry sat on a pillow on the grand hall balcony, watching the storm outside the shield. Severus always told him to think of nothing when he meditated, but he found it easier to think about his home. When he focused on the icy winds and the howling snowstorms that surrounded their warm keep, Harry felt the peace to the marrow of his bones. Let him feel the magical fire of their eschara behind him and the blinding winter light on his face, the world settled around him.

Severus said he would have to eventually meditate without the crutch of his favorite spot or his favorite pillow or his favorite view of the storm-swept icy crags. However, he also said most eight-year-olds couldn’t meditate at all. So Harry knew that Severus’s complaints were just words. He complained a lot.

Harry only worried when Severus got quiet—like the time Harry had tried to control his accidental magic by pretending a stirring stick was a wand. Severus had gotten very quiet and very angry and he had lectured Harry about all the damage he could have done. At least that’s what Harry thought he said. When he got angry, Severus used words that Harry didn’t understand.

A breeze fluttered around Harry, surprising him because no matter what the weather, their keep was always warm and still.

“Brat, what did you do?” Severus called. He sounded exasperated. Harry knew that word because Severus used it often enough that Harry had looked it up.

“Nothing,” Harry called back. He stood, but the moment he turned, he froze. A man stood in their great hall, which was round and a room and not a hall. In two years, Harry had never seen anyone other than Severus, which he liked. He remembered Uncle Vernon and Dudley and Aunt Petunia well enough to know that he never wanted to be around people again. But now this strange man was here.

He was tall—too tall. And he wore leather that shimmered like the memory Severus had shared in the pensieve, the one when Severus had visited a desert and the sand seemed to shift with the beating sun. Harry preferred snow.

Severus appeared at the door to the back corridor. The moment he did, he stopped, drew himself up and then stepped into the room. Harry raced for Severus, feeling safe only when he was behind Severus’s robes. Only then did Severus bow.

“My Lord,” he said.

Harry’s mouth fell open. Severus never called anyone lord except the False Lord. He was the bad man who tried to tell everyone that Wild magic was Dark magic. Severus wouldn’t let Harry read those books. They were so old that the bindings cracked and Severus had to lift each page individually. But Severus had explained it. Bad people used Wild magic, so good people got confused and thought all Wild magic was Bad magic. But it wasn’t. And the spells that proved it, like the patronus spell, were renamed Light magic even though there was no such thing. Sometimes Harry’s head hurt when he tried to understand it all, but Severus felt very strongly that the False Lord was not Dark, only bad and he shouldn’t be a lord at all.

But now Severus offered that title to this strange man who was too sharp and reminded Harry of the illustrations he’d seen of vampires and veela. He looked cruel. Harry pressed himself to Severus’s back, but he was also prepared to run for the library if a duel started. He wouldn’t get in Severus’s way if he had to fight.

The strange man gestured, an odd, circular motion where he opened his three-fingered fist to show his palm and then a girl stood there. She had reddish brown hair and her eyes were swollen from crying. Her dress was ripped and a long red scar started at her collarbone and vanished under the neckline.

“Dinea?” Severus asked. She looked at him, looked at the strange creature holding her hand, and then threw herself forward, toward Severus.

Severus opened his arms, and caught her, and a hot flash of jealousy shot through Harry. Severus was his. He didn’t want some strange girl coming here. Severus stood, and he had the girl—Dinea—braced on one hip the way he used to carry Harry.

“If I am to feed both, we need more food, or I have to be able to apparate away to buy food for us. And children need more than a warm place to live. They need a room to play in, where they can run safely, and books so they can study magic that is appropriate for their age and practice reading with stories they like. Harry is progressing well with gardening, and he needs more challenging plants in the greenhouse. Severus’s back was stiff, the way it had been when Harry had played with his improvised wand. Harry wondered if he was angry with the stranger.

The stranger slowly closed his fists, tilted his head to the side and disappeared, leaving behind a small breeze that made a scroll on the side table roll onto the floor.

“Harry, that was a Fae.” Severus had the sort of calm he got when something was in danger of exploding in the potions lab.

Shock robbed Harry of breath for a moment. “Really?” he whispered.

“Did you expect them to look human?” Severus asked.

“Um, no?”

“A brilliantly articulate answer,” Severus said dryly. He went to the sofa and sat with the girl on his lap. She looked a little younger than Harry, so probably seven or so. Or she was small. Harry used to be small. Severus said he was growing like a weed and if he didn’t stop, Severus was going to stop transfiguring his clothes and make him run around naked. He was probably joking.

“Harry, this is Dinea Carrow, of the ancient and noble house of Carrow. Dinea, this is Harry Potter, of the ancient and noble house of Potter.”

The girl sniffled and looked up. The red scar on her shoulder was even more vivid up close.

“Dinea, what happened, child?” Severus said. He used to use that voice with Harry when he had nightmares, and there was a little part of Harry that didn’t want Severus to talk to someone else in that tone. But he could tell that Dinea needed it. Someone had hurt her.

She cried harder, and Severus wrapped his arms around her and rocked her. “Dinea is a year younger than you, Harry. I imagine she has not begun potions yet, so you can teach her, assuming, you obnoxious scalawag, you can refrain from turning all the equipment in my potions lab into inadequate wands for your personal amusement.”

Dinea’s cries stopped and she looked up, her eyes wide. Harry knew that expression. He knew what it meant to be afraid of an adult’s anger. He moved closer to show her that Severus was safe to be near.

“He doesn’t mean it,” he explained. “Or he probably does because he got really frustrated because I was stupid in the potions lab, but when he’s angry, he just gets quiet and lectures with all these big words and then locks me out of the library. I can go in the library without supervision now, except when Severus is mad at me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“I’m Harry,” he announced.

She hiccuped. “Dinea Carrow, of the ancient and sacred house of Carrow,” she whispered.

“That’s a big name,” Harry said.

She blinked at him.

“Child,” Severus said with the sort of enforced calm that he thought was reassuring. It wasn’t. “What happened?”

Her hands flew to her lap and her lower lip quivered. “He told me to be quiet or he would make me,” she whispered.

“Merlin’s balls,” Severus muttered, which was unfair. When Harry said that, he got his dessert taken away. “Well, come along, and let’s get you some chocolate and something to drink.”

“Pumpkin juice?” Harry asked hopefully. They didn’t have much left, so Severus only allowed Harry to have it once a week.

“If Dinea would like,” Severus said as he took her hand in his and led her to the kitchen.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“My home,” Severus said. “No one can come here except the Fae and in two years, they haven’t bothered. I promise no one will find you here.”

“What’s it called?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked as he sat on a stool. They used to have two stools, but now they had three, and Severus hadn’t had time to transfigure anything into a stool. Strange.

“Magical homes have names,” she said. “Malfoy Manor. Carrow Bright. Black Estate. Goyle Hiddens.”

“I suppose you could call this Potter Keep,” Severus said.

“No,” Harry said. “I like keep. We are a keep. Severus did a ritual to ask the Fae for a place to be safe, so this is like a castle keep, only the whole mountain is the castle wall and our tower is too high for anyone to reach. But Severus wished for this, so it should be Snape Keep.”

“I’m certain I don’t want anyone to remember the name Snape,” Severus said darkly. Harry knew Tobias Snape had been unkind. He sounded way worse than Vernon, and Harry knew he wouldn’t want a nice home to remind him of Vernon and Petunia and his stupid cousin. However, Severus had two parents. Using the pensieve, Harry had seen Severus’s memories of his mother.

Eileen Snape née Prince had read stories that made Harry wish he remembered his own mother as vividly as Severus remembered his. She cooked with Severus and whispered secrets in his ear. Harry remembered the feeling of Eileen Snape’s hand around Severus’s the first time they went through a floo. Harry had explored Diagon Alley through Severus’s memories, always at Eileen’s side.

“You’re a Prince as well as a Snape. It can be Prince Keep.”

Severus made a sour face, but Dinea smiled. “Prince Keep. I like that.”

Harry smiled. Maybe Dinea would be an ally. Sometimes it was frustrating to be alone with an adult who always had to be right. The worse was when Severus would cross his arms, say, ‘Fine, if you think that is a good idea, try it and see what happens, disagreeable little imp.’ He always used the same tone of voice, and when he did, it always meant Harry was actually wrong and Severus was right. It would be nice to have someone side with him instead of being alone with Severus who would wait until after Harry had failed, raise an eyebrow and ask, ‘Are you now satisfied that I am right and you are utterly wrong?’ Severus could be so annoying.

Severus handed Harry a glass of pumpkin juice. “The pantry has been replenished. Why don’t you go check the keep and see if any other changes have been made,” he suggested.

“Can I go in the potions lab?” Harry squirmed in his seat.

“Absolutely not, you manipulative little miscreant.”

Harry sighed. Sometimes Severus was no fun. Taking his pumpkin juice, he slid off the stool and ran to check out his bedroom.

Harry found lots of changes. The short corridor behind the kitchen had a new bedroom between his and Severus’s and the hall now led to a large cavern with a soft sand floor and charmed trees that moved without wind and a swing from one of the branches. And that had a door to the main corridor. Harry ran to check the potions lab door, but it was still locked against him. Unfair. However, the main corridor had grown longer on both sides—on one side connecting to the new play room and on the other connecting to the greenhouse. Prince Keep had all kinds of changes. Harry ran through the grand hall, back toward the kitchen to tell Severus all about it.

However, when he opened the door, Severus sat on the floor with Dinea in his lap. She sobbed uncontrollably, like Harry after a nightmare. Severus looked up, his face infinitely sad. Harry backed away, closing the kitchen door softly. He’d tell Severus later.