Better Be Slytherin!

Harry, abandoning his blank look, opened his mouth in shock, then closed it with a snap. It was almost like a compliment, that Snape would want him to prepare ingredients with him. As though he thought Harry would do a good job at it or something. Almost smiling, he countered with, 'Two questions plus that hour.'

'Four plus an hour.' The professor's lip twitched; he was definitely amused now.

Harry considered the offer for a moment, but he wanted to avoid the questions entirely if possible. 'How about two hours of potions work and no questions?' he offered hopefully.

'I will not agree to any arrangement that lacks you answering questions as part of the exchange.' Snape paused as Harry drew a breath and acknowledged fact with a tiny nod. Then he suggested, 'Two questions and two hours.'

Harry figured that was as good a deal as he was likely to get. He bargained the professor from twelve questions down to two, after all, and felt almost jubilant as a result. 'All right. Two questions and two hours per photo.'

Snape inclined his head. 'Very well. Wait here.' He went through a concealed door at the back of his office and returned a few minutes later with that same paper packet he'd had last Monday.

Something quivered low in Harry's gut. Pure anticipation and excitement. He was going to see his Mum again. He didn't care if Snape was in every picture, or they were taken at Hogwarts or at his grandparents' home, in Diagon Alley or on the moon. He just wanted to see his Mum. As Snape removed the photos from the packet, Harry drew a shuddering breath.

He had been able to think of little else -- except for Quidditch -- for the last week. The pictures he had seen on Monday of his Mum had filled a tiny corner of the gaping hole he had in his chest, the emptiness he harbored where memories of his parents should be. He wished, more than anything else in his life, ever, that he had been given a chance to know his Mum and Dad. He wished there had been no Voldemort, no Killing Curse, and no need for the Dursleys in his life.

As all his wishes bubbled to the surface of his mind, Harry drew another breath, this one to steady himself. He could not let the professor see his emotions so out of control, and he had to turn his face away until he felt calmer.

Snape laid the first picture flat on his desk. 'Come around this side, Harry,' he said, and his voice held that same calm and oddly . . . caring tone he had used the night he followed Harry to the owlery. And he had used Harry's given name, which he did not do very often, and never in front of other people. In fact, usually only when they were discussing difficult things, or when Snape was apologizing for something.

Harry moved his chair around to Snape's side of the desk and his gaze went immediately to the photo. Snape slid it closer to Harry, so he could get a better look. His Mum, in her Hogwarts uniform with the addition of a dark blue jumper and matching knit hat, stood in one of the larger courtyards of the school. She leaned against one of the columns covered with winter ivy and cradled a book in her arms, her head bent over the pages. A light dusting of snow skirled around her feet in miniature cyclones. As Harry drank in ever detail, she looked up from her book and grinned at him. Her green eyes sparkled. Couching her book against her chest with one arm, she waved at him, then tucked a long strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

Harry's chest tightened; he could barely breathe.

She appeared older than in the other pictures Snape had shown him; he would guess she was in third or fourth year in this one.

'Did you take the picture?' he asked Snape after a few minutes of staring hungrily at the image.

Snape nodded. 'This was a bit before winter break in our third year.' The professor cleared his throat, and Harry wondered if Snape was as choked by emotions as Harry was. 'She wanted more pictures to show her parents.'

'Was she . . . did she go home for the hols then?'

'Yes, of course.'

Harry nodded, his face growing warm with shame. Of course. His Mum's parents had probably still loved their daughter, even though they didn't have magic and she did. Not like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who would be just as glad if he never came back. No wonder their daughter got to go home for holidays, though: they wanted her.

He watched his Mum read a bit more from whatever book she held, then glance up to grin cheekily at him a few more times. Once, she even spun in place, her robe billowing out like the bottom of a bell as she laughed and laughed. She looked so happy.

Wanting -- somehow -- to have her recognize him, acknowledge him as her son, Harry reached toward the picture as she finished spinning. He wanted to talk to her like he could with the Bloody Baron, or with the portraits of people long dead and gone that covered the halls of Hogwarts. After all, she was smiling at him.

'Mum,' he called and put his face close to the surface of the picture. 'Mum, it's Harry, your son. Mum! Can you hear me?'

She didn't react at all, and when Snape touched Harry's forearm with his pale, slender fingers, Harry jerked his hand back from the photograph. 'She can't hear you, Harry,' Snape said quietly. 'She's not really there.'

Harry swallowed down his disappointment. 'I . . . I know.' He turned his face away. 'Sorry.'

'It's all right.' Snape paused. 'It's a common mistake for people new to the Wizarding world.'

Harry gave a jerky nod, but could not bring himself to look at the picture again.

'Would you like me to put this away now? Or do you want to see another one?'

Harry nibbled his lip, considering. He wanted to see them all, but if he did it right now, he feared the pain would overwhelm him. Seeing just one was already making his eyes burn and his chest ache, and he didn't think he could take more tonight. 'I . . . I'm done. I think.'

Snape nodded again and put the small stack of pictures back into the packet. 'I will ask the two questions tonight. Your two hours of assisting me you will have to schedule, but they should be completed prior to next Sunday.