Chapter Text
Harry landed on the grass outside Hogwarts in the shady place beyond the greenhouses. It was the dregs of sunset and hard to see. He heard Ron, Hermione, and Ginny land behind him. He nodded them forward and they all crept up to the back of the group from the kitchens. Beyond the adults stood teenage versions of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
“Oi, Pete,” Sirius was saying. “Over here: moonflower.”
Pettigrew was picking something from his ear. No one seemed to be paying him much attention. As he said, “I really don’t think a potion is going to cure Remus,” Bill asked, “How damaged is the memory?”
“Not much at all,” Snape said in an academic tone. “The washed-out color seems to be a byproduct of my reproduction. You cannot put thoughts into a pensive, only memories. This is my memory of what I saw in Black’s mind.”
“What’s he doing?” Fred and George pointed. Pettigrew was muttering and waving his wand, but nothing seemed to be happening.
“No idea,” Bill said. “That’s why you two are here. I thought if Remus couldn’t figure out what he was up to, you two hooligans could.” He grinned winningly at the twins, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Bill was more concerned about Pettigrew than he wanted to let on.
The twins squinted at the wishy-washy boy. “Can we get closer?”
“You could step on him,” Remus said uncharitably. “The memory doesn’t know we’re here.”
The twins did not step on him, but they did test the obliviousness of the memory in the most annoying way possible, for Pettigrew. Nothing happened.
“I don’t know if that’s enough,” Sirius said, “but it’s all that’s here.”
“I still don’t see how this will help Remus.” Pettigrew shoved his wand up his sleeve before Sirius turned around. “Professor Dumbledore is an alchemist, if he can’t invent a potion to cure Remus, we can’t.”
Sirius looked exasperated, though he continued gamely. “Alchemy is a very narrow brand of magic. Dumbledore’s powerful and all, but he taught Transfigurations, not potions.” That was a good point.
“Well, then what about Slughorn? He’s the potions master.”
Sirius turned around, searching for more ingredients. “Hogwarts potions masters aren’t real potions masters. The guild doesn’t allow kids like Jay Scamander to brew–Hey! Glowstone.”
“Is that true, Severus?” Remus’ eyebrows knotted together.
Snape nodded. “Yes. The guild understands that I am unable to argue the Governors’ decisions.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I had my way students like Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Rolf Scamander, Dorothy Greengrass, and Althaea Elmwood would never have had two session in my lab. Several others would likely also test out.”
“Severus,” Remus protested, “All students need a solid education in potions, for their own safety.”
“Yes,” Snape sounded tart, like he had argued this a thousand times and fully expected to be wasting his breath again. “But they don’t need to brew to get it. For their own safety, and everybody else’s.”
“Does that work?” Bill asked.
Snape’s teeth unclenched. “Very well.”
“You know,” Sirius called out to Pettigrew as he gathered eerie green gems from beneath the broad leaves of a weed Harry couldn’t name. “I almost wish we could ask Snape to help.”
“Why would you want to ask that freak for help?” Pettigrew scoffed.
“Well,” Sirius pulled up an entire aconite plant from the frosty ground with a grunt, “He is crazy good at potions.”
“I think I’d rather feed him to Moony than trust him with Moony’s secret.” Pettigrew was a mean little shrew even as a kid.
“Who’s Moony?” Teenage Snape had appeared, melting out of the shadows of the forest.
“None of your business,” Sirius growled, advancing on Snape. Pettigrew hid in Sirius’ shadow.
“You’re sneaking around at night harvesting poison. I’d say that’s a lot of people’s business.” Snape flicked his wand, but only cleaned the dirt from the roots of the aconite plant. “The least you could do is a decent job of it.”
Sirius didn’t answer, he just stood there fuming.
“Do you need help finding your way back to the castle, or are you going to go on another one of your midnight adventures?”
“What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” Sirius demanded.
“Spying on you,” Snape replied, though it was obviously a taunt; about a dozen glassy bubbles floated around him, filled with freshly harvested potions ingredients.
“Just go back where you came from, slimeball.”
“No,” Snape said, advancing subtly. “I don’t think I will.”
Sirius went back to his basket, quickly packing it up. “We’re not doing anything interesting. Just harvesting potions ingredients.” He was clumsy with nerves and repressed rage.
“You are always up to something.” Snape leaned over Sirius’ shoulder and sneered, “This time, I’m going to find out what it is.”
Sirius jerked upright. Snape leapt backwards, bubbles bobbing around him like baubles on a strange Christmas tree.
“You know what?” Sirius growled. “You know what!” he shouted, throwing up his hands. “You want to know so bad? FINE! Touch the knot on the whomping willow!” Sirius gulped in a breath. Behind him Pettigrew drew his wand, anticipating a fight. ‘You’ll find what you’re looking for on the other side just before dawn!’
Except Sirius didn’t shout the last words; his mouth didn’t even move. His voice came from all around them.
“The knot?” Snape turned in a flurry of tatty robes. “Right.” He stomped off toward main entrance of the castle, ornaments of ingredients scudding along in his wake.
Pettigrew lowered his wand.
Sirius gulped in another breath. “ERAAAGH! Why does he have to be such a prick all the time!” Spinning on his heel, Sirius stormed towards the bottom of Gryffindor tower, only to reverse and violently collect his ingredients. “Stupid Slytherin son of a snake! Why can’t he just stay in the dungeons with the rest of the evil little scumbags?”
Peter followed him away.
“I still can’t believe he meant to say dawn and didn’t,” Remus said.
“I still can’t figure out why he didn’t,” the Snape of now answered.
“I think we have an idea,” George said.
“How long until it plays again?” Fred asked.
Bill pointed in the direction young Snape had left. “Here they come now.”
And so they were; Sirius and Peter searching the foot of the castle for potions ingredients. The group watched the whole scene again, but this time, Fred stayed invasively close to Sirius and George stood practically on top of Pettigrew. Then they switched for a third viewing.
As the two Marauders approached for a fourth time, Fred and George fell deep into conversation. They ignored the scavenger hunt going on around them. Just as teen Snape was about to appear, the twins separated.
Fred pointed his wand at George, “Sprachlos.”
George took a deep breath.
Fred smirked, “Come on, Georgie, say it like you mean it. Make Mum proud.”
Another deep breath, but no attempt at speech.
“Finite.”
“—OWN!” George screamed, suddenly mid-sentence. “And after that I’m going to make you clean every room in this house, NO MAGIC!”
“GEORGE!” Fred called over the yelling. “We can hear you!”
“Oh, I couldn’t tell.” George grinned. “Handy spell.”
Professors Snape and Lupin looked at each other, brows raised expressively.
“How many times do you think that happened?” Remus asked.
“Who knows,” said Snape. “I don’t suppose he was hiding around the corner when I was trying to apologize to Lily?”
Remus snorted. “I don’t suppose Lily ever actually liked you?”
“Well, there is that.” Snape turned back to the memory. Sirius took a breath to shout the lifesaving caveat to his dare, but again, nothing came out. “He actually believed he said that, intended to say that. Huh.”
“It still wasn’t a good idea,” Remus said, apologetically.
“No,” Snape agreed, “but it wasn’t homicidal.”
“Why don’t we go tell Sirius,” Bill suggested. “I think he’s spent a long time suffering over something he didn’t do.”
Then they were all lifting out of the memory. Harry’s body was still standing by Sirius’ chair, but the chair was empty. Sirius himself was pacing the length of the room.
“Sirius!” Remus crowed. “Sirius, it was Peter! You couldn’t say it!”
Sirius froze. “Really?”
“Really.”
“…You forgive me?”
Remus rounded the table. “Of course, you idiot!” He threw himself into Sirius’ arms. “I love you, you mangey mutt.” Remus folded Sirius into a kiss.
Snape pulled a dramatic face but settled into a chair at the long table without comment.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Weasley said.
Snape snorted, dropping his head into his arms. “Just sit down, Molly. This has been a long time coming.” Mrs. Weasley flapped toward the stove.
“Yes,” Mr. Weasley said, easing into the chair next to Snape. “They do seem like they’ll be a while. You appear to be adapting quite well, Severus.”
Snape rolled his head, smiling up at Mr. Weasley from atop his folded arms.
“It’s an act!” George crowed.
“We knew it!” squealed Fred.
Snape held up a hand, stalling the twins’ celebration. He raised his head and speared them with a look. “Not a word. I am still your potions master and the ceiling of the lab always needs to be cleaned. By hand.”
Fred and George nodded simultaneously. “Yessir.”
“And.” Snape’s eyes narrowed momentarily. “I expect you to assist in developing a potion during all your detentions. The glowstone gave me an idea.”
“You mean—” Fred began.
George finished, “—no more detentions with Umbridge?”
Snape’s face twisted mulishly. “Hmm… there is that foul hag.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Mister Filch will be all too happy to tell her that you’ve a standing order for such difficult and heinous work as scraping whatever Crabbe and Goyle explode over my ceilings down on your own heads.”
“Oh, yes.” Fred and George dove into the chairs next to Snape and their father. “What will we have done to earn it?”
“You’re guess is better than mine.” It was clearly a trap Snape was laying, but the twins didn’t seem to care. They launched into a stream of partially hypothetical pranks, trying to find one worthy of such punishment.
“Oh, wait, Fred, wait,” George said suddenly. “We’re going about this all wrong. Umbridge is a blood purist and Filch thinks breathing too loudly is worthy of punishment.”
“Hmm… If punching Draco Malfoy was worthy of being banned from the Quidditch team; what did we do to the Slytherins this time?”
“Something muggley,” Sirius suggested, having finally tasted enough of Remus’ tonsils. The two Marauders sat down across from their proteges. “She always hated anyone or anything she thought inferior.”
“Paint.” Snape smiled savagely. “Spray paint.”
The whole room glanced quickly at Hermione and Harry, who shrugged. The term was self-explanatory.
“You’re going to bomb my classroom.” Snape continued, ignoring the confusion around him. He was focused on the middle distance, as if calculating something. “Do it… next Tuesday. Slytherin/Hufflepuff second years. They shouldn’t be able to make anything reactive out of their ingredients.”
“We got you wrong, didn’t we?” Sirius was staring at Snape as though he had just transformed into a beautiful cake. “Why didn’t you ever prank us?”
“Yes,” Remus nodded. “We would have loved that.”
Snape blinked at them. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Right now. Spontaneously planning a master prank.” Sirius gestured impatiently at Snape. “This person. We like him.” Sirius glanced at Harry. “My godson can take lessons from him.”
“No. He can’t,” Snape countered, though he looked disappointed. “The dark lord is tuning in to your godson’s head like a television. He gets the other guy.”
“Well we,” Remus grinned placidly, “know this guy. We’re keeping him, even if he wears disguises.” He leaned forward. “Do your worst, Severus Snape. Werewolves don’t forget.”
“Dinner!” squawked Mrs. Weasley, banging down a pan of bubble and squeak. With a round of good-natured laughter, the inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place settled in for a home-cooked meal.