Title: Stargazer
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Content Notes: AU, angst, mild violence, present tense, underage relationship (Harry is 17 when it begins), minor character death
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 4600
Summary: AU. There is no Boy-Who-Lived; Albus Dumbledore defeated Voldemort and destroyed his Horcruxes. Harry grows up as an ordinary boy—a very ordinary boy, with barely more magic than a Squib. He sets out to prove himself, but in private, because he doesn't want to see the disappointment in everyone's eyes if he fails. And that leads him to a very strange relationship, mediated by stubbornness on both sides, with Severus Snape.
Author's Notes: This is another of my "From Samhain to the Solstice" fics, and will be split into seven parts. The second should be posted tomorrow.

Stargazer

The Squib Who Wasn't

Harry knows it isn't anyone's fault. His parents can't help being powerful wizards, and neither can his younger brothers Sol and Romulus and his younger sister Alicia. That's the way things are.

But they look at him, sometimes, as if it's his fault. As if having barely enough magic to go to Hogwarts means they barely can look at him.

Father is always making up games that the others can participate in just fine, but Harry can't, because it means they have to harness the magic that burns through their brown and hazel and almost golden eyes. And Mother will talk proudly about how they'll grow up to become fine wizards and a witch someday, but her voice falters when her eyes land on Harry. And Sirius just scratches his head and says, "Huh," at Harry before he goes to play with Sol, who's sort of named after him anyway.

Remus is better, because he knows what it's like to be an outcast, but even he's strong enough that he can Transfigure clothes for himself or conjure water for a quick drink if he's thirsty. Harry will probably never be that strong. And Peter actively avoids Harry. It's like Harry reminds him of something he's done wrong.

Mother and Father talk to him sometimes, anxiously, always wanting to make sure that he doesn't blame his siblings.

"You know that they don't hate you," Mother says, over and over, stroking Harry's hair and glancing out towards the garden where his siblings are playing. Or up at the brooms, or around at the fireplace, or at the circle of them gathered around toys that will never respond to Harry. "They don't dislike you for being a Squib."

Harry only nods, his head lowered and drooping. Mother sounds so disappointed. She doesn't want him to feel jealousy, or dislike, or self-pity, or fear of being left out, or—

Or anything, really.

Father is the same way. He gives Harry nervous looks as if being a Squib, or almost a Squib, is catching, and clears his throat a lot when he's with Harry, and sometimes tells him stories of other people without much magic who became powerful Ministers.

"Average wizards don't have much magic," he tells Harry over and over again. "There are loads of them who can't perform the Shield Charm, or the Disillusionment Charm, or Apparition. You're going to Hogwarts, Harry. The test the Healers did confirmed that. You just—"

Can't do lots of other things floats unspoken on the air. Harry nods solemnly, and digs his toe into the earth, and watches his father rush back to the company of his siblings, normal Potter children who can do normal things. There's a difference between "average" and "normal," at least for his family.

And Harry isn't content to be normal. Maybe if he'd been born with the magic that Romulus or Sol or Alicia have, he would be. But he wants to be more than that. And he knows how to do it.

He'll just have to work really hard.

Severus grimaces through the pounding pain and sits stiffly at the head table, gaze fastened on the first-years jostling and whispering among themselves as they wait to be Sorted. The headache remedy he has been experimenting with lately didn't work out as he hoped. Not all experimental potions can, but that does nothing for his foul mood.

Or the pain that he knows will have to go away on its own. No antidote will be effective for it.

"Awaiting the arrival of your best friend's child?" Albus asks him, and pops a lemon drop into his mouth, smiling.

Sneering—the man always eats those bloody sweets, and offers them to Severus on top of that—he only replies, "Not my best friend anymore. Not since she married James Potter." The memory of Lily's choice still stings. Severus understands why she did it. Severus himself was too guarded, in the end, for even their friendship to survive. He drove Lily away with his constant need for reassurance, followed by coldness and his disappearance into the dungeons to brew.

His flirtation with the Death Eaters probably didn't help, either. And although he doesn't bear the Dark Mark on his arm as so many of the convicted do, it was only a miracle of self-control that allowed him to escape. As it is, he was close enough to many of the Dark Lord's arrested followers, including Lucius Malfoy, that few people would hire him when his trial was done. Severus has to be grateful that he found a position at Hogwarts.

Has to be grateful. It does not mean that he wants to be.

"Well, there's always the chance to turn over a new leaf, my boy!"

Severus doesn't react to the teasing, and instead watches the Sorting. The first few children go quickly, but there's a long line still waiting. Severus grimaces. It is wrong to wish that the war had shattered a few more families before Albus stopped it, but his Occlumency is strong enough to prevent Albus from reading the desire out of his mind.

And no one else can reach it.

Finally, the line narrows to the point that Severus can readily make out the boy with messy dark hair and the green eyes that still make his heart twist, even now. He sits still, outwardly bored, as the boy walks over and picks up the Hat.

Some moments pass, and Severus tilts his head. He remembers hearing that the boy barely had enough magic to make it to Hogwarts. That might mean—

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

There's the usual clapping and cheering that Pomona's badgers do for every student Sorted into their House. A Hufflepuff has no measure of relative value, Severus thinks clinically, while part of him still ticks with shock. Of course they would be as happy to have a near-Squib as they would be to have a child of a prominent family line or strong intelligence.

Potter walks over and sits next to Cedric Diggory, who claps him on the shoulder and starts introducing him to the others. Severus watches for a few minutes, until the next Slytherin Sorting. Potter keeps his eyes down and answers quietly enough that it's hard to make out the words. Not at all the son of his arrogant father that Severus thought he would be.

But, of course, there are many kinds of arrogance. Potter probably thinks himself too good for his House. Thinks he should have been a Gryffindor.

I look forward to teaching the boy his place, Severus thought, and turns to nod for the Selwyn girl entering Slytherin.

Hard Work

Harry's House placement isn't a surprise to him. For one thing, he's not good enough to be a Gryffindor. Mother and Father have made that clear. Or at least that they don't think of him as a Gryffindor. And he would never want to be a Slytherin. He's not cunning. He comes up with simple plans. Not clever enough for Ravenclaw, either.

The Hat told him, "You're dogged. You can do anything you want with this much work ethic. But your ambition is so strong that I did consider putting you in Slytherin. Let me take another look."

Harry sat there and patiently replayed memories of times people ignored him. For now, he needed people to keep ignoring him. He'd change that soon enough, but there was no point in changing it right away. He wasn't good enough at magic to carry off the dramatic reveal of his presence right now. Let him be ignored. He would just—

"You'll improve because you'll work at it. And then dazzle them all with the magic that you can show them?"

That's right, Harry told the Hat, and the Hat put him in his House.

The one thing Harry's worried about, that his fellow Hufflepuffs won't ignore him enough to let him slip away and practice magic in private, turns out to be baseless. He's not powerful enough or clever enough or friendly enough to attract any extraordinary interest. And when he listens to others, he doesn't make the right exclamations that would convince them he wants to adore them. People talk about themselves and sometimes use him as a convenient audience. Then they drift away.

Just like they've always done.

Just like he's going to make them stop doing, in a few years. But only then.

The first Potions class is a disaster. Then again, Harry expected it to be.

Professor Snape prowls around hissing dark promises of what is going to happen to them if they dare take their wands out in his class. Harry keeps his wand firmly in his sleeve, but it doesn't keep the professor from whipping towards him and barking out a question about asphodel and wormwood.

Harry thinks he knows the answer to this one. He read all his books before he started Hogwarts. He knows that he's going to have to read books to get good at magic, because he has to understand the theory before he can start practicing spells. Other people, who aren't almost Squibs, don't have to, but he does.

But he also doesn't see the point in giving the right answer. He knows all about Professor Severus Snape and his hatred of Potters, and his broken friendship with Mother. Harry won't impress him no matter how he tries.

And he only has time for working towards that moment when he can impress them.

"Some sort of sleeping potion?" he asks, and makes sure his voice is wavery and squeaky, like the voice of a typical Hufflepuff. Apparently, the professor didn't expect even that much, because he actually checks his step and stares at Harry before he sneers.

"And where would you find a bezoar?"

This one, he definitely knows. But Harry looks down at his desk and stammers, "I-in someone's p-potions kit?"

"I do not tolerate cheek, Potter. Last question. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

They're the same plant. Harry bites his lip and blanks his face, and blushes when Snape glares at him harder. "I d-don't know, sir!"

Again Snape hesitates as if he doesn't understand, which is weirder than the rest. Why would he expect anything but arrogance from one of James Potter's children? But then he turns away and begins to spit the answers.

Harry was right about the asphodel and wormwood potion being the Draught of Living Death, and where the bezoar would come from. But he scrambles for his quill and churns down the answers, and doesn't try very hard with the potion that follows. Potions are something even near-Squibs can do well. And Mother makes them for her job sometimes, but Father wouldn't be impressed by him doing well in Snape's class.

Harry is going to do the really impressive magic that they don't think he can do. That's the whole point.

The boy lied about not knowing what monkshood and wolfsbane are.

Severus frowns down at the stack of summer essays he's marking. There's a glass of softly gleaming Lightning Whisky within reach and an even softer fire flickering in front of him and student egos waiting to be destroyed, but he's having a hard time making himself settle to the work.

Being a Legilimens means he can sense lies from anyone except another Legilimens. And the Potter boy lied.

He had no reason to do so. If anything, Severus would expect the spawn of James Potter to be smirking and resting on his laurels, expecting to impress his greasy Potions teacher with a few simple answers.

But Potter isn't like that. Severus still thinks he's arrogant, expecting to get away with lying to a Legilimens, but he doesn't seem to attract attention. It's almost uncanny, the way the boy manages to fade out in Potions class, not even getting other helpful Hufflepuffs to aid him. He was working alone before Severus thought to assign him to do so.

He recalls a stray remark made by Minerva the other day. She was surprised the first night that the boy wasn't a Gryffindor, but at the head table, she said, "I shouldn't have been. The House wouldn't be a good fit for him. He's very humble."

Could it be that, because he's been told all his life that he doesn't have much magic—?

But Severus dismisses the notion with a snarl. No. He was right that it was simply a different kind of arrogance. Potter still expects to get away with the lying. Severus is going to teach him differently.

Only when he makes that resolution can he finally go back to the destruction of other egos.

Empty Classrooms

Harry finds he doesn't care much for detention. Granted, he's only earning them from Professor Snape and that's really because his last name is Potter more than anything else, but they still cut into the private time that he wants to spend reading books and practicing spells.

There's one good thing, though. Professor Snape favors manual labor over the lines or forced revision that some professors do. Harry's mind can go elsewhere while his hands labor with sponges and water and soap.

Charms theory is the thing he wants to practice in his head right now. He's aiming for complete mastery of the Shield Charm and Disillusionment Charm by the end of the term. He doubts he'll impress his parents just with those, but it's a good start.

"Dreaming again, Potter?"

Harry doesn't jump, even though the voice sounded from right behind him. One of the things the rigorous training has done for him is give him more control of his body, so involuntary flinches and the like are going down. He inclines his head and murmurs, "I'm almost done, Professor Snape."

"I want to know what you were thinking about," the professor says, and prowls in front of him.

Harry doesn't look him directly in the eye, given his Legilimency, but he does look at Snape's nose. It's a pretty easy target. "I was thinking about Charms, Professor."

There's a silence while Snape struggles to find something worthy of another detention in his words. Harry only stands still; he keeps his hands moving, attacking the stubborn stain along the side of the cauldron no matter how much it wants to stay.

"Do not think about them in my classroom!" Snape finally snaps back, and flounces off.

Harry doesn't even point out that they're in his office and not his classroom. That's how noble he can be. He goes back to considering ways that he can improve his wand movements and the pronunciation of his incantations. He supposes he could pay attention to that Granger girl in Ravenclaw for tips, but she always follows up the tips with half an hour of explanation about things Harry already knows.

He has better uses for his time.

Harry stands still and studies himself in the big mirror that he found in an empty classroom and dragged here, to his practice space, another empty classroom. At first, the mirror kept trying to show him images of himself standing with Mother and Father while his siblings stared at him in awe. But Harry threatened to break it, and it proved it's a smart enchanted mirror. Now it just reflects him and the classroom.

And it won't reflect him in a moment, if all goes well.

Harry draws in a deep breath the way all those books say to, calming and centering himself. Then he taps his wand on his head and speaks the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm, smartly.

Nothing happens.

Harry blinks for a second. Then he breathes out and nods. All right. He hasn't worked hard enough yet. Or he hasn't flexed the little magic he does have, which he can sometimes feel burning in his chest, hard enough. He'll keep working at it. This is a muscle. He'll turn it and exercise it and make it work.

Of course he feels disappointed as he wheels around to face the mirror again. But he doesn't feel like giving up.

He never will.

Severus stares at the letter on his desk. Honestly, he expected one months ago, when he first started assigning Potter all those detentions. Surely the boy would have written to his parents, complaining, and James bloody Potter would have sent a Howler to scream at Severus and tell him that he shouldn't crush a poor Squib's dreams.

But this is the first that he's received. And it's an ordinary note, from Lily. He opened it the minute he got it. He's not staring at it because of feelings about their old friendship. He's staring at it because it's the most puzzling thing he's ever got from her.

Dear Severus,

I hate writing to you like this, because it feels like I'm taking advantage of the friendship we used to have. But I don't feel like I have a choice. Harry hasn't written us a line since he got to Hogwarts. We were hoping you had some idea how he was doing in his classes. I mean, at least his Potions classes. We know he's not in Slytherin, but we only know that because Sirius stopped by to chat with Dumbledore and happened to see Harry go by with Hufflepuff colors on his robes.

We don't know why he doesn't write to us. But we're both afraid that maybe he finds the schoolwork too challenging and he thinks that we'll pull him out of the school. It's not true! We want him to stay at Hogwarts as long as he possibly can.

I know you don't like either me or James most of the time, but we thought—I thought that Harry might bond with you because Potions are the one branch of magic people who are almost Squibs can do easily. Can you please just write to me and tell me how he is? Even a few words would mean a lot.

Thank you,
Lily.

Severus stares at the letter, and taps his fingers on the table. He goes over to fetch a glass of his favorite whisky, and still things are no clearer.

Potter is not one to tell tales, it seems. Not about his detentions, not about the cutting remarks Severus addresses to him in class, not about the way that Severus has heard he struggles in most of his classes with anything that's not pure theory. Not about anything.

Severus almost has to wonder if it's the same kind of not-tale-telling that haunted his own childhood.

But then he shakes himself sharply. He knows Lily—still knows her, even with all the years of estrangement that lie between them. He knows that she would never abuse her child.

There are other kinds of twists that sink into a young child's soul and warp that soul around themselves, though. What if it wasn't abuse, but only being told over and over that he was nearly a Squib, and should feel grateful to go to Hogwarts? Severus knows the other Potter children are powerful witches and wizards. Lupin and Black make sure to speak that much in loud voices whenever they visit Hogwarts and see Severus around a corner.

Potter might well be overcompensating. Although how he can when he barely passes in Potions and struggles in other classes, Severus doesn't know. Perhaps simply by adopting the stoicism that someone probably told him other Squibs have?

Severus shakes his head. He will write back to Lily and confirm the boy is in Hufflepuff. He will say he's not doing well in Potions. He will tell her about the detentions from Severus that the boy gathers like a Potions master gathering persimmons on the night of the full moon.

But he will tell her no more than that. Whatever lies in Potter's soul, he deserves to work it out himself.

The Magic of Work

The incantation rings out in the classroom. Harry knows his wand movements are perfect. He watches the mirror with the intent, unwavering concentration that he's developed, the kind that can never be disappointed even as he knows—

And then he disappears.

Harry stands there gaping, and then drops his wand. It rolls away from him over the ground, suddenly visible, but the rest of him doesn't appear. He's done it. He's mastered the Disillusionment Charm.

He dances up and down in front of the mirror, and the shimmer that masks his shape bobs with him. Harry grins and waves his arm. He can just make out the shape of arm-waving within the space that defines the Disillusionment Charm.

He seizes his wand from the floor and casts another spell. This time, it flows easily through his wand, and the small coil of magic in the center of his chest seems to warm and stretch.

He managed it. He mastered it in time for Christmas.

He's still working on the Shield Charm. But he can go home and play with his siblings and listen to their stories of magic and be content in the knowledge that, one day, he'll have a grander story than any of theirs to tell them.

"You're doing much better in Transfiguration than you were, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

Severus pauses before he goes around the corner, even though he honestly doesn't know why. From the sound of it, Minerva and Potter are talking about his class performance—no secret, given how much Minerva likes to brag or groan about her students at the breakfast table, and the lunch table, and the dinner table. But there's a new tone in Potter's voice when he responds, perhaps.

"Did you find a book that helped you, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, not really, Professor McGonagall. I just read all the books on Transfiguration I could find in the library. It was kind of—all of them. Not just one."

Severus narrows his eyes. And that was a lie, like the one Potter told in his first class about not knowing the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. Severus honestly wouldn't be surprised if some of his other statements were lies, too. It's just that sometimes, the way they're worded can skirt past the attention of a Legilimens.

He doesn't think there is a special secret book, though. Minerva would at least be able to suggest a name, and Potter's reaction would tell Severus more than he could know, without his knowing that Severus was actually listening to the conversation. No, it's likely Potter is doing something else that leads to his success in the class.

Cheating off Granger? Hufflepuff does share Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, from what Severus can remember. And now Severus realizes that he wants nothing more than to walk around that corner, and stare into the boy's eyes, and know. His thwarted desire for secrets, dormant since the war, is burning again now.

Minerva seems almost determined to grant that desire, although of course she can't know that Severus is there. From the sound of it, she's practically patting Potter's head. "Of course, Mr. Potter. I'll tell other students that when they ask me what your secret is."

"They always think there's some secret, don't they, Professor?" Potter sounds almost—contemptuous. Severus has never heard the boy sound like that. If anything, he keeps so silent most of the time that it's hard to discern what he's feeling. Severus feels as though he now has pricked ears and reaching whiskers, reaching for Potter's secret.

"Yes, they frequently do. And all you really need is—"

"Hard work."

Minerva laughs and agrees with what she probably sees as a typically Hufflepuff sentiment, but Severus is the one who's listening. Severus is the one who can work out that Potter really means it, because his voice is so much more fervent than before.

But hard work at what? He will find out.

Minerva finally steps back into her classroom, and Potter begins walking down the corridor. The one that leads towards Ravenclaw Tower, Severus notes, not the Hufflepuff common room or the library. He hastily moves after Potter, and calls his name softly when Potter's about to round another corner.

Potter turns around, But, infuriatingly, he keeps his eyes on the floor. "Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Look up at me, please, Mr. Potter." Severus keeps his voice cool from long years of practice. What has Potter been doing? Usually only students who suspect they're about to get detention avoid his eyes so diligently.

But Potter focuses on his forehead and nose when he does, not looking into his eyes. Severus stares at him. Desire to find out dies before his astonishment and fury, burned to a crisp. How can this boy—?

Then again, James Potter knows about his Legilimency. Severus used it on him a few times when the Order of the Phoenix was still active, before Albus's grand battle in which he defeated the Dark Lord.

"My eyes, Mr. Potter," he says. "Meet my eyes."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Potter whispers. "But I get a pounding headache whenever I do that. I just think that your magic is so much more powerful than mine that it sort of overpowers mine and makes me feel that way, you know?"

That is indeed a documented phenomenon when powerful wizards interact with the magically weak. Not a common one, and not something that Lily and James Potter would probably have told her son about, but it exists. Severus stares again.

In the meantime, Potter drops his gaze again and stands there, to all appearances a pathetic little Hufflepuff awaiting orders.

If he really is clever and hiding all the secrets I think he is, then how did he avoid being Sorted into Slytherin?

Severus has heard rumors that students can bargain with the Sorting Hat, but he doesn't believe them. Otherwise, the Hat would have listened to his desperate pleas all those years ago to be in Gryffindor with Lily.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for not doing as you're told," he snaps, and sweeps on. He doesn't think it will affect Potter much. The infuriating brat doesn't act as though he cares about House points at all. Or his House. He doesn't seem to have many friends there.

What does he care about, then?

The desire to know is back, but by the time Severus turns around again, Potter is gone.