BISCUITS WITH A SIDE OF BETRAYAL

by Warviben

Summary: Voldemort has been defeated, and Harry has returned to Hogwarts to finish his education. He approaches Severus Snape, who has survived Nagini's bite, for information regarding his mother. Snape proposes a trade.

Warnings: This fic will eventually contain a relationship between the two male lead characters. If this sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, please save yourself the stress of reading further. Also, there is contained herein a description of the sexual abuse and attempted rape of a child.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Note: This fic is very heavy on dialogue. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but it is what it is, and it's kind of necessary for the story line. I wanted to post the entire fic in one (long) shot, because I'm lazy, but ff wouldn't let me upload it all at once, so I dutifully broke it down into somewhat logical chapters and will try to post a chapter a day, Monday through Friday.

Chapter One

"We have all had a difficult and trying time these last few months," Headmistress Minerva McGonagall told those assembled in the Great Hall at this, Hogwarts' first welcome feast since the defeat of the Dark Lord. Hogwarts had been rebuilt and polished and cleaned until it shown more brightly than it had in years.

"But we are here, and we are alive," she continued, her voice strong. "We will continue to mourn those we have lost, and we will remember to be thankful for those who remain. Allowances will be made for the lack of a proper curriculum last year, but we have no wish to hold you back, and it is our desire that you end this school year in the place you would have been had there been no interruption in your education. I urge all of you not to hesitate if you are having difficulty, in any class, for any reason, to speak with the teacher involved, or your head of house, or with me. We are all of us dedicated to seeing you succeed."

The Headmistress paused to sip from the goblet resting on the podium from behind which she spoke.

"As you are aware, we have several students who should have completed their seventh year last year and taken their NEWT's but have not, for one reason or another, and they have returned."

Harry, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, felt a hundred pairs of eyes seek him out. Sitting next to him, Ginny bumped her shoulder against his. He smiled at her, grateful she was still speaking with him after he'd broken up with her a month ago. She seemed to have moved on quickly – she'd been spending a lot of time with a boy from Ravenclaw recently.

"These 'eighth years' will have different rules from the rest of you, as befitting their status as the adults that they are. Seventh years, you will likely see them in your classes, and they may be receiving private tutoring in areas where they need but little instruction to take their NEWT's. The Ministry has made special provision in allowing these students to take their NEWT's when they are ready for them, as opposed to making them wait until next spring. Some of our eighth years will likely test out over the next few months.

"Well, that is enough for our first evening, I think. I know that your bellies are full and you are getting sleepier by the minute. I would ask our eighth years to remain behind, and I bid the rest of you good night."

The deafening cacophony of benches pushing back, and hundreds of students getting to their feet and talking at once followed their dismissal. Ginny bid Harry good night, and Harry remained sitting where he was until the majority of the crowd filtered out of the Great Hall. Surveying the Head Table, Harry noticed only four teachers rising: Professors Flitwick and Sprout; Professor Bill Weasley, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and newly-appointed Head of Gryffindor House; and Dorian Edgerstone, McGonagall's replacement for Transfiguration and now Slytherin's Head of House. The Heads of Hogwarts' four houses trooped out after their students, their evening not yet concluded.

The rest of the teachers remained sitting at the Head Table, waiting for Minerva to begin this meeting with Hogwarts' unprecedented class of eighth years. These teachers included Rubeus Hagrid, who had waved madly at Harry earlier, and surprisingly, Severus Snape, who, while he lay recuperating from Nagini's bite, had been pardoned by the Wizengamot for any crimes he may have committed in the past as payment for his assistance in ridding the world of Voldemort. He'd been talked into returning to teach Potions by a diabolically persistent Minerva McGonagall, but had declined additional duties as Head of House.

Harry turned his attention to his fellow eighth years. There were eight of them, besides himself: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones and Morag MacDougal from Hufflepuff, Anthony Goldstein and Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw, lone Slytherin Draco Malfoy, and fellow Gryffindors Dean Thomas and Hermione Granger. Harry was already missing Ron's presence here. During the summer, George had asked Ron for help in the store, and Ron had decided that he liked working more than he liked learning, and even Hermione couldn't convince him to return to school, not when he had a steady income and his evenings were free to spend how he liked them, rather than with his nose buried in a book. Hermione was here only for a few weeks of revision before she took her NEWT's, so Harry would likely be without her before long. Harry planned on taking his Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT at the same time Hermione took hers, but he was quite sure he'd need much longer than that in Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms.

"Thank you all for staying," McGonagall began when the younger students had all left the room. "I will try to keep this brief. Why don't you all gather round here," she invited, gesturing the end of the Hufflepuff table. "That way I won't have to shout."

She waited patiently while students moved and rearranged themselves on both sides of the table. Harry found himself sitting directly across from Draco Malfoy. He smiled tentatively at the thin blonde, but Draco only looked at him briefly and turned away.

"All right. Thank you. We wanted to go over with you the rules you will be expected to follow this year. As you know, we have opened an unused area of the castle for you eighth years. We recognize that you have all reached majority, and it is unfair of us to treat you as though you are children. Especially given what some of you have been through during the past few months. However, this is first and foremost a school, where you will interact with younger students, students who very likely will look up to you as role models, so there are certain standards of conduct which we will expect you to follow."

She looked around at all of them, making eye contact with each student before moving on, making sure she had their attention and that they were all taking this seriously. When she'd satisfied herself, she continued. "The area that we have set aside for your living quarters is in a part of the castle not used for any other purpose, so you will have relative solitude to complete your studies. You will each of you have your own room with en suite, furnished with a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a book shelf. You are welcome to make these rooms your own in whatever way you see fit. You will all share a common room.

"You may invite younger students into your common room, but under no circumstances are younger students to be in your bedrooms. I am going to place my trust in each of you that you can co-exist in these close quarters in a way that will not bring shame on any of us," Minerva said primly. "I realize that you are young adults, but I would ask you to remember that you are still in school as you conduct yourselves. I trust you all understand?"

She looked around at them all again. Most students nodded, and some murmured, "Yes, ma'am."

"All right. Enough said about that. I have your timetables here." She gestured to Professor Snape, who rose and shuffled forward, still not completely healed, with a stack of parchments in his hand. Wordlessly, he matched the schedules in his hand with the students seated at the table. Harry looked up at Snape when he handed him his timetable, and Snape's dark eyes looked back at him with no expression, which was a huge improvement over the malice Harry always used to see on the man's face.

"You have been placed with seventh years in the classes that you indicated you needed the most assistance with. As you know, the Ministry is allowing you to take whatever NEWT's you feel ready for, whenever you are ready for them. Therefore, if you feel that you need only a bit of a refresher in a particular subject to make you ready, please speak with the instructor for that class. We are all dedicated to doing whatever we can to assist you in whatever way you need. We do not wish to rush you out of here, but neither do we want to hold you back if you are ready to leave. When you are ready, come to me, and I will contact the Ministry on your behalf."

Harry looked down at his timetable while the Headmistress droned on. He'd been placed with the seventh year Gryffindors in Double Charms on Monday morning, Double Transfiguration on Wednesday morning, and Double Potions on Friday afternoon. His schedule contained massive chunks of time which could be devoted to homework and studying. He felt ready to take his Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT now and intended to speak with Minerva after he'd had some time to get settled in about setting that up.

"You will not be allowed to play on house teams, be it Gobstones or Quidditch. It is simply unfair to allow players with your increased skills and experience to compete against the younger players. That being said, if any of you wish to lend those skills and experience to your house teams in a coaching capacity, that will be encouraged and appreciated.

"We are nearly finished here," the Headmistress assured them as several of the students began to fidget and Mandy yawned discretely behind her hand. "You are to be given a significant amount of freedom in your movements, in recognition of the fact that you are young adults. What does this mean? It means that while you are certainly welcome to do so, you are not required to take every meal in the Great Hall. Two house elves have been tasked with assisting you with whatever you may require should you wish to eat undisturbed in your rooms. You need only ask, and they will provide you with whatever is being served at the time in the Great Hall. Please do not take advantage of their generosity by requesting specialized meals.

"You are allowed to venture into Hogsmeade whenever you like. We ask only that you advise a member of the staff that you are going and approximately when you expect to return. You also have no curfew, although we do ask that you not abuse that privilege in such a way as to encourage the younger students to emulate your behavior.

"I believe that is all for now. Does anyone have any questions?"

Typically, Hermione was the first to speak. "Will we have unlimited access to the Restricted Section, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. Madam Pince has been instructed to allow you access to whatever materials you need. Anyone else?"

No one else spoke. Everyone looked ready to find their beds and fall into them.

"All right then. I will escort you to your new homes. If questions arise as time goes by, if you find yourselves with a problem which you require assistance resolving, or if you simply need to talk, please come and see me. I am here for you. I am so happy that you have decided to return, and we will do everything in our power to see that you are happy here while you finish your education. Come. Your beds await."

They all stood and followed the new Headmistress across the hall. Before going through the doors, Harry looked back and locked eyes with Professor Snape again. Again, he could not read his professor's expression, but Harry felt as though they had unfinished business, and he promised himself to go and talk to the man at his earliest opportunity.

The parade of students followed their Headmistress up two flights of stairs and twisted their way along an unfamiliar corridor. They finally arrived in a large rectangular room. It had no windows, but each of its four walls contained multiple doors – Harry counted nine, one for each of them. The middle of the room was dominated by a pile of trunks and owl cages and other various and sundry items that the eighth years had brought to Hogwarts on the train. The walls not taken up by doors were lined with desks, and various items of comfortable looking furniture – sofas, chairs, and poufs – were spread throughout the room.

Once all of the students had made their way into the large room, McGonagall turned to face them again. "Please take a few moments to look through all of the rooms. We will be holding a lottery of sorts to determine room assignments. I have here," she shook a small bag that had been left on one of the chairs, "all of your names. I will pick one out, and that student will have first choice of rooms. I will give you ten minutes."

Harry and Hermione looked through all of the rooms together, though Harry really didn't care where he slept. Having his own room would be heaven, and as long as it was at least a little bigger than his cupboard at the Dursleys, he could live with it. Even if it was exactly the size of his cupboard, it would be better accommodation than some of the places he'd slept in the last few months. The rooms were all very similar, roughly all the same size, with nearly identical furniture in them. Each of the rooms contained windows, charmed, Harry suspected, though he couldn't tell because it was dark outside. Each of the rooms contained a small connected bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. Any one of them would be comfortable.

When everyone had looked to their heart's content, they re-formed before their Headmistress. "Ready?" At their nods, she reached into the bag, shook it around dramatically, and pulled out a scrap of parchment. "Harry Potter," she read, smiling at Harry. The Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs boo-ed good-naturedly, and Dean slapped Harry on the back.

"I'll take that corner room," Harry said, pointing. "It has the most windows."

"You may take your things in, then," Minerva instructed. She flicked her wand at his door, inscribing 'H. Potter' into the dark wood. Harry located his trunk while Minerva fished around in the bag again. "Susan Bones," he heard as he dragged his trunk into his new quarters.

Harry closed the door and cast locking and privacy spells on it. He let his trunk thunk down at the end of the bed. He'd worry about emptying it and stowing everything away tomorrow. He was tired now, too tired to even fetch his pajamas out of his trunk, and he stripped off everything but his boxers. He visited the loo, brushed his teeth, and then slid into the clean, fresh-smelling sheets. He was asleep within minutes.

Harry's first week of classes had come to a close with the bell at the end of Double Potions. He purposely put his book and materials away slowly, shooing Hermione away when it looked like she would stay. There was something he needed to do, and he needed to do it alone.

Snape moved slowly to the blackboard and began to erase the instructions he'd magicked up there at the beginning of class. He was very aware that Potter was lingering, and it was evident that the boy was waiting for the last of his fellow students to leave before doing whatever it was he planned to do. Snape thought he had a pretty good idea what that was.

As soon as the door had closed behind Hermione, Harry spoke up, "May I have a moment of your time, sir?"

"I am here and you are here, Potter," said Snape curtly. "What is it that you need?"

"I didn't really need anything," Harry said softly. "I just wanted to say a couple of things. First, I wanted to apologize. And then I wanted to say thank you."

"Both sentiments are appreciated, but neither are necessary," Snape said, moving behind his desk to gather the summer homework the seventh years had turned in.

"Please, sir," Harry said urgently. "I'd really like to say this. Even if you don't want to hear it." When Snape didn't protest further, Harry continued, "Thank you for all of the times that you saved my life, especially those times when I had no idea that you were on my side and thought you hated me. Thank you for bringing me the Sword of Gryffindor when I needed it most, and for giving me your memories so that I could finally understand what I needed to do. And I want you to know how sorry I am that I made things so much more difficult than they already were. If I'd trusted the Headmaster more, I would have taken him at his word and trusted you as well. But I was young and stupid, and I let my emotions control me. So I'm sorry about everything that I did and said that made your life harder. And I'm really, really sorry that I didn't come back for you in the Shrieking Shack. I thought . . . I thought you were dead."

"Finished?" Snape asked when it appeared that Harry had gotten it all out there.

Harry nodded. "Thank you for listening to me." He certainly hadn't expected Snape to be grateful for his sentiments, nor did he think the man would offer up any apologies of his own. "I'll let you get on with your day."

Harry began to walk toward the door, but stopped when he heard Snape say, "Potter." He turned around and faced his teacher.

"You were supposed to hate me," Snape offered. "I encouraged it. And saving your precious hide was part of my penance. And finally, you had more pressing items on your agenda that day, and I do not begrudge your leaving me in the Shrieking Shack. I was . . . ready to die. I had accepted that my fate likely included death at Voldemort's hands."

Harry accepted this in silence, then said, "I'm glad that you didn't die, sir. I'm glad that I have the chance to make things up to you."

"You can 'make things up to me', Mr. Potter, by applying yourself to Potions and learning as much as you can in the time we have allotted to us."

"And I intend to do that," Harry assured him. "Professor, would you . . ." Harry hesitated, sure that Snape would shoot down his request. He figured he didn't have anything to lose, so he pressed ahead. "Would you consider . . . maybe we could . . . I know hardly anything about my mother. You knew her in school. I wondered if you might be willing to . . . anything you might be willing to share with me, I would sincerely appreciate."

Snape stared down at him for many moments. He found he wanted to tell Potter about Lily, and this surprised him, because even thinking about her was usually so painful. But here was her son, her son who knew so very little about the wonderful woman that had given him life, twice, and he could help. How could he refuse?

"You may come to my office Tuesday evening," he said. "Seven o'clock. I will tell you what I can remember."

Harry's smile lit up the gloomy dungeon classroom. "Thank you, sir! I can't tell you how much I appreciate this!"

"Shoo, Potter," Snape said. "Go find your cohorts and get to dinner."

Harry smiled again, piped out a quick "yes, sir," and left while he was still ahead.

Tuesday night couldn't arrive quickly enough for Harry. Finally, he found himself knocking on Professor Snape's office door and pushing it open at the barked, "Enter!"

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said politely.

"Mr. Potter," Snape nodded his head in response. "You may be seated."

Harry hastened to the chair in front of Snape's desk and sat. He looked expectantly at his teacher, as though he thought the man would immediately start hurling out memories of his mother.

"I have been thinking about my agreement to provide you with memories of your mother," Snape started.

Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. Snape had reconsidered. He'd been so looking forward to this, and now Snape was taking it away from him.

Severus saw Harry's expression fall, and he held up a hand to stop the protest or begging or insults which he was sure must be about to fall from the Gryffindor's mouth. "I did not say I had changed my mind, merely that I had been thinking about it. I would hardly be Slytherin if I gave you what you wanted without some recompense."

Harry wasn't sure what he had that Snape could want, but he wanted stories about his mother very much, and he'd give whatever he had. "What do you want?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

"Information," Snape said.

"Information? About what?"

"About your last year. I will share with you memories of your mother, and you will answer my questions about how you have spent the last year of your life."

Harry thought about that. He could certainly live with that. He hadn't told many people about his adventures over the last several months, but there was nothing that he couldn't share with Snape. But he could bargain as well. "What if I have questions about how you have spent the last year of your life? Will you answer those?"

"Well now we've gone beyond the quid pro quo, have we not? If I give you that as well, what will you give me in return?" Snape didn't really want anything from this boy, other than his version of events concerning the hunt and destruction of horcruxes. He was pleasantly surprised that Potter was attempting to negotiate, though, so he was reluctant to just give him everything he wanted. What was Potter willing to offer in return?

"Well," Harry said, thinking. He was quite sure he'd insult Snape if he offered him Galleons for his information. But he really couldn't fathom what he had that Snape might want. Well, maybe he could. "I could tell you about third year, when Sirius escaped." He remembered how angry Snape had been that night. Surely he'd want to hear the story behind that, assuming Dumbledore hadn't already told him.

Sure enough, Snape's dark eyes took on an anticipatory gleam. He would like to hear that story, and many others now that he thought about it. "How about this?" he proposed. "You and I . . . share. Everything is on the table, from the moment you stepped foot in this place."

"Everything?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. "What about . . . personal things? I don't want to have to share that type of information with you."

Snape smirked at him across the desk. "You already have, Potter. Miss Chang? Occlumency? Ringing any bells?"

Harry felt himself blushing, but his kiss with Cho under the mistletoe was probably the least of the embarrassing personal moments he could tell Snape about. "There are some things that will be off limits," Harry said firmly. "I'd imagine you don't want me asking you about who you might have shagged over the years. I'd ask the same courtesy."

Snape snorted, as though disbelieving it possible that Harry could have shagged anyone. But he had a point. "All right," he agreed. "I can live with that. This is obviously going to take some time. Should we perhaps schedule weekly meetings? Tuesday nights?"

"That will work for me," Harry agreed. "So will there be some sort of logic to this? Or will we simply sit here and lob random questions at one another?"

Snape stroked his chin with one finger. Harry watched that one finger, fascinated. "No, we will bring some order to this madness. We will begin with your first year. We will go chronologically."

"I have no objection to that, but how can you expect me to remember events that happened seven years ago?"

"I have a journal," Snape confessed. It was his turn to shift uncomfortably. "That should assist us with placing actions with dates." This journal was actually a very detailed account of Harry's life at Hogwarts. Snape had begun it when the whelp first started school, hoping that he could chronicle the boy's misbehavior, accumulate evidence of his misdeeds, and present it to the Headmaster in argument for expulsion. He'd been so sure that the young Potter would be a carbon copy of his father, and he'd been ready to prove that to anyone who would listen. Even when he realized that Potter could do nothing that would cause the Headmaster to expel him, he'd still continued to watch the boy obsessively. His journal would be of great assistance to them in their current endeavor.

"A journal, huh?" Harry asked, wondering if Snape would ever let him look at this journal. "All right. We'll begin next week. But for tonight, since you'd already agreed to tell me something about my mother, I think you owe me."

Snape nodded in agreement. "When we were eight," Snape began, "your grandmother took Lily and me and Petunia to the local library. Your mother and your aunt already had library cards, and your grandmother helped me to get one as well."

"What was her name?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing that he didn't even know the names of his own mother's parents. "My grandmother?"

"Marilia," Snape said. "Your grandfather was Nicholas, but everyone called him Cole, I believe because his father was named Nicholas as well. I, of course, called them Mr. and Mrs. Evans. They were both incredibly kind people. Anyway, we were in the library. Your grandmother was assisting your aunt with finding a resource that she needed for school, and your mother and I were left to our own devices. I followed your mother while she searched for a book. She said that she wanted one that looked as though it had never been taken out of the library before. She did not tell me why. When she found a book that met her criteria, a large and dusty atlas that likely weighed more than she did, we pulled it off the shelf together. She removed a lily that she had picked and a raven feather from the pocket of her skirt and put them into the book. She closed the book, and we both stood on it, pressing the items inside, likely damaging a very old and perhaps valuable volume. We placed the book back on the shelf. She told me that we would come back in ten years and see if the flower and the feather were still there."

Snape paused here, remembering how he'd felt in that moment, when his eight-year old self, who had never had a friend, realized that this wonderful girl actually thought they would still be friends ten years hence. He'd had a large lump in his throat which was difficult for such a young boy to swallow around, and he'd wanted to hug her, or squeeze her hand, or do something to show her just how much she meant to him, but he was unaccustomed to displays of affection, either giving or receiving, and he'd merely nodded in agreement at her suggestion. Snape cleared his throat, some remnant of that long-gone lump haunting him now.

"Of course, ten years later, we were both different people." Snape didn't need to explain just how different. "But I spent a lot of happy hours in that library, sometimes with Lily, sometimes by myself, losing myself in the books. It was one of the places that I associated strongly with your mother."

"Did you ever go back?" Harry asked.

"I did. After . . . after she'd been killed. The book was still there, but the lily and the feather were gone. I don't know if she had removed them, or if someone else had found them and disposed of them."

Snape stood and disappeared through the door at the back of his office without saying a word. Harry sat dumbly in the chair, uncertain whether the story had upset Snape so much that he couldn't continue, whether he should get up and leave or wait it out, or just exactly what was going on here. Moments later, Snape came back with a very large book which he placed gently in the middle of his desk. Harry knew immediately what it was.

"You stole the book?" Harry asked quietly.

"One of the least serious of my crimes, wouldn't you agree?"

"I didn't mean it as an accusation," Harry murmured, and he hadn't. He was incredibly moved that Snape had thought so much of the book that he'd actually nicked it from the public library.

Snape opened the book, and Harry looked down at a page wrinkled and smudged with a pale yellow stain. It was obvious from the way the book fell open that it had been opened to this page many, many times. Tentatively, unsure if Snape would object, Harry reached a finger across the tome and touched it to the yellow spot left behind when a little girl had sought to preserve mementos of herself and her best friend. Snape pressed a finger to an indentation in the book, perhaps left behind by the spine of the feather.

Harry blinked, his eyes suddenly heavy with emotion. His mother had touched this book. His mother had pressed a flower into it. She and her childhood friend had stood upon this book together, sealing their friendship within. That that friendship had ripped apart years later took nothing away from what the two eight-year olds had meant to each other at that moment.

Harry withdrew his hand, worried he was going to cry. Snape moved at the same time, and their hands touched, just the merest of brushes, but it sent an electrical shock coursing up Harry's arm. He looked up at Snape, surprised, only to find Snape looking just as surprised as he was. Not wanting to get into what it might mean, not tonight when he was so emotional, he withdrew his hand as though nothing had happened and sat back in his chair.

Snape closed the book and sat back in his chair as well, looking at Harry, his eyes hooded.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely. "That was . . . just what I needed." Indeed, he felt like his mother was in the room with them, and he wrapped that feeling around him like a blanket straight out of the tumble dryer. Harry stood up. "I'll see you in Potions, sir."

"Until Friday, then," Snape agreed.