Knock knock knock.
A knock came at the door. Harry's voice followed: "Professor Moriarty? Are you in?"
"I am. Door's unlocked — come in."
Harry pushed open the door and slipped in quietly. "Sorry to disturb you, Professor."
"Take a seat. Something on your mind?"
"Yes." Harry nodded, then hesitated before speaking. "I... I wore the mask in Potions today."
"Oh?"
Vincent's interest was immediately piqued — but then he arched an eyebrow. "Hang on, that suggestion was from two weeks ago. Why did it take you this long?"
"Err — I thought you were joking at the time..."
"And now?"
"Snape... the Professor — after I put the mask on, it was like he turned into a completely different person." Harry scratched the back of his head. "In class today, he actually gave me points. The reason he gave was that I added the ingredients in the correct order... but honestly? The points felt more terrifying than having them docked."
"Ha ha ha ha!"
Vincent burst out laughing. What a shame he hadn't been there to witness it in person.
He laced his fingers together, leaned forward slightly, and looked at Harry. "So you've come tonight to find out why this happened?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "Exactly!"
"Hmm."
Vincent thought for a moment. He didn't actually feel it was too soon to tell Harry about the previous generation's affairs. The question was how to tell him.
Just lay out the bare facts? — which was to say, the sorry business between Snape and James Potter. Honestly, neither of them came off particularly well.
Snape had been obsessed with Dark Magic, spent his days running with Death Eaters, and subscribed to pure-blood supremacy.
James Potter had pursued a girl and, in doing so, saw fit to bully Snape relentlessly — embarrassing him publicly in front of Lily, thinking that making Snape look small would somehow make himself look bigger. The logic of it... well, suffice to say it had a very particular flavour of adolescent stupidity.
If Harry heard all of this — would he come to understand Snape's hostility toward him? Would he condemn his father's behaviour? Both?
One thing was foreseeable: none of it would improve Harry's relationship with Snape. Whatever bullying Snape dished out now, it would continue.
Or should he just tell Harry outright that his parents' deaths came about because of Snape's betrayal — and let the boy carry that hatred into every day that followed?
That wouldn't do Harry any good either. And frankly, it wouldn't hurt Snape much.
"Perhaps I need to rethink my approach."
A smile touched Vincent's lips as a thought came to him. "This actually has to do with the previous generation's grudges."
"The previous generation?" Harry's eyes lit up. "You mean my mum and dad?"
"Wait — Professor Moriarty, you know about my parents? But earlier you said—"
"Ahem." Vincent cleared his throat. "That was then. Since then I made a point of looking into what happened between your parents and Snape. It goes like this..."
As Vincent spoke, Harry's expression shifted continuously — surprise layering upon surprise — until his mouth fell open entirely.
Two days later in Potions, Harry arrived without his mask. Snape was simultaneously disappointed and relieved — then promptly made up for lost ground by doubling back on the points he'd given.
What surprised Snape, however, was that through everything — every jab, every docked point — Harry's face showed none of its usual cocktail of resentment, tension, and unease. Instead, he looked conflicted. Hesitant. Like a man wrestling with something unspoken.
When class ended and Snape was gathering his things to leave, Harry stepped forward first. "Professor Snape — might I have a word?"
"Oh. Our illustrious Chosen One wishes to offer me his wisdom, does he?"
Harry spoke quietly. "Professor Moriarty told me everything. About you, and my mum and dad."
"..."
Snape's expression darkened in an instant. Fury and panic surged together into his chest. He gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened, and forced himself into stillness. "And... so?" he said, low and controlled.
"Professor Snape..."
Harry held Snape's gaze steadily, pressed his lips together, and asked: "Are you really my godfather?"
"???"
Ten minutes later.
Vincent's office door was flung open with a bang. Snape swept in like an enraged vampire, furious enough to shake the walls, and seized Vincent by the collar, all but lifting him from his chair. He snarled, face inches from Vincent's, "What exactly are you playing at, Moriarty?!"
He yanked him closer. "Is this how you plan to get even with me? For the time I stood by and did nothing?"
Vincent raised one palm to block the flecks of spittle, then with a quiet, wandless, nonverbal spell, pushed Snape back a step. He took out his handkerchief, patted his collar, and said pleasantly, "You're overthinking it, Professor. What happened back then — you didn't mean for it to go the way it did, and you spoke up for me afterward. I won't pretend I was never angry, but it's not enough to drive me to petty revenge."
"Then why did you tell Harry Potter those things?!"
"To give you a chance at redemption, Professor."
Snape stared at him.
"Harry asked me about you and his parents the other day. I didn't see any reason to withhold that from him." Vincent's tone was mild. "So I told him what I knew: you and his mother — childhood friends once upon a time. You and his father — bitter enemies. And how you threw away your friendship with Lily over your obsession with Dark Magic."
Snape's face grew darker with every word. His body had begun to shake.
There was something worth noting here — Snape had certainly fallen for Lily during their school years, but that attachment might not, on its own, have run so terribly deep. Not until his betrayal led to Lily's death.
At that point, the love he'd once held for his first and brightest star tangled with the guilt and remorse that never left him — and from that knot grew the far more complicated feelings he carried for her now.
"Don't trouble yourself wondering how I know all this. My own parents were killed by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, which gave me good reason to dig into what happened back then." Vincent added, to explain himself, then continued: "Don't worry — the part of the story concerning you and Harry's parents' deaths, I left out. I adjusted certain details. I told a few well-intentioned lies."
He met Snape's eyes. "I told Harry that you were the last person to see his mother before she died. That she entrusted Harry to your care, and named you his godfather."
"Why would you—"
"I told you. A chance at redemption." Vincent's voice was calm. "I know how deep your contempt for Harry's father runs. Especially when you look at Harry and see James Potter's face staring back at you. But you should know — Harry is Harry. He is not his father. He is Lily's son."
"And Lily Evans died because of you. Harry grew up without parents — an orphan, and one who's had a hard life at that — because of you. You're perfectly free to despise him for his father's sake. But you owe it to Lily to atone for her death."
"I've just given you the means to do that."
"As Harry's mother's appointed godfather, you can go right on hating the father while still giving the godson a measure of care. Can't you?"
Snape looked at Vincent as though he were seriously considering swallowing him whole.
"Well," said Vincent agreeably, "if you truly can't stomach it — feel free to chalk this up as revenge on my part. Have at it."
For a long while, Snape said nothing. Then, like a ghost, he turned and drifted out of the room.
There we go.
Vincent gave a lazy wave of his hand to close the door behind him and smiled to himself. Making Snape the godfather of the one person he hated most in the world — the son of the man he despised — making him care for the boy... how could that not be a kind of revenge?
The following morning in the Great Hall, Harry was quietly picking at breakfast when the Weasley twins appeared from either side and threw their arms around his shoulders.
"Breaking news, who wants in?"
Ron was locked in combat with a chicken drumstick and mumbled without looking up: "Fred, every time you say that something's about to go badly."
The twin who'd spoken immediately looked devastated. "Oh, my dearest little Ronniekins, I'm wounded — you just mistook me for Fred."
Ron looked up. "...Sorry. George."
"Ha! Fooled you — I'm Fred!"
To be continued…
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