#this was the intro; I promise Snape will get more bastard!screentime in the other chapters!

[wolfwind3]

Bring Back the Bastard Day 1

Work Summary: After the stunning success of his convoluted Goblet of Fire plan to regain his body, Voldemort has come up with an even more amazing plot. What better place to publicly declare his return to power - and kill Harry Potter in full view of everyone - than at the London Season where Harry is being presented?

And who will be his man on the inside to make sure it all goes smoothly this time around? Why, his most loyal spy - his only follower who knows what it's like to be presented from a Muggle background - Severus Snape.

Or: Instead of Occlumency lessons, Snape gives Harry etiquette lessons in OotP. To say that neither of them is pleased is an understatement.

(AN: I’ll be posting a vignette from this crackfic scenario every day in line with the BBtB prompts, so they won’t be chronological from a story standpoint. I’ll fix that in AO3 after the Fest.)

@bringbackthebastard; inspired by this discussion (read that first!)

Prompt: "That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 1: Not the Job He’s After

“Severus? Are you well?” Albus asked, as always, when he stalked into the office.

“Fine,” Severus said shortly, forcing himself to sink into the chair with a modicum of grace instead of collapsing. The effort caused his stomach to flare with pain, and he clenched his jaw to hold back a gasp.

Albus offered the obligatory cup of tea, and Severus tightened and relaxed his fingers to try and stop the shaking before accepting it. The liquid shivered, and he raised the cup to his lips before Albus could comment.

“Well?” the Headmaster asked, reseating himself and picking up a quill.

Severus shook his head at the notetaking materials. “It’s a simple matter - a private meeting. He has another-” he winced, the memory of pain too close to dare even think the words he wanted to say, “-unpredictable scheme in mind to get to Potter. He has not entrusted me with the details.” He said the last with a sneer to disguise his own worry and guilt.

Albus gave him a look that indicated that he knew that Severus was hiding wounds he’d gotten from attempting to inquire further into the Dark Lord’s plans, and then let it go. As he always did. It was easier for both of them if Albus had plausible deniability.

“He wishes Potter to be presented in next year’s Season.”

Albus’ surprise was only indicated in the slight arching of his eyebrows. “He does know the boy’s birthday.”

Severus snarled to hide the pain those memories brought. “Of course.” He took a breath to center himself. “I believe Lucius is going to be in charge of that portion of the plan. My role is to mentor the brat into the semblance of a proper heir to the Sacred 28.”

“Hmm.” Albus leaned back with far too thoughtful an expression on his face.

“Albus,” Severus growled, fighting to keep his head clear as he felt the effects of blood loss overcoming his Occlumency, “you cannot be considering this.”

Albus blinked at him innocently. “You know I will not risk your status with him, Severus.”

“Molly Weasley was supposed to present the whelp. Let her prepare him. She can give me progress reports, which I will then pass on to the Dark Lord.”

“And when young Mr. Malfoy reports to his father that you spend no time with Harry?”

“I can handle the Malfoys,” Severus lied. By the look on Albus’ face, he knew it for a lie and was not accepting it.

“Take the rest of the summer to come up with a plan of what he needs to know,” Albus suggested.

Severus tried to straighten up and hissed in pain. “Albus,” he said, “there are any number of things the boy needs to know. Let me teach him dueling, defensive tactics, decent spells! Let someone else teach the brat the social airs and graces he will never actually need.”

“Ah, but he will need them. And who else do we have who came out of a similar background-”

“Not similar at all, Albus. Potter did not grow up in a slum.”

Unfortunately, mentions of his lack of advantages never embarrassed Dumbledore into shutting up. He might have remembered that if he hadn’t been growing dizzy.

“-who came from a Muggle background, then, and yet achieved such success in Society?” He smiled as if Severus had already acquiesced. He knows I have no choice, damn him. “I will inform Harry at the beginning of the school year.”

“And all the gossip that will result?” Severus demanded, forcing enough air from his lungs to keep his voice wheezing. Of course, this caused a shooting pain in his abdomen; he subtly curled his arm around himself to try and support the torn muscles.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Albus said, eyes twinkling. “You need to rest, and I have some things to set in motion. Thank you, Severus.”

Biting the inside of his lip to drive off light-headedness, Severus managed to stand and walk down the spiral staircase. At the bottom, he leaned against the wall to gather strength for the walk down to the dungeons.

“Severus Snape!” The sharp voice caused him to wince before he carefully turned to face the woman hurrying toward him.

“Poppy,” he said, in a vain attempt to pretend he didn’t need her help. She turned up every time he was badly injured; if he didn’t regularly cleanse his person of any and all tracking and listening spells, he’d think she had an alert on him.

She raked him up and down with her glance and clicked her tongue. “You are not walking in that state. I’ll conjure a stretcher and you can lie on it, or I’ll knock you out and levitate you; your choice.”

He sighed and squeezed his abdomen more tightly. “Very well.”

He saw the flash of worry in her eyes when he didn’t have a snarky response for her, but it was immediately covered by professionalism. The stretcher appeared beside him. “Come on, then.”

He altered it to a reclined sitting position instead of laying flat and then took his place, avoiding her scornful look. “All right, then,” she said, setting the stretcher in motion. “Are you going to tell me what’s most likely to kill you before we reach the Hospital Wing, or shall I just run the diagnostics and be done with it?”

He relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes, waiting for her to start her spells. While she was working, he could wonder about the mad start both of his masters had agreed on. Just because he’d had to master Society out of the most impossible background didn’t mean he ought to teach anyone else. Particularly the spoiled brat of the Muggle world who would probably resist Wizarding ways on the principle that his were naturally better.

His thoughts began to go hazy and Poppy’s voice got sharper at the same time it seemed to recede down a long tunnel. He cemented his assignment into his mind with Occlumency so that it would be the first thing he considered when he awoke, and relaxed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Harry stood next to the gargoyle at the bottom of Dumbledore’s staircase, feeling shellshocked. Here he’d spent all summer dreaming about being back in the Wizarding world, joining the fight against Voldemort for real. That ought to stop the nightmares. And instead...

“Harry!” Hermione and Ron must have gotten tired of waiting for him. They came hurrying up the corridor.

“What did the Headmaster have to say?” Hermione asked.

Harry ignored her and turned to Ron. “Wizards have a stupid social thing every spring with… with dancing and etiquette and - and-” He trailed off, unable to come up with any other words.

Ron looked at him in confusion. “You mean the Season? But we’re not old enough for that.”

“Season?” Hermoine looked at him sharply. “I’m guessing this is like the old-fashioned sort of Season?”

“Why is this even a thing?” Harry demanded at the top of his lungs.

“Um, why do you care?” Ron asked warily.

“Because Dumbledore,” Harry spat the name, “says that the best thing that I can do for the war against Voldemort is to prepare for my effing Season.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione chorused.

“No, no, it gets even better,” Harry said bitterly. “Who do you think he wants to teach me how to do all this society garbage?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

“Erm… my mum?” Ron suggested. “I know she taught my brothers… I expect she’s going to be roping me into lessons over the summer, although as a sixth son, it doesn’t actually matter much…”

“No,” Harry said. He wished it were Mrs. Weasley. It would still be stupidly annoying, but at least she liked him. He would probably have gotten a lot of sweets out of it, too.

“McGonagall?” Hermione suggested.

“McGonagall?” Ron said in disgust. “You must be joking.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Hermione demanded.

“That’s not the point,” Harry interrupted, unwilling to let his grievance get derailed. “The point is, Dumbledore doesn’t want me studying with your mum, or McGonagall, or anyone sane. He wants me to study with Snape.”

“WHAT?” Ron and Hermione chorused again, much louder this time.

“He’s gone mad,” Ron said flatly. “Mum’s been saying he’s overworked, it’s gone to his head, he’s gone round the twist.”

“Did he give a reason?” Hermione asked. She sounded like she was begging Harry to make this make sense.

Harry shrugged. “Only that he ‘entered Society from a similar background,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean. And that since he’s here, it will be easy enough for him to give me lessons.” He slumped down the wall to sit with his head in his hands. “I can’t do this. I’m going to either laugh in his face or explode when he tells me I have to - to dance or whatever, and then he’ll actually kill me.”

“I’m sure he won’t actually kill you,” Hermione said. She was obviously trying to sound reassuring, but the worry in her voice didn’t actually help.

“Look, let’s go write Bill and Charlie, all right?” Ron suggested. “They both survived being presented. I’m sure they’ll have some ideas.”

Harry shrugged, but he allowed Ron to pull him to his feet. “I guess we might as well ask what I need to learn. I’m not supposed to tell anyone else about Snape, though.”

“Why not?”

“I was a little too busy being furious to ask about that.”

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Harry. Don’t worry.”

Harry tried to smile at her as they set off down the hall, but he knew better. Dumbledore always got him to do things. This would be no different.