The Potions Master's Life

The Boy in the Wood

---

The rabbit was achingly close to him. The boy held his breath and resisted the urge to shake the untidy, ticklish strands of hair away from his eyes. He'd been stalking this particular rabbit for a long time, and this was the closest it had ever come to him: he wasn't about to ruin the moment with one thoughtless move. If he could have held his breath indefinitely, he'd have done it.

The rabbit was willing to give him some leeway, it seems, but its dark, liquid eyes remained fixed on his, even as it nibbled at the grass. (This Two-Legs wasn't like the others -- it didn't chase her away from the nicer patches of food, or loose the nastier Four-Legs after her, or set traps to catch her babies: but it was still a Two-Legs, all the same.)

"Sevvvvv-rus! Sev'rus Snape! Tay time!"

The rabbit stiffened, her ears twitching at the sound -- as did the boy's body, and he gave an involuntary wince -- and then the rabbit bounded away into the brush.

Oh, bloody....

"Sev'rus! You come in this instant, young man!"

Nanny's voice carried a remarkably long distance, Severus knew from experience. And just hiding out wouldn't take care of the problem -- she'd keep bawling until she irritated His Lordship, and then he'd really be in trouble. Even more than he already was, at any rate.

He pulled himself to his feet and brushed the worst of the leaf-mold from his clothes, and trotted off in the direction of the Kitchens.

I don't need a bloody nanny, he thought darkly as he reached verge of the wood and started to cross the wide, smooth lawn. She's not even my nanny, she's bloody Matthew's.

---

Severus Vergilius Snape didn't really belong at Snape Hall, as his cousin Matthew was occasionally at pains to remind him smugly. He was only there because his father had lost his job, and Matthew's grandfather had to take Severus and Vergil Snape in to prevent the family from being dishonoured.

Severus didn't think much of Matthew's opinion, and demonstrated his contempt is an extremely vivid and physical manner. Which was the first time Severus had run afoul of His Lordship, and again today: Matthew had a distressing tendency to need reminding.

He vaguely remembered life before Snape Hall -- a tiny set of rooms in the Wizarding section of Avebury, where his mother seemed to be his only companion, constantly mending and fussing over a poorly-stocked larder -- and books, hundreds of books, on badly-made shelves; of the park across the way, with a lovely, knarled oak he'd loved to shinny up; of Mum cleaning him up and Apparating him, hand in hand, to where Father worked -- the stone corridors and huge, open greens of the university precincts and once, a very hazy memory, of a ceremony there with Father on a dais with the other faculty, all in brilliantly-coloured robes.

Father wasn't around at home, much, which wasn't terrible as he was always distant when he was; he brought home his work, and was so involved in it he barely noted how unhappy Mum was. (She didn't even bother to argue with him -- it was wasted breath, Severus remembered her saying once.)

But his father had done something bad -- not horrible bad, not like the Bad Man Mum and Mrs. Fogharty from across the hall sometimes whispered about -- but Father had lost his job.

Then his father and Mum had argued, late at night, and Severus had curled up in his bed with the pillow over his head to try to shut it out, but couldn't. Mum had done something his father didn't like -- had gone to His Lordship, whoever that was -- and Father was very, very angry and, for once, totally there, not just sitting at his desk with his head buried in his scrolls.

Mum had visited him very early the next morning -- before Father was awake, because Severus could hear him snoring through the thin wall -- and she sat on the edge of his bed and pulled him into her lap, and wakened him with kisses, which he grumpily wiped off. She'd held him very tightly, and he squirmed a bit as much as his sleepiness would allow.

"Severus, Mummy has to go away for a while," she whispered to him. "I have to go see my family for a bit. Can you be a brave boy and be good while I'm gone?"

That was another matter entirely; perhaps he'd better think again about being grumpy. Severus didn't like it when Mum went to visit her parents, because she always came back unhappy. They hadn't wanted her to marry his father, and she'd done it anyway. He'd seen his grandparents -- once -- in a tea-room in Stratford, and his grandfather had made Mum cry (again), and he'd decided they weren't worth knowing. Nothing that made Mum cry was worth it. It seldom happened, because Severus' Mum was very brave, and it made his chest ache when she did.

He mumbled "No, don't go," into her neck and wrapped his arms around her; she stiffened and then held him even tighter -- he could barely breathe -- and patted his back.

"I have to, Lambkin," she said. "We won't be able to live here much longer, and I have to try to find a job and another place for us to live. It won't be for long, I promise, and then we'll be together again."

"Father too?"

She hesitated a bit, and stroked his hair. "I think so. If he wants to. He has to find another job too, you see, and...."

She stopped and shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, now," she said softly. "What's important is that you be good for your father while I'm gone, and do as he asks. All right?"

Severus nodded.

"Good."

She put him back in the bed, and tucked the covers in well around him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I love you, Lambkin." And she'd bent to kiss him again, and walked to the door of his tiny room: he remembered her standing there for a long time, with the early morning light behind her, before she gently closed his door.

Father had slept late -- Mum hadn't set the alarm clock -- and when Severus had stumbled out of his own room, he'd found his father sitting in front of the empty fireplace in a stunned silence with a letter in his hand, unshaven and seemingly unaware of Severus' presence.

And shortly after that, they'd moved from Avebury to Snape Hall; to a little cottage on the edge of the estate, where his father's books crammed the sitting room from ceiling to floor, and Father had the time to do his work to his heart's content.

Father wouldn't talk about Mum, and had flown into a rage the only time Severus had asked when she was coming back.

His mother had lied. She hadn't come back. He thought he'd caught a glimpse of her a few months ago -- a thin, worried-looking woman loitering outside the estate gates -- but he couldn't be sure, because he'd already begun to forget what she'd looked like. The woman had finally noticed him staring at her, and taken a long look at him too -- at the neat if dirty clothes, and the way his face had filled out with the Elves' good food, and, with something like shock, at the raven that was perched on his shoulder -- and with a sad little smile, she'd turned away and walked purposefully down the lane, away toward the home farm and the village.

---

Nanny was waiting at the kitchen door, obviously displeased with his rate of speed -- and the state of his hands and face.

"There you are."

She pinched him by the ear and dragged him over to the pump in the kitchen garden, pulled a huge handkerchief from her sleeve, wet it, and began scrubbing irritably at his face.

"How one boy can get so dirty in three hours, sure, I don't know," she scolded under her breath as he sputtered at the assault.

"Leggo -- Ow -- I can do it myself," he finally protested with a glare.

"Wouldn't have to if ya didn't go scrabbling about the place like a filthy little heathen," she noted.

"Heathens," he retorted, "are people who worship the gods under the clear sky. It has nothing to do with getting dirty."

Nanny's beady eyes narrowed.

"It was an evil day you discovered His Lordship's dictionary," she said. "And you're too clever by half for your own good, young man. A wise gasur knows when to keep his gob shut, ya hellion."

And she took a swipe at his dirty upper lip to prevent another retort.

"It's a Muggle phrase, I'll have you know. Hands," she commanded tersely, and he held his hands under the spigot while she pumped water for him.

Nanny Moira was a Muggleborn from Ireland, and, next to cousin Matthew, the bane of eight year-old Severus Snape's existence. She'd been Matthew's mother's nanny, then Matthew's, and now she was charged with keeping Severus out of mischief. (As much as possible, at least, which wasn't much.)

"I thought I wasn't to get any meals today," Severus said, supremely sulky, as Nanny whipped out her wand to clean the stubborn dirt beneath his fingernails.

"His Lordship said you weren't to get any supper," Nanny noted slyly. "He said nothin' about your tay." And she gave Severus a wink.

He couldn't help himself: he grinned back. Nanny might be the bossiest female on the face of the Earth, but she was also canny and could find the smallest loophole in any restriction or punishment meted out to said hellion.

"In ya go," she said with a final swipe at the untidy fringe that fell into his eyes, and swatted at his bum to get him moving. He didn't need the encouragement, actually: tea in the kitchens with Nanny and the Elves was much more fun than in the schoolroom with Matthew.

Nanny watched him as she quickly cleaned and dried her handkerchief, and noted for the first time, with considerable worry, that he'd grown more than a bit over the past spring: she hadn't had to reach down nearly as far as usual for that swat. The skinny little six year-old she'd first had charge of was starting to shoot up. What His Lordship was thinking in denying him meals as a punishment, she was sure she didn't know. She certainly didn't approve.

When she lumbered through the kitchen door, Severus was already seated at the worn kitchen table, chatting with the kitchen elves (Darby and Joan -- His Lordship had an unexpected and unusually quirky sense of humour, at times). She wedged her frame into a chair at the end of the table and poured the boy his tea, and Joan piled his plate with cake. (Tea was going to have to suffice for supper tonight, the Elves knew without being told.)

Nanny had been quite proud of Severus that morning when his fist had connected with Matthew's jaw, actually, though she couldn't say so. Who'd have thought such a spindly-looking little lad could pack such a divil of a punch? As for Matthew, much as she loved him, too, she had to admit that he was a priggish little gobshite who was too proud and mindful of his station, and secretly thought that being taken down a peg or two might do him good.

Her poor motherless babe was going to pay for it, though. His Lordship was not amused. Nanny suspected that while he was perfectly aware of his grandson's tendency to provoke the younger child, his abhorrance of violence in any form would make him come down on Severus quite hard. (Well, someone had to -- the boy's father was so absent-minded and oblivious as to be useless -- but still....)

---

His Lordship -- Aloysius, 18th Lord Snape -- called for Severus that evening after supper, when (he assumed) the boy's stomach would be pinching with hunger from the missed luncheon and supper. It wasn't something to which Aloysius Snape would normally resort: he was an unusually reasonable man when it came to things like punishments, corporal or otherwise, but young Severus was fraying his last nerve. Particularly after what he'd seen out in the wood just a few days ago, on one of his increasingly infrequent walks.

He'd seen the boy in a grove -- a grove he knew well and had frequented himself, as a lad. And the boy had been surrounded by a flock of the Snape ravens, the largest clinging to one of the boy's thin shoulders. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, because the same thing had happened to him at nearly the same age.

But it was only supposed to happen to the most worthy heir to the title. And it should have been his grandson, not Vergil's scrawny offspring.

The boy had turned the place topsy-turvey since his arrival, not entirely through his own fault. The child simply could not sit still: he was constantly in motion, always alert, always blurting out questions or pulling books from the library shelves, leaving them scattered about. He was undoubtedly intelligent -- his mother, who'd schooled him, had done a wonderful job -- but that in itself had proven a problem when he quickly began to show up Matthew. (And this was partly Matthew's fault, for being lazy. He knew he'd have the title someday, and not only would he not need to work; it would be expected that he not do so.)

Aloysius had done everything he could think of to keep the child busy. He'd allowed the boy to continue to study with Matthew's schoolmaster, despite Matthew's whinging about the competition; he'd noted Severus' interest in the former family business and given him access to the old journals and the Snape Chronicles; in desperation to help the boy work off some of that tremendous energy, he'd even set him the task of reviving the old Potions garden -- and the boy had done it, and was already brewing elementary potions at a remarkably young age, and with plants he'd grown or sought out with his own hands.

Severus had met all these challenges -- and it still wasn't enough. And between raising his own orphaned grandson and this incredible bundle of energy -- who might as well be orphaned, given the situation -- it was more than this particular 83 year-old wizard felt up to.

Especially, he thought grimly, when said bundle of energy appeared to be a cuckoo in the nest, if the Snape ravens were to be believed (so to speak, and to badly mix his avian metaphors). And the ravens usually were, in the long run.

To his credit, the 18th Lord Snape was determined to be fair -- although in his own way. Matthew, barring any unfortunate (or, rather, stupid) accidents like the one that took his parents' lives, would gain the title at Aloysius' death. Matthew had to be raised in a manner fitting the next Lord Snape, regardless of what the blasted ravens thought.

Matthew was ten, and would be attending school next year; Aloysius would be sending him not to Hogwarts, but to Beauxbatons -- chiefly because Aloysius was wary of the reach of that upstart Voldemort, but also because he was afraid what the two boys might do to each other when on their own and quite possibly (gods forbid) in the same House.

Severus was another matter. The boy needed the kind of discipline that the current Hogwarts Slytherin Head could be counted upon to provide; the current Potions Master, Burkett, was more than usually competent, although by no means as skilled or inspired as the average Snape in the field had been. And Albus Dumbledore was now Headmaster. He'd been Marcus' -- Aloysius' son's -- Head of House, and had proven a fair and wise mentor to the headstrong Gryffindor.

(How the long and venerable Slytherin Snape bloodline had produced a Gryffindor was a mystery never explained, and which had caused Aloysius some embarrassment. It must have come from somewhere in his wife's side of the family, for which he didn't blame her -- but that's what he got for marrying a Scotswoman. Scots blood tended to produce an alarmingly high percentage of Gryffindors.)

But before Aloysius sent this boy away too, in a few years' time, young Severus had to learn some self-control. Before he had a wand in his hand. Aloysius had certain suspicions about how all that energy and intelligence would be focussed through magic. They were all rather fortunate, actually, that the boy tended to take out his tempers with his fists: the potential for some quite spectacular, uncontrolled wandless magical tantrums was considerable. The things he could already do with potions, wandless, were nothing short of incredible; Aloysius was rather pleased that there was, once again, a Snape who looked fair to being a great Potions Master. Aloysius himself had been competent and had, in fact, tutored the boy at first, but his own skill lay in Transfigurations.

He was going to have to come down on the boy, quite severely. And Aloysius thought he knew just what would be effective.

There was a knock at the library door; Aloysius barked out "Enter," and Nanny gently pushed Severus in, and left.

"Come here, boy," His Lordship ordered, and Severus approached the vast desk, feet made slow with sullenness, and stared at the carpet.

"How many times," His Lordship asked, "have I told you that physical violence is not acceptable?"

The boy raised dark, unnerving eyes to the man and simply said, "Nine."

Insolent pup. But probably correct, although it feels more like an hundred.

"That," Aloysius said dryly, "was a rhetorical question. Which means I did not require an answer."

"Then why ask?"

There was a certain Slytherin logic to that which Aloysius couldn't refute -- and which, if truth be told, he found amusing. The boy certainly had more wit than Matthew, and far less insolence -- although he was picking up some of Matthew's bad habits, and that one among them.

Aloysius managed to keep his face impassive. (The Snapes were renown for that ability.)

"Why do you imagine I would ask you a rhetorical question? That one specifically?"

"To remind me I'm not supposed to hit Matthew."

"Got it in one. You're not to hit anyone, boy: I thought I'd made that clear."

"But he --"

Aloysius rasied a warning hand, and the boy stilled instantly.

"I don't care what he did. It doesn't excuse your response."

"It's not fair," the boy mumbled.

"It's not a question of fairness. It's simply a fact of life. Matthew is the Snape heir, and you are a guest in this house; it is up to you to control your behavior, no matter the provocation."

That was the cold, hard truth of the matter, but there was another point to be made, too.

"Someday," he continued softly, "you are going to go to Hogwarts -- to Slytherin House, if I'm not mistaken. And you will find there that not only is physical violence not acceptable: it is considered a sign of weakness. Your inability to control your temper will get you into far more trouble there than it will here, and by Merlin I'm going to do my best to teach you to think before you act. You're not a stupid boy, far from it. But you must learn control.

"I've given you many chances to prove to me that your are capable of controlling yourself, and each time you've thrown them away. And until today I hadn't thought of anything short of thrashing your hide that might make you stop and think. So here is what is going to happen: For the next two months, until Matthew leaves for Beauxbatons, you are to spend all your time in the schoolroom doing academic work. There will be no running about the grounds, save for any outings Mr. Jordan feels necessary for your studies; no work in the Potions garden or Stillroom --"

Ah, now that got a reaction out of the boy; he started and the colour drained from his face, and his eyes flashed with indignation -- and, Aloysius noted with grim satisfaction, some panic.

"But some of the herbs will die if --"

"Quiet," Aloysius commanded, nearly snarling -- and Severus, sensibly, shut up. His Lordship seldom raised his voice, but when he did it was best to take cover.

Aloysius took a moment to compose himself, and then continued more reasonably.

"There is more at stake here than the well-being of a few plants, boy." Far more. "If you are able to control your fists -- if not your temper -- until Matthew leaves, I will permit you to resume your Potions work and give you the run of the estate, and I will retain Mr. Jordan to tutor you until you are ready to leave for school yourself."

So much for the carrot: now for the stick.

"If not, I will speak to your father about sending you away to the wizarding primary in Cambridge -- as a boarder."

It would be very expensive -- nearly as much as Hogwarts would cost -- but if doing it would give the boy the structure necessary to learn, Aloysius would do it. It would also mean the boy would probably not see his father again until summer hols, because Aloysius was under no illusions about Vergil's ability to tear himself away from his "work" to go visit his young son. (The premature senility leading to Vergil's obsession was not unknown in the wizarding world or in the Snape family, but Aloysius prayed that both boys, particularly Severus, would be spared it; it had struck Vergil very early, and these two boys were the last of the Snapes.)

Aloysius knew he'd finally hit on the right tactic, because the boy's accusing eyes dropped to the carpet and his lower lip trembled.

"Do we understand one another, boy?"

The child nodded.

"Very well. Go find Nanny, then, and have her ask the Elves to find you something to eat."

The boy nodded and made for the door -- and Aloysius, suddenly struck by a thought, stopped him.

"Severus."

The child's hand was already on the latch, and he froze, not turning: Aloysius suspected he'd already started to cry and took pity on him.

"There are," the old man said slowly, long fingers drumming on the green baize blotter on the desk, "more ways to defend yourself than with fists or wand, you know. If you must retaliate, words can be more wounding -- if chosen carefully and intelligently."

The boy's back stiffened, and he muttered with a thick voice, "You'll punish me for that, too."

"Oh, I rather think not. If Matthew can't hold his tongue or defend himself with his wits, he deserves it."

Young Severus nodded jerkily, opened the library door, and slipped through it.

His Lordship heaved a sigh and Summoned a glass of Firewhisky.

That last bit of advice wasn't particularly wise; the boy would still probably manage to find a way to get himself in vast trouble, given that license. But it would serve him far better in the long run, and give him an outlet for any mischief Matthew might attempt in the meantime. (And, it had to be admitted, Aloysius rather hoped it would teach Matthew a lesson or two, as well.) He hoped it would suffice -- he didn't want to send the boy away. Not before the ravens had made their opinion known, and not now.

He was constrained in his options, you see. Vergil's one stipulation was that the boy be kept as close to home as possible; he didn't want his former wife to have an opportunity to contact the boy. (And that action -- Vergil's divorce of the boy's mother -- was as arrant a piece of idiocy as Aloysius had ever seen: Margaret Williamson was the only reason Vergil had managed as long as he had, as far as Aloysius could tell.) But Vergil was still sly enough to know that Aloysius wanted to keep an eye on the boy -- he was the "spare," so to speak -- so they had struck the deal: Vergil to take the position as gatekeeper for prides' sake and the boy's education provided for, in exchange for that one demand.

Aloysius had, quite secretly and unwisely, contacted the woman, once, to assure her the boy was well and would be cared for -- and that Vergil was exceedingly irrational where she was concerned, and therefore she should stop trying to contact him. The laws regarding divorce and custody of minors were by no means fair, but there it was: a pureblood father still had a greater legal right to custody of his heir, as long as his senility did not take a violent form.

His Lordship could not risk losing whatever tenuous hold he had on this child. The boy might be Lord Snape some day, if the ravens were correct. And whereas Matthew did not have the wits and ambition to make something of himself, Aloysius rather thought young Severus did. Severus might well thrive in the competitive environment of Slytherin House, and re-establish the Snapes as a force to be reckoned with in the pureblood hierarchy -- providing all this Voldemort business was dealt with, of course: but Aloysius had faint hope that the Prime Minister was up to the task of putting that upstart in his place.

The old man sighed again and pulled over the home farm ledgers, and tried to determine just where he could find the money to send the youngest Snape to the Cambridge Primary, should the imp make it necessary.

---

The imp was currently curled up in Nanny's huge lap, sobbing his eyes out and trying to tell her, through hiccoughs, what His Lordship had said. Nanny was rather frightened herself: she'd seen a few tears from him before, but never had the floodgates opened to this extent. He'd even shattered the water-jug in a fit of uncontrollable, wandless magic. She let him cry it all out, and then wiped his face and held the handkerchief to his nose.

"Blow," she instructed, and he did, and buried his face in her neck-wattles.

"Well, lad, you'll just have to do your very best," she said practically. "Shove your hands in your pockets, and let the eej make a fool of himself. It's only another two months."

She and Joan tried to tempt him into some sugared bread-and-butter, but he wasn't having it -- probably for the best, as when he was upset it all tended to come back up, anyway. So Nanny got him cleaned up and walked -- or rather, waddled -- him down the long drive to the Gatekeeper's cottage, through the sitting room where Vergil Snape, unresponsive, sat hunched over his astral charts, and up the rickety stairs and into his bed.

"D'ya want to read, a bit?" she asked, hoping not -- the exertion from the walk and the stairs had left her breathless -- but he just stared at her with those dark, miserable eyes and shook his head.

Poor lamb. He won't get a minutes' sleep tonight, he's that upset.

Nanny's voice wasn't the most pleasant in the world -- her one failing, where soothing wee ones was concerned -- but tonight seemed to warrant a special effort. So she sang him a lullaby her mam had sung to her, and gradually the boy's lids drooped and fought to stay up, and then closed over the beautiful black irises, and he slept.

---

The next time Matthew tried to put Severus in his place, the boy took Nanny's advice and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets, and bit his tongue as well. The second time, he managed a cutting remark about Matthew's abysmal academic progress -- which, when Matthew ran to tattle to His Lordship, was greeted with a dry "An entirely accurate statement, if Mr. Jordan's reports are to be believed."

Matthew left for Beauxbatons at the end of the summer slightly shaken in his previous belief that Privilege guaranteed him respect. And Severus Snape returned to his Potions garden -- which was thankfully unharmed, due to Darby's care -- with a rather sharper tongue and a great deal more appreciation for his freedom.

---