All This Time

ALL THIS TIME

I: The First Gate

Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,

Around the corner. Through the first gate,

Into our first world.

-- T. S. Eliot

The boy was not tall for his age, or even particularly striking; in fact, he was on the slight side, a bit smaller than the other schoolchildren. Not quite Delicate, perhaps, but very nearly. The sort who barely avoids being the brunt of schoolyard jokes because there is someone smaller, or because he is wise at misdirection. A small boy with silver-rimmed spectacles, a face which promises to be interesting rather than handsome, and a crow's nest of short black hair.

He was sun-darkened, now, from spending each summer day outside, away from his home, ranging through the long stretches of greenbelt that still dominate the places between one town and another, in England. You could get lost in the growing fields, here, become friends with cattle and sheep, and speak to farmers in the peculiar thick dialect that pervades even to the lowlands, though it is not your native accent.

He was, in fact, under a tree on some farmer's land, the boy, using a stick to draw things in the loose grainy topsoil, when a small brown owl fluttered down, landing on a low-hanging limb and dropping a pale square of paper into the boy's lap. He turned his face up to the dappled sun for a moment, his smile twisted and slightly bittersweet. Then he pulled a small bronze coin out of his pocket -- he had carefully hoarded what few wizarding coins he'd come across in his eleven years -- and flipped it up to the bird, who caught it and dropped it into a sack on its leg. The sack was nearly full; he must have been one of the last deliveries of the day. Payment was not required, though it was traditional.

The owl looked at him, as if to say, Aren't you going to open it?

"Not just yet," he murmured, deft fingers tucking the envelope into a back pocket. "I have to think a little first."

The owl hooted, in a disgusted sort of way, and flew off. And the boy sat, and drew in the grit, and thought.

He'd known he was going to get a Hogwarts letter. It was one reason he'd been saving any Wizarding coins he came across (or received as secret presents from Uncle) since he was eight. The reason, also, that he'd started saving Muggle money last year, and worked during the school year at odd jobs, though the teachers disapproved. He had to have enough money for schoolbooks and robes, just in case his parents -- a modern sort who insisted he call them Ann and Frank -- weren't going to pay for it. If he made it to Hogwarts, if he proved he was smart and capable, he could no doubt beg a scholarship for the next few years, but he had to be able to buy his supplies for himself, this year, and also have enough money to get to London, now that uncle Arith was dead and couldn't help him.

Those were the options, really. He could show Ann and Frank his letter, and hope they would grudge him a few dollars for supplies, and run away if they didn't; or he could simply run away.

Dear Ann and Frank, have run away to Hogwarts, please do not send money, love, Severus.

That would go over well. He smiled, and tilted his face back to the sun again. Yes, he would not bother his parents, who didn't like him anyhow and had always lived in fear of the day he showed signs of magic. He never had, in front of them, had not shown any at all until he was eight, and thankfully uncle Arith had been prepared. Uncle Arith had taught him what he knew of the Wizarding world, had slipped him three Galleons and a handful of Sickles and Knuts over the years, had put his name down for Hogwarts when he was born, hopeful -- despite all evidence -- that even the child of two squibs could show promise.

Bitter, angry, middle-class non-magical squibs. If they'd had magic, their child would have been looked on as immensely promising, the son of two strong Wizarding bloodlines. As it was, only uncle Arith had taken an interest in little Severus Snape.

But that was all right. Now he was going to Hogwarts. He was going to be a wizard. He was never going to have to see his parents' suspicious looks again, hear their angry fighting, except on holidays.

He took out the letter and slit it deftly, and began to read. He was to catch the train at Platform 9 3/4 on September 1; that was barely four days from now, and not much warning. A ticket to London would not be cheap, not from the York station he intended to leave from. He wondered how much a wand would cost.

***

He packed a backpack that night. There wasn't much to take; he wouldn't need his school-books, or his papers, or the toys his parents had given him. He took some clothing, rolled tight and squashed in the bottom, as well as two of his favourite books, and a small folder of pictures -- Muggle pictures which didn't move, and one moving picture of his uncle, with two other men he didn't know in the background. He took some drawings he'd done that summer, to hang over his bed. And that was all.

He left in the morning, when they wouldn't miss him until sundown, by which time he would have vanished into London and Diagon Alley, where they hopefully couldn't follow him. He left a note asking them not to, along with the seal from his Hogwarts letter.

It took a while to walk to the station in York proper, and the train, though faster than a car, was still slow. The late-afternoon sun was turning things golden by the time he arrived in London and caught the Underground to the stop uncle Arith had told him was right for the Leaky Cauldron.

And now how to find it?

He stood there, clutching his backpack, slight and young and alone.

Then he saw it.

A green top hat, bobbing up and down in a sea of black and brown hats. Soon, he could see the man. All in green -- a green suit, green waistcoat, light mint-green shirt. His hand was on a black-haired girl's shoulder, and she was clutching a Hogwarts letter.

Severus followed them. Down the block and up the steps and in through a black door -- and into the Leaky Cauldron.

It was even better than he'd imagined.

He walked up to the counter, and peered over the top. An elderly man peered back at him, smiling.

"And you're a bit young to be wanting butterbeer," he said, in a gentle voice.

"I'm trying to get to Diagon Alley," Severus replied. "My name's Sev and I'm going to Hogwarts."

"Sev, is it?" The man looked over Sev's head. "Oi, Eva, give us a hand, would you?"

A woman in a brightly decorated shawl rose, with much clanging of copper jewelry.

"Sev's got to get through the gate to Diagon Alley," the man said. The woman peered at him.

"Aintchoo got parents takin' ye through?" she asked.

"No," Sev lied. "I'm supposed to meet my uncle there."

"Ach, an' leaving you to me to care for, be sure," she sighed.

If Sev thought the Leaky Cauldron was wonderful, he nearly fainted with delight when she tapped the bricks and gave him a mild push into Diagon Alley.

"Ye find yer uncle, mind," she said, as the bricks closed behind him.

He wanted to go /everywhere/. He wanted to look in every shop window, talk to everyone he met, announce loudly that he was going to Hogwarts, that he wasn't a squib and this was going to be where he would spend the rest of his life, places like Diagon Alley. He clutched his supplies list so hard it nearly tore in half, and walked saucer-eyed down the street.

Robes. He must have robes and a wand. The rest was incidental, he could find second-hand or borrow off someone at school, but he must have new school robes and a wand.

He walked into Madam Kerram's Shoppe, and waited patiently. There were other children here, all shapes and sizes, getting fitted for robes, or having them adjusted, or shopping among the dress-robes. A tall, angular woman came up to him, took in his trousers and shirt, his backpack and face, and smiled.

"New to the Wizarding world?" she asked. "Expect you're for Hogwarts. You look a bit scared. Come along, the robes don't bite," she added, placing him on a stool and throwing a set of robes over his head. "My name's Moira."

"I'm not new," he protested, through the fabric. She tugged it down over his head. "Old wizarding family," he added, though he wondered if he'd be able to back it up. Surely she wouldn't quiz him about things.

"Oh yes? And what's your name?" she asked, pulling the slack of the robes on either side of him.

"Severus Snape," he replied proudly. She glanced up at him sharply.

"Snape?" she asked.

"Yes'm."

"I didn't know Arith had a son," she replied, waving her wand at a needle, which began whipping in and out, slimming the robe down to fit his small frame. "Of course, that's why you'd be alone then, poor lad."

"Arith s my uncle," he answered.

"But I know for a fact that Barrin has no chil -- " she stopped in mid-sentence. "You wouldn't be /Critchion's/ son, would you?" she demanded.

"No, miss. My father's name is Frank."

She smiled slightly. "When wizard children live in the Muggle world, they often take different names," Moira said gently. "Is your mother by any chance named Antoine?"

"Just Ann," he replied. The woman nodded.

"You're Critchion's son. I can see it about the nose," she said, tapping his nose with the butt-end of her wand, gently. "Well, you're in good hands now, isn't a soul in here that wouldn't do the world for Arith, may he rest in peace. Have you seen your grandfather yet?"

Sev's eyes widened, if it were possible, even further. "My /grandfather/?" he asked.

"Oh aye. Strange he's never mentioned you."

"I didn't know I /had/..."

"No? I wonder if he knows he's got you," she said in amusement, as the needle began to hem the bottom of his robes up around his ankles. "Your grandfather owns a supply store, just this side of Knockturn Alley. It's not really all that surprising -- down you go, there's a lad -- that there's been no mention of you. Your father and his father had a falling-out. Carver won't hear your father's name, says he's a disgrace to wizarding kind."

Sev thought about his father, a dour, angry civil servant who made his only child call him Frank.

"He may be right, miss," he said cautiously. This sent the woman off into gales of laughter.

"There's a touch of Arith in you, so there is," she said. "Leanna, I'm going to take a walk. Guess who this is?" she called, to a woman on the far side of the room. The woman tilted her head, queryingly.

"Carver Snape's grandson!" Moira crowed, as they left the store.

***

The brown-haired man kept one hand lightly on his son's shoulder, despite the boy's rebellious looks every so often. Rufus grinned; every eleven-year-old thought they owned the world. But neither of them were used to crowds, especially not Remus, and he didn't want them to get separated.

The bookstore was crowded with other parents and children, all preparing to return to school, or in some cases, attend Hogwarts for the first time. By the time they escaped, he could see that Remus looked strained, and was about to suggest they get an ice cream when James arrived, panting and out of breath.

"Mr. Lupin," he gasped. "I was told -- this enormous terrifying man -- "

Rufus grabbed him by the shoulders. "Breathe, Jim. What enormous man?"

"Great tall bloke, all in black -- grabbed me and said I had to..."

"He grabbed you? Are you hurt?"

"/No/," James panted impatiently. "He said to run to Carver Snape's shop and tell him -- tell him quickly -- "

"You're not going to Carver's without me," Rufus said decidedly.

"Then you go, I'm done in," James replied. "He said to say that Severus Snape's run off from home and Critchion Snape's come after him and if he finds Severus there'll be hell to pay," he said, breathlessly. Remus looked confused; Rufus could feel his eyebrows draw together.

"Arith's nephew, I suppose," he said to himself. "I'd no idea -- "

"He said /hurry/," James added reproachfully.

"You boys stay here. DON'T MOVE," he added. "James, you collar Peter. Go get yourselves something to eat, but only if all of you are together. Do you understand?"

James and Remus nodded, eyes wide.

Rufus took off running.

***

Moira propelled Severus quickly through the streets, down a block or two, until the buildings began to loom over them, and the alleys were less and less pleasant. Finally, she stopped in front of a corner shop; one entrance in Diagon Alley, one in a street labeled Knockturn Alley.

"You just let me talk," she murmured to Sev, who had no objections. A grandfather -- and a grandfather in Diagon Alley -- a real wizarding grandfather!

"Carver!" she called, stepping into the shop. A grimy-looking witch was fingering beetles' legs in a corner. "Carver, it's Moira."

"Don't you try your flirting ways with me, Moira!" a rough voice called from the back. A stooped, white-haired man emerged. Severus gaped. The same dark eyes, same hooked nose as his father -- as himself, for that matter. In a face so worn and creased that it looked like someone had taken it and twisted it up. The man smiled toothily.

"Bringing lads his age to this shop? Shame on you, Moira. He'll get stole and eaten," he said, laughing a great booming laugh at odds with his small, hunched-over shape.

"I thought you'd want to meet this lad," Moira said. "Go on, boy, tell him your name."

Severus licked his lips. "My name's Severus Snape," he said softly, half-afraid of this small man with the giant laugh, half already admiring him. The man's bushy eyebrows raised.

"His father's name," Moira said, pausing for drama, "is Frank Snape."

The man pointed a finger at her. "You say that name on pain of displeasure in this shop, Moira," he growled. He turned back to Severus. A gnarled hand lifted Sev's chin, turned his head this way and that.

"Arith and Barrin never spoke of such a thing," he said finally.

"You forbade them to talk about their brother."

"Arith would have told me."

Severus pulled away, slightly. "I can prove it," he said. "I've got photos. I've got a picture of uncle Arith," he added.

"Have you now?"

Severus reached for his backpack, and realised he'd left it in the shop. "I have so!" he said, trembling with anger. "And if you're my grandfather you ought to believe me!"

The man laughed again.

"We do have a temper," he said, winking at Moira. "I don't disbelieve you, lad. And why have you waited until now to visit your grandfather?"

"Nobody told me I had one," Sev said, sullenly. Moira cuffed him lightly.

"I did," she said. "And I brought him here. He's in Diagon Alley to get his school things. Starting Hogwarts this year, aren't you?"

"Yes'm."

"My son," the man said, and he said it in such a way as to ensure that it was clear he Disapproved, "is allowing you to attend Hogwarts?"

Sev ducked his head. Just then, because history likes neatness, a brown-haired, middle-aged man burst into the shop.

"Critchion...coming," he said breathlessly. "Thought I ought to warn you."

"Get rid of the boy," Moira said, shoving Severus behind the counter. His grandfather pushed him again, and he found himself in a back room.

"Stay quiet," Carver Snape ordered, and closed the door. Severus peered through the keyhole.

"Critchion's in Diagon Alley," the man said. "Come for his son, I'm told. Lad ran away."

"He's got no right to keep the boy away if he's got wizarding talent," Carver grunted.

"That's all fine and good once he's at school," Moira said impatiently. "Just tell him you haven't seen him, Carver."

"I won't speak to him."

Severus saw Moira roll her eyes, as his father burst into the shop.

What followed was possibly the most unpleasant fifteen minutes of Critchion's adult life to date; for Severus, however, it was fantastic watching his grandfather completely ignore his father, while Moira and the other man, called Lupin, calmly and collectedly pulled the wool completely over his eyes.

Being a wizard was going to be even more fun than he'd imagined.

***

Half an hour found Severus in the wonderful back supply-room, having slightly bitter tea with his grandfather. Moira had gone back to the shop, and the brown-haired man Lupin, after staying to have a quick chat with Carver, had also disappeared. Sev stared around him in awe as Carver topped his tea back up.

"Now, lad," he said, looking slightly stern. "Your illustrious and completely Muggle parents are like to have someone watching me. It won't be wise for us to be seen together. You'll be staying up the Leaky Cauldron until your train -- I've arranged for Rufus Lupin to take you to the station. His son's starting Hogwarts as well. They're a bit of all right, a little wishy-washy but they'll get you to the train." He sighed. "Shame, really, to have to sneak in like that."

"I knew Ann and Frank wouldn't let me go," Severus said, sipping his tea. "They hate magic."

"Aye. That they do. Why Arith or Barrin never said -- have you met Barrin?"

"No sir. Uncle Arith only visits because he threatened to turn Frank into a prawn if he refused. None of mum's family ever does," Severus added gloomily.

"If I'd known -- if Arith had come to me -- I'd have said take you away from them, first time you showed magic. You do show magic, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me about it," Carver said, and Severus saw a sort of hunger in the old man's eyes.

"Well," he said slowly, "I made a cat disappear once. It ended up in someone's flower bed eight miles away. And I made a tree grow -- very fast, I mean -- and I can start fires by doing this," he added, jerking his finger at the teacup. A little blue flame blazed up from the tea. Carver smiled.

"Good. You'll go into Slytherin house, of course. All the family has. You'll like it -- ambitious, keen youngsters with taste and good breeding. Don't go mixing too much with lesser wizards. Your family has the blood of three of the four Founders in it, you know. You're buying robes, yes? Good ones?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you'll have a wand, and an owl, and all those other things boys need." Carver rose and went to his shelves, coming back after a moment with a small leather box. He tipped a generous handful of Galleons out onto the table. "For your things, and the room at the Cauldron you'll be staying in."

Sev's eyes widened. He'd never seen so much gold in one place. "But I've my own money -- " he began. Carver held up a hand.

"I can afford to support my only grandson, I should think," he replied. "I only hang onto the shop on account of liking it. I raised three shiftless boys on my incomes, and none of them work except that great Muggle your father. Don't see why you should starve when Barrin travels the world and Arith spent all his life fumbling about with Quidditch."

Severus picked up a few of the coins. "I could get all new books," he said thoughtfully. "And a good cauldron."

"And you'll get your Potions supplies from here, of course. I'll have them sent up to you tomorrow," Carver added, as the bell on the outside door rang. He peered out. "That's Lupin," he announced. "Behave yourself, and do your family -- your /real/ family -- a credit. If you're a good lad this year, I'll buy you a racing broom at the end of exams."

Sev nodded, and numbly took the gold that was poured into his hands, and stuffed it into his pocket. He followed his grandfather out into the shop, where Rufus Lupin was standing, arms full of packages, flanked by three young boys.

"Here we are then!" he said cheerfully. "I've gotten your robes from the shop, and your...sack...thing..." he held out the backpack curiously, and Severus took it. "We're all staying at the Cauldron, so I thought tomorrow I'd take young Snape about with us, everyone's getting their wands. Oh, sorry -- Severus, this is my son Remus," he said, indicating with a nod of his head a thin, brown-haired and timid looking young boy. "And that's Peter Pettigrew touching something he shouldn't -- " a blond boy with a round face jerked his hand back from a pile of shiny silver discs, stamped with strange markings -- "And this is James Potter." A black-haired, bespectacled youth was watching a hag through the window into Knockturn Alley. "Their parents asked me to look after them, one more lad won't make that much difference, eh Sev? Here, Peter's coming from a Muggle home too, bet you'll get on fine."

But Severus ignored Peter's glare at Lupin; he was watching Remus, who seemed about to bolt. He held out his hand to the boy. "Hi, I'm Sev," he said. Remus looked hesitant, and he was about to take insult at this, when he recalled something uncle Arith had once said -- there's magic and there's magic, Sev, and not all magic is about you. Sometimes it's about fine little details...

And then he saw it. The thin light hairs growing on Remus' knuckles, and the barely-noticeable tilt to his eyes, the slight point to his ears. He looked down at his right hand, which had a thin silver ring on the index finger, another gift from his uncle.

Slowly, he held out his left hand instead. The boy tried not to look relieved as he shook it.

"I'm Remus," he said softly. Carver clapped his hands together.

"We'll send you by floo powder back to the Cauldron," he said, and Sev discovered yet another wonder of the wizarding world.

***