Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

By Daphne Dunham

Chapter 2: Tuscan Son

* * * * * *

The cottage was beautiful, a small home set on a hill overlooking the village below. It had once been the servants' quarters of a larger estate, Villa del Fiore, about a mile up the beaten road. However, the Muggle's Second World War had ravaged most of the winery that was the owner's income, forcing the heir to the estate to rent the small home on the edge of the property, a practice which stayed with the family since.

Of course, Cottage del Fiore was much smaller than the Snape residence at Bedford Park. Downstairs were only a small kitchen, dining room, and living room; upstairs were only two bedrooms, both small but cozy. However, the cottage made up for its meager size with its rustic appeal - endearing eccentricities like the vines which grew on the east side of the house and the way it was furnished in what looked like dusty but rather exquisite antiques. Indeed, it would have taken an extremely unimaginative individual not to be instantly bewitched by the charms of the cottage.

"La casa e bella, no?" asked the rather round man with the dark mustache who'd shown them the cottage.

Circe nodded. "Si, molto bella, Signore Canelli," she replied with a satisfied smile. "Quanto costa?"

The man enumerated a sum, an amount in a Muggle currency that Severus didn't understand. He didn't think Circe did either, as she bore no real reaction to it. Instead, she just paced around the living room once more as though thoughtfully considering the figure. It was clear she had already made up her mind, though: she was determined to live here, in Cottage del Fiore.

"Quando possiamo... er..." - she hesitated and thumbed anxiously through the English-Italian dictionary in her hand before continuing - "muoversi dentro?"

"Ora," the man replied, his kind eyes twinkling. "Oggi - si gradite, naturalmente."

Circe nodded. She surveyed the house once more with satisfaction and turned to Severus, a twinkle in her cyan eyes that hadn't been there back in England.

"Welcome to our new home, Severus," Circe told him with a broad smile.

There was paperwork to be signed, of course - a lease for the rental of Cottage del Fiore. And Circe insisted on buying new linens and cleaning the rooms from top to bottom. But at the end of the day, the Tuscan cottage was theirs, Cottage del Fiore was their home.

* * *

It occurred to Severus that they were hiding from Darius - he was too intelligent a child not to realise this, after all, but he had to admit he was rather happy with this new life. If Severus missed anything about his existence at Bedford Park, it was restricted to the loss of the few friendships he'd forged - his cousins Rodolphus and Rabastan and the little girl from next door, Jane. However, Severus felt quite strongly that the marked heightening in his mother's spirits more than made up for their loss. Although she was constantly watching over their shoulders, looking perhaps for a sign of her estranged husband, Circe seemed much more at peace. She smiled much more, even laughed from time to time, and a rosy colour had returned to her cheeks - the same colour Severus remembered seeing in photographs of her in her youth.

Life in the Tuscan countryside was quite different from what Severus was used to. They lived their daily lives like Muggles now: dressed like them, talked like them, and even used their electricity rather than magic to aid in performing the less than desirable tasks of daily life. After years of listening to Darius criticize the uncouth quirks and mannerisms of Muggles, Severus was inclined to agree: he did not care to perform his Muggle chores of washing dishes and taking out the trash.

But Circe was adamant that they not use magic. She knew that had she used her wand, there was chance Darius would be able to trace it and find them - a risk she was not willing to take. Consequentially, she had her wand stowed away in the china cabinet. If both of them were honest, though, not using magic was a small price to pay for the ability to live life free of the tyranny of Darius Snape. Just because magic was forbidden, however, did not mean that all magical arts were. Indeed, there was still much that Circe could teach her young son about who he was - things like potions and astronomy, things that were practical in the wizarding world but did not require the use of wands or incantations.

Potions was the easiest thing for Circe to teach Severus. Although Transfiguration had been her specialty, she'd been quite good at Potions during her days at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as well. Indeed, there was much she could do with the subject given just the few items readily available to them, and it didn't take long before she had developed quite an elaborate garden full of traditional herbs as well as more exotic ones. Echinacea. Asphodel. Eyebright. Wormwood. The stores went on. She'd even obtained various, crude, Muggle instruments such as a mortar and pestle and an old-fashioned iron cauldron to assist her in the education of Severus. Making potions became an obsession with Circe, her only connection back to the wizarding world and her only way to ensure that her son received any sort of practical training in magical arts.

"We may be living as Muggles," Circe had told him with a determined look on her face as she helped him grind some dried willow leaves for a medicinal paste. "But my pride refuses to completely deny you your identity, Severus."

Of course, Circe's potions work was more than an interest: it was also a matter of survival for them. Each week, she sold the less exotic potions - the ones that didn't involve squick or hard to find ingredients like armadillo bile or billywig stings - to Muggles in their marketplace as holistic medicines. They would never be wealthy from Circe's vending, but it was enough to pay their rent, put food on the table, and provide Severus with a book or two now and then to satisfy his insatiable quest for knowledge.

It wasn't long before Circe became a fixture in the village marketplace. Although she'd become quite skilled at dressing herself like a Muggle, her fair features and broken Italian made her stand out against the swarthy beauty of the indigenous Tuscans. Nonetheless, she developed quite a pleasant reputation among the villagers: Circe was considered eccentric but was widely admired; she was intensely private but perpetually kind. No one knew the terrible secrets of this kind stranger; no one knew that she was really a runaway witch with an intensely vile husband after her.

"Are we better than them?" Severus asked Circe one afternoon.

She was watering some flowers in the garden. He was sitting beside her, intently watching her work, his Latin book in hand. Merlin's beard, it was hot. She longed to have been able to use a Quick Grow Charm instead of toiling over the flowers herself, but that was forbidden.

"Better than whom, love?" she asked softly. She wiped some perspiration from her brow and looked up at her son inquisitively.

"The Muggles," Severus replied simply. "Are we better than them because we have magic?"

"What makes you ask that, love?" Circe asked.

"Darius," Severus said hesitantly. "He told me we are."

Circe frowned and turned back to her gardening, pondering how to answer the question. Darius has already had an influence on him, she thought bitterly. "Not better, darling, just different," she said at last.

Severus was quiet then, as though he was processing this thought in his mind, turning it over to see if it suited him. She wasn't sure what he thought of her answer, but it was the best response she could provide.

* * *

Several months passed by in this fashion: Circe would take care of her son in her tender and maternal fashion, Severus would study and help her make potions, and they'd go to the marketplace to vend said potions. Severus' violent nightmares had even subsided. Indeed, away from Darius, away from the ominous Snape residence, Severus and Circe were quite content. These days were, as Severus would later ruminate over many a shot of Firewhisky, the only truly happy memories of his childhood, the only times in his youth during which he felt safe and loved.

This contentment, however, was not to last forever. And, indeed, it came to a screeching halt one afternoon towards the end of the summer. The mother and son were just stumbling home from an afternoon in the village open air marketplace when a deep and heartless voice uttered the words that would change their lives forever.

"Thought you'd go on holiday, darling?" asked the voice, which emanated from the darkened living room behind them. The term of endearment had been spat sarcastically, and Circe froze in her footsteps in the foyer of the cottage, not daring to face the man who had spoken, for she would recognize his cruel and condescending cadence anywhere.

It was none other than Darius Snape. He was here. In the cottage. He'd finally found them.

Severus whirled to face his father with a determined look of fury. He may have been a child, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the consequences of Darius finding them. He knew this meant things would go back to the way they'd been before - Darius hovering over them like an ominous cloud whether or not he was actually there; a bullied and beaten Circe constantly on the verge of tears and frequently nursing a wound awarded to her by her husband's heavy hand; and Severus feeling trapped, his loyalties torn between his two parents. And this was a life Severus Snape was loath to return to.

Cackling wickedly, Darius rose from where he was sitting on the sofa in the darkened living room. He swept to the foyer of the cottage, where Circe and Severus both stood, staring at him in disbelief, in his trademark fluid stride. He proceeded to grip Circe's arm tightly, his fingers pinching her so tightly the skin around them had turned white.

"Just try to hide now, love," he hissed, his black eyes flickering with fury.

"Darius, you're hurting me," whimpered Circe, avoiding his piercing eyes. She tried to struggle against him, but Darius didn't let go: his fury only mounted. Circe shrieked and shirked back humbly in anticipation of pain as Darius raised his other arm, poised to strike her.

"Leave her alone!" cried Severus, desperately tugging on his father's raised arm.

Darius turned an infuriated pair of eyes upon his small son. "Let go of my arm, boy," he hissed through clenched teeth. Severus clung to him still, though, too frightened by the minion-like expression coating his father's face to move. Darius shook Severus off his arm with such might that the small boy fell back, down to the floor in a heap.

"Don't touch him, you monster!" Circe screamed at Darius with a gasp of horror as she watched her son fall. She struggled to rush to Severus, to help him up and comfort him, but Darius' grasp remained firm, and she could not.

"I warned you, witch," hissed Darius, continuing his tirade unaffected. "And now it's time you suffer the consequences... I believe kidnapping could land you in Azkaban, could it not?"

Circe squirmed, flinching at the mention of the name of the notoriously unpleasant wizard prison. "You can't put me there!" she murmured urgently, more as a question or statement of disbelief at Darius' threat than anything else. "I'm the mother of your child! Severus needs me -"

Rising from the floor, Severus scrambled over to the china cabinet in the neighboring room. Purposefully, he riffled through the drawers, searching for his mother's abandoned wand, the wand she had deserted months ago in order to protect them, in order to delay the inevitability of this moment when Darius was finally able to locate their place of hiding. He found the wand lodged in the bottom drawer and picked it up as quickly as possible. A determined scowl on his face, Severus wedged his way between his arguing parents.

He mustered all his anger, all his fear, and all the power his seven-year-old self would allow him, and he aimed Circe's wand at Darius. "Crucio!" he shrieked, mimicking the curse he must have heard his father utter against Zoe the house elf at the Snape residence in Bedford Park a hundred times.

Darius' eyes bulged as a bolt of light catapulted from the tip of his wife's wand and hurdled towards him. A child wasn't supposed to even know this curse, let alone be able to perform it, and yet, as Darius collapsed to the floor, howling and writhing in pain as the light overcame him, Severus had done it. Remarkable as it was, a mere seven year old with little official magical training had performed one of the Unforgivable Curses.

As Darius attempted to collect his wits again, he regarded his son with an odd fascination - a horror, even - at the realization of how astonishing an instance this was that his son could perform the Cruciatus Curse, and he gasped and gaped as it occurred to him how truly powerful a wizard Severus must have the capability of becoming to possess such powers so young.

"Severus! Where?! Where did you learn how to do that?!" whispered Circe in horror, pulling her close to him.

"From him," the boy murmured, extending a finger to implicate the dark wizard who'd fathered him.

Circe turned a pair of suddenly hardened eyes upon her husband. "Look what you've done to him! Look what he's learned!" she screeched. "This is your fault, Darius! I told you! I warned you!" She turned back to Severus then with maternal concern, embracing him again and kissing his forehead. "Baby, we don't use that curse," she told him with a sudden softness and tenderness.

Tears overflowed Severus' eyes at seeing his mother's reaction to what he had done. He didn't fully understand the weight of his actions, and yet he suddenly knew that whatever it was he had done, it was loathsome. Circe rocked him like a baby in her arms. "You didn't know, Severus... I know you didn't know... it's all right, my darling... But never again, baby," she whispered desperately. "Never again."

Darius just watched as Circe coddled their son. There was a wicked glint in his eye, an amused and entertained one, and it was quite clear that he construed Severus' use of the Cruciatus Curse as a victory over his wife: he had succeeded so aptly in having corrupted the son whose innocence she'd sacrificed so much to protect. He had won Severus, the boy who was the pawn between them and the symbol of their marital strife.

And Darius Snape was satisfied.

* * *

There would be a trial, of course, for Circe Snape. Darius was only too eager to press charges against her for kidnapping Severus, a crime punishable by a prison sentence. It was the perfect opportunity for him to dispose of Circe's threateningly positive presence in Severus's life, to make sure that she never saw their son again as he had warned months ago the night they fled Bedford Park. Consequentially Darius was anxious to use his clout in the Ministry of Magic to ensure a hasty (and biased) hearing for his wife.

It was a public trial, and Darius - in one of his many poor parental judgments - had brought Severus. Severus didn't remember much of the trial, nor did he fully understand the consequences of the day's events, but what he did recall tormented him for the remainder of his days. He remembered the cold stone and the heavy wood and iron which comprised the foreboding courtroom buried deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. Severus remembered how ashen and terrified Circe's face had been as she was made to sit, chained to a chair in the center of the courtroom.

Severus watched from his seat beside his mother's brother, Marcus Lestrange, as Romulus Malfoy led the proceedings. The latter peered menacingly down on Circe from the benches of the Wizengamot, his plum-coloured robes contrasting ominously against his white-blonde hair. "Criminal hearing of the seventeenth of August, 1967," said Malfoy, his voice slick, "into alleged" - he sneered at that part and cast Darius a knowing look - "child abduction offenses committed by one Circe Lestrange Snape of Bedford Park, Suffolk.

"Interrogators: Romulus Malfoy, Head Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic; Bartemius Crouch, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock. Court Scribe: Dolores Umbridge. Witness for the prosecution: Darius Snape, Assistant Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and husband of the accused" - Darius shifted smugly at his seat in the Wizengamot benches at the mention of his name - "Witness for the defense: none."

Severus remembered that the interrogators asked a series of questions then, most of which surrounding the time Circe and Severus spent in Tuscany. Severus could tell by the reactions of the interrogators that his mother's answers were damning her as she spoke them: there was little Circe could do to deny that she'd taken Severus from his home and father, after all. The boy was hopeful, though, as the sage looking wizard called Dumbledore peered at Circe with surprising gentleness from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.

"And next, Mrs. Snape," he said softly as he examined a note on the parchment before him, "we come to the issue of the Cruciatus Curse performed against your husband with your wand. Do you accept responsibility for this charge as well?"

Circe nodded weakly. "My husband had hit our son. It was like he had gone mad. I was afraid for our lives," she replied, looking down at her chained hands sadly. "And then Darius came towards me, so I picked up my wand and performed the Cruciatus Curse on him."

Across the courtroom there were echoes of shock and horror at Circe's admission of guilt, and the wizard called Crouch raised his eyebrow suspiciously. "Surely you knew that use of the Cruciatus Curse against a human being is considered Unforgivable, Mrs. Snape?" he asked sharply.

Again, Circe nodded, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "It was all I could think to do to protect my son and myself," she rebutted desperately. But they weren't listening. No one was listening, actually - no one except the wizard called Dumbledore. "It was self defense - I swear it!"

Severus watched the scene, appalled. Despite being under oath, Circe was lying: She never cast the Cruciatus Curse at Darius - it had been Severus. I cast the curse, Severus thought desperately. It was me. Tell them it was me, Mum! Why was she lying? Severus was frantic, and he stirred anxiously in his seat, yearning to stand up and yell out the truth, but Marcus Lestrange only urged him to hush.

Severus was too young to understand that Circe Snape was lying to protect him. It wasn't until years later when he learned of something called the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry that Severus realised that Circe had lied under oath for a reason: if the Wizengamot had found out that it had been Severus who had cast the Cruciatus Curse that fateful night in Tuscany, he might have been forbidden from ever gaining formal education in magical arts. The curse had been cast from her wand, and it would therefore be difficult to prove that it had been anyone other than her who had wielded its power. Indeed, it was the perfect lie to protect her son from a bleak future. Only Darius knew the truth, but she knew he wouldn't protest - it helped his case for locking Circe in Azkaban too much for him to bother.

"So, if I am to understand correctly," interjected Malfoy with annoyance, "you kidnapped your son, hid in a foreign country as Muggles for three months, and when your husband - wrought with concern for his son - was finally able to locate you, you cast the Cruciatus Curse on him?!"

"No... Well, yes, but that's not how it was - not really," she tried to explain frenziedly. "You haven't heard me. I had my reasons. My husband is a Dark wizard! He's an evil man, I'm telling you! And he beat me - and he'll do the same to Severus if you send me away."

There was another peal of appalled murmurs across the courtroom at Circe's accusation regarding Darius' tendency towards Dark magic. Crouch urged for silence, his voice cutting the din authoritatively.

"Mrs. Snape, these are serious charges you make against a wizard who is not only a respected employee of the Ministry but your own husband," snapped Crouch. "The court is quite disinclined to listen to your vindictive babble."

Circe looked around her frantically, trying to meet eyes with someone who would believe her, but only Dumbledore beheld her with the slightest bit of sympathy.

"Mrs. Snape, do you have anything more to say in your own defense?" asked the bespectacled wizard gently.

"No," she whispered, lips quivering as though struggling to hold back tears. "I-I... would just like to say that I love my son. Anything I've done - that I've been accused of doing - has been with his best interests in mind."

And with Circe's words, it became apparent that the end of the trial had come at last. Romulus Malfoy cleared his throat authoritatively, and Severus held his breath as the judgment on Circe was passed. "All those who find the defendant innocent of charges?" asked the blonde wizard.

There was a very soft murmur from an overwhelming minority of the Wizengamot - the kindly wizard called Dumbledore among them, Severus noted.

Malfoy's lips parted into a cruel grin as he stared down at the prisoner in the chair of chains. "All those who find the defendant guilty?" he asked.

The response to the latter judgment was devastatingly immense, much to Severus' anguish. Even his uncle, who had remained stoic throughout the trial, seemed distressed at the verdict. Severus stood very still, frozen as he watched the scene.

"Circe Lestrange Snape, you have been found guilty of child abduction and illicit use of an Unforgivable Curse," Malfoy sneered. "You are hereby denied custody of your son, Severus Ewan Snape, and sentenced to -"

Although he knew it entailed a lengthy stay in Azkaban prison, Severus didn't hear what, exactly, Circe's sentence was, for upon the pronouncement the decree, Circe let out a wail, a horrified, terrified moan that sent chills down Severus' spine.

"You don't understand!" she pleaded. "My husband is a Dark wizard! Will no one listen to me?!"

"Mrs. Snape, please contain yourself!" scolded Mr. Crouch.

But it was clear that there would be no calming Circe Snape. She was inconsolable; she had lost everything - her freedom, her son, and her self-respect.

"Noooo! Severus!" she wailed. "My son! You don't know what you're doing! Severus!"

Severus stared aghast at his mother as she struggled violently against the chains that bound her. She craned her neck so she could see her son, and when their eyes finally met through the confused bustle of the courtroom, tears were streaming down her once pretty face, and a wild desperation crazed her once twinkling eyes.

"Come, now, Mrs. Snape, don't make me call the Dementors," hissed Romulus Malfoy.

"Severus! Mummy loves you!" she cried desperately. "Mummy will always love you, Severus!"

Whether or not the Dementors actually came to take Circe to Azkaban, Severus never knew, as in the next moment, Darius had descended from the Wizengamot benches and had his hand on his son's shoulder. Severus did not look up at his father, though. Instead, his kept his eyes fixed on his mother until Circe Snape's desperate, tear-streaked face and her vehement proclamations of her love for him were burned permanently in his mind.

"Come, Severus," said Darius without emotion. "You don't need to see any more of that nonsense."

Infuriated by his father's cruel apathy, Severus shirked back from Darius, shrugging the latter's hand from his shoulder in a violent, jerking motion. Darius gaped as Severus, motivated by an unearthly wrath from within, broke free from the crowded courtroom and fled. The boy heard his father calling him in the distance, but he didn't care, and he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Severus burst through the great wooden door at the entrance of the room. The dim torchlight illuminating his path, he raced through the gloomy corridors, up the eerily winding stairs of the Ministry, and out into the busy streets of London.

And still, Severus Snape ran, his mother's voice echoing in his mind.

* * *

It hadn't taken long for members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to locate Severus and return him to Bedford Park, and when the boy finally burst through the front door of the house, he found himself face-to-face with the ominous form of Darius Snape, who was poised to greet him in the foyer and was clearly somewhat less than ecstatic about his son's passionate outburst at the Ministry of Magic.

"Thought you'd go on a little jaunt, Severus?" Darius murmured, his voice low and dark and dangerous.

The tone of Darius' voice would normally have sparked fear in Severus. Today, however, was different. Instead, he was a boy consumed in rage, and he stood obstinately before his glowering father, his eyes so hot with fury he felt they could burst and his hands clenched into tiny fists of resentment. It was the first time in his life - but not the last - that Severus Snape was quite convinced he could kill someone if given the opportunity and the means.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Severus screamed vehemently at his father. "You made my mummy go away! You took her away!"

Darius wasted no time in winding back his hand to strike his son across the face for being so impertinent. Consequentially, Severus fell back to the floor from the blow, clutching his aching cheek as tears streamed down his face, mixing with snot and blood from his smarting nose. An unsympathetic amusement flickered in Darius' cold, dark eyes at his son's grief. Indeed, as Severus would reflect in years to come, his father took perverse enjoyment in making him suffer.

"Your mummy went away because she doesn't love you," Darius hissed, standing over him sinisterly. "Now stop your foolish sniveling, boy."

Severus' eyes burned with renewed hatred for his father, and in that instant, he resolved not to give Darius the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt him in the future; he vowed never to cry again.

* * * * * *