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 3: At Borgin and Burkes

* * * * * *

It was quieter now with Circe gone. Severus appreciated the lack of constant screaming and cursing in the house, of course, but just because life at Bedford Park was quieter did not necessarily mean it was better. In fact, it was downright miserable - intensely more so than it had been prior to Tuscany.

For one thing, Severus missed his mother greatly - the way she'd call him her "little wizard" and caress his cheek lovingly, how she'd always known exactly what would bring a smile to his sallow face, and her habit of humming as she bustled around the house. Worse yet was the simple fact that with her gone, Severus was left entirely to his father's devices. There was no Circe to defend the boy now, to shield him from Darius' wrath and to absorb the blows of said wrath when they were delivered - and as to be expected, such blows were indeed delivered. Frequently.

Furthermore, it seemed to Severus as though his father had become even more of a tyrant than he remembered. Darius spent much of his time in his study, pouring over books and practicing the curses Circe had always protested him performing. He was absent from the household even more now that his wife was not at hand to monitor his presence and to accuse him when appropriate. Severus knew not where his father went or what he could possibly be doing at such times, but he supposed it involved his ever-sacred political meetings. Regardless the cause, though, the boy noticed a trend in Darius' behaviour: he was increasingly anxious, irritable, and withdrawn before and after Disapparating from and Apparating to wherever he went. When Darius was home, he acknowledged Severus' presence in the cruelest of fashions - always annoyed, always angry, and always commenting on how the boy was constantly underfoot. It would have been so much pleasanter for Severus had his father decided it would be more convenient to ignore him, but much to his distress, the older Snape did not.

In addition, the Snape residence itself had fallen into quite a state of murkiness in the absence of the lady of the house. Zoe tried to make the dwelling more pleasant, but as she was never a very good house elf, the home suffered greatly for lack of a feminine presence. This gloom was intensified by the fact that Darius had amassed quite a collection of Dark objects - things that Circe had been loath to allow her husband to indulge in while she lived there. Among his prized possessions were the Doomsday Clock, which counted the minutes until the deaths of one's enemies; the Curio of No Return, into which items were placed but apparently never retrieved; and several windows which were now dressed with Draperies of Death, curtains which leaked fast-acting poisons if touched. Indeed, Dark Arts crawled at every corner of Bedford Park.

It was during one of Darius' trademark absences that Severus stumbled upon the latest and most significant addition to his father's collection of Dark items. As Darius was not as patient a tutor as Circe Snape had been, Severus had determined to take advantage of the quietude to study. During the course of his academic pursuits, the boy ambled into his father's library, searching for a particularly useful astronomy book he believed would help him complete a chart he was working on.

Severus ran his fingers over the spines of the books in his father's library. Bound in elaborate leather and labeled in exquisite uncial writing, they were all so ominous sounding. The Dark Wizard's Guide to Hexes. The Unforgivable Curses and How to Use Them. A History of Dark Arts. There was even an untitled book which let out a high-pitched, pain-filled scream when Severus touched its binding. He recoiled at this shrieking book, and in doing so, he inadvertently knocked it from its shelf. The volume tumbled to the floor, screeching abominably the entire time. It was evident that the book was marked with very Dark magic, and as Darius had warned him countless times not to meddle with his Dark artifacts lest he find himself greeting an unusual and untimely demise, Severus hurried to return the book to its shelf.

No sooner did the boy have the book in hand than several pieces of parchment slipped from the back cover and cascaded to his feet. Severus muttered a few annoyed expletives as he hastily gathered the sheets together once again. As he did so, he could not help but notice that the pages were not from the book: they were letters - cryptic ones referring to something called the Order of the Knights of Walpurgis and a pending meeting at Borgin and Burkes. All were signed from someone called Voldemort. Severus eyed them cautiously, curiously, his heart beating increasing faster in his chest.

"Found something amusing, Severus?" hissed a low and icy voice behind him suddenly.

Severus startled at the intrusion, dropping the parchment once again, and whirled around to see who had spoken the words to him. Darius leered at him in the doorway, his lips curled menacingly over his teeth as he hovered above the boy like an ominous cloud. Severus trembled and stared blankly at his father, not knowing what he could possibly do to explain away the state in which he had been found.

"The rules, Severus, are not made to be broken," Darius said sternly, his voice soft but foreboding. "Do you think you are... above the rules?"

"N-no, sir," whispered Severus, too afraid to manage any more of a response.

Darius stretched out his hand expectantly then, impatiently waiting for his son to pick up the scattered pages and give them back to him. Severus cautiously lowered himself to do so as his father's soulless, black eyes glinted angrily down upon him. The boy had learned the hard way that living with Darius was like living with a dangerous beast of prey - one just waiting to pounce if provoked in the slightest manner, and so he half expected the blow when it came: a swift kick to abdomen that sent him sprawling on the ground.

A beating ensued, one of the worst of Severus' childhood, and afterwards, he lay alone in his bedroom. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain and the humiliation associated with Darius' latest resplendent display of wrath. He pictured his mother's face, smiling at him as she affectionately traced the outline of his cheek and kissed his forehead. He envisioned her cleansing his wounds and smoothing his hair and telling him everything would be all right. Severus missed her so greatly he almost convinced himself that if he opened his eyes, she'd be sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, but when he did, he saw nothing but the ugly, dank, darkness of his room.

And he hated it. Severus hated himself for missing her, hated her for not being there. But mostly, he just hated Darius, without whom none of this would have happened. Something had to be done, he resolved, to prevent nights such as these in the future...

Severus Snape had to learn to defend himself.

* * *

It was obvious to Severus that his father was a Dark wizard. He'd heard his mother venomously accuse of him of being so too often not to believe it. Darius had never denied it, either, but seemed rather proud of it. Severus wasn't sure he understood what the philosophical differences were between a wizard like his father and a witch like his mother, but he knew Circe had protested him learning whatever magic Darius favoured.

Necessity, however, dictated that Severus ignore his mother's decree: without Circe there to protect him, he had to learn to defend himself against Darius' cruelty by any means possible. To defeat a Dark wizard, one must learn what it meant to be a Dark wizard, after all, and surely, Severus thought, even Circe would not argue with this logic. Indeed, Severus took to haunting Darius' study in his absence, preparing for the day when he had his own wand to practice the skills contained within the pages of his father's Dark books.

That day came one morning soon after, when Darius Snape coolly informed his son that they would be going to Diagon Alley to get him his first wand. Severus would have liked to have been excited about the occasion, but Darius' decided lack of fanfare and flourish made it difficult. Furthermore, Ollivander's proved less impressive than Severus had expected, and the boy wrinkled his nose with distaste as they stepped inside. Considering the shop had a reputation for being the finest wand purveyor in the country, he could not help but be disappointed in its rather shabby appearance. Dim and dusty, Ollivander's was rather smaller than it looked from the outside. This condition was heightened by the fact that its walls were lined with shelf after shelf of long, narrow boxes - wand boxes, presumably - so many of them that they were stacked to the ceiling.

Ollivander, himself, greeted Severus and Darius as they entered the shop, his moon-like orbs of eyes peering at them anxiously and eerily. "Ahhhh, Mr. Snape," he said in an ethereal tone. "I remember you - elm, thirteen inches, Erumpent horn. And your wife had a rather fine birch and haemony..."

Darius looked suddenly murderous at the mention of Circe Snape, and Mr. Ollivander promptly paused, thought better of completing his sentence, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er... yes, well, anyway, what can I do for you today?" he asked.

"My son needs his first wand," Darius said without emotion, glancing out the sparsely decorated window with disinterest.

A smile creased Ollivander's warm, wrinkled face as he looked down at Severus, who was staring at him intently with his wide, black eyes and noting the multiple differences between his father and the wandmaker before him. "Of course," Ollivander said kindly, ignoring Darius' coldness. "I was wondering why I hadn't seen young Severus yet."

The old man withdrew a measuring tape from his pocket then, and it immediately leapt into action, appraising Severus' arms, fingers, and all manners of calculations in between. "Interesting," Ollivander said at beholding the measurements. What, exactly, was so intriguing, Severus did not know, but the old man promptly scuttled to the back corner of his store with excitement.

"Now, which hand do you favour, Severus?" he called back as he started rifling through a particularly untidy shelf of merchandise.

"He's ambidextrous," Darius growled before Severus could reply.

"I thought as much," the old man commented, continuing his search purposefully. How Ollivander knew this, Severus was not certain, but he presumed it must have been determined from the results of the rather annoying measuring tape. "Ahhhh, here it is," he said at last, his fingertips resting on a particularly tattered box.

Within moments, Ollivander had returned to the front of the store, back to the curious Severus and bored-looking Darius. In his possession was the bedraggled wand box, which Severus eyed skeptically, not pleased that his future wand could possibly be enclosed in such a forlorn-looking container.

"I believe this will do," said Ollivander, his eyes glittering as he removed a surprisingly handsome, dark wand from its less than auspicious box. "Twelve and seven-eighths inches. Firm. Hazel with a core of Diricawl feather," he informed them enthusiastically. "Robust and good for all sorts of magic." The beaming Ollivander handed the wand to Severus then. "There you go, lad, give that a flick and see how it works for you."

Severus beheld the wand with awe as he wrapped his fingers around it. He'd been apprehensive of wands since he'd picked up his mother's that dreadful afternoon in Tuscany and cast the Cruciatus Curse at Darius, but it was different with this magnificent rod of hazel. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before: there was a pleasant tingling in his fingers, and he suddenly felt warmth penetrating his being, beginning in his fingertips and trickling down the length of his arms until it reached his torso and beyond. Beyond a doubt, this was - despite its dilapidated box and the initial skepticism of the boy in whose hands it now rested - the wand for Severus Snape.

"Perfect," breathed Ollivander, eying the match between wizard and wand with awe. It was a daily occurrence for him to pair wands with their appropriate wizarding mates, and yet each time, he saw a wand find its new owner, he marveled at it as a thing of beauty.

"An exceptionally fine wand for someone who will undoubtedly prove to be an exceptionally fine wizard," he told them as he wrapped the hazel wand back in its box.

Darius, however, appeared somewhat less convinced. Severus was not sure if his father was more skeptical of the wand's quality or of his son's magical talent. Either way, the older Snape smirked doubtfully as he paid an exorbitant amount of Galleons for the wand and impatiently ushered Severus from the shop.

"Pick up your feet, boy," the older Snape hissed, annoyed at the considerably slower pace of his small son's stride as they made their way through Diagon Alley.

A downtrodden Severus obediently struggled to keep up with his father's gait as they turned down a street near Gringott's Bank. He didn't have to ask where they were headed: the sudden dreariness of the street told him exactly where they were. After all, Darius frequented the shops of Knockturn Alley, and as a result, Severus had already been here more times than most wizards in their entire lives. Consequentially, the boy scarcely seemed intimidated by the sneers of the unsavory witches and wizards walking the street. Nor did he show any consternation at the sight of the shop windows filled with items like poisonous candles and giant spiders. He paused only once to admire a display of shrunken heads but could not linger, as Darius promptly prodded him along with a snarl of annoyance.

It was not Severus' first time at Borgin and Burkes, but as he stepped inside the shop, it quickly became evident that today's was a visit he would not soon forget. Darius abandoned Severus at the door and headed directly towards the man sitting behind the counter - a wizard whose hair formed an equally formidably dark sheath as Darius'.

"Is he here yet?" Darius asked in a secretive whisper.

Mr. Borgin said nothing, but raised a narrow, wart-encrusted index finger in the direction of a small room adjacent to the furthest and darkest corner of the store. Severus didn't quite comprehend their tacit communication, but he understood perfectly what an unwelcome burden he was in the scene, for as Darius nodded and made to walk towards the door, Borgin raised an irritated eyebrow in Severus' direction. "I am not accustomed to playing babysitter," he sneered.

Grumbling some incomprehensible but distinctly inappropriate words of complaint, Darius reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew some money - Severus thought it might have been as much as seven Galleons - which he swiftly tossed at Borgin as compensation for the inconvenient presence of his son. Darius turned to the boy then with a sneer, and before disappearing behind the door to which the shopkeeper had motioned, he hissed, "Touch nothing."

As to be expected, Mr. Borgin proceeded to pocket the money. He thanked Darius, but the moment the latter had his back turned, the shopkeeper made a rather obscene gesture at the older Snape's back. He proceeded to glare resentfully at the younger Snape - a glare which was returned with an unappreciative smirk - before he retreated to the solitude of his stockroom.

Unsupervised in the shop, Severus busied himself by looking at the Dark artifacts that surrounded him. It was while Severus was examining something called the Shroud of Dertah that he heard hushed whispers emanating from the nearby far, dark corner of the shop - the corner which housed the door beyond which Darius was holding his apparently highly private caucus. The voices quickly escalated, heightened to the point to which Severus could quite nearly distinguish what was being said, and despite himself, he inched surreptitiously closer to the door to listen better.

"I cannot deny that I am not at all pleased that Dumbledore was been made headmaster," a man was saying. His voice was low and cold and severe, and his words were borne from a labyrinth of animosity. "Undoubtedly, he'll have a host of students trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and that's not something I can afford to have happen - not with all I have planned."

"Malfoy and I did our best to try to sway the school governors," replied the voice Severus instantly recognised as Darius' cruel cadence.

"Your best simply wasn't good enough, Snape," was the response, hissed with a sudden venom. "I gave you one task - one task - a trifle, really, and yet apparently, you are so incompetent that you cannot see to it that one feeble old man is stifled! I expected better from you, my old friend. Something will have to be done to make up for your... inadequacies."

"Such as?" Darius asked.

"A curse, perhaps - a well-placed one, at that," was the icy answer. There was a thoughtful pause. "Perhaps a curse that would somehow jinx the Dark Arts teaching position."

"I think that - "

The man cackled cruelly. "You think, Snape?! I'm afraid I don't care much for what you think anymore," he sneered. "You know, you're getting to be quite useless to me. Romulus has told me about your little... er... vocalizations at the Ministry - how outspoken you've been lately. The less you know, the better - I cannot afford to have you become a liability for our Cause, after all."

"My Lord, I-I -" Darius fumbled.

It was the first and only time Severus ever heard the slightest hint of humility in his father's voice, and instantly, the boy admired whatever man this was who could reduce his formidable father to such a bumbling state.

"Enough!" the stranger snapped.

The voices dropped again then, and moments later, there was a commotion, the distinct sound of chairs and heavy, virile footsteps scraping against the crude, unfinished wood of the floor. Apparently, Darius' meeting had adjourned. Startled, Severus turned back to the Shroud of Dertah, trying to appear quite absorbed in admiring it, as he heard the door to the secret room of Borgin and Burkes open.

"That shroud, they say, has killed three sultans who were foolish enough to wear it," came a low but crisp tone behind Severus - the same cadence which had held the other end of his father's conversations in the adjacent room.

Severus whirled to find himself face-to-face with a tall man clad in exquisite, sweeping robes of midnight blue. He was very pale, and his grim facial features seemed an echo of one who may have once been a well-groomed, attractive person. But it was those eyes Severus would remember most clearly: those intense, snakelike slits which probed him to the point where he nearly felt the need to turn away, and yet as much as he wanted to, Severus could not actually bring himself to avert his gaze; he felt captivated - entranced, almost - by these haunting, hypnotic eyes.

Severus faltered for a response to the words of this mysterious stranger before him. Finding none, he settled to stare in awe at him instead. This entertained the latter, whose narrow lips creased into a darkly amused smile as he beheld the pallid, skinny boy before him. It wasn't a kind smile, Severus noted, but a cold kind of sneer, one very much like the sort Darius threw in his direction as he delivered punishments or insults or when he cast Unforgivables, and as much as Severus felt entranced by this man's powerful presence, he simultaneously loathed it.

"Tom, this is my son," Darius said coolly, turning his black eyes down on Severus then, glaring at him as though to warn him to be on his best behaviour. "Severus, this is... er... Mr. Riddle, one of my business associates."

Severus froze at the revelation of the identity of this eerie man before him. Tom Riddle. He knew that name. He'd heard it countless times when he was younger - Circe Snape had spoken the name with fiery condemnation, yet Darius had mentioned Mr. Riddle with respect - reverence, even. The man had become very much a myth to Severus over the years, and yet here he was in flesh before him, telling him about the Shroud of Dertah.

"I've heard of you, Severus," Mr. Riddle said, turning his eerie eyes and sinister smirk back down to the boy, who promptly shivered. He paused and placed his hand on Severus' shoulder and patted it in a manner that would have seemed affectionate if not for the subtle leering in his eyes. "And I've heard what a clever little boy you are - about how you can already use Unforgivable Curses," he added weightily.

Severus startled at the mention of his use of Unforgivable Curses. He'd heard all such curses by now - one could hardly live with a wizard like Darius Snape without having heard them, after all - but the only time Severus had performed one himself was the night Darius had found them in Tuscany. Considering how his mother had assumed the blame for the curse at her trial, Severus had almost convinced himself that perhaps he hadn't used the Cruciatus after all - that perhaps the events of that evening transpired as she had testified to the Wizengamot, and that he, in a rage-induced hallucination, had merely imagined having done so. Mr. Riddle, however, knew otherwise; he knew the truth - learned it from Darius, undoubtedly, and the delusion under which Severus had been operating since Circe Snape was sent to Azkaban was shattered.

Tom Riddle chuckled with cold amusement at the distress that instantly crept into Severus' face at his allusion to the Cruciatus. He hunched over for a moment, stooped so that his snakelike eyes were on level with those of the boy before him.

"Your father is most impressed with what talents you have, Severus," Tom Riddle explained, his voice soft but perilous and his gaze intense and unwavering. "As am I. Remember that."

Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he always did remember Tom Riddle and the fact that this mesmerizing wizard celebrated his abilities.

* * *

That night, there was another brawl in Bedford Park. Darius had once again accused Severus of fouling up one of his beloved artifacts. It was an unsubstantiated indictment, of course, as Severus had been too absorbed in practising minor hexes on Zoe with his new wand to attempt his ritual prowling around Darius' study. Nonetheless, there was no convincing Darius, whom Severus noted had been especially short-tempered following his meeting with Mr. Riddle at Borgin and Burkes.

"Get back here, you worthless, little brat!" Darius barked as he chased Severus through the house.

Panting, Severus scrambled away from the thunderous form of his father, grateful for once that he was much smaller and agile than the older Snape. He darted around a corner and started to clamber up the stairs, attempting to retreat to the safety of his bedroom, when he felt Darius' heavy hand grasp his slender ankle. Severus tripped, slamming hard against the wood of the stairs as Darius dragged him back down the steps he was so anxious to ascend.

"Let go of me!" Severus shouted, struggling against his father.

Severus' efforts to free himself proved ineffectual, however, as within moments, Darius had rendered his small son vulnerable: prone at the bottom of the stairs with a bruise forming on his cheek from the fall. Sparks shot from the end of Darius' ominously extended wand as he stood glowering over the boy. Severus stared back steadfastly at his father, his loathing for the older Snape radiating from his black spheres.

"Nowhere to run now, Severus," Darius hissed.

It was then that Severus noticed something lying at his feet, and he shifted his gaze only to notice that his wand - his precious hazel and Diricawl - had slipped from his slacks and scuttled to the floor in the fray. His mind flooded with the memory of all the useful hexes he had come across during his evenings of solitude in Darius' study, and he suddenly yearned to have that wand in hand, to have even the slightest opportunity to protect himself against the inevitably brutal punishment his father was plotting for him.

Darius laughed in wicked amusement as he followed his son's gaze and guessed what the boy was thinking. Arrogantly, he kicked the wand across the floor, closer to Severus, setting a challenge literally at his feet.

"Pick up your wand and defend yourself, boy," he dared in a lethal snarl, accentuating every syllable of the challenge with cruelty.

And this time, Severus did.

* * *

Matters continued in much this fashion until the afternoon the letter came. Severus had never suspected that he wouldn't get one, but he was thrilled nonetheless when it arrived, for with it came freedom - freedom from the Bedford Park, freedom from Darius, and - hopefully - freedom from the head full of bad memories he had between the two.

That pivotal letter was Severus' acceptance to Hogwarts, of course, and he was playing outside by the pond, stalking the rare and elusive Snidget with the little girl from next door, Jane Swizzle, when it arrived.

"Look, it's the post," Jane said, indicating two barn owls soaring in their direction.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious," Severus said sarcastically, not seeing what was so unusual about receiving mail.

Over the years, Jane Swizzle had grown quite used to the sarcastic quips of the boy at her side, and she'd ceased to take them personally some time ago. Instead, she just tossed her mane of dark, wavy hair over her shoulder nonchalantly and diplomatically chose to dismiss his remark.

Both Severus' sarcasm and their quest for the Snidget were promptly abandoned, however, as the owls proceeded to deliver the parcels they were carrying - one for both the children below - and soar away again without pause. Severus looked down at the envelope in his hands. It was heavier than he'd expected, and he examined the elegant emerald script that crossed the parchment closely.

Mr. Severus E. Snape

Bedford Park, Suffolk

Severus peered over at Jane's letter and saw that hers bore similar markings. They traded excited glances as they simultaneously turned their respective envelopes over and saw that their parcels were stamped with identical marks: the unmistakable vision of an eagle, snake, lion, and badger entwined around a letter "H."

"Hogwarts," Jane breathed, a warm smile lighting her round, cherubic face and wide, violet eyes.

Hogwarts.

* * * * * *