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 5: To Quidditch or Not to Quidditch

* * * * * *

Severus stared out his bedroom window. The distance between the Snape residence and that of the neighboring Swizzle home was considerable, but he could faintly distinguish a figure standing in a window of the house opposite his. Jane Swizzle stood looking at him from the confines of her bedroom - a room which conveniently faced his own. She raised her wand and, following the muttering of the incantation he knew was required to produce the intended effect, two short bursts of light immediately followed by two longer ones issued from the end of it.

It was a communication of sorts - a system the two had developed when they'd first gotten their wands some time ago. A series of pre-established short and long bursts of light produced with a simple spell allowed Severus and Jane to convey rudimentary ideas, send brief greetings, or arrange meetings at one another's homes or by the nearby pond. Such was the case this afternoon.

As was tradition, Severus raised his wand. "Lumos," he murmured. The window pane was illuminated ever so briefly before he said another incantation, "Nox." The light at the end of his wand was extinguished and the message conveyed: he had received and understood Jane's message and was promptly making his way to the Swizzle residence.

* * *

It was, quite possibly, one of the most glorious things Severus Snape had ever seen to date. A Comet 220. A racing broom - a racing broom preferred by countless British and Irish Quidditch teams, no less. It wasn't the most illustrious broom, of course, not since the Nimbus 1000 had come out, anyway, but it was a vision of broomstick beauty nonetheless. And it belonged to Jane, a gift from her father in commemoration of her recent twelfth birthday.

"Well, don't just stare at it, have a go if you like, Severus," she giggled upon seeing the way he longingly caressed the sleek, mahogany handle.

Severus nodded anxiously. As Darius preferred to spend his Galleons at Borgin and Burkes rather than on a much-needed broomstick for his son, Severus had been confined to the use of his mother's elderly Silver Arrow. It had been a fine broom once but over the years had become rather sluggish, and it was in desperate need of reconditioning. Consequentially, the hook-nosed boy was more than anxious to sample a newer broom.

Much to his delight, Severus found he was not disappointed by the quality of Jane's Comet 220. He soared through the secluded yard: speeding up, slowing down; taking sharp turns that jolted his bones, taking wide ones that left him slightly dizzy. He'd look down on Bedford Park from the tops of the trees, the wind whipping his hair across his pallid face, and the breeze whistling in his ears. And as Severus flew, he felt peace: he could almost forget the woes that rested on the ground beneath him - could almost forget the way Darius leered at him or James Potter ridiculed him. Such forgetfulness was ephemeral, of course, but it lingered long enough for him to dart back to the ground and land beside Jane with a grin on his face and a far-off look in his eye. With a slight twinge of remorse, Severus relinquished the Comet 220 to its rightful owner once again.

"I haven't much use for it, myself," Jane admitted as they headed back indoors. The sun had begun to settle beyond the horizon, and their stomachs were growling with hunger by now. "I hate to fly - I'm always worried I won't be able to stop."

"Of course you'll be able to stop," Severus said authoritatively. "All Comets come with built-in Horton-Keitch Braking Charms - they're famous for it."

"Doesn't matter - I still get scared," she replied with a shrug.

It was Jane's mother who greeted them when they clambered up the cobblestone walkway and through the back door of the Swizzle residence a few moments later. Though slender, Madeleine Swizzle was a curvy woman with the same wavy, dark hair and elegant eyes that her daughter bore. She smiled warmly when she saw Jane and even more so when she spied the hook-nosed boy who accompanied her.

"Severus Snape, you look like you've been caught in a storm," she teased pleasantly as she reached out to tousle his windswept hair.

Although Madeleine Swizzle cared not to listen to gossip herself, she could scarcely have avoided having heard about the tragedy of Circe Snape's Azkaban sentence, and she pitied Severus the loss of the mother who had so desperately tried to protect him. Consequentially, there was a sadness in her smile as she smoothed back Severus' hair from his face in a distinctly maternal fashion. Though soft, his shoulder-length black locks were unkempt, shaggy and a bit oily - as though last night's shampoo had not been properly washed from his head. This, however, was just one aspect of the boy's untidy appearance: his clothing was constantly slightly wrinkled, his teeth a bit uneven, and, as Madeleine Swizzle had disconcertedly noted on more than one occasion, Severus was a little too skinny - undernourished, though not completely emaciated.

It was a pity, Madeleine Swizzle thought, for despite the fact that he'd inherited the classic Snape nose from his father, she had always believed Severus might have proved a rather handsome little lad. Before being incarcerated, Circe Snape had, after all, always seen to it that her son was well-groomed - that his hair was clean and short and trim and his clothes were impeccable. By appearances, however, Darius Snape could obviously not bother with his son in the way his wife had. Madeleine was not sure whether it was his father's negligence or the inadequacies of their house elf that contributed more to Severus' constantly disheveled and forlorn-looking appearance. Either way, though, she wondered how Circe Snape's heart would break if she could see her son now.

It was precisely this thought, Madeleine supposed, that made her want to take Severus in her arms and rock him like her own child. She wanted to trim his hair and darn his clothes, tell him she was proud of him when he succeeded and scold him when his temper got the better of him (which was frequently - not that she could blame him, considering his paternal role model). But she knew Severus wouldn't let her care for him in this fashion - he was too proud, much like his father. However, there was one thing Madeleine Swizzle could do for the misguided, motherless boy that was so subtle he wouldn't protest: she could feed him wholesome meals whenever the opportunity presented itself, and so she instantly seized the opportunity to do so.

"Staying for dinner, Severus?" she asked.

The boy hesitated, looking first as though he was stunned at the invitation and then ashamed, as though he wished not to be a burden.

"I fear I've made a bit too much shepherd's pie," Madeleine added, seeing the conflict within him. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to help unburden us of it?"

It was Madeleine Swizzle's typical method of coaxing the hook-nosed boy into joining her table: assign a sense of duty to the act. The boy always responded to a sense of duty - it was one of Circe Snape's few lingering imprints still left upon him. Indeed, Severus' eyes widened, and despite the conflict within him, he nodded his dark head. In truth, Severus couldn't deny that he didn't perpetually crave a well-cooked meal, as Mrs. Swizzle's decidedly were. He didn't eat much at home. Zoe, the Snape house elf, had proven herself quite inadequate at even the most menial of domestic tasks, and as to be expected, she possessed culinary skills that were disastrous at best. As a result, the promise of shepherd's pie proved too tempting for Severus to resist.

There were hands to be washed, of course, before Severus sidled into a seat beside Jane at the Swizzle's dinner table that night. He couldn't remember having eaten so well since his mother had prepared his meals, and although Madeleine Swizzle could scarcely replace Circe Snape, she was an acceptable substitute in the matter of mealtimes.

"Do you never eat, Severus?" Madeleine asked with a chuckle as she watched the boy make his way through a set of second helpings. She teased, but to be honest, she was quite pleased to see him indulge his appetite. Nonetheless, a blush promptly stole across Severus' face, and he paused midway through a forkful of mashed potatoes.

"Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite, Maddie," Augustus Swizzle had said pleasantly from his end of the table. He was a robust man with a kindly smile, and he helped himself to a second serving as well before retreating to his study with his pipe and a copy of the Evening Prophet.

"Another disappearance," he commented, shaking his head sadly as he referenced the headlines of the newspaper. "A Muggle-born Ministry employee from Kent this time. Extremely odd circumstances, I understand."

There was bread pudding for dessert, though, and consequentially, Severus quickly dismissed Augustus Swizzle's words. In retrospect, it occurred to him that Darius had recently returned from what he termed a "business trip" in Kent. The hook-nosed boy wasn't sure what business the Assistant Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic could possibly have had in Kent, and he dimly wondered if his father's presence there had been a coincidence or not. However, as Madeleine Swizzle set a heaping dish of pudding before him, he scarcely cared.

Belly pleasantly full, Severus trod back home that night feeling quite uncharacteristically content. The Swizzle family had that effect on him, he'd noticed, and although he was certain his satisfaction would dissolve the moment he rested eyes on his father, he enjoyed it while it lasted.

* * *

"I heard she used to be seeker for Puddlemere United," Will Avery informed the Slytherin table as he slid into his usual seat between Ian Wilkes and Evan Rosier.

"I heard she was a coach for the Montrose Magpies," Rodolphus Lestrange added.

Another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had begun, and much to Severus Snape's relief, there had been no traumatic run-ins with James Potter and Sirius Black to ruin his delight in the start-of-term feast this time. Instead, he was rather enjoying the annual Sorting Ceremony and speculation with his dormmates over the background and qualifications of the plucky new Flying teacher, whom the headmaster had introduced as Rolanda Hooch.

"I'll bet she even knows Hamish McFarlan," chimed in a dark-haired first year beside Rodolphus.

Severus would normally have regarded this particular first year with antipathy, as he was the younger brother of Sirius Black, whom Severus had decided early in his career at Hogwarts was not worth knowing. However, Regulus had proved his worth in Severus' eyes: not only was he sorted decisively into Slytherin, but as the Sorting Hat named him to the house, he had shot a scathing smirk at his Gryffindor brother as though to gloat. Severus had been amused to find that Regulus so clearly bore Sirius animosity, and the two boys tacitly bonded over their common enemy.

Apparently, they were bonded over their seemingly mutual interest in Quidditch as well. Unfortunately, Madam Hooch did not assuage the whispers of curiosity regarding her experience with broomstick sports when Albus Dumbledore bid her to rise and introduce herself to the students.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to announce that tryouts for positions on the house Quidditch teams will be held next week," was all she said on the matter.

Of course, Rolanda Hooch's face hadn't been the only unfamiliar one around the tables of the Great Hall that evening. Aside from the wide-eyed, cherubic faces of the incoming first years, there was a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Indeed, Lilith Hagzissa had apparently assumed the post this summer, when their previous teacher, Vindictus Viridian, reportedly retired to pursue a career in writing. Her stern expression told the students of Slytherin that she would rule their house with the precision and austerity befitting the progeny of the oldest and most venerable families in the wizarding world. Consequentially, Severus had the distinct impression that Professor Hagzissa would prove to be one of the few instructors at the school that his father would have unwavering confidence in.

Severus' assessment of this matter was proven correct the very next morning, as he settled into his seat beside Evan Rosier for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Lilith Hagzissa entered the room with a dramatic flair: the click of her high heeled shoes echoing through the suddenly silent classroom and her sharp nose stuck authoritatively high in the air. She never smiled, never looked directly at the students but somehow over their heads when she spoke to them, and she strode through the room as she taught, pacing up and down the aisles between desks.

"Our studies this year will involve a combination of topics, including several Dark creatures. For example, we will begin by learning about Kappas," she informed them decisively, emphasizing and clearly pronouncing each syllable of her words. "We will then proceed to discuss hinkypunks, boggarts, vampires, and - should time permit - werewolves. Defensive spells and strategies will also be covered in conjunction with and in addition to these topics. Assignments will include essays as well as written and practical examinations. I do not tolerate tardiness, speaking out of turn, or lack of preparation for class."

Having made her way back to the front of the classroom, Professor Hagzissa turned sharply on her pointed heel and whirled around to face the classroom again dramatically. "Who can tell me what a Kappa is?" she asked abruptly.

The question caught the entire class off guard, as it was intended to do. The students had not expected to be quizzed on such information on the first day of class, and as a result, blank stares and a weighty silence impregnated the room. When it became apparent that there would be no intelligent reply, Lilith Hagzissa's eyes narrowed into distinctly displeased slits, and she tapped her foot impatiently.

"I was under the impression," she said icily, "that I was teaching some of the brightest young minds in the wizarding world. Evidently I was wrong."

Determined not to be proven anything less than one of the brightest young minds in the wizarding world, though, Severus heaved his slender arm into the air at once. He had excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Viridian last year, and in truth, he had already read most of this year's textbook - including the chapters on Kappas. Therefore, when Professor Hagzissa indicated with a curt nod of her head that she wished to hear his reply to her question, he felt quite confident in speaking.

"Kappas are water demons that live in shallow ponds and rivers," Severus said coolly. "They attack human passersby and strangle them so they can feed on their blood."

"Excellent," Professor Hagzissa told him, although her placid facial expression remained unchanged. "Five points to Slytherin."

"Know-it-all," hissed a voice behind Severus suddenly.

The sallow-skinned youth didn't have to turn around to know that it was his least favourite classmate, James Potter, who had spoken those words of ridicule. Indeed, when Severus glanced over his shoulder to make his annoyance known to the spectacled Gryffindor, he found himself face-to-face with James as well as his smirking lackeys. "Dunderheads," he snarled at them before turning back to Professor Hagzissa, who had continued her lecture.

"And who can tell me what area of the world Kappas are indigenous to?" the professor was asking.

Just to spite James Potter, Severus rose his hand once again, casting a determined scowl in the direction of his snickering nemeses. As he was once again the only student to dare to venture an answer, Lilith Hagzissa promptly asked for his response. "Asia, although there is speculation whether they originate from Mongolia or Japan," Severus said with self-assurance.

"Well done, Mr Snape," the teacher replied, her narrow lips curling over her teeth in what the class would learn over time was her rendition of a smile. "Another five points to Slytherin."

It was then that Severus felt it: a peculiar sort of tingling in his ears. It didn't hurt, per se, but it wasn't exactly comfortable, either. However, it wasn't until he heard the choir of giggles rising behind him that the pallid boy realised that something was, indeed, very wrong.

"What's wrong with your ears, mate?" Evan Rosier murmured, staring at him quizzically.

Bringing his hands hurriedly to cup his ears, Severus felt them - the lobes were convulsing, jerking against the side of his head, violently fluttering as though trying to take flight from his body. Severus gasped in panic and stood up, knocking his desk over in the process. His books and parchment littered the floor at his feet, and his black eyes darted around the room, begging for an explanation, begging for assistance.

And assistance promptly arrived. "Mr Potter! That will be quite enough!" shouted Professor Hagzissa, whose lecture had been interrupted in the fray. She raised her wand and took aim. "Finite Incantatum!" she cried.

Severus' ears ceased their annoying spasms at once, and, all eyes upon him, he whirled around to face James Potter, who was seated behind him, wand still raised and aimed in the direction of the hook-nosed Slytherin. Indeed, James had hexed him - the look of pure amusement on his face at seeing the flush flooding Severus' cheeks was evidence enough to this fact. He looked with horror from James to his cackling cohorts - Sirius Black was clutching his sides, tears leaked from Peter Pettigrew's eyes, and Remus Lupin looked decidedly more animated than usual. Suddenly, all Severus wanted to do was to banish those haughty grins from their faces. That thrill, however, would have to be reserved strictly for Professor Hagzissa.

"A Twitchy Ears Hex, Mr Potter?" she seethed, crossing the room and pinching James' earlobe firmly in between her fingertips. "I'll make your ears twitch, young man! We'll see how amusing your find your pranks when you're serving detention tonight."

* * *

That detention was filled, as Severus learned, by polishing the school trophy cases. The hook-nosed boy had been heading back from the library when he saw the familiar tousled hair and round glasses of James Potter, rag in hand, finishing his detention duties. The assignment was a favourite of Argus Filch, who frequently oversaw the administration of discipline to students. As such, the delegation of such a task to the haughty Gryffindor was of no surprise to Severus, but that didn't stop him from taking a vile delight in witnessing the event.

"Bloody, sodding know-it-all," James was grumbling under his breath as he placed the last of the newly sparkling statuettes back inside the glass case.

"Enjoying your detention, Potter?" Severus gloated as he approached. "I think you missed a spot or two."

Startled, James turned swiftly to face Severus. His face hardened and his fists clenched involuntarily when he saw his pallid adversary. "Sod off, Snape," he hissed, brushing past him before adding, "You'll pay for getting me into trouble, you greasy little git."

Severus smirked after James as he stalked down the corridor. The scene was rather amusing to him, actually. The arrogant swagger of the spectacled boy had been dampened at last by the sting of punishment. The effect had only been temporary, of course, as James had already vowed revenge, but this was a minor detail to Severus. For the first time since their arrival at Hogwarts, James Potter had served detention for his mischief. Perhaps justice did prevail occasionally after all.

Despite how Severus detested anything that passed through the fingers of James Potter, he had to admit the newly polished trophy display was most impressive. The light from the candles illuminating the room glinted off the statues and plaques, causing the silver and gold touchstones of students' accomplishments to shimmer and glitter tantalizingly. Severus surveyed the contents of the cases in awe. Head Boys. Head Girls. Awards for special service to the school. Quidditch champions.

It was this last category of awards that caught Severus' attention in particular. Perhaps this was because he had thought entirely too much about Madam Hooch's announcement regarding pending Quidditch tryouts; perhaps this was because he could still remember how much it had vexed him to watch James Potter playing with a Snitch their first day of school last year. Either way, when Severus spotted the plaque - the one that commemorated the winners of the 1942 house Quidditch Cup - his eyes widened and his heart throbbed excitedly within his chest. With trembling hands, he removed it from the case and ran his fingertips over the lettering in disbelief.

Slytherin had won that year, as was evident from house crest and ornate, gold inscription that adorned the head of the tablet. Below this pleased proclamation were the names and positions of those heroic few whose talents had guided the house to victory. Romulus Malfoy, Keeper and Captain. Marcus Lestrange, Seeker. Gaylord Goyle and Brutus Crabbe, Beaters. Claudius Black and Adrianus Flint, Chasers. But it was the last name that caught Severus' attention in particular:

Darius Snape, Chaser

The revelation that his father had not only played Quidditch but played Quidditch on a winning team was of great shock to Severus, and the boy must have read the name over at least ten times before he finally believed it. He had known that his mother had been prefect. Circe Snape had spoken fondly of her days at school, but no one had ever told Severus about Darius' accomplishments at Hogwarts. In fact, when it came down to it, Severus knew very little about his father: Darius had never volunteered such information, and Severus had never cared enough to ask.

Indeed, the proverbial wheels in Severus' mind were turning at once with the possibilities: if he could make the Slytherin Quidditch team, he could earn his father's respect; if he could make the Slytherin Quidditch team, perhaps Darius would buy him the new broom he so desperately wanted; if he could make the Slytherin Quidditch team, maybe the supercilious smirk would fade from James Potter's face. The possibilities seemed infinite.

All he needed was a racing broom.

* * *

Despite the simplicity of the plan, there were, of course, certain glitches within it. The most obvious of which was the trifle of a detail that - barring the less-than-auspicious remains of what was once Circe Snape's rather respectable Silver Arrow - Severus did not own a racing broom, and since Severus did not own a quality racing broom, he would have to borrow one from someone who did.

Rodolphus' broom was no better than Severus'. It was one of Rabastan's discards, and as Rabastan was already on the Quidditch team, it was a physical impossibility for Severus to borrow his broom, which was actually quite a nice Cleansweep model. Similar situations repeated with nearly all of Severus' other dormmates and friends: Will Avery had a decent broom, but as he planned on trying out as well, the situation with Rabastan was duplicated. And Evan Rosier simply couldn't be bothered with contemplating the sundry assets of racing brooms, as he had recently become far too occupied with contemplating the sundry assets of the opposite sex instead.

"Whose bubbies do you think are larger - Florence Fothergill or Lily Evans?" he'd ask on a near-daily basis.

"Who cares about Lily Evans? She's a Mudblood," an annoyed Rodolphus would remind him emphatically.

Rosier would only shrug and smirk. "Doesn't matter where bubbies are concerned," he'd grin.

Furthermore, Ian Wilkes was less than sympathetic to Severus' plight. Like Rosier, he had other interests than Quidditch; unlike Rosier, though, these alternative hobbies were extended more towards the latest sweets at Honeydukes. Besides, even if Wilkes had been willing to lend Severus his broom, it was too sluggish - presumably because of the substantial-sized bottom that perched atop it.

"Anything's got to be better than your mum's Silver Arrow," Wilkes scoffed, tossing his head back in such a way that the excess flesh of his plump cheeks rippled with the motion. The boy, whose parents were quite wealthy, was used to the mentality that there were few problems an appropriate sum of Galleons could not solve. Consequentially, he could not comprehend why Severus was resigned to such an old broom to begin with. "Why don't you just ask your father to buy you a new broom?" he suggested.

"Because I can scarcely get him to buy me new knickers - let alone a new bloody broom," Severus snapped. "And incase you need reminding, the last wanker who mentioned my mum to me ended up with boils all over him for a week."

That wanker was, of course, Sirius Black on their first day of school last year, and it was the younger brother of said enemy that was the last of Severus' allies in possession of a broom. However, as Regulus was a first year, his otherwise magnificent Nimbus 1000 sat unused and useless at the Black residence in Grimmauld Place.

"It's not fair," Severus hissed to Rodolphus as they stood queued outside Potions class one afternoon. "I have to make the Quidditch team."

Indeed, the likelihood of Severus obtaining a broom suitable for Quidditch seemed rather dismal. It was only when the Potions Master, Bicarius Cauderon, assigned their seats for the semester that it occurred to Severus that he did know someone else with a racing broom - someone who had a rather fantastic new Comet, 220, in fact - someone who, conveniently, was his Potions partner for the second year in a row.

That someone was Jane Swizzle.

* * *

It was perfectly glorious - the tumbling, the coasting, the freefalling. He'd almost forgotten how smooth the Comet 220 was beneath him, how it responded almost intuitively to his every movement and seemed more an extension of his body than an inanimate object. Nothing like his bedraggled Silver Arrow. In retrospect, Severus wondered why he hadn't thought to ask Jane to borrow her broom to begin with.

"You're sure to make Chaser if you can fly like that at trials, Severus," Jane told him with a smile he as scuttled back down to the ground beside her.

The courtyard was almost deserted early in the early morning hours, and Severus had taken advantage of the quietude in order to practise for that afternoon's Quidditch tryouts. Jane had insisted on accompanying him, and although he'd protested her presence, he was secretly glad for the opportunity to flaunt his considerable skill with a broomstick.

"You really think so?" Severus asked. His eyes were wide with adrenaline, and he couldn't help but blush when she nodded her head in response, her dark curls bouncing around her pink cheeks. "Just one more go, all right?"

"No rush, Severus," she replied simply. "Take your time."

That was the thing about Jane: she was so cavalier about most things. It was a refreshing shift in perspective from the intensity that otherwise dictated Severus' life, and it never failed to relax him. Therefore, he found it within himself to actually smile as he took the Comet 220 in hand once more. Just as Severus was lifting his leg to mount the broomstick, however, it suddenly started to jerk violently, bucking and shaking left and right, up and down, to and fro.

"Bloody hell," Severus grumbled, stepping back and beholding the broom with dismay. Immediately, the broom went still once again, staring at him as benignly as it had before. So peculiar was the incident that, for a moment, the sallow-skinned youth thought perhaps he had imagined it. Brow wrinkled with puzzlement, he glanced back at Jane, whose eyes were wide and startled as though to ask what had happened. She giggled nervously, unsure what to make of the scene. Severus merely shrugged, wiped his palms down his robes to dry them, and approached the broom again. He reached his long, narrow fingers towards it, and instantaneously, the Comet 220 gave a mighty lurch once more.

"Severus, don't hurt yourself - let Madam Hooch have a look at the broom," Jane called to him when it became apparent that the broom was not to be mounted.

Her warning was too late, though. Severus had somehow managed to sidle onto the Comet 220, but with another wrenching jolt, he was catapulted off once more - into the air, and onto the grass, where he landed some several paces away with a dull thud and sigh of pain.

"Severus!" Jane gasped, the smile gone from her face instantly as she raced towards the crumpled figure of the hook-nosed boy. The badly behaving broomstick forgotten, she reached her hands out to him, offering to assist him in standing up. "Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly.

A scarlet hue suffused Severus' ordinarily pallid cheeks as he looked up at her. "I'm fine," he insisted abruptly, refusing her hand and struggling to his feet with a grimace that betrayed he was, in fact, quite the opposite.

They heard the laughter then - that cruel cadence of remorseless ridicule that Severus Snape had grown all too familiar with last year at school. Consequentially, he whirled around fitfully - almost maniacally, his hair lapping at his ears. Mere paces away, James Potter and Sirius Black emerged from behind the nearby shrubs. The amused smirks on the two Gryffindors' faces revealed that the misconduct of the Comet 220 was undoubtedly the result of some hex cast from their still-extended wands. They stared at Severus, arms folded smugly about their haughty chests.

"Trying out for Quidditch, Snivellus?" sneered James.

"Don't know why you bother," Sirius added. "You'll never be able to see the goal hoops with that nose of yours getting in the way!"

"You! You hexed the broom!" Severus hissed through gritted teeth, stomping across the grass towards them.

"Very good, Snape," ridiculed the bespectacled boy. "Although not as quick as you were that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

So that was what this was all about? James was still bitter about being caught hexing him in class? Severus glowered at the realization.

"You're so smart, I'm surprised you couldn't recognise a Hurling Hex when you saw one, Snivelly," James smirked.

"At least he's smart enough not to hex you right in front of the teacher," Jane intervened, emerging from behind Severus with her Comet 220 in tow.

James turned his stunned eyes towards her, noting her presence for the first time. "Oh look, ickle Snivellus has got himself a little girlfriend now, has he?" he taunted, his lips parting into an amused grin.

"She is not my girlfriend," seethed Severus, his fist clenching instinctively around the wand at his side.

"Is he a good kisser, Jane?" Sirius continued to goad. "Bet he slobbers all over you like a toad."

"Hey, Jane, how do you get all his grease off you?" James added with a smirk.

But Jane was silent, and she looked anxiously at Severus, whose furiously flushed face revealed that he was ready to burst with rage at any moment. "Ignore them, Severus," she pleaded softly. "They're not worth it."

It was too late, though. In an instant, Severus had his wand from his robes and aimed determinedly the two Gryffindors before him. No sooner had he moved, though, than Sirius had cried "Expelliarmus!" The hook-nosed boy's wand flew from his grasp at once, and he stumbled back, struggling to regain his balance from the force of the spell. However, with another flash of light - this time from James' wand - yet another hex hurdled through the air towards Severus, and suddenly green stalks emerged from either side of his head, growing from inside his ears. They weren't just stalks, though: There was a bulbous, white mass at the genesis of the growths as well - a root of sorts sprouting from Severus' inner ears. Jane paled with recognition as it occurred to her what James had done.

"The Leek Curse!" she gasped.

Indeed, the leeks were growing at an alarming rate, weighing Severus' head down with their bulk. Frowning desperately, Jane reached out to grasp the stalks in attempt to help Severus support the exponentially increasing weight above his shoulders. As they made their way to the hospital wing, a stream of profanity issued forth from Severus' mouth. The vulgarities flowed like water from a fountain as James and Sirius laughed in the background. Not every syllable was distinguishable in the midst of the black-eyed boy's fury, but enough were to make his point.

"Bloody Merlin's - ... Feckin' - ... Sodding - ... Wanking - ... Bogey-eating - ... Hecate - ... house elf humping - ... arse holes!"

All the way up to the castle, all the way up to the infirmary.

* * *

Severus didn't watch the Quidditch tryouts that afternoon, let alone participate in them. Madam Pomfrey had managed to halt the growth of the leeks, but it wouldn't be until two days later that they had shriveled enough to be weeded from his ears. Until then, he was restricted to bed rest.

"This is precisely why magic is strictly prohibited between classes," Madam Pomfrey sighed sympathetically as she bustled around the hospital wing in search of her gardening gloves to perform the removal procedure.

It had been painful to harvest the leeks from his ears, of course, but the real pain for Severus was in knowing that while he had overgrown tubers sprouted from either side of his head, James Potter had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The spectacled boy was a Chaser, no less - the very position Severus had coveted himself. And to add to the hook-nosed boy's irritation, Gryffindor even met Slytherin for the Quidditch house cup that year.

Severus hadn't been able to bear watching the match, of course, but he heard all about it. He heard how James had been substituting as Seeker that day because Frank Longbottom was recovering from a Conjunctivitis Curse gone wrong during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Severus heard how the afflicted Longbottom, afraid he wouldn't be able see the Snitch, had switched positions with James. And the hook-nosed boy heard how James had been sitting on his Nimbus 1000 as if he owned the world when he spotted a group of Gryffindor girls staring at him with admiration. Ever the conceited fool Severus had always taken him for, James had reached back to tousle his hair for that windswept look he was so fond of when - as if on cue - the Snitch whizzed by him and right into his open hand.

Gryffindor had won.

It hadn't been a particularly brilliant play, of course. Just dumb luck. As the giddy Gryffindors, clad in their scarlet and gold, had chaired James Potter back to the castle in exaltation, Severus had been despondent.

"There's always next year, mate," Evan Rosier had assured the disillusioned Severus.

But Rosier couldn't understand the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Potter hadn't done anything extraordinary - nothing that merited the praise of which he was the recipient, anyway. It was the most ludicrous thing Severus had ever heard of. Needless to say, Severus Snape never watched Quidditch the same way again.

* * * * *