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 6: Of Dragons and Dungbombs

* * * * * *

Darius had grudgingly signed the permission form. Severus didn't think he would, and he had almost decided not to ask at all. Consequentially, the boy had withdrawn the parchment from his bag countless times on the journey from Platform 9 ¾ to make sure that he hadn't hallucinated - that his father had, indeed, given consent that Severus attend school trips to Hogsmeade.

Severus was not a complete idiot: he knew his father didn't grant his permission without reason. The older Snape was not, after all, accustomed to doing anything that he thought might bring his son even the most remote and insignificant of joys. Hogsmeade, however, was different. For one thing, visits to the village were a time-honoured Hogwarts tradition, and Darius had been quite certain that there would be gossip should he not permit Severus to go - gossip that he, as a Ministry official, was most anxious to avoid. Furthermore, the fact remained that Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard settlement in England. Exposing the students to the village and its adherence to wizarding traditions was one of the few school tenets Darius actually approved of.

Regardless his father's reasons, though, Severus felt quite pleased to be walking the High Street of Hogsmeade that afternoon. He'd been here before, of course. Darius had always taken a particular liking to the village and had even contemplated moving there at one point, citing his disgust at mingling with Muggles in their settlements. Indeed, Hogsmeade was quite different from Dolfield, London, or anyplace else Severus had ever seen. Walking through the village, he felt quite as though he was dwelling in another era. Its cobbled roads and thatched cottages gave the impression that the place had stood still through time since Hengist of Woodcroft first stepped foot there.

"I wish I got more Chocolate Frogs," Ian Wilkes was grumbling as the troupe to which Severus belonged was filing out of Honeydukes.

Rolling his eyes with disgust, Severus surveyed Wilkes' pockets, which were brimming with Pepper Imps and Sugar Quills. Judging by the girth of Wilkes' cheeks and waist, the comparatively scrawny boy could not express his sympathies for his friend and instead snapped in reply, "How juvenile to waste all your money on sweets."

Severus, of course, had only purchased a scant bag of Peppermint Toads, and considering the meagerness of his purchase, he felt he was quite qualified to levy such judgment on Wilkes. Despite this, his irritability was attributed primarily to the fact that he was anxious to see the Shrieking Shack, rumoured to be the single most haunted structure in all of the British Isles, before the afternoon's end. The boys had agreed not to do so, though, until after a brief respite at the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer, and so Severus struggled to be patient as the ensemble made their way back down the street towards the legendary pub.

It was Will Avery who was hit first - a swift blow to his back accompanied by an overwhelming stench which emanated from his robes at the site of the attack. He hissed a few foul words of disgust as a bewildered expression filled his face.

"Merlin's balls, Avery, you stink like shite," Evan Rosier laughed, his characteristic smirk seeping across his boyishly handsome countenance. "Don't you ever wash your arse?"

Avery was decidedly not amused at this comment and felt oddly satisfied as in the mere seconds that followed, Rosier himself met a similar fate.

"What the...?" the latter muttered, whirling around in attempt to locate the source of the mysteriously rank pellet.

"Not so funny now, is it?" Avery snapped, fidgeting with his robes.

At that moment, all-out attack on the group commenced, a deluge of little packets soaring majestically through the air, hurtling towards them like miniature, odorous Bludgers. It didn't take long for the boys to realise what, exactly, these fetid missiles were, and their revulsion was even more evident.

"Dungbombs!" Wilkes cried, scrambling to take shelter behind a nearby shrub.

And then Severus spotted the culprits: a group of boys cackling wildly as they sat perched smugly in a tree overhead. There were four of them - a peakish lad with somber eyes; a plump one whose weight Severus was quite sure the branch was loath to support; a dark-haired boy with aristocratic good-looks; and the ringleader, a boy with rather large glasses and disheveled hair.

"Wotcher, Snivellus!" shouted James Potter smugly as their eyes met.

Severus glowered as he beheld his foe. "I'll get you, Potter!" the hook-nosed boy snarled, withdrawing his wand ferociously in preparation to hex his antagonist.

Just as he did so, however, James hurled yet another Dungbomb. It sliced menacingly through the air, soared over their heads and made its fateful landing on the nearby front window of the Three Broomsticks, cracking the glass and filling the pub with its ghastly stench. A series of horrified stares followed the damage, as each of the boys surveyed the destructive outcome of their skirmish.

"And just what do you boys think you're doing?" gasped a saccharine Irish cadence suddenly.

The voice belonged to the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta, whose curvy frame loitered disapprovingly in the doorway. A furious flush filled her otherwise lovely face as she beheld the scene with understandable alarm. Upon seeing her, the boys immediately started to scatter. It was too late for Severus, though, who had been standing closest to the pub's entrance and promptly found himself caught in Madam Rosmerta's clutches. The witch gripped Severus' ear, pinching it firmly as she dragged him into the pub.

Averting the curious stares of the clientele, Madam Rosmerta led Severus to a dimly lit room behind the counter. Cheerlessly, she conjured a tub of soapy water and instructed him to wash the score of dirty goblets that had amassed on a nearby counter as punishment for his antics outdoors. Grudgingly, Severus withdrew his wand from his robes to charm the dishes to washes themselves, but Madam Rosmerta halted him with a disapproving cluck of her tongue.

"Not so fast," she added, tossing him a dishrag from a pocket in her apron. "You are to do it the Muggle way."

Severus opened his mouth as though to protest but seeing the raised eyebrows of warning she promptly cast him, thought better of it and settled on a scowl instead. He rubbed his ear where she pinched him as she left the room to tend bar and heaved a mighty sigh as he plunged a hand into the sudsy dishwater and began his task, all the while recounting all the foul names he'd like to call James Potter at the moment.

"You clean a goblet mighty fine, Mr. Snape," Madam Rosmerta said with a reluctant smile when he had finished.

The hook-nosed boy put the last of the glassware back in its designated cabinet. "I've had a lot of practice," he mumbled, recalling the irony of how McGonagall had assigned him an identical punishment his first year at Hogwarts.

"I'll wager you have," Madam Rosmerta chuckled. "I ought to turn you into the headmaster, you know, but no harm done - the window's nothing a little Mending Charm can't fix. So go on, get off with you," she said with a nod towards the door. "Just don't you let me catch you making a trouble around here again."

Severus blushed under the gaze of the pretty proprietor and set off down the High Street in pursuit of his cohorts.

"Turncoats," he spat when he found them at last.

* * *

There would be retaliation, of course. One did not disgrace a Slytherin without suffering the consequences. Indeed, the scores between Gryffindor and Slytherin still needed rectifying following the notorious Hogsmeade Dungbomb debacle. Humiliating James Potter to the degree that he had humiliated seemed only necessary, and Veritaserum was the perfect way to induce said embarrassment. It had been Will Avery's idea, but the general consensus was that it was a brilliant one.

"So one of us bumps into Potter during dinner and dumps the vial in his pumpkin juice -" Avery had explained, his eyes glinting wildly as he relayed what he suspected was quite possibly a divinely inspired revenge plot.

"It only takes a few drops, you nitwit," Severus interjected. "No need to waste an entire vial of Truth Potion on the likes of Potter."

Avery rolled his eyes. He should have known Severus would have his opinions to interject; after all, it was rare that the sallow boy did not make his thoughts abundantly clear - especially when said thoughts awarded him an excuse to bolster his own ego and debase another.

"Fine," Avery consented with a huff. "So one of us spills a few drops on Potter's food, he eats it, and -"

"And within seconds, Potter's spilling all his stupid little secrets for the whole school to hear," Ian Wilkes chimed in, completing his friend's sentence as his plump cheeks swelled with an amused sneer.

The author of the scheme grinned with self-assurance. "Exactly," he replied smugly, quite pleased with the genius of his designs.

"The perfect plan," Rodolphus murmured as though in awe of Avery's mischief-making talents.

"Wicked," Evan Rosier had laughed, his bright teeth flashing mischievously. "Potter won't know what hit him."

Indeed, the plan did seem - as Rodolphus had simply stated - perfect. Among the boys, only Severus was not entirely convinced of the cleverness of Avery's scheme. Arms crossed about his chest, he stood glaring skeptically at them.

"Yes, it's bloody brilliant," he spat sarcastically, his expression sour. Four sets of eyes turned towards him questioningly as he continued to express his reservations to Avery. "Have you given any thought to who, exactly, is going to make this potion? You do know that Veritaserum is one of the most difficult potions to brew, don't you? I mean, you don't really think a dunderhead like yourself is up to it, do you?"

Having anticipated his friend's pessimism, Avery had carefully contemplated the details of his proposal prior to presenting them. Consequentially, he had the ideal solution to the very issue Severus had identified. "Actually, that's where you come in, Snape," he informed him coolly. "You're going to make the potion - you're not Cauderon's golden boy for nothing."

Even Severus could not deny that Avery had a point: if any of them was capable of making Veritaserum, it was him. He wasn't being arrogant to admit it; it was merely a fact. He had, after all, already brewed a few potions that were N.E.W.T. level, and Professor Bicarius Cauderon had already made it quite clear he believed that if Severus continued to nurture his talent and enthusiasm for the subject, the boy could possibly prove one of the greatest minds in the field of Potions of the age. Severus had not taken Professor Cauderon's praise lightly, and brewing a draught as notoriously complex as Veritaserum was a challenge he simply could not refuse.

With that, the matter was settled. The only problem was that not only were Truth Potions exceedingly difficult to make, but their ingredients were notoriously rare and expensive. Jobberknoll feathers and dried bluebell root were common enough, granted; powdered dragon horn, however, did not come cheap. For weeks, the boys saved every spare Knut, striving towards their goal of purchasing a sample of dragon horn from the apothecary in Hogsmeade.

"We don't we just nick some from Cauderon's cabinet?" Ian Wilkes had grumbled as he grudgingly plunked a Sickle into the container which had the noble task of bearing their coins.

"Because Snape'll wallop your sorry arse if you give his favourite teacher a hard time," Evan snorted. "How's that for a reason?"

Apparently, it was reason enough for Wilkes, who never mentioned the possibility of thieving anything from Professor Cauderon again. Severus didn't know what Wilkes was complaining about - his parents were quite wealthy, and consequentially, he was never lacking for money. Parting with a Sickle here or there could hardly have been a hardship for him.

Not long after, that beautiful day arrived - that day when the boys, having accumulated the necessary ten Galleons between them - ventured into Hogsmeade to purchase the appropriate quantity of dragon horn.

"I don't see why I have to waste the last Hogsmeade tip of the year going to the bloody apothecary," Wilkes grumbled, dragging his feet as they marched purposefully down the High Street. "Why can't Snape go alone?"

"Shut your gob," Avery snapped, glaring at the pudgy boy. "This is to be our finest hour, and I won't have you mucking it up."

The apothecary at Hogsmeade was a rather small and shabby Tudor-style structure by the Post Office. It was dimly lit, smelled pungent and moldy, and the shelves on the walls were lined with jars of herbs and powders and animal parts eerily floating in multicolored fluids. Wilkes nearly lost the contents of his stomach upon first entering the building, but Severus' eyes widened with wonderment as he struggled to drink in his surroundings.

Their purchase made, the boys spent the remainder of the afternoon having a celebratory round of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta eyed them suspiciously - as she was prone to do since the fated afternoon of the Dungbombs - but was restored to her usual cheer when she saw the boys meant no harm.

"What's that you got there, Snivellus?" sneered Sirius, eyeing the parcel Severus was carrying as they made their way back up to the castle that evening. "Not some Dungbombs from Zonko's, I hope."

James Potter laughed first, followed by Peter Pettigrew, who seemed as though he didn't quite understand why he was laughing, and Remus Lupin merely remained his typical shade of sickly grey. Severus' face reddened but he resisted the urge to reply with a scathing invective. It was only a matter of time before Sirius Black would find out what, exactly, was contained in Severus' bag, and until then, he was content to smile knowingly to himself.

* * *

"Why isn't it ready yet?" Wilkes demanded, hovering over Severus' cauldron and beholding its simmering contents skeptically.

"You can't rush potions-making, you dolt," Severus hissed through clenched teeth as he slowly stirred the potion counterclockwise with a Jobberknoll feather. "It's a science - an art. I wouldn't expect you to understand - you can't even make a simple Swelling Solution."

They didn't have much longer to wait, though. Tonight marked the completion of a full moon cycle since the draught had been started, and the Veritaserum would reach the pinnacle of its potency. Tomorrow morning, it would be a fully matured Truth Potion, and James Potter would suffer the consequences of having tangled with Slytherins that afternoon in Hogsmeade.

Everything was perfect: as usual, the Great Hall was bustling with activity as students filed in and took their seats for their evening meal. Even in retrospect, Severus had to admit it was a perfect execution on Evan Rosier's behalf - too easy, almost. Concealing the vial of Truth Potion in his fist, he walked by the Gryffindor table on his way to join Severus and the remaining members of their troupe. He pretended to trip over the hem of Frank Longbottom's robes dangling on the floor and in an exaggerated fall, tumbled conveniently into James Potter, spattering a few drops of the Veritaserum concealed in his palm over the latter's dinner plate.

Potter had not appreciated a Slytherin carelessly knocking into him, of course, and there was the expected exchange of invectives as Rosier straightened his robes and stood up. After cursing on several body parts of great wizards such as Merlin, Rosier managed to return to the Slytherin table and slip into a seat between Avery and Rodolphus. No one suspected a thing. Transfixed, the Slytherin entourage watched as James Potter returned his attentions to his tainted treacle tart.

"And the show begins," Rosier sneered with a satisfied smirk.

Indeed, within moments of having completed his dessert, James' face turned suddenly uncharacteristically pallid and his eyes expressionless.

"All right there, James?" asked Sirius Black, seeing the marked alteration in his friends' appearance.

"I'm feeling a bit nauseas," James replied in a dull monotone. "That steak and kidney pie was terrible."

There was a series of excited glances exchanged at the Slytherin table as James Potter's demeanor betrayed the success of their mission: the Veritaserum was working - Severus' prowess with potions had not failed them. Their moment of glory, their golden opportunity to humiliate James Potter had arrived at last, and they were only too anxious to reap the rewards of their efforts.

"Time to go in for the kill, boys," Avery sneered under his breath, looking entirely too pleased that his plan had proved successful thus far. He turned his attention to their placid prey then, swiveling in his seat to gain a better view of the Gryffindor table. "Hey, Potter," he called, "Tell me something - how old were you when you stopped wetting the bed?"

"Nine," James replied fatly.

Like most other students within earshot of the scene, Rosier could scarcely contain his laughter at this and looked very near to wetting his own pants at the acquisition of this knowledge. Consequentially, it was only in gasps between fits of giggles that he managed to ask James his next damning question. "Potter, what are you most afraid of?"

"Frogs," was the uninhibited response.

"Frogs!" Wilkes gasped in disbelief. "They don't even have teeth! Who's afraid of bloody frogs?!"

Despite Wilkes' jeers, it did seem a rather irrational fear, and a chorus of hysterical giggles immediately erupted from the encroaching circle of meddlesome students who had stopped en route to their appropriate House tables in order to gape and learn what was transpiring. Indeed, the torture of James Potter was going far more splendidly than any of the Slytherin conspirators could have imagined: Potter was utterly malleable, powerless to resist under the influence of Severus' Veritaserum. Much to the delight of onlookers, the bespectacled boy's responses were ideally idiotic, and best yet, his lackeys looked positively perplexed, bewildered by their friends' behavior yet unsure how to halt the spectacle.

"Hey, Potter, if you could snog any girl in the school, who would it be?" Severus piped in with a sly grin.

"Lily Evans," he replied in his eerily apathetic drone.

There was a peal of laughter through the crowd. Chuckling, Severus turned and saw Lily herself standing there, a blush rising on her otherwise pretty cheeks. Served her right, the Mudblood, he thought smugly. Perhaps, however, Severus laughed a little too loudly - seemed a bit too interested in James Potter's peculiar behaviour, and the suspicions of the professors sitting in the distance presiding over the room were instantly ignited.

"Mr. Snape, come with me this instant!" called a familiar Scottish inflection.

Severus whirled around to see Professor McGonagall standing commandingly behind him, piercing him with her all-knowing, owl-like gaze. Once again, he'd been caught. Severus stuffed his hands in his pockets and hung his head guiltily as he was vaguely reminded of his arrival at Hogwarts over two years ago, when he'd found himself embroiled in a similar situation. It appeared that wise Minerva McGonagall had a sixth sense when it came to Severus Snape's mischief-making.

* * *

Moments later, Severus found himself sitting in the office of the headmaster. The older wizard's glittering eyes gazed steadily at him, and Severus stared back almost defiantly, his arms crossed about his chest as he anticipated with loathing the lecture he was sure to receive. Severus could not deny that he deserved a punishment, of course, but the fact that said penalty would be dealt to him by Albus Dumbledore - the same Albus Dumbledore he'd long detested for allowing Circe Snape to be sent to Azkaban - caused him increased distress.

"Mr. Snape, you are aware that the use of Veritaserum is strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic, are you not?" Dumbledore asked with such calm that Severus instantly felt quite unnerved.

Although he was wary to admit it, Severus recalled having read something about the restricted use of Truth Potions somewhere, and so he hesitated before grudgingly nodding his head.

"And if I recall correctly, this is not your first brush with Ministry restrictions, Severus," the headmaster added, peering weightily at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

If possible, the pallor in Severus' cheeks increased, and his black eyes flickered curiously as he struggled to glean the implications of the older wizard's words. "I-I don't know what you mean, sir," he replied.

"As I understand, Severus, you have already proven yourself most adept with use of at least one of the Unforgivable Curses," Dumbledore explained, raising an eyebrow to convey the existence of a hidden meaning behind his words.

The boy glowered as the significance of these words dawned on him. The headmaster's allusion was proof enough to confirm what he had suspected since childhood when he'd been made to watch Circe Snape's trial: Dumbledore knew the truth of his mother's innocence - he'd known all along that it had been Severus to cast the Cruciatus Curse, and yet he'd permitted an innocent woman to be imprisoned, to suffer for a crime she did not commit. Severus leapt to his feet, glaring at the headmaster sharply, his eyes shimmering with a rage usually only reserved for his father or James Potter and his lackeys.

"You knew, didn't you?! You've known all along!" he demanded in a tone that was rather more severe than he had intended. Severus hesitated a moment to see the reaction of the elderly wizard before him. Amazingly, the headmaster did not waver at the harshness of his intonation but allowed him to continue to express his angst. "That day at my mum's trial, you knew," Severus hissed. "You knew the truth - that she never put the Cruciatus on my father - you knew it was me! And you still let her go to prison. Why? Why didn't you do something to save her?"

Dumbledore nodded slightly and continued to gaze placidly at the young wizard before him. "Indeed, I did suspect the truth, Severus, and I did allow your mother to go to Azkaban," he replied in a tone so casual that Severus thought he might go mad.

The boy's brow furrowed, and if possible, he regarded the headmaster with increased contempt at this apathetic confession, to which the latter merely responded with a pensive sigh before continuing to explain.

"As I'm sure you are aware, your mother was one of my most gifted Transfiguration students when she was in school - her talents rivaled only by Professor McGonagall. As a result, I knew Circe Lestrange quite well through her studies. Fine witch, but for all the Slytherin guile in her lineage, she was a terrible liar. During her trial, I suspected she was lying. Though not permissible in court, I probed her mind using a branch of magic called Legilimency. You do know what Legilimency is?"

Dumbledore paused to allow the boy to nod an indignant affirmation. With all his avid study in the magical world, how could he possibly not have come across Legilimency? "However, as I explored her emotions," the headmaster continued, "I not only learned the truth of the events that happened that evening in Tuscany - that it had been you, not her, to cast the Cruciatus. I also learned that it was her wish to take the blame for you, and this wish was not something I could, in good conscience, deny her."

"But why?" Severus asked emphatically. "Why would she give herself up for me? And why would you let her?"

"I would have thought that someone with your exceptional intelligence would have figured it out by now," Dumbledore mused. "Tell me, Severus, have you ever heard of something called the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry?"

Severus nodded hesitantly. He'd heard Darius casually mention it once or twice in Floo conversations with Romulus Malfoy and other Ministry officials, but the boy did not understand how this decree related to him. With a flick of his wand, however, Dumbledore saw fit to relieve Severus' anxiety. A scroll of parchment soared across the room from a bookshelf by the window and settled on the headmaster's desk. The elderly wizard promptly unrolled the parchment and beckoned to Severus to take it.

"Please read paragraph F, clause three, Severus," he instructed the boy softly.

Severus' eyes wandered over scroll until he had located the designated section. His eyes widened as he perused the decree written in tiny, uncial letters. "Any child having attempted or successfully performed an Unforgivable Curse will be barred from pursuing formal training in magical arts," he read in a barely audible voice.

The headmaster nodded and peered solemnly at the boy, using his probing gaze to mark the significance of the words that would follow. "Your mother sacrificed her freedom so that you may have the opportunity for the education you are now enjoying," Dumbledore said softly. "She willingly took the blame to protect you, to ensure that you had a future."

Severus gaped at the headmaster. He felt very nearly undone. Living with Darius, he had nearly forgotten the encompassing warmth of his mother's affections; he'd nearly forgotten that an individual is capable of performing such selfless deeds as he was now learning she had done for him. For years he had borne anger and guilt, and for years he had relished in blaming Dumbledore for the cruel departure of Circe Snape, and yet it hadn't been his fault: Dumbledore had made an exception to the rule for him; like his mother, Dumbledore had protected him.

Trembling, Severus collapsed miserably in his chair. "I-I didn't know," he murmured dazedly, staring off vacantly to a dusty corner of the room as he struggled to absorb the magnitude of this epiphany. "I don't deserve to be here."

"You deserve to be here because of your mother's love," the headmaster told him gently. "And a mother's love, Severus, is capable of some of the most profound miracles this world has ever seen. Never underestimate it."

Despite the weight of the conversation to this point, the headmaster did not forget the reason for this meeting - that Severus had illegally brewed and administered Veritaserum to James Potter, and the levying of punishment for this act followed. In the aftermath of Dumbledore's revelation, Severus was, of course, in no emotional condition to protest. There was a letter to be sent home and the matter of ten points from Slytherin for each of the culprits, but much to the relief of the merry antagonists, Dumbledore declined to involve the Ministry. Severus was suspicious that the headmaster had heard about the incident with the Dungbombs in Hogsmeade and as a result was loath to administer as strict a punishment as he otherwise might have. Indeed, from that day forth, Severus found it within him to behold Albus Dumbledore in a new light.

* * * * *