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

A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

By Daphne Dunham

Chapter 11: A Matter of Proof

Or, Prelude to a Death Eater

* * * * *

Before Severus could begin his research with Arsenius Jigger he still had an obstacle to hurdle: Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. As their name implied, N.E.W.T.s proved to be precisely that: nastily exhausting. He remembered O.W.L.s two years ago, the mania that ensued as pressure built upon the students. If that had been stressful, N.E.W.T.s were downright cataclysmic. As June approached, a general atmosphere of chaos overtook the classrooms and dormitories of Seventh Years across Hogwarts castle. Students regularly favored parchment over pillows during the evening hours, substituted Memory Potion for pumpkin juice at mealtime, and resorted to textbooks instead of Gobstones between classes. Only Evan Rosier seemed to be taking the examinations in stride.

"Going for an 'O' in everything, Snape?" the sandy-haired young wizard teased Severus close to the end of term. He had woken to find his hook-nosed best friend in the same state in which he had left him the night before: his books and notes and charts of runes and stars and potions ingredients consuming a table in the Slytherin common room as he studied maniacally.

"If you picked up a book every now and then, you might pass, too," a decidedly annoyed Severus reminded him. "One night of studying wouldn't kill you, you know."

"Oh, I studied last night - just not from books," Rosier smirked. He paused, and that trademark devilish twinkle in his eye glittered with increased brightness. "I was studying Florence Feather's anatomy instead."

Rosier may have teased, but the truth of the matter was that Severus was indeed striving for an Outstanding mark in each subject. He might have earned such marks, too, if it wasn't for his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. As to be expected, the written examination went well. D.A.D.A. had always come naturally him, and his hand flew over his parchment as he anxiously wrote his essays in his tight, tiny handwriting. It was the practical portion of the test, however, which proved a bit more of a challenge. It wasn't that the practical examination was as much difficult, though, as it was ill-fated, and as Severus stood before the stout, tight-lipped exam proctor in the isolated corridor of the castle designated for the exam, his doom rapidly became apparent.

The headmaster had never liked that the Wizarding Examinations Authority required N.E.W.T.-level students to defend themselves against a real dementor, and as Severus raised his wand to the horrible, hooded creature before him, he quickly decided that this was one issue he and Albus Dumbledore could agree upon. The world was awhirl, and he stumbled back as the memories - the worst ones, of course, of which there were many to choose from - rushed around him. It was his mother, though, who haunted him the most. She was calling out his name as she was sentenced to Azkaban, chained to that sadistic chair in that bleak courtroom.

"Severus!" Circe Snape had screamed. "Mummy loves you! Mummy will always love you!"

"No!" Severus roared as though in effort to drown her cries with his own. He clenched his teeth and threw back his shoulders with determination as he lifted his wand and thrust it in the direction of the dementor.

The sallow skinned young man had always had a bit of a hard time producing a Patronus, as to do so relied entirely upon recollecting a happy memory. The sad fact of the matter was that Severus Snape simply didn't have many jovial moments upon which to reflect. The closest he could come was the time he'd spent with his mother in Tuscany, but even those glad times had been sullied by the reentry of Darius into his life. However, there was one thing that made him smile - one thing that had always made him smile - one thing Darius had not yet managed to steal from him: Jane. And so, Severus envisioned her as he opened his mouth to utter the incantation.

"Expecto Patronum!" he called.

A wisp of silvery mist emerged from the end of his wand and curled into a hazy form of a hawk. Severus' ill-formed Patronus hovered in the air as he tacitly willed it to charge forward like the bird of prey it was supposed to be. The dementor hesitated but resumed his advance moments later when the hawk had faded to little more than what appeared to be a light fog. Severus swallowed hard, Circe Snape's sobs ringing in his ears, and he raised his wand desperately once again.

"Expecto Pat - "

But Severus stopped short and was stunned to find his wand falling from his grasp. The dementor drew closer still as the panic-stricken young wizard fumbled to pick up his felled wand. It was then that Severus noticed it: his slender, long-fingered hands were suddenly no longer very thin at all. Instead, they were bloated, swelling before his very eyes. His fingers were the width of sausages first, then candles; his palms the size of stones that dotted the banks of the pond by his home in Dolfield, then distended near the size of a Quaffle.

"My hands!" he gasped involuntarily as he beheld them. "My sodding hands!"

The proctor scowled as she realised that Severus was in no condition to continue the examination. Even if he'd wanted to continue, the sudden, inexplicable girth of his hands quite clearly prevented him from holding his wand. As the exam proctor called off the Dementor, Madam Pomfrey, who had been standing on hand outside, rushed into the room to tend to Severus' magic-induced malady.

"I've been telling the headmaster for years," she said to no one in particular as she took Severus' hands in her own, "that these exams are a medical disaster waiting to happen!"

Te nurse paused as she pressed and probed the young wizard's now morbidly swollen palm and fingers with her wand in attempt to deduce what had caused the crippling disfiguration. Moments and several incantations later, she turned to the proctor with an authoritative flair.

"An Engorgement Charm," she announced. "Someone's jinxed Mr. Snape's hands - I'll have to take him to the hospital wing for the antidote. I'm afraid this examination is over."

Madam Pomfrey's words echoed horribly through Severus' ears. Jinxed? He'd been jinxed? It was a preposterous idea! The corridor had been empty - was supposed to have been, anyhow. If someone had been there to jinx him, it would have required much careful planning and magical assistance - an invisibility cloak or a Disappearing Draft at least. Outwitting the Wizarding Examinations Authority would have been a difficult task, and yet there appeared no other explanation. Indeed, it was no accident that Severus' hands had disabled him: his examination had been sabotaged.

Severus paled at the notion. Sabotage. But who would have done this him? Who could have masterminded such a plot? Wildly, Severus jerked his head around the room in a frantic attempt to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator. He turned just in time to see a tousled-haired, spectacled figure dart around the corner, and with the swish of what appeared to be a cloak, the figure had disappeared entirely. Severus Snape's black eyes narrowed to murderous slits as it occurred to him who was responsible for his failure and humiliation.

It was James Potter.

* * *

Severus had been optimistic that he would not be penalized for having been jinxed during his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., a hope echoed by numerous members of Hogwarts' faculty, including the headmaster himself. Consequentially, the hook-nosed young man spent the early weeks of his summer holiday concentrating on other matters instead - readjusting to life with Darius in Dolfield, his research with Arsenius Jigger, and Jane.

It was because of the latter, in fact, that Severus found himself by the pond behind the Snape residence that night.

"There's the Corona Borealis," Jane was telling him, pointing out the appropriate string of stars overhead.

It was not the first time they had laid side-by-side in the silent fields by the pond, pointing out the constellations, yet tonight was somehow different: Severus had much more on his mind than mere stars. It was ironic, he thought, that Jane should mention the wedding crown of Ariadne when he was decidedly not the marrying sort. All growing up, he had vehemently detested the idea of marriage. He'd viewed love as an exceedingly cruel means by which nature duped the emotionally frail into procreating, and marriage was simply a way of legitimizing the whole process, a justification for the basest of human instincts. Consequentially, Severus was loath to succumb to it; he refused to be weak, to willingly give himself over to what Darius and Circe Snape had become.

And yet, as he lay beside Jane Swizzle by the pond that evening, marrying her was all he could think about. Damn Bicarius Cauderon for putting the foolish idea in his head that day he offered Severus his apprenticeship! He couldn't say he necessarily wanted to get married, but he did know that wanted to protect Jane, to spend each moment with her, to wipe her tears from her cheeks and share in the smiles on her lips. He wanted to hold her, to feel himself move inside her, to see her holding their child. If marriage was the easiest way to accomplish these things, then he just have to do so... assuming he could muster the courage to ask her, of course.

Severus propped himself up on his elbow and gazed intently at Jane. "You know how much I love you, Jane, don't you?" he asked hesitantly.

"I love you, too, Severus," she replied happily, her response so honest it was automatic. "Very much."

Severus nodded slightly, somewhat dazed and taken aback by Jane's continued insistence that she cared for him. It had been the better part of a year since she'd first told him she loved him, and despite the number of times she'd repeated the sentiment since then, he was still caught off guard.

"You know, both sets of our parents got married right out of Hogwarts," he said. "And Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black did. Then there's James Potter and Lily Evans, Frank Longbottom and Alice Gordon. Even Rodolphus and Bellatrix are engaged, too."

Severus looked hopefully into Jane's face, searching it for any signal that she understood what he was feebly attempting to ask her. He frowned when he realised that if she did comprehend - and knowing her intelligence, he felt quite certain that she did - she wasn't going to reveal it; she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He sighed uneasily as he forced himself to attempt again.

"I-I guess it's not uncommon for... for... people to marry right away - after school, I mean..." he added hurriedly.

A sudden light filled Jane's wide, brown eyes, indicating that she had had a moment of epiphany. "Severus Snape, are you trying to propose to me?" she asked with an amused giggle, entertained by how he was able to apply logic to everything - even matters of the heart.

"I... I... er..." he stammered, a flush filling his cheeks. He looked awkwardly away, unable to complete his sentence.

This was as good a marriage proposal as she was ever going to get from Severus Snape, Jane realised. She took his chin in her palm and lifted his face to look at hers. There was an uncharacteristic flicker fear in those dark eyes of his, she noticed as she looked at him with sudden earnestness: Severus was afraid she'd reject him. At this understanding, Jane instantly berated herself for having regarded his discussion of marriage with levity. As Severus was not an overly emotional person, she knew it must have been difficult for him to even broach this topic, to put himself in a position of such vulnerability.

"Because if you are trying to ask me to marry you," she added solemnly. "I think you should know that I would be honoured to become the next Mrs. Snape."

Holy Hecate, she said yes! Severus thought with instant relief. She actually said yes! His stomach - along with another piece of his anatomy - lurched happily as Jane swept some stray strands of his long, dark hair from his face affectionately and tucked it behind his ear before leaning closer to kiss him.

"You never seem to believe me when I say the words, Severus, so let me show you how much I love you instead," she whispered in his ear.

Possessing the scientifically inclined mind that he did, Severus believed firmly in the merits of empirical evidence. Consequentially, he was disinclined to protest Jane's offer to prove her fondness for him. Instead, he returned each of her favours with the same tenderness and affectionate curiosity. Above clothes, under clothes, in the eventual absence of clothes, they explored the more delicate regions of each other's bodies with hands and lips. By the time Severus had completed his exertions above her, he was quite convinced of her devotion to him, and afterwards, the two clung to each other, breathing deeply in one another's ears and whispering affections as they stared up at the stars.

* * *

Many an evening to come was shared between Jane and Severus in a similar fashion. However, the most momentous event of the season did not occur under the stars or in the fields or even during the nocturnal hours. It occurred instead during the day - one particular morning towards the end of July, to be precise - with the delivery of a letter.

Severus Snape was not accustomed to receiving mail on a regular basis. Aside from an occasional correspondence with his grandparents in Giverny or a quick note from Rodolphus Lestrange or Evan Rosier during holidays, he had very few people to write to. As a child, he remembered wishing every time he saw an owl that it would bear a letter from his mother, but Azkaban prisoners were apparently forbidden contact with the outside world, and even if Circe Snape had had access to parchment and quill, he doubted she would have been in the emotional state to compose much in the way of words of comfort and love for her son.

Despite his rather infrequent experiences with owl post, though, Severus was not at all surprised when he received the letter from the Wizarding Examinations Authority that sticky morning. He was, after all, expecting the results of his N.E.W.T.s. What did surprise him, though, was what those results were.

He'd been sitting in Darius Snape's deserted library, searching an elderly text for information on the use of spiders in poisons, when the letter arrived. Zoe had knocked cautiously on the oak-paneled door, and when Severus saw that the letter she carried bore the ornate seal of the Wizarding Examination Authority, he'd nearly trampled her in effort to seize it. Excitedly, he tore the envelope open, wounding the upper left most corner of the parchment in the process. His dark eyes scanned the page, eagerly trailing down the alphabetical listing of his courses and the respective marks he had earned in his examinations.

Ancient Runes Outstanding

Arithmancy Outstanding

Astronomy Outstanding

Care of Magical Creatures Outstanding

Charms Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts Poor

Severus paused upon reading his mark in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his brow suddenly wrinkling and a low moan of grief involuntarily escaping his narrow lips. Hands trembling, he read the line over and over again, a piece of him genuinely expecting it to be different each time. This simply could not be right - he'd studied so hard; he'd taken Wit-Sharpening Potion; he'd written at least two feet of parchment more than the other students during the written examination. Only the practical portion had gone poorly, and that hadn't been his fault - Madam Pomfrey's determination that he'd been jinxed served as testament of this fact. Granted, Severus had been unable to prove that it had been James Potter who hexed him, as Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were both more than willing to provide Potter an alibi when Severus informed the headmaster of his suspicions, but he'd clearly been hexed nonetheless.

However, there had been no mistake: Severus Snape had failed Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd failed, according to the letter which accompanied his marks, because the Wizarding Examination Authority felt that because the test in question had pertained to defensive magic, Severus should have been able to guard himself against any and all magical ills - including the jinx that had caused his downfall. Considering that he had been unable to defend himself against a simple Engorgement Charm, the Evaluation Committee ruled, surely he would also be unable to defend himself against a Dementor or other similar Dark creature.

To Severus, though, the reason for his failure was much simpler; to Severus, he hadn't passed Defense Against the Dark Arts because of James Potter. It didn't matter to him that the rest of his classes - Potions, Transfiguration, and the like - were all unqualified successes, that he'd received an "Outstanding" in each of them. Only the failure and the spectacled Gryffindor's role in it seemed relevant. Once again, James Potter had managed to exploit and defeat him.

Severus glowered at the mere idea of it, yet glowering was not nearly enough. Instead, he felt such a greater emotion, had a stronger reaction. Suddenly, it was as though the past seven years compacted into one moment: Potter was simultaneously throwing Hurling Hexes and Dungbombs, was laughing at his underpants and gloating about being made Head Boy. All the rage, pain, and humiliation Severus had ever experienced at James Potter's hands swelled within him, and in a terrible gust of grief and fury, they were unleashed in one rabid fit. He overturned bookshelves and tore the taxidermy runespores and bugbears from the walls. He shattered windows and cursed at the portraits on the walls when they screeched their discontent with his efforts to redecorate.

"You ungrateful beast! How dare you loot the house of your ancestors!" bellowed Arachnia Snape, a long-deceased great aunt, from her portrait over a yet-to-be-felled bookshelf.

"Sod off, you bloody shrew, or you're next!" Severus shouted back at her as he assaulted a nearby lamp.

Greatly affronted, Arachnia merely squared her bony shoulders back haughtily and wagged a long, narrow finger at him. "Of all the insolent, disrespectful -" she continued to rant.

She was abruptly silenced, however, as, with an incoherent but decidedly foul snarl, Severus promptly raised his wand and wielded it in her direction. Arachnia Snape shrieked and only just dodged the blast by seeking refuge in a neighboring painting. The portraits collectively recoiled at Severus' strike against them, seeing that their sallow-skinned heir was distinctly not in the mood to be contradicted.

Indeed, it was a dark morning for Severus Snape, and standing there amidst the ruins of his father's study, runespore carcasses and broken glass strewn at his feet, he made himself a promise that would come to change his life: this was the last time that he would ever allow James Potter to get the best of him.

* * *

"You know, Severus, you're not the first wizard not to have N.E.W.T.-level certification in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Jane gently reminded him as she tended to his hand that evening. There was a gash extending across his palm to the base of his index finger from where he'd punctured the library window earlier that day. He'd tried to Heal it himself, but Jane was always much better with medicinal spells. Her curative talents had only increased since she had begun her much-coveted apprenticeship at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries a few weeks earlier, and so he'd welcomed her offer to examine it.

Severus grimaced with pain as she removed a particularly deeply lodged sliver of glass with a wave of her wand. "I am well aware of this, thank you," he replied between clenched teeth. "However, I am not just any wizard - I'm a Snape, and Snapes are expected to excel."

Jane nodded. "Your father will be upset, then, you mean," she muttered, her voice resounding with unambiguous disapproval at the mention of the elder Snape despite her effort to hide it.

She removed another shard from his hand, and Severus was silent, the kind of brooding, sinister silence that speaks grim confirmation, the kind of silence that casts shadows and freezes water. To say Darius Snape would be upset when he learned his son had failed his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. was to be euphemistic. As such, Severus was not anxious for his father to return from the Ministry that night.

Having removed the last of the glass from his palm, Jane set aside her wand and began to wrap his mangled hand in white gauze. "What do you intend to do?" she asked him softly, although she wasn't completely certain that she wanted to know his answer. Time, after all, had taught her that she'd often rather not know the destruction that passed between Severus and his tousled-haired foe.

"Besides hexing Potter's bollocks off, you mean?" he retorted.

Jane sighed as she tied the ends of the gauze up and tucked the excess beneath the folds of the soft fabric. "I'm serious, Severus," she replied.

Severus looked up at her pointedly, a sharpness emphasized by the hook of his nose and in the malicious glimmer in his ebony eyes. "I assure you that so am I," he informed her darkly. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I will prove myself someday. You'll see."

His answer was just as rancorous as Jane had suspected it would be, and as she stared back into Severus' shadowy, vehement eyes, she didn't doubt for an instant the ominous veracity of his vow.

But she hoped she was wrong.

* * *

It was quite late when Darius returned home. Zoe had already cleared the dining room, and Jane and Severus had long since managed to repair most of the damage the latter had done to the library that morning with Mending Charms. Only the scorch mark in Arachnia Snape's portrait remained, a fact that she was most outraged about. Not even Jane's gentle entreaties could persuade her to calm down, and Severus felt quite certain that the moment his father stepped into the house, he would be subjugated to a lengthy and vicious discourse on his son's impertinence.

"Don't let him provoke you, Severus," Jane told him softly as they stood bidding one another goodnight in the foyer of the Snape residence later on.

In all the years that they had known one another, she had never directly implied that she knew of the violence that passed between father and son. She knew Severus well enough to realise that he would not appreciate her pity, after all, and even as Jane acknowledged Darius' cruelty now, there was a hint of reluctance in her voice. Fortunately, Severus recognised the sincerity of her concern, and although his eyes grew stony at the mention of his father, he elected not to seize the opportunity to berate her. Instead, he chose to wrap his arms around her and reassure her with gentle kisses. Within moments of having Disapparated, though, Jane's wisdom proved only too pertinent.

"Well, well, well, it appears as though while the kneazle was away, the mice did indeed play," a voice hissed from behind Severus.

As expected, Severus turned sharply to find Darius Snape emerging from the shadows of the dimly lit corridor. There was a cruel smile tugging perversely at the corners of his lips, and his eyes glowed malevolently as he approached. In one hand, Severus was quick to notice, was his wand; in the other was a piece of parchment bearing the crest of the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

"Now I know what it was that distracted you so greatly that you found yourself rendered incapable of passing Defense Against the Dark Arts," Darius sneered, alluding to the affectionate situation in which he had discovered his son.

Severus seethed, fists forming at his sides and a flush replacing the pallor of his cheeks. "Shut up about Jane!" he snarled. "You leave her out of this!"

"How very touching, Severus! How moving it is to see how much you love her," the older Snape taunted, his eyes glinting viciously as he mocked Severus' affections. He laughed when he saw the fury mounting in his son. Then, after an abrupt pause, he added bitterly, "I loved your mother once, too, you know, and I think we all know what became of that."

"You're not capable of loving anyone," Severus spat through clenched teeth.

Darius grinned smugly, not even trying to conceal his amusement at this statement. "Perhaps," he promptly agreed, his tone precarious. "And you, apparently, are not capable of defending anyone." His eyes narrowed ominously then. "Maybe I shall have to teach you a few lessons in the Dark Arts to refresh your memory," he growled, raising his wand.

As Severus writhed with pain on the foyer floor, he managed to have at least one semi-lucid thought. Potter may have ruined him, and Darius may have mocked him. Severus did, however, remember that there was someone who had praised him, who had revered his skills with Dark Arts. This someone had simultaneously evoked feelings of awe and dread in him, had been so powerful he had been able to make Darius fumble with trepidation. Undoubtedly, this same man would be able to help Severus, assist him in proving to the world that he was more powerful, more valuable a human being than his father and childhood foe had taken him for.

"Your father is most impressed with what talents you have, Severus," Darius' friend, Tom Riddle, had told Severus as a child one afternoon at Borgin and Burkes. "As am I. Remember that."

Finding a perverse sense of strength in this memory, Severus took advantage of a momentary lapse in Darius' concentration. Squaring back his shoulders, he raised his wand and took aim upon his father. He had withstood years of torment and humiliation, been made to feel worthless and subhuman. The time had come for him to prove otherwise. And he would begin right now.

"Expelliarmus!" he roared with newfound determination.

As a disarmed Darius Snape flew back against the far wall and crumpled to the floor, there was an oddly satisfied smile on his face. "Now that's more like it, Severus," he chuckled, bringing the cuff of his robes to dab away the trickle of blood at his lip. "I always knew you had it in you."

What exactly "it" was, Severus was not entirely sure, but as he collected himself from the floor and straightened his robes, he was highly suspicious that Darius was right.

And Tom Riddle could help him prove it.