Severus Snape was a gutter rat rescued from the London slums by Harry Potter's great-grandmother. Years later, he writes a letter to Harry explaining not only his past, but also of Harry's family history and heritage.
Chapter 04
Posted:
05/31/2002
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Author's Note:
Author's notes: I would like to say this follows the canon, but sometimes it meshes, so it would be safer for me to say this is an Alternative Universe of Severus Snape's past. Due to the obscurity of Snape's past, I took a great deal of artisical liberty, but I still like to think that Snape is canonly in-character. If not, I blame it entirely on his past. Or something. (To be read thinking that everything you ever learned in OotP does not exist.)
They say within every person there is the virtue of greatness. And not just any greatness, but a marvel to supersede all other marvels that ever came before that one person. There are many different forms of greatness. There are multiple ways one may become famous and powerful, remembered and popular, or just filthy rich. All are forms of greatness and are the most popular of many I could list but do not have the time nor desire to.
Voldemort achieved greatness. Oh yes, there was no denying that he is, perhaps, the most powerful wizard of our time. It is often said he rivals even Merlin in power, although I doubt this as no one alive can honestly make the comparison by having known Merlin. Even as Voldemort exists now as mere shadow of what he had once been now, possessing only a bare trace of his power, he is still a force to be reckoned beyond any other force. The means and measures he made and took to learn what he did to make himself into what he desired is one of the reasons why he is so connected to the Potter family.
You know so little of your family; it is rather sad. Few today could tell you of your illustrious bloodlines, for such is what they are. Fewer still may explain certain aspects one could be proud of. I am perhaps the only person to know all that I write. Sirius and Remus both know many things you would perhaps find interesting; little tales Pandora had recited to them and James and myself over mugs of hot apple cider in the evenings or on winter days too cold to do anything exciting. But I, because Pandora adopted me as her son (though she made it known she considered me a grandson and James’ brother), thoroughly learned about the lineage of both the Potter family and the family in whose name I was adopted under.
You, far more than anyone else living today, have the right to know these things. Mind you, there is a great amount of knowledge I cannot place on this paper as I have not the time for it. Thousands and thousands of separate, meaningless things that broaden the scopes of knowledge and understanding of the Potter and Snape heritage. I shall do my best though, come what may, to explain the major gist of your family history.
Francis Potter was a Gryffindor who fell in love and married Pandora Potter the Slytherin, though Potter was not her name at the time. Before she was married, Pandora Potter was Pandora Snape, last of an old family whose pure bloodlines and wealth could be traced further back than the beginning of the ancient Roman Empire’s reign. It is a standing joke in the Potter family (one you no doubt never heard before) that Pandora Snape married Francis Potter for his invisibility cloak.
Francis Potter was, in a single word, a genius. He was born a wizard into a family of Muggles but there are none outside of Voldemort who would insist his talents were not welcome in the wizarding world. He was a brilliant man who invented several spells and magical items we wizards and witches use in our every day life now. It has been forgotten, the name of Francis Potter fallen to the wayside of Time along with the rest of the family, paled and distorted by the shadow Voldemort casts upon everyone now.
More than sixty years ago, Francis built a blueprint for the Firebolt, but because it was so advanced and too astounding in its utter brilliance no one could physically produce it. Pandora donated the blueprints to a company after his death, which used to draw upon the elements to produce lesser models of brooms up until recently, when they finally understood the precision with which the Firebolt was to be produced. No one knew why he even built the blueprints in the first place, since Francis was deathly afraid of heights and swore up and down that his death lay in flying on one.
Francis Potter also rediscovered the old magic of creating invisibility cloaks, as the spell could only be found in the Invisible Book of Invisibility (written, I am quite sure, by one of Neville Longbottom’s ancestors) long after everyone had forgotten the fundamentals of the spell.
He and Pandora made such a wonderful pair. He was a highly unusual Gryffindor because of those brains; most people claimed he should have belonged in Ravenclaw just as the same people claimed Pandora Potter should have belonged in Ravenclaw as well. However, a person is selected and sorted into differing Houses for that one characteristic which stands out above others.
Ravenclaws are smart, but Pandora had a cunning that was sheer Slytherin. Her slyness and the ever-knowing gaze all seemed to compliment this cunning. It would not have been a surprise that she would have winded up in either house as her family had always, throughout the generations, produced Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Francis was a Gryffindor because the two things stronger than his genius were his loyalty and leadership. The Sorting Hat knows and sees that which exists within a person’s mind and heart. It uses this information to place a person in the House to cultivate that one single characteristic to the greatness it deserves.
I swear that thing has a sense of humour though, as I am still trying to figure out how in the name of all the Dark Arts Neville Longbottom winded up in Gryffindor . . .
Francis and Pandora complimented one another; they made a wonderful couple. She was sly and cunning, and he was a very dependable and loyal genius. Together they created a powerhouse that could have defeated Voldemort almost effortlessly.
This was why Voldemort, known then as Tom Riddle, showed up on their doorstop one day after he graduated. I believe he was nineteen years of age at the time. He told them he sought the best to learn from, and the Potter couple was, indeed, the best. There was no denying that when Francis and Pandora decided to do something together, they would do it with a quality exceeding the actions of those who tried, if at all, before them. Nor was this request of leaning considered unusual, as the Potters often took in those requesting the permission to learn from them. They believed information was not meant to be hoarded, but rather shared with all.
Mind you, I am merely saying what I know of Francis, as I had never met the man while he was alive. Both Pandora and Francis were about twelve years older than Riddle and already had the three children in their first and second years at Hogwarts. Pandora held a masters in Defence Against Dark Arts, and Francis . . . That man had a degree in everything but Quidditch. He was varied in the things he studied and learned.
But for all of his intellect, Francis was also as thick as brick as he inherently trusted mankind to be generally good and kind. Pandora, when she spoke of him, tenderly called this trust of his, “naivety.” It was through this thickness was he tricked by Tom Riddle and eradicated. No one knows exactly what happened, as Francis had disappeared and left behind only a puddle of blood that dripped down the length of the second story flight of stairs in Dinsmore. No one ever saw the body, but too much blood had been lost for anyone to survive and, through magical charms, the blood was confirmed as Francis’. Pandora was shattered over her husband’s death and I regret that such brilliance came to an early end.
It was not until Tom Riddle emerged fully as Lord Voldemort did Pandora, not as brilliant as her husband but certainly cunning, finally made the connections. It is highly likely Tom Riddle killed Francis, as the man slowly set himself up to be a terror many years before he set out to dominate the wizarding society.
But for years after Francis’ mysterious demise, Tom Riddle stayed with Pandora, learning what he could from her about the Dark Arts. From what I understand, Voldemort, as Tom Riddle, had been a very charming and handsome man and Pandora trusted him during those years. I believe, even as Voldemort, Pandora continued to hold a sort of fondness for Tom. She refused to ever refer to Tom Riddle as Voldemort and frowned her grandsons when she heard us use the term Lord Voldemort. Needless to say, there were many who never knew who we spoke of, as the name of Tom Riddle is remembered by only a handful of persons.
Pandora expressed to both James and myself how much farther Tom Riddle could have gone through kindness and quietly seeking glory rather than through terror and cruelty. With his charismatic and subtlety, he could have won the hearts of the wizarding society and they, on a whole, would have handed him the world should he have requested it. She tried hard to turn him from the path he chose years afterwards, even knowing full well that he knew he had gone too far to turn back.
Mind you, Pandora did not teach DADA for a living. She possessed a masters in that subject merely because it allowed her to legally study and experiment with the Dark Arts. I suspect the desire to meddle with the Dark Arts was an important part of her Snape blood, and one had to be skilled in the Dark Arts to understand the best ways to counter them. Pandora was, perhaps because of through learning what her husband found out, the most skilled person in Dark Arts that anyone legally could be (and very adept at many of the illegal arts as well). During the time of the Death Eaters and their employed dark spells, I remember her gathering together neighbourhood children to be taught Defence Against Dark Arts. It is interesting to note these children would later become Aurors, the best of their generation with James in the lead.
But after four year, Pandora refused to teach Riddle any more upon learning he was participating in summoning demons and forbidden creatures of the darker lore that even she dared not practice or learn too much of.
He left then, swearing vengeance against her family, and though Voldemort would rise to power in but a few years after that when he came back from wherever he went, Pandora ignored his threats. By that time, the Order of Merlin had offered Pandora a membership.
Now, you may or you may not have heard of the Order of Merlin. Perhaps the name itself is familiar as it is also the name of an award of recognized valour, in which the Order of Merlin recognizes those individuals who performed a deed that stopped or kept someone or something from being a terror. However, the name also derived from a group of people dedicated to keeping power in check and protecting the wizarding world from destruction. On a whole, the Order protects the wizarding society from the copycat terrors, muddling fools who would do more harm through their ignorance than through their ill intentions, destructive dark lords, and monsters galore that tend to run rampant where you least suspect it (oddly enough, the majority of these monsters are based in Japan).
Few wizards and witches ever become skilled enough to receive an offer to join the first class of the Order of Merlin. It has a long history, dating back to the times of the druids. Indeed, much of the knowledge the members of the first class pass to one another is druid lore, an art of magic too subtle for the average witch or wizard. Very little of the first class is known to the lay magic-user, but I, as grandson to Pandora, remember what she had explained.
I imagine you would say something here about how the Order of Merlin, with their duty to protect the world from dark lords, was not doing its job when Voldemort began his reign of terror. That is not so for the members did try their best to fight him, but none were strong enough. Even as the first class did not contain anyone strong enough to fight, even as it is so selective that class has never really had more than two, perhaps three, dozen members throughout the entire world. The only first class members within a thousand kilometres of the area Voldemort tormented the most were Pandora and Albus.
Albus remained at Hogwarts, where students--the future blood of the wizarding world--would be protected and trained. Voldemort would not wage an attack to that area, for the magic interwoven in the school and Albus himself were unknown factors of power Voldemort did not trust to go against and hope to win without suffering too great of a loss.
I would often remember spending whole days at Dinsmore alone with James because Pandora had learned of Voldemort attacking someone and she would Apparate to the area. Voldemort would not fight Pandora, and except for that one attack, the attack that probably cost her life, Pandora never directly fought against him after James’ parents were killed. Her presence alone assured the safety of others, for he would stop his attack and leave. I suspect Pandora had a nasty Gryffindorish habit of jumping in front of spells, and Voldemort retained enough respect to Pandora to not attack her. Perhaps he was playing with her.
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I greatly disliked your father, my brother through law and through the tender care of Pandora, but make no mistake I did love him in my own way. I sacrificed some of the most precious things I have ever known for James; not just because he was a brother and because Pandora loved me for it, but because I did love James in my own way.
The first words (as you know) he ever spoke to me were, “Are you all right?” The next words he said to me were, “What are you doing here?” James, when he grew older, never believed that the first impression is the best impression.
Having flown across the British countryside through the cold night air, exhausted after the initial burst of adrenaline from the attack of the Death Eaters, I was too tired to say anything when Pandora and I landed at the front of a large cottage with a sturdy brick fence surrounding it as brambles grew at the base of the fence. This property, built on a hill surrounded by large oak and cedar trees, was the old Snape property Pandora had inherited from her family. It was only a dent in the vast wealth the Snape family had accommodated through generations. Everything was kept in excellent shape; the clothes, food, and furniture were of the highest quality that could possibly be attained.
Pandora did not believe in keeping servants and through this she taught James and me how to be self-sufficient and skilled at domestically taking care of ourselves. James, at the tender age of six (for he was not seven at the time as I had suspected), already knew how to make simple meals and clean up after himself because of Pandora’s Apparating away to Voldemort’s presence. He often stayed up at night, waiting for her to come home and tuck him into bed regardless of the hour.
As Pandora carried me into the kitchen, lighting a single brace of candles at the table before setting me down on a chair, James wandered into the kitchen. His wild black hair stuck up in all directions and he wore a long white nightshirt with a cream-coloured baby blanket clutched in a fist. He saw Pandora first as she moved to the small cupboard where bread and cheese were stored.
“Hullo, Grandmother,” he said with a yawn. Pandora nodded quietly in return and set a bun and a lump of cheese in front of me before attending to her broom. James’ eyes grew wide at seeing me. That was when he said, “What are you doing here?”
I, remembering the slight he had given me at Diagon Alley, glared at him before hungrily eyeing the food I had been given. Pandora answered his question saying: “He is going to stay with us. Be polite.”
“Who is he?”
I learned James had the Potter mouth, wide and expansive, with a pair of lungs to turn any opera singer green with envy. He spoke brashly, often without thinking about his words. At that question, I felt my dislike for him grow. I was a gutter rat; I had no name, and I was ashamed to acknowledge this to strangers. But even Pandora glanced at me questioningly as she did not know my name. I shrunk down within my large rags, and Pandora finished storing her broom in the closet where others were kept
“Severus,” she said decidedly. “Severus is your name.” I looked at her suspiciously, not knowing why she would name me thus. I still wanted to know what she wanted from me. She looked at James. “He looks like Da, doesn’t he?” she asked. She swept my tangled hair back from my eyes. “Eat.” She pointed at the food again. I stared at it. She sighed.
“What is he?” James asked as she sat down beside me and tore the bread into chunks. She held a chunk out to me. I warily accepted it after a moment and she waited until I had eaten it before handing me another chunk.
“He is your brother,” she said. James made a face at that, no longer tired. He padded across the kitchen floor to her and wordlessly climbed into her lap. Pandora said nothing as he wiggled about until he was comfortably seated, then cradled his head against her breast. The look he gave me was one that proclaimed Mine. He did not appear sulky or disappointed at the idea of having to share her but, in that moment, he was clearly expressing his ownership over her. Again I felt a wave of dislike.
“He has black hair,” James said. “And dark eyes like Da.”
We said nothing more about anything until I had finished eating all that Pandora gave me. After that, she pulled both of us up to the bathroom. That night, I had my first bath. To be clean is like nothing I could ever explain. Until that time there were many things about my appearance I had not noted. I knew, that aside from being dirty and smelling, I also carried on my body such vermin as lice and fleas.
James made a face at seeing the bath water drained several times over, but I cared not. I enjoyed the feel of Pandora scrubbing my hair multiple times with shampoo before finally resulting to heavy liquid dish soap and charms for getting the dirt and lice from of my hair. She let me wash the rest of myself, perhaps sensing I would feel uncomfortable at her touch.
After hours of scrubbing and rinsing, Pandora finally deemed me clean enough to lie beneath the sheets of any of her beds. She pulled me into James’ room, rummaged through his clothes before coming up with a nightshirt much like the one he was currently wearing, and pulled it over my head. Warm and drowsy from the fresh bath and food, I had no intention of running away during the night and Pandora, with her penetrating eyes, saw this.
“We have no prepared beds for Severus,” she told James, as she led me over to the four-poster bed with rumpled covers, “at least not until tomorrow night. Severus will have to sleep with you for the time being. You do not mind, do you?” The look she gave him said even if he did mind, it would not change the situation.
James gave me a calculating look, then nodded. “I can show him the loo if he needs to use it,” he said. Pandora kissed his forehead, tucked us both snugly under the covers, left a candle burning at the bedside, and left for the night. I learned James had bad sleeping habits of hogging the covers, the pillows, of snoring, and kicking. I might add here that it only furthered my dislike for him because, at the time, I felt he did all this because he disliked me as much as I disliked him.
The bed itself was too soft for me to sleep on comfortably, used to the street floors that I was. After being kicked the third time by James, I finally pulled the top blanket off the bed and curled up in the corner with it to fall asleep. That was where Pandora found me the next morning when she came to awake the two of us.