Into the Fold

CALLED ON THE CARPET

Autumn, 1975

Severus Snape sat in a high-backed chair in a corner of the Slytherin common room, Advanced Potion-Making open on his lap. He was revising the recipe for the Everlasting Elixir. He had thought, upon his return from the hospital wing, that he might as well make good use of his time while he waited for Professor Slughorn to lower the boom.

Several of the sixth-year Slytherins had expressed their eagerness to study with Severus before he had left Hogsmeade that afternoon. Nobody sat next to him now, asking for help on the eighteen inches of parchment which was due on the collection and purpose of the ingredients in Everlasting Elixirs. No one was begging to be allowed to look over his shoulder while they brewed the potion in class tomorrow, so that they could imitate what he did.

Ruskin, Lestrange and Rosier had nodded politely enough when Severus had entered the common room. But, along with everyone else, they avoided him. Obviously, the whole House knew about the Firewhip that Severus had cast on Pettigrew that afternoon, and, until they knew what his punishment would be, they didn't want to associate with him. After all, the tarnish on his reputation might rub off on anybody who appeared to be his friend.

The stone door to the dungeon common room slid back, and Hector, Professor Slughorn's Ural owl, flew inside. The owl swooped over to Severus and, uncurling his talons, dropped a letter on to Severus's open book.

Severus opened the letter and read:

Dear Mr Snape:

I have heard from Madam Pomfrey about the events of this afternoon and would like to discuss them with you. Please come to my office at once.

Professor Horace Slughorn

Severus slid his Potions book into his bag. He went up to the dormitory and locked his book bag in his trunk. When he came down again, he ignored the stares that followed him out of the common room.

"He's got some nerve, making Slughorn wait!" Regulus Black said, just before the common room door closed behind Severus. Severus thought he heard more admiration than disgust in Regulus's voice, but he didn't care one way or the other. He was not about to leave his books, particularly his Potions textbook, lying about in the open for anyone to see.

****

Severus trudged through the torch-lit labyrinth of corridors to Professor Slughorn's office. As soon as he knocked on the door, Slughorn called him in.

As ever, Severus was struck by the contrast between Slughorn's office and the rest of Slytherin House's underground domain. A huge fire crackled in the grate, making the office much warmer than the rest of the dungeon. Instead of torches in brackets smoking up the bare stone walls, there were candles in sconces casting clear light on embroidered tapestries. A plush carpet woven with an intricately-winding design of vines and flowers covered the floor. Professor Slughorn, wearing a smoking jacket of burgundy velvet and an identically-coloured woollen beret, sat behind the most elaborately carved desk Severus had ever seen.

But the desk was nothing in comparison to the cabinet which held Professor Slughorn's private store of potion ingredients. The cabinet had indigo doors inlaid with a veritable galaxy of stars, moons and planets. Its legs were carved in the shape of dolphins whose eyes bulged in perpetual alarm. On the top of the cabinet, two gilt cherubs paused mid-gambol and glared balefully at Severus.

Slughorn looked at the cherubs and sighed in exasperation. "Oh, come on. What's this all about? You've seen Severus before. Besides, I'm here. Everything's perfectly safe." The cherubs' frowns turned to dimpled smiles, and they resumed their fluttering dance on top of the cabinet.

"I don't know what's got into them tonight, but they do tend to be suspicious," Slughorn explained. "They let out the most ear-splitting howls if anybody besides me so much as touches that cabinet." He waved at the puffy armchair opposite his desk. "Sit down, sit down."

Severus sat, sinking a good six inches into the cushions. Slughorn took the lid off a glass jar at the corner of his desk and held the jar out to Severus. "Crystallised pineapple?"

"No, thank you, Professor." Severus tried not to make a face, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Sighing at Severus's rebuff of his hospitality, Slughorn closed the jar without taking any pineapple for himself. Sitting back and folding his hands over his ample belly, he looked at Severus in silence for a few moments.

"Those Gryffindor boys, James Potter and his friends," said Slughorn. "Is it true they did no more to you at first than send an anti-gravity mist across the road?"

"James Potter cast an insect jinx on me," said Severus.

"I said 'at first'," Slughorn replied gently. "Let's keep things in order, shall we?"

Or let's just ignore what Potter did entirely, shall we? Biting back that retort, Severus said nothing.

"All right," said Slughorn. "Let me try putting this another way. Your walking into an anti-gravity mist on the way back from Hogsmeade is what precipitated the fracas which took place between you and the Gryffindors. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Madam Pomfrey called me as soon as you left the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall has also given me her students' side of the story. Apparently, as soon as Mr Lupin released you from the mist, you and the Gryffindor boys began bickering. Spells were thrown. Mr Potter cast an insect jinx at you. The Firewhip you were casting at him went wide as you fell to the ground, and it struck Peter Pettigrew instead."

Severus didn't answer.

"So far, so good?" Slughorn urged.

"Yes, sir," said Severus.

"Can you explain to me why you felt you had to answer essentially harmless spells like the anti-gravity mist, the insect jinx and the slug-vomiting curse with what Madam Pomfrey tells me is the Darkest spell she's ever known a student to cast at Hogwarts?"

"I wouldn't call a slug-vomiting curse harmless!"

Slughorn jumped, his eyes starting out of his head like those of the dolphins which adorned his cabinet. "No need to shout, Severus," he said. "I'm not deaf, you know."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Severus, already regretting an outburst which could hardly improve Slughorn's opinion of him.

"Apology accepted." Slughorn blinked and settled back. "I agree with you that a slug-vomiting curse is uncomfortable. But the effects wear off in a half-hour or so, without your needing to spend any time in the hospital wing. While your Firewhip, on the other hand, burned off the top layer of Mr Pettigrew's skin." His voice hardened slightly. "You could not have failed to notice that you caused Mr Pettigrew a great deal of pain."

Severus shifted in his chair. He had not forgotten Peter Pettigrew's screams.

"Well?" Slughorn asked sternly.

"Erm--yes, sir," Severus said.

Slughorn said nothing. He rose and paced around his office, which was for him an excess of nervous activity. Perhaps he was cold, for when he stopped to stare at the doors of his ingredients cabinet, he shivered.

"You told Madam Pomfrey that you'd invented the Firewhip," Professor Slughorn said.

"Yes, sir."

"And you're the young fellow who uses night-owl eyes in his Antisomnia Infusion." Professor Slughorn turned from his cabinet to look at Severus. "Do you remember Miss Evans's answer on the first day of term, when I asked the class to give me the uses of the Antisomnia Infusion?"

Of course Severus did, since he'd known the answer as well as Lily had done. "The Antisomnia Infusion will rouse a person from deep unconsciousness," he replied crisply.

"That's right," Slughorn said, though he didn't look as though Severus's answer had pleased him. "And an Antisomnia Infusion made with night-owl eyes provides even greater stimulation," he continued. "It rouses the subject much faster and keeps him awake longer." Slughorn glanced into a shadowy corner, where his owl sat on its perch. "You saw the way Hector flew off after I gave him only two drops of your and Miss Evans's Antisomnia Infusion. He didn't come back for two days."

Professor Slughorn returned to his desk and sat down. He leaned forward on his elbows and rested his chin on his folded hands. A flickering reflection of the candlelight danced in his protuberant eyes.

"It's odd that you should know how to brew that version of the potion, Severus," he said. "You see, only two sorts of wizards use night-owl eyes in their Antisomnia Infusions. The first are Healers who are trying to bring patients back from the point of death. Often, these are victims of Stunnings so severe that their brains have practically stopped functioning, or people who have been tortured so brutally by the Cruciatus Curse that they're in deep physical shock."

Professor Slughorn paused, but Severus said nothing. He was remembering the trips he had taken with Mother to the Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. It had been a dingier place than its counterpart in Diagon Alley: a dusty little shop with grimy windows, shrouded in a perpetual gloom which neither candles nor fires could dispel.

Shelves sagging under jars of cloudy liquid lined the walls of the Knockturn Alley Apothecary. In the liquid floated bits of plants and animals, which Severus found both fascinating and repellent. Behind the counter stood a taciturn shopkeeper, with a face as wrinkled as a walnut shell. In exchange for the Galleons which Mother scraped from the bottom of her wallet, the shopkeeper presented her with a tiny cloth bag from a drawer in the decrepit cupboard behind him, a bag which contained exactly two ounces of night-owl eyes.

Later at home, Mother would prepare the night-owl eyes and add them to her Antisomnia Infusion. Early the next morning, she would instil a couple of drops of the finished potion into a glass of water. Then she would cast the Carmenoris on an insensible Tobias, charming his throat to swallow before pouring the water into his mouth, because he was so dead drunk he would otherwise have inhaled the water and drowned himself.

Tobias would wake feeling fit as a fiddle, ready for the double shift at the mill which would put food on his family's table and pay the mortgage on the house in Spinner's End, for he could hold his whisky, by God, as well as any man and better than most.

To this day, Tobias didn't know why he had been able to hold his drink so much better then than he could now. He knew nothing about the Antisomnia Infusion which Mother, since her magic had grown so erratic, was no longer able to brew for him.

"The other sort," said Slughorn, "are Dark wizards."

Severus started. "What, sir?"

"I think you heard me, Severus," Professor Slughorn said quietly. "I said that Dark wizards are the only other people besides Healers who use night-owl eyes in their Antisomnia Infusions. Do you know why?"

"Er, no, Professor."

"Dark wizards use the night-owl version of the potion to help them make Inferi."

Severus's jaw dropped. "What?"

"It takes a certain familiarity with the Healer's art, as you can imagine," Slughorn continued. He wasn't enjoying the subject, clearly. There was a faint gleam of sweat on his forehead, and he seemed to be making an effort to keep his voice calm. "One must wait until the dying person's soul has actually begun to slip away before one administers the Antisomnia Infusion. If you give it too soon, you revive him. If you wait too long, well--you've waited too long. He's dead."

Mother had never--Mother would never--"Why are you bringing this up now?" Severus demanded

"The Antisomnia Infusion, you mean?"

"Yes! Sir," Severus remembered to add. "I mean, I made the Antisomnia Infusion two months ago. You didn't say anything about Inferi then!"

"Where did you learn to add night-owl eyes to the Antisomnia Infusion?"

What was Slughorn saying, that he suspected Severus of creating Inferi? Severus, choking back one angry reply after another, couldn't answer.

"Never mind," said Slughorn. "I suppose it's not really important. You're not a Healer, and you're certainly not the sort of Dark wizard who can raise an Inferius. Though you do seem to have a bent for Dark magic. I remember when you first came to Hogwarts--as if it were yesterday; dear me, how time flies! When you were in first year, you seemed to know more curses than half the pupils in seventh year. Now I'd say you're best of all the students in that particular discipline, in my recent memory, anyway."

Severus did nothing to fill the silence that followed.

"You know, Severus, it's not a good thing to delve too deeply into the Dark Arts," Slughorn said at last. "In the first place--well, let's be perfectly blunt about it. We beat around the bush here at Hogwarts. We teach our students practical defences against the Dark Arts from the first year, but we don't go enough into what's essentially wrong with practising Dark magic. The fact is, an overly avid pursuit of the Dark Arts can damage your soul in a way that is very difficult to mend. I knew a wizard once, a young man like yourself--"

The flicker of fear that passed through Slughorn's eyes intrigued Severus. "Did you, sir?" he said, hoping Slughorn would go on.

"I did, but that was a very long time ago," Slughorn said. "Suffice to say that I know what I'm talking about."

"But I don't understand, sir," Severus said, in as earnest a tone as he could manage. "What about Salazar Slytherin? He was very knowledgeable about the Dark Arts. He didn't seem to fear them. At least, that's what others say about him."

"If you're trying to compare your plight with that of Salazar Slytherin, you won't find any sympathy here," Slughorn said, his voice suddenly sharp. "Salazar Slytherin was a powerful wizard with the maturity to understand exactly how far he could go, not a schoolboy out for revenge any way he could get it. Don't look to be granted Slytherin's rights, my boy, until you have Slytherin's mastery."

The interview was going pretty much as Severus had expected it would: he was getting all the blame. He gritted his teeth and said nothing.

"Though in the current political climate, I rather doubt even Salazar Slytherin would be given much leeway for studying the Dark Arts," Slughorn said a bit more calmly. "I know people of your age don't follow the news much, but ever since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named began gathering followers and committing atrocities, the Ministry of Magic has been directing a rather jaundiced eye at Slytherin House. It seems that most of the witches and wizards who have been revealed as Death Eaters are Slytherin alumni. You might want to keep that in mind, Severus. For a boy like you, the next worst thing to damaging your soul would be to damage your good name. If you develop a reputation for dabbling in the Dark Arts, you're likely to find yourself without any prospects of gainful employment once you leave Hogwarts."

By now, Severus was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. But that didn't matter, for resentment choked him so much he couldn't speak. Did other students hate their Head of House as much as he sometimes hated Slughorn? If that pampered lickspittle cared so much for Severus's prospects, why hadn't he invited Severus into the Slug Club?

"Do you understand me, Severus?" Slughorn asked.

"Yes, sir," Severus gritted out.

"I hope so," said Slughorn. "But enough of the lecture. I'll ask that you report to Madam Pomfrey after lessons tomorrow so that she can assign you a detention. In the infirmary, perhaps, so that you can learn something about how difficult it is to mend the depredations caused by inconsiderate spellcasting. But I'll leave that up to her. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. I'll let you go, then, since staying longer seems to be the very last thing you want. Good night."

Severus left as quickly as he dared, for Slughorn had got one thing right: Severus didn't enjoy his company.

Severus saw no one in the common room on his return but Olaus Ruskin, who, thank heaven, did not press him for any details of his meeting with Slughorn. Ruskin merely eyed him for a moment, said good-night and went back to reading his book.

Severus, heartily glad the day was over, went to his dormitory. Again he thanked his rare good fortune that everyone else in the sixth-years' dormitory was asleep. Or at least they acted like it, which, Severus thought as he crawled into bed, was good enough for him.