The Boy Who Found a Home

They moved along the valley and climbed up the steep, rugged hillside to one of the moors that overlooked Hogsmeade. The morning rain had slowed to an intermittent drizzle before the sun had forced its rays through the rapidly thinning clouds.

Severus shivered in his decidedly damp waterproof and stumbled over the uneven ground. Ahead of him the Headmaster walked in a steady, slow gait, his right hand setting the pace as it clutched a gnarled walking stick.

The younger wizard carefully placed his feet on the water soaked, boggy ground, wary of the slippery, mucky earth that stubbornly clung to everything it touched. Even though he'd practiced the Repello Aqua charm, he wasn't able to maintain the effectiveness of the charm for long stretches of time. It failed him when he lost concentration, slipped on the treacherous ground, or exhausted his inner reserves of magic. [Author ID1: at Fri Jun 16 17:51:00 2006 ]

The morning hadn't begun well in Severus' opinion; the school matron had ordered him to leave the castle. She had frowned at his wheedling attempts to remain inside and read.

"It's been raining for four days; you haven't been outdoors, and you need some fresh air and exercise," Madam Pomfrey stated in her no nonsense voice that brooked no argument.

"All right, I'll walk down to Hagrid's," he snapped, irritated by her bullying. "But if I catch a chill it's your fault!"

"Don't be so melodramatic; a bit of rain won't cause you to melt," she said. "The Headmaster said something about wanting to go for a walk; go with him. Why look - here he is!"

The uneven, wet ground made walking treacherous. It seemed that every little bump on the path caused Severus to trip.

This is utterly ridiculous, he thought. The idea wizards actually enjoyed walking in cold rain was appalling to him. We aren't like Muggles who can't keep the rain from them with an incantation, a voice in his head groused.

Severus found himself sliding across the track. He managed to keep his feet beneath him, though one of his hands sunk deep into the mire. Frowning, he righted himself and shook the mud from his hand.

This goes beyond idiotic; Poppy and the Headmaster have to be certifiable to think this is healthy! I should just turn around and go back; he can just go on his little walk all by himself, he fumed.

Severus knew that he'd been manipulated by the both of them. Personally he had come to the conclusion that the school matron placed a bit too much credence in the belief that the outdoors was good for the moral well being of a person.

The area they were walking in was awash with deep furrows of standing water. The footpath had completely turned into a river of mud. Glancing to his right, Severus saw a path that looked less hazardous to walk on. The ground cover was thick and scrubby, and looked very sound. He would have to make a jump to reach the drier track.

Using his arms to give leverage, Severus leapt onto the greenery -- and promptly sank into muddy water that quickly rose over the top of his boots. Trying to keep his body from tumbling, his arms began to windmill wildly. His left foot sank deeper into the mire; Severus felt himself loose balance and fall.

Swearing loudly, the young wizard tried to pull himself out of the sinkhole and onto firmer ground. The old wizard pulled him up from his inelegant sprawl and dried him with a whisk of his wand.

Having already stepped into a hole, deeper than his Wellington boots, and having cold, dirty water rush up over the top, falling into the puddle had stretched Severus' patience too far.

Shaking himself to resettle his waterproof, Severus grumbled petulantly, "I don't know why this is supposed to be so damn good for me. All I get from it is being wet and cold." [Author ID2: at Mon Jun 12 00:36:00 2006 ]

"It would please me very much if you would refrain from using such colourful language," the professor said in a cautionary tone.

"If you can't use it when your boot fills with cold water or you fall down, then when are you permitted to use colourful language?" he asked scathingly.

"Severus, I would appreciate your not arguing every point," Professor Dumbledore stated firmly. "Not everything in life is fair."

"It still seems like it was a stupid idea to come out when it was so wet," the young wizard moaned.

"The rain stopped midmorning, and the sun has been shining for some time. It will dry in little time."

"It hasn't been out for some time and it'll be hours before its dry," he snapped.

"Why don't we walk to that rise and see if there is anywhere we can sit and eat?" the old wizard asked, ignoring his young companion's argumentative dialogue.

Severus stomped his boots against the squishy ground as he walked. He felt decidedly put out. "What's the point? We'll still be sitting in damp."

"Cheer up, lad; I have the feeling you will find the summit was worth the effort you have expended," the Headmaster said cryptically.

"I doubt it," Severus muttered in an undertone.

Having reached the crest, they looked out over the valley below. The sun had bullied its way through the cloud cover and shone on Hogsmeade. The village centre shone brilliant as an emerald in its setting of stone buildings. Smoke rose in wispy curls from chimneys, which rose from the sharply angled slate roofs of the village. Inhaling subconsciously, the Slytherin imagined the sweet, earthy scent of the peat fires warming the homes.

Slightly removed from the village, the turrets of Hogwarts rose above deep blue-green pines. Squinting, Severus could just make out the Quidditch hoops at the far end of the pitch.

"You see, child--" Professor Dumbledore pointed to a stone fence, "--here is a nice place for us to rest and eat our lunch. Would you look for a dry area while I find a place to...?" The old wizard indicated he needed to relieve himself.

Flushing in embarrassment, Severus took the Headmaster's rucksack. He looked around the rather desolate moor and saw a place that looked semi-dry. He walked over, hopped up and sat on the stone wall. His legs swung lazily as his eyes roamed the area. It was barren of both landmarks and trees.

He wondered just how different the countryside would have looked if the Muggle Royal Navy hadn't harvested the ancient forests of their oak, hawthorn, elm, and silver birch to build their ships over the centuries. Then again, what would Muggles think if they were able to see the village of Hogsmeade for what it really was?

Sheep, shorn as the warm weather began, were grazing at the short, stubby greenery. The creatures were unafraid of his presence and wandered close to where he was sitting.

A fair number of the ewes had lambs with them; they were nearly as large as their mothers. One lamb had a deformed hoof, and its mother turned a sharp eye to him as if sensing some disapproval of her off-spring.

Severus saw a movement. Two people were walking up the slope toward him. Glancing about, he couldn't see Professor Dumbledore anywhere.

Muggles, he said to himself. He'd heard the rumours from the upper year Slytherins about what Muggles would do to a wizard if they caught one. The young wizard debated whether to stand his ground or hide. His hand slowly went to the wand in his pocket.

"This spot doesn't seem very dry, Severus."

Not having heard the Headmaster's approach, the young wizard swung around in fright. Recognizing the man, he relaxed slightly, knowing he wasn't alone anymore. With one long finger, he pointed to the two walkers, still striding toward them. "Sir, look there."

The two ramblers drew near enough that some facial features were recognizable. Severus didn't know them and felt an increasing sense of unease at their proximity.

The old sorcerer beside him put one steadying hand on his ward's shoulder, and then gasped in surprise. "It can't be! But I think it must be - it's the Prewetts!"

"No, they're Muggles, Headmaster. Look at the way they are dressed; that isn't the way we dress." Severus completely ignored that he was dressed in trousers, a waterproof, and Wellingtons.

"No, they aren't. Mr. Prewett rather enjoys a bit of dress up now and then. I suspect Mrs. Prewett finds it easier to humour her husband and indulge him in his little amusements."

Frowning slightly, the young wizard looked up at the white-haired man standing beside him. He couldn't quite accept that adults could do some rather odd and quite childish things. The discovery had puzzled him; he'd never imagined adults could be as immature as the dreadful Gryffindor boys.

The person in the lead looked up and noticed them. Pushing back the hood on her anorak, the witch looked at them in wonderment.

"Albus Dumbledore?" she asked incredulously. "Bert, I think that is Albus Dumbledore!"

"Indeed, it is none other than me," the Headmaster said with a sweeping bow and a chuckle.

"What are you doing up here? I thought you would be off to somewhere terribly exotic once the term was completed," the woman said as she huffed and tried to catch her breath. She pulled off her anorak and revealed a rather garish, multi-coloured, hand knitted jumper. It had a crudely woven 'A' knit into it.

The wizard accompanying the witch came to a stand beside her. He dropped his rucksack to the ground with a grunt. One of his hands came to rest on the woman's shoulder with an easy familiarity.

"This is my exotic holiday this summer. Young Severus and I were out for a bit of fresh air," Professor Dumbledore said affably. "We were about to have a bite to eat before beginning our walk back down to Hogwarts."

"That is a fine idea and I am a bit hungry myself. If you wouldn't mind, could we share your wall?" the unknown wizard asked and removed a tweed cap. He pushed back a shock of white hair from his warm brown eyes.

Severus studied the couple from beneath lowered lashes. His inborn suspicion made him wary of the unexpected arrival of this couple. The three adults' apparent surprise at the unexpected meeting did not feel quite so unexpected to the mistrustful youth. [Author ID2: at Mon Jun 12 17:32:00 2006 ]

While the wizard and witch hadn't paid any particular attention to him, they had glanced in his direction, only once, before studiously looking away. The three older magical folk began to discuss the train schedule between Kings Cross and Hogsmeade.

"Would you get our sandwiches, Severus?" Professor Dumbledore asked the young boy in an aside.

Obediently he unbuckled the straps and rummaged inside the rucksack. All he could see was a ball of twine, several sticks, and brightly coloured paper. Glancing over at the Headmaster, who was chatting with the couple, he looked back in the bag.

No, there are definitely no sandwiches.

"Sir? T-there aren't any in there," he said hesitantly. "All I see is paper."

"They should be under the paper," his guardian said absently and continued to speak with the wizard.

Digging about again, Severus shook his head. "Sorry, sir. They aren't there."

"I remember now; I took them out when I put the other things in," the Headmaster said with embarrassment. "It seems I neglected to replace them, Severus."

"You and your mysterious young companion must share our meat pie," the witch said kindly.

"And my wife's rather delightful turnovers," the unknown wizard added.

Twelve-year old Severus held his breathe; he did not want Professor Dumbledore to accept the offer to share their meal. He willed them to find somewhere else to eat. The witch's eyes were looking at him, and he began to move behind the Headmaster.

"That is most generous of you. I have been quite neglectful in making introductions, haven't I? Mr. and Mrs. Prewett, may I introduce you to Severus Snape?" His guardian pulled him back to the front.

With a small nod, Mrs. Prewett smiled nervously at him while her husband held out his wand hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snape."

He froze, suddenly very shy and uncertain of what to do; the Headmaster nudged him to take the man's hand. "Sir. Ma'am."

Mr. Prewett returned to his discussion about the train schedule, something Severus had no interest in. With an itchy feeling, he was certain both the witch and wizard were inspecting him; yet when he slid his own eyes over, they were involved in their discussion with the professor.

Flushing deeply, he looked at the ground at his feet and dug the toe of his green Wellingtons into the damp soil. Water oozed up from the soaked ground. The boot made a slight squeaking sound as he moved his toe about.

The witch removed the small wicker basket lashed to her waist by leather ties. She touched her wand to the basket, restoring it to hamper size. With deft hands, the middle aged woman opened the lid and began to remove the crockery and place it on the undulating fieldstone wall.

Mrs. Prewett stood and looked at the wall speculatively, as if making some determination about the suitability of the location. She pointed to a place further down the wall.

"Over there, I think."

The ridge she had pointed to was a bit higher. The rain would have run down and away from that area, rather than puddle as it did where they stood.

"Bert, would you enlarge the table?" The witch had removed a toy sized table from the hamper and waved over it to her husband.

"Would you take this, dear?" Mrs. Prewett thrust a large meat pie into the young wizard's hands.

The comfortably built woman levitated the items she'd unpacked to the table. Deft hands arranged the items: plates, tin cups, a thermos, a tub of mustard, and the turnovers.

Severus had followed the witch with great care; it wouldn't do to drop the pie and earn a reprimand.

"I feared the rain would continue," the Headmaster said conversationally. "It really has been dreadful having to remain cooped up in the castle for the past four days."

Laughing slightly, Mr. Prewett agreed, "We came up for a ten day country adventure and feared our entire holiday would be spent at Madam Rosmerta's. As soon as we saw the sky was brightening, we made a dash for it."

With a slicing motion of her wand, the witch cut into the meat pie. Handing Severus a plate, he passed it over to Professor Dumbledore, who was so involved in his conversation with Mr. Prewett that he ignored the plate before him. With a sigh, Severus dropped the plate to the table.

The young Slytherin grumbled silently to himself; he'd wished to remain indoors and not traipse across all of Scotland. Now here he was, trapped with old people.

"Are you a student at Hogwarts?" Mrs. Prewett asked suddenly.

"Yes," he replied succinctly. He received an admonishing nudge from the Headmaster. "Er-- yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Prewett passed a slice of the meat pie to the young wizard. He passed the plate over to Mr. Prewett who took it absently; he was in deep discussion with the Headmaster about some method of transportation. The words "automobiles" and "speed boats" were involved.

She moved and sat next to her husband and leaned in to listen to his conversation.

Picking at the pie crust, Severus ignored the adults' chatter. One finger peeled away the flaky bits of crust. Ham, chicken, potatoes, carrots, and some other unrecognizable vegetables stood in stratified layers on his plate like a geological formation. Looking down at the neatly constructed pie layers, he saw order and sequence. Order and sequence drew him to potions.

I wonder what Professor Warwick will have me help him with next week. It really is much nicer without a class interrupting every time things become interesting. They're all such prats; none of them want to learn anything.

I want to practise slicing wattle figs; there has to be a better method to remove the skin without bruising the fruit. Blanching? No, it would alter the molecular structure. Or would it? What if I were to use a smaller knife? No, I haven't one; I only have the one. I wonder if the house-elves have smaller ones. Maybe if I ask Bimney...

After this walk to Timbuktu, I wonder if Madam Pomfrey could be convinced I don't need to be outdoors for a fortnight? Certainly this should be good for at least a week. If nothing else, I can point out that I spent a lot of time out of doors helping Hagrid and Pulmule.

I hope Dub-noise is busy with his divining this week; I really will hex him if I have to stack those stupid teacups and listen to his idiotic rambling again. That is one class I won't take! Damn, I can't believe I'd rather be with McGonagall!

With a guilty look, he glanced at the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore insisted he refer to his professors correctly. It's not like he can read my mind, a rebellious voice in his head muttered.

Maybe I can talk Madam Pomfrey into letting me help her. Damn, I forgot she's going away for a few days to see her niece. Why does she have to see some stupid niece, anyway? Perhaps if I sent an owl and... No, that would never work and I'll just get in trouble.

But what if I really caught a chill? Maybe she'd stay if I was ill. I'll just take off my jersey and let nature take its course. No, I'll step in another hole on the way back; then my feet will be cold and I'll be certain to get sick. Oh, this is perfect!

But it might keep me from working with Professor Warwick, and Madam Pomfrey would just dose me with Pepperup Potion...

He felt a nudge on his arm. The Headmaster was directing his attention to the witch.

"How is the pie?" she asked. The scarf on her fading red hair fluttered in the breeze.

"'t's all right," he replied without enthusiasm. He brought one hand to his mouth to chew at a cuticle. From the corner of his eye he saw the Headmaster watching him, and he shifted his hand to trace his mouth with a finger instead.

Thankfully, Mrs. Prewett was drawn into her husband's lengthy description of gardens in East Anglia.

Severus paid attention to their conversation briefly, and then returned to his own thoughts.

Adults are boring. Now they're talking about wasting time in a pub.

Sometimes they had interesting things to say - like Professor Flitwick; the Charms professor was always willing to discuss the methodology of creating spells, something that fascinated the young wizard.

The small in stature wizard had Severus assisting with research. It was very exhilarating to be permitted to look for material in the Restricted Section. Professor Flitwick talked to him as an equal whenever Severus found a subject line of interest.

He felt no small measure of pride when the Charms professor complimented him for his diligence in wheedling out an obscure reference in the ancient tomes. A small smile softened the Slytherin's face.

The adults' conversation slowly edged into Severus' conscious mind.

"...you spend all your time down with the chaps, drinking pint after pint, while I am all alone working on puzzles," the witch said petulantly.

Severus' head snapped up. "Puzzles? What sort of puzzles?" He wanted to slap a hand across his mouth; he did not really want to know about them.

"Well...," she hesitated. Then, as if having made a decision, she continued in a rush of words, "My sons gave me a very odd picture puzzle two Christmases ago."

"The picture doesn't move?"

"Exactly!"

"It's a Muggle jigsaw puzzle," he informed the woman. Severus liked knowing something others didn't.

"Is that what it is?"

"Now dear, don't tease. You know how much you enjoy a long evening sitting beside me at the pub," Mr. Prewett chuckled.

"It's true, Albus. I often find myself sitting in one of those horridly uncomfortable little places with Bert. He has his pint and I have my little sip of..." Mrs. Prewett turned back to the Headmaster.

Severus suddenly felt ignored. He began to pull bits of stone from the wall and throw them.

"Little? Sip? My dear, you can drink every man under the table. No, it isn't some weak little beverage you are drinking, pet. My girl goes for the fire whiskey, straight up."

The Headmaster's hand fell on his. "Don't do that, Severus. The farmer won't like having to repair his wall."

Put out, the young Slytherin stood, walked further down the stone barrier, and sat with his knees drawn to his chest. One hand rose to his mouth and he began to viciously attack the cuticle.

The sound of boots squishing slightly on the ground caught his attention. He purposely continued to tear at the finger. A plate appeared with a steaming turnover on it.

"It's apple," the witch's voice stated quietly.

"I'm not hungry."

"It's a very good turnover. My sons, who never seem to finish their vegetables, always manage to find room for one. Go ahead, have a bite."

Sighing very audibly, just to make it clear he was humouring her, Severus jerked the turnover from her hand. He bit into it, ready to tell her, 'There, I ate some of your damn turnover, now leave me alone.'

The crust was warm, very flaky, and flavourful. His mouth was pleasantly surprised with the taste. The apples were not overwhelmingly sweet; the filling was well spiced; he could detect cinnamon and a good quality vanilla. In actuality, Mrs. Prewett had created the best baked good he'd ever had.

Glancing up, he noticed the woman brushing flakes of pastry from her hands.

He surprised himself by offering the compliment, "It's good."

"The trick to an excellent pastry is the crust; you must always use lard or you might as well not bother."

"Lard?" he asked through a mouthful of turnover.

"One could use butter, but it just doesn't allow for the flakiness."

Severus finished eating the pastry and began to lick his fingers. Remembering himself, he stopped and wiped them on the trousers instead. His tongue ran over his mouth.

Mrs. Prewett sat next to him on the wall. Her hand began to pick at the loose stones. Hefting one, she began to toss it up in the air, only to catch it again. Then the woman threw it, hitting a large protruding boulder twenty feet away.

Biting at the inside of his mouth, the young boy glanced toward the Headmaster. He was still engrossed in his discussion with the other wizard.

The witch took up another stone and rolled it in her hand experimentally. "Do you think I can hit that rock?" she pointed off to the distance.

"Which one?" he asked.

Drawing back her arm, she threw the stone. It hit a rock and bounced.

"Oh, that one."

"I was aiming for the one next to it," Mrs. Prewett said and frowned.

Severus pulled a stone out of the wall and threw it. It hit the rock to the left of the one the witch had hit. "That one?"

"No, the other side," she laughed. "You've rather good aim!"

"I need it," he snorted.

"Do you often have the need to throw things?"

Chewing at his lip, Severus glanced at the flush faced witch. He wondered, what exactly is she suggesting? "Sometimes," he replied cautiously.

"I had two brothers. I know all about having to defend myself. My brother Fred learned never to tease me because I would throw--things back at him."

"You really...? I mean, you threw...? You know - at your brothers?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

One eyebrow rose on Mrs. Prewett's face. "I found that though I was smaller and less skilled, it was sometimes just what was called for. Mind you, I had to learn not to throw really big things, just the small, 'wake-up and take notice' ones."

"Didn't you get into trouble?" He was awed that Mrs. Prewett wasn't adverse to a carefully aimed hex. Surely she must have been in Slytherin!

Leaning back and taking one of her knees in her arms, Mrs. Prewett looked at him. "Once in a while, but if I used them judiciously no one could quite believe me capable of it."

The sound of crockery being repacked floated across the moor. Severus looked over and saw Mr. Prewett and Professor Dumbledore tidying up the area. Touching his wand to the table, the Headmaster shrunk it back to hand-size. Having finished their task, the two wizards strolled over.

"Alas, Severus, we should return; I have some correspondence that requires my attention. Do you have everything, my boy?" the old wizard asked.

"Yes, Headmaster." He jumped down from the wall.

"It was a pleasure to come across you both," Professor Dumbledore said affably. "Say good-bye, Severus."

"Good-bye."

Sighing, the wizard beside him placed a hand on his shoulder.

Mrs. Prewett smiled at Severus. Her cheeks were wind burned, and the wind was snapping at her brightly coloured scarf. "Perhaps you might help me on that puzzle sometime?"

"I-I'm not allowed off the grounds."

The witch looked pointedly at the Headmaster. The Headmaster looked back at her and then to Severus. "I have no objection for you to spend a few hours with Mrs. Prewett."

Smiling shyly, he nodded his head: yes. All thoughts of stepping in a water filled hole vanished.