Updated August 2016

Überraschung[1]

The beard wouldn't do. Though it was dense now and he was starting to look a bit like Rasputin, he still looked far too much like Severus Snape to hope for even a small degree of anonymity. Scrutinizing himself in the bathroom mirror, he was beginning to suspect that there was nothing to be done about it. He simply had what people politely called a characteristic visage.

Of course, it was the nose, his forever distinguishing mark, the worst joke his father had ever played on him. He now wished he had paid more attention in school to self-transfiguring spells which he had rejected – strangely – out of vanity (vanity, that is, in not wanting to admit to his hang-ups). Now that he was past caring, he could see how a little more interest in that regard could have come in useful.

He had considered Polyjuice Potion, but it took weeks to brew, usually wore off quickly and more importantly, he didn't have all the necessary ingredients in his cellar storage. If he wanted to venture out into the open any time soon, he had to think of something else. Either that or wait for the hubbub to die down.

However, it didn't look like it ever would. Every morning when he opened the Daily Prophet, it was there, plastered all over the front pages. Harry Potter. The victory. The legend of the elder wand. The amazing foresight of Albus Dumbledore. News on the Death Eater hunt. And bloody Harry Potter again.

The British magical community seemed set on making the celebration last for the rest of the year at least, knowing full well that an opportunity like this presented itself only once in five lifetimes. The party was still going on. However, Severus Snape had as little intention of participating as ever.

Just the other day, he had found a so-called 'portrait piece' about himself occupying two whole pages of the Prophet. It had contained a particularly unfavourable picture of him and a bunch of lies. Well, speculations rather. All the same, the few lines he read of it had made him so angry that he had tossed the paper into the fire and for a moment seriously considered performing a mean de-feathering spell on the owl that brought it. However, it had looked at him with big eyes, hooting reproachfully as if to say 'Don't kill the messenger, man!' In recent years, he had started to learn not to let out his temper on innocents. Not excessively so, at least.

Something else that he had learnt from the papers this morning had left him dejected, though. The death of Nymphadora Lupin, née Tonks. For some reason, it had so far escaped his notice. So Remus Lupin was a widower, alone with a months-old baby in his care. Although Snape had never had any time for the Marauders – and had positively detested both James Potter and Sirius Black – he wouldn't have wished this on Lupin. Also, it made him think of his own loss which dated back so many years, but still ached like a wound that had never healed properly. After reading about Tonks – whom he had always liked, as far as he 'liked' anyone, and she had certainly done her best to be civil to him – he had wandered over to his desk and opened the secret compartment with the complex un-locking spell he had invented. In it lay a fragmented photograph, showing a red-haired witch smiling sweetly and waving. He could never look at her too long before his throat constricted and his eyes began to swim, so he had slammed the compartment shut after only a few seconds, finding himself in his quiet study, alone, with an itching neck and bored, so bloody bored.

The arrival of a black owl that afternoon was almost a happy distraction although he knew at first sight that it bore anything but good news. Sure enough, when he opened the parchment, dark-red letters obviously written in blood jumped at him.

Watch your step, traitor. If I ever catch you, I'll skin you alive and turn your hide into dog leashes.

Not a cheerful prospect. Not exactly the way he wished to die, either. It made him scratch his scraggly beard and then check on the house's locking and alerting spells for the umpteenth time.

When that was done, he let himself fall onto the couch in his sitting room. He stared at the ceiling, watching flies and spiders. He was just thinking about taking aim with his wand, when a determined knock on the door tore him from his reverie.

The knock was completely unfamiliar and Severus felt his heart speeding up. That was nothing but excitement, anticipation. Weeks of boredom had made him too eager. He'd have to watch it or it would be his undoing.

He tried to ignore the knock, but it came back, once, twice, and then a third time. Every time its volume increased until it turned into a pounding. That was the point when he could no longer restrain himself, jumped up from the couch and hurried to the door, gazing through the small window beside it.

Ah, yes. Her.

The Muggle girl whose name he couldn't remember stood outside, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He had completely forgotten about her. After a split second's deliberation, he opened the door. Anything to fight the boredom.

She stood there and gazed at him with flaming eyes.

"How the fuck is that possible?!" she roared, and to his utmost surprise she strode past him, through the door, into his hallway. He was far too taken aback to do anything about it. That a Muggle girl would have the nerve! However, the idea of being scared of him didn't even seem to occur to her. She occupied the dusty hallway as if she had every right to do so, feet slightly apart, shoulders squared. She wore a simple calf-length summer dress and although she wasn't very tall, her high-heeled shoes allowed her to meet his eyes almost at level. With her, the black-and-white cat had come in, but Snape was too irritated to pay any attention to it.

"Language", he said smoothly, first and foremost because he didn't know what else to say.

"Alright, Daddy", she replied impertinently, then raised an index finger which she pointed at him. "You owe me an explanation!"

"I owe you nothing", he objected and bestowed one of his darkest scowls on her. "I don't even have to let you in. You're taking liberties."

She waved his words away with her hand. "Cut out your English small-talk crap", she commanded. "You know exactly why I'm here."

Small-talk crap?

"I never small-talk", he informed her, his voice thick with exasperation. His eyes fell on the cat that was standing on the threshold to the sitting room, mewing as if to say 'Are you coming or what?' "Why did you have to drag that flea-ridden creature in here?"

Another impatient wave of her hand. "Don't evade me", she demanded heatedly. It was a long time since anyone had spoken to him like this. "Explain to me! – This morning I arrived at the hospital and … my aunt was fine! She sat there in her bed, calling me 'Ellie' and asking when she could go home. Completely compos mentis! Have you got anything to say about that?"

Severus' mood changed suddenly from irritation to self-satisfied pride. He liked to be admired for his abilities. Not exactly by a Muggle, but lacking alternatives … "You've obviously followed my instructions", he observed. "Three drops a day, every day for a …"

"You like to hear yourself talking, don't you?" she of all people snapped. "Yes, I followed your f…flaming instructions, God knows why …"

"Good", he interrupted her with a crooked smile. "So you do have some sense."

"It's not possible!" She almost shouted. "We're talking Alzheimer's here! Researchers around the world have been putting years of work into it with hardly any result at all! It is incurable, it is …"

"Irreversible", he sneered. "Well, there's a lesson. Maybe you shouldn't believe what your so-called researchers say."

She stared at him in utter disbelieve and muttered something under her breath he had trouble catching. Was it 'smug bastard'? – However, only a second later her expression changed from angry excitement to fear. "Will it keep?" she whispered. He saw her fingers trembling.

"If you keep on giving the po … the medicine to her", he replied with a shrug, "you might go from three to two drops after a while, or even less, but maybe not just yet."

She inhaled sharply, holding his gaze almost obsessively. "You weren't just going to say potion, were you?"

"Of course not", he lied through his teeth.

"How d'you do it?" she asked with a look of awe on her face.

"Alternative medicine", he replied sarcastically. "Like you said."

She narrowed her eyes, sensing bullshit, but didn't say anything.

"Any problems?" he asked, his confidence returned. "With your aunt, I mean. Any side effects?"

"She says she's dizzy a lot", the girl answered with a shrug. "But hey, considering how she was …"

But Severus Snape was a perfectionist. "Dizzy spells", he repeated thoughtfully. "Must be the scarabaeus juice …"

"The what?"

But he had already turned on his heel, starting towards the staircase that led down to the cellar. "Stay here", he ordered her, "right here."

And before she could object he was gone, leaving a confused Muggle girl standing in the gloomy dusty hallway of his house.

Left behind, Elena looked about herself. Now this was quite a new definition of the word 'dump'. Not exactly a surprise, Spinner's End was everything but a posh address and the person who had planned and built the grey-brick houses must have been out of their mind. She knew from her own experience how difficult it was to make these dreary abodes half-way comfortable. Here, however, nobody seemed to even care. The dust lay thick on sills and skirtings, the wooden floorboards needed a good scrubbing and the hallway smelt of decades of resident mildew. Add to that an odour that came up from the cellar; sulphuric, not unlike the smell he had brought into her home the other day, but now it was definitely on the rotten side. At least, she couldn't hear any virgins screaming.

What a strange man this house's inhabitant was. The clothes he wore! Black, as usual, but this time it was what looked suspiciously like a priest's frock. Long sleeves, of course, in spite of the warm weather, and again that grey scarf tightly wound around his neck, and the black unkempt beard on top of that.

There was no nice way so say it: he was a regular weirdo. However, she had always been rather drawn to unconventional types. No wonder, because if truth be told she was a little weird herself. Not that anyone would notice from the outside, but she had always felt alienated from the world she'd grown up in, which had been one of the reasons for her to come to England and leave behind a family that always admonished her to 'fit in' better, to adapt, to be 'normal'. And she had tried. Now, at the age of twenty-four, however, she was fed up with attempting to be like everybody else. She was happy with the role of the loner and she sensed a bit of the renegade in the black-cloaked man who had left her standing in this hallway. It would have been an exaggeration to say that she liked him. After all, she didn't know him. However, there was something about him … something that had made her think of him during the last few days, more than she wanted to admit.

And, of course, he had helped her aunt. It was nothing short of a miracle. She remembered Anna's attending physician and the look of consternation on his face. "I've treated many Alzheimer patients", he had explained to Elena, "and they do have their moments of clarity every now and then. Still, I have never seen anything like this." Naturally, Elena hadn't told the doctor about the blue vial. It would have led to questions, reprimands even. Also, intuition told her that the manufacturer of the blue medicine wanted her to keep mum.

The black-and-white cat's mewing pulled her out of her thoughts. It was still stalking around the door to what was probably the sitting room, trying to get her attention.

"We are to stay here", she explained to the cat, grinning. "But who are we to let a weirdo tell us what to do, huh?"

And so she followed the cat's call and stepped into the sitting room. More dust. Threadbare armrests and curtains, a testimony to years of wear and neglect. But also row after row of books. Elena was an avid reader herself and seeing all those tomes neatly lined up and cared for much better than the rest of the house, she warmed to her unwilling host a bit, remembering John Waters' quote, If you go home with somebody and they don't have any books, don't fuck them. It made her giggle.

She wandered towards the shelves, the floorboards creaking under the soles of her shoes. She examined some of the titles. Philosophy of Arithmancy, five volumes of it. The Herbological Encyclopedia. Llewellyn's Guide to Transfiguration. What?

Elena furrowed her brow and wanted to investigate further when something else distracted her attention. On the low table beside the couch lay a funny object. It was really a long ebony-coloured stick, very smooth and polished. At first glance, she had taken it for a very long pen, but when she got closer to it she realized that it was in fact only a stick. But what was it for?

She turned around and strained her ears for his steps to come cluttering up the stairs, but she heard nothing. So cautiously, to the point of gingerly, she picked up the stick. Turned it back and forth in her hands, examined it. What did anybody need such a polished stick for? It almost looked like a … But no, that was ridiculous …

It didn't take Severus long to find what he was looking for. Mandrake solution, always a pick-me-up when one felt dizzy. Highly diluted, too, so it wouldn't do any harm to an elderly Muggle woman. He put it in the pocket of his robes and since he was down here anyway, he quickly checked on his potions, adding a trace of this here and a sprinkle of that there.

The healing potion was giving him trouble again. It smelt like rotten eggs, certainly not the way it should. He frowned, but only a little. Inside he was still brimming with pride at his success with the girl's aunt's condition. He hadn't been entirely sure that it would work, although it had always been his contention that there was hardly any medical problem in the Muggle world that wizardry didn't have an answer to. A satisfied smile curled his lips and as he swiftly climbed up the stairs, there was a spring in his step and he even allowed himself to whistle.

The whistle died down instantly, however, when he reached the hallway. She wasn't there. Annoying girl! Hadn't he told her to stay put?

He checked the kitchen because it was nearest, then the sitting room. Yes, there she was, standing by the small coffee table.

"Didn't I tell you …" he began, but the words stuck in his throat.

She was holding something in her hand. He recognized it right away. It was his wand. His wand which he had foolishly thrown onto the coffee table when he had jumped up to answer the door. A blaze of fury shot down his spine.

"Leave that be!" he roared, but it was too late. She had already flicked it, as if by some instinct she knew precisely what to do with it.

He braced himself to what might happen next. In the wrong hands, wands could do all kinds of damage. However, she was a Muggle, he reminded himself. Nothing at all would happen, so why …

Even before he could finish the thought, something shot out of the wand's tip. A soft glitter at first, quickly bursting into a cloud of coloured stars. They hovered in the air for a few moments, twinkling, jumping about cheerfully before vanishing into nothingness.

Snape's mind went blank. He just stared, at the girl by the coffee table and at his wand in her hand. She stared, too, at the spot where the stars had just evaporated. He could see by the expression on her face that she didn't understand at all. With a look of utter amazement, she turned around to him and let out a girlish giggle. "Did you buy this in some joke shop?" The words were hardly out when she raised the wand again with the obvious intention of waving it once more.

Snape lunged forward and with a swift movement, he snatched it out of her hand.

"Never. Do. That. Again!" he hissed, his black eyes stabbing her.

The girl looked at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity. "Okay, okay", she breathed in a placatory manner, "so you like joke-shop toys. No need to be embarrassed about that."

"I'm not embarrassed", snarled Snape, "and this is no toy!"

He pocketed his wand and then proceeded to scrutinize her. She looked back at him innocently, even a little amused. She clearly didn't believe that the wand was not a toy, but was probably entertaining some thoughts about the child in every man, as if she had found a model railway in his sitting room. However, he was not at all concerned about what she might think. Something entirely different occupied his mind. Could it be – was it even possible? – that he had, for the second time in his life, found a witch?

"Why are you looking at me like this?" she demanded.

"Like what?"

"As if you were going to slap me any moment."

"Maybe not a bad idea."

"Because I touched your toy stick?"

"I told you, it is not a toy!"

"What is it then?"

He considered her. Could he broach the subject, name the hippogriff in the room? Maybe it was a bad idea. There was a reason for the Statute of Secrecy, after all, as much at Snape might personally detest it. Maybe her reaction would be shock or even worse. After all, she was not a child anymore and might not be able to integrate anything that lay outside of her adopted world view. Against his nature, he decided to take the subtle approach and cleared his throat.

"Did anything strange ever happen to you in your life?" His voice was quiet again, smooth and silky as ever.

"What d'you mean?" Her eyes became very wide.

"I mean … anything strange in the way of … let's call it … 'supernatural'?" That was the term Muggles liked to use and he was pleased with himself for having remembered it.

Her facial expression changed completely. It became guarded, sly even. "Supernatural?" she repeated.

"Well, so-called 'supernatural'", he amended.

She let out a shred of laughter that sounded like a hiccup and started to wring her hands as she had done the day he had first met her. She was nervous, so much was clear. "You mean, like … paranormal phenomena?"

He nodded.

Again she fiddled with her hands. "Do you know anything about that?" she inquired in a small voice and shot him a suspicious look.

"I may", he replied. "Well?"

Almost half a minute passed before she began to speak. "Well, since you're asking … sometimes strange things do happen."

"Such as?"

"Sometimes", she said haltingly, "when I'm looking for something … because I'm a real slob, you see … a book, for instance. I look for it, I concentrate on it – and sometimes, when I turn around, it's suddenly there. Sitting on a desk or piece of furniture just behind me. Although I could swear that it wasn't there a few seconds before. – Do you mean things like that?"

He suppressed a satisfied smile. "That is exactly what I mean."

His words seemed to have an encouraging effect on her because the guarded look slowly vanished from her face. "And also … I sometimes know when people are going to die. When I was a kid, I predicted my uncle Franz's death. Everybody thought I was crazy because he was as fit as a fiddle at the time. Two weeks later he died in a car crash. – It really scared my parents." She lowered her head. "And me, too."

A prescient. Snape had to make an effort not to appear impressed. Seeing into the future was a rare gift and it usually came along with much more.

"Oh, and cats, of course", she added eagerly, looking at the black-and-white beast that had curled up on Snape's couch. "It's not just that I'm a cat person. They come to me, you see? They find me, follow me around, like this one. And I can … communicate with them, on some level. I know it sounds crazy, but they understand me and I understand them." She broke off abruptly and looked at him. "You must think I'm a complete nutcase!"

Severus said nothing for a few moments, but tilted his head to one side. He didn't know if he should really say what was on his mind, but then decided to do it anyway. "I used to know a man", he explained quietly, "who did the same with snakes. They found him. They did what he wanted them to do. And he spoke their language."

Elena stared at him hard. "Snakes, huh?" She shook herself. "Well, I'm glad it's cats with me then …"

"Have you ever thought about why that is?" he asked her. "Why you can do these things?"

"My family says I'm a freak", she replied with a sinister expression on her face.

"Yes", he said matter-of-factly, "people like us get that a lot."

"People like us?"

Again, he scrutinized her, trying to find out how much truth she could take. "Haven't you guessed? What you are?"

Utter blankness stared back at him. "Pray tell."

He inhaled and spoke the words he had spoken to another supposed Muggle girl, decades ago. "You're a witch."

"What?" She was clearly taken aback now, but something told him that she wouldn't freak.

"They do exist. Witches and wizards. Always have, always will."

"Witches and …", she stopped herself, peered at him suspiciously. "How do you know this?"

"Well, because I'm a wizard, of course", he said haughtily. "And this", now the polished stick came out of his pocket again, "this is my wand."

Her mouth fell open. "Your wand", she repeated.

"Not a joke-shop toy", he snarled with a hint of disgust in his voice.

For another few seconds she said nothing, just stared at him trying to figure out if he was the nutcase. Then her expression brightened. "Prove it!"

His lip curled. "Why should I have to prove anything to you?"

"Please", she pleaded, "indulge me."

He sighed, flicked his wand lazily and instantly, the couch, the coffee table and the two shabby armchairs rose about ten inches above the floor, hovering there for a while before he gently set them down again. Elena watched in disbelief. When it was over, she rubbed her eyes.

"Could you do it again?"

"That should be quite enough", he denied her wish.

"Oh, please!"

"No!" He strode towards one of the armchairs and sat down in it, looking up at her thoughtfully. She had started to wring her hands again, flipped her hair, looked about herself nervously and obviously didn't know what to say.

"I wonder …", Snape murmured.

"What?"

"Well, you obviously thought you were a Muggle …"

"A what?"

"That's how we call non-magical people", explained Snape. The whole situation was like a déjà-vu and he couldn't make up his mind whether it was pleasant or not. "Since you are quite obviously not a Muggle, I wonder why you never got called to any wizarding school …"

"There are wizarding schools?" Again, her eyes grew wide with amazement.

"Yes."

"Did you go to one?"

"Yes. I went to Hogwarts. It's the best wizarding school in the world."

"Hogwarts", she repeated as if it was an enchanted word. "Where is it?"

"In Scotland." He leaned forward. "Normally, British witch children are called there when they are about eleven. Even if their parents are Muggles. There's a system in place to find them. That's the reason I wonder why you were obviously never invited …"

"Oh, but I'm not British", she explained quickly. "I'm from Austria. Viennese, born and bred."

There was the explanation. Not only for the accent, but also for her cluelessness as to her identity. Severus had heard that other wizarding schools didn't have as good a system as Hogwarts had. Durmstrang, particularly, relied on word-of-mouth when it came to the recruitment of students. They weren't at all keen on admitting Muggle-borns who, in most cases, had no way of knowing that such a school even existed. How many witches and wizards were there all over Europe, he wondered, who didn't have the faintest idea about what they were?

"You really think I'm a witch?" Elena interrupted his thoughts with a whisper. Her eyes glittered. There was hope in them. Snape realized that she very much wanted what he said to be true, but that she wasn't quite convinced yet. He also realized that he was starting to enjoy the whole thing.

"Well, let's see", he said, getting up swiftly from his seat. He handed her his wand. She hesitated and then took it in her hand, extremely careful all of a sudden. "Do your thing", he prompted her. "Concentrate on any object in this room and make it come to you."

"Come to me?" she repeated shyly.

"You've done it before, haven't you? At least that's what you told me."

"Yes, but …"

"It might work better when you say the word Accio. It's Latin and it means …"

"I know what it means", she replied stiffly, "five bloody years of Latin in school …"

"Well, then."

She closed her eyes. A crease appeared above her nose and he could see that she was concentrating hard.

"Try to visualize the object in your mind as good as you can", he counselled her. "Only say the word when you're sure you know what you want."

For almost a minute, nothing happened. She just stood there, his wand in hand, the crease between her brows deepening. Finally, very quietly, she said it. "Accio."

There was a rustle from one of the shelves. A moment later, a book glided out from between its neighbouring tomes and flew through the air, almost hitting her head. Snape caught it and he could feel it struggle in his hand because it really wanted to go to the unwitting witch in front of him. It was Llewellyn's Guide to Transfiguration. Elena stared at it in utter fascination.

"That is … wonderful!" she exclaimed and in the next moment she let out a peal of laughter. "This is amazing!"

He couldn't help partaking in her joy and felt the corners of his mouth go up. "You clearly are a witch", he informed her coolly.

"I'm a fucking witch!" she crowed and turned on her heel, swiftly rotating exactly three times around her axis. It was quite impressive, actually, and looked a lot like ballet. However, she didn't seem to be aware of it. Suddenly she stopped and her eyes searched his.

"What do I do next?" she asked.

Good question. He considered it carefully. "I'd say you need a wand of your own."

"A wand of my own? – Where do I get it?"

"I know a place", he replied noncommittally.

"You'll show me?"

Her question had the effect of a bucket of cold water. Without realizing it, he had gotten himself into something. He had taken responsibility. A little irritated, he scratched his beard.

"Alright", he finally said. "I'll help you get a wand."

"When?" Her eyes were eager.

"Tomorrow?" he suggested. "I'll call at your house around 4 pm. Would that suit you?"

A ferocious nod answered him. Again he asked himself whether he really wanted this. What would it entail? Would he be able to get rid of her again? Then he noticed the feeling of excitement in his guts, a feeling he hadn't had for a very long time. "Good", he said. "Tomorrow then. – But now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do." He had no idea what things, but he felt a desperate need to be alone, to think, to ponder.

There was a hint of disappointment in her face, but she complied. She depended on him now, which meant that he was the one calling the shots and that pleased him immensely.

"I never caught your name", she said in a small voice.

He swallowed the snappy answer that first came to his mind – 'Because I never mentioned it' – and looked at her hesitantly. What the heck, she didn't know a thing about his world and his name meant nothing to her.

"It's Snape", he said. "Severus Snape."

She smiled at him and for a split second the 'Lily effect' was back. His heart missed a beat.

"Well then, Mr Snape", she said with a polite nod, then suddenly let out one of her giggles. "Fellow wizard." She seemed very amused and he frowned but said nothing, leading her out into the hallway instead. The black-and-white cat immediately jumped from the sofa and ran after Elena.

When he was alone again, he returned to his armchair and stared dreamily into nothingness. What a surprise this afternoon had turned out to be. He had found a witch. He seemed to have a knack for it. He deliberated what needed to be done now, what he wanted to do and he realized that he actually wanted to do quite a lot.

'Better than this boredom', he reasoned with himself. 'It's not healthy. Something's got to happen. Something to keep me busy.'

He didn't know it yet, but he had just taken on the job of educating Elena.

[1] German for ‚surprise'