Updated August 2016


Lessons with Severus

After that day in Diagon Alley, the education of Elena as a witch took up its course. They met several times a week, mostly at his house. He taught her. She didn't ask personal questions.

June turned into July and the weather became hot. The houses in Spinner's End were even stuffier than usual. The cobblestones in the street burnt. And in spite of all this radiant sunlight, the neighbourhood managed to look even drearier, dirtier, more dilapidated as if its ugliness had finally been exposed to its full extent in the blaring sunlight. The nearby river stank, its brackish odours wafting through the streets. The air became stale. Anyone sticking their nose into books at such a time must be mad. They should have taken off, looking for a lake somewhere or a public swimming pool at least, but every time Elena tried to image Severus Snape in bathing trunks she had to keep herself from bursting out with laughter.

No, it was still long-sleeved black priest's frocks for him – robes, as she had learnt to call them – and considering the heat, he always looked astonishingly cool. Probably one of those types that never sweated. In any case, it was not the reason for his greasy hair.

Elena on the other hand regularly melted into his couch in this heat. She always brought a supply of plastic water bottles with her, a practice he observed with scepticism. Still her clothes clung to her after a mere half hour cooped up in his sitting room. It did nothing to affect her concentration, though.

She really wanted this. Spells and jinxes. In fact, she couldn't remember having wanted anything this much for a long time. Her textbooks on magic had become her constant companions. She even took them with her to the dancing school, disguised with the covers of Smilla's Feeling for Snow and a book by Noam Chomsky on linguistic theory. The textbooks for her University course lay untouched on the desk in her little box room. There was now a big pile of stuff labelled 'later' in her mind.

It was the right time to do it, though. Anna, still very compos mentis, had gone from hospital to visit her friend in Cornwall as she had always done at this time of year prior to her illness. Elena had the house to herself and no worried elderly woman asked her why she was constantly seeing this strange neighbour from across the street. But of course, she had asked her aunt about the Snape family.

"Very quiet people", Anna had said, "she and the boy at least. The husband was a bit, well, Alec used to call him a 'low-life bum'. Drank, I guess. But had a way with the ladies at the pub, though God knows he was no beauty!"

"What about Mrs Snape?" Elena had asked.

"A wisp of a thing. Quite arrogant, too, if truth be told. But I pitied her. She couldn't stand up to this man and she was a bit … out-worldly? No wonder that little boy was strange."

"Strange how?"

"Mostly on his own. The other kids didn't like him. Wore horrible clothes, too … his mother had no sense for it, and probably she didn't care, either. He was her exact copy, only smaller and a boy." Anna drew her brows together. "I remember once, when I came home through the fields on the other side of the river, I saw him with a little girl. Sweet thing, with a mane of red hair. They were walking together, talking, completely engrossed. I remember how glad I was that he had finally found himself a friend."

"Did you ever speak to him?"

Anna shook her head. "No. He went to some boarding school later. I only saw him in the summers. And I heard the rows he had with his father …" She rolled her eyes. "I once spoke to her, though." Now Anna smiled. "It was shortly after Alec died. She offered me … well, a séance. To make contact. Needed money, I suppose. I declined, but gave her something anyway. She was very embarrassed. I asked her how she was and she said something curious: 'Very soon, I shall be fine.' That's what she said."

"What do you think it meant?"

"I have no idea", Elena's aunt shrugged, but a strange smile appeared on her face, "the only thing I know is that her husband died shortly afterwards."

Elena looked at Anna in shock. "You mean she offed him?"

"No!" Anna gave a fervent headshake. "He died of pneumonia. Too mean to go to the doctor, Mr Allenby said. Tried to cure it with whiskey, is what I say."


Elena couldn't help remembering this information whenever she took in Snape sitting in the armchair opposite her, lecturing her on the principles behind certain spells in his low silky voice. It was actually a beautiful voice, as she had noticed one day, much to her surprise. It was a fact that one easily oversaw because everything else about him seemed so sinister and forbidding. He was always very focussed when he taught her, eyes on the textbooks or fixing an elusive point at the ceiling. Sometimes she had the impression that he even forgot her presence and was talking to himself. And although he always did his best to look sufficiently bored, Elena sensed that he was really in his element, that magic had never ceased to fascinate him and that he considered it important to pass on his knowledge in what he considered to be the best possible way.

From the very beginning, Elena had sensed that he was brilliant. A keen mind lived behind the pale, unmovable mask that was his face. This fascinated her – she'd always had a thing for intelligent men – and she wondered what it was that drove him. Also, she was determined to find out as much about him as she could. After all, he allowed no personal questions, but obviously he was not aware of the fact that to a woman such a ban was nothing short of a challenge. As a result, she felt authorized to use her imagination and other sources, even if she didn't quite know yet how to go about it. Figuring out people was her favourite past time, so why should she stop at him?

In the meantime, however, she did the diligent-student routine. It seemed to work best when trying to gain his respect. And she very much wanted his respect. Not that he gave it willingly. Recognition or even praise didn't seem to exist in his book, so Elena learnt to view the absence of admonition or reproach as success.

His strictness could be chilling, but she saw the effectiveness behind it. He had the gift of making himself heard, in fact, you thought twice before you let your mind stray because he detected it every time. His students at Hogwarts must have been in awe of him, close to the point of wetting themselves. However, Elena had had her fair share of strict teachers over the years and she was able to take it in her stride.

When his manners became too abrasive and started to wear her down, Elena remembered the day in Diagon Alley and her little talk with Garrick Ollivander. She had never told Snape about it, first and foremost because he had never asked. However, the details of that conversation were etched into her mind.


The first thing she had noticed about Ollivander when she had entered his wand shop were the dark rings under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. However, he had turned a kind face towards her, asking how he could help her.

"I'm here to buy a wand", she had said stupidly. "I'm told you can help me with that?"

Ollivander had considered her carefully, his eyes gliding over her jeans and T-shirt and her face where the nervous tic had once again appeared under her left eye. He had smiled. "I'm sorry, dear, but might it be that you've got lost?"

"I beg your pardon?" She had fidgeted on the spot, playing with her fingers.

"You don't look like you belong here", Ollivander had informed her gently.

"Oh … I see … well, yeah …", she had stuttered. "It may not look like I do, but … I assure you I'm a witch."

"Oh yes?" Mild amusement had spread in his deeply lined face.

"Yes", Elena had replied eagerly. "I can make things fly towards me, you see. I did it with a book yesterday. And that spell, the … Accio."

At that, the wandmaker's expression had changed slightly, he was looking at her with new eyes. "And yet …"

"I know exactly what you mean", Elena had quickly interrupted him. "You see, I've only known since yesterday that I am a witch. There were signs before that, I guess, but I didn't know how to read them. So I'm really just starting with … all this."

"That is quite extraordinary", Ollivander had said kindly, but it had been obvious that he was still not convinced.

"My … friend who brought me here told me that it was important to get a wand if I wanted to be a serious witch", she had explained, "and he must know because he is … quite a wizard."

Ollivander had raised his eyebrows. "A friend brought you here?"

"Yes, but he didn't want to come in. I guess he's a little shy."

"What is your friend's name?" Ollivander had asked. "You see, I know most people in our community. At some point, they all come here to get their first wands. And I never forget a name …"

"It's Snape. Severus Snape. – Thin guy, black hair, pale skin and one hell of a …"

"Severus Snape?" Ollivander's words, spoken with alarm, echoed shrilly from the walls. "You're with Severus Snape?"

"Yeah", she had replied simply, "he's my neighbour. Do you know him?"

Ollivander had stared at her for several seconds. A mix of emotions had crossed his face. Apprehension? Fear? Admiration? Wonder? It had been difficult to tell. After a fashion, he had cleared his throat. "Of course I know Severus Snape. Everybody in the magical world knows his name by now."

Elena's eyes had widened at this. "Are you serious? He doesn't exactly look like a celebrity …"

At that, Ollivander had given off a delighted chuckle.

"Well, if you know him", Elena had gone on, "maybe you can tell me whether he's alright? Whether I can trust him? – You see, I've only met him a week ago or so …"

Ollivander had considered this for a few seconds. Then, again, a very gentle smile had appeared on his lips. "Well, dear, to be perfectly honest with you … there was a time when I never thought I'd say this, but … yes. If there's one man you can trust, it's Severus Snape."


She had known from the get-go that something was up with the guy. Ollivander's words had only confirmed this. They had also made her curious, but although she hadn't been too shy to ask the wandmaker a range of questions, he had only responded with a mysterious smile. "Go ask your friend Mr Snape", he had told her repeatedly, getting down to business, whipping one wand after the other out of their drawers and boxes.

Finally, it had been a wand made of yew, with dragon heartstring at the core, 9-and-a-half inches, swishy. It became very warm in her hand and she liked the touch of it. Ollivander had also sold her a leather wand-sheath to tie around her lower arm. She found this very useful. Already at that point, Elena had made up her mind that she would rather bite her tongue off than wear robes.

Even in those early days, she had her own ideas on how she wanted to integrate magic into her life. She wanted to do it in her own way; after all, she had been a Muggle for twenty-four years and she wasn't about to entirely give up her established lifestyle and habits. This proved to be a frequent source of arguments between her and her new teacher.

"I don't see why I have to learn this", she complained one day when Snape tried to get the finer points of a Shrinking Potion into her.

They were standing in his cellar which was not as cool as she had initially hoped due to all the potions simmering in their cauldrons down here. Snape stood in the middle of the fumes, his forehead cool and dry as ever, and gave her a depreciating look. "It's basic knowledge for a witch", he snarled.

"But I told you I don't even like to cook", she objected. "I have no talent for it, I can hardly get a decent pasta sauce together."

"And I have told you repeatedly that this is not cooking!" he hissed, affronted.

"No, seriously", she went on as if she hadn't heard him, "all this peeling and cutting and crunching … I know already that I won't do it. And why would I want to shrink anything, anyway? I'm not a pervert!"

"You're not anything yet." If his black eyes could get any darker and colder, they did in this moment. "I'm trying to make you into something and this is an elementary part of the process. That you don't have fun doing it is of no significance."

"This may all be well and true for your students at Hogwarts, Mr Snape", Elena sighed. "But I'm an adult, you see? I've already had my basic education – as much as you may scorn it – and I know myself well enough to have an idea about what I'm going to use and what not. And I'm certainly not going to stand in front of a cauldron whipping up a bloody love potion, 'cause – quite frankly – I think that's a very stupid thing to do!"

"Why?" he had asked in puzzlement.

"'Cause I'd want to be loved for who I am and not because I gave someone a draught …"

"Maybe the love potion is a bad example", he tried to reason with her. "Take veritaserum, for instance. It gives you the power to extract the truth. Wouldn't you like that?"

"No." She shook her head doggedly. "I want people to tell me the truth because they think I deserve it. Your veritaserum sounds a little too CIA to me. Experiments with LSD and all that. If you ask me, it's fascist."

His face darkened even further, as always when she used too many 'mugglisms' (as he called them) and he couldn't quite follow. "You're lazy, that's all", he lashed out. "You only want to do what comes to you easily and you shrink away when things get difficult."

Elena suppressed a smile because he had unintentionally paid her a compliment. In fact, she had no problems with her charms and a good mind for Transfiguration in addition to that. These were things that fascinated her and which she practiced frequently, even when he was not around. However, she just loathed skinning shrivel figs and the hair on her arms stood on edge every time he made her touch boomslang.

"If we have to do this", she tried to find a compromise, "couldn't you teach me something useful? Like, making my own body lotions and shampoos, for instance?"

"I am to demean myself and cater to your vanity?"

"We're not talking vanity here, Mr Snape, we're talking practicality. I'm twenty-four years old, for God's sake! I can't learn everything in a few months that takes your students seven years to get into their heads. So mightn't we just pick out some focal points?"

"Which you choose", he completed, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"Why, shouldn't my natural inclinations be used?"

"The mind doesn't thrive on easy", he snarled and it sounded final. "If you are having trouble with potions, that's all the more reason not to give it up. I certainly won't allow you to."

Elena sighed. It was no use trying to persuade him when he had made up his mind. The more she argued, the more stubborn he became. 'Just you wait, Henry Higgins', she thought, 'this wasn't the last word we had on this.' For the time being, however, she inclined her head, faking compliance. But he wasn't stupid. For a few more moments, he glared at her, not trusting his luck that she had, in fact, given in. Over the course of the next hour, he made her work even harder, chop up herbs, clean slimy fungi and slit open the bellies of snails. Watching her disgusted face seemed to give him a degree of pleasure. It was also his way of getting her under control again.

He was all about control, that much was clear to Elena. Not only when it came to his teaching style but first and foremost where his own person was concerned. She never saw him exhibit any feelings other than boredom, irritation or down-right anger. The walls he had built around himself were rock-solid, rough and cold. Was he even capable of mirth, of laughter, did he know any joy? It was difficult to tell.

Again, she was intrigued. How had he become like this? Was this the result of a childhood in which he had obviously been neglected, or was there more, were there darker secrets that he harboured in his soul? Elena remembered Ollivander's words, that if there was a man to be trusted it was Severus Snape. The wandmaker had spoken with something close to reverence. What about Snape had inspired this reaction?

She had to find out. And she would. Because if there was one thing Elena was good at, it was listening, storing information for further reference and – first and foremost – getting people to talk. She had always had a knack for it. However, this was exactly the reason why Snape was such a puzzle to her. She had never met a person so unreadable, so utterly opaque.

It challenged her sorely.