Once again I must use this general way of expressing my appreciation of all the reviews I have received. Thank you all so much. Two more crazy weeks to go and then I'll hopefully have a bit more time to spend on writing the next chapters and on answering reviews.
The usual disclaimers apply.
Chapter twelve
"Each wand is different?"
Nathan examined the slender wooden stick, turning it in his fingers reverently.
"No, not quite. There are always a number of wands of the same batch, made from the same kind of wood, maybe from the same tree even, and with the same kind of magical core, for example a hair from a unicorn's tail or a string made from dragon gut, so there may be a couple of wands around that are technically identical to mine. But this is where the strong connection between wand and wizard enters; it is generally known that the wand chooses the wizard, and in turn the wand is imprinted by the wizard's personality and by the magic that has been performed with it and thus becomes unique. Therefore a wand that was made from exactly the same materials as mine may now – after thirty years of being in use – still look identical, but its character has become entirely different, because its owner is a different person and has certainly used it under completely different circumstances and for completely different spells…"
Snape paused, staring past Nathan's shoulder with unseeing eyes, absent-mindedly tapping his lips with his forefinger. Nathan waited, watching him, until his patience ran out and he started opening and closing books at random, stacking them in a tottering pile, hoping to wake Snape from his reverie. But only when the books toppled and one of them fell to the floor did Snape blink and clear his throat, giving Nathan the wry ghost of a smile.
"Wand-lore is a very complex subject, there are only about four reliable wand-makers in Europe."
"Only four?" Nathan's eyes were wide with wonder. "And one of them is in England?"
Snape nodded. "Ollivander's in Diagon Alley. That's where you are going to buy your wand before you go to Hogwarts."
"A wand that chooses me?"
"Yes."
"Wicked."
Nathan smiled in happy anticipation. Severus smiled back, the lapse into his dark reminiscences forgotten. If someone had told him a year ago that he would enjoy spending his Sunday afternoons in the company of a ten year old boy and his mother, that he would look forward to teaching the boy, Snape would have replied with a few well-chosen, scathing words concerning the state of mind of said someone. But now he couldn't but admit that he felt comfortable in the company of Nathan and his mother, and that he actually enjoyed teaching; so much so that he had even been able to shed his armour in the course of the weeks.
In need of some new pairs of underpants he had discovered the non-food section of the supermarket. Looking around he had accidentally stumbled upon a special offer of jeans and, on a whim, had tried them on and finally bought two pairs. Despite being cheap they were of good quality and fitted him well. Once started it had somehow seemed a good idea to continue. Jumpers and shirts had followed during his next shopping trips, and he had systematically cleared out his father's wardrobe, replacing the most worn and most ill-fitting items by new ones. He felt good in his new outfits, he – although he would never have admitted it to anybody, not even to himself – rather liked his more fashionable reflection in the bedroom mirror and decided that instead of his Muggle suit he would wear his new pair of black jeans and his new gray jumper for the Sunday lessons. Lisa hadn't said anything when he turned up dressed like that, but her warm smile had told him that she approved of his appearance and since then the suit had stayed in the wardrobe...
Lisa returned from the kitchen, carrying the usual Sunday afternoon tray with tea, orange juice and lemon cake. Arranging everything on the table she watched her son with a proud mother's smile. He had grown considerably in the past months and was now almost the same height as his mother, but this growth included more than what could be measured in inches. Nat had become much less timid and shy, he wasn't afraid of going to school any more, he had made some friends among the boys in his class. She would never forget what his form teacher, his spectacles flashing with pride, had told her at the last parents' day:
"Well, Mrs McGregor, it is absolutely amazing. Nathan's work has improved tremendously during the last two terms, it is a pleasure to have him in class. It's not only his marks that have become much better, he has also become so much more self-confident and, well, hm, how shall I put it… less difficult… or…well, more…eh… normal, if you excuse my saying so. What I mean is that there have been no more inexplicable incidents with flying books and so on. And I always suspected that he was being bullied by some of our bigger boys, although he never complained and none of his teachers actually saw it happen, which of course made it difficult for us to do something about it, if you know, what I mean, but now I think this problem has ceased to exist."
Lisa had smiled back across the desk, feeling lightheaded with joy and relief. Parents' day at Nat's school had always been something she had dreaded, but at this one she had only received positive news about her son. The teachers had put it down to the latest school reform, waxing enthusiastically about 'deep learning' and 'commitment' and 'deep leadership'. Lisa had produced all the signs of listening politely, while in reality she wasn't paying much attention to the words, knowing perfectly well who and what was responsible for her son's positive development…
"How much is a wand?" she asked, eyeing Severus' specimen skeptically. The dark wood looked expensive, was it ebony? And what was that about 'magical cores'? Surely they couldn't be found at the roadside. Maybe she would have to start putting by some money for Nat's wand.
"First wands are subsidized by the ministry so as to make them affordable to all students. Therefore even the most extravagant ones should not be more than 50 £, I think."
Lisa nodded and let out a small breath of relief.
"What if I lose the wand or break it?" Nathan asked after his mother had put everything on the table.
"You should take care not to" Snape answered dryly. "First wands are special, nobody knows the reason why, but there is plenty of evidence for it. Replacements are said to be less reliable and if you have to buy a new one you must pay the full price and that can be quite high."
Gently but firmly he pulled his wand from Nathan's inquisitive fingers.
"Wizards usually look after their wands very carefully, they never let them out of their sight and always carry them on their bodies. A wand is a wizard's most cherished possession, having it confiscated and snapped in two is one of the hardest punishments in the wizarding world. A wand is the most versatile tool in the world, it can be used both as a harmless cooking spoon and as a deadly weapon, almost all the magical activities are performed with a wand."
"But you don't need a wand to do magic?"
"No, Nathan, you don't, as you know very well, because what you did before you learnt to control it was wandless magic. Some people are very good at it, they don't need a wand for focusing. But this talent is very rare and there is always the risk that the magic thus produced is somewhat erratic."
"Can you do wandless spells?"
"A little."
"Can you show me? Can I try it, too?"
Snape looked at the eager, shining eyes and smiled.
"Well, yes, I suppose I can show you. And as you are with me you may risk a try. But on no account should you do it on your own, Nathan, remember that," he added strictly.
Nathan nodded quietly.
"Why don't you two go outside," Lisa piped up, looking around her living-room meaningfully. "No offense meant, Severus, but I would rather not have you break anything with your erratic magic."
Snape stared at her, bristling, opening his mouth for a suitable reprimand. What did she take him for? He was perfectly able to control his wandless magic so as not to break anything, and he certainly would make sure that the boy didn't either; but as always, her sheepish smile disarmed him and he swallowed his reply. A bit of fresh air would do them good anyway.
So he got up, fetched the jackets from the rack in the little hall and motioned Nathan to follow him into the garden.
Lisa waited until they had left the kitchen, then she closed the shutters and suddenly became very hectic, opening cupboards, pulling out pots, opening the fridge, arranging ingredients on the worktop, hoping that her son would know what to do to keep his tutor busy so that they wouldn't return before she had prepared everything…
It was more than half an hour later and already dark outside, when they came back, laughing, smelling of November fog, hair damp and cheeks reddened.
"Did you see how I made the stone bounce like a rubber ball? It was great, wasn't it? Boing, boing, boing… it was so wicked, Mum!" Nathan imitated the stone's bouncing with his arm. Snape's lips twitched into a quick, indulgent smile.
"Just remember not to do it when you're alone, Nathan," he repeated sternly. "Promise."
Nathan answered with a solemn nod.
In the kitchen the delicious smell of food had intensified. Lisa looked very hot and slightly out of breath. Snape gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing as she waved him through into the living-room.
"Oh," he said softly, stopping in the doorway.
The overhead lights were switched off, the room was only lit by the soft glow of the standard lamp, a large paper cone, in the corner and three slender red candles in silver holders on the dining table. The table had been set festively, a snowy-white tablecloth, gleaming glasses and cutlery.
"Are you having a dinner party tonight," he asked, "are you expecting guests?"
"I'm having a dinner party, but my guest is already here," Lisa said, taking hold of the jacket he had half shrugged out of, thus making him remove it completely. He noticed mother and son share a conspiratorial smile and rolled his eyes.
"How often do I have to…" he started to protest.
"Severus, wait," Lisa said, putting a calming hand on his arm, her touch making him freeze instantly. "Listen. This is different. This is not a normal dinner. I'd like to say thank you for what you have done for Nathan and me. It has changed our lives, I don't have to worry about Nat's school work any longer, you should have heard his teacher, he spoke in such high terms about Nat's performance at school, I almost burst with pride on parents' day last week. And it's all due to your lessons. I'm so grateful, Severus, and I want to show you. I know that I'll never be able to pay you back for what you're doing. So… please accept this, stay for dinner tonight, I've made something special…"
"We'll have Mum's special pudding," Nat piped up, "trifle!"
"Trifle," Snape repeated weakly, looking from mother to son, immobilized by Lisa's hand on his arm, feeling its gentle warmth against his skin. He realized that his breathing was fast and shallow and he had to concentrate hard to control it. He was completely out of his depth. He could sense the sympathy they felt for him, and was overwhelmed by the sensation. Hatred he knew, and envy and disgust and derision – these were the things he had learned to deal with – but affection? To his immense horror he felt his face grow hot and hoped that it would remain unnoticed in the dim light of the room.
And all of a sudden he knew that he couldn't keep up his resistance any more. Sympathy – it was something he had longed for throughout the earlier part of his life, something he had longed for in vain, until in the end he had learned to accept that it would never come his way; and now, when he was offered symapthy so unconditionally – which was totally unexpected and almost impossible to believe – he should stop dithering and simply accept it. He should finally allow his old defensive walls to crumble, he should let himself sink into the warmth of their affection and relish every ounce of it…
It felt like a dream. Sitting down at the table, the fine tableware, the candlelight, the wine, the food. The conversation with Lisa and her son. About Nathan's school and his friends, about the other people in Spinner's End, about the town council's plans to turn the remains of the old mill into a museum and its grounds into a park, about magic and Muggles… Nathan was sent to bed at 9 o'clock and then it was just him and Lisa, and the talking continued, simple and easy amidst intervals of companionable silence…
It was almost midnight when Severus returned to his own house, full of wine and food and talk, feeling like he had never before felt in his life. Relaxed, content, warm – happy, yes, just happy. He locked his backdoor and went through the kitchen into the living room, lighting the candles. More than ever before the contrast between Lisa's house and his own hit him like a blow with an axe and sobered him instantly. How could he have lived in this house for years and years without doing anything against its slow dereliction? It had become a miserable hovel, unfit for a human dwelling. It had never been in a good condition to start with, even when Severus had been a small child; his father had never got round to doing more than just the most basic repairs, his mother had never wanted to be bothered with housework, an attitude which, in turn, had driven his father mad and had made him stay away from home as often as possible. And after inheriting the property Severus had always considered it a burden, had seen the house as a constant reminder of his miserable childhood and had never spent more than a few unwilling weeks every year there, ignoring its state. So now, after decades of neglect, it was a dump, an ugly blot on the pristine row of houses in the street.
He had been living here permanently for almost eight years now, why had he never seen how bad it was? No, that was wrong. He had seen it, but it had never bothered him. A miserable dwelling for a miserable wizard who would spend the miserable years of the rest of his miserable life hiding from a hostile world. It had seemed right. But not any more. Things had changed. The world, all least a small part of it, had proved not to be hostile at all. Life had become a little bit worth living and this in turn called for a decent place to live in. He couldn't go on like this, he would have to do something about this house. Get rid of the old, worm-infested furniture, rip out the old carpet and wallpaper, paint the walls. He could even build a bathroom. It could be done with magic, he knew there were spells, he would have to look them up and learn them. Maybe he could practise with the attic, where nobody would see if things didn't work out at first.
Or maybe he could ask somebody for advice. But who? Arthur Weasley was the only wizard he knew who had been enthusiastic about DIY – both Muggle and magical – and had always been building extensions or putting up and pulling down walls in this old house of his, adjusting it to the needs of his ever-growing family. Severeus snorted with reminiscences. Arthur had been able to bore people to death by waxing enthusiastically about the advantages or disadvantages of electric Muggle screw-drivers or drills as compared to spells and wands, the wizarding tools.
But although the Weasleys had belonged to the small group of wizards who had always been polite, even kind towards him, Severus was loath to contact them. He had not seen them for more than seven years, he couldn't just apparate to their village, knock on their door and ask for advice. They were friendly, they would hide their surprise, invite him in, listen to his request and oblige, of course, but they would most certainly also tell others, the news would spread like wildfire, he would become the laughing stock of the wizarding world. Severus Snape, the formidable potions master, the former DeathEater, trying to refurbish his miserable house with his own hands. Hilarious. No, he couldn't have that, better to get some books and figure things out on his own. They were selling books at his supermarket, he would try to find a Muggle book next Friday, and on his next visit to Diagon Alley he would have a look around Flourish and Blott's and...
Suddenly remembering something, Snape shrugged out of his jacket and sat down in his armchair by the fireplace, reaching for the Daily Prophet he had been reading earlier in the day. Since he had started teaching Nathan he had renewed his subscription, considering it necessary to know what was going on in the wizarding community. He leafed through the paper impatiently, scanning the pages, until he came to the one he had been looking for. Yes, there it was. A certain Banquo Obison, Ministry official, clever DIY enthusiast and hobby writer had published a new book called 'The DIY-wizard – how to improve your home with a whisk of your wand'. The headline – 'handy advice for the unhandy' – had caught Severus' eye this morning and he had snorted at it – in his opinion the book was just a waste of paper and ink. But now he read the review with more interest. The author was very much impressed both by the practicable advice and by the writing skills of Mr Obison. Perhaps this was the book he should use. The review said it offered plenty of help to wizards with little or no previous knowledge of building and painting. Good, very good. Exactly what he needed.
With a deep sigh of contentment, he rose from his chair, extinguished the candles and went into the kitchen to take his dose of pain potion for the night, brush his teeth and then go to bed.
