Chapter Two

It's late August before he feels ready for phase two.

He'll be less noticeable in a Wizarding area at this time of year, when all the families are out in force buying school supplies and a lone child would not be an unusual sight. He doesn't want to spend money on the train so he has a mild notice-me-not on. It's hot and the air feels heavy and he thinks that tonight the fat clouds will burst with a summer storm.

He got up at the crack of dawn today to take the bus through to Manchester so he could get the fast train down to London Euston which still takes about three hours and from there he needs the northern line to Charing Cross. It's packed and muggy and he's too short now to hold on to the overhead so he keeps getting smacked upside the head with people's work bags.

He enjoys the walk up past St Martin in the Fields, the day is bright and Severus has always enjoyed coming to the city. As a child it brought back memories of days with Lily marvelling at the storefronts in Diagon Alley before their friendship had become strained, of days where his mother had been more lucid and would tell him small stories and treat them to an ice mouse each to cool their mouths with something sweet. They had laughed and laughed at the squeaking. As an adult he had enjoyed the anonymity of the city, that freed of his childhood accoutrements strangers did not sneer at him in passing.

It's at the turning to Denmark street next to Hanks Guitars that he sees the Leaky Cauldron.

He ducks in through the doorway grimacing slightly at the smell of sweat and beer. Standing to the side of the door he takes in his surroundings. Hagrid is propping up the bar sat somewhat uncomfortably across two creaking barstools and chatting to Tom, a study set fixture of a man with dirty blond hair who has worked the bar here at the place between for as long as Severus can remember.

He pulls on a set of his mothers old school robes over the old shirt of his fathers he'd shrunk. They're a slightly greying black and pretty much unisex, the buttons do up on the wrong side but he doesn't think most people would notice.

His first stop is Gringotts. He has been doing odd jobs, gardening and the like, washing cars for those that have them and helping Barry - Mr Carston at number 5's nephew - with his Saturday milk rounds since the beginning of the year and saving the pennies that brings in. The first order of business is to get that changed to Wizarding currency. It doesn't come to much. 3 galleons, 16 sickles and 24 knuts but that will be enough for the first stage of his plan.

He needs more money than kiddy jobs can bring in. So the next step is four narrow cobbled streets down from the white marbled flagship building that is Gringotts and across the busy square of Carkitt Market with its large wrought iron arches and technicolour shop facades.

The front of the Potions Association Guild is a tall stone townhouse with a large flight of stairs to the entrance hall.

To sell his brews he needs a licence and to get a licence he needs to test at the Guild. This would be simpler if he had his O.W.L and N.E.W.T qualifications. If that was the case he could apply for journeyman status, fill out a form and be on his way. Ministry qualifications are expensive however at 12 galleons a pop, which he doesn't have.

The lady at the desk is slender built with dark hair greying at the temples and looks down at him curiously over rectangular wire spectacles. He is quite tall for his age but can still only just see over the raised wooden desk.

He tells her he wants to test for a basic brewers licence. It's the first of a series of vocational qualifications the guild offers and most importantly there's no age limit as a barrier to qualifying, he's checked. It causes her to raise an eyebrow, he meets her eyes directly to show that he's serious. She purses her lips but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes which is a bit annoying but understandable. He would probably have reacted worse if some precocious preteen had marched up to him and announced they were ready to take the equivalent of an o.w.l in potions.

He raises his chin a little and can see that she's going to give in and humour him. It's a Tuesday so a relatively slow day even if he does turn out to be a complete time waster.

"I'll see who's available for testing. That'll be 2 galleons 15 sickles 4 knuts." She says in a brisk tone. "Please take a seat while you're waiting and fill out this form with your details."

He counted out the coins needed onto the desk and padded back across the parquet flooring to sit on one of the long wooden benches that ran the length of the room. It was a bit fiddly but he took the forms and the self inking quill offered and leaned on the bench sideways to fill them out in scratchy copperplate.

He was halfway down page three - honestly why did they need to know his shoe size when he heard a slightly heated whispered conversation in the doorway to the hall.

He looks from under his fringe at the receptionist and an older wizard who has frankly ridiculously rebellious hair for a man of his age who are having a 'discussion' under their voices he knows they're talking about him though as there's much gesticulating. Severus fights the urge to sigh and bang his head off the wall. It's always a Potter.

Fleamont Potter looks mildly harangued by the time he comes to escort Severus to the testing room. He is obviously extremely sceptical and considering the entire situation a waste of his time. He has a child the same age as this boy whom he has tutored who would definitely not be able to pass this test.

Severus finds this all quite funny, there has been some huffing and puffing from the older man who is giving off a very put upon air and has clearly been interrupted to come and perform one of his guild member duties. After they enter the room currently being used for theoretical testing Severus puts his bag aside of the desk provided and puts his robe on the back of his chair to show there is nothing hiding up his sleeves that would allow him to cheat.

He is handed a spelled quill and the exam packet, given 75 minutes to complete the paper while Mr Potter watches and supervises. When the timer goes he picks up his quill and confidently works his way through the exam. It only takes him 40 minutes. He's written questions for these before.

"It's ok if you didn't know all the answers, you can always try again." Mr Potter is taking the paper away to be graded, he's smiling gently and obviously thinks that Severus didn't manage to finish the paper.

Severus is gritting his teeth and trying not to smirk. So he just tilts his head sideways, smiles innocently and says "Thank you Sir"

He heads back to the hallway bench to wait for his name to be called for the practical portion of the exam.

He likes the smell of the atrium here, of warm wood and dried herbs. It's not long before his name is called and an older witch calls him through beckoning gently. Unlike Fleamont she looks encouragingly pleased at his presence. She probably likes children. He is lead through the corridors and down two flights of stairs to a stone room with a high vaulted ceiling.

Unlike for the theory test he is allowed to use his own equipment so he takes out his knife roll, mortar and pestle and brass scales from his satchel and lays them out on the workbench. They're all his mothers but good quality and she had taken care of her equipment.

He will be given a series of common potions of increasing difficulty to prove he can brew successfully. The potions aren't a standardised set given for every single applicant but are chosen from a pool and Severus knows them all intimately anyway having taught for twenty years.

They are chosen to demonstrate a series of skills and he will be marked on ingredient preparation, temperature management, stir consistency and timing as well as knowledge of the required potions. The examiner stands rather closer to the bench than he would like but that's understandable when the applicant is this small.

He settled in his shoulders relaxing as he set out his cauldrons three of them at intervals along the bench then began his mis en place starting with the dried ingredients; he ground four lion fish spines to a rough powder and added two measures of standard ingredient, ground them together lightly and set aside in a ceramic dish by his first cauldron. By his second cauldron - copper rather than the usual pewter as that would lend stability while he was working on multiple different draughts he set out three separate measures of powdered moonstone, three measures of powdered porcupine quills and one of unicorn horn which he had taken care to first shave gently from the horn as a whole then to powder extremely finely in his mortar and pestle to give the ingredient the maximum surface area possible.

He sets out Horklump juice and Flobberworm Mucus by the first cauldron and syrup of hellebore by the second. By the third he gathers his ingredients ready for preparation. This one is largely fresh so while he lays out Shrivelfigs, daisy root, wormwood, rat spleen, leeches and cowbane he doesn't prepare them yet.

All three potions had water bases so he filled all three to the level required with purified water. This would be easier if he had a wand on him but that's on the list for later. His mothers wand is supremely unreliable and he doesn't want to spoil this by swamping his examiner in an unexpected tidal wave so the pump it is. He sets the flame under each with a snap of his fingers and leaves them to come to a gentle simmer.

The first potion on his list to start was a common herbicide as it had a long simmer time at 51 minutes in a standard size 2 cauldron. After the first stages of this he sets a timer and moves to the third a shrinking solution of Zygmund Budge's creation. The potion in the middle is a draught of peace which requires a steady hand with its complex timing and elegant stirring patterns which he wants to give more of his attention.

He works like he's in a trance. His knife work is confident and true, his stirs are precise. He enjoys the rhythm of working on multiple different brews at once like he always has. He flows back and forth between the cauldrons and the final wave of his hand to seal the magic in their liquid contents is incredibly satisfying. It's like the final flourish of an orchestral conductor while the air is still singing with the echo of the magic saturating the potions.

He clean down his work surfaces efficiently allowing the cauldrons to cool organically. Packs away his equipment before he decants their contents, labelling the vials carefully with their content, expected expiry date and his signature as the brewer.

When he looks up the examiner looks pleased, there's a sparkle to the expression in her eyes. He could have demonstrated his improvements on the standard recipes but chose not to on this occasion. He wants them to think he's exceptional for his age yes, but not so much so as to feel threatened. They need to like him, to want to sponsor him, to feel good about themselves while pushing him forward.

After they make their way back to the hall he's told to wait on the benches again. His theoretical exam should have been marked while he completed the practical.

It's not an overly long wait. Severus pays close attention to his surroundings, amuses himself listening to the footsteps of those passing through trying to guess the height and stride of those coming down the corridors. Eventually he starts to count the wooden panelling strips on the walls.

When the glass panelled door to his left opens he's ready and straightens himself to his not yet substantial full height. It feels like a long walk through a room he used to cover in a few simple strides. The panel are seated three across on the opposite side of the desk and he takes the lone chair facing them. Left to right there are Fleamont Potter, the older lady who supervised his practical who's name he has recalled as Marjory Thistlethwait she has occasionally proctored for the O.W.L exams at Hogwarts and a much older man in wrinkled dark robes he recognises as Rubens Winikus .

What follows is a brief questioning on hypothetical scenarios designed to test his understanding of the ethics of certain sales before Winikus announces he's happy and they sign off on his Basic Brewers Licence one by one with a rather ostentatious quill and stamp it with the seal of the guild in a pale green wax.

"Congratulations young man." Winikus huffs through his moustache, nodding sharply as if agreeing with himself.

"Lovely brewing skills." Madam Thistlethwait holds out her hand and he takes it and bows slightly over in the old way of things.

He also nods his head deferentially to Mr Potter. There is some small conversation which Severus answers politely, his voice soft as they head back to the entrance hall.

The exams at the guild are cheaper but they get you on the ongoing association tithe of which at least the cost can be spread, so he pays his first quarterly dues at the desk and receives an additional stamp at the bottom of his licence scroll in a pale yellow wax for a fee of 7 sickles.

His stomach is rumbling by the time he steps out of the guild again into Summer air and he still has a lot to do. Now he has his licence he can try to sell the brews he has with him in his expanded satchel. He needs to set up a post box as he definitely does not want owls coming to his fathers house and he means to advertise his services as a potioneer.

If all goes well and he makes enough he would like to get a wand before he heads home. His wandless magic is strong and controlled for the age of his body, his core is recovering and he will diligently keep going with his practice, but it does take more out of him and he will need time to bond with a wand before Hogwarts. With a well suited wand he would be able to do much more and ultimately would finally feel safer.

The food stall smells battle each other in the air, it's the tail end of the lunch hour and the square is still busy. He takes a mug of soup to go for a couple of knuts. It's thick with veg and barley and he can taste the ham that made the broth. It's filling and should keep him going a while. The mug is charmed to vanish itself back to the stall when you finish.

He doesn't try for Materia Medica Magicae. Licence or not he'll need to establish a reputation and wait for at least another 6 months before he can sit for an Advanced Brewer Certification before he wants to try and ply his wares there. He heads across the square and through a narrow stone arch.

There are plenty of gutter rats just like him in the ginnels behind the main alley of Knockturn so he doesn't stand out much in his secondhand robes. It's a maze of little streets you could easily lose yourself in if you're not familiar or lose others behind you if you are. He keeps his hood up though as despite his stature there's a fair number of types he could be if you can't see his face and he moves with purpose. It's the best way to keep the opportunists off his back and he's wary of his surroundings.

He's heading to Mulpepper's. Now there's a one who won't ask too many questions. The buildings in Knockturn Alley are stacked in such a way that the top floors lean towards each other like lovers creating shadow either side of the lit stripe of the cobblestones. He skirts to the shadows on the other side to avoid passing too close to a trio of hags and after a quick glance at the notices in the window pushes open the apothecary door to the sound of a ringing chime.

As he thought Mulpepper had taken his business. It had taken some back and forth negotiating on price with the older man as his intimidation factor was significantly lower in his younger body and he wasn't a recognised potions Master. But he did have his BBL and the quality of his work was undeniable.

Severus walked away satisfied with the haggling and a much emptier satchel. Mr Mulpepper was willing to take him as a brewer on a trial basis and he had a short order list, a stock of vials shrunk in his bag and a small discount on ingredients bought in store in no time. He buys what he needs to fill the order that he doesn't already have in his preserved supplies at home, pockets an order catalogue and slips back out with a brisk goodbye and a smile for the proprietor.

It isn't unusual for older children to work in this area, most often in family business but idle hands get put to use. Thats the real reason most of them don't make it to Hogwarts. It isn't just the exorbitant school fees or the cost of supplies but the double whammy of losing income, minimal though it might be or having to shoulder increased outgoings in having to pay someone else in place of your child to work or mind their siblings.

Severus for all that Augustus and Eveline Prince in their pride would not have willingly acknowledged an unwanted half-blood grandson even if he'd up and bitten them on the Roman nose, was a child of Prince descent and could therefore claim his school fees from a family trust dedicated to their collective education. An ancestor at some point had made certain an education was a right to all children of the blood regardless of which side of the sheets they were born on. He doubts he would have seen the inside of Hogwarts the last time if this hadn't been a foregone conclusion and not up for debate.

Unfortunately this leads to further segregation between the privileged and those who are not. Those of a conservative mindset and limited life experience don't want to concede their privilege so they proclaim that those living in poverty are doing so through laziness or incompetence and keep their distance. The best jobs go to Hogwarts graduates not necessarily those with the best grades because of the value of social connections and thinly veiled nepotism when those who have achieved such outside of the bounds of formal schooling should be held up as even more remarkable.

This is a circle that breeds resentment.

He was mulling it over as he walked the Alley deeper. The unfortunate linkage in public social consciousness between poverty, dark magic and crime regarding Knockturn Alley was regrettably quite cemented by the 70's. The British Wizarding public being generally unwilling to examine the relationship between causation, correlation and their own biases.

He didn't want Ollivander's with his Ministry contract, limited cores and automatically applied trace. This was something that had changed over the course of the years in the future. After two Wizarding wars restrictions on wands had tightened considerably. He was looking for a small wandmaker who had gone out of business in Britain in '76.

The storefront was an unassuming deep blue, deep set into the wall of the building a sidestep off the Alley. Ilse Storn was a wandmaker of Finnish origins, a younger witch by the standards of the craft she had moved away to Germany when restrictive legislation had begun to impinge on her creativity. Severus had continued to send students to her on recommendation when he found someone with an ill suited wand until the end of his tenure at Hogwarts.

Her ash brown hair was intricately braided back and her eyes were quite striking a deep blue with much lighter striations bleeding out from her pupils.

The area by the counter was small but the air in the building was still heavy with magic. She tilted her head at him, scrutinising him and tapped her nails on the counter thoughtfully.

"Born under birch I see. She's the Lady of the Woods, deep feminine connotations of rebirth and fertility. You'll be elegant and creative in your spell casting, practical medicinal properties to your magical energies. Highly ambitious just like birch, driven to strive to grow wherever it can. No matter how rocky the soil. She won't be your wand wood but that which chooses you will complement those qualities."

There were none of the flying tape measures found at Ollivanders, Storn beckoned him forward and asked for his dominant hand which she turned in hers gently. He could sense her taking a feel for his magic, a sensation which while not unpleasant as it felt of curiosity was still quite odd and he had to hold himself so as not to pull away.

Ilse herself had something of a divinatory gift so her wands were usually crafted with the taste of a particular persons magic in mind even if she hadn't met the person in question yet. She sensed a curious dichotomy with the young man in front of her. Months before she had begun to craft a wand of blackthorn, rigid and she had known the handle would need to be intricately carved with runes to make it unbreakable. It had been a wand for a warrior destined to a hard and solitary life. One day she had simply stopped. The person in question had undergone such a significant change that the wand would have lacked purpose.

The wand she had crafted in its place had come together fluidly, the 10 3/4 inch shaft made of handsome walnut, the 3 inch handle a similarly hued acacia decorated with a carved wing of silver lime curling around the wand in an embrace, it held a core of graphorn horn coated in swooping evil venom. It was one of a kind and far more complex than she would usually see destined as a first wand. It was the kind of wand she would make for someone already full grown not a wand of potential so she was surprised that the hand called to wield it would the the one of someone so young.

She called the wand in question from the shelves behind the counter. She had only brought out those she felt might be needed for the day and left others in storage for care.

The acacia handle would see that none but the owner would be able to wield the wand, it would simply refuse to be used by any other and she could see that streak of fierce independence in the young magician in front of her.

The silver lime was an interesting addition the she didn't often use as it could be incredibly picky. It hadn't wanted to be the core of the wand but had insisted upon inclusion. She thought it was a warning of a magician with a gift for the mind arts and good instincts rather than the sight in this case although it was a wood more famous for favouring seers. Finding and exploiting weak points is a speciality of this wood, exceptional for curse breakers (and interrogators) came the thought in the back of her mind. It indicated a character who would seek truth ferociously and who was capable of forming truly strong attachments quickly. Someone very self aware. The carving of the wing would glow bright silver to his eyes only if someone was lying to him. Silver lime did not like liars but somewhat contrarily would allow for great acts of deception as long as it wasn't of self.

Intelligence too in the sharp dark eyes taking her measure as she took his. Walnut preferred a magician of great mental acuity and tended to find its home in the hands of magical innovators capable of great mental leaps of logic. She hoped he wouldn't fall too far into the frustration the holders of walnut wands often do as they get tired waiting for others to keep up with them.

The Graphorn horn would exacerbate the tendencies found in the walnut as those partnered with Graphorn wands can be argumentative and will always want to have the last word. Ambitious hard workers, they are sensitive to criticism even while being highly critical of others because they take criticism as impetus to push them forward and expect everyone to work as hard as they do. She was wary of selling such a wand to one who appeared yet young as owners of graphorn wands tended to have explosive tempers especially as children. While they tend to extreme emotional responses this shows itself not only in an explosive temper but in the depth of feeling and the sheer lengths the owner of a Graphorn wand will go to for someone they care for. The Graphorn would complement the silver lime in that respect. Its inclusion in the wand had some nasty theft deterrent side effects as well. She would also be surprised if the boy in front of her was not ambidextrous.

Swooping Evil is a powerful core and she hadn't needed to use much of it. It produced wands capable of both the most terrifying mind altering spells and the most powerful mind healing magic. Another element that preferred powerfully creative wixen with talents in offensive magic and manipulation and more worryingly a latent talent for soul based magics one of the reasons it would never be found in Ollivanders. It was also another element that would contribute to a highly sentient wand that would tend to deflect certain spells on its own if it felt threatened.

She looked again at the boy in front of her who would soon be partnered with a powerful wand of moral ambiguity. One which would tell you if you were being lied to, defend you independently, would not emit so much as a spark in the hands of any but its partner and should a thief be fool enough to make off with it leave them with solid gold hands within an hour and her lips quirked.

Ilse handed him the wand both to confirm what she already knew and to see how his magic reacted in case any further fine tuning was needed. When he lifted the wand it emitted a deep wave of dark greys and silver, inky pine green and deep indigo blue that moved through the room like the swell of the ocean and his eyes lit. She was satisfied this would be a strong pairing.

She talked the dark eyed boy in front of her through the make up of the wand and some of its properties. She didn't speculate on his character as some of her craft were want to do. The partner of this wand would seek the knowledge on their own if they were so inclined and would not enjoy feeling exposed in that way.

Severus loved this wand. He was paying attention to Ilse carefully, eager to soak up the knowledge he was being freely given but he could still feel the connection his magic had held with it and it felt like a well of infinite possibility. He restrained himself from drifting away on sensation and paid close attention to the instructions he was being given for servicing.

"Graphorn wands tend to have a fair amount of recoil on spells and it'll try to buck you off early on in your relationship especially paired with the walnut. Be firm, this is a wand with a lot of agency of its own but once you bond with it you'll have a lifelong partner. It also needs to be soaked in cerebrospinal fluid once a year as close to the Summer solstice as you can in addition to the usual polishing. Its good you've come in a touch early, you'll want bonding time with that wand before schooling." She said.

They talked a bit longer, Severus asking questions, he was enjoying listening to someone passionate about their craft. The wand was expensive as her wands were not ministry subsidised as they did not carry the trace but he gladly parted with the 19 galleons which was a significant portion of what he had earned at Mulpeppers, it felt like an absolute fortune.

He was able to get a second hand wand holster for his arm which was only 3 sickles being regular leather and all the charms having failed but he could re-tool it himself and that would be a project for the evenings.

By the time he left the wand shop the air was starting to get a bit cooler, he made a brief stop at the owl office to set up a PO box and mail redirect. It was commonly used by people who travelled around a lot to make mail more convenient. Your mail was sorted at the office into your PO box there and you received a corresponding box to take with you into which your letters would transfer.

It was less secure than handling all your own mail but that wasn't a huge concern for Severus at this juncture and you could specify people to be left off the mail redirect.

He made quick time from there and thanked Merlin he wouldn't need to take the train back like he had in the morning. He hadn't had any Wizarding money to buy floo powder to use the network and would have garnered attention if he'd asked when he was on his own early in the day. It didn't take him long to get to the White Wyvern inn where he bought a small bag of powder from the bartender and took the public floo to in Manchester where he could take the bus back to Cokeworth. He wasn't going to risk apparition on a brand new wand and an immature core. The absolute last thing he needed was to splinch himself and have a run in with St Mungo's, the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and a warning for underage magic.

….

"Where have you been boy?" Came his fathers voice from the threadbare sofa.

Everything that could go wrong went wrong from the second he set foot in the house. It had been such a good day and he had been riding high on the feeling of his new wand.

The soft tone was a trap.

His father was home early so they must have started cutting shifts short and Severus could see he was in a foul mood and looking for a target.

He could hear his mother anxiously fussing in the kitchen. She must have been caught short too.

He kept his head down and hoped that this was one of the times where subservience would be enough.

"Well?" His fathers voice was going up in volume.

The tension is thick in the air.

"I was at the park Dad." There's nothing he can really say because where he was today isn't actually what this is about. It's about his father feeling out of control of his circumstances.

His father lunges for him, the sudden strike cutting the thick of the air like a spark.

He shook him off and ran for the stairs as fast as he could. His father was slower on the mark than he was, if he could just make it to his room he would be ok he felt the meaty calloused hand grab hold of his ankle and yank him back down bashing his shins on the steps there's pain bursting from his nose and split lip on the stairs his fingers are scrabbling and he kicks out and he's free and he's running and he makes it to the door and slams it shut. It opens outwards but he removed the handle on the outside of the door weeks ago.

He slides down the door and his body being moved with the force the door is being kicked with but he just lets it. It won't open. Sitting with his knees pulled up to his body holding onto his knees, his head leant back against the door and he's crying. He's pretty sure his nose is broken and he can taste the blood in his mouth. "absolutely worthless" and his da's still hammering on the door demanding he let him in and his heart is hammering faster even than that and he's crying silently he realises from the wet on his cheeks because this body is young and living with the constant threat of violence in your house is exhausting even although he's seen so much worse since he first went through this purgatory.

He feels things more in this body and he's so frustrated that even with everything he knows he still feels like a child when this happens and he can't kill him he can't even though he sometimes wants to because he doesn't want to be a murderer but the police won't do shit and the aurors won't do anything because his dads a muggle and his mums made her bed and now has to lie in it. He's so fucking tired and even with all of that they're still his parents and he wants to love them he does.

There's one last thump on the door which makes him flinch then the sound of footsteps shuffling away.

Thank God he had already shrunk his bag with his wand his most precious possession, the only thing he could not afford to lose just now and all those ingredients he desperately needs if he's to start working on a way out of here.

He can hear his breathing now and the atmosphere has cleared like a sudden summer downpour has passed through.

He can't hear any yelling from downstairs but he's listening closely so he still tenses when the front door slams. His window faces out towards the mill path so he knows he won't see his father walking away even if he looks but he knows he's heading to Stags their local.

He sits for a while and clears his mind. His chest is burning with seething impotent anger so he needs to handle it carefully.

The suns beginning to set by the time he rises to ward his room. He doesn't do anything heavy a mild muggle repelling ward and a sticking charm on the door just in case. It's a joy to work with his new wand even if he does have to wrangle it a bit. It's eager like a puppy pulling on a lead.

The next job on the list is to fix his nose now the bleedings slowed. Neither of his parents got a clear look at his injuries so it won't be suspicious. He conjures a mirror which won't last long and carefully examines his face. It is his resentment for his father that guides his next actions. He could just heal it but there's a part of him that he recognises in his father that he hates so he wants to chip away at the physical resemblance where he can.

When he sets his nose he guides it away from the hawkish shape it took before, straightening the bridge so that it is closer to the Roman profile that favours his Prince ancestry. After twenty years teaching and his own experiences at Hogwarts he had become quite proficient with healing spells and it is successful.

His face is still a mess with two black eyes and a split lip but a quick 'episky' takes care of the lip although it's still a touch swollen. This would just have to have happened on the day he'd sold all his bruise balm because that's just the way Severus's life goes.

His mind is still buzzing when he lies back on his bed, carefully slipping his wand under his pillow. He's letting the thoughts sift through his mind when he gets stuck on one and starts to laugh. The Dark Lord had done the same hadn't he. He had hated seeing his fathers face in the mirror so much so he had quite literally cut off his nose to spite his face. It's on that note of bitter kinship that sleep finally pulls him under.