Severus Snape strode through the Leaky Cauldron with Veronica trailing behind him. The lunch crowd was just starting to gather. Once into Diagon Alley, Snape squinted at the list once more and shook his head in disgust. He would either have to purchase some reading glasses or grow a longer arm. "Come along," he told the girl. Flourish and Blott's would be as good a place as any to start. The manager bustled forward eagerly. "We need all the standard Hogwarts fifth-year texts," Snape said, shoving the list into his hands.
A matronly witch browsing the magazine rack took an interest in Veronica while they waited. "Starting the term a bit late, are you ?" She smiled down at the girl. "Well, you're bound to be nervous, your first year, but you'll make lots of friends-"
"She's a fifth-year," Snape corrected the woman, annoyed.
"Oh. Dear me, I'm sorry....well, good luck to you." She retreated to the other side of the rack, clearly embarrassed.
Veronica shrugged and gave him that wry look. Physically, she was an eleven-year-old. Snape mentally cursed himself. The child would never be accepted by her fifth-year peers, looking as she did now. She'd be a freak, an object of ridicule. He would not allow that to happen. "An Aging Potion," he told her. "We'll stop in at the apothecary before we buy your school robes."
Before they did that, however, there were the text books, the notebooks, quills, parchment, cauldrons, scales, and all the other paraphernalia of academia. The girl was going to need a complete wardrobe as well, not just school uniforms, Snape realized. She had nothing but the clothes on her back. Not even a cloak, he noticed belatedly. Fortunately, the afternoon wasn't too terribly cold. Finally they reached Slug and Jiggers, the apothecary shop. "We require an Aging Potion," Snape told the proprietor. He scowled at the amount of galleons the purchase took. It annoyed him beyond reason to have to buy a ready-made potion, but there was no time to go back to Hogwarts and brew his own. The girl's gown was totally unsuitable, a style no longer worn by even the most elderly witch. Merlin's beard, even the girl's shoes were archaic. He would not have the other students teasing her because of her clothes.
"Come along, hurry up." Snape led her into the shadows of Nocturne Alley. They stopped in Borgin and Burkes. As usual, the dusty shop was nearly deserted. They waited while Mr. Borgin served the only other customer. Veronica looked around curiously at the shrunken heads and mummified hands on display.
"Professor, what are we buying here ?"
"Nothing."
"Then, why-"
"You can't very well take this potion in the middle of the street, can you ? This establishment has had my patronage often enough over the years, it won't hurt the proprietor to lend you the use of his office to transform in."
Borgin was still waiting on the other customer, a hunchbacked crone with wild grey hair and an immense wide-brimmed hat shielding her face. "Professor Snape, are you really feeling all right ? I don't want to be rude, but... well, you look older. Just a bit," she hastened to add. "Your hair has a little more grey in it, is all..." she amended when he glared at her.
Snape hesitated, debating. Did the girl really need to know ? She already suspected some harm had come to him from the ritual. He might as well tell her before her imagination supplied an answer that was worse than the reality. "You're right, I have aged, Miss Stuart. Fifteen years, I suspect."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry ! I didn't know..." She looked horrified. "You didn't tell me-"
"I didn't know myself. Well, I knew there would be something," he corrected himself. "The Dark Arts always exact a price, Miss Stuart. It takes a powerful mage indeed to avoid paying that price in full." He scowled, hating to admit weakness to her. To himself. "I thought my magic would be strong enough. I was mistaken. A mistake so many witches and wizards have made, to their regret. Remember that, Miss Stuart, should you ever be tempted to step into the shadows yourself." The child's eyes widened further. Tears threatened to spill. The crone gave them a malicious glance as she left the shop. Snape scowled back at her. "Pull yourself together," he ordered the girl. "So I'll die at the age of one hundred and sixty, instead of one hundred and seventy-five." He chuckled. "Or perhaps one of the second-years will botch a simple potion and end my life in a fiery explosion tomorrow."
Borgin approached them, smiling his oily smile. Veronica drew a deep breath. "No emotional outbursts, Professor Snape," she promised. "But thank you for everything you're doing for me."
The situation with the potion was explained to Mr. Borgin quickly enough. Soon Snape had conjured a calibrated spoon and measured out the precise dosage. "This should age your body exactly four years. You will be fifteen both physically and intellectually." Snape ignored the fact that she'd been born in 1567. His headache had finally subsided and he had no desire to bring it back by thinking too hard about the paradoxes involved. "I'll just give you a moment alone," he suggested, stepping out of the office and closing the door. He'd seen enough children pass through normal puberty; he had absolutely no desire to watch the process in high speed.
When Veronica stepped out the door a few minutes later, she was holding her shoes in her hands, giggling. "Look, they've split right down the sides !" Snape wrapped his cloak around her shoulders before Borgin could get a look at her. Her shoes were not the only things that no longer fit. She'd grown at least five inches taller. The fabric of her gown, once loose and flowing, now clung to her body in a way that the potions master heartily disapproved of.
Snape sighed heavily and held the door for her. "On to Madame Malkin's, Miss Stuart." I'm about to go clothes shopping with an adolescent girl, he thought sourly. The day couldn't get any worse.