-Multum in Parvo-
The street was teeming with people of all descriptions, colors, sizes! Like the tide at full flow or grunions on a beach, they flopped and spoke and moved in a warm wall of scent and noise. To Flourish and Blotts for books, oh! The store made him drool– such knowledge, things to read, words to escape into... The candy store, no, sweets were often poisoned, none for me Grandad.
Ollivanders', dusty and crashing of things broken and repaired before –finally!– a new wand was selected: purple bloodwood and dragon heartstring core, twelve inches, with a carven ebony grip, good for hexes and potion-making. The wand a bit more powerful than most wizards', but his grandparents insisted–oh yes!– he was a responsible and mature child, to handle a wand like that...One with such dark potential. They were so certain, aye, that sweet Severus who had died the night of the storm, unbeknownst to them, would manage just fine, thank you, Ollivander—now how much for it?
They insisted on taking him to Diagon Alley, that day, despite protestations on his parents part that he was still grieving, with a no-nonsense, "He must move on some time, dears. We'll do you a favor and take him off your hands– he will be an angel, I'm sure." Since it WAS a favor to them (how little could they stand the sight of him) off he went. So there he was, a crow amongst peacocks, solemn in black, dark eyes wide with wonder– alive in his sheltered, still face.
His grandparents made suggestions, and listened –a first!– very carefully as he decided where to go next. The list of school necessities was engraved on his heart, a litany of hope. Their affection, too late, was noted absently as a clinical scholar would note hunger or exhaustion– as a distraction from the task at hand, almost physically separate from the body, mind and intellect.
But Oh, the books they had bought him! Robes as well– all in the same unrelieved black, his pale skin even more sallow in the light, his thinness remarked over with concern by his grandparents, their concern and attention safely deflected by a soft-voiced protestation, "I haven't really felt like eating, really, Grandmere..." and an apologetic look. Sniff. "Well then. That's that, you'll just have to be eating more! Ah, yes– thank you dear,"–to his grandfather–"Now, how about a bit of Fortesques', eh? A treat, hmmm?" And with that he was ushered out of Madame Malkin's past the disapproving lady herself ("All black, on a child, really! And two years later, still!?") into the street again, never alone for a minute! How strange to be so alone within the crowd. How he suddenly wished to sink into the shadows, where he belonged— alone, in the silence. Ah, to be in his schoolroom at home, making a bubbling potion undisturbed.
Down the street they traveled, then, but he paused at the owl emporium, momentarily entranced and distracted. So when his grandfather's hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped in fright, and quickly moved a step away so the hand slid off him. This was noted by his grandparents, who exchanged a worried glance– he was so...so skittish! What had happened to him after the death of his brother to make him so leery of human touch? Something was amiss. Quickly, to cover up the awkward pause, Grandfather Snape spoke, "I'm sorry lad, to forget you'd be wanting a familiar– got my first myself, before my first year...a Snape tradition! Well, besides our gift for potion- making." He shared a small grin with his quiet grandson. "Go on, go in and pick one, we'll wait right here and watch." With a quirk of the lips, he ushered Severus inside.
Inside was scrupulously clean, though a faint musty smell announced the many animals therein. With steady firmness, each animal was carefully examined, with a thoroughness that only a potions master's child could produce–exacting and swift and sure– yet each animal somehow seemed lacking to the quiet boy. Another survey led to the same conclusion under the watchful eyes of the store attendant. Opening his mouth ruefully to tell his Grandfather that today was not his lucky day, both were startled when a flurry of loud hacking cries and curses erupted form the back of the shop. "Fine, then, dang thrice-blasted devil-bird! Merlin!!" A flurry of black feathers and a red-faced man emerged from the back as the store clerk not-so-surreptitiously sank into hiding behind the counter! "Blasted thing! Have it your way, then! But don't you be causin' no mischief t'day, hear?!" The feathers sailed with an impudent, "CARK!" to the floor and became a large black raven, with dancing red eyes and sharp beak and ruffled crest. Bobbing its head it hopped forward, eyeing the newcomers with obvious interest. "Thing musta seen somethin' thru tha' door, puttin' up such an awful ruckus like that. Knocked over 'is cage an' everythin'. Reckon you folks better hol' still, he likes to nibble, that un' does."
No need. Severus had frozen, eyes locked with the bird, almost mesmerized by its lively sidling gait toward him. A moment of silence passed, and the proprietor watched anxiously as the bird tilted its head one way, then the other, examining the two men. Cocking its head, it watched as the boy similarly regarded it. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it took flight again, catcalling loudly before landing firmly on Severus' shoulder, dipping its head and raising its wings for a final shake and emphatic, "CARK!!" The boy still didn't move from startlement. "Well, tha's a first! Birds like that one are real smart– mischievous too," the bird bobbed its head and clicked its beak as if assenting to the statement, "been in here a long time, gets bored, easy like. 'E causes a mort'o'trouble. But bird chooses the Wizard they say. I'd best be gettin' you 'is things–can't find a better companion, once tha' Raven chooses ya'."
This earned him a distracted nod of agreement. Severus extended a tentative finger, which the bird accepted cheerfully with an affectionate nibble. Turning his head, he entreated with a measure of his old enthusiasm, "May I have him, please Grandad?" A sigh and a nod, and the bird and its gear were on their way, perched upon Severus' shoulder and cheerily making rude remarks in his ear on all and sundry passers-by. Punctuated, of course, with some nibbling and tugging upon his black hair. The glow of ownership, indeed!
Then to the ice cream parlour they went, where confused by the many option, he was sent to sit outside with Grandmother while Grandad ordered and brought their sundaes back, a quirk on his lips and eyes uncharacteristically twinkling. All three tucked in with vigor, the raven (yet un- named) hopping from Severus' shoulder onto the table to decimate a small cup of nuts brought for him and occasionally stealing pecks at Severus' sundae, which the boy quietly allowed.
A discussion of bird names and titles ensued, as his grandparents sought to draw him out of his shell–each in the manner they were accustomed to. "Well, have you thought of any names for your new friend?" "Rue! Rue is a good name, I think. Don't you, Grandmere?" "Yes, I quite like that name, Severus. Rue he shall be. My, but he is a fine looking bird. I hope that you will be able to keep him from getting too out of hand, Severus. Large birds like him need a lot of attention." "Yes, of course, Grandmere... I will." Severus concentrated on eating his sundae again. "How is the sundae, Severus?" "Ohh, gu-ud, Grandm're... I haven' had anything like thish in a long...er, for a while." He ate rapidly and quietly, manners exacting except for his brief lapse over talking with sundae in his mouth.
His grandfather's method was more unexpected.
In the peace of the busy street, the three made a sober ocean of calm until Severus' older cousin (and his brother's friend) Sirius Black wandered by, and upon catching sight of Severus drew closer to his cousin, leaping over the rail to sneer quietly in his ear. "Snivellus! I hear you were responsible for Solinus' death, eh? Nice going, little coz'," with a sneer of cruel delight he watched as the pallor of Severus' skin increased, his knuckles whitening upon his spoon.
With that Sirius turned and in the most excessively pleasant manner possible, greeted Severus' grandparents as though nothing had just happened. Severus abruptly set down his spoon and rose, expressionless, to speak, his face still completely white and eyes empty, almost glazed. Opening his mouth to respond to the cruel jibe unheard by his grandparents, he choked! And then began to wheeze as his throat shrank around a particularly hard piece of nut and his throat melted and reformed!
Black was howling with laughter when his grandfather pounded his back, dislodging the nut, and his young voice emerged in a falsetto squeak, "You...YOU!" Horrified, Severus whirled and shot his grandfather a betrayed glare. The old man was smirking hugely, Snape style, thinking his little harmless trick a great joke! After all, a potions master had to always be careful when eating... Rage, which he was so helpless against, broke over him. Sweets! His downfall was always sweets. Poisoned forever after for him, always. The sweet things in life were denied to him, even inadvertently. What a fool he had been to trust, even family. Black was excellent evidence why not to. He was alone, truly.
He sat down again, staring at the table, unresponsive. To be betrayed by his family–grandfather, no less! In front of his cousin, who hated him with unparalleled passion for the death of Solinus, Sirius' best friend... and whom he hated for torturing him for reading and the memories of his brother –and to be unable to defend himself–treachery forsooth! He had thought only his parents that cruel. They had certainly beat that lesson into him enough–trust no-one!
Grandmother saved Grandfather from complete and utter irredemption in the eyes of his grandson by snapping out, "Septimus Snape! Cease your howling this INSTANT! The boy obviously does not find your trick funny. Nor do I, –Honestly! Quit behaving like some common hooligan. What an utterly cruel thing to do without properly warning the boy." She ignored Grandfather's splutterings about potions masters needing to be constantly vigilant and turned to glare at Black, somehow suspecting him for the bizarre behavior of Severus. "Don't think that I don't know your game, young Black. Off with you, and cease tormenting your cousin with baseless gossip and slandering the family–on the street!– and in public! Your mother shall be hearing from me about your behavior! Now, Scat!!"
When Black protested, she growled out, "Don't deny it, young man. Just off with you. Think you that I am hard of hearing, hmm? Now!" Then in the same indignant tone, she rose to her feet and commanded with the fury of a petticoated general, "The antidote, Septimus, and we're leaving! Really, to make such a scene of us upon the street! How common must you be, husband?!! That'll be enough of your foolishness today! Really, you rely too much upon your credit with your grandson, to abuse him in such a way! One begins to wonder what he sees in you, to make you his favorite..."
That certainly snuffed out his Grandfather's amusement rapidly, and shamefacedly, Severus was administered the antidote and apologized to as his grandmother bustled him out of the shop, their sundaes unfinished. His grandfather trailed behind, worriedly, hoping that his misplaced "bit of fun" had not further alienated his favorite grandson. Severus didn't notice, however, as he had shrunk into himself, following their directives emptily, and even his new raven Rue was unable to rouse him with its cheeky antics.
Unbeknownst to him, this made his grandparents even more concerned; while not a demonstrative child by nature, this automaton was chilling to observe even for the reserved Snape family— before, the child would have shared a giggle at such a joke (ostensibly because his brother would find it funny) and given a tiny smile after his cousin had left. It was a change that heralded much worse, so much in so very little, it was. Not good at all. The tiniest action would alienate the boy. It is the small things –after all– that really say so much, if only the brain is subtle and intelligent enough to figure them out.
Even the tears, few and small, that trickled silently down his face on the way home went unremarked upon. Snivellus could not manage to control those. Nobody said a word when he refused to let his grandmother brush them away, or when he refused to let his grandfather hug him goodbye when they arrived home to Snape Manor. Instead, he coolly wished Septimus well and bussed his grandmother on the cheek carefully.
Were his tears of hurt pride, shame or betrayal?
Multum in parvo, veritas.
multum in parvomuch in a little
cozcousin (Shakespeare uses this frequently)
©Lanenkar 2004