Chapter Eight

That night, after helping with the third and final milking of the day, Severus sat at the large table in his bedroom – at least, it was the room they put him in when they found him, so he guessed it was his for now.

His wand sat in a pencil holder on the table, the wand's tip pointing upwards and glowing from the Lumos spell he'd cast with it. The window was open, but there was a metal mesh covering it. The mesh was loose enough to allow air to enter, but tight enough to keep out the bugs he could hear outside, chirping and screeching softly and not-so-softly to one another in the warm summer night. The air felt a bit wetter than it had during the day; according to the man on the wireless (Mr. Norton had a small radio with him when he milked the cows), rain was expected tomorrow.

Severus was working intently on a Potions essay for one of Slughorn's extra-credit classes; he pushed his quill along briskly, making small, cramped words that didn't take up much space. He wanted to cram as much into each page of parchment as he could, as he wasn't sure how long it would be before he was found. And it would likely be many weeks after that before Aunt Lobelia would consent to take him to Diagon Alley to get more; she would probably be so furious at him for disappearing that she'd shut him up in the attic until September came around.

Mrs. Norton had asked him if he'd like any help with the essay, and he had all he could do not to laugh as he, politely yet firmly, said no. Though he had to admit that it was a good thought of hers, to lend him the American Muggle dictionary – Webster's Third New International, as big as a paving stone and nearly as heavy – as his spelling wasn't quite perfected yet. It was somewhat disconcerting to see the American usage of words like "favor" and "theater" and "center", but once he knew what to look for, he was able to retranslate it back into proper British English.

The essay dealt with multi-part potions – those potions whose effects weren't triggered unless another, normally innocuous item was present. Drink the potion by itself, nothing would happen; drink it and then consume the thing that would react with it, and then something would happen – usually bad for the drinker, as most of these potions were poisons intended not to be activated until well after the poisoner had left the scene.

It was N.E.W.T.-level material, which he normally wouldn't be studying as a fourth-year – in fact, technically he wouldn't even be studying for his O.W.L.s until the latter half of his fourth year – but he wanted to show Slughorn what he was made of. He wanted to earn those pats on the back the tubby old Head of Slytherin was prone to bestow on his very best students. He, the son of Eileen Prince and a Muggle bastard of a father, was going to do whatever he could to be the best Potions student ever to pass through Hogwarts' doors.

Sitting at the wooden table, scratching away with his quill in the narrow beam of light of the Lumos spell, Severus was struck by how normal everything felt. How comfortable it all was, even though so much of it was strange and new to him, half-blood upbringing or no.

He had never felt this relaxed while studying at home, not when he was constantly on alert to try and forestall the thing that had finally happened when he was away and powerless to prevent it. He sometimes felt this relaxed in the school library when Pince was around to make sure that no nonsense occurred; or maybe the Slytherin common room, but only when he was with his immediate circle of associates.

Hmmm. Was "mithridate" spelt with two or three i's? Better check in Webster's... ah, two.

Speaking of feeling comfortable, he wondered what it was that led him to let his guard down enough to blurt out his most shocking life secret to a complete stranger.

Perhaps, he felt as he wrote in quick, furious, tiny strokes, maybe... maybe it was because she was a complete stranger. (Well, not complete, not any more, but still...) I've heard it said that it's easier to confess things to people you know you'll never see again. Yes, that must be it...

He got to the end of a paragraph, looked over what he had written. It would do for now. He'd see about making any corrections in the morning. For now, it was time to go to bed, to be ready for whatever chores the Nortons had lying in wait for him tomorrow. Just as he was going to earn pats from Slughorn, he would earn his keep with the Nortons. The more chores he did, the more he could help them, the happier they'd be. The happier they were, the more willing they'd be to keep him around for the short time until the Ministry people arrived to collect him and he could get back to his real life.

He put away his school books, took off his robes, and crawled into bed. Five minutes later, he was sound asleep.

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Severus awoke to the sound of rain. It was hitting the windowpane in large drops, so loudly and forcefully that he thought at first it was hail.

What wretched weather, he thought, lifting his head from the pillow to look at it streaming down. And poor Mr. Norton having to go out in it to milk those cows...

A thought came to Severus. He might be able to do something about that.

He got dressed and ran down the stairs to the kitchen, just as Mr. Norton was putting on a heavy old macintosh that had seen better days. An equally worn umbrella was sitting on the kitchen table. The clock on the wall above the stove read a quarter to six, so the sun had to have come up already, but it was hard to tell with all the rain coming down outside.

Mr. Norton looked up and smiled. "You don't have to come out with me, son. Rainin' cats and dogs out there."

"I can help a bit with that, sir," the boy said. He turned his head towards the umbrella. "May I try something?"

"Go right ahead."

The young wizard already had his wand in hand. Pointing it at the umbrella, he said "Repello Pluvia!" A red beam of energy shot from the wand, wrapping itself around the umbrella; then, as fast as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving no apparent trace of itself.

"What does that do, son?" Mr. Norton asked as he stepped into a pair of rubber rain boots.

"It repels rainwater, sir. When you use the umbrella, not only will the rain not come near you, whatever rain has already fallen will rush away from you, so you'll be walking on dry ground."

"Well, I'll be dipped." Mr. Norton reached out a hand to touch the umbrella. "It doesn't feel any different."

"It shouldn't, sir. But you'll notice it when you go outside."

"Let's find out."

Mr. Norton picked up the umbrella by the handle and took it off the table. He then crossed to the kitchen door, looking at the wind-lashed rain hitting the windowpanes. He opened the umbrella, holding it in front of him like a bullfighter holding a cape, as he went to open the door.

"I'll be a dirty bird!"

The rain, which had been pounding on the glass on the kitchen door, suddenly vanished once the umbrella was within a foot of the door.

Carefully, cautiously, Mr. Norton put his free hand to the door knob and turned it, pulling the door open. The rain-free area bulged out a good foot in front of him, pushing the water aside. He stepped all the way outside, down the concrete steps to the path, and found himself in the center of a liquid-free sphere about eight feet in diameter.

"I will be a dirty bird, son," he said softly.

"May I come out and help you, sir?" Severus said in a voice that was nearly a shout, so as to be heard over the pouring rain.

"Help milk the cows? Sure, sure. They like you, son. Hold on a sec." He moved back onto the steps so that Severus could step straight from the kitchen into the sphere of dryness. "You know, I really could get used to this," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, Severus, let's go wake up the girls."

They walked to the cow barn as if they were walking inside of a giant transparent ball. There was water all around them, in the air and on the ground, but the effect of the spell meant that whereever they – or rather, the umbrella Mr. Norton held – went, the water would be pushed away from them, leaving the ground perfectly dry under their feet.

With his free hand, Mr. Norton reached inside his mackintosh and pulled out a small round tin. "Chewing tobacco, son," he said in response to Severus' raised eyebrow. "It's a bad habit, but it beats cigarettes and Sarah doesn't mind so long as I don't do it in the house." With the ease of long practice, he opened the tin one-handed and popped a small pinch of finely-cut tobacco into his mouth. "Got into the habit during Korea – nicotine makes good aspirin when you're on the front line and got nothing else."

"You were in Korea, sir?"

Mr. Norton's smile was slightly distorted by the lump of tobacco in his mouth. "I sure was, son, but to fight, not to sight-see, unfortunately. That'd be over twenty years ago, now. I was eighteen and in the Marines." His eyes took on a slightly misty look. "Did most of my growing-up over there, then came back to Dad's farm when it was all done."

"I see."

Once in the barn, Mr. Norton set the umbrella down on the work table by the door. "Well, son, that was so much fun I almost hope it keeps raining."

"It is rather useful, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

Ava and Marilyn had awakened when the door opened; they sat in their stalls, their round eyes placidly taking in the sight of the two humans. A handful of barn cats, mousers that the Nortons kept in the barn to keep down the rodent population, were curled up and dozing near the cows, their prowlings done for the night. They felt the rustle of straw as the cows got up, and were awake on the instant, skittering away from the cows in case one of them rolled too near.

"I'm kinda glad to have you out here, son," Mr. Norton confessed as they led the cows to their milking stanchions. "It takes a while to milk 'em by hand, and they don't like the girls to come near them."

"Is there any other way to do it?"

"Well, I have an old eletric-powered milking machine that can do it in five to ten minutes, but one of the udder cups broke on it a few weeks ago."

And you don't have the money to fix it, Severus mentally supplied. Yet you were ready to scrape up whatever pence you could find for an aeroplane ticket to get me home...

Severus stood back as Mr. Norton tied the cow's halter's to the stanchions. "May I see it?" he said.

Mr. Norton turned to look at him. "Gonna try another spell?"

"With your permission, yes."

Mr. Norton gave him a grin. "Might as well – it's not working anyway." He gestured towards a spot over by one of the work tables. There was a large box with the word "DeLaval" on it, and the box had all sorts of rubber and metal tubes and things sticking out of it. "Knock yourself out, son."

"Thank you, sir."

Severus pulled his wand out of his sleeve, then walked over to the strange device. He waved the wand with a grand flourish, pointed it at the device, and called out "Reparo!"

A thin jet of light came from the wand and hit the contraption. There was a shuffling inside of the box, as if the parts were rearranging themselves. Mr. Norton came over to look for himself.

"Well, I'll be..." He lifted one of the tubes and tapped it. "It's good as new!" He looked at Severus and grinned. "Thank you, son!"

"You're welcome, sir."

"You sure you don't want to stick around here? We could use a good mechanic in town."

The young wizard felt oddly pleased. "I wish I could, sir," he said – and was surprised to find that he really did mean it, in a fashion. "But Aunt Lobelia would have my hide if I did."

"Gotcha, son." Mr. Norton carefully pulled the milking machinery from its box. "Let's see if we can't get this cleaned up and ready to go..."

Severus was somewhat surprised that Mr. Norton hadn't asked him about Aunt Lobelia. But then he remembered the incident in the raspberry patch yesterday, and how quiet Mr. Norton had become afterwards. The man was no doubt trying to be tactful. He wasn't going to bring up something that he thought might hurt Severus in any way.

Mr. Norton didn't take long to get the milking machine sterilized and ready to go. (It helped that Severus sped up the process with a Purity Charm.) And as it turned out, Mr. Norton was right: what was an hour-or-more job done by hand took only ten minutes for each cow when the machine was used. Mr. Norton was even able to step outside to discreetly spit out his wad of chewing tobacco – "I never spit in the barn," he explained – and rinse his mouth out with a small bottle of Coca-Cola he retrieved from the small ice box in the milking parlor.

He offered Severus another bottle, and the boy accepted; they sat together on top of one of the work tables, drinking their Cokes, listening to the beat of the rain on the roof, the rasp and whoosh of the milking machine, and the voice of the radio presenter coming over the wireless, doing incessant and relentlessly cheery advertisements for his sponsor – "Bill Diehl for Oldsmobile! Wally McCarthy's Lindahl Olds! Freeway 494 and Penn Avenue South! Come on out and enjoy the free hot dogs here..."

"I'm sorry about yesterday afternoon, sir," Severus said, looking through the open barn door at the rain pouring down outside.

"Huh? Oh, that." Mr. Norton looked at him, a small, sad smile on his face. "Nothing to worry about, son. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

"Thank you, sir." Severus took another sip from his Coke. "I will, right now, so long as you promise not to tell Becky."

"I promise, Severus."

The young wizard leaned back and took a deep breath. "My mother was a witch, but my father was a Muggle. They fought constantly. One evening, when I was away at school –" Severus paused for a moment to fight back the tremor that had appeared in his voice "– my father stabbed her and left her for dead. With her dying breath, she cast a curse on him. It took him a week to die."

Mr. Norton didn't reach out to hug Severus, as Mrs. Norton had, and Severus was glad of that; he wasn't sure how he'd feel about being hugged by an adult male. But instead of a hug, Severus found one of Mr. Norton's large, work-worn hands atop one of his own. Mr. Norton gave the boy's hand a gentle squeeze.

"So that's why you're living with your aunt."

"Yes."

Mr. Norton was silent for a long time after that. He sat with Severus, his hand on the boy's hand, looking out at the pouring rain.

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It was all Harry could do to keep from skipping as he ran down the corridor. Dumbledore had agreed with him about his idea – and was going to try it tomorrow afternoon! If everything went well, Snape would be up and deducting house points in less than a week.

He climbed in through through the portrait-hole, and the Fat Lady didn't chide him for his lateness; the portraits all knew about Harry's working with Dumbledore to help Professor Snape.

"Took you long enough," a familiar voice said, once he was through.

Harry looked up. Ginny Weasley was sitting on the red couch in the Gryffindor common room, a cup of tea in hand. She was also giving him That Stare. The one that, Harry knew from experience, translated into English as "You'd better tell me everything or you are in Big Trouble."

"Come have some tea," she said, patting the couch cushion next to her, "and tell me all about it."