The Owl and the Wand

After lunch - which was rather early but a distraction was called for as conversation started to get stilted and awkward - arrangements were made for Snape to take Servius for his school supplies. It was agreed that Mr and Mrs Burbage would amuse themselves in London for the remainder of the day, and Candace would Floo back to The Leaky Cauldron at four-thirty to escort Servius to Charing Cross Station. Snape and Servius therefore had four and a half hours alone together.

Snape didn't think ever in his life he'd spent that much time alone with a solitary child. Not even detentions lasted that long. He concentrated hard on not revealing his dismay, but Servius did not concern himself with such politeness. Upon hearing the agreed itinerary, he rolled his eyes extravagantly, slumped down bonelessly in his chair and groaned.

"Here's some money," said Mrs Burbage, ferreting out her purse and Snape raised his hand.

"It's alright, thank you Mrs Burbage, I am happy to pay for the purchases."

"Enough for an ice-cream or Coke?"

"Your currency won't be accepted here and it's not worth the time to exchange at the Bank. Your gesture is appreciated, but I believe I've a few years to make up for."

Mrs Burbage looked doubtful, but offered a small, bewildered smile as if hardly believing someone else was taking the trouble. "If you're quite sure? He has a few things you might need, here I've packed a rucksack for him…there's his pre-paid mobile in there in case you need us for anything, our number's in there, and his supply list from the school…"

Indeed, a rucksack was produced which Snape had assumed belonged to Mr Burbage since he'd been the one carrying it. Why hadn't Servius carried his own bag? Why was it they thought an eleven-year-old wouldn't survive a few hours without them needing to be hailed?

Seeming to sense a sour note, Candace hastily stood and commenced ushering the two grandparents towards the door. In tour-guide mode again, she started chattering about all the interesting things they could occupy themselves with while in the city. At the door, the three waved back at Snape and Servius, still sitting at the table, and then rather keenly – it seemed to Snape – exited.

As soon as they were alone, Servius levelled his eyes at Snape. "Don't think you can boss me around, old man."

Snape's jaw almost dropped. "I beg your pardon? What did you just call me?"

"You heard. You may have knocked up my Mum, but you're not my Dad."

Thunderclouds rolled across Snape's countenance. This young pup had no idea. Without speaking, without removing his glittering eyes from the boy's, he got out his wand from his robe and gave Servius a jolt with it, using the same spell with which he blasted mice. Shock treatment on children was a practice heavily frowned on amongst modern wizards and witches, but Snape was not one of them. He wouldn't do it as a teacher, but – he discovered – being a parent was entirely different.

"WHAT THE…!" yelled Servius, and having reacquainted with his skeleton, sat straight upright. Snape was gratified to see an expression on his face that wasn't surly or dismissive. He looked outraged.

"You've had that coming since you walked in," said Snape. "I don't want to be here any more than you."

"You can't do that!"

"Not in Muggledom, no. They don't have wands. But here I can do it. Perhaps you meant I should not do it."

Servius simply stared at him, mouth ajar. "I'm going," he said at length, and dived into his rucksack. "You're mad." He pulled out his mobile phone. Predictably, no service. Then he glanced around, but everyone in the pub ignored him. "This geezer just electrocuted me!" he announced loudly, to completely deaf ears.

Snape waited.

Servius got to his feet. "Call Candace. Get Candace here, I'm leaving."

"Sit down."

"No way!"

"I am not calling Ms Peacock or anyone else. You are going to calm down and then we are going to behave nicely and get your schoolbooks," said Snape with forced control.

"Or what? You'll electrocute me like you're training a dog?"

"Are you especially slow? We don't have electricity here. It is impossible for me to electrocute you."

"Then what did you do with your wand?!"

Snape looked interested. "So you recognise a wand?"

"Yeah. Course. I've got my Mum's wand."

Incomprehension knitted Snape's brows. How had Charity Burbage's wand ended up with her son? She wouldn't have had it with her while incarcerated at Malfoy Manor…had they confiscated it, but somehow it had gotten seized?

"How did you come across that?"

"She left it at home when she went into London for work. The day she went missing. She never had it with her."

Snape was astounded. Who was this woman? Who went anywhere without their wand?

"Where is it now?"

"I'm not showing you. I'm leaving, remember?" Then Servius hitched his pack over his shoulder, flicked his hair out of his eyes and aimed for the pub door.

Calmly, Snape picked up his wand and cast an arresto momentum. "I can do this all day," he sighed.

Struggling to free himself, Servius finally attracted the attention of other patrons, who were turning in their seats to look at him.

"Help me!" called Servius to them. "This bloke is trying to abduct me!"

Tom, from behind the bar, came towards him. "Everything alright, Professor?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine, thank you Tom."

"New youngster for Hogwarts, Professor Snape?" asked another patron, an old-timer with a pipe who Snape vaguely recognised from the apothecary. He was joined by his companion who said, "Professor Snape? I thought he was dead?"

Snape stood, approached Servius and undid the spell. Then he held out his hand. "Give me your supply list. We're going shopping. Now."

Snape shopped. Servius trailed behind, pretending not to be interested, but this was Diagon Alley after all, and no uninitiate would be unable to completely avoid goggling their eyes or dropping their jaw. Plenty of times when he thought Snape wasn't looking, Servius pressed his nose against a shop window, or dragged his feet past a street vendor with magical wares.

Under the late summer sun, Diagon Alley was like a clover field full of bees, thrumming to a thousand transactions underway. The shops were bowed under the weight of irresistible goods like nectar, their bell-mounted doors tinkling as they were alighted upon by shopper after shopper, delighted customers almost drunk on the joy of retail staggering back out onto the cobblestone street to try their next source of satiety. A considerable number were school-aged children, and certain shops such as Flourish and Blotts were almost too crowded to enter, as next term's scholars spilled out onto the street. Snape realised he didn't recognise any of their faces. His time away had seen an entire generation of students ascend the ranks and graduate without ever experiencing the joys of Snape as their teacher. As he was not dressed in his academic robe, he in turn did not generate any particular notice from the students or their parents, and his business was only briefly interrupted now and then by a long-standing Diagon Alley proprietor exclaiming at his return. Such as Madam Malkin.

"It is never Professor Snape!" she declared, as he entered the Robes shop with Servius in tow. She had been serving another customer who was instantly – and inconveniently – abandoned as Madam Malkin strode up to Snape and pitted her five foot one against his six foot two. "Where on earth have you been?"

"How do you do, Madam? I see you are busy -,"

"Someone told me you were dead! It said in The Prophet -,"

"No. I'm afraid the paper was mistaken. As you can see, I am perfectly alive, and also well."

She cast him up and down. "I must say Professor Snape, you are terribly thin. But it suits you well enough. And are these some distinguished grey hairs? You are growing into quite the gentleman. Last time I saw you there was that lovely lady as well. Are you married yet?"

The discarded customer, a mother with her first-year daughter, decided that if they were to be left suspended mid-robe they may as well be entertained in the interlude, and also waited expectantly to hear the answer.

Snape cleared his throat and murmured, "Perhaps I should come back later –,"

"So not married," concluded Madam Malkin, and tutted her disapproval loud enough for the people on the street outside to hear. She turned back to the customer, who, being an adult female would immediately understand the need for reproach, and said, "He has been a confirmed bachelor for two decades now. But he had this gorgeous young lady with him that, if I remember rightly, you invited to a Christmas party, and I thought at last the Professor will be spoken for. I expect you were grumpy with her!"

Snape was hearing this story as newly himself as the lady customer. He was heartened to hear Charity Burbage described as 'gorgeous', although his blurry memory of her never would have drawn that association, however he knew Madam Malkin to be an outspoken judge and critic who was not necessarily liberal with her praise, so he took the compliment as writ. As to a party - he had no memory of that at all. He could hardly believe it was himself she was describing – he, inviting a gorgeous young lady to a party? He'd be one of the Marauders next.

Servius, who'd been half-listening and half-sighing with boredom, said suddenly, "Did you take my Mum to a Christmas party?"

With ears for gossip more highly attuned than a bat, Madam Malkin turned her focus on Servius, who until this point, had been mostly concealed behind Snape. "Who's this?" she demanded.

Snape felt ensnared. He considered simply bolting, but before he could gather his wits, Servius, seeing an opportunity to add to Snape's discomfort, abruptly came forward with a rather supercilious air and extended his hand to shake Madam Malkin's. "I'm Servius Snape," he said provocatively. "The Professor is my Dad. And the lady you were talking about was my Mum. But she died when I was three and Professor Snape completely ignored me. I've been raised by my grandparents. I just met this man who reckons he's my Dad for the first time today."

Madam Malkin's eyes and mouth became as wide and round as dinner plates and at a loss for words – for it would be impossible to improve on such a pure nugget – dragged her gaze from Servius to Snape. The young girl being dressed for school began to get irksome, but the mother shushed her quickly so that she could listen.

Snape muttered: "I'm sorry to have bothered you, we may return later."

With that, he all but shoved Servius back out the door, directly onto incoming customers, and then grabbing Servius by the collar, dragged him up the street as if an urchin until they found a gap between two stores, into which he thrust Servius and then rounded on him.

"What are you hoping to achieve?" Snape asked icily through clenched teeth. "Because I think there might be one thing we agree on. Neither of us want you to go to Hogwarts. But you are enrolled, your grandparents are expecting you to attend, and there are no plans or arrangements for you to go elsewhere. So resign yourself to it and if you can't be pleasant then keep your mouth shut!"

Belligerence blazed from the boy, and he yelled, "Fuck off! You can't tell me what to do. I'm not going to your stupid school!"

Fetherington was brought to mind, all the other upstart little monsters whom had been dragged kicking and screaming into shape in Slytherin when he'd been Head of House, he even remembered the squalls with Potter. But he'd known Servius only a few hours, and he couldn't discipline or suspend him let alone throw a jar of cockroaches at him. So he withdrew his wand and promptly jinxed Servius with a mouth-cleansing spell. "Every time you use language like that with me, this will happen," said Snape coldly, as bubbles started to emerge from Servius's mouth.

Servius, his eyes horrified, opened his mouth to speak: "This is abuse!" and out gushed a froth of white, bitter, soapy bubbles, some drifting merrily away into the sunshine.

"We have three hours left to endure," said Snape. "Keep your mouth shut or I'll gag you as well. We are going to get every last item on this list and you are going to cooperate."

Servius was trying to wipe the bubbles away, his mouth wide as he coughed out more, his eyes frantic. "Do you understand?"

A single nod. Snape undid the jinx and Servius spat out the last of the soap, and when he looked towards Snape, he saw tears standing in the boy's eyes. "What? Crying? But you're so tough."

"This completely sucks!" shouted Servius, a last bubble flying free, but distress and humiliation made his voice crack. "You're an arsehole!"

Snape made as if to raise his wand again, but in truth he'd been called far, far worse than that, and he could tell that Servius didn't quite have the same ginger in him. At the sight of his wand, Servius backed away and Snape lowered it. "I'm going to report you to my Ma and Pa. They'll never let me attend Hogwarts with you in it!"

"I think they'll be delighted to let me deal with you. It was abundantly obvious they've had enough of you. It's for your mother they persevere."

Servius's lip quivered a little and he didn't reply.

"Give me the list."

The tri-folded letter was produced, and Snape perused it, mentally ticking off items they'd already procured. Books and a wand were reasonably important.

"Flourish and Botts, then, let's get this over with," he muttered, stalking away and Servius wandered after him.

The merchants of Flourish and Botts, being the preferred supplier to Hogwarts for a millennia, had got this routine well and truly organised. It was the Deputy's job to contact the store when the master enrolment list had been finalised, and provide the headcount for each year, plus any deviations to the book list. As early as July, F&Bs began collating 'new entrant' convenience packs, and to a lesser extent, the remaining forms', although the second-hand trade in books thrived with each successive year.

Snape intended to purchase a new entrant pack for Servius and entered the shop only to find himself at the back of a sizeable queue. The store's shelves, through which the queue meandered, had been stocked especially with textbooks to aid the lost and bewildered, particularly au courants, who may have been attempting to manage both the first foray into high-school level paraphernalia, as well as the baffling subjects and book titles that went with learning magic. On a nearby shelf, Snape noticed a book he hadn't seen before, a hardback with a cover bearing an aerial photo of a busy, modern London street, the pavements shoulder to shoulder with people, the street alight with lamps, shop windows and the headlights of cars. The large, bold title of the book read: The Other Side, with a subtitle: A Practical Reference to the Muggle World. The author was Charity Burbage.

He reached over and grabbed one to look at, flipping through the pages, immediately impressed with the layout, the imagery, the non-threatening approach to the subject matter. Throughout the text, the student was posed questions to consider, some practical, some more conceptual, all directed towards an understanding of how the differences between the two worlds arose. There was a chapter on genomics, with colour plates which had been introduced in later editions, presumably after she'd died. They showed a picture of the double-helix twist of DNA taken under a powerful microscope, and a graphical depiction of how the genes were mapped. Then a graphic of a family tree, demonstrating how heterozygous genes were passed down from generation to generation.

Servius, who had been idling amongst the shelves while Snape queued, sauntered up carrying a book: 100 Hexes and Jinxes That Changed the World. "Can I have this?" he asked. Snape nodded distractedly, then showed the textbook to him. "Look. Your mother wrote this."

Servius took it and read the cover, then thumbed through the pages. After a moment, he issued an approving grunt, followed by the first positive words Snape had ever heard him say. "That's not bad, that, is it?"

"It's on your supply list. That will be your textbook for Muggle Studies."

"Do I really have to do a class on Muggle studies? I am a Muggle. It's like, I never got why I had to study English when I speak it already."

"You're not a Muggle. You were Muggle raised. You're a part-blood."

"A what?"

"You have magical hereditary to an indeterminate extent."

"So, what…these weirdos are my people?"

A teenager standing in the queue behind Snape coughed laughter.

Under his breath, Snape replied, "It's hard to take in, but, well, yes. And don't call them weirdos. They think exactly the same about Muggles."

Servius's books were purchased and shrunk into a bag, which, once they were back out on the street, Snape promptly passed to Servius. "Put these in your rucksack. Bring the lot with you on your first day. Have you a trunk?'

Servius spluttered laughter. "Not last time I looked."

Rolling his eyes, Snape said, "I meant a travelling trunk. A big case. You'll have a lot of stuff to carry."

Jostled by impatient pedestrians, Snape consulted the list again. "It says you may have an owl or a cat or a toad. Well you're not having a toad. What good is a cat? An owl can be useful. Did you have need of an owl?"

"Is that why there's so many owls flying about?" asked Servius, pointing to the assortment of birds equipped with mail from the post office who swooped not far overhead.

"They are messengers. The school has owls, it's not essential. Right, cauldron we've got, then it's uniform and a wand."

"Wouldn't mind an owl." Servius looked non-committal and cuffed the ground with his trainer, but there was no mistaking his words.

Snape paused to consider him. "They take looking after."

"I can do that."

"Have you looked after a pet before?'

"Nup."

"Then I'm not sure an owl is the place to start. Ask your grandparents for a goldfish and see how you get on."

Servius scowled murderously and snapped, "I can look after an owl! It'll be my mate!"

Owls did indeed attach to their owners, provided their owners took care. Snape discerned it was in fact the first thing Servius had asked for, and he had spied the boy patting an owl earlier, very gently and reverentially.

"We'll go to Madam Malkins, and if you apologise and behave like a civilised wizard, I will buy you an owl."

Servius's eyes lit up, and when he realised Snape had observed that, he quickly shut them back down.

The bribery worked. Madam Malkin, rather more reserved by the second visit, equipped Servius with standard and winter uniforms, supplied Snape with academic and winter robes, and then took and order for more frock coats. While there, Snape purchased several white shirts and, feeling a little contemporary, decided against any more cravats. Perhaps it was time to let them go. Madam Malkin attempted to leverage this rare and unexpected wedge and talk him into updating his entire look, but that was too much for his overwhelmed sensibilities.

Servius had been compliant and cooperative throughout, and when Snape was presented with him donned in his black Hogwarts gown, he had an odd moment, deciding that Servius was by far the handsomest boy he'd ever seen in the uniform. What he said was: "Yes. That will do."

Honouring his word, they went from Malkin's to the Owl Emporium. Snape had never been inside before, his interests not much running to feathers and fur, and he took position within the shop at the intersection of two shelves, one stocking various forms of owl supplements, and the other displaying ties and tags, and permitted Servius to browse at will. There were some very excited children in the shop, they never having encountered an owl at close quarters, and the proprietor was busy keeping his stock in trade, literally, unruffled.

Presently Servius slouched over and stood before Snape and said, "I think I've found one I like."

"I see. And what makes you like it?"

"He's nice."

Snape sighed. "Well, that seems as good a qualification as any. Let's have a look at it."

Servius took him to the other end of the store, the passage of which required circumnavigating a treacherous reef of enclosures filled with all manner of predatory birds and their accoutrements, to a nondescript metal cage suspended on a hook in which sat an owl blinking, well, owlishly, and not doing much else. Snape wasn't sure what he'd expected – perhaps for the bird to be reciting 8th Century poetry in the classic? – but he was surprised Servius had selected a specimen so otherwise unremarkable.

"Is he a good owl?" asked Snape, not sure of what features would commend one. The bird was mottled, very by-the-book looking, would certainly meet the dictionary description of the type. He had quite startling dark yellow eyes rimmed with coal-black feathers.

"I think he's awesome," murmured Servius, and Snape was momentarily distracted by the sight of his son looking rather enamoured. It smoothed out his features, his eyes had a gentler glow, there was a trace of a smile which suited him. Could it be that all Snape men were better for having love in their life?

"Have you consulted the keeper?" asked Snape, knowing the answer would be negative, and summoned the proprietor, who sized up the situation immediately and, without encouragement, launched into the business of selling his owl.

"Oh yes, he's a good owl for messaging, good British stock is the short-eared owl. He'll fly for you during the day, which is an advantage. No fear of distance. Good at medium weights. Happy eater."

"Is he a good companion owl?" asked Snape.

"He'll bond as good as the next owl. He might take off a couple of times a year for a bit, they're nomadic see, but he'll come right back if you let him settle. First owl?" he asked Servius, who nodded. "Well he's a cracker of a starter owl, I say, perfect for students. One of my first owls was a short-ear. Lovely little things."

He reached in and took the owl out of his cage and got a nip for his trouble. "Here, have a hold. He'll let you know if this is a match."

And as Snape watched, he could see that Servius was garnering every cell in his body to somehow will this owl to match with him. He looked almost panicky at the prospect of a rejection. Snape began thinking of things to tell him if proceedings went unfavourably, but he needn't have worried: the owl, perched on Servius's forearm, shook his head rapidly, blinked some more, and hunkered down. As good as a love-note.

"Ah, there you see," said the proprietor cheerfully, as if this was the first time it had ever happened in his shop. "Made in heaven. This bird'll keep you happy for at least fifteen years. Excellent investment."

Servius looked at Snape, his eyes gazing feverishly at him, and Snape recognised the heat, the passion instantly; he saw himself. He knew that he would never need to even mention the word 'owl', that Servius would take the creature and devote himself to it, obsessively.

Knowingly, Snape said to the keeper, "I am happy to pay for the owl. Please furnish my son with the appropriate receptacle and other necessities, including, if you have it, instructions on care and upkeep. He is a novice."

The proprietor nodded enthusiastically, then said, "I can have everything arranged for you to pick up and take away in a few days' time."

"We can't take it now?"

"I'm afraid not, sir, no. With the rush on for owls at the moment, registering him with the Post Office will take at least twenty-four hours to process, and as I'm sure you know, he needs to be calibrated to pass through the Hogwarts anti-apparation charm, plus I'm fresh out of cages. Shall we say Tuesday?"

Servius looked crestfallen. Snape said to him, "It's only a few days. You can come back on Tuesday and take him home. I will make the arrangements."

The boy was too intent on preserving his image to allow his forlorn expression to linger, so he nodded and continued to pat the owl while Snape paid his 15 galleons for the bird, and a further 15 galleons for a good quality cage and other avian needs. Children were expensive.

Snape's nerves were starting to fray a little, and once back out on the street, in which the flow and eddy of pedestrians seemed to be as strong as ever, he told Servius he was going to stop for a cup of tea (regrettably he couldn't go back to the pub), but that the teashop wasn't far from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes if Servius wanted to go for an explore by himself. He thought this might cheer Servius up a little, as the boy had been sizing up the extravagant joke shop almost continuously since they'd stepped into the Alley. Servius readily agreed, and Snape gave him a few galleons to spend (he doubted the staff would take advantage of Servius's obvious unfamiliarity with the currency), then selected an outside table at the teashop so that Servius could find him again easily.

Once alone, Snape thought about the textbook. It would be something to look at while he waited, it may even reveal some clues about its author, and he picked up the rucksack that Servius had left with him (wisely, the twins had introduced a 'strictly no schoolbags' policy for their store) to find the reducio'd books. Instead his fingers encountered a wooden, oblong box which he knew immediately from long experience would hold a wand.

Without really stopping to think whether he was invading Servius's privacy or not, he took out the box. It was carved cedar-wood, attractive, feminine. He lifted the hinged lid and found silk lining, and within that, a pale-coloured wand, figured with a ribbon curl grain and a modestly carved grip. He recognised the wand immediately, in a line-up, he'd point it out confidently as the wand belonging to Charity Burbage. Something at the sight of it flipped open files in his head, and when he took it out of its box, at the touch of it, he had a memory of himself inside a room, searching under cushions and clothes, and finding this very wand hidden beneath a pink towel that had been inexplicably tossed on a table. He knew exactly what this memory was: he'd been sent to Charity's room to retrieve her wand, collect some things for her. The feelings were intense, a strong rush of affection at her absent-mindedness, he knew he'd left her somewhere, that she was waiting for him and that he was impatient to return.

The memory was dimming. He desperately wanted to stay there, he gripped her wand tightly in hopes it might reveal something else, squeeze out the last drops of that giddy, elated feeling he'd had, the sensation that he was connected to some kind of emotional rubber band and that all he wanted to do was snap back to her.

He was rewarded with a second memory: he'd accio'd this wand, he saw it lift and fly towards him. It had tugged itself free of a coat – her coat – to obey the call. The coat had been draped over the back of an armchair, the chair was in a dimly-lit room, a large room, the Archive. When the wand in his memory came to his hand, again, a flooding of heightened emotion, desire was in there, longing, possessiveness.

Snape dropped the wand back in its box, and allowed the memories to fade and seep away, bringing himself back to the present, his cup of tea on the table before him going cold, hearing the hum of the crowd walking past him in the street. He realised he'd stopped breathing, and now his chest quickly restored oxygen levels and his heart-beat, spiked by adrenalin, fell into a steadier rhythm. There was no doubt now, he knew to the core of his being, he'd not only loved Charity, it had been with a passion; that he'd proposed to her did not now seem so improbable. And for reasons he didn't quite understand, he was awash with relief and happiness and something akin to affirmation.

He placed the folds of silk lining back over Charity's wand, dropped back the lid of the box and returned it to Servius's rucksack. He had the strangest sensation that she was out there somewhere and somehow, through mystery or magic that mortals were not allowed to know, had seen the whole thing. But she wasn't angry, she was glad too, she had touched him.

Feeling tears spring to his eyes, Snape gave burning focus to his tea, blinking rapidly, trying to re-summon his cool, remote self before Servius returned. And when he saw his eleven-year old loafing back through the crowd on the street, hands in his pockets, black hair lifting with each movement, he seared a whole new memory into his mind, the image of this person he and she had created. How he wished he could remember her the way a lover did, so that he could see her in him, the way he'd seen Lily in Potter.

Servius approached him from the street and stood there. "That was pretty cool," he said. "But I didn't buy anything."

"Probably wise. The Weasley twins were profit driven."

"What?"

Snape smiled and shook his head. "Never mind. Ollivanders?"

"What's that?"

"We need to get you a wand."

"I've already got a wand."

"You mean your mother's? That's not the same. You need your own."

"Why. Won't hers work?"

"Let's go talk to the man himself."

Snape rose from the table, and feeling surprisingly calm and rested, headed off in the direction of the wandmaker's with Servius trailing behind.

Ollivanders hadn't changed in his eight years away – time was nothing to this shop, it bounced off it, the Wandmakers had become impenetrable to age, degeneration or atrophy. Perhaps it was preserved somehow by the pure aggregation of magic it contained. Snape entered with Servius and, as he'd expected, they had the shop to themselves. This was not because Diagon Alley was emptying of customers – on the contrary, it was as busy as ever – but because, mysteriously, the store never admitted more than one customer at a time. It was as if an invisible, all-seeing appointment diary had organised customers unknowingly to visit at a particular moment, however spontaneous they felt they'd been.

Servius glanced about, his expression blank but for the merest trace of recoil at the dusty, mustiness of it. The bell had tinkled on entry, and even though the store appeared empty, Snape knew that it was simply a matter of waiting now, Ollivander would be with them soon enough.

The rows and rows of boxed wands followed parallel lines to a vanishing point obscured by shadow in the dim lamplight, the shelves upon which they were stacked had turned grey with age. Carved into the wood on the front face of the counter was some archaic symbol Snape hadn't noticed before, and atop the counter was a set of bronze scales, a massive, red leather-bound volume of thick parchment pages, a pheasant quill and an inkpot and a gas lamp.

There was a shuffling noise from somewhere in the bowels of the shop, and then they heard Garrick Ollivander before they saw him, muttering to himself, occasionally breaking into a tuneless ballad, sneezing twice, and then he was there, suddenly, behind the counter. He had magnified spectacles propped on his forehead, and planted over his riot of silvery hair, was a brimless, brocade pointed hat that had gotten so soft with age it greater resembled a night cap.

"Mr Snape?" he said. Both Snape and Servius looked at him expectantly, Servius in particular had come to attention.

"Severus Snape," said Ollivander. "Welcome back to the living. I am not surprised in the slightest. If anyone could escape the maw of death, it would be you. Voldemort underestimated you, oh yes he did."

"But I almost – I had great luck -,"

"No," interrupted Ollivander bluntly, and looked pointedly at him with his pale blue eyes. "No. You are like a cat with nine lives. You manipulate destiny. Your movement through time and space rearranges fortune in your favour. It is why you continue to live when so many die around you."

Ollivander wasn't quite smiling, but wasn't fully accusatory either. Ollivander had always been ambiguous; it was difficult for Snape to gauge exactly how to interpret these remarks, the content of which perplexed him utterly, and the extent to which left him wordless. He felt it was rather signifying at his history as a Death Eater.

It didn't appear that Ollivander needed a reply anyway, for he peered across the desk at Servius and said, "And who do we have here?"

Servius looked immediately at Snape for guidance, and Snape said, "Introduce yourself."

"James Servius Snape."

"Snape! Ho ho! Son or nephew?"

"Son," said Snape uncomfortably, still unused to the word.

"And where on earth did you find time to become a father, Professor?" asked Ollivander, apparently even more immune to tact and diplomacy than Madam Malkin. But again, it was a rhetorical question as Ollivander rummaged in the pockets of his calico apron to find his measuring tape and came around his desk to approach Servius, unwinding spools as he did so.

"It helps narrow down the selection of wands, young man, if I can have a feel for your lengths. Extend your arm please."

Measurements were taken. Ollivander gave a little speech about different types of wands having different characteristics and properties, both physical and metaphysical. "How long have you had your wand now, Professor?" he called over to Snape as if to illustrate his meaning.

From his position on the rickety chair in the corner, Snape said, "Over thirty years now."

"That is unusual, and since you've taken it into battle. How is it that you've never broken it?"

Snape had almost lost it overboard on a ferry steamer crossing the Volga, and Diaphne had taken care to recover his wand when he was rescued from the Shrieking Shack, but he couldn't think of a time when he'd almost broken it. "I honestly don't know."

"Let me see it," said Ollivander coming towards him curiously, and Snape obediently withdrew it and handed it over. Ollivander twisted down his specs and turned the ebony wand back and forth. "Yes. Yes, I remember it. It's got quite a few nicks and scratches in it – I could resurface it for you?"

"No. No need for that," said Snape flatly, already a little jumpy at the separation.

"And is it still responsive? The core is sound?"

"Never failed me once," said Snape. "We are very bonded."

"This is the wand…Dumbledore…?" Ollivander peered at him over his specs, eyebrows raised.

Snape looked away. "As I said. It has never failed me, never questioned me."

A small smile appeared on Ollivander's lips and he gently returned Snape's wand, grip first. "Your attachment is very overt. If your wand breaks, so shall you."

Snape looked at him, and took his wand. "I have already been broken, Mr Ollivander. My wand is more intact than I. Touch wood."

Ollivander chuckled and said, "I doubt the break touched your core. " Then he turned back to Servius and recommenced with his tape measure, scribbling down numbers on his leather-bound book as he went. "So Master Snape – have you had a turn at some jinxes and hexes with your father's wand?"

"No. We met today."

Ollivander's eyebrow's peaked and he looked back to Snape, who shook his head to stymie any more questions. "Hm. Well, always a first time. Yours a little later than usual. Have you been raised as a wizard, Master Snape?"

"No. Muggle."

"I see," Questions for Snape were clearly burning. "Starting Hogwarts?"

"I don't want to go. I have to."

"You won't regret it."

"Whatever. I already have a wand."

"You do? Where did you come across it?"

Before Snape could intervene, Servius said "My mothers," and dived into his rucksack, bringing out the carved wand box. Snape stood, but Ollivander had already taken the box and opened it with interest.

"Hmmm," he said, looking at it closely. "That's poplar. That's a moral wood, values-driven you could say. And why do you have your mother's wand? Has she another now?"

"She's dead," said Snape and Servius at the same time.

"Terribly sorry," murmured Ollivander, looking at each of them in turn. "Recently, I take it?"

Snape didn't want to elaborate. The old wandmaker and Charity had been imprisoned at Malfoy Manor at the same time, Merlin only knew what kind of conversations they may have had down in the cellar. It certainly wasn't something he wanted to discuss in front of Servius.

"I was three," said Servius. "My grandparents look after me."

Ollivander nodded sagely. "Well then, so your mother was a witch and your father here is most certainly a wizard, so young Master Snape, you are definitely no Muggle. Can you work your mother's wand?"

"I've never got it to do anything," said Servius, taking it out and waving it around.

"May I?"

Servius handed over Charity's wand to Ollivander who wandered away with it, coughing slightly, magnifying specs back down.

"Poplar…twelve inches…" he placed it on the scale. "I'd say unicorn hair,"

"That's right," said Snape.

Ollivander brought out another contraption from beneath the desk. It was a black metal box with a domed lid. He opened it and placed Charity's wand inside, and tapped it with his own wand. A moment later he retrieved the wand and announced, "It is almost completely wilted. This wand has given up. I'd say that probably happened around the time your mother died. What sort of magic was this wand performing?"

"She could produce a corporeal Patronus with it," answered Snape.

"Well! That's impressive….who was your mother? I'm recalling a quiet, blonde lass."

His deadly memory was uncanny, Snape couldn't help but stare at him for a second. Then he said, "Charity Burbage. She was a teacher at Hogwarts."

"Charity Burbage? Why do I know that name?"

Before Ollivander could place it and raise awkward questions, Snape said, "I was telling Servius that he'd needs his own wand. And since his mother's is now wilted…?"

"That is true, young Master Snape," agreed Ollivander, returning his sagacious gaze back to Servius. "You'll never do your best magic with another's wand, however attached or sentimental you feel. In fact, most witches and wizards are buried with their wand so they can take it with them, no doubt they'll need it wherever they end up. So. Let us have a look at you. You have a strong, confident personality, that much is obvious. Unapologetic. Critical. Eager to prove. Sceptical – my, my you are your father's son. And I haven't a doubt that your magic streak is a mile wide. What, I wonder, what are you going to give the world?"

At this assessment, Servius frowned and glanced at Snape, and Snape's heart gave a twinge. The Snape's did not take well to being defined. He looked almost vulnerable out there, under Ollivander's critiquing spotlight, seeking assurance from him.

Ollivander wasn't expecting an answer. He turned his attention to his rows and rows of wands, ambling down the nearest aisle, searching.

While he was gone, Servius stepped up to the counter and reclaimed the poplar wand in its teak box. Snape watched as he shoved it into his backpack, conspicuously avoiding Snape's eyes. It was a guarded, protective act and revealed Servius's devotion, his fealty to his departed mother. Snape felt a flash of jealousy. He'd felt the same with Potter about Lily; Potter could indulge his love for his mother whereas Snape could not. Snape had to conceal it, nurture it with bleak rations, nurse it like an ailing, sputtering flame in the shadow of Potter's artless declarations of grief. Or at least that's what it had felt like. Here he was again, except this time the love had been between he and the mother, he should be able to requisition the wand as his own. He knew more about that wand than Servius did, and the wand gave him memories that Servius would never have. He felt like saying, "Give the box to me," …but he wouldn't. Even though Snape craved the feeling again as though it were oxygen, he coveted the box and the elixir of emotion it contained, he had seen the way Servius' shoulder had turned against Snape as he reached for it, using his body to come between his father and the wand. To deny it, to withhold it…no, the boy needed it more than he did, it was his piece of flotsam in an ocean of adult enigma and abstruseness.

Ollivander duly returned to his desk holding four boxes, and the testing began. He gave Servius first a willow and unicorn wand. The willow was an uncommon wood, and it was known for tapping potential, which Ollivander felt Servius was brimming with. Servius held it and tried a simple spell but there was no connection. The second was pine, in this case Servius's inherited independence and individuality being the trigger point for a match, but no magic was felt. There was a dogwood and Phoenix feather which Snape thought would be a good match for Servius's mischievous side, but the wand knew better. And lastly, a larch and dragon heartstring, a combination which Ollivander stated he almost never put together. Snape had heartstring and personally leaned to it as a core, the larch wood he was surprised by. "The classic unknown quantity," said Ollivander. "Like the wildcard of wandwood. It is unshaped, unproved, unknown. It is like an empty vessel, just waiting to be discovered by a wizard who needs a voyage of discovery. That is my sense about young Servius here. Servius will be like you, Professor Snape – once he has bonded, the possibilities will be unlimited. And I certainly don't want to get in Servius's way."

The wand itself was a fine, soft honey-coloured wood to which Ollivander had applied a dark veneer to bring up the figuring and character. The grip was particularly nice, having been carved to the shape of a Celtic dragon head. Snape approved heartily, and watched Servius to see what would happen.

Ollivander held forth the box and allowed Servius to lift it out. A glow emanated from the wand as Servius's fingers closed around the grip, Servius's eyes grew huge and it was obvious he could feel the magic through the touch. A small smile came to his face, abstracted, his entire attention focussed on this almost sentient tool in his hand.

"Say lumos," said Snape.

"Lumos -,"

The wand-tip lit up brilliantly.

"How does it feel in your hand, Master Snape?" asked Ollivander, his own expression warmed beneath the light and a happy pairing.

"It feels nice…really nice…like a little animal or something…friendly..."

"Try a little flick…let's see some bonding sparks fly."

A little self-consciously, Servius half-swished, half-flicked the wand and gold sparks sprayed out of the still-lit wand tip accompanied by a faint huzzing noise.

"Hah – he's a chatterbox wand, did you hear that? I'd say, Professor Snape, we've found a match."

From where he'd been watching avidly, Snape nodded and belatedly realised he'd been standing there with a big smile planted on his face, which he hastily erased, and said seriously, "Yes, I agree. They seem compatible. Say nox, Servius."

"Nox." The light went out.

"Your first spell," said Ollivander, his smile almost lost in his heavily creased face. "Top of the class now."

As they left Ollivanders, the new wand still in Servius's hand as he refused to let go of it, repeatedly lighting it and turning it off again, Snape got flashing in the retinas of his eyes. Pain points began in his temples. He'd had a reprieve while they were in Ollivanders, but now he was paying for his memories earlier.

And he was starting to see a pattern with the onset of the migraines – Candace had been right. Actual memories or attempted recall of memories seemed to trigger them, and he intuited that it was connected to the magic which had removed his memory of Charity. The chapter on Memorium Delens had said there were often side-effects from the ritual, sometimes dangerous ones. And the Wicce supposedly knew something about his migraines.

When Snape had been in the care of the Wicce and Diaphne at their small, rustic hospital, he had asked how it was that he was known to them, enough to take this trouble. Diaphne answered that she simply knew him from around Hogsmeade, knew he was a Professor at the school and she would have done the same for any of the teachers. But he had an inkling that she knew him better than a stranger, she had become loving and affectionate too rapidly, she slipped little clues that revealed a familiarity with him unexplained by their brief acquaintance. He didn't pursue it at the time, he had too many pressing problems to bother with mild curiosities, but now he wondered whether the Wicce and Diaphne had met him before. Perhaps in the act of deleting his memories.

He and Servius walked back towards The Leaky Cauldron, it now being close to 4:30 and they were to meet Candace Peacock. As soon as they were seated inside the pub, Snape withdrew a vial of Diaphne's potion from his coat pocket – there wasn't enough quantity to stop the migraine altogether, but it might be enough to get him back to Hogwarts. He necked the lot, re-stoppered the vial and sat back in the chair with his eyes closed.

"Look! Look!" said Servius and Snape's eyes flew open again.

"What?"

"If I flick my wand at the glass, it moves!" Servius demonstrated, and a drinking glass belonging to a customer at a neighbouring table was tipped over, spilling butterbeer all over the table and onto the customer's trousers.

The customer jumped up and Snape did as well, apologising and cleaning the spill with a quick scourgify. The disgruntled customer looked angrily at Servius, and Snape's head began to pound.

When he sat down again, he looked at Servius with a heavy frown. "Servius, listen. A wand is a tool. It's not for playing with, it's not a toy. In your bag of books there is one all about spells and how to use your wand. Have a read through it before school starts, see what you can pick up. But don't try anything, never point it at anything living, and never use it in front of Muggles, never. If you do something untoward with it, the Ministry will know and you will get in trouble for using under-age magic. And I won't be able to get you off."

"What's the Ministry?"

"The police to you."

"How will they know?!"

Snape cocked a single brow. "Because they're magic, Servius."