Chapter 16 – The Hogwarts Express

As the first rays of dawn shone through the opaque arched roof of Kings Cross station, and the pigeons that roosted in the rafters began to strike out into the London sky, a locomotive in handsome crimson and black livery slowly rumbled along its northerly track and, with a great hiss and plume of steam, came to a halt at Platform 9 ¾. The nightshift Muggles awaiting their trains on adjacent platforms did not see the gleam of the boiler, the shine of the buffers and rails, the spit and polish on the crankshaft or coupling rods, for the Express travelled only where witches and wizards went, and today, it was bound for Hogwarts, 11am sharp.

It was Sunday, but not a day of rest for the teachers. At breakfast, there was a heightened mood in the Great Hall, a surcharge of energy, they were talkative and jokey, some, like Trelawney, a bit panicky. But most – most were ready; ready and waiting. The Express would arrive on or around 6pm.

Snape had followed up breakfast with a visit to his dungeon classroom. He wandered about it, a final inspection, trying to see it anew. Like all the teachers, the first day of a new school year filled his head with the prominent matters of lessons and students, and regardless of years of experience, he – and his peers – were now poised like actors before the curtain rose, like an artist about to unveil their masterpiece, like poets at an opening recital – he couldn't deny the vulnerability when presented with a roomful of new faces: he always thought will they like it? Would they respond to his offering and open their minds to him, welcome the knowledge he could give them? And might they even like it?

He straightened the oil lamp on his table, but it was the only thing left to do and when he turned back towards the rows of desks he wondered what Servius would make of it. Compared to what the boy would be accustomed to, Potions in the dungeon was about as far a departure from a modern day learning environment as it was possible to get and still be in a school. The contrast was not something that had ever bothered him before, but today: today he was self-conscious. He was anticipating antipathy, scorn, cynicism from his son – all the things he was so good at himself – and he had no real plans for dealing with it.

The Headmistress had asked to see him that morning and he left the classroom and stalked through the castle towards the Head's Tower. In passing, he quickly dropped into the kitchens to double-check the elves were aware that tonight was the arrival feast. Mr Gadkey in his bowler hat grumpily assured him, against a backdrop of utter elf-strewn gallery chaos, that yes, on Dobby's ears, of course they knew, they'd known for weeks, was he insulting their professionalism? and then the indignant elf all but booted him out. That was fine with Snape. He continued on his way.

When he entered the Headmaster's Office, McGonagall was pacing the room. The fact she was holding a full teacup as she did so, and spilled not a single drop, was a credit to her actual composure. However, like everyone in the castle, she didn't seem very calm.

"Severus! Good heavens, Merlin's slippers, where have you been?"

"Checking the kitchens, Ma'am."

"Do they know there's a feast tonight?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Has Hagrid the boats ready?"

"He was talking about it, so I believe so."

"Check, will you? Last year there was a leaky one."

He nodded. She took a sip of tea and as she did, Snape looked up at Dumbledore who chuckled. "Best day of the year, I always think," said the portrait.

"From there, it's steadily downhill," said Snape.

"What's this?!" exclaimed Dumbledore "You've had eight years off, Severus! Your dark heart should be brimming with the excitement of an apprentice!"

"Today, perhaps. Tomorrow – then it will all come back."

Dumbledore chortled. "But surely a certain notable amongst our arrivals lends a new complexion? Will not Servius' unspoilt eyes be watching you from behind his little dungeon desk?"

"Unfortunately I'm not at all convinced that will make the situation in any way better."

"Och Severus!" scolded McGonagall. "That's no way to talk about your own child. And which House will he be sorted into?"

"Slytherin, I expect."

"And is that quite decided or will the Hat be allowed to do its job?"

"He will participate in all the rituals and traditions normal for a first year. Including sharing a train compartment with friend or foe."

McGonagall gave a delighted laugh. "But you will see him onto the train? It leaves in an hour."

Snape half shook his head. "No. I hadn't planned on it."

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged glances, something that now seemed to happen whenever he entered the office.

"Go, Severus," she said with a small smile, her eyes softened from their earlier anxiety. "See your son onto his first Express – there's only ever a first time. Once he's en route, come back to Hogwarts and we'll finish our meeting."

Snape's understanding was that Servius was to be accompanied to Kings Cross with his grandparents and Candace Peacock. Presumably the unusual station was not a mystery to Mr and Mrs Burbage, after all they would have seen Charity onto the train a few times. But it hadn't occurred to him to be there himself. He'd been so self-absorbed the past week he'd barely thought of Servius in any respect – as a baby perhaps, but not as an eleven-year-old about to start life in a completely foreign world with total strangers away from everything that was safe and familiar. No, with some shame Snape realised he hadn't stopped to think about that much.

"Uh - ," he said uncertainly. "So…just meet him on the platform you think?"

McGonagall smirked. "Aye. Just watch what the other parents do."

Snape gave her a measured scowl, then nodded his head by way of thanks and left the office.

By the time he'd cleared his way of Hogwarts and Disapparated to London, it was half-past ten and the platform he arrived at was congested with students of every size, shape and colour, along with their parents, junior siblings, trolleys, bags, cages, cases and one escaped owl that was flying back and forth near the roof. New to the scene since Snape had taken the train himself as a youngster was the employment of brightly coloured banners, balloons and group singalongs to wish the boarder-to-be a fond farewell, which, in effect, did nought but reduce the poor child in question to neurotic tears. Of these there were a few, Snape noticed as he meandered through the crowd – the children of 2006 seemed slightly less stoic than those in the '70's. By the time a boy reached eleven in his generation, they were virtually forbidden to cry. Of course, his own circumstances couldn't really be viewed as representative: he'd been dancing on the inside when it was his first time to board the Express. The hours had seemed to drag until he heard the whistle finally blow.

Snape earned some curious looks as he made his way along the platform – as it was, he was taller than most present, and his dark, forbidding countenance inspired guilty reflexes in even the most innocent of beholders – but he was, for the most part, unknown to the students. There was an odd parent here or there who may have schooled alongside him, or been taught by him, or who recognised him from the papers. But had his sudden Apparition on Platform 9 ¾ occurred ten years earlier, there would have been a very different reception.

Today, however, he could take advantage of the anonymity to concentrate on matters of a far more personal nature. He at last set eyes upon his son, grouped with his grandparents, Peacock in her MoM uniform stiffly standing a little apart as if afraid of contamination from the unusual density of teenagers, and realised with latent gratitude how glad he was he had come. The little party seemed confused and lost, situated too close to the entry point in the platform wall and so periodically assaulted by new arrivals charging through with their trolleys, each occasion followed by a consternated regrouping and flustered checking of belongings by Mrs Burbage.

Servius was still dressed in his Muggle clothes but had, Snape observed with some consolation, been given a haircut. Double-standards was at least one parenting characteristic that Snape had intuited without difficulty. His son stood rigid, proudly, but of the defiant kind: the Snape variant which communicated to anyone caring to ask that he would go down fighting, however innocuous the question. He wore trainers that were belligerently Muggle, but at the same time he kept one hand protectively on the cage containing his owl (evidently the bird had made it home again). He was his mother all over again: a child caught in the middle.

Snape's heart contracted - all safely at a distance - the same way it had when Servius stood in Ollivanders. Seeing your flesh and blood at large in the world gave rise to protective instincts that seemed to disappear at closer quarters. But more than that: Servius now suggested an added dimension to his being. He was augmented by his mother, her presence in Snape's consciousness gave Servius an intactness he hadn't had before – a line broken by angles was now able to join at an apex. As Snape started towards him he was spotted, and Snape saw, before an aspect of disdain was studiously planted, Servius had gazed with wonder at his father: relief, astonishment and awe all at once. It was mere seconds on display, but Snape had seen it, and the moment was locked down fast. Servius, in his inexperience, had given ground.

"Professor!" exclaimed Peacock hurrying forward at the sight of him. "I had no idea it got so busy! I must say, I'm glad you're here. I've gotten Servius and his grandparents this far: what would you like me to do from here?"

There was no disguising that Peacock sought permission to be released. "Thank you for everything Madam Peacock. I'm sure you have important things to be getting on with at work?"

"I do, I do," she said, the permission seized, and turned back to the family. "I can't leave you all in better hands than Professor Snape. All the best, Servius! You'll be great! You'll fit in straight away, trust me!"

There was a brief flurry of farewells and thanks, interrupted only once by an arrival through the barrier, and then Peacock waved and was gone. Servius stared at where she had been. He then turned black eyes upon his father.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello Servius. You certainly seem excited."

Mr Burbage extended his hand and shook Snape's heartily and Mrs Burbage, not the handshaking type, looked delighted to see him but at the same time utterly confused as to how to greet him. Instead she said: "Oh Professor Snape, your timing is perfect. We've had a dreadful run through London, Servius says he's not feeling well, and it's been so long since we've been on this platform I clear forgot how…well how to get on it."

"It takes some getting used to for the uninitiated," Snape conceded, making the barest eye-contact necessary to be polite before turning back to Servius. "You're not feeling well?"

"Nerves. Just nerves," advised Mr Burbage hurriedly. "His mother was the same. She'd throw up for hours before interviews."

Snape didn't know that and privately revelled in this tiny insight into Charity.

"It's normal to be nervous," Snape said to Servius, who was glaring at the floor. "But once the train starts moving, it's more like an adventure. Everyone new feels the same way."

In his mind - as his eyes studied the boy's features, the young, smooth skin with the same sprinkle of freckles, the shape of his ears, jawline - he was remembering Charity with her bump and marvelled at the miracle of pregnancy and birth and growth as if the first person ever to do so. Nothing brings it into full relief like becoming a parent for the first time.

Servius shrugged. Snape was about to ask him about Täne's flight home when Mrs Burbage jumped in. "Mr Snape, I've packed all his books and uniforms and the other things you bought in this case, mind it's heavy, and in here are all his personal effects – I hope he has enough, I wasn't sure what the school provided for things like toothpaste and shampoo - I mean, is there a shop? And I've packed some of his favourite sweets – just a few treats to help him settle, you know. And he wanted to bring his football, I hope that's okay? I packed extra socks because he just goes through them in weeks, and -,"

"Ma!" snapped Servius. His ears had gone scarlet and he frowned ferociously.

Snape recalled the meagre belongings in his own, single bag when he'd left for Hogwarts. "That's very kind," Snape said to Mrs Burbage. "Sounds like you've thought of everything."

"Will you be sitting with him on the train?" Mr Burbage asked. "I tell you what, I wouldn't mind a trip on that old girl, what a beauty," he then added, almost to himself, admiring the Express.

"No, I have to go back to work." At this, Snape saw Servius scowl darkly again and wondered if Servius had in fact wanted his company. "But your first boarding of the Express is an occasion worth marking. I'll see Servius when he gets to the school."

"Where am I s'posed to get off? How do I know where to go?" Servius asked.

"Hagrid will meet you."

"Who's Hagrid?"

Snape was momentarily mute. He'd quite forgotten there existed a world in which nobody knew Hagrid. At Diagon Alley, Servius had seen all manner of magical folk, but Hagrid would be his first giant. "Professor Hagrid is one of the teachers," replied Snape, as Mr and Mrs Burbage listened equally intently. "He's…very large. You won't be able to miss him. And he knows about you."

A whistle suddenly sounded sharply and a conductor started marching up and down the platform hastening people to get belongings into the luggage compartments and make their final farewells. Mr and Mrs Burbage urgently began to manoeuvre the trolley towards the train and Servius took the owl cage and a carry bag. Elves were dashing back and forth, levitating cases and shrinking trunks.

Servius watched as boys and girls – many already in their uniforms, some barking instructions – started to mount the train with a deafening clamour, their excitement irrepressible at the joy of being reunited with their friends. As Mr Burbage was assisted by an elf get the luggage on board, Servius glanced at Snape. "Those kids have a different uniform from mine. They've got colours."

"They're in a House," answered Snape. "You'll be sorted into yours this evening. And then you'll be given uniform like theirs."

"Candace told me about the Houses," he muttered. "Dumb names."

Snape clasped his hands behind him and rocked on his heels slightly. "Very old names," he retorted, frowning. "Have you thought about which House you'd like to be in?"

"What are they again?"

"Slytherin."

No reaction.

"Ravenclaw. Gryffindor -,"

"Yeah. That one. They sounded alright."

"Gryffindor?" Snape rejoined swiftly, his dismay obvious. "No, no – I don't think -,"

"The lion, right?"

"Yes, but don't be -,"

"Aren't they the brave ones? Adventurous?"

"Anyone can be brave -,"

"And I like the colour, too. Red."

"Servius – there's far more to it than a colour." The possibility of Servius being in Gryffindor had never seriously crossed Snape's mind. It had seemed as natural as breathing to him that he'd be a Slytherin through and through. He imagined Neville Longbottom's smug face at the Sorting Ceremony… "I think you should consider the fact that I was – am - in Slytherin so I can tell you -,"

"Oh no," said Mrs Burbage, who was standing nearby and shaking her head at hearing this. "I've told Servius to stay away from Slytherin."

Snape stood very upright. "With all due respect, Mrs Burbage, on what grounds have you made that determination?"

"Well from what Candace told us, Slytherin is full of all the magic people that become criminals -,"

"She didn't say that," growled Mr Burbage impatiently.

"Well maybe not in so many words -!"

"That is a very old and unsubstantiated myth," Snape rebutted. "Some of the finest wizards in history are graduates of Slytherin. From what I know of Servius, I believe he would find it an excellent match, and furthermore, I will be able to keep a close eye on him."

All three of them gazed back at Snape and he could tell they thought his insistence rather odd. Mrs Burbage let her gaze hold a moment longer, then turned to Servius and hugged him closely. "It's just a House, Servius, you know for sports teams and things. It doesn't matter that much. Now! Are you ready to get on the train?"

Servius scowled and Mrs Burbage nodded. "Then say goodbye to Pa. Big hug! There you go. Now you be good! D'you hear? Best behaviour. Your father will be watching and he'll be very unhappy if you don't behave. And don't forget, your Mum is watching too. She'll be so proud, my love."

Mrs Burbage pulled out a hanky from her voluminous tote and started dabbing her eyes and, obviously dreading a scene, Servius made determinedly for a carriage door. Just then, Snape saw a trio of boys all dressed in Slytherin uniforms walking along the platform, who looked to be only a couple of years older than Servius.

"Boys! You, boys!" he ordered, summoning them over. They stared at him, and Snape realised that they didn't know who he was. "I am Professor Snape, Potions Master and Deputy. Now come directly or it'll be five points off each!"

Eyebrows shot up and the three students hurried over. Probably they'd heard his name before.

"This is Servius. He's first year. I want you to find a carriage where he can sit with you - ,"

"But sir, we're Prefects -,"

"And so? Then find him a first-year carriage. But I want you to keep an eye on him, understand? He's a very important passenger."

The three Slytherins looked at Servius, who glared back at them only seconds away from throwing punches. "He's…new to all this," Snape explained gamely.

The three boys met Snape's eyes and seemed to understand. "Yes sir. We'll keep him company sir," said the tallest of them.

"Your name?" Snape asked, thinking it might help to know at least one of the students.

"Tattinger, sir."

Snape glanced at him again and looked more closely, recognising the name at once. "Tattinger? Are you related to…what was his name…?"

"Euclid Tattinger? He's my older brother sir," said the boy.

"Yes. Euclid. Papus be praised. I see the resemblance now." Although in truth, there wasn't. Hufflepuff Euclid had been somewhat puny and sheepish the whole time Snape had known him. This lad was well built and confident.

"He talked about you sir," said the boy.

That could have meant one of a hundred things. Seeing as the boy was in Slytherin, he decided the stories home might have been favourable. Might have been. "Ah. I see. Very good. All right, everyone on board then."

The three Slytherins mounted the train behind Servius just as the whistle blew again. "Last call to board!" hollered the conductor, who then blew his own whistle. The people on the platform scrambled and students all along its five-carriage length jostled through the doors. The escaped owl flew back and forth overhead, no doubt breaking some poor student's heart. There was yet a chance it would find its way to Hogwarts eventually.

Snape stepped back on the platform beside Mr and Mrs Burbage and they looked for a window from which Servius might wave to them, but he had disappeared. Snape's hope was that the Slytherins were settling him in, subliminally initiating him into the coils of the serpent, excising any of those jaundiced opinions Peacock had passed on. She must have been a Gryffindor.

Even though Servius was not visible, Mrs Burbage waved at the train that had blown its final whistle, snorted a great plume of steam and began a slow and steady chunt north. Children spilled from the carriage windows, waving. "I can't believe it," said Mrs Burbage, shaking her head. "I still can't believe Charity isn't here to see it."

Back at Hogwarts, Snape attended to a hundred and one small tasks and duties assigned by McGonagall to ensure the start of term was smooth. More than smooth, she wanted to make it memorable for the first years, a warm welcome, offer some assurance to the students that, while it might be a school, it was also their home for the time being. She was hot under the collar about the builders, however. "Severus, have you organised that meeting between the builders and the MoM I asked for? I want that arranged no later than next week," she huffed as together they walked up the Dungeon stairs after visiting the Slytherin Common Room. "The money's running out. And they haven't even started on the roof. Honestly, how hard can it be?"

Snape hadn't even thought about the meeting. "Yes Ma'am," he murmured, kicking himself for forgetting.

"Oh – can you make sure there's an empty portrait in the Great Hall for the feast – Dumbledore mentioned he'd like to observe the arrivals. He's done that a few times."

"Certainly."

They marched up the marble staircase. "Don't forget that in the first few weeks of term you'll need to organise Head Boy and Girl elections."

"Yes, Ma'am." A discreet sigh.

"Also, set up a time to meet with me about getting that magical portrait artist in, what's his name?" said McGonagall, as they strode along first floor, waving her wand about like a baton.

"I don't recall…."

"I'm thinking of getting a portrait of Horace done. For the Common Room. And while the artist is here, he can have a look at yours."

"Mine?"

"I haven't taken it down, Severus, and I don't think I shall," she said firmly, "but we do need to animate it, give it some consciousness. The artist knows how to do that."

Snape's brow contracted, genuinely confused. "But why Ma'am?"

She came to an abrupt halt and rested the tip of her wand in her left hand as she appraised Snape. "Severus, don't be coy. I shan't be Headmistress here forever. As it is, I think it's putting me in an early grave. Since you're Deputy, and in view of the inevitable corollary to my retirement, you should start the education of your portrait now. Dumbledore's had decades of learning. You can start while I'm in London."

She recommenced her brisk walk, and Snape, head spinning, belatedly caught up. He was about to argue the point with her when they were apprehended by Benedict Hellmann.

"Headmistress!" declared the DADA Professor, walking towards them. "I wanted a quick word if I may?"

"Benedict, of course. I wouldn't mind a tour of your classroom before the end of today if you don't mind?"

"Yes Ma'am. Ah, the reason I wanted to speak is with regards to my daughter, Amelie. I mentioned at our staff meeting a couple of weeks ago that I sought an exception for her in the Sorting Ceremony -,"

"Yes, I do remember," said McGonagall rather primly.

"Well, since I have been on the site here, and I have learned much more about Hogwarts, I think I would like Amelie to participate in the ceremony after all."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose and she glanced at Snape. "Well, certainly; she should join the new arrivals before the feast this evening. Professor Snape will be overseeing the Sorting."

"Ah. That is convenient. Professor Snape, could you please see to it that Amelie is sorted into Slytherin?" said Hellmann to him directly.

Snape blinked. "I'm afraid it has nothing to do with me. The Hat makes the decision. It may consult the child."

"Why does everybody want to be in Slytherin all of a sudden?" said McGonagall, clearly recalling her conversation with Snape earlier.

"You mean the parents have no influence whatsoever?" said Hellmann. "But how can she possibly know what she wants?"

A short silence descended, and Snape's mind turned to Servius on his Hogwarts carriage, hopefully deep in conversation with some impressive Slytherins.

"Professor Hellmann," said McGonagall after clearing her throat. "Are you sure you're not underestimating Amelie? Is she conversant with all the Houses? And if not, rest assured, the Hat has been dependably Sorting for hundreds of years."

"I have particular reason in selecting Slytherin for her," replied Hellmann. "It has the value system most resembling my own and that of Durmstrang - ,"

"– well the old Durmstrang perhaps –,"

"I think also Amelie will get the proper supervision she needs in Slytherin. I am not certain that Professors Oosthuizen or Longbottom demonstrate quite the level of…discipline…she is accustomed to."

Snape raised a brow, privately rather applauding this assessment; McGonagall, however, looked stung.

"May I speak with this Hat?" asked Hellmann imperiously.

"I'm afraid not!" retorted McGonagall, eyes blazing. "I regret having to take a firm position on this, Professor, but you and Amelie are now a part of the Hogwarts system which includes all its policies and procedures. Amelie will be Sorted as per tradition, and it will be between herself and the Hat. I do caution you about making Amelie feel singled out amongst the student body – my experience has shown the new children like to fit in as much as possible."

Hellmann looked at her coolly through the shielding glass of his spectacles, then nodded once and said, "Ma'am," before turning on his heel smartly and walking back the way he'd come.

McGonagall and Snape watched him leave for a moment or two, then she turned to Snape and muttered, "Merlin's slippers, Severus, he's worse than you!"

Later, Snape took a moment to slip into the Archive / Slytherin Common Room by himself and he sat down on one of the leather-bound chairs, lifting his feet up on to the table (something he strictly forbade the students from doing) and rested his head back. He'd been going non-stop for hours. The room was peaceful and dark and, as ever, something about it was soothing.

He wished he'd had time to visit the Archive in its previous form after he'd had his memories restored. His head was full of them now, and the peculiar draw he'd had to the place was quite apparent to him. He waited to feel Charity's presence, and his mind turned to the possibility of Servius feeling her too, if he was in this room.

What if he's not? Snape asked himself, for the first time able to reflect on events on the train platform. In a matter of hours, your son could be in Gryffindor.

Did it matter? Was it wrong of him to impose his will so forcibly if the Hat prioritised personality over bloodlines?

He held a kernel of genuine concern about Servius and Neville Longbottom – Snape was certain Longbottom would view a Gryffindor sorting as an opportunity to exercise some karmic retribution. But more at the heart of it, he reflected, was a fear of the past reoccurring. He had watched Lily be sorted into Gryffindor and that, he was quite convinced, had been the beginning of the end of their friendship. The Hat's decision had informed him that he and Lily weren't quite as like-minded as he'd wanted to believe, and that her placement amongst others more like herself was proof of what he'd always quietly feared: she'd only been lured to him by what he represented, not who he was as a person. During the Ceremony, with the Hat on her head, had Lily expressed any personal desire of her own about where she wanted to be placed? Had she mentioned Slytherin? Or had she been quite willing to be placed away from Snape; now he'd brought her to the front door of Hogwarts? Had she, all told, been quite prepared to make her own way? The Marauders had sensed it and merely set about finishing an ailing, irredeemable hope like rogue lions overtaking a pride - but it was the Sorting Ceremony that had severed them.

He didn't want that to happen with Servius. His relationship with his own son was far more tenuous than his and Lily's, and he hadn't been able to save that. It was not impossible that Servius would pick another House just to spite him.

He closed his eyes. Charity? he inquired into the room, into the universe. My love? Not a word had passed his lips. While he knew that ghosts in the wizarding world were disembodied spirits, what he was less sure about was whether it was possible to communicate with someone who'd left the world of the living, who no longer haunted, who had, presumably, gone to wherever peaceful souls went after death. And so he sent out the question more out of instinct than a true knowledge or with any real expectation. But he knew she was a scientist, and if she was out there that her own curiosity if nothing else would compel her to explore the realms of possibility. She hated sides, hated borders – she would be driven to experiment with what the metaphysical universe would or would not do. And if she could be reached, this was the room that had the connection.

But nothing happened. Nothing he could prove was her responding, at least. He felt slightly warmer, but that could have been his own faint embarrassment at trying to talk to a dead woman. Admonishing himself, he stood and went through to inspect the dormitories.

Evening rolled around, only discernible by the deep slanting of shadows as it would not be properly dark until after 8pm. Starlings commenced their noisy roosting in the uppermost branches of the Forbidden Forest. From the vantage point at the top of a castle tower, a person looking north would notice a paling in the colour of the trees, that the stately poplars edging the neighbouring farmland was yellowing; oaks and maples blushing. If the viewer turned south, they might also spy the trailing plume of smoke from the stack of the Hogwarts Express as it neared the end of its journey, the retiring sun glinting off the steel and glass, the smoke marking its passage as it disappeared behind cuttings.

On the train itself, Servius had changed into his uniform, warned by the conductor that Hogsmeade Station was imminent, and now returned to his carriage where he shoved his Muggle clothes into his bag.

"Better change your shoes as well," said the boy with whom he'd struck up an awkward conversation for the second half of the trip. The first half he'd spent sullenly staring out of the window or poking at Tāne in his cage.

The boy sharing his compartment – along with a handful of others, but Servius hadn't talked to them – was also a first-year and also Muggle raised. In appearance he was Asian in descent but British born and schooled, and his name was William Huan. They'd struck up a conversation because William was sitting directly opposite him, his owl's cage swinging from a hook near the window, but also because he'd started taking apart his mobile phone right there on his lap and Servius couldn't quite believe it. It transpired that Huan wanted to know why his phone no longer had any life at all – not just a lack of reception, but had gone completely dead – and thought there might be clues in the phone's innards. There wasn't. But it had been a conversation starter.

"My school shoes are in my big suitcase. I'll just leave my trainers on," said Servius.

"They look really obvious."

"Ooh. Maybe they'll send me home," said Servius with a grin. Then scoffed: "What difference do my shoes make?"

"If they don't send you home, what will you try next?"

"I dunno. What gets you expelled? Swearing? Fighting? Breaking stuff?"

"There was a kid at my school who got expelled because he kept showing his balls to the girls," Huan informed him, looking very serious, but then smiled wickedly. Servius laughed and tossed him a Fizzing Whizzbee.

The door to the compartment suddenly slid open with a startling bang and the first years within jumped. It was the three Slytherin Prefects from the train station again. Earlier, they'd brought spare sweets from the Honeydukes lady, explained Chocolate Frog cards and the correct way to eat Exploding Bon Bons, then told the newbies about Honeydukes itself, as well as the legend that a tunnel existed somewhere in the castle that could take you straight to the shop underground. There was for a while afterward a degree of energy in the compartment as all the passengers chatted about their sweets and swap-cards, and it was universally, if slightly grudgingly, agreed that magical sweets definitely had the upper hand on Muggle sweets, even, and including, the ones containing insects.

"You all ready lads?" asked the older boys, Tattinger's eyes scanning Servius up and down. "Where're your shoes?"

"These're fine."

"Nope. Shoes on, Servius. Uniform please."

"What difference does it make?"

Tattinger raised his brows archly. "Professor Snape left me in charge and I'm not about to piss him off. So get your shoes on."

Servius resentfully rose and went through the carriages to the luggage compartment, followed by Tattinger. Here the chugging of the train was almost deafening. His case had been stored on the supplied racks and was buried amongst dozens of others and he started to pull cases aside, searching for his own.

"Has it got a label?" Tattinger asked, and when Servius confirmed it did, he began his own search. Presently Tattinger dragged forth the big, leather case that had belonged to Charity and said, "I think this is it." Then he looked levelly at Servius.

Servius looked back, slightly frowning. "What?"

"Who are you?"

"Why?"

Tattinger pulled the case free and dropped it onto the floor between them, then held up the label. "It says Servius Snape. That you?"

As had been the journey of hundreds of first years before him, Servius and his carriage-full of student peers were deposited at Hogsmeade Station and they were all met by Hagrid on the platform who hollered: "Firs' years! Over to me! Firs' years!"

The youngsters all gathered and gazed like awe-struck sheep. Tattinger was trailing Servius and when they were in proximity to Hagrid, Tattinger said to him: "This is Servius Snape. I was told he's a very important passenger, thought you might like to know."

Hagrid looked down his ample frame at Servius, and all the other first years looked at him as well. Servius, carrying his owl, looked as if he'd just been dunked headfirst in scalding water. "Thass right, I know 'bout Servius. Welcome to 'Ogwarts Master Snape."

Hagrid waited for a smile of greeting, but when Servius stared at Hagrid's boots and nothing more, the Gatekeeper chuckled, "Jus' like yer father was." Then he jangled his enormous ring of keys and shouted: "Let's get on. FOLLOW ME."

He guided them to Hogwarts across the lake, the self-sailing boats reflected in the water like a small battalion about to descend into the fray, the setting sun behind them alighting the castle stone on fire, golden rays cast off the ironwork in the Astronomy Tower. The students were mute as their boats were absorbed into the shadow of the cliff and the dark reflection of the fortress. For the Muggle-born and raised amongst them, the sight of their new school and home was a harbinger of just how strange and wonderful their world was about to become, that nothing would ever be the same again, and that whatever had come before had been merely the precursor for this moment in their lives.

Hagrid enjoyed this moment immensely. It was a distinct pleasure that went with the job of Gatekeeper. He never tired of the ingenuousness, the open mouths, watching all the pretence and brashness of modern-day adolescence evaporate into the ephemera from whence it came. He affected an air of a long-suffering, business-like warden as he shepherded them from one place to another, but privately he delighted in their slightly chocolatey youthfulness and promise-filled faces.

He took them up the stone steps to the Middle Courtyard in a file of two across, carrying over his shoulder one girl who had burst into overwhelmed tears, and ushered them towards the massive, oak front doors. Placing down the girl, he went up before the huddle of first years and, with a backward glance and a smile, he banged the iron knocker three times. A sea of heads turned to the door and eyes widened again as it swung open.

Severus Snape stood before them, shrouded in his black cloak.