Even boys have something to say, if you listen long enough.
—Lynnette, age 8
---
Watching Rosier turn into a giant slug was in fact the best part of the day, but the rest of it seemed inclined to pass by without incident. Black walked him to the greenhouses, though he seemed unwilling to approach the door. Herbology was easy—it didn't require a wand, and Snape knew enough about adult Mandrakes to handle them competently. The rest of his classes were all learning theory, so all he required was the parchment and quill that Potter had issued to him from his own supplies.
It was a long and boring day, which left Snape wishing he was any good at doodling because he would have liked to immortalize the image of Rosier's horrified face looking down at his slimy, grey body on parchment—or, preferably, in stone. As it was, he kept the image playing itself over and over in his mind.
Sadly, Evan had transformed back by the time lunch was over. He, Goyle and Cartier passed him in the corridor as Snape was returning from the kitchens, but the group deliberately walked as far away from his as possible. The rest of the Slytherins were keeping their distance as well; apparently, word had gotten out that Potter's group did not intend to throw him entirely to the wolves.
Personally, Snape wasn't at all sure of what Potter and Black's intentions were, but he didn't mind the reprieve. It was almost pleasant. The Slytherins were avoiding him out of fear, and the Gryffindors, along with most of the Ravenclaws, didn't seem to know what to do with him and so chose to ignore him. The Hufflepuffs didn't seem to have noticed a thing. He had a few students shooting him either disdainful or pitying glances, and there was a bit of pointing and whispering among the lower years, but nothing directly threatening.
Really, it was almost a good day.
Which meant, by all laws of statistical probability, that it couldn't last. His first hint came at dinner, when he found a group of Ravenclaws clowning around by the portrait of the pear that led to the kitchens. Snape was hungry, and he knew that the elves would be too busy with dinner in the great hall to feed him right away. He needed to eat soon; if Potter decided to have fun with him tonight, he would need to have most of his dinner already settled if he was going to keep any of it down.
He headed towards the great hall.
When his hands began to shake, and his throat constricted so that it felt like he was breathing through a straw, he realized he had made a mistake. He felt the same weight he had felt during the last attack fall against his chest again, pressing what air he managed to get out of his lungs.
No. He refused to do this again. He shut his eyes and with an act of pure will, stumbled back down the corridor. He made it into a deep alcove behind a suit of armor before sliding down to the floor and pressing his forehead into his bony knees.
"Snape? Are you all right?"
No. No, no, no, no. His body would not betray him like this again. Not now, in front of Potter. His master peered around the suit, blinking owlishly in the dim light.
"I'm fine, Master," he pressed out through his tight throat and clenched teeth.
"You're a terrible liar," Potter replied. If Snape hadn't been struggling to breath, he might have been offended.
As it was, he tried futilely to slide deeper into the alcove, away from his master. Potter stepped forward, standing in front of the suit of armor and blocking Snape's view of the corridor. "What's wrong? Is it happening again—do you need to go back to the hospital wing?" Potter stepped closer.
Too close. Snape felt his body curling inward like a dead spider. His heart was beating too fast but he forced his lungs to take in slow, steady breaths. If he kept breathing, he wouldn't pass out.
Snape shut his eyes and imagined himself shut in somewhere dark and safe. When he was very small, the house elves had shown him how to use forgotten tunnels to slide into the hollow space between floors. He had a brief, faded memory of lying there, surrounded by warm wood and stone, listening to his masters' boot steps pass over him. They had never found him there, even when they were looking. It was the only place of absolute safety he knew for several years, before he grew too big to squeeze in any longer.
He imagined himself encased in darkness, breathing in the musty old wood and tracing patterns in the ancient stone with one small, clumsy finger. He imagined his masters passing over him, unaware. He imagined Rangly, the old rebellious house elf that would sometimes lie beside him and whisper stories from the old time, when house elves and humans had been wary equals. He heard the rough, hoarse voice filling his ears, soothing. He took a deep, easy breath and blew the illusion from his mind.
"Snape? Snape, can you hear me? Have you passed out again?"
With a relieved sigh, Snape opened his eyes. He was still cold and clammy, his heart was still fluttering a bit and he felt less than steady—but at least he could breath, and he wasn't unconscious. Whatever fit he'd had seemed to have passed.
"Snape? Oh for—REMUS!"
Snape flinched at the sharp yell, but recovered quickly. "Master, that's not necessary."
It was Potter's turn to jump in surprise. "What the hell? What happened to you?"
Snape was saved from replying by Lupin, who popped his head over Potter's shoulder. His eyes widened a bit and he punched Potter's arm, hard. "James, what are you scaring him for?"
"I'm not!"
"So he's curled up behind a suit of armor for his health?" This time it was Lily Evan's glacial voice that broke in. Potter spun on his heels and stuttered something unintelligible. Evans looked over Potter's shoulder, nearly oozing pity on him.
Partly out of spite and partly out of prudence, Snape cleared his throat and stood up, glad that his robes still covered his shaking knees. "Why I'm standing," he emphasized that last word, "in an alcove is none of your business, Evans. Unless you think I'm breaking a school rule by harassing the armor."
Evans' mouth opened, and then shut it in a thin, hard line. Potter had wisely stepped out from between them. However, he did throw his own dirty look in Snape's direction.
Wonderful. He was trying to be polite to Evans, in deference to his master's interest in her, but he didn't want her useless pity. And, even more, he didn't want to be punished for indirectly ruining whatever microscopic chance Potter might have with his current love interest. He swallowed the tattered strips of pride he had left and apologized. "I'm sorry. Potter and I were just talking. There really isn't anything to be concerned about."
Evans stared at him, quite obviously trying to decide whether or not the word of a slave spoken in front of his master was worth the breath it was carried on. He widened his eyes and tried to look honest, instead of shaky and tense. Lily narrowed her eyes, showing that she wasn't quite as dense as he expected.
But she didn't challenge him, just walked away toward the Great Hall. Potter looked after her like an abandoned puppy, but didn't make a move to follow.
Lupin asked him, "Are you all right, really? We saw you run down the hall."
Snape nodded, and risked taking his hands out of his pockets. They were almost steady now, so he used his left one to tuck his hair back behind his ear.
Potter snapped his attention back to the here and now. "Did it happen again? That, er, brain attack?"
Lupin huffed. "You make it sound as if his brain escaped from his skull and bit somebody's ankle."
"This is Hogwarts," James replied. "Stranger things have happened."
He looked back at Snape. "Well, did you?"
The question he really didn't want to answer. But the answer was obvious so there was no point in lying and he didn't have time to come up with a plausible half-truth. "Yes," he admitted, "but this was...mild. I think I was able to control it somewhat."
"Er. So you're all right?"
"Yes," he answered on a sigh. He really wished they would stop asking him that. "I'm fine." Except that he was going mad, but there were plenty of mad potion masters in the world.
Lupin, bright boy, looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well," Potter chimed in, "you didn't pass out. That's an improvement."
Snape didn't know quite how to react to that, so he didn't react at all. Potter sounded as if he was taunting him, but his voice was casual, not slick with cruelty and malice the way it had been a few months ago.
"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" Lupin asked.
"Do I look sick or injured to you? Really, I am just fine." It came out harder than he'd intended—and his lack of control proved that he was not fine—but when he checked Potter's expression, he found no reaction. It seemed that Potter was willing to tolerate a level of insolence from him.
Potter was chewing his bottom lip, looking speculative. "If you're all right, then you can sit with us during dinner."
So much for lenience—Potter was just more subtle than he'd expected. He tried to hang on to his breathing, but it was obvious from Lupin and Potter's looks that they knew something was wrong.
There was no reason for this. He had never been shy eating or sitting in the Great Hall before this summer. Snape didn't have irrational fears—he had far too many rational ones to panic at the thought of doing something he'd done thousands of times before.
And yet, he was clearly panicking. And defying what was clearly an order from his master, which did not help to calm his mind.
He could not afford to lose control, not here, not again. His master was watching him, waiting for him to fail...
"Um, maybe this isn't such a good idea," Lupin said.
Snape turned too quickly to face him, almost losing his balance. The movement made him dizzy, forcing him to lean against the cool, stone wall for balance. His legs felt light and weak and he felt his body sliding down the wall before he forced his legs straight and locked his knees.
"Er," James asked, "You're not going to pass out again, are you?"
"Or be sick?" Lupin added, standing back and looking a little greenish himself.
Snape tried to shake his head, but that started the world shaking with it, so he just stood against the wall, mouth open and gasping.
James took pity on him. "If you don't want to go back to the hospital wing, why don't you go back to the dorms? You don't exactly look hungry anymore."
Snape leaned his head against the wall and stared up at the cobwebbed rafters for a moment. Whatever madness had come was now slowly creeping away, seeping out of his pores. Though, noting the werewolf's pinched expression, that might be his fear-tainted sweat. He really needed to shower again.
He still felt shaky and a little light-headed, but it seemed to take barely half a minute to calm down again this time.
"Thank you, Master." Snape pulled hesitantly away from the walls. Potter inclined his head in the direction of the staircase, dismissing him back to the dorms. Snape turned down the corridor, right hand dragging over the rough stone walls for support.
---
When they reached the Gryffindor table, James sat down and dropped his head in his hands. "I know," he said through his palms, "I'll talk to him tonight."
"Did I say anything?" Lupin asked, all innocence.
"You said I should talk to Snape."
"I said that yesterday."
"And I haven't done it yet."
"I've noticed."
"See." James pointed an accusing finger at Remus' chest. "You were nagging me."
Remus grabbed the finger and pulled it sideways. "I wasn't even looking at you."
"You didn't have to."
"James," Remus said slowly, "I was looking at Susannah Walsh, who just walked into the Hall wearing a robe that fits very well. I promise you that the look I was wearing was not meant for you and it certainly had nothing to do with Snape."
James stole a glance at Susannah—who had just sat down at the end of the table, and was in fact wearing a robe that fit very well. He raised an eyebrow at Lupin.
"No, James, don't even think about it...I can get my own dates."
"Moony," Sirius's voice broke in from behind them, "have you even had a date in the six years we've been here?"
"None of your business," Lupin answered back with an air of friendly hostility, which was put off by his red-splotched cheeks.
Sirius sat down and began loading up his plate. "Of course it's our business. We're your best friends. We are here to lock you in broom closets with the girls you like, and then tease you mercilessly about it afterwards."
"Yes, and Nadia won't even look me in the eye now."
Sirius shrugged. "Happens to me all the time. Nothing to worry about."
Remus rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he said, clearly needing to change the subject. "About Snape."
"What about Snape?" asked Sirius, his fork wrapped in noodles and halted half-way to his mouth.
"He nearly passed out just a few minutes ago," Remus answered.
Sirius shrugged. "Well, don't you think he might be faking it?"
"No," answered Lupin, before James could even open his mouth. "Trust me; what he's feeling is real." He surreptitiously tapped the tip of his long nose. "Anyway, why would he do that?"
"To gain sympathy? To make us feel like we had to protect him?"
"That's absurd." Remus had given up on eating entirely. "And, anyway, why shouldn't we feel like we need to protect him? He doesn't have a wand and he belongs to one of us, now."
James added, "Didn't you turn Rosier into a slug for picking on Snape, this morning?"
"That's my point." Sirius jabbed the air with his empty fork for emphasis. "I felt bad for him because I saw him having a fit, and I went out of my way for him because of it."
"So you would have let Rosier take potshots at him if you hadn't seen him collapse?" Remus asked.
Sirius didn't answer, but stared down at his plate. Remus looked at him with an expression that could have been disappointment or disgust.
Peter chose that moment to plop himself between James and Sirius, a position he was welcome to at the moment.
Remus, who had long ago become the group's default secretary, summarized the salient points for Peter while still casting Padfoot those strange, sad looks.
"Well," said Peter, when he was done listening, "I agree with Sirius. Snape isn't to be trusted. He is a Slytherin."
"Good point," agreed Sirius, finally meeting Remus' eyes in challenge.
"No, not a good point." Lupin had started tapping his knife against his plate fast, arrhythmic pattern. He shot an irritated glance at Peter. "Snape isn't a Slytherin anymore. He's a Gryffindor. And even if he were—we've gone way past house rivalries. Snape is a slave and he's probably been tortured—that gives him plenty of reason to be a bit touchy. No sinister plots needed."
"Oh hell," said James, remembering what Remus had said a moment ago. "Snape doesn't have a wand."
Remus gave him a look that made James wish he could do puppy dog eyes like Sirius. "You mean you didn't notice?"
"I've had other things on my mind! Anyway, he should have said something—I'm not his babysitter."
"He probably thought you'd use it against him. He doesn't trust you."
"You're nagging again, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I suppose I am. Just...talk to him soon. And at least make sure he gets a wand, unless you want to start escorting him every time he leaves the tower."
"I will. Maybe I can send him to Diagon Alley by himself."
"Ask McGonagall to take him—she took me when I was a first year. And make sure you get him some money."
"As long as I don't have to go with him. It took me two years to get Lily to go on a date with me, and I'm not putting it off for Snape."
"A date?" Sirius broke in, "I thought she had merely deigned to let you remain within her presence this weekend."
"For Prongs here," Remus explained, "that's close enough."
---
Snape had the dorm room to himself for about an hour before he had to go to Astronomy. One of the elves dropped a tray on his lap, and he ate with mechanical efficiency. His skin still felt tacky and his limbs felt achy and separate from his body, so he took his second shower of the day, the only medicine available to him at the moment. It did help, and he felt much better by the time he was making his way back from the grassy patch by the greenhouse where class had been held.
The feeling lasted until he opened the large wooden door into the dorm room. Potter was there, sitting on Snape's bed, fiddling with his wand. There wasn't much ambiguity in that gesture, and Snape felt his skin go cold and prickly as dread coiled in his belly.
At least he wasn't passing out, yet.
Potter gestured to his chair. "Sit."
Snape sat, his mind going blank.
"Remus keeps telling me I need to talk to you."
The werewolf? Snape guessed from Potter's rather formulaic that this night would be about punishment rather than lust, but he was surprised to hear that Lupin had requested it. Had he read the werewolf that badly?
"I, uh, talked to Slughorn. You've got extra lessons on Thursdays to make up for the time you missed."
"What?" The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. Potter was not following the script he expected at all.
"I talked to Slughorn. Well, I sort of threatened him, really. But he agreed to let you make up the time you missed with private lessons. You'll probably have to talk to him to work out the time."
Snape shook his head, curling his fingers around the edge of his chair, seeking an anchor. This conversation was not going the way he was expecting, and he was still waiting to see if this was a detour or if it was Potter he'd misjudged.
Potter's eyebrows had knitted. "What's the problem?"
Snape had to work some saliva into his throat before he answered. "No problem. There's no problem."
"You were shaking your head a second ago."
"I was...just wondering what you used to blackmail Slughorn to get him to do your bidding."
Potter bought it. He relaxed, leaning back on his palms. "My dad's reputation, actually. It was pretty easy—that man has about as much spine as his namesake."
"It depends. He can be...stubborn, if you have nothing to bargain with."
"I know." Potter moved his eyes to some point over Snape's desk. "But if he gives you any trouble...if he's more of a slime ball than usual...tell him off. And then tell me. If I can talk Sirius out of a year's worth of detentions, I think I can manage it for you."
"I—thank you," Snape said, sincerely. He already knew that Slughorn was not aroused by teenage boys, but he was glad to hear that Potter was willing to limit those who took liberties with his body.
"Also, I talked to Professor McGonagall. She'll take you to Diagon Alley this weekend to get a wand and supplies."
Snape closed his eyes, briefly. "Thank you again."
A wand and supplies meant permanence. It meant the Potter family had decided to make an investment in his education here at Hogwarts and that as long as he performed well he could expect some limited security. That was the best news he'd had all week.
"There's one more thing." Potter continued to stare past him, face flushing bright red. "Remus said that you were worried that I might want to, er, you know...do things."
Snape stared, nearly going cross-eyed as he tried to understand what Potter was saying. Do what things?
Potter, though he seemed unable to look at him, must have realized that he had been less than clear. "Okay. Um. What Sirius said the other night? About, you know...to you..." The blush had spread down Potter's face to his neck and, oddly, across his knuckles. "You know?"
Snape unclamped his jaws and tried to keep his voice from shaking when he answered, "Black said that I was waiting for you to bugger me."
"Yeah," Potter choked. "That."
Snape waited. Potter's response did not sound like he was interested in fulfilling Black's predictions. That was some reassurance.
"Um, you should know that...that isn't going to happen to you anymore. I don't know exactly what Malfoy did to you—and I really don't want to—but that's not...we're not like that. We won't hurt you for fun."
Snape recalled hanging upside down by the lake, pants sliding down his knees and begging red-faced for them to stop.
Potter seemed to remember as well. "I know we went a little far, sometimes, but we never really hurt you...well, much. And you have to admit, you usually gave back as good as you got."
Snape's lips quirked upwards in an attempted smirk. That much was true, though he didn't quite dare to say it aloud.
"But you can't do that anymore, and we won't try and prank you or pick on you because that wouldn't be fair."
"Four against one is fair?" Snape asked, before his mouth realized that it was speaking to his master. If Potter would only act the part, Snape might be much better able to control his tongue and perhaps even his emotions.
"Well, Peter doesn't really count for much, so it was more like three-and-a-half against one."
Snape refrained from commenting on the adequacy of that excuse.
"You are pretty good with your wand and you did manage to defend yourself, unless we caught you by surprise. I suppose that we reckoned that if you could stand up to us some of the time, you should be able to defend yourself all of the time."
"Then it was my fault that I couldn't keep the three of you at bay all of the time." Snape knew that he was on thin ice contradicting his master, but something about Potter's tone and the things he was saying aggravated a very old sore spot within him.
Potter ducked his head. "Well, it makes less sense when you say it that way."
That sounded dangerously close to an apology, Snape thought. As close as Potter could get before Snape was certain that he was lying.
"As for what Sirius said," Potter continued, "that won't happen either. You shouldn't be made to...well, to have sex against your will. I promise I won't make you do anything like that, for anyone."
Fucking hell. Now he knew: Potter was lying. He was half expecting it, but he was unprepared for the low, simmering anger that burned through his gut.
Potter might have just enough of a conscience to refrain from tormenting a completely helpless creature, but no master would refrain from taking advantage of any profit that could be made from his slave's body purely on moral grounds.
And now that he knew Potter was toying with him, he couldn't be sure of anything that Potter had or would say.
He hated being lied to, and he hated being forced to play these stupid mind-fuck games that he could never win, no matter that he was three times smarter than the sadistic bastard that owned him. He was so fucking tired of this.
Potter, who still looked convincingly earnest, asked, "Are you all right?"
Snape nodded, jaw clenched. "Is that all?"
Potter looked uncertain, probably trying to decide whether or not he had overplayed his hand. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, that's all." Potter got up and walked to the door. He stopped just before he left and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it without speaking. He left the room in silence.
That night, while Potter's group was sleeping, he stole the werewolf's wand and cast detection spells on all the beds. He couldn't prevent whatever Potter was going to do to him, but at least he would be able to see it coming. While he was at it, he cast a muffling charm on his own bed.
If he did manage to sleep, he did not want to worry about inviting punishment by waking up one of the Gryffindors with his nightmares.
---
The rest of the week went by with agonizing slowness. Nothing happened. The Slytherins continued to avoid him, and the rest of the school also seemed to have forgotten his existence. Potter's gang left him alone; Snape didn't expect that Potter would pounce on him until after he had gone to Diagon Alley, if indeed he was going to be allowed to go.
His sleep was erratic. He managed a few hours a night, but his nerves were frayed and his body exhausted by the time he was called into Professor McGonagall's office Saturday Morning.
He sat in the hard chair in front of her desk and accepted her offer of tea, welcoming the caffeine.
"I expect that Mr. Potter told you that you'll be going to Diagon Alley instead of Hogsmeade this weekend."
Snape nodded, fingers from both hands curled around the plain white teacup. So it was really happening, then.
"Good. You really should not have had to go so long without basic supplies."
Snape shrugged.
"Is…are you well?"
Snape considered. Now that she knew what he was, he could answer that question honestly. "I am…relatively healthy. Potter hasn't hurt me yet, if that's what you're asking."
"It wasn't, entirely. This has not been an easy transition for you, I'm sure."
"No."
She looked at him, obviously waiting for him to continue. He sat silently, staring at his teacup until he heard her sigh and shift in her chair.
"All right, but please let me know if you need any help." She arranged some scrolls on her desk. "I need to run some errands there as well, so I've agreed to take you along. You may Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. I will Apparate right behind you."
Before stepping into the fire, Snape took a deep breath—so he would have something to get knocked out of him when he landed—and stepped through.
A moment later, he tumbled out on to the dusty oak floor. Sure enough, he landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him.
McGonagall Apparated beside him with a neat snap. Snape glared up at her for a moment before struggling to haul himself off the floor. The professor dropped a hand down to help him up and Snape accepted with good grace.
"Did you have breakfast?" McGonagall asked, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
"Yes," Snape lied. He didn't want to eat here, and McGonagall looked like she had somewhere to be sometime soon.
"Do you have a list of the things you need?"
"Yes." Snape patted his empty side pocket. He tried to avoid lists; they were too easily sabotaged or destroyed or used against him.
"I'll need to do my own errands. Would you rather come along with me and do our shopping together or meet me at the Loma Inn for lunch?"
Snape didn't hesitate. "I'd rather be own my own, if that's all right?"
"Of course. Just remember to stay in Diagon Alley."
"Yes, Professor."
McGonagall removed her wand. "May I?" she asked. Snape nodded, having no idea what she was planning to do with it. He managed to suppress a flinch when she tapped his lips with it, then her ear. "There. If you run into any trouble, just call my name. I'll hear you, no matter where you are. Call even if you feel just a bit uncomfortable with a situation."
They walked out of the Leaky Cauldron together. As they were going their separate ways, McGonagall reminded him, "Do please try to stay out of trouble. Your behavior still reflects on the school and myself, and I don't need Potter's permission to assign detentions."
"Yes, Professor."
Snape's first instinct was to head for Ollivander's and get a wand, but the weekend bustle was making him even more edgy and frayed than he already was. The wand shop was too far down the narrow, bustling streets for him to run there, and then back so he could buy his cauldrons and books.
His first stop was the Flosh's Cauldrons, which almost made up for having to wait to buy his wand. There was no one waiting on him, so he allowed himself to examine the elegant gold cauldrons in the window, and the giant silver ones on display. Seeing that nobody was watching, he pretended he was really going to buy one, running a finger along the rim to test the smoothness, tapping the side to listen for the right consistency of metal and examining the bottom for evenness. He promised himself that one day he would do this to a set of laboratory grade cauldrons and take them home after, before going into the back of the shop to perform the same inspection on the used pewter cauldrons on the bottom shelf.
Half an hour later, he had an almost-new collapsible cauldron and a cheap shoulder bag to carry it in.
A trip to Scribbulus outfitted him with a supply of his own parchments, quills and ink, which he bundled together in a side pocket, the one with holes too small for the entire package to slip through. In the next store he picked up the required texts, then spent another half hour sitting on the floor, reading the latest potions journal, before he saw one of the shop assistants coming to chase him off.
He stopped in front of the robe shop, eyeing the heavy woolen cloak in the window. He knew perfectly well that this trip was at least partly a test. A good slave thought of his master first and himself last. Snape was far from a good slave, but he knew that his masters would be going over his purchases, looking to see whether or not he had bought only what he needed, and at the least possible expense to them. Never mind that the Potters surely had money to spare, and the tattered robes the house elves scrounged for him were drafty and cold. He knew all too well that his comfort didn't matter.
If he performed well, perhaps he could ask for a cloak as a reward. Lucius' father had done that a few times for him, and even forbidden Lucius from taking his reward away as soon as they were out of sight.
He hesitated at the edge of Knockturn Alley. McGonagall's warning not to 'wander off' most certainly included the dodgy side street, but just a few shops down there was an apothecary. Their means of collecting the ingredients was questionable, and he had often found lizard hearts thrown in with their dragon hearts selection, but he knew how to pick the proper ingredients, regardless of how they were labeled.
They were cheaper, and more importantly, Snape knew how to disable the theft-detection charms. There were some ingredients he would need for healing potions that he could nick those while he was buying the rest of the supplies.
Inside, the store was dim and dusty. All the corners were grimy, as if the owners of the shop couldn't be bothered to do more than a general sweeping charm. The man behind the counter, heavy-set and hairy, leered at him as he entered. That was unusual; the man generally ignored his presence until he deposited his Knuts and supplies on the counter.
The man's eyes followed him as he examined each ingredient before selecting it. Snape took twice as long as he needed, but the man's eyes still followed him. It made the hair prickle and his skin itch; worse, it meant he wouldn't have the opportunity to palm the ingredients he couldn't have on the expense account.
He gave the vial of Salamander legs a long last look and turned to deposit his supplies.
His nose collided with the man's burly chest and he stumbled backwards. He instinctively tried to turn away, but as soon as he started to run the man grabbed him by the collar of his robe and jerked him back. One meaty arm came around his neck, and another across his chest. He stopped fighting when he realized that he wasn't going to get free.
"So," breathed the grinding voice of the shop keeper, "You're that slave who was playing at being a real boy, eh?"
Snape didn't respond, his body and mind having frozen. This couldn't be happening. How had this man, who looked to be functionally illiterate, have heard about him? It had been in the prophet, but there wasn't any picture.
"Answer me!"
Snape started. "Yes," he croaked. "I am."
"What did you take?"
"Nothing," Snape gasped, tugging at the thick arm around his neck. The arm on his chest patted down his robe and sleeves, then returned to squeeze the air out of him.
"What were you going to take, then?"
Snape shook his head. The man tightened his grip and Snape could feel his ribs creak under the pressure. He clamped his jaws shut.
"Stubborn one, aren't you?" The man's mouth was so close that Snape could feel his tongue brushing against his ear. It sent cold shivers down his body. "All right. You wanted foxweed and salamander gut for a healing paste to help you when your masters roughed you up a bit, right?"
Snape didn't respond. The man was so close that he could feel the curve of the man's belly and the cold, prickly skin pressing against him. He shivered.
With a motion that was almost a caress, the shop keeper slipped two vials into his front pocket. The fingers of his right hand dragged across Snape's stomach and stretched lower, brushing over the top of Snape's groin.
"You can have it, you know. Give me half an hour in that back room there and they're yours. I'll even give you something to fix up any rough patches afterwards."
Snape tried again to wrench free, but the man just squeezed until Snape began to choke and cough as his throat closed in.
"Or, I can send your new masters word that you tried to steal it and then offered me your services when I caught you red-handed." He patted the potions in Snape's pocket.
"V-veritaserum," Snape croaked, reflexive tears forming in his eyes from the pressure on his throat.
"Why would they waste an expensive potion on a slave when a little extra discipline could only make him quicker to please?"
He was right. Snape felt like a small animal trapped in an even smaller cage, scrambling against walls pressing in from every direction. There was no way out.
The man took his frozen silence for acquiescence. He released his grip on Snape's throat and chest, instead wrapping his sausage-like fingers over Snape's shoulders and propelling him in the direction of a half-open door in the back of the shop.
This couldn't be happening. But it already had. Hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. There was the memory, sudden and all-consuming, of other hands on him, over him, in him. Of the horror and pain that he had rolled into a ball and shoved down a trapdoor in his mind. In that moment, he was certain, absolutely certain that he would die if one more set of hands, one more set of cold lips or one more hard cock touched him.
Snape threw himself backwards with all his strength.
The man didn't budge, but the impact of the hard chest knocked the wind out of Snape's lungs. Fighting to see through the spots dancing over his vision, Snape looked down as he picked up his right leg and slammed his heel over the man's foot.
The man grunted and bent over. Snape threw his head back, striking the man's nose hard enough to knock him backwards. He broke free and scrambled towards the door.
He felt a greasy hand close over the hem of his robe and yank, making him fall forwards on his hands and knees. The two vials slipped out of a hole in his pocket and shattered on the wooden floor. Snape got his feet under him and drove forward. He felt the hem tear as he broke free. He charged the open door, looking over his shoulder once he was clear. The man tried to rush him, but slipped on the preserved salamander, landing hard on his side.
Snape ran down the street, scrambling up the worn stone steps leading back to Diagon Alley.
He kept running down the street, dodging other shoppers, until he felt his legs go weak and wobbly and he staggered into a shallow passage between two shops. Choking and shaking, he braced his back against a wall, pressing his hands against the bricks to keep himself standing when his knees threatened to give way.
Oh god. He shouldn't have fought. He should have let the man go through with it and taken the ingredients. When the man contacted the school, contacted the Potters, he was going to hurt worse than he would have if he had just let the big, lonely pervert take him.
He pressed against the wall and pulled in a few more gasping, almost sobbing breaths. He'd survived the last fifteen years of life; he could survive whatever punishment the Potters meted out. He could.
"Run off from your new master already?" drawled a voice he knew far too well. He jerked his head around to face the entrance of the alley and found Lucius leaning casually against the corner of the wall. His entourage milled a few feet away, watching with a hungry, sadistic anticipation.
Snape felt the mindless panic wash over him and he struggled to find the impassive facade that had carried him through most of his life. He couldn't. All he could do was stare at Lucius with a feeling of pure dread sitting like poison at the bottom of his stomach.
Lucius smirked, obviously enjoying the reaction he was causing. "What's the problem, slave? Do you miss me?" He slipped forward; Snape took an involuntary step backwards.
"I see. Potter is too...unrefined for you, isn't he? You must miss being owned by someone who knows how to handle a slave." Lucius grabbed himself in a way that was anything but refined.
Snape's stomach jerked and he could feel the burn of acid in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it back down. Lucius studied his face, looking as if he wanted to memorize the marks of horror and fear he must have found there.
"I know your kind of slave. You always look like you are on the edge of rebellion, but all you really want is a master to put you back in your place. Isn't that right?" At Snape's silence, he snapped, "Answer me!"
Snape tried to shake his head, but he couldn't. A strange, numbing paralysis had crept through his body like ice water.
Lucius strode forward, so close now that Snape could feel his hot breath against his cold skin. "Do you need someone to put you back in your place? Do you long to feel the caress of a whip, wielded by a master? Do you long to feel my body pressing you down, beneath me, in your place?
"I've missed you, Snape. Nobody else will play our games." He reached a pale, spidery hand towards Snape's face, nails scratching over his cheek.
Snape felt something inside him break with the suddenness and finality of a wand snapping in two. Terror and rage became one seething wave, and Snape heard a low animal growl at the same time he felt a sharp pain shoot from his fist to his elbow.
When his eyes focused again, he found Lucius crumpled at is feet, both hands covering his nose and tears in his eyes. Blood seeped between his palms.
Some rational voice called from the back of his head that this was it, he had attacked his master and now he would be held down and taken apart piece by piece until there was nothing left to keep him alive.
But at that moment, he just didn't care. Lucius was cringing from him, cowering like an animal. There was a fierce, burning satisfaction in that. It felt so good that he drew his foot back and swung it into Lucius's ribs with all his strength. Lucius whimpered and curled up on himself. Snape tottered uncertainly on his trembling legs, but he managed to keep his feet. He kicked again, not aiming, only trying to keep his balance and inflict as much pain as he could on the man who had tortured him.
He kept kicking, feebly, desperately, even as he felt arms wrap around him and haul him backwards. He saw a flash of orange as two Aurors burst through the growing crowd, wands out. He struggled weakly for a moment before his knees gave way and he let himself fall backwards into the arms of the Aurors.
---
James had spent the week preparing for battle. He knew that he was going to have to make this day perfect if he wanted Lily to agree to a second date.
And he did want that, badly.
He had planned everything. He had asked the kitchen elves for a picnic lunch and bribed Peter to stash his broom and invisibility cloak outside the Shrieking Shack, since it was easy for him to sneak back inside the castle in rat form.
He arrived at the gates of Hogwarts in plenty of time, but Lily was already waiting for him. Instead of the regular school robes, she wore a long-sleeved top and a set of those blue Muggle trousers that had caught on a few years back.
"Hello," he said, enthusiastically.
"Hello," Lily replied, much more sedately. But James was sure he could see the corners of her lips twitching upwards.
They walked side-by-side towards Hogsmeade, with James working tirelessly to draw her into conversation. She resisted at first, but bit by bit James managed to learn that she had a sister and a mother, that her father had died when she was in first year. He also discovered that she preferred Muggle rock music to anything the wizarding world could offer, that she hated tomatoes and green onions and that she had a terrible sweet tooth.
When they reached Hogsmeade, Lily started toward one of the shops, but James stopped her. "Can't you do that later? I want to show you something."
Lily crossed her arms against her chest and gave him an exasperated glare. "Potter, I know what that line means. Don't insult my intelligence."
"What?" James blinked, and then turned bright red because he had used that line before, but this time it wasn't just a line. "I didn't mean it that way, honestly."
Lily raised one thin eyebrow to communicate her skepticism.
"Really. I won't even ask for a kiss, I promise."
Lily showed no signs of relenting. "I need to do my shopping."
James rolled his eyes. "Do you really need a new set of dress robes, or whatever it is?"
Lily's eyes narrowed and James wished for a rusty knife to remove his own tongue with. He was sure this courtship would go much more smoothly if he couldn't talk.
Lily stepped away from him. "I need to replace my cauldron and I need to get my sister a birthday present. I don't have set of dress robes, and I don't need any. Now, you can either come with me or you can go find Black and snog with him in the woods instead."
James processed this. "So, does that mean if I go with you, I'll get to...?"
"No."
"Okay." James accepted this temporary rejection with good grace. "So what are you going to get your sister?"
"Sweets, probably." Lily started walking down the windy, cobbled street towards the sweetshop. James followed.
"So, you like your sister a lot?"
Lily glanced at him. "Sometimes."
"And this time...?"
"I'll probably get her the truffles that don't turn you into a gorilla."
James tried to decide if that was a good or a bad thing. "Would you get me the truffles that turn me into a gorilla?"
Lily cocked an eyebrow at him. "You don't need magic truffles for that."
James grinned and tipped his head to acknowledge that he'd walked right into that one.
He managed to keep the conversation going as Lily examined cauldrons and sweets for her sister. He learned that she hated it when people chewed with their mouths open—as her sister did—and she loved dogs even though she'd never had one. James decided that Padfoot would have to stay far away from Lily for the foreseeable future. It would be a shame if he had to kill his best friend for getting scratched behind the ears by James' girl.
Fortunately, Lily was an efficient shopper. She was practical and didn't seem inclined to dwell once she'd made her decision. They were done quickly.
"So," James asked, "Can I show you, now?"
"Show me what?" Lily asked, still looking wary.
"Show you what I wanted to show you."
Lily crossed her arms. "And this thing you want to show me doesn't live in your pants, does it?"
"No!" Merlin, did everyone think that the only functioning brain he had was below the waistline?
"And you will under no circumstance attempt to grope or kiss me?"
"Do I look like Sirius to you? No, I won't. I'll be a perfect gentleman, I swear."
Lily sighed. "All right. Lead the way."
James led her up the hill to the Shrieking Shack. He stopped in front of the ramshackle building. Lily tapped her foot and sighed again. "Potter, everyone's seen the Shrieking Shack at least once. It's not all that impressive."
"No, hold on." James hopped the waist high fence into the yard. "I just need to get something inside." He went in, picked up his Cleansweep and put his cloak in his pocket. When he came out, Lily's eyes fastened on his broom.
So, she liked Cleansweeps. Good.
"You could have brought two brooms," Lily complained half-heartedly. "I can ride as well as you can."
"True, but we couldn't use this if we took two brooms." With a lot more flourish than necessary, he produced the invisibility cloak from his pocket, letting it dangle from his hand and shimmer like an iridescent shadow.
"Huh," said Lily, clearly unimpressed. "That explains a lot."
Still with that little skeptical furrow between her eyebrows, Lily settled behind James on the broom and helped him drape the cloak around both of them.
"I'm pretty sure this against school rules," she observed.
James smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Definitely. But I've done this dozens of times—we won't get caught."
Lily, proving herself to be a bit more of rebel than he'd expected, only settled herself more comfortably on the broom and adjusted the cloak over both of them.
Lily yelped and tugged on his shoulders as he began a spiral descent into a small clearing. "This is the Forbidden Forest!"
"Yeah?" He set them down gently on the soft earth. "What's the problem?"
"It's forbidden. It's so forbidden that they put the word in its name so that even people with attention spans as short as yours would remember." Lily had brought out her full on glare again, but instead of making him dizzy and tongue-tied, it made him want to smile even more.
James crouched down by the shallow pond on one side of the clearing. "We're safe as houses here, I promise. Look," he said, indicating the pool with his hand, "See what's in there?"
Lily transferred her glare from him to the pond, and gasped at what she saw. The water was as clear as glass and in it tiny, glowing silver fish darted back and forth in what looked like an endless game of tag.
Lily knelt by the pond, skimming the water with her palm. James congratulated himself on successfully distracting her from her concern.
"Unicorns drink here every night," he explained. "That's why the water is so clear. Those little fish are the only thing I've ever seen live in there."
Lily stepped back from the pond and looked around the rest of the clearing. Ferns sprouted out from the undergrowth, and thick-bodied trees stretched out above them. The pond glowed from the light of the strange fish and the moss-covered logs made inviting seats.
"This place really is beautiful, James." She smiled at him in a way that tied his stomach in knots. "Thank you for showing it to me."
"You're welcome. And I know how to make it even better." James clapped three times and snapped his finger. A sharp pop and a little green creature appeared bearing a wicker basket as long as it was tall.
"Hi, Fozzy."
Fozzy grinned and bowed. "Master Potter's picnic, just as Master Potter ordered!"
Lily looked worriedly at the little house elf. "You're not going to report us, are you?"
"Oh, no Miss Evans, Fozzy would never do! Nobody has ever ordered the kitchen elves to say where the students have gone."
"Fozzy is a friend," James said, smiling at the elf. "I give him tea cozies, and he brings me food when I'm…exploring."
"I see." Lily turned her smile toward the house elf. "Thank you for lunch, Fozzy."
The little elf nearly fell over himself. James waited politely until Fozzy had finished spasming with gratitude over Lily's kindness and had popped back to the castle before unpacking the basket.
James let the conversation drop as they ate. Lily seemed content to nibble at her sandwich and lean back against her log, listening to the sounds of the forest.
Finally, he got up and straddled the log she was leaning against. "Why did you agree to go out with me today?"
Lily stretched out in a patch of sunshine, looking up at him. "Because it didn't look like you were going to give up until I did. Why did you ask me out?"
"I like you," James answered, honestly.
"Why?" Lily asked.
"Why do I like you? Well, you're the prettiest girl in the school, for one thing."
Lily scoffed, her arms folding in. "Try another line, Potter."
"It's true," James protested.
"No, it's not. I'm too skinny and I've hardly got any breasts at all. Lily was sitting up now, her face tense and sharp again.
Looking at her, James realized she was right. She was almost as skinny as Remus, and without much more of a chest, either. But James found that all her small chest meant to him was that he wouldn't have to murder Sirius for looking too long in the wrong direction.
"Well," he said finally, "I only shave once a week, and it's only a little patch on the side of my chin."
Lily shook her head. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Sirius shaves every day, and even Remus and Peter have more of a beard than I do. But I'll catch up with them eventually. Hell, I'll probably get a beard at the same time as you get breasts."
Lily pressed her forehead to her palm, but James could see the traces the smile she was hiding. "You have the strangest idea of how to reassure a girl that I have ever heard, Potter."
"I'm a little off my stroke right now," he admitted.
"If the rumors of your charm are true, then you aren't even on the pitch. But, really, why do you like me? You've been harassing me for nearly a year."
Lily was looking at him with an intensity that belied her teasing tone, so he shoved that line of thought out of his head. He cast around for the words that would explain what he felt. Finally, he blurted, "I want to be like you when I grow up."
"You've gone completely round the twist." Lily looked at the pond, then at him again. "How much of that glowy fish water did you drink?"
"None—well, recently anyway." James shook his head. "Listen, you always thank the house elves, and you were friends with Remus even when he was just that skinny half-blood from a poor family that Sirius and I wouldn't talk to. You keep defending Snape even though he really is an arse. You always know what the right thing is, and how to make people feel better." James smiled. "Well, except me."
Lily stared at him, as if expecting the Polyjuice to wear off any second. "Wow," she said finally. "You're really not off your stroke at all."
"That wasn't a line," James insisted. "Really, my lines are much smoother and I usually don't stutter."
Finally, she returned his smile. "I believe you." Leaning forward, she brushed their lips together. James gave a muffled yelp of surprise. Lily paused, then flicked her tongue against his.
James nearly fell of the log. Instead, he opened his mouth and let Lily have her way with him. When she pulled back, he caught his breath and asked, a little desperately, "Do I still have to be a gentleman? Because, if so, I may need to go sit in that nice, cold pond for a while."
Lily shook her head. "Just remember, Potter, 'stop' is a brick wall."
"Okay," he squeaked. "Stop. Brick wall. Understood."
Lily leaned in again. James opened his mouth, but was too nervous and shivery to do much of anything else. Besides, he'd been told by the last girl that he'd kissed that his pipe-cleaner technique was not impressive, but he had no idea how to do it better. Lily traced the edge of his ear with one cool finger, and James was sure he felt that side of his brain shut down.
"Mr. Potter!"
"Nyah!" James jumped backwards, nearly falling off the end of the log, again.
Lily sat bolt upright. "Professor McGonagall!"
Said bringer of evil and wilting erections stood above them, hands on her hips. "What are you two doing out here?"
His survival instinct having been taken over by another basic and currently frustrated instinct, James answered back, "Has it really been so long for you that you have to ask?"
Oops. James beamed her a manic smile and hoped that insanity would be a good enough defense.
McGonagall tapped her wand in her palm. "We'll discuss this," she pointed her finger first at James, then at Lily, "later—when I've had time to calculate all the rules you have just broken and how many months of detention you have just earned. At the moment, Mr. Potter, you are required in Diagon Alley."
"Diagon Alley? What?"
McGonagall's jaw tightened. "There's been an incident there involving Mr. Snape."
---
Five hundred Galleons. That was the fine.
James didn't care. As far as he was concerned, that was a fair price for the chance to see Malfoy with his face messed up. His family had the money, and his mother had given him access to the Gringotts account so that he could get it.
But Snape had managed to simultaneously wreck his date with Lily, guarantee him what was likely to be a lifetime of detentions and interrupt the best kiss he'd ever had. Hell, he'd never even managed to do that before he was James' slave. The urge to half-strangle the greasy Slytherin and drop him into Hogwarts Lake from a broom was strong.
McGonagall led him to the administrator's office, but let him enter first. The first person he saw was a sallow, sweaty little man with stringy hair and watery eyes who was shuffling a small stack of papers across his desk. The second person he saw was Lucius Malfoy, sitting rather stiffly on a wooden bench with a swollen eye and blood on his silk robes. His delicate features were now lopsided from the swelling, and marred by a smattering of scrapes and bruises.
Huh. Well, maybe it was worth the detentions, at least, seeing Malfoy look like a pouting five year old hauled into the headmaster's office for fighting.
"James Potter?" greeted the squeaky little man. "Owner of..." He checked his paperwork. "The slave designated Snape?"
"That's me."
"I'm afraid your slave caused quite a scene a short while ago."
"Yeah, I've heard. What happened?"
"He went mad!" Malfoy declared from his bench. "I just went up to him to ask how he was getting along and he attacked me. A wild animal, that one. Ought to be put down, since Potter clearly can't control him."
James resisted the urge to flash a rude gesture in Malfoy's direction.
"Mr. Potter, you are lucky that the injuries sustained to Mr. Malfoy are minor, otherwise the ministry would have no choice but to put your slave down. As it is, he is henceforth banned from Diagon Alley and the surrounding area."
Well done, Snape. James hoped he'd at least got a wand and some new robes, but he wouldn't bet on it.
"There is also the matter of the fine."
"Right. Five hundred Galleons, right?" He dropped the Gringotts bag on the desk. The man looked a little startled, but he reached for it quickly with his pale, spidery hands. When he had counted the money, he withdrew a hefty stack of papers from a dusty cabinet. James went through nearly half a bottle of ink signing documents that all seemed to say the same thing.
At last the man called to the Auror standing next to McGonagall. The Auror looked a little relieved, as McGonagall appeared to be giving him an oral quiz while they waited. The administrator glanced once more over the paperwork and nodded. "Everything appears to be in order. I will release the slave back into your custody, but you'll have to take the Floo out, as he is no longer allowed in this area."
"That's it?" Lucius exclaimed, brandishing a bloody handkerchief. "The slave nearly murdered me in the street!"
The administrator cringed. "I'm afraid Ministry regulations don't allow for a stronger course of discipline when the injuries are so minor—"
"Minor? I was bleeding!"
"Did anyone check to see if it was red?" James asked. Malfoy fumed.
"Well," the administrator said as he began to dig through a cabinet that was even dustier than the first, "I believe there is some recourse available to you, Mr. Malfoy." He pulled a file from a drawer and sneezed through the dust cloud. "You may put in a request to discipline the slave yourself. I'm sure, under the circumstances, it will be approved. I have the paperwork right here..."
"Well bring it over here, then!" Lucius snatched the forms from the administrator's hands. James winced. He was sure the request would be cleared by the Ministry, and all instincts and past experience told him that Malfoy was a sadistic bastard.
The image of Snape's back, strips of bruise-blackened flesh next to the long, red furrows where the skin and been removed and the muscle exposed—any lingering annoyance with the other boy evaporated.
The Auror escorted him down the hall, away from the main entrance. A series of dark wooden doors with prominent, heavy locks stood in a row.
The Auror unlocked the first one, and stepped aside.
---
Snape sat on the wooden bunk, arms wrapped around his legs, and his pointed chin tucked between his bony knees. He leaned his side against the warm wall, enjoying the comfort of the subtle heating and cushioning charms cast all around the dim stone cell.
This cell was clearly meant for students who had gotten caught nicking sweets and bottles of Butterbeer—intimidating but not uncomfortable. It might have been terrifying to the spoiled brats he went to school with, but to someone who had spent the last three months in a cage a quarter of this size, freezing with the cold and burning with fever...it was nearly a haven.
He wanted to stay here, safe and warm and locked firmly away from the punishment that awaited him on the other side. He hadn't killed Malfoy, he was sure of that, but if he'd hurt him enough Lucius could order him maimed…or worse. And what Potter would do when he found out about the fine...and when the apothecary filed his complaint...
He had no sense of the time. He had heard McGonagall's shouts all the way through the corridor and the solid wooden door, but she appeared to have given up or gone hoarse. If he was lucky, she wouldn't be able to locate Potter for another day or so.
But, of course, he wasn't lucky. He knew it when he heard the booted feet stop outside his cell, and the keys scrape against the creaky old lock.
The door opened, revealing an Auror and Potter who stood with his arms crossed and a pinched expression on his face.
Hesitantly, Snape stood to greet his master. Potter looked him over. Snape wanted to ask him what his fate would be, but his throat was dry and tight, and he knew he didn't have the right to ask that question, anyway.
"Are you okay? You're not going to pass out, are you?"
Snape stiffened. "What?" he croaked.
"You. You're not hurt and you're not going to pass out, right?"
Snape swallowed and shook his head. He felt beaten and drained, but not filled with the mindless panic that had taken him earlier. Perhaps his body simply didn't have the energy for another fit right now.
"Okay," Potter said. "I'm here to take you back to Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey will probably want to have a look at you."
Snape swallowed to clear what felt like a lump of scratchy cotton from his throat. "The Ministry is letting me go?"
Potter nodded. "Yeah. I had to pay a fine, and you won't be allowed back in Diagon Alley for a while, but since Malfoy had only minor injuries, there wasn't anything else they could do."
"Minor injuries," he repeated, irrationally annoyed that he hadn't done worse. "That's all?"
"Well, Malfoy doesn't think so, but, yeah. That's all."
"But...I kicked him as hard as I—" Snape stopped himself by nearly biting his tongue off.
Potter shrugged. "Well, you're not exactly in top form, are you? But Malfoy's still outside, if you really want to have another go at it."
Snape heard McGonagall clearing her throat from behind the door. Potter winced. "Well, maybe another day would be better. Besides, I don't want to have to spend another five hundred Galleons to bail your arse out of here." He stepped aside and tilted his head in the direction of the hall, a clear indication that Snape was to leave the cell.
He did so, but as he left the comforting four walls he felt the now familiar constriction of his chest and tremor in his finger tips. He forced himself to breath through it, and forced himself to think. A five hundred Galleon fine—nobody would spend that on a slave they intended to maim or kill in a short time. He might be punished—he knew he would be—but it would probably be mild enough for him to be back in classes on Monday.
It was a cold comfort, but his chest loosened enough for him to breathe easily. His hands still shook, but he curled them into balls and shoved them in his pockets.
He followed Potter, who paid the fee to retrieve the supplies he had managed to get. His master grimaced. "You didn't manage to get a wand or robes, it looks like."
Snape shook his head, biting his lip. Ollivander sold the best wands in Britain, but he knew he would be able to find a wand elsewhere, if Potter allowed.
Potter studied his face for a moment. A strange look passed over his face and he said in a voice that could have been comforting, "It's all right. My Mum's meeting us at Hogwarts. She'll sort things out when we get there."
Potter's mother? Snape felt his muscles go tense again, but he tried to keep the fear off his face. He was silent as he threw the green powder into the fire and stepped into the flame.