How do? Yes, it took some time for me to get this up and running but, I have a valid excuse. You see, my computer recently decided to die ... tragic, i know but there you are.

Anyway this chappie is short. I'll try and make up for it. I'm finished my school tests so you know, yeah!!

Thank you to everyone you reviewed and what not. I was asked by someone, I think, if this has anything to do with the books: No. It is not a follow up of any book.

Snape's Apprentice

Chapter Five: Play by the rules.

On the day that Severus Snape encountered the men who were to change and shape his life, he was 16 years old. He had been wondering through the library, plotting his next attempt at reaching the forbidden section. The librarian, a stubborn sadistic old madam, had previously clipped him across the ear for attempting to cross the line with a disillusion spell. Therefore, he had decided that his next attempt would be to use a potion, a polyjuice potion to be exact. Naturally, it didn't work, he had lost the hairs he was intending to use and to conclude, he attempted to jump the railing while she wasn't looking. Fat chance there was of that, the old coot had a set of eyes like a hawk and banished him from the library for 4 weeks. Severus had thought this was very unfair. How was an intellect such as himself expected to unravel his wonders without the aid of books? Impossible.

For those 4 weeks, he was subdued to wondering the dungeons, his mind forever churning already processed information; then he met her … and them. She was beautiful and upon first sight captivated more then her fair share of his heart. Long, ebony curls tumbled freely across her shoulders and her eyes: Severus would never forget them. They were the sort that pierced your very soul and left a dangerous wound. They were green, sometimes blue and on a vicious day, they glowed a solstice yellow. Her name was Angelina and she ….

Harry rolled recklessly to one side, swinging his pillow, blanket and whatever else had landed on him, straight to the cold, hard floor. His vision was hazy, resulting in the recent loss of his glasses. There was a strange aroma in the air. He coughed twice allowing the morning essence of back fluid mucous to disintegrate within his throat. Applying his glasses, Harry glanced around the room and then he remembered. He was at Snape's house. How delightful. He swivelled off the bed and groaned.

Good god that mattress was to soft for my likings

The only problem that now seemed to present itself was, what was he to do now? Should he sit in his room and wait for Snape to come to him? On the other hand, should he get up and risk the Potion Masters wrath for stepping out of line? There wasn't much of a choice, if he sat and waited Snape would probably let him rot, if he got up that cat would probably attack again. Neither appealed to him. Instead of retreating, for ten minutes Harry paced the bedroom. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth and slightly to the left. He soon discovered that the floorboard on the left of the desk squeaked, and the skirting board behind the door was falling off.

Harry jumped when he heard a rap on the wooden door. The cat?

"Erm … come in?" he called in an unsure voice.

The bedroom door swung silently open and Professor Snape stepped over the thresh hold clad in his usual attire of billowing black robes. An aura of freshness followed him, something unusual Harry noted. He didn't exactly see Snape as a fresh person, more of a stale chunk of cheese behind the radiator.

"Breakfast, Potter," he said silkily, "Or would you rather pace back and fort over my floorboards until you have created a crater in the floor?"

"Sorry Professor," Harry gasped, suddenly fighting to stand still, "I didn't think you could hear me moving."

Snape sneered down at him. "Well I can, so let's make a new rule, shall we?" He paused for a moment, as if waiting for Harry to agree to his idea and then announced with great importance, "No pacing on my floor boards for ridiculous reasons!"

Harry jumped and nodded. No more pacing, fair enough. He followed Professor Snape out of the bedroom and down the hallway, which unnoticeably veered to the left and down another flight of stairs. They ended up standing in an old medieval looking kitchen. The floor was made of ancient cobblestone, and the walls of large grey slabs. A black cooking stove stood beneath a cupboard and another stone fireplace was lit next to the table. Oddly enough, it reminded Harry of the Burrow.

"Sit." Snape demanded, taking the seat opposite him.

Harry obeyed, carefully nestling onto the seat very aware of the fact that, if he scraped the chair, Snape would surely go mental. He was already in trouble for one thing and wanted it to remain that way.

"Thank you professor," he murmured, hungrily eyeing the plate of food before him.

Snape grunted in response, rustling a Daily Prophet and completely blocking out the vision of the brat before him. He hated this mentor crap. Babysitting the brat until he could learn to read instructions was not his idea of a fun summer. He would rather spend the night with Draco Malfoy, then baby sit a Potter. He quietly growled at the paper, taking all his frustration out on an article written by Josphia Dujo, that he had found in the weekly magazine that they are now sticking into every Prophet.

A husband's guide to wooing your wife.

It has been blatantly noted for years now, that men in this day and age seem to be incompetently aware of a woman's structural routine.

My husband, Gregory for example, seems to show no sign of intelligence when it comes to my emotions. I sit in front of the fire, fully relaxed and knitting my latest addition to the children's bedside closet, and he saunters into the room, stinking of the newest brew from down the local and unashamedly demands we take all further process to the bedroom.

The term animalistic, comes to mind. Because he has downed more then his body weight in intoxicating liquids, it has suddenly become my role in life to kneel for his every wish. Not likely.

His excuse the next morning, "I read it in the newest 'Guide to being a better husband'".

I recently discovered that this so-called "Guide" is actually a few sheets of parchment the local alcoholics have written up down the pub and to think, I cooked that man …

Severus tossed the magazine over his shoulder into the fire. As far as he was concerned, that woman was the one with the problem. Please, why should one devote such time to composing an article that most people would not read anyway? It was ludicrous writing. He glanced over the paper. Potter was poking at his food and half-heartedly eating a mouth full every 5 minutes or so. Severus glared. There was nothing he hated more then an incompetent brat who turned his nose up at generosity. He had a half mind to chuck the boy into the back yard, where every other animal lived.

"Not good enough?" he hissed, folding his paper and sneering down the table at him.

Harry shook his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. "No sir, thank you, it's great. I'm just not as hungry right now," Harry told him. Truthfully, he was grateful for Snape's generosity, if he were still with the Dursley's; he wouldn't even have been offered one-half of what he had now. It was just strange eating in front of his Professor. This was the man Harry had spent most days trying to avoid. At least when they were in the great hall, he was surrounded by hundreds of other students. There wasn't time to have all eyes on him. Now he was sitting alone with Snape … in silence.

Snape glowered at him again. "To begin with Potter, we are going to discuss rules and regulations," he declared, pushing his empty plate away and leaning back into the kitchen chair, "To begin with, if you think for a minute that I shall be monitoring your every movement, you are sorely mistaken. Understood?"

"I understand." Harry said.

"Secondly, any room that is locked is locked for a reason. You cannot handle what is held behind those doors, so don't play martyr and snoop!"

"I wouldn't do that anyway," Harry nearly yelled. He had every intention of storming from the table in a huff. Why would he even bother snooping around Snape's crap?

"Exactly! In addition, you can be very sure Mr Potter, that if I ever catch you out of bounds, a permanent vacation to the basement will be arranged. Thirdly, you are not to send owl's from my house. If you have anything of importance to declare, you shall come to me and present your letter. I will read it -"

"Those are private!"

"Well then your fans will have to go with out the prized Potter autograph, won't they? Do not think you can fool me Potter, I will not tolerate disobedience. I do not care how much Dumbledore praises your every movement, you are under my care and unfortunately, for me I cannot change that. Are we very clear?" he hissed.

Harry glowered across the table, matching the hatred Severus bore. "Crystal," he muttered through clenched teeth. Satisfaction had been won.

Later that day, Harry found himself being led into a wild back garden. Various vegetations sprung up against the wall and rooted deep within the ground. There was just a miniature wooden plank of wood that served as a footpath. Harry wasn't to confident about wondering into the middle of these strange looking plants, but he was interested in knowing what the round red things were. Perhaps he could nick a few while Snape had his back turned … no! He promised.

"Professor -"

"This, Potter, is called a potions labyrinth. You will spend a lot of time picking items from here which in turn will serve as your ingredients.," Snape announced resentfully, without taking a breath he continued, walking with his hands behind his back, tall and masculine, "I am now warning you that, dare you pick anything at the bottom of the garden, you can immediately expect to have yourself carted off to St. Mungo's in a match box."

Harry nodded in understanding. He had no doubts that Snape had just threatened him but he figured that getting this finished in peace was the main priority of the day. Despite it being a summer's day, an overcast shadow seemed to douse the garden in chill. Harry's thin t-shirt was no match for the wrath of one Jack Frost nipping at his skin.

"Will I bring my potions kit next time?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets in an effort to warm them.

Snape eyed him. He seemed to be contemplating whether or not a caustic answer would suffice for the moment. "That would be ideal, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded, shuffling on his feet. To draw attention from himself, he began to eye a strange looking ingredient that hung from a tree.

"It's moon leaf, Potter," Snape told him, bending down to pluck the silvery half-moon shaped leaf, "Used mostly in reviving potions, a large amount has been known to cause side affects, but I don't exactly go around reviving everybody who drops at my feet."

"No sir," Harry agreed sarcastically.

"It's a weaker form of Astravizer, which is said could even awaken the dead," he continued, crumbling the leaf within his hands.

Harry glowered at the man before him. It would take Snape, only Snape to crumble an ingredient that could help people. Harry supposed the man never saw a day of happiness in his life, which would drastically explain the dreary house and old folks garden.

Severus cautiously peeped around the corner. She was there again; talking avidly to Lucius Malfoy, who in turn couldn't withstand the chance to flash his new pocket watch. Severus eyed her short skirt with contempt, a pretty girl like her doesn't need to flash so much flesh, especially in the prescence of Malfoy.

She laughed, swinging her head back and lacing one hand into the strap of Lucius' backpack. Flushing with rage Severus quickly hurried away from the scene. He knew what would happen next.

He didn't want to see.

OK there, done. Like. No like?

Please Review! Thank you so so much.

-The Apprentice-

Knowing was enough.