Chapter Seven
June, 1976
Severus allowed his trunk to fall heavily at his feet and, once more, cursed the Trace that prevented him from casting a Featherweight charm—or, more importantly, a Point Me.
Muggles pushed past him as he stood on a street corner, trying to get his bearings. He was familiar with a great deal of London—he'd lived there from '78 to '83 and should, for all intents and purposes, have recognised this corner, if it was at all on the route between King's Cross and Diagon Alley, which it was, it had to be—
He was standing in front of a Tesco, which meant he could buy himself a map—if he'd had any Muggle money on him, which of course he didn't—and across from a Tube stop, which meant—
Oh. Yes.
Severus lifted his trunk and crossed the street and—blast it—carried the damned thing down the stairs to the station, where, sure enough, there was a map on the wall. Satisfied that he was on the right track, only slightly turned around, Severus climbed the stairs—getting fully out of breath, now, why did he own so many books—and headed out of the station and around the corner.
He cut through a city park and carried on past the library toward his destination, which he eventually reached—a scrawny boy hauling a an overlarge trunk attracted some attention, though not quite so much near the universities as it might have elsewhere—an exhausting forty-five minutes later.
Severus and his trunk, upon which he really should have cast a featherweight charm while still aboard the Hogwarts Express, headed through the Leaky Cauldron with the barest of nods to the surprised bartender. When Severus reached the wall, he tapped his neglected wand in the customary pattern on the bricks and, when the wall swept aside to admit him, hefted his trunk one last time as he stepped back into the Wizarding World.
Severus crossed the alley and, barely registering the "Closed" sign, pushed open the door to Slug & Jigger's Apothecary.
Master Jigger was inside, seated at a well-worn desk at the rear of the shop, his back to the door. "You're late," he said by way of greeting, his gaze apparently focused on the parchment ledger in front of him.
"I—I beg your pardon, sir?" Severus asked, as he attempted to set down his trunk with a minimal thunk.
"The agreement was that you would come here straightaway from the Hogwarts Express, which, if I am not mistaken, reached King's Cross an hour ago," Jigger said. "What, pray tell, required your attention so urgently as to keep you from your appointment?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Severus said. "I found myself disoriented somewhere near Russell Square, but I corrected my route straight away." And he'd had to stop a few times to rest because he was in possession of what had to be the heaviest, most unwieldy trunk in the world.
"You were—" With that, Jigger finally turned around to face Severus. "How, exactly," he asked, his brown eyes piercing, "did you become disoriented?"
"I haven't often walked through Muggle London, sir, and—"
"Did it not occur to you to Apparate?" Jigger asked.
Severus fought the urge to sit down on his trunk as he swayed—imperceptibly, he hoped—on his feet. "I don't have my license, sir."
Jigger, with no small amount of exasperation evident in his expression, set his quill heavily down on the desk. "Did you fail your examination?" he demanded.
"No, sir."
"You haven't bothered to sit the examination?" Jigger asked.
"Sir, I'm sixteen." As he well knew.
Jigger adjusted his quill's position on the table and said, "Ah." Standing suddenly, he walked across the shop to where Severus stood, and, looming down at him with all the advantage his four extra inches' height granted him, said, "Very well, your tardiness is excused, providing this incident isn't repeated."
Jigger, it seemed, had very particular views on punctuality, but Severus supposed that such a brilliant man could be excused an eccentricity or two. "Thank you, sir," Severus said, "It will not be."
"Good." Jigger gestured with a jerk of his head for Severus to follow him over to the back right corner of the shop, where the door to the back alley sat opposite a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor. "This is where you'll enter and depart after hours," he said, indicating the door, "and up there"—he indicated the staircase—"is where you'll be staying. Feel free to ward the bottom of the staircase during business hours if you feel nervous about the customers wandering about." Jigger paused, and added, "It might be advisable. Clients have a tendency to expect a…" His lip curled. "Public washroom."
Severus nodded. "Thank you for the warning, sir. I'll be sure to. But…"
Jigger glared down at him. "Yes?"
"Sir, the Trace. Am I permitted to…?"
"Yes, yes," Jigger said, waving his hand jerkily. "Horace had me sign the revised contract and filed it with the Ministry. You may perform magic within the shop as necessary for your employment and, hypothetically, your apprenticeship."
"Sir," Severus said slowly, "how will it be determined what magic is considered 'necessary' for my employment?"
Jigger's nostrils flared. "Don't ask me to spell it out, Mr Snape."
Ah. So he was free to perform whatever magic he liked, then—excellent. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
"You'll find your work wardrobe upstairs," Jigger continued, "and I expect you to be back here, fully presentable, at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. We open precisely at ten and I expect you to have learned the basic workings of the shop by that time."
"I will do my best, sir."
"As you should. Well," Jigger said, reaching for the knob of the back door, "I will leave you to settle in for the evening. Should you have any questions…"
He peered down at Severus. "…I expect they can wait until morning." And Jigger left.
Severus, exhausted, walked back across the room and, checking to make sure the front door of the shop had locked—it had—gratefully cast a Leviosa on his hated trunk. Guiding it up the narrow staircase—the treads of which were perhaps half as deep as the length of his shoes—proved to be rather more difficult than he had originally anticipated, and it was with no small amount of relief that Severus allowed his trunk to come to a rest at the top of the stairs.
He sat down on his trunk and surveyed his new living quarters.
They were…
Tiny.
The room in front of him contained a small kitchen on the left, which was open to the rest of the room, such as it was—a table with three chairs (why three?) in the centre and a large armchair, nestled into the back right corner. Severus leaned forward and looked along the wall to his right, where two doors led to what appeared to be a standard W.C. and what was a large closet that might, on second glance, actually be a bedroom.
Supposedly.
Severus stood tiredly and walked over to the bedroom, which was (rather like the shop below) longer than it was wide. Inside, there was a bed—most likely shorter than he was—pushed against the back wall. A small desk squatted next to the bed, and directly to his right loomed a wardrobe that, upon opening, revealed itself to be stocked with regulation work robes in, thank Merlin, stark black.
Severus sat down on his new bed, which squeaked admirably, and leaned against the wall.
It was, as Jigger had promised, adequate—and that was all he'd needed.
Severus kicked off his boots and, with a whispered nox, fell gratefully asleep.
In the morning, he made use of his new bathroom (and until spending two weeks back in the Slytherin dormitory, he had quite forgotten the luxury of a private loo) and dressed in one of his new work robes, which, he discovered, had liquid-repelling, permanent de-creasing, and self-cleaning charms—they were easily as high-quality as any he'd owned and worn as Hogwarts' Potions Master. They also had an embroidered S&J on the left lapel, as his school robes had displayed a Slytherin crest—which reminded him to take his school robes to a second-hand shop; he had no use for them, now, and he could certainly use the Galleons.
In the kitchen, Severus examined the contents of the cabinets—one for dishes, one charmed to keep food cool, and one to hold food at room temperature—and set about making himself a bowl of oatmeal (after not preparing his own food for eighteen years, he decided to stick with something simple).
He burned it.
He ate it regardless—only the oats that had stuck to the bottom of the pan were inedible, so he let those be—and, leaving his dishes to soak in the sink, headed down the stairs at fifteen minutes to nine.
Master Jigger had not yet arrived, so Severus busied himself with becoming better acquainted with the layout of the shop. The stairs to his living quarters were at the back corner of the shop; Jigger's accounting desk lay against the back wall. The shop was long and narrow, as was typical for Alley shops; the walls were lined with shelves holding ingredients (on his left) and standard potions (on his right). Various larger herbs that were sold in their whole, versus powdered, forms, hung from the ceiling. In the centre of the shop was a line of barrels, each filled with the more common, hardier ingredients.
Severus strolled to the front of the shop, which widened slightly—most likely, the staircase took up the extra width in the back part of the shop. On his left was the counter and till, behind with stretched a close glass cabinet—most likely locked—displaying the more exotic ingredients and potions. Behind the counter was a door marked "Staff Only," and Severus—who was, after all, staff—opened it slightly to see another staircase leading down.
"The downstairs laboratory is off-limits to you." Jigger's voice suddenly came from behind him.
Severus closed the door and turned around. "Yes, sir," he said. "I was merely trying to acquaint myself with the layout of the shop."
Jigger was standing just inside the shop's front door, staring Severus down with an expression that Severus suddenly realized most likely matched his own—impassive and Occluded.
Interesting.
"The laboratory may be entered by licensed Potioneers and their apprentices, which, Mr Snape, you are not," Jigger said.
"Yes, sir," Severus said again, not allowing his impatience to creep into his voice. Honestly, he wasn't a child—he understood perfectly Master Jigger's objections.
"If I have reason to believe that you are visiting my laboratory without my permission, I will be forced to ward you out of it," Jigger said.
"I will not, sir," Severus said. Really, there would be plenty of time for him to examine the laboratory in a few weeks, once his NEWT scores had arrived.
"Very well," Jigger said. "Since you have taken it upon yourself to go behind the counter, let us turn our attention to the till." Jigger stood opposite the counter from Severus and gestured toward the machine sitting on the counter. Its shape was not unfamiliar to Severus, of course, though he had rarely had cause to examine it from the retailer's side—on the side he faced, the bi-level box had three rotary displays of numbers at the top (labelled G, S, and K), and a slot for inserting coins on the bottom (as well as a narrow roll of parchment, presumably for writing receipts). On the right of the box as it faced him were an inkpot and quill stand, and on the side facing the customers, below three more rotary dials, a cup was attached to the front, into which their change would roll. Below the counter was a stack of small paper sacks.
"It's standard, and quite modern—you enter the costs of each individual item thusly…" Jigger tapped his wand at the right side of the box, causing the rotary dials to display 1G15S, 3K, and 1S28K in turn. "When you have finished, sum them like so…" And Jigger tapped the left side of the contraption, whereupon the dials rolled around to display 2G2K.
"And then, of course, you insert the client's money…" Jigger extracted two Galleons and a Sickle from his pocket and, reaching over the device, slipped them into the slot near the bottom. "And the till computes the change necessary and submits it to the client." As he spoke, the dials on the customer's side rolled around to display 27K as twenty-seven Knuts clinked out into the cup.
"Should the customer desire a receipt, you will have one written thusly." Jigger tapped the quill stand with his wand, and the quill immediately set to dipping itself in ink and scrawling a list of items and their costs onto the narrow roll of parchment. "When it has finished, simply tear it off, hand it to the customer, and always thank them for their custom." Jigger eyed Severus narrowly. "I do hope," he said, "that you are as proficient with wordless magic as Horace intimated."
"I believe so, sir," Severus replied.
"I will not have my shop keeper muttering incantations in front of customers. It's sloppy."
"Yes, sir."
"This apparatus is of the highest-quality charmsmanship and retains a list of costs, so you will not be expected to learn the price of each ingredient." Jigger paused, and added, "Yet."
Jigger turned to indicate the set of pewter scales to Severus' right. "Of course," he said, "you will also need to measure the items before you enter them into the till, but as these are self-balancing, you should have no trouble."
"Yes, sir."
"And the sacks are held beneath the counter, as you see." Jigger turned suddenly to peer at Severus. "Have you any questions?"
"I don't believe so, sir."
"Very well. Let us practise." Jigger turned around to a barrel on the floor behind him, from which he took one scoop of beetle eyes and added it to a small paper bag. "Ring this up, Mr Snape," he said, handing it to Severus.
Severus took the bag and placed it on the scales—and fought the urge to raise his wand defensively when Jigger's hand suddenly slapped down on the table. "Incorrect," Jigger said. "Beetle eyes are priced per the scoop, Mr Snape, and not by weight. Try again."
Severus' cheeks coloured slightly as he held the package in one hand and, tapping the right side of the till, thought one scoop beetle eyes.
The till displayed 3K, and Severus looked up at Master Jigger and said, "That will be three Knuts, please, sir."
Jigger handed him a Sickle, which he slipped into—
Jigger's hand slapped the counter again. "Incorrect," he said. "You have not rung up the total cost."
Severus felt his face grow warmer as he tapped the till on its left side, whereupon the dial spun around to display, again, 3K. This time, Jigger allowed him to slip the Sickle into the till, which proclaimed 26K and spat out the appropriate Knuts.
"May I write you a receipt, sir?" Severus asked, which earned him a curt nod from Master Jigger. Severus tapped the inkpot with his wand, and the quill wrote on the parchment:
Beetle eyes 3K/scoop…3K
Total…3K
Given…1S
Change…26K
Severus tore the narrow piece of parchment off the roll and offered it to Jigger. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," he said, and Jigger nodded.
"That was almost passable," he said. "Providing you refrain from making such careless mistakes again, your performance should be acceptable."
He was too kind. Really. "Thank you, sir."
"I will be in the laboratory for the duration of the morning," Jigger continued. "I will be monitoring your activities occasionally. Should you have any questions, I trust you are familiar enough with the requirements of potioneering that you will not dare to interrupt me mid-brew."
Severus swept aside the insult—after all, Jigger had yet to see his test scores. "Of course, sir."
"Good. Should you need my assistance, simply ring this bell here"—Jigger indicated a small bell to the left of the door to the laboratory—"and I will be alerted. I will ascend when it is convenient for me."
Severus belatedly realized what Slughorn had meant by "Arsenius can be…demanding."
"Take the next few minutes to acquaint yourself with our stock, especially regarding which items are priced per scoop, per ounce, or per item," Jigger said pointedly. "At ten o'clock you may open the shop. No earlier, and no later. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will close from one to one-thirty, at which time you may take your lunch," Jigger said. "You will not have any other breaks, except in cases of emergency, in which case you must be sure to lock the front door."
"Yes, sir."
Jigger came round the counter and opened the door to the laboratory. Pausing, he glanced back at Severus and said, "You will comb your hair on your lunch break." And then he was descending, the door closed behind him.
Severus had known he should've nicked Mulciber's comb.
So Severus paced around the shop—he noted that the only items sold by the scoop were those in the barrels along the floor, which, of course—and when it was ten o'clock—no sooner and no later—he flipped the sign on the door to read "Open" and unlocked the door.
He retreated behind the counter and attempted to ready a pleasant expression.
He settled for "not disdainful."
Had he not been a master Occlumens, his neutral expression would've been sorely tested when his first customer walked through the door:
Lucius Malfoy.
He was, of course, twenty years younger than last Severus saw him, cowering before the Dark Lord. And Severus noticed with some amusement how Malfoy so loosely carried his wand—the Malfoy he had known would've given the last six inches of his hair to have his wand back. He might've even given his left hand for it.
"Well, well," said Malfoy, stepping toward the counter. "There's a face I've not seen for, what must it be, three years? Why, Severus, you've not changed a bit."
"Strangely, I recall being rather shorter at the end of my second year," Severus said. "What brings you to the apothecary this morning, Mr Malfoy?"
To Severus' total lack of surprise, Malfoy preened unsubtly at being addressed as an adult. "I find myself much more interested in what brings you to the apothecary," he said. "Particularly what puts you behind the counter." Malfoy's lips quirked. "Perhaps you have sought summer employment?"
Severus' lack of funds had been an open secret since the day he arrived in Slytherin, of course, so it was no wonder that Malfoy would allude to it now. And Severus felt—and immediately quashed—the sudden urge to casually mention that he had finished with his schooling, and that he was shortly to be apprenticed to Master Jigger himself, and that—
And that he had no desire to inform another agent of the Dark Lord of his abilities. Wilkes' involvement had been regrettable but unavoidable, but his interest would, presumably, fade over time. Severus could not afford to pique the interest of Lucius Malfoy as well.
"I am employed here," Severus acknowledged, inclining his head slightly.
"As I recall, you had a knack for Potions," Malfoy said benevolently (to Severus' irritation). "This seems a fitting position for you."
Elitist arsehole. "I hope so," Severus replied. "And how may I be of assistance this morning?"
"Why, yes," Malfoy said. "My dear fiancée—you remember Narcissa Black, of course—has been feeling under the weather. I trust you carry a decent Pepperup?"
"Certainly," Severus replied. He walked around the counter and crossed the shop to the prepared potions which, fortunately, were sorted in alphabetical order. "Which size would you prefer?" he asked, stooping down to the low shelf where the Pepperup was kept.
"The larger, please," Malfoy replied. "Assuming it's fresh."
Severus stood up, a bottle of Pepperup in hand, and tapped it with his wand, casting a wordless tempus condere. "This one was stoppered five days ago," Severus replied. "It will remain potent for…" He passed his wand over the bottle once again. "…a fortnight more."
Malfoy nodded, one eyebrow slightly raised. "That will do," he replied. "And you may pass my complements on to your employer on the strength of his training."
Jigger's training? Hardly. These were the most basic spells in any Potioneer's arsenal. But… "Thank you, Mr Malfoy," Severus said. He headed back for the counter, potion in hand, and added, "Is there another way in which I might be of assistance?"
"That will be all," Malfoy said.
Severus rang up Malfoy's purchase—and remembered to total it—and wrapped it—and provided him with a receipt. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said, handing him the package.
"My pleasure," Malfoy said. "Enjoy your summer, young Severus. I hope it is…beneficial to you."
And Severus hoped Malfoy would choke on the stopper. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I wish you the same."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, and he turned and swept out of the shop.
As he left, he held the door for a middle-aged witch who stopped in front of the barrel of beetle eyes, looked at the sign that read Beetle Eyes, 3 Knuts a Scoop, and asked, "How much are the beetle eyes?"
Severus could swear he saw Malfoy smirk as he closed the shop door behind him.
Dear Lily,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have now spent my first day as the shopkeeper of Slug & Jigger's Apothecary.
Suffice it to say that I am eagerly anticipating my NEWT results.
Best regards,
Severus Snape
Dear Severus,
Your poor customers.
I've had a lovely week, thanks ever so for asking. Tuney's been less miserable than usual towards me…I think she's lonely, since all her friends have gone off to university, or been married off, or run off to Manchester proper, and she's left with Mum and Dad, which of course they're lovely people but they're our parents you understand, so even her you-know-what sister is better than our parents.
Poor Tuney.
Anyway we've gone to see one film already and I've only been home a few days but Sev. Sincerely. This film was terrifying. Tuney hated it even more than I did but it was just creepy. There's a hanging and a decapitation and throughout it all there's this little boy, ugh, and at the end he does this smile…
I will be honest that I did not sleep at all well, last night, and I really wish I had some Dreamless Sleep but ah well, this is the price we pay. Please do not take this as indication that Muggle entertainment is bad, you know it's not, I'm sure if we'd gone to see the film with David Bowie in it we'd've be fine but Tuney can't stand him for whatever reason. I will never see another horror film again, I really won't. God knows we have enough horror in the real world.
So you must tell me about Master Jigger, of whom you did not speak a word. Are you impressing him yet with your Potions prowess? I'm sure you are. You must tell me.
Love from
Lily
Dear Lily,
Master Jigger is exacting. He has not allowed me to even look upon his laboratory, as, I quote, "The laboratory may be entered by Potions Masters and their apprentices, which you, Mr Snape, are not." I'm fairly certain he hates all people indiscriminately. And, naturally, I cannot wait until the day when I am able to work with him.
Best regards,
Severus Snape
Dear Severus,
Has it occurred to you that there's a reason for that?
What's it been like in the shop? You haven't really said.
Love from
Lily
Dear Lily,
I am not entirely sure what you're implying.
A small child vomited into the barrel of Chizpurfle carapaces today. I'm not certain if you've ever had the opportunity to clean vomit off of a score of Chizpurfle carapaces. I do not recommend it.
That is how I would describe working in the shop.
Best regards,
Severus Snape
Sev,
Think about it.
Did you hex the child?
Love from
Lily
Dear Lily,
I do not hate indiscriminately.
I have reasons for hating everyone.
I did not hex the child. Or its mother.
As far as she knows.
Best regards,
Severus Snape
A/N: Dear readers, thank you so much for all your reviews on the last chapter. It was one of my favorites to write, and I'm truly touched that it received such a response.
And that's another reason why I regret to say that chapter eight will post week after next, rather than next Wednesday as usual. My writing time will be very limited this weekend (I have houseguests! and it's my birthday!) and I'd rather not rush and end up with a short and/or subpar chapter. But you can be assured that I'll update early in the week (think Sunday or Monday, rather than the usual Wednesday), and hopefully the wait will be worth it.
Coming up: More unwelcome shoppers and an invitation to Wilkes Estate.