Chapter 2

Fairy Botts

Severus Snape leant against the corner of a large oak wardrobe with green-mirrored sides whilst he waited impatiently for the incompetent clerk of Abernathy's Apothecary and Better Potions Supplies to wrap up his rather large parcel. As he peered through the dingy shop front at the shockingly fat witch outside in unbelievably bright magenta robes, Snape angrily reflected on how he was going to manage the last few weeks of summer until he returned to Hogwarts. His holidays were usually a time of intense study and research and yet now, when he needed his mental acuity the most, his mind was continually returning to that stupid, ridiculous girl.

The end of the school year had brought terrifying news. He was no fool; he had known that the Dark Lord was rising. No matter what he had previously thought, what he had once promised as a sadly callow youth, the return of his former master was not welcome. He had carved out quite a decent place for himself at Hogwarts. Regardless of Headmaster Dumbledore's refusal to grant him what he truly desired, Snape still relished the research time and access to information and supplies that his position at Hogwarts afforded him. Although his existence was not the glorious career with public accolades of which he had dreamt in his younger years, he was still able to do much that he wanted. His position at Hogwarts had been safe and, in his now more mature manner of thinking, Snape had come to appreciate some of the benefits of being Potions master of Hogwarts.

There was no guarantee that the Dark Lord would succeed this time either. If he had not been able to win before when he had so many devoted servants at his side, when he himself was stronger, then there was no certainty that the Dark Lord would come out on top now. However, his 'colleagues'-his fellow Death Eaters-were now, like himself, stronger and more experienced wizards. There was more knowledge and power available for the Dark Lord to wield. That is, there would be if the Dark Lord could frighten enough of his former followers into returning. The personal fable and prideful stupidity of youth had been the impetus behind most of the hubristic inductions into the newest incarnation of the old Knights of Walpurgis. Not everyone wanted to return to being a servant. Not everyone would be willing to risk a comfortable life for a tenuous promise of power.

Not that there was any choice for himself. He was now in the delightful position of serving two masters. A skilful man could play one against the other for only so long. Eventually he would have to take his stand and wave his colours. Surprisingly for one who valued his own skin greatly, he knew that there was only one option for him. Snape would serve his chosen master regardless of the path ahead, though Snape might hate him for what would be lost along the way or the fact that Snape's own death during the process was a very great possibility.

So now, his thoughts returned to her. The stupid girl could not possibly be of any use to him. There was no reason to allow her indisputably beautiful face to haunt him any longer. No one could have been more surprised to find himself in love than Severus Snape. Snape hated the words as they rolled round in his head, but he had learnt 15 years before how dangerous it was to lie to oneself about the truth. The only way to ward off danger and predict incipient threats was to know one's own limitations. This particular weakness was one to which Snape had never for a moment dreamt that he would succumb again. His first love had never diminished even sufficiently to allow him any hope of peace. For his heart to betray both him and her by falling for another woman, felt terrifying, bewildering, and even adulterous.

He had spent the last year of Hogwarts hating Patience Kent almost as much as he had loved her during the already unstable time whilst he was dealing with the fear and insecurity of the fact that he was now an active Death Eater once more. It was a ridiculous situation. She had not even been his student since she was a fifth-year. The girl was shockingly dense at Potions, but, of course, she was brainless at almost every subject. As Snape snatched up his parcel from the cowering clerk and stalked from the store into the street, he told himself fiercely that there was an almost impossible irony to the fact that he, Severus Snape, could have fallen in love with a witch so unskilled, mind-numbingly daft, and foolish.

As he navigated a Lithuanian hag whose cloak was emitting a pungent odour of rotting mushrooms, Snape told himself that it was actually more disgusting that he had not become enamoured with her just because she was beautiful. He would not have felt such a complete shock if only it had been her perfect figure and face, which had ensnared him. That would have been easy to overcome because that would have been easily explainable as lust and loneliness after so many years of mourning and solitude.

Of course, now she was no longer in school and would be married soon. He had told himself that he was pleased when he heard that she was engaged to Fleming. She would be happy, which was not of great significance but was something at least, and he would be rid of any concerns for her safety. It would be easier to forget his insane interest in the girl when he knew that she was forever out of reach and decently cared for. Yet this comfort was now denied him, as well. He had not found any peace of mind since he had left her at the centre of Hogsmeade almost a fortnight ago, from which point she had assured him she could find her way home. He had let her into his house. He had displayed his fondness for her in front of her. He believed that she was far too dim to have understood his motivations, but the fact that he had allowed her to affect his reasoning so greatly had kept him awake and pacing the floors of his study for much of the past 12 nights.

He had decided that the only way to resolve his unacceptable concern for her welfare was to see her once more. He was certain that Morag would not actually starve her daughter or keep her locked inside a closet. He must have been more out of his mind than he had realised to have believed such a thing. Morag was a skilled manipulator and would certainly have great plans for her daughter, which would obviously be spoilt by bruises on her arms and gaunt, underfed cheeks.

He had every expectation of seeing Morag and her daughter in Hogsmeade that day. He had found out that there was to be a private show in Madame Duvollet's exclusive little shop. He had been told by Winifred, his cousin's wife, that Morag was a devoted customer of Mme Duvollet, so she was very likely to come into Hogsmeade and bring the girl. Snape thought bitterly that this was the sort of thing that he had never considered that he would stoop to doing. He was stalking the girl. However, there was no other way to win back his peace. He could not afford to waste any more of his time with these ridiculous thoughts.

As Snape seated himself inside the dark, uninviting tavern opposite Mme. Duvollet's, he thought how much pleasure it afforded him to have another excellent reason to hate Morag. His mother had enjoyed a spirited rivalry with Morag's older sister Deirdre O'Shaughnessy when they were at school. After Deirdre's painful death, about which he remembered his mother reading in the Daily Prophet with especial glee, Morag and her two sisters had continued to receive his mother's pointed barbs and hateful snubs whenever possible. Snape considered for a moment that it was possible that Morag hated him almost as much as he now hated her, which he found absolutely amusing. However, his chuckle at that thought seemed to have entirely unnerved the short, fat woman who had come to take his order, so Snape tersely ordered a lunch and returned to his more serious thoughts.

It was when Snape had almost finished eating what must have been some sort of cabbage soup that he saw them. Morag was walking hastily up the street wearing what Snape thought must be some of the more over-styled, expensive robes he had seen in some time. Behind her was what looked like a little blond child, nevertheless although her face was obscured by the stack of boxes that she was carrying, Snape knew that the girl was in fact Patience. He stood up abruptly, tossed some coins onto the table, and waited for both women to enter Botts' Bookshoppe before he exited the tavern.

Without considering how ridiculous it would be for someone like him ever to enter that sort of bookshop, Snape barged into the lobby of the store and stopped dead on the marble entryway. This was a witches' store. He felt instinctively that every shelf was covered with books in which beautiful, silly witches were in love with heroic, handsome wizards only to be persecuted by horrible, Dark warlocks before a saccharine, predictable climax wherein the hero duelled the villain. Snape thought wildly that he had to concoct a reason why he was there. No one could ever think that Severus Snape read such tripe.

As a smiling, plump witch trotted forward to where he stood, Snape thought quickly and desperately of every female relative that he had. Winifred. He would push the thing off on Winifred. It was her bloody fault that he was in Hogsmeade today, anyway. The punishment was therefore quite just. Snape hastily told the elderly witch who had accosted him a fluid lie about a birthday and a witch who liked to read. The woman, who he believed had introduced herself as Fairy Botts, but he sincerely hoped that he was mistaken, hurried off to collect a large stack of books from the shelves for him to approve.

Morag had seen him. There was nothing for it, but to put on his best, most discouraging face and hope that he could extract the information that he desired quickly.

"Severus Snape. It has been quite some time."

Snape arranged his features into what he hoped was a sufficiently insulting sneer and responded, "Good day, Morag. I believe that it has, yes. I see that you are well."

"Yes, very. I hear that you are still thriving."

Just at that moment, they were interrupted by the sound of several boxes tumbling to the floor and a small yelp of pain. Turning towards the direction of the sound, Snape watched as Morag viciously tugged her daughter up from the floor and snarled sotto voce, "Impossible girl. You are hopeless."

Although he read the terror in Patience's face as she scrambled to pick up the boxes and the stack of books that she had knocked over, Snape also grimly noted a look of disgust and hatred on her mother's face. He realised that his trip into Hogsmeade had been a wasted effort. Instead of reassuring himself that Morag was no more unpleasant and cruel to her daughter than a silly, ignorant girl like Patience really deserved, he could plainly see that what he had surmised from the girl's admissions a fortnight previous had been absolutely true.

The shopwitch was indicating to him that she had several books for him to peruse, so Snape moved to excuse himself from Morag and Patience. Morag, however, did not seem to be finished with him. "I am surprised to see you here, Snape. Are you buying for a friend?"

Snape snarled a hasty explanation of the storey he had concocted earlier and tried to keep his eyes from wandering to the scared, peaky face of the young woman standing behind Morag. He knew that it could not be clearer that he wanted to get away from them, but it seemed that Morag had something that she wanted to say. In hopes of diverting her mind, Snape said almost courteously, "I understand that your family is planning a wedding, Morag. I congratulate you."

Snape was unprepared for the look of disgust that passed over Morag's face when she hissed, "Not any more. Eurydice has made a fool of herself."

Snape, momentarily thrown further off balance until he remembered the girl's given name was actually the thoroughly inappropriate 'Eurydice', felt a flash of anger at both mother and daughter. He looked at Patience, who had turned a desperate, pleading look at him, and he thought crossly, "What does she expect me to do? How dare the silly bint look as though she expected me to help her?" He hardly knew what he said to Morag as he hastily extricated himself from the conversation and moved to the counter to pay for the stack of books, none of which he even looked at. He would send them to Winifred that day with a note of thanks. That should infuriate her to no end.

Snape had hoped to edge past where Morag had been standing whilst reprimanding her daughter for having been unable to balance six boxes in her slight arms and therefore embarrassing her mother in public. However, Morag seemed to have been watching him because she moved over towards him before he could leave the counter near the till. "Luther was saying to me only just last week how helpful you were to him regarding a letter of recommendation to Angus Wilkie, Severus. I was not aware that he had applied to you or else I would have thanked you more properly before now."

This was what she had wanted to say, was it? Snape thought that it was far more likely that she had berated her son for having put the family in any position of indebtedness to Severus Snape. Snape, who routinely wrote letters of recommendation for many of the top graduates from Slytherin and occasionally Ravenclaw, had actually written a genuine referral to Wilkie about the Kent boy. Luther, unlike his brutish twin, was a brilliant young man who did credit to the house of Slytherin. Snape might not like the boy, but that did not stop him from being honest about the young man's skills.

"There is no need to thank me, Morag. I am always happy to help my former students." Snape smirked as he watched Morag try to control a twinge of anger. He had been right. The woman hated him quite definitely as much as he loathed her. He looked surreptitiously at the girl and saw that she appeared to be trying to blend into a bookshelf so as not to attract any further notice from either of them. A traitorous, unbidden thought passed through Snape's mind that although Morag had a savage sort of beauty about her, her daughter was exquisite beyond compare. Immediately he turned his eyes back to Morag only to see her looking at him with shrewd eyes.

"Nevertheless Severus, I am glad to have had the chance to thank you in person. Nothing pleases a mother more than the happiness of her children."

Snape narrowly avoided snorting aloud at the mendaciousness of this statement. "But of course, Morag. It is always a pleasure to help a friend of the family. I wish you a good day. Miss Kent."

As Morag watched the black wool clad back of Severus Snape sweep out the front door of the shop, she seemed to be thinking. After several moments, she turned roundly on her daughter and paused before muttering cryptically, "How much that cow Eileen Snape would have hated it." She looked back at the empty doorway and then spoke softly again, "It is perfect. Deirdre will dance in her grave." Now more loudly she commanded, "Come with me, Eurydice. I have something to discuss with your father and it concerns you."