Severus Evans and the Impudent Brat: Chapter One
Year One: Severus Evans and the Impudent Brat

Chapter 1: Sorting



Severus sat at the High Table, consciously restraining himself from showing impatience. His son, ten years absent from him, had returned; but from the dark look the boy had shot towards him, he was as distant as ever.

They would have to talk, and soon.

Meanwhile, there was the Sorting to be endured. At least he would not have to wait far down the list of names to hear--

"Evans, Harry!"

Silence fell over the room.

They all knew the bloody story. There was no need to keep staring, and comparing.

And whispering.

"Evans?"

"The Harry Evans?"

"The very image--"

"Must be--"

The hat certainly was taking its time. Had the Dursleys turned his bright boy into a dithering idiot who couldn't give the hat enough of a hook on which to hang--

"GRYFFINDOR!"

His breath slipped out of him. A twinge of disappointment, to be sure, but mainly relief. At least he wouldn't have his own son in his own house. That would have been complicated--and there were complications enough, without a doubt, awaiting them both.

"We've got Harry! We've got Harry!"

The damned Weasley twins.

Did it have to be Gryffindor? Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff did not cause a tenth of the trouble on which Gryffindor seemed to thrive. And from what Severus was already seeing, encouragement to cause trouble was the last thing his boy would need.

Nevertheless, Gryffindor did have its strengths. He simply would have to see to it that the boy did not fall into its weaknesses.


The banquet, as always, was sumptuous, but Severus barely noticed what passed his lips. His eyes remained fixed upon his boy, who, seemingly, could not eat enough. Perhaps it was time to pay a call upon Petunia and Vernon and demonstrate to them that his ventures into the Dark Arts had merely been forsaken, not forgotten.

The boy looked up at him, just then, right into his eyes, and suddenly winced as if in pain.

It took all the discipline he'd developed over the years not to flinch.

Meanwhile, Quirrell, sitting at his side, yammered on, as he'd done all through dinner. The man seemed just a little too fascinated with the Dark Arts rather than with the defense against them. Severus glanced at Dumbledore, and not for the first time questioned his judgment in selecting DADA professors.


After dinner, Severus made his way through the mass of students in hopes of greeting his son, but Harry was quickly lost among the Gryffindors. Holding back a sigh, Severus resigned himself to waiting just one more night to be reunited with his boy.

But Harry evaded him at breakfast, and after breakfast, and in the corridors, and at lunch, and at any opportunity Severus found to talk to the boy. He always seemed to slip away at the wrong moment, never quite within reach, never quite looking his way when Severus tried to make eye contact.

It wasn't until Friday morning with his first year Gryffindor-Slytherin Double Potions class that Severus had his first opportunity to speak with his son.


Severus watched from his office as the students meandered into the classroom. With luck, Harry might be early enough for Severus to pull him aside and have a proper word in private before class.

No luck. Harry was the last to arrive, just as the bell rang for class to begin.

With a flourish, Severus stepped out of the office, a most impressive stack of books in his arms, and stalked over to the desk at the head of the room. He dropped the books on the desk and snapped about to face the students. Every eye was fixed upon him.

"Good morning, class. I am Professor Evans." He looked over them and prayed that this year's lot would prove itself reasonably competent. "You may also call me Professor or sir. No other variations are permissible."

Severus glanced at Harry, who revealed nothing in his expression. He looked again over the attentive students and held the class list before him.

"When I call your name," he said, "you will respond, Present. Addington."

"Present."

"Brown."

"Present."

And so it went, until it came Harry's turn.

"Evans."

Harry stared back at him blankly.

"Evans."

Harry remained silent.

Severus raised one eyebrow. "That, Evans, is your cue to say, Present."

"My name's Harry."

There was no mistaking the challenge suddenly unveiled in those eyes.

"In this classroom, Mr. Evans," Severus sweetly intoned, "we are all on last name terms. And a point from Gryffindor, for your cheek."

Someone snickered.

"And a point from Slytherin... Malfoy." The name dripped from his lips like he was spitting up something foul. "In this classroom, there will be no partiality--one way or the other."

Severus finished calling the roll.

"Very good." Severus drew himself up, tilting his head back just enought to appear imposing--an appearance not difficult to achieve when lecturing to eleven year olds.

"Potions," he said, dropping his voice to a silky intonation well suited for a soliloquy, "is an exacting discipline. It requires the utmost diligence, patience, and concentration. There is very little--if any--margin for error. One moment's lapse can be--" He raised one eyebrow. "Deadly."

Severus allowed a moment for that to sink into the brains of his wide-eyed audience.

He folded his hands behind his back and slowly paced back and forth, keeping his eyes fixed on those of his students. "Hence, there are rules: rules to be obeyed, unfailingly, at all times. Those of you who choose to abide by the rules will find me to be eminently fair. Those of you who choose to forget, bend, or otherwise disregard the rules--" Every eye was attending to his every movement. "Will be dealt with accordingly." His gaze fell upon the Malfoy boy. "I do not make exceptions."

Severus shifted his gaze to rest briefly upon Harry before sweeping over all.

"I am a Slytherin. My beloved late wife was a Gryffindor. If you are expecting to be shown favoritism on account of house affiliation, do not look to me. The rules, ladies and gentlemen, are to be obeyed by all, applied to all, without partiality. Rewards and penalties will likewise be applied. To all. Without partiality.

"And speaking of my late wife," Severus held up his left hand. "I should like to inform the class that I wear this ring for a reason. Kindly bear in mind its significance and conduct yourselves accordingly."

The students squirmed and exchanged sour glances, as they always did in first year. Nevertheless, what was deemed unthinkable in first year, by fourth year inevitably became thinkable for at least a few in every class. For the life of him, Severus could not understand why. Perhaps they felt sorry for him, the most famous widower in the wizarding world, and by way of some convoluted imitation of reasoning concluded that he would best find consolation in the attentions of the immature.

Severus lowered his hand and gave a crisp nod.

"And now," he said, "let us begin."

They all stared back at him, to a one.

"Well?" he whispered. "Are you going to sit there gawping all day like a lot of deranged dunderheads, or are you going to take notes?"

A satisfied smirk tugged the corner of his mouth as Severus watched the frantic and oh-so-eager-to-please scramble that ensued.

"And now--" Few sights were as pleasing as that of a roomful of students sitting at attention, quills poised over paper, waiting upon his every word. "Let us begin."


By the end of class, the Longbottom boy had nearly melted the floor out from under them, the Granger girl had tried to impress Professor Evans that she already knew more than he could ever hope to teach her, and Harry had lost an additional thirteen points from Gryffindor with that mouth of his.

There was hope in this lot. It was far too early, of course, to tell them so.

"Class dismissed. Not you, Evans."

Harry ignored him and bolted for the door.

"I said," Severus stood over the boy, blocking his escape, "not you. Evans."

The boy glared up at him. "Let me go."

"Not until I have a word with you, Evans."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Well, isn't that a pity, Evans. You don't have any choice in the matter, young man."

"Let me go!"

Harry tried to scramble around him, but Severus descended swiftly, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling him back into the classroom as he slammed the door shut, leaving them alone together. "Now, listen here, you impudent brat--"

"I don't have to listen to you."

Rage surged through him. It took all the self-control he owned to restrain himself from slamming the boy into the wall.

"I am your teacher," he quietly intoned. "And I am your father. And you--"

"You dumped me at the Dursleys' and forgot about me. You're nothing."

Severus felt sick.

"Nothing," spat the boy. The sneer on his face was only too familiar; Severus had never imagined he'd see it turned against himself.

"Be that as it may..." Severus breathed deeply, trying to still the tremor in his voice before the boy--but the boy had caught it. The sneer deepened, and Severus found himself wanting to slap it off that smug little face.

And that troubled him more than anything else.

He drew himself up to his full height, still blocking the door. "Very well. If that is how matters stand between us, then that is how they stand. Regardless, while you are at Hogwarts you are required, Evans, to address not only me but every teacher with respect, and whether you like it or not, you will do so--or face expulsion. And a return to the Dursleys'."

Ten points to Slytherin.

"Don't call me Evans."

Severus rolled his eyes. "It happens to be your name."

"I don't want your name."

He had to look away, before the boy could see...

Severus looked back into those sullen green eyes.

"Evans is your mother's name," he said. "Mine was Snape."

That threw the boy for a moment, even if only for a moment.

Harry snorted. "What kind of a man takes his wife's name?"

Severus felt a smirk begin to emerge. "To learn that," he said, "you'll have to stop talking long enough to listen to me." He opened the door and stepped aside, letting Harry pass.