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

Chapter 3: A Little Knowledge



"It's all quite hopeless."

Severus sank onto the sofa, rubbing his eyelids with his fingertips.

"It's hopeless," he sighed, looking over to the picture of his wife on the mantel. "I'm hopeless. I don't have the least idea what I'm doing--and he knows it. I've failed you. Failed us all. I'm sorry." He let his head fall back upon the arm of the sofa, closing his eyes, and stretched out his legs. He folded his arms on his chest and tried not to think of how he might look, to an observer, rather like a man lying propped in a coffin. "I wish I'd been the one in the coffin," he whispered as an afterthought.

Lily would have done so much better. Lily had come from a loving home. Lily would have been able to keep the boy, raise the boy, know all the right things to do to make it all come out right.

But that line of thinking would only bring on tears, tears he did not want to indulge. He had to keep a clear head--or, rather, find a clear head. Dumbledore was right: What he was doing wasn't working, and it wasn't fair to the rest of Gryffindor House that they had become handicapped with that insolent brat of a boy.

His boy.

Severus snorted. "My boy," he sardonically drawled. "My boy, who hates me, wishes I would disappear. My boy who cannot stand to be in the same room with me..."

His eyes flew open.

"Ass," he chided himself. But a smirk was emerging as he sat up.


First year Gryffindor-Slytherin Potions, week three. Severus called the roll and then turned directly to his son.

"Evans."

The boy looked up at him as if distracted by a mildly interesting insect.

"What are the three most common uses of crushed shells from the common black beetle?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Severus held the boy's gaze, unblinking. "It was discussed, at length, in today's chapter."

"I didn't get round to reading it."

"You didn't get round to reading it."

A palpable current ran through the room. Severus simply continued to stare calmly into those insolent eyes and softly intoned:

"Detention, Evans. This evening, directly following dinner."

Severus smirked, and the boy understood that smirk, and Severus turned away and called upon someone who had actually troubled to read the assigned chapter.


When dinner drew to a close, Severus half-feared the boy would try to slip away, but apparently even Harry knew better than to try to evade a duly authorized detention. He sat at the table, waiting, as Severus approached and halted beside him.

"All right, Harry," he said. The boy started, and looked up at him. It occurred to Severus that it was the first time that he had ever addressed the boy by his given name. Of course, the boy hadn't given himself the opportunity to be so addressed.

"Follow me."

Harry got to his feet and followed Severus out the door.


They walked in silence through the corridors, down into the dungeon where Severus had his office, classroom, and living quarters. Harry, he could see, was doing his level best to appear indifferent. Severus held back a smile as he opened the door to his office.

From the stacks and scrolls of parchments on his desk, in his desk, on shelves and chairs and any other available space, he retrieved the homework from his first, second, and third year classes. Advanced classes, he decided, would have to wait for the weekend. With Harry in the room, he did not trust himself to give a fair evaluation to anything beyond the most rudimentary level of work.

"So what am I doing?" Harry asked, glancing uncertainly at the bottles of assorted creatures floating in brine.

"Oh, not in here, Harry," Severus told him. "You'll be serving your detention keeping me company in my sitting room, after I gather what I need to work on this evening."

Comprehension flared on the boy's face, but before he could protest Severus added, "Do you really want another detention, Harry?"

Harry clamped his mouth shut.

Severus grabbed a couple of stray essays that had been deposited on his desk during dinner, marked each one at the top with a large red LATE, and added them to the stack of parchments under his arm. "Follow me," he said, leading the boy out of the office. They walked through the classroom, out into the corridor, and down the hall, not far from the entrance to the Slytherin common room, where they turned down a small side corridor and stopped in front of a heavy door.

"Here we are." Severus unlocked the door and let Harry enter first.

He watched the boy walk into the room, look about warily, take it all in: the dark sofa and wing chairs, the end tables, the little table against one wall that served as both desk and dining table, the shelves and shelves of leather-bound volumes hinting at a wealth of arcane knowledge far beyond anything an eleven-year-old would have begun to imagine.

And then the boy looked to the hearth, and to the mantel, and to the pictures on the mantel.

Severus stood back, just inside the threshold. He watched the boy pace slowly towards the pictures, eyes fixed on the woman whose eyes were his own.

"Mum?"

It slipped out, less a whisper than a strangled cry.

"Yes, Harry," said Severus, not daring to move.

Harry stared at his mother's photograph for a long, long time. Then he looked at the picture next to it, and frozen shock dissolved into disbelief. "No," he said, shaking his head. The wariness had returned, as if he suspected an elaborate joke in the playing. "No, that is never..." He glanced back at Severus, then back to the photo.

"Once upon a time." Severus softly closed the door behind him. He set the stack of assignments on the table and settled into his chair. He opened a fresh bottle of red ink, reached for a quill, and prepared for an evening's work. He glanced up at the boy, who was still gaping in wonder at the photo of young Severus and baby Harry.

"Well, Harry." It would not do to let the boy get too far lost in dreams. "Don't you have homework to do?"

"I didn't bring it." He spoke in the most subdued voice Severus had ever heard him use. "I thought you were going to make me scrub cauldrons or something."

Severus turned away before the boy should see him smile.

He composed himself, put down his quill, and paced over to stand in front of Harry, who looked up at him as if resigning himself to certain doom.

"Accio, textbook." A copy of the first-year Potions book slid off a shelf and flew into his hand. "Here," he said, handing it to Harry. "This will do for a beginning. I believe you have a bit of catching up to do."

Harry stared at the book, then nodded. "Thank you. Professor."

It would do for a beginning.


Two hours later, Severus pushed away the pile of papers, now covered in copious quantities of red ink.

"All right, Harry. That's enough work for one evening."

"Good." Harry flipped the book closed. "My head's about to explode."

"Bursting with knowledge. That can only be a good thing." Severus picked up the book and put it away on its shelf.

"There's so much to learn."

A thought occurred to Severus. "What," he asked, still looking at the books on the shelf, "did you learn before you came to Hogwarts?"

"How to avoid pissing off Uncle Vernon."

Severus gritted his teeth, and not because of the boy's language. "I meant about magic, Harry," he gently remonstrated.

Silence.

Severus closed his eyes and took several long, calming breaths before turning to face the boy. "What did they tell you?"

"Can I go, now?"

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I'll walk you to your dormitory."


There was no further conversation as Severus and Harry walked the long way from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower.

"Here you are." Severus put a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder; the boy flinched, and Severus quickly drew away. "I trust that you will be caught up on your reading by next Potions?" he crisply inquired.

"Yes. Sir."

Severus gave a clipped nod. "Well, then. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Professor."