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

Chapter 4: Howling



As soon as he had seen Harry off to bed, Severus packed a bag and headed out into the night. He walked just outside of the school grounds, Disapparated, and Apparated behind his old home at Spinner's End.

"It's that time of the month," called out Severus as he entered the sitting room from the back hall.

Remus looked up from a book he was reading. "Maybe next month you'll have a new joke." He rose from the sofa to give Severus a quick, friendly embrace.

Severus clapped him on the back and pulled away. "I'd give more if I could," he said, smirking.

"I wouldn't take it," Remus dryly rejoined. "I like to think of you as a brother."

They both grinned.

"Will the house do?" inquired Severus.

"Quite comfortable. Thank you."

"It's rather neglected, I'm afraid."

"That can be changed. More important, it's safe, at least it seems to be."

"Ought to be, protection charms up the arse--sorry."

Remus laughed. "It's good to hear Severus once in a while, instead of Professor Evans."

Severus snorted.

"The old Severus wasn't all bad," insisted Remus.

"The old Severus is dead."

"Only the bits that had to make way for growing up."

"Well, the old Severus wouldn't been caught dead helping a werewolf. Professor Evans, on the other hand, had better get busy in the kitchen so that he can get back to school in time to resume his customary role as the Old Icicle of Potions."

"Old Icicle?" echoed Remus, following Severus into the kitchen.

"The Weasley twins."

Severus set his bag on a chair and opened it. He pulled out the ingredients he would need and set them in order on the table.

"Well. How is Harry?"

From a cabinet Severus retrieved a cauldron. "A rather rocky beginning. But I think we've reached an understanding."

"How rocky?"

Severus looked up, narrowing his eyes.

"Ah," said Remus. "Well, after ten years away, you can hardly expect him to rush into your arms and cry 'Daddy.'"

"Don't be an ass." Severus set the cauldron on the stove. "I knew it might--would be awkward. I didn't expect him to hate me."

"He doesn't really, I'm sure."

"Not now. I don't think."

"Not ever, I'd bet."

"I really do need to concentrate, Remus, if you want this potion to be of any use."

"In other words, change the subject before the old Severus rises from the dead to attack me."

Remus was already out of arm's reach, grinning, before Severus could react, and by the time Severus had his wand drawn, so did Remus.

"Don't distract the Potions master, Remus," intoned Severus.

"Don't toy with the werewolf, Severus--unless," Remus winked, "you really want to."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Go back to your book," he said, turning to the cauldron on the stove.


"Cheers."

Remus looked decidedly skeptical as he received the steaming cup from Severus. "Thank you, Severus," he said, then, taking a sip, grimaced. "That's vile."

"No, it's a cup. Drink up."

"Only if you stop subjecting me to bad jokes. This stuff is hard enough on my stomach." Remus drank again. "Are you sure you can't add a bit of sugar? Just a little?"

"If I could, I would, Remus. I've already--"

"I know, I know." He forced himself to keep sipping from the cup. "I shouldn't be complaining, after all the trouble you put yourself--"

"Shut up and finish drinking." His tone was stern, but he saw Remus had caught the slight twitch in his mouth. And Remus did as he was told.

"Ugh." Remus set the cup, still steaming, on a rickety end table. "It's certainly a far cry from Guinness."

"Anti-werewolf potion indistinguishable from Guinness. I'll have my N.E.W.T.s on it, first thing."

"That would be a fine thing, Severus, a noble service to werewolfkind."

"Speaking of Guinness--"

"Go ahead. I know I can't join you, so I'll just enjoy vicariously."

"A Guinness voyeur." Severus stepped back into the kitchen and returned with an opened bottle. "To your health--and to your pleasure." He tipped the bottle. Oh, the first sip was always the best. "Make way for the Potions master," he grunted, nodding at the sofa.

Remus slid his legs out of the way and Severus sat down, stretching his legs out along the sofa. Remus promptly swung his legs to rest on top of Severus'.

Severus shook his head. "Incorrigible."

"Only teasing."

"As I said."

"You're the only man I know who sips stout like an old woman at tea."

"Habit." Severus had another sip. "Chasing Death Eaters--or former Death Eaters, as may be--doesn't allow a man the luxury of getting pissed. The first sign of turning into dear old Dad, and I'm done."

"You're not your dad."

"God be praised."

Remus chuckled. "And for all that, he dragged you off to church."

"I think he was trying to exorcise me." Severus snorted. "The Sunday Missal and A Hundred Helpful Hexes--had both of them to heart by the time I left for Hogwarts."

"Rubbish."

Severus smiled, and sipped again. "Maybe. Mum did teach me a few things to protect myself--I don't know if you'd call them dark, but certainly questionable--I'd never dream of teaching them to Harry." He frowned. "Then again--but it's too late, now. He can't use magic at home."

He felt Remus' hand on his own. "That bad?"

"I don't know." Severus sighed. "He won't say."

Remus sighed. "That's not good."

"No," agreed Severus. "It's not."

They sat, not speaking. Remus kept his hand resting on Severus'.

"Anyway," said Severus, looking up. "You've got your potion. All measured and bottled for your drinking pleasure."

A wry smile wrenched Remus' face. "I can hardly wait," he said. Then, more earnestly, "I do thank you, Severus, really. You've no idea what it means to me--"

"No thanks are required, Remus." With a snap of his hand he dismissed the subject. "Now, speaking of Harry, you may find this of interest: Minerva McGonagall has taken the liberty of assigning Harry to the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Harry?"

"Seeker, no less. Minerva's convinced he'll win the House Cup for Gryffindor this year--so to hell with the rules."

"Well. That's quite an honor, for someone who hasn't been on a broom since he was a baby."

"I haven't seen him on the pitch, yet, but he'd better be World Cup caliber, for the fix it puts me in." Severus grimaced. "I expect I'll be hearing from you-know-who before too many more days have passed."

"And you don't mean Voldemort."

"Unless Voldemort has a son aspiring to the Slytherin Quidditch team, no."


Monday morning, an hour before classes began, Severus received the expected call.

"Well, well. Let the nepotism begin." A familiar voice slithered into Severus' office. "It's not every day a first year makes the team. Seeker, no less."

Severus kept his eyes on the scroll he was grading. "You flatter me, Malfoy, but I am afraid I can take no credit for Harry's accomplishment."

"No pulling of strings to get him on the team."

"Getting Harry on the team had never so much as crossed my mind. I don't even like Quidditch--as you know."

"Yes, and I know why you don't like it."

Severus set the scroll to one side and started scanning another. "Are you interrupting my work just to talk about Quidditch?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I am here to discuss my son."

Severus lay down his quill and looked up into the cold eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco seems to think you don't especially like him," said Lucius.

"Really."

"Really."

Severus let his gaze drift. "I do think," he mused, "that the boy was possibly misplaced."

"How's that?"

Severus looked back sharply at Lucius. "With his arrogance and sense of entitlement, young Draco would have made an outstanding Gryffindor."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "An interesting observation, coming from the father of a Gryffindor. And from someone who clearly should have been a Gryffindor himself."

"Why, Malfoy? Because I choose to direct Slytherin ambition towards virtuous ends?"

"Ambition." His nostrils flared as Lucius surveyed the office, a mess of papers and bottles and cracked tomes. "Yes, I see how far your virtuous ambition has brought you."

"When I could have aspired to serving Voldemort, instead." Severus felt his mouth twitch. "You'll forgive me if I fail to see the advantage."

Lucius snapped about. "You could have had power, Snape, real power!"

"You wouldn't know real power if it bit you in the arse." He picked up a stray flask and tucked it into a desk drawer. "And my name is Evans, and has been long enough for even you to remember."

"Evans," Lucius mockingly echoed. "I keep forgetting."

"You would do well to remember."

"And you would do well to remember that my son tells me everything he witnesses in your classroom--and in this school."

"My conduct, I assure you, is beyond reproach."

"That's not what Draco tells me."

"Perhaps Draco is not a reliable witness." Severus smiled as Lucius glared at him. "One of my lowly ambitions as a teacher, Malfoy, is to contribute to the shaping of character. I believe one ought to be able to speak of 'Slytherin' and 'good character' in the same breath--although I don't expect Draco, or you, to understand that.

"Now," Severus picked up the scroll he'd left off reading, "I have work to do. If you have further concerns about my conduct in the classroom, I am sure that the headmaster will be more than happy to discuss them with you. Good morning."