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

Chapter 6: Accidents



He loved Halloween.

Of course he had to maintain proper composure before the students, but hidden well behind his stern exterior Severus took a childish delight in all the trappings: the pumpkins, the candles, the bats swooping low in their graceful flight, hot food and hot cider on a chilly night. Hard cider for the teachers, of course. He sipped slowly, by habit, because one never knew when duty would demand a sharp mind. The corner of his mouth pulled up, just a little, as he watched Harry; the boy was as evidently entranced by the atmosphere as Severus was feeling.

They'd barely started dinner when Quirrell came crashing into the party, all but falling on Dumbledore. "Troll--dungeons--at large," he gasped, and slumped to the floor.

In the midst of the ensuing chaos, Dumbledore shot purple fireworks into the air. "Prefects! Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" As the students began to press through the Hall doors, Dumbledore said to the others at the High Table, "Follow me." He cast a glance at the oblivious Quirrell, wrinkled his nose, and set off for the dungeons, the teachers following right behind him.

Troll? wondered Severus, falling in step with the rest of the faculty. Where the bloody hell did--

And then it hit him: Troll.

Severus immediately slipped away and ran for the third floor.


Hagrid's damned dog.

Focus. Discipline. Keep his eyes on the snarling, snapping heads at all times--

A squeak behind him startled him, breaking his concentration just long enough for long, sharp teeth to seize one of his legs.

"Son of a sheep-fucking farmer's--Quirrell!"

"P-P-Professor E-Evans, w-what--"

"Imagine meeting you here, of all places." Severus wrenched his leg free, gritting his teeth at the shredding of flesh.

"I--I saw y-you r-r-running up-up here, and--"

"Feared I'd get here before you. Which I did. Thereby sparing you from becoming dinner for Fluffy." Severus ripped a strip of cloth from his outer robe and used it to bind his bleeding leg. "Help me to the--"

A shriek of terror pierced the quiet.

"So help me, Quirrell," Severus grabbed the other man's arm and dragged him out of the room, slamming the door behind them, "if that troll of yours has harmed a single hair on a single student--"

"B-but P-Pro-Professor, I d-don't--"

"Stuff it." Shouts and clattering and terrible roars were coming from the direction of the scream, and Severus' heart sank when he realized the voices sounded awfully like--

He put it out of his mind and ran as quickly as he could--which, thanks to Fluffy, was not very quickly at all. The noise was coming from the girls' bathroom, and as Severus approached, Quirrell in tow, he nearly collided with Minerva. Minerva swerved around him, and Severus followed her into the bathroom.

Harry. Weasley. Granger.

And a very large mountain troll, lying on the floor.

Quirrell whimpered and collapsed upon the nearest toilet, clutching his chest.

The man who had brought in a troll to guard the Stone, quailing at the sight of a troll knocked out cold. Severus made a note to have a word with Dumbledore. Meanwhile, since the only words that sprang to his mind were unfit to be used with children, he let Minerva handle her errant Gryffindors while he had a look at the troll and verified that it was, indeed, unconscious.


"A net gain of five points to Gryffindor, Minerva." Severus let her support him as he hobbled down to the Potions room. "You certainly know how to put the fear in your charges."

"I think they've had enough fear for one night, Severus."

"Their own damned fault."

"Really, Severus. You heard--"

"Yes. I heard." He winced.

"What on earth did you do to your leg?"

Through gritted teeth he replied, "Fluffy."

"Fluffy?"

"Hagrid's dog. Third floor. Someone was trying to get to the Stone."

"No!"

"I got there first--unfortunately. I should have let the dog have him, after all. Here, Fluffy, nice Halloween treat, try not to puke it--ow."

They reached the Potions classroom, and Severus lowered himself gingerly to a chair. "Minerva, help me, would you? It won't take long, I know exactly what I need to make." He pulled up his robe, had one look at the bloody mess that was his leg, and let the robe fall again.

"Severus, don't you think you should go to Poppy with--"

"No." He scowled, and Minerva sighed. "Now please hand me that cauldron."

Minerva frowned upon him as if he were a stubborn child, but she brought him the cauldron and began to retrieve ingredients from cupboards and shelves.


It was Friday afternoon, and Severus wanted to have a word with Harry. He'd be seeing the boy after dinner, but he did not want to spoil their evening with the unpleasant business which he now intended to address.

Harry was standing in the courtyard, huddled with Weasley and Granger. The three of them had that familiar look, as if butter would not melt in their mouths. They saw him, then, and clearly wished he would not come near, so of course he strode--or, rather, limped--directly towards them.

"What's that you've got, Evans?"

Reluctantly Harry held up the book in his hand.

"Quidditch Through the Ages," said Severus. "Attending diligently to your studies, as usual." Before the boy could react, Severus grabbed the book, tucking it into his robes.

"Hey!"

"You're not supposed to have library books outside the school."

"You just made that up."

"How are you progressing with your History of Magic project?"

Harry looked away.

"When Professor Binns gives me a more satisfactory report, you may resume your recreational reading." Severus turned and hobbled away, cursing under his breath at every pang that shot through his leg.


The staffroom was deserted, right before dinner, save for Severus and Filch the caretaker.

"You really ought've gone to Madam Pomfrey," said Filch, frowning as he removed old bandages from Severus' injured leg.

"Madam Pomfrey would ask too many questions," retorted Severus.

Filch shrugged. "It's your funeral."

"I really don't think it will come to that--damn it." The last of the bandages peeled away. His leg looked as if it belonged in a butcher's shop as the special of the day.

"Damned dog," grumbled Severus. He sucked air through his teeth as Filch applied some healing potion to his mangled leg. "Don't see why we bothered--nobody's going to make it past that--HARRY!"

Damn the boy, gaping like a damned fool.

"GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT!"

He got out.

"Damn it," muttered Severus.

"That boy of yours, he's trouble."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "That will do, Filch--shit." He clenched his jaw against the pain. "Shouldn't it be healed by now?"

"You're lucky you have a leg," snapped Filch, wrapping fresh bandages over the wounds.


"Match is tomorrow."

Harry was at his desk in the sitting room. The boy was supposed to be studying while Severus marked assignments, but precious little work was getting done by either of them.

"Yes, Harry. I believe that would be the fifth time you've reminded me."

"Sorry, Professor." The boy made a show of reading his History of Magic textbook. "You'll be there?"

"Of course, Harry." Which he had already assured the boy, many more times than five.

"I hope I do all right. I mean, everyone's been--well, Harry this, and Harry that, but--what if I..."

Severus glanced over. The boy was frowning at his textbook, plainly not seeing a word on the page.

"Well, Harry, just remember it's your first Quidditch match. Don't get your hopes too high--but do your best. That's all anyone can reasonably ask." Not that Quidditch fans were known for being reasonable. "Who knows, but that you just might help win back a few of the points you've lost for Gryffindor."

"Don't you want Slytherin to win?"

"Of course. And I want you to win."

Harry stared at him.

"The ability to hold two contradictory thoughts simultaneously is a mark of genius," added Severus, skimming an abomination that a third year had the temerity to call an essay.

"That's brilliant," said Harry.

"Nicked it from a Muggle author."

For a few minutes Severus was able to concentrate on scratching red ink across the parchment before him. By the time he'd done with it, it looked as if it were as bleeding and mangled as his leg. Absently he lay a hand upon his leg, bandaged beneath his robes, and wondered if the mess would ever really heal.

"Do you know anything about dogs? With three heads?"

Severus looked up sharply.

"Dogs with three heads," he slowly repeated.

"Yes."

Severus held the boy's eyes in his gaze until the boy began to shift in his chair.

"Well, Harry. I am glad you spoke of this now."

"You are?" breathed Harry, visibly relieved.

"Yes. I am. Because had you spoken of it outside of these rooms, then in my capacity as a teacher I would have had no choice but to take more points from Gryffindor than you could even begin to win back in a year of Quidditch victories."

Harry gulped.

Severus pushed himself up from his desk and limped, step by painful step, until he leaned over the boy, his eyes boring into Harry's. "You do not go back," he intoned, driving back images of his boy lying bloody and mangled by that beastly sentry. "Do I make myself clear?"

Harry stared back at him, his eyes wide. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Severus straightened himself and gave a clipped nod.

"It was an accident."

One eyebrow shot up.

"It was," insisted Harry.

Knowing Harry and his friends, the boy was no doubt telling the truth.

"Be that as it may," Severus smoothly rejoined, "it wouldn't be an accident if you were to return. See to it that you don't."

"I won't," promised Harry.


Of all the duties he had as a teacher, there were few Severus hated as much as mandatory Quidditch attendance. It was really only required that he put in an appearance at the matches in which his own House played, but it was considered good form to show up for all. And now, as a good father, he would not only attend but pay attention whenever Gryffindor was on the pitch, so that his boy would know he had seen him play.

He tried not to think about another Gryffindor player, the one who had soured his taste for the game a long time ago.

There he was: His boy. Standing proudly in the scarlet robes of Gryffindor's team. Harry looked up, searching the stands, and Severus held up a hand until he knew that Harry had seen. Slytherin would not be happy with his show of support for their rivals, but Severus didn't give a damn for the game, one way or another. All he cared was that his boy would be happy.

Hooch blew the whistle, and the players were in the air.

Gryffindor got the Quaffle almost immediately. It looked like Johnson would score, but Flint got the Quaffle from her; and it looked like Flint would score, but then Gryffindor regained the Quaffle; and Severus was convinced, mere minutes into the match, that he would die of boredom. He looked for Harry, and found him, hovering high above the game and looking around.

Gryffindor scored. Harry looped circles on his broom, waving one hand as he spiraled through the air.

"Keep both hands on the broom and stop showing off," muttered Severus, shaking his head. As if to prove his point, a Bludger shot towards the boy, but Harry saw it in time to evade it and let one of the damned Weasley twins deal with it. Harry went back to surveying the pitch.

A flash of gold--yes. The Snitch had been spotted by both Seekers. They both zoomed towards it, but Harry proved faster than the Slytherin, Higgs, and was closing in--

"YOU BASTARD!" roared Severus, leaping to his feet.

The Slytherins around him murmured disapproval, but he didn't care. The hell with House loyalty: Flint had slammed into Harry so hard that he'd nearly knocked the boy from his broom.

"Quidditch is a rough game, Evans," said someone at his side, tugging at his sleeve.

He scowled as he sat again. "I don't recall attempted murder being in the rules," he snarled.

Hooch, out on the pitch, apparently agreed, because she was lighting into Flint with obvious fury and ended up awarding a penalty to Gryffindor. Meanwhile, the Snitch was lost again, and the game went on.

A Bludger spun past Harry, narrowly missing his head. His broom lurched, and Severus thought he'd better learn to control it better if he planned on making a habit of the game--or on living to see the end of this one.

What in hell's name was the boy doing? Damned little show-off, cocky little Gryffindor, his broom zigging and zagging and jerking about. Angrily Severus grabbed a set of binoculars from the nearest spectator and, leaping again to his feet, had a look.

The boy was not showing off. The boy was terrified, clinging to his broom for dear life as it bucked and jolted and flung him wildly.

Almost without thinking, a countercurse sprang to Severus' lips. His eyes did not waver one iota, honing in on his son as he projected as much stabilizing force as he could manage. Sweat broke out on his brow as he struggled to keep focused and not succumb to fear; his boy was failing, slipping, and why the hell, with all the witches and wizards among the spectators, did it seem that he was the only one with the wits to recognize a blatant curse, why wasn't someone helping him, where was that useless excuse of a DADA professor when one needed--

"Son of a--!"

He leaped, landed on his injured leg, fell back on the seat--and thought immediately of Harry.

He could breathe again. Harry was back on his broom and speeding towards the ground in pursuit of--

Suddenly the boy choked, covered his mouth, and collapsed onto the ground.

Severus, heedless of the pain in his leg, was already tearing through the crowd and down the stands, when Harry spit something out and held it aloft, grinning.

It was the Snitch.

Dear God, his hair would be silver before the year was out.

He made his way down to the field, wanting only to find his boy and touch him, be assured that he really was alive and well and in one piece.

"I swear, Harry, it was him! Evans! Boring holes in you with those eyes of his, muttering like a madman--"

"--but I got him with a flame, there and gone before he knew what hit him--"

"--and it did the trick, all right--"

"Of breaking my concentration and nearly sending Harry to his death."

His voice was far quieter than any around him, but it cut through, silencing the fools Harry had inexplicably chosen to be his best friends.

The Weasley boy was the first to speak. "But--you were cursing him--we saw it!"

"Idiots! Why would I be cursing my own son?"

Weasley kicked at the dirt. "That's what we were wondering."

"It did awfully look like it," put in Granger, rolling her eyes up to meet his.

"Well, Miss Granger. Since you are so fond of keeping your nose in a dozen books a day, I think I will speak to--no. I will assign this myself. Three detentions, all dedicated to the differentiation between curses and countercurses--something far more useful in the Defense Against the Dark Arts than anything that dunderhead Quirrell will ever teach you. Speaking of which," Severus looked around, "I should like to have a word with the esteemed Professor Quirrell." Severus started to walk away, then, over his shoulder, added, "Oh, and nice catch, Evans."


Someone at Hogwarts wanted his son dead.

It hardly needed explicating, yet the apparent oblivion of his colleagues demanded that he make it explicit. Quirrell was nowhere to be found, so Dumbledore would have to do.

"Not even at Hogwarts!" Severus raged, slamming open the office door. "Not even at Hogwarts, it seems, can I count on my boy being kept safe! Did you hear what happened out there?"

"Yes, Severus, I heard." Dumbledore looked at him soberly. "And I am glad you were there."

"A little help would have been appreciated."

"You were being helped, by Filius and Minerva."

Severus gaped at Dumbledore. "Then how...? It certainly didn't feel like..." He sank into a chair, shaking his head, and looked up at Dumbledore.

"Clearly, Severus, you were battling an exceptionally powerful adversary."

"Clearly," Severus sardonically echoed. Then a horrible thought struck him. "Not--impossible. Impossible."

"Possible. He still has servants to be his hands and ears and eyes."

"No," whispered Severus. "Not here. Here, at least... not here."

He felt Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder.

"How can we protect Harry?" asked Severus. "How--and why Harry? He tried to kill him once, and failed. Can't he leave my boy alone and go pick on someone else now?"

"Severus."

It sliced through him like a blade of ice, shocking him back into his senses.

"Of course not. I didn't mean that." He covered his eyes with one hand, leaning back against the chair. "I just want my boy to be safe."

"I know, Severus," murmured Dumbledore. "I know."