Thanks owed to Fox, Kass Rachel, Mary Ellen, Beth, Roman, Predatrix, Shawn, 
Regsnake, and everyone else who has been there along the way.

Extra-special thanks to Mandragora, who graciously agreed to check me over for 
British language and culture; to Debra Fran Baker, for careful and intelligent 
midwifing; to Bryan, for sound and thoughtful beta; to Nat, for sanity-checking.

Blame for parts of this story apportioned to: Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin and 
his translator M.F.K. Fisher, Anthony Bourdain, Dorothy Canfield, William Blake, 
the Clash, Frank Bidart, David Bowie, Jim Crace, and L. Frank Baum.

-------
Snape Takes An Apprentice

"Come in," I said, and Harry Potter walked into my office. I put down my quill and 
frowned at him. "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"May I sit down?"

I gestured at the empty chair in front of my desk, and he took it.

"Now, what is it?" I asked again.

"You know Hermione's going to university."

I raised my eyebrows. "Miss Granger had best do well intellectually; she has 
little else to recommend her."

He glared at me, and I picked up my quill again. "If that is all--"

"I want to ask you--"

I looked at him. The boy was blushing. "Ask me what?"

He raised his chin. "I already spoke to Professor Dumbledore about this. So don't 
tell me to go away."

"About what, Mr. Potter?"

"If you'll take me as apprentice." He was trembling slightly as he said it.

Well. I hadn't been expecting that.

There are two choices for the witch or wizard who wishes further education after 
Hogwarts: university, or apprenticeship. These days, most choose university, where 
they form teaching partnerships in the last two years; those who apprentice tend 
to do so outside of educational institutions.  At the end of last year, Pansy 
Parkinson had asked me to provide her a list of Potions Masters willing to take 
apprentices; I knew she had spent the summer and winter holidays visiting them.

There hadn't been an apprentice-resident at Hogwarts since Minerva McGonagall, 
twenty-five years ago.

It is a demanding discipline, for both apprentice and master.  I could not imagine 
what on earth possessed the boy.

I set down my quill.

"You would ask this of me?"

He nodded.

"We have always despised each other."

His lips thinned. "You're the best teacher for what I want to do."

"Which is?"

"Defence Against--"

I held up my hand. "Second best, apparently. Dumbledore refused you, then."

"No!" He jumped out of his chair. "N-no. I asked him if--if he thought you'd say 
yes."

I folded my hands. "Sit down, Mr. Potter." He sat. "This is a very serious 
request. You would be with me nearly full-time for not less than five years. You 
would be required--"

"I know. I know all that."

I tapped my finger sharply on the desk. "Five points from Gryffindor for 
interrupting."  He subsided. "You say you know. Very well. If you are serious, Mr. 
Potter, we will seal this with magical contract. If you are serious, you will, by 
your graduation date, have ended any romantic liaisons you may be engaged in, and 
you will have registered a formal contract request with the Ministry of Magic, 
with the headmaster, and with the Ministry of Education." I paused, and he 
swallowed and nodded at me. "If you do not do this, Mr. Potter, as I fully expect 
you will not, you and I will, I hope, never meet again once you leave Hogwarts."

He stood. "I'm serious. Sir. I'll be in touch."

And he walked out of my office.

* * *

He took to watching me in class, lower lip half-bitten.  I ignored it; he was, at 
least, paying attention, which was more than I could normally say for him.  The 
focus showed up in his work, fortunately for him; he'd no head for Potions and 
probably never would, but he would scrape a respectable mark out of it for the 
first time in seven years--if he didn't completely foul up the final exam.

Two weeks before the end of term, Albus called me to his office and handed me a 
copy of Harry Potter's Request for Magical Apprenticeship, stamped and approved by 
the Ministries of Magic and Education.  By God, the boy'd been serious.  I frowned 
at Albus, who smiled and patted my shoulder.  "I know you'll do right by him, 
Severus."

"I'm not fond of the boy, Headmaster.  I may do him more harm than good."

In response, he offered me something called a "Jaffa cake".  As long as I live, I 
shall never understand the man.

I retreated to my office, where I spent a few hours familiarizing myself with 
Potter's academic record.  Good at Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical 
Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts.  Took Arithmancy in his fifth and sixth 
year, but not this one.  Good marks in Divination, but if there is one thing 
Minerva and I agree on in this world, it is that Sybil Trelawney would be better 
off if someone would drown her in the lake.  Certainly I know better than to trust 
her opinion on a student.

I closed the records and leaned my head on my hands, then picked up the scroll 
that held Potter's request.  Speaking of Minerva--she was his Head of House.  I 
should speak to her; perhaps she could force some sense into the boy, since he 
apparently had none native to him, and Albus seemed disinclined.

At supper, I sat down next to her and handed her the scroll.  She unrolled it, 
then murmured "Come to my rooms after curfew." 

Harry Potter was watching me.  I am certain he wondered if I was going to formally 
accept his request.  I met his eyes, but gave him no sign.

Good God, if the boy was my apprentice, I would have to put up with Sirius Black, 
which could very well result in murder.

I found Minerva in her sitting room later that evening, and she smiled at me.  
"Sit down.  So Harry wants to be your apprentice.  Tea?"

"Thank you.  Minerva, I cannot believe that he's serious about this."

"He certainly seems to be." She held out the cup of tea and I took it, the china 
frail against my hand.

"He's barely been outside of Hogwarts. He shouldn't spend his life here." I 
stirred the tea. "And to be *my* apprentice--he has always hated me, and I him."

"I don't believe that, you know," she said. "Severus, *do* sit down."

I sat. "Hrr. I spoke the truth."

"If you truly hated him, you would have told him no already." I did not respond, 
and Minerva sighed and continued. "To be honest, I thought Draco Malfoy would have 
asked you."

I took a sip of tea. "Apprentices are rare enough; two requests in one year would 
be quite extraordinary."

"I suppose you're right."

And then there was the other reason young Malfoy would never be my apprentice. 
"Besides, he blames me for his father's death. Quite rightly, of course, since I 
strangled the man with my bare hands."

Minerva blanched, and I raised my eyebrows. "Didn't you know? Justified, of 
course, but I did kill him."  I remembered the pain; I remembered spitting words 
at Lucius as Cruciatus eased enough for me to draw breath.  Slave I called him, 
you blind fool, you *slave*--and he struck again, as Draco cried out.  

*"Father!  Father, please!"*

I had taken the instant of distraction that provided to bear Lucius to the ground, 
my hands about his throat, his pulse beating wildly against my palms.

He had died there, flesh to flesh, while Draco scrabbled desperately at me, trying 
to pull me off.

Malfoy *fils* has not his father's lust for blood or power, thank heaven.  He'll 
make no Dark wizard of himself, but he will be forever scarred in body and mind by 
that battle.

"Does Harry know?" she asked, her lips barely moving.

"Yes," I said. "Yes. He was there." He'd stunned Draco and pulled me off of the 
body, handed me my wand, and turned to throw Cruciatus over his shoulder at 
Voldemort.  It hadn't succeeded, but it had blocked a Killing Curse.

A surprisingly bloody-minded boy, Harry Potter. He should have been a Slytherin.  
I wonder if I'd've hated him so much if he had been.

Quite possibly.

Minerva poured another cup of tea for herself, her hands trembling.  "Why did--no, 
don't answer."

I set my cup on the arm of the chair. "Understand that very few wizards defend 
against the purely physical attack.  Understand that Lucius Malfoy was a man 
without conscience, who would have killed students under my care." She looked away 
from me, and I leaned forward.  "Understand, Minerva, that I would rather that 
they live, and know I have killed a man, than that they be dead."

She would not meet my eyes. Well.  Thank you, Harry bloody Potter; now one of my 
colleagues believes I'm a mad killer.

"Minerva.  Talk some sense into Potter."

"I spoke to him after supper.  He's determined."  She turned her cup on its 
saucer.  "Obsessed, almost."

God give me strength!  I glared at the ceiling as though it were to blame for my 
trials.  "I can't imagine why."

"Why don't you ask him?"

I felt as though I could spit venom. "He's a stupid child."  

She shook her head.  "He's not stupid, Severus."  

I stood.  "You couldn't prove it by me."

And I left her there, staring into her cup as if to divine the future.

* * *

I waited a week before formally responding to the request.  Minerva, at my 
insistence, had spoken with Mr. Potter once more, but he seemed resolute.  

And so it was that the Fat Lady trembled and opened before me, and I walked into 
the Gryffindor common room.  Several students gasped and scattered; that wretch 
Longbottom stayed put, staring at me with his great mouth open.  "Longbottom."

"S-sir?"

"Fetch Mr. Potter."  He blinked.  "Now, Mr. Longbottom."

He fell over himself getting away from me.  Hah.

Potter came skittering down the stairs from the dorm and slid to a stop in front 
of me.  "Professor!"

Eagerness.  The boy was more determined than I thought.  More than resolute.  Good 
God; he actually seemed to desire this.

I couldn't imagine it.  Five years in apprentice's quarters off of my chambers; 
five years of instruction and close work with me, a man he has hated almost from 
the first moment we met.  

A mutual hatred, I might add, although the years do seem to have mellowed it to 
dislike.  Trust tempers all ill-will, in time, though I still have fantasies of 
feeding Sirius Black to one of Hagrid's pets.

"Mr. Potter." I handed him the scroll, and he unrolled it with unsteady hands and 
read it--my formal and registered acceptance of the contract he had offered.  Then 
he let it roll back up and nodded at me.

"Thank you, sir."

"Report a month after end of term, Mr. Potter."  My apprentice.

"Yes, sir."

I raised my eyebrows.  As annoying as I found his cheek, a lack of it would never 
do. "And for God's sake, don't be so submissive, boy.  You're not a slave."

He grinned, a flash of teeth.  "Bugger off, sir."

Excellent.  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Well, well. There's hope for you yet."

Without waiting for any response he might make, I left, conscious of the stares of 
the children.  A second-year squeaked as I brushed by her on the way to the door.

Instilling fear into Gryffindors is one of the most pleasant parts of my job.

The Fat Lady closed behind me, and I could hear the babble of voices begin.  
"Harry?  What was Snape--you told him to *what*--what are you--Snape--oh my God, 
Harry, are you in *trouble*?  Why was *Snape*--what are *you*...*Snape*..."

I laughed to myself and decided to pay a visit to the Slytherin common room on my 
way to my office.  Ah, students.

* * *

I constructed a preliminary curriculum for the first year of Potter's 
apprenticeship.  Defence Against the Dark Arts--serious defence, not the simple 
shielding work we teach all students--requires that the student learn as much 
about the Dark Arts as possible.

Enough to make themselves the next Voldemort.  It's happened before, and I am 
certain that it will again.

Not with my students.  I swore it to myself, over and over, when Albus made me 
Head of Slytherin House. No student of mine.  Not now.  Not ever.

And now there was Harry Potter.  My apprentice.  He was, if nothing else, unlikely 
to view the Dark Arts themselves with a favorable eye.

Still.

I know what a narrow path it is to walk.  I would not have even a boy I despise 
slide into madness.

I had not had an opportunity to teach such advanced magic for some time, and I 
found myself relishing the thought.  Potter and I would go over the curriculum and 
adjust it to his taste and abilities at the end of the summer, but for now, just 
the feel of turning the spells over in my mind was enough.

I cast curses on nearly everything at Hogwarts while testing my abilities and 
memory.  Fabulous mental exercises, curses.

Between dealing with exams and the curriculum, end of term came quickly.  The 
final day of classes, I took Draco aside and wished him well.  He pulled his hand 
from my handshake quickly and never met my eyes.  There was nothing for it, of 
course--I could not help him.  Someone else might yet, but I could not.

He was headed to university, where I had asked old friends to look after him.  I 
hoped he would do well.  

End of term announcements contained few enough surprises. Pansy Parkinson's 
apprenticeship to Potions Mistress Bevanda in Padua, Italy caused a small stir; 
apparently few people believed that anyone, even a Slytherin, could possibly enjoy 
Potions.  She smiled at me when Albus announced it; Francesca Bevanda was a good 
woman and a talented witch.  I was pleased to see Pansy apprenticed so well.

Potter was next, of course, and Albus said "Mr. Potter will be staying at 
Hogwarts, as resident apprentice to Professor Snape."

Apparently, Potter had been close-mouthed about his decision; all four Houses went 
dead silent.

I do love startling people.  Snape the spy, Snape the Death Eater--Apprentice-
Master to Harry Potter, Golden Boy.  I smiled grimly at the students for the sheer 
hell of it.  Sirius Black, visiting on Ministry business, looked as though he were 
about to explode from rage; young Ronald Weasley glared at me with all the 
fierceness a rather skinny teenaged boy could muster. Delightful.

Potter, for his part, looked at me and grinned, that same quick flash of teeth 
he'd shown me in the Gryffindor common room.  Perhaps he, too, enjoyed startling 
people.  I would have to remember that.

As I had expected, Black stormed over to me after the Leaving Feast.  "What the 
hell do you think you're--"

"Sirius," Potter said, grabbing his godfather's sleeve.  "I told you I was 
planning to study advanced Defence--"

"With *him*?"  He pointed an outraged finger at me, and I brushed my sleeves 
lightly and stared into space, thinking about the noises Black would make while 
being slowly poisoned.  Painfully.

"Yes.  With him."

Black was silent so long that I actually looked away from the roof of the Great 
Hall--the sun was just beginning to set, and the sky was hazy with color--to look 
at him.  "Harry," he said, finally, "are you sure?"

I flicked imaginary lint from my robe.  Timing is half of any art.

"Yes," Potter said.

"Mr. Potter."

He turned to me quickly.  "Sir?"

"One month, Potter.  Enjoy your holiday."

"Yes, sir."

I nodded coolly to Black and headed off to speak with Pansy.

One month, and Hogwarts would have its first apprentice-resident in a quarter 
century.

And Harry Potter would call me "Master", which would send most of the wizarding 
world into absolute fits.

I could hardly wait.