Diagon Alley

Diagon Alley two days before the start of term is a busy place; procrastinators of 
every stripe crowd the shops, looking for wands, robes, owls.  I rather enjoy it; 
even the persistent dull ache of the Dark Mark couldn't spoil the pleasure.

Madame Malkin's for robes--Potter needed some decent apprentice's robes; his old 
school robes wouldn't do.  "Green," I said to Malkin.  "Close-fitting enough not 
to get in the way of Potions work; athletic enough for Defence.  Something similar 
to my own."  She nodded and got to work; if she was surprised that Potter was my 
apprentice, she hid it well.

"Green?" Potter said, over Malkin's head.  "I've already got green dress robes."

"These are for every day," I said. ""If you were McGonagall's apprentice, you 
would wear red."

He looked down at himself, at the fall of Slytherin green over his body.  "Oh."

I snorted and turned to look through the window at the passing crowd.

When Malkin was finished, I paid her.  "Send them to Hogwarts, with silver under-
tunics, along with three sets of my teaching robes.  In white, with black under-
tunic."  She nodded, and we left.

"You didn't have to pay," Potter said.  "I've got money."

"It is my responsibility to clothe you, Mr. Potter."  I closed my hand on his 
shoulder and leaned in, lowered my voice so that only he could hear.  "We are 
bound together, you and I, to one fate.  Apprentice and master; master and 
apprentice."  He tensed and shivered under my hand.  "It is a powerful thing, Mr. 
Potter.  Nearly as powerful as the bonds you share with your parents, which 
survive even death; certainly more powerful than the bond you and I both share 
with Lord Voldemort."  I straightened and flickered my fingers over his scar.  He 
hissed and moved away.  "Does it hurt?" I asked, my hand hovering above it, 
feeling the sympathetic pain in my arm.

"Sometimes," he answered.  "It's why I wonder--"

"Severus!"  I dropped my hand and we both turned towards the voice.  Minerva was 
pushing her way through the hustle and bustle.  "Severus, where's--oh, there you 
are, Harry."  She smiled at us both and patted me on the arm; I flinched slightly.  
"Come on."

"Come *where*?"  Minerva in a cheery mood can be quite obnoxious.

"Fortescue's.  My treat.  Come on, Severus--he's got fire sherbet."

She does know my weaknesses.  I shook off her hand, but followed her to the ice 
cream parlor and allowed her to buy me a scoop of fire sherbet, and Potter a small 
sundae.

We sat outside, and Minerva and Potter discussed his holidays at great length 
while I ignored them entirely. Good God, but they could prattle on.  At least the 
smokey, coppery taste of the sherbet gave me something else to think about.

"Harry!"

The youngest Weasley, that infuriating girl-child Ginny, came out of nowhere and 
attached herself to Potter's neck.  "Harry, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, blushing and eyeing me nervously. 

Weasley saw Minerva before she saw me.  "Oh!  Professor McGonagall!  Hi!"

"Hello, Ginny," Minerva said, and then the girl saw me and turned a fascinating 
shade of grey. I sneered at her, and she detached herself from my apprentice's 
neck.

"Professor Snape.  Sir."

"Miss Weasley."  I stared at her until the grey shaded into a sickly green, then 
said "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."  She smiled weakly, then looked back at Potter.  "I'll--um.  I'll see 
you."

"Yeah," he said, and she took off running.

"Severus..." Minerva said.

"What?"

"Did you have to terrify her?"

I bared my teeth at her.  She ought to know me better by now.  "When that child 
finally leaves, it will be the end of the current Weasley era at Hogwarts.  As far 
as I am concerned, it cannot come too soon."

She sighed, and Potter glared at me. "I like the Weasleys," he said.  "They're 
good people.  Sir."

"But I am not, Mr. Potter, and I am under no obligation to feel brotherly love for 
them."

He went back to eating his sundae in silence.  Minerva licked her spoon and asked 
me about our plans for the rest of the day.

"Apothecary," I said, "and then some passable Muggle clothes for my apprentice 
here."

Said apprentice looked up.  "Muggle clothes?" he said, blinking at me.

"You and I will need to interact with Muggles on occasion.  I'm certainly not 
going to have you wearing those terrible things you seem so fond of."

"I'm not *fond* of them.  They're all I have."

"Hrr.  Black ought to have found you some things, at least."

"He's only been pardoned a couple of months," Potter said.  "He hasn't really had 
time."

I snorted. How long would it have taken Black to buy the boy some decent clothing 
in the past month?  "We'll find you something suitable."

"Thank you, sir."

I leaned back in my seat and cut my eyes over to Minerva.  "He's not nearly so 
cheeky now that you have no authority to protect him from me," I said.

She punched me lightly in the arm, and I pulled away as the Mark twinged 
viciously.  "Minerva.  Don't."

"What's wrong?"

I laid my right palm over the Mark.  "Nothing of importance," I said.  "A minor 
injury."

"You should see Poppy about it," she said.

"I shall," I answered, lying through my teeth, and that seemed to satisfy her.  

"I'm off to Flourish and Blotts, then," she said, and stood up.  "You two have a 
good day."

Potter smiled up at her, and I nodded.  After she had vanished into the crowd, 
Potter said "Master?"

"Yes?"

"You lied to her."

"Yes."  I reached out and, for the second time that day, brushed my fingers over 
his scar.  He swallowed, hard, and dropped the subject.

* * *

The apothecary was not pleased by the list Potter and I had decided upon.  
"Professor," he said, "many of the things here--innocent on their own, but in 
combination--"

I cocked my head and didn't drop my eyes.  Potter, beside me, folded his arms and 
raised his chin. 

"I'll have to report these purchases to the Ministry," the apothecary said, his 
eyes darting from me to Potter and back, as if wondering why we were there 
together.  

"By all means," I answered.  "Now.  Fill that order."

"Professor--"

And then, from my side, "Why don't you just do as my master asks?"  Hah! I was 
hard-pressed not to laugh at the apothecary's startled jump. So many suspect me of 
so much--of not being a spy, but a true Death Eater, of being the true power 
behind Voldemort, of living under a curse--and Harry Potter, of course, is their 
shining light.

If for no other reason, his apprenticeship brought me pleasure in the horror it 
writ on the faces of the unwary.  I folded my own arms and thinned my mouth into 
the grim smile that I use to terrify students.

The apothecary filled the order with shaking hands, while I hummed a dirgelike 
version of the Hogwarts school song under my breath and Potter examined the 
shelves.

"Master?"

"Yes?"

He held out a jar of willow bark.  "You don't have any willow bark in your stores.  
I've never seen it, anyway."

The boy had some powers of observation, then.  Good.  "I don't use it."

"Oh."  He looked at it, plainly confused.  "But--I mean, I know I wasn't the 
greatest in Potions, but I thought it was used in a lot of medicinal things."

"It is."

"So why--" 

I cut my hand across my throat and narrowed my eyes at the apothecary, who was 
watching us, his face blank.  "I will tell you, Mr. Potter, in time.  But not 
here.  Not now.  My secrets are not for the ears of just anyone."

The apothecary blushed and handed over the supplies.  I gave them to Potter--what 
good is an apprentice who cannot carry one's packages--and paid, and Potter and I 
left the shop.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Why does he have to report the purchases to the Ministry?"

I shrugged.  "In certain combinations, what I purchased can be used to make some 
powerful Dark Art potions and spells."

"Oh."

I looked down my nose at him.  "You did help me assemble that list, Mr. Potter.  
You should have known this."

"I did.  I just--I didn't know it had to be reported."

"Every suspicious purchase is, now.  After Voldemort."

"Oh."

* * *

The selection of Muggle-style clothing in Diagon Alley left something to be 
desired, but I was not prepared to take Potter into Muggle London.  Not yet.

Two pairs of trousers, then, two Indian cotton shirts, and a warm jacket.  He told 
me he had jumpers enough from Molly Weasley, which I was not exactly surprised to 
hear. 

He insisted on wearing one of the new outfits out of the store, and asked the 
obsequious young Squib helping us to throw his old clothing away.  Hrr.  I 
wondered where he'd got it that he hated it so much.

He did look rather less idiotic with his old student robe open over clothing that 
fit than he had with it closed over the bulky monstrosities he'd worn before.  
Thank God I'd got him apprentice robes similar to my own, which need no trousers 
beneath them.

At least neither of us would be disgraced at the opening banquet.

Hah.  Though when Slytherin House saw me in white, with Potter at my side--

I wondered how many students would die of aneurysms.

"You have a day's liberty, Mr. Potter," I said.  "Go see your godfather, or your 
friends."  

"Sir?"

"I'll expect you back tomorrow evening."  I took the packages from the apothecary 
from him, but left him the clothing.  "Go on."

"Thank you, sir!"  He grinned and took off for the Alley fireplace, his bags slung 
over his shoulder.

Hrr.  Was I ever so young?  

I headed back to Hogwarts, planning the traps I'd set for him to run into on his 
return.

He wouldn't be expecting it, and he should be.  Wariness was not native to him; I 
would teach it.

I'd make a Slytherin of the boy yet.