One Apprentice, Slightly Shaken

I was revising lesson plans when I heard a thump out in the corridor, and my Spy-
Eye flickered to life.  It showed Potter, backed up against a wall by my illusory 
basilisk.  Hah!  Parseltongue wouldn't work on that.  I leaned forward and rested 
my elbows on the desk, watching my apprentice.

He had his eyes closed, and he spoke.  The basilisk ignored it--and he opened his 
eyes and looked it in the face.  Good.  *Good*.  

He dispelled it quickly and walked forward--and the floor opened beneath his feet.  
I waited a second, and then his wand slid under the door and skittered over to 
rest against my foot.  I turned the Spy-Eye off and went back to my lessons; he 
would either find his way through the pit or he wouldn't.  Blind, without his 
wand--we'd see.  If he wasn't back by midnight, I'd go fetch him.

At half-eleven, the floor vibrated beneath my chair.  Ten minutes later, I heard 
footsteps in the corridor, and then "ALOHOMORA!"  

The unresisting door banged open with great force, and I looked over at Potter and 
affected surprise at his appearance--he was covered in rather unappealing slime. 
"Mr. Potter.  I see you cannot be bothered to care for your new clothing."

He glared at me.  "Did you *know* there was a basilisk out there?"

I went back to writing.  "Yes.  How did you get past it?"

"And did you *know* there was a pit full of *slime*?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't *warn* me?"

I set my quill down and turned to face him.  Really, he resembled a drowned rat.  
"Why would I do that?"

He attempted to wave his arms around, but his sodden clothing restricted his 
movement.  "You--you're my *master*.  You're supposed to *care*."

I raised my eyebrows.  "I am supposed to *teach*, Mr. Potter.  Which I do, 
endlessly and always."

"That was a *lesson*?"

"Of course."

"What kind of lesson is that?"

I folded my hands on my writing-desk and leaned forward.  "How did you get past 
the basilisk?"

He rolled his eyes.  "I talked to it.  And it didn't--I mean, I'm a Parselmouth, 
it should have *listened*, and it didn't, so I figured--it's not real, right?"

I inclined my head.

"So, I opened my eyes--and I was right.  It wasn't real.  And *then*, the floor 
just falls out from under me!  I lost my wand, and I ended up in this pit of slime 
with no light, and--" He tried again to wave his arms around, with no more 
success. "And I remembered what you said about *focus*, and I tried to use Lumos, 
but nothing happened, so I felt around the wall and it took me *forever* to find a 
hole and crawl up here and I *hate* you!"

"Do you?"

"Yes!"

"Good."  I stood up and walked over to him.  He was shivering; I knew from 
experience that the slime was quite cold.  "How did you know that the hole would 
lead you out?"

He shuffled his feet and looked at the floor, then past my left shoulder.  "I 
didn't.  But stuff was coming out of it, and I thought--that has to come from 
somewhere."

I nodded once, shortly.  "So. Through fear, and anger, and hatred, you kept 
yourself together and escaped."

He glared at me.  "You already knew that about me.  You *knew* that."

"Circumstances alter cases, Mr. Potter.  Different risks, and different 
challenges.  You have shown adaptability of mind, which, all things considered, is 
no mean feat."

He ran a slimy hand through his hair, which was beginning to crust. "You're 
awfully cruel."

"Of course."

"Why?"

I raised my chin and looked down at him; I have quite a bit of height to work 
with, and I do like making the most of it.  "I *enjoy* it, you stupid boy.  Now.  
Go clean up."

He squelched off into the bathroom, and I summoned some house elves to clean up 
the floors.  One of them handed me Potter's wand, which I placed on his desk for 
him to find, next to the neat package which contained his new robes.

Tomorrow was the Sorting Ceremony and the opening banquet.  It promised to be 
interesting.

* * *

I shook the folds of the white robe over my shoulders and buttoned the high-
collared front over the black under-tunic.  I normally wore white under my black 
robes; this was quite a difference.  I, Severus Snape, in Apprentice-Master's 
white?  

My family would have died of shock, had any of them lived to see it.  Hah.  I 
crossed my arms over my chest so that my hands touched their opposite shoulders, 
then closed my eyes and imagined the effect.  

Not as intimidating as my usual black, but it would do.  White has a power all its 
own.

Potter cursed from his sleeping chambers, and I went into the sitting room to wait 
for him. 

I did not have to wait for long.  He stormed in, his over-tunic unbuttoned and 
under-tunic rumpled and glared at me.  "Mr. Potter?"

"There are *no* *mirrors* around here."

"I am aware of that."

"How am I supposed to figure out if I'm doing this right with no mirror?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.  "You *are* a wizard, are you not?  Cast a reflecting 
spell on your wall."

The look he gave me told me he hadn't even thought of it.  "Is that what you do?"

Hah. "No. Come here."

He moved to stand in front of me, and I straightened his under-tunic with a quick 
tug and buttoned the over-tunic.  "I'm not a baby," he complained, as I settled 
his collar.  There.  Potter in Slytherin green and silver--perhaps it was 
fortunate that his family, too, was long dead.

"No," I answered, releasing him.  "You are not.  You are my apprentice--not quite 
a child, yet not a man, nor yet my equal, but my charge and my responsibility.  I 
feed you.  I clothe you.  I teach you and I keep you safe."  I studied his face, 
still tanned from the summer.  "You are my apprentice, Mr. Potter.  It is a bond 
that cannot be undone, and I will not have you look a disgrace."

He colored, and I raised my eyebrows.  "You did tell me that you knew, when you 
asked me--"

"I do!  I just--" He bit his lip and looked away. "I mean--reading about it isn't 
the same.  It doesn't tell you--" Infuriating child.  I considered shaking him 
until he generated a coherent sentence. "Anything.  It doesn't."  He met my eyes, 
and I saw the fear in him, like a poison in his blood.

No.  Nothing I knew about apprenticeships had prepared me for the reality of it. I 
spoke to him more gently then than I had intended.  "It has been scarcely a week 
and a half, Mr. Potter.  Give yourself time to adjust."

"It would be easier if I had a mirror," he muttered, and I stood and brushed him 
out of my path.  

"If you must, then you must.  Keep it out of the shared areas."

"Hate to look at yourself as much as I do?" he asked, eyes narrowed, chin up, and 
I laughed out loud.

"Never lose that, boy.  If you hate me, you hate me--it may keep you alive one 
day." Hate has kept me alive many a long year, after all; hate kept that thrice-
blasted Black sane in Azkaban.  Hate kept Voldemort alive for years, bodiless; I 
wondered again if his fire was finally spent, or if battles remained to be fought.

"We'll be late if we dally much longer," I said, and Potter followed me out of the 
dungeons to the Great Hall.

* * *

The Great Hall was empty of students when we reached it.  Arthur Albion, the new 
Defence professor, had been seated next to Minerva's empty chair; there were two 
chairs open to Albus's left.  I moved for those, Potter close at my side.

As we crossed behind Albion, he turned and snatched Potter's wrist.  I stopped and 
turned to see what he was up to.  "Apprentice Potter--I must say, my boy, how--" 
and he lowered his voice, obviously unaware that I have excellent hearing--"you 
*must* be careful of your master.  There are rumors--" 

I seized Albion's wrist and hauled him to his feet, breaking his hold on Potter. 
He froze, and I leaned in close.  "Whatever the rumors are, Professor Albion, I 
assure you--the truth is worse."

Hah.  He turned as white as my robes.

Voices and footfalls announced the arrival of the students.  "Master--" Potter 
said, and I released Albion before any of Hogwarts' young charges saw anything 
that might damage their precious notions of scholarly camaraderie.

I shot Albus a poisonous look as I sat down, and he had the grace to look slightly 
abashed.  "Perhaps next year," I muttered to him, "we might have Trelawney choose 
our Defence professor from chicken entrails."

"I will admit that I've considered it," he murmured back, and I snorted.  It 
couldn't be any *less* reliable than whatever mysterious method Albus was 
currently using.

The students came in in their usual madding rush, sorted themselves into Houses, 
elbowed each other and looked up at the ceiling of the Hall.  They do that every 
year, as if they have not just come from outside.

And then, as they settled, they looked at the front of the room and fell silent.  
Minerva led in the first-years, and the Sorting began.

"Gryffindor!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Ravenclaw!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Slytherin!"

My students applauded loudly as Maria Drago hopped off the stool and joined them 
at their table.  They shook her hand and settled her, then pointed up at me. She 
looked from me to Potter and back, her expression somewhere between stricken and 
curious. I inclined my head to her, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Potter do 
likewise.  Hah.  Welcome, child.  Welcome to my House.

She was the first of seven new Slytherins that night.