The Sorcerer's Apprentice
Year Two
by jacquez h. valentine

Notes: Thank you to Mandragora, Bryan, and Debra Fran Baker for beta; thank you 
also to Kass, Sanj, Mary Ellen & everyone else who has helped me think about this.

***

Chapter 1: Earth Magic

I bent my head over my parchment so that my shadow blocked the glare of the summer 
sun. The weather had been fine this past week, and I had taken full advantage; I 
had a small enchanted writing-desk that allowed me to work out-of-doors. Albus 
asked, now and then, why I did not work in the great hall with the others, but I 
did not care to explain it to him, and merely shrugged in answer.  Cybindia Hooch 
came by most afternoons to challenge me to Seek; so far, I had won every game, 
much to her chagrin. 

A woman's hand, acid-burned, blunt-nailed, landed on my desk, covering my writing. 
"Professor Snape."

I looked up. "Miss Parkinson."

Pansy held my eyes for scarcely ten seconds before she began to weep. I reached up 
to brush the tears from her face, and she reacted as any Potions-adept would: she 
drew back, blinked, then opened her eyes wide to dry them out. Ah. "Your mistress 
has taught you well, Miss Parkinson."  I dropped my hand.

"It's not that I don't trust you," she said, her voice trembling.

"Best not to," I answered. "Water from your body is too dangerous. I might be 
tempted.  And you already bear another's Mark."

She laughed, short and sharp, and dropped down beside me. "I've been to see 
Draco."

Hrr. "Have you now," I said, my tone even. I thought of my use of her sister, but 
kept silent.

"I had to see him," she said. "To know." She tucked a strand of hair behind her 
ear, and I caught her arm and turned it to see her Mark. She swallowed and looked 
at me squarely. "I won't go back to Voldemort," she said. "I swear. But I had to 
*know*."

"I know," I said, and let her go, my own Mark burning like sulfur on my flesh. 

"Do you think he will recover?"

"I don't know.  I hope so.  He is, however, his father's son."

Pansy rubbed her arm and nodded. "He always was."  She leaned her head on my 
shoulder for a moment, then sighed.  "I must go. My mistress expects me back 
tomorrow, and I haven't seen my family yet."  She stood and turned to go.

"Miss Parkinson," I said, and she stopped, looking back at me over her shoulder. 
"You must know that I am always here, child. Always."

She nodded once, and left me there, the sun still warm on my skin.  I watched her 
until she disappeared into the castle, troubled, then sent my writing-desk back to 
my rooms and went to Hagrid's hut.

He was not there, but Fang let me pass.  I sorted through the small store of 
supplies I kept there, judging amounts, thinking of what Potter and I would need 
to replace.  The scent of myrrh lingered in the air, blowing in from the back 
garden, and I frowned and took a packet of yarrow-seed from the cupboard.

Behind the hut, I laid my hand on the earth, judging it. The resins from the 
transformations had leeched into the soil, and I rose and dusted my hands.  The 
scent followed, and I opened the packet of seed and began to sing, casting the 
seed upon the ground to bind the resins. The earth sang in response; a hundred 
years hence, this place would still hold power.

Blood resin. Yarrow. Living earth, and a wizard's song: the oldest of our holy 
places were made thus. Hogwarts stands on such a place, made from the blood and 
song of our founders.

"Master!"

Without turning, I snapped out "*Balsamo myrrha*!"

I was impressed; Potter countered with "*Veritas*!" before the transformation 
twisted him out of human form, and stood there solemnly. "I've come to expect that 
sort of thing from you," he said.

Hrr. "I must be getting predictable," I said. "I shall have to remedy that at 
once." I bared my teeth. "I didn't expect you for three days yet.  How *is* your 
bastard godfather?"

"Here," he said, and I raised my brows at him; his tone was both grimmer and more 
mild than was his wont.

"Here?" I said.

"Waiting for us," he replied, jerking his head over his shoulder. "In the 
Headmaster's office, with Remus and Professor McGonagall."

I snorted and we began to walk towards the castle. "Tonight, we revise your 
second-year curriculum, Apprentice Potter. What are the Forbidden magics?"

He rolled his eyes. "The magics of Control: Imperio, Adjuro, Domina. The magics of 
Force: the Compelling Curse and Obligato. The three Forbidden Necromancies: 
corruption of the dead, resurrection of the dead, animation of the dead."

"Good. What is the difference between the Unforgivable Curses and the Forbidden 
Magics?"  

"The Unforgivable Curses are a legal definition; the Forbidden Magics are an 
ethical classification developed by Albert of Saxony."

"Why aren't the Horrific Transfigurations part of the Forbidden Magics?"

"Horrifics are legally restricted, but not ethically Forbidden. There are valid 
legal and ethical uses of the Horrific Transfigurations, including but not limited 
to instruction in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, consensual 
amplification, and protective power-bindings. Horrific Transfigurations performed 
without consent are punishable by ten years in--"

"That will do," I said. "At least your time with Black has not dulled your wits 
entirely."

He pressed his lips together, but made no reply, and we entered the castle in 
silence.

"Ah, Harry, you found him," Albus said, as we stepped through the door into his 
office. "Come in, please, Severus." I nodded at him and spared a snarl for Black; 
he answered with a sneer. I chose the seat by him, and Potter sat on my far side. 
Only a faint twitch to his mouth betrayed that he found my choice amusing. 

"What is this about, Albus?" I asked.

"We had an encounter with a Dementor this morning--" Lupin began, but Black 
interrupted. 

"Not a Dementor. Something like a Dementor, but *not* a Dementor."  He glared at 
me, his face twisted. "I know a Dementor when I see one."

"It felt like a Dementor," my apprentice said, his tone mild. "It was different to 
a Dementor, but it felt just like one."

I crossed my arms over my chest, touching my fingers to the opposite shoulders. 
"Different how?"

His jaw worked. "I cast a Patronus, but it didn't have any effect.  And the 
Dementor looked like it had four legs."

"Six," Lupin murmured. "It had six."

"Six?" I asked, and looked at Albus, who had closed his eyes. Lupin nodded, and I 
hissed through my teeth. "How large?"

"Knee-height from the ground," Potter said, slicing his hand across his leg just 
above his knee. "And about three times that long."

"Any idea what it was?" 

"No," he said, and looked over at Lupin and Black. Neither of them said anything.

I tapped my fingers on my shoulders. "Have you spoken to Hagrid yet?  He's not at 
home."

Albus nodded. "He's in France; we've sent an owl with a portkey. He should be here 
soon."

I leaned forward. "Is there anything to be done at present?"

Black made a low noise in his throat, but it was Lupin who answered. "I don't see 
what," he said. "Sirius and I can try to track it, if it returns."

"We should check the castle wards," Minerva said. "Severus and I can see to that, 
Albus."

"Apprentice Potter," I said, "you will assist us, of course."

"Yes, Master," he said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Black flinch. Hah.

"We have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year," Albus said.  "I 
am sure he will be happy to assist you."

I snorted. "What happened to Albion?"

"He received a very lucrative offer from the Ministry, Severus.  I am sure he will 
do well."  Albus crinkled his eyes in a ridiculous manner.  "Now," he said, 
"sherbets all around!"


* * *

Alone in our rooms, Potter made tea and joined me at the large worktable. I had 
summoned several books from the library to augment my personal collection; we 
needed to research the complex Hogwarts wards before attempting changes. "Potter, 
have you still got your seventh-year Defence project?" I asked. "If I recall 
Minerva's incessant nattering about it rightly, it addressed some aspects of the 
Hogwarts ward-structure."

"Right here," he said, removing a scroll from his desk and tossing it to me. 
"Unusual ward-structures, particularly the underlying braid-wards unique to 
Hogwarts."

I raised my eyebrows. "Unique how?"

He grinned. "Most braided wards use venous blood, with the caster as the source, 
and an herbal binder. The Hogwarts wards use menstrual blood from two casters, and 
chalk as the binder."

"Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?" I asked.  "And they braided the wards with *stone*?"

He nodded. "Old earth magic."

"*Very* old earth magic," I said. Blood and stone--now *that* explained much about 
Hogwarts that I had never been able to decipher. Blood and stone over blood and 
song; that was potent magic. "How did you find this out?"

"The Sorting Hat knows," he said. "I like to talk to it from time to time."

Hrr. Clever, that; odd, but clever - a cunning use of resources that others might 
not consider.

I tapped the scroll against my hand. "Very well. I'll read this; meanwhile, you 
should mark changes and additions to your second-year curriculum."  I handed him 
the sparse outline. "When you've completed that, any ideas you have about the 
wards will be most welcome."

He frowned at the outline. "It was more complete last year," he said.

"You were younger and less experienced, last year. Work and be silent."

He bent his head to his work, and I returned to mine. An hour later, he raised his 
head. "Master?"

I looked up from my careful notes. "Yes?"

"I thought..."

"Yes?"

He tapped his quill-feather on the edge of the desk.  "I thought it was usual for 
academic apprentices in their second year to teach."

"Mm. And so I should let you ruin my students with your atrocious Potions skills?"

He frowned. "I could ask Professor McGonagall to let me help with 
Transfiguration," he said. "Or...the new Defence professor, I suppose. More in-
line with my course of study."

I raised my eyebrows.  "I suggest you address that as soon as we find out who the 
new instructor will be, Apprentice Potter."

"I'll also want to pick a specialty this year."

I indicated his parchment with my forefinger.  He made a face at me and returned 
to his work.

* * *

Two days later, Albus announced that Crawford Egg would be the new Defence 
professor.  Egg, formerly of the Department of Mysteries, was a small man with a 
hard face.  I knew him by reputation only, though Albus patted me on the shoulder 
and leaned close to whisper in my ear: "He has a vile temper and a disconcerting 
habit of lurking in shadows, my boy.  I expect you'll get along famously."

"I doubt it," I murmured.

The meeting dissolved, and I watched as my apprentice approached Egg.  After a 
moment, Potter gestured to me, and Egg followed the gesture, his face set.  I 
bared my teeth and leaned against the wall, brushing my fingers up and down my 
sleeve. I was wearing a set of my older robes, black as night, silk-soft against 
my skin.  

"Sensualist," Minerva said, handing me a roll of parchment.  "Here, have a look at 
this."

I turned it over in my hands.  "Potter's seventh-year project."

"Yes."

"I've read it."

"Good," she said.  "Then you know about the braid-wards.  See if you can find a 
key to them - you're the best of us at logic."

I inclined my head, still watching Potter with Egg.  They were shaking hands; they 
were parting; my apprentice was at my side.  "Master," he said.  "Professor 
McGonagall."

"I presume you will be teaching this year?" Minerva asked.

"Yes," he said.  "I think I'll enjoy it."

I snorted, and he cocked his head to one side.  "And I've been thinking of 
specialising in the binding magics, so it will be a busy year."

Minerva smiled.  "I remember choosing my specialty," she said.  "Poor Albus, 
putting up with my dithering for months.  The apprenticeship is a powerful thing, 
Mr. Potter - shall we discuss this over tea?"  She took his arm and steered him 
away.  I narrowed my eyes as I watched them go, inexplicably disturbed.

Egg drifted over.  "You're young to have an apprentice," he said.

"Mm."

"I was about your age," he continued.  "And I lost her, and I nearly went mad.  Be 
careful, Snape.  Be careful how much you bleed into him."

"Everyone says that," I snapped, "without any practical information on how to 
achieve that effect."

"Really, I suspect there's no way to manage it.  I look forward to working with 
him - fascinating boy."

I decided I did not care for his tone. "If you'll excuse me," I said, and left as 
swiftly as possible for my own chambers.

Potter returned close to midnight and flung himself into his desk chair.  
"Professor McGonagall says--"

"We need to control our absorption in each other, and that you are a *very* 
intense child and naturally willful and that all the same, you mustn't let me 
indulge you." He blinked at me, and I bared my teeth.  "She Floo'd me as soon as 
you left her office.  I hope you told her that I am by no means an indulgent man."
  
"She doesn't like my choice of specialty."

"She wouldn't.  Most of the Dark bindings are almost impossible to defend against, 
and cannot be removed by anything other than death.  To a witch of her talent, a 
thing that she cannot change is an abomination."

He gestured at the scar on his forehead.  "I've had one on me my most of my life."

"As have I. I should think you'd want to be free of them."

He leaned over and brushed his fingers over my arm; my Mark stabbed. "Oh," he 
breathed.  "I do, my Master".