Chapter 156 - Extra: Before Hogwarts

Extra: Before Hogwarts

August 1991, Hogwarts.

By tradition, an entire week in early August was set aside for the new school year's working meetings.

Most professors, apart from the four Heads of House, only needed to attend a single meeting on the first afternoon.

At that meeting, they would meet their new colleagues, at least one every year, hear the year's work assignments, and submit their textbook lists for the coming term.

Headmaster Dumbledore, advanced in years as he was, was anything but rigid. He was perfectly happy to say a little less himself if it meant the professors could get off work early.

Whether in the Muggle world or the wizarding world, the young always end up doing more of the work. But at Hogwarts, the definition of "young" clearly covered a broader range than most people imagined.

Apart from those who could no longer walk or leave their quarters, Professor Kettleburn, who had only one leg and half an arm, and Professor Binns, who had become a ghost, most professors took on a share of the new-student admissions work.

"New students" here meant specifically those from mixed-blood and Muggle families, especially the latter.

Muggle parents often found it very difficult to understand that their child was a witch or wizard. They were more inclined to believe the child was possessed, or had the devil in them.

Aurora Sinistra was telling the newly arrived Professor Quirrell, with theatrical flair: "The child's mother threw a cup of water over me. She said it was holy water from the church!"

"Oh! Really?" Professor Quirrell said timidly. "What is one to do, then?"

Sinistra bluffed: "I spritzed water right back at them, and told them it was the devil's poison — used to lure souls into depravity."

He looked greatly startled, quite genuinely frightened.

Professor Flitwick, who had once been both Professor Quirrell's teacher and his Head of House, could not bear to watch any further, and told him plainly: "Aurora was tricking you. She demonstrated magic to the two parents."

While Sinistra was entertaining herself by teasing the new colleague, Snape walked in, exhausted and hollow-eyed, and for the fifth time applied to Dumbledore to hire an additional Potions professor.

Young as he still was, he still possessed some inexplicable enthusiasm back then, genuinely believing he could tolerate those foolish students.

In his first year as Potions professor, he had even spent his own money on a book called How to Become an Esteemed and Respected Teacher.

Dumbledore found it, teased him about it, and he threw it away immediately.

Abandoning that particular illusion took him the span of exactly one class period.

It was utterly ridiculous. He had actually treated the students as if they were beings with intellect! Students' brains were, most of the time, like the Scottish Highlands in December: a vast white expanse, with at most a few patches of dead grass. You tried to plant something in them, only to find that nothing could survive.

By the weekend of his first week of teaching, he had again spent his own money, this time on a book called How to Make Students Fear You. He practiced in front of the mirror, perfecting a ferocious expression capable of stopping a child's nighttime crying.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Snape spun around sharply, the corners of his mouth turned down, his gaze contemptuous as if regarding a dog, his voice a low and furious bark.

After class, he reviewed his own performance in the mirror.

Excellent. Absolutely perfect.

Snape had always placed his hopes on Dumbledore's conscience making itself known at some point, that the man would recall Snape's severely excessive workload and free him from the squawking of the lower-year brats.

But regrettably, Dumbledore once again smiled and refused him.

Snape brooded on this with a rigid face. Why was it not alchemy that he excelled at?

(Alchemy only permitted sixth-year students to enroll.)

Against the background noise of Sinistra playing the new colleague for a fool, Deputy Headmistress Professor McGonagall called out to Snape.

The corner of the corridor. A spot with a clear view down both hallways at once.

Professor McGonagall drew a roll of parchment from her robes and said quietly: "Dumbledore asked me to give you this."

"Praeris Prince.

Mother: Sylvia Prince, witch, currently serving sentence in Azkaban.

Father: Deepool William, Muggle, deceased.

Currently residing at St Mary's Convent, Tulip Street.

Custodial rights assigned to: Anthony Malachi Dorling."

"Dumbledore has already resolved the guardianship issue," Professor McGonagall said. "You need only go and fetch Sylvia's child, on the grounds of providing an opportunity for education."

Snape's lips moved slightly. "Resolved?"

"Your maternal grandmother had a deceased wizard cousin in Devon. That cousin's granddaughter has never married or had children, and is willing to accept guardianship of the young Miss Prince." Professor McGonagall was succinct. "She owns a shop in Diagon Alley. Prim Pernelle's Beautifying Potions."

The day after the staff meeting.

St Mary's Convent.

Just as Dumbledore had "resolved" the guardianship issue by other means, Snape performed a few small adjustments on Father Dorling's memory, making the man believe that Snape was a teacher at a Muggle boarding school.

This was not the first time Snape had collected a student raised in Muggle society. Yet he found himself unexpectedly unsettled.

He attributed this to the garrulous nun and ridiculed her soundly.

He felt much better.

At last, Snape came face to face with his cousin's daughter. His niece. Praeris Prince.

He had seen her only once before.

At that time, Praeris had been very small, her complexion still somewhat rosy, standing in front of the church and handing out relief food to vagrants.

Now, she looked nothing like others her age. She wore the convent's habit, but the sleeves hung loose and empty around her arms. Her complexion was pallid. Her cheeks held little flesh, her chin was pointed, and the hands she extended were bony, blue veins visible beneath the skin.

The child stared fixedly at him with a pair of black eyes, like a coiled snake, watchful, ready to strike.

She does not look like her mother, Snape thought. She looks like me.

Some people live under the sun. Others are fit only to lie in the gutter and stare up at a narrow scrap of sky.

Snape's mouth was moving, using the tone he had long grown accustomed to, telling the girl the facts. His mind was barely engaged at all.

When he had said everything that needed to be said, Snape retreated, almost in a rout, leaving only these words behind: "See you in 3 days."

3 days later. Afternoon.

Snape had been delayed by a task Dumbledore assigned him, and only managed to hurry to St Mary's Convent in the afternoon.

Dumbledore wanted him to set a trial for the Philosopher's Stone. It could not be too difficult — no puzzle without a solution, but not too easy, either, solvable by anyone who stumbled past. The method of solving it could not be too dangerous, but it still had to present a genuine challenge.

Leaders were all the same: they slap their foreheads to issue the strategy, slap their thighs to set the targets, and finally slap you on the shoulder and tell you that you can certainly do it.

The girl was not waiting for him in her room. She was standing at the entrance to the convent.

Snape did not ask why. The mocking words from the Muggle children behind her had already given him the answer.

Snape's tall figure blocked the sunlight in front of her.

"Let's go." His lips moved. "We have a great deal to accomplish today. I will take you to Diagon Alley via Side-Along Apparition to purchase your school supplies. During the Apparition, you must hold tightly to my hand. Otherwise, I cannot be certain whether what arrives at the destination will be you — or your fragments."

Calling an unfamiliar girl by her given name was impolite. Snape used rapid, precise speech to conceal the fact that he could not bring himself to call her "Miss Prince," addressing her throughout only as "you."

It was not until he had handed her over to the owner of the Leaky Cauldron that he remembered he could perfectly well have called her "Miss."

➤ Next: Him Across the River