PML: Into the Fray Part One

Nanny Moira was arguing with His Lordship. Not just disagreeing, mind -- she often did that, and made no attempt to conceal her disapproval: she was the only person in the household who dared do so, in fact. But the was an argument. Nanny was going at top speed -- so fast and furious that she often lapsed into Irish, if the muffled consonants Severus could make out were a good indication -- and His Lordship was hard-pressed to get his thundering responses in during the rare pauses when she stopped to breathe.

Severus thought he knew what the fuss was about. He'd gotten his Hogwarts letter the day before, and Nanny had seemed taken aback -- as if she hadn't expected it, although she knew full well how old he was. Severus suspected she didn't want him to go.

Well, I'll tell that loopy old witch a thing or two when His Lordship's done with her.

He shifted and pressed his ear harder against the Study door, but he knew it was hopeless. He'd seldom been able to eavesdrop successfully through the three inches of solid oak.

Nanny was calming down, now, her voice softer, giving his Lordship more time to answer. (His Lordship, however, was still extremely irritated.) Time to scarper, then, before he was caught out. He slipped away down the hall and into the west wing, down to the kitchens where Darby and Joan were busy preparing dinner.

"Yes, please," he said mechanically as he sat at the scarred kitchen table. (One didn't need to be polite to House and Kitchen Elves, but Nanny had chivvied a certain amount of politeness into him. It was a bloody waste of time as far as Severus was concerned, because Elves spoiled you rotten either way.)

Joan popped into the larder for a slice of bread spread thickly with currant jam, sat the plate in front of him (and a glass of milk, which he hadn't requested and therefore didn't bother to acknowledge), and went back to her preparations.

"Dinner, not supper, and we missed tea," Severus mumbled around a sticky mouthful as Nanny heaved herself down in a chair. "What was all that about?"

"What was all what about?" she countered innocently. "And ya wouldn't have missed yer tay if you hadn't been out prowlin', as per usual."

"The row with His Lordship, and don't change the subject," Severus said with a glare.

He bit his lip and fumed for moment. (She always did this to him -- teased and danced about a subject until he was wild with the need to throttle her saggy neck.)

"You don't want me to go to Hogwarts, do you?" he accused. "You want me to stay stuck here with you and bloody old Jordan, while Matthew gets to go away to school and act like a superior git at hols --"

"What are you blatherin' on about, ya eej? Why wouldn't I want you to go to Hogwarts?"

Nanny tsked, pulled out her handkerchief, and wiped at a smudge of jam on his chin before he had a chance to dodge away.

"Now why would I want to deny you yer schoolin'? Sure, wouldn't I have loved to go meself? Of course I'll miss ya -- though the gods know why sometimes, ye're that much a handful. Maybe they'll knock some sense into that head of yers."

Severus was bewildered to the point of frustration. He simply could not understand this female at all, sometimes. (Well, often, if truth be told.)

"About which of us was to have the privilege of takin' you to Diagon Alley for yer bits and bobs," Nanny said matter-of-factly, swiped up a lonely glob of jam off his plate, and sucked her finger clean. "Himself won, pity for me. I would've liked a tripeen to the big town."

"Tomorrow. First thing in the mornin', so yiz'll miss the worst of the crowds. Ye're to take Her Ladyship's wand with ya, to get Mr Ollivander's opinion -- but sure I am that ye'll be gettin' a fine one of yer own."

Sweet Merlin. His Lordship's serious, then. Wands weren't cheap: Severus had been allowed to use the deceased Lady Snape's old student wand when Matthew had brought his new Gregorovitch home, but it responded sluggishly.

But now he was going to get his very own wand -- and an Ollivander at that, not one of the lesser makers. His thin, sullen little face brightened immensely, and he grinned -- he couldn't help it.

Nanny nearly wept. There was still something in her lamb untouched by hardness, that he could take such great pleasure in having something of his very own, something he hadn't had to create himself or cobble together.

"Ye'll hafta go to bed directly after supper --" she said brusquely, to cover her weakness.

"Supper, and don't correct yer elders, Hellion," she shot back, and gently smacked him across the back of the head. "Ye'll have a long day tomorrow, and Himself won't be pleased if ye're too tired to keep up with him. Now, go run off that bread-and-jam so yer supper isn't entirely spoilt."

He rocketed out of the chair and headed for the side door; skidded to a halt; backtracked; and threw himself in her thick arms and squeezed until she could barely breathe. (He didn't escape before she had time to kiss him soundly and sloppily on the cheek, but on the whole he didn't mind -- he was too excited to care much.)

It didn't occur to Severus until several weeks later -- when he was missing Nanny very badly, in fact, though he'd never admit it -- that the silly, exasperating, wonderful old woman had probably lied to him like a professional politician.

His Lordship hated London, hated Diagon Alley, and hated most of all to be seen doing something so demeaning as accompanyng one small boy on a shopping expedition. That was Nanny's job, or Severus' father's.

But his father couldn't -- his disease had progressed to the point that the Elves had to force him to eat, to lead him away from his desk and to his bed at night. Nanny in her wisdom must have decided that the occasion demanded the presence of a father figure: Severus' tutor Mr Jordan was totally unsuitable as well -- he was just another member of the Hall's minuscule staff. It required someone with utmost authority over young Severus, and the only one left was His Lordship.

Lord Snape and his temper were no match for an equally temperamental, determined, and elderly Irish witch. His fate was sealed.

Diagon Alley wasn't as bad as it might have turned out. Severus was too excited to mind His Lordship's tetchiness due to the rain, and too impressed by the deference the vendors and craftspeople showed the Lord Snape. (The Snapes might not have the ready cash to make a splash in society anymore, and the wizarding aristocracy might be dead in terms of actual influence -- but most people still respected the title nonetheless.)

They stopped at Flourish and Blotts first, just as the shop opened, where the proprietor scurried forward at sight of Lord Snape and ushered him to a chair.

"Good morning, my Lord. May I say what a pleasure it is to see you again? It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Good morning, Bertram, and yes, it has," said His Lordship as he gratefully lowered himself into the chair and rested his walking-stick against the nearest bookshelf.

"I hope we filled your last order to your satisfaction? As I recall the volume on Theoretical Transfiguration took a particularly long time to track down --"

"This is your grandson, then? Got your Hogwarts letter, have you, young sir?" Bertram asked.

"This is my grand-nephew Severus," Lord Snape said firmly. "And yes, he needs to be kitted-out for First Year."

"The young gentleman needs the First-Year texts, Rosie. If you would be so kind...?"

"Now, Master Severus, can I find something with which to occupy you while you wait? Perhaps you'd care to browse the, ah, Arithmancy section?"

Severus, unaccountable shy and tongue-tied by Bertram's apparent knowledge about Vergil Snape and the assumption that Severus was like-minded, simply reddened and stared back.

"The boy is interested in Potions, Bertram," Lord Snape corrected softly. "I judge him to be at the level of a Third, in terms of his prior reading. Perhaps that would be best."

"Oh, of course, or course," Bertram said hurriedly. "I think I have just the thing. My, another Snape in the Potions field -- it's been a long time.... And for yourself, sir, is there anything --? We have a transcription of the newly-discovered Arcana Romanum."

"Best get used to it, boy," Lord Snape said under his breath, "and learn to deal with it gracefully. It's a small world, and your father's... situation is well-known despite my best efforts. They don't really mean anything by it, they're simply well-intended idiots."

He prodded Severus over to the hassock in front of the chair and urged him to sit with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I quite agree, but it doesn't do to let them know: it only makes things more awkward. Simply correct the misapprehension and state your preferences. You're not responsible for your father's actions, nor do you have anything to prove."

Bertram was already headed back to them, and handed them their respective books.

"Rosie will be a few minutes, I'm afraid -- we had quite a run on the Transfiguration text late yesterday, so she's just popped over to Cassel's to pick up more. Is there anything else I can get you while you wait? Tea, perhaps?"

"Bloody..." Lord Snape began, and gave Severus a rueful look. "So much for getting through this in a timely manner."

"Ollivander won't open for another half-hour, and I wanted you to see him while you're still fresh. And I'm not up to backtracking and flitting about today. Read your book."

They immersed themselves in their books, ignoring the other customers who bustled in (some of whom recognised His Lordship and were clearly astonished to see him in Diagon Alley). Rosie finally reappeared with a paper-wrapped parcel which she handed to Severus.

"Yes, but if you'd be so good as to give me the invoice now, that should expedite matters," he calmly said. She scribbled the charges for Severus' textbooks on her salespad, handed it to the old man, and bobbed a curtsey before trotting over to the next impatient customer.

Aloysius snorted at the curtsey, consulted the pencilled notation on the flyleaf of Arcana Romanum, and regretfully closed it and set it aside.

"What do you think of that one?" he asked Severus as he tucked the invoice into his breast-pocket.

"Pretty good," Severus said nonchalantly. "There's a few things I haven't seen before...."

(Actually, he was wild to own the book. Most of the texts in His Lordship's library dealt with medicinal potions, but this one contained potions with more wide-ranging applications.)

Lord Snape held out his hand for book and flipped through the pages, and his mouth twitched at the contents: he knew full well the boy was eager to branch out. But lastly he checked the flyleaf, and slowly said, "I imagine they have this in the Hogwarts library, you know. Make a note of the title, and if they don't, I shall order it for your natal-day gift."

Commendably, Severus neither whined nor pouted. He knew full well (having been subjected to a half-hour lecture by Nanny just that morning) that His Lordship wouldn't tolerate it. Besides, the old man never grudged Severus books when he could afford it -- several times after Severus had spoken of gaps in the Hall's collection texts to fill that need had mysteriously appeared. Severus was smart enough to make the connection: Lord Snape respected the desire for knowledge and wordlessly fulfilled that desire when possible.

What Severus never realised was that quenching Severus' thirst for knowledge was as close to an expression of love as Lord Snape could manage with the boy, and often at the expense of his own wants. He'd been quite put out when he'd realised that, firstly, Matthew had no interest at all in academics and knowledge, and secondly that Severus did, bordering on obsession. (He'd thought for a while that the boy might end up in Ravenclaw.)

"Let's go, then," His Lordship said abruptly, reached for his walking-stick, and levered himself up with Severus' shoulder as support. "Ollivander's next."

Ollivander may have been surprised to see Lord Snape, but, unlike Bertram, he made no servile fuss.

Lord Snape snorted. "As well as can be expected," he groused. "How do you stand the rheumatism, William?"

"Oh, I stay active. Chasing down core materials keeps one spry, you know. Now," Ollivander said, fixing his watery blue eyes on Severus. "I hear that Matthew is at Beauxbatons and has a Gregorovitch, so this must be Severus."

"Quite. He's been using Dimity's old school wand, and it's high time he had his own -- show Mr Ollivander the wand, Severus," Lord Snape prodded.

Ollivander sat down quite abruptly on the stool behind the counter, cradling the old wand in his callused hands.

"Thought you'd appreciate a look at it," Severus heard Lord Snape say, and was quite surprised at the note of mischief in the old man's voice.

"I should say so. This, Mr Snape," Ollivander said to Severus, "was one of the last wands my grandfather crafted. People may say that I'm a master, but he.... Well, he was a true genius." He ran his fingers over the wand lovingly, assessing it. "Elm, nine and a half inches, dragon heart-string. Lovely, just lovely. And it works for you at all?" he asked.

"Very unusual. But I suppose that's a tribute to my grandfather: his wands seem to know when their loyalties may be safely transferred. His Lordship's student wand, now, that wouldn't surprise me, because there's a blood tie."

"Give me a demonstration, Mr Snape," he said, and handed the wand back. "Open the book, here."

Severus pointed the wand, muttered the appropriate charm, and the book reluctantly creaked open, its pages turning sluggishly.

"Of course I do, boy. We were at school together, he and I and Dimity. And the condition of ones' wand is crucial with Transfigurations, so he gives mine a thorough reconditioning every year or two."

"I've had this in stock quite a while -- it's another of my grandfather's, actually -- and it jumped out at me," he said, shaking the top off a slender box. "Let's try it out."

"Ebony, ten and three-quarters inches, and with a very unusual core," Ollivander noted as he closed the demonstration book. "Get the feel of it and then try the book again, Mr Snape."

Severus ran his fingers along the carved hilt and it instantly warmed to his touch: his hand, which had always felt awkward on Her Ladyship's wand, was nearly impelled to wrap itself around this one.

He was so totally focussed on the wand, in fact, that he missed the look of anticipation that passed between Lord Snape and Ollivander.

He wrapped his hand about the hilt and charmed the book again: the pages promptly and obediently fell open and rifled themselves.

"Excellent!" Ollivander crowed. "I knew I should find the right person for that wand someday."

"Primarily dragon heart-string, which is perhaps why Dimity's wand worked as well as it did for him," Ollivander said, "-- a sliver of bistort root, and a single borage flower."

"It's unusual, Mr Snape, but not unknown," Ollivander cautioned. "Do you have a particular field of interest?"

"What are the beneficial properties of borage, Severus?" Lord Snape quizzed him. "Think of Culpeper."

"Treatment of fevers, blood impurities, and poisons --" Severus rattled off, and stopped abruptly.

"Don't forget the venom of beasts," Lord Snape added quietly. "And bistort is beneficial against poisons as well. I think Mr Ollivander could hardly have found a more appropriate wand for you if you're to study potions."

"No one need ever know unless you choose to tell them," Ollivander said gravely. "In fact, people seldom do tell. If it were known how many cores of female veela hair choose male students... well, there would be a great deal of consternation."

Severus would have argued more strongly, except the wand was humming quietly in his hand, purring like a well-contented cat. It seemed as though he and it belonged together, and he had the curious feeling that it would be disappointed were he to reject it.

"You may well have another by the time you leave Hogwarts, you know. The cores sometimes change as your skills develop," Ollivander wheedled.

Well, that's that. Just have to keep my mouth shut. He shrugged, and Ollivander smiled in response, jotted down the charge on a slip of paper, and handed it to Lord Snape.

"If you'll just allow me to wrap it for you," he said, gently taking the new wand from Severus and polishing the hilt before returning it to its box. "And don't forget the other one -- let me find you another box, actually --"

"Why, Aloysius, it's a fine wand, too fine to give away -- not that I wouldn't like to have another of Grandfather's --"

"The boy doesn't need it now, and he's the last that would. Keep it, or see if it seeks another owner. Dimity would have been pleased either way."

Ollivander cleared his throat, and his eyes may have got a bit more watery than usual. "Thank you, Aloysius, it's quite generous," he said, and handed the wand-box to Severus. "Good luck, Mr Snape. I hope you find Hogwarts sufficiently challenging, as well as fulfilling."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, and after exchanging a few more pleasantries with Ollivander Lord Snape led him from the shop.

His Lordship's good temper didn't last long after that -- the next stop, at the cauldron-maker's, put a significant dent in it -- and by the time Severus had been fitted for his robes His Lordship had soured distinctly on the whole experience; so Severus was quite surprised when the old man suddenly detoured across the alley and led him into a narrow shop which turned out to be a cafe -- not Fortescue's, at which Severus had cast a longing look, but someplace less flashy, more discreet and, apparently, very exclusive.

"Bloody hell," Lord Snape groaned as he collapsed into a chair. "Brandy. And a milk," he added as an afterthought to the hovering waiter.

"When I want to hear Nanny's lectures out of your mouth, I'll tell you," His Lordship shot back with a glower. "Keep yourself busy and open that parcel of books." And he pulled out his expenditure-book and the days' accumulated receipts, and proceeded to make careful note of each of them.

The silent waiter (the best kind) delivered their drinks, and Severus didn't look up from the Potions text until His Lordship snorted.

"Ollivander," His Lordship noted, voice strained with equal parts embarrassment and amusement. "He's charmed his slips, somehow, and he changed the charge for your wand after we left the shop. Took off nearly half, because I left Dimity's wand with him. It was a gift, the silly old fool.... You're still to take damned good care of it," he said, glaring at Severus. "I don't think you realise what a bloody good wand that is, flowers or no."

Severus handed it over, and Lord Snape flipped through it, snorting at some of the descriptions. "Don't know what they're thinking. Putting out new editions every other year, making the curriculum less challenging.... Money, that's what it is. Making money, and lowering the standards so the 'puir wee ones' don't have to work so hard."

Severus was familiar with the acidic tirade; he'd heard it earlier that summer, when Matthew had been called upon to demonstrate what he'd learned his first two years at Beauxbatons.

"You're going to be bloody bored this first year in Potions," His Lordship said grimly as he handed the text back. "Don't let it go to your head. Apply yourself, work on your technique, and for the gods' sakes don't show off -- no one likes a know-it-all."

His Lordship looked again at the totalled expenditures, sighed, and tucked the documents back in his pocket.

"Not generally, no," he said slowly. "But we're not in the position of most. We're one of the few families that held onto their land after the 1692 split: most of the others sold off their estates to avoid the difficulties in making large tracts unplottable, and in having them removed from the Muggle tax rolls. We're what the Muggles call 'land poor,' which means a great deal of the estate income goes for its upkeep and the taxes and duties on it, rather than for our living expenses."

"Because without the land -- without something your own, something that you can protect -- you're defenceless. You make other people rich by living on their property, and living on their terms, not your own. And that's exactly what would happen to most wizards if our world was revealed. Can you imagine the fuss if some Muggle greengrocer were to find Malfoy Manor planted in his back garden? Or if the London authorities found the Ministry occupying the ground beneath a warehouse? Chaos, absolute chaos -- lawsuits at best, and at worst..."

His appalled voice trailed off, and he had to take a sip of brandy to fortify himself.

"We Snapes decided we'd hide in plain sight, that's all. We're aboveboard as far as the Muggles are concerned: as long as the taxes and duties are paid and they don't know we're different, they don't give a damn. And, more to the point, some idiot of an ancestor of ours entailed the blasted estate -- made it impossible to sell -- so we're stuck with it."

"But if that makes more sense, why didn't everyone stay where they were and do the same?" Severus persisted, and the old man nearly snapped at him: his joint were aching abominably thanks to the rain, and, after all, it was none of the boy's business --

But it might be, someday, if Matthew bollockses things up. Or gets himself killed, like his idiot father.

That thought was enough to make Lord Snape curb his temper. He drew on his last reserves of patience and tried to explain.

"Panic, I suppose. You'll learn the history behind it in Binns' class, Merlin help you, but the short version is that when the Great Divorce came most wizards panicked. They'd gotten used to living discreetly but not secretly, and I think they weren't prepared to take the risks involved. We were, because we'd never been prominent in the Muggle society to begin with -- well, there was the one cousin who caused a political fuss, but he was a squib who was exiled to Italy, anyway. But as a whole the Snapes were, as far as the Muggles were concerned, cider-makers and gentlemen farmers who dabbled in herbals, and who had legitimate business contacts in the Muggle world. It was easy for us to pass, when required. A few other families -- like the Longbottoms, in Lancashire, who married heavily into the native Saxon families -- are guardians of old sacred sites, and they kept the land as stewards of the Old Magic."

"No, because by the time we Normans settled in Wiltshire the connection with the sacred stones there had been lost even to the Saxons. That doesn't mean we don't still have a duty to take an interest in them, mind you -- simply because we don't understand their significance doesn't mean we should ignore them. All traditions of magic are derived from one primal, essential form if you go far enough back, and those stones are an expression of that.... In any case, the Snapes belong in Wiltshire, and in Wiltshire we'll stay. But Matthew had damned well better plan on getting an actual job to support himself, because the estate can't continue to support a family for long. The duties are getting too high."

After that extraordinary outburst -- for His Lordship had never deigned to discuss the status of the estate with Severus -- he drained his glass and said, "We're done, I suppose, unless you want a familiar?"

Severus considered that a moment. Want, yes -- Matthew had acquired a fine owl which, as far as Severus could tell, got very little use as the thoughtless prat hardly ever wrote his grandfather. But need....

"I don't think so," he said eventually. "Don't want to be bothered with the mess."

Lord Snape was surprised, but gratified. "They've got a few courier owls at the school, and at the post office in Hogsmeade," he noted. "But of course it's expensive to use a courier. Let's say I shall send my own on the first Sunday of the month, then, and I'll expect a progress report back. If there's an emergency you'll have to use your pocket-money and send a courier."

And that was that. Severus finished his milk, pulled together the parcels, and they Apparated back to Snape Hall.

Nanny still got her chance to go to London, as it happened: Lord Snape's gout and rheumatism flared up, whether from all the activity in Diagon Alley or from the brandy, or a combination of the two. So quite early on the morning of September First Nanny woke Severus, got him dressed, had him make his goodbyes to his father -- who barely recognised the significance of the day, and didn't seem to realise Severus was leaving for good, not just for a day or two -- and then took him down to the Hall and to His Lordship's bedchamber.

"Come here, boy," Lord Snape growled, and Severus approached the old man's wing chair. "Stand up straight, don't slouch." He assessed Severus -- the carefully-fitted Hogwarts uniform (tie already askew), the intractably messy hair -- and sighed, and said, "You'll do, boy, you'll do."

He reached over to the bedside-table and handed Severus a small stack of coins. "Pocket-money for the first quarter," he said. "Not much, but you won't have anyplace to spend it -- Lower Forms aren't usually allowed to go to Hogsmeade, but perhaps you can get an Upper Former to bring you back some things. Keep a careful accounting, and you'll get an increase next quarter."

"And you might like to take this with you," His Lordship continued, and handed Severus a small leather-bound book, carefully tied 'round with a leather thong to keep it closed.

Severus sucked in a deep breath. It was a very important book: Medicinall Herbes of England and Their Divers Uses, written by Augustus Snape -- the famous Brewer, and ancestor of Severus and Lord Snape. It was to magical potions what Culpeper was to the Muggle herbalists. His Lordship had allowed Severus to consult it before, but had never let him remove it from the library.

"I thought it might prove... inspirational, this first year," the old man said, "especially as you're likely to be bored witless at first. It's the only copy I have, so take care of it."

"I could give you the same talk I gave Matthew before he left, but there's little point as you skulked outside the door," His Lordship said dryly, and Severus reddened. "Never mind, it saves me the trouble now. Just remember what I said to you at Flourish and Blotts. Prove your own merit, boy, and ignore any idiots. Do your best not to shame the family or your House. And whatever you do, try not to do anything you'll be ashamed of yourself for later. It's bound to happen, but learn from it."

"Off you go then, boy," Lord Snape said gruffly, "and be patient with Nanny before you get on the train. She's going to be lonely without you here, and she's bound to fuss."

And then, quite extraordinarily, the old man offered his hand for a shake. Severus took it, muttered "Goodbye," to cover his confusion, and escaped.

Lord Snape listened as Nanny hustled Severus downstairs and out the front door, where Mr Jordan was waiting to Apparate them to London (for Nanny had never learned how, nor how to disable the Anti-Apparition wards). When he heard the distinct pop and he was certain they'd gone, he rested his forehead against one rheumatism-crippled hand and offered a rare plea to whomever was listening.

Aloysius, Lord Snape was no fool -- nor, despite his self-imposed isolation, was he oblivious to the political situation or the growing probability of upheaval in the Wizarding World. The Snapes had always found ways to hedge their bets, and this one was no exception: so he had sent the weaker boy, Matthew, out of harm's way to France, and Severus into the lion's den, as it were -- because he suspected Severus might have the wits not only to come through it unscathed, but to navigate the perils and bring the family through should Matthew prove a bad steward.

He was a very pragmatic man. Much as he hated to admit it, Lord Snape knew the family's survival most likely rested not on the heir, Matthew, but on the thin shoulders of Severus Snape.

Nanny being 'bound to fuss' was an understatement. She utterly embarrassed Severus, although she tried valiently to control herself. (Mr Jordan wisely stayed on the Muggle side of the barrier, not wanting to see the uproar.)

"You go straight to the Infirmary if yer stomach plays up on you," she said through sniffles, and thoroughly annoyed Severus by licking her palm and trying to tame his cowlick. (It never worked.) He tried to squirm away, but she nearly had him in a headlock.

"Stop it," he snarled, and glanced around furtively. (Yes, blast it, there was a dark-haired boy on the edge of the platform, staring derisively at him and Nanny; then the boy glanced smugly at the slender, elegant woman beside him, slipped an arm about her waist, and stared back at Severus, as if to emphasise the difference between her and poor, fat, badly-dressed Nanny.)

"And you write me whenever His Lordship sends the owl," Nanny insisted, oblivious to the challenge being issued by the superior little git.

"Yes, all right," Severus muttered. He'd promise anything at this point to end the humiliation.

If only Nanny would be cool and civilised, like that woman... she wasn't blubbering, and in fact had pulled away from the git and was making her farewells to him quietly and reasonably.

"Mind yer manners, and don't go wanderin' about -- you'll get in trouble, Hellion," Nanny was saying.

"Yes, all right -- I know," Severus said, and added in desperation, "I have to go -- the compartments are filling up --"

"All right then, off with you," Nanny sniffed, bulgy eyes filling with tears (again). She gave him a final, mortifying kiss on the forehead, helped him pick up his things, and waddled over to the train after him.

She waved her hands helplessly, and Severus was suddenly as ashamed of himself as he was of her.

"Come here," he whispered from the top step, and Nanny wedged herself onto the lowest: safe now from prying eyes, Severus bent and quickly kissed her cheek.

"Go on now, I've got to get settled," he said firmly, and Nanny stepped off and waddled back over to the pier.

Thank Merlin that's over with, he thought irritably as he found an empty compartment, dumped his things on one of the seats, and plunked himself down next to the window.

That was a mistake. Nanny was right there, swiping at her runny nose and peering at him tearfully as students and parents jostled her, intent on the final boarding call.

Severus sighed, reached over to his rucksack, and pulled out Medicinall Herbes so as to have a good reason to pretend she wasn't his.

The book was, in his defence, a very absorbing one, and he didn't realise the train had started to pull out from the station until someone poked at his shoulder.

"Give over," a girl said, and Severus stared up into a pair of green eyes. "You're hogging the seats, and the other compartments are filled."

"Probably used to saving room for his mother," someone else said from the door -- the superior git, as luck would have it. "That's the fattest woman I've ever seen."

Severus glared at him. "She's not my mother," he snarled as he scrambled to put his things in the overhead rack.

"Oh, sorry. Aunty, then. Doesn't get out much, does she? 'Course she can't, with all that blubber."

"She's Nanny, and she doesn't have to get out --" Severus blustered, and stopped himself, highly embarrased, as the git hooted.

"Nanny, is it? My, we're special, aren't we? I haven't had one since I was six."

"Why don't you shut up?" the girl said irritably as she stowed her belongings. "I'm Lily Evans," she said to Severus. "I'm a First. You too?"

"Someone with a lot more manners and sense than you, obviously," Evans shot back. "You don't even know each other, and here you are, acting like a prat while he's minding his own business." She sniffed her disgust with the git, pulled the Charms text from her bookbag, and settled opposite Severus.

"Hey, Goyle. Come on in -- the more the merrier," the git said sourly as he jammed his things in the rack.

"Thanks, Sirius." Goyle sidled into the compartment and dumped his things on the seat between himself and Severus. "I've got a new Snap deck -- want to play?"

"Sure -- if we won't be disturbing our companions," the git said with exaggerated courtesy. Severus snorted, and Evans shrugged and returned to her book.

"Thank you so kindly," the git retorted, and he and Goyle settled down for a very noisy game.

Into the Fray, Part One