The Potions Master's Nephew
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The Potions Master’s Nephew When a potion goes horribly wrong, Professor Snape is transformed and seemingly trapped in his fifteen-year-old body. Much to his disgust he finds himself enrolled into Harry Potter's fifth year, forced to hide his true identity. Girls, drama and teenage angst do not bode well with Severus. Started February 2002 Completed September 2009 First published online at: http://www.fictionalley.org/authors/severelysnaped/ Available for download at: http://www.the-potions-masters-nephew.com Disclaimer This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Contents Prologue 5 In which a potion goes decidedly wrong Chapter 1 8 In which fifteen is hell Chapter 2 45 In which a lot of trouble is caused by a broom Chapter 3 72 In which there is bickering and blood oaths Chapter 4 92 In which there is serious danger Chapter 5 120 In which Gryffindor’s Keeper is quite a catch Chapter 6 150 In which there is much detention Chapter 7 184 In which Snape becomes the villain Chapter 8 218 In which it is a very Slytherin Christmas indeed Chapter 9 267 In which everyone demands a kiss Chapter 10 318 In which the loser gets the prize Chapter 11 356 In which pain can end or begin with a kiss Chapter 12 389 In which the play is just the background drama Chapter 13 423 In which much blood is in the heir Story Notes 467 Author’s Note 468 Prologue ~ In which a potion goes decidedly wrong ~ The air was cold in the Hogwarts dungeon. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows against the brushed stone walls, making a head of lank, greasy hair glint the same colour as the green flames it passed. Severus Snape returned from his storeroom and placed the ingredients carefully onto his workbench. His face, usually bearing an expression of unpleasantness, was even stormier and stung with irritation that evening. The perfect consistency of the enormous cauldron’s contents next to him did nothing to appease his mood, but rather the steam wisped slowly up at him, resembling the Headmaster’s beard which he longed to yank on until the old man finally saw his way. Dumbledore had managed to pull another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher out of thin air, politely turning down Snape’s annual application for the job. It was as if he thought that teaching Dark Arts would just whet Snape’s appetite and tempt him back to the other side. Surely years of faithful service had proven exactly where his loyalties were. “You know what I must ask you to do, Severus, are you ready?” As if continuing to doubt him, Dumbledore’s questioning voice echoed in his mind. While being examined so searchingly by the Headmaster’s piercing eyes he had answered instantly, precisely, unfalteringly; “I am.” There was a long silence as Snape continued to stare at the swirling steam, pondering perhaps, if he had answered too rashly. It would be so easy to take a long-deserved trip overseas and just leave everything he knew behind. Hogwarts held next to no fond memories in his mind, and there was hardly anything else that he would miss. Perhaps the usual thoughtful book from the Headmaster at Christmas time… Slight bitterness filled Snape’s mouth at these self- pitying thoughts, and it was then that he realised how he could have answered Dumbledore’s question so easily, and why he would stay and do what was needed. He simply had nothing else. Flickering his eyes from the steam, Snape strained the precise amount of lacewing flies into a small bowl, and tipped it slowly into the simmering cauldron. The potion started to bubble gently as he stirred it, the thick liquid making a quiet gurgling noise. It was one of the few noises that Snape actually liked, and the look of unpleasantness on his face seemed to fade somewhat. He was so absorbed in the slowly changing colour of the mixture, that a light tinkling noise from the shelf above his head made him jump. Craning his neck upwards, he was rewarded with a glimpse of an old, mangy cat skulking around the rarest of his bottled potions. Reaching for his wand with his free hand, he tried to restrain the urge just to zap the cat out of existence, settling with glaring at it murderously whilst he levitated each bottle one by one onto his work bench below. Barely had he reached his third bottle however, when Mrs Norris realised that her shields against brutal assault were disappearing, and she crouched suddenly, as if poised for attack. Her sudden movement made one of the bottles wobble slightly, and Snape’s concentration was momentarily broken. The cauldron made an angry gurgling noise at the sudden halt in its stirring, and the levitating bottle tipped precariously onto its side. “Careful now,” Snape ground out in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “Just move slowly away from the bottles…” But the way the muscle was moving in Snape’s cheek didn’t sit well with Mrs Norris, and in a split second she bolted backwards against the wall, sending bottles flying and making Snape yell in anger. The bottle that had been suspended in the air fell to the floor with a smash, the splattering bits and pieces exploding suddenly as they hit the blue flames underneath the cauldron. Attempting to steady the shaking cauldron with one hand and stop further bottles from falling with the other, Snape waved his wand wildly, not bothering to restrain roaring his complete fury at the alarmed cat. In sudden panic she lunged through the rest of the bottles, launching herself straight at Snape’s contorted face. Snape barely had time to register before a shower of bottles hit him front on, followed by a scratchy ball of tattered fur. Although he heard the splash and fizz of potions hitting his mixture, he still tried one last attempt at levitating the entire cauldron backwards. But the floor was slippery with liquid and Snape only succeeded in slipping backwards himself, grabbing the rim of the cauldron for support and batting away the terrified cat scratching at his face. He gave one last unintelligible yell that turned into a gurgle before the cauldron tipped over; dousing him in scorching, blue liquid. Chapter One ~ In which fifteen is hell ~ Severus Snape opened his eyes. He felt warm and comfortable, and didn’t seem to be staring at the dark, barely visible stone ceiling of his dungeon. The ceiling above him was lit a light pink from the setting sun, and a warm breeze wafted through a nearby window. He blinked bemusedly around when a blur of black fur suddenly obscured his vision, hurling itself towards him and latching on to his face. “Get off!” he choked, tearing the furball from him and throwing it away. The kitten twisted its body in midair, landing gracefully on its feet and bolting under the bed. But Snape wasn’t paying any attention to the cat; he was staring very hard at his hand in front of him. He looked quickly around for his wand, and seized it from the bedside table. He was just about to summon a mirror when he caught sight of his blurred reflection in the looking glass next to the sink. Unable to believe what he was looking at, he brought his hands up to touch his face before cursing violently and stumbling awkwardly out of bed towards the mirror. He glared at his clear reflection and gasped. A horrified, teenage boy was staring back at him. *** “So, until we have a counter-potion I am afraid you are stuck like that, Severus.” Snape stared into space as Albus Dumbledore paced the room, still unable to comprehend how the recent chain of events had come about. Much to his horror, the house-elves had already cleaned up the mess in the dungeons, leaving not a drop of spilled liquid behind. The Potion Masters at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, along with various doctors from St Mungos were each contacted one after the other, but to no avail. Each had replied promptly that such a case was not possible to happen in the first place and were quite curious as to why Dumbledore would enquire such a thing. Snape was horrified at being made a laughing stock, so Dumbledore hadn’t bothered to reply. The enormity of his condition just starting to sink in, Snape’s moody stare flicked from the blank wall before him to out the window, at the glittering lake below. He couldn’t help but feel that Dumbledore would think he’d done this on purpose, as if to get out of whatever nasty job was in store for him. He felt unusually cowed as he sat there, suddenly unable to meet the Headmaster’s eyes. “I don’t blame you for what happened, you know,” murmured Dumbledore, breaking the long silence and reading Snape’s averted gaze like a book. “I know that,” replied Snape curtly, feeling horribly uncomfortable but forcing his eyes to glare back up at Dumbledore’s. To his surprise, Dumbledore was looking back at him with a half smile on his face. “You know, Severus, although it’s an unpleasant ordeal for you, this is still quite a notable achievement that you’ve stumbled across,” he said.