“Hi Mike, I’m just finishing up with the soul sorting. It’s tough, you know. I mean, some lives are much harder then others and, well, it’s difficult to decide which of the poor souls are going to live them.”

“Yeah, like, these Potters: it says they’re rich, intelligent, liberal and longing to be a mummy and daddy; do you give them a son whose soul is enlightened, intelligent and strong, someone who could become a powerful force for good, or do you give one of the weaker souls a chance to reach their potential?”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got two wizards souls left to allocate and I really can’t decide. This one here, he’s got fair amount of intelligence but, well, he’s not a free thinker: if his mummy tells him the sky is green, he’ll insist it’s green despite all evidence to the contrary.”

“So not a philosopher.”

“Definitely not. He’s rather inclined to pride and it’s not the good sort: if someone doesn’t conform to his ideal, he’ll try to change them and, if that doesn’t work, they’re fair game.”

“Hmm… and what are your choices?”

“Well, we’ve got the Potters and the Snapes. Tobias Snape is muggle, Eileen Snape, nee Prince, is mage: it’s the old story, pureblood mage fell in love with a muggle, the muggle felt undermined because of mage’s power so he started to behave like the pureblood’s mother always said muggles were; stupid, viscous, etc. Only, now the mage is with child and cannot return to her parents; she’s angry, resentful and despises all muggles, especially the child’s father. In turn, the child’s father despises her and spends almost all his wages in the pub.”

“And what’s your other soul like?”

“One of the finest, Mike. It’s Da Vinci quality; he’s incredibly intelligent, exceptionally creative and, well, he has this curiosity, this philosophical inquisitiveness. If he can reach his full potential, we’re looking at another mind like Flamel. Is the old bastard here yet, by the way?”

“No, still has the Philosopher’s Stone clasped in his sweaty little hands. Concentrating on Healing Research now, it seems.”

“Well, this soul, here, is also rather, well it’s volatile, stubborn, sensitive and prone to resentment but it also has a great empathy and courage.”

“It’s easy for a soul like that to twist.”

“Yeah. So, what should I do: if I put him with the Potters, he’ll achieve his full potential. We could be looking at a Minister who could match Tom Riddle.”

“However, if you put the other soul with the Snapes, you’re going to get a Death Eater. The Princes are a Slyherin family and, if his mum says he has to be in Slytherin, he’ll be in with the vipers. Nasty lot, these last few years.”

“I know, sorting them has been a nightmare. I just never know what’s best: if you give the worst a change, they may still turn out dark despite their parent’s good influence. Yet, the soul which may, in a good placement, have been light, will be tainted by the bad placement. I have this problem with my second soul; he’s sensitive and passionate, he could so easily twist and be lured into the darkness, which would twist him further. I mean, he probably would rally, he’s got such a mind and such strength of character that he’d realise the error of his ways but…”

“By then it might be too late. So what you goin’ to do, Gabe?”

“Well, I was considering giving the weaker soul to the Potters but, after talking to you, I think the needs of the many must prevail: I’m going to allow the strong soul a chance to reach his potential. The time of the equinox is coming and, when darkness and light are in balance, a powerful soul on the side of the light will vanquish the darkness more quickly, thus saving lives which, otherwise, would have been devoured.”

“Yeah, I can go with that. Funny, really, how fate can be changed.”

“It’s about as far from funny as you can get, Mike. Now, I’m feeling like a stiff glass of ambrosia. Are you going to join me?”

“Sure. Bye bye, little souls. Hope you have nice lives.”

“Come on, you idiot.”

oOoOo

“Oh, look, Jargo, he has my eyes.”

“Aye, my love a true hazel eye. Face like a squashed, boiled monkey, though!”

“Jargo Roderick Potter!” the new mother sat up, a few pewter hairs falling from her bun and framing her pretty, heart-shaped face.

“Keep your hair on, Lucy, I didn’t say it wasn’t a sweet, squashed, boiled monkey.” grinned Jargo, a handsome, raffish, middle-aged man with messy dark hair and a stunt-pilot moustache.

“You are quite impossible!” laughed Lucy, as she stroked her baby son’s soft cheek. “I think he might have a fine bone-structure, there are good cheekbones here, like my uncle Hugenon Prince.”

“I’m sure Hugenon will be delighted to know he bears the resemblance. After all, who wouldn’t want to resemble a…”

“Squashed, boiled monkey.” giggled Lucy, rearranging the babe’s swaddling clothes. “Oh, Jargo, I must admit I never thought this day would come, we’ve waited so long” she reached into the pocket of her blue and white striped robes and retrieved a tiny scrap of lace.

“I know, pet, I know” Jargo patted her shoulder. There was a knock at the door “Yes?”

A little house-elf in red, gold trimmed table-runner, which was draped like a toga, stepped inside “Milady Black”

An elderly lady tottered into the room, her bun was white and her heart-shaped face was far more wrinkled than the youthful Lucy’s, yet her hazel eyes were just as bright.

“Oh, children! I am so pleased for you!”

“Come Mother, come look at him, he has our eyes and, I’m sure, uncle Hugenon’s cheekbones.”

“Yes, yes” smiled the old lady, gently taking the lace-trimmed bundle from his mothers arms “And you look like you have your Papa’s nose, little one. Oh, they’re so alike! You could never mistake who his Papa is!”

“Right, I’m off to wet the baby’s head.” Said Jargo in mock-ire “When one’s mother-in-law tells one that one’s nose resembles a button mushroom, there’s nothing a gentlemage can do but leave the room!”

“Bye Jargo”

“Don’t come back drunk, you old rascal. You have a son to set a good example.” scolded Mrs Black.

“I swear on my honour as a Gryffindor, Ma’am. Now, ladies, I bid you farewell” said Jargo, with a flourishing bow, before strolling down the corridor, whistling.

“Gryffindorks, my dear Lucy.” sighed Persephone Black with a wry smile “They’re always the same.”

Lucy laughed “Mother! You’re as bad as Jargo!”

“So, my dear, what are you going to be calling the little one?” said Persephone, summoning a chair.

“Well,” said Lucy thoughtfully “Jargo and I were rather fond of James but, now he’s here, it doesn’t suit.”

“No, no I quite agree. Awfully muggle name, James. This one is going to be intelligent, look at that forehead, like that of my dear father Phineas! A classical name, that would suit! Not Phineas, though, people might think he’s named after his muggle-hating great, great grandfather.”

“Classical… Hmm…”

“Oh look at that severe look he’s giving me, bless, he seems to be saying ‘who do you think you are, coming in and taking my mummy’s attention away from me?’” laughed Persephone.

“He is a serious looking little thing.” Lucy cuddled her infant son, smiling into his solemn little face.

“Not Sirius either, my love. That bitch Walburga is calling her whelp that.”

“Severus…”

“Hm? Oh, severe little Severus!” the old woman laughed “Namesake of the illustrious Lucius Septimus Severus: what a legacy! I quite approve, my dear.”

oOoOo

“Oh! Mrs Potter, little Severus is quite the most intelligent child I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. He’s so keen, so… so enthralled with the world. While most boys of his age simply stare out of the window and doodle knights and whatnot, Severus is simply a joy to teach!”

“I am most pleased, Myrtle, to hear such a glowing account of his progress” smiled Lucy Potter, her hazel eyes alight with happiness.

“I am wondering, Ma’am, as my father, I am a half-blood you see, he was a muggle scientist and, I think, it might be of benefit…”

“Oh, Myrtle. Teach Severus whatever you please. He is always telling me how you’re the cleverest witch in the world” Lucy giggled “I have to make do with just being the prettiest, though I think he’s a bit biased there!”

“Mummy!” A seven-year old boy with shoulder-length raven curls and bright hazel eyes dashed into the room, a bunch of daffodils clasped in a pudgy hand. He pulled to a stop and, taking a pair of half-moon spectacles from his pocket, carefully divided the flowers according to colour, he turned around with two bunches.

“Here you are, Mummy. I got the white frilly ones for you because you like lace and I got the yellow ones for Miss Myrtle, as they look like Wordsworth’s ones. Daddy took me flying” the little boy said seriously.

“Wordsworth, Severus dear?” Lucy said, savouring the daffodils’ sweet scent.

“The muggle poet, Mummy! He’s not half as good as Rochester, though.”

“Rochester! You’ve been in my private library again, young man” said Myrtle, blushing.

“Well, I’ve read everything in ours. Everything I’m allowed to read at least!” said the child, pouting.

“I don’t think you were allowed to read the Rochester, either, Severus?” said Lucy with a smile.

oOoOo

“Oh, Papa I just don’t think brooms like me. They never do what they ought!”

“I know, Sev but it’s an essential skill.” said Jargo, helping his son up and gently dusting the grass from his knees.

“I know Papa. I’m just no good at it, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t much good at Charms, old chap but I kept on at ‘em till I conquered them. It’s the Gryffindor way. The Potter way! Now, lets try again.”

“Is there another way to fly, without broomsticks Papa?”

“Is this your subtle way of asking for a Pegasus, Sev?” Jargo ruffled his son’s messy hair, whilst pondering who would be the best breeder to approach.

“No, Daddy!” the little boy said in a bored tone “I mean fly without sitting on something, by oneself!”

“You mean levitate? Well, old boy, the short answer is yes but it’s a rather remote form of Mind Magic.”

“Mind Magic?” The boy’s hazel eyes sharpened in interest.

“Oh, I’ve caught your fancy. Tell you what, get airborne and I’ll find you a Legilimancy tutor, one who can teach you how to do without a broom.”

“So I’ve got to learn to fly with a broom before I can learn to fly without” the child asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

“Enough of your cheek, my lad” laughed Jargo “Now, let’s see whether we can tame the beast now.”

“Yes Papa.” smiled Severus; Papas were so funny and strange sometimes.

oOoOo

“Grandma Persephone, how exactly does a wand choose it’s wizard”

“Well, Severus, we’re probably going to have to ask Mr Olivander for a full answer to that but I can tell you a few principle facts. Wand cores tend to mimic their owner’s traits; unicorn hair, for example, is rather Hufflepuff: for the pure of heart, see. Phoenix feathers are good magic boosters, though they’re picky, tend to choose highly magical people. If you’re a bit of a bastard, you might get Dragon Heart-sting. My Grandfather had one of those.”

“Was he a bastard, Grandma?” Severus asked, tilting his head on the side.

“I’ll say he was; threw my father off simply because he didn’t buy this prejudice against muggleborns.” Persephone snorted, thumping her walking stick on the ground. “Demiguise hair is good for transfiguration, as is Hippogriff talon for charms and Runespoor fangs for Defence. Kelpie hair, on the other hand, is a good all-rounder. Papa had an Ashwinder ash core; the wand knew he’d have something to protect.”

“Hmm…” Severus walked along, deep in thought.

“You’ll find out soon enough, love. Here we are!”

Severus stepped into the tiny, dusty shop, looking with awe at the shelves of faded, ancient looking boxes.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Black. I assume this is young master Potter.”

“Good afternoon, Sir.” Severus said politely “I’m here to choose a wand.”

Olivander nodded, smiling at the precocious child “Indeed, well, let’s see what we have. Now, Elm and Kelpie hair, a fine wand, supple”

Severus looked at the wand appraisingly “A good all rounder. What does elm mean?”

“Oh, you know something of wand-lore” the old man said in a delighted voice “Well, Elm is a noble tree, a leader but not a follower, practical, generous, modest but a little unforgiving.”

Severus waved it but nothing happened.

“Olive and Runespore, give it a try.” Seeing Severus’s inquisitive look, Ollivander smiled “Olive is the tree of intelligence: practical, sensitive, empathic and scholarly.”

“And it sounded so promising” Severus sighed when the wand failed to work.

“Hmm… maybe Phoenix Feather and Holly; deeply spiritual, very powerful and wise.”

“Nope” Severus put down the wand with a grimace. They’d all sounded really good: why weren’t they working?!

“Don’t worry, young chap. There are plenty more to try. Now” Olivander opened a wooden chest “I have a very fine wand here, Walnut and Chimera scale”

“Chimera scale?” Severus asked, his hazel eyes widening.

“Oh yes, very rare. Few are compatible but, as you got no reaction from the others…”

“What does it mean?” Severus said, gazing at the dark red, ornately carved wand in fascination.

“Walnut is full of contrasts, unrelenting, ingenious, ambitious, admirable and noble. Chimera scales are a highly powerful core, some think they are better than phoenix feathers.”

Severus picked up the wand and swept it though the air, before jumping back, hazel eyes wide behind wire-rimmed specticals, his dark, tousled hair falling over his shoulders, as every wand in the shop stood to attention with a smart thump.

Ollivander looked smug “Seven galleons and three sickles, please.”

oOoOo

“Bye Mummy, Papa, Grandma” Severus said, giving them each a hug in turn.

“Good bye, Severus dear.” Lucy said, stroking Severus’ shaggy mane out of his eyes.

“Don’t fall into the trunk! Might never find you in that library you’ve got stowed away in there.” grinned Jargo, lighting a cigar.

“Smoking is bad for you, Papa. It says so in the Science Journal!”

“You tell him, Sev my love” said Grandma Persephone, kissing Severus on the cheek “Live up to your name-sake.”

“Now, we don’t mind where you end up sorted…” started Lucy.

“Nonsense! Boy’s a Gryffindor through and through!”

“Slytherin!”

“Oh be quiet Persephone” chuckled Jargo.

“I think I’m more of a Ravenclaw actually.” Severus said, hauling his trunk beside him. “Orchideous!”

After furnishing his mother and grandfather with bunches of celandines and rosemary flowers and his father with a fragrant buttonhole, Severus waved goodbye to his family and hauled his trunk onto the train