Professor Snape swept out the castle doors and walked with purposeful and measured strides in the direction of the gamekeeper's hut, glaring at a noisy group of first-years—Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, he noted—as he passed. The day was unseasonably warm to the point of being uncomfortable, and the sun beating down on his black robes only worsened the situation, yet he did not falter in his purpose or let any hint of his discomfort show. His irritation, however, he did not even attempt to restrain. At least one child flinched away from his sharp look, he noted with pride.

Normally, he would have preferred to be in the cool of the dungeons on a day such as this one, but today he had been driven out of the castle by the wagging tongues of dunderheaded children. Every year there were a number of students who were convinced that he was an unregistered animagus who took the form of a bat or a raven or some other similarly dark animal with an unpleasant reputation. That was fine. Somewhat amusing, even. But he would not stand for any insinuations that he was anything other than full-blooded human, and he had overheard several students in the last week discussing whether or not he, Severus Snape, was a vampire. It was altogether unacceptable.

Walking down to Hagrid's hut on a sunny weekend afternoon in full view of any number of students ought to put that rumor to rest. It was fortunate that Hagrid had sent a brief letter this morning informing Snape that he had acquired a valuable potions ingredient or he might have had to manufacture a plausible reason for his walk. Preferably one that involved taking a large number of points from the houses of the gossipers.

"Hello, Professor. Come for the horklumps have yeh?" Hagrid called in greeting, from too great a distance to be considered polite.

Snape suppressed a grimace at the gamekeeper's predictably poor manners. It wasn't that he disliked the man, precisely, he just found his relentless friendliness to be off-putting. Beyond that, Hagrid's judgement was on par with that of the average thirteen year-old. Snape did not care for the antics of teenagers at the best of times; seeing similar behaviors performed by an adult only made the situation worse. Still, for all the man's foolishness he was competent at his job and kept an eye out for useful potions ingredients without needing to be asked. He might not wish to take tea with the half-giant, but neither did Snape wish to alienate him.

"Yes, and I thank you for your effort in collecting them rather than exterminating them. I trust they did not do too much damage to your garden?"

Hagrid had led the way around to the back of his cottage and was opening the lids of several earthenware pots sitting against the wall. He paused to wave a shovel-sized hand. "Nah, nothin' that can' be set to rights soon enough. Ah, here it is." He picked up one of the larger pots and Snape took it with a nod.

"My thanks again, Hagrid." Snape said. He was about to turn, eager to retreat from the relentless rays of the sun, when he noticed the uncertainty in Hagrid's stance and realized that there was something on the man's mind. Hagrid hadn't said anything, and it was quite possible he wouldn't unless prompted. Snape very much wished to return to his quarters, but Hagrid had just done him a favor, quite possibly to his own detriment. When dealing with a garden, killing the horklumps was a surer method of control than uprooting them, since the infestation would return if even one tentacle was left underground. It would be only polite to spare a few moments of his time in return.

He paused and lifted one eyebrow, waiting.

"Er…" Hagrid shuffled his feet.

"Yes, Hagrid?"

"I was wonderin' if yeh might be willin' to give me a hand with summat."

Snape put down the jar of horklumps, indicating his willingness to at least listen.

"You remember the big storm we had abou' a week ago? Well next mornin' I found this." Hagrid gestured up towards the wall of his hut. Snape, following the direction of the wave, was just able to make out an unusual shadow up under the eaves. He took a half-step closer to the hut and squinted up into the darkness. A large bird of some sort, although between the bird's own feathers and the shadowy perch, it was difficult to tell more than that.

"He was injured. Couldn' fly, but was willin' to hurt himself further tryin' to get away from me. Even now he don' let me get too near before kickin' up a fuss. I can hardly leave him there hurt as he is, but he won' let me help."

That was surprising; Hagrid had a way with animals. "I do not see how I could be of any assistance. Your skill with animals far surpasses my own."

What was visible of Hagrid's face behind the bushy eyebrows, hair, and beard flushed at the compliment. "I thought tha' you might be able to get close enough for a spell or two. Put him to sleep, or maybe tell me wha's wrong."

"I can't put him to sleep, I'm afraid. The spells I know are intended for use on humans, and even the ones for children are likely too powerful for an animal of that size. I can attempt a diagnostic, but I am no expert on animals. It will produce results, but I cannot promise that I will be able to properly interpret them. Would not Professor Kettleburn's assistance be preferable?"

"He tried, but the poor creature took a dislike ter Proefssor Kettleburn righ' from the firs'. Nearly bit off a finger, he did."

"Very well, I shall make an attempt. I have no intention, however, of risking any of my fingers." Snape walked as close to the wall as he dared, stopping when a rustling sound suggested that the bird had begun to shift anxiously at their increasing proximity. For a moment he stood still, staring into the darkness and waiting for his eyes to adjust. It took a minute before he was able to make sense of what he was seeing. "A parrot?"

"Figure he was someone's pet an' got lost," Hagrid supplied, but Snape was focused on the bird. He had cast his diagnostic charm as Hagrid was speaking and the bird had reacted by shivering and tilting its head down to peer at Snape, despite the fact that it shouldn't have felt a thing. Witches, wizards, and magical creatures all tended to be aware when any magic was used upon them, but muggles and nonmagical creatures such as parrots lacked the sensitivity necessary to detect any spell that didn't have a direct effect upon them. There was one exception, though.

"Not a pet, I should think."

"What?"

"I do not think this bird was a pet; I think it was a familiar. It sensed my diagnostic charm, and familiars, even familiars of species that are not inherently magical, develop a sensitivity to magic over time." He shook his head slightly. What was it to him where the bird had come from? The diagnostic had revealed that the injury to the left wing, most likely a bad bruise or a mild sprain, was all but healed now as far as Snape could tell. "In any case, I doubt your assistance will be necessary. The bones and ligaments in the wing are structurally sound, and any residual soreness should fade in a day or two. Although it would be painful, he could probably fly off now without any ill effects."

Before Hagrid could respond to Snape's prognosis, the bird made another noise, this one rather cheerful sounding, and then spread its wings and launched itself into flight. Snape watched as the parrot flew over Hagrid's garden to land in full view in a tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid sighed and Snape wondered if he was disappointed to not have a chance to nurse the creature to health. It was quite an interesting specimen, he had to admit, and definitely not a species he had ever encountered before. The bird looked to be about two feet from head to tail and was pitch black save for a large patch of red between eye and beak. It also had a large crest of pointed feathers that were now raised, giving it the appearance of a muggle teenager wearing a mohawk. It screamed twice, bobbed in place a few times, and then settled down to preen its feathers.

"'S almost like he heard yeh, professor. Takin' off like he did righ' after yeh said he could."

"Indeed," Snape said with a slight sneer. The thought had occurred to him as well, and it was possible that his words had been understood if the creature had indeed been a familiar at one time. However, that wasn't important; his business here was done, and he had work to attend to. He collected the jar of horklumps, thanked Hagrid once again, and took his leave.

On the walk back up to the castle, not forgetting that one reason for bearing the heat was to dispel rumors of his vampiric nature, he took special care to scowl at as many students as possible save those from Slytherin, with whom he exchanged polite nods and greetings. He was nearly to the castle doors when, with no more warning than a brief flutter of feathers and a dark blur in his peripheral vision, the black parrot swooped down on him and settled itself on the arm that was holding the horklump jar.

Blast! Given the number of students around he had best react carefully, or there would be days of suppressed sniggering to endure. He directed his best sneer at the bird. "What do you think you are doing?"

Undaunted, the parrot rubbed the side of its beak against his arm, raised its crest halfway, bobbed its head and said, in an impressive imitation of Hagrid, "Hello!"

"Wicked familiar, professor!"

Snape turned a glare on the student unwise enough to address him.

"He is not my familiar, Mr. Weasley." His tone would have scared off most students, but the second Weasley child was apparently made of sterner stuff. If Snape hadn't been irritated with the second year's gall, he might have been impressed. Then again, as bravery was a Gryffindor trait, perhaps not.

"How'd you get him to come to you, sir? I've seen him about Hagrid's the last few days. Wouldn't let anyone near him: not Hagrid, not Professor Kettleburn, no one. Except, apparently, you." The boy cast a longing glance at the parrot, leading Snape to wonder just how many hours the child had devoted to trying to coax the bird out of its hiding place. Charlie Weasley had a reputation nearly as bad as Hagrid's when it came to taking in stray or injured animals and attempting to nurse them back to health.

Shifting the pot to his other arm, he held the other out in a clear invitation. "I have no need of a familiar. Perhaps you would like him?"

To his surprise, the young Weasley shook his head and backed up a step. "You might not have chosen him for your familiar, professor, but I think he's chosen you as his wizard. He won't stay with me."

The bird bobbed its head at this, make a noise that sounded like agreement, and then began to sidle up Snape's arm. Before he could stop it, the creature was perched on his shoulder, the top of its head level with his own.

Charlie Weasley smiled at the sight, nodded as though satisfied with his assessment, and then ran toward a huddle of Gryffindors watching from a safe distance. Somehow, Snape vowed, the next time he saw the annoying child in class, he would take points.

But now he had a more immediate concern. There was a two-foot tall parrot with a beak nearly the size of his fist perched on his shoulder. Turning his head to get a better look at the parrot, which had begun to preen his hair of all things, he growled, "Get down from there."

Twisting his arm up, he attempted to unseat the creature. He succeeded in getting the bird off his shoulder, but only because the annoying thing had hopped onto his forearm. Extending the arm quickly with a slight twist, he boosted the animal into flight, and then strode back to the castle doors. Before he could reach them, however, the parrot had circled back around, landing on his shoulder once again, hitting Snape in the back of the head with its wing in the process.

"I am not going to be rid of you, am I?" he asked, with a sigh.

"Hello!" the bird agreed, leaning into Snape's head for a moment before resuming pulling strands of hair through its beak.

He knew that Charlie Weasley was quite right that familiars, like wands, could choose their wizard. Given the bird's quick return to him just now, he suspected that the boy was also correct to assert that this was what had happened. Being chosen by a familiar was uncommon, and when it did occur there was little the human involved could do to separate themselves from their new companion save killing the animal in question, and that was something no witch or wizard in their right mind would do. Having a familiar choose you was powerful magic. Snape just hadn't known it was also so irritating. He shook his head. At least the animal that had chosen him was intimidating. He smirked, remembered how while he was at school a boy in Ravenclaw, an irritating prat who was nearly as arrogant as James Potter, had been chosen by a puffskein. Jonas was never quite able to maintain his high and mighty attitude to the same standard after that point.

Snape supposed he should feel honored, and on some level he did. But he had become a man of habit, allowing the familiar rhythm of his days to soothe away the horrors and uncertainty that had followed him for so long first as a Death Eater and then as a spy. A parrot as a familiar would disrupt his routine, and Snape was inclined to resent that disruption at the moment. Once a new routine had been established, then he might be gracious enough to acknowledge the honor the bird had done him.

Resigned, he entered the castle with the bird on his shoulder, wondering if he could teach it to call his students dunderheads and shout about detentions and point deductions.