So much like Lily! A reader, and a storyteller at that. Then a thought made me walk a bit slower. Did he sense my approval? Was he trying only to appease me? I remembered that day at the pub – could he even read? Why else would he want me to order for him? A niggling voice was trying to tell me he simply did not feel comfortable ordering due to the monetary aspect, as well as his acclimation to being fairly starved. Perhaps I was caving to cynicism . . . but before I bought him anything at Blighe’s, he was going to be given a reading test!

……………………………………………………

The book shop made the library at my primary look like a tatty shelf! The children’s section had loads of books covered with shiny, colorful sleeves. I was used to the graying, mottled library book covers.

Of course, after Dudley shredded my first ever checked out book in first form, I’d not been allowed to take out, or even page through, the books in Mrs. Warnette’s care. Every little piece of me hoped, wished, my Snape would buy me a book. He seemed excited to be here as well, not like the toy seller’s. There was even a cheery lady at the front who sprang to life once we stepped in. She had on funny glasses with a messy, but fussy, hair style. I swore she could have been Professor McGonagall’s muggle double! Only she was a lot friendlier than that professor.

I waited, holding my breath by his side, for the command to look about. But he didn’t give it; instead he picked a very childish picture book and held it in front of me, opened to the first page with words. I hoped I could prove to him I wasn’t stupid. Would he hate me if I did poorly?

“I like to run. Tom likes to run. We run at home. We run at school.” I read as quickly as I could, stopping at all the right places and such.

The book was snatched from me, a chaptered one put in its place.

“When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her slim legs might be tired and her small body might be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold looks for thanks . . .” I wanted to keep reading this one, but he took it away.

“Now tell me what you read,” he said sharply, watching close. Another test; would I be good enough for him to want me?

“Well, sir,” I began quietly, “It was about a girl who had lots of chores and errands to do. She had to go outside and run from place to place even in cold, bad weather. She was tired and cold and hungry, but nobody . . .”

It was so sad. I bit the insides of my cheeks to get my mind off unhappiness until my task was finished.

“Nobody cared, sir.”

……………………………………………………

How affected he was. ‘Probably a good sign. He needs to reason things out.’

Next I gave him a condensed classic version of one of my favorites. Although in the wizarding world I would vehemently deny it, a tattered copy of the complete works of Charles Dickens was ever-present in my library.

He adjusted his glasses and put his face mere inches from the smaller type. We’d have to see about wizarding spectacles as well as his neglected shoes. In a timid but eloquent voice, again he read rapidly, accurately.

……………………………………………………

David Copperfield. I thought I’d heard of this story before; perhaps on the telly?

“I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I moved. The key was turned, and Miss Murdstone came in with some bread and milk. These she put down upon the table without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness, and then retired, locking the door after her. Long after it was dark I sat by the window sill, wondering whether anybody else would come. My imprisonment lasted five days and I saw no one, Miss Murdstone excepted. The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any one. They occupy the place of years in my remembrance.”

This book, too, was liberated from my shaky grasp, and I was bid to tell it over again as well.

“A boy, David Copperfield, he was thrashed and then locked in his room for five days. It seemed like forever to him, though, and the only person he saw was Miss Murdstone. But he got milk as well as bread, and he had a window to look out of. That was nice of them.”

Now I’d displeased him! Didn’t know how, but he looked angry and sad all at once. He put the book carefully back upon its shelf, clearing his throat.

“Are –are we leaving now, sir?”

“Why do you ask?” he countered, eyebrow raised. He was good at answering questions with questions.

“Erm, I don’t, I mean, you put the book down, sir – godfather.”

“We’re not leaving yet. You surprise me, child,” he said carefully, in a different tone of voice than I’d ever heard.

“I’m sorry, sir!”

“Stop apologizing. You surprise me for you read far better than I’d expected.”

“Oh.” ‘I did something good? I did something good!’ “Thank you, godfather!”

“What kinds of books do you like to read, then?”

A better question would have been what kind of book didn’t I like to read!

“I like to read anything, sir.” ‘Uh-oh, don’t want him to think I’ve been reading his books!’ “Anything I’m allowed,” I added quickly.

“That hardly helps us discern the appropriate tome, child!”

I didn’t mean to anger him. I didn’t. I was just exceptionally good at it!

Hastily, I added, “I liked those last two you had me read from, sir.” A glare. “I mean, godfather.”

“Very well.”

He bought both of them for me! I even got two free bookmarks, one with a thorny looking dragon, the other one with a paler-than-the-moon colored unicorn.

“Next stop will be the grocer, Harry,” my godfather threw back over his shoulder as I hugged my books and ran after him. It didn’t even occur to me to trip and fall down.

……………………………………………………

Walking down the hill to our little hovel, repressively weighed down by disgusting muggle paper bags, a voice from my past ripped me from melancholy reverie.

“Mum! They’re coming down the road now!” yelled a boy kicking about a football.

Then the mum’s voice, Chloe’s, rang out, “Well invite them for tea, then, William.”

The snotty lad did not even bother to wait for us to reach our Spinner’s End hovel, rather he shouted up at us, “Mum wants you for tea, Mr. Snape. And who’s that there? She wants to know that as well.”

Soon as that left his lips he was called in and scolded, as well he should have been. I noticed Harry was looking up at me expectantly.

“Would you like to go to tea at the neighbor’s, Harry?” I tried to keep the words from dripping with disdain.

“Very much, sir!” he answered more confidently than I’d heard before. How could I say no?

……………………………………………………

Godfather put the food away for us while I washed my hands and face, even though I wasn’t dirty. He’d gotten bags and bags of things at the grocer, and I was nearly certain I’d get to try all of it. And I was going to read books, and play with a new toy. But first, I was invited to tea, with a boy only a bit older than me, I thought. I had to try very hard to keep from jumping up and down waiting for tea time to come. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like forever. My trainers were even transfiggered to be smaller, and shiny black. I got a look in the mirror and except for my hair I looked like I could be a boarder at a private school, Smeltings even.

Godfather didn’t seem as excited as me, though. In fact, his face might even have been paler than I’d ever seen it. That boy, William, was it? He’d known godfather by name. Of course! This was here my Snape had grown up, so they knew his family. And his father.

“Godfather?” He narrowed suspicious eyes at me. “If you’d rather not go to tea . . .”

His mouth formed a tight line that said he’d already made up his mind. He held out his hand, and we were off. I had a strange feeling that he needed his hand held just then more than I did.

……………………………………………………

Chloe Smith was quite frumpy, with hair in disarray, as she opened the door to her smart little cottage. It had exactly the same layout as ours, but well kept and well lit. ‘The only reason Harry and I don’t live in complete squalor is due to his backbreaking work.’ I’d have to redecorate this evening – magically.

Much to my chagrin, the children, including Chloe’s daughter Sarah, were sent outside with biscuits, cucumber and butter sandwiches, and milk. Meanwhile, I was entrapped with dowdy Chloe, with whom I’d spent six years of oppressive primary school.

Inevitably, her first questions were about the boy. Dutifully, and more cheerfully than I’d ever have imagined, I shared the story of my acquisition. After she confirmed that I was, indeed, a teacher, she asked, or rather, stated, something rather extraordinary.

“So what class do you teach at Hogwarts then?” she asked around a chocolate biscuit.

I dropped my teacup, leaving it shattered on the wooden planks; a great commotion had begun in the garden.