Leaving Erebus alone in a room was a surefire way to ensure that something was destroyed when he returned. That was made clear early on, when one day Snape had returned from a staff meeting to find his sitting room had been ransacked. Quills, papers, and books had all at one point felt the tender attentions of the powerful beak, and Erebus was standing in the middle of it looking not one bit abashed. "Hello!" the bird greeted him with a cheerful bob of his head.
It had been all Snape could do not to release his temper. In truth, he did not know what impulse had held him back from anything more than a few stern words and a disappointed glare, but hold back he had. At that point Erebus had retreated to his perch and watched in silence as Snape cleaned up his quarters, grumbling below his breath from time to time. Most of the papers had been salvageable, thank Merlin, but at least one book had been beyond repair, leading Snape to ward his bookshelves so that the bird could not touch the books. Later that evening, Erebus had been more than usually affectionate, snuggling up to the potions master and alternating between demanding caresses and preening Snape's hair, leaving the man grateful for his earlier restraint.
After that, Snape allowed his familiar to accompany him wherever he went as the surest way to prevent another such incident. He even procured another perch for his classroom so that Erebus would have a place to sit rather than having to balance on Snape's arm or shoulder for the entire class.
The bird's antics often made up for the frustration he engendered, although Snape was careful to hide most of his amusement from his students and colleagues. He picked up on phrases quickly, often ones Snape did not even realize he had been using often enough to inspire mimicry. "Five points to Slytherin," was a favorite as was the low and menacing, "Detention!" which had been among the first new additions to his vocabulary. Erebus had lately taken to sneaking up behind unsuspecting students in the Great Hall and saying the latter. Then, after the student had whirled around in fright, the bird would laugh—a sound he most definitely did not pick up from Snape—and fly away.
Sometimes, Erebus even managed to give a detention that was justified. For example, one afternoon when a disgruntled Hufflepuff had been caught muttering under his breath that Erebus and Snape were destined for each other because, "…the bird has a schnoz nearly as big as Snape's." Erebus had assigned detention and then turned around and with the appearnce of great deliberation, pooped on the student's homework. Snape, feeling no pity for the insulting miscreant, made it two detentions and insisted the homework be recopied onto clean parchment before being turned in.
But for all that the bird apparently took pleasure in frightening students with the idea of detention, Erebus had a hatred for bullies. He would fly at older students who looked to be picking on younger ones, or at groups of students who ganged up on an individuals, as often as not screaming "Detention," "No," or "Stop that!" and taking points, although not always from the correct house. It made Snape proud to see that his familiar was helping to prevent the same kind of torment he had suffered at the hands of the Marauders. Proud, that is, until Erebus's ire turned on him.
It was near the end of the spring term of their second year together, and students were becoming frantic in their preparation for the end of year exams. This, predictably, led to dangerous mistakes while brewing. One Hufflepuff, a habitually poor student whom Snape had given up on as hopeless with potions, somehow managed to melt a cauldron of Cooling Concoction, sending the practically molten liquid coursing through the room, incinerating anything organic that it came into contact with.
Once Snape had vanished the mess and ensured the safety of the rest of the class, he turned on the miscreant, ignoring the apologies he was barely able to distinguish through the child's sobs. "Idiot child," he began, pleased to see the child flinch and lean away from him. "Detention Mr. McCleary, and be thankful it is not expulsion. Where you trying to kill all your classmates? Never have I been forced to deal with a more incompetent—" The rest of his rant was cut off by Erebus, who landed on his shoulder screaming loudly and cuffing him about the head with his powerful wings.
"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you!" he cried, turning his head to look at his enraged familiar. "Settle down," he instructed, reaching up to stroke the parrot's back in a way that normally worked to soothe him. Instead of submitting to the calming touch, Erebus screamed again, leaning forward to place his beak right next to Snape's ear as he did so, and then twisted about and bit Snape's finger. Hard. The pain was enough to interrupt Snape's previous train of thought, and only then did he realize that the source of Erebus's upset was himself.
"Everybody out. Now!" he commanded, vanishing the remaining potions and glaring about at the students. "Mr. McCleary," he snapped out before the still-tearful Hufflepuff could leave the room with the rest of the fleeing children, "I will see you in this room tonight at seven."
The room finally empty, Snape strode up to his desk and collapsed in his chair as Erebus flew to his perch and eyed Snape. The look made him feel as though he had been measured and found wanting, a sensation he had not experienced in some time. He had come to care for the bird, it was true, but he was not about to let Erebus dictate how he taught his class. He scolded his familiar quite fiercely and then forgot about the incident.
Only Ereubus seemed intent on reminding him. Over the next two weeks several similar scenes played out, with Erebus interrupting a number of promising tirades, biting Snape in the ear once and tearing a great hole in his teaching robes another time. It was after the fifth such incident that Snape finally connected Erebus's behavior of late with how the parrot reacted to incidents of bullying.
After dismissing the class, Snape had retreated to his office to ponder the change in his familiar's behavior. Erebus, for his part, was sulking on his perch near the fire, probably because Snape had once again scolded the bird for his interference. While he did not like being at odds with his familiar, not least because he could feel the bird's hurt and anger through their bond, he was grateful that he would have the opportunity to think without interruption.
Until the incident with Mr. McCleary, Erebus had never bitten him hard enough to break the skin before. The worst he had gotten was friendly nips or a warning in the form of firm pressure. For all of Erebus's poor manners in matters such as stealing food, the only time he had attacked anyone had been in defense of another person. And now he had begun attacking Snape in defense of students. A hot flush spread through Snape's body, tinging his sallow cheeks red. He was strict, it was true, but he would never, never, raise a hand or a wand to a student. None of the children would have endured more than a tongue lashing and a detention scrubbing cauldrons or the floor or preparing foul potions ingredients.
So why did Erebus act as though he were about to harm his students? A traitorous thought wormed its way through his mind and froze him where he sat.
There is more than one way to harm a child.
Had he, in fact, become one of the bullies he abhorred? Snape was not a nice man, that much he knew. He kept tight control over his classroom in part for the safety of his students and in part because he disliked the childish antics the children would get up to otherwise. Beyond his general discomfort with unnecessary and ill-timed frivolity, he also detested the arrogance and bullying often displayed. That was fine, but taking pleasure in causing the children to fear him was not, and he could not deny that he did so.
Bile rose as he realized how similar his behavior was to that of the Dark Lord, in spirit if not in deed. The Dark Lord had not simply killed his victims but had tortured them. He had not tortured them because he needed to extract information or even to inspire fear in other—Snape could have understood, if not condoned, either motivation. No, the Dark Lord and his followers had tortured their victims simply because they delighted in causing pain. It had been one of the first things that made him uncomfortable about his service to Lord Voldemort, though not, he remembered, uncomfortable enough to stop attempting to curry favor or to attempt to leave.
He was disgusted with his own behavior. True, Snape needed to command immediate obedience to prevent injuries, and he also needed to maintain his cover as a spy, but he should not allow himself to relish the thought of seeing a child shrink back in fear of him. Was he not clever enough to correct a student and make them aware of the seriousness of their mistake without resulting to petty name calling? He might still inspire fear in some of his students, but he need not revel in the fact.
Snape roused himself from his contemplation to see that Erebus was still sulking, but had at least turned to observe him, the bird's dark eyes unwavering and intent. "I owe you my thanks, Erebus, and my apologies." The cockatoo's crest rose slightly; he was listening. "Your interference these last weeks has been justified, and it was my own fault for not recognizing that fact. I intend that you will never again have cause to do so, but should I falter, I hope you will not hesitate to correct me."
He held out his arm and Erebus few over, which Snape interpreted to mean he had accepted the apology. Indeed, the bird promptly hopped down onto Snape's lap and leaned against the man's chest, clicking his tongue against his beak in the way Snape had come to realize signified contentedness.
"You're a good boy, Erebus, and I do not deserve you," Snape confessed, so quietly that anyone more than a foot away would not have heard. Erebus clicked his beak, this time in apparent irritation, and snuggled further into Snape's robes.
"Good boy. Good boy, Erebus," the bird crooned.
Meanwhile the search for Harry Potter continued. Snape was not often called upon to take an active role these days; what few hints and whispers they heard were mostly people claiming to friends to have met the boy, and the stories were without fail fabrications.
That didn't bother Snape in the least. After concluding that the Dursleys had neglected the young boy, he had resolved that when Harry Potter come to Hogwarts he would treat the boy the same as any other student and would rein in any tendency to project his own dislike of James Potter on the boy. However, his resolve not to dislike Potter despite his parentage did not extend so far as to not find random interruptions to his routine rather annoying. Especially as they required him to go haring off to the corners of the country chasing down what were invariably false leads.
No, what bothered Snape was the fact that the Dursleys had not been adequately punished. Worse, they had not been punished at all. Dumbledore had forbidden any act of retribution or harassment against the Dursleys.
"It must not become common knowledge that Harry Potter is missing," he insisted. "Any legal action against them would alert the world, any other action would be illegal. If they took it into their heads to complain to the ministry…"
Snape had sneered, "You believe me incapable of subterfuge, Headmaster? I would not leave them any reason to think that magic was involved."
"The risk is not worth the reward. It is best to wait until we can take the matter to the aurors."
"So you would wait until we find the child, or he is killed, to act on his behalf?"
"Everything I do is on his behalf, Severus."
Snape had longed to continue the discussion, but Dumbledore had dismissed him. One could rarely prevail against Albus Dumbledore, and more often than not when someone did carry their point it was only because the manipulative old coot had intended them to do so all along.
If Dumbledore was protecting the Dursleys, he no doubt had a reason beyond what he had shared. As far as Snape could see, however, that family could only be of use to Dumbledore in one way, and it was not one Snape would support. Snape owed his survival to well-honed instincts and a talent for reading situations. He now found himself in the unwelcome position of hoping that his instincts were failing.
It was the following year that Snape realized that he had still been underestimating his familiar's intelligence. It was now over two years since Erebus had chosen him, and from the beginning of the term, the bird had become increasingly troublesome during classes. Without warning he would abandon his perch to fly about the room, landing on students' desks, upsetting ingredients and screaming "Dunderhead!" at the top of his formidable avian lungs.
Thrice now Snape had scolded the bird for making a mess or interfering with a student.
This time Erebus had decided to fly at Robert Hilliard, a first year Ravenclaw who had demonstrated a good sensitivity and aptitude for potions. It was a crucial stage in the brewing, one where several ingredients had to be added in quick succession. The bird landed on the table, grabbed on to the sleeve of Hilliard's robes, and pulled hard enough to make him drop the finely chopped unicorn tail hairs he had been about to add to his potion.
"Oy! What do you think you're doing?" the boy asked, snatching his arm away. Upset though he was, he did not attempt to lash out at the familiar, something Snape noted with approval as he strode up to the work bench.
"Erebus, to me," he said in a tone that brooked no disobedience, giving a sharp nod when the bird stepped onto his arm. Then he looked at the potion and shook his head, it was too late to salvage it. A year or two ago he would have given the boy a zero for the day and been done despite it not being Hilliard's fault, but though it had taken effort—and a few reminders from Erebus—he had taken the lesson on not bullying his students to heart.
"You will have to begin again," he said, flicking his wand to vanish the now ruined brew. "Do you prefer to start now and stay after class or to come tonight at seven?"
"I'll do it now, sir." Hilliard said, not quite hiding his resentment at being forced start from scratch. Snape gave the child a warning glare but did not take points. Hilliard's resentment was not unreasonable and he had tried to suppress it after all. Had Erebus ruined one of his brews in that way, Snape doubted he would be so calm about it.
Satisfied that the situation was settled, Snape carried his familiar to the front of the room, putting him back on his perch. "What is wrong with you, Erebus?" The question came out in a hissing whisper that he hoped none of the students would be able to overhear. "Do I need to leave you in my quarters or office during class? You know better."
Erebus, who was quite capable of looking chagrined when Snape scolded him for things like drinking pumpkin juice from the headmaster's goblet and then knocking it over onto Dumbledore's lap, flattened his crest and hissed before turning his back on the wizard. Snape's eyebrows rose. "Very well, you have made your opinion clear. But if you do not stay on your perch and silent for the remainder of class, I will leave you in my quarters every day for the next week."
As he walked back out among the work benches, he wondered if anyone had ever grounded a parrot before and if it had worked.
Class passed without further incident, leaving only Hilliard who, though efficient, would still need at least another fifteen minutes to complete his potion in Snape's estimation. That time passed in silence but for the incidental noises of brewing or the scratch of Snape's quill on parchment as he graded the essays that had been turned in earlier. Erebus was still, crest lowered and facing away from Snape; he had never seen the bird take a scolding so poorly.
So lost was he in considering the reason for his familiar's unfamiliar behavior that he failed to notice Hilliard had finished until the young Ravenclaw set his bottled potion on the teacher's desk.
"Thank you. You may go, and my apologies for the disruption." Erebus clicked his beak in irritation, but he was still facing away from Snape and could not see the glare his disrespect earned him. "Behave," the potions master chided his familiar.
Snape saw Hilliard's glance flick back and forth between himself and the great parrot as the child shifted nervously. Odd, he had never thought Hilliard particularly felt intimidated by him.
"Er, actually, you needn't apologize for that, sir. In fact, I think I owe your familiar my thanks and an apology."
Snape felt his eyebrows go up at that assertion, but the boy continued before he could formulate a response.
"When I set about preparing the ingredients to start over, I noticed that before I was interrupted, er…that I hadn't added the jewelweed extract yet."
The last bit had come out in a rush and it took Snape a moment to parse out the sentence. He did not bother to suppress the sharp intake of breath as he realized what might have happened had Hilliard added the unicorn hairs to the potion in that state. The boy would not have been the only one injured in the resulting explosion.
"I see," he drawled, his voice taking on a dangerous note. "And what excuse do you have to offer for such carelessness?"
"I was not paying as much attention as I ought, sir. I am sorry."
Snape nodded. He despised excuses, and would only have lowered his estimation of the boy had he not chosen to take responsibility for his actions so stoically. "Very well. I want two feet of parchment on what would have happened should you not have been stopped and what you will do to prevent future incidents of this nature. And you may offer your thanks to Erebus."
"Thank you, Erebus," Hilliard said, offering a formal bow to the now attentive bird. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you were stopping me from having to take up residence in the Hospital Wing for the rest of term."
Ah, so the boy did understand the likely results of his error. Good.
For his part, Erebus accepted the apology by bowing in return, lowering his head in what to Snape was a clear request to be pet.
"He is inviting you to scratch his head," Snape informed his student.
"Oh. I couldn't…that is, I wouldn't want to offend…"
"Nonsense. He has requested your attention, how could bestowing it give offense?" He appreciated the child's hesitance, though. Some witches and wizards did take umbrage when others touched their familiar.
Still tentative, Hilliard reached out a hand and gently stroked the bird's head, smoothing over the spiky crest feathers. He repeated the gesture, more sure this time. "I hadn't expected him to be so soft," he whispered, continuing the stroking.
After a minute, Erebus lifted his head, rubbed the side of his beak against Hilliard's hand, and then sidled over to his food bowl and began to eat. He wouldn't have known by the bird's posture, but Snape could feel smugness radiating through their bond.
"Could I," the boy began, but hesitated, only resuming his speech at Snape's nod. "Could I maybe get him a thank you present? Is there some food he likes, or a toy or something?"
Snape felt the corners of his lips twitch but stopped the smile before it became noticeable. That level of deference to another wizard's familiar was generally a sign of great respect for both the animal and the man. "He is well supplied with food from the kitchens, but he is fond of destroying wooden toys," Snape gestured to one such item hanging near the perch, already chewed and splintered almost beyond recognition. "Hagrid made that one, and I am sure he would not object to teaching you how to do the same should you wish to make the attempt."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor, Erebus."
Finally alone with his familiar, Snape sat, rather stunned.
Erebus had intentionally and purposefully interfered with a student's brewing thus averting an unqualified disaster. Had all his interferences throughout the term been similarly motivated? To his regret, Snape had to admit that it was likely so, though he could not recall with enough precision to be certain.
"I had not realized you took such an active interest in my field, Erebus, I apologize for not recognizing sooner."
For the first time since he had scolded the parrot, Erebus turned around to face Snape. With his crest mostly raised and his head tilted, he actually managed to look smug. "Good boy, Erebus!" said the bird.
Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, yes. Good boy, Erebus. You know, if you were not so fond of knocking things over during meals, I would not have been as likely to attribute your behavior to your penchant for creating mischief."
The smugness Snape had been feeling from Erebus became moderated with chagrin, and Erebus tilted his head to give Snape a questioning look.
"But you are still a good boy, Erebus," Snape added. He very nearly rolled his eyes at his own sentimentality, but it cheered him to see his familiar's good mood restored so easily. "And from now on you have my approval to interfere with my dunderheaded students whenever you see fit."
A happy bob answered his words, and the bird flew to Snape's outstretched arm. "Good boy! Good boy!" the bird called and then butted Snape's hand to demand attention. He really was fortunate that his familiar was so forgiving.