Fate Set Right

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

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November 3, 1993

Severus Snape felt old.

He was stiff, injuries from his youth aching with the Scottish dampness. There was also the stress of having had a mass murderer near the dorm of the boy he swore to protect, and his own beloved offspring.

And it was that offspring that was causing him to feel exceptionally old; he didn't feel he was ready to be a teenager's father. He couldn't process that his little girl was turning thirteen years old today.

Severus was not the type to be maudlin. He did not sit in his desk chair and stare at the top of her curly head bent over a cauldron and think of her days as a babe. He did loathe how much she was like her mother, far too mature for her age. He missed the days when she was small, brave, and wise, but quite cunning. Her at five years old, brewing a simple first year potion with only minimal assistance; her first solo flight on a real broom at six when Hermione was too busy with toddler Leo to realize what he was doing. It had been fifty-fifty on which house she would be sorted into, both he and Hermione agreed that those were her only two options, and they'd only know when she was sorted. She could easily convince them she hadn't eaten the cookies despite the crumbs on her face, and yet was willing to dive headfirst into something that would give Draco pause.

And here she was, thirteen, in a red and gold tie, still brave, wise, cunning, but no longer small. There would be boys trying to court her now, in just three years they would need to discuss what she wanted to do after Hogwarts. There were talks of possibly hosting the Triwizard Tournament and a Yule Ball next year for the first time in fifteen years. She would be a year too young to go on her own, but she'd probably attend as someone's date.

"Professor Snape," his daughter's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he realized he had gotten a bit maudlin after all. She was handing him a bottle of her completed potion, the first in her class, as always.

"Thank you, Miss Snape," he said as he collected her bottle and set it in the wire basket with the others. She'd been brewing Sleeping Draught since she was nine, he knew it would be perfect.

Standing abruptly, he swept the room to inspect her classmate's cauldrons.

It was the disgusting shade of green of one young Slytherin boy's potion that made him pause. Green meant that the lavender hadn't been put in at the right time, and it was nearly too late to fix. Severus looked from the cauldron to the boy, then followed the boy's half-glazed eyes right to ...

He snatched the boy's book from the table and smacked him on the ears with it.

"Ow," the boy whined, rubbing his ear as the class gave an unsure giggle.

"Pay attention, Mr. Devon, or you will find that instead of a Sleeping Draught, you've created a disgusting, foul-smelling potion that would put you in a coma from poisoning. Either way, you will be taking a sample of it tonight before bed. Hope you merely find yourself well-rested come morning rather than haunting the common room."

He swept away, watching another Slytherin and the Creevey boy suddenly spring into action. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Idiots, the lot of them. If they really thought he'd make them drink poison, then he knew his momentary wistful remembrance was not about to ruin his reputation. The potion would make them ill, of course, and make them wish they'd followed instructions, but it wouldn't kill them.

He sighed to himself, realizing that one of his greatest fears as a father of a pretty girl was already beginning. At the same moment, he felt his right knee buckle.