I do love this story. I love prickly, uncertain young Snape, and I love bitter anise-flavored older Snape, and, well:
The look of panic that this reply brought to Severus's face was priceless, and Minerva might have laughed aloud had she not recalled something that helped her preserve her countenance
I love the sheer normality of panicky baby!Snape, and the slightly vindictive amusement she takes in it.
"You are mad, bad, and dangerous to know," Minerva had answered, both because it was true and because she wanted time to think before venturing a more substantive remark. [...] The more controversial his decisions, the more he liked to spring them on people without warning, before they had a chance to formulate reasoned objections.
I love that she completely has his number. She would have to, I think, after all those years.
"For heaven's sake, Professor Snape," she snapped one afternoon... "Children are not nine-pins. Try not to bowl them over."
I laugh each time I read this. Because he would. And she would have that dry sense of humor even when exasperated.
The stains on his hands were more prosaic: walnut juice and luna caustic, henna and sea buckthorn.
This is quite evocative.
As time went on, she saw signs that he was developing into something of a decent man as well.
I'd imagine it would take him quite some time, but he would eventually start to show signs of it.
"Haven't you?" he retorted, a flush staining his pale face, and she belatedly felt the rudeness of her question. She recalled that Severus had had an unhappy childhood somewhere in the north of England; of course he wouldn't be eager to return to any home that might remain. [...] "I'll hardly be joining you for cosy evenings around the fire, if that's what you're worried about," he said, the inevitable sneer twisting his lips.
They're so deliciously sharp and awkward.
But she'd had too many years of success with imperious stares to be daunted by one scrawny, scowling lad.
Yes, she would do, wouldn't she? :)
He brought home-made absinthe. So much for "weaker."
Well, of course he did. (And brewing his own absinthe in the classroom? Naughty.) :)
"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Sympathy is for Hufflepuffs."
Of course it is. :)
There was no discussion, just a brief exchange of glances before she stood up and headed towards the door, knowing he would follow.
There's so much wonderfully unspoken yet understood here.
Sometimes as they lay together in the dark, he would tell her things.
What painful, bittersweet, revealing moments.
"If you ever," Severus hissed, forcing out each word between clenched teeth, "mention this insane idea to anyone again, you will be lucky not to choke to death, and if you try to write it down, you'll paralyse your arm for the rest of your meddling life, do you understand me?"
Yes, he would.
He'd sold his grim old family home in Spinner's End and moved to a small flat just on the edge of wizarding London, though for the most part, he no longer had much to do with their world. Still, he'd not made the place Unplottable, and she took this as an encouraging sign.
There's something sort of wonderful about this detail, just the quiet matter-of-factness of it.
The bottle was ancient and ornate; its silver trimmings combined with its green contents to make a fitting gift for a Slytherin.
Another wonderful detail. And a reconciliation that's so them: none of the emotions on the surface. Sympathy, after all, is for Hufflepuffs.
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The look of panic that this reply brought to Severus's face was priceless, and Minerva might have laughed aloud had she not recalled something that helped her preserve her countenance
I love the sheer normality of panicky baby!Snape, and the slightly vindictive amusement she takes in it.
"You are mad, bad, and dangerous to know," Minerva had answered, both because it was true and because she wanted time to think before venturing a more substantive remark. [...] The more controversial his decisions, the more he liked to spring them on people without warning, before they had a chance to formulate reasoned objections.
I love that she completely has his number. She would have to, I think, after all those years.
"For heaven's sake, Professor Snape," she snapped one afternoon... "Children are not nine-pins. Try not to bowl them over."
I laugh each time I read this. Because he would. And she would have that dry sense of humor even when exasperated.
The stains on his hands were more prosaic: walnut juice and luna caustic, henna and sea buckthorn.
This is quite evocative.
As time went on, she saw signs that he was developing into something of a decent man as well.
I'd imagine it would take him quite some time, but he would eventually start to show signs of it.
"Haven't you?" he retorted, a flush staining his pale face, and she belatedly felt the rudeness of her question. She recalled that Severus had had an unhappy childhood somewhere in the north of England; of course he wouldn't be eager to return to any home that might remain. [...] "I'll hardly be joining you for cosy evenings around the fire, if that's what you're worried about," he said, the inevitable sneer twisting his lips.
They're so deliciously sharp and awkward.
But she'd had too many years of success with imperious stares to be daunted by one scrawny, scowling lad.
Yes, she would do, wouldn't she? :)
He brought home-made absinthe. So much for "weaker."
Well, of course he did. (And brewing his own absinthe in the classroom? Naughty.) :)
"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Sympathy is for Hufflepuffs."
Of course it is. :)
There was no discussion, just a brief exchange of glances before she stood up and headed towards the door, knowing he would follow.
There's so much wonderfully unspoken yet understood here.
Sometimes as they lay together in the dark, he would tell her things.
What painful, bittersweet, revealing moments.
"If you ever," Severus hissed, forcing out each word between clenched teeth, "mention this insane idea to anyone again, you will be lucky not to choke to death, and if you try to write it down, you'll paralyse your arm for the rest of your meddling life, do you understand me?"
Yes, he would.
He'd sold his grim old family home in Spinner's End and moved to a small flat just on the edge of wizarding London, though for the most part, he no longer had much to do with their world. Still, he'd not made the place Unplottable, and she took this as an encouraging sign.
There's something sort of wonderful about this detail, just the quiet matter-of-factness of it.
The bottle was ancient and ornate; its silver trimmings combined with its green contents to make a fitting gift for a Slytherin.
Another wonderful detail. And a reconciliation that's so them: none of the emotions on the surface. Sympathy, after all, is for Hufflepuffs.