Harry Potter: I became Snape

"It's time to get a new wand," Severus Snape said, eyeing the parchment in his hand. He placed a gleaming silver badge that had tumbled out of an envelope onto the table. "Professor Dumbledore keeps his word, doesn't he?"

Ten minutes earlier, the school owl had delivered his seventh-year booklist, along with a small badge engraved with "HB."

"What's this?" Eileen Prince, wiping her hands on her apron, stepped over and picked up the badge curiously. "Oh, Head Boy! That's wonderful, Severus!"

"Yes, yes," Snape drawled, rising slowly and giving an exaggerated bow before seizing Eileen's hand. "My dear mother, seeing you fills my heart with joy."

"Oh, stop it," Eileen laughed, her eyes crinkling into slits as she tried to pin the badge onto Snape's black robes. "Why don't you wear it, and we'll take a trip to The Burrow?"

"No way," Snape said, leaping back. "I'm not parading around with a badge that screams 'Huge Bloated Head' for all to see."

Lily Evans, sitting nearby with an envelope of her own, burst into laughter.

When she opened her envelope, a badge engraved with "HG" fell out—Head Girl.

"Well, look at that!" Eileen's eyes sparkled. "Lily, you've got one too! How wonderful! You two are Head Boy and Head Girl. Come here, let me pin it on you…"

Lily's smile faded.

"But are you heading to Diagon Alley so soon?" Eileen asked, securing the badge on Lily's robes before turning back to Snape. "Shall we go together?"

"No need," Snape replied, pulling an old wand from his robes—the one that had once belonged to an Albanian witch. "This wand's been nothing but trouble. I want to replace it as soon as possible."

"Won't it affect your Apparition?" Lily asked, subtly trying to remove the badge without Eileen noticing.

"It does," Snape admitted. "That's why I'm taking the Knight Bus. According to The Daily Prophet, it's back in service as of last month."

He walked to a cupboard and pulled out a handful of brightly colored toys—extras he'd bought last time for Percy.

"See you later," Snape said, pushing open the front door.

With a deafening bang and a screech of brakes, the vibrant purple Knight Bus materialized on the rural lane of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Snape waited as the door creaked open.

The driver, Ernie Prang, leapt out in a flurry. His gray hair was plastered to his forehead, and his thick glasses were fogged up.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus… I'm Ernie Prang, your driver and conductor—"

"Ernie," Snape interrupted, "long time no see. You doing alright? Just you today?"

"Oh, it's you." Ernie pushed his glasses up from the tip of his nose. "No one else wants this job, so it's just me… Gotta work, right? Where to?"

"Diagon Alley," Snape said, counting out eleven Sickles. "Same price as always?"

"Yep." Ernie nodded but didn't take the coins, glancing nervously at the empty bus instead.

In the daylight, the Knight Bus had no brass bedsteads. Instead, it was filled with a mismatched assortment of chairs, each more peculiar than the last.

"Just one passenger, shouldn't be any trouble," Ernie muttered to himself before stepping aside to let Snape board.

"Ernie," Snape said, pulling the children's toys from his robes as he climbed aboard, "these are for little Stan."

A flush crept across Ernie's weathered face, his rough hands fidgeting with the hem of his uniform.

"It's not like that…" he said in a low voice. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful… If you hadn't been there last time, things could've been much worse."

"It's fine," Snape said, settling into a seat. "I understand. Something like that leaves a mark on anyone."

Ernie nodded, returning to the driver's seat. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he jumped up again.

He dashed to the back of the bus, rummaging through a storage box to retrieve a large slab of chocolate.

"On the house," he said awkwardly, thrusting it toward Snape. "Want it?"

Snape took the chocolate. "Thanks, Ernie."

With a thunderous roar, the Knight Bus lurched forward. Outside, buildings, bins, telephone booths, and trees seemed to leap out of the way in alarm.

After a breakneck journey, Ernie slammed on the brakes, and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt outside The Leaky Cauldron.

"We're here," Ernie said, hopping down from the driver's seat and panting as he opened the door. "Diagon Alley."

"See you, Ernie," Snape said, stepping off.

He pushed open the door and entered the dingy, cramped pub.

At noon, the place was quiet. A few old witches sat in a corner, sipping sherry from small glasses, puffing on long pipes, and playing a game of biting cards. A portly man was chatting with the barman, Tom, whose bald head and walnut-like face gleamed faintly.

"Something to drink?" Tom asked, wiping a glass with a gray rag as Snape approached. "Beer? Brandy? Or maybe some dragon's blood whiskey for a kick?"

"Sure," Snape said. "A pot of tea and some toast will do."

He'd planned to head straight to Ollivanders, but a quick drink wouldn't hurt. Alcohol, though, was never his thing—not exactly a wholesome choice.

Moments later, Tom brought a tray with tea and toast to Snape's side.

"Tom," Snape called as the barman turned to leave, "how long have you been running this place?"

"This pub's been mine since the twenties," Tom said with a note of pride. "Why, young sir, looking to buy The Leaky Cauldron?"

"No," Snape said, sipping his tea. "I just think your name's rather nice. Out of curiosity, have you ever met another Tom here?"

"Plenty of Toms around," Tom said with a wink. "But if you're buying old Tom a pot of rum, I might jog my memory."

"Alright, a pot of rum then," Snape said.

"One pot of rum," Tom said, settling down without actually fetching the drink. "Speaking of my name, years ago I did meet a lad who shared it."

"Tom's a common Muggle name, but not so much among wizards," he continued. "So I remember that little wizard. A Muggle-born, coming here all alone without a Hogwarts professor. Whoever was in charge wasn't exactly thorough."

Snape chuckled, wondering what Dumbledore would think of Tom's assessment.

"A handsome lad, like me in my youth," Tom said, grinning to reveal uneven yellow teeth. "Didn't even have a wand yet, but stood there at the bar, polite as you please, asking if I could open the way to Diagon Alley."

Snape's fingers tapped the teacup absently.

"Did you ever see him again?" he asked, mentally cataloging known Horcrux hiding spots.

The Leaky Cauldron, a bustling hub, seemed an unlikely place for Voldemort to hide a Horcrux. So where else might he have stashed one before entrusting "a reward beyond the Lestranges' dreams" to them?

"Let me think…" Tom grabbed a piece of toast, slathering it with butter. "He must've come back a few times, but I can't recall when exactly. You know how it is—too many faces."

"Well, young sir, I've got customers," Tom said, spreading his palms. "With the rum, that'll be two Galleons, rounded down."

Snape paid and crossed the bar to the small, walled courtyard. With a tap of his wand on the bricks, the passage to Diagon Alley opened.

A winding, cobblestone street stretched endlessly before him.

Navigating the bustling crowd, Snape reached a small, shabby shop. The peeling gold sign above read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. The dusty window displayed a single wand on a faded purple cushion.

A bell tinkled as an old man appeared.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Ollivander said. "How may I assist you?"

"I need a new wand, sir," Snape said. "The old one… er… broke."

"A new wand?" Mr. Ollivander grumbled. "Why is it always the same excuse these days?"

"Many others?" Snape thought of the wands he'd accidentally destroyed, realizing he'd unintentionally become Ollivander's repeat customer.

"Yes," Mr. Ollivander said, fixing Snape with his silvery eyes. "I remember you, Severus Snape. Ebony and dragon heartstring, a powerful combination."

"Hmm." Ollivander's sharp gaze swept over him. "You lot should cherish your partners—wands aren't disposable. Come, Mr. Snape, let's see."

He pulled a silver-marked measuring tape from his pocket. "Right-handed, are you?"

The tape began measuring Snape on its own—shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally, head circumference.

Snape couldn't fathom why Ollivander bothered, given that young wizards grew and wands varied in size anyway. He chalked it up to the quirky traditions of a wandmaking family spanning two millennia.

Ollivander bustled between shelves, reciting the familiar spiel: "Every Ollivander wand contains a core of powerful magical substance…"

"Here," he said, handing Snape a wand. "Same as your old one, just longer—fourteen and a half inches. Wizards rarely change their material preferences. Give it a wave."

Snape took the wand and flicked it. A faint glow sparked at the tip.

Ollivander snatched it back. "Strange, very strange… Adequate, but nothing like the spark of your first visit."

"Perhaps a different material?" Snape suggested, shrugging.

"No, no," Ollivander said stubbornly. "It's just a matter of fine differences. Let's try another of the same."

For the next half hour, Snape tested every ebony wand in the shop.

Reluctantly, Ollivander conceded, "Perhaps we should try other woods."

"Try this," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Beech and unicorn hair, fifteen inches."

"Maybe we can skip beech," Snape said, taking the wand.

Before he could wave it, Ollivander yanked it back.

A dozen common combinations followed, none performing as they should in Snape's hands.

"A picky customer!" Ollivander muttered. "Let's see… Ah, yes—acacia and phoenix feather, thirteen inches. A rare combination."

The moment Snape grasped it, a warmth surged through his fingers. With a gentle wave, a silver bird burst from the wand's tip, darting between shelves and trailing shimmering specks.

A seamless resonance flowed between the wand and his magic, a sensation of effortless harmony he'd never felt before.

"Oh, perfect!" Ollivander exclaimed, relieved. "Finally, a wand that suits you."

"Acacia wands are highly perceptive," he continued. "They often refuse to perform for anyone but their owner and only yield their full potential to the most gifted. Once bonded, they adapt to any magical discipline, from delicate Transfiguration to potent battle magic."

"Congratulations, Mr. Snape," he said. "I believe you'll achieve great things!"

"That's the second time I've heard that," Snape said, pulling seven Galleons from his purse. "Here."

"Not quite," Ollivander said, waving his wand to tidy the scattered wand boxes. "Seventy Galleons."

"Seven Galleons is the subsidized price for young wizards, courtesy of the Ministry and Hogwarts," he explained.

"Is that so?" Snape felt a pang. Even with money to spare, the thought of destroying wands worth thousands of Galleons stung. "Any chance of a discount, sir?"

"No," Ollivander said firmly. "In two thousand years, Ollivanders has never offered discounts."

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