7 Mother and Son

Today was the day to venture to Diagon Alley.

Upon learning that Lily and Petunia's new friends were fellow wizards, the Evans family was eager to accompany Snape and Callan, but their car could only seat four. Thus, Callan politely declined through Lily but promised to acquire his school supplies on the same day, albeit separately.

Snape sat in his dim bedroom, idly flicking his mother's wand at the ceiling to zap flies, waiting for the agreed time with Callan.

His hair was still a greasy mess, and his eyes occasionally drifted to the small cloth bag beside his bed. It contained the scholarship fund provided by Dumbledore during a home visit, delivered deliberately in the absence of Snape's father—Tobias Snape—and handed directly to his mother, Eileen Prince, who then passed it on to him.

Snape didn't share Callan's orphan status, but his long-term Muggle existence and extreme family poverty still qualified him for school assistance.

Remembering his mother's silent relief and the ensuing frustration that his aim was now off, Snape felt a whirlwind of irritation.

Standing abruptly, he adjusted his sole set of clothes in the shabby mirror. Callan's alterations were flawless, evoking rare astonishment from Tobias Snape, though his demeanor remained as wretched as ever.

Eileen Prince murmured softly, "Having friends is always good, always good."

Their sparse communication had alienated mother and son; Prince never shared her own school experiences, and Snape couldn't recall ever seeing her happy.

Restlessness besieged him again.

He couldn't pinpoint the source of his rising impatience and anger—was it his father's actions, or disdain for his mother's weakness?

Perhaps it didn't matter, for soon he'd be at Hogwarts, free.

And Lily would be there.

Thinking of Lily brought a rare, tender smile to Snape's face, unseen by anyone but himself.

But thoughts of Callan dampened his spirits.

Yes, there was Callan.

Snape remembered Dumbledore's penetrating gaze during his visit and the one question he asked.

"What do you think of Callan Sanster, Mr. Snape?"

What sort of person?

Annoying, verbose, despiser of Dark Magic yet tolerant of its existence, and a ravenous seeker of magical knowledge. Callan had devoured Prince's magical tomes in a short period, though how much he retained was uncertain.

"A very strange man, Professor Dumbledore."

That was Snape's final answer.

To him, Callan was a complex enigma; fond of magic yet not despising Muggles, loving White Magic with a personal threshold for the Dark Arts, and showing a nonchalant concern for both him and Lily.

Though not always pleasant, the outcomes were seemingly favorable.

After staring at his reflection, Snape sighed, stowed his mother's wand into a drawer, and adjusted his attire for the last time.

He descended from the attic, only to find his mother cleaning the house without magic—a foolish, Muggle method, he thought.

Even for his mother, it was simply foolish.

Prince looked up from her chores, her face a canvas of weariness and sorrow. She returned to dusting as if it were the only way to converse with her son.

"Do you really not need me to accompany you?"

Snape averted his gaze, tracing a crack in the wall, his voice low. "No need. I'll meet Callan before shopping with the Evans family. It shouldn't take long."

"That's good, that's good..." She murmured, repeating, "Having friends is good..."

She seemed to urge her son to cherish this rare friendship, but her words dwindled to a solitary phrase.

Silence reclaimed the house, broken only by Prince's soft sweeping.

The quietude threatened to drive Snape mad.

Unlike his parents' quarrels, this silence was equally loathsome.

The Evans household never endured such woes; Lily never spoke of such troubles, and even Callan never longed for his parents.

Perhaps being an orphan would have been better.

For the first time, Snape harbored this malicious thought.

After an inner struggle, Prince approached her son—closer than he'd ever remembered.

Anticipating what might come, Snape felt a sudden panic.

But his mother, head bowed, pulled crumpled pounds from her apron, stuffing them into his coat pocket. "Buy something nice, at least not second-hand robes," she said awkwardly.

Raising her eyes to her son, her arm twitched as if to caress his face, as mothers often do.

Instead, she resumed her endless chores, her head bowed once more.

In that moment, Snape felt a suffocating tightness.

Trembling, he stood rooted in place, but this silence brought relief, not revulsion.

"I'm leaving."

Hoarse and soft, these were his parting words before he departed.