Linuxia

Heloo! As I was listening to my Daft Punk, "Harder Better Faster Stronger", (WOOT!) I realized that my reviewers needed another hit. *cackles!*

AIMHIGH44: Thank you for your encouragement! I really haven't done this 'genre' of HP FF before, and I wasn't sure how it would go over. It will
get interesting when Harry finally gets up the chutzpah to admit it to her. Cuz then, she goes running to daddy . . . *EEVIL SMILE!*


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Samara trembled with exertion as she let go of her father’s hand. So much absorbed . . . in so little time. Her hand still smarted, though the cut had healed but few seconds ago. Her father looked shaken as well. “Father?” She cradled her hand.
“Yes. Samara?” He shook slightly as he sank into his armchair.
“What did you just do?” She felt brim-full, and at the same time, starved.
“I did what is commonly known as a blood transfer. It is a misnomer, however. All that I knew by the time I had reached seventh year, as you have, has been copied, not emptied, from my mind and is now imprinted in yours. You know what I knew.”
“Mm.” She sat on the footstool, a surprisingly endearing habit that her father was less than eager to rid her of, for reasons Samara didn’t know and he was loathe to explain. It always hurt him to think of Lupe. “Father, I don’t understand something.”
“Yes?” He was exhausted, suddenly.
“Why are some of these spells in bright lights and some of them obscured?”
“Some need to be obscured. I tried to hold back those spells, but it didn’t work.”
“Are they bad?” She was still amazingly innocent.
“Yes. Some of them. Some of them are merely forbidden.”
“I’m hungry.” She wasn’t whining. Samara never whined. She merely earnestly stated something and left it at that. “May we go and get something to eat?” Severus smiled, his face lightening.
“What would you like?”

Sammy, or Sam, as she came to be called in the following weeks with her father and Winkie, turned out to be a normal teenager in that she adopted a certain food and would have lived happily on that food for years. What made this uncomfortable for her father was that her chosen food was muggle Chinese take-away. It was payback, Severus decided, as his chosen food had been, surprisingly or predictably, the same. She also shared her father’s love for Potions, books, and good alcohol. Many became the night she and her father would spend with the chessboard and brandy.

On one such night, her father denied her the usual second game of chess. “But Father, you’re losing!” She giggled.
“Yes, but tomorrow we’ve an appointment at Gringotts. Left two.” His king slid out of danger, and his castle took the king’s place. “Can’t have you showing up tired.”
“Father, please . . .? Knight to H-7.”
“No, Sam.” The king took off his crown and placed it at the knight’s knee. “My king may surrender tonight, but I won’t.”
“Father, I get it.” She paused. “What’s Gringotts?”
“The wizarding bank.”
“Ah.” She put her chessmen away. “Why are we going there?”
“That should be obvious.” He sipped his brandy. “To withdraw money.”
“I know THAT, Fluff-head. What are we doing tomorrow that requires Sterling?”
“We won’t be using those Muggle confetti bits. We’ll use wizarding money.”
“Wizards have their own money?” Severus blinked suddenly.
“Lucius never-” He cut himself off. “No, of course not.” There was a good deal Lucius never did, surprisingly enough.

“Father! Look!” Sam was like a child at Halloween, suddenly, seeing the great Golden doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, London.
“I see.” He walked up to the counter, Sam following obediently, but ogling everything she saw. “I wish to make a withdrawal, and have a 10:00 appointment with your account manager.” The Goblin behind the counter nodded and took his key, inspected it, then handed it back.
“Silverhammer will see to it, Mr. Snape.” Sam stared, not able to help herself. “Sir?”
“Yes?” Snape’s tone was both warning and calming. Sam heard the warning.
“Who is the young lady?”
“She is my charge, and that is all that is needed, thank you.” A tall, by comparison, and lanky goblin stalked over.
“Follow me.” Severus followed, an eternity more focused than his daughter.

Sam was following her father, turning at least every two feet to absorb some new detail. After one such turn, she ran smack into a young man about her age. They both proceeded to fall into the cold marble floor. “I am so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be so clumsy, I really should have-”
The stranger’s smile cut her words short.
“It’s fine. Did you enjoy your trip?” Sam laughed at the stranger’s joke. He had the most gorgeous green eyes she had ever seen, partially obscured by rather horrible glasses.
“Quite a lot.” She saw her father turning to look for her. “Excuse me.” A quick smile and she went to her father’s side.

“Ah. Done flirting, are you?” He smiled slightly at Sam’s blush. “Come here with you.”
“Father, I wasn’t flirting! I was . . . apologizing . . . for running him down.” The skeptical look on her father’s face made Sam’s temper flare. “What!!?” He shook his head in response.
“Sit.” She obeyed huffily, flumping into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Silverhammer’s desk.
“Now, Master Snape, to what do we owe one of your rare visits?” It struck Sam that this goblin had good English. Very good.
“I wish to sign a copy of my key over to this young lady.”
“Ah, I see.” He looked from one to the other. “She is a relation?”
“Yes.” He was getting testy.
“Sir, I have to be sure for security reasons.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. I have the form right . . .” He shuffled through a stack of papers, “here.” He produced a slip of parchment. “Just sign here.” Severus scanned the form, then signed his full name with a flourish. A tiny golden key appeared suddenly on the desk. “Very well, there it is. Thank you very much, Master Snape. is there anything else?”
“Yes. I must make a withdrawal.” A nod from Silverhammer and he led them to another Goblin.
“Griphook should be able to see to your problem.” With a courteous smile, he walked off.

“Father, will we always get money like that?” Sam felt a little ill.
“Unfortunately.” Sam was quiet for a little while, soaking in Diagon Alley: the shops, the Pubs, and the many, many, many other attractions of various sorts.
“Father, where are we going now?” Sam had noticed they were running out of shops.
“Ollivander’s. Makers of the finest wands in the world.” Sam remained silent, an oddity. “Why so quiet, love?”
“He’s here . . .” He followed the blanched stare to none other than Draco Malfoy, and found himself little less than enraged.
“Come, Samara. We’ve business to take care of.” Just as he planned, Draco recognized his businesslike, curt tone. Sam just blanched even further, but followed his quickened footsteps.
“Godfather!” Draco called out. “Godfather! Over here!” Snape, unlike most all other occasions, duly ignored the boy. It felt terrific.

They had entered Ollivander’s by the time Draco had caught up with him. “Godfather, that was cruel of you, leading me on such a merry chase!” He was flushed, as though he’d been running.
“Indeed.” There was a small yip as Sam felt a pale hand on her shoulder. “What are you up to lately?”
“Oh, listening to Father complain how I’m not Head Boy.”
“Ah. Who, might I ask-”
“Potter, of course. Dumbledore’s apron-string bound Golden boy.” He continued, “Of course, it is a pity how far that school has gone downhill . . .” Severus stopped truly listening, watching Sam being measured.

Sam yipped, surprised at the barely-there touch on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid.” The voice was strangely comforting, and had a tone Sam didn’t recognize, an accent . . . like a gorgeous mix of everything. “I am Mr. Ollivander.” The pale stranger explained, “And you are here for a wand.” Sam nodded.
“Yes, sir.” Mr Ollivander chuckled.
“No need for such formality. Now, which is your wand arm?”
“I’m . . . um . . . I can use either hand as well as the other.” Those haunting silver eyes widened.
“A rare talent. Do you mean by this that you can write with both, or that you can cast spells with both?” Sam blushenothnother rarity.
“I’ve never honestly cast anything, Mr. Ollivander. I don’t know.” Mr. Ollivander examined her palms for a moment, than called a tape measure over.
“An oddity, this . . . a girl starting Hogwarts in her Seventh Year . . . never had a wand . . .”
“I’m sorry . . .” Sam’s voice cracked.
“Not at all, dear girl. I was just wondering what a girl of your blood is doing not at Hogwarts.” He produced a very old wooden box. “Try this one. Rosewood and Dragon Heartstring. 9 inches. Go on, give it a wave.” Sam did. Nothing happened.
“Was it supposed to do that?”
“No.” He took it from her. “This one.” Another ancient box. “Ironwood and Phoenix feather. 10¼ inches. Go on.” Still nothing occurred.

Down through nearly every wand in the shop, at least all the ones in the front room, Sam went, not a single one yielding to her effort. “Hm. Perhaps this calls for one of our more intriguing wands. . . I shall return.” Ollivander left momentarily, leaving Sam alone with her father, and the one person she hoped never to see again. “Ah, are we done?” Severus noticed Sam standing, looking confused and close to tears.
“No. He needs to get some more wands.”
“Surely he can do . . .” He looked around the front room. “Oh dear.”
“Who is this?” Draco had not only noticed Sam, but had an eyebrow raised approvingly.
“This is Sam. My daughter.” Severus’ tone was dangerous.
“Calm yourself, Godfather, I won’t try anything she doesn’t want me to!” Draco laughed lightly, trying in vain to dismiss any suspicion.
“Too late.” Sam muttered.
“I’m sorry?” Draco said.
“It’s getting late, isn’t it, Father?” Severus checked his pocket watch.
“Just past Eleven . . .” Mr. Ollivander walked back in, carrying three VERY old boxes.
“Oh, boy . . .” Sam went over to him.

“Here we are, then. these are the most unusual wands I have, so perhaps one of them may choose you, hm?” Sam nodded as Ollivander pulled out a beautiful wand, colors playing all over its sheeny surface. “Here we are. Phoenixwood and Juniper, Demiguise hair, coated with diamond dust.”
“Phoenixwood?” Sam asked, noticing how warm it felt as her fingers wrapped around it.
“Yes. If one of these extraordinarily rare trees burns down, it will be back again by morning. Also, feel how warm it is?”
“Yes.” She waved it. “Nothing.”
“Ah, well. Try this.” A black, white and green braided wand, with an amber-colored tip was presented. “Ebony, white pine, and spruce. Containing one heartstring from an Antipodean Opaleye.” Again, nothing. “Hm . . . it’s down to this, then. A simple wand, compared to the others, but you may understand why it is rare in a moment.”

Sam took the wand, and again felt a strange warmth, but this one spread up her arm and to her heart. She waved the wand simply, no flounces or flicks of her wrist, and a shower of pure-white sparks shot out. “Ah, it worked!” Mr. Ollivander said, his face smiling and gentle. “But how odd . . .”
“What’s odd? Sam said, looking at her wand, getting used to the weight.
“That wand choosing you. For, oddly enough, it is made of Holly, imbued with Yew, and contains not only a phoenix feather, but also phoenix tears. The length, 13½ inches, is what makes it all the more odd. Your wand is a combination of the two that belong to the bitterest enemies of this day: Harry Potter and Voldemort. Of course, it was a different phoenix . . .”

Sam was very confused by the time they’d paid the requisite 15 Galleons and left Ollivander’s. “Father? Who is Harry Potter? And Voldemort? Why is my wand so odd?”
“One at a time, child.” Severus paused. “For one thing, most of the wizarding world is not comfortable saying Voldemort’s name. Most say You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter was the only person to survive The Dark Lord’s, Voldemort’s, attack, when both his parents had been killed. Despite all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named still is very desirous of Harry Potter’s own written demise.” He took a breath. “As to why your wand is odd, I’m sure I don’t know. I am not Fae, as Mr. Ollivander is.”
“Fae?” Sam was even more confused, by the way her face went squinched and drawn out at the same time.
“Of the Fair Race, those who understand magic more than you or I could ever hope to.”
“A fairy?”
“Only by rumor, but no. Fairies, as you know them, are pests and menaces to wizarding society.” Severus walked into the Apothecary with the air of one walking into a grocer’s for laundry soap. After all, this was his playground. Sam stopped dead after the unicorn horns. She was, after all, still a girl.

And girls will often work their fathers over for what they can, and any teenager who tells you different is lying to you. “Father? I have a request . . .” She was sitting across from him in one of the nicer pubs of Diagon Alley.
“Yes, my dearest?” He was besotted with her in little less than two months.
“May I have some plainer clothes for Hogwarts?” She blushed.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Honestly, father. You expect me to wear silk to Care of Magical Creatures? And soft sateen slippers?” She was getting her father’s sense of practicality. This scared Snape.
“Well, don’t you think you’d want to look pretty?” He was getting his former wife’s sense of dolling a girl up. This made Samara nervous.
“Father, there’s a time for pretty and a time for practical. I need clothes I can replace, AND not feel bad about tearing. Some decent shoes that can stand more than a day on my feet would not go amiss, either.” Snape sighed.
“I suppose we could stop at one of those Muggle shops and get you a few pairs of trainers . . .”

Samara had never seen anything like a Magical shop, let alone a department store, let alone the store her father had taken her to, after changing into a dress shirt and pants and tying his hair back. “Father!” She half-squealed. “There are so many different types!” The saleslady recognized a newbie when she heard one. They were quickly surrounded by chittering women, all saying how this pair showed off Miss Sammy’s slim ankles, or this pair was just her or this pair . . . Severus left before his head exploded from the saccharine level.

Sam came out of the store wearing a pair of simple black trainers, a pair of low-rise jeans and a thin-strapped tank top with a black cat on it, carrying three or four bags. The color came out of Severus’ face. “Don’t worry, Father . . . I discovered the clearance rack.” They let me wear this outfit out, because they said it was cute.” She got a serious look on her face. “Whatever that means.”
“You look like a walking felony.” Snape managed. “Come on, then.”
“What in Merlin’s undershorts is that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. You look too good to be my daughter.” He kissed her forehead and put an arm around her.
“Father? You’re not shagging someone my age, are you??” Snape chuckled and they apparated off.
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Next Chapter: Part Three! Hogwarts . . .

Fun fun fun!