PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: MirrorWakes

A/N: Thank you very much to my beta Rosie. She's a lifesaver!

Replies to Reviewers:

Lindfriend – Thank you so very much! Don't assume anything about Ebon's character… I've got a few things in mind that might surprise you very much, so you may get your wish after all.

the angel with no name – Thanks.

Kamp – '…the title is quite fitting seeing as how ebon is imitating Snape. It puts a different spin on mocking bird.' Wow. I was actually thinking of the Nursery Rhyme; 'Hush little baby, don't say a word. Papa's going to buy you a Mocking-Bird…' Now I think about it though, your explanation makes about as much sense. Thank you so much for reviewing. I love long reviews.

fragonknight01 – Thank you very much.

Romulus – Wow, thank you so much! Actually, I do speak like that – in my head. They're the thoughts I never dare say out loud.

Dreamweaver – Thanks. Yes, I agree about the 'Ebon', 'Harry' analyses.

Rhennan – Thanks.

Danu3 – Thank you.

Shadowed Rains – Thank you so much! I think I know what you mean about the Harry-Malfoy dilemma. This will all be explained later… I hope.

Thanks heaps to everyone else who reviewed! Sorry about the wait – this time it wasn't my fault. I've already started the 6th (7th) chappie!

Chapter 05: Pop Goes the Weasel!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope, Norton Juster and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Thoughts

ooOoo

Up and down the City Road,

In and out the Eagle,

That's the way the money goes,

Pop goes the weasel!

After a nerve-wracking trip to Madam Malkin's – in which Ebon attempted to make an imaginary tent out of one of the many racks of robes and, when caught, grabbed onto said robes, bringing the whole kit and caboodle crashing down – and an eventful trip to the Magical Menagerie – where Snape very nearly brained his son whilst attempting to levitate one of the wickerwork baskets off the highest shelf, and being distracted by a giant psychotic orange cat sticking its claws into his scalp and yowling like a demented banshee. Luckily, Ebon was quick on his feet, and able to avoid getting concussion from a rogue cat-holder. – Snape agreed to take Ebon to Quality Quidditch Supplies, on the condition that he keep his thieving little hands to himself and not move from his – Snape's – side!

When they arrived, Ebon stared in awe at the various gloves, balls, robes and brooms strategically placed around the store. "What' the heck's all this for? Is this stuff all quid ditch stuff? An' what's quid ditch anyway?"

"A foolhardy sport played on broomsticks," said Snape contemptuously.

"People c'n fly on one of these things?" Ebon asked, pointing at a particularly flimsy-looking broomstick.

"Yes, boy," said Snape, mentally rolling his eyes. "Brooms can fly, dive, barrel roll and perform all manner of wondrous stunts for the suicidally inclined."

"I'd love ta try one," announced Ebon, wistfully.

"What? Why?"

"It'd be… I don' know. I jus' think I could do it."

Snape glared at Ebon. The Potions Master loathed flying, and couldn't begin to understand why anyone would entrust their life to a flimsy wooden pole. He could only conclude that those sorts of people either hated their existence, and therefore wished to end it or, in the case of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, were simply too stupid to know any better.

"That statement was entirely too Gryffindor-like. Have you ever flown before? No," he sneered scathingly, when Ebon shook his head. "I thought not. You'll be in the hospital wing before-"

"Madam Hooch's goin' ta teach me!" Ebon interrupted.

"Which doesn't mean you'll be any good at it." Snape seemed to be taking undue pleasure in dashing his son's long-cherished dreams. "Neither I, nor your Muggle-raised mother," Snape's lip curled slightly, "had the slightest bit of talent for aerial dare-devilry."

Any reply Ebon might have made died on his lips when he caught sight of a tuft of flame-red hair, peaking out from behind a shelf stacked with gloves, blue robes and padding.

"Hey! What're you lookin' at?" Ebon asked angrily.

Snape whirled around just in time to see one of the redheaded clan sidle shamefacedly into view. "Weasley!" he snapped. "What do you think you're doing? Lurking around behind there! Is that what you parents have been teaching you, eavesdropping?"

The Weasley boy scowled ferociously at this new insult and drew himself up to his considerable height. "I was just looking at the Quidditch gear, when you two walked in and started arguing. It's not wrong to look at stuff in a shop, is it?"

"Why you insolent child!" snarled Snape. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner?"

"You're not my teacher yet! I can talk you any way I like!"

"No, as you so kindly pointed out, I'm not your teacher yet, but I will be next year. Assuming you don't turn out to be a Squib that is. Then I won't have the unpleasant task of attempting to cram valuable knowledge into your nonexistent mind."

The Weasley boy, whose face had been slowly turning an interesting shade of pink throughout Snape's tirade, went an alarming shade of red (which clashed horribly with his hair) at this last insulting remark.

"What the heck's a Squib?" asked an exasperated Ebon. "Ya keep on sayin' tha' word, but ya never tol' me wha' it means!"

"Squib?" asked the redhead, momentarily distracted from his anger by the odd question. "A Squib's a Muggle, born to wizards."

"Wha'? So they're the opposite to a Muggle-born?"

"Yeah. Why don't you-"

"Enough!" ordered Snape, scowling. "Come, Ebon. We've loitered here far too long. Move, Weasley!"

The redhead glowered bad-temperedly at the Potions professor, before pointedly turning his attention to Ebon.

"I'm Ron Weasley, by the way," he said.

Ebon grinned and walked over to Ron, his own hand extended. "Ebon Boon, Snape or Harry Potter," he announced.

"Huh? Harry Potter!"

"Ebon! Stop this right now! We are going to the Leakey Cauldron and-"

"You're not really Harry Potter, are you?" Ron blurted-out.

"Apparently. I only foun' out yesterday. I'm supposed ta be a wizard too. I suppose you're one. A wizard I mean. How do ya-"

Ebon's speech was cut short by Snape grabbing his arm and dragging him bodily toward the front of the shop.

"Just once I want you to listen to me. Boy, you will do as I say, or so help me, I'll make sure you regret it!"

"Let go of me! Stop! You're hurting me. OW!" Ebon gasped, as Snape gave his arm a particularly savage jerk.

"Hey!" cried Ron. "Why're you-"

"I happen to be this brat's father!" Snape growled.

"You… Father! What? Huh?"

Snape shot Ron a withering glance and continued to propel his son out of the shop. The Weasleys, or Redheaded Plague as he privately called them, was his least-favourite family. They were everything he despised – Gryffindor. No relative of his was going to associate with the likes of them. The twins, Fred and George, had come within a hair's-breadth of utterly demolishing his classroom on six separate occasions (it wasn't as though they were particularly incompetent, quite the opposite in fact, it was their never-ending urge to experiment that landed them in strife). The two oldest of the bunch, Bill and Charlie, had both been out-going to the point of insolence (an irritating trait their brother, Ron, seemed to share), and the academic, Percy, was the most annoying of all.

"If I ever catch you talking to their likes again, you'll regret it," warned Snape. He then proceeded to rant about the unadvisable leniency Dumbledore showed towards Gryffindors in allowing them to have the day off for something so trivial as their little sister's birthday. By the time Snape had exhausted this particular topic and moved onto 'the constant rewarding of Gryffindor House for nothing more than sheer stupidity', the pair had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Ebon sighed thankfully as he took a handful of Floo powder. He didn't think he could take much more of Snape's ear-bashing. For the second time that day, the street urchin scattered the sparkling powder over the flames, and quickly stepped in afterwards. This time making sure he spoke very clearly.

ooOoo

"Right," began Snape, "it's time we got you literate. I didn't think of it yesterday and it's about time we began."

Ebon grimaced and lifted his head to glance at the clock. "At six o'clock in the mornin'?" he asked incredulously. However, most of this sentence was lost in Ebon's jaw-cracking yawn.

"Well, I'm starting classes tomorrow, so today's the only chance I have to give you my undivided attention," Snape explained. "I'm going to have my work cut out for me these next few weeks. The professor that Dumbledore hired in my stead has proved himself to be nothing short of incompetent! According to Filch, the Gryffindor first years have managed to set fire to my classroom not once, but twice during my absence!"

Ebon grunted and slowly sat up. He glowered at Snape, disgruntled at being woken so early after such a late night. He and Snape had had a long talk about acceptable behaviour, who not to associate with and the rules the street urchin would abide by whilst he was still under Snape's protection. They'd argued quite a bit, so before they knew it, it was already eleven thirty.

"Who's 'we'?" asked Ebon suspiciously.

Snape sighed and matched his son scowl for scowl. "The headmaster took the liberty of recruiting Lupin to be your second tutor. Apparently I can't handle teaching you as well as my classes."

Ebon's mood brightened slightly. "So it's no' jus' you? Well, that's somethin'."

"How very flattering," sneered Snape. "I'll be sure to come to you next time I'm feeling down."

"You have no feelings," Ebon muttered spitefully.

"Oh how original. Right, get up. We'll have breakfast and then commence your educational experience."

Ebon groaned and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He pulled a new shirt over his head and stepped out of his pyjama bottoms. Ebon had got into the habit of sleeping half-naked in the Ken Payne Home for Foundlings. It had been stifling hot all year round and not even living on the streets for four years could break this custom.

"Where're we havin' breakfast?" called Ebon.

"In here," answered Snape from the living room.

"That'd be right," muttered Ebon. "If ya try an' make me eat tha' semolina crap again, I'll chuck it in one of ya weird mixes!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort! If you come anywhere within a ten-mile radius of my Potions Laboratory I'll hex you," warned Snape.

"Oh my! I feel faint! In fact I'm feeling a little light-headed," stated Ebon mockingly.

"Well that's because there's nothing up there!" retorted Snape. "Now come in here and eat your bloody breakfast, or I'll stuff it down your throat!"

Ebon reluctantly complied, muttering mutinously under his breath. He emerged from his room and immediately glanced at the table, thankfully noting the distinct absence of semolina. Instead, there was a bowlful of what appeared to be frog's eggs.

"What," began Ebon, wrinkling his nose disdainfully, "is that?"

"Sago," revealed Snape, smirking smugly at the emerald-eyed boy. "And you'll eat every last spoonful, even if we have to sit here all day."

"Does tha' mean I won't 'ave to learn me letters?"

"Nice try," said Snape, "but nothing short of death will get you out of that one."

"Take me back ta the Hog's Head then. I'm sure tha' bartender would be 'appy ta comply."

Snape's lips twitched slightly in amusement but, nevertheless, he shoved the bowl of frog's eggs under Ebon's nose.

"Eat up. The sooner you finish this sago, the sooner the day'll be over," advised the black-haired man.

"How does eatin' this rubbish make the day go faster?" sneered Ebon. "I'll probably spend the rest of the mornin' throwin' up!"

"Ebon," said Snape.

"Wha'?" growled the street urchin.

"Shut up!"

ooOoo

"So how're ya gonna educate me?" asked Ebon after he'd managed to force, and keep, his breakfast down.

"I'll lock you in your room until you learn," revealed the Potions Master.

Ebon's eyes widened in horror and he began slowly backing away until his back came up against the table. "Ya not serious… are ya?" he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

"Of course not, idiot boy. Dumbledore, not to mention Lupin, would have my head if I tried anything of the sort. We are going to sit down and I am going to read extracts from this… novel… Dumbledore loaned me for this purpose. Whilst I am reading, you will be following my words and if you have any form of intelligence whatsoever, you'll eventually pick it up."

Snape stalked to the couch and glared at Ebon until the small boy followed suit. When Ebon had settled himself comfortably beside him, the Potions Master opened the book to a random page and began reading in a monotonous tone. "He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity, 'Please, sir, I want some more(1).'" Snape continued in this manner for a good fifteen minutes more. When he finally glanced at Ebon, the ten-year-old was watching a beetle climb over the arm of the couch beside him with glazed-over eyes.

"Good gods, boy! Am I boring you?" growled Snape, snapping Ebon out of his trance.

"I 'ave no idea. I stopped listening ten minutes ago," retorted Ebon bad-temperedly. "Bloody 'ell, ya soun' like a scratched record! Repeatin' the same part over an' over an' over an'-"

"Enough!" Snape fumed, flinging Dumbledore's book in the direction of the lounge chair and scowling ferociously at it. "Right, that's it." He turned his menacing look upon his son. "You're bloody well learning to read by the end of the year, or else! And I guarantee that it won't be enjoyable!"

"For you or me?" said Ebon.

Snape grabbed hold of the small boy's shirt and yanked him off the couch. He roughly pulled out a chair and flung Ebon into it. "Now sit still and concentrate, Ebon. Or the raging infernos of Hell itself will be preferable to my wrath!"

"Wow," breathed Ebon, impressed. "I've gotta remember that one."

Snape groaned and summoned the book. "May the gods save me from Weasleys and my ten-year-old offspring," he muttered.

ooOoo

"How long are we stayin'?" asked Ebon, attempting to run a comb through his now neatly cut shoulder-length hair. He set the implement down after a mere ten strokes, already bored with grooming himself.

"Until lunch finishes. Here. Stop. Come back here now." The emerald-eyed boy halted, halfway to the door and looked back over his shoulder in askance. "Ebon, your hair's not properly combed unless you can run your fingers through it without a hitch," snapped Snape, inadvertently revealing the cause of his own greasy black locks. "Usually about one hundred and twenty strokes will suffice." He snatched the comb off the sink and proceeded to yank it ruthlessly through his son's ink-black hair. The small boy to couldn't help but wince as his sire mercilessly used the metallic fine-toothed comb to pull each knot apart, and his eyes began watering around Snape's third tug.

The Potions professor did have a motive for tormenting Ebon – it had been two and a half days since the pair's eventful Diagon Alley excursion, and last evening Draco Malfoy had owled the pair with an invitation to visit Malfoy Manor for lunch the following day (it was difficult to tell which had thrilled Ebon the most: the prospect of seeing his friend again, or receiving actual mail). Snape, determined not to be shamed this time round, had made it his mission in life for he and his offspring to look immaculate, or as close to it as they could come. He had even gone so far as to choose Ebon's clothes for him – a pair of grey Muggle strides and a royal blue sweatshirt under a brown, plainly cut robe – and probably would have dressed him as well if Ebon hadn't threatened to 'accidentally' knock his drink over once they were lunching at the Manor. Unwilling to risk this embarrassment, Snape settled for breathing down his son's neck and 'helping' as the boy attended to his toilette.

"Right, that's you done," announced Snape, finally setting down the torturing device disguised as a comb, to Ebon's great relief.

"Jus' a minute," said Ebon. "Wait for me outside, I won't be long. Hey! I can' exactly run off in 'ere," he continued, rolling his eyes theatrically as Snape hesitated.

"Very well. Don't be too long, or we will be late," warned Snape, stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Ebon sighed with relief. His father's instinctive distrust of human nature could be extremely inconvenient at times. Ebon scowled and picked up the comb Snape had used to straighten-out his locks. He gave the object one last loath-filled look before dropping it into the toilet, quickly pulling the chain afterwards. Then, grinning in a self-satisfied manner, he joined his father in the main room, more than ready to see his friend Draco again.

ooOoo

Draco Malfoy was just as excited to see Ebon. He'd actually missed his emerald-eyed companion, and had a whole list of sensational games to play, important things to talk about, and impossible stories to tell him. Normally, Draco didn't pay much attention to children of a similar age (preferring to flatter their parents instead). As long as they gave him their undivided attention, Draco was satisfied, and could prattle away for hours about totally inconsequential topics – his favourite being what he was going to bully his parents into buying him for Christmas, his birthday, or for simply existing. Malfoy younger hardly ever shared his possessions. He didn't mind showing them off or, rather, he loved showing them off, but the thought of actually allowing another to touch one of his belongings was abhorrent to him. Therefore, it would have surprised a great number of people (had they known) when the blonde-haired boy practically dragged Ebon up to his room and proceeded to plonk at least ten items into the street kid's unresisting arms.

"How much stuff 'ave ya got?" exclaimed Ebon, staring open-mouthed into Draco's open toy box. "'Ow does all this fit? Some of it'd take up 'alf'f the room on its own!"

"The box has an enlargement charm on it. You can put anything in there and it'll never get full," explained Draco impatiently. "Come on, let's play on my bed."

Draco Malfoy led the way to his four-poster double bed where Ebon gratefully dumped his armload of the older boy's toys.

A bright flash caught Ebon's eye. "What the begeezers is this?" he asked curiously, holding up a tiny golden ball, no bigger than his thumbnail.

"That's a Snitch. Wait a moment, I'll show you something…" Draco rummaged around in his pile of toys until he found a miniature man, dressed in black and white robes, who was mounted on a broomstick. "This," he began proudly, "is Seeker Eunice Murray of the Montrose Magpies."

"What's a seeker? Are the Magpies a quid ditch team?" asked Ebon eagerly.

Draco gaped at his friend, astonished at the boy's lack of knowledge. "Yeah, the Magpies are a Quidditch team… You've never heard of Quidditch before, have you?"

"We wen' inta a shop yesterday," said Ebon. "It sol' some quid ditch stuff."

Draco shook his head, smirked, then launched into a lengthy explanation of the Wizarding world's most popular sport. "…and the Montrose Magpies are the best team ever because they always win," he finished, grinning at Ebon triumphantly.

"Bloody hell. So what's this Eunice chap suppos' ta do?" Ebon studied the black and white figurine curiously whilst absently rolling the miniature Snitch between his forefinger and thumb.

"Here," said Draco, clapping his hands once and holding them out, palm up, to Ebon.

Understanding, the black-haired boy threw the golden ball to his friend who caught it deftly. He whispered and suddenly the tiny ball grew tiny wings, which fluttered lightly against Draco's palm.

Ebon yelped in shock when Eunice Murray suddenly came to life. The miniature man shook his head as if brushing off a long sleep and flew into the air to hover just in front of Draco's nose. The Snitch followed suit but, instead of hovering in front of Draco, it whizzed off to some obscure part of the room and Ebon lost sight of it.

"Er, I think ya jus' lost ya Snitch…"

"That's the point," explained Draco. "Now we have to look for the ball and tell Eunice where to find it."

"Oh." Ebon jumped off the bed and began searching immediately. "I see it!" he called excitedly after about six minutes. "Over there by the wardrobe."

Draco followed Ebon's pointing finger and, suddenly, he saw it too.

"Go fetch, Eunice!" ordered Ebon.

Eunice Murray gave the ten-year-old a disdainful look before flying swiftly towards the Snitch and snatching it out of mid air.

Four times Draco began the game and each time Ebon spotted the Snitch before he did, usually after only a few minutes while it took Draco at least fifteen before he caught sight of the elusive ball.

"Tha' was brilliant!" yelled Ebon, when they at last finished the game.

"Yeah, I know!" agreed Draco, barely masking the resentment in his voice. They were his toys. Ebon wasn't allowed to be better at the game than he was. Draco looked up and caught sight of Ebon's flushed face and his anger quickly melted away. It wasn't the younger boy's fault, it was just a stupid toy. The magic was probably wearing off a little so the Snitch was slowing down, making it easier for Ebon to see it first. He sighed and held out his hand for Eunice to land upon, Snitch clasped firmly in the little man's fist. After checking that they were both immobile, he stashed them back in the toy box. "They're pretty neat, but I've had them forever. If you want something really wicked, have a look at these!" For the next half-hour, Draco showed Ebon the best part of his extensive collection of toys, books and other odds and ends, proving conclusively that time does fly when you're having fun because before they knew it, it was time for lunch.

"Race ya!" challenged Ebon and the boys pelted down the staircase, each attempting to grab the other's robes so they themselves might be the victor.

For the rest of the afternoon, Malfoy Manor rang with the laughter of the two ten-year-old boys as they told each other gruesome stories, made up entertaining games using whatever came to hand (which was quite a lot, considering the great number of knick-knacks Draco had accumulated over his short life) and launched expeditions of adventure and exploration to the highest tower in the Manor, which hadn't been set foot in for over three years, judging by the amount of dust.

When it was time to leave, Draco took Ebon aside and wordlessly held out the golden Snitch.

"Are you sure?" asked Ebon, searching the blonde's face for any sign of trickery.

"Yeah. It's not much use to me – I think the magic's dying."

Ebon grinned at his grey-eyed friend, and snatched the ball out of his grasp. He quickly jammed it into his pocket before Snape could catch a glimpse of his newest possession, certain the strict Potions professor wouldn't allow him to keep it.

"Thank you," said Ebon sincerely.

Draco grinned at him and nodded his head slightly.

"Ebon! We're leaving," announced Snape, as he walked over to the two boys and lightly laid his hand on Ebon's shoulder.

"Next time, you're comin' ta our place, all righ'?" ordered Ebon. "I've go' things I wan' ta show ya. I foun' the coolest room the other day, it-"

"That's enough, Ebon, we're leaving!" snapped Snape. While his son and the younger Malfoy had been gallivanting about up and down the Manor, he had spent a tedious afternoon with Lucius and Narcissa, making small talk and wishing he was back at Hogwarts. "Of course Mr Malfoy may come to Hogwarts if he wishes." The Potions Master inclined his head slightly to Draco.

"A wonderful idea, Severus," drawled Lucius. "You'll be able to show Narcissa and I that text you spoke so highly of. Now, what was it called…?"

"Culpeper's Herbal," offered Snape, mentally strangling his son for putting him in such a position again.

"Ah, yes. That's the one. It'll be wonderful to see Hogwarts again, won't it Narcissa?"

"Oh yes – so many happy memories…"

"Indeed," said Snape. "Well, it's been a pleasure. Very interesting…" I had no idea there could be so many different shades of purple in one coat of paint, he thought (Snape had spent much of the afternoon staring at the bare wall over Narcissa Malfoy's shoulder, while she prattled on about who did what to whom, where it happened, and why this little piece of gossip affected the general population of the Wizarding world). "Now Ebon, what do you say?"

"Wha'? Oh! Yeah… Thanks for having me." Before they had entered Malfoy Manor, Snape had taken Ebon aside and drilled him on this nicety.

"Our pleasure," said Lucius, inclining his head slightly.

"Quite," added Narcissa, smiling thinly.

"See you soon!" called Draco after the pair's retreating backs. Ebon turned and waived jauntily.

As soon as they were far enough away not to be heard, Snape turned to his son and growled, "First thing tomorrow, you're going to spend three hours learning to read that book Dumbledore leant you."

"Oh what? Why?"

"Because," retorted Snape, and refused to say any more.

ooOoo

(1)Extract from Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. This one's for you Akeel (Was half expecting him to say "Please Sir, Can I have more..."). See, I never forget my Reviewers lol.

A/N: Rightio. Please R/R.