~ In which fifteen is hell ~
Severus Snape
opened his eyes. He felt warm and comfortable, and didn’t seem to be staring at
the dark, barely visible stone ceiling of his dungeon. The ceiling above him
was lit a light pink from the setting sun, and a warm breeze wafted through a
nearby window. He blinked bemusedly around when a blur of black fur suddenly
obscured his vision, hurling itself towards him and latching on to his face.
“Get off!” he choked,
tearing the furball from him and throwing it away.
The kitten twisted
its body in midair, landing gracefully on its feet and bolting under the bed.
But Snape wasn’t paying any attention to the cat; he was staring very hard at
his hand in front of him. He looked quickly around for his wand, and seized it
from the bedside table. He was just about to summon a mirror when he caught
sight of his blurred reflection in the looking glass next to the sink. Unable
to believe what he was looking at, he brought his hands up to touch his face
before cursing violently and stumbling awkwardly out of bed towards the mirror.
He glared at his
clear reflection and gasped. A horrified, teenage boy was staring back at him.
***
“So, until we have
a counter-potion I am afraid you are stuck like that, Severus.”
Snape stared into
space as Albus Dumbledore paced the room, still unable to comprehend how the
recent chain of events had come about.
Much to his horror,
the house-elves had already cleaned up the mess in the dungeons, leaving not a
drop of spilled liquid behind. The Potion Masters at Beauxbatons and
Durmstrang, along with various doctors from St Mungos were each contacted one
after the other, but to no avail. Each had replied promptly that such a case
was not possible to happen in the first place and were quite curious as to why
Dumbledore would enquire such a thing. Snape was horrified at being made a
laughing stock, so Dumbledore hadn’t bothered to reply.
The enormity of his
condition just starting to sink in, Snape’s moody stare flicked from the blank
wall before him to out the window, at the glittering lake below. He couldn’t
help but feel that Dumbledore would think he’d done this on purpose, as if to
get out of whatever nasty job was in store for him. He felt unusually cowed as
he sat there, suddenly unable to meet the Headmaster’s eyes.
“I don’t blame you
for what happened, you know,” murmured Dumbledore, breaking the long silence
and reading Snape’s averted gaze like a book.
“I know that,”
replied Snape curtly, feeling horribly uncomfortable but forcing his eyes to
glare back up at Dumbledore’s. To his surprise, Dumbledore was looking back at
him with a half smile on his face.
“You know, Severus, although it’s an
unpleasant ordeal for you, this is still quite a notable achievement that
you’ve stumbled across,” he said. “I believe this is the first successful
body-age reduction of all time.”
Snape snorted
loudly, though straining his brain as he tried to mentally run over all of the
different combinations of ingredients, and then all of the potions they had
been combined in, and then all of the possible ways they could have affected
his Polyjuice Potion…
“It wasn’t
successful at all,” he said eventually, unable to keep the bitterness out of
his voice as his brain gave up in frustration. “It was an accident – and a
ridiculously clumsy one at that.”
“Some of the best
inventions start out being accidents.”
“That’s only
assuming this is permanent,” said Snape at once, “–and I shall make sure that
it will not be.”
“Yes, that would be
a pity,” agreed Dumbledore after a brief pause. “The loss of your services
would be quite a blow to our side. Not to mention your value as a teacher in
this school.”
“Yes, well the
remaining weeks of the holidays should be sufficient for finding a cure,” said
Snape stiffly, annoyed at himself for flushing slightly at Dumbledore’s words.
It was as if a steady supply of adrenaline was pumping into his body and making
him feel restless and emotionally agitated. He could’ve sworn he hadn’t felt
like this when he was a teenager the first time.
“Are you quite all
right, Severus?” asked Dumbledore gently, peering with some concern at Snape’s
rapidly drumming fingers on the bedside table.
“I’m fine,” snapped
Snape, ceasing the drumming and instead fiddling with a loose thread on the
mattress.
Dumbledore raised
his eyebrows ever so slightly and looked out of the window with interest.
“You know when I
was younger, I found there was nothing more relaxing than spending a sunny day
rowing or swimming to get rid of any, ah… excess energy I might have
had. It made my concentration and countenance so much more agreeable.”
Snape sniffed
rudely. “I assure you that I am fine, Headmaster,” he ground out. “I am
perfectly capable of handling this adolescent body without any meaningless
physical exertion.”
Dumbledore smiled
at the Professor’s precise words coming from a sulky boy’s mouth. “Well, I wish
you good luck in your endeavours and look forward to having my Potions Master
back before the start of the school term.”
As Dumbledore got
up to leave, a slightly harassed look came over Snape’s face. “Er… Headmaster…
If, by any chance, I somehow don’t –” he began.
“Then you must
continue to work on it throughout the year,” cut in Dumbledore genially.
“But the students
–”
“You can act as a
student yourself,” said Dumbledore smoothly. “We have quite a few on exchange
this year, you know. No one has to know who you really are.”
“But –”
“We’ll say that you
are Professor Snape’s nephew, and he has gone away for a while, leaving you
(who is honourably named after his uncle) to start school at Hogwarts.”
“Who will –”
“I will teach
Potions in the meantime.”
“But-you-can’t-expect-me-to-do-this!”
Snape burst out angrily in one breath, before he could get interrupted again.
Dumbledore looked
at him mildly. “Now, Severus, it will give you time to catch up on your
childhood. Besides, I have absolute faith in your potion making abilities and
I’m certain you’ll find the cure within a few weeks anyway.”
But the more Snape
thought about finding a cure, the more difficult he thought it would be.
Polyjuice Potion in the least took a month to brew.
“Oh and Severus…
I’m afraid some of the staff already know about your current predicament,” said
Dumbledore offhandedly, though not quite meeting his eyes. “Minerva was here
earlier and seemed to find your situation… er… slightly amusing and brought
back the other Heads to er… that is… they found it slightly amusing also.”
“What?”
Snape glared him. “That old trout! And who else has she told in the meantime?”
“Don’t be rude,
Severus,” reproached Dumbledore. “She knows she’s to tell nobody else. It’s
only the Heads of Houses, Madam Pomfrey and myself who are to know.”
“And that’s five
too many,” muttered Snape under his breath.
“Don’t make
yourself handle this on your own, Severus,” said Dumbledore, seriously. “And
besides, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have both taught you before and
would most certainly have recognised you anyway. You know it’s still quite easy
to tell who you are.”
“Then everyone will
know!” Snape burst out at once. Annoyed that he’d lost his cool, Snape settled
into a seething silence, narrowing his eyes as Dumbledore drew his wand and
started descending towards him. “Wait… what…what are you doing?”
“Incisorus!”
Dumbledore commanded, waving his wand to sever large clumps of hair from
Snape’s head. Ignoring the alarmed look on Severus’s face, Dumbledore continued
to zap here and there, cropping Snape’s slightly greasy hair very short against
his head.
“I could have done
this myself,” muttered Snape sullenly, glaring at his reflection on the far
side of the room. “And what’s that? You can’t just leave one long bit when it’s
all short. I look ridiculous!”
Dumbledore
shrugged. “I thought they were all the rage these days.” He zapped it off at
Snape’s look of irritation. “There. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, it’s
just hair,” said Snape testily, glaring at his reflection. “Can you order the
house-elves to my office for questioning? I’ve wasted enough time lying around
up here.”
“Of course,”
replied Dumbledore, his concerned face softening as Snape struggled out of bed
in robes too big for him. “But don’t be so hard on yourself, Severus. If things
don’t go as planned, perhaps you could treat this as a long-deserved break.”
Snape’s face
tightened at these words and he didn’t reply. Quickly transfiguring his robes,
he left the room in strained silence.
***
Snape tossed and
turned in his bed. It felt somewhat comforting to be back in his quarters but
he still felt strange, as if he didn’t fit somehow. He wasn’t short for a
fifteen-year-old, but he still felt too small for his bed and simply ridiculous
sitting behind his desk with his feet barely touching the floor. Questioning
the house-elves had achieved hardly anything, and he was currently starting to
brew a fresh batch of Polyjuice Potion.
It was then that he
realised that the last batch he’d ruined had been for Dumbledore, yet another
thing he’d messed up.
After about five
minutes of pummelling his lumpy pillow in frustration, he began to feel much
calmer when another sudden thought struck him. He reached for his wand on his
bedside table.
“Lumos,” he
muttered.
Snape pulled the
sleeve of his left arm up. He glared at the familiar tattoo, not knowing
whether to be relieved or depressed.
It would be hard
resisting the Dark Lord’s call in this weaker body. He’d already discovered
that his spells weren’t as powerful now as they’d grown to be. And he had no
idea as to how he was supposed to defend himself when he couldn’t even Apparate
anymore. Perhaps he should speak to Dumbledore about it.
Tomorrow. Try to sleep.
But it was so hard.
Sleep didn’t come easily to this restless body. He tried to relax his clenched
jaw but only succeeded in clenching his fists instead. The school term started
in barely a month! He had a horrible feeling that his cure would evade him, and
Dumbledore would force him to relive his humiliating school days.
No, Snape thought
to himself. The idea was preposterous. In any case…at least his old school
rivals wouldn’t be back to haunt him.
***
Snape shovelled
soil vigorously. After two sleepless nights in a row he had grudgingly accepted
the offer to help Hagrid with his vegetable patch. Much to his disgust,
everyone seemed to treat him like he was fragile, and Snape was starting to
regret working so closely with Hagrid as the great oaf seemed to have developed
the idea that he was to be ‘taken under his wing’. It was only later that Snape
found out that his parents had apparently died quite recently, and his dear
Uncle Severus had gone to clear everything up – courtesy of Dumbledore.
Snape slapped an
insect and winced as he hit burnt skin. Blasted sun, he seethed. Pale skin was
absolutely useless! And what was the point of working off his energy during the
day when it was impossible to sleep at night with all this irritating sunburn?
He ran his fingers
through his short hair, hating the way it had become a habit to do so. He kept
thinking that he’d gone bald, without the familiar curtains of hair drooping
down over his face, so perfectly concealing and comforting.
His thoughts were
interrupted as a soft ball of fur hit the back of his legs. He whirled around
in a second, happy to take out his frustrations on the kitten.
“Stop following
me,” he growled, and kicked out at it.
He couldn’t
understand why the cat kept following him around, Mrs Norris had never
particularly taken to him before her transformation. Filch refused to believe that
they were the same cat and was still lamenting the supposed death of the ‘real’
Mrs Norris. Snape had already put up with the Headmaster’s suggestions (“Why
don’t you keep her? I say, call her Oreo!”).
He’d responded with
a long-suffering scowl and stalked off, however the effect was somewhat ruined
by a gambolling ‘Oreo’ proceeding to chase his ankles. He’d eventually decided
to ignore the playful cat and contented himself with aiming a kick at the
kitten whenever it bounded past.
“Diggin’ teh
Snape’s shovel
froze in mid-thrust. With all the despicable things he had to endure, he didn’t
think he could stand one more.
“What did
you just call me?” he asked scathingly, as he turned to the Gamekeeper and gave
him his coldest look imaginable.
Hagrid squinted at
him in surprise, the sun beating down into his eyes. “What was that, Sev?” he
inquired, completely oblivious to the look on the boy’s face.
Snape growled
indistinctly and took it out on the soil. He still couldn’t figure out why
Hagrid hadn’t recognised him, let alone why he kept asking for his help in his
garden. Hagrid had been Gamekeeper while Snape had been at school properly, and
hadn’t exactly been one of Snape’s biggest fans.
The shovelling boy
glanced over at Hagrid, who had stopped his work and was looking at him with
something close to pity. Snape’s face tightened and he dropped his shovel. He
didn’t need any pity.
He stalked back to
the castle for a shower. He’d been wasting far too much time doing mindless
exercise when he needed to spend it working on his counter-potion. There were
still the countless bottles that were on his shelf that he needed to analyse,
and he still had to deduce exactly which ones might have fallen into his
cauldron.
Snape cursed as he
jogged up the castle steps. He had forgotten to ask Dumbledore about his
assignment. There had to be something he could do, even if he looked
like an adolescent twit.
He glared around
him at the empty Entrance Hall. Only three weeks to go before it was filled with
students’ mocking laughter.
***
The sun peeped over
the
Gone were the
tapered precise fingers, made steady from holding potion ingredients hours upon
end. Instead were these coarse, clumsy things, hardened and callused by
physical labour. He clenched his fists and noticed new, still lean but slightly
prominent muscles tensing in response. His sunburnt upon sunburnt skin had
peeled away, leaving him a light nutty brown colour, instead of his pale,
bordering on anaemic skin prior. Finally he looked at his face, and felt a
burst of annoyance. He looked like a simpering fifth year, with his smooth chin
and pleasant expression. He quickly twisted his face into his usual
scowl-cross-sneer and felt relieved. This young body was twisting his mind, now
he was starting to feel as if he didn’t belong down here, as if he wanted to be
outside. He shook his head and fastened his outer robes. He had painstakingly
recreated nearly all of the potions upon his shelves, and it was nearing the
time when the Polyjuice Potion would be ready.
He started up the
stairs, aiming a kick at a certain black kitten and remembering his question
for Dumbledore. The Headmaster should be back by now. He had been away on his
usual mysterious business for the past two weeks.
Snape made his way
up the moving staircases, to the very top floor towards the Headmaster’s
office. Feeling slightly foolish, he whispered the usual ridiculous password
and ascended up the stairs. He opened the door and saw Dumbledore sitting at
his desk, writing busily with a luxurious quill. Snape cleared his throat and
Dumbledore jumped. The Headmaster pushed his half-moon spectacles back into
place and smiled at the changed figure standing before him.
“Sneaking up on me,
Severus?”
Snape looked
indignant. “Of course not, I made no such effort!” he replied hotly. Damned
stupid adrenaline rush.
Dumbledore looked
at him shrewdly and set down his quill. “I suppose my letter to Aberforth can
wait,” he murmured.
Waving his hand in
an irritated apology, Snape launched straight into his prepared speech. “I came
to see you, Headmaster, because I am anxious to know what you are assigning me
to do. I know I am not much use now, but –”
“On the contrary,
Severus, you are very useful as you are now,” Dumbledore interrupted.
Snape looked taken
aback. “I am not at my full strength…at the moment…but the Polyjuice Potion
will help me brew my cure very soon,” he began.
“Cutting it a bit
fine aren’t we, Severus? Term starts in one week, yes, yes I know the Polyjuice
Potion won’t be ready until then,” he said hastily, as Snape started to turn
red. “But there might be something else you could do…” he said thoughtfully.
Snape looked at him
mistrustfully. “If it has anything to do with Potter, then no,” he said flatly.
Dumbledore raised
his eyebrows and picked up his quill once more. “I thought as much. But someday
you will have to work together, Severus, you know that don’t you?”
Snape grunted.
“Well, good luck
then. I must get back to my letter, Severus, but we shall talk again before the
start of the term.”
Snape hovered in
front of the Headmaster’s desk a while longer, before the scratching of
Dumbledore’s quill made it clear that the conversation was over. Feeling quite
annoyed and unable to believe his situation was being taken so lightly, Severus
turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. His face was stormy as he
pictured another week of teenage awkwardness. Taking the steps two at a time he
descended quickly, heading downwards towards Hagrid’s hut for his daily dose of
unpleasantries.
***
Rubeus Hagrid
glanced at the boy next to him gulping down his breakfast. He really did eat a
lot. Sort of reminded him of himself at that age. It was quite a pity really;
the boy had told him he might be leaving today. He’d been a great help
organising lessons for the year and he was going to miss the strong lad who
helped him in his garden.
Severus Snape
finished his breakfast and got up. He nodded at the Gamekeeper and Headmaster
and left hurriedly.
Finally. Finally
it was ready.
A familiar black
kitten followed closely at his heels, but this time he made no effort to kick
it away. He whipped out his wand and opened the door to his office, striding
across the room to the adjoining one in which he brewed all of his potions in
private. He quickly switched back to his old (rather big) robes and left
Dumbledore’s transfigured, shorter ones by the door.
He opened a vial
and pulled a clump of boarhound fur from it. It seemed ridiculous but his
experiments had shown that dog hair should counteract with that damned cat
hair. And speaking of which…
He contemplated
whether he should change the cat back as well. Seeming to read his mind, the
kitten gave one last rub against his ankles before bolting for the door. Snape
shrugged. He didn’t care anyway.
He tossed the fur
in firmly. Stirring the mixture carefully he uncorked the next vial of
carefully prepared liquid and poured it slowly in.
The potion turned a
familiar bright blue colour. Snape put his wand on the table and looked down at
the steaming mixture. Deciding to do everything as he did before, he got ready
to tip the cauldron of liquid over himself before he hesitated. He was starting
to feel strangely attached to his new body…
He pinched himself
furiously for having this momentary fit of insanity. It would be ridiculous to
remain a boy! Besides, the Headmaster was counting on him.
He steadied his
hands onto the rim and got ready to tip it over when something sharp hit his
face.
“YOU STUPID
BEAST!” he roared, batting the cat furiously away.
But this caused him
to lose his balance, tipping the liquid not only over him, but over the alarmed
feline as well. He felt the steaming fluid wash over him, as he reluctantly
opened his mouth to allow some to go gushing in. Then his head hit the floor
with a crack, and his vision blurred to black.
***
Severus Snape
groaned dully as he rolled onto his side. His closed eyelids flickered as
memories of a cauldron tipping on him a second time started forming hazily in
his mind. With a sudden burst of realisation, he flung his hands to his face
and sat up.
Nothing had
changed.
A wave of
frustrated fury burst through him as he rolled over and buried his face in his
pillow, furiously analysing preparations he’d gone through, checking and
rechecking why, after all his planning it didn’t work. His head started to hurt
from concentration and disappointment, every calculation fading instead to the
look of scorn on everyone’s faces when they’d seen that he’d failed. By God, he
was a man, not a snivelling boy; how could the world taunt him like
this?
“I’m sorry,
Severus.”
The Headmaster’s
gentle voice didn’t come as a surprise to the numb Potions Master. He was
obviously in a bed in the hospital wing, and he at once felt self-conscious of
the fact that his face was buried into a pillow as if he was crying. He
instantly rolled over and sat back up, glaring stonily out of the nearby window
towards the huge lake. Judging from the sun it was quite late in the afternoon.
He must have been unconscious for quite a while.
Dumbledore spoke
again, his voice irritatingly soothing. “When you’re ready, Severus, you must
tell me of what happened in every detail.”
Snape continued
glaring at the glittering lake, the sunlit reflections hurting his eyes but
refusing to look at the Headmaster. Eventually he started to mutter what had
happened, but when he got to the part about Fang’s fur, Dumbledore interrupted.
“So that explains
the tail!” he exclaimed.
Snape’s glare
intensified. “Tail?”
“Er…yes…nasty job
removing it… but continue with your story,” Dumbledore said rather hastily.
But the wave of
humiliation he felt was suddenly put on hold when a thought occurred to him.
“What about the cat fur the first
time?”
Dumbledore looked
at him closely, as if expecting him to sprout a pair of whiskers.
“I see no visible
cat attributes,” said Dumbledore eventually, but then his expression
brightening at a growing muffled disturbance below. “Aha! I hear the sound of
trampling feet! The students are arriving! We shall talk later tonight,
Severus. Come now, let us go greet the students in the Entrance Hall.”
Snape sank further
into the bed as a response. He must have been unconscious for at least
forty-eight hours!
“What you said a
month ago,” Snape said suddenly, gripping the blankets around him tightly.
“About me being enrolled as a student – you can’t be serious!”
“I’m sorry,
Severus,” replied Dumbledore with a sigh. “But we need your potion-making
skills on hand and there is nowhere more convenient and safe than Hogwarts. You
look to be around fifteen and I’m sure the fifth years won’t even notice you
amidst all the other exchange students.”
“But–”
“I’m sorry,
Severus,” Dumbledore repeated wearily. “Oh, and I shall be teaching Potions in
the meantime, as well as being Slytherin’s Head of House.”
“What!” Snape burst
out in disbelief. “The Slytherins will revolt!”
“Don’t be
melodramatic, Severus,” Dumbledore called over his shoulder, heading for the
door but motioning towards a cupboard. “I’ve shortened some of my old robes for
you to wear. I hope you don’t start the term by being late.”
As always,
Dumbledore had the annoying ability of making it clear that the conversation
was over, and Snape, wallowing in self-loathing and disbelief, pulled on his
new robes and forced himself to follow.
***
Merry torchlight flickered outwards as Rubeus
Hagrid pulled open the great doors of the castle.
“Welcome teh
Hogwarts!” he boomed to the awed first years.
“You’re early,
Hagrid,” Professor McGonagall said quite pointedly to him, making her way past
the older students to look at him rather severely.
“Oh… well, some of
these firs’ years are good rowers, eh?” he said somewhat shiftily, fingering
his enormous umbrella, but then getting distracted as he caught sight of
Dumbledore and a certain sulky-looking boy descending from the far stairs.
“SEV!” he bellowed,
making McGonagall stagger backwards with her hands over her ears. “Glad yeh
stayin’! Listen, I wan’ yeh t’meet a few friends of mine!”
Far off on the
stairway Snape paused, looking as if he’d sucked on a lemon.
Dumbledore glanced
over his shoulder at the boy and raised his eyebrows. “You know, being
acquainted with wizards of such moral fibre as Hagrid would surely be an asset
in the social department, Severus.”
“Bah,” muttered
Snape with a long-suffering glare, but eventually moving towards the enormous
shaggy man with a very bad grace. “Hello, Hagrid,” he muttered, nodding stiffly
and attempting to control his scowl.
Hagrid grinned in
reply, looking as if he was about to give him the biggest treat in the world.
Snape responded with a thin smile that turned to ice as he heard his next
words.
“HARRY! RON!
HERMIONE! OVER HERE!” Hagrid bellowed.
An
important-looking girl with a big ‘P’ badge started to push her way towards
them. A boy roughly the same size with a shock of messy black hair followed
hastily afterwards. A second boy, taller than the other two, followed
reluctantly after them, rolling his eyes and apologising for the girl’s
behaviour. They stood as a trio, all talking at once with Hagrid beaming away
at them.
“Righ’ I’d like all
yeh t’meet Sev Snape, Professor Snape’s nephew.”
Harry and Ron
exchanged disbelieving looks before they all turned to face him.
Snape fixed them
with an icy stare. “That’s Severus Snape,” he said coolly, trying to
restrain the intense dislike radiating from his face.
Harry, Ron and
Hermione looked as though they were trying to restrain the incredulity rising
in theirs.
“Er… what year are
you in then?” Ron began lamely.
“I didn’t know
Snape had a nephew,” Hermione blurted out suddenly. “You look just like him!”
Severus gave her a
withering glare. “Thank you for the compliment,” he sneered, and stalked off.
But as he was
leaving, he couldn’t help but overhear Hermione’s whisper, “I know this is mad
– but I’d swear that’s the Professor himself! He seems to act just like him…
plus, he does sort of resemble a better-looking Snape…”
Luckily he walked
out of range before he could hear Harry and Ron’s gagging noises.
Snape seethed as he
shouldered past countless students. He tried to force himself to calm down and
think rationally, but whenever he grew angry he found it hard to think these
days. Trust that know-it-all Granger to jump to conclusions. So he acts like
‘Snape’ does he?
Oh no, he groaned mentally, but it would
be so difficult to act otherwise! But… he must. No one must suspect him,
especially not Potter and followers. He may have lost his body and half
his magical strength, but he would not lose his reputation or his pride.
Distracted by his
thoughts, Snape changed direction suddenly, only to collide heavily with a boy
slightly shorter than him.
“Watch out!” they
both snapped at the same time.
Snape glared at the
boy in annoyance, surprise replacing his anger when he recognised the irritated
face. “Malfoy!” he exclaimed.
Draco Malfoy looked
at the stranger in suspicion. “Who’re you? Have we met?” he demanded at once.
Snape quickly
replied. “Ah yes…my uncle mentioned you – you might know him, Professor Snape?
I was named after him…”
Draco looked
somewhat gratified at being mentioned by his Head of House, and his expression
became almost friendly. “Are you really?” he replied, looking slightly
impressed. “Well, I must say, your uncle is definitely the best teacher here by
far. He really puts those smarmy Gryffindors in their place. I bet you’ll
be in Slytherin just like him, eh?”
Snape smirked
smugly in response. Perhaps all of his students weren’t such a lost cause after
all.
***
The huge crowd of
students clamoured around the Great Hall, each eager to catch up with their
friends. Draco was standing towards the back with Severus, bragging about the
merits of Slytherin House and the absolute awfulness of Gryffindor which Snape
found himself strangely enjoying.
“Do you have a
broom?” asked Draco suddenly, but then looking disappointed at the other boy’s
negative headshake. “You really should get one, I’m head of Slytherin’s
Quidditch team and I could probably get you on if you’re any good.”
“Oh… I don’t think
I am,” Snape replied, thinking back to his clumsy attempts at flying in his
school days. “But thanks for the offer.”
“That’s quite all
right,” said Draco rather formally, as if he wasn’t quite used to being
genuinely thanked for something. There was a brief uncomfortable silence as he
looked around the room. “Your uncle’s not at the staff table, where is he?”
“Er, my parents are
dead. Killed quite recently,” mumbled Snape, looking slightly awkward. “He’s
taking some time off to sort out… er… our estate.”
“Oh,” Draco
muttered, just as awkwardly. “Right… Sorry…”
Severus ran his
fingers though his hair, wracking his brains for something to break the silence
with. He’d always favouritised Draco – mostly because it rubbed Potter the
wrong way – but also because he reminded him of himself at that age. He hadn’t
been expecting anything close to sympathy though. He was just about to reply
when McGonagall called for silence and announced that the Sorting was about to
begin.
“See you in a bit.”
Draco waved, and moved quickly over to the Slytherin table.
Severus nodded,
feeling slightly foolish for befriending his own student. He jostled into a
queue surrounded by exchange students, while the rest of the Great Hall settled
down and listened to the Sorting Hat’s song with interest. It felt like a long
time before all the first years were sorted, and he was just starting to feel
restless and wonder whether he could sneak off somewhere until it was over when
he realised there was nobody left in front of him.
“Snape, Severus,”
McGonagall called.
A slight murmuring
grew in the hall, as a few hundred faces turned to stare in his direction. He
walked stiffly towards the battered hat, restraining a furious glare in
response to all the whispers. He was just about to put on the hat when the
Headmaster rose from his place.
“I would just like
to welcome Severus Snape, nephew of our Potions Master at Hogwarts, Professor
Snape…” (loud whistles from Slytherin, suspicious glances from all of the other
houses), “…unfortunately Severus Junior’s parents have passed away, and Severus
Senior had to depart temporarily to settle some business.”
The hall fell
silent, not knowing how to react. Draco caught his eye and gave him a lazy nod.
Snape stared glassily ahead, finding it hard to feel intimidating in this
strange, awkward body with hundreds of eyes upon him. The Headmaster looked
around shrewdly and resumed his seat. Severus gave one last glance around the
room, before the hat fell over his eyes.
“Well, well, who
have we here?”
Snape jerked
involuntarily. It had been so long since he’d heard that voice.
“Not that long,”
the Sorting Hat chuckled.
Save your comments, Snape growled mentally.
“What a temper!
Phew, and I thought you had changed.”
Well, you
thought wrong.
“Oh, I’m never
wrong… You have changed, Master Snape.”
Yes, I’m not a
Death Eater anymore, you useless rag.
“You weren’t a
Death Eater when I last sorted you… No, no, it’s something else…”
Snape waited,
annoyed and impatient.
“Aha! Why my dear
Severus, I believe you have set yourself some boundaries!”
Snape swore under
his breath. How long had he been
sitting there?
“Patience, Severus,
you are difficult to place…”
Just hurry up
and put me in Slytherin, will you!
“Ah, so you want to
be in Slytherin…?”
And what’s that supposed to mean? Snape
interrupted.
“Events have
changed you,” said the hat cheerfully. “The end does not justify the means
anymore. As I said, you have set yourself boundaries.”
Look, I don’t know what you’re going on about…
“But you didn’t
answer my question, Master Snape,” the hat interrupted.
Snape made an exasperated noise aloud. Yes, what is it?!
“Do you really want
to be in Slytherin?” the hat said mildly.
Snape’s head
whirled in confused annoyance. What? Why would you even – Of course I
–
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Severus Snape
blinked at the sudden light. The entire school was staring at him open-mouthed.
Forgetting his appearance, Severus gave them all his best glare. He started to
walk stiffly to the Slytherin table when it struck him.
Wait.
The hat’s bellowed
choice echoed around whispers of the room, and Severus Snape spun around to
face the long table decorated in scarlet. The look of horror upon his face was
reflected in each of their faces. McGonagall had half risen and was staring at
him incredulously; even Dumbledore’s eyebrows had risen quite high.
McGonagall quickly
recovered from her shock. “Woodley, Philip,” she called.
Snape managed to
regain control of his frozen legs and moved quickly and silently to the scarlet
table and sat as far as he could away from everyone else. Pretending not to see
the way Hagrid was giving him the thumbs up and beaming proudly at him, Snape
looked instead over to the Slytherin table. He searched for Draco and saw that
he was already staring at him, quite pointedly. When Snape caught his eye, the
young Slytherin frowned and looked away. Snape’s feeling of numbness faded away
as he glared down at his empty dinner plate. Picking up his knife, he started
to hack at the table with it, his head whirling with anger and confusion once
more.
The hat was
obviously broken, or else playing a very poor joke. Or perhaps Dumbledore had
tampered with it in his usual cruel and meddlesome way. How on earth was he
supposed to keep up the
I’m-not-Professor-Snape-I’m-his-nephew-who-is-nothing-like-him facade now? He’d
be around Gryffindors all the time!
“Thank you,
Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore, as the Sorting drew to an end.
Gesturing down the table, he continued. “A warm welcome also to Professor
Garwood, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year.”
A smiling witch
rose to her feet and Snape glared at her in loathing. She looked to be barely
his original age! What had qualified her
over him?
A massive feast
appeared magically before him, but it did nothing to appease his mood. Snape
picked up his fork and started mashing his potatoes viciously, transferring his
glare over the Gryffindors instead.
They seemed to be
over their shock and were now throwing him suspicious looks. The Weasley twins
were doing rather bad impressions of him mashing his potatoes while Neville
Longbottom was laughing nervously. Harry and Ron seemed to be ignoring him but
Hermione was staring at him curiously. Ginny Weasley, following Hermione’s
stare, gave a shudder. Hermione noticed and nodded.
“Creepy, isn’t he?”
Ginny glanced at
the new student again.
“Creepy is an
understatement,” she replied, as Snape caught her eye and gave her a defiant
scowl.
***
Snape sat in the
Gryffindor common room, reading a book in the corner and waiting for everyone
to go to bed. Whenever anyone had attempted to talk to him or get within
several feet, he’d responded with an icy look, leading to a hasty retreat on
their behalf. Even Fred and George Weasley had offered him only one of their
Canary Creams to try, and half-heartedly at that. Snape was starting to regret
not being friendly, for he was acting exactly like a suspicious Professor Snape
in disguise.
Only two people
were left now. Harry and Ron were playing wizard chess, while discussing
Quidditch animatedly.
“Oh, come on,
Harry! You’ll be perfect as team Captain! I bet that rat Malfoy’ll buy himself
into the position on Slytherin team.”
“Y-yes,” the other
boy said reluctantly, “but we still need a new Keeper.”
Ron leant back. “No
problem, we’ll hold trials tomorrow,” he said easily.
Harry grinned at
him. “You going to try out?”
Ron considered.
“Nah, maybe next year I’ll try out for Chaser though…”
Harry looked
slightly relieved. He wasn’t very keen on picking someone over his best friend.
Ron yawned. “We
should go to bed.”
Harry glanced at
the brooding new boy in the corner. “We haven’t finished our game!” he
protested.
Ron grinned and
whispered to his knight. A single piece moved to claim Harry’s queen.
“Checkmate,” Ron said lazily, and headed up the stairs.
Harry frowned and
followed reluctantly, shooting one last look at the new student’s back.
As soon as they
were gone, Snape jumped from his chair and slid out of the portrait hole, much
to the Fat Lady’s protest. A miniature ball of fur flung itself at his feet,
and Snape scowled and kicked out. “Get away!”
The merry kitten
danced nimbly away from his kicking feet, and continued to follow him as he
descended down the corridor. Feeling restless and unsure exactly of why he was
heading there, he started down to the Entrance Hall. He walked lightly, eyes
catching every movement, ears tuned to every creak. Finding himself at the main
doors, Snape slipped between them, the moonlight glinting off his dark hair as
he prowled silently down the steps.
A slight rustling
in the nearby bushes caused him to stiffen in shock. What on earth was he
doing? It was as if he was struggling to restrain the uncontrollable urge to
chase whatever had moved in those bushes!
It wasn’t until the
sight of a graceful Oreo pouncing upon a cricket at his feet, that realisation
finally dawned upon him.
This wasn’t the
teenage energy of his new hormones; this was the cat.
It seemed so
ridiculous to him that he almost laughed out loud. However he was finding it
increasingly hard to resist chasing after the small kitten, and since he knew
that there was no chance of him going to sleep in this state, he decided to
sprint around the castle a few times to relieve his energy.
Severus started to
run, with Oreo bounding closely at his heels.
***
The new Defence Against
the Dark Arts Professor tossed and turned in her bed. It wasn’t as if it was
uncomfortable; during her Auror training she had spent many a cold night camped
out in a ditch. If anything the bed was too soft…or perhaps she was just
restless.
Throwing the heavy
quilt off, she reached for her sling. When a nasty curse had injured her wand
arm, Albus Dumbledore had offered her a teaching job while it healed. She could
still perform her standard spells, but not to her full power. Her boss had told
her she could use the experience, even if it was with a bunch of delinquents.
He Who Must Not Be Named didn’t seem to be back after all, despite the gossip
column in Witch Weekly.
She was used to
working long nights; perhaps a quick walk around the grounds would do her good.
***
It was chilly
outside, and Professor Garwood was glad of her coat. She waited at the door for
her eyes to become accustomed to the dark. A chill went up her spine as she
heard running feet. You’re getting paranoid, she thought to herself, it’s
probably just a misbehaving student. However she pulled out her wand and
put on her best stern expression.
“Hi, you! Stop!”
she called sternly, as she caught a glimpse of a dimly lit boy running.
Garwood frowned in
annoyance, as the boy merely threw a look at her over his shoulder and
quickened his pace.
“Accio
broomstick!” she cried, running after him.
The boy was barely
still in sight when an old school broom flew to her hand. “About time,” she
grumbled, cursing her weakened abilities.
Although it was
only an old Clean Sweep, a broomstick was still faster than a running boy and
she soon caught up. To her surprise she heard regular breathing, instead of the
usual panting of someone who had just sprinted a quarter mile. She ordered him
to stop once more but the boy continued to run, a faint snigger marking that
he’d heard her.
Garwood’s frown
turned grim and she called for him to stop once more, before making a sudden
grab for the back of his collar. Her hand slipped but she reached again,
grasping thin air in surprise as he ducked neatly out of the way. Her
determination mounting, Garwood swerved her broom around, trying to get in
front of him. She made another wild grab but he dropped to the ground, rolled
beneath her, and sprang nimbly to his feet, running on. She gaped at him. He
was like a cat!
“Oh, I’ll get you,
you little wretch,” she vowed to herself, though secretly enjoying the chase.
She really should just end it but this was probably going to be the most
exciting thing that happened to her this year so… “Whoa!”
Narrowly missing an
old statue, Garwood jerked sideways. It was then that she realised that they
were nearly back where they started.
Oh, hell! He was
going to escape back into the castle!
With a resolute
sigh, she reached into her coat pocket for her wand, only to discover that it
was gone.
Her reluctance to
end the chase dissolved into irritation, as she thought about having to poke
around in the dark for it afterwards. Putting on a sudden burst of speed, she
waited until she was right beside him when she leapt.
WHAM!
They fell to the
ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The Professor grappled with the boy’s
collar grimly, as her captive tried just as stubbornly to wriggle away. His
face was covered in darkness and all she could make out were his flashing eyes
glaring at her. In the back of her mind she felt suddenly embarrassed at being
in this sort of position with a student; especially as his robe was starting to
become unfastened.
“Aha!” she yelled,
finally getting a decent grip and startling the struggling boy. “Got you, you
little…ARGH!”
She batted away the
scratchy creature that had launched itself at her face, only to feel one last
tug on the boy’s collar until it slackened. She leapt up and saw a nearly naked
figure running into the castle doors, wearing nothing but bright green drawers.
A small, black creature bounded furiously behind him.
Garwood sat down
heavily on the damp grass. That little wretch.
Remembering the
robe she was holding, she glanced at it in sudden glee. It was labelled!
Dashing closer to
the castle lights, she read it eagerly. Her mouth dropped open and she gave a
groan.
Neatly marked in
purple ink was the name, ‘Albus Dumbledore’.
***
Severus Snape ran
silently to his dormitory. He found his bed and all of his things arranged in
the cupboard beside it. He rifled through his robes, noting with satisfaction
that they had been slightly transfigured and shortened for his benefit. It felt
odd wearing Dumbledore’s old ones and even though they were a lot fancier, he
preferred his familiar black ones. He rifled through his robes once more and
was relieved to see that none were missing.
Wait. That meant…
Snape’s thin lips
twitched into a slight smile. He was positive she wouldn’t be able to identify
him now, especially with that little puzzle.
Snape sniggered and
tried to stifle a laugh. He felt elated. Perhaps these cat-like abilities would
come in handy after all.
His thoughts turned
to his pursuer. She was even worse
than he’d expected; how stupid could she get? Perhaps the rumours going
around the common room that evening were untrue. If she really was an Auror,
she could have stunned him scores of times. It really was typical of
Dumbledore, hiring a failed Auror over him. He probably did it so she wouldn’t
burst into tears.
Snape sniggered
once more. The thought of her standing on the wet grass holding a robe marked
‘Albus Dumbledore’ turned his snigger into a chortle. He was just about to
laugh when the figure in the next bed sat up.
“Harry?”
Snape cut his laugh
short and swivelled in annoyance to look at the speaker. What was Potter
doing, snooping around late at night?
“It’s Severus,” he
replied shortly.
“Lumos.”
A dim light lit up
Snape’s countenance. Ron Weasley gasped. “Where have you been?!” he demanded.
“Where has Potter
been?!” Snape demanded back.
Ron glared at him
furiously. “If you say anything, I swear I’ll…”
“Oh give up,
Weasley, I don’t care,” cut in Snape annoyed. The effects of the chase were
starting to kick in and he was feeling tired.
Ron stared at him
dubiously. “D’you always sleep like that?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
Snape looked down
and saw he was wearing nothing but drawers. Then he looked at his feet. Bloody
hell. His shoes. And they were covered in bits of wet grass.
“Aren’t you freezing?”
exclaimed Ron.
Snape observed that
the other boy was wearing a woolly, lumpy jersey underneath all his covers.
“No,” Snape replied
truthfully. He was used to sleeping in the dungeons where it was icy cold for
Merlin’s sake.
He moved out of the
light, mentally sniggering, as Weasley hadn’t even noticed his shoes. Nothing
more was said as the light went out. Snape quickly shoved his wet shoes into
his cupboard and settled down to sleep. His ears pricked up at a sound and he
sat up, looking around with his sharp eyes. Seeing no one, Snape settled down
once more, briefly wondering where Oreo was, before he fell asleep.
As soon as he heard
regular breathing, Harry Potter pulled off his invisibility cloak and stared
curiously at Severus Snape’s sleeping figure.
***
A chink of light
hit the dormitory floor, and a single boy opened one eye. Snape sat up fully
awake, and started to dress. It was the crack of dawn and he was feeling fully
refreshed and revitalised. He pulled on his usual pair of black robes and
muttered a charm to clean his shoes. He gave an annoyed glance at a sleeping
Harry Potter and started down the stairs. Plenty of time for a morning run
before breakfast.
He poked at the
tiny kitten in front of the common room fire, remembering the way it had
scratched that Professor in the face. The kitten stretched and yawned, lazily
swiping at his finger before jumping to follow her master’s ankles. Snape crept
out of the portrait hole and padded down to the main entrance. Hearing no signs
of Filch, he slipped outside the doors and ran headfirst into a solid wall of
warmth.
“Sev! You’re up
early this morning!” he heard a loud voice exclaim.
Snape edged away
and looked up at the speaker. “I was
wondering if you wanted help in the garden again, Hagrid?” Snape replied,
somewhat truthfully.
The Gamekeeper
beamed. “Actually, I was jus’ thinkin’ of askin’ yeh t’help me on a private
project I’m workin’ on…”
Snape shrugged and
smiled politely. Hagrid took that as a ‘yes’ and so, forgetting whatever
business he had in the castle, he accompanied the restless boy back to his hut.
***
Snape ran his
fingers through his hair and panted. What kind of a special project was this?
All he was doing was shifting huge stones from one place to another! He voiced
his opinion aloud and felt even more annoyed when Hagrid simply touched his
nose and winked.
“Well, there’s not
much time left now, but a nice stone wall ‘round the veggie patch should look
good, eh?”
Snape muttered
something in grumpy acquiescence and Hagrid chuckled in reply, hefting a
boulder the size of a small first year over his shoulder. Snape’s look of
irritation intensified. He had been trying to move that very stone for quite a
while now.
Noticing his glare,
Hagrid smiled. “Now, don’ look like that. You’re already stronger than most
boys yer age.”
Snape gritted his
teeth and threw his own boulder down indignantly. “I assure you, I was not…”
But at that moment
the breakfast gong sounded, and Snape looked up at the sun in surprise. Had he
really been working for two hours?
Hagrid looked
disappointed, but then his face brightened as he looked back at his hut. “Now,
how abou’ havin’ breakfast with me? I’ve got fifth year Gryffindors and
Slytherins straigh’ after!”
Severus blanched.
He had been introduced to Hagrid’s cooking over the holidays. But still, it would
keep him away from those nosy Gryffindors.
“Er…all right,”
Snape replied, accepting that it would
be good for his image… His strained smile wavered however, when Hagrid beamed
at him and slapped him on the back. He followed the half-giant into his hut
annoyed and somewhat winded.
Sitting down by the
empty fireplace, he picked uncomfortably at the splintery stool he was sitting
upon and waited for Hagrid to finish by the stovetop. Fang trotted up and cast
an adoring look at the kitten that had curled itself around Snape’s shoulders
and neck. Oreo leapt down and swiped at the enormous boarhound with her tiny
paws. Fang gave a yelp of excitement and attempted to do the same. The cat and
dog bounded outside, a tumble of claws and fur.
Snape looked in
disgust at the flecks of drool Fang had left upon him and stared out of the
window gloomily. He could distinctly smell burning now and his robes were
sticking to his body with a mixture of sweat, dirt, and canine drool. Despite
popular belief, he hadn’t gone for this long without a shower before.
Snape made up his
mind and stood up. There was barely enough time to run back to the castle, plus
there was Hagrid to deal with…
The Quidditch
showers! Of course!
“I shall be in the
Quidditch change rooms if you need me, Hagrid,” Snape called curtly.
Hagrid looked over
his shoulder at the uncomfortably sticky boy.
“All righ’! Here,
yeh can eat this on the run, jus’ be back in time fer class!”
After shoving a
plate piled with unidentified substances into Snape’s hands, Hagrid hurriedly
turned back to his bubbling pot on the stove. Snape strongly suspected
something had gotten out of control. He eyed the mass on his plate and gingerly
tasted a tiny portion. It had a surprising taste, not bad, but then not very
good either. He gobbled the rest down, mumbled a quick thanks and left the
plate on his stool.
He ran outside the door
and continued on to the Quidditch pitch, aware he had only half an hour until
class. He ran past a gambolling Fang, and felt a familiar weight jump onto his
shoulders and dig into his robes. Taking no notice of the tiny feline, Snape
kept running and soon reached the building’s entrance. To his relief the room
was deserted, and he slid quickly into the nearest shower stall.
Stopping to collect
his thoughts, Snape started to feel rather foolish for hurrying. He pulled off
his filthy clothing and shoes at a more leisured pace and had just started up
the shower, when a faint explosion echoed throughout the room. Looking out of
the tiny window above, Snape saw a pillar of smoke ascending from Hagrid’s
kitchen window.
Snorting in
amusement, Snape poked a grumpy stone gargoyle with his wand. It spat out
shampoo reluctantly, and he continued his shower, trying not to laugh. The
sound of approaching footsteps however, quickly changed his amusement to
annoyance. Snape turned off the shower and spun around testily.
Standing in the
doorway was Draco Malfoy.
***
Draco narrowed his eyes. “What’re you
doing here?”
Although Snape had
only a thin piece of wood covering his wet, naked body, and his hair was
invisible under a fluffy cloud of shampoo, he still managed to maintain a
dignified stance. “What does it look like?”
Wrinkling his nose,
Draco went on, “Well you’re in trouble; I heard your precious
McGonagall’s already taken points off you for coming in late last night.”
“Oh?” Snape replied
coldly. How did anyone find out about that?
Draco glared at
him. “Not like a Gryffindor is it?” he sneered.
If those words cut
into him, Severus Snape made no sign. “Oh, and I suppose a Slytherin is
going to lecture me on moral values?”
Draco gave a shout
of anger and pulled out his wand. Snape felt surprised at this sudden outbreak.
And Dumbledore thought he was wound tight.
Snape seized his
wand from his bundled up robes with an equal flourish, as Draco advanced until
he was only ten feet away. Their glares intensified, each one fighting
furiously not to blink. Draco’s eyes were just starting to sting when a black
ball of fur leapt straight at his face. Snape gave a snort of laughter as Draco
swore, hitting out at the kitten in anger.
“That cat is mine,”
Snape declared smugly, raising his wand. “Do not hurt it.”
In the midst of fur
and claws, Draco caught a glimpse of the pointed wand and panicked. “St –
STUPEFY!” his muffled voice cried, waving his wand wildly at the boy in the
shower.
“Watch out!” a new
voice squealed from the door.
The streak of
scarlet light hit the shower-door’s mirror and headed straight back at Draco.
Much to Oreo’s relief, Draco dived out of the way just in time. Both boys
caught a brief flash of Ginny Weasley standing in the doorway before she was
knocked backwards by the hex.
Draco and Snape
whirled back at each other in accusing horror. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” they yelled
in unison.
They continued to
glare at each other, annoyed.
“This is all your
fault!” Draco burst out angrily.
“Shut up and get
her inside before anyone sees her!” Snape snapped. His fault? What cheek!
Draco clenched his
fists and gave him one last glare before running out. Snape hastily rinsed
himself off, muttering a cleaning charm on his clothes and shoes as he pulled
them on furiously.
What the hell was
that stupid girl doing here? She must have arrived while they were arguing –
but why the hell had Draco over-reacted so grossly? And what in all hell was he thinking when he’d
said what he did?
Snape burst out of
the shower stall in anger, his mind replaying his earlier words. “Oh, and I
suppose a Slytherin is going to lecture me on moral values.”
Snape gritted his
teeth. Damn it all, he was starting to sound like James Potter himself.
His thoughts were
interrupted as Draco came back with a limp Ginny in his arms. He dropped her on
the floor in disgust.
“If only it was her
stinking brother,” he muttered to himself.
Ginny’s eyes flew
open and she jumped up and slapped Draco across the face. Snape jumped back,
startled.
“I heard that!” she
cried, out of breath.
Snape raised an
eyebrow. “How did you…”
“LUCKY I had my
wand out and managed to say a small shielding charm before you two ATTACKED
me!” she snarled.
The two boys glared
at her incredulously.
Ginny glared
straight back at them, noting with satisfaction that Malfoy was holding his
scarlet cheek with one hand.
Draco swore and
turned bright red. “Weasley, I’m going to—”
“Say you’re sorry?” Ginny cut him off. “I don’t have time for
half-arsed apologies, Malfoy.”
Draco turned from
red to white.
“IF YOU THINK…” he
began, but was interrupted again by Ginny.
“Oh, grow up,” she
said coolly, and started to walk to lockers on the other side of the room.
Draco stood stock
still, deep in shock. Snape however, wanted some answers. “What are you
doing here? This is the male change room.”
Ginny reddened ever
so slightly and fingered the chain of a small golden key in her palm. “Well,
Harry got his broom fixed and they delivered it to his locker…” Her colour
faded somewhat as she frowned back at Snape’s disapproving look. “What? I’m
getting it for him. He’s in the hospital wing.”
“What’s Potter
doing in the hospital wing?” countered Snape disbelievingly. “I saw him
sleeping like a troll when I got up this morning.”
“Who cares?”
interrupted Draco suddenly, seeming to recover from his shock to give Ginny a
rather nasty smile. “So, Potter’s broom’s here, eh?”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “You—” she began as she turned, but stopped when
she found Draco’s wand only a few inches from her face.
“Accio, key!”
Draco cried.
Ginny gave a shout
of alarm as the chain tugged from her wrist and Malfoy caught the golden key
with a triumphant swipe. He whirled and raced for his rival’s locker, just managing
to wrench it open when Ginny appeared directly at his elbow, furiously trying
to shove him out of the way.
“GET OFF!” they
yelled at the same moment, two pairs of hands thrusting forward to seize the
broom.
Then suddenly, all
noise stopped. Snape blinked and narrowed his eyes. He stared around the empty
room, his gaze resting upon the empty locker, its door still ajar and swinging
slightly.
They were gone.
Irrational panic
started to rise in his chest. He fought it down furiously and forced himself to
think clearly. A sudden pain convulsed through his left forearm.
The Dark Mark. Not now! Why was the Dark Lord
calling him now?!
Then it struck him.
Potter’s broom. It
must have been tampered with while it was being repaired. Someone had made it into
a Portkey – but it was meant for Harry Potter. And this meant…
Snape swore out
loud. He should go to Dumbledore, but there was no time. The Dark Lord would be
furious. And he knew better than anyone what the Dark Lord did when he was
furious…
Snape clenched his
jaw as he sprinted outside, entering the
It had been so long
since he’d answered the call, and although it didn’t feel like long
enough, he still knew the routine.
He tapped the mark
once with his wand and muttered the word. A black cloak-like robe and hood
wrapped itself around his body.
The outfit of a
Death Eater.
Sickened by a surge
of memories, Snape hesitated.
Just one more
tap… One more tap and he would face the Dark Lord once more.
He pulled up the
sleeve of his new outfit and raised his head to stare at the sky. But the glare
of the sun caught his eyes, and instead of blue sky he saw a hazy image of
Dumbledore peering back at him.
“Are you ready?” he heard it say.
Severus Snape
narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, I am!” he
thought defiantly, and drove his wand firmly to the mark.
***