Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except for my meager skills in writing. I will be writing short chapters in the hopes of posting something every day (well, while I'm in Osaka at least...)

I have no Beta-er, so if you'd like to help out, please tell me. This is a variant on the Severitus challenge, as I'm currently enamored of that genre. No slash, sorry... romance tends to make me feel odd, in any fandom... and I think it's what has really made it tough for me to finish my other stories... Dang it. I haven't seen anyone take this tack to the story, so perhaps I'll be slightly original. If not, I apologize, but there's no way I can slog through the backload of fiction for this particular fandom. Usually I do, but it's impossible for this one.





Another Sorting Ceremony over with, and no mishaps. Snape looked down on his students. 6 into Slytherin, just over a dozen of the Gryffindor brats, and another 5 into each of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. It seemed a sign of the times that the children were choosing sides in the war based on houses. Five of his new students were the children of death eaters. Three of the new Gryffindors were children of Ministry employees.

Still, there had been no difficulties this year, and that was something to be thankful for. His frown deepened as his mind drifted, as it did every year, to his own year's sorting, which hadn't gone nearly so well...

"Professor, you forgot about me." The child stepped forwards from the shadows, startling teachers and students alike. Dark, wraithlike, there was something about him that the assistant headmistress could not ignore. She looked in confusion from the boy to the list.

"There isn't anyone else on the list," she said quietly. One of the new first year boys from Gryffindor started to laugh. She'd deal with it later.

"I have my letter here," he said, moving forwards hesitantly, pulling a sheet of paper from his threadbare robes. "I'm Severus Snape. I'm sure you've heard of my father..."

"Squib, I'd wager," came a whisper from the Slytherin table. "Father forged a letter for him..."

"Didn't the English Snapes die out?"

"He's going to cry... Severus? Looks more like a Snivellus to me." The first years in Gryffindor tittered with nervous laughter.

The headmistress glared at both tables as the Ravenclaws started tapping fingers and toes impatiently. The dark child glared at them all without any sign of tears in his dark eyes.

The headmistress took the letter, her eyes widening slightly as she read it. "Headmaster," she said softly, bringing the letter to the head table, leaving the boy standing where he was. "Perhaps you might have a look..."

The headmaster stared at the sheet of weathered paper in his hands. It was clear to anyone watching that the child had twisted the sheet, playing with it, rereading it, bending the corners over... The headmaster pursed his lips and gave a glance around the room.

"It appears we have made a mistake. Snape, Severus. Come and be sorted, child."

Severus sat on the chair and waited as the hat was placed on his head. A voice spoke into his head, though he didn't quite hear what it was saying, didn't comprehend the answers he gave to it. Finally, it yelled out: "Slytherin!"

The Slytherins clapped cooly while the headmaster and assistant headmistress shared a significant glance over his head. Severus walked to the Slytherin table, the sound of laughter from the Gryffindors' ringing in his ears like dischordant music.

Snape shook his head to clear it. It was becoming too much of a routine, this time spent looking at a past that no potion would ever change. This year, not even Potter or the newly returned Lupin were going to drag him back into those pain filled school years.







If you've read this, please review. Thanks ever so.