Series - Runes of the Serpent
Chapter I - Ambitions
A/N - This OotP-incompatible story will no longer be updated. See note at the end.
Severus Snape gingerly nursed a bloody bruise on his temple. He had acted as though it were nothing at the time, of course, but now, having had two good hours to swell, it was causing him a searing migraine.
He hastily brushed a section of lank hair over the spot as he saw a figure approach outside the compartment door.
"Damn, Snape. I've been looking for you since King's Cross... why didn't you meet us at the platform?" Rosier snapped irritably as he slammed the sliding door behind him. "You didn't return any of my owls over the holiday either."
Severus studied his classmate up and down for a moment. His non-descript, almost no-colour, brown hair was looking shaggier than usual and he was carrying himself with more than even the usual arrogance. Severus had a moment of private amusement. What was Evan's inane interest in gaining popularity? It was totally lost of Severus and, if anything, his opinion of his friend dropped a half-notch lower. It was perfectly appropriate that Evan Rosier should greet him with a curse and an accusation. Nothing else could be expected, not on a hellish day like this.
He waved his hand impatiently. "Sorry. I have a headache and I just wanted some sleep and privacy before we get to the castle."
Evan eyed him suspiciously for a moment. He knew. Severus suspected that he had known for years where all of his mysterious (but cleverly explained away) injuries and maladies originated. But he'd never say anything... he knew better.
"Are the others around? I... I'm fine now, what compartment are you in?" he said rather quickly.
"Just a car back. Did you manage to get anything done over the summer?" Rosier asked, heading towards the door and pausing to raise his eyebrows inquiringly.
Severus shook his head bitterly. He snatched up his bag and followed Rosier to a much more populated area of the train. "No... I didn't get a chance to do anything but some basic research in the books I already had," he answered. "Nothing groundbreaking."
The door slid open to reveal a significant throng of Slytherin students, most of them members of Severus' own 6th Year, but a few younger and older. He slid down into a circle of four students, already actively discussing. Evan, however, excused himself for a moment and approached another group.
Adrian Lestrange was leaning his significantly broad shoulders against the window, the Northumbria scenery sliding past behind him, his arm around a nonchalant Eve Rockwell. The Slytherin Quidditch captain had been trying to entice Lestrange onto the team for a good four years, but the tall and burly Adrian would have nothing to do with it. Eve had a strange sort of beauty that Severus supposed impressed Lestrange. Her face was rather square and her brow was almost too heavy, but her eyes were piercing, burning and defiant, her dark hair spilled in waves down her back, and she had a Pict-like complexion and shortness that had something elfish about it. Caleb Avery was thin and fair so that he almost gave off the impression of sickly frailty. He adjusted his thick glasses on his blunt, freckled nose and muttered a greeting to Severus before returning to a thick, leather bound volume on his lap. Auvrey Wilkes was just donning his Hogwarts robes complete with Slytherin tie and crest. Severus had often thought that, had their company been in some generic fairy tale, Wilkes would be the deceitfully charming thief and assassin. He had an engaging smile and wide brown eyes that he could make convincingly innocent, which he often tactically employed when trying to win someone over. It would have disgusted Wilkes to know that his outward personality was must the same as Black's, his nemesis since early 1st Year. Severus didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.
"Take a look at Rosier throwing himself at Narcissa," Wilkes muttered with a sneer as he shoved his Muggle disguise jacket into his steamer trunk. He laughed and dropped into a seat next to Caleb.
"Bold," came the monosyllabic observation from Adrian.
Severus looked down the aisle to where Evan was avidly conversing with a 7th Year girl. Her usual hard-eyed, disdainful expression had been momentarily replaced with petit little giggles and tossing of her long, straight, blonde hair. Any half-witted prat knew that Narcissa Winters was taken and jealously guarded.
"Malfoy's going to destroy him," Severus noted casually as he watched Lucius seething in a nearby booth, looking very capable of dismembering Rosier in an instant if he dared touch the precious Narcissa.
"What do you think about Necromancy?" Eve posed suddenly.
"A little too macabre, don't you think?" Caleb said, putting aside the book in favour of a good Dark Arts debate.
"Macabre? Not at all. I mean, it's a really difficult and complex branch and all, but its one of the oldest forms of Black Magick. Let's look into it more, I say," Auvrey said.
"Seriously, when are you personally going to need to raise the dead?" Caleb argued disbelievingly.
Auvrey Wilkes the Great Necromancer. Severus tried not to laugh aloud. Wilkes was ambitious to be sure, and he'd make a great spy or traitor or something, but he was rather lacking in magical ability. If he weren't such a master cheater, he would have failed out of Hogwarts years ago.
Severus barely took part in the conversation, although they continued to touch on many of his favourite Dark Arts subjects. His headache, combined with the gentle motion of the train, was making him feel more ill than ever, but he dared not draw attention to it. Everyone but him had gathered numerous and intriguing bits of dangerous knowledge over the holiday. Well, what was it his fault if he couldn't just skip off to Knockturn Alley any time he wanted?
"My dad bought out Burke. He had to merge with Borgin just to stay in business," Eve grinned maliciously. "We got some really interesting imports from Japan in August... anyone want to help me test out a list of Shinto nature hexes that I filched from the storeroom?"
"Nature hexes?" Rosier, who had finally returned, questioned doubtfully. "Doesn't sound particularly... I don't know... intimidating. What are you going to do, sic the next Herbology assignment on Pettigrew?"
"No, you git. Don't you know anything about Asian sorcery?..."
Everyone had new collections of curses, volatile potions and the like. Severus, personally, had spent much of the past two months holed up in his room reading and rereading the same Dark Arts books that he'd had since 3rd Year. Well, he had them memorized anyway and that was more than he could say for any of his friends. They were deeply interested in the Dark Arts, to be sure, but they were so flighty, Severus thought. Harping along after every new little fad that came out. There was no one in the school as serious about it as he was. He would make up for lost time by spending his weekends in the Restricted Section of the Library. If they wouldn't teach it to him, he'd learn it himself.
It was just twilight as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. The now throbbing pain in Severus' temple was not alleviated by the pangs of hunger than had started an hour ago. He'd be fine, he told himself, after he had something to eat and a decent night's sleep. He was damned if he'd go to the Infirmary to be fussed over by that madwoman Pomfrey.
Pockets of twittering 1st Years milled around waiting for direction. They seemed more air-headed and childish with each passing year. He winced at Hagrid's booming voice which called them to the boats that would take them on the traditional journey across the lake. Severus was glad that he didn't have to put up with that nonsense anymore. He joined Caleb and Evan and they made their way up the High Street towards the horseless coaches.
"Lovely to see you again, Snape, old chap! And how is our favourite serpentine comrade?"
Severus suppressed a cringe of hate, and fingered his wand, seriously considering just turning around and spouting hexes in every direction.
It was Potter who had spoken. His sarcasm was especially annoying and he knew it. He responded with a phrase which would have earned him a good two weeks detention from any teacher.
"Touché. See you haven't changed."
"What do you want?" Severus finally gave in and turned around. Potter was surrounded by his usual contingent. If there was anyone that rivalled Potter in Severus' intensity of hate, it was Sirius Black. He was standing beside James with that irritating smirk on his face. Lupin scraped in at third on the hit list. He was quiet and didn't go personally out of his way to irk Snape, but he was always in on the jokes... and besides, there was something indefinable about him that just bothered Severus. Never far from Potter, Black, and Lupin was Pettigrew. Even now he came puffing up behind his friends, late and out of the loop as always. Severus shot a nasty look at Pettigrew and he quailed appropriately. It was so easy, if you got the little dolt on his own, to terrorize him.
Black mocked a look of outraged injured feelings. "Can't we even greet an old chum after a gruelling two months absence? We've so missed your Bram Stoker appeal, Snape." He suddenly turned serious. "Been having some Dark Arts fun on the train?"
"Yeah, and why don't you shove off before I try it out on you," Severus snapped. He laughed coldly at the resulting look on Pettigrew's round face. "What? Scared, Pettigrew?"
"Shut up," came the reply from Potter. They always had to stand up for him.
"Shut up, yourself. You're the ones who came over here to bother us," Rosier said beside him. Black shifted his eyes to Rosier and a brief look of malice was exchanged between them. They'd gotten into a nasty scuff after the Quidditch Cup last year that penalized both Houses fifty points and earned them both detention and stitches. The relationship was not a good one.
"Fine. You don't cross us and maybe we'll consider doing the same," Potter said, starting away toward the coaches, gang in tow.
"Idiots," he heard Lestrange, who had just approached, say. He flexed his thick fingers as though itching to strangle something. If it weren't the first day of term, Severus would say have at it, but he wasn't quite ready for a run in with authority this early on.
In short, the first day of Severus Snape's 6th Year was a bad one. Rather than being beneficial, as he had hoped, food had only aggravated his stomach. The celebratory and energy-charged atmosphere of the Great Hall's feast combined with the sight of whole throngs of people cheerily greeting the arrival of Potter and Black made him feel nauseous.
He was lying down with his eyes closed in his dormitory. He hadn't bothered to undress, just collapsed, aching all over, on top of the blankets. He had closed the thick forest green curtains to his four-poster bed but it really wasn't necessary as it was absolutely dark in the subterranean dungeon dormitories. Most students complained of the Slytherin dormitories' location, but Severus found it perfect. He liked the cool dampness of the dungeons, and who needed sunlight anyway? he thought, in complete Gothic rebellion of the prevailing seventies mood. He took personal insult to the weird "aura" of the decade with all its Bohemian joint-smoking, horoscope-reading, Scarborough-Fair-going flowers and colour.
Severus tried to concentrate on anything but the turning of his stomach. He may have practically asked for the bruising and the resulting pain, but what was this sickness about? It was probably just nerves, he thought. But maybe not... was he letting the old man get to him? Once the idea was conjured it began to take hold. He had never let his father bother him before. It wasn't deserving of his time and what did it matter if he thought of Severus as worthless? There was nothing different about this time, he tried to tell himself, trying to push away the thought that his father's ranting might finally be affecting him.
He was surprised and also appalled to feel his eyes sting with unspilt tears. He blinked them back hastily. He had never, never cried as a result of corporal punishment. Not even when he was young, had he ever let his father see him cry during a beating.
But it wasn't the actual blows that bothered him this time... he was sixteen and could take it easily enough, but the words... the damn words. The old bastard had been sober enough that morning to cut him deep.
A strong northern accent... This is all that hellion of a mother of yours fault. If she weren't dead and buried I'd give her something to think about, right. Clanking of empty bottles in the cupboards and muffled cursing. Not even around to raise you in her demon ways.
Demon ways. He always referred to witchcraft as such. You don't have to talk about her like that.
Shut up and I'll talk about me own dead wife however I want.
We have to be at King's Cross Station by eleven today. It's start of term.
You and that foul school. That witch gave you all that... all that sorcery madness. Madness, that's what it is. Leaves me with a warlock son and nothing to live for, the she-devil!
What do you care if I'm a wizard? Nothing I do matters to you.
What do I care if me own son's a goddamn wizard!? Course I care! No family, no wife, just you-- spawn of a witch!
Spawn of a witch. Half-human? Fine. I'll get out of your miserable life as soon as I graduate. What did you even bother having me for if you were set to hate me right from the off?
You think you were anything but an accident? Hoarse and mirthless laughter.
Shut up.
What?
Shut up!
Everything seemed coloured red. You think it's Mum's fault that you're drunk and redundant?! You just never stop, do you?! I - Breaking of glass.Mum? Hah! You miss her don't you! Crunch of glass shards. Incomprehensible mutterings of rage. And don't you dare insult me... don't you...
In retrospect, he should have let it pass, kept his mouth shut and kept the peace. The ride on the underground to King's Cross Station was a silent one and the old man had left him at the entrance, not willing to go anywhere near Platform 9 3/4. Also, looking back on it, it had been stupid to let anything like emotion creep into his argument. That was where he had gotten himself into trouble. Mum. Where had that come from, anyway? He hadn't used the word in ages. He didn't even remember Regina Snape very well.
He wasn't sure why he let his father treat him the way he did. Severus was quite capable of cursing him into oblivion if he'd wanted to... he just never did it. It certainly wasn't out of any kind of love for the old man. Hah! He was only a pathetic Muggle after all (a heritage that Severus carefully kept from his friends' knowledge).
Severus sat up and forced himself together. He'd never let himself fall apart like that again. It was ridiculous. Both his parents were dead to him and if he wanted to make it anywhere in life no one but himself was going to help him. He made up his mind then and there that he wasn't going home at the end of the year. He didn't know where exactly he'd go, but it didn't matter. Nothing was going to stand in the way of his ambitions.
