In Vipera Morsus
Author; Chihiro Yuki
Warnings: Snape/Harry Slash, foul language, upsetting scenes and a terrible attempt at humour!
Setting: Post-War, canon-ish (up until the epilogue), the seventh years return for an eighth year.
-Prologue-
In the cold light of morning, Harry Potter glared at the cup of tea set upon his coffee table. His green eyes penetrated the innocent porcelain as if the cup was to blame for the inevitably exhausting day ahead.
With a long-suffering sigh, The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, heaved himself from his comfortable position on the livingroom settee and resigned himself to his fate.
He bent to pick up his luggage and made his way to the front door of Grimmauld Place; setting him on the first leg of his journey back to a castle in the Scottish Highlands he had always considered his first home.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry awaited Harry Potter to welcome him back for his seventh year.
" Mr Potter! Is it true that you're running for Minister?"
"-No-"
"Harry Potter, what is your opinion concerning the current political climate in France?"
"-I..What?-"
"I heard you found the cure for Lycanthropy, Mr Potter, is this true?"
"-What? No..-"
"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Can I have your signature?"
"I'm sorr- Whoa!"
Harry backed away from the over-enthusiastic woman urging Harry sign her skin with a pink quill; her shirt undone and her chest pushed forward proudly. She batted her eyelashes at him and he blushed violently, shaking his head at her before turning and all but running from the gang of reporters and adoring fans.
Harry weaved his way through the familiar King's Cross Station, dodging Muggles and Wizards alike in his mad dash to get away from the crowds.
He had dreaded this day for months, the day where he would have to venture out in public alone for the first time since the end of the war. All of the attention he was getting left a bad taste in his mouth; he'd always had more bad press than good, and now everyone wanted to shake his hand and sing his praise. He understood it, but it didn't stop him from feeling a little betrayed.
When he had first received the letter inviting him back to Hogwarts, he had been more than happy to except. The war had been hard on everyone; but life moved on. The Seventh Year students who'd been directly affected by the chaos had been given the choice to re-sit their NEWTS.
Post-war life had eventually gained some semblance of control. Hogwarts was re-built and the remaining Death Eaters were captured. No longer did the Wizarding world kneel at the mercy of one dark, tyrannical man; all thanks to one eighteen year old boy.
It was the same eighteen year old boy that fled his fans and took a running-jump at the wall between platforms nine and ten in King's Cross station, forgetting to check for Muggle on-lookers in his haste. He stumbled onto platform nine and three quarters, catching himself before he fell face-first into the neighbouring wall. Bystanders glanced curiously at him as he straightened himself out and retrieved his luggage bag from the floor where it'd tipped on its side in the rush.
He didn't blame his two best friends for being unable to accompany him on the journey to Hogwarts; but that didn't stop him from sighing when on every street the world seemed to echo his name.
Hermione had gone to look for her parents after the post-war clean up. She'd eventually found them in Australia and removed the spell she'd cast on them prior to the war. She'd ended up staying with her parents for the last few weeks of summer and didn't plan to come back until Sunday, two days from now.
Ron had chosen to stay at home with his family a bit longer while he and George made plans for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grand re-opening in a few weeks. The Weasleys' still grieved heavily for Fred, and in turn put all of their efforts into re-opening the shop in Fred's honour. Ron had opted to come back tomorrow evening.
Which left Harry to cope with the hordes of undying fanatics and eager reporters alone. He hurried through the crowd of students and parents alike towards the old steam train he'd grown to love, ignoring the naked admiration and blatant stares he received on the way.
He threw himself onto the train without a backwards glance, ignoring a few of the Wizards and Witches who were trying to get his attention. He felt relief spread through his body as he snapped the door on the train shut against the crowd.
But Harry's relief was short lived as he turned to face the corridor. He found himself facing a train-full of bustling students, and the majority were already murmuring his name and reacting to his presence amongst them, eager young faces turning to stare at him expectantly.
Would life for The Boy Who Lived ever be simple?
Harry found himself wedged between Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan during the most awkward Sorting Ceremony he'd ever attended. The majority of new students seemed more interested in shaking his hand, getting his signature or asking him if he was immortal, amongst other far-fetched assumptions.
Finnigan snickered madly into his fist while Longbottom patted Harry awkwardly on the back, attempting to comfort him during the whole fiasco. Harry ignored most all questions and requests, burying his head in his arms and blocking out the world.
He felt somewhat relieved when he heard Headmistress McGonagall call order to the Great Hall. He raised his head to see the first years scrambling into a line at the front of the Sorting Hat. He stole a glance up the Gryffindor table, only to see his noble classmates staring at him as well. Most of them hastily turned away when they saw him look their way, but others continued their gaping.
"You know, Harry, they're not doing it to wind you up.. they love you for what you did." Neville offered, looking sympathetic. Harry mumbled a sardonic "I suppose" into the table top, not bothering to acknowledge his friend properly. He heard him sigh softly and pick up a conversation with Lavender Brown, who sat across from the trio, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
The ceremony ended and the feast began, leaving each house to greet their newest members. Harry couldn't think of anything worse; new eyes to watch his every step and new voices to question his every motive. He speared a boiled potato angrily and thought of ways he could excuse himself to his dormitory.
Before he could even formulate a plan, McGonagall called the hall to be silent. He glanced to the head table curiously, interested despite his mood, to see her interrupt everyone mid-feast.
"Students, if I could have your attention for a few minutes, that would be grand." Her usually stern tone was softer than usual, carrying through the hall and silencing the curious chatter that had erupted.
She appeared to steal herself before speaking again, pulling in a large breath. "I would like to inform you that we have found a worthy candidate for the Defence against the Dark Arts position."
The sentence drifted serenely through the hall, leaving a silence in its wake before curious murmurs broke loose and McGonagall held her hand up to hush the students once more.
"I expect you to treat him with the respect he deserves. The perils of war dealt us all a cruel hand, but few so severe as what this man has endured to insure our safety."
Hundreds of heads immediately turned to Harry and he felt himself pale under the scrutiny. He cast his eyes to the Headmistress. She directed a grim, half-smile his way, before gesturing with a wrinkled hand towards the entrance of the hall.
"Severus Snape will be joining us again at Hogwarts." She uttered, as if commenting on the weather, before turning around and settling back into her seat, her gaze downcast.
The hall once again plummeted into silence. This time, the weight of it caused gooseflesh to explode along Harry's exposed forearms.
What..?
Harry felt himself grow detached, an inner monologue overriding his conscious as the rest of the hall stared towards the entrance to the hall, haunted expressions marring their features.
Surely not? Snape died.. Snape is dead.. Snape is…..
It was as if some meddling deity had slowed down time itself. Harry turned, his body seeming to take years to complete the simple motion. His bright green irises followed, excruciatingly slow, to where all of other the students gawped.
A tall, thin figure occupied the doorway. His posture was awkward. His long, black hair lankier than ever. His sallow skin paler than usual and his face gaunt and empty of any emotion but discontent.
Swathed in a long, black cloak, several times too big for his emaciated frame, stood Seveus Snape.
And suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe.
Author's note: I hope you enjoyed the prologue for my first ever Snarry fic! I'd love it if you could chuck me a review... this author appreciates any feedback you want to give! :D