Part II :
Starting Over
He didn't remember falling asleep. He only knew that now he was waking up. He stretched lazily, yawning. He felt...different. He didn't have the normal aches and pains that usually plagued him upon waking. Perhaps he was too hungover, or possibly still drunk. He scratched his head, remembering a vague dream. His hair seemed different, too. Slightly shorter, almost. Softer, thicker. He scowled. The thought was ludicrous. He instead focused on the dream.
He had spoken to Dumbledore, though the old man had looked more like when Snape had first been employed. They had been at King's Cross, or somewhere like it, he thought, but it seemed different; clean. He thought hard as to what they had spoken about. Death. Redemption. A second chance. To be able to choose differently; a path.
He shook his head, clearing away the thoughts. That was the last time he ever drank before bed. But the familiar headache that accompanied a hangover was missing, too. He shrugged, sitting up fully in his bed.
Taking in his surroundings for the first time, he couldn't help but feel baffled. He was in a small four poster, with all the curtains drawn tight. The hospital wing? No, that couldn't be right. The blanket was a deep emerald, the curtains matching but adorned with fine silver threads woven into them.
It looked eerily similar to the bed he had occupied during his years as a student. He slowly swung his legs over the side and drew back the curtain, holding his breath. He was in the Slytherin dormitories. Now that was really strange. He thought for sure he had been alone in his private quarters.
He got up, and wobbled a little. He felt off balance. Like he was in a different body. His brow furrowed as he took in the full chests and messy beds of the dormitory. Students didn't get back for another week. What in Merlin's name was going on?
He walked to the bathroom, seeking his reflection. He stopped dead in front of the mirror, gasping. He was looking at himself, of course, but it wasn't the same person who had fallen asleep the night before. He was fifteen years old again.
He brought a hand up and stroked the side of his cheek, pulled at his hair. He was dreaming, surely. But was it normal to have all of his old memories in a dream? To be the same cynical, hardened man that he was? And didn't dreams follow some semblance of a plot? Didn't you always go, even if you didn't quite understand where or why? He had absolutely no idea what to do now. What was happening?
He left the bathroom, not wanting to gaze upon his strange reflection any longer. He got quickly dressed, deciding to go walk the grounds. He remembered that clearing his head as a boy. He would walk the grounds with Lily.
Lily! She would be here. She would be alive!
He ran through the common room, not paying attention to anything in his way. He flung open the door, and nearly tore the tapestry it was hidden behind in his haste. He had one thought on his mind: find Lily.
He slowed his pace as he rounded the corner to the main hallway, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He certainly couldn't act how he normally would have, striding through the corridor like a bad storm and deducting house points.
As he rounded the corner to the entrance hall, he quite literally ran into Dumbledore.
"Sir," he breathed, "I'm sorry,"
"It's quite alright, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore smiled down at him, "Did you sleep well?" he asked suddenly, a twinkle in his eye. What a curious thing to ask a wandering student.
"Er...yes," Severus answered quickly, wanting to excuse himself and find Lily.
"Yes, dreams can often reveal quite a lot about our lives, if you are clever enough to listen to the people within them," he said then, catching Snape's attention.
His vague dream came back to him, standing with Dumbledore on the platform. Was he trying to say that that had been the dream, and this wasn't? Was his whole life a dream, than?
"I often feel it is easier not to question them, however, and take what gifts they have to offer," he continued. If he noticed Severus' internal struggles, he didn't comment on them.
The twinkle in his eye was disturbing Severus. What did he mean? He had known Albus long enough to know that he always had something up his sleeve; always knew more than he would let on. Or did he know him at all?
Snape decided that it didn't matter, if it was a dream, so be it. He would enjoy it until he woke the next morning.
Dumbledore seemed to shake himself, but the twinkle never left his blue eyes. "Yes well, run along now. Don't want to be late. You have your...Dark Arts O.W.L. this morning, if I am correct? Which I believe I am," he added, as if it were a secret between just them. He chuckled, straightening his glasses.
"Er...yes, sir," Snape said, spirits falling. He didn't want to have to sit through an exam the whole dream. He walked past the man, making his way towards the Great Hall.
"Oh, and Severus," Dumbledore said, surprising Snape by addressing him by his first name. He hadn't done that until well after he had graduated. "Do think carefully," he said, the tone in his voice implying he meant something deeper than on his exam.
Severus nodded slightly, before turning again and continuing on his way.
He finished in record time, having already dreamed a lifetime to do with the Dark Arts. He knew it like the back of his hand. But than again, how could he have dreamed up magic he had never even heard of? At the age of fifteen he had had no idea what a horcrux was, let alone how to make or destroy one. He hadn't even heard the word muttered in the hallways, the classrooms. It wasn't a dream, he thought decidedly. Definitely not. But than what was this?
As the exam drew to a close, he got up quickly and left the hall, meandering towards the grounds as he pondered the implications of this experience. What was he meant to do? Was he meant to do anything, to learn anything? And what of his body back in his private quarters? What happened to Professor Severus Snape, feared Potions Master and ex-spy, war hero? Did he ever even exist anymore?
He looked up suddenly and found himself on the edge of the lake. He remembered clearly the incident underneath the beech tree, right after the O.W.L. he had just taken. Sure enough, the four self-proclaimed marauders sat there, grinning and laughing as if nothing could touch them. If only they knew, Severus thought bitterly. That attitude is what got them all killed. This time, he wouldn't let them bully him, he would strike first. Teach them a lesson, once and for all.
It hit Severus all of a sudden. This was salvation, redemption. He had never been a man of faith, but he couldn't deny it as his dream the night prior came barreling back to him.
'You've done well, my boy,' Dumbledore said, as he patted Severus on the back. 'Very admirable,'
'Where are we?' Snape asked.
'King's Cross,' Dumbledore chuckled, the knowing look returning to his eyes as if he held a precious secret 'It seems a most...popular destination,'
'Why are we here?'
'You tell me,' the old man said softly, almost sadly. He looked at Snape, the twinkle in his eye dimming somewhat with whatever his new train of thought was.
Suddenly, looking into his blue eyes, he knew. He had died. He knew it like he knew the properties of a Bezoar.
'What now?' he asked, surprising himself with the ease in which he accepted this news. After all, he had just died. But than again, he reasoned, he hadn't had much to live for anymore. His life wasn't one he would choose for himself, by any means.
'Well, that is entirely up to you now, isn't it?' Dumbledore said, the damned twinkle back in his eyes, 'It is your redemption, Severus. I have never told you what to choose for yourself; I simply gave you the options. Choose how to save yourself; your soul. Choose to be happy. After all, what you chose before has gotten you here, better make the most of it, no?'
That was when Snape had awoken, in his bed in the dungeons. When he had awoken, fifteen years old again. Friends with Lily, who was as alive as ever.
When he had awoken, on the same day he had ruined his friendship with her. The day he had called her a mudblood, all but shoving her into James Potter's arms.
He straightened, turning to his left, and walking away from the beech tree. He would not be tormented, and he would not do wrong by Lily, whether in anger or not. He would stop hanging out with Avery and Mulciber. He knew now what was important. His past life had taught him that, if nothing else. He would be different.
He solidly turned his back on the beech tree; on the only future he knew of. But he knew enough to know he didn't want to live it twice.
"Hey," a voice said, as someone caught his elbow and started to walk beside him.
"Lily," he breathed, smiling. She was here, she was alive. And she didn't hate him. He could deal with anything else, as long as Lily was alive. He caught her up in a tight hug, burying his nose in her long hair, cherishing the beat of her heart against his chest.
"Gee, Sev. O.W.L's weren't that long," she teased, hugging him back.
"I'm sorry," he said meaningfully, as he pulled back to look at her. He would never get enough of her eyes, her smile. "So, so sorry,"
"For what?" she asked, confused.
"Everything," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Absolutely everything,"
"Lighten up, Sev. You're creeping me out," she laughed, and he laughed with her.
He would do right this time. He would fight Voldemort, on the side of light. He would use his past life to help the Order. He could be an Auror, even. He would build a life with Lily, and he would never take the Dark Mark.
He would grow up happy, no longer the bitter man he had despised until his dying day. He would live a life in which he deserved Lily. He would be admirable; he would give no one a reason to hate him, especially not Lily. He would not make the same mistakes twice, not even if his life depended on it.
He had a fresh start, a new life. He had been given everything, and he was sure to take advantage of it.
He grabbed Lily's hand as they walked by the lake, laughing. She blushed, but gripped his hand tightly in hers. He smiled, the first true smile in over forty years; or was it a few weeks? He didn't know, and he didn't care.
He had Lily.