Chapter Three: An Old Nemesis.
Snape picked himself up from the ground for the second time during his experience with the afterlife. Feeling indignant, he brushed his black Hogwarts robe smooth. He looked like a fifth year, only he had the memories, knowledge and experience of the much older version of himself. He stared with apprehension down at his wrist, where the Dark Mark ought to be. Bracing himself, Snape pulled up the sleeve of his robe in one rapid movement, only to reveal…nothing. Aside from the white flesh that protected the dense network of bone, blood and capillaries, Snape saw nothing on his wrist. No Dark Mark, no permanent reminder of his past errors in judgment. No stamp of dishonour. No brand of malevolence.
Snape looked around with anticipation, his heart thumping furiously. He expected to see her walking towards him at any moment. Did she choose this same path? Did she choose to spend an eternity in the Fountain of Youth?
There was an abundance of beauty around him, and also a sense of familiarity, despite the fact that Snape did not recognise the lush trees, the inviting river, or any stone around him. He seemed to be in a yard somewhere, not unlike one of those belonging to Hogwarts.
Snape wandered around, his demeanour bat-like. Suddenly, he heard a thud, and the next thing he knew his breath had been knocked out of him! He recovered, gasping, and glared suspiciously around him.
To his distinct distaste and horror, Snape's glare was met by the cool gaze of none other than James Potter, his old nemesis! Like Snape, Potter was young once more, wearing his Gryffindor robe. His untidy hair and the shape of his face resembled that of his son, Harry, so much that Snape had to stare at the eyes for verification. No-it was definitely James Potter. James Potter had just punched him, winding him badly.
James laughed nastily, as Snape straightened up again from the blow, feeling the awkwardness of all those years return. No, he decided. As far as physicality is concerned, I may have returned to a younger state, but I still have my earthly experiences, and an intellect which far exceeds that of this toerag.
'Fighting like a muggle?' spat Snape furiously, his voice rasping slightly as a consequence of him being hit. He drew his wand.
'How else d'you think I'd fight a little git like you?' returned Potter coldly, drawing his wand as quick as lightning and at the same time, producing a tiny golden snitch which he proceeded to throw up into the air and catch, three times over. 'With real magic? I don't think you'd know what hit you!'
The insult, coupled with the fact that Snape had always detested Potter's habitual showing off with the snitch, fuelled him to fight.
'I'll hit you with the full force of superior magic, you filthy nobody! Sectumsempra!'
'Petrificus totalus!'
Potter's spell was faster. It hit Snape directly in the middle of his chest, and knocked him to the ground, his body completely rigid.
Snape vowed revenge as Potter laughed hysterically, ruffling his hair to give it an even more tousled look.
'You thought you could better me?' Potter asked with a smirk. 'Even in death you will always be Snivellus Snape, the filthy, Slytherin who needs a gallon of shampoo to sort out your, shall we say, hygiene issues.' Before walking off in triumph, James Potter turned once more to Snape and said, 'Oh, I did end up getting the girl. Didn't you know?'
Snape, although incapacitated and thus unable to speak, vowed that he would place every curse and jinx possible on Potter in due time. Why did Potter, of all people, choose an afterlife in the Fountain? Why him? And who else, Snape thought with irritation, would be found in this most unnatural fountain?
