Chapter Six
June, 1976
That evening, after dinner, Severus excused himself from his dormmates' grating company and made his way towards the dungeons, fully intending to get an early start on his night in order to be well-rested for the next morning's Potions exam.
Evidently, however, James Potter fully intended to continue making his life as miserable as possible.
As Severus crossed the Entrance Hall, heading for the staircase, Potter jogged up from the side of the room and leapt directly into Severus' path.
On reflex, Severus flipped his wand into his hand and pointed it at him.
"Hey," Potter protested, eyes widening, his hands in the air. "I don't—put that away, Snape. Merlin."
Severus raised an eyebrow at him.
Potter lifted his school robe to the side, showing Severus the wand that was firmly in the other boy's pocket. "I'm not going to hex you. I just wanted to speak to you."
"Really."
"Yes, really." Potter let both hands drop. "Look, can we take this outside, or something?"
Severus snorted. "You must be joking."
Potter ran a hand through his hair, which—Severus smirked—just made it look even worse. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't go anywhere alone with you if you asked me, either. Fine." He jerked his messy-haired head towards a bench in the corner, and the two of them sauntered over and sat down (Severus, of course, kept his wand in his hand).
"I just wanted to let you know," Potter said, taking a deep breath, "that I'm on to you."
"Are you, now?" Severus asked mildly.
"Yes. I know what you're doing, and although it's a good try and all, it's not going to work." Potter leaned back and crossed his arms.
"What, pray tell, do you believe me to be doing?" Severus asked.
Potter smiled crookedly. "Fine, I'll bite. Your whole nasty Pureblood act wasn't getting you into Evans' good graces, so you've decided to show your intellectual"—he said the word like it pained him—"side in the hopes of impressing her. But you forgot one thing."
"Do go on, I beg of you," Severus said lightly.
This was damned entertaining.
"Evans isn't a Ravenclaw, to be impressed by swotty tossers. And she's not a Slytherin, to be impressed by—whatever it is Slytherin girls like. Good lucks and breeding and money, I guess, which come to think of it wouldn't do you any good anyway—"
Severus pointed his wand up at Potter's heart. "Do go on," he said again, "I beg of you."
Potter glanced down and audibly swallowed. "Right. Anyway. Evans is a Gryffindor. What she wants," he said, "is a gentleman. A knight in shining armour."
Severus blinked. "And you believe you qualify, I suppose?" he asked, allowing his amusement to show in his voice.
"More so than you, I'd say," Potter said. "And although you can try to keep up this virtuous act you've got going on, we both know your true colours."
"Do we, now?"
"Yes. You can be the next Potions prodigy all you want, but nobody's forgotten," Potter said, shaking his head for emphasis, "that there's one thing you know better than anybody should, and that's Dark bloody Magic."
Severus shrugged. "What exactly is your point? I trust you have one, although perhaps my trust is over-optimistic."
Potter scowled satisfyingly. "My point is that you'll only be able to keep up this noble, adult pretence for so long before it all comes crashing down."
"Your lack of confidence wounds me," Severus said flatly.
"You're not cut out to be the good boy, Snape," Potter said, leaning back against the wall. "But me, on the other hand—I have 'good boy' written all over me." He swept his hand down his body for emphasis. Severus snorted.
Potter continued, "So someday, when you get tired of pretending, Evans is going to be reminded what you really are, you snake, and when she does"—Potter grinned—"she's going to remember the good boy who's been right there all along."
"So that's your plan?" Severus asked. "Act as the paragon of virtue until such a time as I reveal myself to be the vortex of evil you so sincerely believe me to be?"
Potter crossed his arms. "Pretty much, yeah."
"Are you interested in hearing a critique of this brilliant plan of yours?" Severus offered.
"Go ahead."
"First of all, one should never plan one's successes on the basis of the assumed failures of others, as one is certain to be disappointed," Severus said. Potter indicated for him to continue, so Severus added, "Secondly, it is generally regarded as a poor decision to reveal one's plan to one's rival."
Potter seemed to allow that to sink in, and then he grinned and said, "But that's where we're different. I, Snape, just want to give you a sporting chance, of course. As I said, I am a gentleman."
"Very well, then." Severus stood. "Best of luck to you on your imbecilic plan, Potter, which I assure you will never come to fruition." He affected a mocking bow in Potter's direction and added, "I bid you good evening."
Severus swept across the room towards the staircase, leaving Potter on the bench, alone with his unwarranted expression of satisfaction.
Severus felt like he had blinked, and then he was suddenly handing in his finished Potions written examination—one he had been careful to seed with intimations of new theories and "discoveries" he would shortly be making as an apprentice.
Severus blinked again, and he was corking a sample of a beyond-perfect Amortentia (which he had refused to smell) and handing it in to an examiner who glanced at the vial through magnifying spectacles and said, "My word—what did you say your name was, young man?"
Severus told him, and the examiner smiled and said, "That's a name I'll be sure to remember, Mr Snape. I'll be watching the Potions periodicals."
Severus nodded modestly and said, "Thank you, sir."
And then Severus was at the Leaving Feast, and the Ravenclaws had won the House Cup—bully for them—and then the plates were cleared away and he was marched between his fellow fifth-years down to the dungeons, where the sixth-years had smuggled in a fair supply of Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade (there was Butterbeer for the lower forms—they were Slytherins, not degenerates) and Severus allowed himself to be given a tumbler of whiskey, which he immediately regretted upon realising that his sixteen-year-old's body would not have nearly the tolerance he'd had at thirty-eight, and he was forced to perform a wordless Switching charm in order to replace it with water (a tragic waste of what was, he gathered, excellent Firewhiskey).
So Severus sat in a Common Room chair and watched children from twelve to eighteen chatter happily, optimistically about their futures—never mind the Dark Lord who was rising and, if Severus didn't do his job properly, would rise again—and it was going too fast, it was all going much too fast, and then the inexplicable giggler from the previous day's review session was leaning towards his chair and asking him how he had done on the exam, and what score he predicted he'd get, and if he would like to dance with her, and Severus said, "Excuse me," and asked a passing sixth-year for another glass of Firewhiskey, which he tossed back expertly—"Good show, Snape," the sixth-year said appreciatively—and felt much better for it.
And the girl smiled, and offered him her hand, and of course Severus demurred and the girl insisted, and he was beginning to attract others' attention—why would Snivellus decline the opportunity to dance with a gorgeous older girl, he must be mad, or maybe he just didn't like girls, ha ha ha—so, his face warming, he took the girl's hand and brought them both to their feet and out to the impromptu dance floor in the centre of the room.
The music was loud, contemporary, and non-Muggle, which meant that it sounded like early punk with the unlikely additions of a bagpipe and a glockenspiel—Wizards did not, it must be confessed, do music well—and Severus did his best to sway convincingly to the music. The girl, whose name he still didn't know, didn't seem to care that he was probably the worst dancer in the history of the Wizarding world—he could waltz, of course, but a waltz this was not—and it occurred suddenly to Severus that she had most likely been celebrating the end of her Hogwarts education with a whiskey or three of her own.
"Would you care to sit down?" Severus asked her, as the song seemed to be drawing to a close.
"What?"
Merlin. "Would you care," Severus yelled over the music, "to sit down?"
She shook her flushed face. "No, I'll stay here, but feel free to sit out—thanks for the dance, love!"
To Severus' shock, she pressed her lips to his cheek before saying, "Owl me this summer, won't you?" and turning to the other seventh-year girls, joining them in their uncoordinated dance in the centre of the floor. Severus distinctly heard the lot of them giggling—again—and he whirled in the opposite direction towards a low table where he helped himself to another Firewhiskey, because he seemed to be handling the first one just fine and if it came down to it, he was damned ace with a Sobering charm—Rosier had, or would have, taught him an excellent one in a year's time, nineteen years ago—and what had made her think that he wanted her to kiss the cheek that Lily had kissed just one day before?
Severus swallowed his whiskey, and it warmed his throat, and then Rosier was clapping him on the back. "Brilliant, Snapey," he said. "Greengrass? Didn't know you had it in you."
Greengrass? Oh, the girl. "Yes. Well."
The music grew quieter, and the whiskey-distributing sixth-year jumped on top of a chair. He cast a Sonorus on himself and said, "Ladies and gentlemen—and visiting Hufflepuffs—"
The crowd laughed, and Severus heard someone say, "Wait, somebody invited some Hufflepuffs?"
"—thank you for joining us in bidding adieu to our dearly departing Slytherins," the sixth-year continued. "We've had many years to get to know and loathe them—or in the case of our dear firsties, just one year—hey, firsties, why are you still up? As your Prefect I insist you go to bed. Actually, as your sixth-year Prefect, I insist your fifth-year Prefects round you up and make you go to bed. Go on. Second-years too. Off you go."
Behind Severus, Rosier groaned good-naturedly and left to shoo away the younger students.
"Now that we have rid the rooms of the impressionable youths—those still young enough to have hope of redemption, that is—"
The gathered students laughed again.
"Let me welcome your seventh-year Prefect—until tomorrow, of course, when I become your seventh-year Prefect—"
"Oy!" shouted a girl, whom Severus belatedly recognized as the female sixth-year Prefect.
"—Right, when I become one of your seventh-year Prefects—anyway, here he is, Mr Marty Wilkes!"
Severus sank down onto a nearby chair. Merlin, they were all so…happy, so…optimistic. None of them had yet lost friends or family members to the war. Had any of them already pledged themselves to the Dark Lord? Probably. But—Severus surveyed his classmates—not one of them yet had any idea of what that truly meant.
The children around him cheered for Martinius Wilkes, Death Eater, who jumped up on the chair next to the sixth-year. "Thanks, Selwyn, now get the hell off my chair." Selwyn grinned, bowed, and jumped down.
"First of all, I want to thank the sixth-years for providing the materials for such a…festive farewell gathering." Wilkes toasted the air with his glass. "May the current fifth-years do you as well on your last night at Hogwarts."
Rosier, who had just returned from the lower forms' dormitories, placed his hand over his heart and nodded solemnly, much to the amusement of the students around him.
"We've spent seven long years at Hogwarts," Wilkes began, "learning from our estimable professors…and our not-so-estimable professors—"
"—and seven different Defence hacks!" called out the ginger not-Weasley seventh-year.
"Yes, and them," Wilkes said, "for which we all deserve medals, frankly." The students responded with laughter and jeers. "But the one thing that has always remained consistent for each of us—even the lucky buggers who are skipping out two years early—"
Severus felt dozens of eyes turn and focus on him, in his chair, with his ill humour and his glass of Firewhiskey, and he assessed the atmosphere of the room and the temper of the students—
Severus indicated with a quick jerk of his right hand that Wilkes was a wanker, and everyone laughed, and their attention turned back to the boy standing on the chair.
Severus' grip on his glass relaxed.
"Yes, thank you, Snape," Wilkes continued. "Charming as always. As I say, what has remained consistent for all of us, throughout our years at Hogwarts, is the same thing that brings us all together here tonight: Slytherin House."
A few students nodded, and Wilkes resumed speaking. "You've certainly heard grumblings from lesser minds that ours is a House for Dark Wizards. To which, of course, I reply that we have exactly as many Dark Wizards as any other House—but we can't help it if we're always the best at what we do."
Even Severus cracked a smile at that one.
"But truly, ours is a mighty House," Wilkes said, "where honour is more important than blind loyalty, shrewdness more valued than recklessness, and understanding more vital than inapplicable knowledge." Wilkes paused. "Unless, of course," he added, "you're a certain lucky bugger who's skipping out two years early."
Severus didn't hesitate before flipping Wilkes two fingers, which delighted everyone (especially, Severus rather thought, Martinius Wilkes).
"So here's my parting advice, from a wise old man to his many breathless acolytes," Wilkes said—"Yeah, right!" Selwyn called up—"and shut up, Selwyn. My advice is this: Never forget that you're a Slytherin, never bring dishonour to Slytherin, and never forget that your true friends"—he paused to gaze earnestly around the room—"are in Slytherin. Which is a good thing, too—because who runs the world?"
"Slytherin!" came the standard response.
"Exactly!" Wilkes said approvingly. "A toast, then, to the mighty House of Slytherin!"
Wilkes lifted his glass, and Selwyn jumped up next to him. "A toast, too, to our departing seventh-years—to Wilkes, Emery, Bagshot, Sturgeon, Smythe—"
Aha!
"—Greengrass, Wicker, Lovelace, Parkinson, and, why the hell not, Snape." Severus rolled his eyes.
"To Slytherin!" Wilkes called.
"To Slytherin," echoed the mighty House of Slytherin—even, why the hell not indeed, Severus Snape—and that mighty House set about noisily finishing off the last of their high-calibre Firewhiskey.
Severus, however, had had quite enough alcohol and optimism. He took his leave, seeking the solace of his empty dormitory for one last time.
The train was slowing slightly, and Lily stood and, much to Severus' shock, began unbuttoning her robes. Severus inhaled sharply. "Lily, what are—"
She turned her back to him and said, over her shoulder, "I can't very well go out into Muggle London dressed like this, can I?" she asked. Suddenly, one of her shoulders was bare.
Severus swallowed. "Shouldn't—ah, that is, shouldn't you—wouldn't you like to do that in the girls' lav?"
"Don't be silly," Lily said, smiling. "We're friends, aren't we?" The other shoulder was now bare.
"Yes," Severus said. "Yes. We are."
"Shouldn't you get changed, too?" Lily asked sweetly. "You can't very well wear those, either."
Severus glanced down. He was wearing his Death Eater's robes.
"Here," Lily said. "I'll help you take them off." Her robe fell to the floor, revealing that she wore only a pair of pink lacy knickers underneath.
Just before she turned around to face him, she frowned slightly and asked, "Oy, Avery, have you seen my Ballycastle socks?"
Severus sat up in bed.
"Sweet merciful Merlin, no," Avery groaned, "I haven't seen your bloody Ballycastle socks. Now shut the hell up."
Mulciber was digging through his trunk. "I know I should've packed last night like you lot did but I was fucking pissed, all right, now who has my fucking Ballycastle socks?"
"Nobody has your socks, Mulciber," Rosier called from behind his own bedcurtains. "Now shut up and let us sleep for half a sodding hour more."
Severus fell back onto his mattress.
Two hours later, he was walking down the corridor inside the Hogwarts Express as it departed Hogsmeade Station, glancing in each compartment until he finally reached the one containing just one red-headed, beautif—person.
Severus slid open the door. Lily looked up from her book and smiled at him. "Hello," she said.
"Hello," Severus replied. He slid the door closed and took his seat on the bench opposite hers.
"So," Lily said without preamble, "did you go all the way with Evvie Greengrass, or did you just neck for a while?"
Severus sputtered, and Lily laughed. "Oh, Sev, you should see your face. Relax. You and I both know how the Hogwarts gossip mill works. Mary heard early this morning from some Hufflepuff or other that you danced with Greengrass at Slytherin's party, and then by the time the rumour came back around after breakfast from some Ravenclaw, it was that you'd taken her into one of Slytherin's many BDSM dungeons and had your wicked way with her." Lily grinned and added, "Which is preposterous, of course, I mean, you seem far more the type to want someone to have their wicked way with you."
Severus blinked. "Impressive," he said.
"I know!" Lily said. "To extrapolate all that from one dance…" She trailed off.
Oh. "One brief dance," he agreed. "Not even a slow one."
Lily visibly relaxed. "Really!" she said. "The whole story was just absurd. I mean, BDSM dungeons, honestly."
"In all fairness, the bit about Slytherin's BDSM dungeons is true," Severus deadpanned. "We have four of them."
Lily narrowed her eyes. "You're joking."
Severus shrugged, and Lily lifted one of her feet and prodded his leg with it. "You're joking," she repeated, and Severus shrugged again. Lily kicked him. "You're joking!"
"I suppose you'll just have to find another Slytherin," he said, "and ask him."
Lily threw up her hands. "Fine, fine," Severus said. "I'm joking about the BDSM dungeons."
"Thank you," Lily said.
"We don't have four of them."
"Oh my God."
An hour's worth of conversation later, and despite Lily's objections, Severus was gallantly paying for both of their tea trolley purchases with the money he'd won off Rosier in their most recent chess matches. He was receiving his change back from the trolley witch when a door three compartments down from his own slid open and Potter and his cronies spilled out, swarming around the trolley like unfed wildebeests.
"Oy, Sniv—" Potter began, and then he stopped suddenly, looking behind Severus.
Severus glanced behind himself to see Lily watching them through the open door of their compartment, making a what's going on? gesture from her seat.
"Er, hello, Snape," Potter said instead. "I hope the journey is going well for you. I trust we're not in your way?"
"The bloody fuck?" Black said from behind him, while Lupin stifled a grin behind his hand.
"Not at all," Severus replied. "I was just returning to our compartment. If you'll excuse me."
If Severus placed a little extra emphasis on the word "our," well—he did have to keep up appearances as a teenage boy, didn't he?
While Potter's face turned red, Severus sauntered back through the open door of his compartment, reclaimed his seat, and said, "Potter sends his regards," before he closed the door with a quick flick of his wand.
The door muffled, but did not block out, Black's loud demand of, "What the hell has gotten into you, mate?"
Severus turned to Lily and said, "I brought you an extra pumpkin pasty."
Shortly after they finished their overpriced train luncheon, there was a quick knock on the door, which slid open to reveal Marty Wilkes, already dressed in dark green street robes. "Ah, Snape," he said. "There you are. I wanted to—oh, hello."
Wilkes' attention had turned to Lily, who was raising her eyebrows at Severus. "My apologies," Severus said. "Lily Evans, may I present Martinius Wilkes, seventh-year Slytherin Prefect."
"Recent Hogwarts graduate, rather," Wilkes said, "much like Mr Snape, here. Snape, my family will be hosting a gathering at our place in the country in two weeks' time. I do hope you'll be able to join us."
Severus inclined his head. "If my work permits," he said.
It wouldn't.
Wilkes nodded. "Naturally. I'll be sending a formal invitation, then. Care of…?"
"Slug and Jigger's."
"Excellent. Enjoy the rest of the trip, Snape. Miss…Evans." And Wilkes was gone.
Lily stared pointedly at Severus. "Slug and Jigger's?" she repeated.
"I'm not sure of the exact number," Severus explained. "On the low end, I imagine, as it's not far from the Leaky Cauldron, but…"
Lily cocked her head to one side. "And why, exactly, would you be getting mail at the apothecary?"
Severus felt the blood drain from his face. "I haven't told you?"
Lily, clearly amused, shook her head.
"My apologies, then. I know I meant to—I had planned to right after I found out—but then Potter was there and—"
"And then we bollocksed it all up, I know," Lily said, smiling. "Tell me what you'll be doing at the apothecary."
"I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger?" Severus asked.
"Yes, of course."
"As it turns out, he and Professor Slughorn are business associates—partners in the Diagon Alley apothecary—and Master Jigger recently lost his shop boy."
Lily grinned. "Aha! So you'll be working in the shop, then. Lord help your customers, Sev."
"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Severus said wryly. "With luck—actually, it's rather a given, honestly—I won't be terrorizing the apothecary patrons for long. Providing Master Jigger is impressed with my work ethic and with my NEWT scores, which…" Severus waved one hand dismissively. "He has agreed to take me on as his apprentice." Severus paused, and then added, "He's never taken an apprentice before."
Lily's eyes widened. "Wow," she said. "That's amazing. He's the leading expert in combat potions, isn't he?"
Severus nodded. "Possibly the only expert," he said. "The opportunity to learn from him, well, it's—it's more than I could've ever hoped for."
"Well, you deserve it," Lily said, smiling, "Mr 'I Sat my NEWTs and my OWLs in the Same Week.'"
Severus allowed himself a smile. "I assure you, Lily," he said, "that this is one of many things I truly do not deserve."
They spent the remainder of the trip talking of this and of that—their plans for the summer, the possibility of a visit, the idiocy of James Potter, who walked by the compartment, whistling, no fewer than four times—and before long, the train was pulling into King's Cross.
Severus shouldered his trunk and lifted half of Lily's, following her onto the platform and through the barrier into the station proper, where her mother was waiting for her, open-armed. After releasing Lily from her fierce hug, Mrs Evans—a slender woman with fading red hair—turned to Severus and, much to his surprised, squeezed him briefly.
"I was so sorry to hear about your mother, Severus," Mrs Evans said. "Are you holding up all right?"
"Mum, he doesn't want to talk about it," Lily hissed.
"No, I—thank you, Mrs Evans, but I—the pain eases with every day."
Indeed, the pain had eased immensely over twenty years.
"Well, if you need anything, we're just down the street, you hear?" Mrs Evans said, unsubtly pinching her daughter's arm.
"Mum!" Lily said. "Severus is actually—he's finished school, Mum, he's sat his NEWTs early and he's taking up under a Potions Master here in London!"
"Well, well," Mrs Evans said, smiling, "congratulations, then! Where is this Potions Master?"
It hadn't even occurred to Severus that Master Jigger would come to the station to meet him, but Lily's mother was surveying the crowd gathered near the barrier, while Lily rolled her eyes. "Mum, I'm sure he's on the other side," she said pointedly.
Mrs Evans hand flew to her face. "Oh, of course. That was silly of me. Well, if you're sure he's here to meet you—"
Severus wasn't.
"—then let me wish you good luck!" Mrs Evans hugged him again, and Lily reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Good luck," she repeated, "and write every day, okay?"
"Every day!" Mrs Evans repeated in dismay, while Lily pulled her mother away from the barrier and towards the car park. "I'll talk to you soon, Severus," she called, and then she was gone.
Severus picked up his trunk where he'd let it fall and stepped back through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, which had emptied out greatly since he'd left it. Sure enough, Master Jigger was not among the smattering of parents and children left on the platform.
Cursing the still-extant Trace, glad that he'd already placed his school robes in his trunk, and grateful, for once, for his mismatched Muggle shirt and trousers, Severus shouldered his trunk once more and prepared himself for the long walk through Muggle London to Diagon Alley.
A/N: Finally! Six chapters later, and Severus has finally fought his way out of Hogwarts. Coming up: Severus is introduced to the wonderful world of retail.
...Merlin help him.
Thanks again for all of your reviews! Greyfalcon's inspired me to write a drabble that, alas, will not be posted until this story is completed, for fear of spoilers-but if y'all have any more ideas along those lines, feel free to send them my way. :)
Thanks also to Mr Peters, my beta, who reads any melodramatic Severus lines out loud in a Bill Compton (of True Blood) impression. Thank you, dear, for mocking me until I improve my writing.