Back to Hogwarts for Year Six! Hopefully things will get a little better for poor Snape.
Please help me out by answering some questions!
1. What do you think of my version of Teenage Snape? Do you think his relationship with Lily is realistic, given what we know from canon?
2. How do you think Snape's attitude towards Harry would differ if Lily hadn't ended their friendship after the underwear incident? Assume Lily and James still end up together, but Lily and Snape continue to have a brother/sister relationship.
Some Reviewer: Let's find out if Snape gets his wish of playing Quidditch for Slytherin!
To the other Guest reviewers: Thank you for your enthusiasm!
Chapter 11:
"The answer is no, Severus. Absolutely not." Professor Slughorn chugged another bottle of butterbeer. His double chin, which was at least six inches long, jiggled back and forth with every swallow he took.
"But Professor, why am I not allowed to try out for Quidditch? I've done nothing wrong! Why am I being punished?" Snape complained.
The grotesquely obese Potions Master wiped his mouth on his sleeve, before leaning forward to address the skinny teenager seated across his desk. "You aren't being punished, my dear boy. But you were maimed by a very dark and poisonous object. How on earth do you expect to ride a broomstick, when you can barely even walk or sit without pain?"
"The Cushioning Charm! We learned it in our third year." Snape opened another pack of butterbeer, and laid it on the table.
Professor Slughorn loosened his belt, which was already on the verge of snapping, and greedily reached for more butterbeer. "Severus, we cannot call a Time-Out every few minutes just to re-apply the Cushioning Charm to your broom."
"Professor Flitwick can make it last for a whole day!" Snape protested, his face going white with anger. "Sir, it isn't fair! I didn't ask for James Potter and Sirius Black to do this to me. I didn't ask to get amputated. If you don't let me play Quidditch, then you're letting them get the last laugh. You're letting them ruin my life!" The last sentence exploded from his lips, dripping with resentment and vitriol.
There was sadness and sympathy in the older man's eyes. However, with his face reddening and his lips covered with golden-brown foam, Professor Slughorn continued to insist. "Severus, I'm sorry but it is far too dangerous."
Seeing disappointment and frustration cloud the boy's face, the Slytherin Head of House reached across the table to pat Snape on the hand. His fat, fleshy thumb was almost as thick as the teenager's wrist. "I know how much you want this, my dear. It is every young man's dream to become a Quidditch star. But your injury makes this an impossible dream. With your handicap, the other team will go out of their way to target you."
"Let them try!" Snape declared. "If anyone makes a dirty play against me, I'll break his nose!"
Then his tone softened and his countenance became gentler. "Have another butterbeer, Professor."
"Thank you, my dear boy. This stuff is heavenly! Madame Rosmerta sure knows her drinks!" Professor Slughorn greedily clutched two more bottles of butterbeer in his corpulent fist, and drained them in one sitting. Snape concealed an excited smile behind his hand.
Snape chose his next words carefully. "Professor Slughorn, all I ever wanted was to play Quidditch and be happy. Until I came to Hogwarts, I was the loneliest child ever. From my eleven-year-old point of view, playing Quidditch was the ultimate symbol of being integrated into the Wizarding community. Quidditch creates a bond that transcends all personal and societal differences—and after being an outcast for most of my life, all I want is to partake in this wonderful brotherhood."
"After a traumatic incident in my first flying lesson, I was afraid of getting on a broom. But I'm at peace with it now. I've decided that I will not let my handicap define me, but rather I will let it be my motivation and strength. Professor Slughorn, the odds have been stacked against me from Day One. This is my chance at telling the world that I will not allow bullies and bigots and bureaucrats to exclude me from the Wizarding community's favorite pastime. Won't you let me author this beautiful story of redemption and overcoming adversity?"
Snape wanted to vomit at these disgustingly corny words. It took every ounce of strength and willpower to lay down his Slytherin pride enough to make such a sickening plea. But it was a necessary means to his end. Hopefully Slughorn would be too drunk to remember anything from this conversation.
Severus unpacked another case of butterbeer bottles, which Professor Slughorn tore into ravenously. The obese Potions Master was becoming more inebriated with each passing moment. His speech devolved into a mess of incoherent babbling.
"Sevvie wants to play Quidditch… hic… but… hic… unless Sevvie puts on… hic… fifty pounds of muscle… the Buggers will… hic… break him in half."
How dare you? Only Lily gets to call me that! Snape fumed silently.
"The Bludgers are equally likely to target anyone, Professor," Severus explained impatiently. "There are second-years on some Quidditch Teams. If they can survive a Bludger, so can I."
"But Sevvie… hic… doesn't like Quidditch. Sevvie… hic… likes Potions." Slughorn's enormously fleshy face grew redder and redder with every passing moment.
I'll wring your neck if you call me that awful nickname one more time! Severus cursed silently. He handed Slughorn another butterbeer.
"You're right, sir," the greasy-haired boy responded placidly. "In the past, I didn't like Quidditch very much. But now I've started seeing things differently. I would love to try out for the team, and do everything I can to wrest that Quidditch Cup away from Gryffindor."
Snape cracked his knuckles. "Don't worry about my safety, Professor. I hope nobody takes cheap shots at me, but I'll be ready. If anyone takes a swing at me, I'll knock him off his broom!"
Slughorn had become positively giddy, as his eyes bulged with childlike excitement and he spoke in a high-pitched squeal. "Gryffindor… hic… morons! Slytherin… hic… destroy Gryffindor… hic… Sevvie… hic… the Prince of Potions…"
Snape knew he was very near his goal. Soon his permission slip would be signed, and he would not have to sit through this idiocy for much longer. "Thank you for the compliment, Professor. But the Prince of Potions would rather be the King of Quidditch. May I please have permission to try out for Chaser of Slytherin House?"
Slughorn emitted a high-pitched squeal of laughter that was strongly reminiscent of Peeves, before scrawling his signature on the permission slip. With another intoxicated giggle, Slughorn fired a stream of green fireworks out of his wand. The tiny pinpricks of light twisted and spiraled through the air, to form the sentence, "Eat Dung, Gryffindor!"
"Perfect." With a smug grin, Snape pocketed the parchment. The triumphant teen sauntered off to the Quidditch Pitch with high spirits, leaving an extremely inebriated Potions Master in his wake. "How's that for a bit of Slytherin cunning?"
"Oi! You filthy Half-Blood!" A series of angry footsteps beat across the dark green carpet of the Slytherin Common Room.
Beneath his threadbare and absurdly baggy robes, Snape's fingers closed around his wand. With shaking hands, he looked up from the potion he was brewing. "What?" he growled.
Fellow Slytherin sixth-years Rosier, Wilkes and Mulciber were standing around him, their faces taut with irritation. "I'll tell you what," Wilkes growled. "You've missed another Junior Death Eaters meeting! Where in Merlin's name were you this afternoon?"
"First week of school, and you're already off to a bad start," Rosier informed him pompously. "I've emphasized again and again how important the first meeting is. This is the time to recruit new members and instill our values. We don't need the Half-Butt Prince mucking things up with his tainted blood and lack of commitment!"
"Call me that one more time, and I'll hex your nose off!" Snape dropped a puffer fish eyeball into his potion, and unsheathed his wand.
The three hostile Slytherins slowly backed away, their eyes warily transfixed on his wand. Only when Snape lowered his weapon did they resume their aggressive postures.
"I was practicing Quidditch. I'm trying out for Chaser this year," Snape explained. Not at all untrue, albeit far from telling the entire story.
"Liar," Rosier accused. "Since when did you ever give a damn about Quidditch?"
"I changed my mind," Snape responded curtly. "Now beat it. I don't owe you any further explanation."
His accusers raked over him from head to toe with piercing eyes. But years of hardening himself had made Severus Snape impenetrable to anyone who had no business knowing his thoughts. Only fools were candid about their vulnerabilities. Only idiots allowed their hearts to be an open book. Not even the Sword of Gryffindor could chisel through the barriers erected to shield Snape's innermost being from nosy eyes and unwelcome inquisitors.
"Fine," Mulciber conceded, when the trio failed to detect any lies or subterfuge. "If that's the truth, then we'll be expecting to see you at the Quidditch tryouts."
"Or else Bellatrix will be very curious to know the real reason why you're avoiding us," Wilkes threatened.
The hours crept by and the common room slowly emptied. Before long, only Snape was left. With a drop of flobberworm mucus, his Pain-Relief Potion was complete. He capped up the translucent orange liquid and stowed the vial into his bag.
With a sigh, Snape tilted his weight onto his right hand, and reapplied the Cushioning Charm to his chair. This was becoming a tremendously irritating routine. He had no idea how he could possibly ride a broomstick in wake of his amputation, but there was no way he would let Potter and Black render him a cripple.
Snape cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to confirm that he was alone. Indeed, not a soul was in sight. Snape silently drew his wand and aimed it at an old pillow. "Sectumsempra," he whispered. Instantly, the pillow was shredded to an unintelligible mess of string and stuffing.
Then he redirected his wand to a mosquito on a distant wall. One Sectumsempra later, and the mosquito's head and all six legs were cleanly amputated. Amorphous blobs of slimy yellow entrails were splattered about.
Severus packed his belongings and headed for the dorm, congratulating himself for mastering his spell. With Sectumsempra in his repertoire, he felt so much safer and better protected. His housemates were interrogating him more aggressively than ever before, and it was only a matter of time before they worked out the truth. His stomach churned nauseatingly as images of Bellatrix's wrath flashed through his mind. Avery and Mulciber were rather unpleasant, Rosier was cruel, but Bellatrix Lestrange was downright sadistic. If someone rats me out to that awful woman, I have to be able to defend myself. Heck, I have so many enemies, I must always be vigilant.
But in spite of his pride in mastering the spell, Severus also felt a wave of guilt and self-loathing wash over him. He promised Lily that he would stop fooling around with Dark Magic… and tonight he failed to keep his word.
Chapter 12 is next! Will Snape make the Quidditch Team? Will it be everything he hoped it would be?