A/N: In which we meet a familiar name for true fans...


Chapter 16: Back to School

Sitting in the largely deserted Hog's Head Inn, Snape tipped the mug back only to find it was empty. He shifted gingerly on the rickety wooden chair. The Dark Lord had left Snape's lash wounds open and oozing for a full day before finally allowing him to take Wiggenweld potion.

Snape would have liked to brew his own, more effective concoction, but the Dark Lord had only let him use what was in the Malfoy Manor stores. By the taste, he could tell it was an old brew, made in large, commercial batches. A fortnight later and the regrown skin was still an angry red, so crepe-y it felt as if any sudden movement would tear the wounds open again.

He had no desire to make sudden movements; the injuries were excruciatingly tender and he grit his teeth when buttoning his waistcoat in the mornings. He had tried Vulnera Sanentur on himself, but he couldn't reach most of the wounds and he didn't bother asking anyone else to perform the incantation. The rules had been made clear two months ago when he joined; no Death Eater was to interfere in another's punishment, lest they suffer the same consequence.

There was a marked absence of Dittany Essence in the Manor stores. As a result, Death Eaters wore their scars with a sense of resigned pride, turning another of the Dark Lord's rules into a game of one-upmanship. Lucius and Bellatrix were the only ones who didn't sport a criss-cross of ropey lines on various body parts. The others grumbled that the Dark Lord favored the two of them, but if he did, Snape knew it was because they were not only unfailingly loyal, but the most skilled.

He glowered at the empty beer mug at the thought of Bella. He wanted to blame her. But he knew this was his own undoing. He had hesitated when the Dark Lord bid him perform the Killing Curse, and Bella had seen. She was protecting both their interests, and he hated her for it, for having to compensate his weakness, and he hated himself for the position he was now in.

What bothered him wasn't so much the Dark Lord's stricture on sexual pleasure that could be broken only by coupling with Bella—that was minor, and Snape could forbear as long as he had to. But what rankled him was losing his good standing: the two months of training, and raids, and discipline he'd shown, all wiped in a single moment's hesitation.

He slapped four Sickles down next to the mug as he rose from the table. It was more than the four pints were worth, but he didn't care. He had grown up with barely the clothes on his back; his father drinking his pay away and the Princes leaving their daughter with nothing after she married a Muggle.

Now he had a bit—his payouts from the raids, which he hoarded without thought. What did he care to spend it on? His room and board were taken care of at the Manor, and he was perfectly fine in the same clothes he'd worn for the past year. He supposed he could purchase Essence of Dittany, but he was sure it would be confiscated the moment he tried to enter the Manor with it.

No matter. He had endured pain his whole life. Pain was his life; there would be no other way.

He knew that now.

The sun had set when he left the Inn. As he made his way towards the High Street, he had the sudden urge to see it. The castle.

When he'd Apparated to Hogsmeade thirty minutes ago, he'd told himself that was as close as he would get to the school. But now he wanted to see it, just the tip of a tower, perhaps. The alcohol he had downed in quick succession agreed it was a fine idea.

He would take the far route around the Black Lake, and glimpse the school from the other side of the water, near the station. He had gone a ways down the road when he heard a distant rumble. It took his hops-addled mind a second longer than it typically would have for him to understand.

It was the first of September.

He had just barely ducked into a copse of trees by the side of the road before the first thestral appeared. The carriages thundered by, churning up so much dust it would have hid him from view anyway. Snape swirled his wand around him, hurriedly creating a bubble of clear air, but not before inhaling a lungful of the dry dust.

Within minutes the procession had passed, the last carriage squeaking around the bend. Coughing, Snape stepped back out onto the road when a rustling sounded behind him. He whirled, wand pointed.

A blonde girl with a schoolbag jumped back. Green-piped robes. He lowered his wand.

"You're headed in the wrong direction," he said.

"I've decided not to go," she said with the insouciant air of a Slytherin.

"Suit yourself." He turned to go.

"Are you Severus Snape?"

He stopped, then turned back slowly.

"You are." A keen look came into her eyes. "I've seen you in the Common Room."

"It's bound to have happened," he said drily.

"What are you doing lurking in the shadows?"

"I'm not—" He stifled his irritation and shoved his wand back into his waistcoat. "I was heading off."

"Wait." She took a few steps forward. "I'll go with you."

He gave a derisive huff. "Run along, girl."

"I'm not a girl. I'm a sixth year." She walked right up to him. "As if you're so grown." Her words were punctuated by the fact that she was nearly of a height to him.

She lowered her voice. "You're a Death Eater now, aren't you?"

Her brown eyes searched his face with interest in a way girls hadn't done when he'd still been at school. It was shocking what a few months time could do. Her scent wafted to him, expensive perfume and that milky, pampered smell Cissy and the other pure-blood girls always had.

"I'll walk you as far as Hogsmeade," he said at last, "and you can decide what you want to do with yourself then."

A saucy smile played at her lips. "That will depend on what you want to do with myself then." When he scowled, she sighed. "Are you always such a serious geezer? No wonder the Dark Lord favors you."

He looked at her sharply. "Who told you that?" He narrowed his eyes. "What's your name?"

"Rowle," she said with a proud tilt of her nose. "Euphemia Rowle."