Severus left the cottage in the dead of night. Lucius had invited him to a meeting yet again, this time assuring him that Draco would not be present. Much as Lucius liked to play the concerned father, there was little he did not discuss in the presence of Draco. He believed that he was preparing Draco to take on his role as head of the family, but Severus still firmly believed that there were some things that ought not be discussed in the presence of children.
He walked into the bar, watching Lucius at the table, a beautiful young woman sitting on his lap. He was not alone either—Aloysius Nott, Crabbe and Goyle Sr., and Mulciber all sat at the table. Nott drank his wine with an air of aloofness, Crabbe and Goyle gaped, and Mulciber watched Lucius and the young woman, eyeing them both with jealousy and greed.
"Severus, my friend," Lucius said, beckoning him to the table. "Did you bring the potion?"
Severus fingered the vial in his pocket. The Aspectus Potion, a hallucinogenic of his own design. It happened to be one of Lucius's favorites. The ingredients were rare and expensive and the potion itself was tricky to make. He had first made it in the service of the Dark Lord, to his shame. When taken willingly, the visions it produced seemed to be dreams made incarnate. When taken forcibly, it turned the world into a hellish nightmare.
"Staying out late on a school night?" Nott sneered.
Severus felt his face flush but fought back his embarrassment with Occlumency. One of the Dark Lord's old taunts. The Dark Lord typically dismissed him early on the nights when Muggles were brought to gatherings. Everyone knew he didn't have the stomach for torturing Muggles—his formidable spellwork departed him. Once he became a spy, the Dark Lord liked to say he couldn't have his spy staying out too late on a school night, as if he were an errant child masquerading as a man.
"My, my, Severus. Tomorrow is the start of term," Lucius said.
"I do not anticipate this taking long," Severus said. "Tell me why you have requested my presence."
Lucius grinned. "Because you can bring that fine potion with you," Lucius said. "And because we find you amusing."
"Amusing?"
"Yes, of course. The poor Cokeworth half-blood playing at being a well-bred pureblood."
"I wouldn't know anything about that," Severus said. "I simply…grew up."
"And lost an accent," Lucius laughed. "Remember, Gregory, how he used to talk? The first thing I told him was not to eat like a savage. And what did he say? 'Awont gunta worra?' or some equally indecipherable grunting. Just like a savage."
Crabbe and Goyle laughed stupidly.
"What do you want from me?"
"Give me the potion," Lucius said.
Severus did as he asked. He handed to Lucius, who weighed it in his hand. He smiled and kissed the young woman in his lap. "You wanted a show, my dear, and we shall give you a show."
Severus's eyes widened. He turned away and took a step towards the door—he knew better than to draw his wand on those the Dark Lord considered his betters—but it was too late. Lucius had drawn his own wand and cast a stunner at him, which struck him in the back. He fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Lucius turned him on his back and poured the potion into his mouth, forcing his mouth shut and holding it there until he swallowed.
The potion burned as it went down his throat.
He was a boy again, dirty-haired and too-thin. Back in Spinner's End, not the happy place of Flamel Cottage. Flamel Cottage was nothing but a distant memory, a dream—Spinner's End was all that was real.
He stepped out of his room and walked down the stairs, despite his better judgment, compelled by some unknown force. He could hear his mother's screams, the sound of flesh striking flesh. His father was beating his mother again. He could scarcely remember a day when Tobias had not laid hands on one of them.
He pushed the door to the kitchen open. The floor was littered with empty and broken beer bottles. His mother lay amongst them, cut and bleeding. She looked at him through swollen, blackened eyes. "Go to your room, Severus," she said through her tears.
In a flash, he was on the ground. His father had thrown a bottle at him, which struck him in the face. He cried out in pain. "Mummy," he cried.
And then his mother got up off the floor, turned away, and limped out of the room, leaving him to his father's mercy.
But it wasn't his father.
It was Hazel, a cruel sneer on her face. He had never seen such an expression on her face in his life. Hazel was simply too kind, too good-natured to look at anyone in such a way. Lily stood behind her, the same expression on her face.
"You think to protect me?" Hazel said. "You're pathetic, crying for your mummy."
"You killed me Severus," Lily said. "I'm dead and it's all your fault."
"No," he said, his voice quavering.
"Yes," she said. "It's your fault."
"My fault," he moaned.
"You violated my mind. You used an Unforgiveable on me," Hazel said. "You belong in Azkaban."
And then, in a flash of green light, the two women he cared for above else crumpled to the ground, dead.
He blinked, and then a dementor was upon him, removing its hood with one crooked hand, revealing the horror beneath…
And then nothing, nothing but the laughter of Hazel and Lily, who had risen, dead and rotting, which turned into the laughter of men.
Severus blinked back the tears, though he knew it was futile. They were already streaming down his face.
"Did you hear him crying for his mother?" Mulciber said, laughing a deep belly laugh.
Yes, stupid bint she was, marrying that Muggle."
Severus couldn't disagree. If only his mother had married someone else. He had loved her even through her cold neglect, loved her even if she never loved him. If his mother had married someone worthy of her, he might never have been born, and she might have been happy. But that's what he did best—ruin others' chances at happiness.
Severus picked himself up off the floor with what little dignity he had left. He drew his wand and apparated to Flamel Cottage. He knew exactly what he was going to do.
*HP*
"Severus."
He looked up with red-rimmed eyes, taking another swig of firewhiskey. He hated himself, but that was nothing new. He was no stranger to drinking either. It was just one more of his inheritances from his wretched father.
That wretched potion was still wearing off—it wouldn't be completely out of his system for several days. He could still see the ghoulish faces of the women he cared for, still hear the mocking laughter.
Albus sat beside him on the bed, which creaked lightly under the additional weight. Severus looked away. He wished Albus didn't insist on these nightly chats. He told the old man as much, but Albus only replied that these nightly meetings would cease when his drinking did. Severus laughed at that.
"I can't stand to look her," he said.
Albus looked at him, blue eyes shining. He knew he was about to take Severus's nightly confession and would not interrupt.
"The girl. I killed her mother," he said. "I killed her father. It's my fault they're dead. But she admires me—I don't know how or why, but she does. Looks up to me. I want her to know so she'll hate me like she's supposed to, but I don't want her to hate me, not really. I thought I would, but I don't."
"She is not her father," Albus agreed. "Nor her mother. But I do not think things are so dire, Severus. She will not know the prophecy for many more years, nor will I tell her your role in it all. I do hope you will tell her yourself, but by that time comes, she will be older and wiser. Even as it is, I do not believe Hazel has it in her heart to truly hate anyone."
Severus took another drink from the bottle. "It feels like I'm waiting for my own execution," he said. "I know the day the Dark Lord returns will come and I will have to retake my place at his side. I know the girl will know what I have done and must do. It fills me with dread."
"You do not have to, Severus. I will not ask that of you."
"But I must. Who else can protect the girl from his side?"
"By the time Tom returns, the girl may not need protecting," Albus said. "She is already growing into a great witch with an even greater heart."
Severus laughed a bitter laugh. "A great heart—it will get her killed. Don't think I've forgotten about those Gryffindor boys. She protected the latest Weasley brat all because they shared some sweets on the train, even after he left her to die!"
"Nothing comes of nothing, my boy," he said. "The road to greatness of heart is treacherous. I believe one day she shall be very glad of trying to salvage her friendship with young Ronald—"
"—he left her to die—"
"The misguided actions of a boy desperate to fit in," Albus said sharply. "I do believe you know much about such things, Severus."
Severus scowled. How dare Albus compare him to that boy. Weasley was nothing like him—he had a family who loved and cherished and protected him. He had lived a happy life free of beatings and fear of a tyrant. He was a Gryffindor, not a hated, despised, greasy Slytherin called Snivellus. But even Snivellus at his darkest had known leaving an eleven-year-old girl to die was wrong. There was no excuse.
But how many deaths had he inadvertently caused? He didn't know what his potions were used for, not always. Some of the darker ones could certainly kill or drive someone to madness. He had created sectumsempra and shared it with Death Eaters, who used it to maim and kill. And he had shared the prophecy with the Dark Lord, killing the only friend he had ever had.
All because Snivellus had wanted to fit in.
He felt tears start to form in his eyes and snarled.
"What is the purpose of this, Albus? Have I not been punished enough? What do you want from me? For me to lie down at your feet and declare my sins, tell you I'm sorry, and weep? Would that help your God complex? Tell me!"
Albus looked at him with equanimity. "I want you to forgive yourself, Severus. That is all I want."
"Well you can't have it," he snapped, knowing he was being terribly childish.
"I know how self-hatred can poison the soul," Albus said, his voice low. "I—"
"No, you don't," Severus said. "You've always been the golden child of the wizarding world, the genius, the beloved Albus Dumbledore, greater than us mere mortals! Don't tell me about self-hatred. You don't know anything about it."
Albus looked at him. Silence reigned. Severus looked away—he ought not have said that. Albus Dumbledore never spoke empty words. He should have listened, but now it was too late.
It always was, for him.
*HP*
Hazel wished it never had to end. The days spent at Flamel Cottage were the best of her life. Not even Dudley's presence could mar her happiness. In fact, after their little adventure down Knockturn Alley, he was downright tolerable compared to his old self. They were not friends, per se, but Dudley was at least curious about her and her life now. He would ask her about her parents and why she was famous, and she would show him the pictures Hagrid had gifted her. He had even read the chapter about her in the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Hazel in turn would ask about his Nintendo, and they would play Mario. They had come to a tentative truce of sorts.
She hoped it wouldn't all disappear now that they were going to Hogwarts.
The morning of September the first, Hazel dressed in a simple Muggle dress. She missed her robes, but they would draw attention in Kings Cross. She refused to be one of those witches who did not know how to blend in with Muggles.
All her things had been packed away over the course of the last week, at Albus's behest. Dudley had thrown a tantrum when he learned that books were all he could take with him to Hogwarts—there was simply too much magic at Hogwarts for the Nintendo to work—but had calmed down quickly enough. For someone who had never been told no in his life, Hazel thought he was doing remarkably well.
A bleary-eyed Dudley sat at the table when she arrived for breakfast. Professor Snape was sipping on some tea. Albus flicked his wand and filled her plate with sausage and eggs. She had put on some much-needed weight under Albus's attention—she was still small and willowy, but no longer so thin that she looked as if a good breeze would knock her over. She remembered their trip to Madam Malkin's, when the elderly witch had told her she needed to invest in bras now that she was becoming a young woman. She had been very glad that Albus was with Dudley finding new robes when the witch had told her that.
"Hello, Hazel," Dudley said, glancing at Professor Snape. The two still didn't get along, even after Dudley's attitude improvement. Professor Snape was constantly punishing Dudley for something. Hazel found this a bit unfair, but didn't say anything, as she suspected that was just how Professor Snape was. After all, he did the same to Gryffindors at school.
"Are you looking forward to Hogwarts, Dudley?"
"No," he snapped, forking some sausage into his mouth. "I wish I could go back to Smeltings with Piers."
Hazel scowled, remembering the rat-faced boy. He had been Dudley's second in command and was a complete pig. She had disliked him even more than she disliked Dudley before he changed. Dudley was an equal opportunity bully, going after anyone and everyone. Piers only picked on the small and weak, and even then, only when he had someone else backing him up. Piers was a coward—she had to admit, Dudley, in his own way, was brave.
"You're better than him, Dud," she said. "You'll make new friends at Hogwarts, you'll see."
"Piers is my friend!"
"Piers is a rat-faced bully!"
"Don't raise your voices," Professor Snape said coldly.
Hazel swallowed and nodded. She had mostly avoided the caustic man's ire this summer and planned on continuing that way. "All I'm saying is you can do better for friends. Just wait, Dudley. Hogwarts is the best place anywhere."
"Maybe for you," he said, looking away, scowling.
Albus cleared his throat, stopping the conversation. Hazel wondered what Dudley meant—maybe for you? The only thing she had that Dudley didn't was magic, and he thought magic was freakish and horrible. He couldn't want magic. That would be too…weird. That couldn't be it—he had to mean something else.
"How are we getting to the train?"
"We will be apparating to a point near the platform," Dumbledore said.
Hazel nodded. She had read a book on magical transportation and apparition was the favored mode of transport by most adult witches and wizards. It was instantaneous and could take you very far—although there were limits. The more skilled you were, the farther you could apparate. Only someone like Dumbledore should attempt inter-continental apparition.
Hazel finished up her breakfast and went to her room to retrieve her trunk, wondering if they would be coming back here for the next summer. Dumbledore had indicated that he had many properties, so she rather doubted it. As it was, she doubted that Professor Snape would be staying with them next summer, so she knew that even if they returned to this place it wouldn't be the same. Daphne would tell her she was a nutter for enjoying Professor Snape's company, but the man really wasn't so bad.
She dragged her trunk out of her room and met the rest of them outside without looking back. Looking back would only make leaving that much harder. She never thought that leaving for Hogwarts would be a sad occasion, but it was indeed. She would no longer be able to spend her days flying free and she would no longer have Albus and Professor Snape mostly to herself. She was gaining much, but she was losing much in turn.
She looked at Professor Snape, who reached out his hand. She took his hand and firmly grasped it, knowing that letting go mid-apparition could result in splinching, something she would rather not experience. Then she felt a pull behind her bellybutton, dragging her away from Flamel Cottage.
When they landed in London, it was all she could do not to empty the contents of her stomach onto Professor Snape's shoes. He was looking at her expectantly and had not yet let go of her hand.
"Nausea is to be expected after your first apparition," he said.
Hazel pulled her hand away and covered her eyes. "That was awful, professor. I think I much prefer flying."
He sneered but said nothing before setting off at an unforgiving pace towards King's Cross, leaving Hazel scrambling behind him.
*HP*
Severus could scarcely believe his eyes. The Greengrass girl had sent a letter stating that Hazel Potter was not on the train. He had dropped her off just outside the platform—there was no way anything bad could have happened to her in the ten feet to the platform, not with all those witches and wizards around.
And then he saw the newspaper. FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.
Rage roiled in his stomach. That stupid, stupid girl. Of all the things! A flying car. He didn't know how she went about finding one, but he knew that only a Potter would have been able to. Only a Potter—only a Potter.
He stormed up the staircase, towards the Great Hall. He wouldn't be dining tonight. He didn't care about the rumors that would surely swirl with his absence—worse had been and would be said about him. He was only set on finding the accursed girl and the idiotic fool that had escorted her to the castle.
He found her standing there with a red-head—a Weasley, of course. That explained the flying car. Arthur Weasley never could resist tinkering with Muggle objects, his own laws be damned. That boy was nothing but bad for her, leaving her to die and risking her life in a flying car.
"Hang on…" he heard the girl say. "There's an empty chair at the staff table…Where's Professor Snape?"
"Maybe he's ill!" said Weasley hopefully. "Maybe he's left—because he's missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again. Or maybe he's been sacked, we all hate him."
"—I don't—"
"Or maybe," he said, in his coldest voice, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."
The two red-headed children turned to face him, pale-faced. The girl shrank back from him, but Weasley looked at him defiantly. "Follow me," he said.
The trip to his office was taken in silence, the two unlikely companions not even daring to look at each other. Albus was wrong—there would be no day when the girl was happy for this boy's friendship. He brought her nothing but trouble, and he was determined the girl see that.
When they reached the heavy oak door of his office, he pushed it open, not caring about the loud bang when it struck the wall. Everyone else was in the Great Hall, there was no one here to disturb. He didn't even care when a large glass jar fell from its place on the shelf and shattered on the floor. All he cared about was dealing with the two imbeciles in front of him, one an imbecile whose fate he cared about very much.
"So," he said, losing all control of his temper, but keeping his voice soft and even . "The train isn't good enough for the famous Hazel Potter…not only that, but neither is the company of her friends…she had to take an attempted murderer along with her!"
The girl stuck out her jaw. "Ron never meant-!" She stopped herself abruptly, realizing what she was about to say.
"Yes, they never do," he said, his eyes glittering. "Fifty points from Slytherin for lying to me and the Headmaster."
"That was last year, you can't—"
"And another fifty for risking the exposure of our world!"
"One hundred points, professor!"
"And detention with me for a month. You should be very happy you weren't expelled. I don't know if Weasley should be so lucky. Unfortunately, the power to expel him lies with Professor McGonagall and not myself. I am certain this hare-brained scheme could not have been attempted without him. Now silence, while we await the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall."
It was ten long minutes before they arrived. He counted his breaths and tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't believe the girl had done something so foolish again. Her antics last year could be attributed to lack of proper care for her, but Albus was not a negligent guardian. No, the blame for the girl's actions fell solely at her own feet today.
The door slipped open. He was glad to see Minerva—now he wouldn't be at risk of killing the latest and most foolish Weasley brat.
"Explain," Minerva said.
The girl opened her mouth to speak, but Weasley beat her to it, launching into some ridiculous story about how the barrier wouldn't open for them.
"—so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."
"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Hazel.
The girl gaped at her.
That would have been the obvious, responsible thing to do. All summer he and Albus had been trying to teach her to stop and think, and the first test of this new habit, she failed. Severus was not surprised. It never sunk into her father's thick skull either.
"I—I didn't think—"
"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."
A knock sounded on the office door. He opened it to find Albus standing there, looking unusually grave. He looked down his crooked nose at the two children, who were looking anywhere but the disappointed headmaster.
After a long silence, Albus said, "Please explain why you did this."
The girl told the story this time, looking down at her knees rather than the Headmaster. She told him everything, except for where the blasted car came from, though that wasn't hard to guess. When the girl finished, Albus continued to peer at them through his spectacles.
"We'll go get our stuff," said Weasley, making as much sense as usual.
"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.
"You're expelling us, aren't you?" said the boy.
The girl looked up at Albus, a hopeless sort of look in her eyes.
"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing your family tonight, and Hazel and I will have a very long discussion on the matter. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."
"Surely the boy ought to be punished more," Severus said. "The girl admitted his involvement in her attack, and this harebrained scheme could not have been executed without him!"
"Yes, Severus, but not expulsion. I believe that one hundred points from Gryffindor for lack of judgment and a month's detention should well account for both incidents."
Severus snarled but said nothing further, sitting down behind his desk.
*HP*
"I thought we'd had it," Ron said, shoveling some pudding into his mouth. "McGonagall looked fit to kill."
"Not as scary as Professor Snape," she murmured, glancing around. They were in his office, after all—she wouldn't put it past him to still be watching them, somehow.
"No, I reckon the great git is still scarier than her."
"Ron! He's not so bad."
Ron snorted. "He was going to expel us!"
"Not us—you."
"He always does favor Slytherin."
Haze grinned. There was no denying that.
The two friends ate their meal, talking happily of the year before, and all they had missed in each other's lives. Hazel found that she was glad she hadn't given up on Ron entirely, whatever Daphne and Hermione thought. After all, one could never have too many friends.