The Reckoning
By Eline
In the aftermath of the fire at Hogsmeade, sixty-seven people were left homeless. Dumbledore, in his capacity as headmaster of Hogwarts, had offered temporary sanctuary to the villagers.
Sixty-seven people were fairly easy to accommodate in a school that normally housed hundreds of students during term time. The Ministry-employed engineers had projected that the repairs in Hogsmeade would be complete in time for the start of the new term.
Severus Snape was one person who was displeased with this arrangement. But as he seemed chronically displeased with the world at large, no one made much of it at all.
The reason for his discomfiture did not lie in the sixty-seven strangers underfoot. Any Hogwarts teacher would have learned patience the hard way after a few years of dealing with the students. It was a far more irking matter . . .
He had returned from another day of sweeping the Forbidden Forest and working out the new defences for Hogwarts in a nasty mood. As his job involved interacting with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, his temper had been sorely tested to the limit. But an even worse surprise had awaited him that day.
There had been a young witch and wizard waiting for him in his office. He knew them at once--Kelly Slater and Geoffrey Bannon, two aspiring Death Eaters who had survived the rather intense weeding exercise in Romania. They had insinuated themselves with the refugees from Hogsmeade and gained entrance to Hogwarts in one brilliant stroke--no doubt engineered by Voldemort himself.
"The Dark Lord sent us to learn and to be of service," Bannon had told him. They were there to spy out the defences for Voldemort. They also had a list of poisons they were to collect from him--Voldemort intended to wring the most out of him, spy or not.
That had been a simply infuriating crimp in the overall plan. Dumbledore and the others had been informed about the pair of them. It had taken a lot of his self-control *not* to agree with Sirius Black when he had suggested turning the both of them into cabbages--for all they knew, the cabbages might have made more efficient Death Eaters. Slater and Bannon were merely glorified errand-boys for the relaying of messages and information--and they had to *stay* that way.
Snape knew for a fact that Slater and Bannon were not going to be much of a threat against trained wizards who were aware of their identities and on their guard against them. It had been decided that supplying misinformation was better than cutting off Voldemort's sources of intelligence completely. This meant that Snape had to babysit the two of them while working on the external defences. He set them collecting Death Caps, hemlock and foxglove in the Forbidden Forest while he performed the spells for the Primary Defence Ward.
*Tried* to perform anyway. The spell required a number of powerful wizards positioned at various compass points--and that included Black and Lupin. For some reason, Dumbledore had paired him up with Sirius Black for this task. During the fire at Hogsmeade, the situation had been too tense to risk their non-co-operation, but this time around, the headmaster was prepared to chance it.
Oh, he knew what the headmaster was trying to do . . . But wasn't going to work--their animosity was too deeply entrenched.
The Primary Defence Ward over the school proper and most of the grounds was to be an enchantment strong enough to repel spells, curses, freak storms and creatures summoned from other dimensions. The sheer strength and magnitude of this spell required a heavy price though--it was to be tied to the life force of the wizard performing the spell. Dumbledore had assigned eight wizards/witches to spread the burden. They had been very careful about it--each wizard knew only one other member of the eight, namely the partner at his own compass point. Or at least they *should* only know one other member--some choices were blatantly obvious.
Snape was fairly certain that Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin were also in the final eight, but the identities of the other three were still a mystery. That was an advantage--Voldemort would not know everything because Snape himself would not be privy to all the secrets. As long as one of the eight lived, the spell would hold.
But first, they had to set up the Ward in time for the new term.
They had been at it for three mornings in a row already, but still the spell would not catch.
Snape knew what the problem was--it was mainly himself and Black.
The spell required two wizards at each compass point working in unison, but their mutual antipathy was spilling over and ruining all hope of any proper synchronisation. Their magic seemed incompatible even though such a spell would have been perfectly manageable in any other circumstances. The first morning, they had exercised a considerable amount of vocabulary in insulting each other. The second morning was the same, if a little more succinct. Today had seen them both glaring daggers at each other while barely even exchanging a word at either end of the Northern spell circle in the Forest. He had been fighting the desire to use a few prohibited hexes--and he *did* know a lot of them--all morning. Black probably harboured similar intentions by the way he was glowering at him.
Naturally, it had not succeeded. Dumbledore had stepped in to inform them that they could stop trying.
There was a strained silence before Black turned to go and Snape departed in the opposite direction. But he found Dumbledore walking beside him through the tangled woods.
"Severus, when I said that you had to work together . . ."
"It won't work, headmaster."
"Have you tried, Severus? Have you ever considered an alternative to blind hatred?" Something in that calm voice infuriated him to no end. There was no way he or Black could see past the enmeshed enmity of the tangled past.
"Trying counts for nothing . . ."
Indeed--a part of him was wilfully refusing to see the necessity. As long as he sub-consciously held onto his old prejudices, nothing would change.
Dumbledore sighed. "In your case perhaps . . . But I know you are capable of it."
"You imagine me to be a more forgiving man, Professor," he ground out. "You think I can be one of them . . . one of those selfless, sentimental fools who want to spit in Voldemort's face. You want me to be someone I am *not*." He knew was not brave--not really brave enough to face up to those expectations.
Dumbledore looked at him in that placid manner that irked him for some reason. It was as though he was hearing his arguments but not really *heeding* them. Snape was petrified--the old fears were resurfacing again . . . Death would be his lot if he was lucky--it was only a matter of time before Voldemort disposed of him. He was a dead man walking--couldn't Dumbledore tell? Every tired nerve within him wanted to flee--to abandon this fool's mission lest the pain come again . . . as a precursor to the end.
Snape did not want to be reasonable, kind or understanding. He only wanted to be left alone to his own devices. He took a deep breath to regain a measure of calm. "I am not that man," he said before turning away to leave--but not before he heard Dumbledore's last words.
"But I *have* seen him before, Severus--you just have to know where to look."
That was more irking than anything else. He swept back to the castle in a thoroughly foul mood.
Upon entering the Potions classroom, he found the baskets of freshly picked ingredients where they were supposed to be. He examined the harvest with critical eye.
Well, at least those two had got the right Death Caps . . .
A noise distracted him from his perusal of the baskets. It seemed to be coming from the closet in which the spare cauldrons and rusty old tripods were kept. Was it the mice again? He had laid down some really potent anti-vermin charms just last month--
The sound came again--only this time, it sounded like a moan accompanied by the rustle of cloth.
Now this was too much . . .
Tight-lipped, he strode over and flung the closet door open.
The sudden silence that followed managed to convey whole volumes of embarrassment along with the mortifying sensation akin to that of getting caught by a teacher. Which was, in fact, the case despite the obvious age differences between Slater, Bannon and his students.
"Much as I applaud your efforts at keeping warm down here," he said frostily to the pair on the floor, "I would like to remind you that you are here to observe and learn . . . Not act like a pair of cats in heat!"
And he slammed the door shut, leaving them to scramble about awkwardly for their robes.
But it didn't make him feel better--it never did. He entered his office, trying to focus on what he had to do.
The nerve of some people . . . In his Potions classroom too--
He halted his train of though abruptly. There he was again--thinking like a *teacher*! He was supposed to be a Death Eater again, but he thought like a teacher and missed Hogwarts after being away for a few days. It was *insufferable* . . .
With an impatient flick of his wand, several grimoires flew off the shelves and landed on his desk. He should be getting started--there was still the Potion for the werewolf to make. Dumbledore had requested it of him.
Currently, Snape did not know who he hated more--Black or Lupin. He had kept that wretched wolf alive until rescue was possible--which was probably balanced out by those sessions in Voldemort's torture chamber--and he wanted nothing more to do with him. Only the urgency of the current situation had pressed him into the unwanted service--he was, after all, just a tool or a pawn to be used. He supposed that he should be so lucky that both sides were merely asking him to supply potions . . . and highly illegal poisons to boot.
There was a very simple reason why none of the Auror raids over the years had produced anything incriminating in his store of books and potions--he had kept them hidden someplace else. It had been a stupid thing to do--like hanging onto the mask. But it had helped when he returned to the ranks--everyone had secreted their Death Eater paraphernalia somewhere as though they had expected the Dark Lord to return. And he *had* come back in full-strength.
Voldemort's expectations were higher now--he had requested some of the most potent poisons known to the world. Snape had the means to make them--the forbidden books and suspicious ingredients were all safely hidden away . . .
In a place he had not gone back to for fourteen years.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
In an equally dark mood, Sirius Black strode back to the lodge in the Forbidden Forest. Associating with Snape had left them both at their worst. Fortunately, Sirius's temper subsided relatively quickly after leaving Snape's presence and he was feeling only a little resentful that Dumbledore had pushed them into working with each other.
When he got there, Lupin was already there, seated at the table as he leafed through a number of yearbooks and albums.
They had been trying to repair the damage that Azkaban had wreaked on his memory before Dumbledore had summoned them back to assist in the clash in Romania. Sirius's happiest memories had been the first to go of course, but Lupin said that there was a theory that Dementors could not truly steal those away, only make the victim believe that they was gone for good. Those memories *should* still be within him if he could remember who he was and who his friends were. He had saved most of them by reverting to his Animagus form at the worst times, so all they had to do was to jog his memory. Theoretically speaking, of course--no prisoner in the history of Azkaban had ever survived to try therapy before.
It *did* seem to be working though. Once they got that settled, there would be the matter of the Patronus Charm--he was damned if he was going to fall prey to Dementors again. Sirius had a wand now--a replacement for the one the Ministry had destroyed. But presently, his mood was neither tuned to "happy" or "nostalgic".
"Not again, Sirius?" Lupin would have known about it by the time their spell had failed to meld with the other three to complete the Ward.
Sirius growled under his breath as he flung himself into a chair. "It's impossible, Moony--Snape probably hates me more than James right now for what happened last year and I'm not feeling very chummy towards someone who tried to give me to the Dementors either! Given the chance--the slightest provocation--why, we would've duelled right there and then!"
That was the unfortunate truth of the matter. Only the headmaster's expectations of them had stopped them short of strangling each other with their bare hands. Dumbledore had that effect--people tended to want to live up to his expectations, bone-deep antipathy notwithstanding.
"We're running out of time," Lupin said, not accusingly but worriedly. Voldemort's inclusion of two spies in Hogwarts was bad enough--who or what could penetrate Hogwarts' antiquated defences next? "Maybe we could set up another kind of ward that isn't so demanding . . ."
"Like that Discerning Repulsion Spell you told me about?" It was an old spell designed to keep out persons of questionable character favoured in the past by rather melodramatic wizards of the labyrinth-and-maze-setting-variety. "That would probably mean the whole of Slytherin House won't get past the front gate!" Sirius snorted.
"Not necessarily," Lupin said as he flipped open an album in search of something. "Let me show you something--it should come as a surprise . . . I know *I* was surprised when I found out a couple of years back . . ."
Sirius leaned over to get a better look. Their Hogwarts days had been as good a place to start as any when they had first attempted to fill in the holes his memories. He had spotted the Connelly twins in the photos of Gryffindor seniors a year older than their cohort--as he had not known them very well back then, it was not that significant a memory gap. Lupin pointed at one face in a picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch team line-up (1976).
"Remember Anya Andrei?"
Piqued, Sirius leaned over. "Anya . . . yes--she was two years our junior, wasn't she?" Sirius asked as he thought back to happier times. Anya . . . Anya Deya Andrei--a girl whom the term "spitfire" had been clearly invented for. "She was a replacement Seeker and Chaser for our house team when she joined us. Became a Chaser for three years, then Seeker after we left Hogwarts."
"Trust you to remember all the details pertaining to Quidditch," Lupin said. "You might remember that Anya made a rather unusual friend."
"Oh . . . wait--I'm getting there. Some girl from another house. Slytherin--right?" Sirius' brow furrowed--it had been such a long time ago . . . At least for him it was--his stay in Azkaban had been one long horrifying eternity without hope.
"Right. And?" Lupin prompted.
"And she was a new girl--transferred in from someplace," Sirius said slowly. The memories were still in his head--he just had to find them. "That was our sixth year and Anya's fourth, right? I remember that she was strange for a Slytherin . . . Fairly short but she could swear like anything and had a temper like a--" He stopped abruptly. Now he *did* remember what Anya's friend had looked like. "Kailing? *That* was Kailing?"
Lupin nodded. "Yes--that was her. Most notorious for losing her temper and shoving--"
"Morris Borgenholt though a window--yes, I remember that one . . ." Hardly anyone from the first year to the seventh could have forgotten *that* incident. Gryffindor had been practically assured the House Cup that year because Slytherin lost a hundred and twenty points--sixty from each party involved in the scrap.
"Hah--I don't wonder why she was permanently ticked off--she got put into *Slytherin* after all. I always said the Sorting Hat was a few stitches short of a seam," Sirius said. "I bet she only got put in there because of her Animagus or something like that." The truth was that Kailing's temper had more to do with suppressing the urge to transform into a four-hundred-metre long dragon than anything else. Being stuck with the Slytherins could hardly have made things any better.
"And shoving Borgenholt through the window?"
"It was a first floor window, I remember," Sirius said, clearly a supporter of anyone who had helped his house in any way. "He didn't break any bones--"
"Kailing was the one with the broken wrist-bone."
"It figures--Borgenholt was six feet tall and twenty stone for goodness sake!" Sirius paused, rather pleased that he still could remember those details. "I tell you, that Hat makes funny judgement calls sometimes."
"So you said before . . ." Lupin looked down at his tea. Sirius knew he was thinking about Peter Pettigrew.
"It's all right, Moony--we were all wrong about him."
"We were all wrong about each other. I *did* suspect you . . ."
"You had doubts about my innocence?" Sirius said, pretending to be hurt. But that did nothing to dispel the tension in the air.
"I had doubts all the time--it wasn't exactly a very easy time for anyone," Lupin said softly. "I suppose it was after reading about the thirteen people who were killed . . . I was thinking of the time you got thrown off the Quidditch team," Lupin admitted.
"Oh . . . *that*." Sirius winced inwardly--he remembered that incident. Not his best moment--far from it in fact . . . He had gone for the Beater of the Slytherin with his club after a really bad foul on James that the referee had missed. To most people, it would have looked as though he had gone berserk. The Slytherin Beater had gone to the hospital wing with a broken arm and Sirius had been thrown off the team--it was either that or lose seventy points for Gryffindor.
"But I shouldn't have let that influence me, Sirius--I *should* have trusted my gut instincts." That usually meant the wolf--Moony was always skittish when it came around to issues concerning his lycanthropy.
"I love your guts, Remus--at least they believed in my innocence. As for the rest of you, well . . ."
"Sirius, can't you let me unburden myself in peace for once?" Lupin asked. But he was trying hard not to smile. Sirius had that effect on people in the past--he was recovering his charm along the way now. Sirius would be his irrepressible self again around the same time the female half of the population started making calf-eyes at him. Or perhaps not--Azkaban was not something anyone ever forgot in a hurry.
"Certainly--unburden away, oh angsty one."
"Hmph--I think I'll skip over the extended version of the apology I had in mind then."
"Oh good--you know I simply hate long speeches."
"Now, I want to know why you suspected *me*."
Sirius felt his smile vanish halfway. "Sorry, Moony--I got wind of something that just overrode the old gut instinct back then," he said, his tone heavy with regret.
"What? The werewolves on Voldemort's side?" Lupin guessed shrewdly.
"Yes . . . I told myself you wouldn't be one of them--but I wasn't that sure." Sirius fiddled with his teacup. "And you were absent for long stretches back then . . . I was more than a little suspicious."
"I don't blame you really--I was trying to find those werewolves to join them," Lupin said.
Sirius could only stare. "You *what*?"
"I was trying to infiltrate them, Sirius--don't look so shocked," Lupin said calmly. "But as it turned out, too many of the Death Eaters might have recognised me from Hogwarts--so I got pulled out of that scheme."
"Moony, is this another one of those things you haven't got around to telling me?" Sirius asked in exasperation. "You weren't working for the Ministry, they wouldn't go near werewolves with a ten-foot wand--it was W.E.R.E.S., wasn't it?" Lupin nodded and Sirius leaned back thoughtfully. He never thought that Remus Lupin would have done anything like *that* . . . but then he realised that it *was* the sort of thing a Marauder would do.
It made his shame even harder to bear. There was something he had not wanted to admit . . .
"Moony, I have to--"
"It's all over now, Padfoot--water under the bridge."
"No, Moony--I just want to say that I wasn't all that fine with the whole werewolf thing after all." There--it was out now. "Because if I had been totally objective, I wouldn't have suspected you in the first place."
Sirius was not proud of his weakness. Wizards had always been taught that werewolves were not good for anyone's continued health. They were taught that they were secretive and feral and they ate babies for breakfast. It had been so easy to assign them labels--sort of like fairytale monsters . . . Even though Remus Lupin had been one of his best friends, there had still been a small corner of his mind that had whispered "He's a *werewolf*" insidiously all through those dark, paranoid times.
He waited for Lupin's reaction. But Lupin never blinked. "Sirius, I *knew* that. I knew from a very young age that very few wizards are actually fully comfortable around werewolves. You might not remember, but I can still recall the look on all three of your faces when you found out about my dark little secret," Lupin said without rancour.
That, Sirius realised with a pang of guilt, had probably hurt Remus a lot more than anyone realised. But he had been shoving all his emotions under the metaphorical carpet along with his rather hairy secret back then--they had not thought very kindly of his secretiveness at all.
"And you probably looked back and remembered what a flaming liar I had been in the first year--I could've done it again," Lupin continued steadily. "You were right though--I didn't tell you about what I was doing. W.E.R.E.S. was in its infancy back then--not really anything more than an idea in Gerad's head.
"It was formed not just to protect were-creatures--it was also to keep them clear of influences like Voldemort. You have no idea how easy it was for Voldemort to win some of them over--they had nothing to lose back then and they have nothing to lose right now except the kind of miserable existence you wouldn't even wish on Severus Snape."
Sirius was slightly taken aback by the quiet vehemence in his old friend's tone. It was true that most people didn't give a damn about werewolves--just as long as they didn't turn up in the neighbourhood and kept away from decent folk. Otherwise . . . well, the stories from a few decades back were no less horrifying than those medieval werewolf trials of yore.
Voldemort probably had a field day recruiting werewolves along with the giants, vampires and ghouls. Seeking out the ones the wizards had exiled, ostracised and displaced . . . It was based on the principle that your enemy's enemy was your ally and Voldemort had simply exploited it to the fullest.
"I was quite lucky though . . . I had friends," Lupin said, looking ready to fall back into nostalgia mode again.
"You were still a mopey little git in school though," Sirius said.
"Was I? I thought you and James cured me of that?"
"Hardly--you were *slightly* more fun to be around, but you looked like you had the weight of the whole world on your shoulders most of the time."
"Really?"
"Yeah--it was dead pretentious. We thought you were going to start wearing black and compose goth poetry at one point."
"Goth poetry . . . Sirius!" Now Lupin knew that he wasn't being serious at all.
"No, *honestly*! You acted angstier-than-thou all the time!" Sirius said, before they had to laugh.
It felt good to be able to make people laugh again. Sirius had been trying his utmost to erase the effects of Azkaban for his new assignment, but some scars never healed. His eyes in the mirror every morning were still shadowed--those harrowing years had left their mark on him like a brand.
"I was thinking," he started again after they had sobered up.
"You're having me on again--"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't be contrary, Moony--that's my job. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it's about time I started taking this godfathering business more seriously."
"You're doing a wonderful job for a fugitive supposedly on the run."
"But I should check up on him more often, watch his Quidditch matches--well, he knows I did that . . . Maybe I should get him a belated birthday present," Sirius said. It had been a rather busy time around the end of July--what with the Death Eaters popping out of the woodwork and everything--and he only managed to send Harry a card and a sizeable chocolate cake. He *had* been intending to take his godson out on a holiday to Egypt or St. Tropez--goodness knew Harry had not had many enjoyable vacations with his Muggle relatives.
They normally left him at home in the care of the neighbour, Mrs. Figg. Unknown to the Muggles, Mrs. Figg and her immediate family were witches carefully positioned on Privet Drive to keep an eye on Harry. But Harry was practically untouchable while he was with his relatives because of the old enchantment that bound his safety to their physical proximity, so Sirius had let things bide.
At this very moment, however, his godson was staying with the Weasleys for the holidays--a state of affairs that Sirius found much more to his liking. Harry should be having fun like a normal boy and socialising with wizards his age.
"So . . ." Lupin looked like he was fishing around for the right words. "You want to go *shopping*? Hmmm, it would be a good opportunity to test your disguise. I think it can definitely pass muster now . . ."
Indeed--they had been working hard at it. No magical aids or cumbersome Polyjuice Potion involved--just a flat out attempt at making Sirius look like a normal person instead of an escaped ex-convict with dead eyes.
"Wonderful--we'll also have the chance to find out if people'll run away screaming from me on sight." But there was no risk of that now--even Professor Dumbledore had said that the Ministry would be hard put to identify him.
"It's no light matter, Sirius--Voldemort's side knows about your Animagus," Lupin said. That meant that Sirius could be no longer be an inconspicuous spy with Death Eaters on the look-out for a large black dog.
"Take all the fun out of it if you like--I'm the one who's trying to be human again. I'm thinking of starting small--Diagon Alley perhaps," Sirius said flippantly.
"I know someone who could arrange that . . ." Lupin murmured thoughtfully, completely ignoring Sirius's startled exclamation.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The old house was more of a cottage--a small rustic one standing in the middle of its own tangled forest of rhododendrons. It had lain abandoned for years now, but the villagers still called it the Witch's House.
After wrestling with the front-gate--now overgrown with creepers--Severus Snape re-entered his childhood home. How long had it been since he had walked these familiar paths?
A lifetime ago, it seemed. It seemed longer--probably because landmarks in his life were usually marked by death.
Severus Snape had lived here with his grandmother--and Julian, of course. How could he forget Julian? The two newest graves after his parents. He had not turned up for the funerals--his grandmother had had a stroke a month after Julian's death.
Striding past the herb garden--growing wild now--he was reminded of another day, years ago, when it had all begun . . .
It had been a warm summer day and they were out in the garden because their gran was busy.
Severus had been told to keep his three-year-old--nearly four actually--brother occupied. He had enough self-preservation to know that his gran would be most put out with him if he tried experimenting with his brother. It was going to be a boring afternoon . . .
"Burd," Julian said suddenly, pointing at the sky.
Indeed, there was a bird winging its way towards the cottage. It was an owl. Their gran seldom received much mail--letters were a source of general excitement just for their rarity value.
But the owl did not head for the kitchen where their gran was. Instead, it flew down to where the two boys were and held out its leg imperiously.
Severus untied the envelope and realised that it was addressed not to his gran, but to *him*.
"Gran! I've got a letter!"
He remembered the sound of their shoes clattering on the floor as they ran indoors. Right down this corridor with the low ceiling to the kitchen--
"Gran!"
"What is it?" asked their grandmother--a thin stick of a witch with greying hair that resembled a dandelion before you blew off all the fluffy seeds. She brewed potions and simples--not for a living but as a hobby and for her friends as favours. "Did Julian skin his knees again?"
"No--an owl came with a letter for me!" He had been expecting such a letter for ages now.
They had sat down in the kitchen at the big table gran used to prepare meals before opening the letter. The excitement he felt had seemed to be infectious . . .
"I think you're going to enter a new phase of life soon," said his gran with a twinkle in her eyes as she watched him read the letter.
"It's from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read. "With booklists and everything . . ."
"Hogwarts?" Julian asked, trying to look at his older sibling's letter.
"That's right, Hogwarts--the best school for wizards in Britain. We'll have to go down to London to get your brother's school things," their gran said with a smile. She had always known that her grandchildren would be wizards--Severus had shown so much promise even at a young age. He had gone through all her spell books already and he was already showing a flair for identifying herbs and plants whenever they went out collecting potions ingredients.
Snape returned to his old room under the eaves--the furniture was still there, covered in dust-cloths and cobwebs. He did not even need the dim light that filtered in through the stained and dirty windows to find his way around--he knew it like the back of his hand.
After the initial excitement had wound down, he had gone back to his room because he had wanted to be alone to think.
Hogwarts--he was going to wizard school at last . . .
There were no other wizards his age in the area. The Muggle boys from the village nearby had called his gran's cottage the Witch's House--which was all too accurate yet fairly harmless because the adults had never believed a word of it--and Severus and Julian used to get teased. Severus had found those boys a rough, noisy lot--hardly the sort he could talk to about wizardry. Not that he was allowed to talk about wizardry to Muggles anyhow.
He sometimes wished that he could teach those boys a thing or two with his magic whenever they trampled his gran's herb patch while on one of their dares--the perennial favourite had been run-up-to-the window-of-the-Witch's-House-and-run-out-again. But then he had contented himself with the fact that they were probably so stupid and gormless that they wouldn't amount to much in the end. As for himself . . . well, he was going to be a wizard.
His late grandfather had spoken about Muggles as people to be pitied. They would never know what magic was--what power was. His grandmother was strangely non-committal about the subject . . .
Snape shoved aside his old bed and worried loose the panel set at the foot of the wall. This had been the place where he had hidden his secrets . . .
Like the grimoires from his gran's private collection--the ones he wasn't supposed to touch. But he had borrowed them anyway without her consent or knowledge, reasoning to himself that knowledge was knowledge after all.
Severus had learned all sorts of interesting things from them. He was willing to bet that no other first year student would know as much as he did. His gran wouldn't be disappointed at him for borrowing those books if he topped the class, would she?
The collection of tomes in that secret compartment at present would have made his grandmother's previous store of forbidden knowledge look about as harmless as the recipes in Witches' Weekly. There was the prohibited Grimoire Fellis, the antique copy of Codex Venenum that had cost him a small fortune and even a rare but not very useful copy of Libellus Veneficus (published in 127 AD).
For hexes and curses, he had a very tatty but still intact first edition of Dark Arts Illuminated and the unedited version of Curses: Ancient, Medieval and Modern. A bulky old leather scrip contained a number of small vials and jars of hard to find (not to mention banned) ingredients--all sealed with Anti-Disintegration Charms against the passage of time. One certainly couldn't get the humors of a giant's eye or bile from a centuar's gut by walking into a shop these days . . .
Packing his precious cargo of contraband literature and proscribed substances away into a spelled carrier that was a lot larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, he prepared to leave. He remembered to cover up all traces of his visit and he *should* have left right there and then, but the perverse desire to revisit his past took over.
It was only human to obsess about the past.
He went out through the backdoor to the yard area fronting the now weed-ridden kitchen garden. There were handprints on the back wall--and they had been made by more than one pair of hands.
How do people forget about their younger brothers anyway?
It hadn't been that hard, frankly speaking--he had been seven years older than his younger brother. Julian never knew about his parents--he had been six months old when the accident happened. Julian seemed to be an appendix that fate had tacked on to his life. After going to Hogwarts, he had practically no communication with his brother at all.
But that was an excuse, wasn't it?
There was a grave in the corner of the yard--a grave for Julian's pet rabbit. He even remembered the name of that rabbit . . . Apollo--a grand name for a small bundle of black and white fur. It had been the first creature he had had slain using a proscribed curse.
It was the day before he would leave for Hogwarts. Severus had a wand now. Twelve inches, oak and dragon's heartstring. He was itching to do something with it before the school term started--just to prove to himself that he could do real magic. His gran was in the village visiting a friend and Julian was napping--he was alone and he had some time to experiment.
Looking about for a likely subject, he spied the rabbit in its little pen at the corner of the garden.
"Accio Rabbit!"
He was pleased when Apollo rose from the ground and flew into his hands. Placing the bemused rabbit back into the pen, he decided to try another spell . . . The Imperious Curse.
But it had not worked. He had gotten frustrated by the lack of success. Then he tried the Cruciatus Curse.
Apollo continued hopping about in an annoyingly aimless way.
In exasperation, he pointed his wand at it and snapped, "Avada Kedavra!"
There was a sickly flash of green light and a rushing noise--
The rabbit had flopped over, motionless.
Severus was very surprised at first, A cautious check told him that it was well and truly dead. He was elated--Avada Kedavra was a very advanced spell for a wizard his age to perform.
After the initial euphoria, he suddenly realised what he had done.
He had never admitted to it--his gran and Julian thought Apollo had been frightened by a fox or had died of a sudden illness. They had buried Apollo where his pen had been.
It was a little too late to feel sorry for it, but he had not been sorry all those years ago--and he was not feeling particularly remorseful now.
Turning his back on the past, he set out again. There was still work to be done.
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The author keeps posting these annoying little ramblings at the bottom of each fic: Whew . . . Eight pages of nothing but monologues, flashbacks and two-people-conversations--with luck, it won't sound too boring. I can't help it--my conversations tend to be dreadfully long-winded. The next bit won't be so long in the writing--I finished most of my wretched essays and the Semester's ending soon . . .
Many thanks to Earthwalk, beta-reader without compare and wonderful fanfic author in her own right. (I strongly recommend her HP fics!)
All HP-related characters and the HP-universe in general belongs to J. K. Rowling except for those invented to get the plot moving.
Any plot-holes and plot-devices shall henceforth be attributed to Deus ex Machina.
No cute, fluffy bunnies were hurt during the writing of this fic--however, a lot of potato chips were consumed in the process.
Feedback? Reviews? Criticisms?
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