In which Severus Snape has a near-death experience.
Pandora took us to the King's Cross Station on September 1st. We unloaded our things from the train, and moved from platform eighteen to the space between platforms nine and ten. It was sort of an outing for the others, as many of the neighbourhood children starting their first year with us came without their parents. Frank Longbottom's mother came though, so there was little rambunctious behaviour. There were twelve children from Dinsmore all together, with only four of us beginning our first year; Sirius, Remus, Frank, Alice, myself, and the others you would never have heard and really have no importance whatsoever. At least, not to my knowledge.
We met Lily and her parents as well as four other Muggle-born wizards and witches and their families at that space. As Pandora explained to the parents how the children should enter, Mrs. Longbottom lined us up and directed us through the pillar. I was the second to the last of the Dinsmore children before the Muggle-born children, with Frank just behind me. As we pulled our luggage from behind, Lily stumbled after us with her cart on tow.
James, Sirius, and Remus swiftly entered the train, eager to explore the area and to establish their reputation of being troublemakers. The other children babbled of how excited they were, the things they would learn and see, and into what House they expected to be Sorted. Most of the children were familiar with one another except the Muggle-born. Lily must have felt oddly out of place. Being an elder brother brings out the protective side of a person, so I naturally took her under my care.
I grabbed her by the elbow and together we entered the train along with the rest of the late loaders. I saw Pandora standing near the platform's entrance, one hand pressed down upon her battered old straw hat to prevent the wind from tugging it free. She looked ready to cry, especially when James waved goodbye to her.
Lily, Frank, and I chose to sit together in a single compartment during the trip to Hogwarts. Lily smiled and grinned at the sounds of explosions, angry cries, Sirius' and James' triumphant yowls of laughter, and people demanding loudly to know who had done what. I believe that fiasco involved pigeon droppings and dung bombs. Frank left to grab James and Sirius and make them sit down and stay out of trouble. Only a few moments had passed before someone stumbled into our compartment, trembling and wide-eyed with terror.
"Hide me!" he squealed in the same manner as a stuck pig. "They're out to get me!" He scrambled beneath one of the berths, concealing himself behind my legs and gasping desperately for air. Mind you, nothing was ever done to him. Not intentionally, perhaps; I later heard that his compartment had been right next to the explosion and it made his ears ring terribly.
So my first impression of Peter was, and remained since, that he was a snivelling coward.
Peter was, for all intent and purpose, what Neville is like. Nervous, jumpy, scared of even his own shadow, willing to do anything to save his own hide. Or perhaps I'm biased. He certainly wouldn't have made a very good gutter rat.
I knew, oh, I knew he was a spy for Voldemort. I did not know, until Dumbledore told me a few weeks back when he informed me he thought it wise to write all that I know for your sake, that Peter was James' keeper. For years I thought it was Sirius who betrayed the secret of James' whereabouts to Voldemort, and I hated him. Sirius and James had been closer than James and I together had ever been, and then it was he who betrayed James while I sacrificed everything to help James.
Peter was protected and nurtured by James. Peter would have flunked the school and would have had to clean toilets for a living were it not for the combined efforts of Lily, Remus, and myself in tutoring him to the point where he would get acceptable grades, albeit barely. I lean hard on Neville because I do not want to see another Peter. Through any which way of the matter, Peter was coddled and taken care of by everyone, from students to teachers, and became a traitor. If coddling was what created Peter, giving him what confidence he had so there was no one intimidating enough to prevent him from joining Voldemort, then any terror I cultivate in Neville will keep him too cowed to suffer the same fate. Should Neville ever be captured, it is my hope he dies of fright before anything happens. Or bite off his tongue in fear and bleed to death.
Upon our arrival, we met Rubeus Hagrid, who explained to us (the first years) we were to cross the lake on boats and our luggage would be taken to Hogwarts for us. For some reason, the other years were required to ride in the boats with us as well. If I recall correctly, it was because some Amazon termites had escaped from Hagrid's supplies and had managed to consume many a carriage wheel the day before this, leaving only a few carriages in useable condition.
Hagrid was very daunting to someone like me. He intimidated many of the others as well, but Sirius, again with those troublemaker's senses, could tell this was someone with a very high tolerance level. Sirius attached himself to Hagrid, and James, who did everything with Sirius, did the same. As both spoke excitedly about their surroundings and the school, Lily and I stood off to the side as I watched the older children crowding in the only five carriages present; some could not fit so they wandered down to the lakeside and began to choose boats.
Peter, for some odd reason, thought I was his protector. He affixed himself to my side, and though I tried to scare him away with dirty looks, he refused to budge. Not even the occasional jab in the side with a sharp elbow would deter him. Perhaps he thought I was merely clumsy. Perhaps the ringing in his ears meant his brain cells were irrevocably scrambled.
When Hagrid called out four to a boat, I climbed into an empty boat. Peter trailed behind; we two were the only ones who sat together in it as other children scattered. Lily trotted off to sit with James, Sirius, and Remus. Since I was conveniently located in a boat with neither James nor Sirius near by, Lucius decided to ride with me. Any who approached for the remaining spot in the boat he scowled at until they decided to ride in another.
I knew Lucius was up to something the moment he sat at the head of the boat. The deviant smugness in his eyes made the hair on the back of my neck rise in sharp warning, but I stood my ground and stared back, just as Pandora would have. Nothing was said as Hagrid jumped into his own boat and all the boats were pulled, or pushed, by some magical force across the lake to the shore on the other side. Peter clung to the sides of the boat, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped.
Lucius glanced over his shoulder at me. He smiled smugly at me then looked away. I hunched down against the back of the boat. Lucius peered over the side of the boat. I looked over at the boat where James, Sirius, Remus, and Lily were tossing handfuls of water at one another, giggling wildly as their boat rocked wildly from side to side. I felt nauseous just looking at them; Pandora, for some odd reason, never found it in our best interests to teach us how to swim. I found the idea of being pulled across the lake in a boat frightful.
What if James fell in? Did he know how to swim? Was I expected to jump in after him? How upset would Pandora be if I allowed James to drown?
Lucius dipped a hand in the water and then looked from it to me. "Did you know," he began in what everyone else would have mistaken as a conversational tone, "that a giant squid lives at the bottom of the lake? They say that it eats children, and those unruly students whom the teachers cannot control are given to the squid in punishment." He shot a pointed look at James, and I made a mental note to warn James never to accompany Lucius to the lake.
Peter squeaked, much like a mouse caught in a trap. He crouched lower and Lucius flicked water from his fingers at Peter's face. "It follows us, you know," he said quietly. He gazed into the water. "Ready for anyone careless enough to fall in." He looked over his shoulder again at Peter and smiled wickedly. Peter squeaked again and pressed himself against me. I gritted my teeth and tried to push him away, but I was small and skinny and Peter could have easily have been three of me. It was not that Peter was big, but only that I was very small.
"Sev?" I turned my head to see James leaning over the edge of his boat, unnoticed by the others. He looked concerned, but I shook my head to assure him everything was fine. His eyes flickered from Lucius to me. I smiled; it did nothing to elevate James' worry. As James turned back to Lily, who was tugging his sleeve and brimming with all sorts of questions about Hogwarts, I settled back against the boat.
Lucius looked over his shoulder at me again. Something within me withered at the vicious gleam in his eyes. He stood up suddenly in the boat. "Hark!" he cried with a light voice, ignoring the protests of myself and Peter and the demands from the other boats' occupants. "It comes! It's hungry!" He lunged suddenly across the boat with his arms open to Peter. "We must offer it a sacrifice!"
I jumped forward and tried to scramble out of the way, which is difficult in those boats. Peter's bulk heaved against me. As Lucius lurched forward, the boat tottered wildly. With a wild laugh, Lucius shoved Peter against me, and the two of us toppled over into the water.
I had mentioned I could not swim, yes?
I am proud to say that in those first few moments, when my body hit the rigid waters with a mighty splash and Peter landed on top of me, I did not panic. However, the same could not be said for Peter. Peter was already stupefied with fright from many different things, from James and Sirius and their explosions, the infernal ringing in his ears, the immensity of Hogwarts, to Lucius. I had no idea if he could swim either, but lard floats and Peter certainly had more than I did.
I did begin to panic when Peter groped wildly at me, pushing me down into the depths of the lake's inky black waters in an attempt to climb on top of me and stay in sight of the others lest a giant squid decided to eat him. I could wiggle free as if I were on dry ground, but no matter what I did I found myself trapped. I dimly remember a voice shouting, "James! No!" and then another splash of water, before Peter clubbed me in the head with a flailing elbow. I sank lower, beneath the water's surface, dizzy and incoherent. My chest constricted for air and I reflectively took a breath.
Drowning is a terrible way to die. The first thing I was aware of as I drew a lungful of water was a chill that invaded my body, and then a deep stinging at the very top of my head. An iron band wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed as dancing spots of dark violet, blue, and black appeared in my blurred vision. I felt disoriented and miserable, unable to think of anything but air. I could not tell what was up or down. Bubbles and currents created from my panicked thrashing obscured any light that may have filtered from the surface.
It may have been only a matter of seconds before I was too drained from lack of oxygen and too affected by the cold to struggle anymore. To me, even as I now replay the memories, it was like a lifetime. The desperation I felt in that moment for help, knowing all my dreams and all my ambitions would end within a watery grave, was overpowering.
I knew I should have stayed home with the portraits.
Now, there are two other ways my life could have taken a turn other than the way it had. One, I would have drowned for sure, and then I swear I would have haunted Lucius Malfoy, scaring away any potential child-bearing woman he met to disallow any possibility of breeding. Two, James, to his credit, who jumped into the lake with the intent of saving me, would have succeeded.
However, neither of these happened.
I have owed some outrageous debts in my time. To Sirius, I owe a lifetime of pranks, humiliation, and annoyance. To James I owed my loyalty and, yes, love. To Pandora, I owed a wonderful childhood, and a great deal more just for giving me a better chance to succeed.
And to Voldemort, I owe my life. There is no doubt in my mind that Voldemort rescued me from my watery grave.
You have no idea how mortifying I find this debt. And yet it is not a debt, for it was cancelled when Voldemort turned me into one of his own.
I do not know how long I was in the lake, but I awoke in a pair of warm arms. A shimmering silver material was wrapped around us and it was warm too, though I shivered violently. It was the first thing of which I was aware, and I thought Pandora was holding me close. But it didn't smell like Pandora. I then realized we (myself and whoever held me) floated far above the lake. It was almost twilight and the blowing wind whipped the silvery material about. The broom we sat upon rotated lazily around in a circle.
I saw Hogwarts in the distance, with its jutting pinnacles and towers that rose every which way, disjointed yet strangely elegant. Little black figures roamed the courtyards within the walls and scampered frantically on the grounds outside. Beyond it was a forest that towering above the castle, a foreboding green with dark shadows mingling amongst the tree trunks. I felt relaxed and safe in the person's arms as I looked across the sprawling countryside. This moment differed immensely from the first time I had flown, encased within Pandora's arms, across London during the late night. That had been wonderful, but this was magnificent.
The wind blew again and I recovered enough from my surprise to realize how wet my clothes were. They hung about my body almost like sheets of ice. My shivering became violent and the arms around me tightened slightly, a hiss of magic blanketing warmth against my skin. I looked up to my rescuer and nearly died from shock.
Twisted, dark, and unnatural. The dark eyes that peered outward saw all there was to be seen. It was a handsome profile, or had been once. Then the eyes that gazed across a distance, searching for something dropped down upon myself. I cringed away and hid my face as my thoughts howled in dismay. How could I look at this man? No, not a man, but a monster. Such was the creature that so effortlessly reduced the Potter family — the family that loved and cared for me — to nothing.
This man, for whatever reason, held me now. Why had he rescued me from drowning? No one else knew where I was. Dumbledore, upon learning that I had fallen out of the boat, immediately sought out the Merpeople. They said someone had entered their region, but then swiftly disappeared. James was frantic with worry, and he could only be calmed with promises of Pandora being fetched. James, in his simple way, believed Pandora would find a solution to the problem.
But I knew nothing of what was going on then. All I knew then was Voldemort held me above the ground on his broomstick when I should have been in that cold, dark lake.
As he looked down at me, he smiled. For one brief moment, he seemed almost human. The eyes are the windows to the soul and, very often, you may tell what sort of person someone is by looking in their eyes. For all his power and cunning, Voldemort had very empty eyes. It was as if he had no soul. I could believe he was powerful, but not human.
After he smiled, he turned his gaze across the distance once more. I was freezing and filled with dismay; what would he do to me? Yet all Voldemort did was hold me, cradling me close against his body and offering warmth. My gutter rat's instincts screamed at me to flee no matter the consequences, but the only escape I had was if I wriggled free of Voldemort's grasp and fell to the water below. Naturally, this avenue had little appeal, so I strangled my panic and forced myself to wait in silence.
After what seemed an eternity, something in the air besides clouds moved. A little black dot appeared in the distance, zooming swiftly towards Hogwarts. I heard Voldemort purr in triumph and the broom beneath us leapt forward. I gripped the arms that surrounded me tightly and pressed backwards, frightened at what seemed to me at the time to be a terribly swift speed. Voldemort angled the broom so we turned and flew alongside yet still towards the black dot. The black dot drew closer and I realized it was a person hunched low over the broom, cloak whipping wildly behind.
Voldemort chuckled and flew closer to the broom. The shimmering silver material was pulled away from us and, as he tucked it away sage, I realized it had been an invisible cloak. "Pandora!" he called. The figure on the broom swerved and dipped suddenly then whipped around twice before steadying.
Pandora's expression, from what I could make out in the distance, was that of alarmed horror. She remained still, frozen like a cornered, feral beast as Voldemort flew close. He came to a stop at her side and grinned cruelly at her. "I went fishing and caught a minnow." He looked down at me and smiled once more. "I'm torn; I cannot quite make up my mind of what I want to do with this child."
Pandora's eyes flickered from Voldemort to me. "Are you all right, Severus?" she asked, momentarily ignoring Voldemort.
I hunched down in my frozen robes. "I'm cold," I said mournfully, feeling as miserable as I looked. Pandora didn't appear so formable next to Voldemort with her head bare and hair tangled, her face splotchy and drawn.
"He'll catch his death if you keep him like this," Pandora said sharply. "Look at him shiver." She held her arms out to me as she gazed directly at Voldemort. What must of those eyes have seen as they met his? She saw much more than I did, and what did his eyes see in retaliation?
Voldemort laughed again and shook a finger at Pandora. "No, I think not." With one hand, he pulled his dark cloak around me. "He'll catch his death of something far worse than just a pitiful cold if I desire." He rested his cheek against the top of my head. "Which I may or may not decide, still."
"Please, Riddle," neither Pandora's hands nor eyes wavered, "please give him to me."
Voldemort whipped his broom around so his back faced her. "I gave sanctuary to one child only!" he snapped angrily. Then he laughed serenely. "What makes this child, this gutter rat, so special that you would care for him as your own flesh and blood?"
Did I sense a slight hint of bitterness in Voldemort's words? Why did the man once known as Tom Riddle and the woman who was formally a Snape throw words back and forth? What games did Voldemort and Pandora play with one other? I grant you not even Dumbledore realized the depths of their interactions. Pandora's power was nothing compared to Voldemort, but Voldemort held some regard for her and may have even trusted her to a minute degree – an abysmal nothing, it would seem, but as this was Voldemort, well… such a concession was granted to no one else, and it left Pandora a marginal amount of leeway. That was more than anyone alive could claim.
Why did Voldemort seek to ruin the Potter family and yet did nothing to the woman who held it together and elevated it to what it was time after bloody, endless time? That man wouldn't recognize affection if it came up from behind with its name branded across its forehead and bit him in the arse, but he felt something, or thought he felt something, for Pandora. What did Pandora do that night of your parents' death to have reduced Voldemort into shambles of what he had once been?
"Magic called to blood and blood answered," Pandora replied softly. I heard a soft rustling. Pandora dipped beneath Voldemort and floated up before him. Her eyes pleaded in a way her voice did not. "Why should I have left him on the streets to starve?"
"I doubt he is pure," Voldemort whispered.
"No one can deny that he is not, but I have given him my father's name!" I felt Voldemort's rage flare, felt his body tense in fury, but Pandora continued. "He is an unknown. Better to learn than to wonder, to marvel at the treasure he is, and for that he bears my father's name! I will not have you shame Da even if it is through my son!"
Knowledge is power, and Voldemort hungered for power. Even as he burned with more power than anyone living had ever seen, he desired for so much more. But power could only be attained through knowledge. Why the need to dominate others? It was not just the action or the doing he desired, but the knowing. Knowing he was the greatest and the most powerful, and knowing that everyone else knew, was — no, is — his ultimate goal even if he must cram that concept down people's protesting throats. But what is the appreciation of this by those who truly do not fully understand? This is lost, he feels, upon those who are not pure. If they are not pure, they are imperfect, and therefore are incapable of fully knowing and understanding that he is the greatest.
"You shamed him yourself from the moment you joined with a mudblood!" Voldemort bristled when he realized that Pandora had pushed his control, and he seized my throat. Pandora cried out in dismay and nearly fell off her broomstick to grab me free. He swung out of her reach and relaxed his grip as I gasped for air. "What do I care for this 'treasure'? Mudblood is mudblood. It is sullied and impure, a freak accident of two Muggles joined. A halfblood is tainted, that line destroyed forever - how could you, Pandora?"
Perhaps there was a reason why the Potter family was destroyed. Francis Potter was a wizard from a Muggle family and he joined with the Snape family — a family with long bloodlines of absolute purity. The idea that the bloodlines were engulfed in that name must have irritated and maddened Voldemort, especially when that very mudblood responsible was a gifted genius. And it must have infuriated him to know that a worthless, nameless gutter rat was given the honour to continue a heritage with which it shared not a single drop of blood.
But why did Voldemort grant sanctuary to James? Was it to protect the true Snape bloodline? The Malfoys could claim such as easily as James. And if Pandora had sullied and destroyed her bloodline by joining with Francis, why was she still alive instead of joining the ranks of dead with her husband and children? Well, I know the answer to that question – burying the pieces of her loved ones, flesh by drop by scrap, forced to mourn alone and continue living with such memories hanging over her head was a fate far more cruel than death itself.
And, yes, these questions have everything to do with you, Harry. A mother's love alone cannot protect a child from a powerful spell. Even when Voldemort was stripped of his power he was still too strong for even a dozen Aurors to fight with the hope of winning. What is it within your bloodline that protected you from Voldemort's harm? That bloodline, joined with a mother's love, for the first time in our known history, deflected the Avada Kedavra curse. How? Voldemort, throughout all those years, was after something only Pandora could give – was that it? Was that why Voldemort tolerated Pandora?
Brother wands do not regurgitate past spells when pitted against one another. The more powerful one engulfs the weaker one, mingling power together to become stronger than before. Unless the wand wielders are near equal in power, they do not force past spells to emerge and manifest themselves in reverse.
Why did none of your spells manifest themselves? Why did only Voldemort's past spells emerge? What is it within your bloodline that gives you the capability to break all rules in such a manner? Dumbledore has told me everything you have ever told him concerning Voldemort so I could make sense of the entire picture with my knowledge of your heritage, but I only get jumbled colours and crooked lines. Do you see a pattern emerging from this misshapen mess? I do not.
"I have use," Voldemort said, "for a bastard such as this one. He would make a wonderful plaything."
"Riddle, no. Please, give him to me." Pandora held her arms out to me once more. I dearly wanted to leap from Voldemort's grasp into her own. As if he anticipated my thoughts, Voldemort pulled his black cloak tighter around me.
"Convince me. Why?"
Pandora could not answer. Any answer she gave him would have been either inadequate or scorned. Voldemort nudged his broom close so their legs brushed. "Why should I?" he asked again, reaching one hand from out of the cloak's folds to stroke her cheek. "I have already left you a loved one; if I had meant for you to have two, dear little Jonathon would have been left whole."
I watched in horror as Pandora slumped, her dignity withered away. She looked like a terrified old woman – like someone else's grandmother – and I had a sudden vision of her dying of grief before I reached my adulthood. I snarled and tried to bite Voldemort, but he cuffed my ear and Pandora flinched.
"It hurts Pandora!" I cried. "I don't care if I die here or the slums, but I won't hurt Pandora! What do you gain – why should you kill me? What does anything have to do with anything? What does everything have to do with everything? What difference does any of this make? I don't know what I am, but I really don't care! Should I? If I don't care, should you care? Why should a little gutter rat like me be even worth the trouble of being killed? Actually I do care so maybe you should!" I wanted to cry; I wanted to scream; I wanted to hold Pandora close and make her young once more.
And Voldemort laughed.
I have no idea if either Pandora or Voldemort understood. Pandora's eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed at me, and Voldemort laughed.
"Foolish child," Voldemort said to Pandora with mirth in his voice. "Very foolish, young, but worldly." He grabbed a handful of hair to tug my head back and look into my eyes; my skin was too numb for me to feel the sharp sting of his grip. Within those dark, soulless depths, I saw something that reminded me of Sirius' eyes whenever he had an urge to play a prank. The look had nothing to do with the idea of the prank, but only the urge. It was a driving, burning need for something I could not name. He released me and turned towards Pandora. After a moment of silence, he said, "Slytherin. And for that alone I will allow him to live."
With those words, he shoved me into a surprised Pandora. She wrapped her arms and cloak protectively around me, hunching close to shield me from him. She smelled as sweet as the first time she had held me.
A wind blew Voldemort's black cloak out and ruffled his black hair. For a single moment, I saw him as to what he was always a shadow of; I saw him as a handsome and charming man. And then he smiled and tilted his head so his eyes fell upon me, and once more he was unnatural and twisted. "But," he warned softly, "merely because I give the gutter rat to you now does not mean he has the sanctuary I grant your real grandson. But you needn't fear; I may have use for such a gutter rat, a use that wouldn't sully your father's name." He pulled his invisible cloak out and wrapped it around himself, disappearing from our sight.
Pandora floated a few moments, waiting to see if anything more would happen. With a deep sigh, she hugged me close and the broom moved forward.
"Severus," Pandora whispered. "Tell no one of this so long as you live." Her fingers pinched my shoulder. "Promise."
"Why?" I wondered. She shook her head and pinched me harder.
"You cannot tell."
"I promise."
I have kept my promise. As you read this, I am dead. The seal upon these papers assure only you may open them and read the written content. I have told no one of what happened so long as I lived. Indeed, many of this I have told no one so long as I lived.
And now you get to carry the burden of our heritage.
My condolences; it is a very heavy load.
