A/N Just wanted to thank, once again, all the wonderful people who
reviewed my first HP fic, 'If You Go Down to the Woods Today…' (and indeed,
those who reviewed my other stories). This is not the promised
Snape/McGonagall continuation but a completely different thing; it's been
lurking about in my head for ages. I'd like to make it clear that Sejanus,
my OC, is *not* a (gasp!) Harry Stu/Mary Sue male equivalent, and neither
will he be the new DADA teacher, wonderful at everything, or remotely like
Snape, except in appearance. He is not at all what he seems, either :-)
Please review, and tell me what you think of the story, and of Sejanus!
BTW this starts off in a fairly relaxed, light vein, but will get angsty
later on. Footnotes, as always, marked with asterisks.
Chapter One
In the midst of a misty maudlin May morning, a young professor, dressed in a gown of midnight black which matched his short tidy hair and bright eyes, moved briskly through the crowded street. Briskly, but with a kind of lanky grace, his swift movements not matching the dreamy expression on his face. He had just witnessed the May chorus, sung in the early morning on the first day of May by the choir of Magdalene College, Oxford. Sung to the heavens, in love, in reverence and blessing, in joy and hope, in exultation. Sung by young voices, coming from young hearts full of promise, young minds brilliant and keen. He had heard it many times, since he himself had been a student at Oxford, but never did his affection for its beautiful simplicity lessen.
Although it was only seven in the morning, many people milled around the professor as he made his way back to St John's college, in which he lived, unusually for a tutor, but then he was unmarried and not especially wealthy. The crowds of course had been drawn by the choir's performance, and consisted of many tourists as well as tutors and students. The professor smiled as a bedraggled, dripping group of undergraduates tottered past, obviously very drunk, and clearly having indulged in the time- honoured tradition of throwing themselves off Magdalene bridge in the first light of the new May morning*.
Professor Snape had never been one for hurling himself off bridges, or indeed for any reckless behaviour, but he admired the tendency in others. Snape had always felt old before his time, and had recently come to believe that perhaps he was missing out on something. Something like living, perhaps. But he was safe in Oxford; safe away from the seduction of the darkness from which he had run so many years ago. But it could not be so forever. Snape was a wizard, and wizards, especially purebloods, do not give up on their own kind so easily. Nor do they allow them to run riot at Muggle universities, as the letter he had received yesterday evening from the Ministry of Magic had rather unfairly stated. Snape was not running riot; he was tutoring and lecturing English literature to a large group of very competent and charming undergraduates, of whom he was exceedingly fond. Snape had come to love his students dearly and was loathe to be separated from them when he knew he could offer them the benefit of his own fine intellect. He had no illusions about his own abilities and worth; Snape was after all a Slytherin. He had been sorted into that house, and Sorting tended to stay with a person, even if that person had long since elected a life of Muggledom. Or Muggle-*don*, Snape thought, his ironic sense of humour coming to rescue him as it so often had in the face of adversity.
For this truly was a difficult time. Snape had witnessed, perhaps, his last May Chorus. As he made his way towards the enormous forked road of St. Giles, it seemed as though he was experiencing everything for the last time - the sights: glorious buildings with their spires shining in the early sun, the tourists scurrying excitedly about, gazing rapt at the majesty of the city; and the sounds! The hum of traffic, slight as it was so early in the morning, the clicking of cameras, the hubbub of excited voices speaking in myriad different languages. And of course the smells - the waft of coffee and pastry from one of the many delicatessens, the flowers in St. John's beautiful gardens…how he loved it all! And how his heart would break to leave it behind. But leave it he must, for the Ministry must be obeyed. He would go willingly, or they would come for him.
Dumbledore himself, the great and kindly headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had assured Snape that he would still have a job at Oxford University when his year in the wizarding world was complete. A year sounded like such a long time. But Snape was, in the Ministry's view, a risk: his magic was powerful but untrained, and he must learn, like every witch and wizard, to control and contain it, for the sake of the Muggles, for the sake of secrecy. Snape resented heartily being forced to return to his old school, as though he was a child playing truant. He resented having to sit through *classes* and take *exams*, something he had thought to be done with years ago. And most of all, he resented that neither the Ministry nor Dumbldore respected his right to stand by the decision he had made all those years ago, at the tender age of fifteen, when his beloved brother had fallen prey to the Dark. The decision, so simple and yet so profound, to quit his own world forever, to sink into oblivion among Muggles, to forfeit the power that was his birthright and his nature. To escape danger, to escape the Dark Lord, to escape…temptation.
They, the Ministry, might think him foolish; Dumbledore might fret about his mental state; his brother might consider him an embarrassment. But despite their fears and interference, despite their arguments and advice to the contrary, Sejanus Snape knew he had made the right choice.
A/N Thoughts? Reviews very much appreciated. The usual suspects make an appearance in the next chapter, this was just an intro :-)
A/N This is a perfectly genuine tradition, great fun if a bit barmy ^_^
.
Chapter One
In the midst of a misty maudlin May morning, a young professor, dressed in a gown of midnight black which matched his short tidy hair and bright eyes, moved briskly through the crowded street. Briskly, but with a kind of lanky grace, his swift movements not matching the dreamy expression on his face. He had just witnessed the May chorus, sung in the early morning on the first day of May by the choir of Magdalene College, Oxford. Sung to the heavens, in love, in reverence and blessing, in joy and hope, in exultation. Sung by young voices, coming from young hearts full of promise, young minds brilliant and keen. He had heard it many times, since he himself had been a student at Oxford, but never did his affection for its beautiful simplicity lessen.
Although it was only seven in the morning, many people milled around the professor as he made his way back to St John's college, in which he lived, unusually for a tutor, but then he was unmarried and not especially wealthy. The crowds of course had been drawn by the choir's performance, and consisted of many tourists as well as tutors and students. The professor smiled as a bedraggled, dripping group of undergraduates tottered past, obviously very drunk, and clearly having indulged in the time- honoured tradition of throwing themselves off Magdalene bridge in the first light of the new May morning*.
Professor Snape had never been one for hurling himself off bridges, or indeed for any reckless behaviour, but he admired the tendency in others. Snape had always felt old before his time, and had recently come to believe that perhaps he was missing out on something. Something like living, perhaps. But he was safe in Oxford; safe away from the seduction of the darkness from which he had run so many years ago. But it could not be so forever. Snape was a wizard, and wizards, especially purebloods, do not give up on their own kind so easily. Nor do they allow them to run riot at Muggle universities, as the letter he had received yesterday evening from the Ministry of Magic had rather unfairly stated. Snape was not running riot; he was tutoring and lecturing English literature to a large group of very competent and charming undergraduates, of whom he was exceedingly fond. Snape had come to love his students dearly and was loathe to be separated from them when he knew he could offer them the benefit of his own fine intellect. He had no illusions about his own abilities and worth; Snape was after all a Slytherin. He had been sorted into that house, and Sorting tended to stay with a person, even if that person had long since elected a life of Muggledom. Or Muggle-*don*, Snape thought, his ironic sense of humour coming to rescue him as it so often had in the face of adversity.
For this truly was a difficult time. Snape had witnessed, perhaps, his last May Chorus. As he made his way towards the enormous forked road of St. Giles, it seemed as though he was experiencing everything for the last time - the sights: glorious buildings with their spires shining in the early sun, the tourists scurrying excitedly about, gazing rapt at the majesty of the city; and the sounds! The hum of traffic, slight as it was so early in the morning, the clicking of cameras, the hubbub of excited voices speaking in myriad different languages. And of course the smells - the waft of coffee and pastry from one of the many delicatessens, the flowers in St. John's beautiful gardens…how he loved it all! And how his heart would break to leave it behind. But leave it he must, for the Ministry must be obeyed. He would go willingly, or they would come for him.
Dumbledore himself, the great and kindly headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had assured Snape that he would still have a job at Oxford University when his year in the wizarding world was complete. A year sounded like such a long time. But Snape was, in the Ministry's view, a risk: his magic was powerful but untrained, and he must learn, like every witch and wizard, to control and contain it, for the sake of the Muggles, for the sake of secrecy. Snape resented heartily being forced to return to his old school, as though he was a child playing truant. He resented having to sit through *classes* and take *exams*, something he had thought to be done with years ago. And most of all, he resented that neither the Ministry nor Dumbldore respected his right to stand by the decision he had made all those years ago, at the tender age of fifteen, when his beloved brother had fallen prey to the Dark. The decision, so simple and yet so profound, to quit his own world forever, to sink into oblivion among Muggles, to forfeit the power that was his birthright and his nature. To escape danger, to escape the Dark Lord, to escape…temptation.
They, the Ministry, might think him foolish; Dumbledore might fret about his mental state; his brother might consider him an embarrassment. But despite their fears and interference, despite their arguments and advice to the contrary, Sejanus Snape knew he had made the right choice.
A/N Thoughts? Reviews very much appreciated. The usual suspects make an appearance in the next chapter, this was just an intro :-)
A/N This is a perfectly genuine tradition, great fun if a bit barmy ^_^
.
