October 21st, 1975
Snape and Lupin are fifteen
James and Sirius are sixteen
"James, it was a noble concept, and the very fact that you wasted...ah...er, ahem--spent three good years endeavoring to--
"Moony," James growled, "If you don't shut up, I may have to stuff you in a boot."
Sirius yawned and stretched leisurely, "A boot, Jamie?" Rather than waiting for a response, he snuggled deeper into a beanbag covered in swirly paisley patterns and psychadelic daisies.
Meanwhile, James was utterly dismayed at the lack of progress they had been making in terms of becoming illegal, unregisterd Animagi.
"Isn't that what you Muggles call a trunk anyway," James threw out offhandedly, not really thinking, "A boot?"
"I'm not even going to respond to that," Remus Lupin retorted coldly, before retreating to his own beanbag, "I take pride in my magical heritage just as much as you or Sirius or Peter would--
"It's too early for lecturing us on the pathetic lack of moral fiber we have, Moony," Sirius commented, his voice oddly muffled.
The three boys stared at one another, a heavy silence crackling in the air--they were not accustomed to failure; everything had always come so easy to them, except for Remus of course. It was interrupted only by a loud screaming noise...a screaming noise that was growing squeakier by the very second...
Five Months Later
March 14th, 1976
Lupin is fifteen
Snape, James, and Sirius are sixteen
"...Just shove a bezoar down their throats," Snape inscribed into his old, battered copy of Advanced Potions, and then, under that: "in circumstances, most likely dangerous or time-pressed, when 'simple but efficient' suffices, it is for the sake of conservation (ingredients, time, effort, etc.) that we avoid complicated antidotes; however glorifying it is to have brewed...and administer...such.Under leisurely conditions, it should be noted that the antidotes are more potent and overall, have better results...but such conditions are rare, especially when serving a Dark Mast--"
Severus Snape paused. He considered what he had just wrote, and then furiously crossed out Dark Mast. Too incriminating...and if a future student or person happened to stumble upon this text...
Lily Evans studied Severus Snape from out of the corner of her eye. She knew she should be concentrating, but potion-making was almost a second nature to her and--her eyes discreetly slid over to Horace Slughorn--that excuse of a Potions Professor they had was much too enamored with her to chide or scold whatever ineptness she displayed in the classroom.
For the past few years she had been obsessed with Severus Snape. In terms of physical appearance the sallow boy was revolting, not her type at all, but he was such a powerful mystery, an enigma, that Lily Evans had no choice but be consumed of wanting to understand him. He gave off the air of being pure-blooded, but she knew that he was a half-blood, he was up to his nose in the Dark Arts--or so that dunderhead, James Potter, liked to loudly declare to half the student body--but there was a hidden quality to him, something much more complex than plain good and evil that Lily detected.
It was these fuzzy distinctions that intrigued her...mostly because after her confrontation with Voldemort just a few months previously, Lily had been shaken to her very core. It was then when she made it her life mission to differentiate and separate her enemies from friends...and people like Snape wholly deserved their very own group. Thus, the basis of which Lily made her continuous obvservations.
Snape was looking as snarky as ever, though. When Lily was a first, or even a third year, this would have been a cause for concern. It would ordinarily have been a plead for further investigation from her fourth year on, but now that she was nearly a sixth year, she knew better.
He was writing in his textbook again, and it no doubt was a scathing condemnation of the antidotes they were learning to brew. Privately, Lily thought that the whole situation would be much easily remedied if a simple (if costly) bezoar was administered, but the heightened standards of Hogwarts required fifth years to start Advanced Potions until 1980 or when the roster increased by ten percent, whichever came first; with Advanced Potions came advanced antidotes, but apparently, not advanced common sense. Something, Lily casually observed, that Black and Potter seemed to be seriously lacking even more so today.
Those two! They had obviously accomplished something very great, and Lily wouldn't be surprised if it was illegal too, the way they were going on about it, showing off more than usual, performing ridiculous but intentionally light-hearted pranks...one would think they had hoodwinked Dumbledore, became illegal Animagi, and pranced around with werewolves by the moonlight, or something.
Ah, she had finished. Lily quietly poured a sample and cleaned up her station, slipping out of the room before Slughorn could stop her with another invitation to one of those hideous Slug meetings...
It was obvious that Black and Potter--and possibly the sniveling toerag that, for some unfathomable reason, followed those two around--had become Animagi, Snape thought. He couldn't believe they were being so blatant about it, but perhaps they thought that the students would just dismiss it as one more boastful statement that had, unfortunately, come to pass from their lips.
Evans was staring at him again too. Good Lord.
Malfoy was becoming more and more persistent with him, and Snape was fast approaching the point of no return. He would have to make his life decision soon--and fast. His final years at Hogwarts were looming near and the protection it offered, an excuse for postponing the dangerous, unpaced life as a Death Eater, would soon come to an end.
Snape had a sudden thought. If he managed to achieve his vindinctive revenge and destroy Arthur John Torrence--would it really be necessary for him to join the Dark Lord? He immediately waved away the notion. He had information, he knew, and it was inevitable that the Dark Lord was growing more and more powerful and influential, exponentially, and for him to survive and actually enjoy surviving, it was mandatory that he infiltrate their group and rise in the ranks so he would enjoy power and independence.
And fools like Dumbledore would no longer manipulate him, or cast him aside for those that Dumbledore favored. Like Potter and Black, he snarled.
It was growing dark. Snape was mildly anxious but not overly so. He had managed to take down Torrence almost once before; the man had attempted a pitiful escape before finally deciding to take a cowardly flight rather than face Snape, but Torrence was growing older and older.
And so am I, Snape realized.
Tonight he would get the answers he needed. If Snape's controlling nature had not restricted him from any emotional display, he would have been leaping for joy.
Night had fallen. Snape had chosen to remain behind, in the common room so when he left the castle, he would not have the added danger of awakening his roomates. It was difficult enough what he was already attempting to do. Taking a steady breath, Snape grasped his wand tightly and silently pushed his way out of the luxurious common room...the chill from the dungeons struck him, but did not deter him.
How used to the cold, to dampness he was...flashes of the hiding space under the kitchen sink, the cold feel of the stone under his bed pressed against his cheek as he hid from his father, and finally, when he had gotten too big, the lofty and chilly attic that was constantly assaulted by the rainy English weather...they all rose to surface, but he quickly pushed them away.
Good. Good, he was slowly, but steadily improving his Occlumency. He detected that even the Headmaster was growing disturbed by the total blankness he detected in Snape's head; if the Headmaster had not already had known Snape's shrewdness so well, the Headmaster would have taken him for a dunderhead.
He had reached three-quarters of the way up the flight of steps that led to the exit corridor. That was what the Slytherins called the hall that students used every day to get their sorry little arses in the Potions classroom they were undeserving of...except for maybe, the Mudblood Evans.
Although Snape heartily wanted to deny that Muggleborns were as capable, if not more so, than purebloods, he had to admit that whatever magic that managed to emerge from a union of two Muggles was hardy and powerful magic indeed. Her expertise was not as nearly remarkable as Snape's but it was just one of the many talents and charms Evans possessed. He failed to understand why she was not in Slytherin...because she's a Mudblood, he instantly corrected himself.
Snape drew his wand up and tapped a particular stone; he was still three-quarters of the way to the exit corridor, but this was where it was. Where he needed to be.
The stone sunk into the wall, and soon enough, a small arrangement of stones were quickly rearranging themselves magically, to create a medium-sized hole...one big enough for Snape to fit through. The sixteen year-old streched his pale, fine-boned hand to touch the dark, murky space beyond the hole. It was wavering slightly, not at all what he expected empty space to look like; this, after all, was supposed to be a passage out of the school and onto the grounds.
When his fingers made contact, Snape jerked his arm backwards. Water. That was what it was; Merlin forbid, it was water, not empty space. He should've known, he should've been expecting it--he lived in the dungeons after all, and it was rumored that Hogwarts had a massive underground lake, which surely would collide with the dungeons. It explained the perpetual dampness and the chilly air, at least.
"Hydbuefee," he murmured.
It was a French incantation he picked up in his Ambiguously Shaded Charms book. Ambiguous Charms were a source of a raging debate in mid-seventies Britain. They could be considered Dark Magic since they drew their energy from both Light and Dark sources, but they were usually used for practical and helpful purposes, such as the Buffer model. If you wanted to create a buffer protecting you from an outside element, all one had to do was say buefee and then insert the proper magic prefix for the element that protection was needed from.
In this case it was water, or hyd. Thus, hydbuefee.
A cooling sensation wrapped around Snape, enveloping his senses, his mouth, his eyes, his ears...anything that might be used for sensory and internal functional purposes. A new confidence quietly announced its presence, and Snape plunged his head into the hole.
He'd been preparing himself for the shock of cold water, but he had foolishly forgotten one thing: the darkness.
A surge of panic welled up, and Snape attempted to retract his head from the abyss; this only made the invisible force that was keeping him in the horrible, horrible darkness suck him even further inside. He felt his feet lifting up from the cobbled steps...
The more you resist, the more alluring and caustic it is.
Lucius' words drifted in and out of his head, the words that he had spoken to Severus Snape when Snape was a first year and Lucius a seventh. Snape remembered himself, a stringy, pale little kid with great black hair swinging around in his face, his nose a bit proportionally large for his age, and Lucius already a grown and imposing figure in his head. Someone he looked up to, for Lucius was shrewd and he was magically pure...unlike Snape, although he had struggled to keep this from most of the Slytherins by flaunting his Prince heritage more than the foul Muggle name, Snape.
With these words silkily writhing their way through the cords of that gray mass, his brain, Snape used his hands to push himself further and completely into the watery void. Darkness. There was no way to describe it, the horror of being pressed and feeling the weight of water, the buffer straining from the immense pressure, while seeing, feeling, and hearing nothing.
He tried to use touch to find his way, but he couldn't even feel the water. What a stupid idea the buffer had been. Eventually he felt the pressure of the unmoving stone wall where the portal was located, but there was no hope of opening it. Snape knew he couldn't stay near the wall anymore, but it offered him supreme comfort, knowing that just a few feet away were the dungeons--and blessed air. Total darkness enveloped him. A sudden thought occurred:
What if I am stuck here forever?
Not forever...at least until he died of thirst, surrounded by water just a milimeter from his lips. How dreadfully ironic and appropriate for him. He couldn't stand the thought of staying there for another ten minutes let alone three or four days--no one would ever find him, and he would become a Hogwarts ghost...well if he became a ghost he could probably alert the appropriate people to recover his body and then he would perhaps be able to move on. No! He would not just float about and contemplate his future as a ghost...
His feet found the unmoving pressure that signaled the wall's presence, and with a great burst of energy, they pushed Snape away, propelling him even further into the darkness. He swam and swam, as fast as he could, but it seemed like minutes passed, eternity passed, and all he could see was the darkness...the horrid, wretched darkness that refused to give him even a sliver of hope, like a ray of moonlight, a star's modest reflection on the surface.
Time passed. Eons welled and rolled their way over Snape, and with his heightened perception of Time, he sensed a great disturbance. A name unwillingly popped into his head--a source of the disturbance: Arthur John Torrence. Kill him, destroy him, he was endangering Snape's life by his very presence, the botched murder Torrence had attempted. Darkness. There was no hope--Snape let out a long, painful cry and clung to himself, the only solidity and warmth in this void.
Twenty-one Years Later
July 17th, 1997
Harry is sixteen
Lupin is thirty-six
Snape is thirty-seven
So it was finally done. His position with the Light wizards had been eternally compromised, he had killed Dumbledore, and he certainly had inflicted the mild displeasure of the Dark Lord since he had denied him the pleasure of killing of his two greatest foes. Snape couldn't even begin to think, the boy he was dragging along with him was struggling to keep up with Snape's frenzied pace--it was finally done.
He felt hatred for the stupid boy, getting mixed up with the Dark Lord, although a tiny voice whispered to Snape, the fault lay with Lucius, he hated Dumbledore for putting him in this position again and again, a tightrope that was constantly wavering since the tender age of twenty-one, and now it had finally swung over, sending Snape hurtling into an abyss of betrayal, screaming dead, their hands outstretched, wavering, and grasping at his robes, threatening to drag him down with them.
"What are we going to do?" the boy's voice was tense, laced with desperation and anger. "We're fugitives, Professor, what are we going to do? Go to the Dark Lord and serve him? I don't know...I don't--if I can...it wasn't a good idea, the vile little snake cares for NOTHING, except perhaps for himself!" He swung a foot and kicked a tree in a dark rage, trembling.
Stupid boy. Still, those words echoed a sense of deja vu, and Snape was violently recalled to all those years ago, when that very realization hit him at barely twenty-one. He suffered with it, his conscience growing more and more doubtful (hidden by the thresholds of Occlumency of course) as tortured screams and the stench of illegal potions affected him with each passing day, week, month...until the perfect opportunity presented itself: a vacant position for a Professor of Potions at Hogwarts.
He was a Potions Master, a Hogwarts alumni, and hardly suspected of Dark Activity--surely Dumbledore would accept him. His master was growing more frenzied and insane as time passed, the prophecy fatally alluring him to what would be his eventual half-demise at the hands of the Potter infant. Snape had realized that the life span of a Death Eater was too short for his liking...and the teeniest thought had wormed its way into Snape's head:
What would it be like without the Dark Lord?
Years of lusting after power, position, prestige, they had all came crashing down upon him, and his eyes were slowly opening to the world of death, prejudice, and torture he was taking part in. He was too endangered, and with his heightened awareness of Time--that awareness he had acquired at a young sixteen when trapped in darkness for seven hours--he suspected the return of the Dark Lord again and again, and he knew the protection of the Dark--or the Light--side alone wouldnot be sufficient.
He needed protection from both, and that was the only way he would survive to live a life without the Dark Lord...and without meddlesome, good-hearted fools who tried to govern his life. The pathway to Hell was paved with good intentions, he remembered, for this was something his Muggle father, Tobias Snape, liked to remind him from day to day.
"Draco," he said softly, his voice laced with malevolence, "you will come with me now. We must cleanse your mind of treason before the Dark Lord has any reason to cast his suspicion upon you."
Into the darkness they went, the Forbidden Forest looming its way into the fraigle psyche of Draco Malfoy, who had an unfortunate experience with the Forest in his first year with, unsurprisingly, Harry Potter. But what Draco did not know was that there was an emotionally "jellied" Severus quaking beneath that cold, hardened Professor. The darkness. Time. Snape wanted nothing more than to scream.
"...Severus, you must realize my understanding," Lupin hissed, "Rumors were rampant in the werewolf communities, the Order spies hinted at something larger at work, something more binding. I understand now...you were bound by an Unbreakable Vow were you not?"
"Lupin," Severus growled dangerously, "I am warning you...our privacy, the boy and I are living quite precariously (and separately); for him to discover that the Pyrenees have been invaded by the likes of you--
"You have fled--even Voldemort is wondering where his trusted spy is, and the Malfoy boy is reduced to a quaking lump of jelly, hidden somewhere in the mountains--
Lupin cringed as the flinty point of Severus Snape's wand found its way to his neck.
"Nobody can know where he is."
"Yes, or you'll die won't you? You were never on any side, Snape, just your own."
"Perhaps I misjudged you...Moony."
"Come with me. I've convinced McGonagall to have a chat with you--we've information that Voldemort is up to something more dangerous than we could have possibly imagined."
The cold air of the Pyrenees struck the two men, enshrouded in black cloaks similar to those of the Death Eaters, whipping their faces into a red, chapped existence.
"You can sense Time, I know. At least, I suspect you do, Severus. Do you not realize how much danger we are all in? As a whole? As a universe? Severus..." Lupin pleaded, sensing that Snape was withdrawing, "Severus...he has the Potters."
He has the Potters, Pettigrew's snarling voice rose, unbidding, from Snape's memory. He was twenty-one yet again, and all he could do was stare at Pettigrew in unabashed horror. Lily Evans dead? He couldn't imagine that girl, that girl whose presence was so solid so charming...she was dead. Betrayed by her idiot husband's friend; he had no idea that Pettigrew was a Death Eater or else he would have hinted at it to Dumbledore long ago.
"Calm yourself Lupin, I'm coming."
March 15th, 1976
Lupin is fifteen
Snape, James, and Sirius are sixteen
He broke the surface, drawing in deep, gasping breaths, feeling exuberant as the Buffer charm dissolved. Finally, he could feel the cold water lapping at him, finally he could see the moonlight and the stars--blessed light, air, smell, all these sensory onslaughts that soothed him after...
Seven hours. His mind was fogged, hazy, the world seemed unreal to him, as if Time had been slowed for Snape and now it was whirling around him, spinning faster than he could have ever imagined. He sensed the years pressing down, replacing the water's pressure, he sensed the disturbance around Arthur John Torrence, and most of all, he sensed Albus Dumbledore uneasiness as he lay sleeping in the Tower--never knowing that the unease diverged from the fact that he sensed that a student had slipped by the wards surrounding Hogwarts. A student with his mind bent on murder, revenge, retaliation.
He had left the dorms early at night, about nine even though there were still some students up (though they were not in his year), because he knew the journey to Arthur's new hide-out would be long. It was now exactly four-seventeen in the morning, although Snape was not sure how he knew this piece of information.
It was the fifteenth now, not the fourteenth, a Saturday. Snape suddenly realized that he would be gone the whole day, and hopefully no one would be too disturbed, or take enough notice to sound the alert although this was wishful thinking. He swam towards shore, at the other end of the lake, away from the castle. He knew there were rowing boats in a small, on-the-water shack that Hagrid liked to visit occasionally for a peace of mind. He reached it in no time, and inside, there was a four-foot wide ledge that served as a floor, surrounding the left and topmost edges of the shack, and the rest of the floor was water. Two rowboats were floating, anchored onto a wooden pike that rose from the top-ledge sharply. An immense rocking chair creaked slightly in the corner.
The sky was turning gray, as Dawn was about to begin her stretching from the horizon, when the bow finally touched land. Snape took a deep breath, and recalled those stolen nights after Apparating lessons when he carefully studied the diagrams, practicing on his own.
He felt his body being sucked into an abyss, cold, crushing space--it was worse than the watery void, except he had to only endure this for a fraction of a second. Cold wind slapped him in the face; March in London might as well have been winter, minus the snow.
Muggle London that is. Snape tucked his head down, avoiding the curious gazes of the homeless of mid-seventies Britain as he trekked his way down the street and into an abandoned construction site where he knew Arthur John Torrence made his home.
Three Months Later
June 28th, 1976
Lupin is fifteen
Snape, James, and Sirius are sixteen
Sirius Black was greatly bored indeed. His robes were just a bit small, for he had also experienced quite a large growth spurt and was too embarrassed to ask his vile mother to buy him some new school robes; the woman would only scream and rage and berate him for becoming a man, and not a little boy for her to coddle and mold into her image, however hideous it was...like Regulus, he thought bitterly. His voice had grown deeper, his hair longer, and his body was almost fully-grown.Sirius rubbed his slight stubble appreciatively, and he heard a small sigh from beside him. He peered to his right and saw that a girl was gazing at him dreamily, chin rested in her hand. He snickered to himself and kicked James in the shin in front of him.
"Ow!" James bent down and rubbed his shin grumpily.
"Is there a problem Mr. Potter?" Professor Binns inquired sleepily.
"No problem, Professor," James said, while shooting Sirius a malevolent look. Sirius grinned cheekily at him.
"Well back to the goblin rebellions—oh, it seems we've run out of time."
Everybody was either asleep or incapacitated enough to respond.
"Er—class dismissed."
Within three seconds, the room was empty.
"Guess I'd better grade these essays...Zzzz..."
"Ha, I'm telling you mate, the girl was like, besotted with me."
James sighed, but didn't say anything. He glanced behind his shoulder where Lily Evans was talking to her friends.
"Prongs," Sirius punched James's in the shoulder, but James didn't respond. "Hey, James!" Sirius tried again. When James turned his head to Sirius:
"What's wrong with you man? You're acting...well mature."
James laughed a short laugh, "Whatever. I'm just..." He trailed off.
Sirius scoffed impatiently, "Jesus. You're really in love with Evans aren't you? I mean not like a manly lusting situation, but...the real thing."
James just stared at Sirius.
"Guess so," Sirius shrugged. He was bored dammit, and his best friend's big head had deflated enough so that he wasn't as much fun anymore. James had certainly changed a lot, and Sirius suspected it had something to do with Lily Evans, the minx. Even Snivellus wasn't as much fun to torment anymore since whatever scuffles ensued now turned into full-blown, wizarding duels and weren't that much fun for James and Sirius anymore. One too many trips at the infirmary had thrown caution to the wind when approaching Severus Snape. The combination of these two unwittingly took James' mind off of childish things like bullying and showing off.
"Guess so, what?" Remus asked, joining the duet out of the blue with a copy of A Revised History of Hogwarts tucked under his arm.
"James is in love," Sirius jerked his thumb over at James who had just walked in a suit of armor.
"What else is new?" Remus sighed.
"What? What? That's not new?"
"Er, no."
James sighed forlornly.
"Good grief," Sirius muttered.
"Did you just say 'good grief'?" Remus frowned.
"No," Sirius replied, "Now let's go to Potions before we get another detention. By the way, I'm bored."
"Again, what else is new...agh," Remus was pushed in front of the crowd by Sirius.
"Lead the way, matey," Sirius said in a pirate accent.
James just sighed heavily.
"Just step aside," Severus Snape snapped, "And I'll do the potion. You'll muck it up."
Sirius grated his teeth, "Snivellus, we're both inAdvanced Potions if you hadn't noticed."
"Believe me, I've noticed," Snape hissed, "Why they put a bunch of douchebags like you in here, I don't know."
Sirius raised his wand, but then Remus kicked him from besides.
"Cool it, mate," Remus whispered.
Remus looked especially peaky; it was full moon tonight and James and Wormtail both had decided to not go running in the Forbidden Forest tonight in favor of studying for the Potions exam tomorrow. Sirius already took the exam since he wasn't going to be at Hogwarts tomorrow, and had been looking forward to getting the four Marauders together again tonight, but it obviously wasn't going to happen.
Snape's eyes slid over to Remus Lupin, but to Sirius' surprise, the greasy bat didn't say anything. Instead, he just bared his teeth (already, they were showing traces of yellowing) and then returned to the potion Sirius was currently mucking up. In reality, Sirius was an outstanding potion-brewer, it was just that Snivellus distracted him--at least that was Sirius' argument when Slughorn gave him poor marks for individual effort.
Sirius accidentally knocked over a vial of yellow pus and it seeped into the flames under the cauldron, and the entire thing exploded.
"NO!" Snape screamed, "YOU IMBECILE! YOU UTTERLY, INSIGNIFICANT, WORTHLESS IDIOT!"
Sirius had enough.
"Impedimenta!" he roared.
"Protego!" Snape yelled, and then: "Boilus!"
The jet of red light was, however, deterred by Professor Slughorn.
"I will not let my N.E.W.T. class be disturbed by adolescent temper tantrums," he said in an uncharacteristically cold voice, "Leave now, before I decide to expel the lot of you."
Sirius saw Lily Evans glance upwards, mildly disturbed and a bit annoyed. Most of all, Sirius could see she was worried; Slughorn was very genial if a bit cheesy and ambitious, so it was unusual for him to be so...detached. Cold. Snape-like.
Snape left in a stormy rage with Sirius following behind, avoiding his friends' eyes.
"Hey, Snivellus."
Snape muttered some profanities and then turned to face Sirius, wand quivering, face colored puce with rage.
"Hey, I just have something to tell you," Sirius surrendered, revealing his palms.
Something had defnitely happened to Snape...Sirius was guessing it was the two days Snape had disappeared--sure, it was the weekend, but Dumbledore had been disturbed enough to hand over a three-day, in-school suspension to Snivellus. Sirius had seen Lily Evans walk into the infirmary, where the pale, cold body of the unconscious Snape lay for the first day, and then later, Sirius caught Lily trying to talk to the greasy bastard while he hissed and snarled at Lily's well-intentioned come-ons.
"All the better for me to curse you," Snape's upper lip curled up into an evil sneer.
"No..." Sirius said slyly, "I think you want to hear this..."
"Believe me, I don't," the shorter teenager snapped, and before Sirius could respond, Snape had stormed away without even trying to hex him.
"Huh," Sirius shook his head, perplexed. He would have to be more subtle about it then...of course Remus couldn't know, and he had a feeling that James would probably put an end to it if he found out...
The sky was as black as black, and the branches of the still young Whomping Willow howled with shrieking fury as it swung around Severus Snape. He avoided the branches and tapped on the twisted knob Sirius had told him about. A passage opened and he ducked into it, avoiding the lethal, swinging branches.
A piercing howl echoed throughout the air and Severus froze. There was a shadow at the end of the hall, a large, wolfish animal breathing heavily, foam at its long, dagger-like teeth. It kicked back its head and a long, raging howl exploded from its snout again.
Snape stood, immobilized. The wolf dropped to all fours and then snarled menacingly. It then broke into a loping charge straight for Severus—
Then he was falling, falling backwards, on a furry back, with antlers...a stag? They were running, running, the passage shrieked shut with a blast of cold air, the branches waved around the animal that was carrying Snape. He bounced wildly and was carried to the borders of the Forbidden Forest, then was tossed off the stag's back. It was a brilliant chestnut color with large, majestic antlers. Sprouts of gold hairs exploded from a ruff around its neck and it was melting...
"POTTER!" Snape's voice shrieked in anguish, traveling through the night, so that Albus Dumbledore awoke abruptly in his office...
One Month Later
July 30th, 1976
Lupin is fifteen
Snape, James, and Sirius are sixteen
"You can't go," Regulus Black whispered, pleading with his older brother.
"Shut up, Reggie," Sirius hissed, "What do you care anyway? You're up to your nose in the Dark Arts, you hate my friends just because they're half-blood, and you're a wannabe Death Eater."
"You're my brother. We have an obligation, bound by the shared blood that courses through our veins."
"You're not my brother," Sirius responded coldly.
A small, black figure darted about, illuminated by the silvery moonlight. It was riding a broomstick, a heavy trunk lagging not far behind, and it grew smaller and smaller with each passing moment. It was obviously in a hurry, anxious to arrive at its destination--anxious to get away from wherever it was departing from.
With a sigh, he picked up a quill, his cheapest piece of parchment, and sated the nib with ink. The blood obligations called him to perform this one last act, and then he would have nothing more to do with his reckless, seemingly younger brother although he outstripped Regulus byawhole year.
July 30, 1976
Enquiry to Messer Potter Sr. and Spouse;
The eldest Black son has renounced his blood name and family and has fled.
He will be seeking sanctuary shortly afterwards, and it is my request, the last act
of benevolence I will perform on his behalf (part of the blood-severing ritualism
that must take place after renouncement), that you allow my brother to reside at
your home for the remainder of the summer.
Your negilegence to do business with my father harbors no ill wills on my behalf.
If you honor this last rite, then the debt that will then rest on my shoulders will
follow you and your (and my) successful generations if it is not relinquished.
My deepest wishes of thanks and luck go forward to you.
R.A.B.
Regulus Aeneas Black
August 1, 1976
Mr. Regulus Black,
Your older brother has safely found his way to our home. Janet Potter,
my "spouse", and I are enjoying his company very much, but we realize
the importance of filial obligations especially when it concerns older
wizarding circles. Sirius Black has brushed this off for now, and we have
no wish to force his return, and as it is, he is enjoying his stay with
my son, James.
I have no wish for the Black Household to be in debt to mine. Debts and
any kind of magically bound obligations are a dangerous thing, and you
will do well to remember that Mr. Black, when deciding upon your actions;
they will certainly impact your future. Reconsider the path you are set on,
for it only will lead to darkness.
Do not think this hypocritical of me. My "business" that you shadily allude
to is not what you think it is. It has its mercenary purposes, even when dealing
in the matters of human lives, but it is for the greater good; it is with this in
mind that I select my clients.
Yours,
A.Q.P.
Aaron Quirinius Potter
Five Months Later
January 9th, 1977
Lupin is sixteen
Snape, James, and Sirius are seventeen
He had waited for this day forweeks, months, years even. The anticipation had shreddedhis psyche into several fragments that were scattered across the considered wasteland that was his brain.
One screamed in horror and dread of the eternal service he would now have to pay to the Dark Lord. This part was small. Another chuckled mirthlessly and observed the day with a sense of detachment. Couldn't he just watch? This part was considerably larger.
The last, but certainly not the least, quietly spoke into Severus Snape's ears:
You know they're coming today. You know Lucius will be expecting an answer.
And it grew louder, echoing:
You're a man, Severus. You're a man now, so start acting like one.
It was his seventeenth birthday. No other student had this decision bearing down on him on this occasion. He hated to compare himself with the likes of the bedraggled Gryffindors, who were as just as every bit power-hungry as Slytherins...only they sought glory on top of it.
He hated it, but it was staring at him in the face, challenging:
When Sirius Black turned seventeen in the fall, hundreds of bouquets, boxes of chocolates, as well as several joke shop sets, explosive devices, and even a Nimbus broomstick from some anonymous (but surely deranged, pathetic, and mental) chap turned up, all of them piled outside the Gryffindor common room.
When Remus Lupin turned sixteen last summer, everybody was quite aware of it, for Remus' name was imprinted on the sky in explosive fireworks. The next day, newspapers and the French (as well as the Spaniards) had commented on it.
When Potter turned seventeen, the school was nearly destroyed from an outbreak of magical havoc that came from the mosh pitthat had formed, taking up the space ofthe entire floor where the Gryffindor commons were. Albus Dumbledore himself had to break it up by midnight, although Snape was furious at the thought that the Headmaster had even let it go on that long when everybody else was due in their common rooms by nine-thirty.
And now Severus Snape was seventeen. Lily Evans had sent him a card; it was simple, clean, and was not sentimental at all. It had said, "Wishing you a happy birthday, Severus. Spend your first year as an adult wisely, but don't forget to have some fun.Yours, Lily Evans."
Other than that, the only thing he was now expecting was a visit from Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy would be looking for answers of course, but although Snape was all too painfully aware of his earliest memories of Malfoy--those filled with adoration and admiring--he had to admit that with each year, he progressively was disliking Lucius.
Malfoy had been intelligent and capable, but now he was reduced to nothing more but a servant, who was only granted the power he liked when his master was pleased. And in Snape's opinion, Lucius enjoyed the bloodshed far too much than necessary for putting up pretenses. Which meant it wasn't a pretense for Lucius after all.
He waited all day in anticipation. In the end only one thing foretold what Lucius' intentions were:
January 9, 1977
Severus,
Well? I anxiously await your response, my friend. The Dark Lord does
not want to take those inexperienced and young, but he admires thirst
and willingness from such a tender age. I have been advised to contact
you upon graduation to discuss matters further, but rest assured Severus,
we will be in touch before long.
Lucius
"Get out of here," Snape hissed, smacking Lucius' owl aside. The creature cawed violently, and flew away into the night, leaving Severus Snape in the cold air, clutching at his cloak and the now crumpled letter in his hand.
James Potter was exalted. Lily Evans had dropped her books, so he had picked them up for her despite knowing that she would probably lash out and call him some name or other before storming away to report his offensive behavior to her sympathetic friends. They'd chatter and clamor over the "stupid, egotistical James Potter" and then start engaging in some intellectual discussion or other that wasn't beyond James, but he liked to pretend it was--it fit his whole image better. Then he got to wondering...why did an image matter? When he graduated, would anyone really care?
The answer he came up with was 'no'. Apparently this was something worthy of discussing with Moony. But anyways.
He was exalted. He was exalted because Lily did precisely the opposite of what he thought she would have done. Instead, she had met his eyes slowly and calmly. Finally, her delectable lips curled up in a small smile, and...
"Thanks, Potter."
"Your welcome."
And then James had enough sense to leave it at that and walked away.