DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited
to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner
Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended. This is a parody, on which I am not making any
profit.

Authors note: holy crap it's been 3 months since I updated! My apologies to
everyone! I have excuses though, pathetic but true excuses . . .

First I lost two weeks franticly writing term papers (one I didn't recall until
the day it was officially due!) Then I wrote most of this chapter and lost it.
The file name was there, but the file was empty. Undelete freeware didn't
work. Next my whole computer died! It was too old to be worth fixing. I now
have a brand new computer so I have no excuses for not updating!

I will be answering review questions on the review board.

Summery: The Dursleys arrive at their hotel with an unconscious Harry in tow.
Meanwhile, Snape puts his things in order, in preparation for his apparently
eminent death . . . So why are house elves celebrating?

Chapter 3:

Something on the Wind

Deep in the lush heart of the forbidden forest, rare sounds rose over the
treetops. They were sounds Snape Castle had never heard before. Clinking
of glasses, strange rhythmic music, and house-elf laughter filled the
manicured courtyard. Hearing the commotion, several young centaurs had
crashed the party early on, and were dancing wildly now, while tiny house
elves dodged their sharp hooves. As the morning sun crept over the verdant
horizon and spilled through the trees, more partiers arrived and others left.

Salveilky was one who left. He crept up steep flights of stone steps and
stopped before an open arched doorway. Inside, a wooden cradle stood, its
tiny quilt neatly folded. The mobile of stars and moon phases still revolved
dutifully over the crib, though its driving spell work was centuries old. Salveilky
recalled the latest Snape to lie in that cradle. Severus, who Salveilky himself
had lifted from that horrible steel slab and carried to this place, his rightful
ancestral home.

Many a house elf and other magical being considered Severus the final twitch
of a dead line. His mother, who had been the last living Snape once, was
dead several years before Severus was removed from her. Even while she
walked and spoke in those years, she was nothing more than a mindless
corpse fulfilling the mission of its viral guest, using both body and memory
to feed and reproduce the disease. Severus had not yet been conceived
when she died, so how, many asked, could the line possibly live on? Those of
the house hold of Snape, who cared dutifully for the grounds and dusted the
castle, were asked, 'do you serve the dead?' which is the greatest insult
conceivable to a house-elf mind.

Despite their scorn, none who knew of 'the last Snape', be they magical
servants or wild forest beings, questioned him on the bases of his non-human
blood. Such fixations are common only to humans (a category including, from
the house elf perspective, Werewolves, 'noble' elves and many others to
whom the 'Ministry of Magic' would abject)

No one even considered harming the child, though hardly a child now, or
making off with his inherited possessions. Such actions would show vulgar
dependence on mundane necessity and finery and would by humanly
warlike. Of course, the small army of house-elves (an oft underestimated
species) guarding the property may have also had something to do with this
too.

In no circumstance would they consider bothering to making known his
presence and nature to humans, who would certainly strive to kill him. The
scoffers and critics merely made bets and waited for time to call the score.
The intrinsically magical were longer lived and so more patient. They were
aware of long-term consequences, or so it had always seemed to Salveilky.

And they were much better at secret keeping.

Those bets would be coming due now, for even the most magically
insensitive creature, like wizards, could surely feel the truth now! There was
another Snape in this world, and a fairly powerful one, it seemed.

It was like the small of spring rain, roiling in on the wind. It was the sense
that he was alive in the world, and of his power giving and taking with the
web of magic that kept them all alive. For this the house elves danced. The
taste of it on the wind, -the truth of his existence- had reached out to them in

the early morning hours, and those who had waited for it so long woke right
up in their beds.

They'd felt it once before, some 14 years previous, but the awareness faded
cruelly away then, until it was only a trickle in the minds of the very most
powerful and attuned. The scoffers had said, 'a child was conceived but it
died hardly grown, proving this Snape creature incompatible with others.'
(for a strong magic can be detected even before birth).

Now the sense was back, and it was real. To those who tied their fortuneto
the Snape's, it was like rain to a parched dessert.

But Salveilky suspected strongly that this crib which held Severus would not
be needed for the younger Snape. This was not a new child, but the first one,
free again from whatever sinister spell constrained his essence all through the
years. Salveilky hoped the child would not be forever warped or stunted by
whatever curse had held him. Even now the call wavered, as if the constricting
spell was weakening, letting the child's power leak out, but the spell still was
not quite broken.

Dudley Dursley laid his limp cousin on the hotel bed. The black haired boy
was looking oddly pale. He'd hardly been in the sun all summer though, so
this told little. He was breathing, and had a pulse.

Dudley's parents were in the room next door. They would not be interested in
calling a hospital for their nephew, not even if Dudley pointed out
conscientiously that this would be the most normal course of action, when
someone remained unconscious.

He ought to do something about it, maybe call the hospital himself, or call
Harry's . . . people.

But if he called the hospital, Dudley would be in a heap of trouble and the
doctors might find out just how concerned about their nephew's life the
Dursley parents weren't. Dudley could remember seeing shock and uneaseon
strangers faces from time to time, when his parents spoke callouslyabout
Harry. The strangers would look back and forth from Harry to theDursleys,
and sometimes nod there heads or mumble affirmatives, but froma young
age Dudley could see when they were not quit convinced. It alwaysmade
Dudley extremely uncomfortable, that look.

Contacting the magic people was equally impossible. The big white owl which
Harry sent letters with was probably out hunting somewhere, and Dudley
would be hesitant to approach it anyway. It had pecked him hard more than
once. It might not even fly for a normal person, and who would he address it
to?

Dudley waited, hoping Harry would recover on his own. His cousin might well
be very sick. He'd spent the summer in his room mostly, barley coming out to
eat and behaving subdued and awkward when he did.

Dudley's parents were glad of that, as the boy had developed a disturbing air
around him this year. - Nothing you could pin down, just a vague unease
whenever he was in the room. Prolonged exposure caused nervousness,
particularly in Dad. His parents had been slow to recognize Harry as the
source of their jumpiness, and refused to ever admit to the feeling, which left
Harry a summer almost free from the Dursley's normal accusations and nagging.

Dudley had felt -sensed- the disconcerting strangeness radiating from Harry,
without question, the moment he stepped in the front door on the first day of
his summer vacation.

That feeling was not natural. Dudley was sure of that. It was magical, and it
was thrilling, like petting a tarantula. Dudley had felt the affects of magic on
himself before, but this was different. It seemed he was feeling the magic itself
now. Dudley felt quite addicted.

The potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry eagerly
tread the castles wide front steps.

Shaking off his morbid thoughts, Severus slipped into the enormous entry
hall with his

'Shmied's Potions Supply' Shop bag clutched in his hand. At his fastest
walking speed, which was very fast, he tore down the dim hallways, his cape
flapping and fluttering behind him like wings, as his footsteps echoed.

He very nearly smacked into Argus Filch, the person whose duty it was to keep
Hogwarts clean.

"Professor," Argus greeted amicably. The short grungy man eyed the bag in
Severus' hand with unexpected suspicion. The shorter man then intoned
dramatically, "Oh Sir, you know Dumbledore doesn't like you doing that."
Severus was too hungry for yammering.

"Doing what Argus? I'm not getting drunk on the job you know. This is blood,
-for a potion- not an alcoholic beverage!" Severus slid the glass bottle out and
waved it before Argus, sloshing its bright red contents. "Human actually.
Probably squib." Severus sneered. His brain caught up with his mouth at
length.

He'd gone a bit too far this time. Argus had endured ridicule and significant
danger, from intent and accident, all his life. He hardly needed Severus to tell
he was without magic - a squib. Indeed, the man's face flinched. He stared at
an invisible point over Severus' shoulder. They weren't truly friends of course,
but if Severus was going to die soon (a possibility that seemed increasingly
likely) he ought to leave a few people willing to attend the funeral.

"I know it's not wine." He squared his shoulders, "I mean you should not be
going to Hogsmead. If you must go, bring someone else along."

"And who should I bring along?"

He and Argus were Hogwarts only occupants at present. Beautiful, Severus,
remind the man that he's magically helpless. "Should I bring someone who
greatly annoys me, because if I am ambushed I will only get the fool killed
by his proximity to me," Severus tried to patch the situation.

"You are completely responsible for Hogwarts, Severus. Next time just let me
buy your s-supplies."

He glanced at the bottle in Severus' hand. Twice. The taller man wish he'd

put it back in the bag. Filch wasn't supposed to know, but he clearly did. No
one was supposed to know what he did with the blood.

"Just give me a list and I'll get everything. No one will bother with me."

Severus sighed noisily, "Oh, all right, next time you go." Filch seemed
appeased. Severus maneuvered past the other man before he could bring up
some new topic. Severus was starving.

As Severus turned right down an intersecting corridor, Filch, who'd been
watching the black cape dance away, saw a strange thing. A large cat (he
assumed it was a cat though you couldn't always tell at first glance in the
magical world) ran out of a classroom and vanished left down the same
corridor. Argus knew all the permanent feline residence of Hogwarts and this
wasn't one. Curiously, Argus followed.

After brushing past Argus, Severus headed towards his rooms. His mind
wandered as he approached his destination. He stood frozen a moment in his
doorway until his mind switched gears and he blatantly leapt for his wand.
The door to his chambers was standing wide open. He cast several spells.
Nothing detected. He sprinkled some potion before the gaping doorway. No
sign of an intruder. Severus tried to recall leaving his rooms, not a half hour
before.

He felt his stomach sink; Not from fear of death eater assassins, but from his
own mind. He hadn't betrayed himself so in years. After a few more
unsuccessful detection spells, Severus stepped into the doorway. A lamp still
flickered -no doubt how he'd left it- and there were no invisible attackers. No
subtle booby traps to kill him. The truth was worse than that, and more likely
to actually kill him.

"Lion?" the horrid beast ought to be here, making him feel better.

"Here kitty" his peculiar cat did not come.

Severus turned to the open doors. Without hesitations, he pulled his wand
and cast a point-me spell to locate the feckless beast. Disregarding his
reputation or dignity, Severus took of at a dead run. As he'd realized in the
first week of the cats arrival, Lion was far less curse-hardy then any wizard
bread cat, -or nearly any feline to be brutally honest.

If the poor cat had any magical signature at all, it was too faint for normal
detection. The cat never hunted, and Severus suspected that the poor thing
couldn't see most of the field mice that lived in Hogwarts' crannies, for
thousands of generations in the magical castle had endowed even them with
mild don't-see-me glamour.

Hogwarts was known to spontaneously create, eliminate, and move not only
the famous staircases, but rooms and hallways also. What would happen to
the cat if he was in a room when it ceased to exist? Would Hogwarts even
'notice' him, as distinct from the inanimate furnishings?

Severus stuck his head in a classroom. It was empty but for spider webs and
old desks. Why did Hogwarts need so many empty classrooms?

Not only could the most benign spell harm or kill Lion, his own peculiar
personality was against him. Should lion encounter another cat, an owl, or any
other creature, no matter how odd or large strange smelling, the cat would no
doubt approach fearlessly and try to rub himself all over the unsuspecting
animal. Any self-respecting proper beast (which Lion pointedly wasn't) would
feel threatened by this peculiar stranger and would attack.

Most healing spells Severus knew used in least some of the patients own
magic.

Severus stuck his head into another abandoned classroom. When had this
ancient castle ever needed so many rooms? And there was Filch, holding
Severus' smug purring cat in his arms. It was too late to hide his mission.

Filch blinked. A slow smile slid over his face, and then it was gone. "Ohhh,
-is this your cat Severus? I didn't know you had a cat." Filch looked right at
him; His penetrating gaze searching, no doubt, for inner pathetic fluffiness.
The squibs lips twitched. Why couldn't people just treat Severus normally?

Sevres's face felt hot. He didn't know whether he was ashamed or furious.
He was tired, miserable, and hungry. So hungry. He surged forward and
snatched the limp feline out of Filch's arms. Even as the man flinched back,
looking startled. Severus' face must have betrayed what he felt. One more
betrayal. The purring stopped. Severus whirled and stalked away before
Filch could start poking fun at him.

Severus ought to be enjoying the day, meditating on the wondrous possibilities
his new brew presented, not half paralyzed with dread of death and
humiliation by his own cat. Argus would tell everyone. None of them would
respond as they would if it were anyone else who had cute a pet.

No, they would create a humiliating dramatic scene the next time they set
eyes on him. After all, evil ugly Slytherin Death Eater's don't have cute kitties.
He didn't dare slip out of his persona. Any time he was caught doing anything
remotely human, he could count on an amused, astonished and very loud
reaction. Any deviation into niceness brought on instant patronizing
exclamations.

Severus knew he was indulging in ridicules self pity, but why not for once. He
deserved it.

McGonagall: "did you hear? Severus actually spoke to me at dinner, without
prompting!"

Or

Albus: "Oh Severus, I'm surprised-but pleased-you decided to join us for lunch
. . . are you feeling all right?"

They didn't even wait for him to get out of earshot!

Severus was so absorbed in muttering to himself about his unjust treatment
he passed his own door and had to double back. Suddenly even hungrier, he
almost stumbled in his haste to reach his sitting room table.

his Shmied's bag with the bottle of bleed wasn't there. He fell shakily to his
knees. It wasn't there. He turned to the door, were he'd noticed lions
disappearance, and there it was, on the flood by the door. With out memory
of how he got there, Severus found himself guzzling the precious liquid, on
his knees, his shoulder leaning against the cold stone wall.

He gulped it down without tasting it. He felt it mute the longing that buzze in
the back of his mind, and restore his quivering limbs. No slow appreciative
savoring of blood like a wineconnoisseur, (as one student artist's 'comic strip'
suggested,) to justify hisstudent's opinions of him. Those children were too
perceptive, - but for someodd reason they tended to imagine him a highly
cultured monster when notteaching. With his bloody face and long white
fangs, he'd have them screaming.

Mmmm. A delicious thought.

He drank.

After a moment, Severus almost felt as though he were choking. He
shuttered as he slurped. The blood was on his hands. It was everywhere.
The smell of it filled the room. Even Lupin, that mangy werewolves didn't
experience this. This scene was the wolf's most dreaded nightmare.

Severus' lungs just weren't behaving. They shook and he breathed in a bit of
blood. Was he dying right now? So soon?

Severus realized, with detached astonishment, that he was crying.

Dudley hoped his cosine woke up soon. Harry just lay there like a corpse, and
that tingly disconcerting feeling seemed to grow.

When his silent sobs were stopped, Severus got stiffly to his feet. He swished
a hand at the mess he'd made, expecting instant cleanliness. Almost nothing
happened.

After three attempts he used his wand, and was able to banish the bag bottle
and dark smears.

He entered the bedroom, the most well furnished room, and sat on his ancient
carved bed.

He felt quite poorly. Worse than after crusio. He had a very bad feeling about
the coming night. The feeling was dread.

He ought to be grateful it had lasted this long. The cross between an Indian
elephant and Asian elephant was healthy till after puberty, and then would
often die. The hybrid of brown rat and Norway rat rarely lived past birth. Goblin
and wizard could often produce healthy and fertile offspring, while witch and
goblin could not. What sort of a being could create living offspring with a
creature like his mother, and trick her changed body into bringing it to term?
What sort would chose to? How many years had Severus been in her, fully
formed, before the Hunters cut him out? She'd been visibly pregnant for three.
What sort of a creature was Severus himself?

He would probably never know.

In accord with tradition he supposed should write a letter. Not one to send, but
one to be found, incase he did not wake-up, -or, he winced,-woke unable to
speak or write again.

To Dumbledore, he supposed. Maybe one to Voldemort too, come to think of
it, as this might be his last and best chance to tell the man . . . creature,
precisely what Severus thought about him and his 'Glorious Revolution of
Blood' or whatever it was called now.

And if the monster chokes on his own spit and crooks while reading it, Severus'
life will have been worth it all. Or perhaps a heart attack. The creature was
getting rather old wasn't he?

He savored the beautiful irony of the thought,-Voldemort, killed by a one of his
own-by a dead death eater. The boy who lived would end up selling 'pre-owned'
brooms somewhere, miserable but alive. Severus Snape, the last Snape, would
be remembered, if not for his amazing subterfuge as a spy then in least for his
truly inspired insults. If you can't be infamous, be famous!

Inspired by his fantasy and given a second wind by the exhilarating freedom ,
Severus wrote a long letter for his former master and a cutting note for each of
the higher ranking death eaters, (the contents of which will be disclosed later.

He couldn't fathom what he should write to Dumbledore. Severus didn't know
whether he loved the old man or hated him. After much bickering with himself
(a habit acquired among house elves) Severus simply wrote a careful detailed
instruction for his new potions care, and a recipe -as best he could figure it-
without shorthand or the other intentionally confusing abbreviations he
normallyused. The mixture in which the potion segments resided would last
severaldays if necessary. Filch would find him by then.

Severus lay down and covered himself with all of his blankets, leaving his
clothes on. Even his shoes. He banished the light (with his wand) after a few
minuets in the dark and lit the lamp again. Something warm and heavy
nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

The disturbance was not an assassin. It was Lion. The huge feline settled on
his chest, and breathed fish breath into Severus' face. He began purring,
advanced payment for the patting he assumed he would receive. Severus
obliged. The potions master propped up his head and watched cat. He'd heard
that cats whose masters died would sometimes eat the body, likely for lack of
other food.

Severus retrieved his wand from the night stand and summoned a house elf.
The diminutive servant appeared before Severus, eyes bulging -with fear no
doubt. They bulged out even further at the sight of the terrible Potions Master
recumbent and petting a cat. Probably wondering if Severus would let him live
after seeing this sight.

Perhaps it was at the strange realization that the dreaded professor slept in a
bed, and kept a cat as a pet apparently, and not caged as a fresh snack.

" I want you to bring the cat's meats -he was never called 'Lion' in front of
anyone- at the normal times, with plenty of water until further notice,-
whether I summon you or not.

"Bring them here sir?" It opposed all his standing orders. No one was to enter
his quarters without his presence, request and close observation.

"here."

"And-and your meals sir?" The creature quivered with excitement or fear.

No just the cat."

"Yes sir"

"And don't come into this room."

"Yes sir" she said faintly, with three frantic nods, and vanished into thin air.

Even the house elves feared his sinister persona. He'd never dared get to close
to them, as that would be out of character, and he almost certainly would let
on accidentally, that he spoke SerficTerraan Elvish fluently, not a habit of a
normal pureblood heir. Voldemort would have got wind of it and wondered
even more about his odd follower's origins.

Severus took up the quill; and added an amendment to his potions care letter.
"-Albus. If I croak, you keep the cat. He is magic vulnerable and will approach
anyone or anything without caution. You keep everything else to-except let
Argus have all the books."

There, that should do it.

It was a rather inelegant final will and testament-but he was dying- probably
-so this could naturally be excused.

After lying still for a few mints in the cool perfect darkness, Severus cast
lumos again and added, "Tell the house elves I am sorry". Albus would
understand to whom Severus was referring. In dying he would fail them all.

Perhaps that was the worst of it. Worse then the exhaustion or the fear. There
would be no more Snapes for them to serve with their lives.

To Be Continued . . .

A/N: Things haven't happened yet that I promised in this chapter. Harry hasn't
even woken up yet! I said that this would be the "strangest day of Severus' life"
but the weirdest stuff hasn't happened yet. I certainly don't want to wait any
longer to post though, so let's make it the strangest 24 hours of Severus' life
with12 hours to go. By the next chapter, interesting stuff will happen, honest!

In the next chapter: Itfinely happens. What is 'it'? It's the reason this fic is a
Severitus Challenge piece, and its going to terrify everyone! Harry transforms!

Please Review!

Please tell me what you like, what you don't like, and what you think
will/should happen!