Territory
Chapter One - Free Chocolate
Authors Notes - (if you don't care about details, please skip) I wrote this first chapter before the release of the Sixth book, and decided I didn't particularly care to make changes to it after reading HBP. Since I knew little about Snape's parents I decided to just not mention them, and the fact that he knew the Malfoys and the Blacks previously was just a guess as well. Now, it's debatable weather Snape even knew he was a wizard before he got the letter, but since there seems to be a lack of concrete information, I decided that for my story, in future chapters, his family will be aware that his mother is a witch. You will also notice that I won't dwell on the fact that our Potions Master clearly comes from annot nicefamily. That is not the subject of my story, and I feel that other writers have probably touched on the issue enough. I also apologize in advance if I screw up the canon in any other way.
The mud sucked hungrily at his shoes as he walked through the street. The rain was pouring down in hard sheets now, and he could hardly tell where he was going. The sun was gone, and the morning was one big cloud. All the world was stale and grey. Like the inside of a puddle. Like the taste of molding bread. Like the inside of his mind. In and out was all the same today.
He knew his new robe was trailing in pools of tepid water. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he would have taken more care to avoid them. The sharp black folds of cloth that had been neatly stitched to fit his exact measurements were damp and frosty on his skin. He'd been so eager to wear it, no matter what the weather brought him, and wear it he did. He didn't even care about the odd looks he was getting.
The outfit had looked so promising, pressed and folded at the foot of his bed last night. A robe made for him. The balmy fabric seemed to hum beneath his fingers, icy smooth and crow's wing sleek. He remembered pulling the whispering fabric over his head that morning. He remembered how it fit like a warm hug over his shoulders. The sleeves just the right length at the arms. The hem only a fingernail's width above the ground. He felt perfectly sheltered in its embrace. Perfectly accommodated and perfectly ambiguous. Almost every inch of his skin was shrouded in the complete cocoon of black. Cool, dark, and dry. Never worn before. The robe he would wear at the beginning of his new life.
His bulky brown trunk squelched through the muck behind him, wheels screeching in protest every time they bumped over a curb. He didn't notice how ponderous the weight was anymore. He only knew he had to get to the station on time. He must.
He stumbled into a rather large puddle that sloshed up to his knees. Soaking tentacles of hair flew forward and plastered themselves to his face. He growled and blindly dragged the trunk right on through. Squish. Splash. Splosh. His shoes probably held about a gallon of water each now. And maybe some fish.
A smartly dressed woman coming out of a store stopped and eyed him curiously. Once she realized that the floundering spidery thing with pasty limbs was a boy, she gave him a look of distaste and marched onward, umbrella tilted delicately. A purple polyester plume for a pompous peacock.
A feeling heavier than his soaked clothes settled over him. He scowled after her and pulled his hood over his face. He wished he could brain her with his trunk for that look. The look everybody gave him. The look he could still see behind his closed eyelids. The look he couldn't swallow with any amount of sugar.
He slithered on.
He finally reached the station and practically collapsed at the threshold. The air was warm inside the doors, and he was mercifully out of the rain. At King's Cross, at last. He pushed his hood back and brushed the hair out of his face. The water felt oily between his fingers. Like salad dressing. His robe was still wet against him. He shivered and looked around.
His stomach lurched painfully into his throat. He shut his mouth, and his breathing accelerated, coming swiftly through his nose. His mind was starting to turn grey with fear. He braced himself against the nearest wall and dug his nails into the brick. He didn't see any platforms with fractional numbers. But he could only see platforms one and two from where he stood. Maybe. . .
He bolted forward with renewed vigor, and the trunk thumped violently after him. The world swam, and the blood pounded in his ears. What would he do if it wasn't there?
He came to a crashing halt and felt like dropping to his knees. There was platform nine. There was platform ten. There was nothing in-between. People continued to race around back and forth in both directions, oblivious to the boy who had lost everything he hung his feeble hopes on. All his life he waited. He ran through the rain to get here.
And there was nothing.
Maybe the train had already left. Maybe they made a mistake in the selection process. He hadn't shown any real potential as far as real wizards go, and they decided they didn't want him after all. They didn't want useless nobodies who looked like drowned spiders.
He could see all the privileged and gifted students getting on the train now. Laughing. Smiling. Kissing their parents goodbye. And he could see the train leaving with everybody onboard. Excited. Anticipating. Bound for Hogwarts. Never knowing they left anybody behind.
"Are you lost?"
He jumped and teetered backwards, nearly losing his balance. His shoes squeaked and skidded, but he managed to gracelessly catch himself on the handle of his trunk.
The girl who had spoken to him appeared completely out of nowhere. Or maybe she hadn't. He could see how he might have missed her. She was a tiny slip of a girl who looked like she could be his age, but he wasn't quite sure because she was so small. Her hair was a lion's mane of red curls, and her eyes were as brazenly green as the horrid corduroys she was sporting. A cacophony of colors that was agony to the eyes. He began to back slowly away. She didn't look like she could help him with his particular problem.
"I'm sorry I surprised you," She smiled congenially and offered her hand.
He stared at the offending fingers she'd jabbed into his personal space as if they were a particularly contagious and deadly disease. He shoved his own hands deep into his pockets. An oily bead of water trickled down the end of his nose and dripped to the floor.
The girl continued right on, oblivious to the fact that she still had her hand out and it wasn't being received, "I knew there would be some people who couldn't find the platform. I mean, I'm lucky I found it. So I came out to see if anybody needed help, and I found you. You are looking for platform nine and three quarters aren't you?"
She blinked up at him, and he stared at her in bewilderment, "Uh . . . yes."
"Excellent," Before he could duck away, she swooped in and latched onto his elbow, seeing as his hands were still unavailable. Then, to his horror, she began to drag him at full speed toward the brick barrier between platforms nine and ten.
He barely managed to grab his trunk in the process. The crazy fire-haired girl was about to collide with solid brick, and she was bent on taking him with her. He tried to dig his heels into the ground, but his efforts were futile in slippery, waterlogged shoes. She was surprisingly strong. Either that, or he was surprisingly weak. He decided he didn't want to think about the implications of such a conundrum when bodily harm and possible death were imminent.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but impact never came. When he finally opened them, he was standing on a crowded platform he had never seen before. This was definitely the platform he had been searching for. People in long robes were scurrying on and off of a large train, pulling trunks, cages and cauldrons. If that wasn't enough to convince him, the train itself broadcasted the words, "Hogwarts Express" clearly on its side.
He wheeled on the girl. She smirked, and he thought maliciously that her expression and the size of her ears made her look like a fruit bat. She now had a lovely wet mark on the side she clung to him. Then she was turning. Turning. Gone. Into the barrier they just came through. Good. The annoyance was over for now.
He looked again at the people milling around and recognized a few familiar faces. The brilliant platinum haired Malfoys were instantly recognizable. They were clumped together in a corner like a parasitic mass, undulating with motion, spreading and feeding off itself. He recognized the pinched countenance of Mrs. Black breaking away from the group. She was shoving a rather sullen looking youth with wild black hair toward the train. The fluffy haired boy caught his eyes, and for an instant his dejected frown turned into a shy grin.
He swivelled away quickly and faced the train.
He squared his shoulders and shoved through the crowd of people near the train, head down, eyes intent. He'd always hated crowds. In fact, he didn't like anything that involved humans gathering in large numbers. The smells and the sounds were always the same. Rank and loud. Everything that was completely nauseating. People. Sometimes he thought he just didn't like the species in general.
He finally made it to the train, and was happy to see there were still several empty compartments. The benefits of boarding early. He chose the one farthest to the back. The curtains on the window were a ghastly shade of pink and there was an odd shaped stain on the floor, but at least he was alone. The sounds of the crowd outside were muffled, and he sat, contented by the soft purr of the train beneath his feet. He was here, safely on his way. He was not going back.
He carefully stepped out of his shoes and tried to ring some of the water from his robe, but it did not remedy his shivers. He could feel a cold coming on. What a pleasant way to begin his Hogwarts experience. He pulled his hood over his face again and arranged himself into a shuddering black clump in the corner of the compartment. He started to drift, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, with the rumble of the train beneath his cheek.
It seemed like he barely closed his eyes when a commotion started up outside his compartment. A group of raucous soon-to-be students passed his compartment. Their laughter was shrill and piercing to his ears and every footfall was jolting. They mashed through the hallway like a herd of elephants, trumpeting and stomping and banging. He cracked upon one eye and peered through his hair. A boy stopped in his doorway, panting from all the running.
"What's that thing?" He shouted and pointed into the compartment. At him.
The others paused to look for a moment, but they lost interest quickly.
"Doesn't matter," One of them drawled, "Hey! What's that up there?"
And they thundered off again. He shut his eyes tighter. Until his head hurt from the effort.
He woke again to find someone nudging him. A small incessant hand on his shoulder. He snarled and opened his eyes, intent on throttling the disturber of his slumber. Or at least attempting it. He didn't expect to find himself face to face with the green-eyed fruit bat girl. His snarl soon turned into a yelp of surprise, and he tried to shrink away from her, only to find that the pipsqueak had him cornered.
The rhythm of the train beneath him had changed. The low murmur that had sung him to sleep was heavier and stronger now. They were moving. Traversing miles of lush, uninhabited landscape. He wondered how long he'd been asleep. How long had this girl been hoovering over him?
The girl recoiled in one fluid motion and retreated to the seat across from him, but her eyes still held him pinned to the spot, "You're a little jumpy, aren't you?"
She was looking at him and speaking to him tentatively, like she was trying to calm a spooked horse. It wasn't very flattering. He didn't say anything. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd leave.
"I brought you this," She held out a package containing a chocolate frog.
He glanced at the offering suspiciously. He was hungry enough to take it, but that would mean acknowledging her presence, and he wasn't about to give her an invitation to keep talking. He stared at the stain on the floor instead and decided that it looked like a vulture with its wings spread.
"It's a chocolate frog," She launched into one of her lengthy spiels, complete with interesting gesticulations, "I've just tried one. They're fantastic! All the food on this train is fantastic. Have you ever had one before, Chatty?"
He continued to trace the outline of the stain with his eyes. Now it looked like a teacup. Or a flower. With long curving petals. He couldn't think of the name for it. Of course he'd eaten chocolate frogs before. What did she take him for? A muggle-born?
She had that stamp all over her. From her cutesy little outfit, to her upsetting naivete when it came to common wizard candy. He had always been taught that there was nothing was more disgusting than muggle-borns. They didn't deserve to go to an exclusive place like Hogwarts, and this waif of a girl proved it. There was nothing deserving about someone so obnoxiously friendly.
Finally, after a long minute of silence she flung the package at him and successfully pegged his forehead, "Do you have a speech impediment or something?"
"No!" He snapped indignantly, huddling into his robe so that only the top half of his face was visible, "Do you have a zipper for that mouth?"
Instead of getting offended and leaving in a huff like he had hoped, she just shrugged, "Nope. And I don't think we've had a proper introduction yet. What's your name?"
He glowered stonily at her.
"I'll learn it eventually, so you might as well tell me now," She smiled in that batish way again and propped her sneaker clad feet up on the seat, "If you tell me, I promise I'll go away and leave you alone."
That was a done deal.
"It's Severus," He muttered.
"Thank you," She stood up and started to put her hand out, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment, "Well, it was nice meeting you Everest."
"Severus," He corrected her a bit louder this time.
"Severus?"
"Yes!" He barked, nearly toppling off on the seat.
"Oh, sorry Severus," She flounced out with one backward look over her shoulder, "And it's Lily by the way."
"What is?"
He glanced thoughtfully at the stain on the floor, but she was talking again.
"My name," And then she was gone, campfire hair, batty eyes and all.
He looked down at the chocolate frog in his lap and sighed. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Too many perhapses. She was obviously no good for him.
But he ate the chocolate she had given him just the same. No point in wasting free chocolate.