In which Snape discovers that there are some people just not worth saving
The Great Squirrel Incident, as it came to be called, was not soon forgotten at Death Eater headquarters. For the next few days, the Death Eaters either limped around headquarters cursing the first unlucky person who came into view (Bellatrix), huddled under the nearest table muttering "Bad squirrels! Evil squirrels! I don't have any nuts!" (Dolohov), built squirrel-proof houses to protect their Sims (Draco), or strode around a cauldron brewing pain-relievers and muttering epithets (Snape).
In fact, it seemed that the only one totally unaffected by the incident was Voldemort himself, and this was simply owing to the fact that the Dark Lord hadn't been foolish enough to taste the cookies in the first place.
Wormtail, who had transformed at the first sight of trouble and had only suffered a few minor injuries, surprised the Death Eaters, himself included, by concocting a delicious batch of squirrel stew out of the Avada Kedavra-ed squirrels littering Headquarters. Snape was having none of it. Germophobe Hogwart's former potions master most certainly was not; however, he had his suspicions about where the rat's paws had been during the attack (the sewers, most likely), and despite the Dark Lord's supposed wisdom, Snape highly doubted that Voldemort had thought to make that silver hand antibacterial.
With the hubbub of the last week finally dying down, and his pain-relieving potions completed at last, Snape supposed that he had better get to work on helping Potter and his gang. He had promised the old fool, Dumbledore, after all.
Snape snuck a cautious glance toward the Dark Lord as he slowly opened the lid to his laptop. Voldemort was currently on the sofa... sleeping? Well, Dark Lords had to sleep sometimes, Snape mused. Plotting to conquer the world was rather taxing. And Voldy, hugging his enormous pet snake as though it were a favorite stuffed animal, almost looked... childlike. Kind of. Ish.
The thought was so disturbing that Snape almost dropped his computer in disgust. It took him a few moments to remember his initial intent. Potter. Yes. Right.
Dumbledore had provided Snape with a list of screen names before the old wizard had ascended to That Great Big Candyshop In The Sky. Hastily, Snape punched one of them in, hoping that Bellatrix wasn't tracking the messages that entered and exited the Death Eater stronghold through some obscure magic-technical ability as yet unknown to scientists.
FormerPotionsMaster: Potter Brat.
A few seconds later he received his reply.
ScarHead: Yeah, what?
FormerPotionsMaster: Show some respect for your superiors, boy. Not that I'd have expected any modicum of decency from a Potter.
ScarHead: SUPERIORS? HA!
FormerPotionsMaster: Temper, temper. Do try not to become dependent on the capslock key. Of course, knowing you, such a feat may well be beyond your capacity to master.
ScarHead: If all you want to do is insult me, I'll block you. I don't have time to spare arguing with a MURDERER.
FormerPotionsMaster: Your statistics say you've been online for the last 72 hours. Clearly you are lacking in amusement if you've been online for the last three days.
ScarHead: Sod off. It's not my fault if life at the Dursleys' isn't exactly Disneyworld.
FormerPotionsMaster: You think you've had it difficult, Potter? You think you have it tough? My father never took us to amusement parks! I'm still trying to repair the squirrel teeth marks in my cloak! And now I'm stuck here at Death Eater Central listening to Voldemort snore and having to convince whiny ungrateful brats that I'm on the side of the light!
It was, Snape reflected bitterly, probably not the best idea to complain about your life's problems to a melodramatic, self-centered teenager and expect any semblance of sympathy. Especially not when the melodramatic, self-centered teenager was a Potter whose life you'd made hell for the past six years.
ScarHead: Ah, the squirrels bit you? WELL, I'M GLAD! SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR MURDERING (Snape wondered if it was possible to emphasize the word any further) THE HEADMASTER! AND THE DAY I'M CONVINCED THAT YOU'RE ON THE SIDE OF THE LIGHT IS THE DAY THAT PIGS SPONTANEOUSLY DECIDE TO GROW WINGS AND FLAP AROUND!
Harry paused and glanced out the window. He could almost have sworn – but no. A winged pig couldn't be circling Privet Drive. It was impossible.
(He would only later find out that Mundungus Fletcher had been making an impromptu visit to Mrs. Figg when he had accidentally collided with Dudley. One of the bottles of illegal substances Mundungus had been carrying, probably for use at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, had smashed, temporarily transforming Harry's cousin into a chubby porker with feathers, requiring a team of Ministry of Magic Obliviators to Apparate in on the spot. But that's not really relevant to the story.)
Snape, meanwhile, was glaring fixedly at the message emblazoned across the screen. He had suspected something like this would happen, however, so he hastily typed a new message before Potter could block him in a fit of idiotic rage.
FormerPotionsMaster: Very well, then. If you do not believe me, why not meet me in the park on Privet Drive on Saturday so I can show you where my true loyalties lie. And it would help if you brought Dumbledore's Pensieve.
ScarHead: Sure, fine, whatever. Hey, click this.
Snape clicked the hyperlink reflexively. There was a millisecond's pause in which his brain caught up with his finger and he wondered what the heck he was thinking. Then the words VIRUS ALERT flashed across his screen in massive red letters.
"DAMN that Potter BRAT!"
"What did you say, Severus?"
It looked as though his shouting had had the unfortunate effect of rousing Voldemort from his... er... pleasant slumber. Snape gulped as Nagini eyed him thoughtfully. He really should whip up a batch of antivenom sometime soon. "Um, nothing, My Lord."
"It had better not be," said Voldemort, resuming his station on the couch. "Now let me go back to sleep, or you'll discover why it's not a good idea to get on Nagini's bad side." Yup, definitely time to get some of that antivenom ready.
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Saturday dawned clear and sunny. Snape would have preferred it overcast and dreary – more in the spirit of the occasion. At noon, he crept out of Headquarters and Apparated hastily onto Privet Drive, hoping that none of the other Death Eaters were brave enough to venture outdoors yet and notice his disappearance.
He arrived at the park at two 'o clock sharp. Potter was nowhere in sight. Cursing late students who didn't have the decency to show up on time, Snape sat down on the bench, preparing to wait.
There was a bang that sounded like a cacophony of fireworks.
Snape jumped upright, reached for his wand... and encountered only feathers. What the...? It took him a few moments to realize that the reason he was unable to locate his wand was because he was, in fact, a chicken. And he suspected he knew why, too. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes really had a lot to answer for! He would be certain to suggest an attack on that shop as soon as humanely possible. If he could get out of this ridiculous conundrum, of course.
Harry chose that moment to poke his head out from behind the bushes, stuck his tongue out, and wiggle his fingers tauntingly in his ears. Then he discovered that there were downsides to turning your former professor into a large chicken – namely, that large chickens had a penchant for becoming large, angry chickens. Harry bolted for the door to number four and slammed it shut just in time. Snape, unprepared, slammed into the door and spent a few dazed minutes waddling around on Harry's doorstep.
Luckily for the older wizard, the spell soon wore off, and Snape reappeared with a pop, spitting feathers out of his mouth and spluttering.
"Potter!" he barked. Laughter from the window above his head. "POTTER!" More laughter. "CURSE YOU, POTTER!" Hysterical howls of laughter.
Snape snapped.
"Fine!" he snarled, kicking the door and earning only a few bruised toes in the process. "FINE! First squirrels, then viruses, now mutant chickens! I've had enough! Forget that mad old candy-obsessed fool! I quit!"
It was about that time that Snape made up his mind to support the Dark Side after all. Screw Potter, anyway.
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Sorry for the long wait! Thanks so much for all the feedback! Hope this chapter is up to snuff - it took awhile to get back into the swing of things... And I'm not quite sure why, but the horizontal rules aren't working either...
Remember, you like the little blue button. Yes, you do.
