This chapter has been edited to now contain material from what was chapter two. I hope you enjoy the new longer-chapter format.
Chapter One
June, 1976
When Lily took his hand, the amalgam of shock, amusement, and—Merlin forbid—hope, these long-forgotten emotions that were all battling for supremacy in his not-empty mind—did one find emotions in the mind or elsewhere—where were emotions? They were intangible, but they exploded all the same into a thousand tiny particles that ran up his fingers and along his arm straight into his spine.
She was real. He was touching her.
Circe, she was so young.
Sixteen, to be precise, and given the state of his unstained, even-bonier, shorter (but still fairly long) fingers (he hadn't dared to look at his left forearm), he was physically the same age. And, more importantly, not at all bleeding to death from a gaping throat wound.
And he had put the ever-entitled Potter the elder quite firmly in his place.
He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, unless this was an afterlife. And for all Severus' faults, blind optimism could not be said to be one of them. As a) a terrible person, who b) had enjoyed mocking the adherents of any and all religions for many years (twenty-three), Severus had no doubts that, if there were an afterlife, he would not be getting an invitation to the good sort. And here he was, sixteen years old with the sixteen-year-old love of his life. So.
Which serpent venoms have hallucinogenic properties?
Ophiophagus hannah and Naja naja may be hallucinogenic when dehydrated and inhaled, but the Indian alchemists tended to mix the venom sacks with potent cannabis, so their reports were somewhat less than reliable.
And he'd done so many tests on Nagini under the guise of caring for her health that hallucinogenic properties would surely not have gone undetected…
A Time Turner? (The Time Turners had been destroyed in 1996.) A Pensieve malfunction brought on by ill-executed memory extraction? (He had already diverted from the original memory.)
Perhaps…perhaps he was truly there.
But why?
"Why?"
Severus blinked rapidly. "I beg your pardon?" he murmured, Occluding his face to a safe neutral.
Lily was waving her free hand in front of his face. "Why are you staring at me? Sev, are you quite there? You haven't said anything for a whole minute."
Severus allowed her hand to drop. "My apologies, Lily," he said smoothly. "Please forgive me. I've been rather lost in thought."
Lily was looking at him askance. "I can see that. Sev, are you going to explain to me what happened out there?"
Severus ran his fingers over his wand—not so smooth as it had been twenty-two years later—and shook his head. "What can I say?" he said mildly. "Potter needed to be put in his place."
"I'll say. But how did you possibly—"
"It's amazing what one can do when one distances oneself from one's baser emotional reactions," Severus said. "Which I have resolved to do."
Lily blinked at him. "What?"
Severus swallowed. "I'm trying to think before I act," he said.
"Well, it worked." Lily smiled at him. "I've seen you do a couple of wordless spells here and there, but I've never seen you do wandless before."
Severus shrugged.
"It's not…" Lily bit her lip. "It's not something you learned from…your other friends, this year, is it?"
Severus snorted. "Those imbeciles? I think not." Seeing the relief in her eyes, he added, "Incidentally, I don't believe I'll be spending further time with them. They add nothing to my academic career and their social company leaves much to be desired."
"That's…that's great," Lily said. "That's really wonderful. You know I—I worried—"
"I know," Severus said. "I should confess that I…appreciate. Your concern."
Lily smiled. "Thank you, Severus."
"If you'll excuse me. I'm sure there is studying I yet need to do."
Lily's mouth quirked. "We've only got one practical exam left."
"Yes, well, one can never…learn too much." Severus inwardly scoffed at himself. Two decades a spy, and he couldn't hold a conversation with a 16-year-old girl.
"That's…wise," Lily said. She grinned at him and added, as though quoting, "You are such a Ravenclaw."
"Better a closet Ravenclaw than a shameless Gryffindor," Severus replied, the customary retort coming to his lips as easily as it had when he'd been fifteen. Lily looked as though she was likely to burst into either laughter or tears—Severus wasn't sure.
"Well, secret son of Rowena," she said at last, "You'll probably want this." She held out a bedraggled object Severus belatedly recognized as his own schoolbag. "I can't believe you left it out there. You're usually so protective of it."
Severus took it from her with a slight bow. "My thanks," he said.
Lily smiled wryly. "Say whatever else about those Slytherins you've been keeping company with," she said, "but at least they've improved your manners."
Severus blushed—he blushed, for Merlin's sake—and nodded to her. "Good day, Lily," he said, and turned to enter the castle.
"Severus," Lily called. "Are we—I mean. We are friends?"
Severus glanced back at her. "As I've never had another," he said, feeling bolder at that moment than he had when he'd willingly gone to his death, "I certainly hope so."
Severus collapsed onto the green-curtained four-poster bed that he was fairly certain was his—at least, it was where he'd remembered and was surrounded by stacks of advanced Dark Arts and Potions texts—and closed the curtains around him with a flick of his wand. A few—well, several—privacy spells later, and he was able to relax (as much as he ever relaxed).
He was, he decided, in 1976. To continue to consider other scenarios—that he was dead, or locked in a hallucinogenic dream—would only drive him mad. So, until he was given concrete evidence to the contrary, he would operate under the assumption that he had gone back to the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts.
Severus lay on his back in the darkened room, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.
Assuming he was, in fact, in 1976—and assume it he would have to, or face insanity—there had to be a particular reason for his return (or else life was random and meaningless, another prospect that would drive him to madness).
Severus exhaled slowly.
When he had—when he had died, back, in the future (oh Merlin), it had seemed that all had been going according to plan. All of Dumbledore's machinations were bearing fruit, and each of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes—Severus Snape was not the fool the Dark Lord and Dumbledore still seemed to expect him to be; he knew what it meant for a "fragment of soul" to live inside Harry and tie the Dark Lord to this Earth—each of the Horcruxes had, he was certain, been destroyed, with the obvious exceptions of the thrice-damned snake and the Dumbledore-damned boy.
Severus had had two purposes in his miserable life, which was to protect Harry Potter and to bring down the Dark Lord (admittedly, these goals were more than somewhat related, but the thought of having had just one purpose was simply depressing). So if, upon his death, he was not cast into darkness or absorbed into the magical ether or any number of other possibilities that, frankly, he would not consider at this time—
Severus turned over onto his side.
It stood to reason—and Severus was big on reason—that Severus' life goal had not been achieved, and he had been sent back to 1976 in order to do the damn thing properly, or else the world would be thrust into despair and all would perish in the blazing inferno of a Dark Lord-run totalitarian etcetera etcetera.
Because the thought that he had been sent back for the purpose of correcting his own personal mistakes—the small, petty ones that had led to a life of misery—well that was just silly. If anybody deserved that kind of second chance, well…
It wasn't Severus.
So, Severus was here—he had to be here—in order to bring down the Dark Lord, who was—if memory served, and it generally did—currently amassing followers and amusing himself with little jaunts, rather than full-on reigns, of terror.
He pulled his knees up to his chest (Salazar, he was bony).
When had the Dark Lord created his Horcruxes? Severus had gathered that they consisted of the Diary, the damnable Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, and whatever the hell it was Harry Potter had been looking for in the Ravenclaw Common Room—and then, of course, the boy and the snake. Presumably, all but the boy and the snake had been created by 1976. Surely.
Severus made a mental note to look at a few choice old newspapers, just to be certain, and he breathed out.
His path was clear: he needed to destroy the Horcruxes and take down the Dark Lord, before he had a chance to make an extra Horcrux or two and rise again. When the Dark Lord fell, he would fall for good.
One destroyed Horcruxes with Basilisk venom, or with Fiendfyre.
Severus groaned and rolled onto his back.
As an adult, he had been perfectly capable of producing Fiendfyre, although he had never been so foolish as to do so outside of a fully-controlled, warded laboratory environment. Given what had happened at the lake, he was fairly certain he would also be able to do so now—but between the Trace (oh Merlin, that was something he hadn't had to worry about for half a lifetime) and the lack of a sufficiently warded environment, he somehow doubted a Fiendfyre-wielding 16-year-old would go unnoticed.
And if there was one thing Severus really, really wanted, it was to be unnoticed.
That left Basilisk venom. Unfortunately, given how many years it had been since someone had seen a Basilisk, let alone killed one—Severus chose not to think upon the enormous monster still lurking underneath the school—the cost of Basilisk venom was so high that he'd have to be a Malfoy in order to afford the amount of venom necessary to destroy even one Horcrux.
Severus, he had never been too modest to admit, was a man of many skills. But charging into a secret dungeon chamber in order to slay a great mythic beast was not a scenario for which his particular skill set was suitable.
Not that he couldn't do it.
But when it came to devising a way to get around the limitation of an extremely limited supply of what was, essentially, when it came down to it, a Potions ingredient?
Severus opened his eyes.
Well, he'd just have to work a way around it. And if the theory didn't exist—which it didn't—well, he'd have to be the man who devised it. And soon.
Severus smirked and took down the protective spells around his bed.
"Mr Snape," Professor Slughorn said, his walrus mustache twitching in what Severus could only assume was surprise. "To what do I owe this, er, visit?"
"May I come in, sir?" Severus asked from the doorway.
Slughorn Levitated a box of candied pineapple off of one of the overplush chairs and gestured for Severus to take a seat. "What seems to be the trouble? Surely you feel pleased with your performance on the exams."
"I had no trouble with the exams," Severus said evenly. "Which is my issue. Sir, I would like to sit my NEWTs early."
Slughorn frowned. "You realize that is unorthodox," he said, tapping a pudgy finger on the top of his desk.
Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, sir, but I believe I am wasting time here on multidisciplinary studies when I could be focusing on a truly worthy field."
Slughorn smiled. "Ah, a man after my own heart, of course, of course. So it's Potions for you, is it? I rather thought it would be."
"Indeed, sir."
"Well, Mr Snape," Slughorn said, "as I say, it is unorthodox, but I am perfectly willing to discuss the possibility of your moving into seventh-year classes next year and sitting your NEWTs a year early. How does that sound?" He beamed at Severus, clearly expecting a bounty of gratitude.
"Well, sir, that is kind of you," Severus replied, "but I was rather hoping to take this year's examinations."
Slughorn's eyes flew open. "Mr Snape!" he exclaimed. "I've never thought of you as having a—I mean, of exhibiting such a unique sense of humor, but you almost had me for a moment." He chortled. "Why, the NEWTs begin tomorrow."
"I know, sir," Severus said, "which is why I came to you this evening. The lack of a challenge provided by the OWLs have proven to me that I have nothing to gain by remaining at this institution for another two years."
"It simply can't be done," Slughorn said. "It's far too unorthodox. Far too. Unorthodox." His finger tapped the desk.
"Yes, sir, but mightn't we make an exception?" Severus said. "Frankly, I can't imagine any of the professors are eager for me to remain at Hogwarts for two more years."
Slughorn, amusingly, managed to bluster out a "oh no, dear boy, I don't know what you're talking about" that was almost convincing. Severus simply watched him until Slughorn relented, "But still, it's simply too short notice."
Severus affected a sigh. "All right, sir, I'll tell you the real reason I am so eager to leave Hogwarts. Sir, I am afraid for my personal safety." He glanced nervously behind him at the open office door.
Slughorn frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Sir," Severus said seriously, leaning forward, "I was attacked by the lake this afternoon with no provocation whatsoever. I was hexed and publically humiliated by a pack of fifth-year Gryffindors with no sense of consequences and I have absolutely no doubt that it will happen again."
Slughorn waved a hand dismissively. "Youthful high-spirits," he said. "I'm sure there was no malevolence behind it. They're just boys, after all."
"Technically," Severus said lightly, "one is a dangerous Dark Creature who should not, legally speaking, even be at this school."
Slughorn blinked. He stared. He quickly waved his wand and the door of his office closed with a smooth snick. "That," he said quietly, "is a rather serious accusation you make, Mr Snape."
"It is," Severus agreed.
"Such things are not to be said lightly."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Slughorn leaned back and stared at him.
"You want to sit this year's NEWTs?" he said at last.
"Yes, sir," Severus said.
"Which?"
"Potions, naturally," Severus said, swallowing back the crow of triumph that had uncharacteristically risen in his chest. "And Defense. Charms, Transfigurations, and Herbology, of course, and also Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."
"That's all?" Slughorn asked mildly.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well," Slughorn said. "I'll see what can be arranged."
Severus stood. "Thank you, sir. I truly appreciate it."
Slughorn waved him away with one wide hand. Severus left the office, feeling Slughorn's eyes on him all the way.
All the hopes Severus had entertained of skulking unobtrusively into the Great Hall for dinner were immediately quashed when Evan Rosier—who was not, of course, dead yet—waved him over with an over-loud, "There he is!"
Severus groaned inwardly and quickly decided that, were he to take the only other empty chair at the Slytherin table—one amongst the second-years—his behaviour would be remarkably strange, and so he would have to take the seat between Rosier and Avery. He rather hoped Lily wasn't watching, and then he wondered why he should care so very deeply.
"So," Rosier said, clapping Severus rather roughly on the shoulder, "I can't believe I missed it."
"'Missed it'?" Severus repeated, his face a careful neutral.
Rosier snorted. "Like you don't know what I'm talking about."
"Did you really hex Potter's glasses into the lake?" Mulciber asked, leaning across the table towards him.
"Did I—no." Snape shook his head.
"I heard," said Avery, "that Pettigrew actually shat himself."
"Not to my knowledge," Severus said dryly. He pulled his plate towards him and, in the hopes of fighting off a seemingly never-ending hunger, took a large forkful of potatoes.
"Well I heard," Rosier said, grinning wickedly, "that you took down all four of the fifth-year Gryffindors wandlessly."
"It was just Potter," Severus said. Avery dropped his fork, and it clattered against a plate.
Severus glanced up, his eyes expressionless. "Yes?" he asked pointedly.
"So you did take down Potter wandless," Rosier said breathlessly. "How did you do it?"
"I studied," Severus sneered.
Oddly, Mulciber and Avery seemed to relax at that. "That's old Sniv—er, Snape," Avery said.
"What?" Severus asked. This was getting tiresome.
"Your face," Mulciber said, gesturing vaguely. "It was all blank. Creepy."
Severus blinked, and Occluded, and Avery and Mulciber visibly recoiled. "There you go again," Avery said.
Evidently, it had been his habit at sixteen to walk around with hatred plastered firmly on his face at all times—and without twenty-two years' misery etching its lines across his features, his habitual, cold expression seemed out of place. He forced a sneer. Avery and Mulciber relaxed.
"Mr Snape," said a familiar voice over his shoulder, and Severus had to fight the urge to jump out a window. He turned around and said, "Yes, Professor?"
Minerva was frowning at him. "The Headmaster would like to meet with you in his office immediately after dinner," she said. "We will see you promptly at seven o'clock."
"'We,' Professor?" Severus repeated, a kernel of dread rising in his stomach.
"Professor Slughorn, the Headmaster, and myself," Minerva said. "At seven o'clock."
"Yes, Professor," Severus said, nodding.
Minerva peered at him for a moment, and then she turned on her heel and veritably marched to the head table.
When she'd left, Rosier turned back to Severus. "What did you do, Snape?" he demanded.
"I've petitioned to sit my NEWTs early," Severus replied, seeing no reason to dissemble.
"What, next year?" Avery said.
"No," Severus replied. "Tomorrow." He took a sip of pumpkin juice and wished for Firewhiskey.
"Tomorrow?" Mulciber sputtered. "Tomorrow, tomorrow?"
"And tomorrow and tomorrow," Severus muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Why in Merlin's name would you want to go and do a thing like that for?" Rosier demanded.
"It's time I moved on to receive my education elsewhere," Severus said vaguely, and he took another forkful of potatoes.
When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, Slughorn was waiting for him outside the gargoyles. "Ah, Mr Snape," he said, "the very man."
Severus inclined his head. "Good evening, Professor."
Slughorn turned to the gargoyle and said, "Ziggy Stardust." The Gargoyle stood aside. Severus blinked.
"After you, Mr Snape," Slughorn said with a wave of his hand, and Severus started up the spiralling staircase. Minerva and Dumbledore—Severus' mental shields slammed into place—were waiting for them within.
If Severus had been a less practiced spy, it would've been too much for him. Here was a Dumbledore untouched by a debilitating curse, a Dumbledore not killed by Severus' unwilling hand—and, perhaps he was imagining that he could see it, but a Dumbledore who didn't view him solely as a soulless weapon to be wielded against the Dark Lord.
"Good evening, Headmaster," Severus said.
"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore said. "Please have a seat."
Severus took the centre chair; Slughorn sat to his left; McGonagall hovered behind the chair to the right. Dumbledore leaned over his desk. "So," he said, "Professor Slughorn tells me that you are interested in—nay, you insist upon—taking this year's NEWTs."
"I would appreciate the opportunity," Severus replied.
"I'm sure you would," Dumbledore said. "Now, I am given to understand that you fear for your safety at this school. Is this correct?"
"Yes, sir." Severus nodded. "Only this afternoon I was attacked without provocation by a dangerous group of Gryffindor boys-"
"Headmaster!" Minerva objected.
"Yes, thank you, Severus, Professor Slughorn has shared with us your account of this afternoon's events," Dumbledore said. "He also said that you feel unchallenged by the current curriculum, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir," Severus said. "I had no difficulty whatsoever with the OWLs, and I truly believe that, given how much of my extracurricular time has been devoted to my studies, I am currently ready to take on the NEWTs. Spending two more years here would only prolong my exposure to certain unsavoury elements of—"
"Headmaster!" Minerva again.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Supposing we allow you to sit your NEWTs this year, what do you intend to do thereafter?"
"Ideally, sir," Severus said, "I would begin an apprenticeship under a Potions Master. That is, of course, if my professor is willing to grant me a recommendation." Severus chanced a slight, hopeful smile at Slughorn…who simply stared at him. Damn.
Dumbledore nodded. "A worthy ambition, to be sure. Well, Severus, I see no reason why you shouldn't begin the examinations tomorrow."
Minerva made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat.
"Thank you, sir," Severus said.
"Your future career plans will, of course, be determined by your performance," Dumbledore continued. "I do want to stress to you that if you are not happy with your marks in any way, you are free to resume your education next year and try again in the future. In any way," he repeated. "You are welcome to try again even if you merely wish to turn Es into Os."
"Thank you, sir," Severus said, "but I truly believe I am ready now."
"Well, I am delighted by your confidence," Dumbledore said. "You have permission to take the examinations, and we can evaluate the next step to your career once the results are sent in mid-July."
Severus scooted to the edge of his chair, the face of anxious anticipation. "Sir, is there any way I could begin, perhaps, an informal apprenticeship before the formal results are sent?"
"Whatever for, my boy?" Dumbledore seemed mildly concerned.
"It's just that—I'd rather not go back. Home. That is." Severus looked down at his hands, frowning and fidgeting.
"Ah." Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "Too many painful memories? I was so sorry to hear of your mother's passing."
Severus nodded sadly.
"Well," Dumbledore said, "I suppose that's something we could take into consideration, though I don't know if too many Potions Masters would be eager to accept a sixteen-year-old boy who may, or may not, in fact, be qualified to begin an apprenticeship a month later."
"I would work for free," Severus said, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. "I just—" He swallowed. "I would much rather not go back."
"I understand," Dumbledore said. "Now, one more concern before I bid you 'good evening' and leave you to an exciting evening of revision…"
"Yes, sir?" Severus kept his mental shields slammed down tight.
"In your years at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "you may have become familiar with practices of this administration which might be…disagreeable to you personally."
Severus kept his silence.
"If you exit this institution early," Dumbledore continued, "I hope you will keep in mind the need for discretion regarding such policies, as to bring certain discussions to a non-scholastic venue could very well do far more personal harm than public good." He regarded Severus solemnly over his spectacles.
"I have no reason," Severus said distinctly, "to speak ill of an institution that has so readily prepared me for my future career."
McGonagall made a small noise of protest, but said nothing.
"I am pleased to hear that," Dumbledore said. "I will arrange a place for you in the examinations, and we will take into consideration your request for an interim summer position. Good evening, Severus."
Severus bowed his head and rose to his feet. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this. Very much." He headed for the doorway.
"Mr Snape," Slughorn called, "let me head down with you." The fat man joined him in the revolving stairwell and, once they had descended about halfway, said, "Well, that was impressive."
Severus turned to him blankly. "Sir?"
"Just a few words of advice, Mr Snape," Slughorn said quietly, placing one pudgy hand on Severus' angular shoulder. "If one is going to utilize the death of a family member for personal gain—"
"Sir!" Severus said, eyes widening.
"—one should take care to appear at least slightly affected by that death when it happens, and not only four months later."
"Sir," Severus said again, "I am not sure what you're implying—"
"My second piece of advice," Slughorn continued mildly, "is, that when one begins to utilize Occlumency on a daily basis, one should ensure that one's face does not suddenly become totally without expression."
Severus cursed his unlined child's face and affected confusion in his eyes.
"Better," Slughorn said. They had reached the bottom of the stairwell, but Slughorn kept his hand on Severus' shoulder. "All the same, an otherwise impressive performance." He shook Severus' shoulder slightly, smiled, and said, "My business partner might be able to use some stock help over the next few months. I'll owl him." He stepped out of the alcove, glanced back at Severus, and added, "Whether he offers you an apprenticeship is, however, up to you. Best of luck on the examinations." And Slughorn set off down the hallway.
Well after lights out, Severus stood in front of the mirror in the Slytherin boys' lavatory, peering at his sixteen-year-old self. Really, not much had changed in twenty-two years—his nose still took the starring role amongst his facial features, and the unimpressive whole was still curtained by sheets of (greasy) black hair. At thirty-eight, his hair had been shot through with the occasional unobtrusive gray, and—of course—the lines on his face had given him an air of permanent derision. That was the only real difference; as Slughorn had pointed out, Severus' sixteen-year-old face looked oddly blank when not twisted into a sneer.
Severus would either need to retrain himself to constantly maintain an unpleasant expression until it became natural to him (a distasteful prospect), or figure out some other way to alter his appearance.
Severus' gaze landed upon a stray comb that someone had left behind. He picked it up and, furrowing his brow in concentration, tapped it with his wand.
He slipped his newly-created spectacles onto his face and blinked at his reflection. The black, rectangular frames did a fair job of blocking his expression, but—he realized suddenly—did not fit his current decade. Casting through his memory for a contemporary example, he tapped the glasses once more until they enlarged slightly; the frames were now square, and larger, covering his face from brow to cheekbone. Another tap of his wand darkened the glass ever so slightly, so that the lenses were tinted with just a hint of gray.
Severus looked at himself in the mirror. He sneered; he Occluded. The difference was not overly discernible.
As a bonus, he was now confident he could still pass a Transfigurations NEWT.