Chapter Five
June, 1976

The morning before his Defence NEWT, Severus awoke to an eerie stillness in his dormitory. Assuming he had been somewhat…overzealous with his silencing charms, he shrugged off the strangeness and swept out of the room towards the toilets.

The dormitory was still silent when he returned from showering, and Severus exercised great caution when scooping up his satchel, which…come to think of it…

Severus knelt down. He tore open his unusually lightweight bag and peered inside. It was entirely empty, save for three quills, two inkpots, and a sheaf—blank—of parchment.

His eyes swept his bedside table and the floor next to and under his bed. His trunk, he knew, had not been tampered with—one of the umpteen alarm spells on it would've alerted him if it had been—but there was no denying it; his Herbology, Defence, and Potions books—and notes—had all disappeared.

"Missing something, Snapey?"

Severus, still crouching, whirled around. Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery were all awake, and each watching him with varying degrees of cruel amusement. Rosier, who had (of course) spoken, was (overly) casually toying with his wand, while Avery smirked from the next bed over.

"My notes," Severus said at last. "And my books. Where are they?"

Avery tsked. "Losing your books right before your NEWTs? Not very bright at all."

Rosier nodded, and frowned. "Oh, no," he said softly. "It's only your most important exams left, too, isn't it?"

Of course. Severus successfully fought the sudden urge to laugh. This was their big revenge? Salazar Slytherin must be spinning in his tomb at the thought that this was the most nefarious plot his scions could contrive.

Granted, if he had been sixteen years old, and genuinely attempting to take his NEWTs on just five years of schooling, missing his Potions and Defence textbooks and notes just days before the exams would be enough to throw a large hex into his plans. But, as is?

Ha.

So Severus scowled and stood up, drawing himself up to his full height, as his hands shook just ever so. "Give them to me," he said.

Rosier shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know where they are," he said. "Do you recall where you were when you last saw them?"

"Check the lost and found," Mulciber suggested unhelpfully.

"I don't know," Avery said. "Sometimes lost books tend to find their way to, oh, the bottom of the lake."

The three boys smiled nastily at Severus, who sneered, grabbed up his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

Just before he slammed the door behind him, he heard Rosier call out, "We'll save your bed for you for next year, Snapey."

Severus delighted in frightening the few students awake at such an early hour as he stormed through the Slytherin Common Room and up the many flights of stairs to the library, where he snatched up all the seventh-year Defence and Potions texts he could find and barricaded himself behind a stack of them. Anyone who saw him would be sure to note how furiously he scribbled page after page of notes—

And, hopefully, report what they'd seen back to his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, so that they might be satisfied with their oh-so-clever child's retribution.

He was shortly joined (at a distance, of course) by a somewhat smaller group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs than usual, as the Care of Magical Creatures NEWT was scheduled for that morning. Lunch came, and went, and the afternoon saw fewer Ravenclaws and more Hufflepuffs as the students took their Astronomy examination.

At some point, Severus switched from "I'm feverishly rewriting all my notes" to "I'm feverishly reading all these Defence textbooks," which was really "I'm feverishly reading the only Potions text in the library I've never seen before, which, I've deduced, was destroyed sometime in 1979."

The afternoon passed quickly, and Severus enjoyed his dinner, which primarily featured sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table and glaring malevolently at his dormmates (and, when possible, James Potter, which was, really, just for show).

Severus hustled away from dinner and into bed, where he finished reading the book that he might, in fact, have smuggled out of the library (which clearly couldn't be trusted to keep it safe). He fell asleep early and awoke well before his roommates, who were apparently sleeping the satisfied sleep of the avenged.

The Defence examination absolutely could not have gone any better. He produced no less than twenty eloquent inches of spidery script for the essay portion, and as for the practical, the examiner was impressed—but not alarmed—by his mastery of nonverbal spells, as well as the few mild hexes of Severus' invention that he demonstrated for her (she was particularly impressed with muffliato). The woman even went so far as to smile at the examination's conclusion and say, "You certainly have a bright future ahead of you, Mr Snape."

So it was with no small amount of satisfaction that Severus took his seat at dinner amongst the Slytherin seventh-years, one of whom was lamenting his inability to perform a reliably strong, nonverbal Shield Charm. Once again, Severus marvelled—and despaired—that it would be another twenty years before the students saw a competent Defence instructor.

Or, rather, it would have been another twenty years, as Severus had absolutely no intention of teaching again, Defence or otherwise. The students would simply have to learn for themselves, as he had. Perhaps, if he managed to vanquish the—

He stopped that thought before it had a chance to materialize.

Wilkes' voice suddenly cut in on his reverie. "I imagine Snape had no difficulty," he said. "He's quite the prodigy."

Severus contented himself with raising an eyebrow behind his over-large glasses. "Oh?" he said simply.

"Might I go so far as to hope," Wilkes continued, "that you would deign to join us for our Potions review session tomorrow afternoon?"

Severus had no desire to chance revealing preternatural Potions knowledge to a group of potential Death Eaters. "I may be unavailable," he said idly.

Wilkes snorted. "Don't be absurd. You're available. It's the Muggle Studies exam tomorrow afternoon."

"Still," Severus said. "I—"

"Professor Slughorn," Wilkes interrupted, "suggested that you join us."

Severus sat back. That explained Wilkes' sudden interest. "Very well," Severus replied. "In your dormitory, then? One o'clock?"

Wilkes rolled his eyes. "Don't do us any favours," he said. The boy to Wilkes' left—a doughy-faced blonde, some Parkinson offshoot?—laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Severus replied darkly.

Wilkes smirked. "Good."

Severus focused his attention on his dinner, ignoring the speculative glances the other seventh-years were now turning his way.

At the meal's end, Severus started for the dungeon staircase only to find himself flanked by Rosier and Avery, with Mulciber drawing up behind them. "Oh, good," Rosier said. "You're heading back. So are we."

Severus suppressed a groan. "Ah."

He and his unwelcome entourage started down the stairs.

"We heard," Avery said, leaning in and leering unpleasantly, "that you'll be revising with the seventh-years tomorrow."

Merlin, this was tedious. "Yes," Severus said, drawing out the s in a sibilant hiss.

"That's good, then, isn't it?" Mulciber put in from behind him. "Considering you lost all your books and all."

"Yes, considering," Severus repeated.

"So," said Rosier, as they approached the bottom of the stairs, "here's hoping you do well on your exams, then." He stopped suddenly and held out his hand for Severus to shake.

Severus glared at him. "What's this?" he asked.

Rosier smirked. "Wishing you luck on the NEWTs, of course." He proffered his hand again.

Severus glanced behind him, where a dozen or so upper-form Slytherins were backed up on the stairs, half of them pretending not to eavesdrop while the other half pretended to be pretending not to eavesdrop (Slytherins!). He glanced back at Rosier, who grinned up at him from the step below.

Sighing, Severus reached out and shook the boy's hand. "Thank you," he said. "One might say that I'll be needing it."

One would be incorrect, but still—one might say it.

"That's why you've got all those seventh-years to revise with," Rosier said. When Severus stepped down on to the floor, Rosier companionably slung an arm around Severus' shoulders. "But for now, let's please have a game of chess. You know Avery's no good at it, and it's no sport at all losing to Mulciber each time."

Severus snorted—even as a child, Evan Rosier had never beaten Severus at chess—but he simply said, "Certainly. I assume there's a wager involved."

Severus may have had the intellect and experience of a 38-year-old Potions Master, but he still only had the coffers of a teenaged student.

Two hours later, his coffers more resembled those of a well-heeled heir-apparent Pureblood, which, Severus reflected, was an event for which even his sixteen-year-old self would have forgiven the slight of a few missing books.

On his way across the grounds and towards the lake the next morning—Severus could not abide the thought of one more morning spent trapped in the library with nervous Hufflepuffs and disdainful Ravenclaws—Severus unexpectedly found himself utilizing skills he had honed over nearly two decades of spying on and for the Dark Lord as, without consciously registering what stimulus had prompted his response, he ducked behind a tree and cast a hasty Disillusionment Charm on himself—

—which turned out to be for nought.

"Severus," Lily Evans said, peering around the tree, "I saw you hide back there." She squinted at him. "Oh, can you do a Disillusionment now, then? I mean, I suppose you'd need—they were probably on the NEWT, I mean the Disillusionment Charm probably was. Was it?"

Severus girded his loins (and then promptly resolved to never even think the word "loins" around Lily Evans ever again) as he straightened his posture and, tapping his wand briskly on the back of his own head, released the Charm.

Lily smiled. "Hello," she said.

"Yes," Severus replied.

Lily blinked. "I'm sorry, yes what?"

"Yes," Severus said, "the Disillusionment Charm was on the NEWT."

"Did you do it properly?" Lily asked.

They stared at each other.

"Right," said Lily, blushing. "That was stupid. Of course you did. I just—right."

"The exam went well," Severus said. And then, because it suddenly felt like the right thing to do, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

"Good," Lily said. "I'm glad."

They regarded one another for one long moment.

"I feel quite strongly as though I owe you an overdue apology for the unfortunate events of a few nights past," Severus said suddenly, the words bubbling up from his chest before he had a moment to censure them, just as Lily exclaimed, "Sev, I'm so sorry about Sunday night, you must think I'm the most irrational—"

They paused, and then Lily said, "I'm the one who owes you an apology, I was just being ridiculous—" while Severus shook his head emphatically and said, "I assure you, I could never hold a negative opinion of you—"

Without warning, Lily reached up with one pale hand and pressed a finger against Severus' lips. He backed up against the tree and his stomach clenched as Lily said, quite seriously, "Remus told me what happened after I left. You—I can't believe you did that."

Lily removed her hand and Severus, after a moment, eloquently offered, "Well."

Lily shook her head. "You probably shouldn't've done that, I can only imagine what you've had to deal with from your dormmates because of it, but I—well." She smiled. "It was surprisingly noble."

Severus shrugged and allowed several strands of hair to fall into his face. Lily reached out and, blushing, brushed them aside. "Really, Sev," she said. "Thank you."

Severus' cheek burned where Lily's fingertips had brushed his skin. "I—anything for you," he said guilelessly, and promptly wished that the earth would swallow him whole, or the Giant Squid would extend a tentacle and sweep him into the lake, or Evan Rosier would get tired of playing childish games and—

"Don't worry," Lily said solemnly. "I promise to use this power for the good of all mankind." She caught Severus' hand in her own, and, squeezing it, said, "May I accompany you during your last ride on the Hogwarts Express?"

Severus glanced down at their joined hands. "How could I possibly refuse?" he replied.

How, truly, could he?

He couldn't.

"Great," Lily said, smiling. "Really—wonderful." She squeezed Severus' hand once more before letting it go. "So it's a da—a deal, then."

"Quite," said Severus, whose sudden loss of eloquence was by no means rectified when Lily Evans suddenly swooped in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

For the second time in two weeks, Severus' heart stopped.

Lily pulled away. "Right then, good luck on the exams," she said breathlessly, and then she was gone.

Severus slid to his feet, the back of his robes catching on the bark of the tree he leaned against, and lay sprawled like a mangled spider amongst the upraised roots of the tree.

Bloody hell.

So much for avoiding unwanted attention. So far, he'd managed to attract Martinius Wilkes' scrutiny and physically assault Evan Rosier—and he sincerely doubted that James Potter would fail to notice if Severus Snape spent the whole of the train ride in the company of Lily Evans.

But Severus would just have to handle Potter's childish, possessive fury, because, although Severus' skills were many, "refusing Lily Evans" was not among them.

Severus opened his satchel, pulled out a book, and refused to think about radiant green eyes.

Soft pink lips never crossed his mind. At all.

That afternoon, Severus lurked in the doorway of the seventh-years' dormitory, which was as he'd remembered from his own seventh year. Instead of being a small room with just a bed for each student, the seventh-year dormitory also contained desks and a small assortment of chairs, which formed a small study area at the near end of the room. The sleeping area at the other end was separated by a thick curtain running the width of the dormitory, which was currently closed—presumably due to the presence of guests in the room.

In addition to Wilkes, the room also contained the blonde maybe-Parkinson, a ginger boy who was not a Weasley, and a skinny boy called Smythe (or was it Smitts?). To Severus' surprise—although he should have expected it—the boys had also been joined by two girls whom he had surely seen before, but absolutely could not place. The six students had drawn up chairs into a circle and were leafing through their Potions textbooks, murmuring quietly to one another. Given the presence of an additional empty chair in the circle, Severus rather assumed they were waiting for him to join them.

So, Severus straightened his shoulders and stepped into the room. "Hello," he said, and six pairs of eyes turned up to fix on him.

"Ah, good, you're here. Take a seat," Wilkes said, gesturing toward the empty chair. "Everyone, this is Severus Snape, Professor Slughorn's young Potions prodigy. Snape, I'm sure you know everyone here."

Severus didn't. "Certainly," he said easily.

"Right," Wilkes said. "Professor Slughorn suggested that you and your Potions expertise might assist us in revising for tomorrow's NEWT." Then, to Severus' surprise, Wilkes leaned back in his chair. "So," the Prefect said, "assist us."

Severus, who had just sat down, blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

One of the girls giggled.

"Assist us," Wilkes repeated. "As we are apparently in need of assistance."

Smythe-Smitts grinned.

Ah, so it was to be the "humiliate the pretentious swot" game, one with which Severus was not, it must be admitted, unfamiliar. He ascertained the situation at once; of course Wilkes resented being told to ask the assistance of a younger student, and of course he would go out of his way to prove to his peers (and himself) that said assistance was entirely unnecessary.

Frankly, it was damned foolish of Slughorn to think that this might have been a good idea.

But it was even more foolish of Wilkes to believe that he could outwit Severus.

"We have studied many Potions in our time at Hogwarts," Severus began, his voice low and silky. "But it is not the knowledge of any single, particular potion that will make the difference between an acceptable score and an outstanding one. Rather"—and here he dropped his voice even lower—"it is theory. One may be able to follow directions to…the…letter, but then, ah…" Severus glanced around at the students, several of whom—despite themselves, Severus would wager—were quite captivated by his quiet speech. "If one does not fully understand, does not truly comprehend, the reason we stir clockwise here, and counter-clockwise here, and crush with the flat of the blade of a stone knife hewn in the moonlight there—"

Severus spread his long fingers and extended his hands, palms upward. "Then," he continued, "one cannot hope to truly brew, and that, gentlemen—and ladies—"

To his complete (well-concealed) shock, one of the girls ducked her gaze and blushed.

"—is the difference between brewing," Severus said, "and following a recipe."

Severus surveyed the seventh-years. He had their full attention.

"And so, let us turn our attention to the Third Law of Golpalott, and its implications not only on antidotes, but also on the brewing of poisons in and of themselves. I'm sure Mr Wilkes will be kind enough to share his doubtlessly perceptive insights on the matter?"

Martinius Wilkes did not, in fact, seem pleased.

Although Severus had never enjoyed teaching, he had to admit—lecturing and humbling were, of course, entirely different matters.

Forty-five minutes later, and Severus was circulating amongst the students, speaking with them individually about their personal concerns about the examination. It wasn't as difficult as he'd feared—after all, he knew the Hogwarts Potions curriculum like the back of his wand, and it was easier than he'd dared hoped to keep his advice within the confines of the knowledge a particularly studious youth might acquire in the course of his education.

He finished answering Smythe's (Smitts'?) embarrassingly elementary question about the steeping time of volatile animal-derived ingredients ("Longer is better." "Really?" "Merlin help us") and moved to stand behind the last person in the circle, which was (naturally) Martinius Wilkes.

"Is there anything I can assist with?" Severus asked plainly.

Wilkes indicated the seat next to him, which Severus took with some caution, and leaned forward. "You do know what you're talking about," Wilkes said quietly. "I'll give you that."

Severus inclined his head.

"Which leads me to wonder," Wilkes continued softly, "why this is the first time I've heard of your impressive Potions acumen."

Severus shrugged. "I've never concealed it," he said. "I might assume that any previous murmurings you might have heard might have been simply dismissed as excited babbling from unknowledgeable children in lower years than your own."

Wilkes smiled wryly. "And you might be correct." He sat back. "Snape—is that an English name?"

"My father was from Manchester," Severus said flatly. Wilkes wasn't far off from encroaching on the time-honoured Slytherin tradition of Don't Inquire about Blood Purity to Someone's Face (Even if He Is a Dirty Halfblood).

"But your mother was a Prince, is that correct?"

Severus did not like the turn this conversation was taking. He knew very well, of course, that Wilkes was destined for the Dark Lord's inner circle. And, if Severus' own date of induction was any indication, it was not at all unlikely that the proud eighteen-year-old before him already bore His Mark.

"She was," Severus replied evenly.

"The last of the Princes, I believe?" Wilkes asked.

"Indeed."

"So I wonder," Wilkes said, "why an intelligent young man with no connections to speak of—I hope you'll allow me to speak plainly, as I mean no offense at all, you understand—would not choose to utilize his remarkable abilities to build favour amongst his peers, rather than antagonising them?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Am I to infer that you are referring to a specific incident?"

Wilkes smirked. "I heard that you stabbed Evan Rosier."

"I did not, as you say, stab Evan Rosier," Severus replied, rolling his eyes.

"But you attacked him"—Wilkes' upper lip curled, ever so slightly—"physically. Unless I've been misinformed?"

"You were not," Severus said.

Wilkes leaned forward. "What would possess you to do such a thing?" he asked.

"Rosier is an arsehole."

He really was.

To his surprise, Wilkes leaned back and laughed openly. "Oh, but you are perceptive, aren't you?" he said. "He definitely is; I'll give you that. But," he continued, more soberly, "Rosier is not the only person worth forging a relationship with at this school. So I ask you again—why leave school now, and lose the opportunity to build those relationships?"

"There is not a single person at this school who could assist me in progressing my career," Severus pointed out. "And there are others who would, frankly, delight in doing the opposite."

"Your little Gryffindor foes?" Wilkes asked. Severus nodded. "Yes, I can see how that would become tedious. So—what will you be doing, once you've sat your early NEWTs?"

"Take up under a Potions Master," Severus said.

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Why, yes." Severus leaned back in his own chair. "I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger? He's agreed to have me on as an apprentice—assuming, of course, that my NEWTs are in order, which…" Severus trailed off, waving one hand dismissively.

"Well, well," Wilkes said, his eyes widening slightly. "Professor Slughorn didn't share that bit of information with me. You are to be congratulated, then."

Severus smirked. "Thank you."

"So you'll be starting, when, in July? After we get our results?"

"Ah, on Saturday, actually," Severus said.

Wilkes smiled crookedly. "You must be eager, then," he said, "to forgo your last opportunity for a holiday."

Severus snorted. "As you've heard, my mother passed away earlier this year," he said. "I've no desire to cool my heels in her husband's house when I could be working with the greatest Potions mind in centuries."

Wilkes' expression changed suddenly. "I take it, then, that you are…unfond of your father's family?" he asked casually.

Severus' thoughts stopped cold.

Two years from now and eighteen years ago, Wilkes had taken Severus to his first party at Malfoy Manor.

A year after that, Wilkes had brought in his dear friend Peter Pettigrew.

Really, Severus was quite the fool for not realizing sooner that Wilkes would already be recruiting for the Dark Lord.

Severus made a decision.

"I am fonder of Potions," he said, "and research therein." And, recalling the nervous gesture he had found himself making that morning, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

Wilkes pursed his lips. "I see," he said. "So it's academics before all else, then?"

"Precisely."

"What about politics?" Wilkes asked. "Any interest there?"

"I cannot tell you," Severus said slowly, "how entirely uninterested I am in politics."

"Hmm." Wilkes leaned forward. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the proper connections can ensure a most well-respected career—even in academics. Where else does research funding come from, if not from highly-regarded patrons?" he asked rhetorically.

Severus inclined his head. "But if I had a patron," he pointed out, "my accomplishments would be considered his, and not my own."

Wilkes suddenly smiled, and sat back. "There it is."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd been wondering if I was talking to a Slytherin," Wilkes said, "or a Ravenclaw."

Severus snorted. "There are worse things to be called." He smirked. "I've been called many of them."

"I can't imagine why," Wilkes said dryly. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him. "Very well, Snape," he said, "you're free to go. I'll be sure to tell Sluggy how very helpful you were."

"You're too kind," Severus said.

"Yes," Wilkes said. "I am." He waved Severus away.

And with that ominous statement ringing in his ears, Severus packed up his few belongings and left the room.

Thanks so very much for all your reviews-they mean a lot to me! They also help me in guiding the tone of the story-I've had the overall plot arc planned out for almost a year, but the subplots have been very much informed by my readers' input, so thank you all!

In the next chapter - Severus takes his Potions NEWT and James Potter attempts to plot.