8 – Night and Day
Harry didn't follow Snape and Lily into the room. It seemed like a memory that should be kept private for them. He could hear Snape pull the record player from beneath his bed. He said something about Frank Sinatra, and then a song was being played about having someone deep in the heart, so deep they were a part of you, blah, blah, blah. It was another sappy love long, but as it went on, Harry found himself warming to it like he had the Dean Martin song. This one was about throwing caution to the wind, trying to be near someone because you couldn't help yourself, even though you knew it was all headed for failure. "That was beautiful," he heard his mother say. "I like this one the best."
Other songs came from the room—"The Way You Look Tonight," "Night and Day," "Moon River," "All or Nothing at All," on and on. Harry became lost in Sinatra's voice, and the time passed so quickly it seemed as if it had always been a memory and never his present.
When they finished listening to the record, the room went silent for a few minutes. Harry didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't push the thought out of his head. Was his mom kissing Snape? The whole idea seemed off, but he supposed that she'd probably kissed someone else in her life besides James Potter.
The door swung open and Lily stepped into the hall.
"Tomorrow," said Snape.
"Tomorrow," she agreed. "We'll go to the Forbidden Forest together."
He nodded. "Together."
"And Sev, I'm really glad you're coming with me to the Yule Ball."
They smiled at each other but didn't embrace. Harry gave a sigh of relief.
As Lily headed down the hall, he stepped into the room and saw a young wizard practically floating a foot above the floor. Every which way Snape moved, he glided with perfect ease—this was a boy in love.
Snape sat at his desk and unfurled a new sheet of parchment and began drawing a picture of Lily, starting with her eyes. Harry was amazed at how well Snape captured her on paper. He watched him work on the picture for about an hour, and in that time, he'd drawn the scene from moments before, a picture of his mother sitting in front of the room. Anyone looking at the picture wouldn't see Lily's gaze head on. Her eyes were on the floor, and the smile on her face said it all—she too was in love.
There was a tap at the window. Snape didn't hear it at first, but the tap continued.
It was the snowy owl.
He frowned for a moment, wishing the Hedwig lookalike away. But when the owl continued to fly into the window softly, he relented and opened it. The owl landed in his hand, turning its backside to show him the black plume. This time, he didn't examine the feather any further. He opened the letter—
SS,
Meet me at the Hog's Head at Dusk. I need to speak to you. There's been a change of plans.
TR (no more)
The picture of Lily wouldn't be finished that day. Snape paced the room, paged through books, and unsealed and resealed previous letters from TR for the next two hours, seeming to contemplate the message's meaning, but never finding the answer.
Even when serving his detention later with Sirius in Slughorn's room, his mind still appeared to be on the message. Sirius slung his most derisive jokes, but they deflected off of him like a first-year's magic. Today, he was impervious to them. All that mattered was the sun falling in the sky, bringing dusk much too soon. Bringing TR's mysterious change of plans.
Finally, he was standing in front of the Hog's Head. Snape stared at its ominous sign, a severed boar's head dripping blood into the white cloth around it, and then patted his wand to make sure it was there. He took a deep breath and opened the door to the pub.
The room was mostly empty that evening (not that the Hog's Head was known for its large crowds). There were a few wizards playing cards, constantly laughing and teasing one another in a language only they understood, three half-giants at a table sharing a turkey dinner, and a beautiful witch—Snape looked away quickly from her when she returned his stare—seated at the bar sipping a glass of absinthe. His eyes scanned the rest of the room for Tom Riddle, but he only saw a rat nibbling a piece of cheese.
"One butterbeer," he told the bartender. The witch, a few seats down, turned to Snape. She was more beautiful than he'd initially thought. She had long, brown hair with a sheen that cut through the dingy pub light, and her eyes, green like Lily's, had a softness to them but a patient fury beneath. The patient fury reminded him as a boy when he pet a sleeping tiger—he didn't know if it would lie there or strike out.
Snape took a few sips of his butterbeer and could feel her eyes boring into him, probably wondering what such a young wizard was doing in a place like the Hog's Head. "Why don't you tell me your story, young wizard?" she asked. She began to slide from her seat his way, but stopped.
Tom Riddle was suddenly in between them at the bar. Snape turned to the door, but it was shut. He looked around the room, and all of the same people were there. Riddle must have apparated within an inch of where he wanted.
"Sir, when did you…?" he asked, but Riddle held a finger and immediately silenced the question. All the while, Riddle's gaze never left the witch, and they never exchanged any words, but the message was clearmove away from the boy. She quietly moved back to her seat and ordered another absinthe.
Snape looked at Riddle in awe. He was still the Tom Riddle in Slughorn's marketing poster for the Christmas Challenge, but there was something different about him. He seemed taller and slenderer. His once thick head of brown hair had thinned and receded somewhat, showing a forehead that protruded like a whitecap.
"Let's move to somewhere more private. There are prying ears." Riddle paid the bartender for the butterbeer and moved to the corner of the pub largely hidden by a stone hearth. He sat them at the smallest table and immediately blew out the lone white candle sitting in the middle.
"How did you do that?" Snape asked. "I didn't see you come in. Did you apparate?"
Riddle ignored the question. "Her name is Esmerelda. She's spent the last four years in Azkaban for crimes I'd rather not speak of."
Snape leaned forward, his back curving like a question mark.
Riddle relaxed in his seat, still looking in the witch's direction. "I didn't apparate. I walked through the door just like you."
"But... Well, I must not have heard you," Snape conceded.
Riddle didn't say anything for a long time. Even though he blew out the candle, his skin picked up the meager light in the pub and shined ivory white. Finally, he spoke. "I have changed our plans and moved something forward in our schedule."
"What is it, sir?"
"First, we need to address what you just called me."
"Sir?" Snape anxiously dropped his hand to his wand and pressed it to his side. Riddle took notice but didn't appear concerned that he had any intention of using it. "I meant no disrespect by—"
Riddle raised a finger silencing him. "It's not a matter of respect, Severus. It's a matter of calling someone by the proper name."
"What would you like me to call you?"
"When I was in Albania, I came across a man. A very powerful man. His name was Voldemort."
