Chapter 3

Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

"Severus! Over here," called out Lucius Malfoy. He beckoned the pallid faced youth to join him and his beautiful wife with a freshly manicured, white-gloved hand. Severus Snape trudged over with a scowl on his face, still lost in his thoughts.

"What were you daydreaming about? Didn't you hear us," Narcissa Malfoy asked, an ever present coy smile playfully dancing on her lips. "Come, I want to introduce you to Beatrix Maclin. But first, please let me fix your hair. Lucius sweetheart, my wand if you please?"

An hour later, Snape slinked out of the party like a gloomy shadow. The witch had been truly beautiful, envious eyes followed her around the room as Snape had walked with her. She was a pure blood groupie, yearning to be part of the glamorous dark circle – Snape wondered how she would have reacted if he had told her about his muggle father. But the witch's gorgeous features and shapely waist had no effect on Snape, for memories of a red flower from long ago had begun to float in his thoughts, as they always did when he tasted alcohol.

"Watch where you're going! Idiot!"

Lost in his musings about Lily and the missed opportunities of his youth, Snape had walked straight onto the busy street. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and struggled to concentrate on an old, dilapidated house located on Spinner's End.

"Ouch!"

Snape had not focused hard enough…he had managed to apparate to his front steps, but had splinched his right bicep. His teeth clenched tight in an angry grimace as he quietly muttered an incantation to undo a protection enchantment on his front door and slipped inside the forlorn house.

He shed his now torn and bloodied traveling cloak and headed for a large sun room in the back of the house – his home potions lab. It was spick and span, giving off the sterile feeling one got from a surgical room. The lab was worn down, full of second hand furnishings and materials. A poor man's workshop – durable, spartanly decorated, good enough to get the job done with no extra bells or whistles. A large iron-cast cauldron and the oak table it rested on looked as if they had been made centuries ago, and the dusty books lining the walls appeared even older.

Snape had a fierce pride towards his humble lab as he had scraped together everything contained within through his own blood, sweat and tears. He had lied, cheated and even stole to acquire the rare ingredients housed within, and despite its shabby appearance the lab could produce potions of the highest caliber – it had even borne witness to the birth of ingenious original recipes. He picked up a glass vial and squinted, annoyed it empty.

Snape turned to a shelf of potted plants lining the back of the room and perused them till he spied a crumbling brown pot that held a leafy green plant and tore off a fresh root. As he began to chew the veiny sprig, his right bicep pulsed and stopped bleeding, the pain dulling to a low ache. He let the restorative effects of the plant wash over him and closed his tired eyes…

After receiving his "teaching" assignment from the Dark Lord, Severus Snape stole away from the dark room and headed down a creaky set of stairs. As he stepped out of the house, he heard a familiar pop and knew the Lord Voldemort had left for his next important endeavor. The Dark Lord constantly used different locations when issuing orders and preferred to leave immediately after, always staying one step ahead of the Ministry and the Order. Snape marveled at the Dark Lord's discipline – it was ruthless and unyielding and just one of the many reasons the man was the greatest dark wizard of all time.

Snape looked around the front yard, spotting an old discarded rake that appeared oddly out of place. As he took a step towards it, the rake began vibrating and a blueish hue emanated from it. Snape reached down and grabbed the rake – he felt as though a hook just behind his navel had suddenly been jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground and he propelled forward, a claustrophobic feeling enveloped him and just as he felt as though he would run out of air, his feet slammed down onto a rocky outcropping.

Snape dropped to a knee to catch his breath and found himself looking up at the ruins of an old castle, nestled high along a Scottish mountain range with a small village below it, populated with ancient pure blood wizarding families. Snape's left forearm flashed hot as climbed up to the ruins and crossed a small bridge. As he stepped off the bridge his forearm stopped burning and the wrecked ruins of the castle dramatically changed in front of his eyes. Whereas before the castle had appeared run down and long ago deserted, it now stood tall and complete, with a hub bub of activity buzzing within.

The iron stronghold always reminded Snape of a more striking and imposing version of the Hogwarts castle. It had once been ruled by a Baron with a fiery temper, a man who preferred using his sword rather than his tongue. A long ago rumor told a tale of the man going insane after one of his bloodthirsty rampages, of running to a faraway forest, mad with grief and regret. Another story told of the man killing himself in one the castle's towers, sentencing himself to a lifetime of ghostly penance. Whatever the truth, the house of Bartholomew fell into disrepair, avoided by the local townsfolk who believed it haunted, even evil. The Dark Lord had come calling one day, restoring it to its former glory and becoming its Secret Keeper. He had rechristened the bastion as Walpurgis Castle, but it was affectionately known by the Death Eaters as the Lair.

Snape moved through the castle grounds with purpose and pride, his sleeves on his robe casually rolled up so people passing by could glimpse his dark mark. Very few Acolytes ever rose high enough to have the precious mark bestowed on them and he enjoyed watching jealous eyes flicker to it. Their haughty arrogance quickly gave way to respect and Snape desperately wanted that respect to turn into fear – I need to make my mark, cultivate a stronger reputation for myself! Better to be feared than loved.

There was a small room high up in the west tower that was his and his alone. Snape entered and found a note on his cot, instructing him which books he was to collect in addition to the fabled sword when he went calling to Hogwarts. Snape was still unsure as to how he would go about gaining unfettered access to the school grounds while he was on his interview, but the Dark Lord always provided inspiration when he needed it most.

Snape lay down on the cot and patiently waited for his scar to burn – the signal for him to depart. His thought kept circling back to one question – how was the Dark Lord to secure an interview on such short notice? The Dark Lord had the unnerving ability to posit impossible tasks and then accomplish them in record time. Securing an interview with the venerated headmaster of Hogwarts should pose no problem for Him. The Dark Lord could do anything – the man who had saved me, gave me purpose, provided me blessed sanctuary after my love went unrequited…

For it was the Dark Lord who had showed Snape the righteous path, was righteous the right word? In these quiet moments, which were few and far between with the wizarding war raging, Snape had time to ruminate on the winding path his life has taken. He had been in such pain and despair when he realized he had truly lost her…and to him! That arrogant, evil boy!

Snape had been adrift in a sea of depression, searching to make sense of his life, to find some purpose and meaning, when a few of his school friends provided him a precious lifeboat. They introduced him to a hidden world, to the secret war that had been raging in the shadows between muggles and wizards for years. He was shocked to find that the Ministry had been covering up all the shocking muggle behavior and had been secretly pushing an agenda of discrimination and cowardice. Snape had been convinced of the insidious treachery by the powers that be and soon pledged himself to the dark cause.

But here, all alone in his cramped room, if Snape was being truly honest with himself, the muggle-wizard struggle did not hold his undivided attention or even bothered him. The Death Eater goals of wizard supremacy over muggles, pure blood dominance and subjugation of mud-bloods never stirred his deepest emotions or inspired him.

Snape's motivations to join the dark cause were much more personal. He saw an opportunity to gain respect, to become feared among his peers. He had grown tired of feeling inconsequential, eating rejection at every turn, having to constantly watch his back. He had dreamt of a way to make others feel as small and insecure as he did and the Dark Lord offered him just that.

At first it had been so exhilarating to join their dark and glamorous world – everyone had been so welcoming and encouraging. Praising him for his abilities, valuing his input – finally his talents were achieving their du notice! He was just a teenager, but he as afforded respect and being given real responsibility – from creating new potions to teaching older, more experienced wizards how to invent original spells. Now the snide comments whispered begin his back were not borne from hate or disgust, but from envy and jealousy.

And the first experiences of violence, real true violence, had been thrilling, had filled him with such furious excitement…but now…

Snape found he was constantly ill at ease, especially when he was not occupied with a specific mission. He had been a Death Eater for just a few short years, but he felt like he had experienced a lifetime of conflict and strife. As much as Snape blindly believed in the power the Dark Lord and trusted that His goals were for the greater good, even if he didn't understand or care about those goals – tiny doubts about the dark movement had begun to creep into his mind.

He had never been asked to participate in the more secretive, openly violent missions, but people talk. Rosier had once explained how he had used the Imperius curse to control some muggles into attacking wizards.

"Other muggles were doing it, but the Ministry kept hiding the abuse, so we were forced to create an attack so brazen that even the Ministry couldn't cover it up! The wizarding community had to be told what was really going on!"

The unforgivable curses began to fly more and more, their excuses and justifications ringing hollow and false in Snape's ears. And then the more disturbing rumors began to whisper in the wind…of wizards slain in their sleep, Aurors tortured into insanity, even half-bloods being mistaken for mudbloods and viciously slaughtered.

There was even talk of issuing pass-books to prove one's blood status and killing anyone on sight who could not produce one; the righteous goals he had signed up for were becoming less clear with each passing month. Snape had once expressed his concerns to Lucius, his former protector at Hogwarts, but the young Death Eater's trepidations had been brushed away, like tiny crumbs from a table cloth.

"Severus, where is this doubt coming from? Have I ever led you astray? You're not privy to everything, so when you hear bits and pieces of information of course you misinterpret them. You're in no position to comprehend the full picture of His vision. Don't look at me like that. You're a very clever wizard, you truly are and it's truly amazing what feats you can perform at your young age, but don't let your confidence transform into blind arrogance. And Severus, never again repeat your doubts out loud for not everyone has the…discretion I do. The Dark Lord does not suffer non-believers lightly."

To be fair I've never actually seen anything horrifically cruel…maybe Lucius was right, I don't know the full picture and rumors are just that, rumors. The whispers told about me in school were barely based in truth, yet everyone willingly believed them.

The few skirmishes Snape had partaken in were against highly trained Aurors or Ministry officials who knew the stakes. And the prisoners he had helped capture were never mistreated, at least not in his presence. The Death Eaters treated all with the utmost respect, especially pure-bloods. No "innocent" blood had been split on his watch, Snape would murmur to himself in the dark of night.

Sure, I'd participated in some torture, but that was strictly for gaining quick access to vital or time sensitive information – it was justified! And some of them had been asking for it, with their insolent stares and disrespectful attitudes. My conscious should be clean. Where was this doubt and guilt coming from? Why am I so weak?

Snape stared hard at the mark along his forearm, but it didn't even prickle. He wanted to leave for the mission, have something to do, a goal to work towards. Waiting alone in the dark, with just his thoughts to keep him company, was so frustrating. How would he capture the precious sword? His mind drifted to Dumbledore, the only wizard the Dark Lord ever seemed to be wary of. He thought back to his first day, it seemed like a lifetime ago…

…Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his school robes, had perhaps taken the first opportunity to take off his dreadful Muggle clothes. At last he stopped, outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the windowpane. Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window. She had been crying.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said in a constricted voice.

"Why not?"

"Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."

"So what?"

She threw him a look of deep dislike.

"So she's my sister!"

"She's only a —" He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him.

"But we're going!" he said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. "This is it! We're off to Hogwarts!"

She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled.

"You'd better be in Slytherin," said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little.

"Slytherin?"

One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and Harry, whose attention had been focused entirely on the two beside the window, saw his father: slight, black-haired like Snape, but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked.

"Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and with a jolt, Harry realized that it was Sirius. Sirius did not smile.

"My whole family have been in Slytherin," he said.

"Blimey," said James, "and I thought you seemed all right!"

Sirius grinned.

"Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

James lifted an invisible sword. " 'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad."

Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

"Got a problem with that?"

No," said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy —"

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

"Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment."

"Oooooo . . ."

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

"See ya, Snivellus!" a voice called, as the compartment door slammed. . .

Severus and Lily headed down the train corridor, looking for an empty space.

"Lily in here!" Severus exclaimed as he led her into a compartment that held a couple of dozing third years.

"So rude! Interrupting our private conversation, insulting us when they don't even know us! You never told me how disgusting wizards can be!"

"Lily I did! The four houses have serious rivalries, and the worst is Slytherin and Gryffindor. They hate each other, simply on principle."

"Why don't the teachers do something about it? We're all on the same side, all new students with no allegiances."

"Come on Lily, there're bullies in muggle schools too – it's a problem everywhere you go. Even at my Dad's mill, he's always complaining about how unfair the "top brass" is. Uncouth bullies, he calls them."

Lily had a frown on her face. "It's just not right, making people enemies just based on these houses. I thought magical people would be different, better than normal…er…muggles. Can't we just pick the house we want to be in?"

Whenever she became engaged about something, Lily would scrunch up her face and her eyes would flame aglow with passion. Severus had a sudden urge to reach out and hug her, but he settled for taking her hand in his and drinking in her eyes. He wanted to see them sparkle one last time, just in case the Sorting Hat threw a wrench into his well laid plans – he'd suffered many sleepless nights fretting about the impending sorting.

"Not everyone is like you, believing in what's right. The world can be a cold place Lily. Now, as I told you before, there's this amazing talking hat…"

"Please Sev, a talking hat makes such an important decision about our futures?"

"Lily, we just walked through a wall and got onto a magical train, but you don't think there could be a talking hat?" Lily laughed and Severus' heart skipped a beat. "As I was saying, before being so rudely interrupted!" Lily playfully slapped him, sending a jolt of electricity through his arm. "There's this hat," Severus continued on, red-faced and breathless…

…Little puny Severus stood in line with the other first years, facing the candlelit House tables within the Great Hall with a sea of rapt faces staring back. Whether he was shivering from nervousness or from the cold journey across the Great Lake, it was difficult to tell. He could not remember being more anxious about anything in his young life. His stomach squirmed like an angry octopus and kept getting the urge to throw up. His grandfather, the only person in world who had ever seemed to care about him, had once told him confidently he would be in Slytherin, just like his mom. He hoped with all his might Lily would join him there…please just not Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall's voice rang out – "Evans, Lily!" – and Severus' head snapped to attention, towards a rickety stool standing in front of the faculty table. Lily walked in slow motion, time stood still as she moved forward on trembling legs and sat down upon the three-legged stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head and barely a second after it had touched the flaming dark red hair, the hat cried, "Gryffindor!"

Severus let out a tiny groan, the air rushed from his body like a popped balloon. Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, and hurried toward the cheering Gryffindor table with a smile, but she sneaked a quick glance back at Severus, and the smile turned sour for a moment – her best friend looked so defeated. This has been the most magical day of her life and she could barely contain her excitement, but she could feel her best friend's disappointment –a twinge of guilt coursed through her little body.

Sirius moved up the bench to make room for Lily as she reached the Gryffindor table. She took one look at him, folded her arms, and firmly turned her back on him. She tried to catch Severus' eye, thinking maybe he could be sorted into Gryffindor too, but he was looking straight at the ground as if he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole. So what if Gryffindor and Slytherin students hated each other, they would stay best friends, just like before. Her friendship with him could survive anything, certainly some stupid magical rivalry.

The roll call continued and Remus, Peter and James all joined Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table. As students were called and summarily sorted, Severus' nervousness quickly gave way to resentment, then bitterness, and finally hate – all directed towards that damned Sorting Hat. That piece of trash had taken away his red flower, time to salvage this disaster. Severus quickly began focusing on brave and strong images he had read about, forcing them into his memory house. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak his way into Gryffindor. He could suffer being in that horrible house if it meant he could be close to her.

His mind raced to one of the many textbooks that littered his Grandfather's attic. Whenever he ran away from home to escape the loneliness or worse, a beating, he headed to his Grandfather's and spent hours reading through the old books scattered there. One had been on the history of Hogwarts and he strained to remember what it said about the Sorting Hat, hoping to remember some minor detail that could allow him to hoodwink it.

The Sorting Hat had originally belonged to Godric Gryffindor and was jointly enchanted by all four founders to ensure that students would be sorted into their eponymous houses, selected according to each founder's particular fondness for certain traits. The Sorting Hat was one of the cleverest enchanted objects in the wizarding world and contained the combined intelligence of the four founders, was able to speak and was highly skilled at Legilimency – the hat could even respond to the thoughts of the wearer.

The Sorting Hat was a proud object, notorious for never admitting to placing a student in a wrong house. But to be fair it had rarely erred, and students are sorted at such a young age that their nature can change considerably as they mature into adults. Severus' grandfather had told him on more than one occasion that he was naturally gifted at mind-hiding, so maybe he could push aside his natural tendencies and focus on creating false memories.

When only a dozen students remained, Professor McGonagall finally called for Severus. He plodded towards the stool, his feet felt leaden and heavy as they scraped against the cold stone floor. Severus took a deep breath, let it out and sat down on the wooden stool. The last thing Severus saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was Lily giving him a quick wink. The next second he was looking at the black insides of the Sorting Hat and a musty smell enveloped his crooked nose. Severus began floating images of himself saving kittens and putting out house fires to the forefront of his mind, his brow crinkled in concentration.

"Hmm, the second tough decision I've had tonight," said a small, wheezy voice in Severus' ear. "Interesting strategy young man. Shows cunning beyond your years, trying to fool me. Shows haughty arrogance, thinking a mere babe could fool me. Shows intelligence, crafting these elaborate memories. Hmm…no trace of tolerance, patience or kindness. Let us immediately strike Hufflepuff, shall we?"

The voice startled Severus so much he nearly fell off the stool. The fake memories washed away like rain and the Hat began to pick its way through the young boy's memory house.

Dumbledore, watching intently from the faculty table, leaned over to school potions professor and whispered in his ear. "Curious, isn't it Horace?"

"Hmm? Yes, yes, it is a curious thing," replied Slughorn distractedly, as he was more focused on finishing his candied pineapple than giving a damn about the night's sorting. "Umm, what exactly are you referring to Albus?"

"It's been decades since we've had a hat-stall. The last one I can think of was Minerva, and now we've gotten two in one night?"

"Yes, quite curious," replied the portly potions master. He gave his mustache a quick twirl with his hand and then dived back into his sweets.

Dumbledore made a mental note to closely follow two of his new first years, one Peter Pettigrew and one Severus Snape.

"Well boy, I'm leaning towards Ravenclaw. What have you got to say about that?"

Severus shocked himself by immediately replying in his mind, "What about Gryffindor?"

"No, I don't think so, you don't strike me as the brave type. More of a save your own skin type, eh…coward?"

Hot anger roiled through Severus' scrawny body and he clenched his small fists into hard balls. "You don't know a thing about me, you filthy rag. I'm no coward!"

"Slytherin!" cried the hat…And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him. . .

…A sharp pain tore through Snape's left forearm, a searing fire danced alight on his pale skin. Snape opened his eyes and came back from the past. The time had come. He was to meet the only one He ever feared. The only one He never sought out. The only one the Dark Lord ever considered a rival. Snape had a date with destiny – it was time to meet the Headmaster of Hogwarts.