Severus could do nothing but scream - internally, since the bloody snake had inconsiderately ripped his throat open in its efforts to kill him. He knew with absolute certainty that he would be dead soon. It would take just a couple minutes to bleed out. While he was of course carrying a dose of the antidote St. Mungo's had concocted to Nagini's venom after Arthur Weasley had been bitten, it didn't work fast enough to save him from a punctured carotid artery. At least he'd fall unconscious quickly.
He wished it were even quicker, fast enough that he wouldn't have the time to realize his defeat, right at the finish line. Yes, his quest to save Lily's son had proved utterly pointless, but Merlin, he'd at least hoped to follow through on helping the brat take down the Dark Lord with him.
There was a muffled thump. A blurry face appeared above him, frightened green eyes. Severus gasped painfully, but he felt a morbid elation at the same time. Perhaps not all was lost. He reached out with his mind, practically throwing his half-delirious thoughts at Potter. Take it, he screamed, determined to communicate Albus-bloody-Dumbledore's final instructions. He was half-surprised to hear his own strained whisper.
It was like lightning when he felt their thoughts connect...
He blinked.
He was dead when he opened his eyes. Bright sun shining. Green grass. Blue sky. For some reason the blue sky seemed to be below him, but who was he to question the afterlife?
Awful taste that came with it though. Not the iron of blood but bitter like soap.
He spat out bubbles. What the hell? It was soap!
"Leave him alone!"
"Alright Evans?"
Severus' eyes darted wildly at the voices. He was surrounded by students in Hogwarts robes. Students he knew...
"Leave him alone," Lily Evans repeated. He found her face. Angry green eyes. Long red hair. Freckled nose. Glaring at James Potter.
Hell must be real. There was no other explanation for why he would relive this particular moment as soon as he died.
"What's he done to you?" Lily continued.
"Well," James Potter said with disgusting cheek. "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean."
Fuck this, Severus thought. He didn't want to put up with this nonsense. He should have more than made up for calling Lily by a racial slur by now. To his shock, the gods of the underworld seemed to listen to him. The Levicorpus suddenly released him, and the soap bubbles vanished from his mouth. It was too early. Too early in the memory. This day was seared into his brain, and it was happening differently. Even as teenaged James Potter and Sirius Black whirled around, training their wands to jinx him again, Severus raised a wandless shield charm. Two spells bounced off of it, and the shield rang like a bell.
He heard impressed whistles from the audience. That hadn't happened the first time around, either. Severus scrambled to his feet and fully took stock. He was by the lake, just as he remembered. The same ratty old robe he remembered. God, he even caught a whiff of body odor - he had, shamefully, given up showering for about a week during OWLs in his frenzy to get all O's and preferably the highest score of the class in every subject.
The only thing that didn't fit was his adult conscience.
Was this the afterlife? For whatever reason, the idea that recollections of bad personal hygiene would immediately crop up as soon as he'd died just struck him as, well, unpleasant but also too mundane. Too physical.
Another couple spells struck his shield, jarring his thoughts. He looked up to see both Potter and Black watching him warily. And there was Lily, looking pleasantly surprised.
Merlin, this memory wasn't even bad enough to be a personal hell, not if he could change things. He'd been dealing with stupid teenagers for most of his adult life. The pain of this memory was the severing of friendship, not the other embarrassing but ultimately trivial details of the event.
Well, if he could change things, why not? "I'm not doing this again." So saying, he wordlessly summoned his wand to his hand, focused his magic, and took flight. He did enjoy Potter's and Black's and everyone else's astonished expressions as he floated, unsupported, all the way up to the Astronomy Tower.
Lily found him about thirty minutes later, still on the Astronomy Tower. Although he didn't lower the spell barrier to let her in until she'd been yelling at him for another five minutes. He snapped the barrier back in place as soon as she was through. He sneered at the handful of crestfallen curious students who'd been brave enough to follow her up.
Lily's face lit up to see him, and she playfully punched him on the shoulder. "Prat. Why didn't you let me through?"
Because he still wasn't sure what was going on but was no longer convinced it was hell. He shrugged. She grinned widely. "That was the greatest thing I have ever seen. The look on that toerag's face! Priceless! And Sev! Since when can you fly like that?! How do you do it? I've never even heard of something like that before! Well, not in actual magic books. Obviously there's flying like that in muggle books like Peter Pan. Is it one of your new spells? Please say you'll show me!" He listened to her prattle on for a few minutes, not intervening, just enjoying her happiness.
It was impressive how well she could carry a conversation without his input, he thought with wry amusement. He'd forgotten that about her. It didn't bother him the same way it used to on occasion when he was actually sixteen and wanted to be heard himself. It was just her outgoing nature and exuberant desire to share when amongst friends. He'd seen the type numerous times in his years as a teacher.
Such harmless nattering only irritated him now because the conversations tended to be loud in the corridors and distracting in class.
Good god could she go on, though. (She had now perched on the parapet and was talking about the Defense OWL exam instead of his shocking display of true flight).
He listened with one ear while continuing his musing. He had decided he would never be able to exclude the possibility that the afterlife was much, much weirder, and lamer, than expected.
On the other hand, he knew for a fact that time travel was possible. He didn't know the details of the Department of Mysteries' research on the subject, but he had twice filled out paperwork for ludicrous Ministry dispensations for time turners for ambitious third year students and also had heard Bella's testimony regarding Lucius' ill-fated mission to the Department. Time travel was possible.
He wasn't sure how he had ended up here at what should have been the moment of his death, but all things considered, it was probably safer to act as if this was a case of time travel rather than afterlife. If he was dead, it wouldn't matter what he did here. But it would certainly matter if he had traveled back to the past, and more to the point, could change the past.
So, if he really was here-and-now, what should he do? He wandered over to lean on the parapet next to Lily, looking out over the beautiful Hogwarts grounds.
It really was lovely here when it wasn't being bombarded by an invading army.
"Sev? Are you listening to me?"
"Hmm? Oh. I was thinking."
"What about?"
He looked at her. Young and innocent. Still his friend despite his pathetic inability to adequately carry his side of the relationship. He smiled and crossed the space to hug her lightly. "I'm sorry for every mean-spirited thing I've said to you, Lily. I don't mean them."
She laughed and patted his back. "Wow, you're just full of surprises today." She leaned away from him. Her nose was wrinkled. "Phew. No offense, Sev, but you stink."
He smirked. "I know. I think I went a little mad studying. I really need a shower."
"Too right. But hey, it's the last day. Wanna meet up after the practical and teach me to fly?"
"I've got some more kinks to work out first. I really don't want to see you splatter all over the courtyard." He didn't need to make the current war any worse by spreading spells developed in the future to all and sundry.
Lily grimaced. "And thanks for that lovely image. Alright, go wash. I'll see you later."
The shower was, of course, an excellent place for thinking. Particularly once the bathroom was warded against the entry of other actual teenagers. He added a silencing charm when one of his dorm mates kept knocking insistently. Let them find somewhere else. Hogwarts had plenty of facilities. Severus' need for privacy was quite literally more important than anything else in the castle at the moment.
So. Time travel.
What now?
Obviously, he probably should do something to prevent all the horrible things yet to come. Lily's murder. All the other murders. Given the time to plan, he could surely do a world a good. He was, after all, a fully grown and capable wizard with crucial knowledge of the future. Dumbledore had spilled all his secrets in the end, including Potter junior's horcrux scar. Severus could change the course of history. He could stop the war now.
Probably should.
But.
For fuck's sake, he had just died fighting this same war. Died prematurely at the end of a pretty much miserable life. It felt supremely unfair to sign up to do it all again. Particularly since, with the outward appearance of a teenager, he would no doubt still have to rely on Albus Dumbledore or some other influential adult to get everything done.
It didn't take all that long to decide that he would make the war Somebody Else's Problem. The rest of his shower was spent furiously cleaning his own scalp whilst contemplating different methods of foisting responsibility onto Dumbledore without unduly exposing himself. Merlin! He might have been cursed with lifelong greasy scalp, but it had never been worse than when he was a sixteen-year-old with no money and low self-esteem.
He was almost late to the practical Defense OWL. He probably would have totally neglected it if not for Lily's helpful reminder on the Astronomy Tower. He indulged himself by delivering an absolutely splendid performance that completely dazzled the examiners: every spell was perfect, and most nonverbal where that would not affect the casting. Towards the end, other students' examinations were on hold while his own examiner enthusiastically asked him to perform more and more spells. The finale was a Patronus charm. For the first time in his life, Severus felt no need to hide the silvery doe - neither Lily nor anyone else in their year had learned the complex spell yet. He took great pleasure in Black's and Potter's dumbfounded expressions at his mastery of inarguably Light magic. Morons.
He nodded briskly to the examiner and flounced out of the utterly silent hall, barely concealing his grin. And then he was off to a disused dungeon classroom to brew the potions he needed in order to put his post-Hogwarts plans into action.
Because fuck no. He was not going to hang around playing at being a schoolboy, surrounded by people who either hated him or wanted to use him. He'd done it once. That was a thankless path he would never tread again, not in this life or the next.
Severus barely saw Lily in the last few days before the end of term. Honestly, though it was nice to see a young, alive Lily again, she had been dead and gone so long for him, he found he didn't actually yearn for her company. He decided that was for the best - he would surely need to question his sanity if as a middle-aged adult he really wanted to spend that much quality time around a teenaged girl. It was enough to be on good terms with her again. In any case, he was too busy brewing potions, enchanting knickknacks, and scrounging through the Come-and-Go room looking for useful castoffs he could either repurpose or pawn. There was a lot of good stuff in there, once he removed the hexes or curses that were the main reason a lot of the better items were discarded. Even more of the muggle things could be salvaged with a simple Reparo. It was frankly ridiculous so much stuff was just wasted sitting in the heaps of lost and unwanted items. The scholarship fund could even be expanded if someone only took the time to sort through it all.
He kept just one set of luxurious velvet dress robes. He might never have the right occasion to wear them, but they fit too well to pawn and were just so nice. Severus liked having nice things for a change. The only other clothes he kept for himself were muggle items.
On the very last day of term, he stumbled across the Diadem of Ravenclaw. Just sitting there.
He stared at it for about five minutes. He was very tempted to laugh but also to scream. He had continued Albus' research into the Founders after the man's death; he did not trust Potter junior nor his sidekick Miss Granger to complete the horcrux hunting mission unaided no matter Dumbledore's confidence in the plucky teens. The Diadem was present in the vast majority of historical depictions of Rowena Ravenclaw, so it made the short list. And here it was, oozing Dark magic for anyone who knew and cared to check. Inside Hogwarts.
If he or Albus had only known about this manifestation of the Come-and-Go Room earlier...
He levitated it inside a random box, disillusioned himself, and flew out to the far, marshy end of the Black Lake. He conjured a concealing mist and several powerful shielding charms, set the box down on a soggy little island, and hit it with a highly controlled burst of Fiendfyre. The horcrux exploded as it burned, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Lord Voldemort himself had taught Severus how to control Fiendfyre and called him one of his best pupils in the subject.
Well. That was a fun last day of using wanded magic for the next seven months until he turned seventeen and lost the Trace.
Severus didn't like many things about being back in his teenaged body, but it was undoubtedly better suited to climbing trellises than his thirty-eight-year-old version would have been. He wedged his notes into each Evans sister's window, then dropped back down into the back garden. He hoisted his magically expanded rucksack containing all his worldly belongings and made his way to the rendezvous point.
His letter to Lily was long. It had to be.
Dear Lily,
I'm sorry I didn't consult about this with you ahead of time, but I didn't want you to talk me out of it. I'm running away. Hogwarts isn't for me any more. I know my Slytherin classmates are horrible to you, and I'm sorry I haven't done more to stop them. What I haven't told you is they're trying to recruit me to join that terrorist. I don't want to, obviously, but it's also been made pretty clear to me they'll happily kill all my other prospects. I also don't want to stick with the abusive troll claiming to be my father - the berk broke my nose again as soon as I got home, surprise, surprise.
I need a favor. I'm framing my Da for offing me - you know he deserves it - that way Ma will be safe. It'll all be on the muggle side. Can you send an extra-snotty letter to Headmaster Dumbledore informing him of my tragic and untimely death? I might have resorted to less-extreme measures if he'd shown any sympathy at all over the years. You can bully Potter into giving you the details sometime. He knows what I'm talking about.
I'll be going to ground at least until I'm seventeen and the Trace deactivates, so you won't hear from me after this until after graduation. Maybe longer depending on what's happening politically in the wizarding side of things. Please don't try to track me down until we're both of age. It would only cause problems for us both. Don't worry about me: I have it all planned out. I won't be living on the street or anything like that. I've got money and supplies saved up to cover at least the first few months.
In the meantime, I've enclosed all the useful spells and potions modifications ideas I've come up with for next year. Don't show anyone else the spells, at least not for a few years until that terrorist is taken care of. The last thing I want is something I created to get back to the bastard and help him. Use the potions notes though. I want you to dazzle Slughorn for me. Show them all what poor kids from mill towns are worth. You can claim all the credit. Burn this letter once you've copied all the notes into your own handwriting.
Your friend,
Severus
The letter to Petunia was short and to the point.
Petunia,
The rumors you are soon to hear regarding my death are greatly exaggerated. If you meet me at the coffee shop on third street at 10am, I will let you in on a secret not even Lily is privy to. (It's not a trap. As you might surmise, I need something from you. Hear me out.)
Sincerely,
That awful boy
He had five hours to kill before his meeting with Petunia, but he went ahead and donned his disguise anyway. He hadn't had time to brew Polyjuice potion before leaving Hogwarts, but what he had was almost as good and would last all day: a measure of Aging potion and a muggle suit that matched his older appearance. A glance in a hand mirror revealed that yes, his hair would still be pure black at age fifty, so he added a mousy-haired wig he'd found in the Come-and-Go Room and a fedora to hide the fact it was a wig.
He hefted the briefcase that contained all of his worldly possessions in its magically expanded depths and headed back to the noisome river. He found a comfortable bench and spent a few minutes carefully cutting holes into his old shirt in all the right places to seem appropriately lethal. He then stuffed the garment back into the plastic grocery back, nicked his finger with the knife, and poured a Blood Replenishing potion over the wound and into the bag. The potion did not have to be imbibed to activate, it just needed contact with fresh blood and the blood would proliferate. It was the principle used in vampire reintegration programs all around the world. And it was a splendid way to falsify evidence of a murder.
He stowed the knife and empty vial back in his brief case and leaned back in the bench. He allowed the blood to soak into the cheap cloth while he watched the sunrise. When the first lights came on in the house across the river from him, he tossed the bag of bloody clothes into the water and watched it bob downstream. It should wash up on the sand bar around the next bend in the river. Between that, the bloody kitchen knife and boots Eileen was about to find next to her severely hungover but otherwise unharmed husband when she got up this morning, and the clear signs of something heavy being dragged out to the river bank behind the Snapes' house, the nature of his death should be self-evident even though a body would never be found.
At eight o'clock, he finally got up from the bench and meandered towards the coffee shop, arriving a little after nine. He settled into a corner table near the window with a novel, a nice cup of tea, and a buttered scone.
Petunia was prompt. It was one of her few excellent traits. She looked around uncertainly, eyes sliding right past him until he waved to get her attention. Her gaze snapped back, and she frowned at his unmistakable large nose before stalking over to him. He smiled as she neared.
"Good morning, Ms. Evans. Thank you for coming."
His voice clearly startled her, even more than his appearance. "Er... hello. What is...?"
"Aging potion. It really is me. Just older and with a wig."
Her eyes widened at his blatant admission to using a magical disguise, even though he had spoken quietly. But she kept her voice cool and level. "I gather you left a note for Lily this morning too? She was cursing up a storm at seven but wouldn't tell anyone why."
"Indeed."
"So... in your note you mentioned..."
"I've decided to fake my own death," he explained. "That's what Lily was upset about."
"...Why?"
He gave her a frank look. "Because no matter what Lily has told you and your parents, the wizarding world is utter pants. I've had it with Hogwarts. So I'm leaving it. Any life I could make in the muggle world as myself would also be pants. Better to disappear entirely and start anew as someone else."
"Right. So what does this have to do with me?"
"I need to work with an adult who can set up bank accounts and things and also won't try to parent me." She snorted involuntarily at the very notion of taking care of him. He grinned. "And that's why I chose you."
"And what's in it for me?"
He gestured expansively. "I'm a wizard at your disposal. I can make all your dreams come true."
She started at him skeptically. "Oh yes? And what dreams are you imagining for me? I don't need your freakiness."
His grin turned knowing. "Of course you don't. You can do just fine on your own, marry a man at your work named Vernon Dursley and pop out a son barely a year later. You'll abandon your career and live as a housewife in the suburbs competing with the neighbors over whose lawn is the greenest. You'll never play guitar after you marry and rarely sing because Vernon isn't religious and doesn't want you to go to church even though you enjoy the choir. Also, the muscles you were initially attracted to will dissolve into flab before your third anniversary, but you'll be trapped by then due to lack of independent income and the demands of a small child."
She opened her mouth, but he cut across her anger. "Meanwhile, your sister will be murdered before you ever have a chance to make nice with her, and her child will be dumped on your doorstep by the meddling headmaster of my school. He'll threaten you and your family and will not feel bad about it once in the ensuing sixteen years before he also dies." He let that sink in for a moment before finishing with a flourish. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll die a year after him, so you'll at least have the satisfaction of outliving me."
She barked a quick, breathy laugh. "I- What?"
"That's your future. Thought you might like to know."
She looked around warily before leaning forwards and hissing at him, "If this is some sick joke-"
"It's not. It's the secret I mentioned in my letter."
"Just because you looked into a crystal ball and dreamed up some mumbo jumbo about my future..."
"I didn't. For one, from what I've read crystal balls don't give that level of detail, just glimpses. For another, I didn't take Divination and never learned to use a crystal ball properly. Most importantly... I didn't do magic to See the future. I came back in time from the future. From 1998 at the moment of my death, to be exact."
Her eyes widened in shock. Surprisingly, she appeared to take him at his word. "Is that, er, normal for you lot?"
"Hardly. I'm still contemplating how it might have happened."
Her anger came flooding back. "And your first instinct after coming back from a future where my sister is dead and you die at, er, age thirty-eight is to just run away?"
"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong. I do intend to change things, but I think it's better for everyone if I disappear in the meantime."
"Oh. And why are you coming to me, again?"
"Told you. You have a legal identity on the muggle side, which I need for things like bank accounts and housing and so forth."
"But why me?"
He looked into her eyes. "There's not a lot of muggles I know both now and in 1998." Granted, he didn't actually know her in 1998, but he knew enough. "Is the future I just told you about something you really want to hang on to?"
She hesitated. "You could be lying to me."
"I could. But I'm not. If you agree to help me, Petunia Evans, I will help you make of your life whatever it is you want. Billionaire businesswoman? I know the investments you should make. Prime Minister? I know how all the major national and global events will play out for the next twenty years. Beauty icon? I'm a fully qualified wizard and potions master and can make you look however you wish."
"Rock star?" her request slipped out in a small, almost timid voice.
He blinked in surprise and mentally readjusted his impression of her, reminding himself she was, at the moment, an eighteen-year-old girl rather than the repressed matron he'd seen in Potter junior's memories. He shrugged. "Sure. I won't use magic to fake your way to the top, since manipulating minds that way is illegal and a sure-fire way to attract the attention of the magical government, but I'm pretty sure I remember most of the top hits for the next twenty years, so it should be possible."
She smiled, a little shyly. "I've always wanted to meet the Beatles."
He nodded. "Should be doable. Although... Lennon's already retired and living in New York, right?" She nodded, forehead wrinkling. "We'll have to plan on an American tour for you sooner rather than later, then."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's your logistical issue?"
"Four years is plenty of time," he assured her.
"Four years?"
"He's assassinated in 1980."
Her hand flew to her mouth. For the first time that morning, she looked properly horrified. It didn't last long, settling into an expression of grim determination. She held out a hand. "I'll do it. Make me a rock star, and we will save John Lennon."
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, but he reached out and shook her hand. It was funny, the kinds of things teenagers found motivating. "So mote it be."
Severus and Petunia spent the drive to Liverpool hashing out their plans. First things first: Petunia would open a new bank account as soon as they arrived, using some of Severus' funds (he had already stopped by the pawn shops in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys on the way home), then she would search for apartments while he pawned the bulk of the non-magical items he had retrieved from the Come-and-Go room. He hoped to get a decent price, considering quite a lot of them qualified as antiques at this point. He kept back the nicer furniture, some kitchenware and a set of dishes: the only shopping Petunia would need to do to finish setting up their flat would be toiletries, bedframes and mattresses.
Severus was overjoyed to see the flat Petunia found would be the nicest place he had ever lived. Sure, it was unfurnished and lacked the luxury of the Slytherin common room or his professor's quarters at Hogwarts, but it was a second floor with large windows and a small balcony! There were a café and pub within easy walking distance. For a man who had spent the past nigh-thirty years of his life living below-grounds in a castle in Scotland, this was heaven. He quickly unshrunk the furniture and let Petunia arrange things to her heart's content while he sat on the balcony in the sun, jotting down all the tunes and lyrics to popular songs he could remember, along with the bands' names and approximate dates of publication.
"What are you going to play?" Petunia asked as she looked over his shoulder later.
"Pardon?"
"In the band. What will you play?"
"Being a rock star is your thing. I'm just the enabler."
She scoffed. "I can't go solo from the beginning! That's not how it works! I need a band!"
"So get a band."
"They don't grow on trees, Snape. You need to help. At least at first. That way I can get a foot in the door and meet other musicians in town."
He huffed, but he supposed she did have a point. It was one thing to have the (stolen) song ideas, quite another to make a compelling performance. She did need backup. "Fine. I'll play bass." It didn't seem too hard, and there had been a few of the instruments for sale at the shops he'd visited earlier.
She prodded his shoulder. "Can you play bass?"
"I can learn."
"Ugh. Can you sing?"
"Well enough."
"At least your voice is distinctive," she grumbled.
"And done cracking," he supplied dryly.
"Hah. Okay. Just need to find a percussionist, then."
"You can hang around the local music scene in the evenings for the next month or so," he suggested. "It will take at least that long for me to familiarize myself with the fingerings. Savings should last awhile if we budget."
She nodded reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. So..." She finally moved to sit down across from him. "Did you come up with a way to send your 'prophesies' to your professor yet?"
He grinned. It had been Petunia's suggestion during the drive that he just package some of his information up as prophesies for Dumbledore. He hadn't thought of it before merely because he knew how real divinations were supposed to work, but then she'd pointed out that magic is weird. And she was right. Just because Severus and presumably Dumbledore had never heard of a Seer able to give such detailed information about the future didn't mean it was totally incredible. "I have. I happen to know a Seer who, while genuinely gifted, is perfectly happy to supplement her rare true insights with frequent charlatanism. She'd probably be willing to pass information along if I promise to enhance her reputation."
"So you're going to offer her the same deal you did me," Petunia summarized.
He paused. "Well, yes."
"Alright. Any chance this Seer can play drums?"
He snorted at the very image of Sybill Trelawney rocking out to muggle music. "I don't think so."
He arranged to meet up with Sybill in the muggle coffee shop closest to The Bowtruckle's Garden, the hidden wizarding café in downtown Liverpool that also served as the city's public floo connection. He was under the guise of another aging potion, this time calibrated to age seventy, wearing the same suit he'd worn to the meeting with Petunia. Merlin, he wished he could just put a bit of Aging potion in his tea every morning and skip this ridiculous second teenagedhood. Alas, he didn't fancy dying of dementia, osteoporosis, and/or any other age-related disease sometime in the next five years.
Sybill looked just as dotty as ever in her long dress, huge glasses, and copious beads, but somehow the muggles didn't even look twice. The man minding the counter immediately started listing off their selection of herbal teas and vegan baked goods. Severus hid a smile, realizing the muggles had taken her for a hippie and assumed her dietary preferences based on that. Sybill clearly had no idea what the muggle was talking about and just said "the first tea you mentioned" in a dreamy tone. Severus got up quickly and walked up to the counter to pay for her drink. He didn't trust her to have brought any muggle currency with her. Plus, she didn't know what he looked like.
"Good to see you," he said in his gravelly old man voice. "I got us a table in the corner."
She blinked at him in momentary surprise before smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be mysterious and all-knowing but really didn't hide her nervousness. Not from him, anyway. He knew her too well.
They walked back to the table and sat down. Severus waited for her to finish adding lemon and honey to her tea. Once she was settled, she picked up the cup and took a slow sip, staring over the rim at him meaningfully. The effect was ruined when she involuntarily gagged and quickly set the tea back down. "Blech! I had no idea muggle tea was so... horrible."
He grinned as she grabbed the honey pot and started ladling even more into her cup, stirring it in furiously. Merlin, she looked so young. Of course, this was the youngest he had ever seen her, he reflected. She couldn't be more than twenty-five. He didn't remember off hand what year she was born. "Next time just ask for a breakfast blend," he told her. "Thank you for coming, by the way."
"Your letter was intriguing," she responded cautiously. "Mister...?"
"My name is not important, but if you agree to my proposal, you may continue to address our correspondence to Ezekiel." Because according to Petunia, Ezekiel was the prophet with the most "hard core" visions.
"Oh. Er... Right. I am, of course, eager to share insights with others gifted with the Inner Eye..."
"Quite."
"You said you had premonitions of a coming conflict and wished to work with another Seer to improve the clarity?"
"'Conflict' is a mild term. The portents I have Seen are most ominous, most ominous indeed." She looked at him with wide, expectant eyes and said nothing. He realized he was going to have to sell this whole prophet persona a lot harder. He stirred his own tea unnecessarily while attempting to think of something suitably vague yet suggestive to say. He hadn't realized how much effort it must be to spout out this nonsense for her classes every day... Screw it. "It's close to midnight. And something evil's lurking in the dark." Ugh, if she only knew he was quoting muggle song lyrics. He kept shamelessly plagiarizing Michael Jackson. "Under the moonlight, I've seen a sight that almost stops your heart. Horror looks upon us, and no one but we, the Gifted, can save us all from the beast about to strike. There is no second chance against the thing with forty eyes. We must stand and face the hounds of hell, pick and choose the diverging paths, and seal the perfect doom." Enough mutilated song lyrics. She looked sufficiently hooked. "But we may be able to end the brewing war before it causes too much damage. Between the two of us, we could save a lot of lives."
"War?" she echoed quietly.
"It's coming. And it will be terrible if nothing is done to alter the current tides pushing the Dark Lord to ascendancy."
She quickly looked down. "I did not realize you were writing about... that. I have, of course, seen the omens..." She bit her lip. He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't recall her looking so nervous before. But then, she was young, and he was pretending to be a much older and presumably more experienced Seer at present. Maybe he was intimidating her. She took a deep breath. "I- I confess, I have never, er, collaborated in such a way with anyone else with the Sight. While I am interested, well, perhaps for such an important task, you should find someone..."
"I am certain of your gift," he interrupted. "It is what I need."
She blinked again and perked up slightly. "I see. Very well, then. How can I help?"
"As stated in my letter, I have Seen what is coming. If you will complete a-" totally made up based on what Petunia thought would be cool - "dream-binding ritual with me, then I believe my visions will become fully actionable. I will write to you regarding what I See, and you will communicate the information to Albus Dumbledore, as the chief opposition against those calling themselves Death Eaters."
"Right, right. I have, of course, read about the, er, dream-binding ritual many times." Her cheeks turned pink with the lie. He supposed she must have perfected her poker face over the next few years in the original timeline. "I do not understand why you cannot share your visions with Headmaster Dumbledore directly."
"Let us just say, I do not wish him to know me."
She fixed him with a surprisingly shrewd look. "And why is that?" He hesitated. He hadn't expected her to question the offer. He hesitated too long. "You are in essence setting me up to take all the credit for your visions. If you're right about how important they are, I don't have to tell you the- the status I can gain with..."
"I have no desire for fame."
"Then you surely could simply tell the headmaster that! He would keep your name private."
"And deprive a young talent such as yourself of this opportunity?" he countered ingratiatingly.
She looked around them at the muggles. None were paying attention. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice further. "This makes no sense. Since it seems the dream-sharing will go one-way only, how do I know you will be telling me the truth to tell to him? How do I know you are not using me and my reputation to spread false visions?"
"Your reputation?" He was honestly a bit confused. She hadn't made her great prophesy yet. She didn't have the veneer of respectability inherent to a Hogwarts professorship. She was still scrounging for a living as a two-bit fortune teller at the moment.
"As the descendant of Cassandra Trelawney! Is that not why you reached out to me?"
Ah. Damnit. He should have looked up more recent famous Seers before setting up the meeting. Not that he had the means of doing so. "No, I was guided to you on your own merits."
She sighed and almost took another sip of tea before remembering it was terrible and setting it down again with a grimace. The next thing she said was in a much cooler tone than she usually used. "Look, I would love to help, but I'm honestly not that good. I know I have something of the family talent, but I mostly get by on cold-reading my clients rather than making real predictions."
"You have enough," he assured her hastily.
"Maybe," she granted. "But there is no way I'd be your first pick for something as important as you've made this sound. You're up to something and just hoping I'll be gullible enough to go along with it." She sniffed judgmentally. "I should know. I run the same scheme with some of my clients."
Double damnit. She wasn't supposed to be this perceptive. He supposed she hadn't taken up drinking yet. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Real talk, then. I already know everything I need to. I want to work with you because I don't want to work with Dumbledore."
"Why not? I quite liked him as a professor."
"Sure, but he's awful to work with as a peer. Once he realizes what I have, he will want to own and protect his source as much as possible. Which is all well and good, except that I don't fancy holing up in Hogwarts under his nose for the rest of my life. But I figure you could benefit from a professorship quite nicely."
She wrinkled her nose. "Why would I want to be a professor?"
"Free room and board?"
"I suppose... Don't you want to be paid, though?"
"Nope, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."
"And doing what else?" She asked suspiciously. "I've never heard of you before, but by the look of you, I should have if you're as good as you claim."
He grinned. "Honestly? Running off to the muggle world to enjoy myself. This isn't my real face; I'm much younger in actuality. I have a friend who wants to start a band."
She stared at him a moment, then started laughing. "Truly?"
"Yes."
"That's... no wonder you've been granted such extensive visions!"
... "What?"
"Turning our art into an income is the worst thing that ever happened to my Inner Eye!" she complained, suddenly much more at ease, thinking they must be close in age. "It was bad enough doing it for a grade. I had much clearer visions when I was a little girl. And here you are, following your passion rather than dwelling on portents. That's the real reason you don't want to work with Dumbledore yourself, isn't it? The pressure of expectations and employment really does stifle one's aura, doesn't it?"
"Er..."
She nodded decisively. "I'm coming with you."
"What? No! That's not-"
She shook her head. "I'll still help. Dumbledore must know you but doesn't know you have the Sight, right? You wouldn't need an intermediary otherwise, could just send letters anonymously. I don't have that problem. Everyone knows my family is Gifted, and everyone who matters knows my current fortune-telling business is fraudulent."
"Everyone who matters?"
"You know, other professionals with the Sight. Anyway, I can send the letters to Dumbledore for you, and I'll just refuse his offers of protection. He can't threaten to out me and be taken seriously."
"Er..."
"I can sing," she said.
"Okay?"
"In your friend's band," she clarified. "I'm quite good, actually."
"Right." He sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "I don't suppose you can play drums?"
She beamed. "I'll learn!"
Sybill and Petunia got on like a house on fire. It was alarming. They liked the same tea blends, the same pastries, the same incense and perfumes. They were both partial to the same pink teacups and lace tablecloths. Sybill adored Petunia's collection of vinyl albums, even though she'd never heard any of the music before, proclaiming each of Petunia's favorite songs to be "absolutely exquisite." Petunia declared that Sybill looked "just like Joni Mitchell with curly hair" and set about giving the unsuspecting witch a fashionable muggle-style makeover. Even Severus had to admit the resemblance when they were done and asked his opinion, holding up one of the singer's album covers for comparison. It was Petunia who offered to let Sybill move in with them and share her bedroom. Severus could hear them gossiping and giggling long into the nights.
As Severus anticipated, it wasn't particularly hard for him to learn the essentials of bass guitar. He had nimble fingers, a quick mind, and a book on music theory. Sybill did not easily take to drums though, even the simple set of bongos they had acquired at one of the pawn shops. She just lacked that innate sense of rhythm required of a good percussionist. It took about two days of painful listening to her practicing for Severus to start contemplating magical shortcuts. In another week, he had worked out the arithmancy for The Universal Musical Time Signature Charm. The process was greatly simplified when he looked through a glossary of musical terms and realized he could basically just transcribe what he wanted. Accento Allegro, Accento Ballade, Accento Cantabile, Accento Capriccio. He interrupted Petunia and Sybill's latest tea and makeup party to coach Sybill through the incantations and wand movements the moment he came up with Accento Cadenza. When he was satisfied she had it down, he sent her off to the park to cast it on herself. Far enough away it wouldn't trigger the Trace on him.
When she got back, there was a clear dance in her step, and she was able to perform a passable rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody" purely through tapping on their collection of teacups with a couple spoons. It was impressive, if he did say so himself. She'd just need to recast the charm ahead of their practice sessions and gigs.
The problem of Sybill's musicality solved, he set her to rewriting the most important information for the war effort into convincing-sounding prophesies to owl to Albus Dumbledore, while he and Petunia worked on arranging the songs for their first set.
They had just about perfected "Never Gonna Give You Up" when Sybill completed her first major assignment, a suitably flowery warning for Dumbledore that the Dark Lord was currently immortal due to the Secrets of the Darkest Art and also currently planning a strike on Diagon Alley. (That was one of a few major escalations of the war Severus remembered the approximate date of before he was Marked himself). Reading the florid prose, he not for the first time considered just writing everything down all at once and sending it anonymously, but Sybill had convinced him otherwise. She had realized he was a time traveler rather than prophet as soon as he showed her his notes, and they both knew Dumbledore would stop at nothing to track down an obvious time traveler. So he approved the faux-prophesy. Sybill copied it into a more formal letter along with a promise to use additional scrying techniques to attempt to bring clarity to her dire prophesy, then headed out to find a wizarding post office.
When she got back, the three held a celebratory first "jam session," much to Petunia's excitement. She declared their trio good enough to push for a gig at a local pub.
"Not a bad crowd for a first-time performance," the barman told Petunia consolingly as they looked out at the dozen or so patrons gathered. All of them regulars to the bar, none of them paying attention to the waiting stage or soon-to-be-playing band members. Except for one peppy-looking teenager with badly dyed blonde hair Petunia had introduced them to earlier as one of her "musical contacts," Eric.
"Good for the first show to be small, I guess," Petunia said with a nervous laugh. "In case we bomb."
"What's b-" Sybill began, but Severus cut across her before she could complete the question. "We'll be fine. We're ready." Sybill had cast her virtuoso charm in the loo a few minutes ago.
"That's the spirit, lad," the barman said and patted his hair. Severus bristled involuntarily. He already resented the man for handing him a Capri Sun juice pouch instead of an alcoholic beverage. Or just plain water. Merlin, but he hated looking like a teenager. The muggle only grinned at him. "Now get up on that stage. I'll introduce you. What's the band name?"
Severus blinked, took a sip of his juice, grimaced at the overly sweet taste, and looked at Petunia. He couldn't recall ever discussing such details with her. Petunia looked equally caught-out, but she recovered quickly enough. "Er...the Superfreaks."
The juice almost came out his nose. That was one of the songs he hadn't remembered/ever known all the lyrics to, but what he had recalled was enough to make Petunia blush beet-red and sputter for about fifteen minutes. Sybill just shrugged and rewrote the lyrics to be autobiographical about her own career instead of sex: the true prophetess who could only make a living through fraud. That girl can see your future, (She's a superfreak), But you don't want to hear it (You'll only want to shriek). She'll tell you what you want to hear (No need to even speak), and you'll pay dearly for the lies, oh! (She's got a vicious streak). Sybill was a gifted poet, when it came down to it. Severus quite liked the final version. The song wasn't in today's set, though. It didn't fit with the rest of the sentimental pop songs Petunia had chosen as the simplest to learn on short notice.
The barman chuckled. "I like it. A band name should be attention-grabbing. Just need to own it. Alright, let's go." He led the way up to the stage and waited for the three of them to assume positions. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome all, and thanks for coming down. It's eight o'clock on a Saturday, which means it's time for our musical guests! We've got a new group in house tonight, and they tell me the set is all original compositions. Let's applaud their bravery." There were a few half-hearted claps as people looked up from their drinks. "Without further ado, give it up for the Superfreaks!"
Petunia smiled and waved. She strummed a couple warm-up cords on her guitar and touched the tuning pegs without actually adjusting them. She cleared her throat. "This first song is called 'Dancing in the Dark.'" And she immediately hit the introductory cords.
Their set of yet-to-be-written-in-this-timeline 80s hits was extremely well received, particularly "Uptown Girl" and "I Wanna Dance with Somebody." Good to know the songs really were timeless, and independent of the large American audiences that had contributed to their massive popularity in Severus' memory. They performed a second "Never Gonna Give You Up" as a much-demanded encore. This included an enthusiastic solo from Sybill, who had collected all the empty and partially-empty beer glasses around the pub for the purpose.
"Terrific! Simply terrific!" The barman exclaimed as he shoved glasses of congratulatory wine at Petunia and Sybill. "You should absolutely come back! We've got an opening in two weeks, I think..."
Author's note: This is why I haven't been updating my other story recently, in case you were wondering. And life in general.
This story comes at the request of my sister and is intended to get even sillier as it progresses. Probably two or three more chapters. Enjoy.
