Being Snape is a Pain

Synopsis:

Waking up as Severus Snape the night after Lily ended their friendship has a way of really lighting a fire in one’s ass. There’s no going the slow route in this scenario. Between budding Death Eaters, teen drama, and nosy professors, preparing for the Dark Tosser isn’t gonna be easy.

Still, it’s not all bad, and it seems Magic is playing favorites.

Look out, Voldemort! I'm coming for your ass! Wait… not like that! 

Chapter 1

I woke up with a pronounced sense of disconnection. Even without being able to name why, a feeling of wrongness pervaded my body. This feeling only heightened upon seeing the gloomy underside of a canopy overhead.

My face warped into a frown, wondering why that was for a moment before I had the sudden urge to sit up. Once I’d done so, I only caught a glimpse of my immediate surroundings before a searing pain lanced through my brain.

It was like I had hot pokers jammed through my eyeballs.

I would have screamed my throat raw, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I desperately wanted to thrash, to smash my head against something, but my body wouldn’t obey.

The only thing I could do was curl into myself, resting my forehead against my knees, and wait for the pain to stop.

After what felt like an eternity, it finally let up. The experience left me gasping for air, drool spilling from my open mouth. My fingers felt stiff from clutching my shins, and my eyeballs felt like they would pop out of their sockets.

Chaotic thoughts swirled in my head like a psychic storm, which was made more confusing by memories that I knew for a fact I never had.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed in that position, but when I became aware of my surroundings again, it was still dark.

Dimly, I realized I was in a dorm room of some kind, made evident by a row of four-poster beds. That detail might not have been much on its own if not for having finally come to grips with the new information in my noggin.

And with comprehension came incredulity and disbelief.

In defiance of all common sense and laws of reality, I now occupied the body of one Severus Snape: the greasy-haired dungeon bat of Harry Potter fame.

Apparently, this was the evening immediately following his fallout with Lily Evans, as a result of Snape calling the girl a particularly vile slur. Images and noise flashed through my mind of the immediate aftermath, of the groveling apology, and the ending of a relationship that seemed to be the boy’s only source of comfort and light.

The unwanted cavalcade of sensory and emotional details frankly left me annoyed.

I felt for the guy, but I did not relish being forced to endure teen angst even by proxy.

There was still much that I needed to sort out in my head, but my immediate priority is finding out how I ended up in this predicament. And, wouldn’t you know it, the possible answer was the heartfelt wish of a hormonal boy who simultaneously had too much and too little experience with life.

Just before falling asleep, he was basically overwhelmed by grief, regret, and anguish. Predictably, he fervently wanted the pain to stop and, worse yet, genuinely believed that it would be better if he ceased to exist if the alternative was a life without Lily.

A common enough affliction among teenagers, many of whom typically labored under the impression that only they have ever suffered heartbreak and disappointment. The difference here is that Severus Snape was a magical teenager. A magical teenager who lived in a world where reality was reshaped on a regular basis.

So, mystical mumbo-jumbo was a possible explanation. One that involved the premature end of a young boy who should have lived a few more years.

Even then, however, it doesn’t answer how this resulted in me taking his place.

Surely, he should have felt the same way in canon? He came out of it fine, didn’t he? Well, not fine, but still occupying his meat suit instead of being replaced by me. And after examining my thoughts and emotions, I’m pretty sure that it’s just me in here.

I didn’t have the urge to write bad poetry about unattainable redheads, for example.

But no matter how far I dug, I couldn’t come up with another plausible explanation for my sudden and very much unwelcome displacement, or whatever the hell this thing is called.

After a few more minutes of sifting through an ocean of grim and unreasonably depressing details of a life lived by the kid, I finally accepted that nothing more could be gained by just sitting around. 

To that end, I decided to do what I always did whenever I’m confronted by problems that require deep thought and careful consideration.

I went out for a walk.

Having never really gotten into the whole Potter-mania phenomenon and the unending deluge of subcultures that spawned from it, I had never given Severus Snape much thought. Indeed, the only interest I’ve ever had in the recurring antagonist of a popular children’s book series was because he was played by Alan Rickman.

The man was an acting legend.

I read the novels and watched the movies when I was younger, but it was mostly due to pop culture momentum. Even I wasn’t immune to FOMO. As a consequence, my knowledge of this IP had only ever extended to what casual fans possessed.

And even then, they were half-remembered and most likely inaccurate.

Now that I was literally walking in his shoes, however, I can honestly say that the dude must have drowned puppies in his past life.

From the moment he was born, the world tolerated no misconceptions about how unwanted he was. As a child, he was often berated and beaten by a drunk wastrel of a father and was left vulnerable by a broken mother. 

Unwilling to drown in the echoes of abuse inflicted on this body, I instead focused on a more mundane source of griping: Snape’s clothes.

My family wasn’t rich by any means, so it wasn’t like I regularly had outfits costing a year’s rent. But the boy’s wardrobe was just awful!

There was not a single piece of clothing that wasn’t ratty, ripped, or ragged. How was that even possible? He had magic!

Looking through his memories, he definitely knew a spell called the Mending Charm, but it was hardly ever used. Why? I can’t seem to find a reason. He just didn’t!

It actually took me some time to get going because I had to find an ensemble that even approached respectability. The result included a patched sweater (or jumper, as they were called here), frayed pants (or trousers), and a pair of shoes that looked ready to fall apart.

As a result, the wonder I felt at walking through the halls of Hogwarts, even if it was in the dead of night, was severely curtailed by my disgust and confusion at this disregard for common sense.

Fortunately, I could at least use his familiarity with the castle to reach my destination: the Astronomy tower.

Navigating the corridors, relying on moonlight and muscle memory whenever I could, I finally climbed all the way up to the elevated area. The physical effort involved had done wonders for clearing my head, and after stepping out to breathe in the fresh air, I knew that I had made the right choice.

Tilting my head up, I marveled at how clear the night sky was. More stars were visible than I had ever seen, even when I went camping in the woods during summer, away from the city and light pollution.

Was this the result of magic?

I then cast my gaze over the grounds and beheld a massive forest that stretched all the way to the horizon. That would be the infamous Forbidden Forest, if I wasn’t mistaken.

Looking around some more yielded murky visions of the castle’s various facades, windows, turrets, and arches. To the side, partially hidden by a parapet, was what looked like a collection of buildings.

From Snape’s memories, I concluded that they belonged to the magical village of Hogsmeade.

The whole time I examined my surroundings, a profound sense of wonder warmed my core. Even forgetting all of the magic stuff, I was still looking out toward the Scottish countryside while standing on a tower in an actual castle.

This was something I’d only ever seen through a screen as I daydreamed about vacations I had always been too preoccupied to take.

Yet, as exhilarating as the experience might be, I couldn’t completely escape the reality of my situation.

I was, from all available points of consideration, in an impossible quandary. After all, Harry Potter was supposed to be a work of fiction.

How does one wrap their mind around finding themselves inside of it, and walking around in the younger version of its most divisive character? I’ve certainly never spent any time even thinking about such a possibility, and had no frame of reference as to how I should process this dilemma.

Adding to my plight were the fragmented memories that made it difficult to recall exactly what I had been doing before this state of affairs.

I was at work, for certain. Then… someone started shouting about spilt coffee?

Was this some kind of Narnia event? Or could this be closer to The Matrix, where my real body is hooked up to a machine while my mind is trapped in a simulation? I did have blurry recollections of stories from folklore and myths about faeries abducting people and putting them under an illusion.

None of those possibilities was appealing in any way.

I did briefly wonder if I was hallucinating, but I quickly discarded the idea. Everything was simply too detailed, too textured, and too raw. 

Then there was the question of why.

Why Hogwarts? Why Snape? Why were the near-endless array of seemingly inconsequential details of moving portraits, tapestries, and suits of armor that I came across so vivid?

My mind couldn’t have conjured up any of those, let alone all of them.

So, that left me with the unpleasant conclusion that this was all real, despite how ridiculous the idea undoubtedly was. And if this were my new reality, I needed to consider what I would have to do going forward, because I was all too aware of how dim my prospects were.

Naturally, my first order of business was magic. More specifically, my ability to actually use it.

If I can’t even cast a single spell, any plan I come up with now would be pointless. Escape would be my only option, and I do hate being backed into a corner.

Fortunately, despite his many deficiencies, Snape’s mind was overflowing with information, both practical and theoretical. As a prodigy at brewing potions, the subject made up a huge chunk of what he knew, but he had more than passing familiarity with a lot of spells, too.

Not all of which were harmless or even legal.

I could easily envision how to cast them, but I needed to know that I could actually do so. To that end, I brought out a sleek, thin piece of wood from my pocket that was previously under Snape’s pillow: his wand.

Funnily enough, I didn’t even consciously think of bringing the thing. Probably an automatic reflex from whatever part of Snape stuck around.

After a brief moment spent organizing my thoughts, I raised the wand and intoned, “Lumos!”

Seeing the tip light up was an indescribable experience. One that I knew would stay with me for however long I’d live, given the circumstances.

Lost in awe, I moved the wand in different directions, bathing different surfaces with illumination. After some time, I decided that I’d played around enough and decided to extinguish the spell with a muttered “Nox.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I can now confirm that I was, indeed, a wizard. Yet, beneath that feeling of unclenching my metaphorical ass cheeks was the incongruity that I couldn’t shake off.

Despite knowing I had followed every step in casting the charm correctly, something about the process stood out to me. That is to say, I couldn’t understand why some of those steps were needed in the first place.

From Snape’s studies, both formal and informal, there has never been any explanation of what speaking gibberish and twirling sticks had to do with shooting lightning at someone. There were descriptions of what the spells were supposed to do, as well as the need for visualization and intent. But that’s about it.

The professors essentially just told the students what to do, and once they succeeded the first time, it was just a matter of repetition to achieve mastery. It was such an ingrained part of the school curriculum that even Muggleborns like Lily never questioned it, despite her supposed brilliance.

Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember Hermione bringing it up, either. Was this due to author oversight or something else?

Acting on a hunch, I raised the wand again and willed it to produce the same effect without the incantation. To my astonishment, it did exactly that.

Brows now furrowed in thorough bewilderment, I mentally prodded the light to go out. It did so.

Was it because the spell was too basic?

The books and the movies did talk about nonverbal casting, but that was supposed to be covered in sixth year, from what I could recall. And no matter the kid’s intelligence, even Snape hadn’t learned how to do so by this point.

Unprompted, the academic in me reared up, and I began thinking of what else I could do to unravel this mystery. Browsing through the internal library of hexes, curses, and jinxes that I inherited, I settled for one with subtle but still visible effects.

I first went through the wand movements and verbalization of the Severing Charm, making sure to point the tip to the sky. The result was a minute displacement of air particles that carried on for a few meters before petering out. Unlike how magic was depicted in the movies, however, there was no sound.

Gotta be honest, I found that mildly disappointing.

Still, the outcome was satisfactory. So, I repeated the process, and this time, I only did the wand movements without the incantation.

The spell worked with no observable differences, either with the effects or with me. It covered the same distance and wasn’t any stronger or weaker, by my estimate. Of course, I would need to conduct a more thorough test later. One that would involve acceptable targets. 

For now, there was still one more thing that I needed to confirm.

Pointing the wand skyward once more, I simply willed the charm to work without saying a word or twirling the piece of wood. 

That the spell split the air again was no longer surprising. What did cause me some disquiet was how easy it was. I felt no resistance. There was no mental strain. But most notable of all was how seamless the act felt.

As if I had been using magic my whole life.

For a moment, I considered whether this was due to Snape’s innate skills or not, but rifling through relevant moments of attending classes and practicing in private put that notion to rest. Regardless of the dangerous man he would have grown up to be, the boy was nowhere near as capable before I took his place.

In fact, the recollections presented a stark contrast to my experimentation.

Even with the most meagre of charms, and no matter how many times he used them, focus was still required: focus that was absent in my own spell casting.

Some part of me knew that I should consider the development a good thing. A much bigger part was screaming about how suspicious it was. Nothing I’ve ever done in my life required no effort, and this went double for the damaged kid who worked for every scrap of magical knowledge and skill. 

Acting on another hunch, I raised my left hand to chest level, palm facing up. I was vaguely aware of my heartbeat speeding up and my breath hitching, for entirely understandable reasons.

I may not personally have the context to understand the implications of what I was about to do, but Snape did. And from everything he and the rest of the Wizarding world knew, wandless casting is supposed to be extremely difficult, requiring extensive training. You couldn’t just do it on a whim.

Yet, the evidence was in the palm of my hand. Literally.

Floating inches above the pale skin is a ball of light, giving off a gentle glow in all directions. I hardly even needed to think about making it appear before it did, as if it wanted to do so on its own.

I wasn’t sure how I should feel about this accomplishment, or if I could even call it that.

Anyone else would be overjoyed. Snape certainly would have been. This act, which demanded nothing from me, would have been proof of his skills and talent as a wizard. Such a thing has considerable value in Magical Britain, opening doors that would have allowed him to reach lofty heights in this society.

Me, on the other hand? I felt numb. Numb and utterly perplexed.

Incredulity clashed with questions about how all of this was supposed to work, given all of the data I had. Why doesn’t the light hurt my eyes? Am I even in control of this body’s magic? What the hell does this mean for my remaining years at Hogwarts?

Unfortunately, the answers to all of these questions will have to wait…

“A magnificent display of wandless magic, Mr. Snape.”

…because I wasn’t alone on the tower anymore.

I’d almost turned around in a panic, but I managed to freeze up instead. With a partial backward glance, I caught sight of the speaker from my peripheral vision. And there, in all his fashion-impaired glory, complete with long white hair and beard, and half-moon spectacles, was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, himself.

Albus Dumbledore.

Well, I didn’t know how one would measure such things as far as metaphysical and multidimensional displacement goes, but this has got to be some kind of record. I just got here, and I’m already in trouble.

Then again, I was breaking curfew.

I can only chalk up my oversight to the shock of my sudden change of bodily accommodations. After all, up until this night, I was an adult with no need for supervision. Neither did I need to ask for permission to go wherever I pleased. 

More importantly, it wasn’t like I had experience in hiding my activities while navigating magical castles.

With that being the case, now that I’ve been caught, my adult brain has also made it so that I didn’t act as most students would.

Compared to facing down a board of directors, academic panels, and ravenous reporters, a school headmaster isn’t nearly so intimidating… Well, if you ignored all of his other positions, that is, which I am.

Calmly returning my gaze to the horizon, I thought up the best response for someone like the aged wizard.

“Apologies, Professor Dumbledore.” I made sure to modulate my tone to be both deferential and slightly emotional, which provided a good excuse for not looking at the man. “I found it rather difficult to sleep.”

A light chuckle was accompanied by the rustling of colorful robes as he approached, just as I hoped he would. “And you decided that practicing magic is a better use of your time than the futile enforcement of rest that would not come.” He was standing beside me by the time he finished speaking, and facing the same direction as me. “As excuses for rule-breaking go, it isn’t the worst. Though I do have to question your choice of locale.”

I sighed despondently in response. “To be entirely honest, the strangeness of it completely slipped my mind. I simply felt it was a good place to think.”

Dumbledore hummed before falling quiet.

There we stood, just the two of us in companionable silence. We must have made for a curious sight.

I was counting on his eccentricities as a character and disposition as a teacher to give me leeway despite being out of bounds in the middle of the night. Though, admittedly, I gambled on traits that I’d only ever observed second hand.

So far, it would appear that my wager had worked.

Then again, the stakes aren’t exactly all that high. Emulating Snape’s behavior and speech pattern is tricky, but doable thanks to my access to his memories. Dumbledore isn’t Voldemort, so I’d be courting expulsion for breaking curfew, at worst.

Considering this body’s age, my own skills and training, and my foreknowledge of the mundane world’s future, getting kicked out of Hogwarts was not the threat to me as it would have been to an actual child.

If push came to shove, I could just go stateside and blend in with the non-magical population, leaving Magical Britain to its fate.

The biggest obstacle to going that route is the potential ramifications of a Voldemort victory. Could the maniac actually take over the world? My collective knowledge, both old and new, indicates that this would be unlikely.

But more bloodshed and a wider spread of violence was a distinct possibility, especially if Muggles are ever dragged into it. At the end of the day, I simply didn’t know enough to make an informed decision. 

Hence, why I have to play this game with Dumbledore.

After a few more minutes, he finally decided to speak up. “If I may, my boy. Would you be willing to share what’s troubling you? I confess that finding you all the way up here so late is rather concerning.”

Was he worried I’d jump, or was he alluding to some form of skullduggery expected of Slytherins? One of the downsides of this little exchange was how unfamiliar Snape was with the headmaster, and my own meta-knowledge could only take me so far. 

Avoiding eye contact and showing vulnerability were as much about buying time as providing a pitiful front to elicit sympathy.

He waited patiently for me to answer, and I was more than content to let the stillness stretch for a bit. Several heartbeats later, I replied in a way that would both gain his sympathy and arouse his curiosity.

“I’m lost,” I told him. “I think I’ve been lost for quite some time.” Dumbledore gave me a questioning sideways glance, but didn’t interrupt. “Yesterday, I broke something that can never be repaired. It was out of wounded pride and humiliation, yes. But that’s no excuse.”

Sighing deeply, I looked up at the stars. “I no longer know which path I should take or what kind of life I should strive for. My mind is clearer than it has ever been, but I’m left with more questions than answers. So, instead of spinning myself into a tangled heap, I thought I could come up here to do something less confusing and more productive.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. “A broken bond can be one of the most painful things anyone can experience,” he said with sadness. “I assume you speak of your falling out with young Miss Evans?”

“A development that’s sure to have already made its way throughout the whole school,” I replied dully by way of confirmation.

“The Hogwarts rumour-mill is a thing of legend,” he remarked lightly before growing serious again. “I truly am sorry for the current state of affairs between the two of you. Friendships across Houses are becoming quite rare these days. Yet, reconciliation is not yet impossible, I would think.”

I gave his hopeful statement room to breathe before shaking my head. “At this point, I believe that she would truly be better off not associating with me,” I confessed, before wryly adding, “particularly given my atrocious choice of companions.”

“Ah,” was all Dumbledore said to communicate his understanding.

Not exactly hard. From what little I knew in the books, and what Snape’s memories helpfully supplied, the junior Death Eater club has well and truly been established. As much as Dumbledore might like to espouse giving people – and his students in particular – the benefit of the doubt, his ideals simply don’t match up to reality.

Looking forward again, I noted the lightening sky just above the horizon. Dawn was coming.

Much like the storm that will soon engulf Magical Britain.

Malfoy, Lestrange, and their posse of intellectually-challenged lapdogs are gleefully on their way to indulging in crueler and crueler activities.

I should know. Snape was slated to follow in their footsteps in the summer.

An arrangement I was disinclined to continue.

“In a way,” I went on, “breaking off our friendship has made her more vulnerable to the depredations of my housemates. But no less so than any other whom Slytherin’s more radical elements consider beneath them. And I know, better than most, that she can take care of herself.”

“You seem remarkably more open regarding such matters than I expected,” Dumbledore commented offhandedly.

I allowed a hollow chuckle to escape me. “As I said, Professor, I’ve been lost for quite some time. Hubris, desperation to belong, or fear, I’ve had many reasons to keep silent.”

“And losing Miss Evans has made those reasons irrelevant?” Despite how the question was phrased, he didn’t sound skeptical at all.

He was testing me.

“No,” I denied almost immediately. “It’s more to do with my actions, which drove her away. She simply held up a mirror to how far I’ve fallen. I decided to sink no lower, regardless of anything else I might choose to do.”

“A mature outlook. Not many are given to self-reflection, even among those who have lived for decades longer,” Dumbledore praised, though there was something in his tone I couldn’t quite parse. 

Doubt? Suspicion? Bait?

“I’m simply stripped of all pretenses,” I deflected. “Cleansed of both rotten and healthy skin, exposing what truly lies beneath. Lily was the only one who was ever worth wearing a mask for. Everyone else will have to see my real face.”

“And what does that face look like?” Dumbledore prodded.

I shrugged stiffly. “I’m still figuring that out.”

There was a brief pause before I found myself truly shaken since we started talking.

“From what I have seen of your magic earlier, you might be closer than you realize.”

It took all of my self-control not to give any outward signs of discomfort at his words. Not because I didn’t expect him to bring up my display of wandless casting. That was inevitable. But what the hell did it have to do with my professed internal struggle?

He then asked, “How long have you been practicing to use magic without a wand, my boy?”

Crap.

“For some time,” I answered truthfully. Sort of.

Snape did take an interest in quite a few esoteric topics over the years, one of which was this very subject. But he only tried a few times before giving it up as a bad job and deciding to try again in the future.

Dumbledore hummed in acknowledgment. “You already know this, but magic is as much a part of us as it is a force of nature. Many things can affect it, but among the most overlooked is our state of mind.” 

Oh, I can already see where he was going with this, which filled me with a mixture of consternation and relief. 

“You, my boy, have just endured a devastating event,” the old wizard continued. “One that could very well have led you down the road of self-destruction. Yet, I do not believe that this is the case.”

I chose not to answer right away. Both because I knew that a real teen would take time to digest the implications of Dumbledore’s explanation and because I needed to connect a few dots before I got myself burned by my own mistake.

Strong emotions affect magic. That was an established fact in this world. I’m supposed to be emotionally compromised from his perspective, but I was able to do wandless magic. That means…

Shit, the wrinkled bastard basically just saved me from a trap I’d unknowingly stepped on.

I had to be careful, though. Snape was smart, but even he would have needed more context to understand what Dumbledore just hinted at.

“Forgive me, professor, but I don’t understand,” I hedged. 

“Don’t you?” he countered mildly, shooting me a humorous look.

“No,” I huffed petulantly, crossing my arms while keeping my eyes forward.

Dumbledore chortled. “It’s quite simple, Mr. Snape. Had you not been in the right state, mentally and emotionally, casting without a focus would have been nearly impossible. As it is, your success suggests that – even if you are not yet there – then you are, at least, on the path of recovery.”

I suppressed a smile while tucking in my chin in thought, and frowning for good measure.

The reasoning actually made sense. Now that I had a better idea of what to look for, the information in my head did confirm some of what Hogwarts’ headmaster laid out. Unfortunately for my current body’s original owner, he was basically a walking billboard of symptoms that kept children’s psychiatrists gainfully employed.

“In any case,” Dumbledore went on, “perhaps you could postpone further practice until more reasonable hours. You wouldn’t want to spend your whole Saturday in bed, would you?”

Oh, thank God, he finally gave me an excuse to leave!

Taking a few seconds to breathe out tiredly, I nodded in agreement. “Thank you, professor. For your understanding… and your kind words.”

With that, I turned on my heel and made for the door. Before I could reach the entryway, however, Dumbledore spoke again.

“And Mr. Snape?” I stopped to look back at the tall, thin sorcerer, who was now backlit by the golden rays of the rising sun. “Should you need to speak again, my door is open to you.”

“I may just take you up on that, sir.” Having said my piece, I made for the stairs.

Along the way, several intrusive thoughts wormed their way into my mind. Chief among them is how the conversation went a little too smoothly. Disturbingly so.

At several points during the exchange, the veteran educator caught me off guard and steered the discussion in directions probably intended to serve his agenda, whatever it may be. Not a total loss on my part, but not a clean win, either.

He didn’t seem outright malicious, and he really did prove quite helpful. But having lived so long and holding so many positions has made him a canny verbal opponent, weaving layer upon layer of differing objectives within a single encounter.

The truth of the matter was that I couldn’t take our dynamic for granted. I wasn’t Harry Potter, so I couldn’t expect him to treat me the same way he would treat the original story’s Chosen One.

I managed to hold my own this time, but my insufficient knowledge and understanding of this world and magic, in general, were a severe disadvantage. Unfortunately, it’s one that I can only address with time and effort, and will certainly begin doing so at the earliest opportunity.

On a less serious note, I thought that it was just a literary description by the author to convey internal merriment, but his eyes really do twinkle.

Something about that pings my paranoia, though. But, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

Chapter 2

My second day in the body of Severus Snape started horribly in more ways than one. For starters, despite all evidence to the contrary, I still fell asleep hoping that the night before would be just a dream.

Alas, I was left immensely disappointed.

I still woke up as a gangly teenager in a magical castle that shouldn’t exist.

Secondly, the shock of my new predicament and all of the excitement that followed had thoroughly distracted me from this body’s true condition. In short, I was driving a beat-up car that hadn’t had proper maintenance for over a decade. This became obvious the very second I opened my eyes, groaning in acute discomfort.

Prior to… whatever the hell happened to him, Snape was basically falling apart. Has been since he was very young, if I were to judge.

The last few years spent at Hogwarts and its regular meals helped, but they didn’t compensate for the chronic malnutrition the boy suffered growing up. Not when his time at the school exposed him to all new sources of stress, pressure, and health complications, some of which were self-inflicted.

Most of the blame goes to his parents, though. He couldn’t exactly take care of himself properly if he hadn’t been taught how. For the sake of preserving my sanity, I didn’t look into the matter deeper than I had to for self-diagnosis.

A decision reinforced by the horrifying experience in the dorm’s bathroom, which obviously had a mirror.

Suffice it to say, I was tempted to Obliviate myself once I was freshly showered and fully clothed. Far too many unhelpful thoughts kept crashing into each other in my head, not least of which were several plans to commit murder once I returned to Spinner’s End. No level of child abuse was acceptable, but Eileen and Tobias Snape definitely deserve Satan’s personal attention.

Well, just Tobias, now. Eileen had apparently passed on the previous year, and hardly anyone knew. Lily was only aware due to proximity, and to be fair to the girl, she did try to help. But there was only so much she could do. So, Snape closed off even further.

Jesus, this kid just couldn’t catch a break!

In any case, it would appear that the dorm room’s other occupants had long since left before I woke up. While I was thankful for their absence, I did take time to examine the social dynamics of my new housemates, and what I found was yet another explanation for Snape’s need to belong.

The other Slytherins essentially treated him like a hanger-on instead of a friend. A fact that he was viscerally aware of.

Very few even bothered to be decent when interacting with the kid. The rest either ignored him or acted like lords speaking with a servant.

A common enough occurrence in the House of Cunning, it would seem, since this was happening to others, as well. When a student gets sorted into Slytherin, they either get with the program or risk isolation, bullying, or outright physical harm.

Snape had been witness to many of these, and the sheer viciousness demonstrated by literal children nearly drove me to distraction.

Intellectually, I knew that humans were capable of brutal savagery and malice. Several times, I had to remind myself that this was a different time, in a different world, with different rules. It proved annoyingly ineffective at calming the roiling storm in my chest.

The temptation to channel a more proportionately violent version of Mr. Rogers was nearly overwhelming. But remembering just how new I was to this world managed to cool my flaring temper.

Magic might come easy to me, for some reason that I have yet to grasp, but I wasn’t deluded enough to equate such an advantage with invincibility.

And while giving in might be personally satisfying, it would do more harm than good.

I’ve been around the block long enough to know that the issues of House Slytherin, indeed, the issues of the school at large, require complex solutions to resolve. As was often the case in the real world, there is no single cause to address. No convenient culprit that would neatly fix so many multifaceted problems.

Only a concerted, multi-pronged, and top-to-bottom approach would even stand a chance at doing so. And I didn’t have nearly the authority, influence, or social currency needed for such a daunting project. If I actually wanted to do something with real impact, I would need a substantial amount of all three. And that was assuming I’d even want to after doing my due diligence…

Which I should really get started on instead of puttering about and putting off my inevitable contact with other people.

So, showered and dressed, I finally went out the door.

Finding the library involved no real difficulty. Snape was a frequent enough visitor, and with this being Saturday and the OWLs already concluded, it was practically empty. On the way here, I passed by several students, many of whom didn’t even bother looking my way. Those who did wore looks of either indifference or disdain.

No surprises there. Snape’s meltdown had been spectacularly public.

I didn’t mind, either. Being ignored suited my purposes, actually. It delayed any confrontation until I could get my bearings.

This is also why I delayed getting sustenance, despite my protesting stomach. I could always find the kitchens later if I really needed to eat.

Not exactly a healthy behavior, but one that I had done plenty of times before, both in college and at work.

My arrival at the library did give me pause, though, on account of just how massive the place was. The space was gigantic, dominated by towering rows of shelves, absolutely full to bursting with leather-bound tomes that had pages made of honest-to-God parchment.

As soon as I walked through the door, I got this floating sensation of wanting to get lost in its depths.

Getting myself back on track required Herculean effort, but necessity won out.

Pausing to gawk from the doorway would have drawn attention, no matter how few occupants there were, especially as I was supposed to have been here multiple times. More importantly, it was already well past noon, and I only had another day before everyone was sent home.

Letting Snape’s memories guide me to the right sections, I began gathering books with potentially helpful content. It took several trips since I had to traverse the entire floor space before then returning to the most secluded corner I could find.

From there, I quickly but carefully scanned passages for information that I either didn’t already have or only partially understood. These included everything from wandless magic, other foreign communities, and common wizarding practices. To more esoteric topics like obscure spells and curses, mysterious magical phenomena, and soul displacement.

I looked up that last one for obvious reasons, but it was a bust. Lots of mentions in myths and folklore, but no actionable data. At least, not in the books I had on hand. But the library was large, with many more texts for me to sift through. I’m hoping at least one of them will give me some answers.

The rest did yield results, but they posed their own problems, some of which nearly made my eyes pop out of their sockets.

Due to the time constraints I was under, several speed-reading techniques had to be employed. Skimming and chunking did most of the heavy lifting, which helped me acquire a broad comprehension of what I’d managed to browse.

I knew from experience how shallow that understanding was, but it was still preferable to outright ignorance.

One example of how I already benefited from this session was the correction of a massive misconception. No underage wizard was allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts until they turned 17 years of age, unless in cases of self-defense. It doesn’t matter if they already passed their OWLs.

How could I have come to such a potentially catastrophic conclusion? Was it because the movies took a lot of liberties with the source material? Whatever the reason, I’m glad I learned this now before I did something stupid.

This had the side-effect of shaking my overliance on Snape as a source of information. Not because he didn’t know this particular tidbit. He did. With my blind assumption, I simply didn’t bother to check.

Another discovery that left me mortified involved mental magic. More specifically, Legilimency and Occlumency.

Because I finally knew why Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes gave me the shivers.

Mind-reading was an actual thing here, and since it’s not illegal, one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world likely knew how to do it.

Fortunately, the little I remembered about Legilimency from the novels gave me hope that it really isn’t as easy as opening a book. More importantly, since the eye contact was brief and I felt no migraine after the fact, he likely didn’t get much.

But for someone like Dumbledore, any amount of information is dangerous. And with Voldemort? It would be deadly.

I’d have to be a lot more careful from now on, and learning Occlumency has just rocketed to the top of my list.

Just as I was about to reach for another tome, this one about the different modes of magical transportation, the thing I had been dreading finally happened.

“Ah, Severus! Good, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Approaching my corner is a young man with aristocratic features, long silver-blonde hair, with an air of entitlement hanging off of him like a cloak.

“Lucius,” I greeted quietly.

Well, as first encounters of the student kind go, it wasn’t the worst. Not good, by any means, but not disastrous.

“I meant to speak with you last night,” the future Lord Malfoy offered while reaching for the only other chair in my reading nook. He then sat down without waiting for permission. “After that bad business with the Evans girl, I wanted to make sure that you were all right.” He finished with an almost paternal smile.

Nothing in the way he acted, spoke, or moved was different from Snape’s memories. Which is why it was easy to see how the potions prodigy was so easily ensnared. Lucius Malfoy is an extremely well-trained and highly skilled social manipulator.

The seventh year wielded subtle power with the lightness of a feather and the sharpness of an obsidian blade.

Unlike most people, every motion and expression is done intentionally and with control.

I could see it in his unbothered posture, the way he claimed ownership of the space across from me, and the steady timbre of his tone. Even by the standards of the slithery operators of his house, Lucius stands out. One could almost believe that he really was just looking out for a friend who had just gotten his heart broken.

As someone who had to deal with corporate executives a fair few times, I was actually quite impressed. I could think of several managers who could stand to learn from him.

“There was no need,” I told him curtly. “She made her choice. Whatever we had, she’s no longer my concern.”

I saw the flash of triumph in my counterpart’s grey eyes, which was quickly smothered. “I see,” he said smoothly. “Even so, I truly am sorry, my friend. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you,” I said with appropriate sincerity after a short pause. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’d rather look to the future.”

His smile widened a touch before nodding with approval. “Very wise of you. And if you would permit me, I would offer you my aid.” Here we go… “We will have to flesh out the details when we meet over the summer, but it will suit your talents quite well, I believe.”

I quirked a brow at his impish behavior. “Are you going to elaborate?”

Lucius simply smirked. “And ruin the surprise?”

My eyeroll was met with amusement, which I found noteworthy. I wasn’t sure if it would really be the case, but it seems like even budding murderers and terrorists can have normal interactions, after all.

I already suspected that they weren’t one-dimensional villains, of course, but Snape was not at all an objective observer. There was only so much I could get from his store of recollections and impressions, so first-hand experience was needed for me to make a judgment call.

So far, Lucius is proving to be a slippery subject.

Oh, I don’t doubt that he had the capacity to commit atrocities. His portrayal in the books certainly made him out to be an unrepentant villain with a penchant for bribery, blackmail, and barbarism.

But, according to Snape, the version sitting in front of me has yet to become that person. Will he still? I don’t know. Can I stop him? Probably. Should I? Now, that’s the question, isn’t it?

“Will that be all, Lucius?” I prompted. “As you may have noticed,” I gestured to the books around me, “I’m rather preoccupied.”

He gave the eclectic collection of volumes a cursory look. “Yes, I can see that. I must say, you’re showing commendable dedication. Particularly as the OWLs are over.”

I gave him a flinty glare. “I’ve no choice if I’m to have a future, Lucius.

That finally gave him pause, though he quickly rallied. “I understand. I’ll leave you to your work. Will you join us for dinner?”

Eat at the Slytherin table? A table full of Slytherins?

“If time permits,” was all I said.

To which he nodded and left.

Even while walking away, Lucius never dropped his regal bearing. Straight posture, head held high, and an utterly unhurried gait. Clear signs of a very particular upbringing.

And if my suspicions about what those signs mean for his character – and by extension, that of the rest of my peers – then I’m likely in for a more horrendous time than I initially believed.

I chickened out.

Rather than go to the Great Hall for some food, I made a beeline for the kitchens instead. Fortunately, I didn’t run into any Hufflepuffs. That would have been awkward.

Sidenote: finding the specific pear that I needed to tickle took a good ten minutes. There were a lot of food-related portraits in the hallway.

Another sidenote: house-elves are incredibly excitable critters.

Once fed, I went back to the library for more reading until it had to close for the evening. Things went smoothly on that front, which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised by the trouble waiting around the corner. 

Just as I started climbing down the stairs that would take me to the Slytherin dorms, something screamed in the back of my head, warning me of danger.

I clumsily dove to the side, smashing my shoulder into the stone wall. The pain was momentarily debilitating, but I had enough awareness to see a streak of red and purple pass where I had been standing.

Heart beating wildly, I looked toward the source of the spell, only to see James Potter’s grinning face, wand in hand.

“Finally got the hang of dodging, Snivellus?” he crowed. “Good! Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for us, would you?”

I didn’t have to consciously project fear and alarm. That really had been close.

The still-grinning boy then gave a two-fingered salute before sauntering off toward another figure I didn’t notice. Black, wavy hair. Tall and slim. Yep, that’s Sirius Black. He wore a near-identical grin to his friend.

“See you around, Snivellus!” he shouted gleefully before both boys walked off.

Staring at the retreating figures, I willed my chest to stop thundering. It didn’t work. Adrenaline still flowed through my veins, and the near-miss had done a number on my mental state. Tremors ran through my limbs, too, causing me to shiver involuntarily.

Getting attacked was unpleasant, but it was the warning that really shattered my calm.

What the hell was that?

Nothing in Snape’s memories indicated some kind of alarm system to inform him of an oncoming spell. He’d been ambushed far too many times by the Marauders for this to be the case.

Did I spontaneously get Spidey-sense or something? That would be ridiculous!

Oh, my mind’s wandering now. Guess I’m more rattled than I thought. Need to focus on something else.

Why did James Potter attack me…? Right. Dumb question. Correction, why did James Potter attack me now, of all times? He’s just got done humiliating me (or more specifically, Snape) the day before! Was this a strike of opportunity or a planned assault? 

In fact, how did he even find – oh, right. The map. But, then, how come I didn’t see – of course. The cloak.

I really gotta start remembering these things. Possessing meta-knowledge is pointless if I can’t use it when it matters.

Not that it would have mattered here, since I didn’t expect to be assaulted. Which, now that I think about it, was incredibly stupid.

This was Hogwarts. I’m in the body of a Slytherin. During the period wherein Voldemort’s reign of terror was gaining steam, thus putting everyone on edge. That I didn’t get pelted with jinxes throughout the day was, by itself, a miracle.

I clearly haven’t been taking my new living conditions seriously enough.

More importantly, I’ll have to practice using magic for self-defense. I don’t think I could have fended off either of them had they pressed the issue. Apparently, this body didn’t come pre-loaded with fight instincts.

But with the school year ending, I won’t be able to. Not without getting into trouble with the authorities.

How the hell was I –

“Severus?”

Looking toward the source of the voice, I almost groaned in despair.

Standing by the foot of the stairs was a young girl with striking blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Wearing standard robes with Slytherin colors and a surprisingly concerned expression was Narcissa Black.

Though she was one of the few people in his house who didn’t treat Snape like used toilet paper, I still found her presence highly unwelcome, agitated as I was.

“Miss Black,” I managed despite my strained nerves.

“I heard a noise. Did something happen?” she asked, and despite my unsettled state, I couldn’t help but note the quality of her voice. 

Clear and precise. Like crystal chimes.

“Potter,” I muttered by way of explanation.

Her eyes widened with comprehension, and she nodded slowly. “I assume my cousin was involved?”

“You would be correct,” I confirmed with a sigh before I started making my way down again. “I’m sorry if the altercation inconvenienced you, Miss Black.”

She lifted her chin in acknowledgement. “It did not. I must also apologise for my cousin’s role in yesterday’s… incident. Such behavior is unbefitting of a scion of House Black.”

I’d reached the bottom by the time she finished speaking, which drew me level with who would have been, and still could be, the mother of Draco Malfoy. Idly, I observed that she was rather tall for a girl her age. As a fellow fifth, going on sixth year, she would have to be sixteen, at the oldest.

But she was only half a head shorter than me, with more time to grow. And Snape’s a pretty tall fella.

“I appreciate and accept your apology, Miss Black.” Refusing to do so would have been a major social faux pas. A daughter of such a prestigious and very traditional family could have said nothing at all. Now that she offered words of appeasement, there was only one acceptable response. “I do not hold Sirius Black’s actions against you or your house.”

“You are too kind,” she demurred appropriately.

Perfect. The encounter was short, to the point, and left no one offended.

Strictly speaking, this entire conversation was more to my detriment than anything else. It would have been a lot better if she had just ignored the commotion and gone on her way.

Which does beg the question of why she’s bothering with this whole thing in the first place. Did Lucius put her up to this? What was she doing out on her own at this hour? Why was she even talking to me? She and Snape weren’t that close.

Asking her any of these questions would likely earn me a good cursing, so I went for the safe option. “I’m heading inside now, Miss Black. Would you like me to see if Lucius is available to escort you? Assuming you’re not returning to the dorms yourself, of course.”

“No!” I was taken aback by how forceful she’d suddenly become. “I mean, that won’t be necessary. I’ve made my own arrangements, and I shouldn’t be out long.”

Yeah, I’m not touching this.

“Very well,” I said. “Then I bid you a good night, Miss Black.”

“Good night, Severus.”

Without another word, I strode toward the wall that hid the Slytherin dormitory. Once I was through, I ignored absolutely everyone and rushed straight to my dorm room. There were only two other occupants when I got there, neither of whom spoke to me, though they did shoot me some side eyes.

By the time my other dormmates arrived, I was lying down on my bed, with the curtains drawn.

It’s been a stressful day, and tomorrow likely won’t be any different. With so much to do and so little time in which to do it, I’ll need to be fully rested. I had a feeling that I’m only beginning to scratch the surface of what exactly this world has in store for me.

Just as I closed my eyes, however, they snapped open again. Almost violently.

Wait…

Narcissa said Severus. 

On the rare occasions the two had cause to talk to each other, it was always Snape. But now, it was suddenly Severus? What changed?

Was it –

You know what? No.

Sleep first. Decipher cryptic feminine behavior later. Preferably, much later.

Chapter 3

It’s a new day in the magical world of Harry Potter, and I do believe I’m starting to get used to it. Well, the disappointment this time was just a twinge compared to yesterday, but whatever.

The point is that I didn’t waste time dwelling on my continued crisis of questioning reality.

Instead, I got up early enough that the sun had only begun to rise and went to the Great Hall for breakfast. As planned, there weren’t a lot of other students around, so I managed to eat in peace. Once the clock struck seven, according to a discreet Tempus, I made my way to the library. 

This time, I cast a wider net. My previous attempt at finding firmer ground led to a better idea as to which topics I should focus on.

While I dearly wanted to invest more hours in looking for a way out of my unexplained predicament, I simply couldn’t. It would be yet another two months before I can access the resources of Hogwarts again, and Snape simply didn’t focus on the subjects that would keep me alive and out of Voldemort’s clutches.

His memories might be useful, but they contain extremely narrow fields of study and interests.

So, I had to fill in the gap, most of which he would have gained through the normal process of growing up. A fifteen-year-old, no matter how brilliant, simply didn’t have the nuanced understanding of politics, law, and history.

A weakness that is, sadly, also present in many adults.

By the time lunch came around, I was on much more stable footing. Still shaky, but what could I expect from a day and a half of research?

In between haphazardly devouring scripts of increasingly dry syllabi, I finally got a handle on the kinds of social interactions I’d have with my housemates. It would have been much sooner, but I made the startling discovery that explained my unusually scatter-brained state.

Hormones.

This body was still growing and damaged though it was, biological functions simply couldn’t be denied. Testosterone is still rampaging throughout my system, which is not at all conducive to clear thinking. 

Fortunately, my awareness of the problem made it much easier to manage. And I started by paying a visit to the Hospital Wing.

When I got there, it was to find rows of empty beds and no Poppy Pomfrey. Crossing the floor, I found a door to the side with a sign indicating that it was her office. It was closed, so I went up to it and knocked lightly.

A soft voice responded for me to enter, so I did.

Inside, I found the school nurse, but she wasn’t alone. With her was Andromeda Black, who looked like a mix between Narcissa and Bellatrix, if Snape’s memories of the eldest sister were to be believed.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude. Should I wait outside, Madame Pomfrey?”

“You’re not intruding,” the school Healer told me. “I was just finishing with Miss Black, here.” Turning back to the girl, she said, “You may go, but don’t forget what we talked about. It’s very important that you follow my instructions.”

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey.” Her voice sounded quite tremulous. Odd to hear coming from the usually composed young woman.

Andromeda rose from her seat and greeted me with a “Snape” as she passed. I returned the greeting with equal formality as I stepped aside. When she had gone, I approached the sole health professional at Hogwarts. A rather strange detail that I’m choosing not to look into as time was short.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Snape?” she asked while indicating for me to sit down.

“I would like a consultation regarding potential remedies for severe malnutrition and repairing the damage caused,” I answered without preamble.

She raised a brow. “Oh? You’re finally taking your health more seriously, I take it?”

I smiled thinly in response. “I do apologise for ignoring your advice on multiple occasions, Madame Pomfrey, and I offer no excuses.”

Her eyes narrowed at my flippant remark before relenting with a nod. “Well, the important thing is that you’re now more willing to listen.”

What followed was a brief but intense rundown of everything that’s wrong with my body, along with strict directives regarding potions, acceptable diet, exercise, and rest. Nothing that I didn’t already know, but still needed confirming.

Before I left, I had to take two concoctions, which tasted like spoiled prune juice and earthy lemongrass, respectively. They left a foul residue in my mouth, but were necessary to make the most of any food I’d be ingesting.

Naturally, that meant finally having lunch at the Slytherin table.

Arriving discreetly behind a small group of older students, I veered to the left as soon as I passed through the wide, double doors. I considered sitting at the very end, but decided against it. My avoidance of people had likely been noted already, but it could still be explained by the recent drama with Lily.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t justify doing so in this setting. Not only would it be a massive change in behavior, but it could also prematurely set the entire house against me.

To that end, I went straight for a gap among the seated members of my usual crowd.

“Rosier, Nott, Denfry,” I greeted the three boys before sitting down.

“Snape!” the one directly across from me exclaimed. Brown-haired and well built, Deveron Rosier was all sarcasm and bravado. “Done with sulking, I see.”

“Oh, leave him be, Dev. Can’t you see he’s mourning his lost love?” The barely suppressed smirk undercut Edward Nott’s reprimand. 

He was a few inches shorter than Rosier, with sandy locks cut short, and a rather impressive set of teeth. This resulted in a protruding jaw that gave him a slightly simian profile.

“But, Ed!” Rosier whined. “He’s been avoiding us! We’re supposed to be friends!”

At this, Nott seemed to reconsider his earlier words. “He’s got a point, Snape. Mighty cold treatment, that.”

In sharp contrast to the two, Nathaniel Denfry merely grunted in agreement beside me. The tallest of our group, the fair-haired kid was built like a barn. His size, combined with his perpetual scowl, only added to his reputation as a mindless brute.

Looked at from the outside, their words might come across as light teasing, but I knew better. These three were basically an extension of those who ruled House Slytherin. A role handed down by older cousins in Lucius Malfoy’s inner circle.

So, they were less my close companions and more like my minders.

As to why Snape would warrant what effectively amounted to assigned playmates, it was simple. His skills in potion-making became obvious from the word go. Paired with Horace Slughorn’s progressively more bombastic praises over the years, the snakes wasted no time in trying to secure his loyalty. 

After all, as head of House Slytherin for many decades and a celebrated potioneer of his own right, the rotund man’s opinions carried a lot of weight in Magical Britain.

To the rest of Hogwarts, Severus Snape might be a greasy nobody, but in the house of ambition, he was a Golden Goose in the making.

Not that he had any issues with the grooming. Indeed, the intense show of interest was basically a source of pride. A sign of esteem instead of exploitation. Not even Lily could sway him from this mindset, and she was pretty loud in expressing her opinions on the matter.

“A temporary development, I assure you.” I threaded the needle between contriteness and aloofness as I began piling food on my plate. “I decided to make a change.”

“A change, eh?” Rosier leaned forward in interest. “What kind?”

“Yes,” Nott mirrored his seatmate, “do tell us, Snape.”

Denfry was a little more subtle, considering that he turned my way while silently chewing, which wasn’t saying much. Suffice it to say, these three were not slick operators at all.

“I mean to take my Potions Mastery as soon as possible,” I told them while visibly suppressing a grin. “Professor Slughorn has been hinting at an apprenticeship for a while now. I’ll discuss it with him tonight.”

Their reactions were well within expectations. Eyes gleaming with interest, fake congratulations, and shooting glances at their older counterparts a few seats away. They tried to weasel more details out of me after that, but they stopped after I told them that there was nothing more to say until I actually spoke with Slughorn.

Once I had my fill, I made my excuses and bade them goodbye, saying that I needed to spend more time at the library. The trio made a half-hearted offer to accompany me, but I waved it away, explaining that I’d likely be reading until dinnertime.

A most revolting concept for most kids their age, so I managed to set out on my own.

I did make sure to keep the Marauders in my line of sight in case they intended another ambush, but thankfully, they were too preoccupied with their fellow Gryffindors to bother with me. As a result, I was able to research in peace for several hours.

Bit by bit, my understanding of magical society, its laws, and its customs was solidifying. The same went for unspoken rules that pertain to different factions split down family and political lines.

Of course, I took everything I’ve read with a grain of salt.

There could be massive differences between what written sources say and what actually is. Local customs, practices, and alliances often shift through the decades. To say nothing of other countries, even if the information came from first-hand sources.

Back home, more than a few deals fell through due to certain missed social cues that were then taken as insults.

I couldn’t afford to let that happen here. Not until I had the personal power to make such concerns irrelevant.

At around six in the evening, I figured it was finally time to pay a visit to Horace Slughorn. I wasn’t sure how long this conversation was going to take or how it would turn out, but I didn’t think it would last longer than an hour.

“Now, dear boy.” The balding man returned to his seat behind the desk after letting me in. “Please, sit. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you so soon! This isn’t about your OWLs performance, is it? I’d be surprised if you didn’t get an Outstanding!”

I smiled at the genial man. “Thank you for your confidence, professor. It means a lot to me. But, no, it’s not about the OWLs.” Taking the offered seat, I continued. “I was simply wondering if you were open to taking me on as an apprentice.” 

Phrasing was important here. Acknowledging the hints was one thing, but taking advantage of offers never directly given would make me look overeager.

“I know it’s early, but I believe that with a Potions Master of your skill and reputation, gaining my Mastery within a few years is more than possible.”

Not too eager, stroking his ego, and speaking with confidence without crossing over to arrogance. My past performance in his class would do quite a bit of heavy lifting to support my case, as well. 

Slughorn leaned his hefty frame into his plush chair with a broad smile. “Well, now! Well, now! I can’t say I haven’t been expecting this. You are a rare talent, my boy! But, if I may,” he regarded me with hooded eyes under bushy brows, “you didn’t seem to be all that interested when we broached the topic before.”

My smile became strained as I gave him a one-word answer. “Lily.”

The bushy brows lifted as he nodded in commiseration. “Yes, I heard about that.” He then wagged a finger at me, looking stern. “Not one of your best moments, Severus. Not at all. You know better than anyone that Lily doesn’t deserve such treatment, least of all from someone who was supposed to be her friend.”

I didn’t even attempt to defend myself. “And I agree with you, professor,” I told him sincerely. “The hurt I caused her will haunt me to the end of my days.”

“And yet you say that you’re pursuing your Mastery for her sake?” he asked skeptically. “You surely don’t believe this is the way to earn her forgiveness?”

“Not at all,” I solemnly denied. “I plan to make amends once the wound isn’t so fresh. Nothing I say or do until then will move her, nor am I capable of making a large enough gesture worthy of Lily, as I am now.” Sighing while shaking my head, I added, “Working towards gaining my Mastery is simply more productive than wallowing in self-pity, and is one step towards making me someone worth forgiving in the future.”

Clasping his hands together, Slughorn leaned on his desk with a look of fondness. “A truly wonderful perspective, my boy. One I can certainly support wholeheartedly.”

Meeting his eyes, I assumed a hopeful look. “Does that mean…?”

He let out a merry chuckle. “Yes, yes, Severus. I will take you as my apprentice.”

This time, the smile I gave him wasn’t entirely artificial. “You won’t regret this, professor. I promise.”

“Oh, no need for that! I know you’ll make me proud!”

Well, that’s one thing I can cross off my list. A thousand more to go. 

Speaking of which.

“Professor, I know you’re already doing so much for me. But, I was wondering if…”

Lying down on my bed that night, I thought back to the past few hours. Dinner was a tense affair for me, but it was necessary to avoid yet another meeting with James Potter and his gang of hooligans. And as it was the first leaving feast that I actually experienced, the whole thing was novel enough to register in my mind.

Ravenclaw won the House Cup, there was a larger variety of food items, and the conversations were quite lighthearted. Even in our corner of the Great Hall, the usual plotting and scheming were put off in favor of banter and friendly chatter.

When the feast ended, I accompanied my housemates back to the dorm, since I was essentially done with my research.

Turning in for the night was preceded by some inane conversations about what the other boys would be doing during summer break. I contributed where I could but listened more than I spoke. Hidden among the boasts of travels abroad and upper-class gatherings were hints of darker plans. Well, I say hints, but they were almost daring each other to reveal more and more explicit details about whatever they were told to keep secret.

“Well, my father is taking me to a rather important meeting with a powerful benefactor.”

“Truly? What a coincidence, so is mine!”

“Lord Lestrange had sent us a special invitation, my mother told me in a letter.”

Whether they came from wealthy backgrounds or not, boys would always want to one-up each other, it seems. Thankfully, my curiously peripheral position among my peers precluded me from participating. So, I just soaked in everything they let slip.

Nothing they said was surprising, but a few were quite illuminating.

As a casual reader and movie-goer, I didn’t have nearly the deep knowledge of the lore surrounding this intellectual property as dedicated Potterheads. So, anything beyond the main canon timeline is worth paying attention to.

More importantly, it gave me a rough idea of exactly how far along Voldemort was in his planned war.

From the sounds of it, he was now gathering support from less prominent families. The Malfoys, Lestranges, and Notts are obviously in his orbit now. Might have been for a while. But more wands mean more power, and there were no shortages of prejudiced, inbred idiots to choose from.

Maintaining my standing within Slytherin gives me a modicum of safety, and becoming Slughorn’s apprentice gave me a viable exit strategy. Securing such a prestigious position also increases my inherent value while giving me an excuse to focus on academics. After all, having a young Potions Master in their pocket is more valuable to the purebloods than another thug causing fear and mayhem. 

In short, it shored up a lot of my vulnerabilities while visibly making me a more appealing prospect for recruitment.

This then opens a lot more doors for me, which is more important than ever due to my continued failure in finding a way home.

At this rate, the Restricted Section might just be the most promising avenue for answers. Yet another advantage to getting Slughorn’s personal tutelage, since access is normally reserved for staff or advanced students. Unfortunately, that will have to wait until the start of my sixth year.

So, for the short term, my main concerns will be staying alive, practicing my magic without running afoul of the Trace, and finding a source of income. The last topic of conversation I had with Slughorn covered two out of three.

With him already committed to seeing me thrive, asking for his help in finding a well-paying summer job was no hardship. Dropping clues about my treatment at the hands of Tobias just about demolished whatever resistance he had left to the idea.

My small savings should be enough for a week’s stay at The Leaky Cauldron. Once I start at the apothecary owned by Slughorn’s acquaintance, the weekly wages will keep me afloat until the next school year.

On top of all of that, being in a magical area will allow me to cast spells without getting into trouble, as long as I do it in private. It won’t allow me to train in magical combat, but it won’t leave me helpless, either. Having a better idea of everything that I can do will help with practical applications later.

What’s more, with the mundane world just a door away, I would have access to fitness centers and roads where jogging isn’t considered uncouth.

I wasn’t entirely sure what witches and wizards had against exercise. Snape only knew that they despised unnecessary physical exertion of any kind, with Quidditch being a rare exception. Of the few instances when he did see them running around (more often than not to chase an unfortunate victim), their stamina left much to be desired.

Whatever the justification, I knew for a fact that most of my peers would be left wheezing by prolonged engagements. Not that this body was any better, poorly maintained as it is. So, until I reach the point where I could end any fight in a matter of seconds, conditioning would be worth adding to my arsenal.

All in all, I had done absolutely everything I possibly could in the short amount of time I had at Hogwarts.

I deliberately left some mysteries unsolved, simply because I had to prioritize my immediate survival. Narcissa, Andromeda, Lucius, the danger sense that Snape definitely didn’t have, all of that had to be put on the backburner.

They presented varying levels of dangers and opportunities, but none that I could immediately take advantage of.

Tomorrow, I will depart via the Express. It will involve spending several hours in narrow, confined spaces. With this being the case, avoiding interactions with other people who might know (and more importantly, despise) Snape, would be a tall task.

I planned to find a compartment with my ‘friends’ as fast as possible and only leave when it was time to disembark.

Was it cowardly? Yes. 

Was it smart? Absolutely. 

Was it sustainable? It didn’t need to be.

By summer’s end, I’ll be in a position where, if anyone were ever to push, I’d be able to push back with considerably more force. The only fights worth getting into are fights I could end on my terms.

Chapter 4

Looking out through the window at the fast-moving landscapes, I brooded over how annoying the morning had been while half-listening to the chatter of my three companions. Packing was easy enough thanks to a judicious application of magic, and Snape knew the Shrinking Charm.

On the way to the train, however, I had to navigate a stressful series of social interactions. Farewells needed to be said, even to those who hardly ever spoke to me. Last-minute jeers and mockery from the Gryffindors had to be endured. And wistful glances from Lily had to be ignored, along with pointed looks from the Marauders.

But, those were juvenile concerns compared to meeting the Thestrals.

I won’t deny that I had completely forgotten about these skeletal hybrids of horse, bat, and reptile. So, the sight of them nearly made me stumble.

Fortunately, my little group wasn’t observant enough to notice the brief stutter in my steps, and I had enough self-control to pretend that the creatures were still invisible. Just before boarding the carriages, however, I took a few seconds to observe the other students.

No one openly gawked at the unsettling animals, but I did notice a few giving them subtle glances.

There wasn’t enough time for me to confirm anything before I had to get on, but it did give me another hint as to the true state of the current generation. Cruel and vindictive as the Slytherins might be, none of them showed signs of seeing the Thestrals. 

At least, none as far as I could tell.

For all I knew, they could just be really good at masking their thoughts. A possibility that I couldn’t completely discount.

In the end, it might mean absolutely nothing. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking that some of these kids aren’t too far gone. Then I remembered what would be happening this summer, and that faint hope was snuffed out before it could come to life.

Ultimately, my ability to influence people, events, and choices was negligible. Right now, the only fate I can control is my own. What others do before that changes is out of my hands, particularly those who would be leaving Hogwarts for good.

Believing otherwise would only cause me grief, and I really couldn’t afford to wallow in wishful thinking.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past hour, since the train left the station. It’s just my luck that the absence of a compelling distraction is keeping me locked in a mental cycle of what-ifs, annoyance, self-arguments, and more what-ifs.

My reasoning for non-interference for the moment was sound, but my brain seems intent on finding every illogical scenario in which I can act without immediately jeopardizing my safety.

It was ridiculous!

One part of me attributed this senseless need to go around in circles to my body’s ongoing development. Another blames the current clash of sensibilities going on in my head.

At Hogwarts, this was easy enough to ignore with so many things to take up my attention. But now that I have time to just think, it’s like I’m being pulled in so many directions at once. And not all of them led to anything even remotely useful, with some being downright dangerous.

Honestly, what would be the point of apologizing to Lily again? Or cursing James Potter’s stupid face? Or confessing everything to Dumbledore? Or poisoning all of House Slytherin?

I could try rationalizing those thoughts all I wanted, but they were simply unjustifiable.

For a moment, I considered whether there really was some of Snape that remained in this body, but nope. All of these ideas are coming from a mind that had yet to truly grasp such unimportant concepts as long-term consequences.

Brains, particularly the frontal lobe, don’t stop developing until the age of 32. I know this because team leadership required specific training on handling younger subordinates.

Few things could be more detrimental to a project’s success than overly emotional employees who believe that they are grown adults. So, any roles or tasks assigned to them had to be carefully… managed.

With this body not even sixteen yet, is it any wonder that its former owner was prone to making bad decisions?

I was brought out of my thoughts by someone saying my name.

Looking around, I saw Rosier and Denfry by a cart full of snacks and Nott looking at me expectantly. “Apologies, I was lost in thought. Could you repeat that?”

Nott rolled his eyes. “I asked if you want anything from the trolley.”

On the one hand, yes, I did. On the other hand, I couldn’t afford to waste a single Knut right now.

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

That drew a curious look from the three. “You sure, Snape?” Rosier asked.

“I am,” was all I said before turning away to look out the window again.

Partly to end the conversation and partly to disguise my annoyed frown. Did I seriously just let my guard down around a bunch of potential dark wizards? It’s clear that being shoved into Snape’s scrawny form came with a lot more downsides than I could have possibly imagined.

Granted, they were unlikely to hurt me, given both their relative youth and assigned roles. But to become so distracted that I didn’t even notice the snack trolley? If that had been someone intent on causing harm, I would have been a red smear without even noticing.

Bringing all of my will to bear, I wrestled the various immature impulses into submission and focused on my immediate vicinity.

For the next few hours, I forced myself to remain in the present. The conversations were dull, the games repetitive, and the company insufferable. But I did it. I did it despite the thoughts trying to buck my control. Despite feeling my grey matter almost actively rebelling against being compelled to run on just one track.

An image of a hyperactive baboon, hopped up on caffeine, and strapped to a hospital table fleetingly popped into my head before disappearing just as quickly.

By the time we arrived in London, I couldn’t even bring myself to feel grateful that nothing disastrous happened on the train. Drained and just so done with this day, I shambled out of the Hogwarts Express.

It was right after I parted ways with the trio, when I could just about delude myself that I was on my way to freedom, that fate decided to be a bitch. Crossing through the barrier that led to King’s Cross, I almost ran straight into a group of four people.

Now, this normally wouldn’t be an issue.

King’s Cross is a train station, folks run into other folks all the time. Unfortunately, this specific group was composed of people who could very well blow my cover. There was the middle-aged couple, a young woman with blonde hair who looked almost alarmingly thin, and a beautiful redhead with green eyes.

Oh, God dammit!

Before I could process this turn of events or come up with a way to avert the oncoming catastrophe, Marie Evans beat me to the punch.

“Severus!” she greeted with a bright smile, coming forward to give me a warm hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!” I could only blink and follow stiffly as she disengaged from the hug and dragged me to her family, chatting along the way. “Lily said that you wouldn’t be coming with us today. Is this true? We don’t want to presume, of course, but it would be a shame to break with tradition!”

“Oh, leave the lad be, Marie.” Jonathan Evans chuckled at his wife’s antics. “Lils says he has plans. Growing boys need to spread their wings, you know?” He then taps me on the shoulder good-naturedly. “It’s good to see you again, Severus. You’ve grown taller!”

Finally managing to get my tongue unstuck, I replied as best as my tired mind would allow. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Evans, Mrs. Evans. I’m afraid Lily is correct. I’ve made prior arrangements that I simply couldn’t reschedule.”

I was about to say more, but two derisive snorts came from two different sources. One was Petunia, but the other was the angry ginger giving me a withering glare. But, whereas the older sister was content to show her contempt non-verbally, Lily wasn’t quite so restrained.

“More like you don’t want to,” she hissed.

“Lily!” Marie admonished. “You’re acting childish.”

“But, mum –”

“Severus can have plans of his own, young lady. He can’t spend all his time with you.”

Conscious of where we were and seeing Lily’s face twisting in outrage, I decided to step in. I’ve seen what happens when the girl’s temper crosses a certain threshold from Snape’s memories, and I didn’t need a live demonstration.

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Evans,” I said in a placating tone. “Lily is right to be angry with me. I haven’t been a very good friend recently. Unfortunately, I really do have to run. I still have a prior appointment to keep.”

“Of course, dear.” The older woman decided to tap gently on the cheek. “Do come around when you can, Severus. You’re always welcome.”

“Quite right,” Jonathan added. “It’d be good to have another bloke at the house again. With Lils home, I’m outnumbered three to one!”

How the hell is this happening? Why am I getting invited to the Evans house? Aren’t I supposed to be persona non grata, right now?

Absolutely straining to keep a polite smile on my face, I hastened to reply, if only so I could finally leave. “I will be sure to stop by. Thank you, Mrs. Evans, Mr. Evans.” 

Then, turning to the blonde, I said, “It was good to see you again, Petunia.” I knew I messed up the moment her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in shock.

Ready to just be done with this exchange, I finished with, “Goodbye, Lily.”

Oh, look. A confused and suspicious frown. There’s no way that won’t bite me in the ass later. At least she’s staying quiet.

“Goodbye, Severus.”

“Take care of yourself, lad.”

With a last smile and nod, I proceeded on my way. I didn’t look back or think about how much that conversation took out of me or what might be going on in the mind of a certain brilliant witch. 

Perhaps it was my pubescent mind again, but I couldn’t help but consider this day a bit of a disaster.

After basically stumbling into The Leaky Cauldron to book a cheap room, I conked out. That alone shows just how exhausted I really was. With a fresh perspective, I can trace what caused my numerous lapses to one thing: potions.

Well, to be more specific, the potions that Madame Pomfrey gave me.

With the benefit of hindsight, I should have clocked that tidbit from the start. She explained exactly what they were meant to do, but I had made assumptions, again.

I knew that malnutrition is fixed by eating more and better food with the right nutrients. But it’s not that simple. A quick check on the instructions I was given shed light on a connection I either didn’t understand or completely glossed over.

The body needed rest so that it could use those nutrients to fix whatever’s wrong with it.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem. As was becoming increasingly apparent, however, I’ve been making decisions based on data that doesn’t quite fit my current situation.

I’ve essentially been forcing this mind and body to do things it wasn’t meant to do.

Long periods of study and extended analysis that lasted hours were one thing. But to maintain rigid focus when all the mind wants to do is wander? Not something I should’ve done when the potions were already supercharging my metabolism and nutrient absorption.  

Throw in an extremely stressful encounter when I was already running on fumes, and, inevitably, I wouldn’t be at my best.

Rather than stewing on my mistakes, however, I decided to focus on the positives.

My cover is still intact, I didn’t make things worse with Lily, and I’ll be meeting with my prospective employer later today. Until I land that job, I won’t concern myself with anything else, especially as Slughorn stressed that I would be earning it by my own merits.

So, with a potential screening/interview occurring in a few hours, I made my way to the dining area while carrying a few Potions and Herbology books.

Upon arriving, I saw Tom at the bar. Toothless and bald, he gave a welcoming smile at my approach.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

“As the dead,” I told him with a smile of my own. “Thank you for asking. What are your options for breakfast?”

I ended up going for a Full English, since it wasn’t that expensive. From there, I chose a secluded corner and started reviewing – or revising, as I should start calling it now. It was definitely the right choice since, even though I retained the information, the refresher uncovered details that the real Snape took for granted.

Backtracking revealed just how much of a prodigy the kid really was, and reasoning out why he would skip certain steps or add new ones took me down the rabbit hole of his psyche.

It’s the classic case of young geniuses making intuitive leaps that even they don’t completely understand and make sense to no one but themselves. No wonder he had such trouble teaching others when he became a Potions professor. Then again, how hard did he even try?

Shaking off the stray thought, I checked the time with a discreet Tempus under the table. It was lunchtime.

After making another order with Tom, I settled down for two more hours of revising. Time well-spent, as far as I was concerned. Regardless of how this appointment goes, the preparations did wonders for my confidence.

Twenty minutes before my scheduled meeting, I was through the brick arch that led to Diagon Alley.

Weaving through the crowded, cobbled street, I made my way deeper into Magical Britain’s shopping center. The Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, was visible further back, towering over the other shops. 

My destination was near the goblin-run institution, so I had a good view of its smooth, intricately designed facade. Whatever else one may say about the little critters, they knew how to build pretty.

Coming up to a green door with fading paint, I glanced at the sign: The Dried Rowan. 

Displayed behind glass windows were jars of various roots, leaves, sprigs, barks, and preserved animal parts. Classic apothecary fare, essentially.

I took a moment to breathe in and out before opening the door, a ringing bell announcing my presence. Once inside, I was immediately assaulted by a multitude of aromas. Had this body not been used to handling all kinds of exotic ingredients, I might have sneezed.

As it was, I merely wrinkled my nose and looked around.

I expected someone to be behind the counter. Instead, it was empty.

“Hello?” I called out.

After a moment, a voice echoed from somewhere I couldn’t quite place.

“Just a mo’!”

It was husky, deep, but unmistakably feminine. Much younger than I expected, as well. Further musings on the matter were cut off by the sound of boots stomping up a set of stairs. 

Behind the counter emerged a head of copper hair tied in a ponytail, framing a pale face and startlingly blue eyes. It was quickly followed by a slim form clothed in a wool blouse and pants under a leather apron, with thick gloves tucked into the waist strap.

Okay, this is definitely not what I expected.

“Good afternoon,” I said as I stepped closer to the counter. “I’m looking for a Rowan Michaels. Would they happen to be in?”

A delicate eyebrow quirked at my question. “That’d be me,” she said in an accent that was a strange mix of Welsh and Irish. Cornish? “I take it yer the welp Sluggy sent me way?”

Instead of further contemplating how this woman kept surprising me, I sent her a wry smile. My previous line of work put me in contact with all kinds of characters. I knew the difference between false irreverence to get a reaction and those who truly did not give a rat’s ass. 

By the way she spoke, moved, and held herself, she was the latter.

“That would be correct, Miss Michaels. Severus Snape, at your service.” 

There was no need to say anything else. If she needed to know something, she’d ask. And she did.

Moving around the counter, she went to a stack of boxes in the corner of the store. “Yer in fifth year, aye?” The words were spoken as she picked up what looked like a list or a manifest.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

With that one-word answer, she finally looked up and met my calm gaze with narrowed eyes. “And ye think ye can work at me shop when’d ya naht’ve even finished schooling?”

“Enough to assist,” I told her. “With your guidance, eventually enough to give you a breather.”

From just a cursory observation, I could already tell that she knows what she’s doing. The shop was clean and organized, her outfit was sufficiently protective, and the items were in pristine condition. So, there was only one reason why someone like her would accept help.

“Ye think ah need a breather, do ye?”

I had a feeling that she was used to people shrinking at her challenging glare, causing them to miss the message entirely.

“Everyone needs a breather.” I shrugged. “Busy shop owners more than most.”

She held the cold look for another second before reading the manifest, again. “Sluggy vouches for ye, says yer a canny Potions Princess. Are ye?”

“I’m a competent brewer,” I told her without missing a beat. “But I still have much to learn.”

For about half a minute, the only sound in the shop was the crinkling of parchments. Eventually, she nodded, placed the list down, and walked up to me. Idly, I noted that she was about two inches shorter than I was.

“Ye start in the morn,” she said. “Be here at eight. Ye’ll be stayin’ ‘til five. Do as yer told, touch nothin’ I’ve not told ye tah touch. A week tah start. Then we’ll see. Aye?”

“Agreed.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “Off wityah then.”

“Until tomorrow,” I said before making for the door. 

Once outside, I breathed out a sigh of relief. Not the most difficult person I’ve ever spoken to, but this body’s responses are still all over the place. I’ll have to do more breathing exercises going forward.

Setting off to The Leaky Cauldron, I contemplated my new employer.

Dealing with personalities like hers is basically like riding lightning. You always go for the path of least resistance and ground them when you can.

On the plus side, she’ll be more likely to leave me alone once I’ve proven that I can handle whatever job she assigns. Much better than bosses who tend to hover and lurk. Trying to please her won’t work, though, so I’m not even going to try.

It was as I was passing by Tom, greeting him in the process, that I thought of my earlier review session.

The questions might not have been academic, but they did test my grit. I have a feeling that Rowan will put me through my paces tomorrow.

Chapter 5

In the week since I started working at the apothecary, Rowan proved my assessment of her right on the money. She was blunt, neurotic, and curt. Exactly the kind of person that would drive away anyone with skin thinner than boiled leather, which was pretty much most people.

Though detailed and precise, she doesn’t give instructions more than once.

Her expectations with regard to employee competence are also incredibly unrealistic. If my familiarity with herbs and fungi wasn’t already unreasonably advanced, I’d have been thrown out on my ass before I was halfway through my first shift.

By the third day, I came to the conclusion that Slughorn knew exactly who he was pairing me with, though I’m not entirely certain why until I sent him a letter. The asshole outright admitted that he knew about Rowan’s personality issues and thought that I would learn much from working with her.

With her, not for her.

A rather interesting way to put my arrangement with the woman who, as far as I’ve been able to tell, was hardly older than me. Early twenties, at the most, not that I dare to ask.

To be fair, she didn’t actually treat me like an employee that she could boss around, even if that was implicitly what I signed up for. Well, not after the first day, anyway. If anything, it was almost like we were lab partners, where I had my share of tasks while she had hers.

Coming from someone who worked in a sector where clear hierarchies were commonplace, it was pretty bizarre.

On the job itself, it’s actually quite straightforward. Prepare ingredients for customers, brew simple potions, make sure everything is stored properly – rinse and repeat.

This wasn’t to say that it was easy. If Snape had been any less of a potions prodigy, I’d be making mistakes left and right. Rowan clearly expected me to screw up, if her watchfulness during the first few days was any indication.

Slughorn mentioned that the store was once owned by her father, who passed away two years prior, and she’d been running it ever since. That’s about as much as he was willing to say on the matter, though, hinting that if I wanted to know more, I’d have to bring it up with Rowan.

No, thanks.

A week of acquaintance in what was supposed to be a professional setting was not enough to touch on such personal matters. I’ve seen more than my fair share of workplace drama to ever want to spark one of my own accord.

Speaking of personal issues, I thought it was interesting that the Potions professor never brought up my living conditions. I didn’t exactly try to keep it a secret that I wasn’t staying at Spinner’s End.

Well, if he wasn’t going to bring it up, then neither was I. All for the best, really.

The Leaky Cauldron might not be a five-star establishment, but it met my needs adequately. Having access to three meals a day has already had a profound impact on my health, helped along by the potions that I was still taking.

Potions that I could brew on my own, by the way, and for which the ingredients were available at my place of work. 

That’s where the good news ended, though.

Getting into shape has proven remarkably more challenging than I first thought. I could hardly jog a mile before my lungs burned, and my legs started protesting. My pace wasn’t even that fast, and the terrain was flat.

I can already imagine the struggle when I have to run uphill.

And I still have yet to add resistance training, too. Never mind pullups. Even simple pushups were probably going to be a nightmare.

Bumming me out even more is the news.

Since Hogwarts ended, two people have been reported missing in The Daily Prophet, both ministry workers. A Muggle home was apparently burned down with a fire spell that the Aurors couldn’t identify. More importantly, negative sentiments against Muggleborns are growing, with unconfirmed rumors of attacks on isolated individuals.

Things are only going to get worse from here on out.

I could only be thankful that I had a job to keep me occupied. And, if I wasn’t there, I was practicing magic in the privacy of my room. 

Much like I was doing now.

Having been at this for several days, I had already gone through most spells up to the fourth year. I could cast all of them nonverbally and without a wand, and I was fairly sure the same would be true for the ones I learned in fifth year.

So, tonight, I decided to try something different.

I’d been putting this off since I wasn’t sure if using magic of the darker variety could be detected. But, after spending a few nights browsing books on advanced magical theory at Flourish and Blotts before they closed, I can confirm that it couldn’t. 

At least, not without specialized wards that wouldn’t be practical for such a building that sees as much traffic as The Leaky Cauldron. The purebloods simply wouldn’t allow it.

With my paranoia satisfied, I stood facing a large, burlap sack stuffed with clay the size of a man’s torso. It was placed on a chair in the middle of the room, and behind it was the mattress that I had been sleeping on. Now, this wasn’t the safest way to conduct a test. A test that wasn’t strictly necessary, I would add.

I could already cast the Disarming and Stunning Charms wandlessly, so it wasn’t like I was helpless.

Unfortunately, my teenage brain wouldn’t calm down since I read the news of the attacks and disappearances. And ignoring it would cost me something, whether in sleepless nights or jitters while at work.

What I’m doing is basically choosing the least bad option, and one that I at least have some control over. Not to mention that I’ll be using a spell of my own invention. Or Snape’s invention. Or… would have been his invention, since he apparently hadn’t made it yet.

Whatever. The point is that I’ll be using Sectumsempra, which is undoubtedly a dark curse.

Deciding that I’ve delayed for long enough, I raised my wand and aimed it at the burlap sack. Noticing the tip wavering a bit, I tightened my grip on the piece of wood and gritted my teeth. This was just a test, and I wasn’t aiming at a person. 

If I ever have to use this in a fight, then things have really gone to shit, and I’ll have bigger problems.

Breathing in a calming breath, I centered myself and visualized the spell’s effect. This curse is meant to slash at a target, and with that thought firmly in mind, I intoned.

“Sectumsempra.”

The result was immediate. A deep gash appeared on the rough fibers and into the packed clay underneath.

Stepping up for a closer examination, I measured the wound channel at roughly two inches deep. Checking the immediate surroundings, I didn’t see damage on the floor, the chair, or the mattress.

Good. It only cuts what I want it to cut.

Returning to my previous position, I took aim at the target again. This time, I’ll be trying to cast the curse nonverbally. This is where I encountered my first real stumbling block.

While it did work eventually, the strain involved was considerable. It was as if there was some force actively stopping me from casting the curse. No, that didn’t feel right.

It was more like something was helping me with the other spells, but it stopped doing so with this one.

Acting on a hunch, I tried casting Sectumsempra again, but this time, nonverbally. Yet, after spending nearly half an hour on it, the curse never materialized. Making matters worse, or better, depending on one’s perspective, it felt like the strain had increased exponentially.

This would require more testing before I can draw a conclusion.

But, I couldn’t shake the premonition that I already knew what I’d find.

And I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Three weeks into summer vacation. 

Three weeks of working with Rowan, who never bothered to say whether I passed my probation, so I just kept coming back, and she didn’t object. Someone really needs to teach the woman how to communicate, but it wasn’t going to be me.

Despite her brusque personality, we actually work well together.

She’s been trusting me with more and more delicate tasks, which include preserving magical plants and beast parts. Fun fact: all eyeballs are treated at three stages, regardless of where they came from. And before they can be used, they go through these same three stages, but in reverse.

Why? I don’t know.

All I know is that it’s gross, messy, and smelly work that requires three showers for me to finally feel clean. Fortunately, I’ve only had to do it twice, so far.

Yesterday was the second time, so today shouldn’t be too difficult.

I immediately cursed myself for thinking that when Rowan greeted me with an unusual assignment.

Blinking at the woman busy fussing with newly delivered boxes, I asked for clarification for the first time since I started working for her. “Why exactly are you sending me to meet with your suppliers, Miss Michaels? I haven’t been here a month.”

Left unsaid were the countless other reasons why this would be a bad idea. She was likely already aware of them.

“Quit playin’ the fool,” she snapped without looking up from her task of retrieving jars from a container full of straw. “Ye know damn well why.”

“Humor me,” I said flatly.

I honestly didn’t expect to get sent anywhere when I asked for this job. At most, I anticipated having to mind the apothecary on my own while Rowan was out. I’ve had to do this several times, in fact.

So, even with her unconventional approach to managing employees, this was a bit much. Hence, my mild pushback.

At my question, she straightened up to face me with a frown on her face. It was at this moment that it struck me how expressionless she usually was. More importantly, I took note of how the change made her look, dare I say it… endearing.

She wasn’t quite pouting, but it was disconcertingly close.

That she was a conventionally attractive young woman didn’t escape my notice, of course. However, even before I ended up in this messed-up situation, I took pride in my ability to maintain professional decorum in any given circumstance. Physical appearance was only ever one factor out of many that I would take into consideration.

“Ye said ye’d give me breathin’ room.” Her tone was almost accusatory.

Oh, for the love of… 

She’s using me as an errand boy because she doesn’t want to go out. I’m not sure how I missed it this whole time, but Rowan Michaels has Social Anxiety Disorder. 

Thinking back on the times when she came back from meeting with suppliers or even receiving deliveries only made me want to smack myself even more.

Rowan would have pursed lips, pinched brows, and stiff shoulders every time. Has becoming Snape really dulled my awareness to such an atrocious extent? Keeping track of these things under high-pressure settings used to be my whole job. Yet, I’ve been caught with my pants down several times now.

And even if I do have a lot going on, I’ve spent nearly every day with her for the past few weeks. Such an oversight was simply unacceptable.

“But all the way to… the Americas?” I caught myself, just in time. Apparently, they don’t call it the US here.

She waved away my concern, as if crossing the Atlantic wasn’t a big deal. “Ye’ll be takin’ a Portkey. It ought not take more’n a day.”

“I see.” Truthfully, my questions were more to get more details than for refusal. After all, even for witches and wizards, international travel couldn’t be done on a whim. “And I’m allowed to simply leave the country on such short notice?”

Rowan huffed, actually huffed, before going to the counter and retrieving pieces of parchment from a drawer. She then marched back to me, hand outstretched, with the frown still on her face.

“Me shop has travel permits,” she said. “Ye work for me, so permission includes ye too.”

Taking the documents, I looked them over and, yes, it was exactly as she said. My mind rebelled against the ease with which these people can just go anywhere. Nonmagical travel required passports, visas, booking flights, and so on. And yet, here, all they needed was a piece of dried animal skin?

I kept my incredulity to myself and simply nodded. “Very well. When do I leave?”

“Now,” she said.

And before the shock could even register in my head, I felt something yank me from my navel. In the next moment, I was eating dirt.

Groaning from the impact, I was only able to register that I had, indeed, fallen on my face before I heard an amused voice.

“First time, son?”

The round of chuckles, laughter, and guffaws that followed was the topping on this shit sandwich.

Dignity in tatters, I proceeded to follow one Jacob Mackenzie as he gave me a tour of his farm. A well-built man in his 50s, sporting a thick but impressively well-groomed beard, the American wizard apparently owned one of the largest magical rearing and processing enterprises in the world.

His farmhands, who got a kick out of my humiliation, were busy preparing everything that Rowan ordered. It was taking a while, though, hence the tour.

Was I annoyed that I was sent halfway across the world without preparation? Yes. Yes, I was.

Did I have to fight down the instinctive bodily response of blushing in embarrassment? Yes. Yes, I did.

Am I going to ream my boss for this blatant workplace violation? You bet your ass, I will.

Had I been this body’s actual age, Rowan’s thoughtless act would have constituted a gross abuse of power. It still did. Even now, I’m actively keeping a lid on my rising temper by calling on every scrap of professionalism in my bones.

“Over there, you’ll see the curing vats.” Jacob pointed toward huge, wooden tubs. “That’s where the hides, fur, and wool are treated. Wouldn’t go near them, though. They smell to high heaven, and the stink tends to stick to your skin if you get too close.”

I nodded along as he spoke, genuinely intrigued by everything they were doing here. Located in the heart of Georgia, the farm apparently handled everything from food to cosmetic items. While not at all comparable to industrial plants of even this era, the equipment and methodology weren’t medieval, either.

Dominating the horizon was the ancient Southern Appalachian range, thick clouds swirling right at the top. Several times, I saw magical creatures of all kinds freely grazing or walking around the plains and meadows that almost looked artificial from a distance.

In this brief tour alone, I was shown large terrariums, arboretums, and aviaries, which house valuable insects, reptiles, plants, fungi, and birds.

Not knowing enough about this system, I couldn’t tell how well they were treated. The critters didn’t seem particularly unhealthy, nor were they showing signs typical of animals in captivity. But I wasn’t sure how those signs would be relevant in judging the care they received, in the first place.

For all the uncertainties I harbored, it was clear that business was booming.

Much like in Britain, the American magical society was about a century behind its mundane counterpart. Unlike the British, the folks here seem a lot more open and easygoing.

Their work clothes were practical and protective, for example. Not the flannel-jeans combo ubiquitous in the American Midwest, but loose-fitting shirts and pants made of heavy cotton. The buildings were made of logs and bricks. And the workers were cheerfully chatting with each other as they carried on with their tasks.

In contrast, the shopkeepers and staff in Diagon Alley were a lot more closed off. Not rude or grumpy, with a few exceptions, but certainly not having as much fun as these people.

Was this just a cultural difference? I wasn’t sure, and likely wouldn’t be any time soon.

As we arrived at the loading area, I started checking the containers before they were sealed. In addition to the travel permits, the stack of parchment that Rowan gave me included the manifest. By the time I ticked the last item, the sundown had nearly dropped behind the mist-shrouded mountains.

“Everything there?” Jacob asked.

“Yes,” I said. “All items accounted for. Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie. And sorry again about my undignified landing.”

The man rumbled in laughter. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Happens to everyone, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“I will keep that in mind,” I replied before something occurred to me, and I had to ask. “Mr. Mackenzie, would I be right in assuming that you have clients in other countries, aside from Britain?”

“We get around,” he said with a wry smile behind his beard. “Why, interested in signing up? Not about to poach you from Rowan, kid.”

Recognizing the joke for what it was, I simply chuckled. “Miss Michaels has been a dream employer.” Which was true, despite today’s ill-done send-off. “However, I will be working towards my Potions Mastery when I return to Hogwarts. As such, I will likely need sources of rare ingredients in the future.”

Jacob scratched his hairy chin in thought. “Can’t you just go to your boss for something like that? The girl’s been at this since her pa died, and she’s quite a bit closer.”

I gave a theatrical sigh. “I have a feeling that Miss Michaels will be sending me for these delivery runs in the future.”

As I hoped, a hum of understanding came with his reply. “Ah, yeah, the girl does get a bit squirrely around folks, doesn’t she?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment on that,” I demurred.

Jacob chortled. “Rowan’s finally got herself a good one. Tell you what, kid. You keep on helping her, and I’ll see about getting you in touch with other suppliers and customers. Deal?”

“Agreed.” 

Both my voice and hands were steady as we shook on it, but inside, I was ready to throw a party. The day might have started badly, but Rowan just did me a huge favor. When I finally left, I was so happy that I almost forgot about my annoyance at her reckless decision to send me out without adequate warning or preparation.

Almost.

Oh, she’ll still get a talking to. I was just going to be less mean about it.

Chapter 6

Portkey travel was still the Devil’s invention, but being prepared made a huge difference in the transition. For example, instead of falling flat on my face, I merely stumbled before I caught myself.

A huge improvement, if I do say so myself.

My heart rate hadn’t gone down yet before Rowan’s voice made it spike again.

“Yer back,” she said as she climbed down a stairway. “Everythin’ there? Nothin’ lost along the way?”

It took me a moment to realize I had been deposited in the shop’s basement storeroom, along with the boxes and crates I was sent to get. It then took me another moment to answer due to the lingering nausea, slow adjustment to trans-Atlantic teleportation, and my annoyance with the woman.

“All items accounted for,” I told her, handing over the manifest. “No damage to the containers, and Mr. Mackenzie ensured that the storage and preservation charms were cast correctly.”

Rowan nodded absently as she scanned the parchment. It didn’t take her long to go through the list.

“Brill. Should last the year, enough ah’ll not need tah send ye fer another run. We’ll be sortin’ this lot for the day.”

I cleared my throat before she could say anything else. “Miss Michaels, a moment.” Rowan stopped and regarded me expectantly. “If we are to continue working together, we need to discuss my rather abrupt travel arrangements this morning.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, then speak.”

“In the future, I would appreciate advance notice should you send me on any errand beyond London,” I told her, not looking away from those sharp blue eyes. “My time under your employ has been enjoyable, thus far, but I will draw the line at being unceremoniously tossed halfway around the world without so much as a by your leave.”

Rowan’s face became wooden as I spoke, an expression that would have indicated anger, if one didn’t take her potential social anxiety into account. There is every chance that I’m misreading the situation, but experience has given me something of a sixth sense for these things.

Searching her facial expressions and body language for clues, I continued. “I’m here to make your life easier, Miss Michaels. Unpleasant surprises won’t help me do that, and neither will any violation of my personal autonomy as your employee.” 

There is no substitute for long-term clinical diagnosis of these kinds of behavioral issues, but telling signs can still prove useful for anyone who pays attention. Case in point, Rowan’s initial stiffening was giving way to fidgeting, and her complexion was turning pale.

If she were sitting on the other side of a negotiating table, I’d press my advantage and squeeze her for everything she was worth. But she’s not, so I won’t.

“All I ask is to be informed before I’m sent, Miss Michaels,” I said. Prolonging this line of conversation would only make things worse, not better. So, instead of waiting for a response, I made a suggestion. “With that out of the way, should we begin with the dried fungi? I can carry them up while you keep track, if that’s all right with you?”

Her response was a wordless nod, and for the rest of the day, we worked mostly in silence. During that time, I made sure to give her plenty of space and only spoke when necessary. As a result, it didn’t take her more than an hour to start reverting to her aloof state.

An encouraging sign, but not good by any means.

I wasn’t at all qualified to help her in this regard, and I wasn’t even going to try. My skills directly translated to working around people’s personal issues, not resolving them. That’s what therapists are for.

Mind Healers apparently existed here, as far as Snape was aware, but the details about exactly what they do escaped me.

So, until I can decide on a more permanent solution, my only real option was to reduce the number of stress factors that Rowan has to deal with. It’s not perfect, by a long shot, but it’ll work as a stopgap.

Fortunately, her case isn’t hopeless.

“Thank you,” she told me just as we were closing up, “for goin’ in me stead.” She didn’t look at me as she spoke. “Ye’ve come through on yer word. Ah’ll try to be more considerate for the next time.”

My answering smile was as professional as I could manage, despite my surprise. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Michaels. I’m always at your service. Have a good evening.”

With that, I returned to The Leaky Cauldron.

I wish I could say that the end of July came and went with nothing more of note occurring. This could not be further from the truth.

With time having become a truly rare commodity, I’ve had to prioritize some things over others. Rowan’s behavior and attitude remained a thorny issue that I’m having to navigate. My body is improving, albeit slowly. And dark tidings became more and more common.

Practicing magic, working at The Dried Rowan, and building a network of correspondents were firmly at the top of my list, with the rest receiving just a fraction of my attention.

Even my ability to work under great stress was pushed to the limit when faced with the reality of my situation. It was all I could do not to crack under the pressure whenever my mind considered how I was going to handle my upcoming meeting with Lucius, for example.

Several options came to mind, all of which came with advantages and disadvantages.

I could set up a meeting with Slughorn for that day, ask Rowan to send me on an extended trip for deliveries or to speak with suppliers, or confess everything to Dumbledore, just to name a few.

More final solutions were considered, but those required extensive preparations and resolve that I simply didn’t have. At least, not yet. Though morality did play a part in fuelling my hesitation, I also couldn’t deny that far too much could go wrong if I took that course and botched it.

Death dealing is no simple affair, and failure could bring down the kind of scrutiny on my head that I simply wasn’t ready to handle.

Then there’s the option of emulating canon Snape by inserting myself into Voldemort’s crowd. It’s the most dangerous path of all, which would more than likely get me killed since I didn’t have Occlumency yet, and I wasn’t naive enough to believe that the dark bastard wouldn’t use Legilimency on his followers.

Playing the role of a double agent required grit that I wasn’t sure I possessed, as well as pre-established credibility that I certainly didn’t have.

It was one thing to act and speak like this body’s original occupant in a school setting. Navigating the deep waters of pureblood politics, terror campaigns, and being in close proximity to a remorseless murderer? Forget it.

So, what did that leave me?

At this point, I might really just have to escape the country. I’ve already sent a letter to Jacob, and though he hasn’t responded yet, he wasn’t my only way out.

Rowan had already set up another trip one day before I would meet with the junior Death Eaters. This time, the destination is France. Not as far as the US, but if push comes to shove, I’d take it.

Would I feel crushing guilt for abandoning these people to burn? I certainly would, particularly as I felt a degree of responsibility toward my boss.

But if the choice is between running and death, do I really need to think about it?

It was three days before the dreaded date, still bereft of any true answer, that I received another surprise. This one came in the form of a letter. Not from Lucius, who had already sent me a reminder the day before.

No, this one was from Slughorn.

Upon reading what he had to say, I felt my stomach drop, flip, and then kick me in the gonads.

Dear Severus,

How are you, my dear boy? I do hope you’ve been well since our last correspondence. Rowan’s been giving you quite the glowing praise, you know? I had to read between the lines, of course, but there you are.

I must say, the two of you really do make the most fascinating pair, and I’ve been putting promising individuals in touch for many years!

Stick with her, Severus. Despite her challenging personality, she’s a fountain of knowledge and influence.

And speaking of pairing promising individuals together, I recently promised a brilliant young woman to put her in contact with you. She’s going through a bit of a rough spot, but I do believe that you’ll find her a most engaging conversationalist.

You’ll likely know her as well. Or, if not, then you’ll know of her and her sisters. Narcissa is in your year, after all, and it wasn’t too long ago that Bellatrix graduated from Hogwarts.

By the by, dearest Andromeda is in a spot of bother, and was looking for an employment opportunity. Since you already work for Rowan, perhaps you can facilitate a smooth transition?

Don’t worry, my boy, don’t worry. I’ve already written her about this very subject, as well.

I wouldn’t burden you with this without at least paving the way, of course.

She should be meeting with you today, though I’m not entirely sure when she’ll be by. Do let me know how it goes, won’t you?

Sincerely,

Horace Slughorn

Oh, that absolute asshole! 

I wasn’t sure how long I stared at the letter until a knock on my door jarred me out of my fugue, and Tom spoke. “Sorry for disturbing you, young man, but you’ve got a visitor.”

Feeling more than a little wary, I opened the door. There, the bald barkeep stood with his toothless grin.

“Did they tell you their name?” I asked with trepidation.

“Miss Andromeda Black.”

I wasn’t sure why he seemed so giddy. My soul just left my body.

Dealing with a potential political bombshell mere days from when I’m set to spend time with future killers was not what I had in mind before breakfast. Yet, here I was, doing just that.

Sitting at a corner table with my usual plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, I had to forgo the relaxing part of my routine in exchange for speaking with my latest headache. Okay, I’m being a bit uncharitable. My dark mood was solely the fault of my potions teacher. The man seriously needs to work on his timing.

Andromeda, who had her own plate in front of her, looked quite the worse for wear.

Oh, she was still stunning. A curtain of black, wavy hair still cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. The sculpted nose, plump lips, sharp cheekbones, and heart-shaped face all combined to produce a breathtaking vision. One that’s marred by a few superficial additions.

There were dark circles under her grey eyes, her pale complexion was almost ghostly, and one side of her face had the telltale sign of a healing bruise. She did well to hide it under a layer of makeup, though I wasn’t sure why she bothered.

Even if it wasn’t his forte, Snape was aware that cosmetic charms existed. They would’ve hidden those details much better.

And as the daughter of an old pureblood family, she would know those charms, if only because of her pedigree. Girls growing up in high-society environments typically had no choice but to learn a few tricks to look good.

That she didn’t use them boded ill for this meeting.

Considering the laughably low odds of her being ignorant of magical beauty solutions, this could only mean that Andromeda was in no fit state to cast them. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the most likely cause.

Her visit to Madame Pomfrey, what little I could remember about her from the source materials, and her current state. Taken together, they painted a rather grim picture.

“I understand you wish to find employment at The Dried Rowan?” I asked her while purposefully looking at my plate.

We’d already shared terse but not unfriendly greetings. She and Snape weren’t close, but neither did they share an antagonistic relationship. So, this discussion had to be conducted under the same rules as a business meeting over breakfast.

Andromeda took her time chewing before answering in a low, husky voice. “Yes. Professor Slughorn recommended the apothecary when I spoke to him about my need for employment. I’ve done well in his class, and he suggested I meet with you first.”

I nodded, still working through the last spoonful I shovelled into my mouth. A good way to pause in a polite way while actually allowing me to gather my thoughts. A pause I needed as I dissected not only what she said but also how the message was delivered.

Whenever Snape heard her speak, the girl was always self-possessed.

Tone modulated, neither in a rush nor stuttering, and she would project the words so that it was nearly impossible to misunderstand what she was saying. The young woman sitting in front of me now had almost none of that.

Her posture alone spoke volumes about how stressful the last few days or weeks had been. Echoes of the dignified shoulders and back remained, but something was pushing down on them so much that she was almost slouching.

If such a proud person can be reduced to this, then the House of Black truly is wretched.

“I cannot accept on behalf of Miss Michaels,” I told her bluntly, outright refusing to give her false hope. “What I can do is act as a reference to both your character and your capabilities as a potioneer.”

A dim light seemed to shine behind her eyes. “You would do this for me?”

I nodded. “We’ve never had much to do with each other.” The ‘Miss Black’ nearly slipped out, and that would’ve been cruel. “However, I’m familiar enough with Slytherin’s more prominent figures that I have a decent understanding of your record and class placement. Moreover,” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “You’ve always been kind in our rare interactions. If nothing else, I’m confident that you would be a fine addition to The Dried Rowan.”

Okay, so I might be stretching the truth a bit and allowing emotions to color my decisions.

Strictly speaking, I should have allowed her to sink or swim based on her merits. Rowan would have hired her based on skill alone. However, that would have involved the kind of callousness that often led to nothing but grief for everyone involved.

A compromised employee was an inefficient and ineffective employee, never mind that she’ll actually be a co-worker if hired.

On the other hand, by acting as an ally, even if only in a professional manner, Andromeda now knows that she has some level of support and acceptance. A good thing to have in someone you’ll be spending several hours a day with. With just a few words, I’ve effectively bypassed one of the most awkward phases that new hires often go through.

Naturally, I’m not doing this entirely out of altruistic reasons.

The sooner Andromeda can get settled in, the sooner I can get back to worrying about my own ass.

Once we were both done with breakfast, I led her to the apothecary where Rowan was already waiting for us. True to his word, Slughorn really did warn her about the upcoming job application. With the additional context of her potential psychological condition, I also observed that my employer is rather distressed.

Withholding a sigh, I made introductions. “Good morning, Miss Michaels. I’ve brought Professor Slughorn’s recommendation for a new hire.” I saw absolutely no reason not to throw the oaf under the bus. “This is Miss Andromeda Black, a recent graduate, fellow Slytherin, and a capable brewer, in her own right.”

“Good morning, Miss Michaels.” Right on cue, Andromeda gave her own greeting. She didn’t even flinch when I used her last name. An encouraging sign.

“That’s twice now Sluggy’s sent young'uns me way,” she grunted. “Is the potbellied walrus runnin’ out o’ grown folk or summat?”

I barely stopped myself from snorting. The woman really doesn’t hold back when she’s agitated, does she? Looking at Andromeda, I was pleased to see her give a polite smile.

“Professor Slughorn is doing me a kindness with his recommendation,” she said lightly. “However, he would not have done so without good cause. I assure you, Miss Michaels, I would do nothing to jeopardize his good opinion of me through substandard work. Nor would I risk the reputation of such a storied apothecary.”

Wait, storied? What the heck is she talking about?

Rowan hummed before pinning me with an annoyed glare. “What’d ye say tah this? Sluggy says ye knew her.”

I will tar and feather that buffoon!

“She’ll make a fine addition to your establishment,” I said, letting none of the swirl of violent thoughts show on my face. “I’m sure you’ll find her work more than adequate, and I will be here to help her every step of the way.”

For some reason, she now looked even more annoyed. “Every step of the way, eh?”

I nodded with a straight face. “Of course. I promised to ease your burdens, Miss Michaels. I do believe I’ve proven quite capable of that, these last few weeks.”

Rowan didn’t answer for a few heartbeats, looking me right in the eyes with her own smoldering gaze. I’ve clearly done something wrong, but for the life of me, I don’t know what. Did I unknowingly step on a landmine? After reviewing everything I said, nothing pops out.

A brief glance at Andromeda got me no closer to an answer. If anything, she’s showing a genuinely positive emotion for the first time since we met this morning. Yet, bafflingly, it was one of amusement.

Finally, my boss deigned to reply. “I s’ppose you’ve done that, aye.” Rowan turned to look at the job applicant again, who quickly schooled her face. “Come tomorrow morn, ye’ll listen to him. Ah’ll not have time tah take ye by the mittens. Ye do what he says, as he says. Last the week, yer hired. Bungle this, and it’s his neck on the block. Ye ken?”

A relieved smile lit up Andromeda’s face. “I understand, yes.”

“Good. Potions Princess here’ll tell ye what ye need to know.”

Having said her piece, Rowan marched down to the storage room, leaving me with what I suspect is a mother-to-be.

“Congratulations,” I said to my recently-hired co-worker with my most professional smile. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Thank you,” she returned, though her expression was quite a bit more teasing. I immediately learned why. “I eagerly await your guidance, Potions Princess.”

My face froze.

I’ve heard Rowan call me that name so many times that I don’t even hear it anymore. Perhaps there was such a thing as too much compartmentalization.

Chapter 7

From the perspective of someone who has read the books, being around Andromeda Black is a rather interesting experience. She was featured in only a single scene in The Deathly Hallows and wasn’t included at all in the movies.

So, guiding her through how things worked in The Dried Rowan, or more specifically, how Rowan liked things done in her shop, was a bit trippy.

As expected, it didn’t take her long to understand the intricacies of properly sorting, storing, and displaying the various ingredients and potions for sale. She already had an excellent grounding from school, arguably more than I did, since she had already graduated. 

It was just the tiny, seemingly inconsequential steps that I needed to teach her. To her credit, she didn’t disregard the need to do so, despite the brief interaction with our employer.

Even if Rowan’s neurosis is obvious at first blush, the owner’s abrasive way of speaking clued Andromeda in on the need for playing things safe. It also helps that, much like how Snape remembers, the second-born Black daughter is impressively intelligent. That’s the one quality I prize above all others in people I’ll be working with.

“That should do it,” I concluded after explaining the importance of adding another cleaning cycle for the Kelpie knuckle bones that had just arrived. “Any questions?”

She merely shook her head. “You’ve explained everything quite well, Mr. Snape. I do believe that I now have a good handle on my duties. And if not,” she paused to give me a teasing smile, “I can always count on you to help me, can I not?”

“Of course,” I answered pleasantly, as I’ve been doing for close to an hour now. “I’m always at your disposal.”

Electing to ignore several remarks meant to poke me throughout the orientation was exhausting, but not entirely unexpected. I set myself up as someone willing to accommodate her during this difficult period, and it was Rowan who gave Andromeda the initial ammunition.

At least she hasn’t called me Potions Princess again.

I could have pushed back, of course, but that would have only caused delays that I simply couldn’t afford. People in delicate positions needed an outlet, and if that meant a few lighthearted jokes at my expense, then so be it.

Even if I ignored the difficulty of rebuffing her lack of professionalism, what with Slughorn and now Rowan in the mix, I still wouldn’t do it.

They weren’t sharp barbs meant to leave lasting damage. If the teasing helps her become more comfortable in my presence, which would then lead to a smoother working relationship, then I can adjust. I didn’t survive overambitious rivals and cutthroat executives by having thin skin.

“Then I believe I’ll be just fine,” Andromeda said. “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Snape. Have a good day.”

“I wish you a good day, as well.”

With one last smile, she left, and I went back to my usual duties. It was about thirty minutes later that I heard the stomping of boots coming up the stairs. Usually, I would just ignore this development and go about my work. If Rowan needed me, she’d just call for my attention.

This time, it was different, as the stomping came right toward me.

Already getting a bad feeling, I turned to find my boss giving me quite the frosty look. Not the perpetual blank expression that was basically just her resting face, but one of genuine anger. Once more, I cast my mind back to everything I said or did that might have caused this, but I literally came back with nothing.

So, I went for the safest option available. “Hello, Miss Michaels,” I started with a professional mask on, “Miss Black just left. She had no difficulty with the orientation. Integrating her into our workflow should go smoothly.”

Come on, empty corporate jargon. Don’t fail me now.

“Why’d it take so long, then, if she’s so smart?” came the unexpected hostile question.

Excuse me?

“Excuse me?” The words slipped out from mind to mouth before I could catch myself.

The blue gems became ice chips. “D’ye have wax in yer ears?” she demanded. “Sluggy says she’s a smart ‘un, and so did you. So, why’d it take so long?”

Was she worried that Andromeda was too stupid to work here despite our reassurances? Or was she complaining that the orientation took up an hour of what is meant to be my work time?

“I apologize if I overstepped, Miss Michaels.” Thick skin. I have to remember that I have thick skin. “I needed to make sure that Miss Black got the best start possible. The faster she gets used to your exacting standards, the fewer issues will arise in the future.”

Her narrowed gaze refused to let up. “Ye did it for me, is that it?”

“As I do with all things, Miss Michaels.” I really didn’t need her owling me for anything that Andromeda might get wrong once I’m back at Hogwarts. “I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it.”

Hopefully, she’ll learn to trust the process by the end of summer break. I just need to integrate this new variable into the pre-established work protocols.

Finally, her expression softened. “Well… if ye say it’s for me sake, then ah’ll leave it be.”

Good. I managed to disarm that particular bomb. Now, if only I could figure out what particular mine I stepped on, that would make everything better.

I spent the rest of the day trying to work out that puzzle to no avail.

~~~

As I’d hoped, Andromeda had proven to be a fantastic addition to our tiny workforce. Punctual, pragmatic, and phenomenally adaptive, she basically just slotted herself in like she’s been here all along. With her help, we actually got everything done just before lunchtime.

Even Rowan seemed impressed. Well, as far as a face carved from marble could be impressed, anyway.

This is great, because I was scheduled to go for another trip to meet with a supplier this afternoon. As my destination is France, I decided that it was finally time for a wardrobe change. First impressions can help or derail business transactions, after all. So, I had new robes commissioned several days before, and I changed into them during lunch.

“My goodness!” came the surprised exclamation from Andromeda.

As soon as I walked inside in a plain but sharply cut black outfit instead of the ratty clothes I was wearing that morning, she did a double-take. Gotta say, it felt good to get such a reaction, even if it’s in this borrowed body.

Even Rowan’s eyes widened upon seeing me.

The clothes do make the man, and anyone who says otherwise has never been in a function hall, where everyone judges everything you have on. I’ve seen a man ruined because he wore a watch with worn leather straps. It didn’t matter that it was a priceless antique.

He had the wrong accessory at the wrong party.

“You’re looking rather dashing, Mr. Snape!” the girl gushed as she rounded the counter.

“I thank you for the compliment, Miss Black.” Thankfully, she was fine with me calling her that. It would have made our interactions unreasonably awkward.

In stark contrast to my enthusiastic co-worker, Rowan’s reaction was bafflement. “Why’d ye change inta tha’ window drape?” she demanded.

Taking her tone in stride, I merely gave a wry smile. “This will be the first time I’ll meet Miss Danielle Fournier. I’d rather not look like a street urchin you plucked from a Charles Dickens’ poorhouse when I do.”

Oh, look at me! I’m in such a good mood that I’m making jokes. I’m burning all of Snape’s old clothes as soon as I can.

“Who the devil is Charles Dick?!” Rowan demanded.

“He’s a Muggle author, isn’t he?” Andromeda asked before I could answer.

“Yes, he is.” The pleased smile I gave her might have looked a bit robotic. After all, a pureblood girl just revealed that she knew a non-magical writer’s name. “And I’m using a rather exaggerated allusion about my previous appearance. One that would have reflected poorly on you, Miss Michaels, as I will effectively be acting as the apothecary’s representative.”

“Ye’ll be getting innards and dried roots, ye daft boy!” she snapped. “Not attendin’ them posh balls an’ whatnot. Yer clothes’ll be gettin’ dirty, ye know?”

I was ready for that question. “Then worry not, Miss Michaels. I specifically asked for heavy-duty textiles that can withstand the work, while remaining loose and airy.” Andromeda’s eyes lit up at my explanation, and I nodded her way. “I can refer you to my tailor, Miss Black.”

“Oh, thank you!”

“Hang on just a blasted minute!” It seems our employer isn’t quite convinced. Yet another surprise, as this has got to be the longest conversation she’s willingly participated in. “Yer not tah meet those bints in a dress. Change back!”

I looked down at myself just to check if I really was wearing a dress robe. But aside from sitting better on my thin frame and being brand new, it wasn’t much different from what I had been wearing for the last few weeks.

Looking at Rowan in confusion, I wondered if this was a social aspect that I had yet to encounter or read about. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Miss Michaels. The Portkey will activate in a few minutes.”

That seemed to stump her before she then gave me a menacing glare and pulled out her wand. Fortunately, before things could escalate, Andromeda finally stepped in.

“If I may, Miss Michaels. Could you explain why his clothes are such an issue?”

Oddly enough, she couldn’t seem to articulate it. She just looked at me in a way that, if I didn’t know better, would have been a pout. After a few seconds, she put away her wand, spun around in a huff, and retrieved my travel papers.

When Rowan handed them to my thoroughly flabbergasted self, she said two words before stomping down the stairs behind the counter.

That’s when I met Andromeda’s incredibly amused eyes. “What just happened?”

She had the audacity to giggle. “Perhaps she’s worried about your virtue?”

“My what?”

“Oh, look, the Portkey is about to activate.”

And just like that, everything else became a secondary concern. I refused to fall flat on my face again. The last I heard before something yanked me around my navel was “Good luck!” from a voice full of laughter.

With this technically being my third Portkey travel, I was determined to stick the landing. When the spinning finally stopped, and I was still on my feet, I was almost tempted to shout in victory. But I didn’t. That would be unprofessional.

Now, why was Rowan so insistent I change? What did Andromeda mean about my virtue? What was it about this particular supplier that was making my boss so –

Before me was a sea of women with pale blonde hair, each and every single one beautiful and ethereal as the moon. All of whom looked at me in varying degrees of shock, fear, and most disconcertingly, intrigue.

This is a Veela colony.

The Portkey just dropped me in the middle of a bloody Veela colony.

~~~

“You promised.”

Rowan’s last words before my departure echoed in my ears.

“You promised.”

Two words that held the gravity of a dying star. All because I wanted to give the impression of a competent employee. Well, it looks like my mouth has finally signed a check the rest of me can’t possibly cash.

“Good day,” I managed to get out as my mind scrambled. “I’m here to meet a Miss Danielle Fournier on behalf of The Dried Rowan.”

Huh. I’ve never heard an entire crowd giggling before. That’s new.

Then, from out of the gathering of gorgeous females, one broke away and strode forward. Well, I say strode, but she basically sauntered. Why my brain thought that was important is currently lost on me.

Clad in a summer dress that showed off a generous amount of tanned skin, her perfectly symmetrical face held a telling smirk.

“Well, well.” By the grace of God, is that the allure? “You’re certainly not who we were expecting.”

I gave a quick bow. Why did I bow? “My apologies for the surprise, then. I’ve recently been assigned to handle long-distance product retrieval by Miss Michaels.”

“Oh?” How is she making one word sound like an innuendo? “She sent a young man into our midst? What will we do with that girl?”

Dammit, even maintaining a professional smile is getting difficult. “I believe she trusted me to handle the logistics,” I hedged. 

No need to reveal that I didn’t know what I was getting into. I’m pretty sure there was no mention of Veela in the manifest. Just the owner’s name and the destination.

Danielle – she’s got to be Danielle, right? – smiled mischievously. “And your French is quite good. You are English, no?”

Shit, did I start speaking French without even noticing? “I am, yes. However, I learned to speak French when I was young. Communication is important between neighbors, after all.”

True enough. Before I ended up here, I could speak several languages, all of them necessary when working alongside people from other countries.

Her smile got even wider. “Did you hear that, girls?” she called over her shoulder. “An Englishman who learned French so he may speak with us. Quite the rare breed, isn’t he?”

Yeah, this has gone on long enough. “If you’ll excuse me, I just realized I haven’t introduced myself. Severus Snape.” I gave another bow, this time intentionally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Danielle Fournier,” she purred. “A pleasure, indeed.”

Crap. The feeling just intensified. My body was heating up, and I could almost feel my hormones gearing up for a riot.

I cleared my throat and brought my hand up to read the manifest. The less time I spent here, the better. All thoughts of potentially using this chance to escape Britain were well and truly driven from my mind. I’ll have to find another way out.

“According to the list, I only need to retrieve three boxes, yes? If you could show me where they are, I’ll be on my way. I can only imagine how busy you are.”

Her lovely face morphed into a heartbreaking pout. “Are you truly in such a rush? We’ve only just met.”

Okay, what’s her deal? Shouldn’t Veela be scared of men or something? And did the crowd get closer?

“I’m afraid I am,” I said, injecting as much regret as I could in my tone. “The apothecary is quite busy, and Miss Michaels needs me.” My nerves were already on fire, and if I didn’t leave soon, my heart might just palpitate right out of my chest. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Fournier?”

She affected a despondent sigh. “Oh, very well. Perhaps we can have a longer conversation on your next visit.”

“That will be up to Miss Michaels,” I told her. 

If I got my way, though, Andromeda will be coming instead of me. I’ll bribe the girl, if necessary.

“Come along then.” She gestured for me to follow her before turning to the crowd, who were now only a few feet away. “It’s time to disperse, everyone. I’ll be taking our guest to the storeroom.”

A lot more of them groaned and complained than I would have reasonably expected. Nothing about any of this made any kind of sense.

Walking slightly behind Danielle, and no longer surrounded by supernaturally beautiful women from all sides, I finally had a chance to take in the place where I landed. It was a gorgeous countryside village, surrounded by tall peaks, and situated near a wide river.

The houses were made of river stone carved into bricks. Frescoes, sculpted facades, and fountains could be found everywhere, and painted tiles decorated almost every surface. Even the streets.

Children ran around, along with things that I belatedly recognized as Crups and Kneazles.

Naturally, women were out and about, but I saw no men. In fact, I didn’t see any elderly ladies, either.

“Here we are,” Danielle announced as we arrived in front of a modest building. “We keep perishable items in here. I set the enchantments myself, you know?”

“You’re an enchantress by trade, then?” I asked. Showing interest in a business partner’s job is a good entry point for building a closer relationship.

For some reason, that made her laugh. “Somehow, that’s the first time I was asked that question,” she quipped while opening the door and going inside.

“How so?” I asked, already guessing the answer.

“Everyone I share that little trivia with tends to blather on about how enchanting I am or some such nonsense.” She waved her hand airily, as if the shower of compliments had become rather commonplace.

Okay, no. I’m not even going to think about that.

I zeroed in on three small boxes at the end of the room, with clear labels. Despite the overpowering urge to just get them and go, doing so would leave a bad impression. And I didn’t go through all of this only to wreck a business arrangement at the finish line.

“May I?” I asked Danielle.

“You may,” she assented with laughter in her – oh, she has golden eyes. Weird.

“Thank you.” 

Fully committed to getting this matter over and done with, I checked the contents of the boxes against the manifest. Once I’d confirmed that everything was in order, I turned to conclude the transfer with Danielle. 

I nearly yelped, however, when I found her practically inches from my face.

“Yes?” To my shame, I actually squeaked. “Can I help you?”

“You’re a very strange man, Severus Snape. Very strange, indeed.”

“I, I’m sorry?”

“Our allure affects you,” she said. “That much is obvious. Yet, you resist.”

“I’m not sure what the problem is, Miss Fournier.”

“Call me Danielle, please.”

I blinked. “That would be unprofessional.”

She gaped at me, shock evident on her face. “‘Unprofessional’,” she repeated.

“Very,” I affirmed bluntly.

This time, it was her turn to blink. Then blink again. Before abruptly bursting into peals of laughter that was like sugar syrup in my ears.

“Oh, you truly are a strange man, Severus.”

“Thank you?” I didn’t know what else to say.

When she finally stopped laughing, she regarded me with a scrutinizing look from a more respectful distance. “Don’t thank me, dear boy. For some reason, magic behaves oddly around you.” And now, I’m confused again. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you are no ordinary wizard.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” I answered firmly. “Now, if there is nothing else, I really should be going.”

For a moment, I thought she’d try to stop me. In the end, she simply gave me a bright smile.

“Then I won’t keep you much longer,” Danielle said. “Come, let me accompany you to the departure point, at least.”

“Much obliged,” I said, barely keeping the relief from my voice.

Unfortunately, just as we were getting close to my landing spot, a deafening explosion resounded on the other side of the village. Three more quickly followed, causing the ground to quake violently.

Whether out of instinct or reflexes I didn't know I had, I dropped the boxes, braced my legs, and caught the stumbling Danielle before she fell. 

Then, the screams began, the loudest among them coming from the throats of children.