APOE, chapter six. ...The end of a long hiatus...
and the beginning of another one...
I've finally finished another chapter of Another Plane of Existence. I sent it to my beta and got it back within a day, but am still tweaking bits and baubles as usual. It's not exactly up to snuff, but I've had such a delay between postings that I figured I'd post it and edit as necessary.
I don't think I mentioned this in a post before, but once the whole thing has been completed (and I'd like to think that it will be before the release of book seven, but who knows?) I'm going to go back and make it fit current canon. I'll have to adjust Narcissa's age, as well as Bellatrix curse you, JK, for making Narcissa so old! What was the point of that, really? Did she have to be Lucius's age?? and a few other things here and there. I'm rather relieved that I can keep Regulus and Rosier as they are. They're my fave characters to write.
The fic's up at HPFF and ff.net, and will hopefully be up at mugglenet soon, but I'm putting it up here to be redundant, because I'm like that.
*Previous disclaimers apply
Dawning Recognition
And I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
Sarah McLachlan, Surfacing, Arista Records 1997
Several weeks had passed since Snape’s informative experience at the Black household. Much to his father’s chagrin, Spinner’s End had since been subjected to an influx of messenger owls. In all fairness, Severus wasn’t very fond of the self-important hoots and beaks tapping against the windowpanes, either. He also found the fact that most owls expected a little food in return mildly irritating. At least the muggle postman did not demand treats after a mail delivery.
Most of the letters he’d received were from Regulus, who would write something nearly every week. Severus remained uncertain as to whether or not Regulus was corresponding out of duty, out of necessity, or if it was merely genial chitchat that gave him something to do. Regardless of the circumstances, Snape usually spared a moment to scrawl out a brief reply. His lack of detail and effort didn’t seem to faze Regulus at all, and the young Slytherin boy soon learned to drop any unnecessary questions that would surely go unanswered, sticking to mindless chatter and observations on the latest wizarding news.
The most important owl delivery had come four days ago, leaving Severus with an increasing satisfaction that the summer was finally coming to an end. A tawny Hogwarts owl had brought him a square envelope in which held his O.W.L. results. It was only a matter of seconds before he’d sliced the envelope open and viewed the results of his hard work: eight O.W.L.s. By some stroke of luck he’d even managed to scrape by on his History of Magic exam. Eight O.W.L.s was good-very good, indeed.
Severus spent the rest of the week walking around like a different boy; he was not quite so sullen or slinky, and instead held his shoulders straight and his chin levelled.
“That pleased to be leaving, are you?” Mr. Montford queried, looking up from the tincture Snape was currently preparing.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve noticed a spring in your step these past few days.”
Severus frowned. As far as he was concerned, he did not spring, nor would he ever. The fleeting horror that his actions were comparable to Potter deflated his pride considerably, and he paused in his grinding to study Mr. Montford.
The old man seemed not to notice. “This is the time of year most students begin to drag their feet.” His wrinkled hands pinched some of the herbs in Severus’ mortar and he began to rub them between his fingertips. “You, on the other hand, appear to be acting quite oppositely.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you could say that,” he answered, not that he thought it was Mr. Montford’s business. “I’m looking forward to returning to school.”
Montford looked as though he accepted Severus’s reply, and then cleared his throat. Severus braced himself for another prying question or a condescending review of his work, but fortunately was the recipient of neither. Mr. Montford fixed him with a steady gaze. “Since it is your last day, and I’ve-ah-come to the realization that I can be a bit hard on my employees, I wanted to give you something.” He smiled in what Snape could only assume was an apologetic manner (though it was hard to tell) and pulled an envelope out from his pocket. “Your wages,” he explained. “It also occurred to me that I could supply you with something else that you may find useful…” He went over to the counter and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a parcel. He held it up for Severus to view. “Herbs,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve enclosed a number of herbs, including a few rare ones, for your own collection.” He waved it importantly, hobbling back towards Severus. “I expect you to use them.”
Severus blinked in surprise, accepting the envelope and parcel hesitantly. There was no doubt in his mind that the parcel’s contents would prove to be useful. He was, however, slightly taken aback that the gruff old man had given him any thought at all. “Thank you very much, sir,” he said. “You needn’t worry about them going to waste.” He gently placed the parcel on the table and turned back to his tincture. “I appreciate it.”
“You deserve it,” replied Mr. Montford. “With the exception of your mother, you are one of the most adequate herbalists that I’ve worked with.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Though between you and me, your mother is growing too old for improvement, whereas you...” He paused, raising his bushy eyebrows suggestively. “You are invited to come back and work for me any time you wish, Mr. Snape.”
Mr. Montford’s words settled in slowly. Severus couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief. It was the first time the old man had been generous in his praise this entire summer, and really, even Slughorn couldn’t have done a better job of it. Considering the offer, Severus gave a slight nod. “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “perhaps over the winter holidays, or next summer.”
“Fine, fine.” Mr. Montford eyes glimmered with satisfaction, but he cleared his throat in a professional manner. “You mentioned something about having to shop for school supplies earlier. You’d best be off before it gets dark and the shops close for the evening.”
He began to clean up the area in which Severus was working, and Severus paused uncomfortably. “Mr. Montford, sir, I can straighten up,” he offered. After all, part of an herbalist or potion brewer’s duty was to clean up and decontaminate the workspace. Severus had always been particularly meticulous in that aspect.
“No, no. There’s no reason for you to be polite to this barmy old codger.” Montford gestured emphatically to the door. “Off with you, now.”
Severus thinned his lips, scanning the small shop one last time. For all of the grief he’d given his mother, his job here hadn’t been all that bad. He’d managed to make some extra money and learn a few things, besides. “Thank you, sir,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “I hope the rest of your summer goes well.” Clutching the parcel close to his chest, he exited through the door, the jingle of the bells ringing their last goodbye as he departed.
He passed few people as he made his way through London’s streets towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was approaching suppertime, and most of the crowds had thinned out. It was the perfect time to pick up school supplies, he decided, appreciating the fact that he wouldn’t have to queue up in order to purchase a set of school robes and some new parchment and quills. He patted the list in his pocket to ensure it was still there, though if it hadn’t been there it would hardly have mattered; he had the list memorized. Besides, much of the list had already been crossed off; his mother’s old things would suffice.
He turned a corner and began to walk down Charing Cross Road. The shabby little inn known as the Leaky came into view and he began to feel excited about visiting Diagon Alley. A group of young Muggles was standing in front of the Leaky’s entrance, so Severus slowed his gait and paused, feigning interest in the record store next door. The group showed little promise of moving from its current location any time soon.
“Oh, come on,” he grumbled under his breath, growing impatient as the seconds ticked by. He sighed irritably and resisted the urge to tell them off, instead turning his attention to the record store before him. Large, brightly coloured posters were hanging everywhere, and dozens of shelves holding hundreds of records lined the walls. People mulled around, bobbing their heads to the music as they scanned the selection of records. Severus didn’t really understand the allure. Records were a frivolous expenditure in the Snape household, especially when they could listen to radio programming for free. Besides, the wizarding wireless network was perfectly adequate. He started to turn away from the shop window when a familiar dimpled smile caught his eye and startled him.
“Evans,” he breathed, inhaling sharply. She was standing at the counter, purchasing a record and chatting amicably with the young sales clerk. Severus watched the clerk sceptically; it looked as though he was flirting with her. He couldn’t be for certain as to whether or not Evans appreciated it, then brushed the thought away. It wasn’t as if it mattered.
She’d turned so that now Snape could only see her hair, which was tied back away from her face. The moment he saw her he’d been instantly reminded of their last encounter, recalling the worries that had been bothering him ever since. Part of him wanted to keep walking towards the Leaky and forget the fact that he’d seen her, but by the time he even considered it she’d turned around and was walking to the door.
“Damnit!” He scowled and looked around, but there was no place for him to hide, lest he join the group of Muggles, which wasn’t an appealing thought.
The door of the record store opened and Evans stepped out, carrying a number of purchases in sacks. She was shifting them about, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was standing within a yard of her. Unable to shake the thought of Hogwarts’ entire student population finding out that he was a half-blood, Severus decided to seize this opportunity to have a chat with Evans.
He felt his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, and raised his voice to get her attention. “Evans.”
Startled, she looked up from her purchases and turned towards him. “Snape?” she replied bemusedly. Her almond-shaped eyes immediately narrowed into suspicious slits. “What are you doing here?”
He ignored her inquisitive stare and sniffed scathingly. She was acting as if he’d stalked her out on his own accord, he decided, feeling insulted. He gestured to the Muggle group. “Waiting for them to clear off so that I can enter the Leaky.”
“Oh.” Her gaze flickered to the crowded sidewalk, and she relaxed a little. “I just finished my shopping. My dad is fetching the car.”
He’d assumed as much, identifying a familiar wizarding logo on one of the sacks she was carrying. Wondering how he could bring up the incident at the train station, he shoved his hands into his pockets pensively. Evans didn’t say anything, merely looking uncomfortable and impatient.
It was now or never, he decided, and after another silent moment, plucked up enough nerve to say something. “Listen, Evans,” he began, “about our run-in at King’s Cross-“
She put up her free hand and interrupted him. “If you’re worried about me telling anyone that you’re not really a pureblood, you needn’t be. I have no plans of interfering in your little façade.”
He gave her a sharp look. It bothered him that she’d known what he was going to request, and also that she’d treated his behaviour in such a demeaning manner. Still, the tight ball of worry that was lodged in his chest for the entire summer began to ebb away.
“Fine,” he replied, clipping the word short with his tongue.
She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “It’s not like I don’t understand why you’ve done it.”
He lifted an eyebrow warily. She was perceptive, something he usually considered an admirable trait, but her words made him suspicious. Could he trust her to keep a secret? He searched her face, looking for some sort of sign that would prove otherwise, but found none. He heaved a weighty sigh; a mild guilt started to trouble him, and he conceded to it, although reluctantly. “It makes me no less of a hypocrite,” he admitted.
To his surprise, the corners of Evans’s mouth curled up and she gave a snort of amusement. “That’s the closest I’ll ever come to receiving an apology, isn’t it?” she asked.
He frowned at her. He hadn’t meant to apologize, and especially had not meant to be funny. She must have noticed his disapproval, because she stifled her laughter abruptly and hastily tore her gaze away from his.
“Come on,” she said, nodding towards the Leaky. “They’re moving.”
He turned to look at the Muggles, and sure enough, they were moving along, albeit slowly. “Thank the gods,” he muttered.
Evans started to walk towards the Leaky. “Have you had a good summer?” she asked.
“All right,” he answered stiffly. “You?”
“I’m glad to be going back to Hogwarts,” she replied. Then as an afterthought, “My sister is so unbearable at times.”
He blinked at this revelation. He’d had no idea that Evans had a sister. Upon further reflection, however, he realized he didn’t know much about her at all, with the exception of the fact that she was a Muggle-born and her father’s name was Richard. He couldn’t recall another Evans in the Hogwarts population. “Is she a witch?” he inquired.
“A witch?” Evans repeated, slowly. A crease formed between her brows as she thought about this. “Well, that depends on your definition of the word, really.” She gave him a sidelong look. “She’s hopelessly Muggle, you see, and can be a bit…ill-tempered.” She sighed after this, looking a bit like she’d wished she hadn’t said anything at all. The look faded from her face as quickly as it appeared, though, and her face forcibly brightened. “Did you get your O.W.L. results?” she asked.
He nodded. “Four days ago.”
“Me too.”
“Did you do well on your Potions exam?” he asked suddenly, remembering their exchange over his notes. He glanced at the group of Muggles. They hadn’t turned the corner yet, so he and Evans paused in front of the Leaky Cauldron, waiting.
Evans nodded. “An ‘O’,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “Professor Slughorn will be pleased.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her left ear. “You?”
He nodded. “The same. I’ll see you in N.E.W.T. level potions, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose you will.”
He nearly asked her if, since she’d done so well on her Potions exam, it was still necessary for her to borrow his notes. He didn’t, however, and looked past her to see if the coast was clear so that he could make his way to Diagon Alley. The group of teenagers had disappeared around the corner of another building, and he thought it would be silly if he continued to chat with her, being as that they hardly knew each other. “I should probably get going,” he said.
“Oh, right,” she murmured, giving him a small smile. “I’ll see you on the train, then?”
“Probably,” he assented. “Let’s just hope it’s not because I’ve hexed Potter,” he added dryly, referring to her previous interferences.
Evans looked surprised, but then laughed. It was a warm laugh, causing Severus to flush a bit. “I’m willing to overlook that,” she said, shaking her head.
He shrugged to convey that his comment wasn’t completely in jest and edged towards the door, pausing. “Enjoy the rest of your summer.”
“You too.”
With one final nod, he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Evans silhouetted in the warm glow of the summer sunset, her hair reflecting a red and gold halo of sunlight.
* * *
“You’ve got quite a bit there,” Eileen said, lifting an eyebrow at Severus’s purchases, which he placed on the kitchen table with a small thump.
“Not really,” he replied, dark eyes surveying the sacks with a similar look. “No books.”
“No need,” Eileen said matter-of-factly. “I gathered the few that weren’t in your room and put them with the rest, by your trunk.”
Severus grunted appreciatively. The nice thing about his mother was that she wasn’t a particularly nosey person. There was a mutual respect between mother and son that neither crossed unless they absolutely had to, which wasn’t often.
“Is he not here then?”
“No. He’s working a double shift at the mill.”
“Ah.” Severus couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh and sank down into a chair across from his mother. Her lips were pinched together, and a deep crease formed between her brows.
She eyed him for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then cleared her throat. “Do you fancy a game of gobstones?” she asked.
When Severus was a young boy she had taught him how to play, gently introducing him to the logistics and strategies needed to win. As he aged, the games became more competitive, not that either minded. It was rare that Severus won a game, though. Eileen was a skilled competitor and was not the type of person to let her son win. The fact that she challenged him to a game now, of all times, caught him off guard. They hadn’t played a game in the two years, at least.
“Gobstones?” He glanced around the house. “Now?”
“Do you have something else to do?”
He nearly said that yes, he did have something else to do, but the expression on his mother’s face made him hesitate. “No,” he said, finally. “Shall I get the board?”
Eileen gestured to a worn box on the countertop. “I already have,” she said lightly. “You set up, Severus.”
He grabbed the box obligingly and began to set up the pieces in silence, frowning to himself. His mother wanted to talk to him about something, he was certain of that, but he had no idea what it would be about. Long fingers carefully adjusting the last gobstone, he glanced up at her expectantly. “Your move.”
She moved, and they took turns going back and forth for several minutes before she spoke again. “Severus,” she began, voice perfectly level and straightforward, “what do you plan on doing after school?”
He had been about to move a precarious looking gobstone, but froze at her question, turning his attention to her and fixing her with an inquisitive stare. “Why do you ask?” He hadn’t meant to sound as defensive as the tone of his voice suggested, but it was a strange coincidence that his mother asked him about his career plans on the same day that Mr. Montford offered him a job at the herbalist shop.
Eileen seemed unperturbed by his retort. “Because I am your mother and take an interest in these things, as it happens.”
Severus turned his attention back to the pulsating gobstone, and held his breath. Luckily, an open board space allowed him to make a move without touching it. “I’m not going to take over for Mr. Montford some day, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“And what exactly makes you believe that I thought that?” Eileen replied, swiftly making a move that prevented Severus from grabbing any of the gobstones besides the ominous looking one. He blanched, knowing he’d lost.
“Timing,” he answered shortly, and gingerly pushed the gobstone away from them both. A putrid-smelling liquid shot out of it and splattered across the table. Eileen’s eyes glittered triumphantly and Snape’s nostrils flared as the liquid’s scent wafted in his direction.
“That’s partially true,” she conceded, standing up to retrieve a washcloth and mop up the gobstone juice. “Of course, that’s mostly because you’re entering your sixth year of school.” She dabbed at the drops scattered across the tabletop. “I didn’t think you planned on being an herbalist, Severus.”
He sat stiffly in the chair. “Oh.”
Eileen placed the washcloth in the kitchen sink. “Another game?” she asked. “This one didn’t last very long.”
“I’d rather not,” he answered.
She fixed him with a stern look. “You know, I didn’t think that one simple question would put you in one of your moods,” she told him.
“I’m not in a mood,” he protested, even though every minute that passed by was clearly making him increasingly broody. “If you insist upon knowing-“
“-Severus,” she interrupted with a snap, “I am your mother. I insist because I have an interest in your plans and I worry about you.”
He immediately bit his tongue and bowed his head, letting his dark fringe fall in front of his eyes. She was right, of course. He had no idea why he was being so unnecessarily foul about such a simple question. He inhaled deeply and tried to quell is nerves. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that I’m not sure yet. Last year I told Professor Slughorn that I found curse-breaking interesting.”
Eileen’s lips twitched at this. “You would,” she said softly. “That would take you where?” she asked. “Egypt? South America?”
“Probably.”
“I always wanted to travel,” she said suddenly, almost wistfully.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” he agreed contemplatively. “But really, I’m more interested in the process of figuring out curses and their counterparts.” His thoughts drifted to his mother’s old potions book-his private journal for similar research, trials and errors.
“And your N.E.W.T. levels this year are centred around the courses you’ll need for curse-breaking?”
“Of course,” he answered. “Defence Against the Dark Arts is my favourite class, and I’m taking Arithmancy and Charms.”
“And Potions?”
He paused. He was taking potions, though it wasn’t exactly a necessity for curse breaking. He was simply talented at it and knew it would be a relatively easy mark. “Yes,” he answered with a nod, “Potions too.”
She nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ve got a knack for potion brewing.”
“So some say.”
Eileen was quiet then, and they both sat in the kitchen, staring into space. Several more minutes passed by before she focused her dark gaze upon him. “I think it would be good if you travelled.”
“Hm?” he murmured, taken by surprise. It was unlike her to say such things. “Why is that?”
“Severus,” she began bluntly, “I may have cut off most of my ties with the magical world, save you, but that does not mean I am ignorant to what’s going on.”
Shifting in his seat, he blinked at her. “And what is that?”
“I was also a Slytherin, you realize,” she said enigmatically. “I went to school with many pureblood witches and wizards whose kin are your housemates now.”
He had a faint idea where this was going, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. He was not about to incriminate himself, especially considering the fact that he hadn’t done anything unacceptable. Yet.
“It doesn’t take a Seer to know what’s building up,” she said. “You can practically see the tension building. It’s been going on for some time now, only more and more witches and wizards are becoming involved. I suspect the same families are taking part.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about, but found he couldn’t voice the lie. He began to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve instead.
“You’re very talented,” she continued. “I don’t want you to throw that away.”
What made her think he’d be throwing his talent away? he thought tiredly. And why did she suspect he’d be interested in such things? How did she know?
“Don’t throw your talents away,” she repeated, this time with urgency.
“I can take care of myself, mother,” he replied, somewhat petulantly.
She sighed. “I know that. I’m only concerned that you’ll take on more than you can handle.”
Feeling quite agitated by this point, Severus pushed back his chair so that it scraped loudly across the floorboards and stood up. “I can handle much more than you give me credit for apparently,” he said hotly.
Her mouth turned down and she raised her brows. “Is that what you think?” she responded tiredly. “You think I give you no credit? Sweet Circe, Severus, you’re acting stupid.”
“I am not stupid!” he shouted angrily. His mother jumped, and he immediately regretted raising his voice at her. He placed a hand on his forehead and began to massage his temple where he could feel his pulse racing. He was a complete idiot, yelling at her like that-like his father--and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I know what I’m capable of doing.”
Eileen didn’t reply, and merely watched him with a sad, worried expression on her face.
Severus decided to change the subject. “Here,” he said, digging in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a sack of money, and placed it on the table. “That is the remainder of my summer wages. Take it. Hide it from him; I want you to have it.” He cast his eyes downwards and turned to go, but was stopped by the sound of her voice clearing.
“Keep it,” she said softly. He heard her chair scrape across the floor, the jingle of coins, and her soft footsteps padding across the floor. A second later the palm of her hand rested gently on his shoulder, and her other hand held the satchel out for him. “You earned it, Severus. I have no doubt you’ll need it someday. Save it for the right time.”
He nodded and, sensing the waning of emotions, turned and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you."
* * *
“Oy! Severus!” a voice called out to him, and a moment later a familiar figure with brown, wavy hair came into view. It was Rosier, luggage in tow. “Looks like someone didn’t go to Majorca,” he said, grinning lopsidedly and coming to an abrupt stop in front of Severus.
Severus shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. “I’m rather glad I didn’t, as it looks as though you were there, and I wouldn’t have really had a holiday then.” Rosier’s skin was brown and there were golden streaks in his hair, obvious signs that he was somewhere with much better weather than Great Britain had been having.
Evan laughed. The white gleam of his teeth was even more stunning now that he sported a tan. “There's good Quidditch weather in Majorca,” he said, ruffling his hair absently.
“Not that that will help you in Scotland,” Snape replied pointedly. He’d set down his battered trunk in front of the scarlet train, observing the bustle around him. There were notable differences in his fellow students, some were taller, some were redder, some thinner, others had haircuts that made them look quite different, and for a moment, Snape wondered if he looked at all different. He sincerely doubted it.
“No, it won’t,” agreed Rosier. “No matter.” His hazel eyes followed a witch with long, dirty-blonde hair that walked past them. “Have you seen Lestrange?” he asked absently.
“No,” Severus replied, “you’re the first person I’ve seen, besides…” He’d been about to say Barty Crouch, but Lily Evans had just barrelled through the barrier between platforms, and his voice caught in his throat. She was pink in the face and out of breath, and her hair was blown into a tangle across her face. She dropped her trunk and began to comb it through with her fingers. Snape’s lip quivered with amusement as he observed her struggle.
Rosier turned to look in the direction he was staring. He gave a low whistle, and his mouth curled up into a smirk much like a cat’s. “She’s got legs up to her ears,” he murmured, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Pity she’s a mudblood. What a waste of a good looking girl.”
Evans was walking towards them, presumably to join the queue to board the train. As she neared the spot where the Slytherin boys were standing, Rosier winked at Snape and called out to her. “Hey, Evans,” he said rather smarmily, “if you’re ever wondering what it’s like to be filled with years of ancient magic, come and find me, eh?”
Evans, who’d stopped long enough to get the gist of what Rosier was saying, looked incredulous. Severus felt a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up from the collar of his robes. “Shut it, will you?” he hissed. Of course Rosier would choose to be a jerk now of all times. It would be too convenient for him to have said it with someone like Lestrange or Avery present.
Evans met his gaze for a moment, not looking particularly appreciative of Severus’s lame interference, and a second later turned her attention back to Rosier. “The only time I’ll be looking for you, Rosier, is when I’m scanning the Prophet for wizards in Azkaban.” She made a rude gesture with her free hand and stalked off.
“It’s not even the beginning of term and you’re going to lose us points,” Severus finished angrily. “She’s a prefect, you know.”
“Right, right,” Rosier replied in a dismissive manner. His cheeks were also flushed, but he didn’t say much about Evans’ retort, despite the fact that his eyes had narrowed dangerously and followed her figure as she boarded the train. Severus remained with Rosier, clinging to the small hope that his association with dunderheads wouldn’t cause her to retaliate in a way that would hurt his status in Slytherin house.
“Well, well, if it isn’t you two arseholes.” Rabastan Lestrange had walked up behind them, alongside Fulton Wilkes during Rosier’s little show.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Severus said in manner of a greeting.
Rosier greeted them cheerfully, turning to Wilkes. The auburn-haired boy stood nearly a foot taller than Severus, but Rosier could look him squarely in the eye. “Not Head Boy?” Rosier asked enquiringly, peering down at Wilkes’ robes. “Pity.”
Wilkes immediately scowled down at his unadorned school robes and ran a hand down the front of them absently. “No,” he said in a gruff voice. “And neither is Avery.”
Rabastan looked both startled and irritated by this revelation; his eyes flickered towards the students boarding the train. “If it even went to Longbottom,” he started, voice tight with threat. He didn’t continue, and instead cleared his throat and spat on the ground. Everyone present understood his comment. Longbottom’s appointment as Head Boy would not favourable for Slytherin. If he did happen to have been chosen, Lestrange’s reaction would not be pleasant-he’d likely lash out in the nastiest way possible.
Severus spoke before Rabastan could actually find the words to voice his threat. “It could be that Ravenclaw boy,” he suggested, “Rookwood.” The boys all looked at him, considering this. “He was a prefect, after all.” Rookwood wouldn’t be a bad candidate, either, he thought. Although Rookwood hadn't been present at the Lestrange's engagement party, Severus had an inclination that the Ravenclaw prefect desired involvement in the Dark Lord's affairs.
“He’d be better than Longbottom,” Wilkes agreed after a moment. “I don’t know him very well, though. I had Herbology with him, but he never said much to me.”
Snape privately thought that it might not be long before they got to know Rookwood a whole lot better, but refrained from voicing that opinion.
“Does anyone know who Head Girl is?” Rosier asked in interest. "Meadows, is it?"
“Marlene McKinnon,” both Rabastan and Fulton replied flatly.
“Blast.” Rosier wrinkled his nose and groaned. “She’s a right bitch.”
Severus was inclined to agree with Evan. His experiences around McKinnon were not what one would consider pleasant, and her actions as Head Girl would starkly contrast Bellatrix’s. The Slytherins would have to tread very carefully.
Lestrange grunted and picked up his trunk. “Come on,” he huffed, “let’s get on and claim a compartment already.” They lumbered behind him, making their way down the aisle until Wilkes kicked a couple of first years out of a suitable compartment and pronounced it Slytherin territory. They were situating themselves when a timid knock came from the door.
Rabastan tilted his head and glared at the doorway. “What is it?” he called out aggressively.
The door slid open and Regulus poked his head in, looking pink in the face. “Hello,” he greeted them. “I was looking for Carrow.” He stepped into their compartment, blue eyes flickering around the cabin. “They want him in the prefects compartment.”
A gold badge glinted on Regulus’s robes, and Severus lifted an eyebrow, peering at it curiously. “You’re a prefect then?” he mused.
Suddenly everyone’s attention was focused on Regulus, and he shrank away, cheeks burning. “Yes,” he said, nodding.
“No kidding,” said Rosier. “Congratulations.”
“Showing up your brother, I see?” Rabastan said with a smirk. “Way to make mummy proud.”
Regulus shook his head modestly. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered dismissively. “Professor Slughorn probably mentioned something to Dumbledore…” His voice drifted off and he shrugged. “Anyhow, if you see Carrow, tell him Longbottom is looking for him.”
The amused look on Rabastan’s face faded quickly and he made a disgusted sound. “Longbottom?” he growled.
Regulus winced. “Er…yes. He’s Head Boy this year.” Severus noticed an apologetic tone in the boy’s voice, as if the rest of the Slytherins would blame him for Longbottom’s newly acquired position.
Wilkes let out a string of expletives that would make even Filch blush. Rosier and Severus exchanged looks, but said nothing.
Regulus must’ve sensed the upsurge in anger, because he bowed his head respectfully and turned back towards the aisle. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “McKinnon’s just itching for me to be late, I can feel it.” He frowned then, indicating his own displeasure at the way things were starting out. “See you at the feast.” His hopeful gaze rested on Severus, who nodded in acknowledgement. He’d been expecting Regulus to join him at the hip for the train ride, and was surprisingly relieved that he didn’t have to worry about that now.
He could have a peaceful train ride, with the exception of the brooding compartment. He hadn’t experienced the displeasure of crossing paths with Potter or Black, Evans wasn’t going to tell the school that he was a half-blood, and his housemates would entertain themselves with ideas of how to hex the Head Boy and Girl for the next few hours, at least.
Perhaps it was shaping up to be a pretty good year.
____________________________
A/N: To my readers, I sincerely apologize for the long delay between updates. It has been an incredibly busy time for me, and I’d wanted to sit down and write something decent, but hadn’t had the chance up until now. This is a transitional chapter, but now that Severus has entered his sixth year I have many plans and (hopefully) will be able to write swiftly.
I've finally finished another chapter of Another Plane of Existence. I sent it to my beta and got it back within a day, but am still tweaking bits and baubles as usual. It's not exactly up to snuff, but I've had such a delay between postings that I figured I'd post it and edit as necessary.
I don't think I mentioned this in a post before, but once the whole thing has been completed (and I'd like to think that it will be before the release of book seven, but who knows?) I'm going to go back and make it fit current canon. I'll have to adjust Narcissa's age, as well as Bellatrix curse you, JK, for making Narcissa so old! What was the point of that, really? Did she have to be Lucius's age?? and a few other things here and there. I'm rather relieved that I can keep Regulus and Rosier as they are. They're my fave characters to write.
The fic's up at HPFF and ff.net, and will hopefully be up at mugglenet soon, but I'm putting it up here to be redundant, because I'm like that.
*Previous disclaimers apply
Dawning Recognition
And I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
Sarah McLachlan, Surfacing, Arista Records 1997
Several weeks had passed since Snape’s informative experience at the Black household. Much to his father’s chagrin, Spinner’s End had since been subjected to an influx of messenger owls. In all fairness, Severus wasn’t very fond of the self-important hoots and beaks tapping against the windowpanes, either. He also found the fact that most owls expected a little food in return mildly irritating. At least the muggle postman did not demand treats after a mail delivery.
Most of the letters he’d received were from Regulus, who would write something nearly every week. Severus remained uncertain as to whether or not Regulus was corresponding out of duty, out of necessity, or if it was merely genial chitchat that gave him something to do. Regardless of the circumstances, Snape usually spared a moment to scrawl out a brief reply. His lack of detail and effort didn’t seem to faze Regulus at all, and the young Slytherin boy soon learned to drop any unnecessary questions that would surely go unanswered, sticking to mindless chatter and observations on the latest wizarding news.
The most important owl delivery had come four days ago, leaving Severus with an increasing satisfaction that the summer was finally coming to an end. A tawny Hogwarts owl had brought him a square envelope in which held his O.W.L. results. It was only a matter of seconds before he’d sliced the envelope open and viewed the results of his hard work: eight O.W.L.s. By some stroke of luck he’d even managed to scrape by on his History of Magic exam. Eight O.W.L.s was good-very good, indeed.
Severus spent the rest of the week walking around like a different boy; he was not quite so sullen or slinky, and instead held his shoulders straight and his chin levelled.
“That pleased to be leaving, are you?” Mr. Montford queried, looking up from the tincture Snape was currently preparing.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve noticed a spring in your step these past few days.”
Severus frowned. As far as he was concerned, he did not spring, nor would he ever. The fleeting horror that his actions were comparable to Potter deflated his pride considerably, and he paused in his grinding to study Mr. Montford.
The old man seemed not to notice. “This is the time of year most students begin to drag their feet.” His wrinkled hands pinched some of the herbs in Severus’ mortar and he began to rub them between his fingertips. “You, on the other hand, appear to be acting quite oppositely.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you could say that,” he answered, not that he thought it was Mr. Montford’s business. “I’m looking forward to returning to school.”
Montford looked as though he accepted Severus’s reply, and then cleared his throat. Severus braced himself for another prying question or a condescending review of his work, but fortunately was the recipient of neither. Mr. Montford fixed him with a steady gaze. “Since it is your last day, and I’ve-ah-come to the realization that I can be a bit hard on my employees, I wanted to give you something.” He smiled in what Snape could only assume was an apologetic manner (though it was hard to tell) and pulled an envelope out from his pocket. “Your wages,” he explained. “It also occurred to me that I could supply you with something else that you may find useful…” He went over to the counter and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a parcel. He held it up for Severus to view. “Herbs,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve enclosed a number of herbs, including a few rare ones, for your own collection.” He waved it importantly, hobbling back towards Severus. “I expect you to use them.”
Severus blinked in surprise, accepting the envelope and parcel hesitantly. There was no doubt in his mind that the parcel’s contents would prove to be useful. He was, however, slightly taken aback that the gruff old man had given him any thought at all. “Thank you very much, sir,” he said. “You needn’t worry about them going to waste.” He gently placed the parcel on the table and turned back to his tincture. “I appreciate it.”
“You deserve it,” replied Mr. Montford. “With the exception of your mother, you are one of the most adequate herbalists that I’ve worked with.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Though between you and me, your mother is growing too old for improvement, whereas you...” He paused, raising his bushy eyebrows suggestively. “You are invited to come back and work for me any time you wish, Mr. Snape.”
Mr. Montford’s words settled in slowly. Severus couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief. It was the first time the old man had been generous in his praise this entire summer, and really, even Slughorn couldn’t have done a better job of it. Considering the offer, Severus gave a slight nod. “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “perhaps over the winter holidays, or next summer.”
“Fine, fine.” Mr. Montford eyes glimmered with satisfaction, but he cleared his throat in a professional manner. “You mentioned something about having to shop for school supplies earlier. You’d best be off before it gets dark and the shops close for the evening.”
He began to clean up the area in which Severus was working, and Severus paused uncomfortably. “Mr. Montford, sir, I can straighten up,” he offered. After all, part of an herbalist or potion brewer’s duty was to clean up and decontaminate the workspace. Severus had always been particularly meticulous in that aspect.
“No, no. There’s no reason for you to be polite to this barmy old codger.” Montford gestured emphatically to the door. “Off with you, now.”
Severus thinned his lips, scanning the small shop one last time. For all of the grief he’d given his mother, his job here hadn’t been all that bad. He’d managed to make some extra money and learn a few things, besides. “Thank you, sir,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “I hope the rest of your summer goes well.” Clutching the parcel close to his chest, he exited through the door, the jingle of the bells ringing their last goodbye as he departed.
He passed few people as he made his way through London’s streets towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was approaching suppertime, and most of the crowds had thinned out. It was the perfect time to pick up school supplies, he decided, appreciating the fact that he wouldn’t have to queue up in order to purchase a set of school robes and some new parchment and quills. He patted the list in his pocket to ensure it was still there, though if it hadn’t been there it would hardly have mattered; he had the list memorized. Besides, much of the list had already been crossed off; his mother’s old things would suffice.
He turned a corner and began to walk down Charing Cross Road. The shabby little inn known as the Leaky came into view and he began to feel excited about visiting Diagon Alley. A group of young Muggles was standing in front of the Leaky’s entrance, so Severus slowed his gait and paused, feigning interest in the record store next door. The group showed little promise of moving from its current location any time soon.
“Oh, come on,” he grumbled under his breath, growing impatient as the seconds ticked by. He sighed irritably and resisted the urge to tell them off, instead turning his attention to the record store before him. Large, brightly coloured posters were hanging everywhere, and dozens of shelves holding hundreds of records lined the walls. People mulled around, bobbing their heads to the music as they scanned the selection of records. Severus didn’t really understand the allure. Records were a frivolous expenditure in the Snape household, especially when they could listen to radio programming for free. Besides, the wizarding wireless network was perfectly adequate. He started to turn away from the shop window when a familiar dimpled smile caught his eye and startled him.
“Evans,” he breathed, inhaling sharply. She was standing at the counter, purchasing a record and chatting amicably with the young sales clerk. Severus watched the clerk sceptically; it looked as though he was flirting with her. He couldn’t be for certain as to whether or not Evans appreciated it, then brushed the thought away. It wasn’t as if it mattered.
She’d turned so that now Snape could only see her hair, which was tied back away from her face. The moment he saw her he’d been instantly reminded of their last encounter, recalling the worries that had been bothering him ever since. Part of him wanted to keep walking towards the Leaky and forget the fact that he’d seen her, but by the time he even considered it she’d turned around and was walking to the door.
“Damnit!” He scowled and looked around, but there was no place for him to hide, lest he join the group of Muggles, which wasn’t an appealing thought.
The door of the record store opened and Evans stepped out, carrying a number of purchases in sacks. She was shifting them about, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was standing within a yard of her. Unable to shake the thought of Hogwarts’ entire student population finding out that he was a half-blood, Severus decided to seize this opportunity to have a chat with Evans.
He felt his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, and raised his voice to get her attention. “Evans.”
Startled, she looked up from her purchases and turned towards him. “Snape?” she replied bemusedly. Her almond-shaped eyes immediately narrowed into suspicious slits. “What are you doing here?”
He ignored her inquisitive stare and sniffed scathingly. She was acting as if he’d stalked her out on his own accord, he decided, feeling insulted. He gestured to the Muggle group. “Waiting for them to clear off so that I can enter the Leaky.”
“Oh.” Her gaze flickered to the crowded sidewalk, and she relaxed a little. “I just finished my shopping. My dad is fetching the car.”
He’d assumed as much, identifying a familiar wizarding logo on one of the sacks she was carrying. Wondering how he could bring up the incident at the train station, he shoved his hands into his pockets pensively. Evans didn’t say anything, merely looking uncomfortable and impatient.
It was now or never, he decided, and after another silent moment, plucked up enough nerve to say something. “Listen, Evans,” he began, “about our run-in at King’s Cross-“
She put up her free hand and interrupted him. “If you’re worried about me telling anyone that you’re not really a pureblood, you needn’t be. I have no plans of interfering in your little façade.”
He gave her a sharp look. It bothered him that she’d known what he was going to request, and also that she’d treated his behaviour in such a demeaning manner. Still, the tight ball of worry that was lodged in his chest for the entire summer began to ebb away.
“Fine,” he replied, clipping the word short with his tongue.
She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “It’s not like I don’t understand why you’ve done it.”
He lifted an eyebrow warily. She was perceptive, something he usually considered an admirable trait, but her words made him suspicious. Could he trust her to keep a secret? He searched her face, looking for some sort of sign that would prove otherwise, but found none. He heaved a weighty sigh; a mild guilt started to trouble him, and he conceded to it, although reluctantly. “It makes me no less of a hypocrite,” he admitted.
To his surprise, the corners of Evans’s mouth curled up and she gave a snort of amusement. “That’s the closest I’ll ever come to receiving an apology, isn’t it?” she asked.
He frowned at her. He hadn’t meant to apologize, and especially had not meant to be funny. She must have noticed his disapproval, because she stifled her laughter abruptly and hastily tore her gaze away from his.
“Come on,” she said, nodding towards the Leaky. “They’re moving.”
He turned to look at the Muggles, and sure enough, they were moving along, albeit slowly. “Thank the gods,” he muttered.
Evans started to walk towards the Leaky. “Have you had a good summer?” she asked.
“All right,” he answered stiffly. “You?”
“I’m glad to be going back to Hogwarts,” she replied. Then as an afterthought, “My sister is so unbearable at times.”
He blinked at this revelation. He’d had no idea that Evans had a sister. Upon further reflection, however, he realized he didn’t know much about her at all, with the exception of the fact that she was a Muggle-born and her father’s name was Richard. He couldn’t recall another Evans in the Hogwarts population. “Is she a witch?” he inquired.
“A witch?” Evans repeated, slowly. A crease formed between her brows as she thought about this. “Well, that depends on your definition of the word, really.” She gave him a sidelong look. “She’s hopelessly Muggle, you see, and can be a bit…ill-tempered.” She sighed after this, looking a bit like she’d wished she hadn’t said anything at all. The look faded from her face as quickly as it appeared, though, and her face forcibly brightened. “Did you get your O.W.L. results?” she asked.
He nodded. “Four days ago.”
“Me too.”
“Did you do well on your Potions exam?” he asked suddenly, remembering their exchange over his notes. He glanced at the group of Muggles. They hadn’t turned the corner yet, so he and Evans paused in front of the Leaky Cauldron, waiting.
Evans nodded. “An ‘O’,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “Professor Slughorn will be pleased.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her left ear. “You?”
He nodded. “The same. I’ll see you in N.E.W.T. level potions, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose you will.”
He nearly asked her if, since she’d done so well on her Potions exam, it was still necessary for her to borrow his notes. He didn’t, however, and looked past her to see if the coast was clear so that he could make his way to Diagon Alley. The group of teenagers had disappeared around the corner of another building, and he thought it would be silly if he continued to chat with her, being as that they hardly knew each other. “I should probably get going,” he said.
“Oh, right,” she murmured, giving him a small smile. “I’ll see you on the train, then?”
“Probably,” he assented. “Let’s just hope it’s not because I’ve hexed Potter,” he added dryly, referring to her previous interferences.
Evans looked surprised, but then laughed. It was a warm laugh, causing Severus to flush a bit. “I’m willing to overlook that,” she said, shaking her head.
He shrugged to convey that his comment wasn’t completely in jest and edged towards the door, pausing. “Enjoy the rest of your summer.”
“You too.”
With one final nod, he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Evans silhouetted in the warm glow of the summer sunset, her hair reflecting a red and gold halo of sunlight.
* * *
“You’ve got quite a bit there,” Eileen said, lifting an eyebrow at Severus’s purchases, which he placed on the kitchen table with a small thump.
“Not really,” he replied, dark eyes surveying the sacks with a similar look. “No books.”
“No need,” Eileen said matter-of-factly. “I gathered the few that weren’t in your room and put them with the rest, by your trunk.”
Severus grunted appreciatively. The nice thing about his mother was that she wasn’t a particularly nosey person. There was a mutual respect between mother and son that neither crossed unless they absolutely had to, which wasn’t often.
“Is he not here then?”
“No. He’s working a double shift at the mill.”
“Ah.” Severus couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh and sank down into a chair across from his mother. Her lips were pinched together, and a deep crease formed between her brows.
She eyed him for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then cleared her throat. “Do you fancy a game of gobstones?” she asked.
When Severus was a young boy she had taught him how to play, gently introducing him to the logistics and strategies needed to win. As he aged, the games became more competitive, not that either minded. It was rare that Severus won a game, though. Eileen was a skilled competitor and was not the type of person to let her son win. The fact that she challenged him to a game now, of all times, caught him off guard. They hadn’t played a game in the two years, at least.
“Gobstones?” He glanced around the house. “Now?”
“Do you have something else to do?”
He nearly said that yes, he did have something else to do, but the expression on his mother’s face made him hesitate. “No,” he said, finally. “Shall I get the board?”
Eileen gestured to a worn box on the countertop. “I already have,” she said lightly. “You set up, Severus.”
He grabbed the box obligingly and began to set up the pieces in silence, frowning to himself. His mother wanted to talk to him about something, he was certain of that, but he had no idea what it would be about. Long fingers carefully adjusting the last gobstone, he glanced up at her expectantly. “Your move.”
She moved, and they took turns going back and forth for several minutes before she spoke again. “Severus,” she began, voice perfectly level and straightforward, “what do you plan on doing after school?”
He had been about to move a precarious looking gobstone, but froze at her question, turning his attention to her and fixing her with an inquisitive stare. “Why do you ask?” He hadn’t meant to sound as defensive as the tone of his voice suggested, but it was a strange coincidence that his mother asked him about his career plans on the same day that Mr. Montford offered him a job at the herbalist shop.
Eileen seemed unperturbed by his retort. “Because I am your mother and take an interest in these things, as it happens.”
Severus turned his attention back to the pulsating gobstone, and held his breath. Luckily, an open board space allowed him to make a move without touching it. “I’m not going to take over for Mr. Montford some day, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“And what exactly makes you believe that I thought that?” Eileen replied, swiftly making a move that prevented Severus from grabbing any of the gobstones besides the ominous looking one. He blanched, knowing he’d lost.
“Timing,” he answered shortly, and gingerly pushed the gobstone away from them both. A putrid-smelling liquid shot out of it and splattered across the table. Eileen’s eyes glittered triumphantly and Snape’s nostrils flared as the liquid’s scent wafted in his direction.
“That’s partially true,” she conceded, standing up to retrieve a washcloth and mop up the gobstone juice. “Of course, that’s mostly because you’re entering your sixth year of school.” She dabbed at the drops scattered across the tabletop. “I didn’t think you planned on being an herbalist, Severus.”
He sat stiffly in the chair. “Oh.”
Eileen placed the washcloth in the kitchen sink. “Another game?” she asked. “This one didn’t last very long.”
“I’d rather not,” he answered.
She fixed him with a stern look. “You know, I didn’t think that one simple question would put you in one of your moods,” she told him.
“I’m not in a mood,” he protested, even though every minute that passed by was clearly making him increasingly broody. “If you insist upon knowing-“
“-Severus,” she interrupted with a snap, “I am your mother. I insist because I have an interest in your plans and I worry about you.”
He immediately bit his tongue and bowed his head, letting his dark fringe fall in front of his eyes. She was right, of course. He had no idea why he was being so unnecessarily foul about such a simple question. He inhaled deeply and tried to quell is nerves. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that I’m not sure yet. Last year I told Professor Slughorn that I found curse-breaking interesting.”
Eileen’s lips twitched at this. “You would,” she said softly. “That would take you where?” she asked. “Egypt? South America?”
“Probably.”
“I always wanted to travel,” she said suddenly, almost wistfully.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” he agreed contemplatively. “But really, I’m more interested in the process of figuring out curses and their counterparts.” His thoughts drifted to his mother’s old potions book-his private journal for similar research, trials and errors.
“And your N.E.W.T. levels this year are centred around the courses you’ll need for curse-breaking?”
“Of course,” he answered. “Defence Against the Dark Arts is my favourite class, and I’m taking Arithmancy and Charms.”
“And Potions?”
He paused. He was taking potions, though it wasn’t exactly a necessity for curse breaking. He was simply talented at it and knew it would be a relatively easy mark. “Yes,” he answered with a nod, “Potions too.”
She nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ve got a knack for potion brewing.”
“So some say.”
Eileen was quiet then, and they both sat in the kitchen, staring into space. Several more minutes passed by before she focused her dark gaze upon him. “I think it would be good if you travelled.”
“Hm?” he murmured, taken by surprise. It was unlike her to say such things. “Why is that?”
“Severus,” she began bluntly, “I may have cut off most of my ties with the magical world, save you, but that does not mean I am ignorant to what’s going on.”
Shifting in his seat, he blinked at her. “And what is that?”
“I was also a Slytherin, you realize,” she said enigmatically. “I went to school with many pureblood witches and wizards whose kin are your housemates now.”
He had a faint idea where this was going, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. He was not about to incriminate himself, especially considering the fact that he hadn’t done anything unacceptable. Yet.
“It doesn’t take a Seer to know what’s building up,” she said. “You can practically see the tension building. It’s been going on for some time now, only more and more witches and wizards are becoming involved. I suspect the same families are taking part.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about, but found he couldn’t voice the lie. He began to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve instead.
“You’re very talented,” she continued. “I don’t want you to throw that away.”
What made her think he’d be throwing his talent away? he thought tiredly. And why did she suspect he’d be interested in such things? How did she know?
“Don’t throw your talents away,” she repeated, this time with urgency.
“I can take care of myself, mother,” he replied, somewhat petulantly.
She sighed. “I know that. I’m only concerned that you’ll take on more than you can handle.”
Feeling quite agitated by this point, Severus pushed back his chair so that it scraped loudly across the floorboards and stood up. “I can handle much more than you give me credit for apparently,” he said hotly.
Her mouth turned down and she raised her brows. “Is that what you think?” she responded tiredly. “You think I give you no credit? Sweet Circe, Severus, you’re acting stupid.”
“I am not stupid!” he shouted angrily. His mother jumped, and he immediately regretted raising his voice at her. He placed a hand on his forehead and began to massage his temple where he could feel his pulse racing. He was a complete idiot, yelling at her like that-like his father--and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I know what I’m capable of doing.”
Eileen didn’t reply, and merely watched him with a sad, worried expression on her face.
Severus decided to change the subject. “Here,” he said, digging in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a sack of money, and placed it on the table. “That is the remainder of my summer wages. Take it. Hide it from him; I want you to have it.” He cast his eyes downwards and turned to go, but was stopped by the sound of her voice clearing.
“Keep it,” she said softly. He heard her chair scrape across the floor, the jingle of coins, and her soft footsteps padding across the floor. A second later the palm of her hand rested gently on his shoulder, and her other hand held the satchel out for him. “You earned it, Severus. I have no doubt you’ll need it someday. Save it for the right time.”
He nodded and, sensing the waning of emotions, turned and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you."
* * *
“Oy! Severus!” a voice called out to him, and a moment later a familiar figure with brown, wavy hair came into view. It was Rosier, luggage in tow. “Looks like someone didn’t go to Majorca,” he said, grinning lopsidedly and coming to an abrupt stop in front of Severus.
Severus shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. “I’m rather glad I didn’t, as it looks as though you were there, and I wouldn’t have really had a holiday then.” Rosier’s skin was brown and there were golden streaks in his hair, obvious signs that he was somewhere with much better weather than Great Britain had been having.
Evan laughed. The white gleam of his teeth was even more stunning now that he sported a tan. “There's good Quidditch weather in Majorca,” he said, ruffling his hair absently.
“Not that that will help you in Scotland,” Snape replied pointedly. He’d set down his battered trunk in front of the scarlet train, observing the bustle around him. There were notable differences in his fellow students, some were taller, some were redder, some thinner, others had haircuts that made them look quite different, and for a moment, Snape wondered if he looked at all different. He sincerely doubted it.
“No, it won’t,” agreed Rosier. “No matter.” His hazel eyes followed a witch with long, dirty-blonde hair that walked past them. “Have you seen Lestrange?” he asked absently.
“No,” Severus replied, “you’re the first person I’ve seen, besides…” He’d been about to say Barty Crouch, but Lily Evans had just barrelled through the barrier between platforms, and his voice caught in his throat. She was pink in the face and out of breath, and her hair was blown into a tangle across her face. She dropped her trunk and began to comb it through with her fingers. Snape’s lip quivered with amusement as he observed her struggle.
Rosier turned to look in the direction he was staring. He gave a low whistle, and his mouth curled up into a smirk much like a cat’s. “She’s got legs up to her ears,” he murmured, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Pity she’s a mudblood. What a waste of a good looking girl.”
Evans was walking towards them, presumably to join the queue to board the train. As she neared the spot where the Slytherin boys were standing, Rosier winked at Snape and called out to her. “Hey, Evans,” he said rather smarmily, “if you’re ever wondering what it’s like to be filled with years of ancient magic, come and find me, eh?”
Evans, who’d stopped long enough to get the gist of what Rosier was saying, looked incredulous. Severus felt a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up from the collar of his robes. “Shut it, will you?” he hissed. Of course Rosier would choose to be a jerk now of all times. It would be too convenient for him to have said it with someone like Lestrange or Avery present.
Evans met his gaze for a moment, not looking particularly appreciative of Severus’s lame interference, and a second later turned her attention back to Rosier. “The only time I’ll be looking for you, Rosier, is when I’m scanning the Prophet for wizards in Azkaban.” She made a rude gesture with her free hand and stalked off.
“It’s not even the beginning of term and you’re going to lose us points,” Severus finished angrily. “She’s a prefect, you know.”
“Right, right,” Rosier replied in a dismissive manner. His cheeks were also flushed, but he didn’t say much about Evans’ retort, despite the fact that his eyes had narrowed dangerously and followed her figure as she boarded the train. Severus remained with Rosier, clinging to the small hope that his association with dunderheads wouldn’t cause her to retaliate in a way that would hurt his status in Slytherin house.
“Well, well, if it isn’t you two arseholes.” Rabastan Lestrange had walked up behind them, alongside Fulton Wilkes during Rosier’s little show.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Severus said in manner of a greeting.
Rosier greeted them cheerfully, turning to Wilkes. The auburn-haired boy stood nearly a foot taller than Severus, but Rosier could look him squarely in the eye. “Not Head Boy?” Rosier asked enquiringly, peering down at Wilkes’ robes. “Pity.”
Wilkes immediately scowled down at his unadorned school robes and ran a hand down the front of them absently. “No,” he said in a gruff voice. “And neither is Avery.”
Rabastan looked both startled and irritated by this revelation; his eyes flickered towards the students boarding the train. “If it even went to Longbottom,” he started, voice tight with threat. He didn’t continue, and instead cleared his throat and spat on the ground. Everyone present understood his comment. Longbottom’s appointment as Head Boy would not favourable for Slytherin. If he did happen to have been chosen, Lestrange’s reaction would not be pleasant-he’d likely lash out in the nastiest way possible.
Severus spoke before Rabastan could actually find the words to voice his threat. “It could be that Ravenclaw boy,” he suggested, “Rookwood.” The boys all looked at him, considering this. “He was a prefect, after all.” Rookwood wouldn’t be a bad candidate, either, he thought. Although Rookwood hadn't been present at the Lestrange's engagement party, Severus had an inclination that the Ravenclaw prefect desired involvement in the Dark Lord's affairs.
“He’d be better than Longbottom,” Wilkes agreed after a moment. “I don’t know him very well, though. I had Herbology with him, but he never said much to me.”
Snape privately thought that it might not be long before they got to know Rookwood a whole lot better, but refrained from voicing that opinion.
“Does anyone know who Head Girl is?” Rosier asked in interest. "Meadows, is it?"
“Marlene McKinnon,” both Rabastan and Fulton replied flatly.
“Blast.” Rosier wrinkled his nose and groaned. “She’s a right bitch.”
Severus was inclined to agree with Evan. His experiences around McKinnon were not what one would consider pleasant, and her actions as Head Girl would starkly contrast Bellatrix’s. The Slytherins would have to tread very carefully.
Lestrange grunted and picked up his trunk. “Come on,” he huffed, “let’s get on and claim a compartment already.” They lumbered behind him, making their way down the aisle until Wilkes kicked a couple of first years out of a suitable compartment and pronounced it Slytherin territory. They were situating themselves when a timid knock came from the door.
Rabastan tilted his head and glared at the doorway. “What is it?” he called out aggressively.
The door slid open and Regulus poked his head in, looking pink in the face. “Hello,” he greeted them. “I was looking for Carrow.” He stepped into their compartment, blue eyes flickering around the cabin. “They want him in the prefects compartment.”
A gold badge glinted on Regulus’s robes, and Severus lifted an eyebrow, peering at it curiously. “You’re a prefect then?” he mused.
Suddenly everyone’s attention was focused on Regulus, and he shrank away, cheeks burning. “Yes,” he said, nodding.
“No kidding,” said Rosier. “Congratulations.”
“Showing up your brother, I see?” Rabastan said with a smirk. “Way to make mummy proud.”
Regulus shook his head modestly. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered dismissively. “Professor Slughorn probably mentioned something to Dumbledore…” His voice drifted off and he shrugged. “Anyhow, if you see Carrow, tell him Longbottom is looking for him.”
The amused look on Rabastan’s face faded quickly and he made a disgusted sound. “Longbottom?” he growled.
Regulus winced. “Er…yes. He’s Head Boy this year.” Severus noticed an apologetic tone in the boy’s voice, as if the rest of the Slytherins would blame him for Longbottom’s newly acquired position.
Wilkes let out a string of expletives that would make even Filch blush. Rosier and Severus exchanged looks, but said nothing.
Regulus must’ve sensed the upsurge in anger, because he bowed his head respectfully and turned back towards the aisle. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “McKinnon’s just itching for me to be late, I can feel it.” He frowned then, indicating his own displeasure at the way things were starting out. “See you at the feast.” His hopeful gaze rested on Severus, who nodded in acknowledgement. He’d been expecting Regulus to join him at the hip for the train ride, and was surprisingly relieved that he didn’t have to worry about that now.
He could have a peaceful train ride, with the exception of the brooding compartment. He hadn’t experienced the displeasure of crossing paths with Potter or Black, Evans wasn’t going to tell the school that he was a half-blood, and his housemates would entertain themselves with ideas of how to hex the Head Boy and Girl for the next few hours, at least.
Perhaps it was shaping up to be a pretty good year.
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A/N: To my readers, I sincerely apologize for the long delay between updates. It has been an incredibly busy time for me, and I’d wanted to sit down and write something decent, but hadn’t had the chance up until now. This is a transitional chapter, but now that Severus has entered his sixth year I have many plans and (hopefully) will be able to write swiftly.