FIC: If I Could Choose Again (2 of 3)
Title: If I Could Choose Again (Part 2 of 3) Author: bohemianspirit Type: Fiction (AU, Gen, Het) Length: Short Story (prologue to a novel) Pairings: Severus/Lily, but storyline centers around Severus' maturation and development. Series: Wasn't supposed to be, but has turned into one. This story, complete in itself, is the beginning. Rating: PG-13
Summary: In the wake of Lily's rejection at the end of fifth year, Severus Snape makes one small choice that leads him to make other choices that ultimately give him the life for which he yearns.
Note: I set out to chart a believable, in-character alternative course of development for Severus, one based on choices he might plausibly have made that would have changed his life. Severus as he might have been--and, perhaps, as he really was.
He could feel the twist in his stomach, the sword through his heart, and he hated James Potter with all of his heart and mind and soul. Lily, for her part, seemed to be happy. And it was for that, above all, that he hated Potter.
Potions, once his favorite class, had become an ordeal. What cruelty insisted that Slytherin must share Potions with Gryffindor, Severus did not understand. Standing together over their cauldrons, Lily and Potter looked so adorable, so adoring, so... domestic. And sometimes Potter would look up, just to make sure that Severus was watching, and turn back to Lily with a smug satisfaction that Severus wanted to blast off his face. Severus found himself slipping into the Potions classroom whenever he could find it empty, as if to reclaim his sanctuary from the specter of Lily with Potter.
Patience. Discipline.
Severus had his eyes fixed on the cauldron, watching, waiting, never letting the focus of his mind waver for the least fraction of a second.
There.
He added the last ingredient, stirred, and let his shoulders slump.
"Hello?"
Severus startled. "What is it?" he snapped, scowling in the direction of the door. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
A Gryffindor. Jack Winston. Fifth year.
"I waited till you were done," he said, undaunted.
Severus sighed. "What do you want?"
"Help with Potions," he answered, beaming.
"Why?"
"Because I haven't got a prayer of passing my O.W.L. without it. And because you're the best in the school."
"I'm not the Potions master."
"That, too."
That damned, self-assured, Gryffindor entitlement--
"Oh, all right." Severus jerked his head, granting Winston leave to join him.
Winston dropped by several times in the next couple of weeks for help with Potions. When he got an exceptionally good mark on an important assignment, he walked up to Severus, right in front of the students passing back and forth in the halls.
"Here." Winston held out his hand, and Severus watched a gold coin fall into his own. "Thanks. Maybe go buy some clothes, or something." He said it so affably that it probably never occurred to him that any insult lay in his words.
Severus hefted the coin in his hand and curled his fingers around it.
He caught Lily in the hall one day, miraculously unaccompanied.
"I really didn't want to hurt you," he began, but she turned on him, glaring.
"Why do you want to hurt anybody?" she spat.
He watched her hair bounce on her robes, red against black, as she clipped away and disappeared around a corner.
Why do THEY want to hurt anybody?
All the good retorts always came to mind twenty minutes later.
Why did your precious James want to hurt ME?
Why did your popular Marauder friends think it was funny to hurt ME?
Why did YOU think it was funny?
Severus dropped his quill.
"Why the hell am I...?"
"Mr. Snape! Five points from Slytherin."
He looked up.
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," he muttered, picking up his quill.
But she was my friend! My best friend!
Well, obviously she's not your friend now.
But we used to talk--for hours--ages--
Used to. Ages ago.
He passed the two of them entwined behind a suit of armor. For the first time, he honestly didn't care.
Well, maybe just a little.
Severus was in the midst of yet another experimental modification of the Draught of the Living Death. Scribbling a note over a previous note in his Potions book, he frowned and wondered if--
A quiet cough broke into his thoughts.
He snapped his head up, annoyed by the interruption, and felt the bile rise in his throat. "What do you want, werewolf?"
"To apologize," said Remus Lupin quietly.
Severus felt his shoulders twitch. Scowling into the cauldron, he snarled, "I'm not interested in hearing your apologies."
And then, having spoken, he thought.
He watched the potion simmering, clarifying, and felt the bile recede as a stone seemed to settle in his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, through strands of hair, he glanced at the door. Lupin stood, calm, patient, waiting.
Severus jerked his head to indicate Lupin should join him by the cauldron.
Why do you want to hurt anybody?
I don't know. Just because.
Occlumency and Legilimency: The Power of a Disciplined Mind.
Severus had his nose so deep in his book that he did not notice he was no longer alone until the book was snatched away from him.
"You can come back."
Severus looked up into Avery's eyes. "No. I don't think so."
"No, I don't think so," mimicked Mulciber, standing next to Avery.
A surge of anger flared through Severus, but he forced it back.
"Shut up, Mulciber," said Avery. "Come on, Snape. You've been a git, but we really do want you back."
Severus shrugged. "Perhaps I don't want to go back."
They gaped at him.
"Perhaps," Avery coldly rejoined, "you don't have a choice."
Severus pulled the book out of Avery's hand.
"I always have a choice," he said, and walked away.
Winston came back for more help with Potions. Severus secretly hoped there would be another gold coin forthcoming, but he agreed to help, anyway. He never tired of working with Potions.
Word got around, courtesy of Jack Winston, and by the time Christmas holidays came around, Severus found himself tutoring a half dozen students. He had to set a limit or he'd never get around to his own work. When he got on the train to go home, he felt a small satisfaction in knowing that there were more students who wanted his help than he could reasonably make time to take on.
Severus lay on his bed, his head bent over his Potions book. Downstairs, dimly--but not dimly enough--he could hear his father's latest tirade against his mother. Severus wished he were seventeen already, not three weeks later when he'd be back at Hogwarts, so he could hex the bastard into the next century. Or into the next life.
Why do you want to hurt anyone?
Because I don't want to be hurt.
He wished he could at least do something to help his mum. He wished his mum had the nerve to do something to help herself. Was she, or wasn't she, a witch? She was weak. He would never allow himself to be so weak.
There was a crash. Then a heavy, dull thud, like something slamming into a wall.
The Trace be damned. Severus snatched his wand and opened the door, standing at the top of the stairs--but then he heard his mother's voice. Shaking, probably crying, but she did not sound as if she were in pain. She was speaking quietly, trying, it seemed, to appease the beast.
Severus retreated back into his room, shutting the door silently.
He scribbled one last note, then one other, then one that really was the last note, for now, and listened. He hadn't heard any shouting for over half an hour.
He set down his quill and crept down the stairs.
"Mummy?"
His mother looked up from the sofa. No marks or bruises; or maybe she'd already taken care of them. She had to be careful when his father was around, not to use magic, so...
"He's out." Her lip curled. "A round or two at the Pig and Poppy, I shouldn't wonder."
Severus mirrored his mother's scowl, but it vanished as he remembered why he'd come down the stairs.
"Half a minute." He dashed back up the stairs, two at a time, and came stomping down. "Merry Christmas!"
"Now, Severus, there's no--"
"Here." He couldn't help but grin as he handed her the small stack of gifts.
"You really shouldn't have."
"Oh, go on, Mum. Been tutoring Potions, I'm a rich man, now."
She glanced at him, and there was a little twist to her mouth that was as near as she got, most days, to a smile.
"Come on." Severus dropped next to her on the sofa. "Open them."
Setting the presents on her lap, his mother started to slide a finger under the wrapping paper.
"Not like that!"
She looked up at him, then, her eyes gleaming, she reached behind a cushion and retrieved her wand.
"That's more like it. Nobody here but us witches and wizards, who's to know?"
He liked to watch her when she used magic. She looked almost happy, really happy, and he wished he could see her like that always.
"This must have cost--it's too much." She held up a thick woolen cardigan, shaking her head.
"I wanted to get you a new set of robes," Severus told her. "But I knew what he would say, and--no sense begging for trouble."
His mother nodded, running her fingers over a soft green blouse. "You're a good boy, Severus."
He felt his face grow hot.
"I'm going out for a breath of air," he said. "Won't be long. Maybe I'll buy you another Christmas present."
"Oh, you." She swatted a hand in the air, waving away the very notion.
"I will. Just you see."
His mother brushed a kiss on his cheek. "You'll be good, now."
Severus felt his breath catch.
Discipline. Focus. He spoke from a point of perfect stillness he could feel at his core as he looked into his mother's eyes.
"Yes, Mummy. I'll be good."
They had a lot in common, his father and Potter. Both could put on the charm when it suited their purposes. Both took great pleasure in tormenting people, just because they could. And both hated Severus for the fact that he existed.
Potter was not a Muggle. That was one thing he did not have in common with Tobias Snape. Maybe instead of hating his father for being a Muggle, thought Severus, he ought to be hating him for being a cruel shit like Potter.
Would it damage his soul, he wondered, if he were to Avada Kedavra his father as an act of mercy to his mother?
Severus decided a box of chocolates would make a more suitable Christmas gift.
Just for the hell of it, he decided to attend midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. He hadn't set foot in church since he was eleven, and there was little of it he still believed, if ever he had; but it would be familiar, and warm, and a few more hours' delay in returning home. He was one of the first to arrive, more than an hour early. The choirmaster was leading the congregation in singing Christmas carols.
And in despair I bowed my head, There is no peace on earth, I said, For hate is strong--
Last spring's ordeal flashed into his mind. Severus had to grip the pew in front of him to avoid collapsing, the humiliation as fresh as if it were happening again, right then.
He hadn't been seeking trouble. Why had trouble insisted on seeking him?
Why do they hate me so much?
He knew why he hated them: because they hated him, enough to devote themselves to seizing every opportunity to humiliate him and hurt him.
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail.
He wished he could believe it.
It was so bloody unfair. Why did the rules always apply to him, but not to them? Why was he continually held accountable for his every error, however slight, while Potter and Black bullied and tormented him--and others--with impunity? Why was he singled out? Would it have been different if he had been sorted into Gryffindor?
We cannot control the choices of others...
Including those of Professor Dumbledore. His mouth twisted. No doubt it all seemed quite fair in Dumbledore's eyes: virtuous Gryffindor, slapping down power-hungry Slytherin, all for the greater good.
Virtue or power. What, then, will you choose?
Why can't I choose both?
Severus snapped to attention. Paging through the hymnal, he found the next carol, lifted his head, and raised his voice with renewed strength. If others refused to play by the rules, so be it. Severus could choose not to be dragged down with them.
"Hello, Snape."
"Hello, Winston."
He'd become so used to greeting him in the halls, he could almost forget the other boy was a Gryffindor. He did begin to forget that he was supposed to be reveling in gloriously indifferent isolation. The swarm of students in search of an able Potions tutor might have had something to do with it. Which reminded Severus that he had promised to make time for two more--
"Hello, Snivellus."
James Potter stepped into his path. Severus halted and stared back, doing his best to convey a sense of terminal boredom.
"No smart retorts today, Snivvy? No new hexes?"
"C'mon, Prongs." Sirius Black stepped up next to James Potter. "You're looking at the new, improved Snivellus. He gave up hexes for Lent."
Potter snorted. "I'm not seeing much improvement," he said. "Looking a bit brain dead, I'd--"
"Leave him alone."
Severus snapped his head to the side: Remus Lupin stood by the wall, looking as if it had taken a heroic effort for him to utter those three words.
"What?" said Potter, staring incredulously at Remus.
"He's not bothering you. So don't bother him."
"He's bothering me," said Potter, "just by showing his ugly face in public."
Black snickered.
Remus swallowed. "Fine," he said, his voice a bit shaky. "Ten points from Gryffindor."
"What?
"You can't--"
"I can. I did. I will again, if you don't leave Severus alone."
"Oooo. Severus, is it?" Black leered at Remus, whose face suddenly flushed very red. Severus felt heat in his own face, though whether out of embarrassment for himself or for Remus, he could not say.
Potter laughed. "Come on, Padfoot. You heard him. Leave him alone--with Severus." He and Black sauntered away, laughing.
Severus let out a sigh.
"Hypocrite," muttered Remus.
"What?" Severus looked sharply at him. "Potter?"
Remus shook his head. "James hasn't got a clue."
"In more ways than one."
"Well, definitely not about that."
Severus gaped. "You mean Black--he's--"
Remus nodded.
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure."
"How--" Then Severus saw the blush rise again in Remus' face. "Oh. Never mind," he said, averting his eyes. He shook his head. "God, Lupin, you do have it hard--"
Remus exploded into raucous laughter.
Severus knew he must be red as a beet. "That's not what I meant." Remus could hardly breathe. He clutched his sides, nearly falling over. Impatiently Severus grabbed his arm and pulled him up. "Come on, you git. We'll be late for class. I don't fancy making a grand entrance together."
Remus shook his head. "That'd be hard," he said, and collapsed into another round of laughter.
He might as well bring his bed into the Potions room, he was spending so much time there. When he wasn't tutoring, he was pursuing an advanced project of his own devising: He was trying to create an anti-werewolf draught. It surprised him, at first, that one had not been developed long ago; but the more he read, the more he understood how deeply despised werewolves truly were, just for having had the bad luck to be bitten. No amount of good will or potential could redeem any werewolf in the eyes of most wizards and witches.
Asinine. Not to mention cruel. To simply give up, deem an entire life worthless--Severus refused to believe that nothing could be done. The question was, did anyone care enough to devote the necessary patience and discipline to finding what could be done?
Severus determined to demonstrate that he had the necessary patience and discipline, along with a healthy dose of brilliance, of course, upon which patience and discipline could feed. Mainly, he wanted to impress Slughorn with his prowess, get a leg up on his N.E.W.T.s. It also occurred to him that there might be a lucrative--albeit underground--market for this sort of thing.
The potion was not supposed to squeak.
Severus turned and saw a boy, small and slight, even for a first-year. After a moment's thought, Severus placed him: The hat had taken a good five minutes of deliberation to finally assign him to Ravenclaw. The boy seemed as uncertain as his sorting had been; at the moment he conveyed a sense of wanting to become a human Invisibility Cloak.
"Hi," said Severus.
The boy stared back. "Hi," he squeaked, then turned crimson.
"Do you want help with Potions?" guessed Severus.
The boy nodded.
"Well, come on, I'm not going to turn you into a toad--or let you turn yourself into a toad."
That made the boy laugh, just a bit. "Is it true you're brilliant at Potions?"
"Yes. But I won't turn anyone into a toad--unless they richly deserve it."
What little color was in the boy's face drained away.
Severus arched one eyebrow. "I'm kidding."
"Oh."
He shuffled into the room, looking about uncertainly.
The potion on the table was waiting. A moment's consideration was all it took for Severus to Evanesco the cauldron. What he had created, he could recreate.
Severus held out his hand. "I'm Severus."
The boy stared at Severus' hand, then, hesitantly, shook it. "Derrick," he said.
"All right, Derrick." Severus shifted the books to one side, making room for the boy to set down his own things. "Come on, then."
Once, working alone late in the evening, he thought he saw a flash of fire.
Lily's hair.
He looked again, but the corridor was empty.
"Oh, no..."
You idiot boy! Can't you do anything right? Useless, imbecile, dunderhead--
"Clean it up." Severus spoke with a cool, detached sense of quiet control. "And try again."
"I really do appreciate all you've done," said Winston, frowning in concentration at the cauldron before him.
"Not at all," said Severus. "This is a holiday, after spending the better part of an hour preventing the young Ravenclaw from blowing up the classroom."
Winston laughed. "We've all been there."
"He's coming along," admitted Severus. "It's rather fascinating, watching a squeaking nervous wreck of a first year develop the first signs of becoming a focused, competent wizard. Though I'll be a nervous wreck, myself, before the year's out."
"Not you." Winston added five drops of pine sap one by one, precisely three seconds apart, to the cauldron. "You're too level-headed."
Severus coughed. "Me?"
Winston glanced over. "Yeah, you."
"Keep your eye on the cauldron at all times."
"Like that."
"Oh." Severus watched him crumble dried oak leaves into the mix. "That's not what I was thinking of."
Winston stirred three times clockwise.
"Oh, that." He shrugged. "Girls'll do that to you. Anyway, you took it well."
"Were you there?"
"Yep."
They were both watching Winston's cauldron, now.
"You've changed a lot. Everyone's talking about it."
Severus frowned. "I try not to listen to what everyone is talking about."
"Well, maybe you should, because a lot of it's good."
"Now, this is the crucial part--watch the color--"
Winston flashed a grin. "Yes, Professor," he said.
Sally Talbot, the third year from his own house, had been coming round for tutoring. She seemed bright enough, but awfully distracted. After several sessions, Severus found out why, by way of a scrap of parchment that had been tucked into his Potions book.
You're cute.
"Cute?" Severus asked the empty room. He put a hand to his nose, and grimaced. "Poor girl needs glasses."
His first thought was to dash off a scathing retort to that effect and have it delivered with the next owl. Then he thought of another owl, and of Lily; and in his mind he began to prepare a more gentle response, to be given in person: a response that he hoped would spare the girl's heart while making it clear that he was just a bit too old for her to be pinning her affections on him.
Why do you want to hurt anybody?
I don't, really.
The thing about the Dark Arts, mused Severus, sitting beneath a tree on an exceptionally bright warm day, was that somebody, somewhere would always be using them. He couldn't avoid studying them altogether, even if he wanted to; and he wasn't sure that he wanted to.
For Severus, the Dark Arts had been much more than a way to overcome fear or gain power. They had been gratifying: Subtle. Complex. Challenging. Requiring a high degree of mastery to wield effectively.
And they had been his path to acceptance.
He remembered how Lucius Malfoy had welcomed him, after the Sorting. And how Lucius Malfoy had discovered his nascent fascination with the Dark Arts, and his exceptional talent for the Dark Arts--hell, thought Severus, he had exceptional talent for anything to which he applied himself diligently. And Lucius Malfoy had made him feel, for the first time, like he belonged, like he, Severus Snape, was no longer on the outside looking in, like he could matter.
We're going to take that talent of yours, Snape, and develop it beyond your wildest dreams...
Severus shivered. Nightmares, he corrected the memory of Malfoy. Nightmares he had narrowly escaped. His time apart had given him time, and distance, to see the Death Eaters and their master with different eyes. Any desire he'd once thought he had to join their number had dissipated--for the duration. Seeing the fear deep in the eyes of his newly branded housemates confirmed that theirs was no path to power. He still wanted to belong, but not to that. And he was no longer afraid to be alone.
"Now, beetle shells come in very useful for any number of applications." Severus was walking with Derrick after a Potions session late in the spring. "But you have to be careful to use the right kind for the right potion--very important. If the potion calls for finely ground shells of the spotted red, you can't be tossing in chips of the common black and expect--"
"Hey, hey! Potions Master Snape!"
Warm light burst through Severus and broke into a grin. "Hufflepuff Horatio!" he called, lifting his hand.
Severus turned back to Derrick. "All right. As I was--"
Whatever he was going to say was driven clean from his mind, for the squeaky bumbling first year at his side was looking up at him, his eyes shining with pure, unabashed hero worship.
Nobody had ever looked at him like that.
Severus blinked.
"Beetles," prompted Derrick.
"Yes. Thank you." Severus blinked again and mustered a faint smile. He resumed walking, and Derrick followed suit. "As I was saying, if you want--"
"Look at that Snape!"
Mulciber's jeering voice cut in.
"Too good to hang out with the real wizards, now."
Severus rolled his eyes and kept walking. Derrick, looking to him, followed his example.
"Muggle-lover!"
Severus halted, turned, looked directly at Mulciber and the small cluster of sneering Slytherins surrounding him. "My father is a Muggle."
"Oh, how sweet. All for the love of dear old Dad!"
"He's an ass." Severus shrugged. "So are certain wizards."
"Better an ass than a Mudblood," retorted Mulciber. His companions laughed and clapped him on the back.
"Don't use that word," said Severus.
"Don't use that word," mimicked Mulciber.
"If we got rid of all the wizards and witches with Muggle relations, we'd be left with nothing but inbred incompetents like you."
"Oooo." Mulciber sneered, and reached for his wand.
Derrick stirred, but Severus lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Awwwwww. Big, brave Snape protecting the ickle baby Mudbloods."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "Don't use that word."
"Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood!"
The word echoed in the hall.
"Mudblood."
Into the silence Severus spoke, his voice low and cold. "He's more of a wizard already than you ever will be."
Rage surged up in Mulciber, darkened his face, exploded in the snap of his wand.
"Expelliarmus," sighed Severus.
Mulciber's wand flew away, struck the wall, clattered to the stone floor.
"Mulciber! Snape! Now!"
"Go on, now," Severus quietly told Derrick. He tucked his wand back into his robes and followed Professor McGonagall.