Chapter 2

This Time

Chapter 2:

You caught me under false pretences

How long before you let me go?

Supermassive Blackhole - Muse

The Headmaster stood briskly, as if he had an appointment elsewhere. 'We can discuss Hermione's involvement in the prophecy in more detail later. For now, let us complete our plans.' Stroking his long, silver beard, he studied Severus for a few moments before saying, 'We cannot risk placing another spell...such as a glamour to change your appearance...on top of my Youthening Enchantment. Instead, we must trust the changes in your hair, manner, and clothing to disguise you from your former students.'

Severus snorted and laid a finger along his hooked nose. 'Is this likely to go unnoticed?'

Dumbledore dared to twinkle again. 'You are not the only member of the wizarding population of the British Isles with a nose of that shape, Severus. If anyone mentions it to you, simply allow that you have heard that Professor Snape was a distant cousin.' He drew his wand. 'Shall we proceed?' he asked politely.

Severus shrugged with assumed indifference, closing his eyes and waiting for the magic to wash over him. The Headmaster drew breath and spoke in a powerful voice, words in a language Severus did not know. The sensation was like being plunged into a pool of oil and being pulled through it, unresisting. Then the sensation was gone, and he opened his eyes.

Dumbledore smiled with great pleasure. 'Oh, well done,' he murmured, 'even if I do say so myself.'

Severus glared at him. 'You don't expect me to say so, do you?' he demanded sourly...then gasped. That wasn't his voice!

Dumbledore's smile simply grew wider. 'Oh, excellent...you even sound seventeen!'

Severus resisted the urge to give him a two-fingered salute.

'Aren't you going to look in the mirror, Severus?' the Headmaster asked gently.

'Fuck, no,' Severus snapped.

Dumbledore nodded. 'As you wish, of course.' The old wizard walked to the fireplace, then turned to say, 'I'll need a name for your papers...O.W.L. results and such. What name will you use?'

'Prince,' Severus replied promptly. 'Merlin knows there are enough of them scattered through the West Country.'

'And a given name?'

Severus paused, riffling his memory until he hit upon a suitable name. 'Adin.'

'Adin Prince it is, then,' Dumbledore said. 'We shall look for you on September first.' And then, the interfering old wizard Flooed away.

In spite of his hopes to the contrary, Severus awoke in his bed at Spinner's End on the next morning to discover that it had not all been a dream. His first clue was the world-class erection with which he awoke, jutting at such an acute angle to his belly that it practically pointed at his chin. Morning erections were not a novelty, but the jaunty, youthful slant of it did not belong to his thirty-seven-year-old body. He was easily able to verify his status by stumbling into the bathroom and looking at his unlined face in the mirror. Scowling at the once-familiar visage, he turned to relieve himself, noting with purely male approval the perfect arc of urine that had been a thing of the past for some time.

Curious as to what other phenomena of the past might be back to mitigate his annoyance at this turn of events, he took himself in hand when he stepped into the shower, finding that very little effort was required on his part to incite his body to climax, the trajectory of his output against the tile wall bringing a self-satisfied smirk to his lips.

There were ... trade-offs to being subjected to another of Dumbledore's plans, he supposed.

Catching his breath, his eyes flicked casually over his rapidly diminishing member to the hand which had lately held it ... to the forearm attached to that hand ... and his heart began to pound in his chest. He jerked both arms before his face, comparing the unblemished white skin upon each of them, and an inchoate cry, somewhere between relief and disbelief, escaped his throat. Sagging against the tile, he shed tears whilst the steaming water beat down upon him.

He had never truly believed that he would ever be free of the hateful Mark of Tom Riddle.

He hadn't necessarily been a better person before he took the Mark...he had already been scorned by the girl he wanted; tormented and taunted by James Potter and Company; and tempted by the vision of a life of affluence and influence, which he had been deluded into believing the Death Eaters offered...but the vile tattoo had ever after been irrefutable evidence of his dashed hopes and futile folly. The Mark had not made him what he became, but it had been proof of his stupidity, and he had never been able to bear to expose himself to ridicule in that way.

Now, he took up the bath soap and began to wash the untarnished arm, wishing he had the choice to keep its pristine state when he returned to his adult body. It made him feel unutterably clean.

Finished washing, Severus exited the shower and contemplated his reflection again as he towelled his body dry. Dumbledore had insisted upon a definitive change in all the characteristics for which he was well known, and there was no time like the present. With a pang, Severus picked up his wand. Long black strands fell into the basin as he began to cut away his first and most personal shield against an unkind universe.

Severus had been forced to make alterations to his clothing before leaving for Diagon Alley, for at seventeen, he lacked an inch or so of the height he would attain at full maturity and his shoulders were a tad less broad than they would become. He slouched along the busy wizarding street, pleasure at being out of his house warring with discomfort at wearing ill-fitting clothing in public. Having suffered quite enough of that problem as a student his first time around, as an adult he had made a point of always dressing in a manner calculated to draw the least possible attention to him...odd that his manner of dress had become, instead, one of the singular things about him upon which his students and colleagues had always commented.

People were such fools.

At the very least, today was a stark contrast to his visits to this place with his mother at his side, picking through the available second-hand robes and books, resentment burning through him like acid. Now, he had a pocketful of Galleons...the means to measure up to any other average student in the matter of robes, clothing, and books. True, it was his life savings, but if he was to return to his own body only to die of the Dark Lord's last laugh of a death curse, why not spend it? Besides, the gold was his to do with as he wished, and there was a savage sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that he was using it to rewrite his own personal history.

Ducking into Madam Malkin's, he made quick work of procuring five sets of standard black school robes, followed by dress robes in lustrous midnight blue. The proprietress made the necessary alterations with her usual efficiency, following his lead and forbearing to chatter at him. Before leaving the shop, he changed into a set of the properly fitting everyday robes.

Back out on the street, he felt far more at ease, and he looked about him a bit as he debated whether to proceed to Flourish and Blotts or to go into Gladrags for clothing. People thronged the street, many of them students procuring school things. It was bit of a jolt for him to see a knot of fourth-years...no, they were fifth-years now...gossiping together in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He prepared a sneer for them, but they paid him no mind as he strode past them, save for a dark-haired Gryffindor girl...wasn't she called Romilda Vane?...who eyed him rather speculatively as he passed. He had forgotten that they would not recognise him in this incarnation; he wondered how many times he would fail to remember before he became accustomed to himself this way? On a last minute whim, as if in defiance of the past, he veered into the Quidditch store to investigate the latest craftsmanship in broomsticks...did not most seventh-year boys have their own?

Two hours later, he exited Gladrags with his everyday robes open down the front to reveal snug-fitting jeans topped by a lightweight, long-sleeved grey tee-shirt. His 'Reducio!' had decreased the bulk of his new robes and casual clothes to easily fit in the oversized pocket of his robes, but his school books were stuffed into a bulging bag, and his sleek new Nimbus 3000 would be delivered to him at Hogwarts. His stomach rumbled insistently, and he smirked at this reminder of the perpetual hunger of adolescence; he turned obediently into Fortescue's for sustenance.

With an enormous sundae in the dish before him, he savoured his ice cream as well as his new textbooks at an outdoor table. Passing over the Charms and Arithmancy texts near the top of the pile, he tugged the Defence and Transfiguration books from the bag and flipped through them with an eager sort of anticipation. It had been years since he had been possessed of the leisure to read whatever he liked for pleasure alone, and he felt his spirits rise. There would be some agreeable elements to this ridiculous charade, after all.

Late afternoon shadows stretched upon the pavement as Severus strolled back down the street. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had a large display in front of their premises, and the identical proprietors worked the crowd of mostly young people perusing their wares. Crossing the street to avoid the notice of the Weasley twins, Severus turned his attention to the storefront of the Magical Menagerie just in time to jump aside, avoiding the scrambling figure of a large-eared cat with black-spotted, creamy fur and a tufted tail.

'Beg your pardon, sir!' a young man gasped, following the cat out the door and hurling himself at it. As Severus watched, the creature darted to one side, avoiding capture, and spun around, reversing direction and skidding to a halt at Severus' trainer-clad feet. Apparently satisfied with itself, the cat began to clean its paw.

'Well, will you look at that!' the clerk cried.

Severus scowled at the shop clerk. 'Look at what?' he demanded.

'That thing is nothin' but bother,' the young man complained, 'gettin' up to mischief in the shop, teachin' all the other animals how to get out of their cages, raidin' the food after hours...and refusin' to go home with anybody who wants 'er...but she's taken a shine to you....' The young man eyed Severus speculatively. 'Madam Furbin 'as gone for the night...whaddaya say to takin' the thing off my 'ands, mate? I'll give you a good price on it...and I'll throw in the basket and a bag o' cat food free, see?'

As the shop clerk spoke, the creature completed its fur cleaning and looked up into Severus' face, its big ears pricked forward, its gold eyes fixed on his. He felt a tug of interest. As a boy, he'd never had a pet, and as an adult, he'd never had the time or thought to spare for the day-to-day care of another being. As they stared at one another, the cat cocked its head to one side and blinked once, as if in communication.

'Very well,' Severus said, without looking away from his new acquisition.

'Brilliant!' the clerk enthused, bustling back into the shop.

Severus followed more slowly, his familiar trailing behind with her tufted tail held high. He laid the gold on the counter, accepting the basket and cat food from the clerk. 'She is a Kneazle, I take it?' he asked.

'Pure bred,' the boy agreed, putting the coins in the till. 'What'll you call 'er?'

A smirk touched Severus' lips as he turned to leave. 'Come along, Bother,' he said, not bothering to answer the clerk, and knowing her name when she heard it, the spotted Kneazle did as she was told.

The excitement of being upon the secure station platform as the hour neared eleven o'clock on September first had not changed since Severus was young, and he found that he was not unaffected by it. Pushing his trunk before him, with Bother in her basket sitting atop of it, he moved slowly down the crowded corridor of the Hogwarts Express, looking for a likely compartment.

The compartments were jam-packed with students in Muggle clothing, putting their trunks up in the overhead racks and arranging themselves and their other belongings for a long ride north. Willing himself not to mind the press of humanity around him, Severus inched along. The line lurched forward a few feet and he was able to move past the compartment full of Ravenclaw sixth-years to stare into a new compartment ... but this one was far more interesting.

With her denim-clad bottom nearly pressed up against the compartment glass, a girl was bent over her trunk, undoubtedly rifling its contents. Her jeans were low-slung, belted tightly about her curvaceous hips, and her small white tee-shirt rode up, exposing a smooth stretch of creamy skin, unmarred and silken-looking...except, just above the cleft of her buttocks, there resided the tattoo of a tiny gryphon in flight. As he watched, the magical tattoo gryphon spread its wings and took flight, never moving from its fortunate place near the small of its hostess' back, but holding Severus spellbound by its gyrations, nonetheless.

Unconsciously, Severus licked his suddenly dry lips and swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Lower down, he twitched to arousal, the speed of his body's reaction confounding him. Circe's knickers, this had been one of the bad things about being seventeen...the hormone-riddled adolescent body, willing to spring into action at any moment of the day or night.

From behind him a weary voice murmured, 'Move along, mate.'

Feeling himself colour with mortification, Severus turned his eyes resolutely from the gryphon tattooed derrière of the unknown female and pushed on down the miraculously cleared corridor.

In the next car down he found a compartment occupied by two people he did not recognise, and in relief, he opened the door. 'May I sit here?' he asked quietly.

Both faces turned to him, a boy and a girl, and there was a general murmur of assent. The boy, tall and sandy-haired, with hazel eyes, stood to help him heft his trunk onto the rack.

'Jared Józsa,' the boy said, turning to Severus with a friendly smile, his hand outstretched.

'Adin Prince,' Severus responded, shaking hands. 'Durmstrang?' he asked, noting the other boy's slight accent.

'Yes,' Jared agreed, gesturing to the other occupant of the compartment. 'We are both from Durmstrang. This is Allison Dyrda.'

The slender blonde girl shook hands with him as well, giving him a sunny smile.

Severus nodded and grinned in response, somewhat taken aback by the open friendliness of the Bulgarian students. Weren't this lot renowned for their Darkness?

They settled into their seats as the train began to move out of the station, and Severus was startled when Bother appeared, lightly springing into his lap and staring into his eyes, as if to inquire for permission.

'Settle down,' he muttered, pushing the pesky Kneazle onto the seat beside him, where she curled up against his leg, purring contentedly.

'What a clever cat!' Allison said, reaching over to scratch behind one large, spotted ear. 'Did you teach her to open her basket?'

'No,' Severus responded shortly, scowling at the unperturbed feline.

'You're a clever girl,' Allison assured Bother, who deigned to stretch her neck to receive the proffered scratches beneath her chin. With a measuring look at Severus, Allison sat back from her ministrations to the Kneazle and said, 'Our families have immigrated to England; both of our fathers work at the Ministry of Magic in International Magical Cooperation.'

'I see,' Severus murmured, averting his eyes from the rather impertinent inspection of the Bulgarian girl's almond-shaped blue eyes.

'What year are you?' Jared inquired, oblivious to the tension in the compartment. 'Allison and I are seventh-years.'

'Seventh,' Severus admitted. Remembering his cover story, he added, 'I was privately tutored...this will be my first year at Hogwarts, too.' After a moment, he asked, 'Are there very many Durmstrang students coming to Hogwarts?'

'Fifteen or twenty, I believe,' Jared responded. 'There were about five hundred of us displaced when the school was closed, but most of us went to Beauxbatons, in France...and some families decided to found a new school.' Jared shrugged. 'There are those pure-blood families who find it difficult to give up the old ways.'

Severus all but bit his tongue to refrain from uttering the sharp rejoinder which popped into his mind. The old ways were nothing but an excuse to cling to the practice of the Dark Arts...he hoped the Ministry for Magic in the country chosen for the home of the new school was aware of the founders' intentions. It might be necessary to provide an anonymous tip to make sure of it.

The three of them lapsed into silence as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

Severus pulled his Defence textbook from his own bag and flipped through to find the place he had bookmarked the night before, one hand idly stroking the spotted fur of his big-eared companion. The Durmstrang students began to converse quietly in what Severus assumed was the Bulgarian language, and Severus was soon lost in the printed word as the great steam engine powered steadily northward.

He was going back.

Author's Notes:

1) Adin was a Biblical exile who returned to Israel from Babylon. I liked the symmetry.

2) As they age, men's erections slowly devolve in angle, from the very acute angle of youth to more or less a ninety degree angle. Also, their urine streams and ejaculation strength diminish to less spectacular arcs and outputs. Boy stuff, but something a mature man would take note of if suddenly placed in a younger body again.