Chapter 3

This Time

Chapter 3

'Cuz you started something, can't you see?

I Only Want To Be With You - Bay City Rollers

Severus stood nervously in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, mightily battling the impulse to run. Most of the students had streamed right on into the Great Hall and found their places at the House tables, but the first first-years and the new students waited obediently under the beady eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

The unreality of the situation assaulted Severus from all directions. He had last stood in this place at the side of the Dark Lord, turning on him only at the very last moment, as Potter had cast the curse that had ended Tom Riddle once and for all. That very night, Dumbledore had spirited Severus away to Spinner's End, where the Headmaster had cast the Fidelius Charm and become Severus' Secret Keeper. From that day, Severus had lived hidden, with Dumbledore his only contact with the wizarding world, awaiting the Wizengamot's determination of his innocence or guilt. Being here again was bittersweet, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. He felt as if he were straddling a crevasse, one foot in the miserable existence of Severus Snape, and the other foot in the freshly minted life of Adin Prince. Given the chance, would he sweep up to the Staff Table and take his place as the Head of Slytherin House to watch the Sorting of the new students? Or would he choose to continue this pretence of adolescence, to relive his misspent youth, hoping to avoid his past mistakes?

He snorted. Of course he would never choose to be seventeen rather than thirty-seven! Why would he even wonder?

McGonagall addressed the assembled students, drawing his attention to her. 'Those of you who are not first-years, please move to the front of the line; you will be Sorted first. Follow me, please.'

McGonagall led them past the House tables, and Severus followed along, situating himself near the Durmstrang students and keeping his eyes averted as they approached the stool bearing the Sorting Hat. The deputy headmistress assumed her usual spot, with her list in hand, but the Headmaster stood and raised his hands, bringing all eyes to him, as the students quieted.

'The Sorting will begin in a moment, but I wanted to explain an irregularity to you all before we begin,' Dumbledore said. 'The end of the war has brought many changes in our world, one of which is the closing of Durmstrang Institute.' Murmuring broke out, but the Headmaster continued to speak. 'A number of students from Durmstrang are joining us this year, as are some other students whose private education has been disrupted by recent happenings. I trust that we will all make every effort to welcome these newcomers to Hogwarts, along with the first-years who will be Sorted tonight.' The Headmaster looked up and down each table, as if to impress upon the students the gravity of his words. 'We will begin with the older students and finish with the first-years. Let the Sorting begin!'

The Sorting Hat began to sing its yearly song, extolling the virtues of unity and tolerance in the post-Voldemort world, and at the conclusion of its commentary and advice, there was good-natured applause from the House tables.

At last, McGonagall raised her list of new students to eye level. 'Hector Arnaut!'

A gangly boy stepped up and sat on the stool; McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his spiky brown hair.

Severus found himself holding his breath, even though he had witnessed this ritual countless times over the last twenty-five years or so.

'Slytherin!' the Hat shouted, and the Slytherin table cheered, rising to greet Hector Arnaut as he came to sit with them.

Since everyone was looking at the Slytherin table, Severus allowed his eyes to rest on the students to whom he had been Head of House. The diminished number pained him. He knew that some had died in the war and that others had been hastily withdrawn from school, fleeing with their families to other places, away from a Ministry of Magic suddenly very interested in all persons even remotely associated with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Still, he was sadder than he had thought to be to see so few sitting at the Slytherin table.

'Ekaterina Botev!' McGonagall called, waiting to place the Hat upon the straggly, pink-streaked hair of the girl who plopped down on the stool.

'Slytherin!' the Hat shouted, and Ekaterina Botev took her place amongst the smug-looking Slytherins.

'Davina Chernozemski!'

'Slytherin!'

Murmuring began to fill the Great Hall, and Severus was aware of nervous glances being traded amongst the staff. Everyone knew that the Dark Arts had been openly taught at Durmstrang; it had been no secret that the Durmstrang students who had spent the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament at Hogwarts had fit in most comfortably with the Slytherins. But three students Sorted and all into Slytherin? Was Slytherin House big enough to accommodate all twenty of the Durmstrang Institute students who had transferred to Hogwarts, as well as any first-years it received?

'Allison Dyrda!'

Allison moved from her place between Jared and Severus and walked to the stool, her head held high. McGonagall placed the Hat on her long, wavy blonde hair, and the seconds seemed to drag on. Severus frowned as he watched Allison in an apparently complicated consultation with the Hat, reflecting, not for the first time, that it was a shame no one could hear what was being said between the Hat and a student except the two involved in the conversation. Allison really hadn't seemed like the cunning, ambitious sort to him ...

'Ravenclaw!' the Hat shouted, and the school as a whole let out a collective sigh of relief.

The Sorting proceeded quickly from then, it seemed to Severus. Jared Józsa Sorted into Gryffindor, and there were two girls who Sorted into Hufflepuff, one right after the other, but as McGonagall worked her way through the alphabet, Severus found the palms of his hands becoming more slick with each passing moment.

He was really dreading this.

'Adin Prince!' McGonagall called, and Severus strode up to the stool.

His former colleague gave him a look full of exasperated amusement, and Severus knew that Dumbledore had alerted McGonagall to his identity. With no more than a glare to acknowledge her greeting, Severus slouched down on the stool, and McGonagall set the Hat on his head.

'You again?' the sly voice said.

'Shut up,' Severus snarled disrespectfully.

'I was right about Slytherin House,' the Hat continued gleefully.

'Shut up,' Severus snapped, every bit as irritated as he had expected to be.

'Well, do you have any bright ideas this time?' the Hat inquired, managing to sound both solicitous and mocking.

Severus fumed. He knew he could find a place for himself in Ravenclaw...a place where he could keep his head down and get his work done until he and Dumbledore could work out how to deactivate the problem with the Dark Mark. But he also knew what the Hat had in mind...the same thing it had proposed to him the first time he had sat on this stool...and he had his own reasons for accepting its judgment this time around, regardless of how smug the damned thing might be about it. Well, with any luck, he'd never be so unfortunate as to have to put the Sorting Hat on again.

'Just get on with it, damn you,' he snarled.

'Gryffindor!' the Hat shouted.

McGonagall whipped the Hat from his head, a half-smile of satisfaction upon her lips, and he rose to walk to the Gryffindor table, blood pounding in his ears. All of the Gryffindors were applauding enthusiastically; Jared Józsa smiled at him broadly, and with the wave of a hand, offered the seat between himself and Dean Thomas. A number of Severus' former students, including Neville Longbottom, slapped him on the back, welcoming him to their House. He allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he accepted the salutations, and he sat down, finding himself face-to-face with Harry Potter, who sat directly across the table from him, watching him suspiciously with Lily Evans' emerald green eyes.

'We had a teacher called Prince,' Potter said flatly, keeping his voice down, 'and he had a nose just like yours.'

'Harry!' Hermione Granger said urgently, leaning across Ronald Weasley to grasp Potter's arm. 'Don't!'

Weasley gently pushed Granger's arm away, never taking his eyes from Severus' face. 'Yeah,' he said, 'Harry's right. He was a Death Eater...and he looked a lot like you.'

Severus returned their regard, managing a placid expression of surprise. 'Really?' he said mildly. 'I understood that Severus Snape taught here...he's a distant cousin...but I didn't know you had a teacher called Prince. Who was it?'

Potter actually looked a bit relieved, and some of the hostility vanished from his demeanour. 'Snape is the one I meant,' he admitted. 'He called himself the Half-Blood Prince when he was a student here.' Belatedly, Potter extended his hand across the table, still speaking quietly. 'Welcome to Gryffindor House...I'm Harry Potter.'

Severus forced down the impulse to sneer and slap Potter's hand away from him; instead, he firmly grasped the hand of the Boy-Who-Lived, saying wryly, 'I know who you are.'

'Ravenclaw!' the Sorting Hat shouted from across the room, and another hand was thrust at Severus.

'Yeah, welcome to Gryffindor,' Weasley said, his blue eyes still a bit doubtful. 'I'm Ron Weasley.'

Having successfully navigated his first encounter with Potter, Severus refused to be unsettled by the reservations of Weasley. He gave the sidekick's hand a shake and turned his gaze on Granger, who was anxiously watching her two friends' interactions with him. As much as it went against the grain, now was the time to begin establishing a rapport with her...wasn't she his prophesied saviour? 'Aren't you going to shake my hand?' he said, deliberately pitching his voice low, as if his words were meant for her alone, managing to infuse his tone with both wistfulness and challenge.

He surprised a giggle from her, and she flushed. 'No!' she said, flipping her hair as she turned from him, but Severus didn't miss the interest which flared in her brown eyes...nor the irritation in Weasley's face.

Excellent.

After eating to his adolescent body's content, Severus trailed after the other Gryffindors up to the seventh floor, where Weasley, a seventh-year prefect, waited to inform them of the password.

'Flitterbloom,' he advised them, munching on an apple the size of a small melon.

Severus suppressed a smirk. Flitterbloom? What kind of a password was that? Slytherin House had certainly never had such useless, ridiculous passwords. With a mental shrug, he slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

He wanted to gather a bit more information on his fellow seventh-years, so he settled in an armchair near the fireplace, where he was soon joined by Bother. Dean Thomas sat down across from him, an odd look of strain about his mouth.

'Strange looking cat,' he said, nodding towards Bother.

'Oh, she's not a cat,' Severus responded, unoffended. She would have been odd looking for a cat. 'Bother is a Kneazle.'

As if knowing she was under discussion, Bother stood and stretched, digging her claws into Severus' jeans before springing across the gap and landing in Thomas' lap.

'Push her off if she pesters you,' Severus advised, watching the other wizard closely.

But Thomas appeared gratified by Bother's attentions; he stroked her fur until she curled up on his legs. 'My mum doesn't let us keep pets,' he said.

After a few moments, Severus said casually, 'So, tell me about our sleeping arrangements.'

A shadow passed over Thomas' face. 'We've always had one big room,' he said, 'but this year, Dumbledore is allowing the seventh-years to arrange things however they want. You can have a room on your own or bunk with your mates.' He turned his suspiciously bright eyes to study Bother's spotted fur as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. 'My best mate died in the war,' he said, his voice sounding oddly scratchy.

Severus felt an immediate rush of emotion, Thomas' words bringing Lucius' pointed face before his eyes, his body lifeless on a marble slab. A painful sensation rose in this throat as he struggled not to cry...what the hell was wrong with him? Had he no control over his blasted emotions? 'That's harsh,' he managed gravely. 'What was his name?' he added, already knowing the answer to the question. The two had always been together in his classes.

Thomas dragged the sleeve of his jumper over his eyes. 'Seamus,' he answered. 'Seamus Finnegan.'

Severus nodded, but Thomas wasn't looking at him, so he said, 'Yeah, I remember reading his name in the Prophet.' He directed his gaze to the faded red rug beneath his feet, giving the other boy time to recover his composure and struggling to bring his own wayward feelings under control as well. At last, he said, 'So, have you got a room on your own?'

Before Thomas could answer him, a familiar voice interrupted them.

'Hi, Dean! Are you coming up to unpack?'

Quelling the urge to snarl at the speaker, Severus turned a neutral expression on Neville Longbottom, who held a squirming toad in one hand and a potted Screechsnap plant in the other.

'I'll be up a minute, Neville,' Thomas said. 'Have Harry and Ron decided what to do?'

'Ron told me they were sharing, but Harry just told me he's sleeping alone, so I guess Ron is going to be alone, too. I asked him if he wanted to be in with us, but he said no. The bloke from Durmstrang is taking a single room.' The round-faced Longbottom smiled uncertainly at Severus. 'Adin, you'd be welcome to muck in with us, if you want.'

Inwardly blanching, Severus maintained his blandest expression. 'Thanks, Neville, but I'll take a single, too.'

'Well, I guess I'll see you later,' Longbottom said cheerfully before heading upstairs.

Thomas chuckled, looking up again, all moisture gone from his face. 'I'll bet Ginny had something to do with Harry taking a single room,' he said with a grin. 'She's well up for it,' he added, sotto voce.

Severus stood, not feeling equal to the task of chatting about the sexual proclivities of former students. 'I think I'll turn in,' he said.

Thomas rose too, putting Bother gently on the floor. 'I'll show you up,' he said, his expression cleared of his earlier sadness.

A house-elf stood at the head of the staircase on the top floor of Gryffindor Tower, where the seventh-year boys were housed. 'Will sir be needing a single room?' he inquired of Thomas courteously.

'I'm in with Neville, Dobby, thanks,' Dean responded. 'See you tomorrow, Adin,' he added. 'Let me know if you need anything.'

Severus raised a hand in thanks, then looked down at the house-elf. 'I'll require a single, if you please,' he said.

The house-elf called Dobby bowed deeply before leading Severus to the fourth room down the corridor and opening the door. 'Sir will find his things here,' he said.

Severus entered to find the room prepared for him. A small fire burned in the grate, and Bother's basket was on the side of the hearth, near enough to enjoy the warmth from the fire. A single bed hung with crimson curtains was to the right of the fireplace, his trunk open at its foot, and near the deeply recessed window on the far wall was a writing desk, upon which his book bag had been placed. On the bookshelf set at an angle to the desk were the other books he had brought with him, those from his own personal collection. It comforted him to see his things in this place, and for a quiet moment, this room in Gryffindor Tower felt like home.

He puttered about for a bit, unpacking his clothes and putting them away, then he found his shower kit and pyjamas and headed for the bathroom. Potter and Weasley were standing side-by-side at adjacent sinks; Potter cleaned his teeth as Weasley talked.

'She tries to make out like she doesn't care, but she's bloody unhappy about it,' he said heatedly, lowering his voice when he noticed Severus. 'Macmillan says Dumbledore chose Parkinson as a show of faith in Slytherin House, but blimey, Harry...how could they choose anyone but Hermione for Head Girl?'

Severus turned away to hide his wide grin. So, Dumbledore had listened to him about one thing, at any rate! It wasn't as if Granger needed any additional attention to make her any more insufferable than she already was, and the Slytherins could use the boost of having one of their own named Head Girl, this year of all years. Shedding his dressing gown, he stepped into the shower and scrubbed assiduously, using a particularly harsh shampoo to discourage oiliness. God forbid that he should have greasy hair, in the manner of the dreaded Severus Snape.

As he lay in his crimson-canopied bed that night, drifting off to sleep, the girl with the gryphon tattoo flitted into his mind, and his adolescent dreams were flavoured with her saucy bottom, his fingers gripping those luscious cheeks as he plunged into her softness, the merry gryphon tattoo gyrating in rhythm with his thrusts.