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Severus Snape stood in his private laboratory, staring at the bubbling cauldron before him with an expression that hadn't crossed his face in decades.
He was grinning.
Not smirking. Not sneering. Actually grinning like a madman as the potion turned from purple to violent orange, releasing small sparks that danced across the surface.
"Yes," he whispered, adding three drops of salamander blood. "YES!"
The mixture exploded.
Not dangerously - he'd learned to contain his experiments weeks ago - but spectacularly. Purple smoke filled the protective barrier around the cauldron, swirling into shapes that looked almost like skulls before dissipating.
Severus threw his head back and laughed.
When had he last laughed? Really laughed, not the cold, mocking sound he used to terrify students? He couldn't remember. Five years? Ten?
He looked down at his notes, covered in diagrams and calculations. Chemical compounds mixed with runic arrays. Potion ingredients combined with Muggle explosive principles.
It was beautiful.
***
It had started three weeks ago, during a particularly tedious Death Eater meeting.
Licius had been droning on about strategy, about careful planning, about the importance of subtlety. Severus had stood there, expressionless as always, mind carefully blank to prevent any Legilimency probes.
And somewhere in that blankness, a memory had surfaced.
The memories… something he still couldn’t control…
"Sev, look what I found!"
Eleven-year-old Lily Evans, eyes bright, holding up a book about alchemy.
"It's about explosions! They mix things together and BOOM! Isn't that amazing? It's like potions but without magic!"
"That's dangerous," young Severus had said primly. “And this book is from mad man who considered potions like…”
"That's FUN!" Lily had laughed, spinning around. "When we go to Hogwarts, I'm going to learn to make the best potions ever. Maybe we can make something that explodes with colors! Wouldn't that be brilliant for celebrations?"
So when did he celebrate something last time?
When had he stopped thinking potions could be fun? When had everything become about perfection, precision, coldness? When had he decided that anything less than absolute excellence deserved contempt?
Maybe when this perfection in potions and magic seemed to be the only thing he was successful at. No family, no love, no friends. The only woman he could love died because of his passion for eavesdropping.
Only allegiances and his double-sided work remained… He was tired of it. He couldn't fight. Couldn't reveal himself. Couldn't do anything that might expose his true allegiance.
He was trapped in his role, playing the villain for both sides, trusted by neither, belonging nowhere.
But he could do this.
***
The first experiment was simple. A variation on an Exploding Snap card, but with potions instead of enchantments. Mix two stable ingredients that, when combined in specific conditions, became violently unstable.
It worked beautifully. The test vial had detonated with a satisfying crack and a shower of purple sparks.
Severus had stared at it for a full minute.
Then he'd started laughing, high and slightly unhinged, alone in his laboratory at two in the morning.
The second experiment had been more ambitious. He'd remembered something from his childhood in Spinner's End, watching Muggle boys throw things that popped and fizzed. Firecrackers, they'd called them. Lily had explained the chemistry once, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.
What if he could create a magical equivalent? Something that looked like an ordinary potion vial but could be thrown, could explode on impact, could cause chaos without being traced back to traditional spellwork?
He'd worked for three days straight, barely sleeping, mixing and testing and adjusting.
When it finally worked - when the vial shattered against the test wall and exploded in a burst of light and sound that rattled the laboratory windows - Severus had actually giggled.
Giggled. Like a child. Like the boy he'd been before everything went wrong.
It felt wonderful.
***
Now, three weeks later, his private laboratory looked like a mad inventor's workshop.
Shelves lined with experimental vials in different colors. Diagrams covering the walls showing blast radiuses and chemical reactions. A corner dedicated to what he privately called "the fun stuff" - potions that created smoke screens, ones that made everything smell like rotten eggs, ones that caused temporary hair color changes in anyone nearby.
None of it was Dark Magic. Nothing that would raise Dumbledore's suspicions. Just... creative applications of potion-making principles.
And the best part? The delicious part?
No one would ever know it was him.
Severus carefully bottled six vials of his latest creation - he was calling it "Phosphoros Powder" in his notes, though really it was just a fancy name for "things that go boom" - and tucked them into a protective case.
He would leave them somewhere strategic. An abandoned house the Death Eaters were planning to use as a meeting point. A location the Order might meet. Somewhere the chaos would unfold and he could read about it later, knowing he'd caused it, and no one would ever suspect the dour Potions Master of Hogwarts.
The thought made him actually snicker.
He caught his reflection in a glass beaker and almost didn't recognize himself. His face was flushed with excitement. His eyes were bright. He looked... alive.
"I'm going mad," he told his reflection.
His reflection grinned back.
"Excellent."
***
The problem, of course, was the Dark Lord's Legilimency.
Voldemort could pull memories from his mind with barely any effort. Severus was skilled at Occlumency, but not skilled enough to hide something this... extensive. The laboratory. The experiments. The sheer glee he felt when something exploded properly. Now he was full of these emotions. No need for Legilimency, it was obvious for anyone.
If Voldemort saw any of it, questions would be asked. Suspicions would arise. Why was Severus creating explosive potions in secret? Who were they for? What was he planning? Why he giggled?!
No. It had to be hidden.
Which meant he had to hide it from himself.
Severus pulled out a small crystal phial - empty, for now - and set it on his desk. Next to it, he placed his wand and a piece of parchment with carefully written instructions.
Memory extraction and storage. He'd done it before for Dumbledore's Pensieve, but this was different. This was... insurance. And entertainment.
The plan was perfect in its absurdity:
- Extract the memories of his experiments and store them in the phial
- Hide the phial somewhere even he wouldn't think to look
- Leave himself a coded message that would only make sense after he needed it
- Return to being the cold, sneering Potions Master everyone expected
- After the next Death Eater meeting, or whenever it was safe, retrieve the memories
- Remember what he'd created and feel that surge of joy all over again
- DAMN, he will actually feel it every time he will return his memories! Even more exciting!
It was ridiculous and completely mad. He would be playing hide-and-seek with his own memories, pranking his future self.
Severus started laughing again, the sound echoing off the stone walls of his laboratory.
He was going to drive himself insane. He was going to hide explosives around Britain like some kind of demented fairy godmother of chaos. He was going to spend the war being miserable and cold to everyone, all while knowing that somewhere, hidden even from himself, was proof that he could still feel joy.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," he said aloud.
Then, still grinning like a lunatic: "I can't wait."
***
He pressed his wand to his temple and began to extract the memories. Silver strands pulled free - the first successful explosion, the moment he'd giggled like a child, the careful calculations and mad experiments, the pure unbridled fun of creating something destructive and chaotic and utterly untraceable.
As each memory came free, he felt himself growing colder. More controlled. The mask sliding back into place.
By the time he'd extracted the last memory and sealed the phial, Severus Snape was once again the dour, unsmiling Potions Master of Hogwarts.
He looked at the phial in his hand with mild confusion. When had he extracted these memories? What were they?
Then his eyes fell on the parchment with his own handwriting:
"You deserve this. You've earned a secret. Remember: check the copy of 'Advanced Potion-Making' with the modified recipes. There is an arithmancy equation for you. The answer is the number of the shelf where you might find something hidden and interesting. But only after the next meeting. Trust yourself."
Severus stared at the note, brow furrowed. What on earth had he been doing?
Then, slowly, a cold smile crossed his face. How very like him to hide something from himself. How very... Slytherin.
He tucked the phial into its hiding spot, behind the old textbook, and Vanished the note.
Whatever he'd hidden, it was clearly important. And the fact that he'd hidden it from himself meant it was too dangerous for the Dark Lord to know.
Which meant it was probably very interesting.
Severus returned to his quarters, his expression once again the perfect mask of cold indifference.
***
Two Weeks Later
Voldemort's Death Eaters arrived at the safe house in Wales to find it... decorated.
The entire building had been rigged with what appeared to be Muggle fireworks crossed with magical explosives. The moment Yaxley opened the door, the chain reaction started.
Purple smoke. Orange sparks. Loud bangs that sounded almost musical. Every step triggered another explosion of color and noise and absolutely magnificent chaos.
No one was hurt - the explosions were carefully calibrated to be more startling than dangerous - but the entire meeting had to be relocated while Death Eaters scrambled to dispel the effects, covered in glitter and smelling strongly of sulfur.
Voldemort was furious.
It’s what you get if you make people wear only black robes!
"WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!"
Everyone denied knowledge. Bellatrix suggested it might be Potter's doing. Lucius suspected the Order. Severus stood in the back, face perfectly blank, offering no opinions.
Because he didn’t have any.
Inside, he felt... nothing. But he could appreciate the work.
But when he returned to his quarters and checked behind the old textbook, he found the phial of memories and a new note in his own handwriting:
"Wales safe house. Your design. Seventeen separate detonation points, all synchronized. Voldemort's face was PRICELESS. You did beautifully. Enjoy the replay. Then hide this again - there's more to come."
Severus held the phial up to the light, watching the silver memories swirl.
He had absolutely no idea what was inside.
He was also absolutely certain it was going to be delightful.
With the faintest hint of a smile - quickly suppressed - Severus Snape poured the memories into a Pensieve and dove in.
And in the privacy of his own recalled consciousness, surrounded by explosions and chaos and pure creative joy, he laughed and laughed and laughed.
***
Six Months Later
The Order of the Phoenix was baffled by the mysterious explosives appearing at Death Eater locations. Always non-lethal. Always spectacular. Always perfectly timed to cause maximum chaos and minimum actual harm.
"It's like someone's playing with them," Tonks said, examining the residue from the latest incident. "These are designed to be funny."
"Funny?" Mad-Eye growled. "Death Eaters can’t be funny!"
"No, but whoever's doing this thinks they are," Tonks said thoughtfully. "Look at the pattern. They're not trying to kill anyone. They're trying to embarrass them. Humiliate them. Make them look ridiculous."
Dumbledore frowned. "Who would do that?"
"Someone very clever," McGonagall said quietly. "Someone who understands both Muggle and magical explosives. Someone with access to Death Eater movements and locations."
Everyone looked at each other, confused. They had only one guess… But it could be… him.
Severus Snape sat in the corner, face impassive, offering nothing.
Inside, he carefully kept his mind blank. No memories of laboratories. No recollection of giggling over chemical formulas. Nothing that could be extracted or examined.
Just cold professionalism. Perfect control.
(He couldn't wait for the next meeting.)
(He couldn't wait to return to his lab and check the equations and find some answers.)
(He couldn't wait to be surprised by his own brilliance.)
For the first time in twenty years, Severus Snape had a hobby.
And it was glorious.