Chapter Text
One of the last things Lily Evans ever did was sneak into Hogsmeade for a last taste of butter beer. Using the cloak, the journey was swift and brief. James had told her about the secret passageway leading into the back storage room of the Three Broomsticks back in seventh grade. She had frequently visited it thereafter but never once knowing—really knowing—that this would be the last.
Suffice to this insight, the beer had never tasted better.
She returned home, wiping away the last of the sweet drink.
What happened after that is vague, for the last bits of Lily’s letter explaining her course of action was damaged with her house and body when it was blasted to smithereens. What we do know for certain was portrayed by an article in The Daily Prophet: The Last Phoenix Diminished in Scandinavia with Her Three-year-old Son.
Three months later, a mysterious boy with a lightening scar on his forehead appeared on the front porch of an elderly couple. He, intriguingly, had no idea who he was, where he had come from, or how he came to have that big scar cracking his left eyebrow.
And so the clock of history started to roll again.
Severus Snape knew he would never see Lily Evans again. He feared it in fifth grade, when the light in her eyes faded after the word that slipped from his mouth. He refused it as the dark mark seared into his arm; but he knew it, so bloody well knew it when those green eyes glared at him with hatred as she clung on to the fallen body of her lover.
He never expected to be staring into those very green eyes again.
“Snape?”
Evan Rosier studied the crook-nosed wizard curiously, and Severus released the strain in his brow. Evan’s cold blue eyes swept the row of students lining the dark-lit hall.
His gaze stalled when it landed on a glint of blond. “Pining after your godson?” he asked coily. His lips curled into a smile as the boy’s wandering eyes reached the staff table and grew wide. “He doesn’t know you were… sent here, does he?”
“That,” said Severus slowly, “Would hardly be of your concern.” Really, he shouldn’t be associating with Rosier with his eccentrics and mischeif. He picked up his glass cup and took a long drink to prevent furthur discussion.
He watched blandly as Draco Malfoy tried to express his frustration at this late notice. Two students away, the object of his preoccupation was standing with his hands in his pockets and excitedly staring at the large hall with a twinkle in his eye. His hair was messy, glasses tilted and attire completely distraught. It made Severus sick how much the boy reminded him of him. How people didn’t notice the obvious resemblence between the boy and the infamous insurgent would be a mystery.
But then again… everyone who had known James Potter was either dead… or worse.
The thought brought a bitter taste to his tongue, and he sipped his drink again.
The seat to his right was filled by a huge man with a thick mustache not five minutes later. Igor Karkaroff’s youthful face was now creased, and he had a faint dark circle under his eyes, but that didn’t make his usual charm go away. Still, he had a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead that made Severus wonder if he had been running.
“Evening, Karkaroff.” he volunteered as their eyes met.
“Professor Snape!” said Karkaroff cheerily. “Good evening, good evening…” He studied the staff table before continuing, “I see you had been given a seat next to mine… I do hope that is an acceptance to the position as deputy headmaster.” He shot an unpleasant glance to his right, where a balding man was bent over his plate.
“This position as professor would be temporary.” said Severus coolly. “I would be leaving at the end of the year.”
Karkaroff sighed, shaking his head. “I never understood why a man as talented as you would be so humble.”
Severus didn’t reply, and Karkaroff, taking that as a silent agreement, sighed again before standing up. The chair dragged loudly as he did so. “Our future students of Scandinavia!” he addressed loudly.
Severus leaned back as the Headmaster started on his welcoming speech. He glanced once more at the black-haired boy with almond-shaped green eyes. This position was supposed to be a temporary one… and one disturbance would not change it.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you had been accepted at Durmstrang Institute for Black Arts and Sorcery. Find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than 31th July.
Sincerely,
Igor Karkaroff.