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"Oh, I see… I see ambition, much of it. I see a need for you to prove yourself, to rise above the rest. And I see a thirst for knowledge..."
The voice was eerily familiar. Severus listened to it with closed eyes. He didn't dare open them; he didn't even know whether he could do that anymore.
"What a difficult decision," the voice over his head remarked thoughtfully. "Ambition and knowledge; your way won't be easy either way, boy… But a decision must be made."
Severus Snape was not a man easily caught unawares. But listening to the Sorting Hat just as he was bleeding out on the filthy floor of the Shrieking Shack, moments after Nagini bit him to his death, was the last thing he expected to happen.
Vaguely, he wondered whether other people listened to the Sorting Hat speak as they breathed their last, or this was a very Severus Snape thing to happen upon death.
"You will go to..." the Hat continued its babbling, and if he still had functioning vocal cords, Severus would say a few choice last words. As if he hadn't lived his whole life shaping himself after the Slytherin mentality...
"...Ravenclaw!"
Severus opened his eyes.
The room was far too bright, nothing like the ominous darkness inside the Shrieking Shack. The air didn't smell like blood, but it smelled like pumpkin pie and hope.
It took a few seconds for Severus to make sense of his surroundings. In front of him, the four House tables were packed with students applauding. Right now, the blue-and-bronze decorated table was the noisiest as they welcomed the new addition to their House.
Then he looked down at his hands; they weren't blood-soaked. They were clean, smaller than he remembered, and neatly tucked into robe sleeves that were slightly tattered because Eileen Prince did not have enough money to send him to Hogwarts in new robes, and Tobias Snape had said he would rather throw his money into the river than spend it on a freak.
Severus was eleven years old again, and the Sorting Hat was tutting impatiently above his head.
"Okay, boy, usually I am the one stalling. Get off the stool and go to the Ravenclaws."
Without another word, Severus stood up and placed the Sorting Hat atop the stool. He took a glance at the tables; sure enough, he spotted a familiar head of bright red hair on the Gryffindor table, and his breath almost stopped altogether as he realised that Lily Evans was there.
She waved at him before shifting her attention back to the girl next to her.
Then he started walking towards the Ravenclaw table, not casting a single glance towards the Slytherin table.
***
"Wrong way, Snape," someone had called after him again, and Severus had stopped in his tracks immediately, because habit was a powerful force, and he once again made his way towards the dungeons before someone reminded him that he didn’t live there.
This was not the afterlife; it had taken a while, but Severus had come to terms with it as the first days turned into weeks, and he was still here, still alive.
Wrong way indeed.
Sometimes, Severus looked at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall for longer than needed, and the distance brought a realisation: he did not miss one of them, not really. The first time around, he was practically clinging to the idea that these people would acknowledge him in ways his parents had failed to do his whole life. But his hand-me-downs were material to feed his classmates’ haughtiness instead.
This time around, no one sneered because his robes were second-hand.
“There’s nothing in the dungeons for us,” the voice behind him insisted: that was Powell, a first-year boy who had decided Severus would be his friend even when Severus was trying to make sense of everything else.
But there was a truth in those words, and so he turned around, following the boy, silently reminding himself that his place was not somewhere under the Black Lake, but on the sunlit tower at the top of the castle.
***
“Charms is not a lesson you should take lightly,” Filius Flitwick’s voice echoed through the classroom, and all third-year Ravenclaws in attendance looked fascinated by the way their professor was pacing around with high energy, displaying a series of harmless spells in quick succession.
“Charms are the basis of magic! They can be used to create and to nurture,” he continued, casting a quick Aguamenti spell to an empty glass that he then redirected to the first row desk of his class, “-or they can be used to dismantle,” he continued, the next spell making the glass crack and the water to spill off it, while the students gaped at the rapid use of magic.
“It is said that the true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words,” he continued. “I say, this applies to us as well: those who seek knowledge in Charms do not just try to wave their wands and apply magic to a favourable result. They change the way magic flows through objects and understand exactly how the result happens.”
Severus found Flitwick to be overly dramatic, moving with the energy of a tightly coiled spring. But his words had given Severus – already a third-year student in a reality he still didn’t fully understand – pause; he always thought that Charms was a lesson that included much unnecessary wand-waving without the gravity of Transfiguration or Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Slytherins always mocked their half-goblin professor. But sitting among a crowd of Ravenclaws who discussed Charms theory the way other students discussed Peeves’s latest stunt, he realised that maybe he had missed something substantial in regards to his education last time.
“You are members of the House of creative intellect,” the professor continued, taking the glass away from the desk and making the water spill disappear with a flick of his wand. “You are to understand better than anyone that your actions are what can turn something harmless into something potentially dangerous. Magic itself is neutral; what you do with it is what matters.”
Severus scribbled all of this down on the margins of his Charms textbook, right under a diagram that explained how magic affected the human body, a part that was not in their curriculum, but he had still read it with interest, after a conversation with his Housemates.
“Sir,” he said, lifting his hand for a question, “—this sounds too vague. How can we know what is really dangerous?”
Professor Flitwick paused at this. Severus watched with interest the way his professor lowered his gaze to his hands before catching himself.
“It is vague, Mister Snape,” he said, quieter now. “And unfortunately, I cannot give you a concrete answer yet.”
***
“I rarely see you anymore, Severus!”
Lily’s voice next to him carried a complaint dressed with the nonchalance of a true Gryffindor. Severus responded by taking the large stack of books from her hands and placing it on the library table, next to his own.
Both of them nodded at Madam Pince when she stared down at them for carrying on a conversation inside the library, but this was their standing appointment –twice a week; every Monday and Thursday afternoon, when none of them had classes. It was their fourth year after all, and the workload had increased significantly.
Knowing how his and Lily’s story ended the first time around and not knowing whether things would change now was a burden no teen his age should carry. Yet Severus carried the knowledge silently, hoping that things could shift in his favour for once.
“It is not my fault entirely, Lils,” he said, using the endearment he had chosen for her from the first time he saw her in Cokeworth. “We are a year away from OWLs, and we need to get serious.”
And then, because, despite his choice not to press for Lily’s friendship as insistently as he did in the past, he cannot help himself: “...You are busy spending time with Lupin and his goons, anyway.”
He knew this was a wrong thing to say, but Lily had already begun being thick as thieves with Lupin. Potter and Black were just a breath away.
“You know I don’t like Potter,” she said immediately, but something in her tone did not add up. It was too defensive for a girl who breezed through life with an unapologetic sort of righteousness, the kind that didn’t need any defence. “He is pompous.”
The little smile on her face spoke of a different story.
Severus lowered his head and focused on the book in front of him, because seeing that smile hurt something inside him he didn’t even know existed.
But Lily wasn’t done complaining yet.
“Besides, you are the one who skips our study sessions,” she accused him, and her voice carried the kind of righteous concern it always carried. “You are spending most of your time cooped up in the Ravenclaw tower, with that group of students, discussing Merlin-knows-what kind of obscure magic–”
“That one time we were discussing magic interruption on the nervous system –” he cut her off sharply. He remembered her complaint; once, he had introduced her to a group of Ravenclaws with whom he was discussing experimental magic. He expected her, as someone who valued knowledge, to be interested; instead, she had looked almost alarmed and had begun complaining about his Housemates ever since.
She hadn’t even stopped to think that it was among that group of Ravenclaws that he felt at home, because no one sneered at his tattered robes, or his thin stature, or his hair, or his nose, or everything that both Gryffindors and Slytherins in the past had tried to humiliate him about.
“If you spent less time with that brainless prick, you would appreciate this kind of conversation better.”
The moment those words slipped from his mouth, Lily’s face darkened, and he had a realisation: Lily would inevitably slip away this time, too, not for pointing out her origins, but for insinuating that he had company with greater intellectual capacity.
“You are the prick here, Severus,” she said, before picking up her books. When she stormed out of the library, Severus already had an inkling of his future.
***
“You’ve been an exceptional student, Severus.”
It was not something he hadn't heard before; his grades were exceptional. But hearing it from the Head of the House while he was holding his N.E.W.T. results filled him with pride.
“You have gotten an Outstanding grade in four of your classes, and an Exceeds Expectations in the other two,” Filius Flitwick said, regarding the piece of parchment in his hand with nothing short of reverence. “My dear boy, this is incredible. I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Severus only replied. He wasn't humble about it. His hard work was acknowledged here. It wasn’t reframed as a comment about him being brilliant for a poor Half-blood.
“I would like to know about your plans after leaving the school,” his professor said, setting down his file. “I’ve seen your talent on Charmwork; I did notice that you have an affinity for creation. And I really want to know whether you would like to stay and become my apprentice.”
Severus shook his head; if he had a say in this second time, staying at Hogwarts was not an option. He had successfully steered clear of the Death Eaters and – sadly – still lost his friendship with Lily on grounds of his questionable interests.
“I have decided to leave Hogwarts, sir,” he said quickly, and he noticed with interest that the Charms Master seemed genuinely disappointed. “Powell and I are both recruited into the Ministry for mind-related charmwork.”
Across the desk, Filius Flitwick sighed quietly.
“My boy,” he began, “I am the one who taught you that charmwork is the foundation of everything. And I have seen your academic inclinations. I am sceptical, though; this mind-related work demands manipulation. I want you to think about how it is different from the Imperius curse.”
“I am not a Death Eater, sir,” Severus said, offended by this association. He and Powell had spent so much time discussing how to use magic channelling properly to assess the parts of a brain that handled feelings and alter them accordingly. It was a groundbreaking idea with potential academically and practically. The Ministry had invited them the moment they submitted their experimentation plan. “Comparing our research plans to Imperius is unacceptable.”
The professor raised his hands. He stared at them for a while, as if contemplating what they were capable of.
“All I will say, Severus, is to be careful. We live in difficult times, and I want you to remember that brilliance needs a conscience.”
***
“Severus—”
Marcus Powell rushed into the room, but Severus barely looked up. He was leaning over what seemed like a surgical table, scribbling notes. He had a volunteer today; the Ministry and St. Mungo’s had done a call asking for volunteers who would agree to have Severus channel his own raw magic onto parts of their mind that processed threat. It was an ambitious plan, but at twenty-one and without the burden of joining the Death Eaters, Severus had felt that perhaps it was time to focus on what mattered instead of what he could afford to do.
He looked up from his notes, annoyed to be interrupted.
“I hope you have a good reason to barge in here like this, Marcus,” he snapped, shutting his notebook shut. To his credit, his work partner stopped in his tracks.
When he looked at him, though, Severus saw a person who looked wrecked.
“What happened?” he asked, dreading the answer. He had found out already by sneaking into the Prophecy Room – surprisingly unguarded to all Unspeakables – that the prophecy stood.
“He-who-must-not-be-named is gone. The Longbottoms are gone, too.”
The Longbottoms. Alice and Frank. A few years older than Severus himself, and bold in their opposition against Voldemort.
Severus turned to look down. A page from his notebook had landed on the floor, and for a few heartbeats, it was all he could concentrate on.
“What happened?” Severus asked, finally tearing his eyes off the page on the floor, and watched as Marcus went paler than any living person should go.
“He-who-must-not-be-named tried to kill their baby. He… got his hands on the Cognitive Override Charmwork we licensed to St. Mungo’s last year. The hospital was infiltrated with Death Eaters, and they –”
Severus gripped the table, fearing he would collapse otherwise. He hated how relieved he felt that Lily was alive when he had just heard that Alice Longbottom had died instead.
“He used the charm on Frank and persuaded him to kill the baby,” Marcus said breathlessly. “Alice stepped in to protect her child and got herself killed. And Frank – he managed to snap out of it, and attacked He-who-must-not-be-named.”
“Did he die?” Severus croaked. He didn’t want to address the fact that once again, he was somehow involved in this, even though he had spent years avoiding Death Eaters.
“The Dark Lord escaped Frank, but he was so badly injured that he likely did not survive. But Frank… He lost his mind entirely. St. Mungo’s needs us to assess the situation because their Healers cannot even approach Frank at the moment.”
Severus stood up immediately, all thoughts gone except one: he had tried to escape this fate, and yet he had circled back to being the cause of a family’s downfall.
By the time he reached St. Mungo’s, the tragedy was complete: Frank had taken his own life, unable to bear the guilt of killing Alice. Neville would grow up on his own.
The people who had already arrived at St. Mungo’s to heed to Augusta and Neville didn’t pay attention to Severus, except for Lily Potter, who shot a look of contempt at her former friend and otherwise did not speak to him at all.
***
Severus walked towards the grave.
Eleven years, eleven times, he had made his way to the stone that marked Frank and Alice’s resting place. He always waited until the official remembrance ceremony was over before stepping in to pay his own quiet respects.
This year, Augusta hadn’t yet left the grave when he arrived with a few chrysanthemums. She was holding her grandson by the hand, despite the boy looking too embarrassed to be held like that at his age.
Severus didn’t approach; he stood behind another grave, keeping his head down while the elderly woman spoke to another witch standing nearby.
“Neville got his acceptance letter last week,” Augusta said with a hint of pride. “I know Neville hasn’t shown signs of exceptional magic as Frank did in his age, but if the acceptance letter arrived for him, it means he belongs in that school.”
Severus glanced towards the boy; he looked lost, as if he were seconds away from crying.
From now on, Severus had no say about how things would turn out. Neville was now the new Boy who lived, living with that burden since his birth. Harry Potter, Severus assumed, would live a less complicated childhood. And Severus was not a surly Hogwarts professor but a researcher for St. Mungo’s; he had no control over the events that would play out at the school anymore. He could not change what happened. Only who it would be used for.
The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words, Flitwick had told the class once. Severus chose to change his efforts into something that would not be used as a weapon again.
He lifted his hand tentatively and waved at Neville, who eventually waved back, and for a moment, Severus felt that maybe things would turn out fine regardless.