Quote from The Gestalt Prince on August 18, 2023, 5:44 pm

Quote from Dark Angel on August 18, 2023, 4:54 pm

Quote from Salvyus on August 18, 2023, 4:51 pm

+1 for the Long Road Home 😂

I was lured in by the "Spy Severus Snape" tag, and left excited to explore the "Regulus Black Lives" one... Only to be sorely disappointed, when I ended up being bombarded with Marauders fics :(((

Let me guess, you ended up in the Jegulus jungle!

Jungulus

Quote from Dark Angel on August 19, 2023, 12:44 am

Quote from The Gestalt Prince on August 18, 2023, 5:44 pm

Jungulus

That's what I'm calling it from now on 😂

 

Quote from Naaga on August 19, 2023, 12:49 am

Wolfstar and Jegulus are 2nd and 5th most popular ships in AO3 since last year to my utter horror. (No offence to those who ship them).

Quote from Dark Angel on August 19, 2023, 12:54 am

I can live with Wolfstar, many fics that I enjoy have it as a side pairing and I kinda got so used to it that it's almost canon to me but where and how did people come up with the idea to ship James and Regulus????

Quote from Naaga on August 19, 2023, 12:59 am

Jegulus actually begun as a joke between Marauder tiktoks. But some people liked the idea and here we go. 😹😹

Quote from Krystal on August 22, 2023, 6:02 am

This scene covers Severus's POV when he finds out about the attack on Godric's Hollow. It is from one of my favorite fics, which covers Severus's early professor years.

Vulnera Sanentur, Chapter 6

He ate his food and took long drinks of pumpkin juice, scanning the house tables now and then. He had some strange feeling of something about to happen, something he couldn't explain, a feeling he sometimes had before his Mark burned. As he lifted his fork the sleeve of his robes fell back, exposing a little of his left forearm. He could have sworn he felt something there, but nothing like the pain of it burning. Something almost imperceptible. He chanced a glance at it.

It had faded.

He half-rose from his chair, then recovered himself and looked over at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was not in his usual place. He looked all around the staff table and saw him at the other end, standing close to Hagrid; they appeared to be talking together, looking serious. After a moment they got up and left the Hall.

He thought of following them, but decided against it. He turned back to his food but he could not settle himself, and after awhile he got up and strode back to his room, pacing in front of the fire. His heart was beating fast and he was filled with a sense of anticipation as the long-buried hopes started to surface. The Dark Lord was dead. It was over. He wondered who had done it. One of the Order, perhaps, or even one of his own Death Eaters. There had been constant whispers of defection and treachery. He'd heard all those whispers, all those hints of the Dark Lord's immortality. But it was nonsense, nothing more than arrogance.

He thought of the boy. But he didn't not see how it was possible; the Fidelius Charm was too strong. Unless Black...but he could not allow himself to think it. The boy was too young to kill the Dark Lord anyway. But Lily might have done it. She was the bravest woman he knew. And if she had managed to kill him, it could only mean that she had survived.

He didn't dare allow his elation to overcome him completely, not until he had word from Dumbledore, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was going to see her again, maybe even tomorrow. She would know. Perhaps she would forgive him. He was too restless to settle to sleep, and after lying in his bed awhile he got up and tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate on that either. He got up and changed back into his robes. He thought of seeing Dumbledore, but for some reason he didn't want to.

He was pacing the floor of his room when there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Professor McGonagall standing there, looking grim. His pulse quickened and he had to stifle the urge to give her his coldest sneer. She had some nerve, showing up at his room at this hour. He had half a mind to tell her to go to hell, something he'd been wanting to do for a few months now, in any case.

"The Headmaster wishes to see you," she said. He said nothing in reply, just walked past her and made his way to the Headmaster's office. The castle was quiet, and he made his way there very slowly. He concentrated on the tapestries and the portraits and the windows, taking in every detail.

When he saw Dumbledore standing there, looking ancient in his exhaustion, every line of his face deepened, he nearly turned around and left the room. But he couldn't, so he stepped forward. It was one of the Order, perhaps. But not her. It could not have been her.

"Severus, please take a seat."

Snape sat down and examined one of Dumbledore's silver instruments. There were puffs of smoke coming out of it. He wondered what it was used for. He'd never bothered to ask.

He felt Dumbledore watching him, and he knew what Dumbledore was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. He gripped the side of his chair.

"Earlier tonight, Voldemort found the Potters."

He wondered why Dumbledore sounded so shaken. She'd gotten away. She must have gotten away.

"It appears that James was killed while attempting to protect them." There was a pause and he thought he felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. "When Voldemort attempted to kill Harry, Lily threw herself in front of him as a shield. I cannot say for certain, but I believe that, as a result of her sacrifice, the Killing Curse then rebounded on Voldemort. It is an ancient magic, a magic of which he knows nothing."

Sacrifice-surely that did not mean-

"How-how do you know this?"

Dumbledore didn't say anything. Snape watched as he pulled something out of his robes. It was a small, circular portrait, no bigger than a coin. A small boy was sitting there. The people holding him had vanished.

"A member of the Order found their bodies," he said.

He would throw himself into her grave and be buried alive. He could not hold himself up, could not hold back what was coming. He slumped forward with his head in his hands.

He didn't know how long he sat there. He could hear the old man's breathing, and his muscles tensed in shock and fury, but his throat was tight and dry and the words were choked. "I thought...you were going...to keep her...safe..."

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore.

Black. Snape would murder him in his bed.

"Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that the Dark Lord would spare her?"

This wasn't happening. He couldn't survive this, it wasn't happening. Just make it stop.

"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore.

Her boy. Her boy survived. It meant nothing.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evan's eyes, I am sure?"

It was as though he'd been stabbed. He sat up straighter and glared at him, shouting as though the force of the words could make it go away. "DON'T!" He tried to steady his breathing. "Gone...dead..."

Dumbledore said something, but Snape didn't know what it was. All he could see were her lifeless eyes. He would have given his own life, if only they could see again. "I wish...I wish I were dead..."

"And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

He did not know what the old man meant. He was not making any sense. There was no way forward. "What-what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

The thought was unendurable. "He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone-"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

Snape remembered all those hints, all those whispers and intimations of his immortality. He thought of the boy. Potter's son. He wondered if he was anything like his father. He wanted to throw the thought of him away, run out of this room to someplace he would never have to face him. But he'd never be able to get away from himself.

He thought of Lily, throwing herself in front of her son. Her son, the part of her that still lived. Her blood, in his body, in his still-beating heart. He tried to steady his breathing.

"Very, well, very well," he said. A horrifying thought came to him then, the face of Potter's son looking on him with pity. "But never-never tell Dumbledore! This must be between us!" He looked at Dumbledore fiercely, willing him to understand. "Swear it! I cannot bear...especially Potter's son...I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore looked down at him. "If you insist."

Snape sat there a long time, trying to regain some control over himself. "I think...I will go to bed..." he said. Dumbledore nodded, and Snape made his way to the dungeons, not seeing anything. When he got back to his room he fell onto his bed and tore at his hair as his body shook with the force of his sobs.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He only remembered dreaming. He was walking down to the riverbank to meet her, and when he got there she was lying on the ground, green eyes lifeless,  only her face was the face of a man he'd once slashed during a raid in the West Country. He woke himself up thrashing in his bed and screamed into his pillow.

Quote from Krystal on August 22, 2023, 6:07 pm

This scene has Severus saving his Lily with the training of Nicolas Flamel, approved by Albus Dumbledore.

The Peace Not Promised

Chapters 88 

To Invoke the Impossible

Save one.

With a start, Snape stood from his seat, nearly knocking it over. His quick mind rallying as realisation dawned of what Dumbledore was reaching for.

The Philosopher’s Stone.

How could he have forgotten the properties that legends had ascribed to that mythical relic? The stone that created the elixir of life. The power to bring back those on the verge of death and extend life beyond what was naturally theirs.

A legend that had been created by only one man in the history of alchemy and attempted by countless more. Numerous attempts upon this stone in history trickled down to only one success.

And yet this was the only way left to save his Lily.

The eyes of Lily’s bedside visitors that had been drawn by the arrival of that ethereal messenger bird turned from Snape, content to allow him a measure of privacy in what must have seemed like a lashing out of grieving frustration.

Lily’s eyes too had turned away, but not for empathy’s sake. She drooped where she sat. Her soul drifted yet again, that bright spark emerging from her breast, the strands that held it fading ever closer to extinguishing. She closed her eyes, laying down her head, perhaps for the last time.

Snape turned away and strode from the room, torn by the despair of facing his wife’s last moments of life but driven by grim determination to try his damndest to save her. He would never forgive himself if he hadn’t.

He stepped to the Alchemy table, summoning his cauldron from its snug storage space in the cupboard under the shelves. With swift efficiency, he beckoned forth his silver knife alongside it, the first step evident in his knowledgeable mind.

Blood is its base.

That much was evident. For no other liquid represented life like the crimson red of lifeblood.

Snape took the tip of his silver knife to his palm, without hesitation he pressed the blade deep into his flesh and held firm as he drew the cut long, slicing wider and deeper than he had the skill to stop with magic. Crimson seeped into the tracks of the knife, pooling quickly and deeply into his palm. He held his bleeding hand over the cusp of the cauldron, letting the blood flow in and collect in its belly.

Gold is its core.

There was little guesswork involved in that notion. What the stone created was what comprised its core. Dripping blood in his wake, Snape moved to the drawers of his desk, bringing forth that golden medallion of pure gold. An award for a matter of significance far below the value of the life that hung upon the balance.

He held that disk of gold, as pure as gold could be. Crafted by the magical touch of the very stone that Snape sought to create. Snape held that medallion in his bleeding hand and released it into the cauldron, chanting under his breath as blood within began to swirl.

The memory was what remained the mystery. The essence of the stone. The secret of the stone, for it could not be so simple as its base and core comprised.

Peace, Flamel had once revealed the memory to have been. An abstract notion no doubt. And one that would have taken a stretch of the imagination to comprehend had it not been for his recall of a comment made seemingly so insignificant.

“For what is eternal life compared to finding eternal peace with another?”

Flamel had uttered that sentiment. A starkly unique perspective, for Snape had never heard of anyone referring to their love as such. He could not help but suspect that turn of phrase purposeful, if not entirely intentional. Perhaps a slip of tongue formed by his own sentiments. Or perhaps words to sow the seeds of the truth behind the man’s greatest secret.

Peace is the essence.

Snape put want to temple, readying the memory of his greatest love, but a whisper in the back of his mind gave him pause.

It could not be this simple.

In the history of the quest of the Philosopher’s Stone, how many thousands weathered this path before him? How many thousands would have drawn up these very theories throughout the history of the pursuit for this very relic?

No. It could not be so simple.

There was another trick behind it.

“…eternal peace with another.”

There was no prior knowledge to guide him. No written word to confirm the direction of his thoughts. This was not a mystery Snape could solve with his mind, for his knowledge led him to this point and no further.

It was not his mind that moved his hand to take within it that crystal bottle of precious memories. It wasn’t his logic that drew a strand of his own memories and mingled it with the precious silver fluid he poured from the unstopped vessel.

The silvery substance touched the swirling red and trickled in, devoured by the unnatural crimson of the vortex, barely glancing across the surface of the golden core that melded into the substance.

And just as suddenly, it all stopped. Crystallised in a heart of sanguine red, his hopes for the future remained.

Quote from Naaga on August 29, 2023, 2:31 pm

It's a scene from one of my favourite fics, Gates of Azkaban, Chapter 12, young Severus from another world meets Professor Snape from post-war canon world. 😸

Severus glared at him. "I am not a Death Eater."

Three surprised faces looked back at him.

"But you're going to be," Weasley prompted.

Severus gazed at him in deep dislike. "I will never be a Death Eater. That's why Lucius framed me. I refused."

In an instant, the careful shields his older self had erected dropped. His voice was no more than a shocked whisper. "You refused?"

"Yes." Severus glared at him now. "I take it you didn't?"

His older self stared at him. "No… I did not."

Severus felt a rush of fury for this man, who had put himself before Lily, who had let Lily die. How could he have been so selfish, so heartless, so evil? Severus didn't even understand how it was possible.

"What happened?" he sneered. "You accepted their offer? Kill Potter and marry Lily?"

"What?" the Potter boy asked, aghast.

The older man looked equally confused. "Marry Lily? Lily would not have married me."

"No," Severus snarled, "she wouldn't. So why would you say yes?"

The older man still looked puzzled. "What would my acceptance have to do with marrying Lily?"

Severus was beginning to feel confused, as well, and it made him nasty. "Nothing," he spat, "nothing at all. Only I thought you might have hesitated to join the wizards who wanted you to rape her!"

"WHAT?" It was difficult to tell who had roared with greater rage, Potter's brat or Severus's older self.

"What did you say?" the older man hissed. "I would never - how dare you! Legilimens!"

Severus was not at all prepared for the attack, and, in that moment, far too upset to raise any kind of shields. He felt the other mind slam into his -

And yet it was his mind, only stronger, more refined, more powerful -

And lonely - and grieving - and tired -

Their feelings bled together in a moment so strange and horrible Severus could not have said, for an instant, who he was. There was darkness and pain and loathing, and despair, unbearable despair -

He saw himself kneeling before the Dark Lord, his unblemished left arm extended, as the Dark Lord lowered his wand to brand him -

Corrupt him -

Defile him -

He knelt in front of the chipped, battered toilet at Spinner's End, vomiting into the bowl while the blood on his forearm - someone else's blood - smeared on the aged porcelain, staining his arm as if the black snake tattoo had bitten him, and he could feel it, feel the darkness, not clean like the night, but filthy, twisted, dank, like black muck teeming with vermin, writhing within his flesh, inescapable, forever a part of him -

He was ruined -

And he saw Lily, pale and so very, very young, laid out in a coffin overflowing with lilies, the smell rising in sickening waves as his Polyjuiced face crumpled with agony -

And the years - the long, lonely, aching years, stretching one after the other in a meaningless waste, as he waited, waited, waited.

And the knowledge, cold and empty, that he would never be happy again.

He could feel the other Severus, as well, the Severus who had seen, quite plainly, the evil in Lucius Malfoy, in Mulciber, in Avery, perhaps in all of them. He could feel the defiance and despair, the ice of Azkaban, the vast empty unknown of a future that had lost all hope of meaning.

Their minds broke apart, their black eyes shying away from each other in mutual anguish. Severus felt tears on his face, and hastily bowed his head forward, so that the greasy tangled mess of his hair covered his cheeks.

Quote from Dark Angel on August 29, 2023, 2:58 pm

Quote from Naaga on August 29, 2023, 2:31 pm

It's a scene from one of my favourite fics, Gates of Azkaban, Chapter 12, young Severus from another world meets Professor Snape from post-war canon world. 😸

Severus glared at him. "I am not a Death Eater."

Three surprised faces looked back at him.

"But you're going to be," Weasley prompted.

Severus gazed at him in deep dislike. "I will never be a Death Eater. That's why Lucius framed me. I refused."

In an instant, the careful shields his older self had erected dropped. His voice was no more than a shocked whisper. "You refused?"

"Yes." Severus glared at him now. "I take it you didn't?"

His older self stared at him. "No… I did not."

Severus felt a rush of fury for this man, who had put himself before Lily, who had let Lily die. How could he have been so selfish, so heartless, so evil? Severus didn't even understand how it was possible.

"What happened?" he sneered. "You accepted their offer? Kill Potter and marry Lily?"

"What?" the Potter boy asked, aghast.

The older man looked equally confused. "Marry Lily? Lily would not have married me."

"No," Severus snarled, "she wouldn't. So why would you say yes?"

The older man still looked puzzled. "What would my acceptance have to do with marrying Lily?"

Severus was beginning to feel confused, as well, and it made him nasty. "Nothing," he spat, "nothing at all. Only I thought you might have hesitated to join the wizards who wanted you to rape her!"

"WHAT?" It was difficult to tell who had roared with greater rage, Potter's brat or Severus's older self.

"What did you say?" the older man hissed. "I would never - how dare you! Legilimens!"

Severus was not at all prepared for the attack, and, in that moment, far too upset to raise any kind of shields. He felt the other mind slam into his -

And yet it was his mind, only stronger, more refined, more powerful -

And lonely - and grieving - and tired -

Their feelings bled together in a moment so strange and horrible Severus could not have said, for an instant, who he was. There was darkness and pain and loathing, and despair, unbearable despair -

He saw himself kneeling before the Dark Lord, his unblemished left arm extended, as the Dark Lord lowered his wand to brand him -

Corrupt him -

Defile him -

He knelt in front of the chipped, battered toilet at Spinner's End, vomiting into the bowl while the blood on his forearm - someone else's blood - smeared on the aged porcelain, staining his arm as if the black snake tattoo had bitten him, and he could feel it, feel the darkness, not clean like the night, but filthy, twisted, dank, like black muck teeming with vermin, writhing within his flesh, inescapable, forever a part of him -

He was ruined -

And he saw Lily, pale and so very, very young, laid out in a coffin overflowing with lilies, the smell rising in sickening waves as his Polyjuiced face crumpled with agony -

And the years - the long, lonely, aching years, stretching one after the other in a meaningless waste, as he waited, waited, waited.

And the knowledge, cold and empty, that he would never be happy again.

He could feel the other Severus, as well, the Severus who had seen, quite plainly, the evil in Lucius Malfoy, in Mulciber, in Avery, perhaps in all of them. He could feel the defiance and despair, the ice of Azkaban, the vast empty unknown of a future that had lost all hope of meaning.

Their minds broke apart, their black eyes shying away from each other in mutual anguish. Severus felt tears on his face, and hastily bowed his head forward, so that the greasy tangled mess of his hair covered his cheeks.

Ok... I may drop the other fics I'm currently reading and start with this one