Quote from Dark Angel on September 1, 2023, 1:41 pm

This is a scene that  I like because it does show the dynamic between many characters in the fic. How the girls trust Snape enough to run to him when there's trouble, Snape's eternally grumpy mood and the tension between Dumbledore and Prof. Slytherin.

@naaga already knows where it is from

Caution! Spoilers for Certain Dark Things Chapter 130

The sudden, thundering bang of fists raining on his door jerked Severus from his potion-induced slumber.

His migraine blazed anew across his left temple and Severus grit his teeth, breath stolen by the pain, sweat building and dripping along the nape of his neck. He cupped his palm to his left eye, cursing—and the rapid banging continued.

What now?

Kicking back the sheets, Severus stood and summoned his robes from the armoire, throwing them on over his gray nightshirt, striding through his living quarters. He expected to find Minerva or Filch or Albus in the corridor—though, if he’d given it half a thought, he’d have known Minerva or Albus would have sent a Patronus in the event of an emergency, rather than descend into the dungeons to beat his door down. Without students about, Filch didn’t have much reason to come whinging, let alone at this godforsaken hour.

He froze upon finding Potter and Black standing at his threshold.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re—?!”

His thunderous remark cut itself short when he noted their wide, terrified eyes and the limp Horned Serpent in Potter’s shaking arms. They’d come in a hurry, neither wearing their dressing gowns over their pajamas or their slippers.

“He was in the dormitory,” Black blurted out, looking back the way they’d come. “He—Sirius Black was in the dormitory!”

Severus stiffened and forced his eyes to focus. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“He hurt Livi!” Potter said, her eyes glassy and wet in the corridor’s dim light. “He did something, there was this funny red light, and I thought I was dreaming—.”

“She gasped, and it woke me, and—.”

“There was a bloke just standing there, and then he disappeared—!”

“Shut up,” Severus hissed, trying to make sense of their rapid, panicked babbling. He slammed closed the portrait leading into his quarters and grabbed Potter by the arm, dragging her and Black across the corridor to his office. He shoved the pair into the dark, cold space, then stopped to flick a fire into the empty grate. The idiots would freeze to death if he didn’t do something for them. “Stay here.”

“But—.”

The door shut in Potter’s face, and Severus sealed it. Only then did he fully register their words, their fears of someone—maybe Sirius Black, maybe not, but an unknown male nonetheless—being in their dormitory. A curious tangle of dread and rage pulled through his chest as he snarled, “Expecto Patronum!”

A paltry silver thread wove from the end of his wand, but nothing else. Severus didn’t bother to curse or try again, instead summoning a house-elf, ordering the short creature to bring the Headmaster down to the dungeons. He hurried after that, all but running toward the hidden portal barring passage to the Slytherin common room. He was almost there when Slytherin appeared at the head of the corridor, and for the briefest of seconds, they held each other at wand point.

The pain in his head hadn’t made Severus insensate enough to not know it best to lower his own wand first.

“My Lord,” he acknowledged.

“Snape,” Slytherin returned, red eyes roving from him to the supposedly blank stretch of dark stone. He still wore his day clothes, not a stitch out of place; Severus wasn’t entirely sure the bastard was capable of sleep. “One of our young charges has crossed the entrance ward and I came to investigate.”

Came to catch whoever it was out, more like. “Both, in fact. Potter and Black believe there was an intruder in their room.”

And they came to first? Not their Head of House?”

A worrying note wove through the shorter wizard’s tone, and Severus chose his following words carefully. They hadn’t the time for Slytherin to throw a fit over some perceived slight. “I am closer to the dungeons, my Lord.”

“Hmm. We’ll have a discussion on this later.”

Oh, I can hardly fucking wait.

Motion in the corridor’s mouth drew their attention as Albus arrived, appearing tired and wary, Minerva trailing after him, wrapped in her tartan dressing gown. Slytherin’s eyes cut to Severus, a not-so-subtle fury glinting in their ruby depths, and the Headmaster was quick to lie for Severus’ benefit. “The wards alerted me to a disturbance,” he said. “Is everything well, Professors?”

“Black and Potter claim there was an intruder in their dormitory.”

“An intruder?” Minerva and Albus shared an uneasy glance. “Are you certain? Is it possible they imagined it? They are young girls, and it can be rather, erm, eerie in the dungeons this late at night.”

“Potter and Black aren’t the type to be frightened easily. You know this, Minerva.” Of course, Severus couldn’t be certain of anything, but somebody had Stunned Potter’s snake—and that in and of itself was cause for alarm, because the only way a person would know of the Horned Serpent was if they’d watched the girl, if they’d observed her enough to discover its existence.

“And where are they now?”

“In my office.” The Transfiguration mistress made as if to head in that direction, but Severus cut her off. “I have sealed the room. You will not be able to enter.”

“Excellent, Severus,” Albus said. “Minerva, if you would alert the remainder of the staff and the Heads of House while we—.”

The Headmaster stepped toward the entrance of the common room, and Slytherin interceded. Severus’ pulse raised when Slytherin’s hand brushed Albus’ chest, and the Headmaster visibly recoiled, his wand out, a palpable burst of magic swelling in the air.

“I won’t have brainless Gryffindors stomping through my ancestral House,” Slytherin spat, unmoved by the cold steel in Albus’ gaze or the threatening stance adopted by him and the Deputy Headmistress. They’d stumbled upon a potentially dangerous situation—and not because of an intruder in the castle. Relations with Slytherin existed as a game of Muggle tug of war; if one wished to win, they had to know when to pull, and when to give, how best to displace their opponent and take their feet out from under them. The game would be more straightforward if Slytherin had been a sane man—but he wasn’t, and one day some slight infraction, such as challenging his authority in his own House, could throw him into an unpredictable rage.

If Slytherin pushed, Severus didn’t know what they’d do, what he’d do, what Albus would want for him to do, because the three of them together might be able to force Slytherin to retreat—but it would not be permanent, and Severus could not sacrifice his position in a futile gambit. He had spent years of his life, had killed, to remain in Slytherin’s good graces. In the same breath, if Albus allowed Slytherin to chip away at his own influence and authority—.

“Need I remind you that I am the Headmaster of this school, Professor?” Albus said, and if Severus hadn’t known the wizard well, he wouldn’t have heard the words and the anger that went unvoiced.

“For now.” Slytherin smiled. “Go on, then. Manage your school, Headmaster, and I will see to my House. Severus!”

The Potions Master hated being called to attention like a stung dog, but he nonetheless dipped his head in acquiescence and followed Slytherin into the common room, hearing the monster’s harsh, guttural hissing as he commanded the painted serpent above the hearth. A series of spells left his wand, a thin veil of yellow sweeping through the darkened room, illuminating purulent halos of ugly color in its wake. Naturally, a spell meant to detect traces of human presence would be ineffective in a communal space.

Quote from Salvyus on September 1, 2023, 2:38 pm

Quote from Dark Angel on September 1, 2023, 1:41 pm

This is a scene that  I like because it does show the dynamic between many characters in the fic. How the girls trust Snape enough to run to him when there's trouble, Snape's eternally grumpy mood and the tension between Dumbledore and Prof. Slytherin.

@naaga already knows where it is from

Caution! Spoilers for Certain Dark Things Chapter 130

The sudden, thundering bang of fists raining on his door jerked Severus from his potion-induced slumber.

His migraine blazed anew across his left temple and Severus grit his teeth, breath stolen by the pain, sweat building and dripping along the nape of his neck. He cupped his palm to his left eye, cursing—and the rapid banging continued.

What now?

Kicking back the sheets, Severus stood and summoned his robes from the armoire, throwing them on over his gray nightshirt, striding through his living quarters. He expected to find Minerva or Filch or Albus in the corridor—though, if he’d given it half a thought, he’d have known Minerva or Albus would have sent a Patronus in the event of an emergency, rather than descend into the dungeons to beat his door down. Without students about, Filch didn’t have much reason to come whinging, let alone at this godforsaken hour.

He froze upon finding Potter and Black standing at his threshold.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re—?!”

His thunderous remark cut itself short when he noted their wide, terrified eyes and the limp Horned Serpent in Potter’s shaking arms. They’d come in a hurry, neither wearing their dressing gowns over their pajamas or their slippers.

“He was in the dormitory,” Black blurted out, looking back the way they’d come. “He—Sirius Black was in the dormitory!”

Severus stiffened and forced his eyes to focus. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“He hurt Livi!” Potter said, her eyes glassy and wet in the corridor’s dim light. “He did something, there was this funny red light, and I thought I was dreaming—.”

“She gasped, and it woke me, and—.”

“There was a bloke just standing there, and then he disappeared—!”

“Shut up,” Severus hissed, trying to make sense of their rapid, panicked babbling. He slammed closed the portrait leading into his quarters and grabbed Potter by the arm, dragging her and Black across the corridor to his office. He shoved the pair into the dark, cold space, then stopped to flick a fire into the empty grate. The idiots would freeze to death if he didn’t do something for them. “Stay here.”

“But—.”

The door shut in Potter’s face, and Severus sealed it. Only then did he fully register their words, their fears of someone—maybe Sirius Black, maybe not, but an unknown male nonetheless—being in their dormitory. A curious tangle of dread and rage pulled through his chest as he snarled, “Expecto Patronum!”

A paltry silver thread wove from the end of his wand, but nothing else. Severus didn’t bother to curse or try again, instead summoning a house-elf, ordering the short creature to bring the Headmaster down to the dungeons. He hurried after that, all but running toward the hidden portal barring passage to the Slytherin common room. He was almost there when Slytherin appeared at the head of the corridor, and for the briefest of seconds, they held each other at wand point.

The pain in his head hadn’t made Severus insensate enough to not know it best to lower his own wand first.

“My Lord,” he acknowledged.

“Snape,” Slytherin returned, red eyes roving from him to the supposedly blank stretch of dark stone. He still wore his day clothes, not a stitch out of place; Severus wasn’t entirely sure the bastard was capable of sleep. “One of our young charges has crossed the entrance ward and I came to investigate.”

Came to catch whoever it was out, more like. “Both, in fact. Potter and Black believe there was an intruder in their room.”

And they came to first? Not their Head of House?”

A worrying note wove through the shorter wizard’s tone, and Severus chose his following words carefully. They hadn’t the time for Slytherin to throw a fit over some perceived slight. “I am closer to the dungeons, my Lord.”

“Hmm. We’ll have a discussion on this later.”

Oh, I can hardly fucking wait.

Motion in the corridor’s mouth drew their attention as Albus arrived, appearing tired and wary, Minerva trailing after him, wrapped in her tartan dressing gown. Slytherin’s eyes cut to Severus, a not-so-subtle fury glinting in their ruby depths, and the Headmaster was quick to lie for Severus’ benefit. “The wards alerted me to a disturbance,” he said. “Is everything well, Professors?”

“Black and Potter claim there was an intruder in their dormitory.”

“An intruder?” Minerva and Albus shared an uneasy glance. “Are you certain? Is it possible they imagined it? They are young girls, and it can be rather, erm, eerie in the dungeons this late at night.”

“Potter and Black aren’t the type to be frightened easily. You know this, Minerva.” Of course, Severus couldn’t be certain of anything, but somebody had Stunned Potter’s snake—and that in and of itself was cause for alarm, because the only way a person would know of the Horned Serpent was if they’d watched the girl, if they’d observed her enough to discover its existence.

“And where are they now?”

“In my office.” The Transfiguration mistress made as if to head in that direction, but Severus cut her off. “I have sealed the room. You will not be able to enter.”

“Excellent, Severus,” Albus said. “Minerva, if you would alert the remainder of the staff and the Heads of House while we—.”

The Headmaster stepped toward the entrance of the common room, and Slytherin interceded. Severus’ pulse raised when Slytherin’s hand brushed Albus’ chest, and the Headmaster visibly recoiled, his wand out, a palpable burst of magic swelling in the air.

“I won’t have brainless Gryffindors stomping through my ancestral House,” Slytherin spat, unmoved by the cold steel in Albus’ gaze or the threatening stance adopted by him and the Deputy Headmistress. They’d stumbled upon a potentially dangerous situation—and not because of an intruder in the castle. Relations with Slytherin existed as a game of Muggle tug of war; if one wished to win, they had to know when to pull, and when to give, how best to displace their opponent and take their feet out from under them. The game would be more straightforward if Slytherin had been a sane man—but he wasn’t, and one day some slight infraction, such as challenging his authority in his own House, could throw him into an unpredictable rage.

If Slytherin pushed, Severus didn’t know what they’d do, what he’d do, what Albus would want for him to do, because the three of them together might be able to force Slytherin to retreat—but it would not be permanent, and Severus could not sacrifice his position in a futile gambit. He had spent years of his life, had killed, to remain in Slytherin’s good graces. In the same breath, if Albus allowed Slytherin to chip away at his own influence and authority—.

“Need I remind you that I am the Headmaster of this school, Professor?” Albus said, and if Severus hadn’t known the wizard well, he wouldn’t have heard the words and the anger that went unvoiced.

“For now.” Slytherin smiled. “Go on, then. Manage your school, Headmaster, and I will see to my House. Severus!”

The Potions Master hated being called to attention like a stung dog, but he nonetheless dipped his head in acquiescence and followed Slytherin into the common room, hearing the monster’s harsh, guttural hissing as he commanded the painted serpent above the hearth. A series of spells left his wand, a thin veil of yellow sweeping through the darkened room, illuminating purulent halos of ugly color in its wake. Naturally, a spell meant to detect traces of human presence would be ineffective in a communal space.

*sighs*

*Adds to TBR*

Quote from Naaga on September 1, 2023, 2:54 pm

Quote from Salvyus on September 1, 2023, 2:38 pm

Quote from Dark Angel on September 1, 2023, 1:41 pm

This is a scene that  I like because it does show the dynamic between many characters in the fic. How the girls trust Snape enough to run to him when there's trouble, Snape's eternally grumpy mood and the tension between Dumbledore and Prof. Slytherin.

@naaga already knows where it is from

Caution! Spoilers for Certain Dark Things Chapter 130

The sudden, thundering bang of fists raining on his door jerked Severus from his potion-induced slumber.

His migraine blazed anew across his left temple and Severus grit his teeth, breath stolen by the pain, sweat building and dripping along the nape of his neck. He cupped his palm to his left eye, cursing—and the rapid banging continued.

What now?

Kicking back the sheets, Severus stood and summoned his robes from the armoire, throwing them on over his gray nightshirt, striding through his living quarters. He expected to find Minerva or Filch or Albus in the corridor—though, if he’d given it half a thought, he’d have known Minerva or Albus would have sent a Patronus in the event of an emergency, rather than descend into the dungeons to beat his door down. Without students about, Filch didn’t have much reason to come whinging, let alone at this godforsaken hour.

He froze upon finding Potter and Black standing at his threshold.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re—?!”

His thunderous remark cut itself short when he noted their wide, terrified eyes and the limp Horned Serpent in Potter’s shaking arms. They’d come in a hurry, neither wearing their dressing gowns over their pajamas or their slippers.

“He was in the dormitory,” Black blurted out, looking back the way they’d come. “He—Sirius Black was in the dormitory!”

Severus stiffened and forced his eyes to focus. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“He hurt Livi!” Potter said, her eyes glassy and wet in the corridor’s dim light. “He did something, there was this funny red light, and I thought I was dreaming—.”

“She gasped, and it woke me, and—.”

“There was a bloke just standing there, and then he disappeared—!”

“Shut up,” Severus hissed, trying to make sense of their rapid, panicked babbling. He slammed closed the portrait leading into his quarters and grabbed Potter by the arm, dragging her and Black across the corridor to his office. He shoved the pair into the dark, cold space, then stopped to flick a fire into the empty grate. The idiots would freeze to death if he didn’t do something for them. “Stay here.”

“But—.”

The door shut in Potter’s face, and Severus sealed it. Only then did he fully register their words, their fears of someone—maybe Sirius Black, maybe not, but an unknown male nonetheless—being in their dormitory. A curious tangle of dread and rage pulled through his chest as he snarled, “Expecto Patronum!”

A paltry silver thread wove from the end of his wand, but nothing else. Severus didn’t bother to curse or try again, instead summoning a house-elf, ordering the short creature to bring the Headmaster down to the dungeons. He hurried after that, all but running toward the hidden portal barring passage to the Slytherin common room. He was almost there when Slytherin appeared at the head of the corridor, and for the briefest of seconds, they held each other at wand point.

The pain in his head hadn’t made Severus insensate enough to not know it best to lower his own wand first.

“My Lord,” he acknowledged.

“Snape,” Slytherin returned, red eyes roving from him to the supposedly blank stretch of dark stone. He still wore his day clothes, not a stitch out of place; Severus wasn’t entirely sure the bastard was capable of sleep. “One of our young charges has crossed the entrance ward and I came to investigate.”

Came to catch whoever it was out, more like. “Both, in fact. Potter and Black believe there was an intruder in their room.”

And they came to first? Not their Head of House?”

A worrying note wove through the shorter wizard’s tone, and Severus chose his following words carefully. They hadn’t the time for Slytherin to throw a fit over some perceived slight. “I am closer to the dungeons, my Lord.”

“Hmm. We’ll have a discussion on this later.”

Oh, I can hardly fucking wait.

Motion in the corridor’s mouth drew their attention as Albus arrived, appearing tired and wary, Minerva trailing after him, wrapped in her tartan dressing gown. Slytherin’s eyes cut to Severus, a not-so-subtle fury glinting in their ruby depths, and the Headmaster was quick to lie for Severus’ benefit. “The wards alerted me to a disturbance,” he said. “Is everything well, Professors?”

“Black and Potter claim there was an intruder in their dormitory.”

“An intruder?” Minerva and Albus shared an uneasy glance. “Are you certain? Is it possible they imagined it? They are young girls, and it can be rather, erm, eerie in the dungeons this late at night.”

“Potter and Black aren’t the type to be frightened easily. You know this, Minerva.” Of course, Severus couldn’t be certain of anything, but somebody had Stunned Potter’s snake—and that in and of itself was cause for alarm, because the only way a person would know of the Horned Serpent was if they’d watched the girl, if they’d observed her enough to discover its existence.

“And where are they now?”

“In my office.” The Transfiguration mistress made as if to head in that direction, but Severus cut her off. “I have sealed the room. You will not be able to enter.”

“Excellent, Severus,” Albus said. “Minerva, if you would alert the remainder of the staff and the Heads of House while we—.”

The Headmaster stepped toward the entrance of the common room, and Slytherin interceded. Severus’ pulse raised when Slytherin’s hand brushed Albus’ chest, and the Headmaster visibly recoiled, his wand out, a palpable burst of magic swelling in the air.

“I won’t have brainless Gryffindors stomping through my ancestral House,” Slytherin spat, unmoved by the cold steel in Albus’ gaze or the threatening stance adopted by him and the Deputy Headmistress. They’d stumbled upon a potentially dangerous situation—and not because of an intruder in the castle. Relations with Slytherin existed as a game of Muggle tug of war; if one wished to win, they had to know when to pull, and when to give, how best to displace their opponent and take their feet out from under them. The game would be more straightforward if Slytherin had been a sane man—but he wasn’t, and one day some slight infraction, such as challenging his authority in his own House, could throw him into an unpredictable rage.

If Slytherin pushed, Severus didn’t know what they’d do, what he’d do, what Albus would want for him to do, because the three of them together might be able to force Slytherin to retreat—but it would not be permanent, and Severus could not sacrifice his position in a futile gambit. He had spent years of his life, had killed, to remain in Slytherin’s good graces. In the same breath, if Albus allowed Slytherin to chip away at his own influence and authority—.

“Need I remind you that I am the Headmaster of this school, Professor?” Albus said, and if Severus hadn’t known the wizard well, he wouldn’t have heard the words and the anger that went unvoiced.

“For now.” Slytherin smiled. “Go on, then. Manage your school, Headmaster, and I will see to my House. Severus!”

The Potions Master hated being called to attention like a stung dog, but he nonetheless dipped his head in acquiescence and followed Slytherin into the common room, hearing the monster’s harsh, guttural hissing as he commanded the painted serpent above the hearth. A series of spells left his wand, a thin veil of yellow sweeping through the darkened room, illuminating purulent halos of ugly color in its wake. Naturally, a spell meant to detect traces of human presence would be ineffective in a communal space.

*sighs*

*Adds to TBR*

@salvyus welcome to the club of long TBR list 😹😹

Quote from Dark Angel on September 12, 2023, 2:52 pm

This is a scene from (I think) my very first Severitus read. It's a rather old story that was outlined prior to OotP so canon goes out the window but it's also one of the pre-DH fics that do get a lot of stuff right. The author made Snape a pureblood as many people believed him to be but his feud with the Marauders and his relationship with Lily did get quite close given that the author did not have much to work on.

There's this particular part where Harry reads a letter from James where he describes how he first met Snape and how their relationship changed over the years.

Caution! Spoilers for Blood Magic Ch. 6

Also, warnings for animal cruelty towards the end of the quote

Severus and the Marauders

— or —

What the Hell Were We Thinking?

 

To start out with, a bit about me. As you know, the Potters are a pureblood family dating back to the fifteenth century, however, my parents were liberal sorts. They had, in theory, nothing against Muggle-borns and mixed-bloods, they just happened not to know any, not being in those sorts of circles. (I'm sorry you won't ever get to meet them — they really were wonderful people. Your grandfather died in the Rowensley Massacre, and your grandmother was killed in a targeted Death Eater attack, two months later.) We had a lot of money and beautiful ancestral lands and homes. (I'm down to one, now, having donated Calbright Manor, which we hardly ever used, for refugee resettlement, last year. They're turning the estate into a village, with the manor house as a meeting hall. You should go visit.) Anything I wanted, I got. In return, I had obligations of time and behavior. I could greet and converse with adult guests properly by the age of seven, and was adept at assuming leadership of the children they brought with them. My mother imbued me with two balanced passions, flying and singing, so that I had admirable skills both in the house and out of it.

When I went to Hogwarts, it was something of a shock for me. I had never before been in the company of children substantially less privileged than myself, except for deferential servants' children. Suddenly I was in a noisy crowd of wild boys and girls, many of them, crude, ill-dressed, or outlandish, and none of them deferring to me at all. And I was lost, but not about to ask any of these ... hooligans for help. While I was searching through the train for someone I knew, or a place to sit that wasn't near someone objectionable, I came across a boy who was in a compartment all by himself. He was tiny and skinny and hunched over, his clothes were dirty and patched, and he looked like he hadn't bathed all week. When he looked up, I saw that his face had a foreign look — vaguely Arabic — and that he had been crying.

I hated him immediately. I walked in and ordered him to leave. "Why?" he asked me, and I told him I wanted this compartment. He pointed out there was plenty of room, and I told him he stank, and I needed him out so I could clean his stench from the place. At that point, someone laughed, and I turned to see Sirius Black in the doorway. I'd only met Sirius twice, and that over the previous four years, but I felt rescued. Here was someone I knew, who was properly dressed, who was civilized. I was afraid he would try to defend the waif, but he just sauntered in and said, "James told you to get out, Snivellus." They'd already encountered each other, you see. The boy stood up, stared at us for a moment, then ran away, crying again.

We were pleased with ourselves, getting this fine, private compartment, and we sat down and got better acquainted, talking mostly about Quidditch, and rumors we'd heard about the Sorting. (My family was mostly Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, his mostly Slytherin and Ravenclaw.) Remus Lupin came by and introduced himself. He wasn't well-dressed, but he was clean, well-mannered, and politely deferential (just enough — not some disgusting amount) when he asked if we would mind him sitting with us. We gave him permission, and his few, quiet contributions to the conversation were intelligent and humorous. I decided I liked him. When the tea trolley came around, we bought far too many sweets (as first years often do) and ate all of it. An hour later, the boy (Severus, as you have certainly guessed) came back, opened the door, and leveled his wand at Sirius. He said something, and Sirius doubled up. I had just got out of my seat when he did the same to me. "I hope you ruin your fancy clothes with your fancy shit," he said, and left. (And yes, that's exactly what he said. At eleven years old.)

We were so sick. He'd given us squitters like you wouldn't believe, and Sirius did end up washing his pants in the bathroom sink, while I stood guard for him. Remus got all wide-eyed and said that was Dark Arts, and Sirius growled that he'd seen plenty of Dark Arts and that was a stupid baby trick. Everything was out by the time we got to Hogwarts, so we were at least able to go through our own Sorting without embarrassing ourselves, but neither of us dared eat. Sirius was rather surprised (and I think a bit frightened) when he was sorted into Gryffindor, but I was pleased. I was rather less pleased when the hat tried to say something about where I belonged. With the confidence of the utterly spoiled, I told it I belonged in Gryffindor, and it would not be impudent with me. I was sorted into Gryffindor, with Sirius and Remus, and all was well, but I do wonder, sometimes, what the hat would have said, had I let it.

Over the next few months, I learned that not everybody was able to buy nice clothes. (Imagine that!) Remus, for example, was relieved to be in school robes constantly, so his poor wardrobe would not be noticed. It took a while to get my head around this idea, but once I did, I learned to be gracious about it. Sirius and I figured out ways to buy Remus things without it being obvious we were always paying.

Sirius got a Howler (!) for being placed in Gryffindor. He responded by becoming almost embarrassingly anti-Slytherin. (I visited his home a few times — scary place.) He learned not to mention Dark Arts that he had seen at home, or some of the things his family owned. He, Remus, and I were all stunningly good students. We played many pranks, but most of them were harmless (making the Slytherin Quidditch robes flash a gold lion biting a serpent, for example), and the teachers generally liked us. We got away with things, perhaps more than we should have.

You might think that when I had socialized to this wider range of people that I would feel sorry about how I treated Severus. What you may not understand is that Severus made himself stunningly easy to hate. He was so dirty and ill-mannered as to be practically feral, and so foul-mouthed as to get stares from the seventh years. He knew more about Dark Arts than Sirius, and derided the idea of eschewing them. He threw screaming tantrums in classes, and if you were nasty enough to him, you could get him to cry, though it was half rage. And he knew a hundred ways to hex you in revenge.

Our feud ramped gradually through our first year, but was still in normal school proportions at the end of it. We generally came out the better in direct conflicts, being three against one (Remus wouldn't help, except on a few special occasions of direct vengeance or protection, but another boy, Peter, had joined us by then), but Severus often got us on the sneak attacks.

Second year started off much the same, but then we had a scuffle in the Entrance Hall, on Halloween. Severus got off a nasty hex at me, and Sirius was pounding him when we got caught by the Head Boy, Lucius Malfoy. Now, Lucius was someone both Sirius and I knew through our parents — his family was the equal of ours, and he was a cousin of Sirius — but he was five years older, and very scary. Everyone knew he practiced Dark Arts. He apparently liked Severus's talent, because after he sent me and Sirius and Peter off with detention (with Peter whining that he had just been watching), he took Severus on as a sort of personal servant. For the rest of the year, Severus was almost constantly with the seventh-year Slytherin boys. They treated him horribly, but let no one else at him, and he seemed to take it as a fair exchange. Severus took advantage of the situation to attack us at every opportunity. We had to learn to be sneakier to get him back even part of the time.

Third year, after Malfoy graduated, was much like the first, only more so, as was the fourth, except that Severus became a Slytherin Chaser (I had made it on the Gryffindor team my second year) giving us another area of rivalry. I was better than him, of course. I was better than everybody, on the pitch. (I am not being arrogant, or sarcastic, this time. It's just true.)

At the beginning of fifth year, something happened. I was walking with Remus, who had been made a prefect, down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, and we came across three first-year boys who were jeering and howling about another's worn clothes and home-cut hair. Remus stepped in, practically shaking with fury, and told all of them off. ("As difficult as you may find this to believe, most people do not wear patched clothes in order to offend you, and it is not your virtue that your parents have money. You are going to school, where you will be judged on your intelligence, your willingness to work, and your ability to adapt to changing demands...." and so on.) I was redder than the first-years by the time he had finished. I continued to walk along with Remus, listening to him talk, and thinking dear, sweet, mischievous Remus would never have given me the time of day if he'd met me half-an-hour earlier.

That made me want to go apologize to Severus, and I actually tried. When I found him, though, he had a box full of mice (wild ones — I think he'd caught them himself) and was demonstrating spells to take out their eyes and other horrible things. When he saw me, he picked one up and threw it, and made it explode in the air in front of me. I ended up in the toilet washing mouse guts off my clothes, which effectively destroyed any desire I had to apologize to him.

Quote from Krystal on October 6, 2023, 9:02 am

This is one of the scenes I liked a lot. It is from One Shots, tying into my favorite Marauder-Era story, The Path Not Tread. It ties in from Chapter 56: Realigned in Alteration of the Path Not Tread, where Severus had undergone a makeover, and covers Marauders's reaction to it.

Naught Gold May Remain, Chapter 3: To Boggle the Mind

Sirius watched the gaggle of girls in blue and bronze whisper amongst each other and peek over towards the figure sitting at a table in the library on Wednesday evening, and shook his head with morbid fascination.

The world had gone insane in the last week, apparently.

“Not Ravenclaws too,” James moaned quietly, dropping into the chair beside Sirius. “I could understand the Slytherins, but the Eagles too?”

“It gets worse,” Peter informed him, taking a seat to James’ other side. “I overheard a couple of fourth-years in the Common Room this morning asking Doris Darling about him and whether it was true Lily had been friends with him. I suppose they thought Doris would know, since she and Lily are both Prefects.”

Sirius’ mouth fell open in shock, while James groaned and buried his head into the circle of his arms on the table.

“What is wrong with people?” Sirius spluttered. “It’s Snivellus!”

“Are you lot on about that again?” Remus asked with his eyebrows raised as he walked up to the table where the other three Marauders had set themselves up so that they had the view without being obvious about it. The werewolf boy sat himself to Sirius’ right and surreptitiously turned to observe the table in question.

Severus Snape was sitting at that table together with his partner in crime, Zebadiah Thistletwaithe, conducting his weekly business he’d begun doing some time in the fall. As he’d done every day since Monday of last week, the Slytherin was dressed in his fancy new robes, his hair was either freshly washed or tied back into a queue at the nape of his neck, and if Sirius wasn’t mistaken, his teeth looked oddly whiter, yet another of the unsettling changes that were at the moment occupying the wagging tongues of the rumour mill.

“He has got to have some hidden agenda with that... that... all that,” Sirius hissed at Remus, waving his hand about in Snivellus’ vague direction.

Remus sighed the sigh of someone thoroughly sick of the conversation already; Sirius was unmoved.

“If I were to guess, he’s started earning himself a tidy coin with his business, and can now actually afford better clothes, and that’s as much as there is to it.”

“That doesn’t explain the hair and the teeth,” Peter pointed out.

“I bet next will be the nose,” James said with a nod to himself.

“Perish the thought; he wouldn’t be Snivellus without the nose,” Sirius quipped back.

“Why am I friends with you lot?” Remus moaned softly, covering his face with his palm in clear embarrassment that made Sirius want to smack him upside the head. “I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation.”

“If you want us to be nice about him, you just had to say, Moony. Here, let me try – maybe one of the Slytherin broads will finally take pity on him now he’s actually learned what soap and water are used for, and do him a favour and pop his cherry,” Sirius said with a smirk.

“Why is everything always about sex with you, Padfoot?” Remus asked in response.

“Only ever said by those who’ve never had any.”

That earned him a smack upside the head from James; Remus’ cheeks, meanwhile, had gone quite red, and he was giving Sirius a somewhat hurt look.

“Anyway, I don’t think that’d be much of a problem for him these days,” Peter noted, inclining his head towards two seventh-year Badgers who were giving Snape appreciative looks, even as they waited for him to conclude his current business with the Ravenclaw girls seated at his table.

Sirius did a double take.

Quote from Naaga on December 18, 2023, 8:37 am

This scene is the beginning scene of one of my favourite fics The Cactus and the Toad: Chapter 1, featuring Snape and Neville, my favourite characters. It's sequel is also good but let's go through OG fic scene and hope you guys like it. 😸

Neville Longbottom had long associated St. Mungo's Institute for Magical Maladies and Injuries with strange occurrences. It would have been natural, of course, for him to associate it with grief, or perhaps misery; he had certainly experienced enough of those within its walls. But St. Mungo's never had an atmosphere of grief. The waiting room was always full of bizarre magical accidents, the long journey up the stairs offered glimpses of rare and nameless maladies, and the portraits were, well, odd.

None of this lessened his dread of the place, but it did prepare him for the sensation of utter unreality that splattered over him like a poorly brewed potion as he looked down at Professor Snape's unconscious body. No, not Professor Snape. Neville doubted he would ever be a professor again. (He doubted, too, whether anyone, least of all Snape, would lament this.) But looking down at Snape, unconscious and breathing only with the aid of a Respiration Charm, Neville felt the familiar sense of the ground dropping out from beneath his still rather clumsy feet.

Snape looked… young. That was probably the strangest part. In all the media coverage of the Battle of Hogwarts, Neville had read that Snape was thirty-eight years old, which, for a wizard, was not old at all. Snape had always seemed old, or at least ageless. Now he seemed… young. Neville's parents' age. And Neville had always been determined to think of his parents as young, because the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

In any case, Snape looked young, now, deathly white and thin, so thin that Neville wondered if he had eaten at all during his year as headmaster. Snape's health had never been of any particular concern to him before (and especially not during the past year), but now it was impossible not to feel a little disturbed. Snape looked like a spindly sapling poking out of a blizzard's worth of snow.

He was small, too. Shorter than Neville, slimmer, slighter. Neville remembered the exact moment he had first noticed it. It had been that night when Snape had caught him and Ginny and Luna trying to rob his office. There he had stood, Neville's former boggart, in all his dark malice, and Neville, who had expected to feel afraid, had instead felt a savage glee that he, who had always felt so tiny in Snape's presence, was now the bigger of the two.

Now, though, that entire scene took on a different meaning. He had thought, at the time, what an utter idiot Snape must be, to think that detention with Hagrid was even remotely comparable to detention with the Carrows. But of course Snape had known that it wasn't. Snape had known Hagrid since he himself was a child. He knew perfectly well that detention with Hagrid would be about as torturous as snuggling with puppies.

How, Neville asked himself, had he not known the truth right then? How had he not guessed? He had been so smug, laughing at Snape with Ginny as they followed Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest for what proved to be a nice little holiday from the horror inside the school. Luna hadn't laughed, though. Neville thought she might have known.

He felt like the dunderhead Snape had always accused him of being. Of course Snape was on their side. Of course he wasn't really bad. With the exception of that time he'd tried to poison Trevor, when had he ever actually done anything horrible to any of them? He had made Neville feel horrible, to be sure, but he'd never done anything evil.

Well. Now everyone knew the truth. Harry had shown the Ministry Snape's memories of Dumbledore ordering him to kill him, and Snape had been pardoned of all crimes. Neville knew there were some other memories Harry hadn't shown the Ministry, but, as far as he could tell, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew what those were.

Whatever they were, they had drastically changed Harry's opinion of Snape. He was the one who had gotten Snape the pardon. He had even given an interview to the Daily Prophet about him, and Harry hated interviews.

Harry had succeeded in obtaining the pardon. He had not succeeded where public opinion was concerned. Neville could see the evidence of that on Snape's bedside table, which was utterly bare. No flowers, no candy, not even a card. Snape had been here for more than a week, and no one seemed to care much whether he woke up or not.

"Self-induced stasis," the Healers were calling it. Snape had, quite astonishingly, built up an immunity to Nagini's venom, but the blood loss should still have killed him. The only thing that had kept him alive was accidental magic - the kind Neville had performed when Great-Uncle Algie had accidentally dropped him out the window. Whether Snape would recover was anyone's guess. His throat had been healed, but he was still in some kind of limbo, as far as his consciousness was concerned.

Neville wondered if Snape wasn't sure whether he wanted to live or die.

"It's okay, you know," he said quietly. It didn't bother him that Snape couldn't answer; he was used to talking to people who couldn't. "You won't go to Azkaban or anything. You've even got an Order of Merlin, Second Class. Harry tried to get First Class for you, but, well…" He frowned. "You were a Death Eater for a while."

Snape, luckily, couldn't hear him.

"Anyway… It's safe to wake up, is what I mean. There's no one waiting to punish you. You can wake up and…" Neville searched his mind for what Snape might want to do with the freedom not working at Hogwarts would give him, but came up empty. "I don't know, travel, or something."

Still nothing.

Neville gave it one more try. "Nobody blames you." This was not remotely true, but Neville thought it might help, anyway. "For what you did."

On the bed, Snape still looked like death might be preferable to waking up.

"Well, I'll see you later, sir. I hope you get better."