Regression
Severus Snape could feel Nagini’s venom seeping through his neck, spreading its fiery agony. The pain was relentless, almost unbearable, yet he clenched his teeth and bore it in silence, waiting impatiently for it all to end.
He had lived his retribution. A sinner by his own admission, Severus had atoned for his misdeeds by sacrificing the best years of his life—not for himself, but for Harry Potter. The boy who was both the child of his tormentor and the son of the only solace he had ever known. It was a cruel irony, bittersweet in every sense.
Now, having played his part in Dumbledore’s grand design, death seemed more like a release than an end. He had longed for this moment—a final reprieve from the torment of his existence. It had come, at last, and he welcomed it without resistance, relinquishing his tenuous grip on life.
As he lay motionless, Severus found his thoughts wandering to a question that had haunted him for years: Had he truly redeemed himself?
On one hand, he was painfully aware of his flaws. A grown man who took out his frustrations on children—some would call it petty cruelty, but for Severus, it had been a twisted form of coping. Yet he could not excuse himself; he had become the very thing he despised—a bully. His redemption, if it could be called that, had not been born of pure virtue but of love. If Lily’s life hadn’t been at stake, he doubted he would have ever turned against the Death Eaters.
Calling Lily a "Mudblood" had been his gravest mistake. That word, spoken in anger, had severed their bond forever. The regret was a wound that never healed, gnawing at him year after year. How could he have been anything but a disappointment?
Yet, on the other hand, he had turned against the Dark Lord and chosen the path of light. He had endured years of servitude to Dumbledore, sacrificing his talents and freedom in secret, for a cause greater than himself. Though he had been harsh with his students, he had never sought to cause lasting harm. In his own shadowed way, he had always tried to protect them.
Severus knew he was far from virtuous, but perhaps not so vile as to be beyond redemption.
It wouldn’t matter soon enough. Everything would end.
His thoughts grew hazy as his vision blurred. Consciousness ebbed like a tide, retreating further with each breath. The shouts of Harry Potter reached his ears, faint and distant, but they faded along with the venom's relentless throb. Darkness descended, enveloping him entirely.
At last, he found peace. Or so he thought.
A light pierced the void, bright and unyielding, forcing Severus to open his eyes. Blinking against the dim glow, he squinted, struggling to adjust.
Was this heaven? The fabled light at the end of the tunnel? Had he truly earned this?
Disappointment pricked at him. He had yearned for an endless void, an eternal silence to match his wearied soul. Heaven, hell, reincarnation—any outcome seemed more exhausting than the oblivion he craved.
Sitting up slowly, Severus took in his surroundings. The room was unfamiliar yet unsettlingly familiar. Dark, serpentine green draped the walls, accented by gaudy silver details. A grand tapestry of a coiled snake loomed over the space, its emerald eyes gleaming.
His gaze drifted to the bed he had risen from. The silk sheets were a rich, luxurious green, softer than anything he had ever touched. The pillows cradled him as gently as a mother’s arms. It was opulent—too opulent.
It was unmistakably Slytherin.
Was this his reward or his punishment? Heaven or hell? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Slytherin had been both his refuge and his torment. Once, it had represented everything he aspired to be: cunning, ambitious, proud. It was a part of him—Prince blood flowed in his veins. Yet it had also been the catalyst for his ruin, leading him down a shadowed path that had cost him everything, including Lily.
The thought of her tightened his chest. Severus bit his cracked lips, fighting the wave of regret that threatened to consume him. He could not linger here.
Pushing aside the silken sheets, he rose to his feet. The bed creaked beneath him, the sound echoing softly in the eerie silence.
“Snape?” a drowsy voice called out.
Severus jumped, startled, like a cat caught off guard. His heart raced as he turned cautiously toward the source of the voice.
Another bed stood beside his own, and on it lay a boy with messy chestnut hair. The boy, turned on his side, was staring at Severus with piercing blue eyes. Severus immediately recognized him: Evan Rosier. But he looked far younger than Severus remembered.
Evan Rosier—a staunch Death Eater in his time. There was no way that little bastard would end up in heaven. A sickening thought crept into Severus’s mind: Was he so irredeemable that he had been sent to an afterlife alongside his fellow Death Eaters?
The awkward silence between them lingered, and Rosier, perhaps unsettled by it, sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”
Severus just stared at the boy, his mind racing, before blurting out, “Is this hell?”
The words escaped before he could stop them, and the moment they did, regret seized him.
Rosier’s face twisted in confusion. He already thought Snape was a bit of an oddball, but crazy? That was new. Then again, Lily Evans’s cold shoulder and the relentless bullying from the Gryffindors might have finally cracked Severus’s greasy head.
Rosier sighed, his expression softening with reluctant sympathy. “Snape, I hate to break it to you, but you’re in the Slytherin dorms.”
Severus remained silent, staring blankly at the boy.
“It should feel more like heaven, really,” Rosier quipped, attempting a joke.
Confusion spread across Severus’s pale face. “Rosier… aren’t we dead?”
Rosier blinked, his brows furrowing further before he leaped out of bed and pressed a hand against Severus’s forehead. “Are you sick? You don’t have a fever, but I think your head’s gone funny.” When Severus just stared at him in silence, Rosier added awkwardly, “Look, I know things have been rough with Lily and those filthy Gryffindors’ pranks, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
The words felt so absurd that Severus instinctively pushed the boy away. Was this not the afterlife? Why did Rosier look at him like he was insane and ramble on about Lily and the Gryffindors? Something gnawed at the edges of Severus’s thoughts, a ridiculous possibility that he couldn’t ignore.
“What’s the date?” he asked abruptly.
Rosier shrugged, visibly tired. “November… something. 1976. Why?”
The words hit Severus like a curse. His heart plummeted. November 1976—the year that haunted him like no other. His fifth year at Hogwarts. The year he destroyed his friendship with Lily Evans by calling her a Mudblood in a fit of humiliation. The year Sirius Black nearly got him killed at the Whomping Willow. The year James Potter saved him, then basked in undeserved glory while Severus silently seethed.
Panic clawed at his chest. This couldn’t be real. Desperate, Severus pinched his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The pain was sharp and vivid.
This wasn’t a dream.
He had been sent back to his fifth year—a time he despised more than any other. Some might call this a blessing, a chance to change his fate. For Severus, it felt like the cruelest punishment.
His breathing quickened, his vision blurred. Overwhelmed, he turned away from Rosier, his face contorting with shame as tears welled in his eyes. Before the other boy could react, Severus bolted for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.
In the solitude of the bathroom, he leaned against the sink, staring into the mirror. The reflection staring back was one he had buried deep in his memories. A gaunt, pale boy with greasy black hair, hollowed cheeks, and dark eye bags—his younger self.
‘Oh, the perks of poverty and neglect,’ he thought bitterly.
But as his gaze dropped, he noticed something that chilled him to the bone: faint puncture marks on his neck. He ran trembling fingers over the scars, identical to those left by Nagini in his final moments.
The snakebite that had killed him had followed him here.
A loud bang jolted him from his thoughts. “I NEED TO USE THE BLOODY TOILET!”
The voice was unmistakable. Sighing, Severus opened the door, coming face-to-face with a tall, striking boy. Lucius Malfoy, with his elegant blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and sharp grey eyes, looked down at him with disdain.
“Snape,” Lucius drawled, his tone dripping with condescension. “Move. I need the loo.”
Severus nearly sneered. Lucius Malfoy, so smug and self-assured, would one day lose everything. How ironic.
Swallowing his retort, Severus stepped aside, walking back to his bed. Rosier had fallen asleep again, snoring softly. Severus dressed in his shabby robes, the ones his mother had bought with what little money she could spare. His fingers brushed the worn hems, a stark reminder of the life he had once left behind.
Now, it was his reality again.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of his predicament pressed down on him. He didn’t want to relive his life. He didn’t want to change anything. All he wanted was escape.
But there was no escape.
Not yet.
Grimacing, Severus decided to make his way to the Great Hall. He was famished, and a full stomach would help him think more clearly. His new life, though unwanted, came with the invaluable advantage of future knowledge—knowledge he could wield if needed.
As he walked down the familiar corridors, he observed the castle. During his years as a professor, he had memorized nearly every secret passageway and hidden corner. Hogwarts remained unchanged, yet it felt alien.
The occasional stares and stifled snickers of passing students barely registered. Severus kept his head low, indifferent to their whispers. He had endured years of worse insults from those he once taught, who described him with every vile epithet imaginable. At thirty-eight, Severus Snape had long since abandoned the futile desire to fit in.
Reaching the Slytherin table, he found it blessedly empty. It was early Saturday morning, and most students were still asleep. The solitude was a relief. Filling his plate, Severus began eating in peace, savoring the warmth and flavor of the meal—a rare comfort.
But luck never favored him for long.
Before he could take another bite, a familiar, taunting voice shattered the quiet. “Oh look, it’s Snivellus!”
The name struck him like a whip, and his hand instinctively tightened around his fork. Closing his eyes, Severus fought the tide of anger and humiliation that threatened to surface.
Turning slowly, he confirmed his suspicions: Potter and his gang stood there, smug and self-assured. James Potter, with his eternally cocky grin, took center stage. To his right was Sirius Black, his smirk oozing malice. Remus Lupin looked passive, as always, and Peter Pettigrew lurked in the background, insignificant as ever.
Suppressing the urge to lash out, Severus rolled his eyes and turned back to his plate. Silently and wandlessly, he cast multiple shielding charms around himself. To his relief, his advanced magic worked effortlessly, despite his younger body. Satisfied, he resumed eating, ignoring the group entirely.
The Marauders exchanged bewildered glances. Severus’s lack of reaction was unprecedented. Where was the wild, snarling boy they loved to torment?
“Did he just ignore us?” Sirius sputtered.
“It seems so,” Lupin replied with a shrug. “Can we go to Hogsmeade now?”
“Not yet,” James growled, drawing his wand. “Watch this! Immobulus!”
He stood poised, his wand aimed at Severus, expecting a satisfying result. But Severus continued to eat, unfazed, as the spell bounced harmlessly off his shields.
“What—?” James stammered, his confidence faltering.
Severus turned to face them, his expression devoid of emotion. “I put up shields. Good luck trying to break through them.”
His calm, detached tone unnerved them. Peter stuttered, “W-we can break through! J-James was just c-caught off guard!”
“Yeah,” James added hastily. “If I’d known you’d put up shields, I’d have tried harder.”
“Spare me the theatrics,” Severus said flatly, his voice dripping with disdain. He met Sirius’s venomous glare head-on.
“Don’t act high and mighty, Snivellus,” Sirius spat. “You’ve been cowering like a rat for months. Stop pretending you’re better than us.”
The nickname stung, as it always did, but Severus refused to let it show. He had been humiliated, scorned, and beaten down countless times before. At sixteen, such cruelty had shattered him. At thirty-eight, it was a nuisance, nothing more.
“Why does he look like that?” James muttered, unnerved by Severus’s cold, detached demeanor.
It was the same look everyone had given him at some point in his life—a look devoid of kindness. Yet, the familiarity of it tugged at him, threatening to unravel the mental walls he had spent years fortifying.
His appetite vanished. Rising from his seat, he faced the Marauders directly. “I’m tired of your childish games. Leave me alone. It’s time for us all to grow up.”
The bluntness of his words left them stunned, but Severus wasn’t finished. Turning to James, he added, “Potter, I don’t care about Lily anymore. Stop following me like a ghost looking for closure. I’ve had enough.”
Sirius’s face twisted in rage. “We torment you because you’re a slimy git who deserves it!”
Severus almost shot back that Sirius deserved his fate—falling through the Veil of Death—but he held his tongue. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Black.”
With that, Severus turned and walked away, ignoring their angry shouts and the spells deflected by his shields. He had no energy for their antics. Not anymore.
As he strode through the halls, his mind churned. Severus Snape was no longer the sixteen-year-old boy desperate for validation. He was a man who had lived, suffered, and died for a cause. And now, he faced the cruel irony of reliving it all.
But one thing was certain: he wouldn’t play their games anymore. Not now, not ever.