Personal
FRIDAY. SEPTEMBER 10, 1971.
Severus is pulled from the deep, dark embrace of sleep by a violent shaking of his shoulders.
“Get up! For Merlin’s sake, Snape!” Juliette Wilkes is standing over him. Her grip is surprisingly strong. It almost hurts. “I can’t believe you.”
Severus blinks. His mind sputters like a stalled engine. “What?” He croaks.
She releases his shoulders, and he falls back onto his bed with a soft thump. “You heard me!” She snaps, “Ditching Potions to sleep in. Don’t you care about the group at all? You left us with the muggleborn.”
Severus sits up so swiftly it makes him feel a bit faint. “What are you talking about?” He asks. His head is swimming. It’s dark in the dorm room... But it’s always dark down here. The lack of light gives him no real hint as to what time it is.
“It’s past noon, Severus.” She sighs. “You missed class. Several classes, actually.”
Noon?! Severus’ legs are all tangled in his duvet. He flails as he tries to escape.
“But I happen to think it’s a bad look for you to skive off Flying.” Wilkes prattles on, stepping away from his bed to allow the boy more space to scramble. “And we’re associated now, thanks to that scene on Wednesday. So, if you look bad, it reflects on me. Understand?”
Finally free from the prison of his covers, Severus rolls out of bed. The stone floor of the dungeon is frigid against the soles of his feet. It sends a shock up his spine.
He hadn’t considered that Wilkes might feel the two of them were ‘associated’ now. Truthfully, he’d been expecting that to take a bit more work than just knocking Sirius Black down a peg. Then again, he’d been expecting everything to take a bit more work than it had. Once it became clear that Severus had information about the Blacks, his roommates had suddenly become much more amenable to conversation with him.
Besides, she isn’t wrong. It would be a terrible look.
He’s just managed to get people to forget about the incident from the last Flying class. The last thing he needs is for people to start thinking he’s afraid of a bloody broom. No wizard worth anything is afraid to fly.
“Thank you.” He finally says. He digs through his trunks for a clean uniform, head still a bit bleary.
“Don’t thank me.” She wrinkles her nose. “Just don’t be late.”
She doesn’t slam the door when she leaves. He’s only sure she’s gone because the room gets a fraction colder.
***
Severus does his best to follow Wilkes’ final instructions. He gets ready in a blur. It’s easier this morning than most. He doesn’t have to wait for Bertram to be done in the bathroom. He practically sprints up the stairs from the dungeons. He’s heaving and dizzy by the time he reaches the main floor.
It’s cloudy, nearly completely overcast. The chilly air stings his flushed cheeks as he approaches the empty field. There’s no sign that class will start anytime soon– except, of course, for the two rows of broomsticks laid neatly in the grass.
Severus has never owned a broomstick. Not one that he actually remembers, at least.
His mother had several in her childhood. She spoke fondly of them– of flying. She’d meant to give Severus one when he was old enough. She’d meant to teach him how to fly long before he ever got to Hogwarts. But when it became quite clear that Tobias wouldn’t be seeking work of any sort, the brooms had been the first things to go. Sold for a couple sickles each, at least.
Severus glowers down at the broom that broke his nose.
That never should have happened. It never would have happened if not for his father. And it will never happen again. Not if Severus can help it.
“Up.” He says firmly, leaning back ever so slightly. Once bitten, twice shy. The broom flops about on the ground. Severus’ face grows warmer. His nose twinges. “Up.” He repeats.
This time, the broom acquiesces, hopping lethargically into his grasp.
His face warms again, though his angry blush is rapidly receding. The sun has come peeking through the purple clouds. A thin ray of sunlight casts a little spotlight on Severus’ success, and he glows for one beautiful moment.
The sun is in the wrong spot.
Severus is facing east. He squints at the light. That’s not where the sun should be. He drops the broomstick as if he’s been burnt. Or at least he tries to. The broom doesn’t move.
It’s stuck to his hand.
Severus bolts back to the castle, using his free hand to tug uselessly at the broom.
He ought to be in Potions right now. Class has probably already started. They might be prepping ingredients for their next brew at this very moment. No doubt Black and Wilkes are doing it incorrectly. And poor Lily is far too kind to say anything about it. Is that why Wilkes sent him off in the wrong direction? To ruin his brew in some act of twisted revenge?
Both hands are stuck to the broom handle now. Severus’ palms sting as he tries yet again to yank them free. His feet fumble down the steps. His heartbeat thumps away between his ears.
He should have known. Severus curses himself as he rounds the corner of the stairwell. It had all been too easy. Of course Black wouldn’t stand for his humiliation. Severus just hadn’t expected Wilkes to take his side in the matter.
But clearly, she had.
Thank Merlin his third partner is just Lily. He doesn’t think he could bear to show his face at all if it were Mulciber or Avery who’d be greeting him.
Poor Lily. He can only imagine what sort of things Wilkes and Black might be doing. The things they might be saying to her.
Severus skids to a halt in front of Professor Slughorn’s classroom. His hands are still useless, so he turns to his side and leans up against the door. It swings open a hair faster than intended, sending Severus stumbling into the room.
He narrowly avoids crashing directly into Amethyst Perks by diving awkwardly in the other direction. Perks’ cauldron makes contact with his back, and he crumples forward, barely catching himself with his broom-burdened hands.
A jolt of pain runs up his legs when his knees hit the floor, but it’s completely inconsequential compared to the smothering embarrassment that threatens to squash him into nothingness when the cauldron tips.
Lethe river water and mistletoe berries splash onto the cobblestones. The beginning stages of Forgetfulness Potion. Perks shrieks and hops up onto her stool. Severus does his best to roll out of the way.
“What is the meaning of this?” Slughorn demands from his post.
The commotion does not decrease in the slightest. Pyrites hops up on her stool next. “It touched me! It touched me!”
She’s overreacting, of course. Even if it had touched her, there hadn’t been nearly enough water to cause any long-term damage. Still, her crying sends Fieldwake into a tizzy. “Professor!”
“Remain in your seats, please.” Professor Slughorn tries again to wrangle the class. “Please, stay seated while I-”
Bertram Aubrey grabs the hem of Fieldwake’s robes. He bunches them up and holds them a safe distance from the rapidly growing puddle. He glares. “Nice going, Severus.”
Severus could keel over and die. He really could. But it doesn’t stop there. No. Why should it? Why should the universe grant him a break?
“Wasn’t enough to break your own face with that thing, hm? Had to get a shot in on someone else too?”
Black is smirking from Severus’ table. His eyes blaze with some idiotic form of righteous fury. Severus broils. He pushes himself to his feet, a reply scalding on his tongue, but Gillybum laughs. Gillybum of all people.
The other students– the ones not focused on getting away from the Lethe water– follow suit. The Gryffindors, in particular, seem to find The Heir’s quip awfully funny. James Potter pipes up, “Of course not. Snivellus just forgot how to walk, is all.”
A newly renewed wave of laughter rolls through the classroom. Nobody laughs harder than Black– not even Potter’s idiotic little friends from the boat. Though they’re not far behind.
“Boys,” Slughorn warns, finally arriving at Severus’ side. He waves his wand at the mess on the ground, and the puddle rapidly evaporates.
Lily stands abruptly, red in the face. Her stool makes a terrible scraping sound before it clatters to the ground. “Leave him alone!” She orders, glaring at Black and Potter.
“That’s quite enough!” The Professor bellows at last. He flicks his wand towards Lily. Her stool rights itself. “I will not ask nicely again. Sit down, all of you.”
The students sit. Perks and Pyrites are still glaring. Black and Potter are still glowing. Severus stands, glued to his spot with shame and smoldering, bitter rage.
“I’d ask you to put down the broom, Dear Boy, but something tells me you’d have a bit of trouble with that.” Slughorn hums. “Is that right?”
Severus nods.
“Right then, I believe a trip to Madam Pomfrey is in order. Wouldn’t you agree?” He asks, chipper as ever once more.
Severus swears he can hear Black snicker when he nods for a second time.
It hadn’t been personal before. When Severus had informed the other Slytherins about the goings on in the House of Black, it had been a purely strategic move.
He hadn’t hated Sirius Black. He’d had no real reason to. Black seemed like a brat– utterly unworthy of his title and status among his peers– but he’d also seemed harmless enough. Little more than a minor inconvenience to be dealt with three times per week. But Severus had been wrong. Obviously.
It’s personal now.