In a small hole in the ground, there lived a Sniv.
It was not one of those mucky, cold holes filled with worms and damp tree roots that streamed from the ceiling, nor was it a sandy, dry hole with dust that got stuck all over one's trousers no matter how thoroughly one cleaned.
Not at all. It was a Sniv hole, and that meant comfort.
This particular hole suited Seweryn Snape, and Seweryn Snape alone. Unlike all other Snivs, he disliked guests and gatherings of any kind in his hole.
There was a wooden floor that creaked, and the stones on the walls remained speckled to hide the large amounts grime on them. There were many ancient, hand-painted trinkets hanging above the single bed, passed down to him from the long line of Snapes. The main room had plenty of shelved spaces tightly filled with dusty books that the Sniv would not be able to finish in a lifetime (even if reading was all he did). This was home.
The hole was in the middle of a place called the CokeWorth Hills (the 'Worth for those who'd spent their whole lives here) and it was too large for a homebody such as Seweryn. He thought of it this often when he had to fetch eggs across the bridge or fix his gardening shoes down South. There were plenty of opportunities to leave the safety of home and travel around Middle Earth.
Seweryn Snape, had no interest for anything beyond the petunias and lilies growing in his yard and the wonderful library inside. So far, for all sixty years of his existence, life was good.
One summer's day just after breakfast of a freshly ground black coffee and before a scrumptious, midmorning buttered toast, Seweryn sat on the porch savoring a hand carved pipe of Whomping Willow wood. Just as he did, the whispers of his neighbors, the She-Snivs, pierced the silence.
"Have you felt the wind blow South? It must be Dumbledore the Great, back in 'Worth again," whispered the meddling Mrs. Fawcett as she lugged a basket of carrots up the path.
"What sorts of adventures had he been on now?" Mrs. Evans whispered back. “What sorts of gifts did he bring from his travels?”
“I hear he’s got something called….fireworks. It will be a grand sight when they’re up in the night sky.”
Seweryn furrowed his brow. He had of course heard of Dumbledore and his oh-so exhilarating adventures, but to speak of adventure before midmorning toast was causing his stomach to grumble and rumble. This gossip could not entice him to leave his pipe to chat with them. If the She-Snivs wished to capture his attention or peak his interest, they had gone about it in the wrong way.
Nevertheless, he continued to smoke his pipe and gaze upon the beautiful lush green hills of the valley from his rounded window. Fireworks? Huh! Nothing could be better than a stable life without surprises.
When the pipe was done, and Seweryn stood bent over forwards in the soil, the sound of footsteps trotted up the dusty pathway to his home.
Seweryn decided that if he stayed quiet enough, he would not have to exchange pleasantries with the visitor. The footsteps got louder, then, a large shadow cast over him from above. He lifted head just a touch to take a peak and nearly toppled over in surprise.
It was Dumbledore the Great himself.
He smoothed his blue robes and his eyes twinkled beneath his pointed hat as though he were meeting an old acquaintance. Such friendliness towards strangers was suspicious as Seweryn had never seen the wizard in person before.
"Good morning!" Dumbledore said with a whistle to his tone.
Seweryn nodded his head and bent back down towards his petunias, cutting off their heads one-by-one.
"I say! Folks in the ‘Worth tell me you have one of the best gardens around. On the other hand, your hospitality is really quite astounding. Would you at least offer to light my pipe?"
"Apologies," the Sniv said with a grumble. "I had been occupied." He flicked a match and extended the light to the visitor. The wizard’s pipe lit at once with a glorious burst of blue flame.
"Now this is more like it. And again I repeat, good morn’ to you!" said the wizard with a smile.
"Perhaps it is." Seweryn watched the wizard take long drag and blow three grey rings into the air. "Would you consider it a morning that is good or a morning filled with goodness? If it is the first, I can assure you that I do not consider this morn much unlike any other. And if you wish me the second- then the goodness today has to bring has to be determined for it is only half-past nine."
Dumbledore chuckled. He checked the Sniv from head to toe (that did not require more than a twitch of his eyes) and studied his face for a few minutes. “Do you often think so much?”
“One has to at my age.”
"Interesting. Then it appears I did choose the correct man after all."
"Pardon me? Choose me for what?"
"An adventure of course!"
Now Seweryn had a prickling sensation in his hairy toes and his chest tightened. "You are mistaking me for someone else. Ask any one of my acquaintances and you will know that I'm the last man to be part of such elaborate schemes."
“And yet, an adventure is the very thing that you need. I can see it in your eyes, you’ve been cooped up here for far too long! I’ve known your mother and your father well, and believe me, you are their son by-and-by. A true Snape! As for my judgement, I am never wrong, and had never chosen incorrectly."
"Then unfortunately today will be the day you’ve made your first mistake. Excuse me, but I very busy. Farewell."
Seweryn planted his shovel into the soil, and stomped back inside his hole, shutting the door ever so firmly. From the window, he watched Dumbledore continue to stand and smoke his pipe in a languid manner. And when he’d finished , he cleared his throat and headed back down the path. The Sniv watched him go until the tip of his blue hat vanished into the swarm of dandelions.
That evening, Seweryn had fallen asleep by the fire with Gardens and Gnomes open on his lap. He dreamt a terrible dream of dragons and werewolves and a giant white serpent flying after him through the air. When it opened its mouth, a loud pop sped out. Seweryn awoke to find that he wasn't dreaming and the sound was coming out of the window.
Fireworks, blue, red, and orange burst into the sky. Seweryn pulled the curtains shut and retreated to his bedroom. Only with a blanket over his head did he eventually drift into a slumber.
But again, a persistent banging woke him up. At eight in the evening, who could it be? Seweryn opened the latch of the front door expecting the travelling wizard in the blue cloak. Instead, he saw a small cloaked figure.
"Hermione Granger's the name. Say, do you have anyplace to kick up my feet? I've been traveling for many hours." She thrust her cape into his hands and Seweryn, who had not been known to keep dirty cloaks at home stepped outside and shook a great deal of grass and dust off the outside. When he'd hung the fabric in his closet, the uninvited guest was sitting in his favorite armchair and flipping through his book.
"Some tea would be nice," she mumbled over the leather bound cover.
"I most certainly would not serve-" Seweryn began. How had this creature found him? He was not fond of guests on the best of days and certainly was not fond of those who invited themselves inside like that. Another knock cut off his train of thought.
This time he was certain it was Dumbledore, here to apologize for the inconvenience. At the door were two similarly cloaked men, one with red hair and the other with black.
"Top of the evening! So this is so called Serpent-Slayer? He seems rather thin and bat like?" The red haired one whispered to the black.
"Perhaps Dumbledore had made a mistake after all," his companion said, glaring at Seweryn in an unwelcoming way. "Doesn't seem like he'd amount to anything."
Seweryn, who was hanging their cloaks and sweeping away dirt from their walking boots stiffened. Just who did they think they were to judge him? He was certain none of these chits had ever brewed a Sniv-ale so delightful that it won the yearly ale completion twenty years in a row.
"I'd have you know that I am the very sort of man you've heard about and more," he said firmly. "if there's any sort of objection, you can wait outside."
"Begging your pardon sir," the black haired one said. "Ronald here's your a hot head when he's hungry. Now then, when is supper? I've long wanted to taste a good Sniv-steak and potatoes."
Seweryn scrunched his lip. "I am not serving tonight."
"We'll serve ourselves then, no need to fuss!" And in a moment Seweryn's carefully hidden jerky and canned tomatoes and cheese were pulled from their cupboards and hiding spots and sitting on his dining table.
More guests came in and Seweryn soon found himself putting shoes up the hallway to his bedroom and hanging cloaks and coats on every door hook he could find.
"Just what is happening around here," he asked the curly haired one named Hermione who had just wandered out of his lavatory with his favorite newsprint in her underarm. "Who are you and who are all of these people and where is Dumbledore?"
"You weren’t told? You’re the Serpent-Slayer, the one we’ve all come to take over the mountains and-“
"Well you’ve got the wrong address. Go on, and tell your little friends to pack up and leave and find their Serpent-Slayer elsewhere.”
After that there was a another knock on the door. And to his great relief, there was Dumbledore in all his glory with a long staff in hand. Just as Seweryn was about to complain, he thrust a lemon-drop into his mouth and his staff into his outstretched hands and sent him off to put it in safe-keeping.
“Ah friends! You're all together then? Perfect, to the table we go."
The company ate and drank and were merry. When the meal completed and the candles burnt to the bottoms of their wicks, glistening between the empty bottles of Firewhiskey and Sniv-ale, they began to sing:
Far over the moonlit mountains cold
To forests deep from castles old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the Long Forgotten Stone.
The Gringott Goblins long withold,
This treasure worth far more than gold.
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the steep.
For ancient evil - the Dark Lord,
Has long sought out to find and hoard
The stone's great pow'r, legend's fortold
To make a man mortal no more.
On empty promises he strung
His followers to come along.
They came by night, in twisted coil
They meshed the pow'r of blood and soil.
Far over the moonlit mountains cold
To forests deep and castles old
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek the Long Forgotten Stone.
The Seven Horcruxes he formed
A Goblet and a Ring of Gaunt.
A Diadem, a Locket dark,
A Book and last a Serpent marked.
Their Mark was coiling on the height,
Their spells were moaning in the night.
Their fire was green, it flaming seen
Above the world in burning light.
The bells were ringing in the dale
And wizards looked with faces pale;
The ire more fierce than any fire
Laid low their brerthen frail.
Their towns had smoked beneath the moon;
The wizards heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their homes, to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the moonlit mountains grim
To forests deep from dungeons dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our Precious Stone from him.
Who were the Gringott Goblins and what was this stone they sang of? Seweryn waited to hear the explanation, but explanation did not come. The conversation hushed and to Seweryn’s great disappointment, some of the guests were already asleep at the table. This would not do! To hasten their departure, Seweryn began to loudly gather dishes and mugs, dropping them without care into his sink and splashing water all about the kitchen.
"He seems rather twitchy," an older and stout red-head whispered. "Are you sure he is the Serpent-Slayer?"
"No doubt about it Arthur, no doubt! He might rather frail, but I assure you that I've never seen a Sniv so quick in action. He's the best there is."
“I think he is the one,” said Hermione. “I believe in him.”
Seweryn wondered where such a confidence in his being had come from. He certainly did not feel himself a slayer, but he made sure to stand an inch trailer than he was the next time he passed into the room to pick up some leftover jerky.
It was a quarter to twelve when the party headed for the door, fetching their cloaks and stomping into the brisk, night air.
“Well then, dear Seweryn, how about that adventure?” said a drowsy looking Dumbledore. “We’re all counting on you to come.”
“Oh please, please say you will,” said Hermione, batting her long, dark lashes.
Seweryn stood still for a moment, gazing out into the sky. These strange people believed in him, saw something in him no one else had. Besides, what could possibly happen to his petunias and lilies in his absence? He’d not be gone for more than a day at best. If he didn’t like the trip, he could always take a turn and head straight back home to his hole.
“If you do decide, be at the Dragon Inn at eight tomorrow,” said Dumbledore. With a twinkle in his eye and a wave of his cape, he and the girl were gone.
Maybe it was time for a change, thought Seweryn. Maybe the winds had changed their direction for a reason.