That pretentious, condescending little, “ARGHH!” Snape yelled, slamming his fist into the door. “I hate him!” he screamed once more, kicking furiously “he’s a prat!”. He was moving steadily into the room, throwing his fists and legs out. Suddenly, out of nowhere, music started. Snape realised one of the things his fist had hit into was a small Wizarding Wireless radio standing on the bedside table. The music wasn’t playing too loudly, but it was just enough to get Snape’s blood boiling even more. It was rock music with a loud bass and forceful percussion. It was angry, he was angry. Before long he was moving along in time to the music. Snape started jumping up and down, continuing to hit out at anything nearby. He climbed up on the bed, jumping, screaming, singing along to the music.
The boys who belonged in the dorm room were all either in the Library or Common Room so he had free reign of the entire area. With the music still playing, Snape did something he hadn’t done for twenty years or more. He played Air Guitar. Arching and strumming, jumping and spinning, Snape was having the time of his life. It was free, it was liberating, it was ludicrous. He jumped here, he jumped there, he shook his head around. The music was good. He had to concede, he never thought the kids listened to anything worth spit these days, but he had been wrong. It was music to dance to, and that’s what he felt like doing. Of course, the dancing wasn’t very co-ordinated, and not much like the dancing he got up to as a grown and elegant man, when he practiced Ballroom dancing in the holidays, but it was fun. It was only when there was movement at the door that he realised just how long he had been acting outrageously. He stopped, jumped off the bed, grabbed a towel and clothes and went for the bathroom.
Acting like a child, he had said, and really, he had been right. “It’s not my fault,” Snape mumbled at the mirror. “I never asked to do this, I never wanted to do this. I only wanted to stop the… the Dark Lord. He doesn’t seem to realise how much I have risked, how often I have done something I never wanted to do for the sake of Wizard kind. He doesn’t get it.” Before he knew it, his eyes were prickling and salt water was running down his face. He was crying. He hadn’t cried for a very long time. Not since the day he had spoken to Dumbledore about why he had so desperately wanted to switch sides, a few years after the fact. The conversation had been long, in depth, drawn out. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it ever again, but he had been forced to, like a child. Bloody Dumbledore. Oh he respected him, he even liked him, but there was no mistaking the fact Dumbledore caused as many problems as he solved. Like this very moment, stuck in a child’s body, with a child’s temperament and a child’s lack of emotional barriers that was turning Snape into an irrational blubbering mess.
Squeezing his eyes tight, Snape showered and changed. Coming back into the dorm room he saw he had been wise to move when he did as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were now both in the room chatting. The radio had been turned off, the various things Snape had left on the floor in a cluttered mess had been picked up and dumped on his bed. He swiped them off and under the bed and climbed into bed closing the curtains.
“Uhhh, night Harry” Finnegan’s voice said.
“You realise it’s just past eight?” Thomas’s voice added.
“Tired. Big day tomorrow. Night guys,” was all Snape could manage. He stared up at the top canopy. He would have to sort through this. He couldn’t keep letting himself go, he had to start repressing his emotions. The boy wanted to infuriate him, and nothing would annoy him more to see it wasn’t working. Then again, maybe Potter wasn’t just trying to anger him, maybe the boy had a point?
**************
“Tuesday, it’s only Tuesday!” Severus moaned as he rolled over in bed. It was very early in the morning, still dark outside, but it was undeniably just before dawn. Severus opened the window slightly. There was a lone bird chirping and an inviting cool breeze. He had made up his mind on what he should do today.
He went outside.
Severus made his way over to the Quidditch Pitch. He crept into the changing rooms and took one of the brooms. They had a spell on them that made them detect if they were being stolen or just being borrowed. It could tell that Severus was only wanting it temporarily. He had wondered, walking down, if this would be any use, and he decided that it most certainly would. If he were going to be competing, and if he were to keep up the charade, he would have to know how to fly well.
He mounted the broom with the familiar sensation of nausea. Kicking off he allowed himself to hover only a metre off of the ground. Even this had his insides churning. He moved with some speed around the Pitch and it wasn’t quite as bad as last time. He didn’t fall. He kept telling himself that if Potter could do it, so could he. That many people flew perfectly well. That no-one was watching so he didn’t have to worry about being made a fool of, but if he were to play Quidditch not only would he be humilated, but people would know something was up. He hovered around, slowly rising until he was two metres of the ground, and he still hasn’t fallen.
As he hovered the sky became lighter and a soft pink hue started gracing the stands. He dismounted, awkwardly, and stored the broom away before commencing the trek back to the castle. In the early morning light it looked beautiful, the turrets and towers were majestic and the medieval origins of the castle were very much highlighted.
Climbing back through the portrait hole and into the dormitory, Severus, for the first time since this horrible swap, felt a strange sense of calm. He wasn’t sure if it was just the tranquility of the morning, or the fact he now had more of a sense of duty. He had thought about it a lot, considered the risks, contemplated the consequences and decided he should do what he had intended to do in the first place. He would do what was required of him. He wasn’t doing this for Potter, he wasn’t even doing it for Dumbledore, he was doing it to defeat the Dark Lord. He had witnessed too much horror and terror to forget that there was a cause more worthy than ridiculing the child or keeping one’s dignity.
He waited for Breakfast time and went down with the other boys, making a concerned effort to be friendly and chatty. This time Harry was sitting in his spot at the Head table, eating an apple with vigour. Severus ate porriage, pumpkin juice and some marmite on bread.
He remembered something at the end of Breakfast. He had no idea what lessons he had. He ran up to his room to grab his timetable. It was then, standing in the centre of the Common Room they he gave out a small yelp that attracted the attention of the other students. His first lesson for the day was Divination. How could this be? Why on earth was Potter still doing Divination? Severus had thought he had given that rubbish up long ago.
The lessons the day before had been fairly rudimentary theory lessons. The one with McGonagall had been interesting when he had answered a question correctly and she had looked somewhat surprised. Mostly he was confused that many students who never said boo to a goose in his classes seemed only too happy to give their ideas on any given subject in others. Glancing at the timetable again he saw he was also to have Defence Against the Dark Arts. Today was probably not going to be nearly as simple as the day before had been.
He started trudging his way to the North Tower so that he might be able to find a place in the back where Sybill wouldn’t see him.