Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

By Daphne Dunham

Chapter 4: Snivellus

* * * * * *

The boy was blubbering like an absolute idiot. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and onto his plump, piggy cheeks as he zealously clung to his equally stout mother. "I'll miss you, mummy!" he bawled, apparently not caring that people all across Platform 9 ¾ were starting to stare.

"There, there, Peter, it won't be long until holiday - you'll see," the round witch was cooing nauseatingly as she smoothed the boy's hair against his head. "And we'll be sure to send some of those mince pies and the lollies you like so much. How's that, popkin?"

The boy nodded furiously, his eyes brightening a bit at the mention of pies and sweets. His mother babbled on and on, coddling her round son in a fashion that was so humiliatingly childish that had Severus not turned away in disgust, he would have blushed from vicariously experiencing the embarrassment of it all.

There would be no such emotional displays from Severus Snape, of course. He was too excited, too full of hope to be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even if Severus had felt sentimental about leaving, he knew Darius would never have tolerated a prolonged or tearful farewell; their enmity was too mutual to allow for a poignant departure, after all. Maybe if he had a mother things would have been different, but this was a moot point, as Circe Snape had spent the last four years in Azkaban prison - a fact which Severus was most anxious for his schoolmates not to find out.

As Severus stood on the platform, waiting to board the scarlet mass of steel and steam that was the Hogwarts Express, however, there was one boy - undoubtedly another First Year - who caught his attention in particular. This boy was not especially remarkable looking except that he was tall, wore glasses, and had tousled dark hair - hair which he apparently took delight in messing further as he stood with his parents, who were saying their farewells.

"We're so proud of you, James," the boy's slender and well-dressed mother told him with a kind smile.

"We know you'll do just wonderfully - just like your old man," beamed the boy's father, jokingly ruffling his son's already messy hair further.

The three vowed to send frequent owls, and they laughed and hugged and kissed one another on the cheeks, their every motion betraying how kind and close-knit their bond was. Indeed, they were a nice family: charismatic, warm, and affectionate without stooping to the pathetic whining and blubbering of the chubby little boy Severus had seen earlier.

This was the family Severus Snape wished he had, the family that he - like all children - deserved to be a part of. He both admired and envied them their happiness and strength, and for a fleeting moment as he watched them, Severus almost wished he had someone (or at least something) he would miss, but he quickly dismissed this notion, berated himself for being so weak, and resolved not to degrade himself with such foolish fancies in the future.

Severus looked away quickly and turned grudgingly back to his father, who had not missed an opportunity to indicate that seeing his son off to school this morning was a tremendous inconvenience for him.

"Remember, Severus, a pureblood wizard is the only wizard worth knowing," Darius said tersely. It was the only piece of wisdom the elder Snape cared to dispense upon his son, and he did so cheerlessly. "I don't want to hear about my son associating with Mudbloods," he added threateningly for good measure.

"Yes, sir," Severus grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under his father's heartless gaze and yearning for that happy moment of farewell.

Needless to say, Severus was very grateful when the train lurched away from the platform at precisely 11:00 o'clock. It was a relatively uneventful journey. He and his cousins Rodolphus and Rabastan spent the afternoon pouring over a copy of Haten's Dictionary of Hexes. The book had been nicked from Marcus Lestrange's library by the brothers earlier that very morning. It proved to be particularly fascinating and provided the boys with hours of entertainment.

In addition, Rabastan, who would be beginning his second year, regaled them all with stories about the school: he told them about the dim-witted gamekeeper Hagrid (rumor had it he'd been expelled from the school himself some thirty years ago); the cantankerous caretaker Argus Filch (whose oddly intense relationship with his cat, Mrs. Norris, was the brunt of many a joke); and the white-haired, spectacled Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (who, in his second year in the position, was already considered one of the most controversial figures in Hogwarts' history). Indeed, by the time the Hogwarts Express had pulled into the station at Hogsmeade, Severus felt he was already quite well acquainted with his new school.

Despite this, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the magnificence of the castle that housed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was monolithic Gothic structure which hovered over a placid lake and whose turrets were set against a mountain backdrop. Exclamations of awe and wonderment pealed from the First Years, who huddled anxiously against one another as they gazed upon the castle that would be their home for the next seven years. Severus tried his best to contain his excitement, as he was sure it was only a matter of time before the pastoral perfection of the moment was shattered, but even he and Rodolphus gasped a reluctant and simultaneous "wow!" as they stepped into the foyer of the castle to await the greeting of the Deputy Headmistress.

Just as Severus suspected, the moment of pastoral perfection was indeed promptly interrupted as a burst of cheers and applause rang suddenly through the corridor. Severus turned with a jolt and saw that the cause of the commotion was none other than James, the same boy with glasses and tousled dark hair whom he had watched at King's Cross. He was occupying himself most adeptly with a Quidditch snitch: he would set it free, watch it jolt and zig and zag away, and then promptly catch it again just when it was presumably out of reach. Admittedly, the boy had excellent reflexes, but at the same time, it was clear that he enjoyed a bit too much the amused "ooohs" and "aaahs" and proclamations of admiration from the crowd of spectators that had gathered around him. (Severus noted with disgust that the plump little lad called Peter whom Severus had seen wiping tears from his eyes at Platform 9 ¾ was the most entertained by James' tricks - so greatly so that he appeared disturbingly near to pissing himself with excitement.) Indeed, the boy with the snitch seemed highly pleased with himself, and a rather smug expression crossed his face.

And Severus Snape hated him instantly.

It wasn't that Severus was jealous of James - although he was. And it wasn't that James thought he was better than everyone else - because he did. No, Severus hated this untidy-haired little showoff because he was so bloody condescending to everyone.

"Wanker," Severus muttered savagely under his breath to Rodolphus. The latter rolled his eyes in disgust to validate his cousin's opinion of the boy with the snitch. "Look, Rodolphus, some people think that such tricks are something to brag about," hissed Severus loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Instantly, the eyes of every First Year in the foyer simultaneously turned with awe towards Severus, each wide and questioning, anxious to discover the identity of the bold speaker who had dared to criticise the talented and spectacled boy with the snitch. Severus just held his head high, crossed his arms defiantly about his chest, and cast James an icy glare.

"I'd like to see you do better," replied James, a cocky grin coating his face as testament of his glee in setting forth such a challenge.

Naturally, Severus scoffed at the idea - he scoffed partly to overcompensate for the fact that he knew he couldn't do better with a snitch, and he scoffed partly because his pride had been wounded at the suggestion of his inferiority to this arrogant toerag.

"Some of us don't need to resort to brainless games to prove ourselves," he retorted. "Some us can do real magic."

"Real magic? Why don't you prove it then?" a boy in the crowd suddenly sniped.

The collective stare of the First Years now shifted again, this time towards the darkly handsome boy who had joined the debate. But before Severus could make any sort of reply, a girl with shining, black hair had instantly seized the opportunity to involve herself as well. Indeed, the scene had escalated to an all-out fray now, the first of many that would ensue over the upcoming years between Severus and the allies of the enigmatic boy with the snitch.

"I don't recall anyone asking your opinion, Sirius Black," the girl snapped, stepping forward and placing her hands obstinately on her little hips.

"Shut your gob, Bella!" yelled the boy to whom she had been speaking, his eyes filled with loathing for the little girl to whom he bore a distinct and remarkable resemblance.

The girl just wrinkled her nose in snide repugnance. "Don't mind my cousin," she added coolly to Severus while tossing her hair over her shoulder haughtily. "He's a git - an embarrassment to the entire family. His mum and dad can't even stand him. We're all placing bets that he'll be sorted into Gryffindor." She spat the house name like it was a naughty word before turning back to Sirius. "True Blacks are always Slytherins," she sneered for his benefit.

Sirius Black's family hated him? This was particularly valuable and fascinating information to Severus, as it would inevitably prove to be excellent fodder with which he could taunt his new enemy in the future. Severus smiled wickedly to himself. The Black family black sheep, he thought with perverse satisfaction. I can use this.

At that moment James, as if anxious to be the center of attention once again, piped in. "Sirius has got a point," he said authoritatively. "I want to see... er..." he looked expectantly at his pallid antagonist, waiting for him to supply his name.

"Severus Snape," the latter growled in response.

"Right. I want to see Snape prove himself," said the boy with the snitch, waving his hand in a beckoning gesture.

Sirius, however, looked startled. His countenance brightened at the mention of his new foe's name. "So you're Severus Snape?!" He sneered maliciously then. "I heard your mum was jailbait - a waste of a witch who wouldn't know a Disarming Spell if it ripped the wand from her hand."

Severus paled at Sirius' words, and he trembled with anger. He had been aware that news traveled quickly in the wizarding world, but he had hoped against hope that Circe Snape's Azkaban sentence had been forgotten; it had happened four years ago, after all. Apparently, he had been overly optimistic, a mistake he vowed not to duplicate in the future.

"Don't. Talk. About. My. Mum," Severus hissed in furious staccatos.

Sirius Black only tossed his head back haughtily and laughed in a horribly condescending fashion. "Or you'll do what, exactly? Cry? Wipe your big, ugly nose all over me like the sniveling little git you are? Severus Snape - more like Snivellus Snape."

That did it. Sirius Black had crossed a line. Before being conscious of his decision to do so, Severus had whipped his hand to his robes, pulled out his wand, and wielded it in Sirius' direction.

"Furnunculus!" he cried before anyone could say or do anything to stop him.

It was a curse he remembered reading about in one of Darius' books. He hadn't practised it before, and Severus wasn't positive that it would work, but he smiled smugly as he quickly found out the curse was effective after all - very effective, as it so happened. Instantly, boils started to form on Sirius' face, bubbling and pussing grotesquely. Sirius shrieked and brought his hands to his face, but the boils only started to burst and ooze more when he touched them.

"At least my mum loved me - yours can't even stand you," Severus spat triumphantly, already drawing on his newly acquired knowledge about Sirius Black's familial ties.

"Severus Snape, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?!" gasped a displeased and authoritative Scottish accent from behind them.

Severus whirled around, his lank, black hair rustling around his ears, to find himself face-to-face with a particularly stern-looking witch who seriousness was emphasized by the rather tight and conservative knot she kept her gray hair in. By the stunned gasps that reverberated through the crowd of First Years, Severus deduced that the woman before him was none other than the Deputy Headmistress whose presence they were awaiting. He'd been caught red handed. Damn and blast!

"P-Professor McGonagall, I-I..." Severus stammered.

But the head of Depute Headmistress wasn't listening; she was rushing to Sirius Black's side instead. "Mr. Potter," she said urgently, turning to James - the boy with messy hair whose antics with the snitch had precipitated these events, "please escort Mr. Black to the hospital wing this instant! Madam Pomfrey will be able to sort Sirius out."

McGonagall paused and turned her eyes on Severus then, her lips bent into a frown. "Mr. Snape," she said sharply, "are you trying to be expelled from Hogwarts before the school year has even begun?"

"No, Professor," he mumbled, staring at his feet.

"Then why, Mr. Snape, would you hex Mr. Black?" she asked.

Severus was silent. He didn't particularly want to repeat what Sirius had said about his mother; it was too insulting, and repeating it would only worsen the wound. Instead, he just stood scowling at the floor in defiant silence.

"Detention, Mr. Snape," McGonagall said curtly when it became apparent that Severus was refusing to reply. "And five points from whichever house you are sorted into."

* * *

The other students shied away from Severus as they filed into the Great Hall moments later - presumably because of the threat of being associated with the boy who had miraculously managed to lose points for his house before even belonging to one. Even Rodolphus was a little wary of his cousin. Indeed, it appeared as though Severus Snape's career at Hogwarts was off to a decidedly less-than-sterling start. If the events of the past ten minutes were to be any indication of what the next seven years within the walls of this castle would bring, Severus thought bitterly, he wasn't so sure that Hogwarts would prove to be the sanctuary he'd once hoped for.

The interior of the castle was equally fascinating and overwhelming to the wide-eyed First Years as the exterior had been. The new students flooded between the tables of the Great Hall to the front of the room, murmuring yet more proclamations of awe at the enchanted ceiling, at the hourglasses which recorded house points, and even at the headmaster who sat authoritatively at the center of the faculty table. Severus recognized the white-haired, spectacled wizard at once, of course, for Dumbledore had been present at the trial that sent Circe Snape to Azkaban. The boy had had four years to ponder the events of that terrible afternoon, and he always half-blamed the spectacled wizard for not protesting the verdict. He'd been convinced that the old man somehow knew the truth, and yet he'd allowed an innocent woman to be imprisoned unjustly.

Consequentially, Severus was loath to pay attention as the headmaster rattled through his start-of-term notices: something about the Dark Forest being off-limits to students and how a new and particularly dangerous tree - something called a Whomping Willow - had been planted on the grounds and should be approached only by students with a burning desire to end their lives. When Dumbledore had finished, he beckoned McGonagall to commence the Sorting Ceremony.

William Avery was called forward first, followed by Bellatrix Black - both of whom were promptly sorted into Slytherin. Severus supposed that Sirius Black should have been next, but as to be expected, McGonagall skipped over the boy, who was presumably still being treated in the infirmary.

"Evans, Lily!" she called instead.

A pretty girl with bright, green eyes and long, auburn hair stepped forward shyly. She didn't hear a boy with wavy brown hair whom Severus would later come to know as his dormmate, Evan Rosier, hiss "Mudblood" after her as she passed.

The names continued on and on. Not surprisingly, Slytherin saw the addition of Rodolphus Lestrange. Then Frank Longbottom and the wan Remus Lupin went to Gryffindor, while Ankur Patil and Jane Swizzle were decidedly Ravenclaw. It seemed like forever until Severus heard his name called, and when it finally was, he felt a scad of cold and curious stares on him as he sat on the stool and McGonagall placed the tattered hat on his head.

"Hmmmm a Snape... I know your lot," said the Sorting Hat. "An especially fine mind. You'd do well in Ravenclaw."

The hat hesitated, and Severus' heart skipped a worried beat at the thought of being sorted into anything other Slytherin, as he knew Darius would not be pleased should such transpire. Please Slytherin, he willed fiercely, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the stool in anxiety. Please Slytherin.

"But no..." continued the Hat, much to his relief. "Beside the talent, there's ambition, determination, and resourcefulness. No, not Ravenclaw for you - you are quintessentially... Slytherin!" cried the sorting hat gleefully from atop Severus' head.

Severus' reception at the Slytherin table, however, was not particularly warm, as news of how this sallow-skinned First Year had already managed to lose his house five points spread quickly. This iciness of his welcome to the fold was amplified that night in the Slytherin common room, when a much older boy with white-blond hair and shrewd, blue eyes approached Severus. The latter recognized his visitor at once: he was Lucius Malfoy, the son of his father's close friend, Romulus. Despite this familiarity, though, Severus could not help but be intimidated by the fact that on Lucius' robes was a silver badge decorated elaborately with the letters "HB."

"Nice work on the Black boy, Snape," Lucius said in his infamously unctuous drawl as he slid into a seat beside Severus. "I bet you know more curses than most Seventh Years do." He paused, and his eyes narrowed threateningly before he continued to speak in a noxious hiss. "Nonetheless, I don't appreciate sniveling little First Years losing my house points before the school year even begins."

"B-but he insulted my mum," Severus protested in his defense.

Lucius Malfoy's lips curled into a darkly amused smile. "Your mum," he mused, his crystalline eyes glinting cruelly. "I know all about your mum. I know plenty about your father, too - things like how he's become a radical and how it's getting harder and harder for him to maintain a convincing façade at the Ministry - a job he never would have gotten if not for my father," Lucius sneered. "By the sound of things, I shouldn't be surprised if he lost his job any day now. It should be... amusing... to see what happens to you... you with a sacked father and a blood-traitor convict for a mother."

"I don't have to listen to this," the younger boy growled, turning on his heel defiantly.

"Don't walk away from me, Snape," the Head Boy snapped. "You know as well as I do that certain wizarding families are superior to others, and despite being Pureblood, Snapes are in no position to walk away from the Malfoys."

"As Head Boy, I insist that Slytherin win the House Cup this year, and I will not tolerate a First Year like you mucking it up," he continued in a hiss. "I suggest you learn to control your temper because if there are any repeats of tonight's little incident, Snape, I may be forced to accidentally tell the school even more nasty little secrets about your family. Do you understand?"

Severus mumbled an affirmation of sorts, and Lucius' lip curled over his perfectly white teeth with amusement: he knew he had Severus Snape at that moment; he knew that the boy - like any Slytherin worth his salt - was too proud to endure the humiliation of having a convict for a mother and a father who couldn't hold a job. Consequentially, Lucius seized every possible opportunity to remind Severus of the power he held over him, and in exchange for his silence about Darius' trouble at the Ministry, he forced Severus to do his dirty work - less desirable tasks like recopying his notes and cleaning his cauldron - as well as constantly subjected the younger boy to snide remarks and cruel condescension. Needless to say, the torch of debt between the Snapes and Malfoys had been aptly passed from father to son.

* * *

Fortunately for Severus, his classes proved to be more far more enjoyable than his condition as Malfoy's lapdog. The hook-nosed boy woke the next morning to find himself rushing to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which was taught by Lilith Hagzissa, the head of Slytherin House. He took an immediate interest in the class, which was not surprising considering his constant childhood exposure to the Dark Arts, and he was intrigued to find that there were ways to guard oneself against such wicked magic. Potions, however, proved to be the true highlight of his day. He'd been enthralled with the subject since Circe Snape had taught him his first medicinal draught. In an odd way, studying Potions reminded him of her - it was his way of keeping her with him. That Professor Bicarius Cauderon was utterly fascinating only solidified his interest in the field.

History of Magic was after lunch, and like most students, Severus found Professor Binns' class more a practicum in ennui than anything else. Similarly, Charms class proved to be less than enthralling. Severus never was keen on using his wand - not since that fateful day he'd picked up Circe Snape's and cast the Cruciatus Curse against his father, and his distaste for wand-waving was only heightened by the events associated with his arrival at Hogwarts the previous evening. Indeed, all Severus saw wand-waving produce was destruction, and he was loath to participate in any magic that involved it.

Severus should have known from the moment he stepped into Transfiguration class that he was doomed. For one thing, the class was shared with the Gryffindors, but most importantly, the subject was taught by the Deputy Headmistress who had dealt Severus his punishment the previous day. McGonagall, however, was oddly absent from the room as Severus sidled into his seat beside Evan Rosier. Instead, a tabby cat sat perched on the desk, eyeing them as they filed in.

"Transfiguration is stupid," Severus spat to Evan. "I suppose we'll be doing something ridiculous like turning rodents into water goblets. Seems rather like a waste of time to me. Why not just go buy a water goblet to begin with?!"

As if on cue, the tabby cat sitting on the desk at the front of the room instantly lunged forward. A few of the girls shrieked as the cat suddenly took on more human features. It had transformed into - holy Hecuba! - none other than the stern, grey-haired figure of Minerva McGonagall. But it wasn't just a figure of McGonagall standing before them - the bloody cat was McGonagall. Although the class didn't know it at the time, this dramatic transformation was the way the professor frequently began her first classes with new students; she felt it inspired interest in the subject. And, indeed, the applause and gasps of awe and admiration that echoed through the classroom indicated that the students were, indeed, most impressed by the subject of Transfiguration.

If McGonagall was an Animagus, though, then she had been in the classroom the entire time the students were taking their seats. And that - Severus realized with sudden panic - meant that she had undoubtedly heard his sneer at Transfiguration. Merlin's balls, he thought morosely. I will never please this woman.

Indeed, McGonagall promptly proceeded to explain what, exactly, the study of Transfiguration entailed as well as the things they'd be learning over the course of the year. "Perhaps, depending on how advanced you prove to be, we may eventually proceed to transfiguring small animals into water goblets," she concluded tersely, "but that's normally something I save for my Second Years."

Severus thought he saw McGonagall cast a shrewd glance in his direction upon saying this, and consequentially he blushed and sank lower into his seat, mortified.

Unfortunately, the rest of the class did not go much better for Severus Snape. The students spent the remainder of the afternoon attempting to turn a match into a needle. McGonagall assured them it was an easy task, but by the end of the lesson, Severus - much to his frustration - was the only student who had not made the slightest progress. Needless to say, he was most relieved when McGonagall dismissed the class at last.

"Mr. Snape, please stay behind so we can discuss the details of your detention," she added.

The statement was intended for his ears only, but of course the entire class heard, and the fact that they heard was hardly a weighty one, as they all knew - and worse, they'd all seen - the events that lead to Severus' punishment.

* * *

In all fairness, the woman had given him the chance to defend himself: she'd asked him why he'd elected to hex Sirius Black - she'd given him the opportunity to apply some sort of logic to his rather rash actions. Severus realized this, but he still took a rather venomous delight in loathing McGonagall for making him serve detention. It had been his pride which had prevented him from taking the opportunity to speak on his own behalf, to explain that the attack against Black had been provoked....

Or had it been his pride? Perhaps it was his shame - his fear that what Sirius Black had said about his mother had been true. It wasn't, after all, the first time he'd heard disparaging comments about Circe Snape and her time in Azkaban; Darius never missed an opportunity to criticize her. Severus had tried to convince himself that it was merely the Darius' enmity for his wife speaking, but Sirius' cruel assessment seemed to validate the essence of everything his father had said about Circe.

Either way, Severus was miserable as he trudged over to McGonagall's office in the Transfiguration Department the next evening to serve his detention. When he arrived, McGonagall was sitting at her desk grading papers written by her Seventh Years on the art and animalism of Animagi. Although still quite stern, she didn't seem as cross as usual as she directed Severus to fulfill his detention duties: he had to hand wash every bloody water goblet in her cabinet - the same water goblets Severus was loath to transfigure. It was a fitting punishment for him, he thought bitterly, as it confirmed that wise McGonagall had indeed heard the snide comment he'd made to Rosier about the ridiculousness of her class.

"My dear boy, you really are appalling bad at Transfiguration," said McGonagall conversationally from over the rim of her glasses after a while.

Severus shrugged and looked up at his professor as he submerged his fifty-second goblet into the vat of sudsy, lukewarm water she had conjured for him to use.

"It's just a bunch of foolish wand-waving," he said defensively. He did not appreciate being told he was appalling bad at anything - even though he knew he was.

"Foolish wand waving?" McGonagall clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Your mother would be so disappointed," she scolded softly.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "My mum?" he croaked in disbelief. "You knew my mum?"

Much to Severus' instant intrigue, McGonagall gave a small nod of her head. His eyes widened, and he leaned over the desk anxiously. Darius had banished all of Circe Snape's photographs and belongings from the house, and Severus was afraid that all he had left of her - his memory - was fading. But McGonagall knew her - had known her, anyway; McGonagall could remind him of her, could tell him things about her.

"Were you friends with my mum? What was she like?" he asked eagerly.

"I was several years ahead of her, but Circe Lestrange and I were always rivals for top marks in Transfiguration back when we were students," she told him. "Even I have to admit she was really rather better at animal transformations than I was - the things she could turn an ordinary household mouse into! Circe used to write a column for Transfiguration Today, you know, and I daresay that had your mum not married, it's entirely possible that she'd be the one sitting here teaching you, not myself."

McGonagall's lips creased into something Severus assumed was a grin, but being that he'd never seen her show the slightest bit of levity before, he wasn't completely certain.

"Your mum was a fine witch, Severus, and regardless of how it may seem, she tried to do her best by you," McGonagall added in as tender tone as she could manage. "Don't let certain parties -" she raised her eyebrows knowingly, and Severus had the distinct impression she had somehow found out about and was referring to Sirius Black and how he'd taunted Severus about Circe's time in Azkaban - "try to convince you otherwise."

Severus left McGonagall's office that night feeling much better, comforted by the knowledge that his mother had been a great witch after all - despite Azkaban and Darius and Sirius Black. He had even promised McGonagall that he'd try harder in Transfiguration - he wouldn't want to let Circe Snape down, after all.

Needless to say, Severus' Transfiguration marks were well in hand by Halloween. He still didn't see the point in turning small creatures into goblets, but if his mother had, then that was good enough reason for him. Things were different between himself and Minerva McGonagall from then on, too. He didn't always see eye-to-eye with her and could scarcely say that Transfiguration was his favourite subject, but he had to admit he admired her: she was not especially kind, but she was far from cruel, and she commanded respect without being tyrannical - something which Severus both appreciated and was fascinated by.

Sirius Black and James Potter, however, proved to be greater challenges. A not-so-tacit war had officially started between them. It was battled in the halls between classes, where they'd exchange curses and insults and nasty glares; it was battled in the classroom, where they'd compete for top marks; and it was battled in the natural enmity between their Houses, an enmity which raged at the Quidditch pitch and in pursuit of the House Cup.

It was a war that defined much of the man that Severus Snape would someday become.

* * * * *