Metanoia - The Conversion of Severus Snape

Swish, swish, sweep. Swish, swish, sweep. Severus Snape was pacing back and forth in his office. His robes fanned out behind him, sweeping around when he turned on his heel. He was frustrated. These blasted kids, he thought. Who would have though that a score of snot-brats would be more difficult to handle than... His thought trailed off. The comparison wasn't fair. He couldn't just march into the classroom wearing his Death Eater mask. Adults weren't as foolishly trusting as these children. He could intimidate... if he were allowed to hold real power over them. Not one student would last through the mildest... No. The Headmaster would never allow him to torture a student, he was fairly certain of that. His lips curled. Not that I would ask for his permission first. No, there had to be some other way to strike fear into their foolish hearts. Taking House points wasn't going to cut it, though. The first day he took fifty points from a Gryffindor (he couldn't help smiling to himself, remembering), McGonagall had been at his door in under an hour. She had made it quite clear that he was not to abuse the system, and that she would take it upon herself to "even things out" if he did. He had merely smiled and said, "Good. Then I needn't worry about the consequences myself." But surely, the students would catch on that his taking points didn't matter if he tried that again. Damn her, pulling the only discipline measure he was allowed out from under his feet. Well, there was still detention. Maybe if he came up with a really good detention, they'd be afraid to open their cheeky mouths.... But, again, casting Unforgivables under Dumbledore's crooked nose was not his brightest idea. And it was no good threatening if he couldn't carry through. But he had to do something! The sixth and seventh years were insufferable. Every time he asked the NEWT class if they had any questions, that Healy boy would raise his hand - and then ask the most outrageous personal questions. Snape only made the mistake of calling on him once - but he had taken to blurting them out... or getting his friends to do it. Miss Jones, who usually behaved herself (apart from sighs every time he did something differently than Slughorn), had raised her hand and asked innocently, "Professor Snape, do you have a girlfriend?" Then every girl in the class giggled. He looked daggers at all of them, but they seemed unfazed. It certainly didn't help that every single one of them remembered him as a student here. The younger students were much more manageable - he could intimidate them with his height, and he seemed old to them. But what could he do with the older ones?

Swish, swish, sweep. Swish, swish, sweep. He needed to make an example. A sixth year would be best - if it was good enough, it would last for two years, and the story would travel to the younger classes. The seventh years might get the message "You're next," but if not - he could repeat the process there. So, who should the victim be? Healy needed to be taken down a few pegs. The only question was if it would be better to intimidate him or his friends. He smiled - no - he had to make his friends turn on him. So, the next time he egged one of them on... the offending party would get the lesson of a lifetime. And then the whole class would blame Healy. Perfect. He flexed his fingers; they had been knotted into fists. His training was coming in handy, after all. Now, to plan the ultimate detention... but one he could plausibly claim he thought was within the rules when Dumbledore hauled him in. He left his office, heading up to the Library, where he hoped to find some inspiration, or at least some justification.

***

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and his sixth year Potions class was progressing well. The students worked with an ease that spoke of their previous five years under Slughorn's tutelage. Snape paced about the room observing them, as they all worked silently on a potion that would temporarily transform an animal that ingested it into an inanimate object - in this case, guinea pigs into breadboxes. He was finding that having live animals in the classroom was a bit distracting. This potion was one of his least favourite in the NEWT class, to be fair. Maybe he would find a way around it next year. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud bang! emanating from behind him. He whirled around on the spot and found Jeremy Davies, a Ravenclaw friend of the insufferable Mr. Healy. The contents of his cauldron had been belched out onto the desk, making a gooey puddle of slow-moving potion. What had he done? It was the right colour....but had a greyish tinge.

Seeing the look on Snape's face, Davies hastened to explain, "I just spilt some water in it, Professor. Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

Snape looked at him as if he were daft. "The only one who should be worried is you, Mr. Davies. Such carelessness and your cavalier attitude towards errors are not appropriate at the NEWT level, and so you will be getting a zero for today's assignment. You will clean up this...mess," he said with disgust, "and report for detention this Friday night."

A cry of protest met this pronouncement, but Snape ignored it.

***

Jeremy knocked on the door of Professor Snape's office at 7:03 PM. He was a bit annoyed at having to waste a Friday evening in detention, but with any luck, Snape would let him out after a short while. None of the other sixth year Ravenclaws had had detention with Snape yet, but a fourth year boy told him that he had made him scrub cauldrons after leaving a mess. Maybe it would just be lines - "I will not deviate from Mr. Know-It-All's instructions." Trying not to get nervous, he knocked again.

The door opened with a jerk, but instead of motioning him in, Professor Snape stepped out into the hall. "You're late, Mr. Davies," he stated curtly. "Follow me." Snape swept off down the corridor, into the labyrinth of dungeons. Jeremy didn't visit the dungeons very often, except to walk a certain young lady back to the Hufflepuff common room. He thought he knew the school rather well, but he soon found himself walking down a hallway he had never seen before (or never remembered seeing, at any rate). Snape opened a door and said tersely, "In here."

Jeremy entered... and found himself staring at a dungeon cell. All stone, the floor was a few steps down, seemingly sinking into murkiness, and the room was unfurnished except for a metal bunk suspended on chains from the wall and an old wardrobe. He spun around to face Snape, who had entered and was now closing the door behind them. "What are you playing at?" Jeremy demanded, somewhat angrily. He found the situation creepier than he was willing to admit.

"I do not play," Snape said quietly, and the look on his face was so alarming that Jeremy instinctively reached for his wand. No sooner had it cleared his pocket, though, than an Expelliarmus removed it from his hand. After two more gestures from Snape's wand, Jeremy found his hands raised above him and locked at the wrists, and his tongue cloven to the top of his mouth. "Now Mr. Davies, surely you know better than to attempt to hex a teacher, don't you?" Snape said. Jeremy was not growing any less alarmed, truth be told. Snape gestured at something that had been tossed on the metal cot. "Mr. Filch was so kind as to lend me these. " The way Snape said "kind" sounded anything but. He walked over and picked them up, never turning his back on the young man, who had not moved. He muttered something over the manacles, and they glowed green for a moment. Then, he tossed them at Jeremy. The manacles hooked themselves onto his wrists. With another flick of Snape's wand, the manacles hoisted the boy up into the air. His feet scrabbled for purchase, but he was unable to reach the ground. Snape released the spells on him, so his tongue and arms could once again move freely.

"Now Mr. Davies, I hope I have your complete attention." Snape contemplated the boy hanging before him. "I know that you and your classmates remember the days when I was a student here," he began softly. "But you would do well to remember that I did not just leave last year. I did... something else... in the intervening years." He paused, letting the significance of that statement sink in. He could see dawning realisation on the boy's face as a look of horror replaced the earlier looks of confusion and fear.

"No," he muttered, "surely not, Dumbledore wouldn't have...." Snape allowed himself a smile before turning away and removing his light cloak. "You can't do this to me!" Jeremy got out, practically spluttering. "It's against the rules...."

"Are you certain of that, Mr. Davies?" Snape answered. "What, precisely, have I done to you that is so dire? You are merely restrained at the moment...though I admit, what I am about to do is rather out-moded." His grin was predatory, and Jeremy began twisting and thrashing. But the manacles did not allow him to move his wrists at all. "Alas, I seem to be a bit old-fashioned." He began to slowly circle the boy, as if he were studying him.

"Do you know what job I applied for, Mr. Davies?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Defence Against the Dark Arts. I must admit to a certain private fascination for the Dark Arts - so mercurial, so adaptable." Now, he had finished his circle, and was standing in front of Jeremy, whose eyes were wide as saucers. Snape raised his wand and then brought it down in a sharp gesture. Jeremy flinched, but nothing happened to him. Then he heard the rattle as something fell to the stone floor. Snape bent to pick up the thin wooden stick. "Of course, here I am woefully limited in what I can do. As you so aptly pointed out, we must follow the rules. And so, I will adapt." He twirled the switch in his hand, moving behind the young man.

"Do you have any pressing plans this evening, Mr. Davies?"

"No," came the sullen reply.

"No, sir," Snape corrected him, striking him once across the back. More startled than hurt, Davies complied. "No, sir," he said in a subdued voice.

"Good. Neither do I."

***

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Snape had stepped into the round office.

"Yes, Severus, please be seated." Though courteous as ever, he did not smile.

Snape sat down uneasily. Why did he feel like a student, dragged in to account for his misdeeds?

"I would like to discuss your discipline of Mr. Davies," Dumbledore began. "Severus, I thought I made clear to you what forms of discipline would be acceptable, and frankly, what in your own experience as a student could have suggested to you that manacles would be?"

"The students are quick to bring up 'my own experience as a student,' as you put it. I needed to do something to establish my authority as a professor." Taking a breath, he launched into his prepared defence. "So, I consulted Hogwarts: A History to see what methods had been employed with success. The use of charmed manacles seemed fairly humane to me, and were used in the not too distant past, so I discussed this with Mr. Filch, who was happy to lend them to me. He didn't mention that you disapproved."

Dumbledore highly doubted that, but he knew that Snape was, among other things, an accomplished liar. He would talk to Argus later. "And the switch?" Dumbledore prompted.

"I just wanted to get his attention. It didn't do any permanent damage," Snape protested. His uneasiness had not dissipated. He was in serious trouble, and he knew it. "Headmaster, I assure you, this was nothing compared to what...." His voice trailed off when he caught the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Severus." The Headmaster's voice was deadly quiet. "If ever I want to invite Death Eaters into this school to torture my students, you will be the first to know. But until that time, you will never harm or intimidate a student like that again. Mr. Davies followed you into that room because he trusted you, as his teacher. You betrayed that trust. Detention is meant to give the students a chance to reflect on their behaviour, and discourage them from further misdeeds. It is not an excuse for you to lord your power over them."

"Power?" Snape snorted. "What power? It's not as if any of them listen to me. I know what power is, Headmaster. I've tasted it, and I don't have any here. If I had known that teaching would be so humiliating, I might have refused this post, consequences be damned." Considering that the consequences would have been murder at the Dark Lord's hand or a life sentence in Azkaban, that statement was probably a tad exaggerated. But at the moment, Snape didn't care. His wounded pride whispered that he had merely exchanged one Master for another - and the new one wanted to limit him even more.

"Fear is the meanest form of power, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. "If you must use force, you lack true power. You must gain respect, and only confidence will do that for you. It takes time." He paused, as if waiting for Snape to say something.

But the young man sat silently before him, shoulders hunched forward, whether in rejection or defeat it was hard to say. "Very well, I have no more to say about this incident. In future, if you are struggling with your classes, please consult your colleagues - not a history book." Knowing he was dismissed, Snape stood to go. "And Severus, making the students clean is a perfectly acceptable detention."

Snape scowled, but a voice from the portraits behind the Headmaster's desk said, "Actually, I always preferred the manacles. A damn bit more effective."

"Ah, Phineas, I never said what I made them clean."

Squelching any inclination to smile, Snape fled the office, noting ruefully that while Dumbledore would never hit him with Crucio, he could always chuck him in Azkaban. It wouldn't do to cross him further. Who would have guessed that he would be that protective of his students?

***

The first weekend in October dawned crisp and clear, perfect weather for a Quidditch match. Today was Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, so Snape had scrounged around in his trunk to find his old silver and green scarf. As Head of House, he supposed he was responsible for the team, but all he had done thus far was give the Captain (chosen by his predecessor) permission to hold tryouts and practices. He wasn't sure if more was expected of him. He certainly knew the rules of the game, but had not played himself. He smirked; he couldn't picture Flitwick or McGonagall even mounting a broom, let alone coaching their teams.

When he arrived at the pitch, he frowned. The Slytherin students showed very little enthusiasm; few had brought any of those annoying noisemakers or anything to wave around. A rather glum bunch, considering it was their team playing today. The Hufflepuffs, in contrast, were all decked out in yellow, so that it hurt to look at them. He scanned the crowd for any other Slytherin supporters, but all he found were two third year Ravenclaws enthusiastically waving a green flag. This did not bode well.

He looked over the Slytherin team with a critical eye when they emerged. The beaters looked a bit scrawny, but nothing unduly wrong with them. The Hufflepuff team had a young girl as Seeker. When the names were announced, he recognised her as a third year. She must be very good, or else the Captain was very foolish. The Hufflepuff captain, a tall sixth year boy, looked very confident as Keeper. He frowned. Just how bad a reputation had Slytherin developed in the few years since he'd been here?

When the game began, he found out. It was painful to watch. The Chasers couldn't keep possession of the Quaffle, the Keeper, too busy watching his teammates, stopped only one shot out of the first ten, and the Seeker was resigned to following around the Hufflepuff Seeker. Worthless, the lot of them. Well, the Beaters were enthusiastic, at least - they would be good, if they could improve their aim. In his days, the team had been respectable, even if James bloody Potter always caught the snitch to lead Gryffindor to the Cup. They weren't champions, but they could fly! This lot didn't even look as though they'd practised. Mercifully, the Hufflepuff chit caught the snitch before too long, ending this fiasco with a score of 350 to 40. Miserable. To make it even worse, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher who headed Hufflepuff gave him a very patronising look before leaving - he didn't even bother gloating.

That did it! He was not going to be mocked by his colleagues because these students were too incompetent to practice. He stormed down to the field and into their changing room. They looked up in some surprise to see him there. "What...was that?" he asked in a very quiet voice.

They looked at each other, and then the Captain, Thomas Dirigible, answered. "We tried, sir, but we're just no match for Hufflepuff. They won the Cup last year." His team-mates nodded in support.

Snape was not appeased. "I don't care if they are all being recruited by Ireland! Your performance was pathetic - you looked like a bunch of kids flying brooms in the backyard." They hung their heads, looking suitably cowed. "You are all suspended from the team until further notice." At this, their heads shot up in shock. "If you are going to fly for Slytherin, you are going to earn your spots on this team. If you're the best we've got, and I sincerely hope that is not the case, then you will need to train much more diligently than you have been if you ever want to appear on this field in uniform again. Loosing to a superior team...happens. But what we witnessed today was disgraceful."

They looked at one another uneasily, trying to figure out what he meant. If they didn't pass muster, would there be a Slytherin team? "Mr. Dirigible, be in my office tomorrow evening at 8 PM with an explanation of what you intend to do about this." Snape turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving them to whisper anxiously about their fates.

***

"Enter."

"Good evening, Professor Snape," said a very subdued (and very nervous) Thomas Dirigible. Snape gestured towards a chair, and the young man took a seat. He seemed intent upon tearing his fingers to shreds; his hands would not stay still.

"Mr. Dirigible," Snape began. "You were appointed captain of this team by my predecessor. I had originally intended to honour his choice, but your pathetic performance yesterday throws his judgement into doubt. Please explain to me why I should allow you to remain as captain of this team."

The young man gulped, then opened and shut his mouth a few times before working up the nerve to begin. "Sir...we can do better. We can practice every night that the field is available, and two hours every Saturday. Surely then we will improve before our next match...."

"I would believe that...if I were inclined to think that you knew the first thing about running a practice. So, explain to me, in detail, precisely what you plan to do."

"Well, sir, the Chasers need to spend more time working together, practising their manoeuvres so they can run more smoothly. I know I'm not the best Keeper, but if I can put in the time with someone taking shots on me, I'm sure I'll get better. The Beaters are strong, we just have to make better use of them, so if I can get them to practice a game plan before the next..."

"You had a game plan?" Snape interrupted.

"No, sir, not really." Thomas flushed red. "But we will next time. We play Ravenclaw next, but first they play Gryffindor, so we can study their plan then."

"Why wait for the game? Why not study how they practice?" Snape asked.

"You mean, spy on them?" Thomas looked surprised.

"How else do you intend to gain information about your opponents?" Snape asked impatiently. "Now, about your Seeker..."

"Fitch is useless," Thomas put in quickly. "If we can find anyone else, I would replace him in a heartbeat. I can't work with him, but he was the only one who tried out."

Snape was surprised by that; he had expected Dirigible to defend everyone on the team. "I will see if I can find a fifth year for you," Snape said. "And I want you to submit your game plan to me before the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor game, so you can modify it in light of that."

"Yes, sir, I can do that," he replied earnestly.

"And I also will be stopping by one of your practices in two weeks. Based on your performances then, I will determine if any of you deserve to be reinstated to the team. If you would like to remain captain, I suggest you demonstrate significant gains. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir, crystal clear. We...we won't disappoint you." He didn't sound confident, though. That was fine - a little fear could be a wonderful motivator, and Snape had no intention of taking the pressure off until he saw some improvement.

"Dismissed."

Dirigible wasted no time in fleeing the office.

*** *** ***