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Severus Snape, on some level, had always known that the Marauders would be the death of him.
However, that did not mean he had easily accepted his fate as a werewolf closed in on him; he had fought, desperately, until his wand had been snapped between unforgiving jaws and his ribs had broken under the force of the paws on his chest, pinning him into the ground.
He’d been bitten, Severus thought hysterically, as the pain began to settle into his bones and his vision blurred. He thought he heard his name being shouted – Potter? – but his mind was far from able to tell anymore.
Stop it, please, stop; please, please—
He could not bring himself to struggle much against the encroaching darkness.
***
Severus had not expected to wake; but, evidently, he had.
His musty surroundings did not match the stone hallway leading to the rickety wooden shack or the white walls of the Hospital Wing, but he was intimately familiar with it. His room at Spinner’s End; it was a small space, the size of a closet, with a mattress pushed into the corner for a bed.
He’d been growing out of it in recent years, but they did not have the extra income to afford anything newer, so he had made do with what he had; curling when he slept to fit, stuffing the edges of the door with cloth to keep it somewhat insulated, using his trunk as a desk when his pa was home and Severus could not afford to be in his sight when he returned home.
However, the question remained: What was he doing here?
Surely Severus had not been sent home after what had happened; he could not imagine either of his parents aid in moving him here while he was unconscious.
Severus tries to stand, finding short limbs meeting his shorter temper.
What was this?
It was then he noticed his truck was not in the corner of the room; he could only guess that was because he did not own one…yet?
Granted, his prevailing theory about ending up in the past was far-fetched, especially because he was not in contact with any Time Turners to his knowledge – not to mention that Time Turners did not place one in their past body – but how else was he meant to rationalize the younger form he was currently inhibiting? A de-aging potion? A hallucination?
He made his way to the nearest mirror, stumbling on shorter legs that he was unused to, and stared into his youthful face, still rounded and childish. His nose was still too large, but it was not crooked; that helped narrow the year down at least.
It was before his eleventh birthday, as evidenced by his lack of wand and trunk. His mother had snuck him out of the house when the owl with his Hogwarts letter had arrived, and they had gone to Diagon Alley while Tobias was still at the factory. By the time he had returned home, Severus had all of his school supplies stuffed into his truck, a hand-me-down from his mother, out of sight. Other than a disgruntled look at the battered trunk, Tobias hadn’t given any comments.
It was also before his tenth birthday, as his pa had yet to break his nose when he had mentioned magic in his presence; he had been careless, too distracted at the happiness of making a friend with another magical in Cokeworth, and had asked his mother for her school books just as Tobias had walked through the door. It had not been pleasant, and his mother had not healed it, merely offered him a potion to dull the pain.
That meant he was eight or nine, by his general appearance.
He crept out to the kitchen where he found his mother by the stove, boiling what might have been a pot of soup, but Severus couldn’t be sure. That was a surprise.
She was never much of a cook, even on her good days; Severus had made a habit of nicking extra food from his primary school for dinners, and wrapping some of the less perishable options from the Leaving Feast in his trunk at the end of the year once he was old enough for Hogwarts.
“Severus,” his mother spoke softly, voice quieting as she glanced at the doorway he had just entered from. Tobias was not home, yet; but there was always that edge of wariness. “Come.”
He did, elevating himself on his tip-toes to see into the pot.
It didn’t smell of anything; now that he was closer, he could see the pot of water boiling. She had yet to add any stock cubes to it. Severus was unsure if they had any in the cabinets; though, judging by the look on his mother’s face, they did not, and she had only realized as much after bringing out a pot.
That wasn’t good.
It meant one of two things: his pa would return from work, expecting to be fed, and be met with nothing substantial; or, his mother would have to go out to buy ingredients, prepare a meal in time, and hope that Tobias was not too angered by the spending.
Judging by the clock on the wall – late afternoon; Tobias would return any minute now – it would likely be the former.
Sure enough, their tense silence was broken by the sound of the front door, boots stomping in. His mother pushed him behind a chair, partially obscuring him as Tobias entered the kitchen. It was an unfamiliar motion: Eileen barely recognized he existed as of late.
But.
This was the past; this was Eileen Snape before she had gone near catatonic, spending her days wasting away, staring at nothing, lost in her head as she blocked out the rest of the world. She had never protected him from Tobias to his recollection, but at least, at this time, she had spared some overtures that she had loved him – or, at the very least, had still acknowledged his existence.
At some point, Severus had recognized that petting his hair after a beating was a hollow motion when she would not put in the effort to leave her husband; that telling him ‘one day, it would be all be alright’ meant next to nothing when she would not pick up her wand when Tobias raised a fist; and lamenting about their current situation would not fix it.
Point being, Severus knew better now, but the body he was inhibiting – younger and naive and hopeful – was still terribly, irrevocably, emotionally attached to the idealized version of his mother built inside his mind.
Tobias Snape approached, angry and drunk, demanding a meal that Eileen had not cooked; the alcohol in his system only made his rage worse, and he was ready to fight with the next person he came across.
Severus knew he was no match physically – he hadn’t even been a match when he was older, not again a man a hundred pounds heavier, and especially now that he was a foot shorter and years younger – but something about seeing him raise a hand to his mother, who hadn’t completely given up on life yet, who had not neglected him yet, brought up a surge of protectiveness that he did not expect.
Severus dived forward. Tobias swung his fist. It connected painfully with his face.
Severus stumbled back and fell down. His mother let out a sound of alarm, moving to help him back up. Tobias grabbed her arm as she did so, holding her in place, and slapped her with his other hand. She fell to the ground, holding her reddening cheek. Severus quickly regained his bearings, grabbing Tobias’s wrist, trying to keep him still.
It wouldn’t last long, though; a child could not overpower a man.
Or, at least, that would be true for Muggles.
“Stop,” Severus said, his intent fueling his magic.
For a moment, it seemed that Tobias might listen; but Severus knew that once the adrenaline faded, Tobias might try to kill him in a fit of drunken rage; he wouldn’t even think twice. It had nearly happened before in the summer after Third Year – in the future that no longer was – and he had barely been able to hide away in his room to heal himself. He was much smaller now; much more vulnerable. and that he couldn't let that happen.
Severus held on tighter.
“Leave,” Severus demanded, voice shaking slightly as his confidence waned. His magical core was far smaller than what he was used to. Still, Tobias was a Muggle, and if Severus could control it for a little bit longer…“or you’ll have to go through me.”
Tobias’s eyes darted to the side, glancing down towards where Eileen lay curled in on herself and sobbing; then, he looked to Severus, who was keeping him still with magic. Severus did not let up. Something changed in Tobias’s eyes.
Slowly, Tobias pulled back and turned around, staggering slightly. He made it about halfway towards the door before collapsing completely. His mother was still sniffling quietly.
Severus sighed; he was too young to be acting like a caretaker.
Perhaps it would be better for him to leave this house altogether.
He helped his mother to bed, gently guiding her around the unconscious form of her husband, to her bedroom. It was one she shared with Tobias, but Severus did not think Tobias would be heading there any time soon.
He left Tobias on the floor, but did roll him onto his side, just in case. Severus did not want to be responsible for his pa choking and dying, even if he privately would not miss him. Tobias was, as of now, the only source of income for their household.
Severus took two steps away from Tobias, just to make sure that he was solidly asleep as he left, before turning and running out of the front door; as soon as the door shut behind him, he started sprinting.
There wasn’t much to run to in Cokeworth, but no one would spare an odd glance towards a dirty child running about in this area. As Severus ran, his mind wandered, going through every memory that he recalled before being killed by that werewolf, trying to figure out why he had been brought back here.
Had Black done something? Had it been related to the Shrieking Shack?
But his mind kept drawing a blank.
Eventually, Severus arrived at the swing set he and Lily had so often frequented. He sat there, leaning against it tiredly. They’d spent countless afternoons here, laughing and talking until it got dark, watching the stars come out as the sun began to set.
It had been a rarity in recent years: they spoke less at school, they hardly met over the summers. It was a friendship that Severus wanted to maintain, but they had grown apart, the division of Houses putting pressure on both of them.
Would Lily care that he died, if that timeline Severus had come from still existed?
Perhaps Dumbledore would cover up the entire ordeal. Perhaps he wouldn’t be missed at all.
“Hey!” a voice called. “Who’re you?”
Severus snapped out of his thoughts. He looked up, spotting Lily and her sister rapidly approaching; there was no recognition on her face, only annoyance.
Right. He was younger than the age they had first met, wasn’t he?
Somehow, despite his earlier deduction of what age he was, Severus hadn’t considered this.
Lily’s expression twists into a glare. “Are you just going to keep staring?”
She and Petunia are much closer now, and Severus had not said a thing; from their perspective, he hadn’t done anything except stare, thanks to his bloody terrible habit of getting lost in his own head and forgetting to actually respond to things.
“Ah,” Severus blinks. “Sorry. I just…”
He trails off when he realizes that he doesn’t know what to say. Lily had been the conversationalist between them, unless, of course, the topic veered towards the academic. But he couldn’t even use that as a talking point because there was no common ground between them right now.
“Let’s just go, Lily,” Petunia took her by the arm and tried to guide her sister away from him, the “creepy boy monopolizing their spot” by the swings.
“Lils, wait!” Severus blurts.
Lily whips back around, her hair flowing behind her like a banner of fury. “Did you just call me Lils?”
He knows that look, and he knows he won’t get another word edgewise once she starts, so he quickly adds, “You’re a,”—he stops himself from saying witch, he remembers last time, he can do better—“magic. Magical. You have magic.”
Well done, Severus, he sighed internally. Top tier socializing.
Her anger fades into confusion, then skepticism, and she narrows her eyes as she says, “Uh-huh. Right…I’m magic.”
She turns. “Come on, Tuney. You’re right, we should have just left.”
They’re leaving. They’re leaving – how has Severus botched up this interaction so badly?
“Wait!” Severus insists, “Please, I – I can – just – here, look!”
Hastily, he lifts a hand, palm up, and casts, “Lumos.”
An orb of light – faint, but visible – hovers above his hand.
Petunia looks back.
Her eyes widen; she’s seen it. She taps Lily’s shoulder with urgency.
Severus had been practicing wandless magic recently, but his younger body cannot seem to support the physical exertion required for wandless casting. It flickers out quickly.
Lily turns back to look. She misses it.
Severus sinks to the floor. Between his earlier effort to stop his pa, running all the way here, and performing focused wandless magic, his poor nine-year-old magical core is exhausted. He wants to take a nap.
“What?” Lily is looking at him with that distasteful, impressed expression. “What is it?”
Petunia waves a hand in his general direction. “He did this light thing – with his hand,”—she puts her own hand palm up to demonstrate, and makes a shaky motion with the other that Severus supposes is meant to mean ‘wow, magic!’ or something to that extent—“he – do it again!”
“I can’t,” Severus replies. He thinks he might actually pass out if he tries.
Has he ever felt this exhausted? Maybe this is why children are not allowed wands before they turn eleven. Urgh.
“You two are having me on,” Lily accuses, looking between Petunia and Severus like they’re both scoundrels with the sole purpose of making her look silly. When neither of them let up – Petunia because she knows what she saw, and Severus because he is magic and knows she is too – Lily storms off in a huff.
“You’re magic,” Petunia says.
Severus absently nods, but he’s not really paying attention. He’s thinking about how he has just lost the only friend he had in the Wizarding World. He was never going to fit in with the purebloods that would look down on him for his muggle father, nor would he mesh well with anyone else on the basis that he was a Slytherin, and one that didn’t even have the merits of being rich or well-known.
But he had Lily’s friendship, and that had made things bearable.
Had.
He knew well how much Lily could hold a grudge, if Potter was anything to go by – not that Severus minded that, as far as he was concerned, there were far worse reasons to hate Potter outside their initial meeting on the train; but now, the interaction was reversed – it wasn’t supposed to go like this.
But it was too late: this first impression had not reflected well on him, and there was next-to-nothing that would convince her otherwise.
Petunia gives him a long look before she, too, leaves.
Severus sits alone at the swingset, as he had been ten minutes ago.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.