Quirrell sat behind the teacher's desk, nervously tapping his fingers on the smooth surface. The students were taking their seats, greeting each other, hugging, and chatting non-stop, discussing who spent their summer where and how. The noise was incredible.
Snape sat gloomier than a storm cloud, and Robert understood him perfectly. Another school year would bring new students—restless, lazy, inattentive—and to teach such students, one needed truly limitless patience. Although the Slytherin dean was the youngest potions master in the last hundred years and a genuine genius, unfortunately, he lacked teaching talent. It's one thing to teach the secrets of potion-making to a student who is eager for knowledge and willing to endure all hardships, and quite another when you have to present the material to a crowd of variously aged slackers who only study under pressure.
The second reason was Harry Potter. The headmaster had been nagging everyone, constantly droning on about how to deal with the boy. To be lenient, patient, and not punish too harshly if he made a mistake somewhere. For Severus, who had no favorites even in his own house, such a statement was like a red rag to a bull. Multiply that by the fact that Harry Potter was the son of a hated school enemy and, in Snape's opinion, the cause of his beloved's death, and knowing where Potter would be sorted, Grimm clearly understood their relationship would never be good. Severus already disliked Harry without even meeting him, would humiliate him in every lesson, and although the hero wouldn't be cheeky, he would show his attitude towards the potions master with every silent look, which would infuriate Snape even more. A vicious circle. Snape would keep picking on Harry for any and every reason, venting all the accumulated anger from school days and the bitterness of the last ten years. Potter, in turn, would blame Snape for all the evils happening in Hogwarts, and, strangely enough, Robert quite understood him: if a person behaves like a jerk, they probably are one.
If someone from the Sanfrontier students whom Grimm knew well ended up in the Potterverse, the course of events could be predicted depending on the fan category. The behavior model was set by stereotypes, differing only in details and scale depending on the person's creativity. In theory, adherents of the Light Side mostly try to minimize deaths, either kill or rehabilitate the villain, and make everyone around happy. Adherents of the Dark Side again want to reduce casualties as much as possible, re-educate the Lord so that he ultimately leads the Ministry. Neutrals, depending on their activity, either try to renew magical Britain by taking matters into their own hands, or try to stay afloat pursuing personal happiness, or, breaking free from the meat grinder, run towards the borders, not caring about the bloody spectacle raging on the islands.
Some believe the plot cannot be changed, and the story will go its own way. Some rely on the butterfly effect to derail the train. The third tries to switch from the tanker of the common good to a maneuverable boat of personal benefit, to become the captain of their own fate and not dance to the tune of the world's powers.
Grimm had no intention of rushing to save everyone. He was not afflicted with philanthropy. But he could give a chance to change fate. Moreover, this was part of his plans.
The Sorting went like clockwork: although the future students were sitting with their backs to the teacher's desk under the Hat, Grimm could easily read each one's emotions. Granger trembled with anticipation and a small bit of nervousness. Longbottom was overly afraid to move, but the news about the house pleased him so much that he rushed to the desk at full speed, even forgetting to take off the Hat, and had to go back. Malfoy's straight back was tensed to the limit, but as soon as he heard the house name, his nerves relaxed, and his movements returned to naturalness.But Potter looked as if he had been hit on the head with a blunt instrument, and he wandered under the scarlet banners in a state of shock. Weasley, on the other hand, trembled like a aspen leaf and hunched his shoulders when the sorting artifact was placed on him. It won't bite you! The representative of the red-haired family left on wobbly legs. Finally, all the students took their places, and the feast began.
"Why are you staring at Potter like that, Severus, cut it out. He might choke on his food, suffocate and die, it would be very awkward. Or is that exactly what you're aiming for?"
The Slytherin dean cast a murderous glance at the professor of ZoTI, but it didn't affect him.
"I get the impression that you didn't just go on a round-the-world trip for nothing, but you went to Goodwin for some wit."
"Unfortunately, I didn't get to visit the Land of Oz. But I found lots of interesting things in other countries too. For example, in Alba I met a wizard. A lord, to be exact. And he expressed a desire to meet the Half-Blood Prince, whom he hadn't seen for almost ten years."
Snape's face froze. Robert smirked: that kind of composure could be envied.
"Where and when?"
"We'll meet on Wednesday after dinner in my office. The main thing is: not a word to anyone."
Severus nodded gloomily, and Robert turned his attention to the students sitting in the hall. Catching someone's intent gaze, he made eye contact with Potter and, smiling gently, saluted him with his glass.
Soon the feast ended, Dumbledore rose from his throne and made a brief announcement. Once again reminding the students about the ban on visiting the forest behind the school and the undesirability of magic during breaks, the headmaster did not forget to mention quidditch training.
"And finally, I must inform you that the right side of the corridor on the third floor is closed this school year for everyone who doesn't want to die a painful death," Albus dropped the bait.
Several underclassmen laughed, but the rest of the hall remained silent. The prefects looked questioningly at the headmaster, awaiting explanation, but Dumbledore remained cunningly silent.
"And now, before going to bed, let's sing the school anthem!" the headmaster exclaimed.
"Anthem?" Robert noticed Severus roll his eyes, and Pomona, who sat to their left, looked as if she had a pinched facial nerve. Robert shifted his gaze to Dumbledore, who waved his wand like a conductor, and something on the edge of his consciousness shouted: this is going to be nasty.
Grimm began listening to the words and mentally groaned. Thank Merlin, this moment wasn't in the film, and when reading the book the anthem flew out of his head as quickly as it flew in. Not wanting to endure further abuse of his musical ear, he quietly cast a noise-dampening charm on himself and then on his neighbors, for which he received a grateful look from Sprout and a somewhat surprised one from Snape. His whole appearance said: "Was that allowed?"
After the journey, Quirinus changed a lot, as everyone noticed. Where had the timid and shy wizard with a somewhat naive outlook on life gone? Instead, a man with an icy gaze and a sharp tongue returned to Hogwarts.
When Professor McGonagall asked what was the cause of such a striking change in character, Quirrell only shook his head sadly.
"When I found myself in southern Africa, the locals asked me to deal with a group of zombies that had attacked one of the villages. I agreed and went with several shamans to save the people. But victims could not be avoided. We killed all the undead, but they managed to infect several villagers. And when you see a twelve-year-old girl slowly dying before your eyes, and you watch how consciousness gradually leaves her eyes, pushed out by wild animal hunger, it leaves a mark. And at that moment there is a clear understanding of how poor our magic is, since in that situation we could do nothing."
Yet Snape did not believe this tearful story for a moment. Quirrell's behavior didn't fit the profile of a person,whose pink glasses were broken. Rather, he was a mage full of confidence in his abilities and independence. As if an unknown force stood behind him.
And when Quirinus hinted at the Lord during the festive feast, everything fell into place. But how did he know about the Half-Blood Prince? Even though they were the same age as Quirrell, they had never crossed paths as students. So how? Severus tried to penetrate the consciousness of the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, but was gently pushed away.
Quirrell no longer reminded Snape of that conversation, interacting with him only on business.
For all three days before the meeting, Snape pondered how the encounter with the Lord would go. On one hand, he was glad he had time to gather his thoughts after the news that the Lord was alive. On the other hand, the waiting was worse than death.
Wednesday evening came, and as soon as Quirinus left the faculty desk, Snape waited a moment and followed him. Entering the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts' office, Snape expected to see anything but a mage sitting at the desk, carefully examining parchments.
— Where is he?
— Are you so eager to meet, Severus? — Quirrell didn't even look up. — You don't seem like it.
Snape tensed, noticing the change in voice, and when those crimson eyes with vertical pupils looked at him, he stopped breathing altogether.
— M-my lord, — he barely managed to squeeze out, — you…
— Not in the best shape, I know. But at the moment, that doesn't matter. Sit down.
Though spoken in a calm tone, Severus was not deceived by such softness.
— Now you will take down your mental shields and let me look into your mind.
— What do you want to know, my lord? — Snape asked, panicking as he tried to push the most important and precious memories far away.
— Everything I need. And don't try to hide anything.
He felt a cold invisible hand on the back of his head and understood he was doomed.
— I'm waiting, — the pressure on the back of his head slightly increased, and Snape, closing his eyes for a moment, dropped the protection.
What does it mean for a mentalist to be left without Occlumency shields? The same as for an ordinary person to appear in public without clothes, unable even to cover themselves with their hands. Everyone can scrutinize all your flaws, scars, defects in detail, and those looks make you feel sick. Sticky. Unpleasant. And you start to be ashamed of yourself and angry at those around you.
— So that's how it is…
The Lord's voice could freeze lava. Severus noticed that Voldemort's gaze became very similar to the one he had moments before awarding a victim with Cruciatus or Avada. He saw the knuckles of the fingers gripping the wand turn pale and tried in panic to understand what had made the Lord so furious. The latter continued to burn Snape with a hateful look, but the fatal spell never left his lips. The silence hanging in the office was oppressive. Finally, the Lord shook his head as if brushing off a pestering fly.
— Hand with the Mark. Now!
Snape quickly rolled up the sleeve of his robe, not understanding what was happening. The wizard pressed the wand to the barely visible tattoo, and Severus felt unbearable burning. It took incredible effort not to scream. However, what was happening with the Mark was frightening. The snake crawling out of the skull slowly burned away, leaving a burn mark on yellowish skin. When the poisonous creature disappeared, the dark flame transferred to the skull. Severus hissed, but Voldemort only gripped the pale forearm tighter. When the mark completely disappeared, the Lord released the mage's hand.
— Get out of here, — Voldemort hissed. — I don't want to dirty my hand on you.
— What? — Snape thought he misheard.
— Get lost, traitor. Before I change my mind.
Snape opened his mouth to say something more, but the bursting lamp on the table vividly hinted that the Lord's patience was running out very fast. Severus, not taking his eyes off Voldemort's side profile, backed toward the door and quickly left the office.
Having run down to his dungeons, Snape locked the office door and collapsed into a chair. He did not notice,how the Ogden's bottle ended up in his hand.
"Dream. It's just a dream. This simply can't be," the thoughts pulsed in his mind. Lord is alive. Lord found out about his betrayal. Lord left him alive.
"Impossible," Severus thought and took a gulp of firewhisky straight from the bottle. "This is just impossible!"