What is happening? Why are these thoughts… no, memories… forcing their way into my mind? Severus Snape panicked at the sudden unknown filling his head. A mind attack? But how? I am in my study, and there is no one here.
His mood soured at once with the realisation. Of all the indignities he loathed, none was so intolerable as another hand upon his mind. That was why he had worked so hard, so that even both the White and Dark Lord could not enter without his permission, at least not without him noticing.
Calm yourself. Panic serves no purpose.
His wand was already in his hand as he snapped his defences into place. Occlumency. A blank mind. Walls built, doors barred. He scoured the room with his eyes, sharp and vigilant, though every sense told him there was nothing amiss without.
Within, however, the assault only worsened. The memories pressed in, multiplying, spilling through him with the weight of an entire life. His shield strained. He could feel the cracks spreading under the burden of too much to contain.
"No, impossible!" he hissed, the words escaping before discipline clamped down again. He forced himself to peer into the stream, hunting the source. Faces, names, impressions surged past until one crystallised.
A boy. Isaac. His life unravelled in brutal clarity. And then something fouler still:
He saw himself. Not Severus Snape of flesh and blood, but a grotesque imitation, a man playing him upon a screen, a character in some tawdry performance. His existence reduced to fiction for the amusement of strangers.
His lip curled, but he forced calm back into his frame, cutting panic off at the root. He began to move slowly, deliberately, through the tide of memories. It was impossible to examine them all in detail, but even a cursory sweep gave him enough to grasp the outline of what had been forced upon him.
"Reincarnation…" Snape muttered darkly, the word tasting of both mockery and resignation. The picture sharpened with reluctant clarity. According to these memories, he was, had been, a boy called Isaac. That was the life intruding now. Its final fragments showed him, this Isaac, filling out some manner of form, choosing to become Severus Snape.
Sigh… who knew the little fun I wanted, to simply read, would cost me so dearly? he thought bitterly, recalling the last few years of his new life and the sheer weight of what had been lost.
But his expression hardened at once. From these recovered memories he now understood: Severus Snape, as written, was fated to live for only seven more years.
"Vol…" He stopped himself mid-word, eyes flicking to the mark burned into his arm. The Dark Lord. He would return. To speak the name aloud was a risk, there was always the chance of being overheard.
I need to begin planning. There is ample time to destroy him, he muttered, and his eyes suddenly lifted. Didn't that fanfiction form mention a system?
He drew a slow breath and spoke with deliberate expectation. "System."
Ding.
System online.
At the chime and the sudden, translucent panel that sprang into being, Snape felt the faintest stirring of something like excitement. He knew the difference between himself and Voldemort, knew, without vanity, that ten of him could not match the Dark Lord. Therefore, the system was a blessing.
He scanned the interface and allowed himself the smallest of smiles. It was, of course, a gacha. The prizes were random, but the thresholds were steep; truly, anything might be won, even things one had not dared imagine.
His smile thinned as he read further. He would earn a single point per day; three points were required for a card. There was no option, unlocked or otherwise, to purchase points with money, gold or magical artefacts.
Seeing he could not use it immediately, he dismissed the interface with a flick, already turning his mind to the next step. Quirrell had secured the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, and term would begin in a week. Which meant the boy, Potter, would be arriving.
For a moment, his thoughts strayed. Lily. Her face, her laughter, her eyes. A storm of emotions flickered across his own: bitterness, longing, and, above all, regret. Regret for how she had died.
"I was really a simp," he muttered, shaking his head. His mind shifted to Dumbledore. On the surface, the old man seemed almost saintly, the embodiment of kindness and light. But now, with his memories unlocked and theories stacking up, he couldn't ignore the hypocrisy. And in that, Dumbledore would easily rank near the top.
I need to be careful around him. Make sure he doesn't notice anything, he thought, well aware of how dangerous the sweet old-grandpa act really was.
Also… I should seal my memories. Unlock them slowly, piece by piece, while sorting through the mess. That way, maintaining Occlumency will be easier. He decided it was the only way forward, knowing that the chaos in his mind wouldn't be solved overnight.
"Let's sort it," he said aloud, already acting, unwilling to waste time.
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