After a thorough wash, Severus returned to the dormitory.
Avery and Mulciber were sprawled in their four-poster beds, limbs hanging out of the blankets, their snores echoing discordantly around the stone room.
"Idiots," Severus muttered under his breath. He drew his wand and gave it a lazy flick toward his bed hangings. "Muffliato." A faint, unidentifiable buzzing filled his ears, drowning out the snoring. He couldn't help but find a bitter humor in the fact that he had originally invented the spell just to get a decent night's sleep in this very room.
Tossing his discarded clothes into the laundry hamper, Severus lay back against his pillow.
Tomorrow is the Hogsmeade weekend, he thought, sifting through his teenage memories. Which means the 'Knights of Walpurgis' meeting at the Hog's Head. He let out a heavy sigh. It was nothing more than a glorified recruitment drive for the Death Eaters.
Staring at the silver-and-green hangings in the dark, Severus raised his Occlumency shields, ruthlessly clearing his mind of the day's turbulent emotions until he slipped into a dreamless sleep.
He woke early the next morning.
After a moment of thought, he dragged his battered trunk out from under the bed. It held precious few clothes, a worn set of Gobstones, and a few old textbooks inherited from his mother. Among them was a battered, heavily annotated copy of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, its corners curling from constant use.
Digging deeper, Severus pulled out a pair of worn, sturdy Muggle trousers and pulled them on before donning his school robes. He had always despised wearing Muggle clothing at Hogwarts, desperately wanting to blend in with the purebloods. But after yesterday's humiliation... no. He would never allow himself to be left exposed to the Marauders' cruelty again.
The rustling woke the others. Avery gaped at Severus, rubbing his eyes in disbelief at the sight of him up so early, but Severus ignored him.
On the way to the Great Hall, he noticed the lingering stares. Students pointed, whispered, and let out muffled snickers as he passed. The echoes of James Potter's torment were still fresh. The adult Severus found the teenage cruelty incredibly petty, yet the familiar surge of irritation still flared.
Concealing his wand within the sleeve of his robe, Severus subtly pointed it at a particularly vocal group of Gryffindor fourth-years.
"Langlock," he cast non-verbally.
The whispering stopped in a series of strangled chokes. Several students clutched their throats in panic, their tongues glued firmly to the roofs of their mouths.
Peace and quiet at last.
Taking his usual seat at the Slytherin table, Severus loaded his plate with sausages, bacon, and fried eggs. As he ate, he took stock of his physical condition. This body is pathetically malnourished, he realized, a bitter testament to Tobias Snape's neglect. I need to eat properly. I will need stamina to survive what is coming.
But the most pressing issue, he thought, chewing methodically, is getting off the Dark Lord's sinking ship. I refuse to play the double agent again. I will not spend another lifetime as a spy, only to die so Potter's arrogant spawn can broadcast my private memories to the world.
The proto-Death Eaters might not yet have the 'blood in, blood out' policy... I'll have to tread carefully. In 1976, the Dark Lord should only have five Horcruxes: the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, and the diadem. Nagini and the Potter boy haven't been granted the 'honor' yet.
Glancing up toward the staff table, Severus's dark eyes accidentally locked with a pair of piercing, brilliant blue ones behind half-moon spectacles.
Dumbledore.
Instinct took over before thought could process. Severus didn't flinch. He didn't sweat. Flawless, impenetrable Occlumency shields snapped into place instantly, turning his mind into a smooth, dark abyss. He held the Headmaster's gaze for a fleeting second, gave a polite, detached nod, and looked back down at his plate.
I must not forget, Severus thought coldly, picking up his knife. He is as dangerous as the Dark Lord, just in a different way.
Outside the castle, the sun beat down on the grounds. A warm breeze rustled the dark canopy of the Forbidden Forest. Argus Filch stood just inside the oak front doors, a long piece of parchment in hand, suspiciously checking every face to ensure no one sneaked out illegally.
Severus walked with his housemates, passing between the tall pillars topped with winged boars, turning left onto the road to Hogsmeade.
When they passed Zonko's Joke Shop, Mulciber dragged Avery inside to stock up on Dungbombs and trick wands. Severus had zero interest in practical jokes, but separating from them right now would draw unwanted suspicion. He lingered in the shade by the doorway, idly watching the owls flutter in and out of the nearby Post Office.
"Look who it is," Mulciber sneered, strutting out of the shop with a large paper bag clutched to his chest.
Severus turned. Walking up the lane, deep in conversation, were Lily Evans and her Gryffindor dorm-mate, Mary Macdonald.
"Perfect timing to test out the new merchandise," Mulciber said maliciously, reaching into the bag and pulling out a highly volatile-looking Dungbomb. He drew his arm back to throw it right at the girls.
Without a conscious thought, Severus's wand was in his hand.
"Protego!" An invisible, solid wall of magical force erupted between them. The shield charm was cast with such violent, adult force that the backlash threw Mulciber and Avery off their feet. They crashed onto the cobblestones, dropping the paper bag. Dungbombs, Stinkpellets, and Hiccup Sweets spilled everywhere.
Severus stood perfectly still, his wand lowered but still thrumming with magic.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Mulciber snarled, scrambling up. He and Avery were covered in dust, glaring at Severus through the shimmering, fading shield.
"Have you gone mad, Severus?" Avery demanded.
"Do not touch them," Severus said, his voice dangerously soft, carrying the absolute authority of a man twice his apparent age.
"What? You're turning on us for two Mud—"
"I said, do not use that word."
Severus took a slow step forward. His dark eyes locked onto them, devoid of any teenage bluster. There was only cold, lethal promise in his gaze.
Avery and Mulciber instinctively drew their wands, but they hesitated. It was two against one, yet something about Snape—the oppressive, suffocating magic rolling off him—made them freeze.
"Listen to me, Severus. Don't forget who you are," Mulciber hissed, though he took a half-step back.
"You do not need to remind me of who I am, Mulciber," Severus replied smoothly.
The heavy summer air felt thick with tension. A few feet away, Mary Macdonald was staring at Severus in absolute shock. Mulciber had terrified her for months, and she never expected his crony, Snape, to raise a wand against him. Lily stepped slightly in front of Mary, her own wand drawn, her brilliant green eyes wide with confusion. She looked at Severus as if seeing a complete stranger.
Severus didn't look at her. He couldn't.
"Are we going to duel over this, Mulciber?" Severus asked, his tone almost bored. He subtly lowered his wand, offering them an out. He didn't want to show his full hand just yet.
Mulciber shot him a look of pure, venomous resentment. He grabbed Avery by the sleeve, kicked a stray Dungbomb aside, and stormed off down the High Street.
A heavy silence fell over the lane.
"Thank you," Mary whispered hesitantly, her voice tight with disbelief.
Severus gave a stiff, formal nod. He didn't wait for Lily to speak. He simply turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.
The Hog's Head, he thought grimly. To go, or not to go. That is the question.