Snape's Point of View: Deathly Hallows PTSS

This thread exists for the purpose of rewriting book scenes from Snape's point of view. It is a DH spoiler version of the Common Room thread, and I hope they can be merged eventually. (PTSS? Post Traumatic Severus Snape, of course!) I figure anyone who found HBP traumatic for Snape-related reasons, is probably also traumatized by DH... :sad:

You can rewrite your own scene from DH, or rewrite scenes from previous books based on the new knowledge you've gotten from DH, or write up any Snape scenes not actually appearing in the books.

It is not necessary to be on Snape's side.

I'll kick off with this "missing" scene from DH (I already posted this on F&B new Premises...but we need something to get us going!)

Return to Hogwarts

As the crushing sensation of Apparition ceased abruptly, Severus Snape found himself on the road, not far from the great, wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts School. A brief memory of his last passage of the gates returned to him, pursued by Hagrid’s hippogriff, Potter beside himself with hatred, and accusations of murder.

They waited for him, that hatred and those accusations, inside the castle, he reflected darkly. Ruthlessly he shoved the thought aside and approached the entrance. He knew he needed them, and he would find, must find, a way to use them despite their hatred of him.

The tall pillars, topped by statues of winged boars, flanked the gates as they always had, and Snape saw that the chains, installed as security precautions in the previous year, still bound them shut. Drawing his wand, he tapped the padlock once, nonverbally casting the secret incantation the previous Headmaster had entrusted to him. In response to his spell, the chains snaked backwards and the gate swung slowly open.

There was no further need, now, for these precautions, Snape reflected. The enemy was about to enter the school, victorious, with the authority of the Ministry at its back. With a flick of his wand, he Vanished the chains, then muttered a series of incantations that lifted the remaining Anti-Intruder jinxes. It would’ve had to be done at some point, he rationalized. But he knew, also, that he could have delegated the task to anyone, and left it for later. The truth was that he dreaded what awaited him, and would gladly have found yet another reason to delay stepping through those gates and taking possession of his new authority.

He faced the now open gates, knowing that it was too late for hesitation and regrets. For a moment, his right hand sought the reassurance of the torn bit of paper he carried inside his robes, over his heart. Then, squaring his shoulders, he strode through the gate.

The grounds, brightly lit by the early morning sunshine, were deserted. It was one reason he had picked that time to arrive. Hagrid would still be safely in bed. Were he to encounter Hagrid before cooler heads had time to speak with him, Snape did not doubt he would find himself forced first to defend himself, and then, at the very least, to sack him. If he was to have any hope of keeping his commitment to Dumbledore, he needed all of the current teachers to stay, for as long as he could arrange to keep them there.

Indeed, no one stirred as he neared Hagrid’s hut. It had been repaired after the fire his fellow Death Eaters has set, back in June, he could see. The new timbers and slats had not yet weathered to match the portions of the cabin that had remained intact. He passed by it and soon approached the great wooden doors of the castle itself.

Snape opened the doors to find Argus Filch sweeping the wide marble staircase across the Entrance Hall. Filch looked up, and the broom he had been holding clattered down the stairs.

“Good morning, Mr. Filch,” Snape said calmly, while crossing the Entrance Hall.

“P-professor Snape?” Filch stammered fearfully.

“It seems you have heard the tale some are passing around, that I murdered the previous Headmaster,” Snape said, stepping over the fallen broom and onto the first stair.
“Rumors can be so unreliable, Mr. Filch.”

Filch peered at him suspiciously. Mrs. Norris, who had run to her owner after being startled by the broom’s fall, twined herself around his legs, apparently infected by his doubts.

“Indeed, far from lending any credence to such stories, the Ministry and Board of Governors have appointed me Headmaster in Dumbledore’s place,” he added as he walked up to the caretaker, producing his letter of appointment, properly signed and sealed, for Filch’s inspection.

Filch straightened, and a fawning smile crossed his lips.

“I am pleased to hear it, sir,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Filch,” Snape replied. “Could you oblige me with a small favor?”

“Certainly, Headmaster,” Filch replied.

“I would like to speak to Professor McGonagall. Could you ask her to stop by my office directly after breakfast?”

“Certainly, Professor, I will tell her,” Filch replied.

“Thank you, Mr. Filch,” Snape said. Filch headed down to get his broom and Snape headed up to the Headmaster’s office. His office now, he reminded himself.

The stone gargoyle stood as it always had, in front of the hidden entrance to the office.

“Toffee éclairs,” he said to it, and it moved aside, revealing the spiral staircase that led to the office door. He would attend to the selection of a more suitable password, more palatable to his newest colleagues, after his talk with Minerva.

Snape stepped onto the bottom stair and it rose, taking him up to the familiar wooden door and bronze doorknocker. He placed his hand on the knob and turned it. As the door opened and he passed through it, a familiar voice greeted him.

“Severus!” it said, and he looked up at the newest, gold-framed portrait, which hung on the wall behind the massive desk.

Albus Dumbledore was beaming down at him.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said.

“I hear you are confirmed in your new post,” the portrait said. “Excellent work, Severus!”

Naturally, he would know immediately. Some of the office’s denizens had portraits at the Ministry.

“I am,” Snape confirmed curtly.

“So you played your part well, during the raid?” Dumbledore asked.

He was reminded of Dumbledore’s words at their previous meeting. If you are forced to take part in the raid, be sure to act your part convincingly…. At least this time Albus had not asked him to kill anyone….

“I cut off the ear of George Weasley, I am told,” Snape said. With a shrug of his shoulders, he added, “Apparently, that was sufficiently convincing.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes regarded him intently. Snape looked back, his expression unreadable. He had given the old man what he wanted, if only by accident. If Dumbledore wanted a further explanation, he could ask for it.

“And the Carrows?” Dumbledore asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“As we expected,” Snape replied.

“What of the other teachers?” Dumbledore asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“The Dark Lord agreed with me that wholesale replacement of the staff would needlessly disrupt the magical education of our students. He has accepted my assurances that I can keep any troublemakers in line,” Snape explained.

“Well done!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “But…can you? If I can help-”

“I expect Professor McGonagall here shortly,” Snape interrupted. “I believe that interview will proceed more smoothly if you are absent.”

“As you wish, Severus,” Dumbledore agreed. “Until later, then.”

“Good day,” Snape said, just as the figure of Dumbledore disappeared out of the side of his portrait.

Snape stepped around the massive desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down in it for the first time. The surface of the desk was empty, except for a silver ink pot and quill. Snape laid his wand down beside it and leaned back in the chair for a moment, his eyes closed. One last time, he ran over what he planned to say. It was quite simple, really. As to his fears – if he could stand to watch the naked desperation in Charity Burbage’s face in the moments before she died, surely the hate and contempt he was sure to see in Minerva’s eyes would not prove too much. The stakes were too high.

Thus resolved, Snape summoned a House Elf and arranged delivery of some tea and toast. He was still drinking the tea when he head a firm knock on the office door.

Glancing at his watch, he realized it must be Professor McGonagall, punctual as always. Setting his teacup down on the tray, he rose and walked to the door. McGonagall stood beyond, her back ramrod-straight, her expression disapproving.

“Murderer!” she exclaimed, her voice heavy with disgust.

With a slightly mocking smile and courteous nod of his head, swept his arm to indicate his guest should step inside.

“Minerva!” he said. “Do come in.”

She regarded him through her glasses for a moment, and her blue eyes flashed.

“Snape,” she finally forced out the greeting, and stepped inside.

Severus shut the door behind her and turned back to his guest. Her eyes, she saw, had been drawn to the empty portrait that hung over his desk.

“I’m afraid Albus will not be joining us today,” Snape commented, in response to her unspoken question. He swept around the massive desk, his black robe billowing behind him, and faced her from behind it. “Please, won’t you have a seat?”

He could see in her eyes that she considered refusing, and her lips parted, then snapped shut firmly. She sat down in the visitor’s chair, and Severus seated himself as well.

“You want my resignation, I am sure,” McGonagall said in a clipped voice. “You have it. I have nothing further to say to you.”

“You have served the school long and ably as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor,” Snape said. “I thought to offer you the possibility to continue.”

She glared back at him.

“Along with the Headship, the Da-… the Ministry has given me considerably leeway in staffing the school to meet its new objectives,” he stated. “I have the authority to retain you, if we reach an understanding.”

“New objectives?” McGonagall asked, not entirely managing to conceal her indignation.
“It shames me to know that you even considered making me such an offer,” she continued, her voice rising.

“You know what they say, everyone has her price,” Snape replied with a sneer.

“And this” she waved her arm about heatedly, indicating the room in which they sat, “this was yours! Albus took you in and gave you a new start in life, and you repaid his trust by killing him!”

Words truer than she knew, Snape reflected. And it was his duty to make sure that she remained in ignorance of the truth she had just spoken….

“I do hope that is not your final word,” Snape replied calmly, leaning back in his chair. “Madam Lestrange has expressed some interest in the position herself. While the … Ministry appreciates her enthusiasm, frankly I do not believe she has the temperament to make a good administrator.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange?! She can’t – you wouldn’t – she was not even a Gryffindor!” McGonagall protested, shock and anger rendering her, for the moment, incoherent.

“True, I would have to bend the rules to put her in charge of Gryffindor House,” Snape said with a shrug. “But I am afraid you leave me no other choice. Perhaps it is better than way. She was certainly looking forward to a reunion with certain of your students…you are saving me the trouble of talking her out of it.”

The blood had drained out of Minerva’s face as he spoke.

“Please … perhaps … I spoke too hastily,” she said pleadingly. “I will do it, on one condition.”

Just as he had known – for her students, she would swallow her pride. Snape raised an eyebrow and looked at her mockingly.

“You are in no position to dictate terms, Minerva,” he replied coldly.

“As Head of Gryffindor, I would retain the power to discipline the students in my House?” she asked.

“So long as you keep your Gryffindor brats out of my hair, assuredly,” he said. “That’s no condition, that’s my pleasure.”

“I will do it,” she said. He fixed her with a cold stare. “Headmaster,” she spat out.

“Thank you, Minerva. I am glad to see we that understand one another. Well, as you have seen reason, I have a few organizational matters for you to attend to before the start of term.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“First, Muggle Studies. I regret to inform you that Professor Burbage has resigned.”

“Resigned?!” Minerva exclaimed. “Charity?”

“Quite irrevocably, I fear,” Snape said coldly. “You will arrange for her belongings to be returned to her next of kin-”

McGonagall gasped and covered her mouth with a hand.

“-so that the new Muggle Studies professor may occupy her quarters,” Snape finished.

“He Who Must Not be Named will permit Muggle Studies to be taught?” McGonagall asked, surprised.

“The Ministry has decided on a change of focus, naturally. I have retained Alecto Carrow to teach the class,” Snape explained.

Minerva shot daggers out of her eyes, but kept silent.

“We are also short an instructor for Dark Arts. Amycus Carrow will be taking over for me in that capacity,” Snape added. “I expect them both shortly before the Welcoming Feast on Sunday.”

“Will that be all?” she asked.

“If you would be so good as to let Professors Sprout, Slughorn, and Flitwick know that I am extending them the same offer as I have extended to you, I would appreciate it,” Snape said.

“Not willing to face Filius, are you? A curse in the back is more your style!” Minerva spat out.

“I would not expect a Gryffindor to recognize good tactics when she sees them,” Snape replied calmly.

“Tactics? A pretty word for treason and cowardice!” she exclaimed.

“You’ve had enough time to get used to the new reality, I think, Professor,” Snape said flatly. “Our new teachers are likely to misunderstand a bit of sparring between old colleagues. It will cease, now.”

Minerva fell silent, and took a couple of deep breaths

“What will you be telling them?” she asked in a moment.

“The truth, naturally. I made a threat, and you caved in to it. Just a matter of knowing the right lever,” Snape replied sardonically.

“I see,” she said coldly, her eyes burning in the frozen mask that was her face. “Will that be all, then, Headmaster?”

“For now, Professor McGonagall,” he answered.

She rose and left without another word.

The interview had gone exactly as he had planned. A resounding success. He drew the torn photograph out and looked at it for a moment, a single tear running down his face, before tucking it away carefully in its place.

9.5/10

Is there more?

Cute Idea Z...you are a very good writer, I was engrossed as I read. I think the narrative indicating Snape's "true" feelings and purposes is a great way to share thoughts on the post writer's impressions of Snape's character, motives and behavior. Good job. :)

Yeah, Snape's P.O.V. is back.:clap:
I have always enjoyed most of the talent with the previous versions of this thread.

Keep that going! you do write very good :)

Yes! Snape's POV is back! I love these threads. :love:

Huzzah for the return of Snape's PoV! And smashing working, zgirnius :D

Here's my offering ... also already available in F&B, but I had initially written it with the intention of posting it here, so... Snape adjusts to life as a portrait :)

* * *

Hanging Around


‘… it is considered rather an honour, you know, Severus.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Some might say the highest honour.’ Severus glanced around from behind the glass of his frame at the assortment of senile, medievally-minded, dangerous, or simply stark raving mad witches and wizards who sat, slept, talked nonsense and drooled, in some cases all at once, in their portraits on the walls of the Headmaster’s Office.

‘Mmm,’ he managed. He sat back in his chair. The artist, he had to grudgingly admit, had done a fairly good job on the upholstery, and had at least had the foresight to draw in a few comfy cushions. He felt he had gone rather overboard on the Slytherin green banners and drapes, though, which seemed to cover every spare inch of canvas. His shoes pinched his feet and were far too pointy, and his robes could at best be described as impractical for potion brewing. In the portrait next to him, Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. Severus felt certain he had never been painted with the sweets. Even as a portrait, Dumbledore managed somehow to bend the rules.

‘Argus performs any running repairs, should the need arise,’ continued Dumbledore, apparently having finished his sweet. Severus snorted.

‘I can think of no possible situation where the sight of Argus Filch coming towards me with a paintbrush would be a pleasant one.’

‘Oh, it’s really not so bad. But when he tells you to hold still, I would advise you to do so.’ Severus sighed.

‘What are we expected to do here?’ he enquired.

‘Do?’ repeated Dumbledore. ‘Nothing much. A reward for many years of loyal service to the school. Consider this a sort of retirement.’

‘PIDGEONS!’ roared the wizard in the portrait above Severus for no apparent reason.

‘So we just … hang around here?’ said Severus, desperate now.

‘Was that a pun, Severus?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘It should have been. Dear me, is that the time? I promised poor Englebert a visit. He’s dreadfully lonely now that Griselda has been removed for cleaning … excuse me, Severus…’ Each of the portraits in the office was connected by a system of what could best be described as corridors: it was down one of these Dumbledore now walked, through Severus’ own portrait, squeezing past the armchair and out the other side. Severus had already realised that due to its position just to the left of the Headmaster’s chair, his portrait was ideally located as a thoroughfare to more or less anywhere in the office. The incessant trudging backwards and forwards of faces from Hogwarts, A History was already starting to grate on his nerves. He slumped back in his chair, despondent.

‘Psst. Severus. Psst. Severus. Severus. Pssssssssssssst!’ Severus looked up. A figure in the portrait directly opposite his was waving at him, clearly trying to get his attention. Severus held up a hand in acknowledgement. This did not seem to satisfy Phineas Nigellus, who began to wave with a new fervour.

‘What?’ Severus called. He had no fear of waking the portraits around him: most of them were so deaf that even the battle of Hogwarts had nearly passed them by without notice.

‘Get over here, you fool!’ snapped Phineas, with an equal disregard for his neighbours. Puzzled, but glad to have something to do at last, Severus got to his feet and made his way slowly across to Phineas Nigelus’ portrait, his progress hampered by the fact that he got lost and twice ended up in a portrait of a wizard wearing a ruff so enormous that he had hold his own head up.

‘About time, too,’ said Phineas in greeting, as Severus finally made it into the right frame. ‘Pull up a chair.’ Severus sat down, and Phineas rummaged around underneath his own chair.

‘Aha!’ he cried, having found what he was looking for at last. He pulled out a large bottle of Firewhiskey and a pack of cards. Disappearing for a moment into the adjacent portrait, he returned with a pair of solid gold goblets.

‘I’ve been waiting years for someone who’ll give me a decent game of poker,’ he muttered, pouring out a generous helping of the drink and handing it to Severus. ‘Cheers,’ he added, holding up his own goblet.

Severus grinned and took a long draught of Firewhiskey. Perhaps life on canvas wouldn’t be so bad after all…

This thread exists for the purpose of rewriting book scenes from Snape's point of view. It is a DH spoiler version of the Common Room thread, and I hope they can be merged eventually. (PTSS? Post Traumatic Severus Snape, of course!) I figure anyone who found HBP traumatic for Snape-related reasons, is probably also traumatized by DH... :sad:

You can rewrite your own scene from DH, or rewrite scenes from previous books based on the new knowledge you've gotten from DH, or write up any Snape scenes not actually appearing in the books.

It is not necessary to be on Snape's side.

I'll kick off with this "missing" scene from DH (I already posted this on F&B new Premises...but we need something to get us going!)



Wonderful Idea. Yet so depressing...*sigh*

9.5/10 Is there more?

Thanks! :D Not at present, though I am thinking of perpetrating a longer HBP/DH fanfic about Snape at some point. If I do, I would likely post the first chapter here as well.

Cute Idea Z...you are a very good writer, I was engrossed as I read. I think the narrative indicating Snape's "true" feelings and purposes is a great way to share thoughts on the post writer's impressions of Snape's character, motives and behavior. Good job. :)

Thanks. I agree, writing this sort of story is a great way to get across ideas about the characters. It was also a good way to test out a theory, when we were still guessing at a lot of the facts - does it work in a story?

Keep that going! you do write very good :)

I am pleased you liked it! This was my immediate reaction to reading DH, so I did not plan to make it part of anything longer, it was just something I had to get off my chest.

Huzzah for the return of Snape's PoV! And smashing working, zgirnius :D

Thanks! I loved the ending of yours. Though really, I should think it would be a threesome - Albus ought to be good at poker too. :D

Wonderful Idea. Yet so depressing...*sigh*

Fortunately some of us seem to be able to see the bright side...Maybe we'll see more stories like true_heir_of_slyth's! :lol:

Fortunately some of us seem to be able to see the bright side... :lol:Writing Comic!Snape is certainly easier with the weight that lifted with DH... :D Thanks zgirnius, glad you liked it - I get the impression though that Phineas would have tried playing poker with Dumbles before, and found himself losing without really understanding how...

Glad to see a post-DH version of this thread. :D Great POVs, Zg and true_heir! ^^

true_heir_of_slyth:

I have to say that your peice was quite funny, especially the part when the random protrait cries "Pigeon!" I totally burst into laughter.

Thanks very much, ignisia and ginny8dandelion! Glad you both liked it :) The ending of DH didn't give me the closure on Snape that I so badly wanted ... I felt the guy needed at least a semi-happy ending, complete with firewhiskey and card games :)

I'm also working on another one-shot, involving Sev, assorted Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord's surprise birthday party. Needless to say, it's full of angst, rage and cake.

Well ... cake, at least. One out of three ain't bad :)

:slyth: Slythy

Thanks. I agree, writing this sort of story is a great way to get across ideas about the characters. It was also a good way to test out a theory, when we were still guessing at a lot of the facts - does it work in a story?

Well I of course would not see Snape thinking the same way myself, but that is because I have a different take on his character and how he thought - so some of Snape's thoughts as written here don't seem plausible too me in light of canon. However, with respect to seeing it through Snape's eyes as you saw it, the idea works beautifully in a story. I put aside my personal thoughts and feelings and just read it from a literary point of view and found it an engrossing tale of how you thought it may have been (not feeling I have to agree or disagree with it) - from that viewpoint I enjoyed it immensely.

^^ That's the beauty of this thread. Doesn't matter what you think of the Sevster, you're welcome all the same :)

Just to keep the thread ticking over, here's my next offering. It's quite a bit longer than the last one, hope no-one minds. It also partly continues in the theme of the headmasters' portraits, something that's proving a bit of an obsession for me :shrug: Anyhoo, here we go: Snape very nearly blows his cover when he forgets the most important event in the Death Eaters’ calendar… :D

* * *

Happy Birthday, Lord Voldemort!

‘Severus. Severus. Severus.. Severus, wake up.’

It was with ill grace that Snape opened his eyes and turned around to face the portrait that had been his only company for the past few months. He had taken to sleeping in the rather uncomfortable chair in the Headmaster’s Office, after discovering in spectacular fashion that the DA had booby-trapped his chambers.

‘What?’ he said blearily. This was not the first time that Dumbledore had chosen to wake him at some ridiculous hour of the morning. ‘Are you caught in a draft again? Does your frame need polishing? Have your sherbet lemons melted?’ The other portraits around the office grinned and leaned in closer to listen to what would undoubtedly be another enjoyable spat between the two.

‘No, Severus,’ replied Dumbledore patiently. ‘Have you forgotten what day it is?’ Snape shrugged and curled back up in his chair, shifting to try and find a marginally less uncomfortable position.

‘Whatever day it is, it’s only just started,’ he mumbled, falling asleep again. ‘Can’t it wait…?’

‘No, Severus, it cannot!’ cried Dumbledore.

‘I’m going to put a towel over you again if you insist on carrying on with this conversation.’

‘Severus, think! What day is it?’ Snape gave up, and sat up sulkily.

‘Monday?’ he said sarcastically. ‘The day I have to remind Hagrid to clean out the Nifflers? Is it time to renew my Daily Prophet subscription? Do I have a book due back at the library?’

‘It is all of these things, and more,’ said Dumbledore cryptically. Snape groaned and pulled his cloak back over his head.

‘It’s too early for guess-the-day, Dumbledore. I’m going to sleep on it, and I’ll let you know at a time that actually qualifies as morning…’

‘Severus!’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘It is Lord Voldemort’s birthday!’ Snape sat bolt upright, his face pale. Dumbledore looked smug.

‘I told you it couldn’t wait,’ he said simply.

‘What am I going to do?’ gibbered Snape, kneeling and peering over the back of the Headmaster’s throne at Dumbledore, who shrugged unhelpfully.

‘Under normal circumstances I would suggest a bunch of flowers and a bottle of Ogden’s best Firewhiskey, but I hardly think that would be suitable for a celebration of the Dark Lord’s birth…’

Dumbledore’s next words were muffled by the towel that Snape had hung over the frame of his portrait.

After a few hours of quick potion making, Snape had brewed a vial of a tonic of his own invention, which protected and added a healthy lustre to snake scales. After a moment’s thought he added a green ribbon around the neck of the vial, feeling that it would be just as well to do the thing properly. He straightened out the worst of the creases in his robes, but as even the House Elves had been unable to retrieve anything from his wardrobe after the DA had finished with it he would have to make do.

‘I’m going,’ he announced to Dumbledore’s portrait, still covered in the towel. ‘I’ll take that off when I get back. And if I don’t get back, it will be your fault for being so unhelpful, and you’ll have to look at the backside of that towel forever.’

‘You know, Severus, you really are very childish sometimes,’ said Dumbledore, who had in fact taken refuge in the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, with whom he was currently engrossed in a game of cards. Snape ignored him and swept from the office in what he hoped was a suitably dramatic fashion.

There were no signs of life from within Malfoy Manor as Snape approached. He neatly sidestepped a pile of peacock dung and trotted up the steps to the front door, which swung inwards of its own accord.

Snape turned the bronze handle to the Death Eaters’ meeting room, glad that he had arrived so early, and planning to bag himself the best seat at the table—

‘HAPPY BIRTHD—‘ someone began to shout enthusiastically.

‘It’s not him, you idiot!’ snarled Bellatrix, slapping Pettigrew around the back of the head. ‘It’s just Snape!’

‘What,’ said Snape, picking off the green and silver streamers now covering his shoulders and brushing glitter out of his hair, ‘do you think you are doing?’

‘We are holding a surprise birthday party in honour of the Dark Lord,’ said Bellatrix proudly.

‘And I wasn’t invited?’

‘It was intended to be for the Dark Lord’s most trusted and faithful associates—‘

‘Pettigrew got an invitation and I didn’t?!’ cried Snape, incredulous.

‘I’m sure yours just got lost in the post, Severus…’ squeaked Pettigrew, trying to diffuse the situation. Snape shot him a filthy look.

‘So,’ he said, mastering himself. ‘Your plan is to cover the Dark Lord with glitter as soon as he steps through the door?’

‘Yes,’ said Bellatrix, pleased.

‘The only problem,’ said Lucius, eying the glittery mess on his carpet with distaste, ‘is that with all the secrecy involved in the Dark Lord’s plans, none of us can be certain of when he will actually show up. Pettigrew is compensating for this by covering everyone who walks through the door with glitter.’

‘So I see,’ said Snape. He noted that someone, most probably Bellatrix, had taken the time to bake a large cake in the shape of a skull, and had decorated its eye sockets with green, spluttering candles. There was a small pile of presents next to it. Snape placed his own offering among them, and took a seat with the assembled guests. Bellatrix looked sulky as he helped himself to a cauldron cake.

It seemed to take an age for the Dark Lord to arrive – the Death Eaters never being entirely comfortable in each other’s presence anyway, little conversation passed between them – but at last, soft footsteps just beyond the door confirmed his approach.

‘SURPRISE!’ yelled the Death Eaters as the door opened. Lord Voldemort disappeared behind a mist of glitter and streamers.

‘Argh!’ he yelped, as if he had just been stunned. He emerged, choking and sparkly, and looking furious.

‘What is this?’ he shrieked. ‘Mutiny! Mutiny!’

‘No, my Lord…’ cried Bellatrix, running forward and grasping his hand. ‘We merely wanted to wish you a happy birthday—‘

‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,’ began Pettigrew, taking this to be his cue to start singing. He trailed off under Bellatrix’s furious glare. There was an excruciatingly long pause. Then—

‘Birthday?’ said the Dark Lord thoughtfully.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Bellatrix eagerly, clearly glad that he appeared to be getting to grips with the idea.

‘Yes…’ Voldemort looked around at the assembled Death Eaters, and then his gaze fell upon the pile of presents. His expression turned immediately into one of greed. ‘Yes! You may celebrate. You must celebrate!’

‘Yes, my Lord!’ Bellatrix almost shrieked, and, spinning around to face the door, she clicked her fingers. Severus did well not to allow his jaw to drop as the Weird Sisters, pale, haggard and manacled together in a bizarre sort of chain gang, but apparently otherwise fine, trooped into the room, instruments bobbing along by their side, borne by a group of house elves.

‘Good morning, er … Death Eaters!’ growled the lead singer, looking somewhat unnerved by the stony faces looking up at him. ‘Is everybody … ready to party?’ You could have heard a speck of glitter drop in the silence that followed.

‘Yes,’ affirmed Lord Voldemort at last.

‘Er … um … right. Rock on!’ stammered the singer feebly. He gestured wildly to the drummer, who, clearly terrified, grabbed his sticks and hit out a shaky rhythm.

‘A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three—‘

The Death Eaters, taking their cue from the Dark Lord, remained standing perfectly still as a series of crashing chords echoed through the dining room. Judging by the way the band was sweating, this was proving the toughest gig of their careers.

‘There will be dancing,’ said Lord Voldemort, as the second chorus rang out.

‘But – my lord … this is antique oak flooring—‘ pleaded Lucius uselessly.

‘Dance!’ cried Voldemort.

Severus groaned and got to his feet. It was going to be like the Halloween party all over again…

I really liked it! These parts made me :lol: :

‘I’m going to put a towel over you again if you insist on carrying on with this conversation.’


‘HAPPY BIRTHD—‘ someone began to shout enthusiastically.

‘It’s not him, you idiot!’ snarled Bellatrix, slapping Pettigrew around the back of the head. ‘It’s just Snape!’

:rotfl: I can just see little Peter doing that. :lol:

‘Pettigrew got an invitation and I didn’t?!’ cried Snape, incredulous.


‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,’ began Pettigrew, taking this to be his cue to start singing. He trailed off under Bellatrix’s furious glare. There was an excruciatingly long pause. Then—

Poor Pettigrew. :lol:

‘Yes, my Lord!’ Bellatrix almost shrieked, and, spinning around to face the door, she clicked her fingers. Severus did well not to allow his jaw to drop as the Weird Sisters, pale, haggard and manacled together in a bizarre sort of chain gang, but apparently otherwise fine, trooped into the room, instruments bobbing along by their side, borne by a group of house elves.

:rotfl:

‘Dance!’ cried Voldemort.
:lol: :lol: :lol: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl:

That's probably the funniest thing I've ever read! You are an awesome writer and I hope you publish more stories!

That's probably the funniest thing I've ever read! You are an awesome writer and I hope you publish more stories!:blush: Thank you witchsmart! Very glad you enjoyed it :D I'm always writing bits and pieces ... there's a link to my latest effort in my sig, if you're interested ;) [/shamelessplug]

Good thing Snape's students never found out he almost missed an upcoming assignment. Maybe he should have stayed up the night before finishing it.

So, Dumbledore just "hikes" off to another portrait, when Snape covers him up, I wonder how many towels Snape keeps handy? :rotfl:

So, Dumbledore just "hikes" off to another portrait, when Snape covers him up, I wonder how many towels Snape keeps handy? :rotfl:A fair few, I'd say ... I'd imagine Dumbles has quite a knack for reappearing just when Snape thought he'd got rid of him :lol:

These are hilarious! :rotfl:

Snape, we hardly knew ye

Finally found my way back over here.

Zgirnius--Glad you started up the POVs again. Your “Return” is a good one for starting things off. I’ve already chatted with you about it elsewhere, and I do like Snape’s thoughts and feelings upon his return. McGonagall hasn’t a chance against his strategy...

True Heir--I love your take on Sev as a portrait! Such a missed opportunity in the book, but you take ample advantage. I imagine Phineas is about to lose his shirt against Severus as well.

I also liked the guy shouting out “Pidgeons!” for no apparent reason. :p

Severus sleeping in the office and Voldy’s birthday party was also a hoot. Poor Lucius. His mansion will never be the same.
______________________

Here is another POV on the lighter side: Headmaster Snape dealing with the bigoted Ministry of Magic Board of Governors.


The Visit


“To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from such an august body?”

Severus Snape gazed around the circular office at his guests from behind his large desk, a smirk playing on his lips. His visitors were an amalgam of Death Eaters and Ministry bureaucrats, one in the black and gold robes of the elite. It did not escape his notice that they had brought along the tall, burly Albert Runcorn for muscle.

“You know why we’re here, Snape. We’ve summoned you three times, and you’ve just ignored us.”

“I only respond to one summons, Yaxley,” Snape explained, flexing the fingers of his left hand, “and while your eyes are a bit bloodshot from over-indulgence, you really don’t look like Him.”

“We are the Board of Governors and do oversee the operation of this school,” Rookwood insisted.

“By all means, oversee. Oversee to your hearts’s content. There is a good view for it from this window…” he indicated with a sweeping flourish of his arm.

Hem, hem.

Snape turned his dark eyes to the source of the irritating noise. The short, squat, toad-like woman dressed in pink robes with a matching pink ribbon in her hair had put him on probation just a year and a half ago when she was High Inquisitor and, ever so briefly, Headmistress of Hogwarts. The current Headmaster of Hogwarts had not forgotten.

“What is it, Ms. Umbridge?” Snape growled, none too pleased by the interruption.

“Pardon me, Professor Snape,” she began in her annoyingly girlish high voice that masked the soul of a serial killer, “but may I ask why you have a portrait of Albus Dumbledore right behind your desk?”

“I don’t choose the portraits, the castle does,” Snape hissed, curling his lip. He swiveled the chair a quarter turn and leaned back, so that he could gaze up at the previous headmaster. “Nevertheless, I consider it the next best thing to having his head for a trophy.”

The sleeping portrait snorted involuntarily and suffered a brief coughing spasm, but thereafter returned to its regular rhythms.

“You have ignored us long enough, Snape!” the brutish Yaxley cried out. “You’ve been Headmaster of Hogwarts for over a month already and you still haven’t made changes in the Undesirables here.”

“Undesirables? At Hogwarts?” Snape grew serious, as he turned back to the members of the Board. “There are no more Muggle borns here.”

“No, but what about the staff?” Rookwood directed.

Snape hesitated. “What about my staff?” he asked softly.

“It’s full of Squibs and Half-breeds, Snape!” the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement bellowed.

“Indeed? I wasn’t aware that Professors Slughorn, Vector, and Sinistra, were all Half-breeds…” Snape replied coyly, listing a few of his most purebred teachers.

“What about that oaf, Hagrid? It’s common knowledge he’s half giant,” Rookwood pointed out.

“Hagrid is a glorified ‘cowboy’ and animal wrangler, our gamekeeper who works with very dangerous creatures. Our last Care of Magical Creatures teacher retired with less than all of his limbs and digits. I don’t think we should subject a pureblood wizard to such dangers. Do you, Lucius?”

Lucius Malfoy looked up from where he was standing behind the others. “What?” His mind seemed to have been a million miles away. “Why no, Severus. Whatever you say.” Snape used the opportunity to take a good look at his former mentor. He did not appear well at all, his pale skin as yellow-white as his hair, his eyes sunken.

The others seemed to dismiss the disgraced wizard’s concurrence.

“Hem, hem. I believe I fired that fraud Trelawney two years ago. May I ask why she is still here?” Umbridge asked sweetly.

Snape turned back to her. “I hardly think I should trust the judgment of a witch who couldn’t even get into the headmaster’s office when she held the position.”

“That wasn’t my… Dumbledore had put a spell on it!“ she sputtered.

“Tell me, Dolores, could they ever get that hoofprint off of your arse? Hmmm?” Snape sneered, relishing the ridicule.

Umbridge flushed a brilliant red. “How did you--? Oh!“

Malfoy and Mulciber both laughed at Umbridge’s expense.

Snape leaned back comfortably in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Sibyll Trelawney, while a bit of an idiot, is in fact occasionally the medium for valid prophecies. She foretold the return of Wormtail and his assistance in the re-birth of the Dark Lord. A worthy prophecy, I should think. And why just yesterday, she was warning me that I was in grave danger from the donut I was about to eat.”

“Was it poisoned?” Mulciber asked seriously.

“High in Cholesterol,” he responded dryly.

“Very funny, Snape.”

“But if you’ve got her, then what is that Centaur doing here?” came a deep voice from the back.

“Teaching. That is what teachers do at schools, Runcorn. Of course, you may not be aware of that since you spent all of your educational years skivving classes and collecting detentions.”

“You know what he means,” Rookwood came to the towering wizard’s defense. “If you’ve got Trelawney, why do you need the Half Breed?”

“He teaches a different branch of Divination. You know, like there are different branches of magic: charms, transfiguration, potions, and so forth? Not surprisingly, only Centaurs are knowledgeable about Centaur methods of Divination. Plus he keeps the grass mowed in the summertime and provides fertilizer for the gardens. He’s an efficient…”

Hem, hem.

“…use of funds, actually.” Snape finished his sentence, then rounded on Umbridge with his most ferocious scowl. “I do not allow my students to interrupt me, Delores,” he berated, “and if you do it again, I swear I will stick you in the lake and make you catch flies like the little amphibian that you are!”

Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“He would dare, Delores,” Malfoy informed her from across the room. “Wendell Webb still likes a fly or two on occasion.”

“No, you’re thinking of Ambrose Utley,” Snape corrected him silkily. “Wendell is still out in the lake, actually.”

“Is he really?” Mulciber commented. “I wondered where Wendell had got to.”

“I enjoy his singing on warm summer evenings. He’s much improved than when he was in the choir.”

The three men lapsed into wicked chuckles, remembering carefree days, when they used to indulge in the Dark Arts just for a good laugh.

Snape’s dark sneer turned back towards Umbridge, but she had slunk behind the wall-like Runcorn.

Yaxley spoke up impatiently, “What about that Squib who works here?”

“Who…? Filch? He’s like a house-elf. I suppose next you’re going to tell me that I need to get rid of all the house-elves. Then who is going to do all of the manual labor? You--?” Snape asked derisively. “I’m a busy man, is there anyone else’s background or reason for existence that you wish to question?” Snape rose, indicating his weariness with the conversation, and strolled to the window.

The Board members exchanged questioning glances. Mulciber shrugged. “What’s the story on that Charms teacher, Severus? He is awfully small.”

“If you’re going to start looking into every short person’s background, then perhaps you should begin by examining the company that you keep,” Snape twisted to glare pointedly at the hiding Umbridge.

Emboldened by the accusation, she puffed herself up in indignation and stepped out from behind her shield. “I’ll have you know I’m related to the Selwyns,” she announced proudly, “but I have heard rumors about your Blood Status.”

The room went deathly quiet. All eyes went to Snape, to see how he would respond to the injudicious accusation, including those of the previously sleeping headmasters, who peeped out from beneath their eyelids. The dark, thin wizard, who once called himself the Half-Blood Prince, turned the rest of the way around, nonchalantly rubbing his left forearm. A muscle on the edge of his mouth twitched. “The Dark Lord is quite satisfied with my Blood Status, Delores, and has been for many years,” he informed her quietly. “I suggest you make sure your own is in perfect order.”

Umbridge looked about, a bit confused by what had just happened. She was not well-informed about the hierarchy among the Death Eaters.

Snape began pacing behind his desk. “If you are all displeased with the way I run Hogwarts, perhaps you would like to call the One who placed me in this position? Let’s call him back from his important errand abroad so that you can whine to Him about the way I’m doing things, shall we?” Snape pulled up his left sleeve, revealing the skull and snake Dark Mark. “Would you like to call him, or shall I?” Snape stopped in his tracks and let his finger hover like the Sword of Damocles above his tattoo.

“No! Don’t! You know we aren’t to bother him unless we’ve captured…” Rookwood protested.

“No… I guess we aren’t,” Snape stated with the arch of his brow, letting his sleeve fall again. He looked at each of the wizards in turn, for effect. “I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts and I have received personal instructions from the Dark Lord as to how he wants the school run. Have any of you? No…?”

Snape began to pace again, slowly, his robes billowing magnificently behind him, lecturing the Board of Governors as he might a classroom of students.

“I know the Dark Lord’s wishes. This is an ancient and venerable institution. The Dark Lord considers it as his first true home. He wants its reputation to be upheld as one of the finest in magical educations. He is quite familiar with the teaching staff, having become personally acquainted during his possession of Professor Quirrell six years ago. If the Dark Lord wants me to make any changes, He will inform me when He returns. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Snape took their silence for acquiescence. He swept out around his desk and headed through the middle of the group towards the door. Yaxley, however, stepped in front, blocking his way. His puggish face came inches from Snape’s.

“Severus Snape! Sitting up here in your Hogwarts tower, thinking yourself so high and mighty. Maybe you did kill Dumbledore, but who have you killed lately?!!”

Snape looked murderous. “I know who I’m going to kill next, if you don’t get out of my way,” he said in a low and dangerous snarl.

Yaxley twitched, noticing Snape already had drawn his wand. The other wizards backed quickly away, not wanting to be hit by stray curses.

Bang! The dark eyes never left Yaxley’s, but a lazy flick from Snape’s wand sent Runcorn hanging upside down by his ankle.

Yaxley, without his backup, and after a moment’s tussle between his manhood and his instinct for self-preservation, sullenly stepped aside.

The large wizard landed back down with a thump, his hand immediately diving into his robes. “Don’t try it, Runcorn,” Snape drawled. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your life the size of Delores.”

Runcorn observed the wand pointed into his face and wisely let his hand drop from his robes.

Snape walked on to the door. “Lucius, I imagine you would like to say hello to Draco while you are here?” he asked conversationally, as though nothing unpleasant had just occurred.

“He can’t,” Rookwood declared. “He’s got to go back with us. Hasn’t got a wand, you know.”

“I’ll send him back. What’s the matter? Think I’ll help him flee to the Order of the Phoenix underground--?”

Rookwood and Mulciber laughed.

“Whatever,” Rookwood allowed.

“It’s been lovely,” Snape smirked, while opening the door. “We’ll have to do this again sometime. Don’t let the Gargoyle slap you on the arse on the way out.”

“Clip-clop, clip-clop!” he added as Umbridge passed by. Her eyes widened as she shimmied away from him, hopping sprightly through the door.

As the last of the Board of Governors left, Snape looked back at Lucius standing limply by the desk, examining one of the silver instruments. “Why don’t you go down to my old office,” Snape said gently. “I’ll get Draco out of class and bring him to you.”

“Yes… All right,” Malfoy murmured, setting the instrument back down. He joined Snape at the door. “Thank you, Severus. You have always been a good friend to me and to my family.”

“You were always a friend to me, Lucius.”

Malfoy suddenly looked doubtful. “Was I?”

Snape did not reply, the question seeming to call for unvarnished truth. “Go on a head.” He watched the broken man ride down the moving staircase, and then closed the door.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure before of watching you at work. You are quite good,” the Dumbledore portrait complimented, now quite awake.

“Thank you. It is not difficult with such straight men and women.”

“Perhaps you should have considered a career in the performing arts.”

“Perhaps... Madam Pomfrey thinks I look a bit like Alan Rickman.”

“Dear Poppy, getting a bit near-sighted, is she?”

Snape grimaced. He went to the hearth and tossed in a pinch of powder. “Kitchens. I want a tray of tea and… whatever sent down to the Potions Lab. Make it for two.” He straightened again.

“About Wendell Webb…” Dumbledore began.

“All rubbish. He’s in a rock band in America. I have one of his CDs back at my place. He does sound a bit like a frog...”

Dumbledore chuckled.

Snape walked back to the desk and tapped one of the silver instruments with his wand. “What class does Draco Malfoy have this hour?” The puffs of smoke formed themselves into NEWT Potions.

“Sorry about that ‘trophy’ remark,” Snape offered, glancing up at Dumbledore’s portrait. “I didn’t want them ‘doing me the favor’ of trying to blast you off the wall.”

“Good thinking.”

Snape was on his way to the door. “Severus, I know you would like to help Lucius, but just remember that he is a desperate man.”

Snape looked back, serious, perplexed. “He has become as I was, Dumbledore.”

“Yes… He would do anything… including betray you, if he thought it would help himself and his family. Be careful.”

Snape considered the wise wizard’s words, then pursed his lips, unhappy with his conclusion. “Right.” Yanking open the door, he billowed out.

These stories are really great, I loved reading them! Snape have always been my favorite character and its really cool to see how others have interpreted his character.

“Perhaps... Madam Pomfrey thinks I look a bit like Alan Rickman.”

“Dear Poppy, getting a bit near-sighted, is she?”

:lol: That one really made me laugh! :lol:
I saw the movies before I read the books. To be honest it was Alan Rickmans portrayal of Snape that drew me into the shows and lead to my reading the books. :)

“We are the Board of Governors and do oversee the operation of this school,” Rookwood insisted.

“By all means, oversee. Oversee to your hearts’s content. There is a good view for it from this window…”I think every school needs someone like Snape to deal with their board of Governors once in a while... :lol: And the Alan Rickman comment had me in stitches too ;) Brilliant, Black Adder! It's great to see you're still writing PoVs :D

zgirnius, you are amazing for starting this thread.

And your fic is very perceptive—it must have happened like that, with Snape never outright confirming or denying but letting McGonagall believe that he murdered Dumbledore; at the Battle of Hogwarts she doesn't behave as though she was in on the truth. I love getting the sense that playing the part of Dumbledore's cold-blooded murderer is a bit wrenching for him, but that carrying on snarky exchanges with McGonagall comes quite naturally (years of practice...)

I always want to know more about Snape and McGonagall. She's quite a bit older; he must have been her Transfiguration student once if she took up the position when Dumbledore vacated it, and then they had to transition to being peers who rib each other about House Quidditch. Possibly she always trusted him less than Dumbledore did. What were their conversations in the staff room like? Does she have impressions of him from his school years the way she had about Peter Pettigrew in POA, and if so, what would she say about him?

I've been doing a lot of Snape-POV work lately myself (hoping to rewrite the entire story eventually, with filled-in chapters, though it may take years), but what I have so far needs a lot of revision.

And Black Adder:

“By all means, oversee. Oversee to your hearts’s content. There is a good view for it from this window…” he indicated with a sweeping flourish of his arm.

"And why just yesterday, she was warning me that I was in grave danger from the donut I was about to eat."

Snape stopped in his tracks and let his finger hover like the Sword of Damocles above his tattoo.

“Clip-clop, clip-clop!” he added as Umbridge passed by.

“Perhaps you should have considered a career in the performing arts.”

“Perhaps... Madam Pomfrey thinks I look a bit like Alan Rickman.”

“Dear Poppy, getting a bit near-sighted, is she?”

Hilarious! You do comic!Snape while also keeping him in character, and the few serious moments (Lucius, Dumbledore) were very good as well.

The Black Adder:

I've always liked the way you write Snape. Good fic, it had a nice balance of serious and silly. :D

8.5/10

The death eater reminiscing was a tad too long and the Rickman comment was OOC and a minor 4th wall infraction.

Everything else was well crafted, although a few minor spelling errors crept in :P

Finally found my way back over here.

Zgirnius--Glad you started up the POVs again. Your “Return” is a good one for starting things off. I’ve already chatted with you about it elsewhere, and I do like Snape’s thoughts and feelings upon his return. McGonagall hasn’t a chance against his strategy...


Thanks. Did I mention, elsewhere, that I loved Snape's sympathy for Lucius, and Dumbledore's warning about it, in your piece?

I always want to know more about Snape and McGonagall. She's quite a bit older; he must have been her Transfiguration student once if she took up the position when Dumbledore vacated it, and then they had to transition to being peers who rib each other about House Quidditch. Possibly she always trusted him less than Dumbledore did.

I find her interesting too. :D I don't think she knew his story, so I am sure she did trust him less, when she learned he had been a Death Eater.

I've been doing a lot of Snape-POV work lately myself (hoping to rewrite the entire story eventually, with filled-in chapters, though it may take years), but what I have so far needs a lot of revision.

Perhaps you could pick out a little chunk to post here? :eyebrows:

MoonstarRaven, true heir, cantabrigian, ginny8dandelion, mrchee, and zgirnius--Thank you so much for reading and commenting, particularly telling me those things you liked! It’s nice to be back and hear from old friends, true heir, ginny8dandelion, and Zgirnius, as well as to encounter new names.

You do comic!Snape while also keeping him in character, and the few serious moments (Lucius, Dumbledore) were very good as well.

Thank you. I find that every time I intend to write something purely comedic about Snape, something serious or angsty creeps its way in of its own accord. :hmm:

mrchee--A true critic among us! :welcome:
Thanks for drawing my attention to my spelling follies. (I'll have to go back and fix those)
Fourth wall infractions refer to theatre or drama, of course, and I don’t know that a mere reference to a real individual qualifies. Snape was not directly addressing the readers. I think of it more as an inside joke. But I suppose I should take my 8.5/10 and be quiet… :whistle:


I've been doing a lot of Snape-POV work lately myself (hoping to rewrite the entire story eventually, with filled-in chapters, though it may take years), but what I have so far needs a lot of revision.

A little POV history:
Inkwolf began the first CoS Snape POV thread back in 2003 as she and other “Sevages” found themselves re-writing scenes from the books on an All About Snivellus discussion thread. The original version has been archived at:

http://www.cosforums.com/cosarchive/showthread.php?t=14001

I joined it somewhat late in that first version. Once most of the scenes had been covered from Books 1-5, writers began branching out to Snape scenes that were implied from the books. Version 2, which either began with or included Post-HBP POVs, is still here in The Cloak. Some terrific writers have come and gone over the years.

I like to copy off my favorite POVs and have re-arranged many of them in chronological order. I’ve always thought it would be a great idea to fan publish some sort of anthology of them all, or at least have my own re-telling of the HP series according to Snape. Do join the fun. :argh:

A little POV history:
Inkwolf began the first CoS Snape POV thread back in 2003 as she and other “Sevages” found themselves re-writing scenes from the books on an All About Snivellus discussion thread. The original version has been archived at:

http://www.cosforums.com/cosarchive/showthread.php?t=14001

I joined it somewhat late in that first version. Once most of the scenes had been covered from Books 1-5, writers began branching out to Snape scenes that were implied from the books. Version 2, which either began with or included Post-HBP POVs, is still here in The Cloak. Some terrific writers have come and gone over the years.

I like to copy off my favorite POVs and have re-arranged many of them in chronological order. I’ve always thought it would be a great idea to fan publish some sort of anthology of them all, or at least have my own re-telling of the HP series according to Snape. Do join the fun. :argh:

I definitely will check out that other thread. Wow, you guys go back a long time.

My impulse to write Severus-POV happened fairly recently, post-Deathly Hallows. After finishing it and re-reading the series (I hadn't cracked open a Harry Potter book since the HBP release, and was a bit rusty on the old details), I came to the conclusion that while the books were written about Harry Potter, the center of this story that spans two generations of Voldemort wars is Snape. (Some of my thoughts on why Snape is interesting, having to do with the fatalism of the Harry narrative contrasting the burdens of freedom in the Severus narrative, are here: http://cosforums.com/showpost.php?p=4763372&postcount=943 ) I started wondering what the books would look like if they were written about Severus, and, being home for a few weeks of the end of the summer with not much else to do, I started writing character sketches, scenes, and plans for a Severus-centric plot arc in a notebook.

I discovered cosforums the other day while looking for some piece of reference information online. The Severus character analysis discussions have been enlightening.

I'm just trying to get a bit more writing in today because tomorrow my summer vacation ends and I move back to college. I'm not optimistic about having time to write except over vacations.

Oh, and 4th wall infractions, inside jokes, judicious use of non-sequiturs...personally I'm fond of them in humorous fanfiction, so don't edit the Alan Rickman line out! Of course, my favorite "fanfiction"-genre work is Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which plays in wonderful ways with the boundaries of the Hamlet-world.

I'm completely behind a book or a series being released from Snape's point of view. I've said this on countless occasions that it would be incredibly interesting, and I hope people have put forward the idea of this to Joanne, because it would make a brilliant read...To learn the secrets about the Prince and everything he's been through.

I would definitely prefer to read about Snape than a book from Voldemort's point of view. We know enough about Voldemort, we know all about his past and how callous he is, and I think that if we learned any more about him we might slant towards feeling really sorry for him, and believing that he's not evil, just a seriously misunderstood character, in which he may be...But nonetheless, he's evil and excuses should not be made for such a person (If you can call him that). But, we don't know anything really about Snape, apart from that he was in love with Lily from a very young age and was always bullied by James. I want to know the ins and outs of his story and what pain he went through when he learned that his master had killed the person he loved the most, and his confrontation with Dumbledore where he wanted to join the good side and be the real underdog.
We all want his story. I need his story.

I like to copy off my favorite POVs and have re-arranged many of them in chronological order. I’ve always thought it would be a great idea to fan publish some sort of anthology of them all, or at least have my own re-telling of the HP series according to Snape. Do join the fun. :argh:

Oh how I would love to get my hands on that anthology! :love: Sounds like hours of Snape joy (and I'm sure some sorrow). :D

Oh and I do agree that I would much prefer a Snape POV book by JKR than any othe type of book.

cantabrigian--thanks for the link to your thoughts on the difference between Harry's and Severus's stories. Interesting take. I think for a lot of adults in particular, Snape is the more interesting character.

And don't worry, I'm not going to edit out the AR line... (In fact, I probably won't get around to editing at all until next week)

Oh how I would love to get my hands on that anthology! Sounds like hours of Snape joy (and I'm sure some sorrow).

Wishful thinking on my part as it would likely be impossible to get everyone's permission for something like that. But the Threads are still available. You can always work your way through them and collect your own favorites. I'm guessing there is days and days of Snape joy and angst in them!

After reading all of these POVs I'm starting to wish there was more of Snape in the books. I loved how Snape took everything the Board threw at him and tossed it back with an insult or two. Great job The_Black_Adder, I hope you write more POVs! :)

‘I’ve been waiting years for someone who’ll give me a decent game of poker,’ he muttered, pouring out a generous helping of the drink and handing it to Severus. ‘Cheers,’ he added, holding up his own goblet.

Severus grinned and took a long draught of Firewhiskey. Perhaps life on canvas wouldn’t be so bad after all…

Oh good! He's not going to be stuck with Dumbledore and those blasted sherbet lemons for the next millennium!:tu:

I definitely will check out that other thread. Wow, you guys go back a long time.We do indeed ... I can't believe that was four years ago! *cringes at her early efforts*

Oh good! He's not going to be stuck with Dumbledore and those blasted sherbet lemons for the next millennium!There's a silver lining to every cloud :lol:

I just read Hanging Around. Very nice. I love the conversations in your stories, they're just what the actual character would say I'm sure. Keep it up! :)

Thanks, witchsmart :)

Anyone else with any more? I'm writing another at the moment, but it's a bit angsty and it's making me miserable, so I think I might leave it :lol:

That was bloody brilliant! You need to put this in Flourish and Blotts, I would love to see it!

I would've loved that!

Witchsmart--Thanks! I'm glad you found us here. And Voldemorts 8th, I'm not sure if your praise was meant for mine, or a bit for all of us, but I'll thank you also, just in case.

Here's actually the first POV I wrote after reading DH. The visit from the Board of Governors grew out of a comment to Filch in this.


The Headmaster’s Solution

“This isn’t working, Dumbledore! I can’t be everywhere at once, and I can’t overrule the Carrows too often, or word will get around to my rivals that I’m going soft!”

“You’ll think of something, Severus.”

Snape turned from the portrait of Dumbledore and began pacing the circular office. “It’s all the worse with the students in rebellion. They make it impossible for me to protect them. Why did I get stuck with the Carrows, anyway? Why couldn’t it at least have been Lucius or Avery? At least they would have some sense about it.”

“Tom is keeping his Most Faithful isolated from his natural allies.”

“I mean, really! How do they expect students to write their essays after being strung up by their thumbs?”

Several of the older headmasters gasped at the news of this particular torture. “Why Severus, I do believe you’ve developed the soul of a teacher,” Dumbledore added.

Snape just snorted.

A medieval dressed wizard high up on the wall was unimpressed. “Thumb-stringing…that’s nothing. Now, in my day, we would--“

“We don’t want to hear anymore about your day, Gerbod!” the little dark haired Everard called out. The other headmasters echoed his sentiments.

Headmaster Gerbod huffed indignantly and then went back to sleep.

“Dumbledore’s Army is on the march again,” Snape informed the newest portrait. They keep leaving their Graffiti about in Weasley’s Wall Art Permanent Paint. Filch has a terrible time getting it off.”

The portrait of Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, at least the teachers are going against orders and not referring disciplinary problems to the Carrows.”

“No. But Amycus and Alecto find plenty of victims on their own. They keep Madam Pomfrey busy day and night. I’ve had to hire extra staff. I keep telling them they’re straining my budget, but they just don’t seem to get it!”

Snape continued to pace.

“You know…” Dumbledore’s picture spoke again. “Sometimes when I was trying to find a solution to a problem, I would go down to the kitchens and talk it over with Dobby.”

Snape stopped and looked sidelong, raising an eyebrow. “Dobby…? Dobby the House-Elf? Is there by chance a glitch in your Portraiture Spell matrix, Dumbledore?”

The figure in the painting chuckled once more. “And take a couple of butterbeers with you.”

The big clock struck the curfew hour. Snape returned to his desk and gathered up the parchments he had been working on before getting sidetracked by the conversation, and slid them into a drawer. It was becoming his habit to patrol the halls after hours, hoping to catch rule-breakers before the Carrows could.

“Do you mind my asking what you’ve been working on?”

Snape went to a cabinet the house elves kept stocked with various drinking supplies, of both soft and harder varieties, according to the occupant’s desires. He pulled out two butterbeers and slipped them into the pockets of his robes. Dumbledore’s requests could sound rather odd at times, but over the years, Snape had learned to trust that they always had a purpose.

“I’m trying to get my potion formulas down on parchment. Most of them I haven’t anywhere except in my head. With the influence I have at the Ministry at the moment, I might as well get a potions textbook published to replace that absurdly out of date thing Slughorn is using.”

“There’s always a silver lining. If you can get us some decent textbooks in here, then perhaps it will all have been worth it.”

Snape threw a grimace back to the portrait, as he was already gliding out the door.

*****

Snape walked the dark corridors of Hogwarts as he had hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before. Sadly, his long-time home now felt like a prison to him, as confining and isolating as Azkaban could ever be. He felt it most from the teachers, his former colleagues. While none could be said to have been an actual friend, he respected them, and used to enjoy the inter-House rivalry with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout. When forced to interact with him now, their cold, hard glares branded him the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, and the henchman of Lord Voldemort.

Horace Slughorn was the only one who still spoke genially to him--as if that were a blessing. His former Head of House continually expressed pride at his former student’s achievement, becoming a Slytherin Headmaster of Hogwarts, while avoiding mention of his method of getting there.

Quick footsteps running up behind caused him to swing round, his wand at the ready. Mrs. Norris skittered out of the shadows first with Filch not far behind.

“Headmaster! What are you doing out and about tonight? A man in your position needn’t patrol the corridors anymore. Leave that to me an’ the Carrows.”

“Right… Just feeling a bit peckish. Thought I might go down to the kitchen.”

Filch frowned up at him curiously. He had never known Snape to make nighttime raids on the kitchen. “A good idea, Professor. Yes… Well, Dumbledore’s Army’s at it again, sir. It’s that Longbottom, with the Weasley and Lovegood girls. I know it is.”

“You won’t likely catch them, but in the event that you do, take them up to my office,” Snape directed.

“Not to the Carrows, sir?”

Snape bristled. “Did I tell you to take them to the Carrows, Filch?!” he spoke low and dangerously.

“No sir. Your office, sir…”

Snape turned.

“Ah…Professor--?”

“Yes, Filch. What is it?!” he snapped impatiently.

“Well, sir, I was just wonderin’…If…er…well…I mean…”

As Filch sputtered, his mind was so easily legilimized, Snape could practically have done it with one eye closed. “I told the Board of Governors you were as indispensable to the running of Hogwarts as the house-elves. That seems to have satisfied them. For now.” Actually, Snape had told the Death Eater dominated Board of Governors that he looked upon the Squib Caretaker “like a house elf”, but what was one more lie.

“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind, sir. You see, it inn’t me so much I’m worried about, but if anythin’ should happen to me…”

Snape sighed, glancing down at the lamplike eyes. He replied much more softly. “Yes, Argus, if…it becomes necessary, I will find someone to take care of your cat.”

“Thank you, Professor! Oh, thank you, sir! You don’t know what this means to me, sir…” The old man pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.

Snape turned and fled before Filch’s onslaught of gratitude could continue any longer. At this rate, he’d never get to the kitchen. Going down the stairs, he instinctively skipped the disappearing step. The moment reminded him of those many times when he’d had to free Longbottom from it. He marveled at how the inept, nervous boy had grown into such a confident young man. His activities were reckless, and they made his job far more difficult, but there was a part of him that had to admire the open, fearless defiance.

Ginevra Weasley was another matter. He wondered why it was Draco hadn’t given her up to the Dark Lord. Surely he had seen her pairing off with Potter the end of last year? It would be a simple matter to take the girl hostage and wait for the boy with the “saving thing” to come rescue her. Of course, prior to Draco learning Occlumency, Snape had been surprised at the inordinate number of memories of the redhead in Draco’s own mind. Something about those redheads...

Lastly, Snape didn’t know what to make of Luna Lovegood. Punishments didn’t seem to leave too much impression upon the girl. He suspected she might have aptitude for Altered States Magic.

He reached the basement and the corridor full of colorful paintings of food. Raising his wand and looking up and down the corridor, he stopped before the painting of fruit in a silver bowl. He tickled the green pear, which squirmed away from his thin finger and turned into a green handle. Pulling on it, the large painting swung outward and he stepped into the Hogwarts expansive kitchen complex.

Inside, a good many of the hundred-some house elves were making preparations to begin their cleaning routines for the night. Several elves turned at his entrance. They wore little tea cozies with the Hogwarts emblem, tied up like togas. Trotting over to him, they bowed and curtsied, two of them sticking out their tongues as they did so.

“How can we be of service, Headmaster?” the leader asked, although without much enthusiasm.

Several more appeared then, offering a tray full of broken biscuits and cold tea. Snape shot them a sour look and shooed them away.

“Where’s Dobby?” he asked of the first.

The little elf with long thin nose and ears and large round green eyes came running across the kitchen, pushing other elves out of the way. “Headmaster Snape! Come to see Dobby? This is such a great honor! The headmaster of Hogwarts coming to see Dobby!”

A tall, chubby house elf made the sound of a raspberry and Dobby rounded on him. “Hogwarts house elves may express their opinions of their masters, but you will not disrespect the headmaster in front of Dobby!”

“We liked Dumbledore!” cried the other elf and made another raspberry towards Snape.

Dobby then leapt upon the offender, punching and kicking the other. “You will not disrespect the headmaster of Hogwarts!” he cried.

Snape’s dark eyes frowned down upon the wrestling elves. Peeves suddenly appeared out of nowhere, “Elf fight! Bitey, bitey, kicky, scratchy!” One look at Snape’s dark scowl, however, and Peeves was gone again.

The wizard’s dark form over-shadowed the two combatants, and his long slender hand grabbed Dobby by the back of his shrunken sweater, lifting him easily out of the scuffle. The little elf continued to swing furiously at the air.

“Which way to your quarters?” Snape inquired. At that, Dobby ceased swinging and kicking and pointed the way. Snape carried him like a lantern to a narrow corridor off the huge kitchen to numerous elfen living cubicles. Dobby indicated the location of his own. Snape had to bend low to go inside the small cell, furnitured with nothing but a small bed of old and torn discarded cushions. An odd collection of hats and socks lay in a neat little pile alongside. There was nowhere to sit, so Snape conjured himself a chair. He applied Mufilato to the door and then turned his dark eyes upon the creature before him.

“So,” Snape drawled as Dobby sat on a cushion of his bed, “you do not loathe me as do the others.”

“No-- Dobby is a free elf. Dobby works at Hogwarts because Dobby likes to.”

“Dobby works at Hogwarts because we are the only ones idiotic enough to pay you-- Didn’t you like Dumbledore--?”

“Of course Dobby liked Headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a great and good wizard. Dobby was proud to keep Dumbledore’s secrets. Dobby is proud to keep Headmaster Snape’s secrets as well.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Dumbledore told Dobby no matter what happened, Dobby must trust Severus Snape.”

The dark wizard’s brow raised and he looked off, knowing this is what Dumbledore had sent him here to learn. Nevertheless, the ludicrousness of his situation, sitting in this cramped cell, was overwhelming.

Snape sighed. “Look at me. How did I come to this? Reduced to confiding in house elves and talking pictures.”

“Oh, but Professor, you are a great wizard!” Dobby reassured him. “The Headmaster of Hogwarts!”

“The Headmaster of Hogwarts...” There was a time when that position would have been a thing of pride to him, the culmination of his highest ambitions. But not anymore. He looked down into the sincere green eyes of the elf before him. Too large and round, as Mrs. Norris’s were too small. He suddenly realized how much he missed looking at that certain face, the hated face that held captive her eyes. He would give anything just to be a child again.

Shaking off the stupidity of his digression, he began considering the various abilities of the magical house-elf. Reaching into his robes, Snape drew out the bottles of butterbeer and tossed one to the elf. “I do have a secret, but you must promise never to tell anyone, particularly my successor, should something untimely befall me.”

Dobby clung to the bottle as though it were a holy talisman. “Dobby will throw himself into a cage of poisonous snakes if Dobby does not keep Headmaster Snape’s secret!”

“Very well,” Snape murmured, twisting off the bottlecap and taking a swig of the cold liquid. The aftertaste was sweet. “I want to protect the students from the Carrows and their rather…extreme forms of discipline, but I don’t want the Carrows…or the students…or the other teachers to know I am protecting them. Do you think you would be able to watch them, unseen, and inform me when one or both have encountered a rule-breaker?”

“Yes. Dobby would be proud to help Headmaster Snape protect the students of Hogwarts from the bad, dark wizards!”

Snape was already foreseeing the problems. “Of course, there are two of them. Ideally, we should have two tails, one on each, and others to locate rule-breakers and inform me of their whereabouts. I don’t suppose Winky would be up to the job?” he inquired without hope.

“Winky is in rehab at the moment, but Headmaster Snape has more than a hundred house-elves at his service!”

“House elves who I cannot trust, Dobby.”

“Severus Snape knows little of house elves, Dobby thinks.”

Snape bristled to be reminded of his poor upbringing, where a house elf was not a luxury. “How dare you!” he cried, rising from his chair and smacking his head on the low ceiling.

Dobby cowered. “Dobby thinks only that Headmaster Snape must have forgotten, the Hogwarts house elves will obey Headmaster Snape and keep his secrets, even if they don’t like their master, even if they don’t know what Dobby knows.”

Snape sat slowly back down in the chair, rubbing the top of his head. Perhaps…with the right orders given…besides which, Death Eaters would likely never think to question the activities of the Hogwarts house elves, who were considered beneath their notice. His black eyes were already beginning to glitter, considering the small army he suddenly realized he had at his command. He took another drink of butterbeer, growing excited by the possibilities.

“Very well. We’ll organize corridor watches, coordinated in between food preparation. Food preparation…” Snape sat forward at the edge of his seat, his long finger tapping his thin lips as he spoke. Ideas tumbling forth now as though under a Replication spell. “We can put Strengthening Solution, Pain Reduction Potions and so forth in the meals. Perhaps target certain students in particular…like…Dumbledore’s Army…”

“Headmaster Snape has many good ideas, like Headmaster Dumbledore!”

Snape glanced down, but ignored the comparison. “I will draw up a list of useful potions, and get you some vats. Madam Pomfrey may make notice of some of the effects, but I can distract her should that arise. You, Dobby will be in charge.”

Dobby’s eyes went wider still. He ran over and clung to the wizard's pant leg, thanking him in between great sobs, wiping his watery eyes and dripping nose on the hanging robes.

Repulsed by the Filch-like elf, Snape arose and did away with the chair, opened the door and walked back out to the kitchen, with Dobby still riding on his leg.

Reaching the cavernous kitchen area, Snape finally shook off his appreciative co-conspirator, and then cleared his throat. “Hogwarts house-elves assemble!” the headmaster ordered.

Crack! thundered throughout the cavernous kitchen again and again and again, until all hundred and more house elves filled the kitchen, from wall to wall, some standing upon the tables and benches that mirrored the four tables in the Great Hall above. They waited expectantly for Snape to speak, some nevertheless sticking out their tongues, and others making raspberries and other rude sounds.

“Silence!” Snape commanded and the room fell quiet. Headmaster Snape looked out over the very small army that was his.

“First things first. Headmaster Dumbledore perhaps did not mind if you called him a barmy old codger or said or did other things, but you will notice that I am not him. You will not speak disrespectfully of me, or make disrespectful faces or noises...or hand gestures,” he added pointedly to an elf in the first row that was about to do something obscene.

Clearly disappointed, all of the elves put their hands down and their little elf tongues back in their faces.

“Now then, what I’m about to tell you, you will not divulge to anyone: not to the Carrows, the teachers, Caretaker Filch, the students, the ghosts, nor to anyone else either inside or outside of Hogwarts. You will not speak of my instructions or your activities to any of my successors. Is that clear?”

A hundred and more elf heads with wobbly ears bobbed up and down.

“Well spoken, Headmaster,” Dobby praised the loophole-proof language of the secrecy command.

Snape glanced over at the free elf, hoping there wasn't going to be another display of elfen emotion. His black eyes turned back to his assembled troops. “All right then. Now that I have your attention, this is what we are going to do…”

“I’m trying to get my potion formulas down on parchment. Most of them I haven’t anywhere except in my head. With the influence I have at the Ministry at the moment, I might as well get a potions textbook published to replace that absurdly out of date thing Slughorn is using.”I really hope he got that book published :(

Wonderful, the Black Adder! I love the idea of Snape's miniature army :D

A highly entertaining thread, full of wit and cleverness and many cunning plans. Does anyone suppose that there could be a Hogwart's house elf called Baldrick?

May all of Snape's house-elves keep all of you well supplied in parchment and quills. :clap:

I would have absolutely loved to see an extra chapter in the book, one about Snape and what's happening at Hogwarts. Maybe it could've been the Gryffindor Sword scene?

:welcome: to Snape’s POV, Eye of Newt and Deathly721! Thanks for the comments!

I really hope he got that book published

Wonderful, the Black Adder! I love the idea of Snape's miniature army

Thanks, True heir. I was trying to imagine how Snape might have gone about protecting the students, since he couldn’t overrule the Carrows all the time or be everywhere, and the idea of this headmaster “resource” came to mind. I love the image of Snape standing at the head of a room full of little obedient house elves...

And yes, it bothered me that his old potions book with all of his improvements went up in the fire. What a loss…

A highly entertaining thread, full of wit and cleverness and many cunning plans. Does anyone suppose that there could be a Hogwart's house elf called Baldrick?

Baldrick would definitely be a good name for a house elf. :lol:

I just found this thread (I'm a little behind apparently) I wondered if there would be a post DH version of my favorite thread. I see it has been a while since anyone has posted anything. I'm no writer, but I do love to read the great stories that are generated here. I guess I'll keep checking back.

Hey everyone! I finally found out where this thread was again! I never got a chance to read The Headmaster's Solution, so here's my feedback on it:

“Dumbledore’s Army is on the march again,” Snape informed the newest portrait. They keep leaving their Graffiti about in Weasley’s Wall Art Permanent Paint. Filch has a terrible time getting it off.”

Yes! Go Dumbledore's Army! :clap: I can imagine the sort of things they would put on the wall in permanent paint. :lol:

Ginevra Weasley was another matter. He wondered why it was Draco hadn’t given her up to the Dark Lord. Surely he had seen her pairing off with Potter the end of last year? It would be a simple matter to take the girl hostage and wait for the boy with the “saving thing” to come rescue her. Of course, prior to Draco learning Occlumency, Snape had been surprised at the inordinate number of memories of the redhead in Draco’s own mind. Something about those redheads...


Hmm, do I detect a hint of care and affection for a Weasley here? :love:

Lastly, Snape didn’t know what to make of Luna Lovegood. Punishments didn’t seem to leave too much impression upon the girl. He suspected she might have aptitude for Altered States Magic.

Ha, I can just imagine Luna getting detention for mention snorkaks during class . . . :lol:

“Winky is in rehab at the moment, but Headmaster Snape has more than a hundred house-elves at his service!”


:rotfl:

A very enjoyable read! I really like how Snape was trying so hard to help the students, it shows that he really does care about their welfare. I really missed this thread, I hope new short stories will be posted soon! :)

What a great thread. :tu:


Ginevra Weasley was another matter. He wondered why it was Draco hadn’t given her up to the Dark Lord. Surely he had seen her pairing off with Potter the end of last year? It would be a simple matter to take the girl hostage and wait for the boy with the “saving thing” to come rescue her. Of course, prior to Draco learning Occlumency, Snape had been surprised at the inordinate number of memories of the redhead in Draco’s own mind. Something about those redheads...

Heh. You know, I always imagine that Ginny would have been one of the very few students who would not have been that scared of Snape. :cool: And given the red hair, he might have harboured a soft spot for the girl (in an avuncular way, people!!) although he would die rather than admit it. :D :)

Lastly, Snape didn’t know what to make of Luna Lovegood. Punishments didn’t seem to leave too much impression upon the girl. He suspected she might have aptitude for Altered States Magic.

I can imagine even Severus being stumped by Planet Luna. :lol: I just love Luna. :lol:

He looked down into the sincere green eyes of the elf before him. Too large and round, as Mrs. Norris’s were too small. He suddenly realized how much he missed looking at that certain face, the hated face that held captive her eyes. He would give anything just to be a child again.

Wah, Severus. :( The angst, it kills me!

I loved the house-elves in this. :D Blowing raspberries. :lol: And, yep, Sev can trust the little blighters. :tu:

Sadly enough I've never read the entire Return to Hogwarts (I skipped right down to Happy Birthday, Lord Voldemort, what can I say, the title grabbed me :lol:). However now I am reading it and I'm sure it will be great.

EDIT: I was right! Another amazing story. Severus really is an astounding actor. I can't believe he faced McGonagall without some back up, say, three or four Death Eaters! :lol: And the way you portrayed the characters was very true to the books. :agree: Very nice zgirnius, I hope you publish more! :)

Sadly enough I've never read the entire Return to Hogwarts (I skipped right down to Happy Birthday, Lord Voldemort, what can I say, the title grabbed me :lol:). However now I am reading it and I'm sure it will be great.

EDIT: I was right! Another amazing story. Severus really is an astounding actor. I can't believe he faced McGonagall without some back up, say, three or four Death Eaters! :lol: And the way you portrayed the characters was very true to the books. :agree: Very nice zgirnius, I hope you publish more! :)

Thanks, witchsmart! I am currently writing a longer story about Snape, set in the time of OotP-HBP, but using the knowledge we gained in Book 7. There is a link to the first 4 chapters in my signature. ("A Tangled Web").

Also - "Return to Hogwarts" was read on FictionAlley's podcast - there is a link to that podcast in my sig as well.

Happy New Year, all! :D

Oh it's good to find this thread again. I've only been lurking the forums the last few months, not posting much, but I remember that this was always one of my favorite threads. I only posted one POV in one of them, think it was post-HBP, a chapter from my (still unfinished) fanfic, lol. I think I may try to write up some more, though all of the ones are already so good o.o

What do you all think of my new signature? (Modeled after true_heir_of_slyth's POV, Happy Birthday, Lord Voldemort!)

witchsmart, your sig is awesome! :lol:

I felt sad watching this thread languish at the bottom of my Pensieve...so I'm posting something.

It is an excerpt from Ch. 9 of my fic, "A Tangled Web", but works as a self-contained retelling of a scene from "The Prince's Tale" in DH.

"The Ring"

Severus Snape sat at his desk in his dungeon office. He yawned as he double-checked his sums on the budget for replacement Potions ingredients that he wanted to submit to Professor McGonagall the following morning. He’d inventoried his supply cabinets that day, owing to Dumbledore’s request he stay around.

The Headmaster wanted to meet with him, after an errand, the nature of which he had obviously been at pains to conceal, Severus recalled. He did not mind staying at Hogwarts, since the alternative would have been to spend the night at home with his unwanted guest. It was the mystery that irritated him. If the matter could have no conceivable connection to their meeting, why mention it? And if on the contrary it did…how did the old man expect him to be of service while leaving him in the dark?

Suddenly, behind him, he heard the Headmaster, speaking in a strained voice, “Severus!”

Rising and turning about in alarm, he saw the silvery Phoenix Patronus of Dumbledore. The Headmaster had indicated he would stop by upon his return, but Severus had expected this would involve meeting in person.

“I’m back. I need you…my office,” the familiar voice croaked.

The unnatural timbre of the messenger’s voice suggested Dumbledore needed his help urgently. Severus reached for the tin of Floo powder above the fireplace in his office and grabbed a handful.

“The Headmaster’s Office!” he spoke clearly, as he threw the powder in and stepped into the green flames that shot up in the empty fireplace.

Severus spun out of the fireplace into the Headmaster’s office, and the green flames winked out behind him as he steadied himself. Before him, he saw the back of the Headmaster’s thronelike chair, and Dumbledore himself, his body slumped over the armrest so that his right arm dangled freely.

“Headmaster!” he said, but received no response.

His heart in his throat, Severus hurried around the chair, horrified to behold the unnatural, waxy pallor of the Headmaster’s face and his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. Quickly and efficiently, he reached for Dumbledore’s neck and felt for his pulse, while his eyes scanned Dumbledore’s body, seeking an explanation for his condition.

The relief Severus felt at finding a pulse, however weak and slow, changed rapidly to dismay at the sight of Albus’s ring finger. It was blackened and burned, and as Severus focused his attention on this alarming sight, he saw tendrils of darkness creeping into the hand and other fingers.

To buy time, he whipped out his wand and cast a quick "Ennervate!” He was gratified to see Albus stir ever so slightly.

A gold ring he had never seen before, with a massive, cracked black stone set in it, lay before Dumbledore’s body on the desk. A sword encrusted with rubies lay beside it.
Severus cast revealing spells on the two objects. The ring, as the blackened ring finger had led him to suspect, was the vector of a powerful curse, a curse that defied his attempts to identify its precise nature. He judged it might be a novel curse invented specifically for the protection of this artifact. The ruby-encrusted sword, though clearly also a magical artifact of some power, he judged not relevant to his immediate problem. Nor, he told himself firmly, was the question that intruded forcibly on his consciousness, of why Albus had taken the risk of wearing the cursed ring in the first place.

After making a hasty mental inventory of his store of potions, Severus flicked his wand and summoned the potion he judged best-suited to the nature of the curse and the symptoms he had observed. While he waited for its arrival, he knelt on the floor beside the headmaster and began to mutter countercurses, seeking to reverse the spread of the unknown curse. The black tendrils persisted in their incursions, as Severus tried every counterspell he could dredge from his memory, with little success. The pulse in the wrist held by the fingers of his left hand remained weak and slow, and the Headmaster’s entire hand was turning black.

As the bottle of glowing golden potion floated into the room, Severus pointed his wand instead at Dumbledore’s wrist, above the farthest incursion of the curse damage, and began to mutter a potent blocking spell, that should prevent the curse from spreading further. He set Dumbledore’s hand down carefully on the armrest to free his left hand, and plucked the little bottle out of the air, all the while continuing his spell work with his wand hand. He forced the little crystal stopper out of the bottle with his left thumb, so that it fell to the floor and shattered with a musical tinkle that Severus ignored. He pushed the Headmaster’s head back to open his mouth and poured the thick golden potion down Albus’s throat, continuing to murmur the blocking spell.

Severus waited anxiously for a few moments. Then his patient’s eyes opened, and color began creeping back into his face.

“Why,” the question he had forced to the back of his mind as he concentrated on the task at hand burst out of him, “why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?”

Albus grimaced, remembering his recent experience in the Gaunt house.

“I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…”

Even Severus could tell that it was not the ring’s aesthetic qualities that had formed the basis of the temptation.

“Tempted by what?” he demanded.

A fair question, Albus allowed, but the secret of the Hallows was not one he would entrust to a man he sent to face Voldemort on a regular basis. He did not answer.

“It is a miracle you managed to return here!” Severus exclaimed, increasingly irritated at the lack of response. Did Albus not understand how fortunate he was to have survived the consequences of this ‘temptation’? “That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being-”

The Headmaster raised his blackened, useless hand and examined it dispassionately. It was as Severus said – the curse was contained for some short time at least. He had avoided the worst-case scenario he had imagined. He would have time to pass on his knowledge of the Horcruxes.

“You have done very well, Severus,” Albus said. He kept his voice calm as he asked the question that would determine how well he might prepare Harry before the end. “How long do you think I have?”

Severus thought for a moment, weighing what he knew of such curses against the likely efficacy of the treatment he had provided. He had done well, he recognized, to accomplish as much as he had. This did nothing to relieve the sense of inadequacy that the knowledge of his failure engendered, for Albus faced a death sentence. The curse was too powerful, he had started too late, and there was nothing he could now do to cure it.

“I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually; it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.” He was inwardly pleased to have matched Albus’s conversational tone.

Albus smiled at him, unable to hide entirely his relief at the news. He would have time to tell Harry of the Horcruxes properly, then. He could pass on to him all he had learned, and guide him to an independent understanding of the problem.

“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus,” Albus said, and knew it for the simple truth as he spoke.

“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” said Severus. The compliment had brought his anger back to the surface. If he was so bleeding useful to have around, why had Dumbledore not sought his help immediately, when it would have done the most good? Why had he not been given advance notice that he might need to treat an injury of this nature? He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”

“Something like that...I was delirious, no doubt….” Albus replied evasively.

The keen observation and logical mind that made Severus a spymaster’s dream had its price when it came to keeping his own secrets. It was time to change the subject, Albus decided. The certainty of his own death within the year altered his view of another problem. He’d been considering, since his last conversation with Severus, how best to rescue Draco Malfoy, while retaining Severus in Voldemort’s favor and remaining alive at the same time.

Remaining alive and undefeated, only to die from a curse cast by Lord Voldemort, however, would be nothing less than a disaster now. It would cause the Elder Wand to transfer its loyalty to Voldemort, which might destroy the frail hope of survival for Harry that Albus had clung to ever since Voldemort had dared to take Harry’s blood for his reborn body.

He sat up in his chair, and Severus could see the effort cost him, but he continued in a casual tone, “Well, really, that makes matters much more straightforward.”

Severus looked at him, uncomprehending. Certainly, Dumbledore contracting a fatal curse did wonders for simplifying everyone’s life. He kept this sarcastic observation to himself, however.

“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me,” Albus clarified. “His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”

Severus sat down in the guest chair across from the Headmaster’s desk, as he had done so often in the past five years. He wanted to say more about the hand, but Albus stopped him with a gesture. Scowling, Severus explained instead, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”

“In short, the boy has a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. He wanted to be sure that he understood the situation fully before putting his solution before Severus. “Now, I would have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”

Severus thought back to his recent conversation with the Dark Lord, about “other measures”. There could be little doubt.

“That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan,” he confirmed.

“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked.

“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes,” Severus replied. With both elements of his plan accomplished, with Dumbledore gone and the Ministry under his control, the Dark Lord would be able to do as he wished at Hogwarts, Severus reflected with dismay.

“And if it does fall into his grasp,” said Dumbledore casually, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?”

Severus nodded stiffly. He would, of course, but as Head of Slytherin, he was best situated to protect those students who would likely need it least.

“Good,” Albus said, pleased at Severus’s quick agreement. “Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you-”

“-much less since his father has lost favor,” Severus interrupted, remembering his conversation with the boy on the final Sunday of the school term. “Draco blames me; he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”

“All the same, try,” Albus said. “I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.”

Severus raised his eyebrows in disbelief and asked in a sardonic tone, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”

“Certainly not. You must kill me,” Albus replied. For, barring a fortunate accident or illness on which he dared not rest his hopes, a death he arranged was the only way that remained for him to die undefeated, and extinguish the threat the wand posed to Harry.

Severus looked across the desk at the man whose life he had just saved, if only for a year. To take it away again… the idea was unthinkable. Unbearable. A silence fell, interrupted only by the clicking of Fawkes’s beak. It was ridiculous for him even to have to respond to such a suggestion, Severus fumed inwardly, but Albus continued to regard him calmly, as though he had made a perfectly reasonable request.

“Would you like me to do it now?” asked Severus finally, his voice heavy with irony. “Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”

“Oh, not quite yet,” said Albus with a smile. He had rather suspected Severus would not jump on the idea. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, a reminder of the changed circumstances, before continuing, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”

“If you don’t mind dying,” said Severus roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”

“The boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” Dumbledore explained. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?” Severus blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth in his distress before his mind could assemble the words to phrase a more refined objection. Albus knew the full enormity of his transgressions, knew he was no innocent. Even so, how could he so casually ask a murder of him?

“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore. “I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”

Albus’s tone was light, but his blue eyes regarded Severus intently. The picture these words painted in his mind was all too credible, and with the details his memory could supply, it was too horrible to contemplate. It was not precisely a murder that Albus was asking of him, then, though it would have all the semblance of one. Could he cast the Killing Curse, accept the favor of the Dark Lord, and face the scorn of all who had not yet succumbed to the Dark Lord? This last was no more than he deserved, for the blood he had on his hands, Severus reminded himself bitterly. Yet Albus had hired him, had enlisted him to protect Potter, and had kept his secret…. He gave another curt nod. He would do it.

“Thank you, Severus…” Albus said quietly, and leaned his head back against his chair. He felt abruptly a weariness beyond measure, from which even the immense relief he felt at having avoided the complete ruin of all his plans could not buoy him.

Severus rose quickly from his chair and approached, wand drawn, to check on the condition of the arm. The barrier was in place and showed no deterioration, he ascertained quickly. The Headmaster’s sudden weakness must be due to fatigue after a long day, exacerbated by the effects of the curse. He summoned a potion for dreamless sleep from his office.

Albus submitted to this treatment, content to let his mind drift as Severus examined him. He drank the potion Severus offered him without argument, and agreed he would be getting himself to bed immediately. The further details of his revised plans, he could work out later. Severus had given him the time he needed.

:clap: That was a treat to read, Zara!

true_heir_of_slyth :

Wow ! That is amazing !! And I'm so totally going to read your Voyage with Vampires :love:

Zgirnius has directed me here to post a small story I showed some people in the Election Group- so I'll post the little oneshot, and we can revive the Snape love! ;)

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Last Moments

It’s hard for me to explain it, even when I know that nobody can see. It’s not some angst ridden story of horror and hatred- it’s a story about love, and how easily I was overcome by it- to my detriment, and to my eternal regret.

A whole lifetime passes in a blur and I find myself here. Here and now, in what I suspect are my final moments on this earth. I won’t lie, I’m absolutely terrified. I know that he can see it in my face- but he can’t see it in my head, I’ve made sure of that.

There’s no way for him to know, and yet he seems to have some inkling, some idea, some thought that allows him to guess- correctly- what’s been happening behind his back. All I can think to do is beg, but I know that’s getting me nowhere. It’s like an out of body experience, something vague and forgotten, blurred lines and hurt, no matter how hard I try to think otherwise.

It’s almost over now, I know. I see that... monster coming toward me. I wish I could have changed it all. Wish I could have gone back, and just told her I loved her. Maybe I wouldn’t have taken such a sour path and made so many mistakes. You have no idea what it’s like to regret almost 40 years of a life half lived. I hated it, every last second.

So why am I scared to leave it now, when it doesn’t matter anymore?

I thought I would go peacefully, quietly, alone and forgotten. I can feel something warm on my neck and face. I’m not sure why he’s walking away. Am I to be left here to die like this? Coward! Come back and finish what you started!!! Come back and-

Someone else is here. I jolt. Wait. Don’t die yet, not now, wait. I can still pass it on. Come here.

Come here! I can still do my work! Take it, just take it! Take it and leave!!! Leave me to die alone! I don’t want to see your face here!

Or do I? Not your face- but hers. Not your eyes... Her eyes.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look..

:upset:

Very nice, vampiricduck! :tu:

I'll echo what I said in the group, which went something like this: Wow. Very well done, vampiricduck!

Stop crying!!! Stop it!! :D

:huggles: for zgirnius!!!

And thanks to you both- I never knew this thread was here! I might give a shot at something else for here too. :)

Beautiful Aisling!:clap:

Wonderfully written..makes me feel so sad for him...

Simply lovely!

VampiricDuck, that was just simply beautiful! <sniff...sniff> :sad:

I love it, Ducky!

And it's nice to see the resurrection of this thread, too. We need more of Snape's Point of View in the world. :)

Wow - I'm glad I found this thread! :D

Return to Hogwarts by zgirnius

Fantastic insight into what could have been going through Snape's actions, feelings and motivation on his return to Hogwarts. I think you really captured his attempts at protection, all the while keeping his cover.

Hanging Around by true_heir_of_slyth

Excellent, a delightful story.

Happy Birthday, Lord Voldemort! by true_heir_of_slyth

Difficult to imagine, but very funny. And Lucius worrying about the state of his Manor during the party was amusing.

The Visit by The Black Adder

Wonderful, I really liked how you wrote Snape's actions, speech and his snark. Also, the exchange between Snape and Lucius was very good and full of feeling.

The Headmaster’s Solution by The Black Adder

It's such a shame the HBP's improved potions was destroyed. He had an amazingly intelligent, sharp and creative mind, what a loss. It would be nice to think he left those improvements written down somewhere as an adult, as well as teaching them directly to each generation of students.

Dobby was great!

The Ring by by zgirnius

I've read this one before, but I do love the way you write emotions and physical descriptions, very captivating.

Last Moments by vampiricduck

Very bittersweet, very nicely done.

‘What?’ Severus called. He had no fear of waking the portraits around him: most of them were so deaf that even the battle of Hogwarts had nearly passed them by without notice.



:rotfl::rotfl::rotfl::rotfl:

I know I'm a little late with the input, but I enjoyed your story very very much. I also felt there was no closure for Severus, so this one really made my day:p.

I love the stories! But, I can't write myself. So, I will just read the postings when I can!Thanks everyone for writing!

Hiya, I thought I'd share the latest chapter of The Silver Thread as I think it's one of the few chapters that works as a stand alone piece, and the AU nature of the story is fairly irrelivent here. In the story it takes place in June 1978, but it could be any time between the end of May 1978 and the time he goes to Dumbledore.

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He’d just been taking off his mask and cloak when it happened.

It was such a small thing. It was a tiny moment in time; that’s all it was, but it was one of those moments that stretched and distorted until it towered over him, blocking out everything else.

He was still jarred from seeing his father staring at him from across the hallway when Lucius’ voice cut through the haze.

Severus stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before he realised what had been said. All he wanted to do was run out into the clear crisp air again – let it freeze out the panic that he could feel boiling up inside, but that was hardly an option, so he murmured a delay, motioning towards the bathroom.

Whatever Lucius had said in reply disappeared in the void that now filled Severus’ head. He went to the bathroom and mechanically locked the door, moved to the sink and turned on the cold tap, proceeding to douse his face in water that would never be cold enough. He looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and there it was again – his father’s face looked back at him. The expression had changed now. It had been full of cold, barely suppressed fury. Now it had that empty defeated look, which always followed the rages. It was as if at any moment he would turn to his mother and start to beg for forgiveness, promise never to do it again, but he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t berated or beaten his mother – it was never her face he saw. They, the mudbloods and blood traitors, never looked like her, not to him.

Then he understood. That last jigsaw piece just fell into place, and he rushed to the toilet and vomited.

His guts retched as he recognized the person he became beneath his Death Eater mask. The thought left his mind almost blank with horror. He couldn’t understand how it had happened, how he had failed to notice that everything he felt during the raids he had read a thousand times on his father’s face. He wondered what he’d see if he got up and looked at his reflection again.

Cautiously he rose and turned to look in the mirror again. Fear caught on every step as he moved closer to the mirror until, hands resting on the sink’s edge, he leaned forward, his nose mere inches away from the glass. His dark eyes darted over the reflection, taking in the pale skin, the spark of fear in eyes that seemed ready to brim over with water. It was his father’s face no longer, and he wondered if this was how he had looked those nights when he had laid in bed, listening to the shouting downstairs. He recalled the time he had crept down the steep steps and sat on the bottom of the stairs, his ear pressed against the living room door, until … (what?). The thought made his mouth water again as his stomach seethed.

He paused, eyes closed, and took a deep breath.

In his mind’s eye, however, the scene continued. The shouting was interrupted by a loud thud, as if a sack had been dropped. Silence followed for a moment that stretched on into infinity, until it was shattered by the bark of his father’s voice. “Get up!” His mind censored the words that followed even now. Even with all the remoteness and cold distance, he couldn’t bring himself to hear the cruel words his father used to berate his mother, but he could remember the sob that followed a sharp slapping noise. He remembered the way it had broken through his frozen mind. It still seemed, even though he knew that he had risen and opened the door to run the distance to his mother at the other side of the room, as if he had apparated to her. How he had thought he could help still baffled him. He had been nine, and a small nine-year-old, at that. His father had towered over his mother, let alone him, but somehow he had sprung at the man, determined to pull him off his mother. It had ended quickly. His father had thrown him off, and in the fall he had hit the back of his head against the table’s edge. His mother had begged him to go upstairs, to go back to bed. So he had done as she asked and gone away, abandoned her. In the morning the bloodstain on the table was gone, but his pillow bore a dark brown and red stain where blood had soaked into it through the night. His hand reflexively reached up and felt the bump that remained the only testament to that night; it was still there. Lily had seen it the next day and scolded him for not seeing a doctor. A smile caught his lips for the briefest moment as he remembered her marching him back to her house, telling her mum that he had fallen from a tree. When her mum had cleaned the cut, it had stung, but Lily had held his hand, and somehow that had made it different, better. He had known that he was not in danger as her fingers had gripped his hand.

He sighed, annoyed at his indulging such sentimentality, and looked at himself coldly in the mirror again. The shadow of his father still lingered around the reflection. There was nothing to be done about it; no one to hold his hand anymore. For a second Sal flashed through his mind, bringing a snort of derision at the bitter irony. He thanked the Malfoys’ delicate sensibilities for the silencing charm on the bathroom as he flushed the toilet and then rinsed his mouth out, dried his face and left the solitude of the bathroom, ready to face Lucius and any other members of group that had come back to the Manor. He felt the old pretence fall over him; it was like being a child again. He’d mastered a multitude of different ways to stop teachers noticing, or at least stop them interfering, and he slid back into using them with alarming ease.

As he entered the library, Lucius handed him a glass of firewhisky, and Severus knocked it back, glad of the way it burnt his throat and washed away the taste of bile bringing him a little way back to himself. Then he looked at the glass, a large crystal cut tumbler that split the light that fell through it and left tiny rainbows scattered round it. As he looked at the breaking light casting patterns, he realised that he couldn’t remember when he’d started drinking. He felt lost, as if the ground had shifted under his feet and left him stranded in an alien landscape. He thought back to when he was nine and had first met the rest of the Evans family. The nagging doubts he had that other people’s lives were not as hard as his were confirmed that day. He’d gone home with a full stomach and a pack lunch--Mrs Evans had taken pity on him--and then seen his father sprawled across the living room half on, half off, the sofa, unconscious; not sleeping but passed out drunk. He’d sworn that evening that he would never drink.