Work Text:
Severus was in considerable pain, throat torn out and venom in his veins, but Harry Potter had his memories—and that was enough.
He did not have to concern himself with the rest; he had already done his part.
Oblivion was calling, and Severus allowed himself to be taken.
***
It was not meant to be so, it seemed, as Severus found himself decades in the past.
He doesn’t plan to change anything, but plans have a way of forming regardless.
It goes like this: a butterfly flaps its wings, and a tornado sets off on the other side of the world.
Well. Not quite.
It goes like this: James Potter sees Severus Snape quickly deboarding the Hogwarts Express when the train is due to leave in ten minutes and decides that it is suspicious behavior he needs to investigate. He uses a family heirloom—his Invisibility Cloak—to follow behind, but it is a crowded platform, and there are eyes everywhere.
Bellatrix Black sees an opportunity, and a plot is set into motion.
***
James wakes in a cell next to Snivellus Snape of all people.
Snape was already awake and barely spares James a glance when he glares at the other boy. James is offended at being rebuffed, especially when Snape probably had something to do with whatever this was, but he is distracted when he realizes his Cloak is missing. So is his wand.
“What did you do?” James demands.
Snape raises an eyebrow. “What did I do?”
James’s following retort is stopped by this confusion at Snape’s rather…muted reaction. It is strange for Snape to be this calm; considering their current situation, it is especially suspicious.
He’s just…sitting there, back against the wall of this grimy cell; almost tranquil.
It gives the impression that Snape is in control in this situation, and given they are behind bars in an unknown location, James thinks that is far from the truth.
So, why is Snape acting this way?
There’s a noise just outside the bars—an amused, hated laugh—and when James whips his head over to look, there’s a shimmer in the air as a cloak—his Cloak!—comes into view, unveiling the person beneath it. Bellatrix Black.
James looks between Snape and Bellatrix, a sinking feeling of dread settling in his stomach.
Oh, he thinks, edging into hysteria, they planned this.
***
Severus did not plan to find himself here.
It was, frankly, embarrassing that he allowed himself to be captured like this, but he hadn’t counted on Potter deciding to trail him when he just wanted to get out.
Upon finding himself on the Hogwarts Express and realizing he was in the past, he decided that ‘The Hogwarts Experience’ was not for him, and he would not go through it again. He intended to go to the Apparition Point on the platform and work things out from there, but Bellatrix had seen him and wanted to ‘have a little chat with the potions prodigy Lucius keeps prattling on about’.
Then, he noticed James Potter was following him. Severus couldn’t see him, of course, but with Harry Potter ever-so-fond of using that blasted Cloak to sneak around, Severus had gained more than enough experience taking note of Unwanted Invisible Ne’er-Do-Wells in his general vicinity. He had not done much more than glance in the direction of where he believed Potter to be.
Unfortunately, Bellatrix had noticed.
And, because his life could not be simple, she assumed the worst.
Potter was Stunned and he was bound before Severus could react—and he had to remember that this was Bellatrix in her prime, skilled and sane and dangerous—then Bellatrix leaned over him, a falsely sweet voice chiding, “Oh, it looks like little Sevvy’s got himself a little guard—associating with blood traitors, are we?”
She had Apparated them all away, tossed them in a cell, taken Potter’s Cloak, and hidden under it after she had locked the bars. Severus should have been better than this—but he is unused to inhibiting a body this young, and he is left floundering as he tries to adjust his skillset to the limitations of his fifteen-year-old self—so he is left feeling incredibly vulnerable with no wand, no freedom, and no way to call for help.
Severus doesn’t know what she wants from him, but he cannot risk that she will involve the Dark Lord in…whatever this is; the contents of his mind are too dangerous to be near the likes of Voldemort.
Severus has Occlumency shields that can misdirect as needed, obfuscate the incriminating truths by hiding them under less important memories—embarrassing, humiliating, unwanted memories; memories that he would not share with anyone else, that could be believed to be his most private—and often, that is enough to stop a Legilimens from truly looking further than that.
But, he cannot keep the Dark Lord out if he does choose to tear Severus’s mind apart.
Severus cannot allow that to happen—he cannot doom the future after all the years he has spent fighting. Severus would rather not suffer through what the Dark Lord has planned for them here either—he had spent all those years fighting and he is tired. It is a selfish thought, but he is willing to let it fall to someone else this time around.
Then, a solution that solves his dilemma arrives, right after Bellatrix casts Rennervate on Potter’s unconscious form.
Thank Merlin.
***
James can’t make himself feel anger over the terror that is sinking into his very bones.
Waking in a cell was confusing. Waking in a cell with Snape was aggravating. Waking in a cell with Bellatrix outside the bars in possession of his Cloak is terrifyingly real in a way that hadn’t quite set in his mind before this moment.
Bellatrix’s exact words don’t register in his mind, but James gets the gist—she wants to toy with them, she knows of Snape hating James and vice versa, but thinks that they are colluding together now, she tells them that is unacceptable and disappointing, but wants to give them a chance to rectify their lapse in judgement.
She ignores his protests that James isn’t friendly with Snape, and presents a challenge instead: if one of them kills the other, then she’ll let the other go; if they refuse, she’ll use them both as playthings.
James knows she’s lying—about letting them go; he completely believes her threat about playthings—but Snape hates him, and James doesn’t think the snake needs any more reason to kill him. Snape’s probably been dreaming of this day for years.
James doesn’t plan to go down like this.
James moves quickly—he needs to. He knows Snape is a conniving bastard that will use anything and everything to his advantage, and James will not allow him to be the one that leaves this cell. James has people to live for, and of the two of them, well, Snape is the sort steeped in Dark Magic and out to hurt others.
James refuses to be the one to fall—he’s on the offense in a blink, lunging at Snape before the other boy can get a chance to so much as twitch.
It isn’t until he lands the first blow that he realizes Snape is just…taking it.
Snape’s back hits the wall, he lets out a grunt, but he doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t look angry or desperate or scared—if anything, James would say he looks almost amused. Bellatrix is still watching them, pleased at the display, so James can’t analyze much, but he does realize something is very, very wrong here.
James hesitates.
“Well?” Snape begins to push himself to his feet. “What are you waiting for?”
Does Snape really think—?
Is Snape not even going to try?
Oh, James thinks dully. No, he isn’t.
Snape does think James would kill him. No, Snape expects James to kill him. And James had been desperate enough to actually do it, too, mere moments before.
Suddenly, he feels ill.
Shame floods his mind; he steps back, shaking his head.
Snape stands, spreads his arms wide, and says, “Kill me.”
He’s asking me to—“What?” James’s mind stutters. Then, “I—I can’t.”
“Oh, for—fine. I have to do everything myself.”
James expects an attack, but no spell light comes shooting towards him.
Snape doesn’t move, just meets his eyes; there is a slight rush of air.
Suddenly, everything feels light and pleasant and compliant.
“Kill me,” Snape says again.
Distantly, Bellatrix is grinning at the display. (She is more intrigued than confused, and makes some comments about kittens baring their teeth and snakes not worthy of their place.)
Distantly, James knows that he is moving, and quickly. (It is easy picking up a sharp shard of metal from the ground. It is easy lunging forward. It is easy when Snape tilts his head up to give access to his neck.)
Distantly, the liquid on his hands is warm. (Blood. It’s blood. James can’t—)
Distantly, the body beneath him goes still. (Please, I didn’t mean to—)
Then, something snaps, and everything is pulled into sharp focus.
Oh, James thinks, feeling rather numb. That’s—oh, he’s going to be sick.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Bellatrix says, grinning madly. “Well done.”
Well done, she says. Well done.
James lets out a laugh that sounds more than a touch insane.
Snape—his body, his corpse—is already cooling.
“I suppose you didn’t like that half-muggle after all,” Bellatrix comments lightly. “My mistake.”
James doesn’t respond to the jab referencing him as a blood supremacist. None of his actions were about the purity of Snape’s blood.
Merlin and Morgana, Snape’s blood. On his hands. On the floor. On the chunk of sharp metal James had used to—oh, Merlin.
Suddenly, it is very hard to get air into his lungs; when had breathing gotten so difficult?
“Perhaps it isn’t too late to teach young lions new tricks,” Bellatrix muses. “Aunt Walburga might be interested if Sirius could show half as much enthusiasm as you…”
James is very dizzy—his head is pounding, his vision is spinning, he feels strangely detached, but unlike before, there are no feelings of peace or calm or contentment; he just wants to wake up and have this all be a nightmare.
Maybe he’d even work himself up to apologize to Snape once he awakens.
Yeah, James thinks. That’s a good plan…
And lets himself sleep.
***
When he wakes, James is in the Hospital Wing.
Pomfrey immediately begins fussing, and James can hardly get a word out before she’s upon him. His nightmare has still left his heart racing, and he tries to focus.
His hands are clean. It wasn’t real. Breathe.
Then, Dumbledore walks in. His face is grim.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real—
Dumbledore begins to speak, begins to ask questions, and James can no longer lie to himself.
James feels raw. Pomfrey forces a Calming Draught on him.
James mentions noticing Snape getting off the train. He mentions following him off. He mentions Bellatrix kidnapping them. He can’t make himself say any more.
“Do you remember how you arrived here?” Dumbledore asks gently.
James shakes his head.
“Yourself and Mr Snape were found just outside the Hogwarts grounds,” Dumbledore explains. “Both of you were quite bloodied, and unfortunately, Mr Snape succumbed to his wounds.”
James did not have any serious wounds on him. Dumbledore had to know that.
Snape had died far before they had left that cell. Did Dumbledore know that?
James doesn’t know what expression he had on his face, but Dumbledore misinterprets it—he must have, James thinks, because if he knew, shouldn’t he be angry?—and offers what James assumes is meant to be verbal comfort, but misses by a mile. Dumbledore is going to announce the tragic accident to the school as a means to warn other students to ‘be careful’.
James doesn’t think the Calming Draught is effective anymore.
“Mr Potter,” Dumbledore says. “You were not to blame for this, only the Death Eater who had abducted you. You could not have prevented Mr Snape’s injuries.”
Dumbledore thinks that Bellatrix was the one who hurt Snape, James thinks wildly.
He should confess, right?
Because James had been the one to—
But then, Snape had used the Imperius to—
And yet, the blood was spilled over his hands—
So, that meant—
It meant he should—
He should—
“Get some rest,” Dumbledore tells him, and leaves James to his thoughts.
***
Rest eludes him.
He gets a few visitors, but none of them want to stick around when James doesn’t interact. Even Sirius, Remus, and Peter leave after an hour or so of James spacing out—the same thoughts keep running through his mind, and the same dilemma of to tell or not to tell is haunting him.
Dumbledore said it was a tragic accident. Death Eaters were blamed for the kidnapping.
Death Eaters were blamed for—
“—what happened there?” Lily Evans is demanding of him, red-rimmed eyes and torn expression. She wants answers. She isn’t going to leave without them.
James doesn’t know when she arrived.
James doesn’t know where to begin.
He should say, “Bellatrix didn’t give us many options.”
He should say, “Snape used the Imperius Curse on me.”
He should say, “I was forced to. I didn’t have a choice.”
Instead, James says, “It should have been me.”
Those words come spilling out though shaken breaths and over a pounding heart, because James doesn’t know if he can live with what happened, with what he’s done, no matter how compromised he had been; he doesn’t know if he can keep continuing on like normal when he can’t even think beyond the guilt in his head and terror in his throat and blood on his hands—
“Yes,” snarls Lily, voice full of fury and venom and grief, “it should have.”
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.
She’s just lashing out because she’s mourning, James tries to reason with himself.
James swallows. Nods. Nearly falls apart.
Why did Snape do what he did?
James doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he wants to know.
It was a tragic accident, Dumbledore had said.
Maybe that could be all that it was. Maybe that would be better for everyone.
It was just a tragic accident.
James doesn’t think he can live with that either.