Chapter Text
Phantom of Hogwarts
Chapter 1- And So It Begins…
“Severus!”
I hear Dumbledore calling my name down the corridor and stop. Hell’s bells, what does the old man want now? I hate it when he does this… Slowly, reluctantly, I turn on my heel to face him.
“Headmaster.” I incline my head slightly and see the huge grin plastered across his face. This can only mean trouble.
“Severus, you know that tonight is the Halloween Feast, and I have a very important announcement to make. So, I must insist that all of the staff attend. I know how much you love to spend the festivities in your own rooms, but I cannot allow you to be absent this time.” He shakes his head at me and wags his finger as if I were a student being reprimanded.
Bloody old goat! I am NOT a child to be chided. The old fool clearly has trouble remembering that I was a gods-damned Death Eater! I scowl in response, and he mocks me with his own caricature of a scowl. His eyes still twinkle and I know he’s making fun of me. I can’t help but grimace as I close my eyes and spit out a response, feeling like I have acid on my tongue.
“As you wish, Headmaster. I shall attend the Feast with the rest of the staff for the required duration. Until then, good day to you.”
I turn again on my heel and start off, hearing him chuckle behind me. As I continue down the corridor toward the dungeons, I encounter a pair of third year Hufflepuffs. Apparently my irate expression is even more severe than usual, as the girl swoons faintly in terror when I pass. Her companion has trouble holding her up, and I whip around, wand in hand, to mutter a reviving charm, but the stupid boy blocks her with his body.
“You idiot! Move out of the way!” He shudders and his eyes goggle, and he can’t seem to form words with his trembling lips. In the meantime, the girl has slumped against the wall, sliding down it. I snap my wand back into my robes and glare at the boy, utterly exasperated.
“Very well. I shall leave you to determine if you can correctly cast Ennervate. As you seem reluctant to allow me to help.” I spin on my heel, but quickly look back again. “Ten points from Hufflepuff for incompetence.” The boy gulps nervously, looking stricken and relieved at the same time. Disgustedly, I step away from them and thunder down the corridor again. Damned fool children. For Merlin’s sake, what did the dunderhead think I was going to do?
I fume inwardly, wishing that these flaming imbeciles would realize that I am not one of Voldemort’s minions!
He’s gone anyway! When the Final Battle happened at the end of the summer, it became clear that I was a double agent, clearly on the side of the Light. I helped bloody Potter and his damned friends finish Voldemort, with Order members on all sides helping to protect them and me. They rightly assumed that the shock of my traitorous defection would distract Voldemort enough to allow Potter, augmented by the rest of the Golden Trio, to cast the Killing Curse. It was only with the quick action of many Aurors that the Avada Kedavra Voldemort sent hurtling toward me was deflected, spinning back at him as well as Potter’s. With the trebled strength of Potter’s and the furious intent of his own spell flung back on him, Voldemort had no chance to escape probably the most intense Killing Curse ever cast.
When it was all over, nobody moved for a while. The smoking remains of Voldemort hissed and sizzled. We were all watching it, half-expecting him to rise like a phoenix from the ashes. After several minutes, when nothing happened but the breeze blowing the ashes about, we all came back to earth with the realization that it was all over. Order members and other wizards and witches alike began celebrating. The Golden Trio was mobbed by thankful well-wishers. Even the Order members were flying about hugging each other, laughing and crying in release of the awful deadly tension.
I remember watching everyone congratulating and thanking Potter and his friends. As always, I was alone to one side, apart from everyone. I sighed deeply, realizing that all I had done for so many years had finally paid off. I was free. I looked down at my forearm and saw the Dark Mark slowly fading. Even as it faded, though, it left a ghost-like afterimage. That was when I knew that I was to be left scarred in more ways than I ever imagined. I looked back up to the jubilant group, and I noticed only one person looking at me. Hermione Granger was smiling and crying, and when she caught my eye, she nodded slowly and mouthed “thank you.”
I was taken aback. My position had always been a thankless one. Dumbledore was the only one who seemed to appreciate what I did. She noticed my sleeve pushed up and me holding my arm. Her brow furrowed and she nodded pointedly at it. I looked down at my arm, with the Dark Mark completely faded into a pale scar, and looked back to her. She had turned to face me, concerned. I simply held my arm out, and she could see that the mark was gone. Her eyes widened in shock, which quickly turned to excitement. She looked back up at me, amazed, and smiled.
I was numb, not sure what to do with or even how to feel about my new-won freedom. I felt like I was turned loose of my moorings, drifting. I had no purpose any longer. Something of my blankness must have been visible, for she hurried up to me with a puzzled look on her face.
“Professor Snape, are you all right? Were you hurt by the spell? Did the Aurors miss anything? Is your Dark Mark really gone? How can that have happened? Does that mean Voldemort is really gone forever? That he can’t come back this time? Isn’t it exciting? Won’t you come celebrate with us? Um, sir? Are you really okay? Should I fetch Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey?”
Her incessant questions went spinning in my mind. I hardly knew the answers to even the simplest of them. But her questioning voice awakened something from my numb psyche. Hermione Granger, Insufferable Know-It-All, badgering me with questions. It’s a wonder her hand wasn’t waving in the air to boot. I felt the familiar irritation resurfacing, rejoicing that I was feeling something at all. My gaze focused on her anxious face, worried brown eyes darting from my arm to my face and back to the group.
I felt my lip curl in my familiar sneer and irritably drawled, “Miss Granger, even in the wake of the Final Battle to defeat the Dark Lord, you manage to babble with questions! Do cease your prattling. I am fine, of course. You have no cause to bother me any longer. Please, don’t let your pathetic concerns over my well-being keep you from enjoying your charmed life with the rest of the Golden Trio.”
I dismissively inclined my head toward the group cheering and tossing Potter and Weasley onto their shoulders, rolling my sleeve back down and straightening my clothes. I saw the pain in her eyes before the familiar dislike returned. She tossed her wild hair and lifted her chin, angry at my words.
“Do forgive me for bothering you, Professor. Indeed, forgive me for even daring to care whether or not you were harmed. I happen to care about everyone who helped defeat Voldemort, including you, whether you believe it or not!” Here she stamped her foot, her hands on her hips. “But now I see that I was in error. No matter, I shall not burden you any longer with protestations of thanks for your invaluable contributions to this victory.”
With that, her eyes blazing, she whirled and ran back to the group, easily disappearing within the crowd.
“Invaluable contributions to this victory”? “Care about everyone… including you”? Still reeling a little, I prepared to Apparate to Hogsmeade, ready to return to my dungeons, desperately needing some comforting familiarity.
Before I could Disapparate, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stiffened instinctively, reaching for my wand. Then I heard the soft chuckle. I turned to see Dumbledore, smiling, tears shining in his eyes, beaming at me.
“My dear, dear boy. You were about to leave, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes, Headmaster. I am not one for celebrations, as you know, and I think my presence here is no longer necessary, nor desired.”
Dumbledore shook his head slightly and gripped my shoulders in both hands. “Severus, I was hoping that, now that you are free of the Dark Lord’s grasp, you would begin a new life with the rest of us. There is no need for you to hold yourself apart from the world. You are no longer in a precarious position, where one misstep could mean your destruction. Think of it, Severus. You won!”
“You mean, we won. The Order won. The side of the Light won. Not I.”
Smiling ruefully, Dumbledore sighed. “No, Severus. You won. You accomplished what you set out to do. You conquered your dark side. You defeated that which has kept you cut off from the rest of us for years. Your strength and discipline and nobility of character have helped you win the battle against evil in our world. Consider what you have won. A chance to start anew! Don’t retreat into your dark, solitary dungeons. Come, join us; give yourself the chance to have the life you’ve missed out on during all these years of war.”
I could feel his hands gripping me tightly. His force of will was almost palpable. Some might say his ability to get others to do what he wants is nearly magical. I felt the numb centre of my being start to thaw, painfully. I weighed his words carefully and turned to look at the crowd again. Could I just march up to them and insinuate myself into the folds? Perhaps it is time for a new beginning…
Just then, a woman stumbled back out of the throng a bit, and she turned to see us. It was Hermione Granger, and she lit up with a smile when she saw Dumbledore. Then she caught my eye again and her face changed. She glared at me coldly, scorn and disdain plainly written on her face before merely nodding and turning away.
“I happen to care about everyone who helped defeat Voldemort, including you, whether you believe it or not!” Well, after that look, I do not believe it. Silly girl, you know what you’re supposed to say due to manners, but I doubt you truly meant it. Don’t go out of your way to lie to people Miss Granger; the less you say, the less there is in which to catch you out!
I felt the humiliated hatred spread, filling all the spaces that had just been numb and empty. I would not go and force myself on those people, like a lap dog seeking affection! They would never accept me as one of their own. They made that clear from the start, even before I went to the Dark side. Why else would I have even considered it, if they had been even remotely welcoming? No, I will not weakly crumble and just beg them for their regard. I haven’t needed it before, and I don’t need it now. I straightened to my full height, spine rigid and formal and looked back at Dumbledore.
“Thank you, Headmaster, but I am not foolish enough to go where I am not wanted. If, as you seem to believe, these people wanted me as part of their group, they would have come to include me. As you can see, I am not their hero; Potter is. Is that not what you have wished for all along? I have merely done my duty to help the Order. You know the Prophecy. We would still be under Voldemort’s reign of terror if it weren’t for the boy. Now, as the crisis is over, and I no longer have need to force myself into their lives, I wish to return to my quarters. Alone, as I prefer. Of course, feel free to forward my congratulations on to the Boy Wonder and his cohorts. I’m certain that they would rather hear from you than me. Now, I will leave you to your celebration. I have things to attend to, now that my time is more available to me, for the start of the new year. Good day to you, Headmaster.”
“Severus, don’t be like this! You have carefully cultivated fear and hatred for you amongst these people for years. Do you honestly believe anyone would have the guts to approach you, of all people, about joining them in a social revel?”
Unbidden, Hermione Granger flashed across the screen of my mind. She had approached me, asking if I would join them. She was even concerned about my welfare. I remember the worry in her eyes, and then the return to the normal icy hatred after I insulted her. Dumbledore is right. It is my own doing. But I refuse to cave in to the sweetness and light he espouses. It sickens me. And, I privately admit in the deepest recesses of my being, I don’t want anyone to see just how much I really do want to be carefree like them, to know just how much it hurts me to be so reviled.
“Be that as it may, sir, I do recall being a member of the Order, and yet I have not even been treated like a part of the group, even under that pretence. It is clear to me that my company would be repugnant to many and disconcerting in the least to others. No, I am much more comfortable retiring to my own quarters. And I’m sure they will be much more comfortable if I do so as well. Do not concern yourself. I am quite fine. Enjoy your celebration.”
With that, I Disapparated before Dumbledore could say another word.
My ruminations occupy me until I find myself slamming open the door to the Potions room. I sweep to my desk and sit, glaring at the stack of essays waiting to be graded. This is what I should be doing tonight, not being forced to sit through yet another interminable feast with all of the sloppy, noisy, incompetent dunderheads. I snatch the top parchment and my quill. Sweeping my eyes across the page, I sigh gustily and stab my quill into the red ink pot. Pitiful. Utterly pathetic. I scratch the failing grade across the top of the page and toss it into a pile of similar awful attempts. My work drags on, until I realize that it is almost time for the feast. I don’t dare arrive late, or Dumbledore may make me even more miserable. Irritably throwing the quill down, I stalk out of my room and make my way up to the Great Hall.
As usual, it is lavishly decorated. The room is buzzing with excitement, students milling about, talking and laughing. All of the other faculty members are already seated, except for Dumbledore. I roll my eyes. He does like to make an entrance.
I take my seat, avoiding looking at anyone, keeping my eyes on the doors, silently urging Dumbledore to hurry up so we can get this over with. More students are pouring in, including the ever-present Golden Trio.
Ever since the Final Battle, the students have been in even higher spirits. They no longer have to worry and fear that Voldemort will destroy them or their families. The wizarding world in general has been very eager to return to a more carefree existence, undertaking projects that had been put on the back burner while everyone had to focus on ridding the world of Voldemort and his legion. There have been rumours of advances in Muggle relations, and the students of Muggle families have been gaining a new popularity.
I shift in my seat, aggravated with the delay. All of the student tables are full, and many students are craning their necks, looking at the High Table, speculating about where Dumbledore must be. Finally, he enters, to a sudden susurrus of excitement. Eyes goggle from all sides, as it becomes obvious he is not entering empty handed.
I narrow my eyes, not quite sure I believe what I see. Dumbledore is carrying the four-legged stool and the hat used at the start-of-term sorting! What in blazes can this mean? A murmur of astonishment ripples across the High Table. Dumbledore has an extremely self-satisfied smirk, and his eyes are twinkling at twice their normal rate. You’d think the man would be positively skipping with delight at whatever his surprise is.
Dumbledore places the stool in front of the High Table and lays the Sorting Hat on it. When he straightens up, the Hall falls silent, the hush heavy with expectation. Beaming at everyone, he spreads his hands.
“Welcome to the Halloween Feast. As you all know, I have a very important and exciting announcement to make tonight. I’m sure you’re all wondering why I have brought the Sorting Hat out as well.” Here, he pauses, chuckling. “With the defeat of the Dark Lord, our very own Ministry of Magic has finally had time to devote to other pursuits. One of the main topics that has gained more focus in the months since the war has ended is that of Magic/Muggle relations. Many of you from Muggle families may have experienced the upsurge of interest in your lives outside of the wizarding world.” At this point, students turn to each other and look at those among them from Muggle families. Some of them are smiling and nodding, looking pleased and proud.
I look at the Golden Trio, and both Potter and Granger are grinning conspiratorially at each other. Weasley, like the oaf he is, is muttering to them, back and forth, clearly confused.
“The Ministry’s Department of International Magic Relations has also realized that all over the globe, wizarding communities have been falling behind their Muggle counterparts in a particular area of development.” All across the Great Hall, indignant murmurs rumble, resenting his implications. Dumbledore pauses for a moment, allowing the outburst to run its course. His smile becomes even more smug, and he lets a pregnant pause grow before he continues.
“Magic is both a science and an art, but for some time the wizarding world has been lagging behind the Muggles in development of the arts. And by this I mean the Fine Arts. Music, singing, painting, poetry, sculpting, dancing… These are the things that have fallen by the wayside in our world, as too many of us simply use magic to accomplish our goals, rendering a final product that requires no labour of love to create. The Ministry has decided that it is time to begin encouraging the pursuit of the arts, beginning with those who may adapt most easily, the young. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I relate to you the newest form of inter-school competition. Much like the Tri-Wizard Competition three years ago, we will be competing against Beauxbatons and Durmstrang this year. However, we will allow all of the faculty and staff the chance to participate with the students in this endeavour.”
Bloody hell… I feel a tightness in my chest as I realize what this may mean. Somehow, I feel the foreboding sense that Dumbledore will entangle me in whatever is going to happen. I try to breathe deeply and remain calm, glaring at him. He looks at all of us at the staff table, one eyebrow raised in amusement at the variety of reactions there. Some actually look pleased, which makes me question their intelligence anew. Others range from polite surprise to unsure speculation. His eyes lock with mine for a moment, and I try my best to use Legilimency to impart to him just how much I am not interested in his new project. He tilts his head toward me, drawing his eyebrows together in a mock scowl, while still smiling, then quirks an eyebrow at me again and turns away.
The students have broken out in multiple conversations about the inclusion of the staff with the students, but they quiet quickly when Dumbledore turns back to them.
“The new competition is performing musical theatre!”
Some of the students have cheered at this, and their tablemates are besieging them with questions. I see Hermione Granger bouncing in her seat, excitedly explaining to Potter and Weasley and the other Gryffindors near her.
“Beauxbatons has been given the rather appropriate musical ‘Les Miserables,’ Durmstrang has been assigned the musical ‘The Sound of Music,’ and Hogwarts has received the assignment of the musical ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’ We will be casting the show tonight, rehearsals will take place regularly, including throughout the holidays, and we will perform during the Easter holiday. Therefore, you must accept that if you are cast, you will be required to stay at Hogwarts over both the Christmas and Easter holidays. The Ministry has decided that the casting will be open to students in years four and up for ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’”
Some of the younger students moan in protest at this, but they are quickly shushed by their tablemates.
“Now, I’m sure you are all still wondering why the Sorting Hat is here.” There is vigorous nodding all around. “In an effort to obtain the best persons for each role—and considering that I have never been in the position of a director before, I surely don’t feel qualified to choose—“ Laughter bubbles up at his frank admission. “—I have bewitched the Sorting Hat to do that job for me. When the feast begins, you will all be called up to take your turn in the hat, and it will determine the best choices for the cast. I have already provided it with a complete cast list, including character descriptions, to help it along. And, for those of you who think you are out of the running because you, as they say, can’t carry a tune in a bucket, we have a spell just for you, which will guarantee you a most pleasant singing voice with which to perform.” He casts a stern but jovial eye over the Hall, once again being met with laughter, albeit some of it with a slightly hysterical tinge.
My guts twist. Dread settles over me like a blanket. This is preposterous. This is a school of witchcraft and wizardry, not singing and dancing! Bleakly, I wish I had the gift of Divination, so I could have seen this coming and drowned myself first. I gaze out over the students and see many of them looking pleased and excited. Of course, most of them are show-offs and braggarts anyway, so I’m not entirely surprised. That, and they’re all slackers and lay-abouts, always looking for something else to do, instead of their work! Some of the younger students are sulking. Snivelling babies! I can’t bear to see them pouting, knowing how it will affect their behaviour in my classes. I can already tell that there will be a rash of House point losing, as I know this will set the student body off in an uproar. Damn Albus! All this will do is cause more commotion, and students are too inattentive as it is! I glower blackly at everyone, seething at this newest hindrance to what I had hoped might be a smooth school year.
“Now, I must remind you that Hogwarts has a tradition of putting forth only the best efforts in any endeavour, and I very much would like for this school to be the first to win the new Tri-Wizard Musical Competition! The grand prize is a wondrous trophy which will nicely fit with the numerous others in our Trophy Room, and the school will also receive 5000 galleons for the creation of a new Fine Arts department and curriculum, which will be part of the requirements for finishing school in wizarding schools across the globe starting next year. If we do not win the money, Hogwarts will be forced to increase its tuition to pay for the creation of the new department, and we all know your families would much rather you win the grand prize than empty their pockets even more.” With this, Dumbledore crosses his arms and looks gravely over his spectacles at the students. Many of them exchange dismayed glances, especially the younger ones, who have more years to look forward to, and no way of affecting the outcome of this year’s competition.
“Of course, I have the utmost confidence in your ability to succeed. I am eagerly anticipating planning a delightful feast this Easter, celebrating our victory in the competition.” He chuckles lightly, uncrossing his arms and clasping his hands.
“Now, I believe I have gone on long enough, and it is time to let the feast begin. When it is your turn, students, simply come to the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head. The staff will have their turn after all of the eligible students have gone. The cast list will not be announced until Saturday morning, where it will be posted at the entrance to the Great Hall. As our food arrives, I would like to wish you all good luck—no, wait—I believe the correct phrase is: break a leg.”
The food appears along the tables, tempting and delicious, but I can’t even move to fill my plate. Dumbledore shuffles to his seat, humming happily to himself. He scoops up a platter of lemon tarts and offers them to me. I glare at him reproachfully.
“Headmaster, I cannot believe you are actually going to go along with this… this ridiculous affair!” I hiss at him, keeping my voice down so as not to invite attention.
“Now, now, Severus, it’s good fun for a good reason. Surely you agree that wizard art pales in comparison to Muggle art. You yourself admit that our kind has not turned out anything even remotely equivalent to that playwright you so admire, what was his name? Shake stick?”
“Shakespeare,” I interrupt savagely.
“Yes, yes, Shakespeare. Interesting names these Muggles have. And how long ago was he around? Centuries past. No, think on it, Severus; our world is stagnating, and now that we no longer have to fear the Dark Lord, we can work to better ourselves. We wizards have done the same things in the same ways for eons, while the Muggles around us have thrived and improved themselves and the world they live in. Just look at their advances in medicine and, what is the word? Teck-long-ah… Hmmm, teck-lawn-og…” He purses his lips, frowning, then waves his hand about airily. “Oh, you know, those devices they create that do things for them since they don’t have magic.”
“But, Albus,” I plead, “what was the absurd title of the work we have been assigned? ‘The Phantom of the Opera?’ Surely you can hear the melodrama inherent in such a title. This is laughable. A travesty! And certainly not worthy of being associated with the stellar name of Hogwarts.” I am in earnest now, trying to make him see the folly of the venture, but he turns a cool stare on me and I falter.
“Severus, do not attempt to deter me from complying with the Ministry. I am in complete agreement with them this time, and I expect full cooperation from everyone here at Hogwarts to make this step into our future a success.”
I hear the emphasis in his speech and know I am in a bind. His stare is hard and uncompromising, and I feel that I have no choice but to bow to his will. Railing inwardly at this, I merely set my lips in a thin line, incline my head, and say, “Of course, Headmaster. You shall have my cooperation in this as in all else.”
He nods slowly at me, and I break eye contact with him and turn away. Miserably, my gaze sweeps the room. All of the eligible students from Hufflepuff have taken their turns with the Sorting Hat, and a handful of Ravenclaws have finished their turns. Resentfully, I choose some of the food remaining on the platters and force myself to eat. I watch everyone gorging themselves, nattering on in loud, irritating voices about this newest development.
After a while, I have eaten all I can stand, and I am sullenly waiting to leave, knowing full well that I will not be allowed until all of the students have had their chance with the Sorting Hat, and the rest of the staff and I take our turns. I look balefully out across the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy is talking to his cronies, a smug, self-important expression on his face. I imagine he is expecting to get cast, and is probably boasting of how Narcissa would make Dumbledore give him whatever is the best role, if the Sorting Hat doesn’t. I snort grimly at his presumption. That family is always full of themselves.
My gaze wanders over the Gryffindor table. Hermione Granger is animatedly talking to her tablemates, while Potter and Weasley listen intently. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and Potter has a small smile playing across his lips. There’s one whom I would expect to want to be in this fiasco. He’s always been one to want the spotlight. I feel my expression darken in remembered annoyance with Potter and his followers. Suddenly, Hermione pauses, shooting a glance up at me, as if she felt me looking at them. Her face freezes for a moment in uncertainty, all of the sparkle gone as her smile fades. Composing herself, she stops talking. Brashly, she looks me in the eyes, her gaze cold and unflinching. Potter and Weasley notice and shoot hostile glares my way. Somewhat taken aback by the steel in her unwavering gaze, my eyes narrow dangerously. We’re locked in a silent battle of wills, neither of us willing to look away first, when she is tapped on the shoulder by another student.
It is her turn with the Sorting Hat. She flicks a quick acknowledging glance at the interrupting student, stands haughtily, and walks down the aisle between the tables. As she gets closer, she once again locks eyes with me. I can sense her determination to not back down from me, and I feel slightly amused. That silly little bookworm hasn’t the backbone required to stand up to Severus Snape. She mounts the dais, still looking at me, until she has to turn away to sit on the stool. She sits and puts the hat on, back straight and dignified. I’m still watching her, and my eyes have travelled down her back to the tight expanse of her robe across her rear. She stands gracefully, casting a disdainful glance over her shoulder at me, and walks back to her table, pointedly not looking at me any longer. I watch her figure sway slightly as she moves, and then see her overtly look at Potter and Weasley, a look of triumph on her face.
Bloody Potter is scowling at me, standing and walking down the aisle for his turn. I return his scowl with an even more menacing one, and he angrily flops onto the stool, slamming the hat on his head. When he is done, he throws another scornful glare at me, meeting my malevolent sneer, then stomps off to the table in a huff. He mutters to Hermione, glaring at me, but she primly refuses to look my direction again. Weasley jumps up for his turn, and catches my eye. He tries to frown, but blanches instead, and his eyes nervously dart everywhere about the room. I content myself with an evil smirk and lean back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him bumble to the stool.
Finally, after a few more students take their turns, it’s time for the staff to wear the Sorting Hat. I feel my anger growing at the inanity of the whole situation, and I sit, stonily, while the other staff members move forward. The students are watching with gleeful anticipation, giggling and whispering. I cannot believe Dumbledore is allowing the students to see the teachers in such an undignified position.
McGonagall takes the initiative to go first, setting the example like the good little Gryffindor lapdog that she is, subservient to Dumbledore. Flitwick goes next, needing a lift to the stool, and garnering twitters of amusement from the students. I will not tolerate such a lack of respect! No one had better even think of laughing at me, or they will regret it all their days!
Eventually all of the other teachers have gone, and I know I’m the only one left. Fuming, I refuse to move. An expectant hush falls over the room. Dumbledore turns to me slowly, a significant expression on his face. He nods toward the stool. I rage at him, feeling my hands itch with the desire to throttle him and all of the fools at the Ministry. His eyes darken with irritation, but he politely coughs and gestures to the stool again.
The damned students are all waiting with bated breath to see me in that ridiculous hat! Stiffly, I rise from my chair. I hear a rustle of anticipation and whispers, and I sweep my gaze across the room, threateningly. A very loud silence descends. My eyes fall on Hermione Granger again. She is watching me intently, her face composed, but her eyes hold a sparkle of superiority. She? Superior? Hardly! I straighten to my full height, sweep my cloak out of the way, and stride around to the stool. I keep my eyes locked on hers, daring her to think she is better than I. I see the challenge in her expression and I sink down onto the stool as if it were a throne, regally placing the Sorting Hat on my head as if it were a crown. I am still watching her, boring my eyes into hers, when I hear the disconcerting voice of the hat. My vision blurs as I am drawn into the confines of the Sorting Hat, cursing my inability to maintain the contest of wills with Granger.
“Ah, Severus Snape! It’s been a long time… Never did I think to be having such reunions with former students such as yourself.”
“This is not my choice! Finish this business and stop blathering!”
“Oho, you haven’t changed much, Severus. You always had the Dark side in you. You were a consummate Slytherin, you know. But, knowing all you have done in the past decades, I wonder if perhaps you might have done well as a Gryffindor instead…”
“Blast it! How dare you insult me? I would never deign to be a bloody Gryffindor! This whole debacle is rubbish… Hurry up and finish your ‘sorting.’”
“Yes, the casting for the musical… Let me think a moment…”
I hear a soft humming from the hat, still confined in the darkness of its grip. I know that the time it takes while in the hat does not necessarily match that which is observed by others, but I can’t help feeling the sweat trickle down the back of my neck, railing at how long it’s taking. The hat makes some slight noises, sounding suspiciously like chuckles and snorts, and I hear my own heartbeat even louder in the solitude.
“Whatever could possibly be taking you so long? Surely it is plain to see that I am not interested in nor suited to being in a musical! You are wasting my time. Release me this instant!”
“Ah ah ah, Severus. Let’s not be hasty. I have the character descriptions within me, and it is my duty to see if you are suited to any of them. Now, answer these questions: What do you do here at Hogwarts?”
“You know very well that I am the Potions Master! What does any of this have to do with…”
“Patience!” The hat cuts me off mid-tirade. “And where do you teach your classes?”
Fuming, I bite out, “In the dungeons, as always.”
“Do you have a mate, Severus?”
“I do not have time for silly affairs such as that.”
“So, where do you live?”
“In Salazar Slytherin’s original quarters, near the dungeons.”
“What is this I see in you? You bear the mark of the Dark Lord?”
“What?” I sputter, completely taken aback. “How can you tell that?”
“Ah, Severus, there is much I can see within you. Much that was only a seed when you came to me so many years ago. You have lived as a creature of the Dark side, of the night. And yet, you cleave unto the Light now; you secretly crave it. How reassuring. I can see you in your Dark Revels, in your Death Eater cloak and mask. You truly are a formidable wizard, Severus. You have lived up to so much of the potential I saw in you as a boy, but you have done so in such a lonely, dark way. You have a remarkable gift. You know that your skill in potions and in Dark magic rivals that of an artist in his medium. You are the artist. And like many artists, you live a tragic existence. Your life is a sad one, but you have not extinguished all hope of improving it.”
I am speechless. I can’t believe that the hat can read so much of my soul. I marvel at the depth of the enchantment that Dumbledore has placed on the hat. I don’t know what to say or even think. My breathing increases in shock.
“I see how deep the hurt goes, Severus. I know how much you yearn for what everyone else seems to have. I can tell how lonely you are, how you are truly a man apart. You are marked for life… scarred inside and out.”
The hat pauses, and continues in a low, thoughtful tone, “You may truly be the only person here who can fill the role believably…”
I find my voice, outraged and shaken. “You must be joking! This is a farce. I am no fool to pretend to be someone else…”
The hat cuts in smoothly, “But you are, Severus. You have been pretending to be someone else for most of your adult life. Now that the war is over, you no longer have to pretend. But you are a gifted actor, after all those years of spying.”
I reel again in shock. My palms are sweating, and my knuckles are straining against my skin as I clench my fists tightly. I resist with all my might, but a small inner voice acknowledges the truth in that statement. I don’t want this. I want no part in this at all. I feel my stomach roiling as I realize that I will have no choice. The hat will undoubtedly choose me for something, based on what it has said. Trembling, I gasp, “Don’t… please.” It’s the first time I have begged against something. Somehow, this frightens me more than Voldemort ever did. I can’t explain it. I am a private man. Performing like this would bare me too much to the scrutiny of others. Trying to portray a character could lead me places in my soul that I don’t want to go. It’s dangerous. All I know is that it scares me, and the foreboding grows stronger.
The hat sighs and responds, “I have my duty, Severus. As do you. The cast list will be posted Saturday morning. Relax. You have cheated danger so many times, how can a ‘silly affair’ such as this be so frightening? Really, Severus, you are blowing this all out of proportion.”
“What do you know? You’re just a ridiculous hat!” I retort furiously.
“True, but I’m the hat with the insight into your mind, and I can see the fear plain as day. You are a rather undemonstrative man, but you have the passion within you to be great. You will find out Saturday what your role is. Rest assured, it will be an important one… you could garner nothing less.”
Before I can respond, I feel the whirling sensation again, and lights explode before my eyes. I am released from the hat, and I breathe deeply, steeling myself, regaining control before I lift my hands to remove it. It would not do for the students to see how shaken I am. I pull the hat off my head and open my eyes. Blinking rapidly in the light, I see a sea of faces avidly watching me. I glare heatedly at them, again coming to rest on the Golden Trio. Potter and Weasley are scowling at me, but Granger is gazing at me with a speculative look. I narrow my eyes at them and sneer. Straightening to my feet like a shot, I smack the hat onto the stool and turn to Dumbledore. He is smiling again, satisfied. I curb my sneer and nod to him, quickly stalking out of the Great Hall to a rumble of students’ remarks.