A Seed Of Hope
He was used to being alone. For as long as he could remember he was always alone. His parents had no use for him. They barely noticed when he was around, and sighed in relief when the gnome nurse took him away. His self-absorbed mother would look at him and shudder. "Wherever did this ugly little thing come from?" She would ask as he tried to hide behind the curtains.
His father was disappointed by his pale features and scrawny clumsy body. "When I was your age, I was reckoned one of the top junior Quidditch players in Europe. The best mind you." He would boast. "Look at you! You look like a bloody vampire. Not like any child of mine."
How he wished that that was true. That maybe this wasn't his true family. He would take a family of vampires over this one any day. Vampires, at least, took your blood honestly. His parents had been sucking his life away for years and had never noticed.
As he climbed into the bright red train, for the first time in his life he allowed himself to hope that this time things would be different for him. He wondered if it was bringing him towards a place where he would be welcome.
The engine puffed merrily as two boys his own age entered the carriage where he sat alone, hunched down in his seat. They were both tall and strong-looking. One boy, the tall thin one, had an air of confidence that the watcher had always envied. He looked on as they sat together sharing their candy, and talking excitedly about Hogwarts, and Quidditch, and all the adventures they would have together.
They never once turned to look at him. He waited for them to glance his way so he could smile at them and say, "Hello. What is your favourite Quidditch team?" Or maybe he would offer to share his own meager lunch. But they never did. And as the two boys got up to continue their exploring he heard the rough-looking one ask, "Who was that?" The thin boy shrugged. "I didn't see anyone."
When they left he began to tremble, a violent spasm that started deep inside of him, and spread to his hands and legs. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, and wept. A faceless boy with only a cold potion of hate to fill him.
The sorting hat slumped over one of his dark eyes when it announced "Slytherin" to the Great Hall. A crowd of his new housemates cheered loudly, and for a moment he was happy. Eventually he found a home of sorts in Slytherin. It wasn't the home he had imagined, but when he entered the common room the cold stone walls seemed to welcome him. But after a time it was clear that he didn't really belong anywhere. Even his fellow Slytherins avoided that unsmiling, angular face and it's sharp tongue. Though he was part of Slytherin, he was still a bystander. His loyalty was to himself, and his pride was his own.
He was especially proud of his ability in Potions class. There was a place he felt confident. He sat up straight there, knowing that what he brewed would work every bit as good as the Potions Master's, usually better. He glanced in disdain at those giggling Gryffindor idiots. Too stupid to know the difference between a sliver and a slice. When the golden boy of the Quidditch pitch turned to whisper to his partner, he slipped a little present into his cauldron. A pleasant glow of satisfaction thawed a cold corner of his heart.
The popping sounds began almost immediately. Potter dropped to his knees, moaning in pain. He had to look away to hide his grin. His victim had sprouted long ears and a ropey tail. Potter's moans turned to the braying of a mule. Even as the rest of the class watched in horror, they began to laugh at the spectacle. Exultation! Their laughter was a balm to his damaged soul. Now he knew what it was to have power.
The Potions Master fumbled his beakers when he saw that one of his students had transformed into a donkey. He hustled the poor creature off to the Infirmary, leaving behind a gaping hole in the floor where he had dropped his latest concoction.
The class erupted in excited chatter. Only one boy continued working, giggling madly inside, when a ferocious growl sounded in his ear.
"It was you, you rotter. I can smell it. You better watch it, you snotty slimeball. I'll make you pay for your little trick." It was Black, Potter's lapdog. He merely looked down his nose and continued coolly to mix his potion.
Later that day, as he walked down the hall he was stopped by Dumbledore. "Come with me." Dumbledore didn't explain, but he followed the Headmaster without question. He wondered what he wanted, but was afraid to ask. They entered his cluttered office and Dumbledore pointed to a shabby over-stuffed purple chair. "Sit," the headmaster said. And he sat.
They considered each other carefully. Dark, angry eyes tried to pierce the twinkling blue ones, but those friendly blue orbs revealed nothing.
"I have need you, Severus." Dumbledore said in a surprisingly mild voice.
Snape sat up. Where was the punishment he was expecting? He eyed Dumbledore with a mixture of hope and distrust. "What for?" He asked when he was finally capable of speech. It came out in an angry snarl.
If the Headmaster thought his student's tone disrespectful, he didn't show it. Dumbledore nodded. "What for, indeed. Well boy, I'm not certain." He stroked his beard. "Yes, I can see that you don't like that answer, but it will have to do. I'll tell you what I do know. Someday a great evil will slither over the land and devour any wizard or witch that opposes it. It will scheme to corrupt every mind and heart it can." Dumbledore's blue eyes bored into his own. "You will be called upon to do great things, Severus. No one will thank you. Perhaps they will never even notice the role you will play. But someday you will stand for all of us, Severus. I put my trust in you."
Snape sat stunned by the crazed predictions of the Headmaster. "You're mad!" He gasped.
"A little, perhaps. Yet, I can see you begin to wonder. Never mind. In time you will see. Remember this: I believe in you." Then he waved Snape out the door and started to shuffle papers like a deck of cards.
Snape left the office feeling like he'd just been stunned. His heart pounded, and he was sweating. Back in his bed, lying under his covers and staring out into the dark, he wondered what Dumbledore meant. He wanted to believe that he could do great things, but snorted in disbelief at the foolish predictions. Everyone knew that the future was a tricky thing to foresee. But that quiet night, in a cold corner of Slytherin's tower, a fragile seed of hope was sown into the rocky soil of his heart. And there it took root.