Chapter 410 - Snape Cornered, and the Rescue [bonus]

Chapter 410: Chapter 410 - Snape Cornered, and the Rescue [bonus]

For months, Snape had told himself that everything he had gained was proof that he had climbed on his own. His skill with Potions, the new robe, the Silvermoon badge, and his place among the pure-bloods had each put another step between him and the boy he used to be.

Black had only opened a door early.

That was the story Snape preferred, even though he knew it was false. A fourteen-year-old half-blood did not simply walk into an apothecary and earn that kind of opportunity. Black had made it possible with a word, perhaps barely more than a suggestion.

Snape had always known.

Tonight, he could no longer ignore it.

The pure-bloods had mocked the Ministry, blood traitors, and anyone else they pleased, yet the moment Black’s name came up, their voices died. Snape had seen that kind of fear before, but never understood what caused it.

Now he had a better idea.

Power.

Whatever Black possessed, it was something that made younger students move aside, older students show respect, and a room full of arrogant pure-bloods avoid even speaking his name carelessly.

Snape remembered the first day of term, when the crowd in the Slytherin common room had parted for Black without anyone asking. He had thought it was simply because Black was strong.

Now he realized there had been more to it.

He had finally stepped inside that world himself.

Only the outer edge, perhaps, but he had a chair in the room. Two years ago, he had not even known such a circle existed.

The meeting ended soon after.

The members left separately, hoods raised, taking different routes through the castle as though they were members of some great secret society. Snape watched them disappear before leaving last.

He took his usual detour toward the dungeons, avoiding the main staircase. The secrecy was mostly pointless, but now that he belonged to the group, he followed its little rituals.

As he descended through the empty corridors, his thoughts returned to the same problem.

His position was respectable, but there were higher circles in Slytherin. Wilkes, Jugson, Gibbon, Cram. None of them were truly untouchable.

Snape could surpass them.

At Potions, he already did.

The only thing separating him from the next rung was a surname.

He had come this far from Spinner’s End. Surely he could climb further.

He almost allowed himself to believe it.

Then a shadow moved inside one of the alcoves ahead.

Snape stopped.

"Well, look at this."

The sound came from directly in front of him, and a figure detached from the dark of the alcove to stand in the middle of the corridor.

Messy black hair, glasses on the bridge of his nose, wand already in hand, its tip pointed lazily at the floor.

James Potter.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

"Snivellus." James grinned, insolent, looking him up and down. "Nice robe. Where’d you steal it?"

Snape said nothing, his gaze sliding past James to what stood behind him.

Sirius Black, one shoulder against the stone, hands in his pockets, head barely raised. His eyes flicked toward Snape and moved away again, fixing on something else.

Snape ran the numbers fast.

Two of them. One with a wand up and waiting. One propped against a wall like the whole business had nothing to do with him.

Together they’d finish him. But Black in that posture didn’t look like he intended to move.

Which meant there was a fight to be had.

Snape’s hand came up, his wand sliding from his sleeve into his palm, the tip leveled at James.

"Potter." His face twisted with disgust, his voice contemptuous. "Did nobody ever tell you what sort of person lurks in corners at night?"

"They did," James said, happier now. "Told me it’s the treatment for people like you."

Snape glanced at Sirius again.

Still against the wall, eyes half shut, watching a torch at the far end of the corridor like a man about to fall asleep.

He didn’t take his attention off him entirely.

That one had never had scruples in a fight. He’d hit from behind, hit low, use anything.

Not moving now was no promise about a minute from now.

Watching James, Snape swept the corridor behind himself with the corner of his eye.

If they came at him together he wouldn’t last, and he needed his retreat mapped first.

"Lost your voice?" James lifted his wand tip. "Didn’t those new friends of yours cover this?"

Snape’s brow twitched. "What my friends have taught me," he said slowly, "is enough for you."

"Am I supposed to be frightened?" James snorted.

"No need." Something cold pulled at Snape’s mouth. "Your lot have got another two years of strutting about, at most."

By the wall, Sirius looked over.

Snape didn’t turn his head. He noticed.

"Strutting?" James caught nothing under the word, only that it deserved a fist. "Snivellus, you’ve gone mental, talking to me like..."

"When someone finally comes knocking at your house," Snape said, eyes fixed on him, vicious and enjoying it, "you’ll find out exactly who gets to strut and who doesn’t."

By the wall, Sirius came off his slouch.

James hadn’t understood all of it.

All he heard was Snivellus cursing him sideways, and dragging his family into it.

The grin went. His face darkened.

Sirius had understood. His hand came out of his pocket, his shoulder left the stone, and his wand was already in his grip.

The half-closed eyes opened and settled on Snape’s face.

He knew what Snape meant. Knocking. Those people. These two years.

Death Eaters... Voldemort. The things already happening out there that hadn’t reached the front page of the Daily Prophet.

They’d been circling in his head since he came back from the funeral and hadn’t stopped.

He hadn’t expected to hear them come out of Snivellus, light and smug, like something worth boasting about.

Sirius’s expression turned dangerous.

"Potter," Snape said, still watching James. "You’d do well to start thinking about which side you’re on."

"Say that again," James said. Genuinely furious now.

"What," Snape said, his wand tip perfectly steady, "can’t follow plain English?"

"I’m tearing that mouth off your face!"

James’s wand came up.

"Expelliarmus!"

He was fast. Red light shot from the tip, straight at Snape.

Snape had been braced for it. He turned side-on, pressed his wand down at an angle, and a barrier snapped up in front of him.

The red light struck and burst, sparks spraying, lighting the wet stone.

He whipped a curse back, dark purple, thin and fast, skimming along the floor toward James’s ankles.

Nasty little thing. Low, dim, aimed at the feet.

James hopped sideways. The purple streak clipped past his shoe and hit the wall, scorching a patch of stone black. A burnt smell rose.

"Dark Magic?" James landed and bared his teeth. "Not bad, Snivellus."

Before the last word cleared, his wand swung and three curses came over in a tight, fast cluster.

Snape gave two steps of ground. The barrier caught the first, he twisted past the second, and the third took him on the arm. Half his sleeve frosted white, stiff with cold.

He grunted. Nothing more.

Torchlight shook between them. Red, purple, white. Spells crossed and recrossed, and the shadows on the wall writhed with them.

Snape retreated and returned fire.

A Leg-Locker Curse buried between two feints. A sticking hex splashed across the flagstones at James’s feet.

He wouldn’t try to match him for speed, knowing he couldn’t. His spells were awkward, uncomfortable, designed to force a mistake.

James didn’t make one. That was the problem.

Reckless, yes, but his reflexes were a gift.

He skipped clear of the Leg-Locker. He slid across the sticking hex, caught a smear of it on his sole, and shook it off at once.

His body outran his brain, and every calculation Snape made to force an error was absorbed by that infuriating physical ease.

Snape’s breathing turned heavy. The frozen arm had gone reluctant to lift.

James saw it.

"Out of ideas?" He pressed forward, grinning, spells coming thicker, driving Snape toward the end of the corridor. "That’s all your new friends taught you?"

Snape gave ground and ground, and every block cost more.

He tried to work back toward the stone steps behind him, and James held the angle and refused him the gap.

By the wall, Sirius had straightened, wand in hand, not yet raised.

He watched Snape, and his eyes weren’t on the duel at all. He looked like a man thinking about something else.

Snape’s back hit the wall. Nowhere left.

James’s wand tip settled steadily on his face.

"Now," James said, breathing hard, delighted. "Say it again. Who’s strutting?"

Snape stared at the tip, chest heaving, wand still in his fist and impossible to raise.

The wand was against his cheek. One movement and he’d take it.

Then...

"Stop!"

A voice from the far end of the corridor, from the direction of the Potions professor’s office. Footsteps, heavy and quick.

The corner of Snape’s eye twitched. He looked past James toward the sound.

At the end of the torchlight, a figure came striding toward them.

Red hair, blazing in the dimness.

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