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Metanoia: The Conversion of Severus Snape by MithLuin [Reviews - 4]

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Disclaimer: This work is all mine. Any similarities you may see to the work of a certain other author are because she stole the ideas from me! Sincerely, Gilderoy Lockhart
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This story was begun in August 2005, and is my response to all the questions we have about Snape. I still don't know what his deal is, but I've had fun exploring his backstory! Enjoy....




Metanoia: the Conversion of Severus Snape


Chapter 1: Old Acquaintances, New Debts
Snape begins his new life on his own after leaving Hogwarts.


The owls found Severus Snape seated by himself at the end of a long wooden table in the Leaky Cauldron. An empty glass of tomato juice and the Daily Prophet were in front of him. He looked startled when the first owl landed, and removed the letter tied to its leg with some trepidation. The small brown owl clucked its beak and bobbed its head, then hopped aside as another, larger owl landed. Snape seemed to be expecting this one, though. He lazily reached for the rolled up letter without glancing at the round-faced barn owl. For a moment, he paused, looking at the two letters in front of him. The article he had been reading about the latest Death Eater attack and the Ministry’s futile attempts at increased security was forgotten. He picked up the first letter and opened it, holding his breath. His dark eyes quickly scanned the contents; he let the parchment drop. His shoulders slumped, and he took a deep breath before jabbing at the other letter. He opened this one more deliberately, and his face betrayed no flicker of emotion as he looked it over. Carefully re-rolling it, he put it down next to the first. He stared at the table in front of him, lost in thought. These milestones seemed important now, but he knew that ultimately they would prove irrelevant. Still, that didn’t make them any easier to ignore. It was difficult to accept easy assurances when times were so uncertain.

He was still there when Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, briefly letting the sounds of a London street penetrate the nearly empty room. After a few steps, he blinked and paused.

“Snape?” he called, catching sight of him.

Snape looked up, hastily brushing his stringy black hair out of his face. Malfoy was dressed in light grey linen, his impeccably well-tailored clothing belying the sultry weather.

Any distraction would serve, but seemingly innocuous events had ruled his fate in the past, making him wary of unexpected coincidences. “Malfoy,” Snape said, his face breaking into a slow smile. “So good to see you again.” He stood up and inclined his head in a slight bow to the older man.

Malfoy laughed easily. “You’ve grown,” he said, walking over. “Finished with Hogwarts, then?” he added.

“Quite,” was Snape’s curt reply. He gestured for Malfoy to take a seat and join him, his eyebrow raised in question.

Malfoy paused for a moment, considering. “My business in Diagon Alley can wait,” he announced, taking the proffered seat. “So, what brings you here?”

“I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron at present,” Snape replied. “Until I find employment,” he added, in response to Malfoy’s questioning look.

“What sort of work are you looking for?” Malfoy asked with some curiosity.

“Anything!” Snape said with a bitter laugh. “Well, almost anything,” he corrected himself. “Openings are hard to come by.” He shrugged. “The shops in Diagon Alley aren’t exactly in need of any new assistants at the moment.”

“No, I suppose not,” replied Malfoy, ignoring Snape’s muttered infernal war. “Though I must say I’m surprised you even considered that.”

“I only asked at the Apothecary,” Snape admitted. “I thought that might at least be useful in future. But Bobbin gave me the courtesy of a direct answer, unlike the circus that is the Ministry.” He scowled.

“But Snape, dealing with the bureaucracy is half the fun,” said Malfoy with a smirk.

“Oh yes, it’s immense fun,” said Snape. His eyes flashed darkly for a moment, but his lips curled into a smile. "‘Horace Slughorn thinks very highly of you and I’m sure you’ll have an impressive career,’" he said in a mocking voice, "‘but I’m afraid we aren’t hiring at the moment.’" He snatched up the first letter he had received that morning and read aloud: "‘Your application was indeed impressive, but the Department of Magical Catastrophes has recently instated a policy of not hiring anyone who has just completed wizarding school. Please consider reapplying in a few years when you have gained some experience.’" He spat the last word, then tossed the letter back on the table and continued, “I think I’ll try my luck at St. Mungo’s.”

“I hear the Aurors are hiring,” murmured Malfoy.

“And so is Gringott’s Afghani office,” shot back Snape, “but I do have some standards!” Scowling, he added, “I’d like to survive my first few years of ‘experience.’” Malfoy laughed lightly again.

“And how are things with you?” Snape asked.

“I’m keeping well enough,” Malfoy said smoothly. He did not give a more direct answer to any of Snape’s questions, and after a few minutes, he excused himself, leaving for the entrance to Diagon Alley. Snape stared after him for a moment. Picking up his newspaper, rejection letter and rolled-up N.E.W.T. scores, he retreated from the room.

***


Some weeks later, Snape sat looking at his desk disconsolately. No matter which way he looked at it, it was clear that he was running out of time. He could pay for next week’s room and board, certainly, but beyond that? He sighed. He had to do something. He had no desire to return home penniless. In fact, that was not even an option. He would have to find some work, even something temporary. Or maybe he could sell something? He glanced at his possessions and grimaced. The whole lot would bring only a small sum. No…he couldn’t live on that for long. Maybe he could find cheaper accommodations? Or better yet…work that offered accommodations? He didn’t know of any shops that were hiring, but maybe abroad…. He grimaced. He didn’t really want to leave England. Everything would be different in a foreign country – especially the language. No, he would stay here if he could. Maybe not in London, but somewhere in England. Too bad there were so few ‘Help Wanted’ ads in the Prophet these days. He looked over his prospects, and left for another day of fruitless job-hunting.

Early that evening, Snape returned to his room to find an owl waiting for him.
Severus Snape
The Leaky Cauldron
London

Dear Severus Snape,

I hope this letter finds you well. A conversation with Rookwood yesterday brought you to mind. His nephew was a few years ahead of you; perhaps you recall him? R was complaining (yet again) that it is so rare to come across anyone who can actually think – he is sick of underlings who insist on going by the book all the time. Naturally, I recalled our conversation of last month, so I mentioned your name to him; I hope you don’t mind. He seemed interested, but of course I didn’t want to speak for you. If you are still available, perhaps you would be willing to meet with him to discuss this? I would be happy to arrange it.

Cordially yours,
Lucius Malfoy

Malfoy Manor
August 4, 1978


Snape eagerly picked up a quill; he could not afford to let this opportunity pass. He would write his reply now, and send it in the morning. He didn’t want to appear too desperate, but one day was all the delay he would allow himself. Malfoy never need know how close to the end of his options he had come.

***


A knock sounded at the door of the parlour.

“Enter,” Snape called.

The door swung open, and Lucius Malfoy stepped in. Snape stood to greet him, and proffered a seat. Malfoy placed his hat on a small table and took the seat, after divesting himself of his light travelling cloak. “It was kind of you to invite me to dinner.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I thought I might just stop by, but after this tedious business, dinner with a friend is a welcome respite.” Looking up, he smiled at Snape. Malfoy’s charcoal robes stood in sharp contrast to the rest of him. To the casual observer, he was blond with blue eyes, but no hint of gold touched his pale hair, and the color had likewise been washed from his grey eyes.

Snape met his gaze, then reached for the bottle of wine, pouring out two glasses. “Tom will bring up the food shortly,” he murmured. “So, how is your business these days?” he inquired politely.

“Oh, don’t ask. People can be so tiresome.” Malfoy shook his head, dismissing the day’s cares. “But tell me, how are you liking the Ministry? I must offer you my congratulations, for I’ve heard no complaints from Rookwood, and he is difficult to please.”

“I thank you, again, for your kindness in mentioning me to him,” Snape replied. His voice sounded almost sincere, but there was a hint of something else – sarcasm, perhaps? – in the way he said ‘kindness.’ “As for the work,” he continued, “it is interesting enough, but the people, as you say, are tedious.”

Malfoy chuckled. “So hard to please,” he said in approval.

There was another knock on the door; dinner had arrived. They moved to the table and ate in silence for some moments. Then Snape began to question his guest about his own work. Despite his earlier protests, the older man proved all too happy to vent about his business dealings. Malfoy was involved in… quite a surprising number of things, actually. Most of his frustrations seemed to stem from the narrow views each of his individual partners insisted on holding. None of them could see the bigger picture, nor did they understand Malfoy’s overarching goals. It was tedious to deal with them all piecemeal, but he had the tenacity to do so. Snape listened, thankful that he was not in these men’s shoes. Malfoy, though young, was quite formidable. When the meal was finished, Snape refilled the wineglasses, vaguely regretting not having anything else on hand. They returned to the fire.

“Again, thank you for dinner,” Malfoy said. “Trust you to remember my favourite meal from Hogwarts.” They smiled at one another. After a pause, Lucius continued the conversation. “I must say, I was surprised to hear that you were still staying here. Do you like the food that much?”

Snape’s lip curled. “Lucius Malfoy, do not play the fool. While I know that such concerns have never troubled you, surely you understand that it will be some time before I can afford the luxury of owning my own accommodations? This will do, for the present,” he finished, vaguely waving in the direction of his room. Malfoy’s glance followed the gesture, looking nonplussed. Snape grimaced, guessing he was picturing an unlit fireplace, neatly stacked schoolbooks, and trunk at the foot of his bed. It would not be far off.

Feigning surprise, Malfoy asked, “What of your family, then?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, glittering dangerously. “My mother…” he began hesitantly, “is dead,” he finished with ringing finality. “I will not return home until my father is likewise.” This with vehemence.

Snape’s anger had been kindled, and Malfoy watched him carefully. He let the silence grow, then murmured coolly, “That can be arranged.”

Snape froze. Malfoy kept the smile schooled from his face as he watched horror, desire, revulsion, and hatred flicker across Snape’s face intermittently. Knowing he had the younger man’s full attention, he continued, almost conversationally.

“It is a shame your mother made such a…poor choice,” he said delicately. “After being exposed to other options at Hogwarts, it is rather surprising. She can be forgiven for being young and foolish, I suppose.” His tone did not imply forgiveness; it was nearer barely concealed disdain. “But now that she is gone,” he continued, “it seems a shame for you to continue suffering for that mistake, does it not?”

“I’m half-blood scum…I’ll manage,” said Snape with a savage twist of his mouth. Malfoy noticed his hands twitch involuntarily; one drifted in the direction of his concealed wand, no doubt.

“I’d like to see someone call you that…again,” said Malfoy with a ghost of a smile.

Snape flushed. “I don’t hex people like that anymore!” he protested. “I was a first-year; I couldn’t let all the Slytherins get away with that.” He scowled.

“And they didn’t, not after what happened to Aubrey, did they?” Malfoy went on smoothly. He smiled when Snape did not answer. “No, I think it would only be fair to let you move beyond your unfortunate heritage.” Snape was watching him closely, almost breathlessly. “Surely there are exceptions to every rule. Most half-bloods wouldn’t be able to hold their own in decent company, so they deserve everything they get.” He paused, and said softly to himself, “And the time may come…” He shook his head, as if to clear it, and looked Snape over. “From all indications, you’ve overcome your mother’s mistake admirably.”

“I know people,” Malfoy continued, speaking to his wine glass now, “who…enjoy… ridding the world of Muggle scum. If you would like your house – and your life – back, I could pass his name along to them.” He looked Snape in the eye.

Silence descended on the room; a painful, watchful silence. Snape’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why would you do that?” he asked, his voice strangely hoarse, but full of suspicion.

Malfoy shrugged. “I know so few Muggles. Turning one over will gain me a few points with them. But of course, I don’t have to…”

He let the offer hang in the air between them, carefully watching Snape; the younger man had not lost his suspicious look, but Malfoy could tell he was thinking. He would not hurry him. Finally, Snape broke the silence.

“You know, I have not spoken to the man for over a year. I couldn’t guarantee that he would be at home when your…friends…came to call.” Snape had no doubt as to who these friends might be.

Malfoy’s thin smile did not hide the look of triumph that flashed in his eyes. “No, of course not,” he murmured. “Perhaps they will call on him next Tuesday evening, and trust to luck. I will merely tell them that he is a Muggle who needs to be punished for consorting with a witch. I need not mention his name – nor yours.”

“That would probably be best,” Snape agreed, nodding once in acknowledgement. There was something absurdly simple about all of this.

“I will, of course, need the address,” Malfoy continued. Snape’s eyes narrowed again, glittering in the candlelight. Was he was willing to let Lucius Malfoy know his only likely place of retreat? Few others knew the location; he had never once invited friends home as a student at Hogwarts. In the end, he merely shrugged. “Of course, let me get it for you.” He stood up and walked over to a rickety desk, where, finding a scrap of parchment, he conjured ink and a quill and scrawled the address in small, cramped letters. He returned and handed this to Malfoy, who stood to take it. He then collected his cloak and hat, and turned to leave.

“Severus, thank you for a pleasant evening. You have certainly grown into an interesting young man. I hope our paths might cross again some time.” Snape bowed slightly, murmured “My pleasure,” and then Malfoy was gone. Snape stared at the door for a long time after it closed behind him, lost in his thoughts. Then with a sigh, he sank into his chair and put his face in his hands. So much for repaying his debt.

***


Snape looked at the empty parchment in front of him, a slight frown on his face. This letter was proving difficult to write. He’d already Vanished the ink twice. He felt a bit traitorous, somehow. Not that he wanted to warn his father. No, he had no qualms about leaving that man to his long-awaited and well-deserved fate. But…he felt a twinge of uneasiness about becoming this indebted to Malfoy. He needed to leave himself an escape, introduce at least a chance of uncertainty into their deal. He himself would not pull back – no, that choice had been made. But he should let his father have a choice, too. And with that thought, he picked up his quill again.

Father,

I know you have expressed no interest in hearing about my current or future endeavours. I will merely assure you that I am employed, and have no need of your assistance. However awkward it may be to write this, I realise that we did not part on civil terms. I would like to amend that. If it is agreeable to you, meet me at the establishment on Glebe St. next Tuesday afternoon. I hope that a more civil parting of the ways will leave us both without regrets. I can promise you that this letter will be the last.

Severus


His lip curled. He was giving the old man more than half a chance. It was more than he deserved, really… He had even chosen a Muggle meeting place; neutral territory. Let his father choose his own fate now.

***


Snape arrived early for work the next day, and was the last to leave in the evening. The same thing happened each day that week. On Friday, he declined an invitation to go out for drinks, protesting that he had too much to do. Of course, he would have declined anyway, but that was beside the point. He took home a stack of paperwork to complete in his spare time. The Ministry had entirely too much paperwork, he decided. He barely left his room that weekend. On Monday, he arrived early again, and began to deliver and file all that paperwork. About mid-morning, his boss stopped by his desk. “I’d like a word with you, Mr. Snape,” he began. Snape stopped what he was doing, and gave the man his careful attention.

“People have been telling me you’re over-working yourself, and I am inclined to agree. We appreciate dedication to the job, but we don’t want you burning yourself out. The Ministry will run without your constant attention, you know.” His mouth twitched in a patronising smile.

Snape looked up, keeping his voice restrained. “I know, sir,” he said, “but the work needs to be done. Is there a problem if I spend a little extra time here?”

“No, but we have to break this bad habit of yours,” his boss answered with a smile. “It isn’t seemly for our junior members to be in the department alone on a regular basis.”

Snape tried to sound reluctant. “I understand. I will try to leave by six the rest of the week, Mr. Sandleford.”

“Very well then, I won’t keep you any longer.” Mr. Sandleford turned to go, but Snape stopped him.

“If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, sir, I would like to leave early tomorrow.”

His boss seemed rather surprised by this request, but nodded. “Very well. But please try and keep more normal hours from now on.” With a vague smile, he left.

***


The next day, Snape left work at two. He returned to his room in The Leaky Cauldron, where he changed into what should pass for Muggle clothing: a burnt-orange shirt and dark khaki trousers, though he rather ruined the effect by covering them with a sleeveless black robe and cowl. He scowled at the mirror, (a treatment it protested vigorously) but if all went as planned, he would never need to wear these clothes again. Checking to make sure he had enough Muggle money, he Apparated to a side alley in a dingy old part of town. He walked down a thoroughfare until he found a slightly dirty, but brightly-lit café. His lip curled in disgust when he saw it, but he took a seat and waited. He thought again that no power on earth would bring him to meet his father in a pub.

After three cups of coffee, he noticed that his hand was starting to tremble. That wouldn’t do. He hadn’t expected his father to show, of course, but it was only fair to wait here the entire time in case he did. He ordered some food, since it was nearing the dinner hour. Hopefully that would settle his stomach.

After he had finished dinner, he ordered another drink. This time, he charmed it into firewhisky, hoping that he was being subtle enough with his wand to avoid notice. After it got dark (and two more glasses of firewhisky), he gave up and decided to go home. As he walked outside, the moon rose wearily above the buildings, just past full. He walked back to the alley he had arrived in, and then Disapparated. He entered the Leaky Cauldron, and without a word or glance at anyone, he retired for the evening.

He did not arrive early at work the next morning.

***


It was with some trepidation that Snape took the letter from the owl. He had recognised the spindly handwriting, and knew it was nothing good.

Dear Severus,

I offer you my condolences on the death of your father. Family, such as it is, is irreplaceable – even if not what we would choose. My sympathy for your loss.

Sincerely yours,
Albus Dumbledore
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry


How had he known? Snape let the letter fall, as if the parchment burnt his hands. It was only then that he noticed the other scrap of paper, so curiously thin.

Snape, Tobias, age 51
Mr. Tobias Snape was found in his Blackburn home this past Thursday, having suffered a heart attack. He was preceded in death by his wife Eileen (nee Prince) and sister Sarah Snape Veerhof. His daughter Robertina died in infancy. He is survived by his son, Severs Snape, who resides in London. Services will be held at St. Wulstan’s at 10 AM on Monday, with a burial at Great Harwood Cemetery to follow.


With a jolt, Snape realised he was reading his father’s obituary in the local Muggle newspaper. Who knew Dumbledore read such things?

Just what did that note imply, anyway? Did Dumbledore really suspect that he was responsible for what had happened? It was always so hard to tell with the Headmaster! But no, that was just the voice of guilt – Dumbledore knew that things were… rocky between him and the deceased. Surely…that is all the note meant. Giving him permission to grieve. His lip curled. How very…noble of him. Snape had no reason to grieve a world without his father in it. But then why, a niggling voice persisted, did you stay up most of the night with a bottle for company? He rubbed his forehead. He just wouldn’t think of this anymore. After all, he was unlikely to get any more owls like Dumbledore’s – few wizards read the Muggle newspapers.


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Author's Note: This chapter takes place in the summer and early fall of 1978. Snape is 18; Malfoy is 24. Snape’s birthday is Jan. 9, 1960. Deal.

This story is 10 chapters long - my obsessive author's notes will appear at the end, as I kinda got carried away!

Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy.

Metanoia: The Conversion of Severus Snape by MithLuin [Reviews - 4]

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