Harry Potter: I became Snape

"You've made a lot of new friends, Severus," Lily said softly as they walked toward the Head Boy's compartment, her voice strikingly calm. "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, yeah, new friends," Snape muttered, tugging uncomfortably at his collar, feeling as though something were crawling beneath his robes. "Much better than the old ones. Oh, of course, I mean everyone except you."

A fleeting, unreadable emotion flickered in Lily's eyes, but it quickly faded as her composure returned.

She pushed open the door to the Head Boy's compartment. It was empty inside, save for two slants of sunlight filtering through the post-rain clouds, casting delicate patterns across a pair of armchairs side by side.

"What instructions are we giving the prefects?" Snape asked, eager to change the subject while surreptitiously scratching an itch on his back.

"Are you feeling alright?" Lily's brow furrowed slightly, noticing his odd behavior.

"Probably allergies," Snape mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "You know, the weather."

"I'll do most of the talking," Lily said, settling into one of the armchairs and pulling a notebook from her bag. "It's nothing complicated—just routine stuff: patrolling the compartments, stopping pranks, keeping the first-years safe…"

"Great," Snape said with a relieved sigh. "I'm counting on you, Lily."

In both of his lives' memories, he'd never held such a prominent position. If it hadn't been for his determination to keep James Potter from becoming Head Boy, he wouldn't have even bothered lobbying Professor Dumbledore for the role.

The train let out a long whistle and began to move. The scenery outside the window started to slip backward, and the figures of parents waving on the platform grew smaller.

The prefects from each house gradually filed in. Most of them, upon noticing the badge on Snape's chest, wore expressions of disbelief. Though he had won the dueling tournament last term, he had no other notable contributions to his name. Dumbledore's decision to appoint him Head Boy clearly caught them off guard.

Lupin showed no outward surprise, but his eyes kept darting toward Snape, a faint trace of worry creasing his brow.

Snape knew that look all too well—it was the same anxious, helpless expression Lupin wore whenever the Marauders were plotting some mischief. Perhaps he was worried for his friends, Snape thought. And Lupin's concern wasn't baseless. As the saying went, power unused is power wasted. If Snape didn't make things difficult for them in his final year, wouldn't he be squandering this precious opportunity?

While Lily issued instructions and assigned tasks to the prefects, Snape admired her efficient demeanor, his gaze sweeping over the twenty-three prefects before him.

His eyes suddenly locked with a pair of deep brown ones.

It was a Slytherin prefect, an elegant and strikingly beautiful girl with long, dark hair tied back with a silver-green ribbon.

He noticed she kept staring at him, her gaze occasionally lingering on his wristwatch.

It was a coming-of-age gift from Eileen, a high-end, handcrafted magical watch from Switzerland, worth over a thousand Galleons, or so she had told him.

Snape racked his brain before recalling the surname of this dark-skinned Slytherin—Zabini.

Oh, wasn't this the future "Mrs. Zabini," the woman who would marry seven times, each husband meeting a suspicious end and leaving her a fortune? But why did she keep her maiden name, Zabini, instead of taking her husbands' surnames? Perhaps, with so many marriages, switching surnames became too much of a hassle, so she stuck with her own.

Snape quickly straightened up, alarmed. What was that look in her eyes? He had absolutely no interest in her. Even if he did, who would dare get involved with someone like her?

Lily finally finished assigning the prefects' duties.

"Alright," she said, closing her notebook. "You can start your work now."

The prefects filed out, murmuring their assent.

Zabini, however, lingered at the door, hesitating.

"Head Boy Snape," she said in a low, magnetic voice, "I'm new to being a prefect this year and not quite familiar with the duties. Could you show me what to do?"

Her voice was oddly pleasant, Snape thought.

But if she was a new prefect, that meant she was only in her fifth year. Which meant she'd give birth to Blaise Zabini at eighteen—quite the ambitious timeline.

A horrifying image flashed through his mind: himself lying in a hospital bed, Zabini holding a bowl of suspicious potion and saying, "Severus, darling, take your medicine."

"I'm busy!" Snape snapped, shaking off the chaotic thoughts. Caught in a victim's mindset, he raised his voice, barking, "Figure it out yourself!"

Zabini flinched at his outburst, her beautiful eyes flashing with panic and fear. She stumbled backward, retreating from the compartment.

"Why were you so harsh with her?" Lily asked, her green eyes filled with confusion.

"Because I want to live a long life," Snape said with a wry chuckle. "Here's to longevity!"

Lily gave him an odd look but only sighed. "Come on, we need to split up and start patrolling."

Patrolling the compartments was, admittedly, somewhat entertaining.

Snape walked with his hands clasped behind his back, gliding through the train like a bat surveying its domain.

The younger students watched him with awe, lowering their voices as he passed. The feeling of being feared… it wasn't half bad.

"That's the dueling champion," a third-year Hufflepuff whispered to a first-year, his voice hushed. "At Hogwarts, you'd rather cross the headmaster than him."

"Why?" asked a round-faced first-year, clutching a Chocolate Frog card. "Is he more powerful than Dumbledore? This card says Dumbledore's the greatest wizard of our time."

He held up the card, where Dumbledore's image winked at them.

"Shh—keep it down!" The fourth-year glanced nervously at Snape. "If you pull the headmaster's beard, he'll just expel you. But if you cross him," he made a throat-slitting gesture, "he'll make you want to drop out."

Snape passed the pair, then deliberately doubled back.

The third-year fell silent, and the first-year dropped his card in fright. On it, Dumbledore's image tumbled to the edge of the frame, climbing back up to glare indignantly.

"Grow up well at Hogwarts, little one," Snape said slowly, bending to pick up the card and handing it back to the first-year with a pat on the shoulder. "Cherish the time I'm still here. You've got just one precious year to learn from me."

With that, he continued his patrol, feeling inexplicably pleased.

At an open compartment door, Snape caught the familiar voice of an old acquaintance.

He gripped his wand, paused at the entrance, and let out a cold sneer.

"What do you want, Snivellus?" James Potter demanded before Snape could speak, his hand already reaching for his wand.

"Mind your manners, Potter," Snape drawled, deliberately adjusting the gleaming badge on his chest. "Or I'll have you in detention."

"You see, unlike you, I'm Head Boy now," he said, relishing the flash of anger on James's face. "Which means, unlike you, I have the power to punish people."

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