Chapter 5

Severus's cottage stood alone near the cliffs as a thick fog rolled in. Two figures apparated onto the path just before the property lines where the wards should begin. They were cloaked from head to toe in black with hoods up, but even then, Sirius Black's feral grin could be noticed. Beside him, James' eyes gleamed with vindictive anticipation.

"Five years hiding like a cockroach," Sirius muttered as he produced his wand, eyeing the light on the second storey. "I can play with him, right?"

"A bit," James whispered. "We need to drag him to the gala tomorrow night."

"So we're gonna do this like Belize?" Sirius asked.

"You high, me low?" James asked while nodding.

"Perfect. He'll never see it coming." Sirius smirked.

Meanwhile, Severus was in his modest bedroom trying on the robes Lord Slytherin had given him. He had finally plucked up the courage to open the package. The silver embroidery alone would cost more than his income in half a year if he was right about the spells layered into the cloth. He reached to unbutton them and place them in his wardrobe when suddenly he stilled and then dove for his wand on the bed as he felt his wards sound the alarm.

He heard the front door burst open under a blasting hex. The wood splintering made him grimace. Severus spun, wand in hand, and eyes trained on the door as he heard footsteps rush up the stairs. Suddenly, glass shattered, and Severus spun around to see a hooked Sirius Black climbing through his window.

"Black?!" Severus uttered, shocked, though he still held his wand aimed at the intruder. But then his bedroom door was blasted off its hinges by a Bombarda. Through the rubble, James entered. Severus's inner thoughts were going a mile a minute. He was cornered. He had to play it smart, as taking on two Auror-trained wizards in close quarters would be tantamount to suicide.

"Potter," he hissed.

James stepped forward with a smile that looked venomous. "You're a hard man to find, Snape."

Sirius circled, predatory. "You're ours tonight, Snivellus."

"Can you make that sound any less sexual, Black?" Severus retorted. "Even your dreams cannot fulfill that."

"Fuck you! CRUCIO!" Sirius snarled, but Severus ducked out of the way, causing the spell to hit the doorframe where Potter was standing.

The duel erupted instantly. Spells cracked through the cottage, vials shattered, and dust filled the air as a spell slashed Severus's mattress. The Potion master held his own, but the 2v1 duel was slowly making him lose ground as Sirius and James battered him with spells. One spell had already clipped his shoulder, and he was sure he was bleeding from it.

James pressed the advantage, slicing hex, tearing across Severus's leg. Blood splattered the floor. "Clever, are you? Let's see how clever you are crawling."

Severus's eyes burned. He flicked his wand in a sharp, vicious arc. "Avifors!"

The spell struck Sirius squarely in the chest. In an instant, his body shrank, feathers burst from his skin, and his wand clattered uselessly to the floor. Where Sirius had stood, a furious black-feathered chicken now flapped wildly, squawking in outrage.

James froze, disbelief flashing across his face. "What the—"

He recovered quickly, though, and fury twisted his features. "Enough games!" He hurled a blasting curse that shattered the desk nearby, forcing Severus back. Sirius, still a chicken, flapped madly, squawking insults that came out as garbled clucks.

Severus fought on, but exhaustion and blood loss started to drag him down. James's binding curse struck, and he felt cords wrapping tight around his body. His wand flew from his hand, clattering across the floor. James stepped on it, snapping it in half.

James cast a Finite Incantatem at Sirius. "Bawk-AH!" Sirius uttered as he was turned back, though he was still crouched on the ground, his arms folded like wings. He scrambled up while James stalked towards the squirming Severus.

"We never talk about this ever!" Sirius announced as he shot a nasty glare at Snape.

They dragged Snape out of the cottage before Sirius, as revenge for transfiguring him, set the place on fire. Severus' eyes stung as he watched his work go up in flames while he was being dragged to the edge of the wards.

Severus didn't know how much time had passed after that. James had blindfolded him, and they had apparated to a location he couldn't see. It might have been hours or days. He lay there bound on a floor where he coughed up blood, his robes ripped, his body beaten, and covered in slashes from a dagger. Sirius had been particularly giddy about that. Called it 'Death by a thousand cuts'. He couldn't tell you where it didn't hurt anymore, and he was sure that his hands were broken from being stomped on.

James and Sirius had left some time ago, and Severus tried to get his breathing under control. He either had a bruised or broken rib, as well, if the pain was any indication.

The ballroom of the newly rebuilt Tintagel Castle glittered with opulence. Chandeliers of crystal hung from vaulted ceilings, while Nobles congregated on the polished marble floors. Musicians played the Blue Danube Waltz, and the nobility of the magical world swirled in gowns and robes.

At the head of it all, upon his throne sat Lord Slytherin. His posture was regal and looked relaxed, but those who knew him well could see the irritation in his eyes and the way he clenched his hands on the armrest. Lord Slytherin's eyes were sharp but restless and were very much fixed, not on the dancers, nor the courtiers vying for his attention, but on the grand doors at the far end of the hall.

Every few minutes, the herald announced another arrival.

"Lady Bones of the High Council."

"Lord and Lady Greengrass."

"Marques Malfoy and Lady Malfoy"

Lord Slytherin's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne. He had received Severus's letter and had actually been ecstatic about the reply. Last night, he had asked Lucius, Merlin, help him, if his robes accentuated his hips enough for Severus to notice. Lucius had turned the color of parchment, which was a sight to see, given how pale the man already was, and muttered something about "appropriate tailoring" before fleeing the room. He had laughed then, but now, as the night dragged on, his amusement soured into irritation.

'Where was Severus? Severus was a man of his word. He said he'd be here. Fuck, did something happen? Did he scare him away with his gift?!'

He ignored the fluttering witches who tried to catch his eye. Even Ginevra Weasley, bold in a crimson gown, was dismissed with a flick of his hand, his gaze never left those doors.

By the time the hour grew late, Harry's patience had frayed to threads. He leaned back against his throne. Lucius, standing discreetly nearby, shifted uncomfortably. He had endured his lord's simmering mood all evening.

Finally, the moment came for the toast. Lord Slytherin rose; his presence commanded silence. He lifted his goblet and said, "Five years since the fall of the Dark Lord. Five years since prosperity returned to our world. Tonight, we celebrate not only survival, but triumph. To the future, may it bow to our will."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and glasses were raised high. From the corner of his eye, Lord Slytherin caught movement.

Two figures stepped forward from the crowd. Albus Dumbledore, Lord Potter both naturally puffed up with self-importance. Together, they had a long, narrow chest bound in golden clasps floating between them.

The herald's voice rang out: "Albus Dumbledore and Lord Potter, presenting a gift to His Majesty, Lord Slytherin." The hall hushed as Lords and Ladies watched in anticipation. Everyone knew that Lord Slytherin only tolerated Dumbledore and Lord Potter. Exactly why no one knew, but the air felt ripe for gossip.

Harry's eyes narrowed as the two approached the dais. Dumbledore's expression was carefully neutral, though his eyes twinkled with that infuriating look of calculation. "A gift?" He drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. "From you?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "A token of respect, my Lord. A gesture of goodwill, for the prosperity you have brought." Lord Slytherin's lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind. After what these people had put him through in his reality and this one. He'd sooner find a llama on the moon than believe in Dumbledore's sincerity.

They set the chest in front of the throne. Lord Slytherin's fingers flexed at his side. His annoyance at Severus's absence was now twisted into suspicion. Whatever this "gift" was, it reeked of manipulation.

"Open it," he commanded.

Dumbledore's smile deepened. "As you wish."

The clasps clicked. The lid creaked open. And inside...

Gasps rippled through the hall. There, within Severus Snape lay, battered and bleeding, his robes torn barely a rag covering him now, his pale skin streaked crimson. He was barely conscious, his body sprawled across the steps of the throne as though discarded like refuse.

For a heartbeat, Lord Slytherin forgot how to breathe. His vision tunneled, the sight of Severus's broken form striking him hard. 'No, not again!' His mind shouted. The man he had intended to court, the one he had waited years to approach with patience and respect, was lying at his feet, desecrated before the entire court.

James Potter's haughty voice rang out, "This is what becomes of traitors. He was nothing more than a coward hiding on a forgotten island. And now, he is nothing at all."

The words barely finished before the hall trembled. Lord Slytherin rose, and his magic surged. The marble beneath his feet was cracking as raw power poured from him unchecked. Nobles shouted in urgency and backed away from what would clearly be a bloodbath.

"You dare," was whispered, his voice low but carrying through the hall like thunder. "You dare lay a hand on him."

The hall shook again. The chandeliers were rattling now. James stumbled back; his bravado was crumbling now under the sheer magnitude of Lord Slytherin's wrath that they had somehow awakened.

Lord Slytherin descended the steps and knelt at Severus's prone form. The nobles gasped once more. Lord Slytherin knelt for no one. Then he turned his head, slowly, toward James Potter. The smile that curved on their monarch's lips was not kind.