"Gryffindorrrr!"
The Sorting Hat's cry echoed through the Hall and Potter marched off toward the cheering Gryffindor table. Snape's eyes however were fixed on Dumbledore. The old man's face was maddeningly serene, lips curved in that same perpetual smile as though this outcome had never been in question.
It was never a fair choice. Potter would never have been allowed in Slytherin not while Dumbledore presided over the school. Snape had no desire to see the boy among his own House but the blatant bias left a sour taste. The same poison he had swallowed as a student dressed up now as fairness and tradition.
As though dark wizards were bred only in Slytherin. As though the other Houses were pure. Hypocrisy at its finest.
His gaze drifted along the tables and a sharp pang of recognition cut through him. Peter. Wormtail. The rat was here and yet Snape had not seen him until now. The realisation burned like acid in his chest.
Sooner or later they would meet again. And when they did there would be debts to pay.
But not death. Not yet. Peter was far too crucial, the hinge upon which Voldemort's return would swing. That thread could not be severed prematurely.
Dumbledore's voice rose then, a genial warning that no one was to set foot on the fourth floor. Snape nearly laughed aloud. If the headmaster truly wanted the students kept away he would have sealed the door with wards and been done with it. Instead he had practically beckoned their curiosity.
The room was clearly being prepared. The so called traps were not even finished. Later of course the children would be allowed to stumble through them, no doubt as part of Dumbledore's long game.
Dinner began, the usual chatter filling the Hall. Snape caught the voice of the half goblin professor commenting slyly.
"You must be pleased Minerva to have Mr Potter in your House."
McGonagall tried to compose herself but the small satisfied smile tugging at her lips betrayed her pride. Anyone could see her mood.
"I only hope he has not inherited his father's impish nature," she remarked dryly before taking a sip from her goblet.
Snape's lip curled. Impish. That was one word for it.
He remembered well how he had been tormented by Potter and his pack. Talented though he was being a half blood meant he was never fully accepted in Slytherin and being a Slytherin made him an easy target for the other Houses, Gryffindor pups most of all.
Especially James. James who could never bear the thought of Snape having anything at all to do with Lily.
The thought lingered, bitter and unwelcome, but it brought with it another memory. The Marauders, their endless jeering, and somehow from that haze of old resentment the Slytherin locket surfaced in his mind. One of the Horcruxes.
If nothing had shifted it should still be lying forgotten in Grimmauld Place. Not yet touched by Fletcher's sticky fingers, that would not happen until much later during his shameless looting.
The diadem was out of the question of course. Moving it now would only rouse suspicion, perhaps worse since he was present. But the locket, the locket was further removed, less obvious.
His eyes slid almost of their own accord to Quirrell. The man was still twitching, stammering, sweating under that ridiculous turban.
It stirred something old in Snape, the stench of the Dark Lord's service, the hollow years of grovelling and schemes. He let out a slow breath through his nose.
For once he told himself he would try to live differently.
A life wasted at another's command, that had been his story so far. First a Death Eater then a spy, neither path truly his own. A mongrel existence, prowling from shadow to shadow with no place to call home, no purpose except what others demanded of him.
No. He would not sink into that again. Whatever came next it would be for himself.
Soon the dinner came to the end and after the song the house heads took new students to their respective halls and rooms.
In his allotted chambers Snape lay back on the bed, eyes closing as thoughts pressed in. Should he leave now or wait a month, gather more cards, more options, and make the journey safer. Logic said patience. But the bleakness of his life had finally been cut by a spark of interest, of possibility. To wait would be torture.
With a deep breath he rose and began his preparations. Into an enchanted pouch went a collection of refined potions, carefully brewed and categorised. Into another, compact but expanded with charms, he placed furniture and essentials.
When the preparations were complete Snape withdrew the card. His eyes lingered on the etched door upon its surface and with a low whisper he invoked it.
"Let's go."
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Snape (FERN) rank in mushoku tensei ?