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Chapter Text

Severus could do nothing but scream - internally, since the bloody snake had inconsiderately ripped his throat open in its efforts to kill him. He knew with absolute certainty that he would be dead soon. It would take just a couple minutes to bleed out. While he was of course carrying a dose of the antidote St. Mungo's had concocted to Nagini's venom after Arthur Weasley had been bitten, it didn't work fast enough to save him from a punctured carotid artery. At least he'd fall unconscious quickly.

He wished it were even quicker, fast enough that he wouldn't have the time to realize his defeat, right at the finish line. Yes, his quest to save Lily's son had proved utterly pointless, but Merlin, he'd at least hoped to follow through on helping the brat take down the Dark Lord with him.

There was a muffled thump. A blurry face appeared above him, frightened green eyes. Severus gasped painfully, but he felt a morbid elation at the same time. Perhaps not all was lost. He reached out with his mind, practically throwing his half-delirious thoughts at Potter. Take it, he screamed, determined to communicate Albus-bloody-Dumbledore's final instructions. He was half-surprised to hear his own strained whisper.

It was like lightning when he felt their thoughts connect...

He blinked.

He was dead when he opened his eyes. Bright sun shining. Green grass. Blue sky. For some reason the blue sky seemed to be below him, but who was he to question the afterlife?

Awful taste that came with it though. Not the iron of blood but bitter like soap.

He spat out bubbles. What the hell? It was soap!

"Leave him alone!"

"Alright Evans?"

Severus' eyes darted wildly at the voices. He was surrounded by students in Hogwarts robes. Students he knew...

"Leave him alone," Lily Evans repeated. He found her face. Angry green eyes. Long red hair. Freckled nose. Glaring at James Potter.

Hell must be real. There was no other explanation for why he would relive this particular moment as soon as he died.

"What's he done to you?" Lily continued.

"Well," James Potter said with disgusting cheek. "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean."

Fuck this, Severus thought. He didn't want to put up with this nonsense. He should have more than made up for calling Lily by a racial slur by now. To his shock, the gods of the underworld seemed to listen to him. The Levicorpus suddenly released him, and the soap bubbles vanished from his mouth. It was too early. Too early in the memory. This day was seared into his brain, and it was happening differently. Even as teenaged James Potter and Sirius Black whirled around, training their wands to jinx him again, Severus raised a wandless shield charm. Two spells bounced off of it, and the shield rang like a bell.

He heard impressed whistles from the audience. That hadn't happened the first time around, either. Severus scrambled to his feet and fully took stock. He was by the lake, just as he remembered. The same ratty old robe he remembered. God, he even caught a whiff of body odor - he had, shamefully, given up showering for about a week during OWLs in his frenzy to get all O's and preferably the highest score of the class in every subject.

The only thing that didn't fit was his adult conscience.

Was this the afterlife? For whatever reason, the idea that recollections of bad personal hygiene would immediately crop up as soon as he'd died just struck him as, well, unpleasant but also too mundane. Too physical.

Another couple spells struck his shield, jarring his thoughts. He looked up to see both Potter and Black watching him warily. And there was Lily, looking pleasantly surprised.

Merlin, this memory wasn't even bad enough to be a personal hell, not if he could change things. He'd been dealing with stupid teenagers for most of his adult life. The pain of this memory was the severing of friendship, not the other embarrassing but ultimately trivial details of the event.

Well, if he could change things, why not? "I'm not doing this again." So saying, he wordlessly summoned his wand to his hand, focused his magic, and took flight. He did enjoy Potter's and Black's and everyone else's astonished expressions as he floated, unsupported, all the way up to the Astronomy Tower.

Lily found him about thirty minutes later, still on the Astronomy Tower. Although he didn't lower the spell barrier to let her in until she'd been yelling at him for another five minutes. He snapped the barrier back in place as soon as she was through. He sneered at the handful of crestfallen curious students who'd been brave enough to follow her up.

Lily's face lit up to see him, and she playfully punched him on the shoulder. "Prat. Why didn't you let me through?"

Because he still wasn't sure what was going on but was no longer convinced it was hell. He shrugged. She grinned widely. "That was the greatest thing I have ever seen. The look on that toerag's face! Priceless! And Sev! Since when can you fly like that?! How do you do it? I've never even heard of something like that before! Well, not in actual magic books. Obviously there's flying like that in muggle books like Peter Pan. Is it one of your new spells? Please say you'll show me!" He listened to her prattle on for a few minutes, not intervening, just enjoying her happiness.

It was impressive how well she could carry a conversation without his input, he thought with wry amusement. He'd forgotten that about her. It didn't bother him the same way it used to on occasion when he was actually sixteen and wanted to be heard himself. It was just her outgoing nature and exuberant desire to share when amongst friends. He'd seen the type numerous times in his years as a teacher.

Such harmless nattering only irritated him now because the conversations tended to be loud in the corridors and distracting in class.

Good god could she go on, though. (She had now perched on the parapet and was talking about the Defense OWL exam instead of his shocking display of true flight).

He listened with one ear while continuing his musing. He had decided he would never be able to exclude the possibility that the afterlife was much, much weirder, and lamer, than expected.

On the other hand, he knew for a fact that time travel was possible. He didn't know the details of the Department of Mysteries' research on the subject, but he had twice filled out paperwork for ludicrous Ministry dispensations for time turners for ambitious third year students and also had heard Bella's testimony regarding Lucius' ill-fated mission to the Department. Time travel was possible.

He wasn't sure how he had ended up here at what should have been the moment of his death, but all things considered, it was probably safer to act as if this was a case of time travel rather than afterlife. If he was dead, it wouldn't matter what he did here. But it would certainly matter if he had traveled back to the past, and more to the point, could change the past.

So, if he really was here-and-now, what should he do? He wandered over to lean on the parapet next to Lily, looking out over the beautiful Hogwarts grounds.

It really was lovely here when it wasn't being bombarded by an invading army.

"Sev? Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm? Oh. I was thinking."

"What about?"

He looked at her. Young and innocent. Still his friend despite his pathetic inability to adequately carry his side of the relationship. He smiled and crossed the space to hug her lightly. "I'm sorry for every mean-spirited thing I've said to you, Lily. I don't mean them."

She laughed and patted his back. "Wow, you're just full of surprises today." She leaned away from him. Her nose was wrinkled. "Phew. No offense, Sev, but you stink."

He smirked. "I know. I think I went a little mad studying. I really need a shower."

"Too right. But hey, it's the last day. Wanna meet up after the practical and teach me to fly?"

"I've got some more kinks to work out first. I really don't want to see you splatter all over the courtyard." He didn't need to make the current war any worse by spreading spells developed in the future to all and sundry.

Lily grimaced. "And thanks for that lovely image. Alright, go wash. I'll see you later."

The shower was, of course, an excellent place for thinking. Particularly once the bathroom was warded against the entry of other actual teenagers. He added a silencing charm when one of his dorm mates kept knocking insistently. Let them find somewhere else. Hogwarts had plenty of facilities. Severus' need for privacy was quite literally more important than anything else in the castle at the moment.

So. Time travel.

What now?

Obviously, he probably should do something to prevent all the horrible things yet to come. Lily's murder. All the other murders. Given the time to plan, he could surely do a world a good. He was, after all, a fully grown and capable wizard with crucial knowledge of the future. Dumbledore had spilled all his secrets in the end, including Potter junior's horcrux scar. Severus could change the course of history. He could stop the war now.

Probably should.

But.

For fuck's sake, he had just died fighting this same war. Died prematurely at the end of a pretty much miserable life. It felt supremely unfair to sign up to do it all again. Particularly since, with the outward appearance of a teenager, he would no doubt still have to rely on Albus Dumbledore or some other influential adult to get everything done.

It didn't take all that long to decide that he would make the war Somebody Else's Problem. The rest of his shower was spent furiously cleaning his own scalp whilst contemplating different methods of foisting responsibility onto Dumbledore without unduly exposing himself. Merlin! He might have been cursed with lifelong greasy scalp, but it had never been worse than when he was a sixteen-year-old with no money and low self-esteem.

He was almost late to the practical Defense OWL. He probably would have totally neglected it if not for Lily's helpful reminder on the Astronomy Tower. He indulged himself by delivering an absolutely splendid performance that completely dazzled the examiners: every spell was perfect, and most nonverbal where that would not affect the casting. Towards the end, other students' examinations were on hold while his own examiner enthusiastically asked him to perform more and more spells. The finale was a Patronus charm. For the first time in his life, Severus felt no need to hide the silvery doe - neither Lily nor anyone else in their year had learned the complex spell yet. He took great pleasure in Black's and Potter's dumbfounded expressions at his mastery of inarguably Light magic. Morons.

He nodded briskly to the examiner and flounced out of the utterly silent hall, barely concealing his grin. And then he was off to a disused dungeon classroom to brew the potions he needed in order to put his post-Hogwarts plans into action.

Because fuck no. He was not going to hang around playing at being a schoolboy, surrounded by people who either hated him or wanted to use him. He'd done it once. That was a thankless path he would never tread again, not in this life or the next.

Severus barely saw Lily in the last few days before the end of term. Honestly, though it was nice to see a young, alive Lily again, she had been dead and gone so long for him, he found he didn't actually yearn for her company. He decided that was for the best - he would surely need to question his sanity if as a middle-aged adult he really wanted to spend that much quality time around a teenaged girl. It was enough to be on good terms with her again. In any case, he was too busy brewing potions, enchanting knickknacks, and scrounging through the Come-and-Go room looking for useful castoffs he could either repurpose or pawn. There was a lot of good stuff in there, once he removed the hexes or curses that were the main reason a lot of the better items were discarded. Even more of the muggle things could be salvaged with a simple Reparo. It was frankly ridiculous so much stuff was just wasted sitting in the heaps of lost and unwanted items. The scholarship fund could even be expanded if someone only took the time to sort through it all.

He kept just one set of luxurious velvet dress robes. He might never have the right occasion to wear them, but they fit too well to pawn and were just so nice. Severus liked having nice things for a change. The only other clothes he kept for himself were muggle items.

On the very last day of term, he stumbled across the Diadem of Ravenclaw. Just sitting there.

He stared at it for about five minutes. He was very tempted to laugh but also to scream. He had continued Albus' research into the Founders after the man's death; he did not trust Potter junior nor his sidekick Miss Granger to complete the horcrux hunting mission unaided no matter Dumbledore's confidence in the plucky teens. The Diadem was present in the vast majority of historical depictions of Rowena Ravenclaw, so it made the short list. And here it was, oozing Dark magic for anyone who knew and cared to check. Inside Hogwarts.

If he or Albus had only known about this manifestation of the Come-and-Go Room earlier...

He levitated it inside a random box, disillusioned himself, and flew out to the far, marshy end of the Black Lake. He conjured a concealing mist and several powerful shielding charms, set the box down on a soggy little island, and hit it with a highly controlled burst of Fiendfyre. The horcrux exploded as it burned, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Lord Voldemort himself had taught Severus how to control Fiendfyre and called him one of his best pupils in the subject.

Well. That was a fun last day of using wanded magic for the next seven months until he turned seventeen and lost the Trace.

Chapter Text

Severus didn't like many things about being back in his teenaged body, but it was undoubtedly better suited to climbing trellises than his thirty-eight-year-old version would have been. He wedged his notes into each Evans sister's window, then dropped back down into the back garden. He hoisted his magically expanded briefcase containing all his worldly belongings and made his way to the rendezvous point.

His letter to Lily was long. It had to be.

Dear Lily,

I'm sorry I didn't consult about this with you ahead of time, but I didn't want you to talk me out of it. I'm running away. Hogwarts isn't for me any more. I know my Slytherin classmates are horrible to you, and I'm sorry I haven't done more to stop them. What I haven't told you is they're trying to recruit me to join that terrorist. I don't want to, obviously, but it's also been made pretty clear to me they'll happily kill all my other prospects. I also don't want to stick with the abusive troll claiming to be my father - the berk broke my nose again as soon as I got home, surprise, surprise.

I need a favor. I'm framing my Da for offing me - you know he deserves it - that way Ma will be safe. It'll all be on the muggle side. Can you send an extra-snotty letter to Headmaster Dumbledore informing him of my tragic and untimely death? I might have resorted to less-extreme measures if he'd shown any sympathy at all over the years. You can bully Potter into giving you the details sometime. He knows what I'm talking about.

I'll be going to ground at least until I'm seventeen and the Trace deactivates, so you won't hear from me after this until after New Year. Maybe longer depending on what's happening politically in the wizarding side of things. Please don't try to track me down until we're both of age. It would only cause problems for us both. Don't worry about me: I have it all planned out. I won't be living on the street or anything like that. I've got money and supplies saved up to cover at least the first few months.

In the meantime, I've enclosed all the useful spells and potions modifications ideas I've come up with for next year. Don't show anyone else the spells, at least not for a few years until that terrorist is taken care of. The last thing I want is something I created to get back to the bastard and help him. Use the potions notes though. I want you to dazzle Slughorn for me. Show them all what poor kids from mill towns are worth. You can claim all the credit. Burn this letter once you've copied all the notes into your own handwriting.

Your friend,

Severus

The letter to Petunia was short and to the point.

Petunia,

The rumors you are soon to hear regarding my death are greatly exaggerated. If you meet me at the coffee shop on third street at 10am, I will let you in on a secret not even Lily is privy to. (It's not a trap. As you might surmise, I need something from you. Hear me out.)

Sincerely,

That awful boy

He had five hours to kill before his meeting with Petunia, but he went ahead and donned his disguise anyway. He hadn't had time to brew Polyjuice potion before leaving Hogwarts, but what he had was almost as good and would last all day: a measure of Aging potion and a muggle suit that matched his older appearance. A glance in a hand mirror revealed that yes, his hair would still be pure black at age fifty, so he added a mousy-haired wig he'd found in the Come-and-Go Room and a fedora to hide the fact it was a wig.

He hefted the briefcase and headed back to the noisome river. He found a comfortable bench and spent a few minutes carefully cutting holes into his old shirt in all the right places to seem appropriately lethal. He then stuffed the garment back into a plastic grocery back, nicked his finger with the knife, and poured a Blood Replenishing potion over the wound and into the bag. The potion did not have to be imbibed to activate, it just needed contact with fresh blood and the blood would proliferate. It was the principle used in vampire reintegration programs all around the world. And it was a splendid way to falsify evidence of a murder.

He stowed the knife and empty vial back in his briefcase and leaned back in the bench. He allowed the blood to soak into the cheap cloth while he watched the sunrise. When the first lights came on in the house across the river from him, he tossed the bag of bloody clothes into the water and watched it bob downstream. It should wash up on the sand bar around the next bend in the river. Between that, the bloody kitchen knife and boots Eileen was about to find next to her severely hungover but otherwise unharmed husband when she got up this morning, and the clear signs of something heavy being dragged out to the river bank behind the Snapes' house, the nature of his death should be self-evident even though a body would never be found.

At eight o'clock, he finally got up from the bench and meandered towards the coffee shop, arriving a little after nine. He settled into a corner table near the window with a novel, a nice cup of tea, and a buttered scone.

Petunia was prompt. It was one of her few excellent traits. She looked around uncertainly, eyes sliding right past him until he waved to get her attention. Her gaze snapped back, and she frowned at his unmistakable large nose before stalking over to him. He smiled as she neared.

"Good morning, Ms. Evans. Thank you for coming."

His voice clearly startled her, even more than his appearance. "Er... hello. What is...?"

"Aging potion. It really is me. Just older and with a wig."

Her eyes widened at his blatant admission to using a magical disguise, even though he had spoken quietly. But she kept her voice cool and level. "I gather you left a note for Lily this morning too? She was cursing up a storm at seven but wouldn't tell anyone why."

"Indeed."

"So... in your note you mentioned..."

"I've decided to fake my own death," he explained. "That's what Lily was upset about."

"...Why?"

He gave her a frank look. "Because no matter what Lily has told you and your parents, the wizarding world is utter pants. I've had it with Hogwarts. So I'm leaving it. Any life I could make in the muggle world as myself would also be pants. Better to disappear entirely and start anew as someone else."

"Right. So what does this have to do with me?"

"I need to work with an adult who can set up bank accounts and things and also won't try to parent me." She snorted involuntarily at the very notion of taking care of him. He grinned. "And that's why I chose you."

"And what's in it for me?"

He gestured expansively. "I'm a wizard at your disposal. I can make all your dreams come true."

She started at him skeptically. "Oh yes? And what dreams are you imagining for me? I don't need your freakiness."

His grin turned knowing. "Of course you don't. You can do just fine on your own, marry a man at your work named Vernon Dursley and pop out a son barely a year later. You'll abandon your career and live as a housewife in the suburbs competing with the neighbors over whose lawn is the greenest. You'll never play guitar after you marry and rarely sing because Vernon isn't religious and doesn't want you to go to church even though you enjoy the choir. Also, the muscles you were initially attracted to will dissolve into flab before your third anniversary, but you'll be trapped by then due to lack of independent income and the demands of a small child."

She opened her mouth, but he cut across her anger. "Meanwhile, your sister will be murdered before you ever have a chance to make nice with her, and her child will be dumped on your doorstep by the meddling headmaster of my school. He'll threaten you and your family and will not feel bad about it once in the ensuing sixteen years before he also dies." He let that sink in for a moment before finishing with a flourish. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll die a year after him, so you'll at least have the satisfaction of outliving me."

She barked a quick, breathy laugh. "I- What?"

"That's your future. Thought you might like to know."

She looked around warily before leaning forwards and hissing at him, "If this is some sick joke-"

"It's not. It's the secret I mentioned in my letter."

"Just because you looked into a crystal ball and dreamed up some mumbo jumbo about my future..."

"I didn't. For one, from what I've read crystal balls don't give that level of detail, just glimpses. For another, I didn't take Divination and never learned to use a crystal ball properly. Most importantly... I didn't do magic to See the future. I came back in time from the future. From 1998 at the moment of my death, to be exact."

Her eyes widened in shock. Surprisingly, she appeared to take him at his word. "Is that, er, normal for you lot?"

"Hardly. I'm still contemplating how it might have happened."

Her anger came flooding back. "And your first instinct after coming back from a future where my sister is dead and you die at, er, age thirty-eight is to just run away?"

"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong. I do intend to change things, but I think it's better for everyone if I disappear in the meantime."

"Oh. And why are you coming to me, again?"

"Told you. You have a legal identity on the muggle side, which I need for things like bank accounts and housing and so forth."

"But why me?"

He looked into her eyes. "There's not a lot of muggles I know both now and in 1998." Granted, he didn't actually know her in 1998, but he knew enough. "Is the future I just told you about something you really want to hang on to?"

She hesitated. "You could be lying to me."

"I could. But I'm not. If you agree to help me, Petunia Evans, I will help you make of your life whatever it is you want. Billionaire businesswoman? I know the investments you should make. Prime Minister? I know how all the major national and global events will play out for the next twenty years. Beauty icon? I'm a fully qualified wizard and potions master and can make you look however you wish."

"Rock star?" her request slipped out in a small, almost timid voice.

He blinked in surprise and mentally readjusted his impression of her, reminding himself she was, at the moment, an eighteen-year-old girl rather than the repressed matron he'd seen in Potter junior's memories. He shrugged. "Sure. I won't use magic to fake your way to the top, since manipulating minds that way is illegal and a sure-fire way to attract the attention of the magical government, but I'm pretty sure I remember most of the top hits for the next twenty years, so it should be possible."

She smiled, a little shyly. "I've always wanted to meet the Beatles."

He nodded. "Should be doable. Although... Lennon's already retired and living in New York, right?" She nodded, forehead wrinkling. "We'll have to plan on an American tour for you sooner rather than later, then."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's your logistical issue?"

"Four years is plenty of time," he assured her.

"Four years?"

"He's assassinated in 1980."

Her hand flew to her mouth. For the first time that morning, she looked properly horrified. It didn't last long, settling into an expression of grim determination. She held out a hand. "I'll do it. Make me a rock star, and we will save John Lennon."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, but he reached out and shook her hand. It was funny, the kinds of things teenagers found motivating. "So mote it be."

Severus and Petunia spent the drive to Liverpool hashing out their plans. First things first: Petunia would open a new bank account as soon as they arrived, using some of Severus' funds (he had already stopped by the pawn shops in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys on the way home), then she would search for apartments while he pawned the bulk of the non-magical items he had retrieved from the Come-and-Go room. He hoped to get a decent price, considering quite a lot of them qualified as antiques at this point. He kept back the nicer furniture, some kitchenware and a set of dishes: the only shopping Petunia would need to do to finish setting up their flat would be toiletries, bedframes and mattresses.

Severus was overjoyed to see the flat Petunia found would be the nicest place he had ever lived. Sure, it was unfurnished and lacked the luxury of the Slytherin common room or his professor's quarters at Hogwarts, but it was a second floor with large windows and a small balcony! There were a café and pub within easy walking distance. For a man who had spent the past nigh-thirty years of his life living below-grounds in a castle in Scotland, this was heaven. He quickly unshrunk the furniture and let Petunia arrange things to her heart's content while he sat on the balcony in the sun, jotting down all the tunes and lyrics to popular songs he could remember, along with the bands' names and approximate dates of publication.

"What are you going to play?" Petunia asked as she looked over his shoulder later.

"Pardon?"

"In the band. What will you play?"

"Being a rock star is your thing. I'm just the enabler."

She scoffed. "I can't go solo from the beginning! That's not how it works! I need a band!"

"So get a band."

"They don't grow on trees, Snape. You need to help. At least at first. That way I can get a foot in the door and meet other musicians in town."

He huffed, but he supposed she did have a point. It was one thing to have the (stolen) song ideas, quite another to make a compelling performance. She did need backup. "Fine. I'll play bass." It didn't seem too hard, and there had been a few of the instruments for sale at the shops he'd visited earlier.

She prodded his shoulder. "Can you play bass?"

"I can learn."

"Ugh. Can you sing?"

"Well enough."

"At least your voice is distinctive," she grumbled.

"And done cracking," he supplied dryly.

"Hah. Okay. Just need to find a percussionist, then."

"You can hang around the local music scene in the evenings for the next month or so," he suggested. "It will take at least that long for me to familiarize myself with the fingerings. Savings should last awhile if we budget."

She nodded reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. So..." She finally moved to sit down across from him. "Did you come up with a way to send your 'prophesies' to your professor yet?"

He grinned. It had been Petunia's suggestion during the drive that he just package some of his information up as prophesies for Dumbledore. He hadn't thought of it before merely because he knew how real divinations were supposed to work, but then she'd pointed out that magic is weird. And she was right. Just because Severus and presumably Dumbledore had never heard of a Seer able to give such detailed information about the future didn't mean it was totally incredible. "I have. I happen to know a Seer who, while genuinely gifted, is perfectly happy to supplement her rare true insights with frequent charlatanism. She'd probably be willing to pass information along if I promise to enhance her reputation."

"So you're going to offer her the same deal you did me," Petunia summarized.

He paused. "Well, yes."

"Alright. Any chance this Seer can play drums?"

He snorted at the very image of Sybill Trelawney rocking out to muggle music. "I don't think so."

He arranged to meet up with Sybill in the muggle coffee shop closest to The Bowtruckle's Garden, the hidden wizarding café in downtown Liverpool that also served as the city's public floo connection. He was under the guise of another aging potion, this time calibrated to age seventy, wearing the same suit he'd worn to the meeting with Petunia. Merlin, he wished he could just put a bit of Aging potion in his tea every morning and skip this ridiculous second teenagedhood. Alas, he didn't fancy dying of dementia, osteoporosis, and/or any other age-related disease sometime in the next five years.

Sybill looked just as dotty as ever in her long dress, huge glasses, and copious beads, but somehow the muggles didn't even look twice. The man minding the counter immediately started listing off their selection of herbal teas and vegan baked goods. Severus hid a smile, realizing the muggles had taken her for a hippie and assumed her dietary preferences based on that. Sybill clearly had no idea what the muggle was talking about and just said "the first tea you mentioned" in a dreamy tone. Severus got up quickly and walked up to the counter to pay for her drink. He didn't trust her to have brought any muggle currency with her. Plus, she didn't know what he looked like.

"Good to see you," he said in his gravelly old man voice. "I got us a table in the corner."

She blinked at him in momentary surprise before smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be mysterious and all-knowing but really didn't hide her nervousness. Not from him, anyway. He knew her too well.

They walked back to the table and sat down. Severus waited for her to finish adding lemon and honey to her tea. Once she was settled, she picked up the cup and took a slow sip, staring over the rim at him meaningfully. The effect was ruined when she involuntarily gagged and quickly set the tea back down. "Blech! I had no idea muggle tea was so... horrible."

He grinned as she grabbed the honey pot and started ladling even more into her cup, stirring it in furiously. Merlin, she looked so young. Of course, this was the youngest he had ever seen her, he reflected. She couldn't be more than twenty-five. He didn't remember off hand what year she was born. "Next time just ask for a breakfast blend," he told her. "Thank you for coming, by the way."

"Your letter was intriguing," she responded cautiously. "Mister...?"

"My name is not important, but if you agree to my proposal, you may continue to address our correspondence to Ezekiel." Because according to Petunia, Ezekiel was the prophet with the most "hard core" visions.

"Oh. Er... Right. I am, of course, eager to share insights with others gifted with the Inner Eye..."

"Quite."

"You said you had premonitions of a coming conflict and wished to work with another Seer to improve the clarity?"

"'Conflict' is a mild term. The portents I have Seen are most ominous, most ominous indeed." She looked at him with wide, expectant eyes and said nothing. He realized he was going to have to sell this whole prophet persona a lot harder. He stirred his own tea unnecessarily while attempting to think of something suitably vague yet suggestive to say. He hadn't realized how much effort it must be to spout out this nonsense for her classes every day... Screw it. "It's close to midnight. And something evil's lurking in the dark." Ugh, if she only knew he was quoting muggle song lyrics. He kept shamelessly plagiarizing Michael Jackson. "Under the moonlight, I've seen a sight that almost stops your heart. Horror looks upon us, and no one but we, the Gifted, can save us all from the beast about to strike. There is no second chance against the thing with forty eyes. We must stand and face the hounds of hell, pick and choose the diverging paths, and seal the perfect doom." Enough mutilated song lyrics. She looked sufficiently hooked. "But we may be able to end the brewing war before it causes too much damage. Between the two of us, we could save a lot of lives."

"War?" she echoed quietly.

"It's coming. And it will be terrible if nothing is done to alter the current tides pushing the Dark Lord to ascendancy."

She quickly looked down. "I did not realize you were writing about... that. I have, of course, seen the omens..." She bit her lip. He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't recall her looking so nervous before. But then, she was young, and he was pretending to be a much older and presumably more experienced Seer at present. Maybe he was intimidating her. She took a deep breath. "I- I confess, I have never, er, collaborated in such a way with anyone else with the Sight. While I am interested, well, perhaps for such an important task, you should find someone..."

"I am certain of your gift," he interrupted. "It is what I need."

She blinked again and perked up slightly. "I see. Very well, then. How can I help?"

"As stated in my letter, I have Seen what is coming. If you will complete a-" totally made up based on what Petunia thought would be cool - "dream-binding ritual with me, then I believe my visions will become fully actionable. I will write to you regarding what I See, and you will communicate the information to Albus Dumbledore, as the chief opposition against those calling themselves Death Eaters."

"Right, right. I have, of course, read about the, er, dream-binding ritual many times." Her cheeks turned pink with the lie. He supposed she must have perfected her poker face over the next few years in the original timeline. "I do not understand why you cannot share your visions with Headmaster Dumbledore directly."

"Let us just say, I do not wish him to know me."

She fixed him with a surprisingly shrewd look. "And why is that?" He hesitated. He hadn't expected her to question the offer. He hesitated too long. "You are in essence setting me up to take all the credit for your visions. If you're right about how important they are, I don't have to tell you the- the status I can gain with..."

"I have no desire for fame."

"Then you surely could simply tell the headmaster that! He would keep your name private."

"And deprive a young talent such as yourself of this opportunity?" he countered ingratiatingly.

She looked around them at the muggles. None were paying attention. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice further. "This makes no sense. Since it seems the dream-sharing will go one-way only, how do I know you will be telling me the truth to tell to him? How do I know you are not using me and my reputation to spread false visions?"

"Your reputation?" He was honestly a bit confused. She hadn't made her great prophesy yet. She didn't have the veneer of respectability inherent to a Hogwarts professorship. She was still scrounging for a living as a two-bit fortune teller at the moment.

"As the descendant of Cassandra Trelawney! Is that not why you reached out to me?"

Ah. Damnit. He should have looked up more recent famous Seers before setting up the meeting. Not that he had the means of doing so. "No, I was guided to you on your own merits."

She sighed and almost took another sip of tea before remembering it was terrible and setting it down again with a grimace. The next thing she said was in a much cooler tone than she usually used. "Look, I would love to help, but I'm honestly not that good. I know I have something of the family talent, but I mostly get by on cold-reading my clients rather than making real predictions."

"You have enough," he assured her hastily.

"Maybe," she granted. "But there is no way I'd be your first pick for something as important as you've made this sound. You're up to something and just hoping I'll be gullible enough to go along with it." She sniffed judgmentally. "I should know. I run the same scheme with some of my clients."

Double damnit. She wasn't supposed to be this perceptive. He supposed she hadn't taken up drinking yet. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Real talk, then. I already know everything I need to. I want to work with you because I don't want to work with Dumbledore."

"Why not? I quite liked him as a professor."

"Sure, but he's awful to work with as a peer. Once he realizes what I have, he will want to own and protect his source as much as possible. Which is all well and good, except that I don't fancy holing up in Hogwarts under his nose for the rest of my life. But I figure you could benefit from a professorship quite nicely."

She wrinkled her nose. "Why would I want to be a professor?"

"Free room and board?"

"I suppose... Don't you want to be paid, though?"

"Nope, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"And doing what else?" She asked suspiciously. "I've never heard of you before, but by the look of you, I should have if you're as good as you claim."

He grinned. "Honestly? Running off to the muggle world to enjoy myself. This isn't my real face; I'm much younger in actuality. I have a friend who wants to start a band."

She stared at him a moment, then started laughing. "Truly?"

"Yes."

"That's... no wonder you've been granted such extensive visions!"

... "What?"

"Turning our art into an income is the worst thing that ever happened to my Inner Eye!" she complained, suddenly much more at ease, thinking they must be close in age. "It was bad enough doing it for a grade. I had much clearer visions when I was a little girl. And here you are, following your passion rather than dwelling on portents. That's the real reason you don't want to work with Dumbledore yourself, isn't it? The pressure of expectations and employment really does stifle one's aura, doesn't it?"

"Er..."

She nodded decisively. "I'm coming with you."

"What? No! That's not-"

She shook her head. "I'll still help. Dumbledore must know you but doesn't know you have the Sight, right? You wouldn't need an intermediary otherwise, could just send letters anonymously. I don't have that problem. Everyone knows my family is Gifted, and everyone who matters knows my current fortune-telling business is fraudulent."

"Everyone who matters?"

"You know, other professionals with the Sight. Anyway, I can send the letters to Dumbledore for you, and I'll just refuse his offers of protection. He can't threaten to out me and be taken seriously."

"Er..."

"I can sing," she said.

"Okay?"

"In your friend's band," she clarified. "I'm quite good, actually."

"Right." He sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "I don't suppose you can play drums?"

She beamed. "I'll learn!"

Sybill and Petunia got on like a house on fire. It was alarming. They liked the same tea blends, the same pastries, the same incense and perfumes. They were both partial to the same pink teacups and lace tablecloths. Sybill adored Petunia's collection of vinyl albums, even though she'd never heard any of the music before, proclaiming each of Petunia's favorite songs to be "absolutely exquisite." Petunia declared that Sybill looked "just like Joni Mitchell with curly hair" and set about giving the unsuspecting witch a fashionable muggle-style makeover. Even Severus had to admit the resemblance when they were done and asked his opinion, holding up one of the singer's album covers for comparison. It was Petunia who offered to let Sybill move in with them and share her bedroom. Severus could hear them gossiping and giggling long into the nights.

As Severus anticipated, it wasn't particularly hard for him to learn the essentials of bass guitar. He had nimble fingers, a quick mind, and a book on music theory. Sybill did not easily take to drums though, even the simple set of bongos they had acquired at one of the pawn shops. She just lacked that innate sense of rhythm required of a good percussionist. It took about two days of painful listening to her practicing for Severus to start contemplating magical shortcuts. In another week, he had worked out the arithmancy for The Universal Musical Time Signature Charm. The process was greatly simplified when he looked through a glossary of musical terms and realized he could basically just transcribe what he wanted. Accento Allegro, Accento Ballade, Accento Cantabile, Accento Capriccio. He interrupted Petunia and Sybill's latest tea and makeup party to coach Sybill through the incantations and wand movements the moment he came up with Accento Cadenza. When he was satisfied she had it down, he sent her off to the park to cast it on herself. Far enough away it wouldn't trigger the Trace on him.

When she got back, there was a clear dance in her step, and she was able to perform a passable rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody" purely through tapping on their collection of teacups with a couple spoons. It was impressive, if he did say so himself. She'd just need to recast the charm ahead of their practice sessions and gigs.

The problem of Sybill's musicality solved, he set her to rewriting the most important information for the war effort into convincing-sounding prophesies to owl to Albus Dumbledore, while he and Petunia worked on arranging the songs for their first set.

They had just about perfected "Never Gonna Give You Up" when Sybill completed her first major assignment, a suitably flowery warning for Dumbledore that the Dark Lord was currently immortal due to the Secrets of the Darkest Art and also currently planning a strike on Diagon Alley. (That was one of a few major escalations of the war Severus remembered the approximate date of before he was Marked himself). Reading the florid prose, he not for the first time considered just writing everything down all at once and sending it anonymously, but Sybill had convinced him otherwise. She had realized he was a time traveler rather than prophet as soon as he showed her his notes, and they both knew Dumbledore would stop at nothing to track down an obvious time traveler. So he approved the faux-prophesy. Sybill copied it into a more formal letter along with a promise to use additional scrying techniques to attempt to bring clarity to her dire prophesy, then headed out to find a wizarding post office.

When she got back, the three held a celebratory first "jam session," much to Petunia's excitement. She declared their trio good enough to push for a gig at a local pub.

"Not a bad crowd for a first-time performance," the barman told Petunia consolingly as they looked out at the dozen or so patrons gathered. All of them regulars to the bar, none of them paying attention to the waiting stage or soon-to-be-playing band members. Except for one peppy-looking teenager with badly dyed blonde hair Petunia had introduced them to earlier as one of her "musical contacts," Eric.

"Good for the first show to be small, I guess," Petunia said with a nervous laugh. "In case we bomb."

"What's b-" Sybill began, but Severus cut across her before she could complete the question. "We'll be fine. We're ready." Sybill had cast her virtuoso charm in the loo a few minutes ago.

"That's the spirit, lad," the barman said and patted his hair. Severus bristled involuntarily. He already resented the man for handing him a Capri Sun juice pouch instead of an alcoholic beverage. Or just plain water. Merlin, but he hated looking like a teenager. The muggle only grinned at him. "Now get up on that stage. I'll introduce you. What's the band name?"

Severus blinked, took a sip of his juice, grimaced at the overly sweet taste, and looked at Petunia. He couldn't recall ever discussing such details with her. Petunia looked equally caught-out, but she recovered quickly enough. "Er...the Superfreaks."

The juice almost came out his nose. That was one of the songs he hadn't remembered/ever known all the lyrics to, but what he had recalled was enough to make Petunia blush beet-red and sputter for about fifteen minutes. Sybill just shrugged and rewrote the lyrics to be autobiographical about her own career instead of sex: the true prophetess who could only make a living through fraud. That girl can see your future, (She's a superfreak), But you don't want to hear it (You'll only want to shriek). She'll tell you what you want to hear (No need to even speak), and you'll pay dearly for the lies, oh! (She's got a vicious streak). Sybill was a gifted poet, when it came down to it. Severus quite liked the final version. The song wasn't in today's set, though. It didn't fit with the rest of the sentimental pop songs Petunia had chosen as the simplest to learn on short notice.

The barman chuckled. "I like it. A band name should be attention-grabbing. Just need to own it. Alright, let's go." He led the way up to the stage and waited for the three of them to assume positions. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome all, and thanks for coming down. It's eight o'clock on a Saturday, which means it's time for our musical guests! We've got a new group in house tonight, and they tell me the set is all original compositions. Let's applaud their bravery." There were a few half-hearted claps as people looked up from their drinks. "Without further ado, give it up for the Superfreaks!"

Petunia smiled and waved. She strummed a couple warm-up cords on her guitar and touched the tuning pegs without actually adjusting them. She cleared her throat. "This first song is called 'Dancing in the Dark.'" And she immediately hit the introductory cords.

Their set of yet-to-be-written-in-this-timeline 80s hits was extremely well received, particularly "Uptown Girl" and "I Wanna Dance with Somebody." Good to know the songs really were timeless, and independent of the large American audiences that had contributed to their massive popularity in Severus' memory. They performed a second "Never Gonna Give You Up" as a much-demanded encore. This included an enthusiastic solo from Sybill, who had collected all the empty and partially-empty beer glasses around the pub for the purpose.

"Terrific! Simply terrific!" The barman exclaimed as he shoved glasses of congratulatory wine at Petunia and Sybill. "You should absolutely come back! We've got an opening in two weeks, I think..."

Chapter Text

Dear Ms. Trelawney,

I was delighted to receive your letter. Indeed, I am always glad to correspond with my former students. Your thoughts are quite insightful, and I would be eager to discuss further, perhaps over tea? I have several suggestions for points of interest it may be worth elaborating on and would be happy to support an academic collaboration. To that end, I extend an invitation to meet with me at Hogwarts this Sunday. If you agree, I will notify the gargoyles to expect you and meet you at the gates.

Sincerely yours,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus' owl arrived the very next morning after the attack on Diagon Sybill had written him about. Fortunately, he had acted on the information, and the casualties were far fewer than had been the case in Severus' memory. He and Sybill composed a gleeful reply that afternoon, mostly Sybill:

My dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

The conjunction of Mars with the girdle of the Pleiades makes this Sunday an extremely inauspicious date for any kind of new ventures. I myself shall be in great peril of grievous bodily injury from the slightest of accidents, while you risk turning friends to foes with the slightest of mis-speech. If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion for your safety, keep all spontaneous thoughts to yourself that day and respond where questions require answers only in quotations from Beedle the Bard or from Voltaire, in the original French. For my part, I fear I must decline your generous invitation or risk a catastrophe. I may consider a meeting at a more favorable time.

Sincerely,

Sybill Trelawney

PS: "In the fastness of a Stranger lies a fifth part of a most vile treasure." These words came to me in a dream the night before I received your letter. They mean nothing to me, but the Inner Eye moves me to share with you.

Albus' reply was equally prompt, and much terser than his first missive: Would Monday suit? - APWBD

Sybill's answer was initially in the affirmative, but she wrote again Monday morning to cancel the appointment:

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

I have spent a night steeped in horrors. I saw a great engine beat against a bridge in a storm. I saw a dark witch arise from the depths of the sea. I saw monsters hunger for the flesh of the young. I saw your right hand withering before the Mark of Grindelwald. I saw myself drowning in the shrieks of spirits and a hell-borne toad... I think you see why I cannot bring myself to keep our meeting today.

Sincerely,

Sybill Trelawney

The letters continued back and forth, Albus attempting to coax her to a meeting - anytime, anywhere, Sybill rejecting each offer for melodramatic and completely made up reasons disguised in the language of Divinations. Each letter was sprinkled with hints of the future Severus had told her about. Finally, they received Albus' thirteenth successive invitation. It was what Sybill had been waiting for:

My Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I was brewing tea when I received your most recent letter, indeed had just set the leaves to steep when the owl flew through the window. I knew the timing was no coincidence but rather a message. And so I read your letter three times while drinking the tea and then set the dregs to drain over the Hogwarts seal. While the leaves drained, I meditated to open my mind and the Inner Eye. When I then lifted the cup to read the leaves, it was extraordinary: a repeating pattern all around the cup of mountains, swords, chains, downward-facing arrows, and anchors. The message could not be more clear: should I journey to Hogwarts, it will result only in danger and unhappiness. It is the wrong choice, and that will not change.  Thirteen times have you written me to request an in-person meeting, and thirteen times Fate herself has intervened to prevent it. Do not ask again. We must continue this alliance by post only.  Please, in your next letter, ask questions of the Inner Eye, not of myself.

Regretfully,

Sybill Trelawney

PS: I brewed a second pot of tea afterwards, so shaken was I by the grim contents of the first. It was a pleasant herbal mixture to wash out the bitterness of the previous plain black leaves. This time, I was thinking about some of the dreams I had mentioned to you, whose meaning still eludes me. In this cup, I saw apples and pears that appeared rotten even for tea leaves, and a hammer of all things. After some thought, it occurs to me the "vile treasure" I once wrote of may relate to a long,  rotten  life? I hope the signs will mean more to you.

And that was that.

"Heads up, Sev."

Petunia took him by surprise whilst he was working out a first draft of another letter to Albus for Sybill to edit and transcribe. The older wizard had finally asked if the "vile treasures of the long, rotten life" could possibly be horcruxes! As such, Severus was focused on his work and not expecting the cloth bundle thrown at his head. It was only quick, war-honed reflexes that allowed him to catch it. He unfolded the bundle curiously to discover a set of high-waisted black slacks with pantlegs that flared towards the bottom, a button-down shirt with colorful, vertical stripes, a black denim jacket, and shiny black shoes with heels thicker than his thumbs.

"What's this? We don't have a gig tonight." Nor were these the clothes he normally wore to their concerts, though the style was similar.

"It's my birthday. We're going dancing."

He snorted. "Right. Happy birthday. Have fun. I'm not coming."

"Of course you are, Severus! It's going to be fantastic!" Sybill exclaimed, bouncing up next to Petunia in a clatter of beads. She was wearing three strings of stone beads around her neck in different shades of green and had two more necklaces in the same style wrapped multiple times around her wrists to create thick bracelets. Plus a couple of gold bangles and dangly earrings. There was the Sybill he remembered shining through. Petunia had at least taken charge of her clothing choices, he saw. The two young women were matching in satinny tops, miniskirts, shear stockings, and heels. The only difference was color. Petunia's outfit was vivid red to match her lipstick. Sybill's was green as her beads.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. "You forget I'm officially sixteen. I'll cramp your style."

Petunia grinned. "On the contrary. We're going to get drunk, and if you're staying sober, that means you can watch our drinks for us and make sure no creeps put drugs in it."

Sybill nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I've heard dreadful things about men putting a kind of muggle sleeping potion into young women's drinks in order to have their way with them. I don't want any of that. If I'm trying any muggle potions, I want it to be the fun kind."

Severus almost choked. "Excuse me? The fun kind?!"

"Oh, you must know, Severus. Eric told me about them while we were warming up for that last gig. Let's see, there's one called Ecstasy, one called LSD, one called marijuana or simply weed, one called magic mushrooms, fancy that... He also mentioned 'hard stuff' but said that's addictive if you don't know what you're doing."

"No no no no no no no. No. You are not going out to get drunk and experiment with muggle drugs of dubious origin."

Petunia walked over and patted his cheek smugly. "Not if you come along to keep an eye on her."

... "Fine," he growled.

Going dancing for Petunia's birthday proved to be the very break they needed, to Severus' bother. It was in the golden hour: after Petunia becoming tipsy enough for her personality to turn charming instead of abrasive but before the underage curfew that saw Severus barred from the vast majority of dance halls. They ran into Eric who, besides knowing far too much about illicit substances for a nineteen-year-old in Professor Snape's opinion, also knew everyone in the local music industry. The boy grabbed Petunia's hand and dragged her over to meet one Ken Testi, verified music producer. Testi was to be opening a new music club here in Liverpool next month. The opening night performances were already booked, but the schedule for the rest of the year still needed to be filled. And no, it wasn't a problem at all that one of the band members was underage. The club was membership only but had the option of a junior membership, at a discount no less. Severus wouldn't even need a real ID once the group received their membership cards.

And so October first found the unlikely trio, and Eric, with front row seats at the new club, very much enjoying performances by The Runaways and the Sex Pistols.

Severus and Sybill both might have had miniature existential crises while John Lindon stared them down, screaming "No future, no future, no future for you/ No future, no future, no future for me" at the top of his lungs.

Petunia experienced some kind of epiphany during "Cherry Bomb," standing like a statue and staring up at Cherie Curie as if she'd never seen a more wonderful sight.

Eric once again proved extremely helpful in getting their group backstage to meet with the bands, Testi, and the other club co-owner Mr. Eagle. Petunia and Ms. Curie hit things off nicely; she netted them their hoped-for gig by teaching The Runaways lead singer "I Wanna Dance with Somebody." Both bands (over Severus' objections) trooped back onstage belting the chorus with The Superfreaks. Petunia ended up dancing with Cherie, Eric with the lead guitarist Joan Jett, and Severus hid behind Sybill's drums kit bobbing his head in time to the music.

"The Superfreaks is a great band name, lot's of character, but what's your stage name, Petunia?" Cherie asked, late in the evening as the bands were packing up their gear at last and Petunia, Sybill, and Severus were still lingering for some reason.

"Oh, er, I don't have one."

Cherie laughed, and Petunia blushed. "Oh, girl. Don't take this wrong, but you need one. I mean, come on, Petunia the Superfreak? Just, no."

Joan nodded agreement. "A lot of rockers either use a stage name or straight up change names like me. Joan Jett sounds way groovier than Joan Larkin, am I right? Sandy, Vicki, and Jackie all use stage names too. Cherie's just lucky her parents gave her an awesome name from the start."

Petunia nodded hesitantly. "I suppose... I've no idea what name to pick, though."

"Easiest is to riff on your real name somehow. Make a long name shorter, or a word it sounds similar to."

Petunia grimaced. "Petunia," was all she said.

The five glamorous rock starlets collectively paused. "I see your point," Cherie conceded. "'Tunes' is the best you could do, and it's kitschy."

"There's Nia," one of the other girls said.

"Not terrible, not memorable. Well, you could always match your bandmates. What's your name, again?" she asked, turning towards Severus. When he answered, all the musicians from both bands stopped to stare.

"Dude, did your parents hate you?" Steve Jones asked.

Severus considered this a moment, before answering, "Yes. Yes they do, now I come to think of it." There were a few startled laughs, but no one decided to delve into that any further.

"Well, what do you wish they had named you, then? Now's the time to rebel!"

Shit. What would an actual '70s teenager think was a cool name?! Severus quickly tried to sort through his memory of several decades of fads, both muggle and wizarding. Logically he might pick the name of a '90s muggleborn student - their parents would have been his age, after all. Kevin? Justin? Dennis? Colin? They were all so...ordinary. Then he realized he was thinking too long and just tried to remember which fantasy novels were published in the 70s. That would be a believable interest. Except every name he could think of was more wizardy than the most traditional Slytherin. Bad strategy. "Richard," he blurted, the name of one of his old Slytherin roommates.

He took in the unimpressed faces around him with a flush of embarrassment. "Elric?" he fell back on the least esoteric fantasy name he had thought of.

There was a low whistle from the background. "You're bad at this, kid. Try to think of something that's not an instant innuendo or just plain weird. Rockstar superfreak, not deviant or barbarian invader."

"What about you? I didn't catch your name either," one of the girls asked, kindly taking the attention off of him.

"Sybill."

Cherie smiled widely. "Now that is great. Two syllables, easy to say, but uncommon and sophisticated as hell. No notes. Sybill of the Superfreaks. Damn. Yeah, Petunia? Severus? Pick names to match The Sybill here."

"Ooh, Petunia, Tunes, if you go Greek, you could be The Muse!" Eric enthused.

"Love it," Cherie confirmed.

"Clio or Thalia could be the name you give reporters," Sybill suggested. "The goddesses of history and comedy, you know. They have the best names of the nine, I always thought."

"What do you do with him, though?" Steve asked, jabbing a thumb at Severus. "Muses and the Sybill were both under Apollo if I remember my fourth form Latin course. That pasty kid ain't Apollo. He ain't seen sunshine his whole life."

Severus sneered, for all it was kind of true. "Technically, my Roman name is already a fair match for her Greek one. I doubt most people in the audience would realize the difference."

"Oy, I literally wrote a song about how much we don't need the current oppressive school system, and I remembered that shit. Though I'll grant I didn't know Severus was Roman."

"Hm. Shall I claim a more well-known ancient ruler? Julius? Augustus? Menalaus? Minos?"

"Only if you want to sound a great, pompous prat, mate," Eric laughed. "At least pick a character you actually like."

"Socrates?"

"Double the pompous prattishness, I'm afraid."

"Fine. Daedalus."

"Who?"

"The inventor of the labyrinth," Sybill supplied.

"Only if you want people to mispronounce it 'diddle-us.'"

"Asclepius."

"Who?"

"God of medicine."

"Ass-clapper."

"...No."

Now Severus was getting irritated with the conversation. "Tantalus."

"Tantalize...that's not terrible actually, if it's with a theme. Edgy. Who's he?"

"A mythological Greek king famous for feeding his children to the gods, after which they were so repulsed as to relocate him to the Fields of Punishment, suspended by his ankles for all eternity with, ahem, tantalizing fruit and water just out of reach."

There was another collective pause. It occurred to Severus he had, sort of, just expressed an interest in naming himself after a particularly gruesome murderer. "It was a joke."

"Is there a Greek God of insufferable nerds?" Petunia asked caustically, glaring at both her band mates.

"Athena, I should think," Sybill said.

"Okay, forget the Greek stuff..."

At the end of the night, Severus had cemented a reputation for being painfully awkward in this new timeline, Sybill officially knew the most Greek mythology of anyone Steve Jones had ever met, Petunia had Cherie's home phone number, and Joan slapped Eric on the arse and told the club owners "Speaking of names, you should name the place after this kid! Eric's Club! Do you know how many cringeworthy girl-name-clubs we've played at? It'll be funny..."

The horcrux hunting hit a snag.

It was inevitable, he supposed, but things had trundled along so well for so long, he had hoped the plan would go off without a hitch. From Albus' last letter, the ring was destroyed, thankfully without Albus' aquiring a deadly curse this time. After just a little prompting from Severus via Sybill, Albus would soon be trading the sword of Griffindor for whatever it was Potter had stolen out of Gringotts in the original timeline - thank Merlin the sword had not yet soaked in basilisk venom or else Albus would never have given it up. The snake didn't exist yet. The diary would logically wait until last, since even Albus would be hard-pressed to break into Malfoy Manor without calling attention to himself. The problem was the locket - neither it nor the potion were in the cave yet, though the inferi were. The hiding place was a work-in-progress that may never now be used if the Dark Lord suspected the location had been compromised.

And so Severus was reduced to relying on actual Divinations, spending hours and hours with Sybill Trelawney on the project for two days. She failed miserably to scry the locket in a crystal ball or find anything useful in tea leaves. They were currently trying Tarot. It was an inexact art. Something was clearly happening with the cards, Severus had to admit. The Emperor reversed cropped up far more frequently than was statistically probable, and that was obviously the Dark Lord. There was Death, both upright and reversed, which Sybill said was "weird" as it portended both change and stagnation as well as more literal meanings. The Tower reversed and Six of Wands were nice, indicating averted disaster and public victory. The Page of Cups was perhaps the most annoying recurrent card for Severus - he didn't like surprises, even happy ones. He liked to be in control. Because he was from the future and should be in control.

In the end, after she told him his aura was putting her off, he decided to leave the task to Sybill. She knew how to obfuscate when she wasn't sure, but she also genuinely knew what she was doing with the cards. Her problems with interpretation came when she lacked context around the question and answer, as demonstrated when Petunia asked her to predict the twists and turns on Coronation Street. Her predictions of Vera Duckworth appearances proved ten for ten despite her having no idea who the "Queen of Cups" was in this context. So Severus told her to make the most sense out of it she could and leave it to Albus to find meaning, just as they had been doing with their manufactured hints previously.

Was it wrong for Severus to feel personally slighted when Albus wrote back an effusive thanks five days later?

Dear Ms. Trelawney,

I hope this letter finds you well. I must thank you yet again. I truly would never have thought to look in such a place without your excellent advice! I did indeed find the item right where you suggested...

Where?! She didn't even write a place name in her letter! Whatever. One step closer.

"Sybill, why don't you try to get a read on the exact location of that horcrux in Malfoy Manor? That's the last one."

"Nope!" Petunia interrupted the magicals. "Testi came through. There's going to be a representative from Apple at our next gig! You know what that means."

"Practice?" Sybill said, snatching up her drumsticks and twirling them.

"Practice! I'm getting the hang of guitar-bowing to mimic a synthesizer sound, but it's not ready for performance yet... If this pays as well as the last one, we could just get a synthesizer."

"Oh, no, Petunia, I love your creative acoustic techniques!"

Severus grumbled but got up to fetch his base. He couldn't use the Virtuoso charm on himself for another few months when he turned seventeen. So until then, yes, he needed to practice.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Raise the roof for our next band: it's a home-grown trio who I'm betting will be national headliners this time next year! We have The Philosopher on bass, The Sybill on drums, and The Muse as lead vocals and guitarist! Introducing, The Superfreaks!"

Severus hit his riff as soon as Testi finished talking. Sybill joined in counterpoint, curly hair flying around her with each beat. Petunia smirked into her mic. When she opened her mouth, it was more of a chant than proper singing:

"I want to break free! I want to break free!
I want to break free from your lies;
You're so self-satisfied, I don't need you -
I've got to break free.
God knows, God knows I want to break free..."

The effect was not of course the same, for Petunia Evans to replace Freddie Mercury. She had increased in confidence when she sang and sounded more like a rocker than a church girl now, but her feminine tones sans signature Mercury flourishes made the song less forceful than the original, more haunting. Severus was the only one who would ever know the difference in this timeline. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at the thought. This was theft on a massive scale, after all. It was only a twinge, though. Queen could aways cover The Superfreaks, and future Severus would find it ironic and hilarious.

Future-past Severus? Future-past-future? Stupid time travel.

Testi ushered a giddy Petunia as band leader to meet with the Apple producer as soon as they wrapped.

Severus spent the rest of the evening trying to keep any drug-dealing fans away from Sybill. And then away from both Sybill and Petunia, celebrating the victory of an offer for an album contract. He couldn't keep Eric away, unhappily, and the wretched teen must have slipped Sybill something. She was spouting pseudo-profound bullshit all the way back to the flat. He searched her handbag and confiscated an assortment of mysterious pills of various sizes and colors.

"Honestly, you have no idea what's in this shit or what it might do!" he snapped at her. Quite uselessly since she was already under the influence of something-or-other.

"Sure I do. Eric explained it all. The purple ones cause visions, which is of course very interesting for my profession..."

"Hallucinations," he interrupted, "not prophetic visions."

"For muggles." She shrugged. "And the other one sounds like a muggle version of Essence of Euphoria."

"If you want Essence of Euphoria, go buy it off the apothecary in Nocturne Alley. At least then I could tell you it was pure from looking at it! I repeat, you don't know what's in these! They could be laced with anything."

"You know how to judge Essence of Euphoria?"

"Potions Master. For seventeen years."

"Oh, so you could probably brew it then, too." Sybill blinked at him with her hugely magnified, hugely dilated eyes. Petunia grinned.

"No. No no no no no no no no..."

The next morning when Sybill proclaimed, "You won, Severus! The Dark Lord is dead!" he made her go out to buy an actual Daily Prophet for him to read, because he couldn't trust she wasn't still tripping rather than "reading omens."

Was it wrong he was a little miffed to see she was right?

Chapter Text

Severus had fun recording their first single. He thought it much more enjoyable to play music in a quiet studio than in a loud, often smelly and grungy bar or concert hall. Besides the vastly preferable ambience, he simply liked the process of recording. It was not a panicked one-shot performance. It was more like practising. They worked out the kinks of certain songs, played with sound balances with the help of a technician and their producer, layered in additional tracks for Petunia's guitar and piano contributions and his both tenor and baritone harmonies. (Only Sybill could do everything in one take, due to the virtuoso charm). It was fun the same way potions brewing was fun. He could see himself having a pleasant musical career if recording took up the bulk of his time.

Petunia gave her family a vinyl of their new single, "Never Gonna Give You Up," for Christmas. By her description, the Evans parents were impressed and appreciative, but also very confused as this was the first they had heard of her giving up secretarial work. In contrast, Lily was half excited and half incensed: Petunia stayed only three days in Cokeworth before returning to Liverpool. Lily called her sister thrice in the subsequent week to gush over Petunia's burgeoning success and berate her for keeping the band secret. She sent another letter the very night she returned to Hogwarts. It was a howler and screamed,

Tuney,

HOW DID YOU BECOME THE COOL SISTER WHEN I'M LITERALLY A WITCH LIVING IN A MAGICAL CASTLE? I still can't believe it. Especially since you didn't TELL ME until CHRISTMAS! Seriously: rhymes-with-witch move. I WANT FRONT ROW TICKETS TO EVERY CONCERT THIS SUMMER. If you hold out on me, I will figure out how to curse you with incurable toenail fungus AND body odor AND bad breath AND extra sinky farts AND my period cramps.

-Lils

"Those curses aren't very creative," Severus mused as the letter combusted. "They would be easy to design."

"More of a hex than a curse, wouldn't you think?" Sybill said.

Petunia shuddered. "Don't you dare."

"I wasn't planning to curse you."

"The world doesn't need that kind of curse to exist at all."

Severus smirked. "You do realize magic has much, much worse to offer than..."

"Of course I'm aware. You and Sybill spent months telling Dumbledore how to get rid of the horcrux thingies that you told me require human sacrifices to make. But I don't care if a BO hex would be trivial for someone like you. It's still gross."

She shuddered again and wiped her fingers compulsively. Severus handed over his Christmas gift for her: homemade Purell-style hand sanitizer, a good ten years before it should have been invented. Petunia loved it. A lot. She'd already gone through half the bottle he'd made. Sybill quickly followed up with her Christmas gift for Petunia: one of several bottles of fragrant lotions. Petunia happily used both in rapid succession and raised her hands to her face to inhale.

"What's this one, Sybill?"

"Apple blossom and gunpowder."

"How unusual."

"Do you like it?"

"Best one yet."

"Great! I'll mark it down to reorder..."

Petunia and Sybill celebrated Severus' birthday in January by buying him a nice cake, some new clothes for their concerts, and a rather random assortment of potions ingredients. They then dragged him to the pub where they proceeded to get drunk and later dance while he minded their drinks.

Severus celebrated his birthday after seeing the girls safely back to the apartment by finally casting the virtuoso charm on himself, breaking into the studio alone at night, and recording himself playing and singing "Another One Bites the Dust."

All one take, executed to technical perfection.

Still not as good as Freddie Mercury.

He erased the record, drank some aging potion, donned robes and a wig, and stalked to Borgin and Burkes in Nocturne Alley to buy himself the kind of heirloom pocket watch he had always deserved yet never bothered with in his past life. After reviewing the options, however, he decided they were all gaudy as hell and not worth the gold. So he went back home to go to bed.

After all that, it was barely midnight. He felt mildly disappointed. But then he thought with the sheets pulled up to his chin, perhaps the nicest present for a now thirty-nine-year-old-man was the best quality and least achy sleep he had enjoyed in decades. There were benefits to a teenaged body with teenaged hypersomnolence. He did not miss his old insomnia and sore knee one bit.

Petunia was ecstatic when their single broke the top twenty. She was over the moon when their producer called to congratulate them and talk about commissioning a record and the possibility of a tour.

Lily was also ecstatic when she heard about it and again demanded tickets in the excited howler she sent. Amusingly, she seemed to have recorded the howler while sitting at the Gryffindor table in the great hall, as a fair amount of background laughter came through towards the end.

The last part was his favorite: Sirius Black saying excitedly, Your sister's in a rock band? Can I come?

No, you toe rag! I still hate you. Why would I let you come along and ruin it? Anyway, Tuney, love you, and I want to hear everything!

The next few months were a flurry of meetings to plan their tour of the country and hours of practising. Severus' ability to use the virtuoso charm did not dent Petunia's enthusiasm for practising one bit. On the contrary, she argued they should practise more, both so she could keep up with them and to best take advantage of the charm's benefits. Bizarrely, she declined to use the charm herself more than once.

"I don't feel authentic. It's not right for the music. Feels like cheating."

"This whole scheme is cheating," Severus argued. "Cheating is the reason for our success."

"That's different."

"How?"

"You're using your magic on yourself. You've used your knowledge to change your future. It's still inborn talent for you. But if you do it to me, then it's not me."

Sybill nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

Severus threw up his hands. "Whatever. If you want to practise forty hours per day, be my guest. I refuse to participate for more than three per day outside recording sessions."

"Don't worry, Petunia. Severus just isn't in touch with inner feelings like we are. I'll practise with you as long as you want."

Petunia smiled at her gratefully. Sybill blushed and grinned back.

Severus stared at the two of them suspiciously. Somehow, he had the distinct impression he was missing half the conversation. Not his fault. He didn't speak the language of smiles. He harrumphed and left them to go sort through his potions ingredients. He wanted to make something fun and interesting and quiet and alone.

They were almost late for their first London concert after getting off at the wrong Tube station, but after the desperate taxi ride to the venue, the rest of the evening went off without a hitch.

Joe Strummer from The Clash showed up at their second concert, lurking backstage to congratulate their writing talent.

Their third concert went so well, Sybill caught Petunia in a crushing hug afterwards and kissed her full on the mouth. Petunia appeared stunned for a minute before enthusiastically returning the kiss.

So that's what all that was.

Severus finished packing up all their instruments by the time the two came up for air. He was extremely glad to no longer be sharing a small apartment in Liverpool when the two girls both disappeared into Petunia's hotel room at the end of the evening.

Their fourth concert was the first after the end of the Hogwarts school year. Thus, Lily and the Evans parents came down to London for it. Petunia booked lunch reservations at a nice restaurant so there would be plenty of time to catch up before the show. Lily was surprised and confused by Severus' presence at the restaurant for all of two seconds before bursting out laughing.

She slapped him on the back. "I should have known you had something to do with turning Tuney's life upside-down! We have to talk later! I have so much to tell you..."

Mr. Evans peered at Severus in confusion at first before the light of recognition suddenly dawned. "Hang on, you're the Snape boy. We went to your funeral!" Mrs. Evans paled.

"Did you really?" Severus asked. "Thanks, I suppose."

"You faked being murdered by your own father!" Mr. Evans continued in an impatient hiss.

"Obviously," Severus agreed. Lily, Petunia, and Sybill all took drinks from their water glasses at the same time to hide their grins.

"Why?" Mrs. Evans asked weakly as her husband spluttered.

Severus folded his arms. "Have you ever met Tobias Snape?" He knew they had. Once, about ten years ago. It was a fond memory for no one.

The Evanses paused. "Fair enough," Mr. Evans finally said.

"Did you do something different with your hair, dear?" Mrs. Evans bravely attempted to change the subject.

"I cut it."

"It suits you."

"Thank you."

"But you skipped out on the rest of your magic school, too!" Mr. Evans said. "I thought you and Lily loved it there?"

"Oh, Sev doesn't actually need school, Dad, he's a real genius!" Lily enthused. "And his dorm mates were all just the worst, so I don't blame him one bit."

"School is important, though," Mrs. Evans began.

"No, I mean actually the worst. As in his prefect in first year is the son of that horrible politician I was complaining to you about."

"Malfoy?" Severus asked, somewhat surprised. The Malfoys were a powerful family, sure, but moreso after the war and the fall of the Blacks. This was early. "Sorry, we haven't been keeping up much with wizarding news."

Lily nodded, shifted her seat closer to him, and launched into an explanation of the profound shakeup in wizarding politics in the last year. This went right over the three muggles' heads who promptly resumed their own conversation, along with Sybill. Lily's story was eye-opening. She described an epic political power struggle amongst Voldemort's surviving followers in the wake of their leader's demise, as detailed in the gossip-mongering Daily Prophet. So far, the Malfoys were coming out on top. Bizarrely, this was in part by leveraging Lucius' onetime friendship with Severus himself. Apparently, when Severus had scored the highest DADA OWL score in history and then gone home to be promptly 'murdered' by his muggle father, he became a highly motivating martyr for anti-muggle rhetoric. The Malfoys were now making a new push to remove young magical children from muggle custody to prevent future similar tragedies. Which would be great for the oddball like Severus who lived in an abusive home, terrible for the vast majority of muggleborn children who were perfectly happy with their natural family, useless for the actual problem of abuse.

Severus was just getting ready to bash his head on the table at the idiocy of Wizarding Britain when Lily's attention was suddenly and completely diverted from the unintended consequences of Severus' time-traveling shenanigans.

"Wait, she's your girlfriend!? HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME!? How did you two meet? Was it before or after starting the band? How long has it been official? Have you kissed? Tuney, how long have known you liked girls!?"

Severus looked over the heads of the three excitedly chattering girls to see the Evans parents looking a little dazed. He shared the sentiment.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian-bloody-Dumbledore showed up at their fifth concert. He was in the front row wearing a surprisingly modern and possibly even fashionable bright yellow muggle suit. He was holding a sign that read "LOVE FOR THE SYBILL." He swayed in time to the beat, and Severus could read his lips singing along to all the lyrics. Severus tried very hard not to stare at him the whole time and to keep Petunia between them, but it was just so difficult to hide on a stage beneath a row of spotlights.

Naturally, Dumbledore appeared backstage at the end of the concert. He did not have a pass, but he didn't need one in a muggle venue. The powerful wizard strode past Severus and Petunia and right up to Sybill. His greeting was effusive, his thanks even more so. He kissed her hand and presented her with flowers.

Petunia flushed deep red and stalked forwards to intervene, putting a proprietary hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. Dumbledore looked between them and chuckled good-naturedly. "Ah, Ms. Evans! It is a pleasure. I've heard so much about you from your sister - unintentionally, I'm afraid. She was rather enthusiastic in her exclamations over your letters at the breakfast table. I must thank you as well: I have you and your music to thank for enabling me to meet surely the finest seer of her generation. Tell me, how did the two of you meet? Did Lily introduce you?"

"Er, no..."

"Chance. Or Fate," Sybill said serenely, scooping Petunia's hand off her shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. Petunia blushed. Dumbledore beamed at them.

Severus scoffed from the corner. Fate.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore heard him and turned. His smile slipped from joy to mere politeness. His eyes twinkled with friendliness but neither surprise nor wariness. "Ah! Your third band member! You are a fine guitarist, my boy." His eyes flicked back to the girls. "Friend of yours, Ms. Evans?"

Petunia raised her eyebrows but nodded hesitantly, clearly confused at the headmaster's game.

"Does he know about... your alma mater, Ms. Trelawney?"

Severus' jaw fell open. Did the headmaster not recognize his recently deceased student?! He was completely speechless. He had never been so insulted in his life! Or, well, he had been by the likes of Sirius Black. But it was rare, and intentional.

Petunia also appeared lost for words. Sybill saved them by commenting misleadingly, "The Sybill and The Muse are the only occult names in the band."

"Oh, I see. Well, then, Ms. Trelawney, I will not impose further on your time. Please, write to me any time, and if you ever would like to take me up on the offer for tea at your old school, the invitation is always there."

"Thank you, Headmaster." He nodded at them all and breezed out, passing by Lily as she was coming in. Lily greeted her teacher in surprise and turned questioningly to Severus as soon as the old wizard was gone.

"What on earth was he doing here? What did he say to you?"

"Apparently he's a fan," Petunia deadpanned.

"He said I'm a fine guitarist and asked if I knew about 'Sybill's alma mater.' He didn't even recognize me!" Severus exploded.

Lily gaped. "He didn't...? What a jerk! Ignores those bullies going after you at school and then forgets your face after you've died? Aw hell, I'm going to have to make his life miserable next year, aren't I?"

"Please do."

"How could he not know who you were?" Sybill said wonderingly.

"It's the haircut," Petunia said. "And the clothes. And the stage makeup. But mostly the haircut. Face it, Sev, you always went around with your hair over your face before, so he probably only ever saw it a few times your whole school career."

Severus glared at her and flicked the wandless halitosis hex he'd recently devised at her.

Alas, she ducked.

They toured in Britain for the next several months in between recording sessions. Their album debuted in the top ten upon its release in August. Petunia was torn between celebrating their success and absolute fury at Severus for not suggesting they try to save Elvis Presley, who died in the middle of the month. In Severus' defense, he had forgotten when that happened. He hadn't kept up with muggle news during this period in his first life. When Mark Bolan died in a car crash in September, Petunia took to interrogating him on other upcoming preventable deaths.

Thus, when they departed for an American tour in October, they made sure Florida was their first stop and that Lyrnyrd Skynyrd's doomed flight never took off in the first place.

The tour was exhausting. They rattled around the vast country in a bus, spending daylight hours watching the countryside roll by and every night a different venue in a different city.

Simultaneously, the tour was a blast. The landscape was incredibly varied, particularly striking to Severus who had never left the British Isles in his first life. Sandy beaches, hills rolling into mountains, vast flat plains as far as the eye could see... They stopped at a few parks that weren't too far out of their way, and Merlin, Severus had never seen trees so large as the California redwoods, even in the old growth of the Welsh dragon reserve. As they looped around the country, they met The Bee Gees, the Commodores, The Eagles, and Rita Coolige among others. And at long last in New York's Studio 54, then met John Lennon. It hadn't even been the plan to meet him so soon, they just happened to be at the same club on the same night. Fate, Sybill called it succinctly.

Well, now they had his landline, they could call him up anytime to save his life. Except Severus couldn't actually remember the exact date, so Petunia decided it would be best to convince the legend to move to a different, safer city. Maybe in California where his older son lived. Severus was content to stay well away from her machinations.

They sang. They laughed and danced. They worked on another album. They wrote letters back and forth to Lily at Hogwarts. They saved Sid Vicious from his heroin addiction, and his girlfriend from him, in 1978. They played in Cincinnati the week before The Who in 1979 and ensured the stage would not collapse. Severus did not know about Cherie Currie's stalker in order to prevent her kidnapping, but Petunia offered a friendly shoulder to cry into after the fact, and the trio helped the rock starlet recover, in more ways than one.

John Lennon did not die in 1980, and neither did Ian Curtis, Bon Scott, Janet Vogel, or John Bonham.

Also, Lily did not marry James Potter, thank goodness, but Petunia did marry Sybill. It wasn't legal in the muggle world, but it was magically binding anyway.

Severus eventually bought a cat as well as a ring that would imply he was 'taken' and stave off at least some of the groupies.

They did not save every troubled artist, not by a long shot, and the ones they missed/hadn't known about ahead of time hurt more, now that they moved in the same circles as the singers they secretly plagiarized. They did record some excellent music together and collaborate with some amazing artists. If Severus ever had need of a Patronus, he need only recall their set at Live Aid. They even wrote some original tunes here and there.

It was a good life.

fin