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But if anyone had known were to look and had done so in time, they would have noticed a strange black mark appearing on the young boy's hipbone, before fading away. And unknown to the people discussing in the Headmaster's office, the two sleeping children and the celebrating crowd, the wheels of Fate had began to turn, signaling the time had come for a much older prophecy to start unfolding.
It had been almost a year since that fateful Halloween night. It was now July and the Potter family was preparing to celebrate the twins' birthday that very afternoon. A lot had happened since the downfall of the Dark Lord, even in such a little time. The last of his Death Eaters had been locked in Azkaban, now under the watch of the same Dementors that were aiding their fallen leader only a few months ago. Those of the dark army who had money enough, influence in the Ministry and the prudence to not shout their alliance with Voldemort from the rooftops, had escaped imprisonment, claiming to have fallen victims of the Imperius curse. The magical community of England was starting to get back on its feet.
For the Potters, that meant they could finally come out of hiding. They had moved, after two and a half years of running, back to James' family house, a manor situated not very far from Hogwarts. Lily and James had gotten back their jobs at the Ministry, James working again as an Auror along with Sirius and Lily at the Charms division. Even Remus Lupin, the werewolf of the extended Potter family, had been recently hired in the same Ministry, his extensive knowledge of magical law and his status as a godfather of one Adrian Potter, offering him a steady job in the newly created Werewolf division. The new Minister, Cornelius Fudge, had been cajoled by a certain Headmaster into not repeating the mistakes of the past and ostracising creatures such as the werewolves; Remus was the only logical choice for the job after that.
It goes without saying that the fall of Voldemort and the end of the war had signified the beginning of a wave of changes for the wizarding world. And for a twenty one year old man, the end of the war signified something much greater that the end of his spying days. He just didn't know it yet.
Severus Snape was looking at his reflection on the bathroom mirror. It had been a strange day for him; his last living relative, his uncle, his mother's brother, had died the day before and he had just returned home from the funeral. It wasn't the death itself that had him disorientated. His uncle had been very sick as a child and growing up he simply never got better. According to the healers that were watching over him during the last years of his life, it was a miracle he had gone on living for so long.
It wasn't even the fact that Severus would miss him, even if having his last blood relative pass away was quite a hit. Marcus Prince had never cared for his nephew and had allowed him to keep on living with his father, even knowing what he had gone through as a boy. So, missing him was out of the question. It was just that his uncle's death had brought upon him something he had never considered during the previous years of his life. His uncle had died childless and, due to wizarding law, it was he who was going to inherit. And that meant he would inherit everything.
Severus had always lived under the concept that his mother had been disowned by her family for marrying a Muggle. And it was quite certain that nobody had ever contacted him while he was growing up. Thus, finding the family fortune in his hands was the last thing he had expected. He almost felt like laughing, almost being the key word.
It had been one of his main concerns while at Hogwarts every single time James Potter flaunted his fortune at Lily, that he could never offer her the same. It had stung but she had reassured him time and time again that it didn't matter. And for her, it truly didn't; it was by his own hand that he found their friendship damaged and he was quite aware of the fact. But he had apologised; Merlin had he apologised! Not that she had listened as he tried to approach her time and time again. And then she had gone and started dating James Potter in their seventh year. And then she married him.
Severus hadn't really thought the situation through; by the time he had managed to gather his wits enough to consider what he should do from then on, he had found himself with the Dark Mark on his left hand and his life pledged to a megalomaniac madman. The fact that said madman was the most powerful dark wizard of the last centuries did nothing to help his case. So, Severus followed his orders and offered the part of the prophecy he had overheard unable to do anything else but obey.
Then Lily had gotten pregnant and he had lost all his will to live. Nothing sounded more final than her being the mother of James Potter's children. When he realized just what the prophecy he had presented to the Dark Lord would mean for Lily, he simply wanted to die a slow and painful death. Not seeing any profit coming from such a move, he offered his life to Albus Dumbledore instead and played spy for almost two years. The night Voldemort had fallen, while the rest of the wizarding world was celebrating, he locked himself in his house and cried the tears he had denied himself during the past years.
Not wanting to run into Lily or her family, he had worked like a madman on his potions mastery, travelling the world, running away from what he feared the most. Not that it helped; in the end, all his hard work resulted into becoming the youngest potions master in four hundred years and returning home far too soon. A month after his return, he was approached by Dumbledore who offered him the position of Potions Master in Hogwarts after Slugghorn quit. Not caring enough to go looking for a job and considering he had to live somehow, he accepted. Starting next year he would be a professor in the school where he passed the happiest and worst moments of his life. A few days later, his uncle had died.
And as he stared at the stranger in the mirror, he could see every last of his troubles etched on his face. He was thin, far too thin for his height. His cheeks were shallow and there were dark circles under his large black eyes. Minerva had once said his eyes looked just like black tunnels; empty and devoid of any feeling. The eyes of a dead man. Maybe she was right, the young man considered. The prominent nose and high cheekbones, the cleft on his chin, all clashed together in a way that should have made his face handsome. Instead he looked like a man who had spent years in Azkaban, like a man twice his age. His shoulders slumped even more and he had to fight the urge to break the mirror into tiny pieces with a hex. Or his fist, it didn't really matter at that point.
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