Rewritten Destiny

Severus Snape stood near the head table, his dark gaze sweeping over the rows of students entering the Great Hall. His expression remained as cold and unreadable as ever, but his mind was fixed on one student in particular—Hermione Granger.

 

She walked into the hall with Draco Malfoy and her usual group of friends, her demeanour calm and composed. But Snape's eyes lingered on her longer than most. After all, Hermione had no idea of the lengths he had gone to protect her. Killing Hector Dagworth-Granger alongside Narcissa had been a calculated, necessary act. Hector had become a dangerous influence, one too volatile to leave unchecked. His connection to dark forces—and more importantly, the threat he posed to Hermione—could not be ignored, not that Narcissa would have left the retched cur alive after what he did to her sister.

 

Snape's role in Hector's demise was one he carried silently. It had been done in secret for both Hermione's safety and Narcissa's vengeance. Hermione, however, knew nothing of it. And that, perhaps, was for the best.

 

As Hermione took her seat at the Slytherin table, Snape's eyes narrowed. Despite her poised exterior, Snape could see the weight she now carried as heir to the Dagworth-Granger line. The heir ring she wore caught the light subtly as her fingers absently brushed against it. Her expression was calm, but Snape noticed the tiniest flickers of tension in her body language—signs he had learned to recognize in his students over the years.

 

Snape's eyes flicked over to Draco, who was conversing easily with his peers. Hermione's closeness to the young Malfoy, while not surprising, was another layer to watch. He trusted Draco to some degree, but that trust had its limits. After everything that had transpired, Snape would need to be vigilant. The heir to a powerful magical family like Hermione would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention.

 

The Sorting began, the students' names called one by one, but Snape's thoughts remained half-focused on Hermione.

 

"Luna Lovegood!" McGonagall called, and Snape's gaze flicked briefly to the front as the Sorting Hat placed the whimsical-looking girl into Ravenclaw. Hermione's faint smile did not go unnoticed as she watched the young girl make her way to the Ravenclaw table. Did they know each other? Interesting, something to watch.

 

Snape's lips tightened into a small frown. It was odd for Potter to miss such a public spectacle. The boy craved attention, much like his father had, and yet here he was, conspicuously absent. But there was more to it than that. Snape's thoughts flickered back to the visit he had made to Harry's home over the summer at Dumbledore's behest.

 

He had met Petunia Dursley, the sister he had once known in childhood but now saw as something bitter and broken. A legilimens spell had told him everything he needed to know. The truth of Harry's life with the Dursleys had unfolded in his mind with brutal clarity. Snape had seen the boy's suffering—neglect, isolation, and cruelty. It was an experience that hit too close to home, stirring memories he had long since buried.

 

For all his disdain for the boy, Snape had never expected Potter to endure a childhood so similar to his own. And now, seeing Harry absent from the hall, Snape couldn't help but wonder if something else was at play; there was no way he'd rather stay at home, considering Petunia was there. Something was up.

 

His frown deepened as his gaze shifted toward Dumbledore at the head table. The headmaster had noticed the absence, too, his eyes scanning the students before meeting Snape's. The flicker of concern in Dumbledore's usually calm expression was unmistakable, and Snape knew that Potter's absence was no mere oversight.

 

Before Snape could act on the thought, Dumbledore leaned in toward him, his voice low but commanding. "Severus, I need you to investigate a disturbance with the wards. It seems something has breached the perimeter around the castle."

 

Snape's frown deepened, a flash of suspicion crossing his mind. "A disturbance?" he asked, his voice equally quiet but sharp. "Do you believe it's connected to Potter's absence?"

 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with knowing concern. "It's quite possible. Minerva informed me that Harry and young Mr. Weasley were not on the train. I suspect they've arrived... in their own way. Go, Severus. Investigate, but do try not to lose your temper."

 

Without another word, Snape rose from his seat, his black robes billowing behind him as he exited the hall swiftly. He strode purposefully through the corridors, heading toward the grounds. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could have happened, but Dumbledore's mention of the wards meant one thing: Potter and Weasley had arrived, and they had done so in spectacularly foolish fashion.

 

The cool night air hit his face as Snape reached the castle's entrance, and in the distance, he could already see it—the unmistakable branches of the Whomping Willow, thrashing violently. His eyes narrowed as he approached, his suspicions confirmed when he spotted the wreckage of a battered, invisible car lodged between the branches.

 

"Idiots," Snape muttered under his breath, his voice laced with fury. Of course, it would be Potter and Weasley.

 

As he approached the tree, the car shifted slightly, visible only when the branches tore at its sides, raking across its surface with savage force. Snape's wand was already in hand, and with a quick, precise movement, he cast a spell to freeze the tree momentarily. The Whomping Willow ceased its violent assault, the branches halting just long enough for Snape to approach.

 

The door of the car creaked open, and from within the vehicle, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley emerged, looking disheveled and more than a little shaken.

 

"Professor Snape!" Harry's voice was laced with dread as he stepped out, brushing dirt from his robes. Ron followed closely, his face pale.

 

Snape's cold, dark eyes bore into them with such intensity that both boys froze. His voice, when it came, was low and dangerous. "Explain."

 

Potter and Weasley exchanged a glance, but neither seemed willing to speak first. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Snape's patience ran thin.

 

"Not only do you show up to Hogwarts late," Snape hissed, his voice full of barely contained fury, "but you manage to arrive in the most reckless, attention-seeking manner possible. A flying car, crashing into the Whomping Willow? You two have truly outdone yourselves."

 

Ron opened his mouth to explain, but Snape cut him off, his tone sharper than the cutting wind. "Spare me your excuses, Weasley. Save them for the headmaster. You both will come with me."

 

He waved his wand sharply, sending a burst of magic to steady the branches of the tree once more as the boys followed him, heads bowed. Snape's anger simmered beneath the surface, but there was something else gnawing at him—a sense of unease that went beyond the usual rule-breaking. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more at play, that something had shifted beneath the surface.

 

As they made their way back to the castle, Snape cast a final glance over his shoulder at the car wreckage. Did Miss Granger know about this? She seemed to be anticipating something, but how could she know... another mystery.