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Sirius Black tried to kill Snape on a fine sunny day in May. It was during a quidditch match - a friendly match just to give some of the younger players a bit of practice (though no match between Gryffindor and Slytherin could ever truly be described as friendly.)
Severus Snape was not a quidditch player. He didn’t even own a broom. However, Vidalia Stout had come down with dragon pox and Snape had been cajoled into taking her place. He’d only agreed because if a full team weren’t present on the field, Gryffindor would win by forfeit. So Severus was balanced precariously on Vidalia’s broom, a sleek Galaxor Mark V which was far too powerful and too temperamental for someone as inexperienced as he.
Of course the Gryffindors noticed his ineptitude immediately, unleashing a stream of catcalls and insults. Severus responded in kind. He wasn’t good at sports, but he had a sharp tongue, a carrying voice, and a keen eye for spotting other people’s weaknesses. At insulting people, Severus Snape was a true champion.
“Less chatter, more play,” yelled Professor McGonagall, who was supervising the match.
The golden snitch flew to the other end of the field and the players raced after it. Snape tried to follow his teammates, but his broom had other ideas. It was trying to rid itself of a rider who obviously didn’t know what he was doing.
Sirius Black had managed to hold on to his temper until Snape insulted James Potter. Snape called him “Dumbledore’s lapdog”. Everyone at the school, both students and faculty, knew that James Potter was Dumbledore's golden boy. Teasing Potter about his favoured status hardly qualified as an insult at all.
However, Sirius Black, who idolized James Potter, was jealous of how close his best mate was to the school’s headmaster. James and Dumbledore shared long, cozy chats about James’s glorious future, and all Sirius got from Dumbledore was a polite nod in the hallway. He liked James, and he didn’t want to feel jealous, but there it was - an ugly little kernel of jealousy deep inside him that only Snape could see.
While Snape fought his disobedient broom, Sirius came up from behind and rammed into his broom. Snape went one way while the Galaxor Mark V went another. In the moment of impact, Snape lost hold of his wand. He grabbed for it and missed. He tried to say the words of a protective spell but the words eluded him. He hit the ground hard.
Sirius had acted on impulse, but luck was on his side. Professor McGonagall was watching the play at the other end of the field. The only person who had seen what he had done was Peter Pettigrew, who would never tell.
Snape woke up in Hogwarts hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey looking over him.
“Good, you’re awake,” she said. “I’m afraid that you took quite a tumble. Several broken bones, a fractured skull and spinal injuries. If I hadn’t been close by, I’d hate to think what might have happened. All fixed now, but you need to rest. Don’t try to get up.”
“My wand.”
“The first thing a wizard asks for is always his wand. Here you go,” she said, opening a drawer in his nightstand. “Someone found it and turned it in. I’m afraid it’s been trodden on.”
Snape looked at his wand. It was broken in half.
“I’m sure it can be fixed,” Madam Pomfrey said, “There are cunning wizards in Diagon Alley who can fix anything.”
Snape didn’t have the money to get his wand repaired, and he couldn’t write home and ask for any. Even if his father had the money, he wouldn’t give it to Snape. He might be able to earn some money tutoring or making potions, but the Transfiguration mid-term exam was two days away. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to come up with the money for the repairs, his wand wouldn’t be ready on time.
“There, there, Severus” said Madam Pomfrey, noticing her patient’s distress, “Nothing’s quite as bad as it looks.”
Snape must have drifted off to sleep again because when he next opened his eyes, Madam Pomfrey was gone. Instead Headmaster Dumbledore was standing at the foot of his bed.
Snape had a terrible headache. His vision was blurry and he felt nauseous. He couldn’t imagine why the headmaster had decided to visit him. His presence was just too much for him to deal with. He shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep.
Too late, Dumbledore had already seen him open his eyes. The headmaster put a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps the gesture was meant to be comforting but Snape flinched – he hated being touched. He reluctantly opened his eyes. Dumbledore was smiling down at him, looking like a Muggle’s vision of Santa Claus.
“How are you feeling, my dear boy?” Dumbledore said.
“Fine, sir,” lied Snape.
“There was treacle tart for pudding this evening. I’ve brought you a slice.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Snape could tell that Dumbledore was trying to be kind. Snape wasn’t used to kindness. It made him feel uneasy.
“There have been some ugly rumours about what happened at the quidditch match. The Slytherins are saying that a Gryffindor player rammed into you on purpose.”
“I’m hardly responsible for what other people say,” Snape protested.
“No, but you can help me put a stop to these vicious rumours,” the headmaster said. “It would help me enormously if you could tell your House what really happened.”
Snape tried to focus his eyes on the headmaster, but he couldn’t. Just trying to focus made him feel ill.
“It sounds as if you already know what really happened,” Snape said.
“You were on a broom that was too powerful for you and you fell,” Dumbledore said. “Madam Pomfrey told me that you might experience problems with memory.”
“I remember what happened perfectly well, sir,” Snape said. “Someone came from behind and rammed me. I don’t know who it was. I never saw his face, but the only players nearby were from Potter’s gang, the Marauders.”
“You’re not suggesting that a Gryffindor...”
‘Of course not,” Snape said, who was too exhausted and in too much pain to argue. “Never a Gryffindor. Never a friend of Potter’s. Say whatever you want, Professor Dumbledore. I won’t contradict you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving, Madam Pomfrey said I need to rest.”
Professor McGonagall was busy marking essays when Dumbledore entered the staffroom. “You can do better,” she wrote in large red letters at the top of Snape’s essay.
“I’ve just been to see that Slytherin boy in the hospital wing,” Dumbledore said. “You were officiating when he was injured. What happened?”
“I didn’t actually see him fall,” the Professor said. “If I had, I might have been able to use a Levitation Charm.
I feel partly to blame for the accident. I saw that Snape was struggling with his broom and I should have pulled him from the game. But if I had pulled him, the match would have been forfeited to the other team. Snape keeps to himself too much. I was so pleased to see him participating in a group activity, and I didn’t want to discourage him.”
“The boy claims that he was rammed by a Gryffindor. He says it was one of Potter’s friends. He called them the Marauders.”
To his surprise, Professor McGonagall did not find the whole idea of a Gryffindor attacking a Slytherin from behind as ridiculous as he did.
“It’s possible, I suppose. The two teams were yelling insults at each other, and there’s something about Snape’s voice that makes his insults sound worse than anyone else’s... and, of course, the Marauders are the princes of the school. To be insulted by an unpopular boy and a Slytherin would be very hurtful to a Marauder’s pride.
The Marauders are still Gryffindors,however, and I trust that if one of them were responsible, he would own up to it immediately. Gryffindors are honourable.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past a Marauder,” said one of the other teachers.
“They’re impossible!” added Tertius Truegood, who taught arithmancy, “I had all four of them in my class. It was a nightmare. They wouldn’t listen to a word I said, and they were impossible to discipline.“
“If they were being disruptive,” Dumbledore said, “the proper disciplinary procedure would have been to take points away from their House.”
“I did, Professor Dumbledore,” Truegood said, “but then Potter complained that I was unfair and you restored them.”
“I did?”
To Dumbledore’s dismay, everyone seemed to have a story to tell about the arrogant, uncontrolled behaviour of the Marauders. Dumbledore had heard most of the stories before, but he had dismissed them at the time as typical staffroom grumbling.
“I see that I will have to talk to the boys just to clear this matter up,” he said. “I will arrange to see them after supper.”
He left the staff room. Tertius Truegood followed shortly thereafter. The arithmancy teacher headed for the hospital wing.
When Professor Dumbledore had invited him to his study, James Potter had expected nothing more than their usual tea, crumb cakes, and conversation. He was surprised to find quite a crowd in the room. Sirius, Remus and Peter were sitting in front of the headmaster’s desk. Potter took a seat beside them. Remus and Peter looked up as he entered, but Sirius just stared glumly at the carpet. Professor McGonagall was standing next to the headmaster, her lips in a tight thin line. Professor Truegood leaned against the wall. He was the only one in the room who looked happy.
“I think this is everyone,” Dumbledore said, in a voice that lacked his usual self-assurance.
“Unless Snape is coming?” McGonagall asked.
“He’s too ill to attend. Madam Pomfrey has ordered a regime of bed rest and quiet. However, in the absence of his parents, I’ve agreed to represent Severus’s interests. That is, until the arrival of an auror.”
“An auror! Is that really necessary?” asked Dumbledore.
“In cases of attempted murder, yes, an auror is usually considered necessary.”
“What we are looking at here is not attempted murder. It’s a sporting mishap or at worst a joke gone wrong,” McGonagall argued.
“That’s a point of view that you can certainly put forward once the auror arrives,” Truegood said cheerfully.
“You’ve called an auror?” Dumbledore asked.
“Not officially. Not yet. But my cousin Matilda is an auror, and I’m sure she’d be happy...”
“No need for thinly veiled threats, Tertius,” said Professor McGonagall. “We’re all on the same side.”
“With all due respect, Minerva, we are not. Some of us are on the Slytherin side and others on the Gryffindor side. It does make an enormous difference.
Just for the record, which one of you boys actually did it?”
No one answered.
“It doesn’t matter. A little Vitaserum will make everything clear.”
“I forbid you to use Vitaserum on my pupils,” Dumbledore said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Truegood said. “My cousin, Matilda, however...”
“I did it,” Sirius said.
Truegood smiled. “I believe we have a voluntary confession. That does make things simpler.”
“So what happens now?” Sirius asked, his voice shaking.
“That’s up to all of you. Snape had come up with a list of requests. He’s not a vindictive boy – well, he is actually, but I talked him out of it – and I think you’ll find them quite reasonable.”
“This is extortion!” hissed Professor McGonagall.
“Exactly! Got it in one,” Truegood said. “Shall I read out Snape’s list?”
Without waiting for their assent, Truegood continued.
“First, one wand to replace the one that was broken in the fall. I think everyone will agree that that is a very reasonable request.”
Heads nodded.
“Second, Sirius Black must take anger management classes.”
“What on earth are those?” asked Professor McGonagall.
“I’m not quite sure,” Truegood said. “Some sort of Muggle thing that Snape’s father took. Snape said it did his dad a world of good, and he thought it might help Sirius as well.”
“Does it hurt?” Sirius asked.
“I honestly have no idea,” Truegood said. “Shall I continue?
Next on the list - there’s a bit of room for negotiation here, I think. Snape wants to throw the Sorting Hat into the fire, watch it burn, and then dance around its ashes. Snape strongly feels that a person’s whole life should not be determined by, as he put it, ‘a piece of moth-eaten old felt.’
I suggested either randomly assigning new students to the four Houses, or allowing a student to pick which House to join, but Snape was really keen on watching the hat burn. He really hates that hat.”
“I’ve known the Sorting Hat for years; I wouldn’t dream of putting it into the fire,” Dumbledore said angrily.
“As I said, room for negotiation there. Next, and again this one is quite reasonable, Snape wants paid tuition.”
“He has that already,” Professor McGonagall said. “He’s a scholarship boy.”
“A scholarship that can be revoked at any time, for any reason,” said Truegood. “What Snape is asking for is paid tuition at the wizarding school of his choice. He’s considering transferring to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.”
“Durmstrang can have him,” Dumbledore growled.
“Finally, in the event that he decides to remain at Hogwarts, he wants to change Houses. He wants to join Gryffindor.”
“Quite out of the question,” said Professor McGonagall, “the Sorting Hat’s rule is final. That is how it has always been.”
“Ah, but Professor Dumbledore has quite the reputation as an innovator. Under Dumbledore, Hogwarts was the first school to offer a course in Muggle Studies, and the first school to admit werewolves,” he said, glancing meaningfully at Remus. “Of course, we don’t have to mention that particular innovation.”
“Blackmail!” said Professor McGonagall.
“Yes. This is blackmail and/or extortion. That has already been agreed upon,” Truegood said cheerily. “Shall I give you a few minutes to discuss the offer?”
“Not necessary,” Dumbledore said. “Tell the wretched boy that we accept his demands. Except for the hat. I’m not burning the hat.”
Truegood nodded.
“I’ll convey the good news to young Severus. I think he’ll be quite pleased.”
“Truegood,” Dumbledore said, “I’m not going to forget what happened tonight.”
“Severus and I are both counting on your good memory,” Truegood said. “And by the way, have I told you that they’ve offered me a job at Beauxbatons? A full professorship. They don’t hold it against me that I was sorted to Slytherin.”
He shut the door on his way out the room, quite missing Dumbledore’s reply, which would have been unprintable in any case.