Post by severus on Apr 2, 2012 14:47:47 GMT -5
When: September 4th 1976 - Afternoon
Where: Forbidden Forest
Who: Severus Snape, James Potter, Open
OOC Notes: Thread closed and archived due to loss of player for Severus Snape
Severus Snape was not a boy to sit idly by and let other people push him around. At least, he wasn’t anymore. There was a time, way back in the first years of his schooling, that he was very much the kid to do nothing when people picked on him, but that all changed very quickly. His years as the Marauder’s prime target swiftly granted him a very short fuse and an almost eager readiness to snap back at anyone tempted to pester him. A defense mechanism, however faulted. The young Slytherin usually failed in his attempts to ward off these Gryffindor’s tauntings, but that could be accredited mostly to the preservation tactics of his enemies. After all, without a plan, there was no way those boys could ever hope to win out over Severus.
No one in the school doubted Snape’s abilities as a wizard. And when they did, they were only saying so to further their cruel commentary. They would be branded a fool if they honestly believed such nonsense. Everyone knew through gossip and fact that Severus practiced the Dark Arts on a regular basis, and they also knew that he had come equipped with more spells than even most seventh year students could credit themselves to in his first year at Hogwarts. Still, despite this knowledge of his dangerous power, the potion-making prodigy always found himself the butt of just about every Gryffindor prank. Next to no one in any of the other houses picked on him. Just Gryffindors.
And their jokes could go too far.
Ravenclaws were much too smart to partake in such idiotic activities as pranks. And those clad in blue and bronze who did delight in such knew better than to go after the one of the only people outside their own house that could outwit them. Then there were the yellow and black garbed Hufflepuffs, whose generally peaceful natures gave them restraint enough to stick with simple gossip and behind-the-back jokes. They, too, knew better than to challenge the boy. Those of his own house, the ever-cunning Slytherins, however, found no qualms in viciously attacking his character with their sharp tongues, be it in the confines of their common room, or around the campus for all to hear. They pulled the occasional prank on him, but a certain obligation to one of their own house seemed sufficient enough a reason to hinder their antics just enough to be considered tolerable by the half blood prince. Sometimes his snake-like roommates even found compassion enough to defend or help him; so long as no one else was around to see it and the action could be an easily deniable offense if ever mentioned by anyone else.
Such love.
Truly, Severus could only call one person his friend, and even she could not resist the trendy urge to crush his self esteem. Personal insults notwithstanding, this Slytherin ally seemed generally concerned enough with his anguish to stay with him if she felt he really needed the company. This was a slight comfort to Severus, who had very little else in his life to keep him sane. Of course, he would never publicly call her a friend.
If only she had been there.
It was the Gryffindor house wherein all his real troubles lurked. Those beasts were crafty creatures indeed. They were not quite as smart as Ravenclaws, which actually worked to their advantage. Less intelligence often led to a more reckless attitude towards the world, and these meek-minded lion hearts were bold and daring to a point of improbability. They took the road of the barbarian when addressing the ‘over-powering Snape’ issue; they simply out-numbered him. With so many targets, their Slytherin prey -in all his bad-assed spell-casting glory- had no possible way to completely counter them. Indeed, they were very fond of the group assault. Most of these attacks were imitations first brought into existence by the legendary group of Gryffindor pranksters, and Snape’s most loathed adversaries, the Marauders. Thanks to these four boys, copy-cat groups from all grades just loved to seek out Severus, their beloved Marauder’s one and only victim, to test their blossoming bullying skills on.
However, being the aforementioned boy of quick temper, Severus often found his own joy in making them fail their little tests. Grades one through three he simply ignored; they could never come up with anything he could not see coming a mile away anyway. Years four and five also posed little threat to him, as they were also too young and too stupid to pull anything over name-calling and ill-conceived jokes. The final grades were the ones who caused him the most heart ache on a regular basis. Especially the seventh years, who felt they had nothing to lose during their final stint at Hogwarts and so felt no reason to hold anything back against the boy. They were relentless, making his every day outside the Slytherin common room a living hell. Still, with all their escapades and frivolity against him, Severus had never really felt his life to be in danger. They were, after all, Gryffindors. Arrogant and foolish, but a noble group of students usually unwilling to take things to that final step, Severus was set in his mind that they would never try to actually kill him.
Until now.
Everything had started out normally enough. It was a nice afternoon, though the oncoming rain clouds made their threats to spoil that by hovering just beyond the castle. Severus was sitting under his favorite old tree, staring absently into the Forbidden Forest while kids around him played and studied in what little time they had left with the sunshine. He had just finished writing in his journal, replying to all the nasty comments Bellatrix Black loved to leave in his unsuspecting notebook. No sooner had he shoved the journal back into his bag and closed his eyes to take a nap did four Gryffindors in their seventh year decide to come over to him and pick a meaningless fight. A bulky boy of a rather foul disposition, wearing a surprisingly sinister smile for someone of his house, gave Snape’s shoe a quick kick.
“Hey grease-ball, get up,” he demanded. When the seventh-year Slytherin didn’t respond, a much leaner, but in one way less intimidating Gryffindor whacked Snape’s forehead, making the back of his head knock the trunk of the tree. Irritated, Severus finally opened his eyes and observed the group. They grinned down at him, a blonde boy in the back slapping his fist into the open palm of his other hand.
Severus was not impressed.
“Get up, you,” the first boy demanded, “we’ve got something we want you to see.” Severus glared at the meat-head with indifference, making no move. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, relaxing against the trunk as his hands slipped into the pockets of his robes stealthily.
“Go away. This is your only warning,” the Slytherin grunted calmly. The four older boys laughed at once, so busy in the overly-dramatic display of courage that they all failed to notice Severus had pulled his right hand back out from his pocket, resting it and his ebony wand at his side just in case. When the largest boy, the obvious leader of this pathetic pack, leaned forward to try and grab hold of Severus and force him up, the Slytherin simply poked him in the chest with his wand and sent him packing on a stunner spell. The two lesser bullies who had been behind him ended up catching their boss with their faces, all three crashing to the floor in a heap of robes, dust, and profanity. The lean boy ran to them quickly, first to check if they were okay, then to demand them back to their feet so they could repay Severus for his little surprise. Severus, ever the quick thinker, knew better than to sit around and wait for them to gather themselves, so he sprang to his feet, throwing his book bag over his shoulders, and made his escape.
“Get him!” screamed the lean boy, taking one final glance at his unconscious friend before taking off after Severus in an awkward, bull-like frenzy. The two others followed command, leaving their stunned leader to recover as they joined the chase. Other students were watching with joy. They could never pass up a good opportunity to see the Slytherin suffer. The Gryffindor, unburdened by bags, soon caught up with Severus, grabbing the strap of his rucksack and using it as a sort of slingshot to toss the Slytherin, who had been trying to get back into the campus, back towards the other two. Severus stumbled, but did not fall as he was thrown back, slipping his shoulder out from his bag and regaining himself in time to only just avoid the grasps of the other two boys. With his original path now cut off, Severus made a mad dash towards the Forbidden Forest. His hope was that they would be deterred to follow him by the scary trees and over-all danger of the woods, but he was once again foiled. They were Gryffindors for a reason, and quickly pursued him into the trees, leaving behind their audience. Maybe one of them would inform a teacher, or come to his aid, thought Severus held little hope for either scenario. He moved expertly through the trees, his best bet now to lose them within the foliage. But they were like bloodhounds, keeping to his scent without any sign of faltering.
“You’re dead!” he heard their screams echo through the forest, and he could tell that they were closing in. If only he were a faster boy! They were starting to spot him through the brush, casting spells to try and strike him down early. One came uncomfortably close to home, hitting a tree just left of Snape’s head. He gasped and sprang away, dashing off in another direction.
The wrong direction.
He came to a sudden and completely unwelcome stop, staring down from the top of a rather steep hill leading down into a thick mass of yet more trees. They were too dense to maneuver through, that he could tell. Not that it mattered; he would never be able to make it down the slope of the hill. He took a few steps back, making to change directions and back track to a safer path, when an acute burst of pain in his back stopped all motion. He hadn’t been paying attention. He hadn’t heard them approach, nor call the spell that had so perfectly connected with the center of his back. But he certainly felt the blow, and that was it. Before he could comprehend anything else, he fell.
And what a trip that was.
For a split second, he felt like he was flying. Doing a series of barrel rolls through the damp clouds. Of course, this somewhat pleasing sensation was quickly murdered as his out-of-control body made contact with the first of many rocks, bushes, and other forest-like floor materials. He somehow managed to figure out through the confusion that he was really rolling, and that it wasn't an odd dream. Rolling down the very cliff he had tried to avoid only moments earlier. Talk about irony. And he could do nothing to stop himself. His body was mindless, thanks to whatever spell those jerks had smacked him with. He felt the grass under him, brushing the dew from their bodies onto his as he passed by. It could have been a fun experience, were it not for another rather large rock that sat directly in his path. He felt his wrist smash into it as it passed him, snapping it easily under his body. This rock also managed to be enough of a disturbance to actually lift him off the ground and break the vicious rolling cycle. Of course, it sent him into more of a completely random tumble, hands and feet flying everywhere, but at least he wasn’t rolling anymore. And the tumble only last a few seconds, as he was just lucky enough to crash into one of the only free-standing trees sitting at the very base of the hill. Now his ribs burned with the same tormenting pain as his wrist, and it was all he could do to simply roll fully onto his back. He groaned and coughed; the force of the tree trunk collision more than enough to knock the wind out of him.
He laid there, his broken wrist sitting limply on top of his aching chest, the two pains screaming in unison. But there was nothing he could do for himself. Everything was out of sorts. The world refused to stop spinning, even with his eyes tightly shut, and he had yet to find any manner of air. He felt nauseous, disoriented and uncharacteristically afraid. Nothing about the situation was okay. After a few moments, his initial breathing problems subsided from impossible to slightly labored, but he senses were none the less jumbled. Blood pounded in his ears, making the already faint voices he thought he may have heard all the more difficult to comprehend. But he could still hear the terror in the tones. Though these words came more as muffled grunts of fear than anything coherent, Severus knew they were not over if he was okay.
No one cared.
With this less-than-comforting thought the last to enter his mind, Severus finally blacked out. His body just needed a few minutes without such thoughts to get everything sorted out.
“Oh man! He’s dead!” cried one of the Gryffindors, staring in horror at the unmoving body that was now resting at the bottom of the cliff. All three Gryffindors where whimpering with fright, pacing about the edge of the cliff and trying their best not to completely freak out. This was not supposed to happen. The lean boy, the one who had taken the lead in the chase, turned to face his two buddies, one of whom was too busy being sick to notice anything else.
“He’s not dead!” the boy hissed quickly, going over to his ill companion and rubbing his back comfortingly. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”
“We… we should get help…” the sickly boy whispered, looking up at his obviously freaked out pal. The lean boy shook his head, helping the other Gryffindor away from the hill as the last of the trio followed behind them. None of them were thinking in any condition to think rationally.
“No, no, we need to go! Let’s go. Before someone finds us!” the other two agreed, fear over-taking any common sense. They were too dumbstruck by how fast everything had happened. So they left the hill quickly behind them, breaking into a frantic stampede as they rushed out of the forest. A few students noticed their return, though if any of them noticed the panicked nature of their fleeing was anyone’s guess. The three spazzed-out boys met their freshly revived leader halfway across the grounds, all but collapsing into him as they stopped to chat. All three tried desperately to tell him what had happened at once, cutting each other off and taking long pauses to gasp for air. They told him how, at that very moment, Severus Snape was laying under a tree in the forbidden forest after falling down a steep hill and how he looked to be dead, their voices perhaps not as quiet as they should have been when relating such startling information.
Where: Forbidden Forest
Who: Severus Snape, James Potter, Open
OOC Notes: Thread closed and archived due to loss of player for Severus Snape
Severus Snape was not a boy to sit idly by and let other people push him around. At least, he wasn’t anymore. There was a time, way back in the first years of his schooling, that he was very much the kid to do nothing when people picked on him, but that all changed very quickly. His years as the Marauder’s prime target swiftly granted him a very short fuse and an almost eager readiness to snap back at anyone tempted to pester him. A defense mechanism, however faulted. The young Slytherin usually failed in his attempts to ward off these Gryffindor’s tauntings, but that could be accredited mostly to the preservation tactics of his enemies. After all, without a plan, there was no way those boys could ever hope to win out over Severus.
No one in the school doubted Snape’s abilities as a wizard. And when they did, they were only saying so to further their cruel commentary. They would be branded a fool if they honestly believed such nonsense. Everyone knew through gossip and fact that Severus practiced the Dark Arts on a regular basis, and they also knew that he had come equipped with more spells than even most seventh year students could credit themselves to in his first year at Hogwarts. Still, despite this knowledge of his dangerous power, the potion-making prodigy always found himself the butt of just about every Gryffindor prank. Next to no one in any of the other houses picked on him. Just Gryffindors.
And their jokes could go too far.
Ravenclaws were much too smart to partake in such idiotic activities as pranks. And those clad in blue and bronze who did delight in such knew better than to go after the one of the only people outside their own house that could outwit them. Then there were the yellow and black garbed Hufflepuffs, whose generally peaceful natures gave them restraint enough to stick with simple gossip and behind-the-back jokes. They, too, knew better than to challenge the boy. Those of his own house, the ever-cunning Slytherins, however, found no qualms in viciously attacking his character with their sharp tongues, be it in the confines of their common room, or around the campus for all to hear. They pulled the occasional prank on him, but a certain obligation to one of their own house seemed sufficient enough a reason to hinder their antics just enough to be considered tolerable by the half blood prince. Sometimes his snake-like roommates even found compassion enough to defend or help him; so long as no one else was around to see it and the action could be an easily deniable offense if ever mentioned by anyone else.
Such love.
Truly, Severus could only call one person his friend, and even she could not resist the trendy urge to crush his self esteem. Personal insults notwithstanding, this Slytherin ally seemed generally concerned enough with his anguish to stay with him if she felt he really needed the company. This was a slight comfort to Severus, who had very little else in his life to keep him sane. Of course, he would never publicly call her a friend.
If only she had been there.
It was the Gryffindor house wherein all his real troubles lurked. Those beasts were crafty creatures indeed. They were not quite as smart as Ravenclaws, which actually worked to their advantage. Less intelligence often led to a more reckless attitude towards the world, and these meek-minded lion hearts were bold and daring to a point of improbability. They took the road of the barbarian when addressing the ‘over-powering Snape’ issue; they simply out-numbered him. With so many targets, their Slytherin prey -in all his bad-assed spell-casting glory- had no possible way to completely counter them. Indeed, they were very fond of the group assault. Most of these attacks were imitations first brought into existence by the legendary group of Gryffindor pranksters, and Snape’s most loathed adversaries, the Marauders. Thanks to these four boys, copy-cat groups from all grades just loved to seek out Severus, their beloved Marauder’s one and only victim, to test their blossoming bullying skills on.
However, being the aforementioned boy of quick temper, Severus often found his own joy in making them fail their little tests. Grades one through three he simply ignored; they could never come up with anything he could not see coming a mile away anyway. Years four and five also posed little threat to him, as they were also too young and too stupid to pull anything over name-calling and ill-conceived jokes. The final grades were the ones who caused him the most heart ache on a regular basis. Especially the seventh years, who felt they had nothing to lose during their final stint at Hogwarts and so felt no reason to hold anything back against the boy. They were relentless, making his every day outside the Slytherin common room a living hell. Still, with all their escapades and frivolity against him, Severus had never really felt his life to be in danger. They were, after all, Gryffindors. Arrogant and foolish, but a noble group of students usually unwilling to take things to that final step, Severus was set in his mind that they would never try to actually kill him.
Until now.
Everything had started out normally enough. It was a nice afternoon, though the oncoming rain clouds made their threats to spoil that by hovering just beyond the castle. Severus was sitting under his favorite old tree, staring absently into the Forbidden Forest while kids around him played and studied in what little time they had left with the sunshine. He had just finished writing in his journal, replying to all the nasty comments Bellatrix Black loved to leave in his unsuspecting notebook. No sooner had he shoved the journal back into his bag and closed his eyes to take a nap did four Gryffindors in their seventh year decide to come over to him and pick a meaningless fight. A bulky boy of a rather foul disposition, wearing a surprisingly sinister smile for someone of his house, gave Snape’s shoe a quick kick.
“Hey grease-ball, get up,” he demanded. When the seventh-year Slytherin didn’t respond, a much leaner, but in one way less intimidating Gryffindor whacked Snape’s forehead, making the back of his head knock the trunk of the tree. Irritated, Severus finally opened his eyes and observed the group. They grinned down at him, a blonde boy in the back slapping his fist into the open palm of his other hand.
Severus was not impressed.
“Get up, you,” the first boy demanded, “we’ve got something we want you to see.” Severus glared at the meat-head with indifference, making no move. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, relaxing against the trunk as his hands slipped into the pockets of his robes stealthily.
“Go away. This is your only warning,” the Slytherin grunted calmly. The four older boys laughed at once, so busy in the overly-dramatic display of courage that they all failed to notice Severus had pulled his right hand back out from his pocket, resting it and his ebony wand at his side just in case. When the largest boy, the obvious leader of this pathetic pack, leaned forward to try and grab hold of Severus and force him up, the Slytherin simply poked him in the chest with his wand and sent him packing on a stunner spell. The two lesser bullies who had been behind him ended up catching their boss with their faces, all three crashing to the floor in a heap of robes, dust, and profanity. The lean boy ran to them quickly, first to check if they were okay, then to demand them back to their feet so they could repay Severus for his little surprise. Severus, ever the quick thinker, knew better than to sit around and wait for them to gather themselves, so he sprang to his feet, throwing his book bag over his shoulders, and made his escape.
“Get him!” screamed the lean boy, taking one final glance at his unconscious friend before taking off after Severus in an awkward, bull-like frenzy. The two others followed command, leaving their stunned leader to recover as they joined the chase. Other students were watching with joy. They could never pass up a good opportunity to see the Slytherin suffer. The Gryffindor, unburdened by bags, soon caught up with Severus, grabbing the strap of his rucksack and using it as a sort of slingshot to toss the Slytherin, who had been trying to get back into the campus, back towards the other two. Severus stumbled, but did not fall as he was thrown back, slipping his shoulder out from his bag and regaining himself in time to only just avoid the grasps of the other two boys. With his original path now cut off, Severus made a mad dash towards the Forbidden Forest. His hope was that they would be deterred to follow him by the scary trees and over-all danger of the woods, but he was once again foiled. They were Gryffindors for a reason, and quickly pursued him into the trees, leaving behind their audience. Maybe one of them would inform a teacher, or come to his aid, thought Severus held little hope for either scenario. He moved expertly through the trees, his best bet now to lose them within the foliage. But they were like bloodhounds, keeping to his scent without any sign of faltering.
“You’re dead!” he heard their screams echo through the forest, and he could tell that they were closing in. If only he were a faster boy! They were starting to spot him through the brush, casting spells to try and strike him down early. One came uncomfortably close to home, hitting a tree just left of Snape’s head. He gasped and sprang away, dashing off in another direction.
The wrong direction.
He came to a sudden and completely unwelcome stop, staring down from the top of a rather steep hill leading down into a thick mass of yet more trees. They were too dense to maneuver through, that he could tell. Not that it mattered; he would never be able to make it down the slope of the hill. He took a few steps back, making to change directions and back track to a safer path, when an acute burst of pain in his back stopped all motion. He hadn’t been paying attention. He hadn’t heard them approach, nor call the spell that had so perfectly connected with the center of his back. But he certainly felt the blow, and that was it. Before he could comprehend anything else, he fell.
And what a trip that was.
For a split second, he felt like he was flying. Doing a series of barrel rolls through the damp clouds. Of course, this somewhat pleasing sensation was quickly murdered as his out-of-control body made contact with the first of many rocks, bushes, and other forest-like floor materials. He somehow managed to figure out through the confusion that he was really rolling, and that it wasn't an odd dream. Rolling down the very cliff he had tried to avoid only moments earlier. Talk about irony. And he could do nothing to stop himself. His body was mindless, thanks to whatever spell those jerks had smacked him with. He felt the grass under him, brushing the dew from their bodies onto his as he passed by. It could have been a fun experience, were it not for another rather large rock that sat directly in his path. He felt his wrist smash into it as it passed him, snapping it easily under his body. This rock also managed to be enough of a disturbance to actually lift him off the ground and break the vicious rolling cycle. Of course, it sent him into more of a completely random tumble, hands and feet flying everywhere, but at least he wasn’t rolling anymore. And the tumble only last a few seconds, as he was just lucky enough to crash into one of the only free-standing trees sitting at the very base of the hill. Now his ribs burned with the same tormenting pain as his wrist, and it was all he could do to simply roll fully onto his back. He groaned and coughed; the force of the tree trunk collision more than enough to knock the wind out of him.
He laid there, his broken wrist sitting limply on top of his aching chest, the two pains screaming in unison. But there was nothing he could do for himself. Everything was out of sorts. The world refused to stop spinning, even with his eyes tightly shut, and he had yet to find any manner of air. He felt nauseous, disoriented and uncharacteristically afraid. Nothing about the situation was okay. After a few moments, his initial breathing problems subsided from impossible to slightly labored, but he senses were none the less jumbled. Blood pounded in his ears, making the already faint voices he thought he may have heard all the more difficult to comprehend. But he could still hear the terror in the tones. Though these words came more as muffled grunts of fear than anything coherent, Severus knew they were not over if he was okay.
No one cared.
With this less-than-comforting thought the last to enter his mind, Severus finally blacked out. His body just needed a few minutes without such thoughts to get everything sorted out.
“Oh man! He’s dead!” cried one of the Gryffindors, staring in horror at the unmoving body that was now resting at the bottom of the cliff. All three Gryffindors where whimpering with fright, pacing about the edge of the cliff and trying their best not to completely freak out. This was not supposed to happen. The lean boy, the one who had taken the lead in the chase, turned to face his two buddies, one of whom was too busy being sick to notice anything else.
“He’s not dead!” the boy hissed quickly, going over to his ill companion and rubbing his back comfortingly. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”
“We… we should get help…” the sickly boy whispered, looking up at his obviously freaked out pal. The lean boy shook his head, helping the other Gryffindor away from the hill as the last of the trio followed behind them. None of them were thinking in any condition to think rationally.
“No, no, we need to go! Let’s go. Before someone finds us!” the other two agreed, fear over-taking any common sense. They were too dumbstruck by how fast everything had happened. So they left the hill quickly behind them, breaking into a frantic stampede as they rushed out of the forest. A few students noticed their return, though if any of them noticed the panicked nature of their fleeing was anyone’s guess. The three spazzed-out boys met their freshly revived leader halfway across the grounds, all but collapsing into him as they stopped to chat. All three tried desperately to tell him what had happened at once, cutting each other off and taking long pauses to gasp for air. They told him how, at that very moment, Severus Snape was laying under a tree in the forbidden forest after falling down a steep hill and how he looked to be dead, their voices perhaps not as quiet as they should have been when relating such startling information.
