Savior

Wounded

It was the middle of June 1976, and within the walls of Hogwarts Castle where young wizards and witches live to learn magic, a young man was cowering at the corner of his dormitory room whilst shrouded in his black school cloak, onyx eyes wide in utmost mortification and shock. Faint white streaks of scratches marred his sallow face which also had trails of tears that begun to dry up.

The boy's name was Severus Snape, and it was the worst day of his life. He had had a few other terrible days (including nearly murdered by a werewolf at the start of his fifth year and was forced to keep the secret lest he face expulsion) but what happened hours ago felt like a lifetime for Severus.

How could it not be? He was just revising his answers for the Defense against the Dark Arts O.W.L examination, only to be attacked by his lifelong tormentors ever since he stepped into Hogwarts. He was greatly assaulted by James Potter and Sirius Black, with no one bothered to help him. He ended up insulting the only one who attempted to do so in the midst of his explosive rage. And when he went to the Gryffindor Tower just then to apologize, willing to grovel at her feet and do anything to get her forgiveness, she once again rejected him.

Summer break was approaching in a few more days, and Severus didn't know what to do. What else he had going on for him? Lily Evans, his friend had broken off their relationship due to him calling her 'Mudblood'. Even now, he was sure there were students gossiping about his latest humiliation that had stripped all of his dignity and pride, and he couldn't bear to listen to their laughter and jeers that would ensue the moment he left his room.

He used to think he could do anything, as long as he had his mother and Lily but nothing seemed to matter anymore. What would his mother think when she heard the news? Would she mock him for being a weakling; not being able to defend himself, for lowering his guard? Or a blood supremacist, like his Slytherin peers was preaching about? But what else was he supposed to do when nobody lent him a hand?

How he wished the days will pass by quickly... he couldn't afford to stay in the nightmarish magical school any longer. When the O.W.Ls were over and he got his results some time in July, he would stop coming to Hogwarts. His dreams of being a Potions Master might as well go down the drain. Working in the Muggle world was unappealing but at least it would be mundane and he wouldn't be mocked to death.

With that, Severus curled down onto the floor, tears pooling in his eyes as the numerous incidents he had faced through his entire life plagued his dreams.

***

Lord Voldemort sat at one of the benches within the magical part of King's Cross Station, contently watching as the bright red train came to a stop, whistling loudly before letting its passengers to depart to their homes for summer vacation. He was donning a set of glamour spells so no one would recognize him; for he was the rising Dark Lord of the wizarding world, soon to conquer all of Britain under his reign.

As the Hogwarts students walked out of the train with their trunks, he simply observed from his seat; all the while sensing the waves of magic emitting from them. Some were dull and uninteresting, which not to his surprise belonged to those called Muggleborns. A few others' magical cores flared quite immensely, and he wished to recruit those into his Death Eaters. For what was a great general in a war if his soldiers were weak?

It was dusk when the train station was nearly deserted, with the Hogwarts Express left to the castle back and the Dark Lord decided he had enough for the day, noting the students he deemed valuable to lure them later. He was ready to leave through the Floo fireplace but it was then did he realize there was someone standing at the barrier between the wizarding world and the Muggle world.

From the looks of the figure, it was a young man holding a rather worn-out school trunk. His black robe seemed short considering how it showed part of his ankles but the boy took no notice of it.

Lord Voldemort didn't know what drew him to approach the boy (was it the tumultuous sensation of enraged magic that was barely suppressed?), though nevertheless he was astounded at the speed the young man drew out his wand; some red sparks shooting out of the wand's tip.

"Get lost, won't you?!" the boy snarled. His onyx eyes glinted fiercely and his grip onto the wand was tight.

The Dark Lord almost snorted in amusement; this scrawny child wanted to hex him? He was about to draw his yew wand as well but his curiosity was piqued as he sensed the boy's magic that circulated through the air; it was boiling and freezing, ready to both destroy and maim whoever crossed him.

Perhaps this day wasn't a waste at all.

So instead he asked, "Why are you still here? Your parent's not picking you up or something?"

The young man's visage immediately turned pale. "I- I can't... I can't go home."

Now Lord Voldemort was greatly intrigued, "Why not?"

"B- Because..." the boy started. He then blinked before his face contorted into a snarl again. "It's none of your business! Just leave me alone!" He gripped his wand tighter and held the handle of his trunk as if about to bolt away.

The Dark Lord inwardly grimaced; the young man had great potential but his anger was quite irritating. Still, the vulnerable look in the latter's eyes caught his attention. Would it worth his time to have the boy in his grasp?

"I won't ask again," he said calmly, "but if you need a place to stay for the night, you can come with me."

He watched as the young man warred with himself and almost grinned when the latter stared down to his shoes and stowed away his wand. "If... if you won't mind," he mumbled sheepishly.

Smirking to himself for his victory, the Dark Lord turned to leave. "What's your name, boy?"

"Severus." The corner of the boy's lips twitched. "Severus... Snape."

Lord Voldemort minutely raised his eyebrows, interested with the way Severus almost spitting out his last name in clear distaste. He soon smiled, not wanting to make the young man suspect him already. "You can call me Marvolo," he said.

They then walked toward one of the fireplaces and taking a pinch of the Floo powder, he then threw it into the fire which turned green and uttered out the place he rented before the two stepped into the flames.