Chapter Text
1. The Resolutions
It was New Year’s Eve, and not a single guest had been invited to celebrate at Spinner’s End.
Completing the last sentence on his list, Severus signed his name in his tight, messy scrawl at the bottom of the parchment, unaware that at that precise moment the clocks in all of Britain were chiming midnight. Promptly dropping his quill, he passed out from the copious amounts of alcohol that he’d consumed in his celebration.
He awoke the next morning, his head throbbing more with each breath he took. Slowly he lifted his head, a string of drool at the corner of his mouth stretching to a small pool on the desk. Severus wiped his mouth and began massaging his temples as he tried to clear his head.
Once he felt that he wouldn’t do any serious damage with his wand, he pulled it from his sleeve and Summoned a flask of Hangover Relief which he had brewed fresh the day before in anticipation of his present condition. On New Year’s Eve, if he were at a party, it was almost tradition that Severus frequently made poor decisions – about sex, alcohol, wagers, dares, and whether he should really use his teeth to open a champagne bottle. It didn’t matter if the party was hosted by Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. This year, Severus had thought he was safe because he was alone. If the worst he did was wallow in a bottle (or four) of firewhisky, then there was nothing to worry about.
Last year, he’d awakened to the maniacal face and bad breath of Bellatrix Lestrange. That was all well and good, however, the glow of the “morning after” wore off rather quickly when Rodolphus came barging into the room. Severus barely made it out of there with all of his appendages still attached and in their proper locations.
Thank God Severus had had enough sense to stay home alone this year!
Thank God he hadn’t done anything stu—!
Severus’ eyes suddenly flicked to the piece of parchment on his desk. There lay the culmination of last evening’s work. He picked it up and began reading.
This Year's Top Ten New Year's Resolutions
1. Clear my name. I admit killing the one man who defended me in the past was probably not the best idea, but I have always risen to a challenge. I think Miss Granger might possibly be convinced to argue on my behalf particularly if I offer her hot sex… er… access to my library.
2. Demand respect from others by insisting that they call me by my proper title – no longer Professor, but the Half-Blood Prince.
3. Find a girlfriend. And keep her. Preferably without the use of chains or the Imperius Curse – though chains might be fun. (Chains for her, not me.)
4. Work on personal appearance. May finally work-up the courage to ask Lucius what he uses on his hair, providing he ever gets out of Azkaban. Also check out a rumor that Miss Granger's parents are dentists. (I wonder if I offer her hot sex… er… access to my library, would she put in a good word for me.)
5. Find new career. I never liked teaching anyway, even DADA. I'm thinking Minister of Magic, or failing that, the next Dark Lord.
6. Work to achieve inner peace. This could be easily accomplished if the Dark Lord and Potter did away with each other and saved me the hassle, but I'm not holding my breath.
7. Convince Narcissa that a large amount of money… er… a simple thank you is all that is required. Honestly, she is starting to get tiresome.
8. Buy property. I've lived at a boarding school for too long and it's time I had a place of my own that isn’t a run-down and decrepit house in a dead town. Snape Castle or Snape Manor has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
9. Work to invent an Anti-Stupidity Potion. Failing that, start spiking people's drinks with the Draught of Living Death. First up... Pettigrew.
10. Make new friends. Because matching tattoos and masks just aren't as exciting when you're nearing forty as it was when you were twenty.
Just below the list was his signature. And directly below that, in shimmering gold, a timer was counting down: 364 days, 13 hours, and 36 minutes
Bloody hell!
**
Fresh clothes and his daily infusion of caffeine made Severus feel like he could finally deal with the problem he was now facing. His head was now clear, and he grabbed the list and one of the books off the shelf and settled into a well-used armchair.
It took him only a few minutes to find what he was looking for in the dusty old tome. He read the fine print, and it was as he’d feared. Severus had accidentally written the resolutions on an Official Binding Resolution Contract which Albus Dumbledore had distributed to the staff years ago as a New Year’s Eve party favor.
“Come, Severus,” the sherbet lemon addict had said enticingly. “Just make one resolution this year, that you will be kinder to Sybill Trelawney – no more Perma-Frizz in her shampoo.”
For some idiotic reason, Severus hadn’t destroyed the cursed parchment and had obviously grabbed it in his alcohol-induced madness. Which, in most cases wouldn’t be a problem, but because he’d written the resolutions on New Year’s Eve and apparently signed the damned parchment at the stroke of midnight (though he truly didn’t remember that part), he was now bound to complete the list. Every single resolution he’d written on the parchment must be completed by the stroke of midnight on the 31st of December this year.
What the hell was I thinking in signing the bloody paper? he cursed himself. He knew the answer to that ridiculous question (hell, this entire thing was ridiculous). Severus always signed things when he was making a promise to himself. In this case, he had likely believed that the list was “a good idea.” Obviously, his senses had left him at some point during his drinking binge.
There was no way to break the contract; it was as magically binding as an Unbreakable Vow, and he certainly knew all about THAT. If he broke any part of the Resolution Contract, or simply failed to fulfill any item on the list, the consequences were dire… he would lose his magic. Looking over the information he had found in the book, he growled when it reaffirmed his previous conclusion: there were no loopholes.
Slamming the book shut, he tossed it on the small end table next to his chair before looking over his foolhardy list again. He ran his fingers through his greasier-than-normal hair and winced. Perhaps he should start with item number four…
**
239 Days, 18 Hours, 22 Minutes
Severus paced his living room floor, listening to the sounds of the clock ticking, waiting for the time to arrive when he needed to leave for his meeting, and worrying over the best way to accomplish one of the items on his list. He was certain that this entire process was supposed to be easier. There were too many things that he didn’t have control over. How the hell could something that stupid become a binding contract?
Not for the first time in the last four months, he cursed magic and whatever deity who’d created it – and its asinine rules. But even though he cursed magic, he wasn’t about to give it up without a fight.
Over the last few months he had not stopped researching any possible way to nullify the contract. His search was still fruitless.
One thing he did learn was that any time he completed one of the items on his list, a gold line appeared through it.
The countdown, however, never stopped. It continued on as a constant reminder that he was working under a looming anvil.
He had been successful at crossing off two items from his list. The first had been rather simple. Though he knew that he hadn’t the time to fully create an Anti-Stupidity Potion, he’d worked on it for two minutes, thus fulfilling that part of the ninth resolution. The next part – well, slipping Wormtail the Draught of Living Death had been surprisingly simple. The fat, twitchy sod had keeled over in the middle of dinner one evening. The Dark Lord had merely sneered, and after Pettigrew’s body remained stiff and still for the remainder of the meal, Voldemort had turned to Rookwood and instructed him to dispose of the body.
The odd gleam in the Dark Lord’s red eyes caused Severus to wonder if he didn’t suspect that Wormtail’s rigor mortis was only the appearance of death. Regardless, Pettigrew was disposed of, and he hadn’t turned up since.
That was how Severus had his first gold line marked through an item on his list. Still, he couldn’t help but think of the benefits of an Anti-Stupidity Potion, so he had decided that once this entire mess was behind him, working on the creation of such a potion would definitely be worth the effort. After all, there were still dunderheads like Longbottom and Crabbe wasting perfectly good air and space.
The next item he’d watched, with great pleasure, become nothing more than a line was item number seven. That resolution was, in essence, to eliminate the pain in the arse that Narcissa Malfoy had become ever since he’d saved her son. Convincing her that it was only a “thank you” he wanted was much more difficult than he’d anticipated.
After he saved Draco’s neck by killing Albus Dumbledore (on Dumbledore’s own orders, damn him), Mrs. Malfoy kept throwing herself at Severus, stating that she knew ways in which to properly thank him. It wasn’t that Severus was adverse to having a beautiful and willing witch perform sexual acts upon his person – he was truly quite pleased with that prospect. He just couldn’t help but envision an enraged Lucius Malfoy casting the Killing Curse on him the moment he was released from Azkaban and discovered what he and Narcissa had been up to in his absence.
After much discussion, (not to mention countless efforts to push Cissy away), Severus successfully got the woman to leave him alone. However, to do so, she finally made a sizable contribution to the “Snape Manor Fund.”
At the end of that day, the item was crossed off his list, and he was well on his way to being able to purchase that property for item number eight.
The most pressing matter for him to consider had been the ending of the war. There was no way he could even hope to clear his name, find himself a girlfriend (who wasn’t already married), pursue a new career, make new friends, or achieve inner peace while serving the Dark Lord.
To accomplish these things, Severus had decided that his best option was to more openly help the Order of the Phoenix. He was still a spy, but after Dumbledore’s death, he had no way to report his news, and sending anonymous hints just didn’t work with Gryffindors. He had initially tried to contact Remus Lupin to begin passing on information to the Order. At first, Severus had offered to supply Remus with Wolfsbane as a show of good faith. When that didn’t work, Severus had told Lupin that he’d brew up a potion that would force his little Metamorphmagus slut… er… bride to turn into something truly beautiful for a change.
The foolish werewolf refused.
And had the audacity to appear offended at Severus’ generous offer.
No matter what Severus tried, Remus refused to trust him. The Gryffindor preferred to believe the idiotic rantings of a teenage boy over a man who had proven himself loyal to Dumbledore for nearly twenty years. Granted, Severus had to admit that actually killing Albus may have had something to do with the way that people felt about him right now. But, those were thoughts best left for item number one.
With that connection to Lupin severed, Severus found himself trying to decide exactly who he should contact within the Order. Minerva was out, and they had never gotten on well even when she had known they were on the same side… he had the sinking feeling that the moment she did see him, she’d be shouting for Aurors before he could even think of escaping or explaining. The same thoughts went for Moody, Shacklebolt, and Tonks.
And he didn’t even want to think about approaching any of the Weasleys.
There were, of course, others in the Order, but he didn’t feel that any of them were members whom he could fully trust. In the end, he knew he was left with only one viable option: Hermione Granger. He was pleased when she accepted his request for a meeting.
The clock chimed four times. It was time to leave for his appointment. Severus pulled his wand from his sleeve and Apparated out of his house, appearing in a dingy little alleyway. Winding his way through the bins and onto the crowded streets of London, he found the busy Muggle pub where he was to meet the girl.
He was on guard, but even the Aurors wouldn’t be stupid enough to cause a scene in the middle of a crowded street, nor were they likely to interfere inside the pub. No one liked to Obliviate Muggles unless they had to. Plus, Hermione had sworn that no one would know of their meeting or be there to entrap him… if she broke the contract he’d sent her via Owl Post (and that she’d subsequently signed and returned to him), the young witch would wind up with marks on her face to rival Miss Edgecombe’s.
Severus was pleased that all of his research in magical contracts had taught him something.
“Professor Snape, I don’t understand what you think you can get from me,” Hermione said with a hiss once he arrived to a small table she occupied near the back of the pub.
“I am not trying to get anything from you at all, Miss Granger. I am only trying to end this bloody war and the only way that will happen is if Potter vanquishes the Dark Lord,” he countered as he sat down with his back towards the wall. He suspiciously began eyeing the other occupants. As an afterthought, he softly muttered, “Oh, and call me the Half-Blood Prince.”
Hermione was looking surprised at his first revelation, but then did a double-take at his last sentence, uncertain exactly what he said. “I’m sorry, what was that last bit, sir?”
“Nothing,” he growled. So much for item number two!
Over the course of an hour, he seemed to be able to convince Miss Granger that he truly did wish to bring about the end of the war – including the defeat of the Dark Lord. Snape gave her information on recently recruited Death Eaters, to show her he was serious about still being a spy; after all, he couldn’t just show her a badge saying, “I am a spy.” They worked out methods of communication and their next meeting time and location. At the end of the hour, she also had a contract for him to sign. If he did anything to betray her or her friends, certain parts of his anatomy would take on the resemblance of an Abyssinian Shrivelfig.
Severus smirked; the girl learned quickly.
