Title: A Walking Shadow
Author: Yymeatha
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Please! This is my first ever slash fic and my first serious and complete fic. baasheep87@aol.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, however much I wish that were untrue. I have also taken quotes from Shakespeare and Eugene Ionesco.
Notes: Many thanks go to my muses, namely Kat, KT, Hollie and Amy who provide many bizarre and wonderful conversations to draw upon. Extra thanks to Amy for beta-reading and commiserations to Kat whom I suspect wanted to beta-read but didn't get her lot in on time.
This fic is part of the ´Order of the Phoenix´ Harry/Severus Fuh-Q-Fest (). Challenges: Harry needs comforting after Sirius´ death, Harry sees a sexual fantasy about himself in Snape's pensieve, Occlumency practice creates a link between Snape and Harry, and they start experiencing each other's dreams.
Spoilers: Books 1 to 5.
Archive: After_Class archive and other random places after 30th September. If you want it, please ask me first so I can go and see the site. Many thanks.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.-William Shakespeare
A Walking Shadow
Harry Potter had long since decided that the July of 1996 was unnecessarily hot, needlessly Dursley-infested and unquestionably the strangest summer of his nearly-sixteen-year old life. Unfortunately, while he could at least do something about the heat –specifically wearing as little as possible and staying in the shade where Uncle Vernon couldn't see him- the presence of the Dursleys was a necessary evil. The Dursleys themselves had been behaving awfully strangely all summer and, although this was, at times, a welcome state of affairs, it was beginning to unnerve him just the slightest.
For one thing, they had left him mostly alone. Harry was not naive enough to believe that this was due entirely to the Order's threat at the end of the previous term; if anything, his Aunt Petunia's innate tendency to poke her considerable-sized nose in where it wasn't wanted, should have been fuelled by her eternal quest to know everything about others' lives. But there had been no neck-craning, no beady-eyed glances when she thought Harry wasn't looking, no spontaneous checks to "make sure you're doing what you should be doing!" Harry had decided that either he wasn't noticing anymore or Aunt Petunia had inexplicably gained experience in the art of not-being-seen.
The alternative was, of course, that Aunt Petunia had simply stopped… but Harry had made an observation several years back, that when Aunt Petunia stopped spying on other people's lives, Hell would freeze over. And Privet Drive had showed no signs of becoming the sudden centre of an unscheduled snow-blizzard in the middle of July.
If Aunt Petunia's strange behaviour wasn't enough to confuse him, the rest of his family's activities certainly were. Uncle Vernon, while definitely not being 'nice' to him by any stretch of the imagination, had noticeably made an effort to curb all insults thrown his way. When Harry had accidentally broken a piece of priceless Wedgewood as he dusted the living room last week, Uncle Vernon had made no nasty comments whatsoever. He had turned several interesting shades of purple but Harry was feeling generous enough to chalk that up to the heat.
If Harry hadn't known better, he would almost be tempted to believe that the Dursleys were trying their very best to be nice to him. But 'nice to Harry' and 'the Dursleys' had never mixed well in any sentence before and Harry held no beliefs that they would now.
Although the days were undoubtedly strange and confusing, Harry preferred them substantially to what awaited him when darkness fell and he had only his own dark thoughts for company.
In the silence and solitude brought on by the thick night Harry found himself thinking more than was probably healthy. Although he had been told time and again that he was not to be blamed for any of the events which had caused people to lose their lives, he couldn't see how he could not be blamed. If he hadn't told Cedric to take the Cup, Cedric would still be alive. If he had listened to Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione…anyone, if he had just swallowed his damnable pride and returned to the Occlumency lessons, if he hadn't been so impulsive and downright stupid...Sirius would still be alive.
That one hurt the most.
Despite Dumbledore's insistence that it was himself whom had caused Sirius' death, Harry couldn't see how anyone except himself could be blamed for the loss of the most important person in his life. He wanted to blame Dumbledore, oh god how he wanted to pin the blame on someone else (and a small part of him recognised that that was exactly what Dumbledore had tried to allow him to do) but the fact of the matter was that Sirius' death was utterly, inescapably his fault. And no amount of begging, of crying and screaming and trashing Dumbledore's office, would ever bring him back.
Sirius had been the most important person in Harry's life for two years. It was the dim hope that Sirius would be cleared and that Harry would be able to live with him that had kept him going when people refused to believe him or else betrayed him behind his back. Sirius had been a link to his parents and, more importantly, someone who would care for him not just because he was James' son but because he was his godson.
And now Sirius had left him alone and his world had been torn apart. Nothing would ever be 'alright' again because there would be no one to go home to. Just as Harry's world had ceased as certainly as Sirius' life had, he felt that the world itself should have ended. The stars ought to have winked out, for where was their beauty without the brightest of them all? Time itself should have come to an end because what was time worth if it wasn't time spent with Sirius?
But each monotonous day came and went, the sun rising and falling and glowing with its disgustingly cheerful light. The stars continued to shine despite the fake amongst their midst that mocked him with its light. Time passed slowly and swiftly as another day came to another end and Harry felt as though it should be The End. People went on with their stupid, insignificant, boring, everyday lives and Harry just wanted to shout from the rooftops for them to stop! What was the point anymore? Because Sirius was dead!
And when he had worked himself into a state of mingled anger and grief and guilt and helplessness, Morpheus clawed at his mind and he fell until he reached the depths of the abyss with no way out and could fall no more and the dreams of death and gore and torment prowled his unsuspecting mind.
* * *
Severus Snape had come to regret many things in his life and while a number of them could be attributed to some higher power that enjoyed mocking him, the majority had come as a consequence of his own poor decisions. Joining the Death Eaters, he reflected sourly as he stalked across the Hogwarts grounds to Hogsmeade, his left arm throbbing violently, had definitely been one of his more foolish choices. Reaching the Apparation borders on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Severus took a brief moment to compose himself to his satisfaction before he Apparated to this week's unknown destination.
He arrived with a deafening pop in a large spacious area, more of a cavern than a room, that boasted elaborately carved spiralling pillars which snaked up and up to the high-domed gothic ceiling above. His arrival startled several nearby junior Death Eaters to his vicious delight –not that he enjoyed terrorising children, of course -but he paid them little attention, instead striding across the room towards the large ornate doors, lost in his contemplation. Joining had seemed like a good idea at the time. And, as it turned out, Lucius had been interested in him…just not in the way Severus would have liked. Reaching the doors, Severus halted and carefully drew out a white mask from within the depths of his robes. He allowed himself a brief moment to sneer in disgust at the lavish, absurdly intricate engravings on the otherwise flawless mask, before placing it over his face and entering the room beyond. The Dark Lord really was ridiculously fond of the ostentatious.
It seemed that everyone else had already arrived and that they were now waiting for him. That did not bode well. Already, icy tendrils of dread were creeping up his spine and Severus had to consciously override the instinct to shiver. He was here to die. He was certain of it.
Before he could take his customary position in the circle, a shrill, sibilant voice interrupted his journey.
"Severus…" Lord Voldemort was seated at the far end of the room, enthroned in a large high-backed chair. His narrowed crimson eyes gleamed in the torchlight, watching the blank surface of Severus' mask. The face was long and gaunt, bleached skin stretched over frail bones which lent his visage the appearance of a horse's skull and Severus could not help but feel disappointed. Such a pity…he used to be such a handsome man. "Come…" Severus obeyed swiftly, moving across the dry stone floor and trying desperately to not let his mounting unease show in either his posture or his mind. Voldemort, after all, was an accomplished Legilimens.
He stopped a few feet from Voldemort and sketched a low hasty bow, striving to school his thoughts in preparation for the inevitable interrogation. The brief, rebellious declaration that a Snape bowed to no man was hastily swept away before it could even reach the surface. Upon his straightening, a low serpentine hiss that echoed ominously in the cold room broke the heavy silence.
"Remove the mask."
Again, Severus obeyed the command and this time removed his ivory mask, doing so as slowly as he dared. If he was going to die, then he wanted to die knowing that he had, at the very least, incensed the bastard before he was slaughtered. Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed but he made no comment, instead opting to observe Severus without the faceless mask concealing his features. Severus knew that Voldemort could discern nothing from his mien; he had spent many hours training himself to reveal nothing from his expressions.
"Lucius…"
Severus started in surprise, though he was certain he had not let it show. He heard behind him the soft rustling sound of moving robes and then Lucius Malfoy was stood next to him, executing a low, insufferably sycophantic bow. "My Lord…" he murmured, sounding almost nervous. Severus smirked maliciously inwardly. Lucius never liked to be identified; there could be certain… side-effects if an accusation or deed was traced back to it originator. No, Lucius liked to remain in the shadows, just as Severus himself did. The silent and, above all, anonymous informant.
The Dark Lord's sibilant tones were speaking again and Severus tuned back into him.
"-here has informed me of some rather…interesting news." A dramatic pause. Severus remained silent. "It appears that you both have an acquaintance with a certain creature. I am most curious as to how this came about."
Outwardly, Severus remained calm. Inwardly, his mind and stomach both reeled. How could he have missed this?
"Yes," Voldemort hissed excitedly. "I see this information was not incorrect. You shall be rewarded Lucius… return to the circle." A swirl of robes in his peripheral vision and Severus was left alone again. "Tell me Severus, how you came upon this acquaintance. For it answers to none but the Blacks and it seems very strange that it should come across your face in the fire."
Voldemort sat back and waited. Severus gave the only explanation he could. "My Lord, my position as your spy would have been jeopardised had I not." Carefully, he made certain that he allowed his feelings of duty and servitude to rise to the surface. He didn't allow through the thought that they were feelings directed at Dumbledore, not at the being sat before him. That would not likely sit too well. Voldemort remained silent and Severus breathed a mental sigh of relief that he would at least be allowed the chance to try to explain. The Dark Lord must be in a good frame of mind tonight.
"I was in the room shortly after the Potter child attempted to contact Black through the fire," he began, letting his full true feeling of hatred for Black rise. It couldn't hurt to talk the truth for at least some part of his explanation. And he certainly hated how Black's death haunted him still, despite his absence at the time of it. Bothersome things that dreams were; he didn't need to see the same scene again every night as vividly as if he were there! "He informed me of Black's supposed capture, believing our loyalties to lie in the same hands. Although the child is undoubtedly one of the more obtuse of the little horrors I have had the displeasure of teaching, even the idiot Longbottom would have been suspicious had I not appeared to endeavour to contact the Order after Potter's tirade."
Severus finished, more than a little pleased at how calm his voice had sounded and definitely smugly satisfied at how flawless his explanation thus far was. And surely it would not have brought about any suspicions to deliberately insult both the Potter brat and Longbottom. They were as bad as each other…one as arrogant as the other was incompetent.
"What you say is true, Severus. You, of course, had to say something or else the Order would become suspicious as to why you had originally contacted them… and nothing less than the truth would have convinced Dumbledore to act. I will give you that much." He paused, regarding Severus carefully for a moment before continuing, his voice now much lower and infinitely more dangerous. "And yet your actions caused my plan to fail. If you had not interfered, the Prophecy would be in my hands and the Potter child dead. What do you have to say, Severus?"
The question was loaded. Severus knew that his life depended on his answer but he would have to speak carefully. If Voldemort even suspected that he might not be telling the truth, he would be dead before he could blink. "My Lord, I realise that my actions have had unforeseen consequences and for that I am truly sorry." And he was in a way…only not for Voldemort. "However, I do not believe that events have turned out quite so terribly, considering." He hurried on before Voldemort could muster up any indignation at being contradicted. "Certainly, the continued existence of Potter's life is unfortunate but his death now rather than a month ago will be all the more devastating for the morale of the muggle-lovers. Now that the Ministry has accepted your return to power, Potter's death will be attributed to you and that will cause far more fear among the wizarding community than if he were to die of more seemingly natural causes." Certainly true.
Voldemort appeared interested but, of course, he picked the one hole in Severus' argument. "It will also cause much anger, Severus. And power thrives off anger. That would not be a welcome state of affairs."
Severus acknowledged this with a respectful bow of his head. "That is true, my Lord. I apologise. However, the case of the Prophecy is not so hopeless." Severus watched with something akin to wry amusement as the Dark Lord's face predictably brightened with interest. "Dumbledore was foolish enough to entrust me with the Prophecy in its entirety. It appears that the original was spoken to him." True again but also entirely misleading.
Severus waited once more with baited breath, hardly daring to hope. His heart rate slowed to a dangerous level as his insides turned to liquid ice. He forced the truth of his words to the forefront of his mind, willing Voldemort to believe him.
"Interesting, Severus. I sense the truth of your words. Perhaps your fate is not so dire after all. And the prophecy…?"
Dutifully, Severus recited what he had been told. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
Voldemort appeared to be deep in thought. "So one of us must kill the other…how simply beautiful!" He laughed, his cold voice echoing around the vast room and behind him, Severus could hear the others laughing along with him. Fools, all of them. The laughter ceased abruptly. "And this power that I know not?" he inquired.
"Dumbledore believes it to be love," he stated simply.
Again the Dark Lord pondered his words. "Yes," he mused amusedly. "It would explain his survival… but love is no power! It is a weakness! They are fools if they believe the muggle-born's love will save him!" He turned once more to Severus. "I had intended to kill you, Severus. Make no mistake. But it would be unseemly to murder the bearer of such good news…I believe I shall let you live this time."
Severus' heart began beating again at more than twice its usual speed as adrenaline abruptly rushed through his body. Resigned as he was to the inevitability of the loss of his life, he had nearly lost it and, wretched thing that it was, he had become rather attached to it. Voldemort's final words caught him completely off guard.
"However, incompetence will not be tolerated, Severus…Crucio!" Voldemort spared a moment to bask in ill-concealed glee at the sudden loss of Severus' blank features which had crumpled under the pain. "Do not disappoint me again, Severus. You have my permission to leave."
Realising his dismissal, Severus made as composed a bow as possible under the circumstances. He managed to retain enough stability of mind to disapparate before he collapsed to the floor and to apparate to Snape Manor rather than to Hogsmeade. Appearing in Death Eater robe with mask in hand, middle of the night or no, would not be beneficial to his cover. Some sodding insomniac would be awake to see him.
Albus would worry about him but he couldn't care less. The interfering old coot deserved it.
Bed…what a lovely idea…
Hundreds of miles away, in a small four bedroom house situated in the middle of Surrey, Harry Potter woke with a start from his dreams, eyes wide and accusing, body trembling with the fresh imprint of artificial pain.
Neither slept well that night and both dreamt of prophecies and Death Eaters and Sirius…Black…falling…falling…falling…