Author's Note: Written for Finals Round 1 for the QLFC
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Captain
Captain's Prompt: Write about Msaw Ætare; there is no purpose linked to this shop, so it is up to you to decide what that might be.
Additional Note: In my personal headcanon, Severus always lives (unbeknownst to the Wizarding World at large). If you squint really hard, though, you might be able to see where this could fit into canon.
Beta Love: Sekdaniels, Fragilereality, and Tee Little for looking over my story and suggesting useful things!
Word Count: 2,964
The Last Truth
"What sort of place is this, Mother?" The gloomy little boy stared into the gloomy little shop, which stood right on the edge of Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley.
As if to signal its dualistic nature, half of it was soaked in the warm afternoon light, while the other half was bathed in shadow. The interior appeared to be completely empty, save for a small desk with an old fashioned bell sitting upon it and a hooded figure that sat behind it. Despite the shop's emptiness, the wood floor appeared freshly varnished, though there were no other clues within the picture window advertising wares or services.
The gloomy woman, whose features were practically a copy of her son's plus a few decades of poverty and abuse, looked back at him with something like fondness in her expression. "This is our family shop. One day, it will likely pass to you, Severus. For even though you are merely half-blooded, you are the last of our line. This is why I've been pushing you so hard. You must be ready for it."
"But what does the shop sell?" Severus
With a small smile, his mother spoke a few words in their secret language, the one that she'd taught him before he could walk. "Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Her son's eyes were wide, and he stared hungrily through the window, as though expecting to see something miraculous. He spoke the words slowly, in a hushed voice. "Em-sa-we, Eye-tear?"
"Very good, Severus," his mother said. "One day, it may pass to you. Do not worry, my little one. You will understand when you are older."
Severus could feel his chest brimming with pride. He could not wait to be old enough to meet his destiny.
Many people are willing to pay hundreds of Galleons to know the future. They want to be given vague prophecies and tantalizing tidbits about what will happen to them. They want to avoid a fall from grace. They want to know if they can change the future. This is why diviners make such tidy profits with their craft. They tell just enough of the story to make it palatable to the customer, and conveniently leave out the rest.
Very few people wish to know the Truth. If prophecy is a sketch laid out in pencil, the Truth is a heavy tome written in blood. It has been known to cleave one's enemies and friends indiscriminately unless used wisely. It is, however, very powerful in the right hands. There are many types of Truth; from the righteous to the downright evil, but the Alethiomagus does not judge them. He merely offers it...for a price.
For, while few people wish to know the Truth, it is without exception that their bodies ache to know it.
-Primus Prince, The Alethiomagus: Teller of Truths
At thirty-eight years of age, Severus Snape had met his fate and found it wanting. Blessedly, he'd lost consciousness after losing enough blood to that damned snakebite. He'd hallucinated being in an airport with Lily, and she'd smiled because she was happy to see him, then slapped him for being a bully to her son. Then she kissed his forehead and told him he ought to stop being a mopey fool and get back to the land of the living.
She was right, as usual. He went.
Lucius Malfoy had dragged his sorry corpse to a healer of ill repute, who had brought Severus back. Later, Severus would tell Lucius that he had chosen to come back, though only Merlin knew why. There was nothing left for him in the Wizarding World. Once he had recovered enough, he'd returned to Spinner's End and almost considered ending it all. In the end his stubbornness, (also, as usual), prevailed.
A week later, Sextus Prince, Alethiomagus for Msaw Ætare for more than seventy years, passed away.
The next morning, Severus woke up with the Truth on his lips and his body on fire as the blood wards transferred to him. Though he was used to quite a lot of pain at the hands of the Dark Lord, he was still recovering. The agony of it drove him onto the floor, where he lay frozen in a rictus of pain. It was a blessed relief when he finally lost consciousness.
As a child, Severus had a knack for sniffing out the truth. He'd also naturally taken to Occlumency and Legilimency. He'd have entire non-verbal conversations with his mother, or they would speak in the secret language that was theirs alone.
As he'd grown older, he'd mastered telling half-truths, though this was largely due to growing up with a drunk for a father and a stubborn sense of pride that wouldn't allow him to tattle on his bullies. It was a game that he'd always enjoyed playing best when Dumbledore was alive. Through sarcastic tones and the tiniest of smirks, he could convey all manner of meanings with the most mundane of conversation topics.
The Truth is a burden. While small facts can be reached on one's own, the weight of a Truth cannot be freed unless it is brought forth through the proper conduit. Once it is made real, though, it is up to the recipient to bring it to submission. The price offered at the beginning of a consultation is almost always an underestimate.
-Primus Prince, The Alethiomagus: Teller of Truths
The Truth gnawed on Severus' belly, demanding to be set free.
"Shut up, you," Severus growled at it, though he knew it would do very little to stop it.
He stared at the frosted glass door that spilled out into Knockturn Alley and then turned his head to stare at the rainbows being thrown off by the prismatic cut glass on the Diagon Alley side door. He drummed his fingers on the black mahogany desk. The feeling of the Truth beating against his belly was uncomfortable, like a cough that he couldn't quite settle.
It had already been a busy day. He'd told at least five smaller Truths and received appropriate payment. Someone would stumble in, pulled by their need for the Truth, and he would speak it into reality. Then they would pay him. Once, a small, elderly woman from Peru had appeared through the door, her clothing very much unsuited for the freezing weather outside, and when she opened the door, Severus had caught a glimpse of a forest. Still, nothing particularly surprised him anymore. It was strange to think that such an unusual calling could ever become routine, but that was indeed what it had become for Severus. Day in and day out, he played the conduit between the terrifying unknown and its intended recipient.
In the end, it had become yet another duty with him trapped in the middle, unable to truly live for himself.
The glass door opened slowly, and a man entered with a dazed expression on his face. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Severus pulled on the hood to his robe out of habit. It would not do for anyone to recognize him, especially when he was supposed to be dead.
"Welcome Minister Shacklebolt," he said, his voice distorted by the Truth, which bobbed excitedly in his throat. "Come in and meet your Truth."
"I...wait...where am I?" Kingsley looked back towards the door he'd entered through. "That...is not the door to the Department of Mysteries."
"Do not be afraid. Come, and barter for your Truth." Severus motioned to the seat across the desk from where he sat. The Truth whispered what it was worth in his head and he sneered at the discomfort it brought him to hear it. "For your Truth, the payment is three dreams and a month of your life."
"I don't have any mon—did you say dreams?"
Severus sighed, trying his best to hold his composure. "Yes. Intangible assets are paid for with intangible currency."
"What if I don't like this truth?" Kingsley said, after a moment of reflection.
"It is not a mere truth," Severus replied. "It is a Truth. With a capital T."
"You..sound familiar…" Kingsley took a step forward.
"The Truth," Severus said, his voice so full of authority that Kingsley froze, "is something that you cannot change, but in knowing it, you will be able to strategize how to control it, and in so doing, you may change your destiny for the better."
"That sounds an awful lot like Divination," Kingsley said, crossing his arms.
"Divination is half-truths with a side of smoke and mirrors," Severus said distastefully. "You can feel it, though, can't you? The draw. The desire to know."
Kingsley was very still, his bald head lowered slightly as he closed his eyes in concentration. "It's like waking up on Christmas morning," he said, finally. "My heart is fluttering in my chest. Fine. I am a man who follows his heart as well as his head. I shall pay your fee. I'm ready for my Truth."
"It is important to note that some recipients are not strong enough to banish their Truth. In this case, the Truth will dissolve on its own, leaving blood and body as payment. It may seem barbaric to the uninitiated, but magic has always been about paying a price for potential greatness, and as such, it is merely part of the natural order.
-Primus Prince, The Alethiomagus: Teller of Truths
"Very well." Severus closed his eyes. It would hurt; he was expecting that. He whispered the secret words to release the Truth. He held back a cry of pain as it poured from his eyes, mouth, and ears like smoke, filling the room. The smoke sought out and covered Kingsley, howling like a gale-force wind. Severus held onto his hood to keep it from flying off of his face, but it was not as though Kingsley would see him. This Truth was hungry. It snapped at the Minister's heels. Heads that were not quite animal and not quite human seemed to form of smoke and then dive back into the darkness. A few dark droplets of what looked like blood hit the floor and sizzled, absorbing into the wood and disappearing instantly.
Severus waited, watching silently. Bright bursts of light flashed in the darkness—he expected strong spellwork from this powerful wizard. Then, he heard a sickening splitting noise and the end of a great wooden blade jutted out of one side of the darkness. The Truth dropped to the ground, cowed by Kingsley's show of strength. The shadow dissolved into the form of a small falcon-shaped shadow, which lay quivering at his feet. Kingsley's robes were torn and his shoulders heaved as he took great, shuddering breaths, but other than a split lip and a cut on one of his cheeks, he appeared relatively unharmed. He held a giant blade in two hands. When he saw the creature below him, he let the blade fall to one side and sank to his knees. With a twist of his arm, the blade retracted and shrunk into the form of his wand, which he slid up the torn wrist of his robes into a hidden holster. Then, he bent down, picked up the bird in his hands, and raised it to his face. The bird bowed to him and dissolved into smoke, pouring into Kingsley's mouth and nose. When he opened his eyes, they glowed slightly, and he nodded to Severus.
"Thank you," Kingsley said, holding out his arm, "it was well worth it."
Severus nodded, then pressed the tip of his wand into Kingsley's wrist. Wisps of energy poured into the tip of his wand until it glowed brightly. Severus then pulled a bottle from under his desk and tapped the wand, releasing the energy into it for storage.
"Don't you want to know what my Truth was?" Kingsley asked, as he watched Severus meticulously seal the bottle.
"No," Severus said flatly. His purpose was not to know. It was only to impart Truth upon the worthy. As usual, he was merely a conduit for the exploits of others. Perhaps, he mused to himself, this was his place in the universe, no matter how many times he tried to escape it.
"Keep your eye on the Prophet," Kingsley said. He turned towards the door. "Things will be changing for the better."
"Your sort always says that, but is it ever really true?" Severus said, before he could stop himself. Hiding behind his hood made him feel more confident than he ever would have been saying such things face to face.
"You'd better hope so, Severus," Kingsley said with a grin. "Unless you would like to remain trapped in this shop. Surely you have noticed how it draws upon your energy. How you cannot remember the last time you went outside or did anything for yourself. How you never sleep, eat, or need the toilet."
Severus pulled back his hood, his dark eyes full of fury and fear. "What, exactly, are you saying, Minister?"
"Charming as always, aren't you, Severus?" Kingsley smirked back and opened the door. Severus could see the bustle of a Ministry hallway on the other side of it. "Or, should I say, Primus?"
"I am the Alethiomagus!" Severus said angrily, though the words came through him rather than from him. His eyes were full of shock as he appeared to struggle to close his mouth. "It is not your place to tell me what I should or should not do!"
"Come on, now," Kingsley replied, arching an eyebrow. "I am the Minister of Magic. I manage the various magical markets and the magical laws that govern them. It is exactly my place to tell you what you should do. Oh, and Severus? There's a reason why your mum taught you Occlumency. I suggest you try it. You might be surprised at what you're capable of doing when you put your mind to it."
He smiled as he watched Severus' eyes grew darker until they looked like black tunnels.
"How...how did you know?" Severus croaked, his voice shaking slightly from the effort of keeping his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather out of his head.
"I knew your mum," Kingsley said, shrugging. "She was a few years older than me, but she tutored me in Charms and we stayed in touch. She told me her secret after we'd both had too much firewhisky and I tried to put the moves on her. She thought...she thought that if she married a Muggle, the curse wouldn't transfer. She was wrong."
Severus stood, his legs wobbling from having stayed in the same place for a long time. His expression was filled with shame. "I should be dead anyway. There...there is no place for me...not out there…"
"That's hippogriff dung and you know it," Kingsley said, holding out his hand. "Come on, Severus. There's so much that you have missed these past ten years."
Severus stumbled. "T-ten? But that's absurd! I only just—" He thought about it and realized that he could not remember how long he'd been sitting behind the desk, or even how he'd come to be in the shop in the first place.
"Last chance, Severus," Kingsley said, setting a foot through the door. Already, his body appeared to be somewhat translucent. His hand was extended, and his face was free of judgment.
"I...I can't…" He faltered, hanging back in the shadows.
"Yes. Yes you can." Kingsley commanded.
Severus squared his shoulders and set his jaw with determination. He took one step and then another, seemingly struggling against an invisible wind.
"Good! This is your Truth," Kingsley said. "Try and best it, if you can."
Severus pulled out his wand, his lips moving silently as he cast the spell. With an awkward lurch, he sprang into the air.
He was flying.
They collided and rolled, finally slamming against the wall. A scream of impotent rage echoed from the doorway behind them. Kingsley swung his wand in a wide arc, slamming the door shut and warding it closed. Kingsley called in the Aurors to investigate, but the only thing on the other side of the door was a Ministry conference room. Later, they visited Knockturn Alley, only to find a vacant lot where Msaw Ætare had stood for centuries.
Kingsley kept his word. He used the power of his Truth to lead the Wizarding World into a future that many were proud to be a part of. Severus, however, had other ideas.
"You didn't have to see me off," Severus said, glaring at the shadows to his right.
"Observant as always, Severus," Kingsey said, stepping out of the shadows. "What can I say? You've grown on me a bit."
"Far be it from me to hold back the newest savior of the Wizarding World. Besides, I am not going back to that cupboard you refer to as a bedroom," Severus replied, wrinkling his nose with disgust.
"Where are you going, then?" Kingsley asked.
"You and your meddling," Severus replied, but his voice was soft, and he was smiling just a little as he looked back at the Minister of Magic. "Somewhere...anywhere else. I just want to be Severus. No more spy. No more conduit of Truth. No more...dunderheads."
"I doubt you'll ever be free of dunderheads," Kingsley said, chuckling low, "They're everywhere."
"Don't remind me," Severus said ruefully, and they laughed at that.
"Do you regret it?" Kingsley asked, then. "Giving your last Truth?"
"Do you regret it?" Severus asked in return.
"No."
"Then you have your answer." With a wave, Severus set off with his rucksack slung over one shoulder. At the end of the block, he turned in the snow and with a loud crack, he was gone.