Felix Felicis
Headmistress McGonagall had always made it a point to keep a large fire crackling in her office. This preference of hers hasn't changed just because she became Headmistress and moved her belongings from the first floor corridor up to the Tower. The fire remained lit from the early morning to the midnight hour.
Once visitors stepped through the oaken double doors and navigated past several spindly tables, they were surrounded by the portraits that filled the walls. Wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the lake and the Forbidden Forest. Stacks of papers were piled neatly on the desk and a small study off to the right contained a multitude of books from McGonagall's personal library. A small cat bed was tucked away under the corner curtains, and a saucer of milk in the far corner behind all the bookshelves was a mouthwatering offering if one happened to be a cat.
In the alcove by the Pensieve, Albus' portrait offered a similarly furnished view of the same office, save for Fawkes' perch. Within his painted domain, Albus was awake and he waved merrily at her as she leapt from her seat, her muzzle freshly cleaned and her tail high.
"What a beautiful day it is," Albus nattered on. "It will be a fine afternoon for a nap later." And while her feline self agreed, the human had far too many tasks on her to-do list for today, so she transformed mid-leap and gave the portrait a courteous nod.
"I'll tell the house-elves to postpone the dusting to give you some peace and quiet."
"Minerva." Albus' gaze turned sombre. "Have you spoken with Severus?"
"Not recently. What's the matter?"
Albus looked strange. She peered closer. His robes hugged his form, hanging heavily down, and water dripped from the tip of his fancy hat. He chewed his lip mournfully and patted his thick beard, which looked slightly damp. As he approached the painted fireplace, the sleeves of his robes let out a trail of steam. "I went to visit him in the dungeons. Imagine my surprise when even the painting of the lake floor in his office was covered up! I couldn't see a thing."
Minerva tsked. There was no talking a portrait out of it when they acted on unfinished business. She remembered that painting well, and she pictured Albus taking a long dive past the seaweed and the Giant Squid's tentacles to get into the framed portion of the painting with the dimly lit lake floor crisscrossed by the deep green shadows. "I can pass on a message if you'd like," she volunteered with a curt smile. "Or I can tell him to speak with you after our next staff meeting."
Albus frowned. "Best not. It's a delicate situation, you see."
How delicate can it be? "I'm sure whatever it is can be sorted out with a single sensible discussion."
Albus remained very still, gazing into the painted fireplace. Nearby, a tiny phoenix chick, frail and featherless, stirred amid the fluffy ashes of his nest. "I'm afraid not. He already views me as his master. And in Severus' eyes, few things are worse."
A master… Minerva's fingers clenched over the back of her chair. She suspected she knew exactly the weight of those words. It explained so much about Severus. It really did.
She knew the exact day when she took on a new role in Severus' life.
Just like Courtroom Ten, Courtroom Thirteen was a square hall with benches alongside each wall. Black stone reflected the torchlight, rendering even the warmest flames dull-grey. Severus was brought in through the second set of doors which must have led to the dungeons, and placed in the chair in the centre of the room. The chains on the armrests of the heavy iron chair bound him in what looked like an uncomfortable position: he was bending slightly forward with an awkward twist to his shoulders.
Minerva surveyed the far set of benches stretching up almost to the ceiling. There must've been at least two dozen people present, but she couldn't see any reporters among them. Perhaps without the extra scrutiny, they stood a better chance.
Harry sat in the front row, off to the right. He was on the edge of his seat and staring at Severus, who didn't meet his eye. Severus looked blankly ahead of him with the grim stare of someone destined for death row instead of an early release.
When it was Minerva's turn to speak for the man bound in the centre of the room, one of the last to do so, she came forward.
"Minerva McGonagall," The lonely Wizengamot representative, a stout old man, addressed her. An enchanted quill hurried frantically to record the proceedings. Tiberius was his name. Tiberius Ogden. His younger brother Titus and Minerva were at Hogwarts together: the brothers were both in Ravenclaw. "Are you so sure of his innocence?"
"Yes."
A rustle, a murmur rose from the seats.
Minerva squared her shoulders and glanced at her wand held up on a purple pillow before her, by a house-elf. Five minutes ago she swore an oath to be truthful in court using it. She stated her name and title for the record and saw it written down by a pair of enchanted quills and a bespectacled human recorder with a shining bald spot. The quills now looked quite distressed at the murmurs, not knowing whether or how to record all the noise.
"Silence!" Tiberius hissed, raising his arms.
Minerva waited for the whispers to die down. It did not take long.
"I am so sure, in fact, that I will guarantee Severus Snape can have his previous post of teaching Potions at Hogwarts upon his early release."
Angry murmurs ran through the room, louder than before. This time an annoyed stare from Tiberius quieted the loudest of them. His small round spectacles flickered in the dimness of the room, reflecting the white of the papers in front of him. He licked his finger and then used it to flip to the next page of his notes. Tiberius leaned forward then, directing his attention once more to her.
"Headmistress, you would allow a convicted Death Eater near the children?"
"I am certain of Professor Snape's loyalty to our cause, and of his utmost integrity and work ethic. However," she looked around the room and noticed that all eyes were now on her. "Precautions will be taken. Severus Snape will swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect the safety of all students at Hogwarts and to never harm a single one. That I can assure you of. As the testimony in his case already demonstrates, he is intimately familiar with such spells."
Tiberius examined her from under his drooping lids. "You give your word as the Headmistress?"
Minerva drew a breath. Snape was a fellow teacher once and Hogwarts did not abandon people still loyal to the school. Bringing him back as a teacher of the subject he had most experience teaching was the least she could do to restore his reputation. Besides, they were terribly short-staffed. "I do."
"In that case, prisoner DE-19600109, you are to be rehabilitated and released into society, upon your full compliance with the terms imposed by Headmistress McGonagall, said compliance to be completed before midnight tonight."
She remembered well, that echoing sound as the magical gavel struck the wooden surface, and Severus' chains faded without so much as a click of a lock.
Later, at Hogwarts, with Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout as witnesses and with Albus watching on or perhaps over the small group, a stiff-shouldered, pale Severus held still as he and Minerva clasped hands and repeated the vow together. She did so first, as instruction, which he echoed obediently. As Severus let go of her arm, his signature appeared on the contract spread on the table before him, reinstating him under his former title and salary with the start date of September first.
"Now that's done, do you have everything you need?" Minerva inquired. "If you require care for your injuries, Poppy is here for the summer." Severus shook his head. His neck scar looked inflamed but she trusted a skilled brewer such as himself to come up with an appropriate remedy. All in all, his stay in Azkaban was short, a few weeks which had seemed to age him by years, and left a white streak over his temple.
He was no longer someone she could afford to worry about as a friend or a peer. He was now her charge; a different thing altogether. "I'll send the house-elves down with food and medicines," she informed him sharply. "I trust you'll have the syllabus ready in time for the start of the term."
Severus nodded, almost in relief, snapping back to the formality of work to be done. Did he prefer it this way? She couldn't claim the same just yet. She made a mental note to add a personal note and a celebratory bottle of Ogden's to the house-elves' delivery. It was only proper that a bottle of Firewhisky brewed by Tiberius' kin would be used to celebrate the Wizengamot decision.
It was a curious thing, to witness a change years in the making as opposed to something changing overnight.
Once, long ago, without any warning, in the slow and measured manner of Hogwarts Christmases and the most boring of staff meetings, Severus stopped being a student to Minerva and became an acquaintance, a fellow teacher. Minerva wondered at what point he had stopped being that man. Perhaps when they had faced each other during the battle of Hogwarts and he had fled: a Hogwarts Headmaster abandoning the castle and all it held in her future care. Or perhaps it was much later when his oath of servitude in this very office bound him to her and to Hogwarts once more.
A master. Is that what she was to him now? If the gravity of Albus' words was to be believed, then she was no different from Voldemort in his eyes. Minerva felt chilled. Insulted. And yet, her mind flew to the exact moment when her new role begun.
She had risked the school's reputation to free Severus Snape, and the fact that he'd consider that act of trust another burden of servitude he dutifully had to endure was unacceptable. She'd be damned if, after all that effort, she'd let Severus construct a prison of his own making around himself, rejecting any offer of help.
In the dreary silence of an early November morning, Severus pulled his sleeve up, to examine his Mark. It was nothing, a greying shadow of what it used to be. Lord Voldemort, defeated by Harry Bloody Potter. How was that for the irony of the ages?
What did Potter ever have to ensure victory or even long-term survival? Nothing. Besides his name. Besides those on his side working to ensure his success. Besides Dumbledore's blind belief in all things Harry Potter? Besides Snape's quiet determination to keep the lad alive?
Severus remembered all too well, the horrors he had to witness, the horrors he had to commit, in the name of Dumbledore's vision. But there was one particular moment when left to his own devices, he chose the unforgivable route.
Knockturn Alley blocked out the sunlight. Severus wrapped the cloak tighter around his Polyjuiced form and rushed forward.
There is no other way, he reminded himself. I cannot become part of Potter's inner circle so I must find someone who is close enough, close enough to not be suspected. Close enough to keep him safe.
Mundungus Fletcher, a necessary sacrifice. He came close, sneaking until he was almost upon him, in a ratty part of Knockturn Alley.
"Imperio." Such a simple word, so why did it feel like a part of Severus died on a single breath. Why did it have to die? After all, this was convenient. This was only necessary.
Mundungus could now go where Severus could no longer follow. The man would be his eyes and ears. The man would be Severus' hand and would do his bidding, for the greater good. Or is it?
For my version of the greater good, not Dumbledore's.
All to keep Harry Potter safe.
In light of all Severus had done, what did Potter have to do, to do Dumbledore's bidding? Besides surviving despite all odds? Besides being an icon of hope which rallied many to action?
"Oh, you never know," Severus heard Potter's voice ringing, far more sarcastic than the brat usually went for. "Maybe I can outfly him and then kill him from the air."
Severus frowned. He didn't recall the context of this particular conversation. In fact, it wasn't a conversation as much as an echo, a memory of a memory. But for some reason, it rang true, and it felt more real than any of his nightmares felt.
What was that? Is it one of the memories I lost? A remainder of one, but if so, can I recover more of them? Severus focused, digging through his awareness for more echoes, more clues, but none were there. Just my luck...
Instead of what he was searching for dawned a realization of a different kind. Potter.
The lad was obscenely, proverbially lucky. It was fool's luck. As Gryffindor as his endless escapades, his insufferable cheek. His luck survived Quidditch accidents and Forbidden Forest escapades. He narrowly escaped strangulation while traipsing invisible through the Slytherin dungeons, stretching Severus' patience whipcord-thin. He took it for granted that his deaf-to-common-sense ears (behind which he was too damned wet) might as well ooze Felix Felicis. And yet...
Severus, of all people, knew damned well just how rare and precious luck is. 'Luck' only ever happened when preparation met opportunity. When a perfect recipe met an extraordinary brewer. A phial of such luck had once awaited its turn in Severus' potions belt, amid the bezoars and the healing draughts and the liquid curses and poisons and explosives. Whatever happened to that phial, or to the belt for that matter?
Essentially, he mused to himself, I may as well have been tasked by Dumbledore to ensure that Potter would have a backup supply of luck once his natural luck ran out. It was a task which once seemed impossible for any brewer, no matter how skilled.
With a luck as rotten as mine, I can't even get the Ministry to cough up my belongings. And it's been months! It's a wonder they haven't destroyed them out of spite and declared them lost for good.
Severus didn't receive his wand and his potions belt until November was almost over. A Ministry owl, tawny and frazzled brought him an unlabeled parcel dropping it on his lap as he marked papers in a rare solitary hour in his office. It landed and stuck its leg out insistently, hooting sharply, until Severus signed and dated a row in the roster which was attached to its leather band. He was the sixth recipient of Ministry-held items this week, and the first one today, judging by the state of the list.
Severus let the owl go and unwrapped the parcel, discovering, first, his wand, in one piece, which prompted him to roll his eyes. It had been weeks since he was forced to use his mother's wand as a substitute. The second item in the parcel was a coiled potions belt in pristine condition. Immediately, Severus ran his fingers over the phials it contained, knowing the layout by feel. Explosives, poisons, healing potions, bezoar, and then… The phial with Felix Felicis wasn't there in its proper place. This made no sense whatsoever. Why would this particular potion of his have gone missing and not the rest, stolen by the hand of some Ministry paper pusher? There were other items alongside it which were just as rare and just as precious. What happened to this particular one? Severus frowned, examining the gap on the potions belt and in his memories.
But then, just like that, it came to him. The bleary sight of the Shrieking Shack ceiling, fading farther and farther away. The chill in his limbs, the phial pressed to his lips, the metallic taste of Liquid Luck on his tongue. "Drink. Come on. Drink!" The memory wasn't an echo, it was vague like a feverish dream, like a nightmare. Except for the green eyes that kept him gasping and swallowing and staring on into their abyss.
The day I almost died… I lived… I was lucky to survive. I was lucky.
All thanks to Potter.
He never brought it up, not once, while I was in St. Mungo's, or at Hogwarts. He could have used it to claim all manner of favours. A life debt is not something to scoff at. That alone is suspicious. What exactly is Potter trying to prove with such a blatantly magnanimous display?
One thing was clear, as much as Severus was determined to avoid Potter, it appeared that fate, and Potter, had slightly different plans.
"Mr. Potter, a word." Severus motioned for the young man to remain behind.
"What is it?" Potter flashed him an angry stare, glancing at the table where his own scroll now resided with the stack of seventh-year essays. "I did my own research, I swear, and it is a proper seventeen-and-a-half inches, I measured it. Twice. Sir."
The 'sir' from Potter's lips sounded more like a spat out hex. "This isn't about your homework," Severus overrode him, fighting to keep his tone even. After all, he was too capable of magnanimous deeds. "Well, actually, it is. Your attitude toward your studies has sunk to abysmal new lows this year, even for you. You aren't making a shred of effort to succeed. If this continues, mark my words, you will be kept back, and believe me, no one wants you gone from Hogwarts more than I..."
Potter's shoulders drooped. "You hate me, I get it. You don't have to be so loud about it."
Severus twisted his mouth in what he hoped was a particularly nasty scowl of disapproval. I am trying to help, you halfwit. "This isn't about me. This is about your N.E.W.T.s. Particularly your Potions N.E.W.T. I assume you haven't abandoned the idea of a Ministry career?"
"Ministry?" Potter's eyes rolled. "I want to be an Auror, not a politician! I don't see why they require that many N.E.W.T.s to begin with. All you really need is the willingness to help people and -"
Spare me, Severus thought. "So is that what this was all about. Helping the helpless. The unwanted. Saving the ultimate undesirable. Redeeming the Death Eater for fame and glory. If so, I have no inclination to be your charity case."
"No!" Potter protested. "That's not it at all!"
Severus squared his shoulders and focused on Potter from the advantage of his height, which was becoming harder to do recently, what with Potter stretching upwards like a particularly tall and lanky stalk.
"Then what is it all about? Hm?"
The lad shrugged. "I'm sorry, Professor, don't know what you mean."
Severus has summoned his infinitely stretched thin patience and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It has come to my attention that a timely phial of Felix Felicis may have saved my life, Potter. The potion was administered by you. I deserve to know why."
Potter's eyes widened. "Is this what it's all about? It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Saving one's life is hardly nothing." Snape narrowed his eyes. "And yet you never even brought it up."
"You never told me my mum could fly," Potter shrugged. "We're even."
Even… just like that. What delusion is this?
Severus chewed his lip and then ended the uncomfortable silence. "Perhaps there's… value in discussing certain things. Before dire situations arise."
Potter beamed, the brat. "No kidding! Dire as in, before you're at death's door, you mean. Yeah, I agree. Deal?" He even stuck out a hopeful hand, smiling all along.
Severus arched his eyebrow at the casual gesture and stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back and curling his lip at the display. "Must I?"
"You don't have to unless you want to." Potter shook his head and his hand lowered. "I wish you'd trust me just a little bit. I'm only trying to help."
Severus regarded Potter, all sunny smiles and eagerness and no respect for professionals at this school, as usual. Might as well put all that eagerness to good use, answering questions that matter. "I wish to know something. Why is it that you persist trying to…" Save me? Annoy me? "... help me?"
"It's hard to explain. I guess it all started way back. When I saw you fly."
"Fly?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "It's been quite some time since I've owned a broom."
Keeping Harry Potter safe was not a one-man-mission. There were seven of him on the broomsticks, as much as Severus could see through a mask, as much as he could count, and only one was real, question was: which one. He could not risk making a mistake.
This one, the flight pattern gives it away.
The flight was madness, sheer madness. Behind him, Bellatrix called out and cackled her joy. To his left, Severus saw Harry, and two Death Eaters in pursuit, almost upon him. A spell redirected their attention. To the right, a spell was thrown toward the boy and he swerved to its path. Sectumsempra!
The broom twitched, there was blood - caused by Severus' own wand hand no doubt, but the rider was still up.
Is that the real Potter? I can't tell! I don't know!
Severus cast the worry aside, deep down under Occlumens shields. He could not risk it. He could not risk anyone knowing.
Deep inside the words of the ultimate plan became his mantra.
Harry Potter must live, and thus I must live, to see him survive. Until I send him to his death. This is the only way.
This is the way.
Potter's sigh interrupted Severus' reverie.
"You don't have to hide from me, I know," Potter said.
Know what? "I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Oh." Harry blinked. "Um. You may not remember this part," he said, gently, carefully, as if Severus was one of Hagrid's bitey beasts. "But I do."
"What are you on about?"
An odd expression settled in Potter's features. Something akin to determination. He bit his lip but that surely wasn't the cause of Severus' distraction. "Hang on. I need you to read my mind."
"What?"
"You need to see this for yourself."
See what? Potter's stare was green. Open, inviting. It would be so easy to slip past his non-existent shields as if slipping a hand into a well-fitted glove. What is he hiding from me?
Potter came closer, facing Severus with ultimate calm. "Look, you need to see yourself doing this. You really do -"
Very well.
Legilimens.
Severus dove in, past the summery green, and the intensity of Potter's stare, into the impulsive warmth of another's thoughts.
'No one deserves to forget how to fly! No one, and not even Snape. Especially not Snape!'
What?
A memory drifted on the forefront of Potter's mind as if waiting specifically for him.
Flocks of gargoyles studded the parapet, crouching atop their stone perches. Faces of cats and dogs, with stone wings spread upwards. They fluttered and shifted, restlessly. Several leapt off as Harry drew nearer. Over the empty parapet, Harry watched the gargoyles circling, grey amid grey clouds. Then a shadow detached from the nearest, darkest thundercloud and drifted down, smooth as if it was in the eye of a hurricane. It grew closer, bigger, darker, spreading like gliding wings.
Harry took a step back and drew his wand, ready to cast, but then - nothing. Where did it go? Even the gargoyles were mostly gone. All except for one, towering behind his back. Not a gargoyle, not a dementor, something much worse.
"Potter."
Severus' eyes widened, for a moment his icy facade faded, and only the curiosity of a researcher, the fascination, remained.
"I flew unaided," he said. "In front of you."
The widest smile spread on Potter's lips. "Yes."
"When was this?"
Potter couldn't stop grinning. "A couple of years back. You kept denying it, at first. Until I talked to you and tried to do what you did. You weren't happy. Apparently, it was really dangerous to try. Without proper practice, that is. You wouldn't let me practice it either."
"How did you even end up on that roof?"
"There's a crawlspace, in your storeroom. I've… It was a dare. Got in trouble for that too."
Severus' lips thinned. "I was wondering what I used that particular crawlspace for. I thought it was for collecting fresh rainwater during the storms."
"From what I can tell, I think you enjoyed going flying at night. You never let anyone watch though. You were brilliant at it, from what I've seen. It really is an incredible spell."
There was admiration in Potter's tone, as clear as day. Severus didn't want to admit to himself how good it felt to hear it, particularly from Potter.
"This is not something I would have cared to forget. What I'm trying to say is, thank you. I'm in your debt."
Potter nodded. "It's not a debt. You saved us all plenty of times over. Consider it payback." He frowned, fidgeting. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I wasn't quick enough to get them all, your memories. Just some of them."
Severus sighed. "I should count myself lucky you understood me at all. I wasn't planning on needing them back. Nor did I plan on ever using them again."
"Can you tell what exactly is missing?"
If only it were that easy.
Severus shook his head. "Sometimes, when I look at my notes, or in mid-conversation, I notice something is gone and there is..." He thought back at the missing phial on his potions belt, "... a gap. It doesn't happen often and it doesn't intervene with my teaching ability, I demonstrated said ability to Minerva, Headmistress McGonagall, shortly after she allowed me to return to my old position." How she convinced the Board to let a Death Eater back to Hogwarts, I'll never know. "Rest assured, Potter, you will have the finest preparation for your N.E.W.T.s I'm able to offer."
Potter sighed. At first, the warmth of Potter's fingers over Severus' hand was a ghostly presence. Something quite impossible. Then Potter squeezed his hand. Squeezed and let go.
"You gave me the memories of your life which mattered most. Really mattered to you. I shouldn't have left them behind."
"You've captured some." Toward the end, what Severus assumed were the older memories, the ones of Severus' childhood, of Lily, and of Dumbledore, of Potter himself. He was grateful to have them.
What did the rest of the memories hold? It was useless to guess, but Severus thought he knew now.
The moments that made me grow fond of him… Not as Lily's son, but as Harry.
The Boy Who Lived. Snape's charge. Snape's personal saviour.
"I reckon the ones we saved were the most important," Potter's stare was bright, in the light of the nearest torch. His stance, one of ease. There was a trace of an embarrassed grin on his face.
Potter was so close to learning the truth once, but he did not. He let it slip away. It was for the best.
Severus stepped back, clenched his hand over his forearm, maintaining a neutral facade.
Potter must never know.
Later that evening, in his rooms, Severus paced uneasily. Sometimes it seemed he'd been through this before, a glimpse of humanity, of tenderness awoken by another's touch, but this time was different, oh so different…
Deja vu, nonetheless.
Spinner's End was dusty and small, with low ceilings and a cobwebbed staircase. Inside his childhood home, Severus was no longer a child. No longer a man. A gargoyle, a golem of ice and stone, where nothing living could penetrate through the wards he had carefully placed over his humanity.
Still, there were moments it only took a touch to wake him up. Draco's inviting touch, on his shoulder.
"Professor?" Draco asked carefully. "What should we do now?"
Now we wait. Severus shrugged off the insistent warmth. "Get some rest, Draco."
"It's freezing here." The boy didn't seem to be shivering as he pressed closer. "Have you got another blanket? Can I stay with you? In your room?"
"Are you not a wizard?" Severus sighed, but he cast a warming spell nonetheless.
Draco sighed almost happily but didn't pull back as he gathered himself in a blanket-wrapped nest at Severus' side. A lost boy, complete with tragic stare and pale haunted face. It almost even worked to lull Severus into a false sense of security.
"You've got a bad cut." Draco's fingers traced Severus' jaw.
"Ah." Bloody hippogriff. His mouth curled in a scowl. "Hagrid doesn't declaw his pets."
Draco winced. "That monster should've been put down." His hand remained over Severus' jaw.
What is he playing at? He can't possibly be interested. Ah, but of course...
And so at last, Severus pulled back from Draco. "You may stay here tonight. Don't use up all the candle."
As Draco mumbled about brothers-in-arms and comfort, Severus reminded himself that Draco was Narcissa's son and an innocent, and he would remain that way in Severus' charge!
Severus left him to it, leaving him in his own old room. As he closed the door behind him, it felt like closing the door on childhood itself. On his humanity in general. If he were to see this through, in order to save the innocent, he would become their guardian, their watchman, their sacrifice. But he couldn't give Draco anything else, any more than a soulless husk left behind by a Dementor could offer human companionship.
Desire and dreams were for the living, for those who had all their humanity intact. Draco would keep his and one day would meet someone to share them with.
That distant future was what Severus vowed to protect.
The future was now a reality. And still, Severus felt adrift, on the outside, looking in. Not allowed a breath, a taste, a dream of such future. Futures weren't for the likes of him. He was never meant to have a future.
In this world, that had given him a future, he was lost.
In a way, he was a statue still, a monument to his own tenacity. But with persistent application of magic, as many gargoyles around Hogwarts demonstrated, even statues took flight. As impossible as it seemed to reclaim his humanity, his innocence, his soul after everything he'd done to help Harry Potter win, perhaps reclaiming the skies would be easier to do.
I've done this before, he told himself. I should know this. I invented this spell. This is mine alone and mine to keep.
He didn't bother taking a leap, or even another step. He was on flat ground. And so he merely squared his shoulders and spread his arms, lifted his chin high and then, willed himself to rise up in the air, against the pull of gravity, against the law of nature, against every force in the world that kept him down. Against the world which predetermined him to crawl, to bow. For this was his alone to control and Severus Snape was in perfect control of this, magic singing at his fingertips, through his entire body, wordless, wandless, and strong enough to lift a man destined only to fall.
At long last, he soared, up and forward, under the high-arched ceiling of Slytherin dungeon.
