A scream rent the quiet night air, pulling Severus Snape out of a deep sleep. Snatching his wand from his bedside, he jumped up ready to face an intruder only to find Spinner's End dark and silent. Immediately, he checked the wards around the house, but they were intact and undisturbed. Only then did he rush to Rose's bedroom at the opposite side of the stairwell.
Opening the door without knocking, he found Rose sitting up in bed clutching her scar. A sense of foreboding crept down his spine.
"I heard a scream."
"Me, I think."
Her voice trembled enough that he took the stairs two at a time to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchen. Returning, he handed it to her without speaking, and she drained the contents in one long gulp.
"Thanks, Professor. Bad nightmare, that's all. Sorry to have been a bother."
He'd suspected she had nightmares from time to time. Occasionally, she would trudge down the stairs to breakfast bleary eyed and withdrawn. On those days he didn't bother to suggest she practice Defense, instead he left her alone for the morning before suggesting an outing in the afternoon. Usually, he caught her sleeping in the sitting room at some point during the day, a book left carelessly open in her lap. By her too pale complexion, however, he feared this was a different matter entirely.
"I am awake now and you are obviously troubled. I suggest you save us both time by telling me what your nightmare was about."
She twisted her charm bracelet with such force that the spell he'd placed on it began to unravel. Grabbing her hand before she could break the charm completely, he searched her face. Whatever she had dreamed, it had profoundly disturbed her.
"Rose?"
Crossing her arms, she hunched down as if she wished to hide. When she finally found her voice, he empathized with her reaction.
"It was Voldemort and . . . Wormtail—he called him Wormtail."
He sucked in a noisy lungful of air. "You dreamed of the Dark Lord and Pettigrew?"
Refusing to meet his eye, she shrugged. "I think so. It's all jumbled now. There was another man too, an old man, and a snake. I think they killed him." So softly that he had to strain to hear, she added, "And, they're planning on killing me too."
"I need to see."
The urgent thought inadvertently popped out of his mouth, and she reacted to the request as badly as he had feared.
"See? You mean you can read my mind? Not if I were being chased by a hundred hippogriffs. There is no way I'm letting you see what I'm thinking, Professor. My thoughts are private and they're going to stay that way."
Then, she suspiciously accused, "Is that how you know what I'm thinking sometimes? Because you've been reading my mind?"
Regretting that he hadn't kept a better hold over his tongue, he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's called Legilimency, Rose, and I have never used it on you. However, it would allow me to see your dream with more clarity than you can currently recall."
"Voldemort can do that too, can't he?"
His entire body stiffened in shock. When he addressed her, though, his voice was deceptively calm and impassive.
"Very few are aware of that fact. How did you learn of it?"
She took his question as an accusation. "I haven't been looking into your mind, if that's what you're thinking, Professor. You told me that you had stared into the eyes of the world's greatest Legilimens and lied to his face."
He had no recollection of telling her anything of the sort, which meant that it must have occurred during her thankfully brief foray into his past. Merlin, but he was an insufferable braggart when drunk.
"I did you no favors by telling you. The Dark Lord zealously guards his secrets."
Her hands once again pressed against her lightning bolt scar. "Yeah? Well, before tonight, I thought I was finally rid of him. I was wrong, though, wasn't I? I mean, he used his wand to kill that man. He must be much stronger than he was before."
Gently pulling her hands away from her forehead, he traced her scar with his finger. She winced, but the mark appeared no redder than normal. Still, he suspected there was a connection between her discomfort and the dream.
"Rose, you must show me. If you're correct about his plans to kill you, I must know everything you saw. It could mean your life."
"You won't look at anything else?"
"The mind is not a like a book which can be opened to a particular page. If you concentrate on the dream, however, it will be much easier to find."
She had hunched down again in bed, and he wondered what she had done to warrant such nervousness.
"It's just . . . . What if you saw me doing something embarrassing, like painting my toenails?"
By her flushed stammer, he guessed that painting her toenails was a euphemism for something else, but he didn't really want to delve into what that could be. To relieve her anxiety, however, he granted her temporary immunity.
"If you allow me to see your dream, I promise to ignore anything else I might accidently see. Does that make you feel better?"
"I guess."
By her expression, it was clear his assurance had not made her feel better, but she had put on a brave face. He wouldn't insult her by coddling her.
"Very well. For Legilimency to work, you must maintain eye contact. As I said, concentrate on the dream and I should be able to find it immediately. If for any reason you begin to experience pain, look away. It will break the connection between us. Do you understand?"
"Ye—yes."
"Then let's begin."
Staring into eyes that reminded him so much of Lily, Snape sought out Rose's dream. It wasn't difficult to find. In fact, she shoved it towards him as if she were playing the children's game of hot potato.
Delving deep into her memories, he soon determined that the dream was too real to be a nightmare. Somehow, Rose had experienced a vision. How else could she know of Bertha Jorkins or her disappearance?
Desperately, he sought Voldemort's plan, but all he heard were jumbled bits of information that made little sense without the proper context. The fact that the Dark Lord planned to kidnap Rose for some nefarious purpose sickened him. Little wonder she had woken with a scream. However, it was the news that the vile wizard had an unknown accomplice which troubled him the most.
Who could be his faithful servant at Hogwarts? Snape had no illusion the Dark Lord referred to him. Whom did Pettigrew plan to kill? Why did the angle of the vision appear to be so low to the ground? There were too many questions and not enough answers.
The Muggle's murder—how had he accomplished it? Voldemort shouldn't possess enough of a corporeal form to use a wand, but he had as he'd killed the old man. Rose had seen his face; he was sure of it. However, she'd blocked it from her conscious memory. Regretting the necessity, he pushed deeper, seeking the information she had repressed.
For the first time, he met resistance. Instinctively, she pushed memory after memory towards him in an effort to hide something more troubling. Ignoring her petty arguments with Ronald Weasley, her irritation at Sirius' insistence on calling her Rosy and her anxiety before Gryffindor Quidditch matches, he searched for the face of the Dark Lord.
He found the mottled face of Vernon Dursley instead. The brutal man towered over a cowering young Rose. She couldn't have been more than eight, although the overly large clothing she wore made her appear to be much younger.
"What did I tell you, you little freak!? You're not allowed to eat until you finish your chores!"
"I'm sorry, Uncle! The sausage dropped onto the floor. I didn't think anyone else would want it."
He backhanded her so harshly that she fell over. Sniffling, she rested on her hands and knees, her head bent to avoid his gaze.
Her tormentor's voice thundered over her. "Admit it; you dropped it on purpose!"
"I didn't! I promise!"
Suddenly, her nose pressed painfully against the linoleum as he forced her head to the ground.
"You think you can to act like a dog? Eat the scraps off our floor? Then that's what you'll do, you ungrateful whelp! Marge left some of Ripper's food here after her last visit. You'll eat that for the next week or you'll eat nothing, do you understand?"
Rose tried to answer, but Vernon Dursley couldn't hear her with her face pressed so tightly against the ground. Her apparent lack of response only enraged him. The brute stood to viciously kick her in her side.
Snape experienced the impact through Rose's memories, and then she managed to break eye contact and wrench him out of her mind.
"Get out! Get out! Get out! You've done enough! You don't need to see!
She yelled at him until her voice cracked and sobs wracked her petite frame. Everything, even ascertaining Voldemort's plans, temporarily took a backseat to consoling her. In the end, he gave her a Calming Draught when she couldn't compose herself. Once she had taken the potent brew, he winced to see the spirited teen temporarily transform into an impassive automaton.
"You have no reason to be ashamed, Rose. What Vernon Dursley did to you was reprehensible."
She shrugged in response, her eyes staring vacantly at the poster of Bulgarian Seeker Victor Krum she'd taped to her wall. He hated the blank look on her face. It reminded him of the times she'd sunk into despair after her brutal attack and Obliviation the year prior.
"Now that we know of the Dark Lord's plans, we can take steps to keep you safe. Sirius and I will protect you. We'll do everything in our power to keep him away from you."
She shrugged again, but her emotionless reply chilled him to his bones. "I'm used to Voldemort trying to kill me by now, Professor."
It was too much. His temper snapped under the weight of his own anxieties.
"You may be used to it, but I am effing tired of people trying to kill you! I'd like to transfigure Vernon Dursley into the walrus he is and send him to the zoo, but that would be too good for that shitter! I'd like to turn Albus into a toad and chop him into potion ingredients for ever thinking that Petunia would treat you any better than she treated Lily! If you hadn't been brought up in an environment where you were constantly belittled and abused, you would understand how bloody abnormal it is to have a madman periodically try to murder you!"
Appalled at his outburst, he fled down the stairs. She followed, albeit at a much more orderly pace. Sitting at the kitchen table, she watched him fill the kettle with water.
"I know it's abnormal, Professor. But, if you think about it, I'm pretty much the definition of abnormal. I suppose I thought it evened things out."
It was all he could do not to slam the kettle on the counter. Of course she somehow blamed herself. She took responsibility for her parent's deaths; why not for the Dark Lord's interest? Sadly, it made a twisted sort of sense if one placed an excess of credence in the bloody prophecy. She was the Chosen One, the one with the power to vanquish the madman for good. Her very existence provoked that worm Voldemort.
But she wasn't abnormal or some sort of freak. She had to understand that. Resting his hands against the table as the water boiled, he bowed his head. Merlin, he had fucked it up again. He wasn't angry at her. Rather, he was terrified by his own inadequacies. How could he protect her from the Dark Lord's return when he'd failed to protect her so many times previously?
His hatred of James Potter had blinded him to the signs of her abusive home life. He'd treated her so spitefully that she'd believed him to be after the Philosopher's Stone, sending her straight into Dumbledore's trap for the real culprit, Quirrel. If not for Lily's blood protection, Voldemort would have killed her. The next year he hadn't even been aware of her idiotic foray into the Chamber of Secrets until it was well over. From Dumbledore's account, she had lived only through Fawkes' favor.
Discounting for the moment the vicious attack upon her the previous summer, he'd done an even poorer job protecting her during her third year. She'd nearly been killed by a jealous child and her cohorts, to say nothing of Peter Pettigrew or Lucius Malfoy's protégé, Marcus Flint. If he couldn't protect her from petty jealousy and opportunism, how could he possibly save her from his former master?
As he prepared the tea, the silence strained his ears. Rose generally chattered in the kitchen. Unexpectedly, he missed the sound of her voice.
"Rose, I—"
"It's okay, Professor. You don't have to apologize. I know you're scared."
Biting the inside of his cheek, he managed not to ask how she could be so perceptive of others and so obtuse when it came to herself. Instead, he reassuringly patted her hand.
"That doesn't excuse my outburst, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. At least there is one good thing to have come out of all this."
The potion had doused the usual spark of burning curiosity from her eyes, but Rose retained some semblance of inquisitiveness.
"What?"
"The Dark Lord has no intention of attacking the Quidditch World Cup. It is perfectly safe for us to leave tomorrow afternoon. At least we shall have one proper holiday before facing our yearly stint of mortal peril."
He'd hoped for a grin, perhaps an exaggerated eye roll at his pathetic attempt at humor. Instead, she drank her tea without speaking.
"Rose? Have you reconsidered? I know you must be frightened, but you can't let fear rule your life. He will not attack the match. It is too well guarded."
When she opened her mouth to respond, a huge yawn overtook her. "Sorry. I don't feel much of anything except tired."
He took her empty teacup out of her hand. "That's the Sleeping Potion I added to your tea."
"Oh."
She didn't bother to ask why. They both knew she wouldn't have slept again that night otherwise. Within seconds, she had slumped over the table, her glasses slipping down her nose. He carefully levitated her up the stairs and into her bed. Placing her glasses on the bedside table, he covered her with a blanket before leaving her room.
He didn't go far. Leaning against the wall outside her door, Severus tried to strategize, but it was impossible as his frustration against the unfairness of it all raged. The longer he guarded her sleep, the angrier he grew until he could think of nothing but revenge upon all who had ever dared to harm her. After an hour alone with his increasingly violent thoughts, he knew what he had to do.
"Dobby, I have need of you."
With a crack, the house-elf appeared before him. Wearing a pair of grossly mismatched socks, his huge green eyes were alight with too much enthusiasm for the lateness of the hour. "Professor Snape, sir! What are you having need of Dobby for? Is Rose Potter in danger?"
"She is indeed." At least he could count on the house-elf to protect Rose without asking pointless and annoying questions. Before he could explain, Dobby had volunteered to guard her.
"That is precisely why I called for you. She is sleeping now, but I must leave for a few hours and she should not be alone. I knew she would be safe with you."
"Dobby will watch her, sir! Dobby will sit at the foot of her bed and guard her sleep. And, if anyone enters Professor Snape's home without permission, sir, Dobby will take her to Hogwarts."
The Potions Master didn't doubt that Dobby could do just that. While he hadn't studied house-elf magic in any great detail, he knew they were able to disappear and reappear at will, even in a place as zealously guarded by Anti-Apparition Charms as Hogwarts. Though, if he thought Rose in any real danger, he wouldn't have considered leaving.
"Do not wake her unless it is absolutely necessary. I gave her a Sleeping Potion. She needs her rest."
Dobby won't, sir! Dobby will sit and guard! It is an honor to serve the great Rose Potter and her loyal protector, Professor Snape."
Uncomfortable with such talk, Severus mumbled his thanks. Remembering he wore nothing but his skivvies and a bathrobe, he made a quick detour to his bedroom to change. Then, he Apparated to Knockturn Alley with a loud crack.
Walking down Knockturn Alley in the dead of night, Severus pointedly ignored the few witches and wizards wandering the street. Most knew him well enough from his Death Eater days to give him a wide berth. The rest would find themselves on the wrong end of his wand if they dared approach.
Reaching his destination, he rapped loudly on the door to Borgin and Burkes. The shop never truly closed, not with old man Burke residing in the apartment upstairs. The proprietors understood their clientele's need for a certain amount of anonymity. Oftentimes, they conducted business when most decent wizards were in their beds.
The door opened a tiny crack. Severus spotted the white of an eyeball as it appeared in the narrow gap.
"Weren't expecting you here tonight, or any time at all for that matter."
The door begrudgingly opened wide enough for him to slip inside. Burke's wand pointed straight at his chest, but Snape ignored it. Had he wished, the wizard would already be disarmed.
Instead, he adopted an air of polite disdain as his eyes swept the interior of the dark shop. "I'm sure you can understand the constraints currently placed upon me."
The short, shriveled wizard shuffled over to a small lantern, lighting it with his wand. "Don't try to shit me, Snape. Everyone knows you're Dumbledore's man. You can tell him again from me that I don't have any of the merchandise. Tom took it all for himself. Do me that favor, and maybe I'll do you the favor of not telling McNair and Avery that an Aztec sacrificial drains the blood of its victim, not sets him on fire."
Before the old wizard could react, Snape had his wand pressed painfully against his fragile, wrinkled neck. "I care little for what everyone knows, Burke. Tell those two fools whatever you wish. When the Dark Lord returns, I'll be sure to tell him who sold Lucius the Subjugation Manacles. Don't believe for a minute that he'll approve of what that sick bastard did to a pureblood witch who happens to be Bellatrix Lestrange's sister."
The wizard's eyes grew huge with fright, but quickly narrowed in suspicion. "You spin a good tale, but I doubt even you can explain your way out of becoming Rose Potter's guardian."
Falling easily back into old habits, his lip curled into a sneer. "Exactly. I am her guardian. I by definition guard her from idiots who would defy my master's wishes. Do you truly think he does not have plans for the girl? Or that he would not have a faithful servant at Hogwarts?"
Burke cowed under the malice in his gaze. Regretfully, the wizard did not attempt to contradict him with any additional information that Snape might have found illuminating. Really, though, he hadn't expected the shopkeeper to be privy to the Dark Lord's inner circle.
It was unsettling, however, to learn that the cantankerous wizard held information that could endanger Narcissa, not to mention paint a target on his own back. Walden McNair had been one of Lucius' closest confidants. He would not appreciate learning that his friend had been killed with an Unforgivable rather than dying from a Dark spell gone wrong. Severus' old pal Avery might be easier to pacify. His father had viciously beaten him throughout his childhood. He might more readily accept the idea that Lucius' death had been a necessity.
For a moment, he considered permanently silencing the loathsome merchant. Then, he stared coldly into the man's eyes and saw nothing but terror. The gullible fool truly believed him to be raising Rose for the Dark Lord's eventual return. Perhaps he could use such credulity to his advantage.
Abruptly, he dropped his gaze, dismissing the tense exchange as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
"Still, I shall pass along your assurances to the Headmaster. He shall not bother you again. Now, if I might conduct the business I came here to do?"
Visibly shaking, Burke nodded too eagerly. "By all means. I shouldn't have wasted your time. What are you looking for?"
"I'd like to purchase a Dreamcatcher. I understand you had one displayed in the front case several months ago."
The merchant cracked a nasty smile, exposing several blackened teeth. "A foul bit of Dark magic that is, Professor. I had to take it off display and lock it in the vault. Every night it was giving me bad dreams."
"But it can be tuned to just one mind, can it not?"
"As far as I know. Borgin's the one who likes to play with the merchandise, not me. Why?"
Before Severus could come up with a plausible use for the object, the proprietor gave him a knowing look. "Guess He Who Must Not Be Named only has use for Potter's body, then? Well, she is a pretty little thing. I saw her eating ice cream at Fortescue's earlier this summer. I'll admit I had good wank just remembering how she licked the chocolate off her spoon."
"I'll be sure to tell the Dark Lord," he replied in a scathing tone as his stomach churned with disgust.
Realizing what he'd said, the old man fearfully skittered off to retrieve the item, leaving Snape temporarily alone in the shop. What the hell was he doing? The last thing he wanted was to follow Albus' suggestion and return to his role as a spy. He should have never have set foot in Knockturn Alley, his desire to punish Vernon Dursley notwithstanding. When Burke returned, he didn't bother to hide his impatience.
"How much? I haven't got all night."
For the first time, the shopkeeper's innate avarice overtook his fear. "Well now, that's a rare item outside the States, Professor. I couldn't possibly let it go for less than two hundred galleons."
"Seventy, and not a knut more."
"That's highway robbery!" His outrage quickly faded, however, when he saw the look in Snape's eyes. "An even hundred, then. I have to make a profit."
The Potions Master simply continued to glare. It wasn't long before the wizard caved under the pressure.
"Alright, alright, seventy galleons. But, you'd better get Dumbledore off my back. His appearances are bad for business."
"Agreed." Dropping the coins on the counter, he carefully wrapped up the Dreamcatcher in a handkerchief before pocketing it in his robes. Already, he regretted his impulse to buy it in the first place. Turning on his heel, he strode quickly out of the shop, his robes billowing behind him.
Returning to Spinner's end, he sat in the kitchen, the Dreamcatcher lying on the table as he held a forgotten cup of coffee in his hand. He didn't understand his hesitation. The blood binding to attune the Dark object to the loathsome Muggle was not a difficult spell. He'd done it dozens of times without a second thought when he was Voldemort's to command. Besides, if anyone deserved night terrors, it was Vernon Dursley. His mental anguish would pale in comparison to the abuse Rose had suffered in his care.
Before he could put down the coffee mug to pick up his wand, he felt that horrible prickle at his back that indicated someone or something watched him. With a sinking heart, he turned around. Rose and Dobby stood a few feet behind him. He cursed himself for picking a seat that kept his back to the entrance to the kitchen.
"You're supposed to be asleep."
She shrugged as she walked towards him, her eyes straying to the black and purple Dreamcatcher glittering malevolently on the table. "I dumped most of the tea into the Venus flytrap. I'm surprised you didn't hear it snoring."
Glancing at the snoozing magical plant, he shook his head. Sometimes he forgot just how Slytherin she could be. Before he could reply, the house-elf began to shriek.
"Bad Magic! That is very Bad Magic, Professor Snape! You is not a bad wizard; you should not be having such bad things!"
"What is it?"
Curiosity overcoming her sense, Rose reached for the malignant object. Before she could touch it, though, he snatched her hand away.
"Don't. It's not attuned yet. Right now it will affect anyone whose skin comes in contact with it."
"It is very Bad Magic, Rose Potter! Professor Snape should not be having!"
"Bad magic? You mean it's Dark? You have a Dark object in the house? Why? What are you going to do with it?"
He quailed under her steely glint of disapproval, but he refused to be cowed by a teenager. "What I plan to do with it is none of your concern, Rose. As for what it does, it merely gives a person bad dreams."
The house-elf tugged urgently on her robe. "That is not all it is doing, Rose Potter! The Dreamcatcher can drive a wizard mad with terrible nightmares! It is Bad Magic! Professor Snape should not be having it!"
Outraged, she put her hands on her hips. "You're planning on using it on Uncle Vernon because of what you saw! You lied to me! You promised you'd ignore everything! How can I trust you when you won't keep your word?"
"I thought I'd see you snogging Draco. I did not expect to see that man treating you like a dog! How do you expect me to ignore something like that? How can you possibly think I could accept anyone doing that to you? He deserves to suffer!"
"Maybe, but you don't get to decide that, Professor! It's not your place!"
"My place?" he raged. "Of course it's my place! You're my daughter! I can't just stand aside and let someone hurt you!"
Blanching, she sat heavily in the chair next to him, her eyes fixed on the Dreamcatcher. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I guess . . . I guess I never really thought about it . . . about how what happened to me might make you feel. I try not to think about it . . . what happened, I mean. It's over. I don't like remembering how badly they treated me."
His anger rapidly drained away; however, his desire to make Vernon Dursley suffer did not. "What he did was wrong. He deserves to be punished, Rose."
Looking up, she gave him rueful smile. "Yeah, he does. But not by you. I won't lose my dad because of him. He's not worth it, Professor."
With an audible sigh, he vanished the Dreamcatcher. "Perhaps not."
The house-elf suddenly pushed himself between them. "Dobby knew Professor Snape is a good wizard! But, Dobby is not knowing that Rose Potter's uncle hurt her! Dobby is making sure he will not do so again!"
With a crack, the tiny, yet fiercely protective house-elf disappeared. Rose stared at the spot where Dobby had stood until a huge grin stole over her face.
"I don't think we'll have to worry about Uncle Vernon again, sir."
He thought of all the inventive ways the house-elf might find to punish the brute, and he grinned in return. "No, I don't think we will."
As he led Rose back to bed, he silently thanked the loyal creature. He had no doubts that Vernon Dursley would quickly come to regret what he did to Rose. If only house-elf magic could be as effective against the Dark Lord as a pitiless Muggle.
Occluding his mind, he settled into a deep, dreamless sleep. He needed to be well rested for their upcoming holiday. It appeared that the Quidditch World Cup would be the calm before the storm, and he wanted to enjoy as much of the respite as possible.
Author's Notes - I take no blame for the tardiness of this update. This time, I'm laying it all on Sandy. Luckily, we're closer to DC than New York, so other than a few days off from school for the kids and some water damage due more to bad carpentry than actual flooding, we came out okay. My thoughts and prayers are with the people still suffering from the effects of the storm.
Hope you enjoy the update. Thanks for reading, reviewing and putting this story on alert!