A/N: Ooooh… here's a doozy: Severus Snape. Yup! This chappy's coming to you from the prow (or prowl, or stalk, or swoop) of the SS! … er… did anyone get that? (insert random cries of 'No!' here) Yeah, it didn't make much sense to me either. I'll stop the boat humor now. Ahem. So yeah, this chapter's from Snape's POV, and involves a hell of a lot Death Eaters' stuff, and not much fun- except the snark. Gotta love that. Remind me never to write Snape POV ever again. Treading the line between good and evil is so difficult.

But Magic Doesn't Exist!- Chapter 9

… times passing, same POV, same scene

change of scene/change of POV

have a cookie emphasis, ie. Italics

/have a cookie/ thoughts

The pain in his arm was bearable. The laughter from the kitchen was not. Severus snarled as he prepared to answer the call. He'd have to brew the Unbreakable potion later: it was a delicate thing, requiring constant attention (which had been the point of brewing it: to distract himself).

"Evanesco," and it was gone; all six hours of work of it. Severus sighed, and returned to the kitchen, where he swooped and glared, and generally made a nuisance of himself- as he'd done every day for years- God he hated doing this. Being alone with his potions was much preferable.

Potter, of course, glared at him, along with all the children from the Weasley house, and Granger. Barton, thank Merlin for the boy- being glared at all day, however much he deserved it, was a trying experience- passed no judgment, and the Maxwell boy's lips twitched as he glanced between the man, and the Chinese boy. Severus was given to understand that he and the boy acted similarly.

He almost snorted at the thought: he and the boy were nothing alike.

"I am going out, Mr. Barton," he dismissed the others with his actions, "ensure these children are fed, and in bed by a reasonable hour. If there are any transgressions I am to know about them immediately upon my return. Is that clear?"

Barton nodded, but the Weasley boy glared, asking angrily, "Why's he in charge?"

Severus sent a glare his way that had been known to wilt the resolve of even students who had long since graduated. "If you would think, Mr. Weasley, you would realize that Mr. Barton is the eldest among you. As your next caretaker will not arrive for a day, yet, and I have just grown supremely tired of your presence in this house, I am taking the reprieve that I have been offered. And fifteen points Mr. Weasley," he added as an after thought, already turning away, "for cheek."

He could feel the boy's glare at his back, as he strode from the house, checking carefully before emerging onto the London street; he apparated almost immediately to the grand estate that served as the Death Eaters' headquarters.

He slipped his mask out of one of the deep pockets in his cloak, and put it on, fastening the cloak tighter around his body, and pulling the cowl over his head. There was no one to see him anyway. The Ministry had been searching for this manor since before Voldemort's first defeat. The Ministry, however- Severus had found- was filled with incompetents, and worse, corruptible ones. Not one had come even close to finding the manor, and Severus was yet to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing.

The manor itself was a decrepit, odoriferous affair- at least from the outside- with wind smashed windows and barren branched trees. Cesspools of filth putrefied, and Severus knew for a fact that that Toddy and Figgy, the house elves consigned to the manor, were nearly daily punished for trying to clean up the grounds. He nearly sympathized.

Once inside, however, the work of the house elves became apparent in the alluring mosaics and magnificent architecture. The further down one traveled, however, the less attractive the surroundings became, until one found plain stone cells, a dungeon worthy of Voldemort's and a potions lab that few wizards, and only two students, had ever had the privilege of working in.

Severus was very proud of Prince- now Snape- manor.

He strode into the hall, where Malfoy – senior and junior – were waiting with the Crabbes and the Goyles. A third boy, thin and pale like Draco, as familiar as any one of the mental defectives that passed for his students, stood in the midst of them. Severus raised an eyebrow at the sight of Quatre Raberba Winner, beloved of Trowa Barton, and heir to a multinational muggle pacifist corporation, and then dismissed him in favor of regarding Lucius. He removed his mask before speaking.

"What, exactly, was the purpose of disturbing my work, Lucius? I was in the midst of brewing the Unbreakable our Lord requested for your son. I hope you are satisfied knowing you have ruined six hours of work."

"You can always brew another, Severus," Lucius said, and waved a hand in the Winner boy's direction. "My son found this boy on our property. He claims to be a son of Abdul Winner, but his memories have been altered to a point where we are unsure what is true, and what is fiction. Achmed would like you to restore his memories."

Severus nodded, judging what would be safe to say. This situation was, at least, interesting. "Surely you can do that yourself?"

Lucius' expression turned sour. "The spell used was very advanced. My attempts to return his memories to him have come to naught. They only uncovered memories along the same lines as his altered ones, and I can find no trace of anything different. They were altered by a true master."

Severus smirked. "Then it is good that you have come to me, a true master, and not some" he sniffed imperiously "inferior potion brewer. I have had cause to meet the boy before, and I can assure you that, altered memories or no, he is a Winner."

Quatre Winner's eyes rose to meet his. "I'm sorry I don't remember you, then," he said, and his gaze dropped again. Severus had to hold back a sneer. There was all the teenage melodrama coming to the fore, as always. No doubt the boy was thinking along the lines of 'It's all my fault I can't remember a thing. If I was better in some way…'. And then – thank Merlin he didn't seem the type to be sorted into Slytherin – he would have to deal with it in class.

But the real question was not how annoying the child would be once he reached school: the real question was how much to tell the boy. Surely he couldn't tell him the truth. If Lucius were to ever find out that the boy was a muggleborn from the future (and Severus mentally sneered at himself every time he found himself thinking that particular phrase) the boy would be killed instantly. Severus had no doubt that the boy would tell Lucius: he was a Gryffindor type, and Gryffindor types never knew when to keep their mouths shut.

Similarly, he could say nothing about the boy's companions, or that all but one of them currently resided at #12 Grimmauld Place. Such an admission would either compromise his position with Voldemort, or put all four in danger of being used against each other.

"It was a long time ago we met, Mr. Winner," he lied smoothly, "I'm not surprised." He turned his attention to Lucius again. "I would like to speak to the boy in private, if you don't mind," he said, and at Lucius' suspicious look, added, "some of the symptoms of potion based memory loss can be… embarrassing, as you well know." He flicked his eyes down Lucius' body, and left the rest up to the man's memory- or at least the little he had recovered.

"Do you think I would deprive the boy of his dignity?" Lucius glared, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Of course not, Lucius," Snape said. "We'll be in the next room."

Snape cast a silencing charm on the room the minute he entered, and closed the door behind Quatre. He waved his waved perfunctorily over the boy's front, muttering 'perlego',spun him, and did the same with back. No, there was nothing wrong with the boy. Nor, incidentally, were there any hanging Listen In charms, or Report Back hexes on him. Excellent.

"That wasn't very friendly," the boy chided him, waving a hand to indicate that he meant Snape's actions in the foyer, and not his rough treatment just now. He'd make an excellent addition to Gryffindor: maybe force that idiot trio to think a little before assuming Slytherins were evil.

"Have a care when speaking to your elders," Snape snapped, searching the room carefully. He might be the master of the manor, but the manor itself hated him – he and his half blood- and usually left a few nasty surprises in every room in case he came to 'visit'.

"Well, it wasn't!"

"When dealing with Lucius Malfoy, you will find, boy, that he is a snake in the worst senses of the word: cowardly, far less poisonous than you think, and more than willing to let everyone outside his family come to harm. Being associated with him, as you are, is exactly why I wished to speak with you in a private setting," Snape said, having satisfied himself that sitting down would be a safe action. "Sit."

Quatre did, looking mutinous. "Mr. Malfoy has been nothing but cordial to me, and in times such as these, such kindness ought to be repaid in like, not with vicious words, and implied mockery."

"Did a Gryffindor borrow your tongue, boy? You're speaking nonsense. Times 'such as these', as you say, require sharp thinking, and even sharper wit. Do you even know what you're getting into?"

"Of course," Quatre said, but Snape had spent his life- a not unsubstantial thirty eight years – learning to sense lies as they were spoken, and there was nothing even resembling surety in the boy's voice.

Feeling rather gracious today, he softened his voice: "Your memories are not as badly off as some might say, Quatre Raberba Winner. The friends you had, for example, have made an appearance in your altered memories, and you believed yourself a Winner when asked, did you not?"

The boy nodded, hesitantly. "From what I have seen, your character remains the same. Your memories may never come back boy, but one thing you must know is that forgetting your past can be for the better." It had certainly been for the better for Black and Lupin, when they'd conveniently 'forgot' that they'd tried to kill him in seventh year. Bastards.

It was too bad, really, that the Winner boy would never be sorted into Slytherin: he was polite, not entirely full of himself, and proud enough to stand up to Black's mother, even.

"How did you know?" Quatre asked.

"Know what?" Snape responded. The boy might, of course, end up being the first non-Slytherin he liked. That was provided the Barton boy wasn't sorted into Slytherin. He probably wouldn't be: none of those boys looked the type. Perhaps the Yui boy… smart, cunning, willing to use others- even he had heard the story of Yui stealing 'Deathscythe's' parts. Whatever a 'deathscythe' was. He wondered idly if it was the same as a regular scythe, and how in Merlin's name it had parts. It wasn't a particularly complex design, after all, just a blade, and a curved-

"About my friends." Quatre cut into his thoughts, oblivious to the fact that Snape had changed subjects in his mind. "You said we met before, once, a long time ago. You couldn't, therefore, possibly know everything about who I was, or even who my friends were! You didn't use Legilimency," the boy used the word so knowledgeably Snape could readily believe he had actually been born into the wizarding world "so that rules out that option," the boy gave him a look he'd seen on Granger's face often enough. "So how, exactly, did you know that my friends stayed the same in my memory?"

Merlin, the boy was sharp. Or perhaps Snape had simply been dealing with Potter and his ilk too long: Weasley wouldn't have caught that. But then, Weasley hadn't been trained from a very young age to be a business tycoon.

Snape's more than adequately equipped mind ran through the possible answers, and found… absolutely nothing that wouldn't give away more than he could afford. Damn.

Instead, he raised his wand, and focused his mind on the memory of the last few minutes. "Obliviate."

The boy started, blinked, and then stared at him with a slightly confused expression that Snape was used to seeing on the faces of children his age. "What did you want to ask me?" he asked, and Snape fired off a few of the most embarrassing questions he could think of.

Quatre squirmed, and blushed, but answered the questions. Snape smiled inwardly: sometimes, he felt like it was his life's mission to embarrass those around him. It was a good thing he enjoyed it.

Nodding sharply, he asked one more- simply for shock value- "Have any boils formed on your penis or buttocks?" He nearly gave the game away by snickering at the shade of the Winner boy's face as he shook his head violently.

"Good," he continued. "Come with me." The boy was a little slower to follow him than he'd been before, but returned to the foyer on his heels nonetheless.

"A Witch Hazel and Comfey based memory restoration potion will suffice," Snape said. "I'll begin once I finish the Unbreakable you wanted." With his eyes, he dared Lucius to challenge him. The man, much to Snape's disappointment, did nothing of the sort.

"Thank you, Severus," Lucius said, nodding graciously. "Come boys," he said to his child and the Winner boy, "let's go home." His eyes promised revenge, and Snape met them easily: he had nothing to fear. They flooed away, and Snape left.

The apparition to Hogsmeade required next to no energy at all, and he made a quick stop in Knockturn Alley's apothecary, Newt and Wort, for more Albizia and Monk's Hood. The amount required by an Unbreakable was staggering.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was still standing, which he considered an improvement over the visions of destruction he'd been having: he had left the idiot trio relatively unsupervised. The Maxwell boy opened the door from him, and gave him the space necessary for to get into the house.

Severus briefly considered telling the boy that one of his companions had been located… but then, the boy was the embodiment of Gryffindor idiocy, and would probably rush to 'save' his friend from 'the evil Slytherins' – never mind that the boy was perfectly happy where he was – and would likely get himself killed, and Severus did not relish the idea of explaining that to Dumbledore… or Lucius.

Besides, he had a potion to brew.