Chapter 9: The Crystallisation of Clarity
Severus spent the night tossing and turning while the others slept the sleep of those who had the hope that they'd gotten away with their deeds. The impossibility of his situation kept tumbling through his aching head, thoughts chasing each other in endless, useless loops, because there was nothing left for him to know about this, nothing to help tip the scales one way or another, nothing to help him choose. His stomach wouldn't stop churning, and every time he closed his eyes, he could see those four seventh-years on the ground, while the Slytherins stood above them, and the images made him want to scrub himself raw from the inside, to scream in helplessness, made him want to shrivel up and disappear, because what was his own life against these sorts of actions?
And yet, what wasn't it, either, but his very life?
Try as he might, the decision was no clearer for the hours he spent tossing it and turning it around, for the seemingly endless night that offered no respite from the battle between self-preservation and the last miniscule chance of something better that was obscured by doubts and fears.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, he snuck out, completely exhausted and feeling ill, and wandered to the courtyard entrance that led to the boatshed, where he knew no one but Hagrid usually ventured. He sat down on the stone steps and stared into the rising sun, trying to make up his mind on what to do, because today was his last chance to create a Patronus, and he felt like death warmed over, devoid of any possible happiness or joy, weighed down by the tormenting doubts and fears.
It was here that he finally managed to doze off, hunched in on himself in his tatty pyjamas and the old set of robes that were too small for him, resting his aching head against the stone of the castle and basked in the golden rays of the early morning sun. It was a light sleep, the kind that came about when one became too tired to even worry, and it was more a construct of wandering thoughts and hallucinations than it was a dream, but he saw Lily as she'd been the summer before their third year, the one time they'd gone to Manchester together, just the two of them, back when Petunia had still wanted to cover for her sister and lie to their parents that she'd come with them on the bus. Lily had worn a fluttery yellow sundress with spaghetti straps and pink flats, and her hair had been braided away from her face and let to fall down her back, and when she'd gotten him to chase her through the park, her eyes had sparkled like emeralds and her cheeks had been ruddy and her lips plump from delight, and though he'd hated having to run after her that day, had felt hot and sweaty and his hair had stuck to his cheeks from the moisture in the air, he could remember nothing but elation at the sight of her, the most beautiful thing his thirteen-year-old eyes had ever seen, at the thought that she had chosen him of all people as her best friend, that it had made him the luckiest wizard in the world.
It was the day he'd fallen irrevocably, unstoppably, inconsolably in love with her.
"Severus," Dumbledore's voice pulled him out of his doze, and he clenched his eyes shut against the sun. He still felt completely exhausted, and even lifting his head took effort, with his temples pounding and his vision swimming. Still, he got to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, more to push away the fatigue than to try and make himself a little presentable; he probably looked as horrid as he felt with or without his hair in disarray, and what had looks ever meant to him anyway? "Do you have your wand with you?"
"Yes, sir," he whispered, stuffing his hand in the pocket of his outer robes to check.
"Come; let us begin, then."
"But, my clothes..."
"I will have a house-elf bring you something to change into before you leave the office."
They reached his office in silence, Severus always a step or two behind the Headmaster, and the glass wall between them never felt more real than in this moment, because this was it, this was the end, one way or another.
Dumbledore summoned tea for them both, and some dry toast, which was probably the only thing Severus' upset stomach could even handle. He picked at it without enthusiasm, his head strangely cottony after the night of torrent, like the first moments after a storm passed, when everything was still and quiet as the grave.
"Do you have your memory?" Dumbledore asked, and, blinking, Severus pulled out of his stupor to look at the man, this unreachable, untouchable figure that was the Leader of Light, the Hogwarts Headmaster, the most powerful man in Wizarding Europe and maybe even the world.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, then. When you are ready."
Pushing the plate away, Severus got to his feet and pulled out his ebony wand out of his robes, the handle warm and slippery in his clammy fingers. Licking his lips, he lifted it up in front of him until he could see the tip, arm heavy as lead, and he brought up the dream, the memory, of Lily in that moment when he'd fallen in love with her, this one final time.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The silvery liquid of the spell burst out and coalesced into a solid shape of a large animal right before his eyes, and all his anxiety and fear escaped him in one disbelieving exhale as his exhausted mind registered that he'd done it, he'd actually done it, after months of failure and frustration, he'd managed to conjure a corporeal Patronus, and though in any other moment he would have been disappointed, embarrassed, humiliated, right now all he could feel was relief and elation as he took the beautiful animal in.
Big-eyed, big-eared, genteel-looking. Female.
A doe. His Patronus was a doe.
When he managed to tear his eyes away, he found the Headmaster observing it with strange thoughtfulness, and for the first time since he'd realised what Mulciber had truly gotten them into yesterday, there was none of that distance that had risen up between them; Dumbledore was no longer the Leader of Light, nor the Hogwarts Headmaster, but was once again his mentor on this journey of self-understanding he'd undertaken, and Severus felt so relieved his legs were turning to jelly so quickly he fairly crumpled into the chair he'd vacated moments before, heart beating wildly in his chest.
The doe inspected her surroundings, searching for any threat, and after finding none, she turned to Severus to nudge his cheek with her not-quite-solid snout, and where his skin touched her, warmth suffused him, bringing forth that memory of Lily he'd used, her smiling green eyes and her gorgeous red hair, her cheeks dusted with a blush and her lips drawn in a smile, and the rightness of it all made him lift his fingers to cup the Patronus' head and hold it close as delicately as he could, fearing any pressure that might break her.
"Some people possess a Patronus of one shape for most of their lives, before experiencing its transformation into another form."
"Why?"
Why is she here? Why did I do it this time? Why are you telling me this?
"Those who experience deep, true love for another, their Patronus takes the shape of their loved one's."
Severus didn't dare look at the old, wizened wizard; instead, he closed his eyes and held tightly to the memory of Lily and the love that she brought out in him, knowing deep within his very soul that this wasn't his Patronus, that this was hers, that in spite of everything, she was here with him and would always be, that no matter what happened, he'd never lose her completely.
"I'm scared," he admitted to the beautiful creature, opening his eyes to meet her silvery ones, to watch her dim as he released his desperate hold of the memory that had created her. "I'm so scared."
Dumbledore's wrinkled hand found its way to his shoulder, and the old wizards squeezed it gently as the doe faded away into nothingness.
The choice he'd spent so much of his time dwelling on, the choice that had occupied his thoughts and kept him up at night, the choice that even just half an hour ago, he'd felt so torn about – suddenly it didn't seem nearly so unsolvable. In fact, it didn't feel like a choice at all, anymore. It felt like inevitability.
"You are doing the right thing, Severus."
"What if it's not enough?"
"You are doing the right thing for yourself. Whether Miss Evans accepts it or not, whether it changes her mind or not, you will have done this for your own good. It is better to know love, even fleetingly, than to walk through life having never felt its touch. And those who allow it to shape them, they are the luckiest of all."
"Is this just another of your proverbs, sir?"
"No," the Headmaster said, an immeasurable, insurmountable emotion held in the one word. Severus looked at him, and Dumbledore didn't even try to hide the emotion in his eyes, in his soul, though Severus couldn't but avert his gaze at the naked truth written all over the old wizard's face; a painful truth, Severus thought. "No, I am telling you from personal experience. Trust me on this, my boy. The truly strong are the ones who can live this truth, and you are stronger even than I for it."
He released a shaky breath and closed his eyes in resignation. Like it or not, his path was now set, and all he could do was tread it.
"All right. All right, I'll help you in this war however I can. For Lily. Always for Lily."
Dumbledore gave Severus some time to gather himself and find his inner centre, to find a way of taming down his terror at the thought of what life was going to be like come Monday, when the Slytherins would know he'd betrayed them to the Headmaster.
"What will happen to me now?" he asked the man, hands shaking in his lap.
"You will stay in my guest bedroom and rest properly, and when you have slept and eaten something, you will go back to your studies and focus on passing your O.W.L.s."
"But..."
Dumbledore inclined his head and offered him a gentle smile that did nothing to calm Severus down.
"As for your dormmates, unless proper authorities become involved or some other evidence surfaces, they will be allowed to finish out the year in the conviction that they have gotten away with their attack on Mr Shafiq, Mr Fairlot, Mr Vemeer and Miss Shanwick."
"I–" Severus' voice deserted him, as he stared, open-mouthed, at the Headmaster.
"Severus, while these students deserve justice for what was done to them, far more is at stake, and revealing your collaboration with me would be not only short-sighted and dangerous, but also useless in the long run. Make no mistake, I will make certain that your fellow Slytherins cannot harm anyone again, but I will not do it in any way that will endanger you."
"Would you've... if I'd agreed yesterday, would you've still..."
"Dark times are ahead of us, Severus, and we must prepare for them. To do so, sacrifices will need to be made. This is one such case."
"It was a test," he breathed out, finally understanding. "It was a test."
"I am afraid that both your hand and mine were forced in this," Dumbledore answered gravely. "I did not want to use such unsavoury methods to push you on this point, but I felt I had been left no choice by your fellow Slytherins."
Anger and hurt and disgust rose up like bile in the back of his throat, and Severus inhaled shallowly in an attempt to keep himself still. He'd not seen it, how had he not seen it, how was it possible that a Slytherin such as him had not thought to expect this sort of manipulation, this sort of betrayal–
The world swam before his eyes, and he shut them tightly, pushing everything down. No matter what he felt on the subject, Dumbledore's assertion held truth to it – he'd taken his sweet time to reach this point, more than he'd ever thought he might get, and not even Dumbledore's patience was infinite. Severus' emotions were clamouring inside his skull, demanding that he jump up and tell the Headmaster to go to hell, but his body, too exhausted by the stress and the sleepless night, too drained by the demanding magic he'd just performed, refused to move, cast a blanket of lethargy over his very thought processes, until everything he was feeling seemed like it didn't quite matter all that much.
Perhaps if he hadn't felt as if every last scrap of energy had been leached out of him, Severus really would have said 'sod it' and stormed off to stew in all the negativity that was suddenly making him doubt every single meeting, every single exchanged word, every single taught lesson. Perhaps it would have even provided him some relief from the pain twisting his insides. It didn't matter – the outcome would have been the same either way, because even if he had done that, in the end he would have come back, one way or another, because he'd made the decision, and that was what truly offered relief, relief that was, in spite of the choler Dumbledore's trickery had stirred in him, bolstered by the fact that he was going to be safe after all.
Coming to a decision felt like he'd reached some sort of finish line, some resting place, and all he wanted to do was stop. For all that just an hour ago, he'd felt like he'd never be able to decide either way, now that he was here, that he was committed to the side he'd picked, to Lily and Albus Dumbledore and the Light, it felt as if it had been inevitable from the moment he'd accepted the offer to learn the Patronus Charm, that it had all been just about facing the facts, and the facts were that for Lily, he'd do anything, even turn away from what he'd thought he wanted for his future and towards what he she'd told him she'd already chosen, no matter what he believed in.
Because his views on their society, on the political situation, his opinion on Muggles and Muggle-borns, none of those had changed with this decision he'd made. Choosing Lily over Voldemort had never been about that, not really, not at its core, no matter how much politics and opinions had always been entwined in the choice he'd had before him. His silver doe of a Patronus had made the choice for him, and he knew he'd stand by it in spite of Dumbledore's manipulation, stand by it in spite of the uncertain future.
His innermost self was telling him that this was the right choice. Severus wasn't able to say why, and his logical side rebelled at the confusion, stirring doubts that fed off of what Dumbledore had done to him; it was just not strong enough to overpower that sense of rightness, not in his exhausted state.
So he simply let it go, for once in his life. Considering the magnitude of the choice he'd made, it was better to put his limited reserves of energy towards determining the immediate course of action. Deciding what Dumbledore's manipulation meant for him could wait until he had gotten a chance to determine what it had meant to the Headmaster himself.
"What do you need of me then, sir?" he asked Dumbledore instead, when he felt like he could speak again. It earned him what seemed like an approving look, though he refused to delve into it, or question how it made him feel to be looked at like that by the man in front of him, with everything that had passed between them in the last three plus months.
"Information on any fellow classmates and housemates that have turned to Lord Voldemort. We can begin with a list of those you know to have taken the Mark."
And so they went through every scrap of information he knew on the subject, every secret meeting and every branded arm, every whispered plan for the future and every point of danger.
Severus found himself yawning by the time he was done; just hours ago, he'd felt like he would never be able to sleep again.
"You should rest," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and indicating that Severus should follow him. "We will continue our meetings until the end of the year; there is a Mind Art that I believe would be beneficial for you to learn."
"Occlumency," Severus guessed.
"Yes, that is correct." Reaching for a patch of wall next to a dark tapestry, Dumbledore revealed a narrow staircase that Severus had never noticed before. "You have a natural tendency towards it, which will aid us greatly, but learning it properly will be essential in the coming times, as it will help you remain balanced even in situations of high stress. Moreover, if you are to become an active spy amongst Voldmort's supporters, you must be able to protect your mind and your allegiance from them." On top turned out to be his private quarters, a sizeable-looking flat with a sitting room and a kitchen, as well as bathroom and several rooms. Dumbledore led him to one of them. "You may use this room to rest; your clothes will be delivered to you here. And, when you are ready, there are several books on the topic of the Mind Arts that I believe you will find beneficial."
"Thank you, sir," Severus said, stepping towards the beckoning bed.
"You're quite welcome, my boy," the old wizard answered, eyes showing what felt like immeasurable warmth as he smiled softly at the teen.
"I've got an excellent idea," Sirius declared on Saturday after breakfast in a cheerful voice. Frowning, Remus looked up from his sketchbook and that damned section of the castle that was still giving him trouble after all this time, mildly curious to see what it was that his friend had gotten into his head now.
He'd grown more and more hyperactive in the last few weeks, and Remus had started feeling an odd sense of déjà vu in response; there was something about Sirius at the end of the school year that always promised danger, but it had never been this pronounced. Going home was not a fun experience for him, that much Remus knew quite well; Sirius' parents seemed to Remus sometimes near-homicidal, given the nerve damage and relief with which Sirius returned to Hogwarts each year.
Still, usually James didn't invite Sirius to visit him quite this often, or this desperately. Remus wasn't one for prying into Sirius' affairs, and no doubt James understood far more than the two Half-bloods in the group could, what with old families led by tradition and whatnot, but even he was getting worried.
Especially with the way his friends were starting to make him uncomfortable in their everyday actions. Like the pranks they all loved to pull – they felt a little more targeted against the group of Slytherins that were Death Eater wannabes, and Remus saw no cause to say anything, because generally speaking, those upper-years had no compunction about targeting Gryffindors, so it really was just tit for tat, wasn't it, but the tone of it had become... spiteful, for some reason.
It was just a pesky feeling Remus could easily push to the side, though, whenever Sirius had this sort of delighted grin on his face, or James offered lazy, indulgent expressions, or Peter's eyes glinted with the excitement of a new activity they could all do together.
"Let's hear it, then," James said.
"Well, we've all been working on the Map for ages now, yeah? But we've only ever focused on the castle inside, not the grounds. On the other hand, we spend at least one night every month roaming about the Forbidden Forest without any kind of order. So, my idea is that this time, we actually sit down and plan out where we'll go for the next full moon, and maybe get the ball rolling on the grounds part of the Map in the process."
"Plan out?" Remus asked, frowning slightly. "As in, you'll herd the wolf to that area and snoop about between making certain I don't end up destroying the greenhouses? I'd rather not."
James snorted. "Please, Remus; controlling the wolf isn't nearly as difficult as you seem to think it is."
"That's because we've kept away from human-populated areas," Remus reminded him. "Or don't you remember those almost run-ins we had the last two months? If I remember correctly, you barely hid those scratches on your ribcage from your Quidditch teammates, and Wormtail had to steal anti-infection potions from the hospital wing for Sirius to not get rabies from the bites or something."
"We've told you, Moony, those weren't your fault," Sirius reminded him, his words making Remus warm, though the guilt still gnawed at him. The werewolf could be supremely vicious when it was on the scent of human flesh, as his friends had gotten a chance to figure out for themselves in the last two months.
"Yeah, Remus," Peter was quick to agree. "Prongs and Padfoot knew what they were doing last month far better than those first two times; you barely even broke their skin."
"As I've said; not nearly as difficult as you think," James repeated with a nod that seemed to indicate he'd put the matter to rest. "We'll be fine, like we always are. You know it does you good to get out of that stuffy old building, and, honestly, you have no idea how annoying it is to have antlers constantly hitting the ceiling and tangling in doorways."
"Prongs is right, Moony; you're basically a very exuberant puppy when we're out and about."
"That's still a far cry from roaming the Hogwarts grounds the whole night," Remus persisted. "Don't lie to me; I remember that first time you got me to agree to get out of the Shack back in January. Vaguely, to be fair," he felt compelled to add, "but I'm pretty sure Prongs had to head-butt me to get the wolf away from going up to the castle. I had aches and bruises from his antlers for days. It was only luck that I usually do even worse damage to myself, otherwise I've no clue how I'd have explained it to Madam Pomfrey."
"You're one big killjoy, you know that, Moony?" James asked, making Remus grimace.
"I'm just trying to make sure we're not being stupid. I don't like the idea of hurting you, even just in play."
"That's a little unavoidable, mate," James said with a slight wince. "But it's nothing we can't handle."
Remus' resolve crumbled a little at their eager, pleading looks, and he sighed.
"Well... if you really want to plan it out, then all right, but maybe just not castle grounds this time? It's the last full moon before the summer hols, and I'd... I'd really like it if what memories I end up recalling from it don't include me trying to harm you."
"We could go see if there's any hidden caves around Hogsmeade?" Peter suggested earnestly. "I heard from, er, Morris and Doubley that there's trolls and hags and all sorts in those caves."
James snorted, and Sirius laughed outright; even Remus fought hard not to snigger.
"There are no trolls and hags around here, Wormtail," James said with a shake of his head. "They were pulling your leg, mate. Really, hags!"
"Oh, Wormtail," Sirius said, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands, "the things you'd fall for."
Peter, red in the face, offered a somewhat sour smile, most likely feeling embarrassed as he usually did for being tricked so easily, and Remus patted his shoulder.
"It's still a good idea, Peter, to look for caves. Those can come in handy."
"What for? When we're running from Death Eaters and have to lay low?"
"More like, if we ever have to get Aurors off our trail!"
"Why would you even have Aurors after you, Padfoot?" Remus asked him, shaking his head. Really; if Sirius could always be trusted to do anything, it was to come up with the wildest ideas.
"Well, for endangering the Statute of Secrecy, of course! When I get that flying bike all set up."
"Which will be just as soon as you move out of that ugly house," James pointed out.
"Have at least two more years before that, don't I, Prongs?" Sirius asked, mood immediately souring at the reminder of what was waiting for him in less than a month.
"I keep telling you – we'll be seventeen next year. We can get a flatshare, or even ask my folks to use the guest house on our property. Be like proper Muggle uni students and whatnot."
"Let's not let my crazy family ruin a perfectly good morning, yeah?"
It was, Remus suspected, more the brittleness in Sirius' voice than the actual words that cinched it for James. Not that it mattered much either way, because they quickly rounded back to the topic of planning their next outing, which would be falling right on the tail-end of the O.W.L.s, the Saturday after they were done. That had been a lucky break, even though Remus was worried about Herbology, their last exam of the bunch. His concentration was always shot in the two days preceding the full moon, but at least this month he'd gotten the best possible full moon scenario he could imagine – full waxing of the moon was an hour after sunrise on Saturday, meaning the Saturday evening transformation was going to be by far the easiest one of 1976 – so he held out hope that he'd manage to pass the exam on that Friday.
"It'll be the best one yet," James decided after consulting the lunar map they made regularly for Astronomy. "It'd be a shame to waste it on caves."
"Come on, Remus, what do you say?" Sirius wheedled. "Nobody's going to be down by the Quidditch pitch in the middle of the night, it's right by the forest edge, and it's really almost as far away from the castle as you can get and still be on Hogwarts grounds."
Well, all things considered, the wolf was bound to be far more manageable on that full moon than on any other in the foreseeable future, and though Remus felt a sharp tang of disquiet at the thought of roaming the castle grounds, he could convince himself with little effort that it was better to do it now, when everything was falling together so favourably for once, than to leave it for winter, when the nights were far longer and thus both provided more opportunity for escape and were more taxing for his friends. Besides, he didn't want to let his friends down, not when they'd been there for him since October, every single full moon. And it wasn't like they'd not come close to those sections of the school's grounds before, and nothing much had happened after that first time.
Who knew, perhaps this time Remus could even have, if not enjoyable, then at least not manic memories the following day. He wasn't quite prepared to go as far as to call it 'fun' yet, not nearly, but... not as unpleasant as they'd been in the last four years, or even those first three times when they'd all stayed in the Shrieking Shack and ended up fuelling more gossip in Hogsmeade about it than Remus had managed by himself in four years.
"Well... all right."
"Yes!" James and Sirius crowed together, and Remus smiled.
A little discomfort was worth this, surely. And nothing ever happened, anyway, so it was going to be just fine.
Severus thought he'd have trouble falling asleep, but the opposite was true. It wasn't a particularly restful sleep, granted, but it was far more than he'd managed to get last night, the type without dreams, that left one feeling unable to open their eyes and lift their head after waking.
His clothes were, as promised, on a chair in the corner of the room, and Severus, hoping it wasn't too much presumption, decided to avail himself of the bathroom shower. Really, he needed the pounding of water in his face and over his back to get himself back to better thinking order. His head felt cottony and his thoughts were slow, thick, and he hated it.
In the end, he ended up sitting on the floor of the shower, curled up as tightly as he could, black strands of hair sticking to his cheeks and neck, while his mind tried to come to terms with what had happened that morning. That sense of rightness he'd felt remained, and it, more than even the protection Dumbledore offered, was what kept regret at bay. Second-guessing things after the fact had only ever brought him stress when he indulged in it, and in this particular instance, he felt instinctively that it would be far more detrimental than even the process of deciding had been, so he firmly pulled his mind away from that direction.
That didn't help the whaling pit of apprehension in his gut, though; neither his decision nor Dumbledore's promise of silence on the matter of yesterday's incident negated the worries that had clogged his throat yesterday and made him disappoint the Headmaster so horribly. The fact was that he still had those two years left at Hogwarts, two years in which he'd have to share the dorm with Mulciber, Avery, Philes and Thistletwaithe, two years in which Rosier, with his sudden keen interest in Severus, would be sending his Slytherins to circle him, two years of having to fall deeper and deeper into that circle, because that was what being a spy would mean, two years of lying to L–
He had to tell Lily. He'd done this for her, he'd done it for himself for her, it was about choosing sides before the choice got taken away from him, but spywork was secretive and sensitive and dangerous, and Lily was the epitome of Gryffindor brashness, so how could he ever get Dumbledore to let him tell her, how, when even he himself wasn't sure he could trust her with the information that could lead to him ending up like those Muggles and Muggle-borns who'd been vanishing from the face of the earth for years?
And the very idea that his mind had gone to asking Dumbledore whether to tell Lily or not was abhorrent to him, but there was nothing he could do about it, because whether he liked it or not, he'd given the old wizard a say in it the moment he'd agreed to the arrangement, had bound himself to this great figure, and as much as it felt like finally finding one person, just one single adult in the whole world who gave a tiny little sod for him, it also felt like a noose, a leash around his neck, because he wouldn't be free, would he, not when he was probably Dumbledore's best chance at putting his own man on the inside, and he had two more years of Hogwarts, but what about when he got out, when it was the real world and the stakes became higher, when Dumbledore demanded of him to take the M–
His mind shut down before the thought formed completely, retreating to a corner that was safe, protected by the warmth and beauty of a silver-skinned doe, and Severus scrambled out of the shower, leaving puddles and wet footprints on the tiles as he groped for his sleek black wand among his clothes, barely stopping himself from clutching the handle too tightly as he dug for one happy memory, any happy memory, and came up only with the need to reaffirm his earlier certainty and with the conviction that he could conjure his Patronus, he'd done it already, beautifully. How could that ever be enough?
But it was all he had, and so he tried anyway.
"Expecto Patronum."
The silvery substance of the charm burst out, and for one wild moment he was terrified it would stay in its formless state, but no, a second longer and it coalesced into his doe. She nuzzled against his cheek, tongue darting out to lick it, feeling like what Severus imagined moonlight would feel if it were solid, tingly and silky and syrupy, and he let his very soul bask in the safety she radiated.
He'd read up on the Patronuses more than he'd ever thought he would, but nowhere had it said that you could touch them, or that they'd touch you first, and it felt like being privy to the world's most guarded secret, sacred and fulfilling.
His breath calming, he let his Patronus dissipate as the strength of his previous conviction reasserted itself. This was the only way that allowed him to at least have a chance of keeping Lily, and Severus didn't go back on his word. Besides, whatever he may need to do in the future, even if Dumbledore had truly been playing him all this time, he'd still get to learn from Albus bloody Dumbledore of all people, the most powerful wizard in Britain and probably the continent.
But it would be better to wait until the holidays to tell Lily. He wanted to think that she'd react positively to this, that she'd understand why he'd done it and what he'd meant by it, but with the way they'd been going lately, he didn't feel confident enough in his knowledge of her. Lily was brash, and she was as like to hug him as she was to stomp up to the Headmaster and start screaming at him again, and Severus couldn't afford another outburst like that, couldn't afford to have the Slytherins noticing their friendship more than they already were, couldn't afford Dumbledore being upset with him, couldn't afford the stress of it all now that the O.W.L.s were only days away.
Four weeks weren't going to make a difference, he decided. And once they were away from Hogwarts and the House rivalry and her people and his people, when it was again just the two of them, then he'd figure out a proper way of telling her, so that she'd never again question his devotion to her and their friendship.
And until then, there were plenty of other things to focus on; for once, Severus felt himself far too preoccupied and busy to worry much about Lily pulling away from him.
Returning to the Slytherin Quarters that afternoon was one of the most nerve-racking things Severus had ever done, and he'd lived through plenty of such things in his short life. Dumbledore had given him some pointers about mental shields and ordering his mind, but it all felt like no protection at all from the sensation that every look directed his way was knowing, and every word spoken to him was laced with double meaning, and every single thing he did was giving him away.
Paranoia was a bugger, and Severus had not been unfamiliar with it before today, so he'd half-way expected to be feeling it. At least his friends – and could he even call them as such, when he was spying on them? – were far more subdued today than they'd been yesterday evening. Mulciber was mainly preoccupied with sending hateful looks Avery's way, while the smaller boy remained the only one whose spirits seemed high. Philes looked like he was putting as much of his effort into revision as he could humanly summon, and Thistletwaithe appeared unnerved, though immediately turned to watch Severus walk through their dorm room.
"Where've you been all day?" he hissed, leaning back in his chair as soon as Severus had dropped down on his bed. His work desk was immediately to the left of Severus' bed, which consequently put him close enough that the others, who were on the other side of the dorm, couldn't hear his words. Severus' heart jumped into his throat at the thought that not even one day in, someone had already noticed something was going on, but then common sense pushed forward, helped by the half-way panicked look in Thistletwaithe's eyes, and he reminded himself that he'd been going off on his own for months now and had managed to keep the true reason for it secret from them all along; this was no different.
"What do you think?" he snapped at the blond instead, rolling his eyes. "I've been brewing. I had to get away from those two," he added with a scowl, pointing with his head lightly towards Mulciber and Avery.
"I looked for you in all your usual haunts, Snape, and you weren't there."
Fuck.
"And did you think to look in the private laboratories?" he asked snidely to cover his nerves.
"Since when do you have access?" But then the boy seemed to come to his own conclusion, because he narrowed his eyes sharply. "It's your Gryffindor Mudblood who has access, isn't it? She let you in."
"There's a reason I'm friendly with her. Now why the bloody hell were you looking for me?" And for that matter, why were they all sitting in the dormitory? He'd have expected Avery at least to keep his distance. Mulciber too.
"Rosier's had a word with us," Thistletwaithe explained. "Shafiq's family is demanding an Auror inquiry if Dumbledore can't produce the attacker for yesterday within three days. Rosier's made it pretty clear that we're basically sacrificial lambs if it comes to it."
"All of us?"
"Except for Avery, and that's only because he has the Dark Mark, but he's implied that he wants you left out of it as well; you've impressed him, that's for certain." There was some ugly enviousness in Thistletwaithe's voice, but far less the newly minted spy would have expected from a statement like that. This, more than his dishevelled blond hair or nervous eyes, told Severus how much the other boy was rattled, which in turn only brought more light to the fact that for some reason, he trusted Severus to handle this situation.
"What, are you expecting something of me?" Severus asked him, just on this side of harsh, when the other boy continued to look at him expectantly.
"I wondered if that plan of yours had some part of it set up so as to help me and Philes get out of it; we were as much victims as you."
Severus opened his mouth, almost choking on the unsaid vitriol as his mind registered the potential of the situation. Hadn't he just thought that Thistletwaithe trusted him? Sternly ordering his mind, he managed to force his tone to a more sympathetic one. This was, after all, the first opportunity for his new job – whether or not he had Rosier's protection, Severus knew Dumbledore wouldn't let the Aurors get to him, and the other boys were too rattled to see his manipulations for the deeper web he'd need to spin in the coming years if he was to be effective as a spy. He needed to take advantage of that.
"I have to think on it, but I'll let you know."
And that appeared to be exactly what Thistletwaithe was looking for.
Stone, on the other hand, gave him a very sharp look the next time they saw each other, and, if anything, looked forbiddingly serious as he dragged Severus to a corner of the study room and raised silencing spells.
"Is Dumbledore taking care of it?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Snape, I suggest you not play dumb with me," the black-skinned boy warned.
"Why would you care?"
"Because I have basic human decency, and what was done to those seventh-years is wrong."
"Now who's playing dumb?"
"It's none of your business why I care. Now answer the bloody question!" he hissed out, eyes sweeping over the room sharply.
Severus shrugged, heartbeat picking up speed.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You think he tells me anything, Stone? It bloody means 'I don't fucking know', all right?" Severus shot back, keeping his voice pitched low. "All I know is that he's aware of what went on during the attack."
"He's covering for you, isn't he?"
Of all his dormmates, Michael Stone was by far the most intelligent one, and that had weighed in heavily when Severus had decided whom to trust to cover for him during his sessions with the Headmaster. But this was the other side of that coin – by the same account, Stone knew that Severus' association with Dumbledore wasn't to the benefit of the other Slytherins, and he could read between the lines with no difficulty.
Licking his lips, Severus held Stone's gaze, and said nothing. After several long, long moments of silence, Stone swore and stepped back.
"Are you a spy?"
"What?"
"Are. you. his. bloody. spy?"
One day, that's how long it had taken for him to be found out. One bloody day, and he'd mucked it up!
Except, it was Stone, who'd known something was up for months, probably even before Severus had managed to admit it to himself. It wasn't one day, it was three months. It didn't change anything though; this was still too dangerous to admit, even to Stone. So long as the other boy had no proof, he couldn't do anything outright against Severus, and Severus wasn't about to give him admission of guilt, no bloody way.
Stone didn't back down. The epitome of his name, he stood still and kept up his part of their silent staring match, while Severus tried to find something, anything, to turn the other boy off the scent. He was high on adrenaline, his ears ringing with his heartbeat and the rush of blood, but the instinctive clarity he knew he had in these moments wasn't there, because the fact was that, apart from every single reason he had not to trust the boy before him, he wanted to tell him, wanted to have one person who knew and understood, wanted him to be Lily. And that messed with his mind until the avenues of escape became invisible to him.
But he had to say something. Swallowing past his dry throat, he opened his mouth.
"There's no other evidence," came out, without much of his brain's input. "Other than my testimony."
And there it was – indirect, veiled in inconsequence – the truth that the other boy was looking for. If he could see it, then Severus' fate was sealed.
"So nothing's going to be done directly," Stone reformulated Severus' words and nodded. He looked at Severus for a while longer, obviously debating something with himself, before shocking the greasy-haired Slytherin speechless by extending his hand. "Mickey Bricks is for friends."
A drop of sweat sliding past his ear, Severus lifted his arm and grabbed Stone's hand in a tight grip, relief flooding him; it seemed he truly did have one person in Slytherin in his corner.
"What are you going to do?"
"You'll know it when it happens. You and I have an agreement, and I'll keep to it; your secret is safe with me, Snape."
"Severus. It's Severus."
It felt like sealing some sort of silent pact.
Lily finally visited the hospital wing on Sunday morning, feeling as if her chest was too tight and her muscles too achy. Madam Pomfrey, rummaging through one of the cabinets near the door, offered her a quiet 'good morning' and pointed her towards the end of the long room, where two wide privacy screens shielded the occupied beds from view. Swallowing with difficulty, Lily forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and approach the sectioned area.
Two out of four beds, on opposite sides of the section, were occupied. To the left was a long-faced, auburn-haired boy, whose throat was swathed in what seemed like miles of bandages – Jasper Fairlot. Clara Shanwick was in a wheelchair near his bed, her feet propped up lightly, bandaged so heavily she looked like she had on skiing shoes. Amir Shafiq, the Head Boy, sat on the other side of Jasper's bed, the only one who looked no worse for wear. And on the other side of the section, in the part that was heavily darkened not only by window blinds but also by some sort of magic that diverted the pathway of light, laying prone on the bed, was the last boy, skin pale as chalk contrasting intensely with his dark hair. He seemed to be whimpering, or perhaps moaning, a low, continuous drone that started rubbing Lily's nerves raw within seconds.
"Hello," she said quietly, walking over to the three seventh-years. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Lily, hello," Clara greeted her with a wan smile. "Thank you for coming; it's good to see you. Amir, Jasper, this is Lily Evans, she's Alice's friend. Lily, I don't believe you've met Amir and Jasper yet, right?"
"Yes, no, we've not met," she answered. "Nice to meet you both."
"Pleasure to have met you," the Hufflepuff Head Boy answered. His fellow Hufflepuff smiled and gave her a finger wave, but otherwise stayed quiet. Lily, vaguely pointing towards one of the chairs up against the back wall, waited until Clara nodded before summoning the chair as quietly as she could. Pocketing her wand, she sat down and tried to compose herself.
"How are you?"
Clara released a heavy sigh, shrugging with one shoulder lightly.
"On pain relievers. They make me somewhat woozy, but it's better than... anyway, it's second-degree burns for the most part, but they're of the kind that cannot be healed by magic, so I won't be walking for a month or two."
"Oh, Clara," Lily whispered, unable to help herself.
"At least the curse had been removed well before we were found; if it had been allowed to work until we'd gotten to the hospital wing, you'd have lost both your feet," Amir Shafiq noted, and Lily shivered.
"Jasper's vocal cords are shot to hell," Clara continued, voice subdued. "We've no idea if he'll regain his proper voice, let alone how he'll be taking the N.E.W.T.s in a week's time. Amir was the lucky one; he just got hit with a Stunner."
"And you don't remember anything?"
Jasper shook his head, while Amir sighed.
"No. The Headmaster is certain we've been Obliviated."
"It wouldn't even be that terrible, if not for..."
Clara fell silent, her eyes moving to observe their last friend, in the dark corner of the room.
"They used old Dark Magic on him," Amir explained softly, when it became obvious that Clara wouldn't be going on with her sentence. "Headmaster Dumbledore figured out what the curse was – Old English, Middle High German, from the Saxony region, I cannot imagine where a student could have come upon such a spell in the first place – and it's left damage. So did the removal of the curse. He would have been all right if anyone had known the counter-curse, but with the Obliviation we suffered... the Headmaster had to do remove it by brute force." Clara whimpered softly, and Jasper grasped her hand where it rested near his hip on the bed. Lily's throat constricted. "The Head Healer of St. Mungo's is working with the Headmaster to bring in a specialist from the continent. The healers are hoping that someone more familiar with German-based magic would know how to alleviate the damage, but until then he is mostly sedated; if he has an hour or two of lucid periods a day, it's more than expected."
"They must be found, they simply must."
"My father is getting the Aurors involved," Amir told his distressed friend. "And Dumbledore won't let this pass, either."
"I should think not," Lily almost exclaimed. "He's the Headmaster! It's his duty to find the people responsible and remove them from the school!"
To her surprise, the looks she got were not in the least what she was expecting – Jasper appeared mostly amused by her outburst, while Amir looked a little exasperated and Clara seemed almost pitying.
"What?" Lily asked them, feeling suddenly extremely self-conscious.
"The wizarding world doesn't... necessarily put the same emphasis on child protection that the Muggle world does," Clara explained, grimacing lightly.
"Headmaster Dumbledore also doesn't hold the school in nearly as high importance as everyone believes," Amir added. "He is in many ways a competent headmaster, but he is not a pedagogist so much as a politician, and his actions reflect that. Hogwarts has always been a politicised institution, and the fact is that Professor Dumbledore uses it and his posting in it as such."
"But... he can't just let this go!" Lily found herself gasping, aghast at the very thought.
"He won't," Amir assured her. "But not for the reasons you think. He won't let it pass because, for one thing, my father has the ear of several highly-positioned individuals within the Ministry that will make certain this is a prominent thing; and for another, because a message needs to be sent, and this is exactly the correct situation to use for it."
"Message? To whom?"
"To his opponents," Clara said. "To those who'd ordered the attacks on us."
"Is it true, then?" Lily asked pointedly. "The reason behind your attack. You were targeted?"
The three seventh-years exchanged looks that made the lone Gryffindor frown, but she waited them out, a little apprehensive about how this might develop. She had a feeling Peter had been right when he'd told her Clara's group was the one working for Dumbledore, and their actions only served to reinforce that conviction.
It was Clara who turned back to her, and Lily felt her hopes drop; Amir seemed like the leader, not only because he was the Head Boy and the heir to a Pure-blood family of high standing, but also because of his assertive attitude throughout this visit, because he was the one taking the lead even though Lily was Clara's acquaintance, not his. The fact that he wasn't addressing her no doubt meant she'd not be getting much of anything out of the group.
"We are quite certain that we were targeted specifically, by people who believe the reason that you refer to."
Which didn't meant the reason had to actually be true, was what Clara meant. They didn't want Lily to have any concrete confirmation of her suspicions.
"I want to help," she told the older girl softly. "Tell me how, and I'll do it."
Clara smiled. "I app–"
The blood-curdling scream made Lily jump in her seat in fright, heart beating wildly in her chest and her hand automatically reaching for her wand, even as her ears continued to ring from the sound. By the time she found herself standing up and turning towards the noise, Amir was already half-way across the room, running to Holland Vemeer's side, and only then did Lily realise it was this boy who was releasing such awful, awful noise, these screams that broke into loud whines only to pick back up again.
Madam Pomfrey ran in a second or two later, and it was only Clara's soft sob close enough for Lily to pick up over the Ravenclaw boy's pain-filled screams that kept her rooted to the spot, instead of escaping the hospital wing as soon as she could. Instead, she gripped Clara's hand tightly, the older girl squeezing Lily's fingers mercilessly, as the two of them and Jasper waited for Madam Pomfrey to calm the injured boy.
It was probably only half a minute or close to it; certainly it couldn't have been anything resembling long, not with the Matron's proficiency. But to Lily, those were some of the longest seconds of her life, as she stood impotently and watched another teenager suffer. By the end of it, there wasn't a single thought left in her mind about trying to volunteer her help to anyone, all of it blown away by the sight she'd witnessed.
She made paltry excuses and farewells to the three seventh-years and escaped the hospital wing as quickly as she could, only managing two floors before her gagging reflex overcame her and she had to hug the toilet seat while her stomach emptied itself.
She never wanted to witness anything like this again.
By the end of the weekend, the whole school was extremely familiar with what had happened, and the gossip mill blame was being placed on the seventh-year Slytherins, which afforded Severus and the other four culprits at least a little more breathing room. The tension between them had remained palpable, with Mulciber keeping himself from going after Avery only because he couldn't afford to antagonise Rosier in any way, shape or form, as Avery was officially under the seventh-year's protection. On the other hand, Thistletwaithe and Philes were shunning the two boys, not openly enough for anyone in the other houses to tell, but certainly enough that the rest of the upper-years had noticed things were tense between the fifth-years. That, in turn, meant that Severus wasn't given much of a choice when it came to keeping good terms with all of them – Thistletwaithe and Philes considered him of like mind with them, and it was either keep close with them or alienate them by trying to repair things with Mulciber and Avery. Suffice it to say, it wasn't too difficult a decision for Severus to make, even if it wasn't the most productive one in the long run, though Rosier's interest in him did alleviate some of the pressure on that front.
Not that Severus felt he had any breathing room in this situation, not really. The sense of paranoia didn't leave him, which affected not only his interactions with everyone around him, but also his sleep, his concentration and his temper. He threw himself into the reading of the Occlumency book Dumbledore had given him, desperate for some sort of buffer between himself and the stress of it all, but because he didn't dare read it where one of the Slytherin boys could see, he was left only with moments when he knew he could slip away from them or during the night, neither of which helped him feel prepared for the O.W.L.s starting next week. And it certainly didn't help him hold a civil conversation with Lily.
Because of course he'd forgotten that they'd agreed to do final revisions together on Sunday, and didn't show up at the library, so that by the time she tracked him down in one of the empty dungeon classrooms, she was thoroughly annoyed with him.
"I forgot," was all the justification he could give her.
"You forgot?! You got all upset with me when I forgot about our study session, but now you forgot and it's ok?!"
"Well at least now you can't claim ignorance anymore," he sneered back, ticked off by her attitude, because what right did she have to attack him about this, when she'd forgotten because it had suited her better to go frolicking off with the werewolf, and he'd forgotten because he was barely keeping his head above water as was? "And if I remember correctly, Lily, you are the one who didn't show up twice, so if you want to tally it up, I still come out ahead, don't I?"
"There's talk about Rosier's group being responsible for what happened to Clara Shanwick and her friends. Is that true?" she asked coldly, not rising to his bait, which made him even angrier, and this only angered him all the more because they'd hashed this out – that she'd said she'd come back that day and then hadn't – more or less to Severus' satisfaction.
Her quite dirty and dishevelled appearance had been proof enough of her story about being caught by unruly castle magic. Aside from that, the fact was that he'd felt good enough after their earlier talk to completely lose himself in his experimentation, to the point he'd honestly not even noticed she wasn't there until his stomach had reminded him that it was almost past lunch hour, which had served to give plenty of credence to her insistence that she felt excluded when they got to potioneering experimentation and made him feel like a heel. Perhaps what had tempered his hurt and anger about the fact she'd not shown up was partly that guilt at being upset with her for not noticing something important to him when he'd been just as ignorant of something that had been bothering her. Maybe it was simply that for once he'd truly found himself believing her explanation about circumstances conspiring against them, because that was the story of his life sometimes and because he knew she'd not forgotten this time, not with the way she'd almost tripped over herself in her haste to explain the moment she'd walked into the Great Hall, wearing her story literally on her roughed up hands. In either case, Severus had quite consciously decided to take the Headmaster's advice about not letting anger control him, and had declared the matter closed, if not forgotten.
That resolution had stuck until now, when it had suddenly risen up as an issue again, and this made him angry at himself because there were so many other things that hung in the air between them that their friendship really didn't need him adding resolved matters on top of all the other shit, to say nothing of it being yet another example of his lack of mental discipline that was the reason he'd been in a state of hyperawareness since becoming Dumbledore's spy.
He as angry at Lily for attacking him, he was angry at Dumbledore for manipulating him, he was angry at Mulciber and Avery for forcing his hand, he was angry at the Marauders for constantly hounding him, he was fucking angry at the universe for saddling him with his shitty lot in life, and now he was even angry with himself for being a complete idiot, and it was all coalescing into hot, sharp confrontational attitude at what was obviously Lily's jumping to conclusions she did not have any proof of – because what the sodding hell had Lily connected in her head to be asking him about Rosier's activities, as if she thought it a done deal that he was joining what he knew she designated as 'that evil group' to herself?
So he yelled out, quite aggressively: "How the bloody hell should I know?!"
"Well, you're the one who's trying to crawl up that sod's arse, Severus, you and your friends."
He found himself jumping to his feet, the book landing with a heavy thump on the stone floor.
"Am I your target dummy, Lily?!" he hissed at her, beyond caring when she jerked back to avoid his spittle. "Is that all I'm good for you anymore?! Whenever something goes to shit in this place, I'm automatically to blame because I don't think like you do?"
"I've been to see them," Lily shot back, recovering the lost ground in a flash and advancing until she was so close he could almost feel her breath on his face, "Clara's feet are a ruin! She's stuck in a wheelchair, until who knows when, because of those bastards who attacked her! Jasper Fairlot can't talk, and might never recover his voice, because of what was done to him! Holland Vemeer suffers such headaches that Madam Pomfrey almost had to put him in a coma with Draught of the Living Death! Dark Magic that even Dumbledore wasn't sure how to remove, and has to get a specialist from West Germany to try fixing the damage! So don't you dare take the high stand with me on this, Severus, don't you dare, and don't play dumb with me, because you and I both know that those four were targeted for choosing to fight for Dumbledore, and that it was the Slytherin Death Eaters who'd done it, and do not even try to insult my intelligence by claiming that Mulciber and Avery haven't set their sights on joining that fucking monster! Your so-called friends, with whom you see nothing wrong, want to hurt innocent people like that! For fun!"
"And your friends don't hurt people for fun? Your precious werewolf, who only ever stands idly by while his pals attack us Slytherins?! Your girlfriends, who wouldn't deign to acknowledge a kicked student on the ground if that student wore green? Potter and Black, you think they'd hesitate for a second to attack an innocent student if they thought they could justify it?!"
"They're not putting people in the hospital with Dark Magic!"
"And I am?! When have I ever put another student in the hospital that wasn't Potter and his gang?!"
"Birds of a feather, Severus," she spat.
"Oh, so you get to judge me by the people I live with, and I'm forbidden from judging you by the people you live with," he said coldly, straightening to his full height and feeling worse than shit and beyond furious because of it, because he was betraying the only true friends besides her he'd ever had, was acting the spy and binding his life forever to Dumbledore's cause and war plans, for her, and all she ever said to him anymore was her own brand of judgmental condescension. And it was a different kind of fury, too – not the kind that made his tongue trip over itself and words stick in his throat, but the kind that gave crystalline clarity of purpose. "Talk about a double standard, Lily. See, that's why I hate Muggle-borns! Because you give yourself the right to pass judgment on everyone else without one speck of understanding as to who we are and how we think and why we've come to be that way! You measure everything by your Muggle standards and find us Magicals wanting, and then you feel insulted when we give you the same treatment!"
"I'm a Magical as much as you are!" she screamed out, voice ringing in the empty room and effectively putting a stop to the escalation of the argument. "And I don't judge you by Muggle standards, Severus, I judge you by human standards, and that has nothing to do with whether you can wave a piece of wood around and make things happen."
"That's patently untrue," he answered. "And if you don't believe me on it, Lily, maybe you should ask you darling sister whether you treat her the same as you treat your magical friends, because you seem to have missed the fact that all those letters of hers have been positively dripping hostility towards you and your judgment. And then come back to me and try to convince me that you're the only one whose opinion is ever right."
Pure fury flashed through her green eyes. "I may not be right, Severus, but that does not make you right, either, and before you go accusing me of judgmental treatment, take a long, hard look at the way you're judging ninety-nine percent of humans by the action of one miserable bastard that your mother, a witch, happened to choose as her husband and your father. You think I'm judgmental? You, who's defending a group that tried to kill four teenagers!? Well, fuck. you."
Then she was out of the room, and all Severus could do was roar in anger and kick the first things that landed under his foot, repeatedly, until he was rid of everything he'd been holding in for days.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
A/N: Er... did anyone really expect that Dumbledore would sacrifice a potentially extremely useful spy for the sake of doing justice by four random students? Severus really isn't that lucky. Also, I feel like I should point out that Dumbledore's explanation regarding Severus' Patronus isn't my own full view of this little quirk of the spell (namely, I think that the fact one's Patronus changes to mirror another's is far more complex than simply saying 'oh, you're really really in love with this person', and that 'shaping' doesn't necessarily have to mean in a good way). We're not nearly done with the Patronus Charm yet.
With regard to the fight, do keep in mind when forming your opinion on it that it takes place mere hours after Lily witnessed a boy screaming in extreme pain in the hospital wing for which most of the school is already blaming the Slytherins, and that she's by no means had enough time to process it fully.