Yes, I still exist.


Watching through a gap in the shelves, Draco felt his own eyes narrow into a suspicious squint.

It hadn't been hard to find a time to corner Blaise — Draco had been taught since childhood by multiple people to observe and understand as much as possible, and Blaise wasn't trying to hide. For some unfathomable reason, Greengrass and Davis were both taking Muggle Studies. He really didn't understand why. Davis, of course, had a muggleborn mother, so he would figure if she really had to know anything about muggles she could just ask. Greengrass didn't have the same resources, true, but he couldn't imagine why she cared to learn. No idea why either could possibly think it worth the time investment. Not too important at the moment, though.

They were both presently in Muggle Studies, but Blaise wasn't, in the library as he almost always was. It was the only time Draco had really been able to think of he could get Blaise on his own. He was hardly ever seen out of Greengrass and Davis's company — so consistently there were rumours going around about the three of them, in fact, but Draco was nearly certain they were baseless — and he would rather not have to try to make peace with all three of them at the same time. That just sounded far more complicated than necessary.

But, unfortunately, it turned out Blaise wasn't alone. He was sitting at his usual table in the middle of the library, yes, but rather than just silently working on whatever, he was having a whispered conversation with Melantha. He couldn't tell what they were talking about from here, of course, not without a listening charm one or both would certainly notice. But by the way Melantha kept glaring, how Blaise kept smirking, he figured Blaise was probably teasing her about something. Blaise did that.

He got at least a minor clue when Blaise leaned forward a bit, lightly flicked the red and gold trim on Melantha's robe with a finger, whatever he said getting a snort and a roll of Melantha's eyes in response. Whatever they were talking about, Melantha must have said or done something not very Gryffindor-ish, and Blaise was handling it with his usual lack of subtlety.

Not that Draco would expect Melantha to be too Gryffindor-ish. She had told him the only reason she hadn't been sent to Slytherin was because she'd asked not to be, after all.

And this wasn't making him happy. Considering his own uncertainties involving Blaise... He was concerned. Sure, he didn't know Melantha very well, they weren't exactly close. But that didn't mean he would stand back and do nothing while a lilin did something to her against her will.

He let out a sigh, using his last moment in private to rub at his eyes. Because of course this just had to get more complicated. He didn't know why he hadn't anticipated something like this.

A flick brought his wand into his hand, a quick tap against the enchanted band about his wrist drawing a barely noticeable burst of magic. The metal tingled against his skin, just for a moment, before going still again, the shivering of energy contained within just at the edge of his ability to detect. Slipping his wand back into its holster, he reached into a pocket, popped the seal off of the little bottle, downed the potion Sev had given him in a single draw. Much like the enchantment a moment ago, there was a brief flicker of magical fields aligning, a tingling shiver trailing up his spine, through his skull. Then it was over, any signs of the potion's presence subtle enough Draco couldn't even feel it. He'd just have to trust Sev knew what he was doing.

The empty bottle again disappearing into a pocket, one last breath in isolation, and Draco walked around the bookshelf, making straight for the table a short distance away. With the angle he was approaching from, Melantha saw him coming first, a quick spasm of displeasure crossing her face. It hadn't escaped Draco's notice that Melantha was strongly predisposed to dislike him. He wasn't certain exactly why — less-than-flattering dissertations from Granger and Potter and the Weasleys, he assumed — but she always acted perfectly polite and reasonable, so he'd chosen to ignore it. He came up to within a few steps of the table, opened his mouth to speak.

And Blaise beat him to it. Of course. His head tipping atop the back of his chair to crookedly grin up at him, Blaise said, 'My my, look who it is! It's been so long, Draco dear, I would almost think you don't like me.'

Draco managed not to glare, if only barely. He knew Blaise had only called him that to annoy him, but knowing that didn't stop it from working. 'Good morning, Zabini. Cousin,' with a quick nod at Melantha.

'Ach.' A hand coming up to his chest, an expression of exaggerated despair coming to his face, Blaise slumped somewhat in his chair. 'I've been demoted to Zabini. How cruel, Draco. I'm hurt.'

Unsurprisingly, there was a bit of tingling carried into his skin from Sev's lie-detecting enchantment, but it was weaker than he'd expected. Which didn't necessarily mean anything — Draco hadn't had the opportunity to experiment with how it worked on sarcasm, and he hadn't thought to ask. 'Must you always be so dramatic?'

His grin again spreading across his face, Blaise said, 'Come now, you know the answer to that.'

Draco sighed. Yes, he did at that. Bloody silly ponce. He noticed Melantha was giving the two of them an odd, suspicious frown, eyes jumping from one to the other, apparently reading something into this, but Draco couldn't take the time to address that even if he'd wanted to explain. He did have a limited amount of time before the potion wore off, after all. 'I need to speak with you for a moment. If you'd excuse us, Melantha.'

Somewhat unexpectedly, Blaise was already tipping up to his feet to follow him off, but even as he stood Melantha was giving Draco a suspicious glare. 'What would you have to talk with him about?'

'I'm sorry, Cousin, that's private.'

And Melantha was still glaring, eyes somewhat narrowed, flicking between the two of them. Draco realised she was concerned he was going to...he didn't know, really. She did realise Blaise was a lilin, right? What exactly did she think he would even be capable of doing to him? For that matter, hadn't she and Blaise only met back in September? A little odd that Melantha was already this protective of him.

But, well. Blacks.

Thankfully, they left the table without any more undue fuss, Draco leading Blaise into an isolated corner of the Divination section. Nobody ever came here, it'd do. He pulled out his wand, quickly snapped off a few privacy and silencing charms, then turned back to Blaise. Who actually looked serious for once. The constant smirk had disappeared, his expression looking only mildly curious. Which was odd — Draco hadn't been certain Blaise even knew how to take anything seriously. Perhaps the silly act a moment ago had just been for Melantha's benefit? Who knew. Forcing his voice as calm as he possibly could, Draco said, 'I'm going to ask you a couple questions, and I need you to actually take it seriously, if you are even capable of such a thing.'

'You want to know if I raped you.'

Draco somehow managed not to flinch at that. Yes, just come out and say it, why didn't he? Myrðin... 'Well, yes, to put it bluntly.'

'Why not? You were going to dance around the point for ages, and you call me silly.' Blaise let out a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest, falling to lean against the bookshelf to his side. 'No, of course I didn't. Is that why you've been avoiding me since, shite, March?'

And now he was trying not to glare. Not for anything Blaise had said specifically. But there was a sense in his expression, the slightest hint on his voice, that Draco was being ridiculous. That that should have been obvious, Blaise had no idea where he was getting these crazy ideas from. But the thought hadn't come out of nothing, it was a legitimate concern, so he couldn't help feeling a bit angry. 'And you're saying you can't influence me to do whatever you want against my will.'

Blaise rolled his eyes; Draco was quite suddenly tempted to hex him. 'Sure, I can. I'm magically capable. But then, so are you, with proper application of curses or potions. Should I wonder the same thing, whether my mind had been my own?' Draco opened his mouth to say something about it not being nearly the same thing, but Blaise went on before he could, voice raised slightly. 'Just because I can do something doesn't mean I will. You've been listening to too much pureblood propaganda, Draco. Not that that's news. No, I didn't influence you. There, ha—'

Draco nearly jumped when Sev's lie-detecting enchantment tingled against his wrist. Blaise broke off in mid-syllable at the same moment, staring down at the band hidden under Draco's sleeve. And he thought he could slap himself — being more purely creatures of magic, lilin could naturally feel spells and enchantments with far greater precision than most mages could without long training. That was just inconvenient. The tingling was mild enough Draco knew it hadn't been a serious lie — if he had to guess, Blaise had given him a few nudges when they'd been younger, probably in first year, which had been enough to trip the enchantment — but now Blaise would know Draco had been testing him. That would be awkward to explain. Especially since Blaise, being Blaise, would probably never let him forget it. And tell Greengrass and Davis, so they could help.

Maybe trying to make nice with the three of them had been a bad idea...

His head tilting slightly, Blaise said, 'I am a fluffy purple elephant with pink stripes.' This time, when the enchantment went off, it was sharp and piercing enough Draco winced. 'Huh. Neat.' Blaise paused, clearly thinking to himself for a moment. 'It can be somewhat hard to control sometimes, so it is altogether possible, over the last couple years, I might have been subtly swaying you to think more kindly of me, if only because I would rather have friends than enemies. If I ever did influence you at all, it wasn't intentional.' Sev's enchantment responded, with a mild, irritating tingling, an unpleasant itch. Blaise frowned down at it. 'Okay, excluding a few times in first year, when you were being a prat and I was just trying to get you to leave me alone. And I was still immature then, so it probably didn't even work very well. Other than that, I've never done it consciously.' The enchantment didn't respond at all. Blaise nodded, seemingly satisfied. 'Was that all?'

Draco almost thought he might be slightly annoyed. Not for anything explicit. Assuming he could trust Sev's work, which he figured he could, Blaise was telling the truth. He really hadn't done anything with Draco's head. Nothing significant, anyway, and not out of malice. Not even intentionally. He didn't even want to know what going to Beauxbatons would be like — that many lilin and veela in one building, not to mention vampires and various halfbreeds, that was just asking for trouble. But, anyway, he was honestly somewhat relieved. Nothing untoward had happened. It was fine.

No, it was just how...subtly dismissive Blaise was being. He couldn't even put his finger on exactly what, or how. Just the feeling he got. It was just slightly off somehow. And Draco couldn't help being a bit annoyed about it, because he had had legitimate concerns, and Blaise just—

And suddenly he got it. 'You're offended.'

Blaise raised a single eyebrow, his expression somehow almost inhumanly exasperated. 'Of course I'm offended, you bloody prat. You came here to accuse me of raping you, the entirety of your suspicions based solely on the fact that I'm not human. Did you expect me to not be offended?' He gave a light sniff, shaking his head a little.

For long seconds, Draco could only stare at him. Well, when he put it that way, that did sound rather terrible, didn't it? Finally, he managed to find his voice again. 'That's not why. At least, not entirely.'

Blaise rolled his eyes. 'If you say so, Draco. No reason to strain anything trying to justify yourself. I know how you would have been taught to think of me and my kind growing up. Annoying, but I'm used to it by now.'

'It's not—' Draco forced out his breath in a sigh, nearly lifted a hand to run a hand through his hair before catching himself. 'Do we have to talk about this?' He would vociferously deny any accusation he was whining. No, of course not. That had been nothing but an impeccably dignified objection to an unseemly topic of conversation, yes.

'Hey, I'm not the one who came along and dragged you into a corner for a magically-augmented interrogation.' Just above a whisper, Blaise muttered, 'Lie-detecting spells, honestly.'

Draco failed to hold back a wince. Okay, now that it was clear Blaise hadn't done anything to him, and just how annoyed he clearly was with the implication he might have, Draco was starting to think it was possible he'd gotten a little...carried away. Which he knew he had a bad habit of doing, but that didn't exactly make it better. If it was such a bad idea, though, why hadn't Sev— He didn't really know Blaise at all, so couldn't effectively make an evaluation of what he might or might not have done, that was why, obviously.

True, Draco didn't know Blaise all that well either. They hadn't exactly moved in the same circles growing up. Father didn't tolerate even being in the same room as Lady Zabini if he could help it, and she didn't like him any better. They had a long-standing mutual hatred, in fact. He'd been told that, during his parents' courtship, Zabini had once gone so far as threatening his father with a very unpleasant death should he do anything to unnecessarily harm Mother. Zabini had been a friend and occasional lover to his aunt Bellatrix since their first year at Hogwarts, and apparently some sisterly protectiveness had rubbed off. From what Mother had said, she hadn't minded it that much — annoying at times, yes, but Zabini was at least entertaining, and not at all a bad person to have watching her back. But it had been Father who had controlled who he would be exposed to, so it had been his preferences and connections that had dominated Draco's early life. If Mother had been in control, he might have seen quite a bit of Blaise growing up, but as it happened they hadn't even met until their first night here.

And before last year, they'd barely interacted at all. But even with what little he did know... He should have known better. He'd just gotten scared, and getting scared had made him stupid.

He was starting to wonder if this whole magically-augmented interrogation, as Blaise had put it, wasn't ill-advised. And by "ill-advised" he meant a potentially fatal mistake.

And with how things stood with many of his former friends, it was all too possible he was speaking literally.

'I mean,' Blaise was saying, 'I sort of assumed you'd gone back to being a racist prick. Had gotten over whatever temporary insanity had inspired you to dirty yourself by partaking in an illicit affair with such a filthy creature as yours truly. I'm not sure what the point of this whole thing is. I honestly didn't expect to really hear from you again.'

The band about Draco's wrist barely twinged at all — that was exactly what he'd thought. And he'd delivered that whole thing flatly and calmly, but Draco still felt like cringing. Not from any accusation or hurt or anger on his voice, no, there was none to be affected by, but from the knowledge that Draco had said that exact sort of thing before. Sort of a lot, actually. Even to Blaise himself, back in first year. Myrðin, it was physically painful sometimes remembering some of the shite he'd said and done when he'd been younger, he preferred to avoid thinking about it. 'It's not just because you're... I mean, I don't really...' Draco shook his head to himself; he had no bloody clue what he was saying. 'I didn't mean to come off as a racist prick—' Blaise's lips twitched. '—but I just had to be sure. I wasn't really acting like myself, you know, and I just... I had to be sure.'

Blaise blankly stared at him, just for a second, before letting out a long sigh, his eyes tipping to the ceiling. 'Not unreasonable, I suppose.' The lie-detecting enchantment tingled against Draco's wrist, and Blaise shot a surly look in its direction, but didn't address it. 'But why now? That was nearly a year ago. I can't imagine you really procrastinated that long.'

Oh, this was going to be awkward. Draco took in a long breath, mentally preparing himself for...well, he wasn't sure exactly. It wasn't going to be fun in any case. 'I intend to approach the three of you. I figured it would make it easier to have the air between us cleared beforehand.'

'Why would you—?' Blaise cut off in mid-sentence, nodding to himself. 'Right, the junior Death Eaters. You're looking for protection.'

'To put it bluntly.' He could have denied it, of course, but it would have been disingenuous, and Blaise was intelligent enough to know it. No real gain in it. He hesitated a moment, not exactly sure how to phrase what he was trying to say. Eh, close enough. 'I'd like to think I'm a bit less of an idiot these days. It's been a while since I've actually been a racist prick—' Him saying that was amusing Blaise far too much. '—but I just haven't been acting like it. Politics, you know. It's time to acknowledge reality, I suppose. And I realise I've done absolutely nothing to endear myself to you three in the meantime, but...'

Blaise's lips settled into a smirk, dark eyes glinting with amusement. 'I don't know, in my case at least, I can think of a couple things...' It was very, very clear from his suggestive tone what he was talking about.

With a rather undignified scoff, Draco said, 'Myrðin, Blaise, do you have to do that?'

'Don't know why you bother asking questions you already know the answers to.' After a few seconds holding the tilt to his lips, Blaise's face fell into a far more serious expression. Cautious, Draco might call it, but it was mild enough he couldn't be sure. 'You know Daphne is going to be far harder to convince than me. I mean, I'm inclined to trust this change of heart of yours is legitimate — it does help that your mother has told mine some things, so I've heard a little third-hand — but I doubt she will.'

Draco blinked. 'Greengrass? Not Davis?'

'Nah, Tracey is used to supremacist arses treating her like shite under their boots. She gets it from her own family, after all.' Blaise shrugged, as though the implications of that statement weren't incredibly depressing. 'I suspect it wouldn't take very much to convince her to go along with it. She'll be keeping an eye on you, I expect, probably for years, waiting for the knife in her back, and I doubt she'll be exactly nice, but that's just Tracey. No, Daphne is the one you're going to have to work to convince.'

'What did I ever do to Greengrass?' A couple comments here and there involving Davis, maybe, but never anything that bad...

But there Blaise was giving him an incredulous look. 'You're kidding, right? Isn't that obvious? What you did to Daphne is what you did to Tracey. It's not that easy to make Daphne really angry, but the one thing that will instantly put someone on her bad side is being cruel to Tracey. Which you've been doing since we were children. Tracey may be used to it, and will likely overlook it, but Daphne isn't, and won't.'

'Oh.' When he thought about it, that did make a bit of sense. Lady Greengrass and Davis's father had been friends at Hogwarts, Sev had told him, so the two had known each other for a very long time — in fact, Draco suspected spending so much time with Davis from so young is why the pureblood elitism endemic to most Noble Houses never really took hold in Greengrass. Though, come to think of it, Sev had mentioned Lady Greengrass had also been friends with Lily Potter, that could have something to do with it. Even before they'd become lovers, Davis had been Greengrass's oldest and closest friend. And, ever since they'd been young children, Draco had not been exactly kind to her. One voice among many, incessantly telling Davis they would rather she didn't exist, hating her for something she couldn't control, simply for who her mother was. And with how Greengrass could be sometimes...

Yeah. This wasn't going to be easy.

He let out a long sigh, surrendering to the temptation to rub at his suddenly aching forehead with his tips of his fingers. 'I don't suppose you have any suggestions.'

'Ah, I would think if you could somehow get Tracey on your side first, that'll help. Since much of the reason you're doing this in the first place is because the supremacist idiots hate you for supporting your mother, that might be less impossible than it sounds. I'll arrange a meeting sometime this week.' Blaise fell silent, but Draco could tell by the hesitant tilt to his features he wasn't done yet. After a few seconds, he added, 'Making nice with Mel wouldn't hurt, either. You can come sit with us until we have to go to class here, if you have nothing better to do. Though, if you make her too annoyed, I will ask you to leave, fair warning.'

'How would that help?' Not that Draco was opposed, of course, he just didn't see the connection. Actually, Mother had already told him it would be wise to get on more friendly terms with his Black cousins anyway, especially Melantha. Since they were both under the protection of their House, it was the smart thing to do, and he would be spending breaks at Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future, so it would just make things smoother if Melantha were less warily tense around him. He'd made some minimal progress with the triplets — Persephone, technically, but he didn't think the distinction was relevant — but not so much with Melantha. He should probably work on that anyway.

Blaise gave a little shrug. 'Daphne has a soft spot for her. I wonder why.' Draco gave him a look at the sarcasm on that, getting a slightly exasperated one in return. 'An obviously volatile halfblood, clearly with a few emotional issues — I don't think I have to tell you that, you're observant enough. Let's think, who does that remind you of?' Blaise rolled his eyes. 'They even look alike.'

Well, yes, he had noticed the resemblance between Melantha and Davis. Behaviorally, he meant, though they were vaguely similar physically as well. Not unexpected, they were related. He assumed, anyway — he still didn't actually know who Melantha's parents were, but there had been enough marriages between their Houses, and Houses they had independently intermarried with, that they were certainly cousins of one degree or another. (They were both related to him too, of course, Melantha just more closely.) But anyway, it wasn't unreasonable Greengrass might be soft on her, now that he thought about it. 'Yes, I see what you mean.' Well, if he was given an opportunity to solve two problems at once, no real reason to not take it. 'We can go now, unless you had anything else you wanted to discuss.'

'Nah, I'm good.' His lips tilted into a smirk again. 'You're not entirely off the hook yet, of course, but it can wait.' Without another word, Blaise turned on his heel, and started walking back off through the library.

After dispelling the privacy charms he'd laid, and deactivating Sev's lie-detecting enchantment while he was at it, Draco followed Blaise through the stacks. And then let out a sigh when, the instant they came into view again, Melantha pierced him with a suspicious glare, the hints of her magic thick in the air pinching at his skin. This was going to be bracing.

The things he did for his mother, honestly...


The girl was late.

Some part of him would like to be able to say he wasn't surprised. Of course she was going to be late, Severus wouldn't expect any child of her father to approach something like this — or anything at all, for that matter — with the respect it deserves. But, if he were being entirely honest with himself, he knew that thought was irrational. For multiple reasons. For one, she hadn't been raised by her father in any case, so expecting her to inherit any learned behaviours was a bit odd. For another, as far as he could tell, when circumstances outside of his control were excluded, Harry Potter had never been late for anything, punctual with almost conspicuous reliability. There was no reason to expect Melantha Black to be any different.

And, of course, she wasn't late yet. Only nearly late. A touch of energy extended to an enchantment concealed in the surface of his desk brought a glowing facsimile of a clock floating into view, confirming his internal judgement of the time had been precisely accurate — their appointed meeting was in two minutes. A flick of his fingers dismissed the enchantment, and he leaned back in his chair, trying not to be too impatient. He supposed, it wasn't that Black was late so much as Severus had expected her to be early, and that she wasn't concerned him.

Did it? He took a moment to retreat, sift through his own thoughts and feelings with the detachment mind magic afforded, as if sorting and evaluating disparate symptoms to find the root cause. Hmm, yes, it appeared it did.

Not too unusual, when he thought about it. The girl did have a history of attracting disaster.

There were maybe thirty seconds left when there was finally a knock at the door, tilting open a few degrees before Severus could say anything. 'I'm sorry, Professor,' Black said even as her head slipped through the narrow gap, 'I didn't mean to, er...'

So, she was aware she was late, then. Or nearly late, in any case. 'Well, don't just stand there, girl. Close the door behind you.' And he turned back to the books and papers spread across his desk in an unorganised sprawl, dense with handwritten notes. Which wasn't entirely an act for her benefit, of course — he'd rather not face his former master's displeasure if he'd overlooked a simple mistake in the formulation of Lestrange's potion, after all — but it didn't hurt to hint at how valuable his time was. And it wasn't like he needed to look directly at her to watch her anyway.

Black stepped inside, slowly and almost hesitantly, as though having to convince herself she really wanted to be here. Severus could sympathise — he'd had occasion to wonder several times over the last weeks whether he hadn't gone completely insane himself. When the door clicked shut, secrecy and isolation wards snapping into place, Black jumped back, her hand sharply jerking away from the handle. Interesting. As she trailed into the room, she seemed almost...surprised, he would guess. It seemed she recognised the room. Which was odd in itself: so far as he knew, Black had never been in here. Perhaps Lily had described it in those journals she had? Slughorn had used this same office during his tenure, mostly for those insufferable club meetings of his, but he wouldn't think any description would be good enough to recognise the room on sight. Odd. Her face was a bit abnormally pink, which he'd originally attributed to perhaps having to rush here to make it on time, but he was starting to think he'd been wrong — far as he could see, she wasn't perspiring or out of breath, so that seemed unlikely. Embarrassment?

It took only the slightest bit of concentration, and he'd already caught the memory playing behind Black's eyes. Black flinched away at the contact, clumsy defences raising about her mind, but it was too late by that point. 'Don't be so dramatic, Black. Teenagers will be teenagers.' The pink quickly shifted to an almost impressive shade of red, Black clearly realising Severus had seen exactly why she'd been just barely on time. Which, he would admit, he did think a bit strange — did she think it made any difference to him what she did with the Bones girl behind closed doors? Didn't seem like any business of his. In fact, he'd rather not think about it at all. Smoothing over the greater indiscretions of his Slytherins here and there was already far and away more hormonal melodramatic nonsense than he really wanted to be exposed to. 'You were not quite late this time. So long as you continue to be punctual I see no reason why what you do in private should be any business of mine, nor why you should be so distractingly guilty about it.' He nodded to his left, the circle of sofas and chairs by the fire he'd inherited from Slughorn and almost never used. 'Sit down. I'll be with you in a moment.'

With a last irritated glance — the legilimency, probably, she'd have to get used to that — Black made for the neglected seating area. In seconds Severus had recovered the folder he'd put together over the last couple days, then hesitated for a short moment, staring blankly at the surface of his desk. Wondering to himself, for perhaps the thousandth time over so short an interval, if he really wanted to be doing this. He'd always had negative interest in the entire idea before, but...

Well, he could be honest enough with himself to admit he wouldn't even be considering it if she were anyone else. It was clear nobody was inclined to put in the effort to teach Black properly — speaking of which, he still needed to have words with Dumbledore about that. It seemed Tonks had been making some progress of late, but still, it was almost shameful Lily's daughter of all people would be this thoroughly unprepared. He could just imagine how Lily would feel about it. It was unthinkable. If she were here, knew her daughter had approached him, gone so far as to publicly humiliate herself to get him to take her seriously, and he still didn't take care of it... He didn't need her here to know well enough. He could see the glare, her voice cold and sharp already biting at his ears.

Myrðin, the things he did for that woman. She'd been dead over a decade, and she was still jerking him around. Ridiculous. Sighing to himself silently in his head — it wouldn't do for the girl to hear it, after all — he got to his feet. No point in delaying it any longer.

In a short moment he was resettled in the absurdly comfortable armchair Slughorn had left here, the folder falling to a slap on the gleaming low table in front of him. He turned to face Black where she sat in the couch to his left — turned to face the rest of the room and the door, he'd noticed — flatly meeting her eyes. He kept any external sign from showing, of course, but he couldn't help feeling faintly impressed she was actually managing to hold his gaze. He did generally try to be intimidating on purpose, after all — these days, most people her age, and even people his age for that matter, couldn't usually manage it.

But, then again, with the idiotically dangerous nonsense she'd found herself in one way or another over the years, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised it didn't work on her so much anymore.

'Andromeda has informed me it is unlikely you are familiar with exactly what this sort of thing entails.'

For a second, Black just blinked at him in obvious surprise. 'You talked to Andi?' Severus didn't bother answering beyond raising a single eyebrow just enough to be noticeable — there was enough of an answer already. Black clearly gathered herself, going so far as to shake her head slightly. 'Ah, no. I didn't know anything about this kind of thing until, er, Susan mentioned it. I read a bit, but I'm sure I'm still missing things.'

Not altogether surprising, if she really had been raised by Petunia of all people, as Andromeda had implied. Speaking of which, he still needed to have words with Dumbledore about that as well — he had an unpleasant suspicion Dumbledore had intentionally kept him uninformed, and he rather wanted to know why. Especially since... Well, he'd been thinking about what Draco had said, and if she had been sent to Petunia, that would explain rather a lot.

He had a feeling Petunia Dursley wouldn't live to see the new year.

Put that aside for now, not the time. 'Essentially, an apprenticeship is a contract negotiated between the master and whoever rules the apprentice's House — since you are the Lady of your House, involving any third parties was technically unnecessary, but as I didn't anticipate you to be informed in such matters I did meet with Andromeda. It is not a complicated contract, though matters are muddied somewhat by you still being a Hogwarts student. In brief, the apprentice cedes all power over educational and vocational matters to their master for the duration. The reason I am telling you this now, before I have you sign, is because I will be making some modifications to your current arrangements.'

'Wait, what?' Breaking through the surprise and confusion, Severus noticed already rising signs of that familiar simmering anger. Which, now that he thought about it...

He had been intentionally needling her since her very first day here, yes, mostly for his own amusement, and he was starting to wonder if he hadn't blinded himself to some degree. He hadn't been sure if he could entirely take Draco at his word, about what he'd observed, but it was very possible the fury and hatred he'd consciously kindled could have entirely covered the usual warning signs. It was possible she simply didn't show it in his presence, too busy being angry at him. He had noticed a little, yes, but nothing much, and nothing consistent. The impression of her temperament he'd gotten asking other people about her over the last couple days was far less ambiguous, and far more worrying.

He was starting to think his previous treatment of her had been ill-advised. Entertaining, of course — he always had enjoyed prodding at Gryffindors, watching them marinate impotent in their rage shallow and childish. But, wise? Not so much.

He dismissed the thought, again pulling himself back to the conversation at hand. 'I'm led to believe you don't speak French.'

After a brief moment of staring, Black returned the question with a slow, incredulous shake of her head. 'Well,' she said after a second, 'not really. Hermione taught me a little, but...'

'You'll be learning. I'll arrange a tutor.' He could teach her himself, of course, but his schedule had been tight enough already without making enough time to properly manage an apprentice on top of everything else. It would mean less time spent on other subjects, which simply wasn't worth it. It was a better use of both their time to set her up with someone else.

Her face twisting with confusion, Black said, 'Why?'

And he was annoyed. That hadn't taken very long. 'With what your marks are like in History, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you have to ask.' She bristled, but he went on before she could say anything. 'It might have escaped your notice, Black, but English is not a common language among mages internationally. It is in the muggle world, of course, but that is a comparatively recent development, dating to after the Statute. French, on the other hand, is far more common. It is the working language of the I.C.W., and it is the European language mages elsewhere around the world are most likely to know. There is a reason, after all, the phrase is lingua franca, and not lingua anglica. If you ever want to travel, or ever want to communicate with mages from anywhere outside of Britain for any reason, you will need to learn French. It truly should be a requirement at Hogwarts, but instead we still teach Brīþwn, for some unfathomable reason.' He knew the reason was purebloods being idiots, of course, but that didn't make it any less absurd.

'That...does make sense, I guess.' She sounded extremely reluctant, but she had said it, at least. 'What else?'

'You will cease attending History, Herbology, and Astronomy.'

'What?! But those are core classes!' Severus didn't bother saying anything. He just stared at her. 'But... But aren't you required to take all the core classes? I didn't think you could just stop going.'

'You are required? And what mechanisms are there, exactly, to enforce that requirement?'

'I...er...' For a second, Black just frowned, blinking to herself. Apparently, it had never occurred to her to wonder about that before. 'Well, I know we have to be in school though OWLs, but—'

'No, you don't.'

Black stared at him. 'What?'

'No, you are not legally required to attend any magical school through OWL year. Neither are you legally required to take the OWLs. It is certainly recommended, however. It is almost impossible to find decent employment without having some kind of qualifications, OWLs being the easiest to obtain, and you could still be prosecuted for "underage" magic, irrespective of whatever your age actually is.' Putting a slight hint of disappointment on his voice, he said, 'Did it never occur to you to wonder how magical education actually works? The law is entirely different than in muggle Britain in every other area — surely you didn't assume it was the same here for no reason.'

Her face tightened into a glare, eyes steady and sharp on his, for all the world looking nothing but annoyed, but he didn't believe it for a second — the pink on her cheeks gave her away. 'How does it work, then?'

'It's a mutually voluntary contract, Black, like almost everything else. A contract between the school and your House. And like any contract, it can be renegotiated. And, since you are the Lady of your own House, you can do that negotiating on your own behalf without any outside approval. Judging by your marks in History and Astronomy, you are not particularly motivated in those subjects — I know you must be intelligent enough you could do better if you could lower yourself enough to care to actually try.' Black's expression flickered a bit, obviously uncertain about something. At a guess, whether she should take that as a compliment or an insult — which was exactly why he'd phrased it that way, of course. 'You could have gone to McGonagall at any time and told her you did not want to take those classes any longer. She might have asked for some concessions, but she would have been willing to come to an arrangement agreeable to all parties. Just among Slytherins, I have students drop History or Astronomy with some regularity, and enough of my first-years wish to opt out of Brīþwn every year I've long since settled on a process to test whether they truly do know it as well as they claim to.' Some families did still speak it at home. Not very many, of course, but enough fully half of his new students every year thought the elementary Brīþwn courses beneath them, and they were usually right. 'Since you will quite possibly be my apprentice by the end of the day, I will be doing that part for you. There is no reason you should continue taking those three courses, so you will not.'

Black took a moment to think about that, face turned somewhat away and eyes unfocused, so he let her. As long as she didn't take too long, anyway. Probably beating herself up for not realising that sooner — he knew he had, once he'd realised he needn't have spent so much effort on shite useless courses he hated. He and Lily had learned about that in second year, but the point remained. Finally, Black said, 'So, I just won't be studying those at all, then?'

'Not necessarily. Unless you have some interest in the more esoteric ritual magics, there is no reason you would ever need Astronomy. That subject is totally useless for the vast majority of people, and there is no good reason to continue expending so much effort on it. History, I will simply be assigning you a bit of reading, and verbally quizzing you on it on occasion. Not very much, though — it's not truly a priority — but still enough you'd probably do better on the OWL than you would solely attending those abysmally boring lectures in any case.' He felt a slight curl come to his own lips, the barest hints of a smirk. He wasn't sure if it was really visible, but by how Black's eyebrow twitched she must have noticed something. 'As for Herbology, I will be teaching you only the things that are legitimately useful to know which, unfortunately, Pomona spends far too little time on. Most everything she teaches in her classes are entirely useless if you don't intend to go into the field. I've tried to convince her it's a waste of everyone's time but she won't listen to me. Says I'm biased.' Which, admittedly, he was, but that didn't mean he was wrong.

'Is there really anything useful in Herbology at all?' Black had a very clearly doubtful expression on her face. Which he did not at all blame her for.

'The average person will brew thousands of simple potions over the course of their life.' That was just meant to be a framing comment to lead into his point, but Black gave that idea another doubtful look. Severus couldn't entirely hold in a sigh. 'Come, girl, that can't be that much of a surprise. Prepared potions will often run you two to four times as much as the components alone, more for certain brews, and there is always at least some inherent risk in taking a potion you did not brew yourself — you have no idea what else might be in it, if it was brewed correctly, or even if it is what you were told it is. What?' he said, again cutting off his explanation at the flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

'Nothing, it's just I—' She shrugged. 'It just occurred to me, I've taken more different potions than I can count from Madam Pomfrey, and I don't think I've ever even asked what they are.'

He was half-tempted to chastise her, but dismissed the idea after a moment of consideration. It was breathtakingly stupid in the general case to just accept a potion from someone without even asking what it was, but at the least she realised that without needing to be beat over the head with it. And besides, 'Licensed Healers are the largest exception. They are sworn to give their patients the best care they possibly can, which includes confirming the provenance, safety, and effectiveness of their potions. It is generally safe to trust them — so long as you are certain they are truly a licensed Healer, anyway, and not just claiming to be one. As it happens, I brew most of Poppy's potions personally. Blindly accepting what she hands you is not itself a mistake, but you should never do the same anywhere else if you value your life.

'As I was saying, it is generally more cost-effective for the average person to brew the simpler potions they might want for themselves. Especially should our theoretical average person have been so unfortunate as to not be born into wealth. However, potions ingredients do not last forever. Like everything, they do spoil in time. Some grow less effective as they age, and some more, requiring different proportions in the more sensitive brews. An otherwise perfectly-brewed potion might turn out to be useless slop, or even deadly poison. Or perhaps, quite simply, the apothecary you purchased it from gave you the wrong thing. If you cannot recognise by sight what something is and whether it is in acceptable condition, you could do great harm to yourself without meaning to quite easily. The entire purpose of the Herbology course here is to teach you all that, but Pomona would rather force her students to spend an ungodly number of hours fruitlessly mucking about in the dirt. She refuses to listen, however. Because I'm biased.'

'And therefore automatically wrong.'

Severus paused a moment, staring at the girl. That had had an almost impressive bite of dark sarcasm to it, actually. For a moment he considered taking another peek into her head — it was obvious from the expression on her face she had been thinking about something else saying it — but chances were it was something he didn't care to know about anyway. 'Clearly. It would be an unfortunate waste of the investment of my time and effort if you were to accidentally kill yourself—' For some reason, Black's lips twitched with poorly-hidden amusement. '—brewing with unsatisfactory components at some point down the line, so it is a gap in your education I will be taking it upon myself to fill. You will still be studying History and Herbology, but not the same material as your peers, and you will not be attending classes with them. Any further question on this?'

Black shook her head. 'No, sir.'

'Is that a problem? Would you prefer to continue in those three?' It made absolutely no difference to him if she did, of course — they were a waste of her time, he'd be withdrawing her whether she wanted to or not. He was merely curious.

But, not entirely to his surprise, Black's lips tilted into a somewhat sheepish smile. 'Ah, no, really. Now that I know I can, I would probably do it myself anyway.'

Severus nodded; he personally didn't understand why nearly so many people hadn't opted out of History and Astronomy. He'd gone to Slughorn to get out the same day he and Lily had learned they could. 'Your duelling lessons with your cousin will continue.' An expression simultaneously surprised and relieved crossed the girl's face — if he had to guess, it hadn't occurred to her he might request otherwise. 'Direct combat of that sort had never truly been my speciality. Not to say I'm helpless, of course — your mother was very insistent about practising with me whether I wanted to or not — but I was never as talented as she was. Or your cousin, for that matter.' But then, very few people were, so that wasn't actually saying much. And Tonks certainly wasn't an unsuitable instructor in any case. From what she'd said, Black had progressed shockingly quickly, blowing through what took the average mage months to learn in a matter of days. True, she had been behind to start with, so she was really just catching up, but it was impressive all the same. It was clear Black had inherited at least some of Lily's talent, but her progress was certainly at least in part due to Tonks.

Not that he'd be saying any of that out loud, of course, to either of them.

'I know you wanted to learn runic casting.' Black answered with a sharp nod. 'You'll be learning basic wandless magic alongside. One does lead into the other well enough, and the potential of the skill cannot be overestimated. A little mind magic would probably be wise. You're delusional if you thought you would get out of this without learning some alchemy, and I'll probably end up teaching you a fair few topics we don't normally cover in depth in ordinary Potions classes — I am primarily an alchemist and potioneer, after all, my peers will expect you to show at least some ability. Was there anything else you wanted from me?'

Black hesitated, but only for an instant. 'Shadow magic.'

Ah, yes. That would be on the list. 'I suppose we could do some of that. I didn't take to the field anything like your mother did, but I know a bit.'

Looking slightly suspicious, Black said, 'You're listed on the Dark Arts registry. Sir,' she added after a second, with the clear sense of an afterthought.

No real gain in calling attention to it, though. 'Unregistered practise of any of the restricted Dark Arts is unlawful. Since I do know some shadow magic, and use a few applications with some regularity, registering seemed wise. I would hate to give the Ministry a supposedly legitimate excuse to prosecute me, after all.' As he continued, and rather despite himself, he couldn't entirely prevent the touch of a smirk from coming to his lips. 'And besides, I didn't say I had little ability myself. I simply said I'm not as skilled as your mother was. Surely you've come to realise by now few people are.'

It was obvious Black was trying to hide the noticeably smug smile on her face, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. After a moment of silently struggling, it was replaced by a thoughtful sort of wariness, her eyes flicking from Severus to the table and back again. 'Ah, see, I read a reference to a ritual.'

Severus forced himself not to tense; some of the most extremely unnerving conversations he'd ever had had started with some variation on that sentence. 'Yes?'

'I'd heard Susan mention familiar bonds, and I looked it up.' She bit her lip for a second, showing an entirely un-Gryffindorish degree of diffidence, before squaring herself and pushing on. 'I found reference to a ritual to invoke one, but not any details. It's blood magic, you see.'

Yes, he did. 'I know of the ritual, though I've never performed it myself. I am also registered in blood magic, however. I assume that's what you're really asking, if I would teach you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I'm not opposed. Just don't play with it. Botched blood magic can result in some, shall we say, unpleasant effects. In many cases, death would be preferable.' Of course, blood magic could do some rather disturbing things to people on purpose as well. He was certain Black already knew that, though, having spent so much time with the least intelligent and least subtle of the Weasleys. Many British people did have a disproportionate fear of blood magic in particular, the so-called Light families especially, and he doubted that Weasley was inclined to develop an informed, nuanced position. Or even capable of it.

Come to think of it, with how obvious it had been in previous years the idiot Weasley had been influencing Black's views on wizarding matters quite a bit, he was rather surprised she was even asking to learn so much dark magic. Some combination of Lily's journals and Tonks's lessons piercing through some of the propaganda, he'd expect. Convinced her what the Light said about these sorts of magics was complete nonsense, derived more from feeling than fact, people's irrational fears driving them to defame that which they did not understand, could not control, in so doing leaving themselves vulnerable to those less susceptible to such sentiments. Her own half-hidden amusement when he'd said the bit about not giving the Ministry "a supposedly legitimate excuse" seemed to suggest so.

Or, perhaps, the girl had realised that all of her enemies had absolutely no compunction using illegal magic on defenceless children, and that her life was more precious than principle. In which case, he could respect that as well, he supposed. What use, after all, have the dead for such things? Principle, honour and loyalty, these were privileges reserved for those fortunate multitudes who live comfortable lives, never having faced true suffering.

It was starting to become quite clear to Severus she wasn't one of those.

As he finally came to a conclusion — yes, Black was legitimately seeking to learn restricted dark magics, this wasn't some unfathomable ploy — he found himself fighting to repress a smirk. Dumbledore had learned about this, of course, only hours after that scene in the Great Hall, and before the evening had drawn late he'd already stuck his crooked nose into places it wasn't welcome. Severus had been asked (ordered) to confirm Black really knew what she was getting into. To talk her out of it. It was true Black had been becoming rather willful of late, Dumbledore had said, but her true nature certainly hadn't changed. Just a bit of adolescent rebellion. She wouldn't want to sully herself with such distasteful magics, of course not. If she truly knew what she was asking for, she wouldn't be interested. Severus was to make sure she understood and, if she didn't reconsider on her own, find some way to convince her to. It didn't really matter how. Or simply refuse her, but then she'd likely try to find someone else anyway. No, no, Severus had to turn her off the matter entirely somehow, that was the only way to...

To what? Save her? Save her from what? Most of what she'd asked to learn wasn't even restricted in many other places in the world! For fuck's sake, they taught runic casting and blood magic at Beauxbatons! Beauxbatons! Parselmouths were treated with a reverence just short of worship in certain places in southern Asia and central America and Africa, true masters of shadow magic were considered national treasures in Egypt. He was never sure how to interpret just how...unwavering, insistent Dumbledore was in his beliefs about some magics. Was he delusional enough he didn't realise the facts weren't on his side, that his was the minority opinion? Or did he simply not care?

But this wasn't the time to decipher Dumbledore's nonsense, oh no. He'd been so convinced. So convinced Black was one of his good little children of the Light. Perhaps in something of a rebellious phase, sure, but deep down she, well, how would Dumbledore put it? Something about love being the greatest magic? Would do what was right rather than what was easy? Some trite platitude, it's all white noise to Severus by this point. He'd been so convinced, as though the possibility he could have misjudged Black entirely hadn't even occurred to him.

He wondered how Dumbledore would react when he finally came to realise Black was no longer his.

Though, come to think of it, it was possible he might never notice. Severus had never been his. Dumbledore had been a means to an end to him, nothing more — any rhetoric about seeing the error of his ways, returning to the Light, all that shite, those were Dumbledore's words, not his. He played along, yes, but only to protect Lily. And once Dumbledore had failed at the only thing Severus had wanted from him, the only thing he'd asked of him, why in hell would the old man ever expect him to continue to have any loyalty to him? Thomas had killed Lily, true, but Dumbledore had failed to properly protect her as he'd sworn he would. He wasn't entirely innocent himself. Severus still played along, yes, but only because the act was currently useful for him. Once it was no longer useful, he wouldn't blink if someone murdered the self-righteous prick right in front of him. In fact, depending on how exactly it was done, who exactly did it, it might even be a bit satisfying. He really didn't care. And the silly old man seemingly hadn't put that together either, so convinced his own preconceptions reflect reality.

So, he guessed it was very possible Black would be free from further meddling for some time, until their most august High Enchanter finally pulled his head out of his own arse. Which was good. He really didn't like getting into arguments with that insufferably self-righteous old sorcerer. He'd rather put off the inevitable attempted guilt trip for "corrupting" his precious little saviour for as long as possible.

'There are only a couple more things to make clear, then you can sign and we can move on.'

Black nodded. 'What, exactly?'

'I'm unsure how much you know of what an apprenticeship actually entails. On a day-to-day basis, I mean.' By the slightly confused look on Black's face, essentially nothing. All right, then. He tried not to sigh, and was mostly successful. 'To put it briefly, the apprentice reflects on the master, and vice versa. Do anything to embarrass me, and I will be...displeased.'

A wary sort of expression fell over Black's face, with just the beginnings of fury building behind, like fire hidden behind a pall of smoke. Not a metaphor that usually occurred to him to use, but the sharp, flickering heat the magic about her always took when she was angry was quite suggestive. It didn't seem like she even realised she did that every time, Draco wasn't wrong about that. 'What are you talking about, specifically?'

That...was an odd reaction. She clearly thought he was going to ask her to change something she was doing, and that was making her angry. But what? 'I meant in the general, Black. I didn't have anything specific in mind.' Even as he spoke, he quickly stole into the girl's thoughts, only taking an instant to find what she feared. This time, he entirely failed to hold back a long, exasperated sigh. As he pulled away, Black twitching at the withdrawal of mental contact, he said, 'I'm not going to ask you to stop seeing the Bones girl. I don't see how it's any business of mine. So long as you two are, shall we say, civil about it, which you have been, I have nothing to complain about.'

Somewhat to his surprise, the obvious hints of anger about the girl hadn't faded away. If anything, she seemed even more annoyed than she'd been a moment ago. 'Do you have to do that?'

He felt an eyebrow tick up without his consciously putting it there. 'Do what?'

Black grit her teeth for a moment, glaring across the table at him. Finally, she ground out, 'You keep reading my mind. I can feel you there, you know. Sirius taught me occlumency over the summer.'

Severus let out a sharp, derisive snort. Mostly, to cover his own surprise and confusion. She was still calling him by his name? Hadn't he told her? He would have thought the most annoying of the Blacks would have told her he was her father at the first opportunity, but it was true he hadn't heard one way or the other for certain. With her staying with him most of the summer, and making plans to be adopted into House Black, well, Severus had assumed he'd mentioned it at some point. It was possible, he guessed, that he had told her, and she was still calling him by his name anyway. It wasn't like she'd ever had a father before, he wouldn't expect using such terms of address to feel natural. Or perhaps she was just annoyed with him for running off and getting sent to Azkaban like a bloody idiot, so had consciously chosen not to acknowledge their relationship most of the time. Not unreasonable, Severus would probably do something like that in her place.

Of course...it was possible Sirius Black wasn't her father. Lily had never told him one way or the other for certain. That far along into the war, they hadn't spoken of personal matters habitually anymore, and he hadn't thought it important enough to ask. Lily had admitted, during her brief engagement to Potter, that she'd started having sex with him too — both of them were hers anyway, so why not? Black still rather a lot more often than Potter, which was not a detail he'd really needed to know, but she still did. With what he remembered of events around the Battle of Hogsmeade, when the girl should have been conceived, what he knew of where the three members of their odd little family had been and when, what they'd been doing, he'd always thought Black the far more likely...candidate, so to speak. They'd claimed both in public and among friends that Potter was the father, but of course they would. He was her legal husband, it was expected they would say so even if it wasn't true, and Potter and Black looked similar enough no one would ever know. Inbred Noble Houses and all that. He'd always assumed the claim Potter was her father by blood was a lie, but it was possible he'd assumed incorrectly. He was almost certain, but not entirely certain.

But this wasn't the time to wonder about that. Not that he even cared that much, honestly. What did it matter to him which her father was? He'd never quite enjoyed the company of either. It was just curious. 'Apparently, he didn't teach you very well. Your skill may be sufficient to resist someone bludgeoning at your mind with their magic like a child, but to a true legilimens your defences may as well not even be there. I didn't say I'd likely be teaching you some mind magic for no reason, after all.'

'But...' That was odd. He wasn't cheating currently, true, but if he had to guess, Black had come up with an objection, but it didn't feel like she really believed it. Like it was something she thought she should say, but wasn't convinced it was legitimate. Hmm. 'But Dumbledore tested me, said I was fine.'

Ah, yes. She was no longer Dumbledore's. He'd noticed that already. That explained it. 'As I said: sufficient to resist someone bludgeoning at your mind with their magic, like a child. From what I can see in those glimpses I took, I am certain you'd at least be able to buy yourself time against quite nearly anyone using that pathetic charm. You might even get lucky against a user of Dumbledore's calibre. But that is not true legilimency. It is a pale imitation. You can defend yourself against them, yes, but I doubt you could stop me for a second no matter how hard you tried. At your current level of skill, you probably wouldn't even feel my former master in there at all.'

Black's eyes narrowed, just a little. Just that, but he was still certain she knew who he was talking about.

'Does that bother you?' When Black just looked confused, he raised both brows a bit, staring hard and steady back into her eyes. 'You know who my former master is. Some of the magic I will be teaching you I learned with Lily, teaching ourselves what nobody was willing to. Some of it, though, I was taught by Thomas Gaunt. Of course, most people know him by another name.' He tilted his head slightly, allowing a smirk to pull at his lips, just a little. 'Doesn't that bother you?'

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. Barely moving, barely even breathing, her expression barely changing the slightest bit. It was almost impressive, actually. After some seconds, she muttered, 'You don't care that he killed her?'

He felt his own cheeks tighten slightly, fingers clutching about the arms of his chair, the only external sign he allowed. That it was that limited was only due to long practice. His chest and throat were suddenly suffocated with fiery fury, magic icy cold and razor sharp contorting with deadly rage, barely held back through iron will. He took a few seconds to force himself under proper control, teeth joined so tightly his jaw hurt. One would think he'd be used to that sort of comment by now. Eventually. Yes, someday, it would stop. He took a slow breath, forcing a note of chill calm onto his voice. 'Take care what you say. You don't know what you're talking about.'

'I didn't mean to...' Black shifted in her seat a little, looking disproportionately awkward. Disproportionately, because he really wouldn't think anything that was going on should really be that sensitive for her. Odd. 'I don't know. I just mean... Well, you still call him the Dark Lord, your former master. Using his proper name and everything...'

Forcing down the last of the protesting power at the back of his mind, he tilted his head a bit, gave her a look with just a shade of disappointment. 'I'm simply showing the proper respect.'

Black's eyes narrowed, the familiar green glittering with an equally familiar suspicion. 'Why, though? I mean, if you cared, I wouldn't think you would still, you know...'

'I don't need to like the Dark Lord to respect him.' Black opened her mouth to say something, but Severus cut her off with a look, the disappointment turned for more intense, whatever she'd been about to say choked off. 'You don't respect someone or something because of any warm feelings you may have. Respect isn't about you. It's about them.

'You respect the threat inherent in the cold when you put on a cloak before leaving the castle. You respect the power of fire by not sticking your fingers into it. You respect a venomous snake by not needlessly poking at it without protection. In my class, you take precautions with certain components, certain processes, because if you are not careful they can harm you. You are respecting their ability to harm you. You are cautious with certain more dangerous spells, in any of your wanded classes, for the same reason. You respect the power of magic itself, so you are careful. The same is true of mages. Mages more powerful than you, mages more experienced than you, mages who have mastered magics you cannot even imagine, they deserve respect. Not because you like them, not because they are nice to you, but because they can exercise power over you if they choose to. By respecting them, you are acknowledging the power they could use on you, so they have no need to.

'That is one thing you have never understood, Black. Take our interactions over the years. In your mind, I had done nothing to earn your respect, so you felt your insolence was justified. What you never understood is that any respect you give is not about you. I do not deserve your respect because I have done anything to earn it, nor because I have done anything to endear myself to you. I deserve your respect because of who and what I am. I deserve your respect because I have power over you. Authority through my position, yes, but also magical ability. If I choose to, I can horribly murder you at any moment, and you will be completely helpless to stop me, and nobody will ever know. That I do not choose to does not change the fact that I can. You are at my mercy, every second you are in my presence, but you did not act like it. Since you did not respect me, I saw no reason I should respect you.'

For a second, he paused, wondering to himself if she realised the significance of the past tense there. She certainly didn't like him, true, but at the very least she respected his abilities now — she wouldn't have publicly humiliated herself in front of all her peers for the dubious pleasure of learning from him if she didn't. That was significant. But, honestly, he doubted it. She'd shown little aptitude in this sort of thing in the past, after all.

'It is the same with the Dark Lord. You should show him respect, not because of anything he has done, but for what he is, and what he can do. He is powerful, and power deserves respect. Even the Dark Lord himself respects those with abilities and qualities he admires, even when they possess them in degrees lesser than his own. And just because you respect someone does not mean you cannot hate them.' His voice turning low and dark, 'Just because you respect someone does not mean you cannot wish them dead.

'Do you understand?'

Black was silent, just for a moment, staring back at him with a crooked expression he couldn't quite read. Without cheating, anyway. Then she nodded, eyes dropping to the table. 'Yes, sir. I understand. Is that why you...' She trailed off, looking weirdly awkward again.

He managed not to sigh. 'Don't mumble, girl. It's annoying.'

'Is that really why you were such an arse before? Just, the not being properly respectful thing. I mean, I can barely remember how it went exactly, but I'm pretty sure you were an arse to me before I was an arse to you. I would think the first time, at least, you wouldn't have had a reason for.'

'Do I need a reason?' Black gave him a painfully exasperated glare at that, and it took a fair amount of effort to not smirk back in response. 'I may have been somewhat harder on you than most of your peers, true, but surely you must have noticed by now that I am not known as the kindest of all professors at this fine institution. I go out of my way to be aggravating, to be honest. As long as I'm going to suffer, I figure all of you may as well join me.' Of course, it didn't help that he simply didn't like children. Even when he'd been one himself they'd annoyed him. And this wasn't something he would usually admit to — he'd given to Dumbledore excuses hinting at emotional trauma he was supposedly dealing with, which the old fool was gullible enough to believe — but Black was going to be his apprentice within a few minutes here anyway, so why not.

Black didn't realise what a privileged position she was in to actually know his honest thoughts on the matter, obviously. She just blinked at him for a second, then said, 'Why?' as though Severus were making absolutely no sense, and this was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

'Come now, Black.' He had to hold in a smirk when she flinched at his low, mocking drawl. 'You can't honestly believe this is what I wanted to be doing with myself. Do I seem the type of person who would be drawn to the idea of becoming an educator? Really, now.'

'Then, why?'

'Much like many others, this ridiculous circumstance can be explained with two simple words: Albus Dumbledore.' Hmm, now that expression on Black's face was interesting. What did she have to be so annoyed with Dumbledore about? He could just slip into her thoughts and find out, he guessed, but there was no real point. He'd almost certainly find out eventually, and chances are he wouldn't really care when he did, it was probably asinine nonsense.

And, perhaps, his former master hadn't been entirely incorrect when he'd said using legilimency too much could make life very boring very quickly — when all mysteries were solved, there wasn't much point doing anything anymore.

'In exchange for his protection from the law in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's first defeat, our esteemed Headmaster demanded I take up the post of Professor of Potions here at Hogwarts. He knew the Dark Lord wasn't truly dead, you see, knew he would return eventually, and he would need me as a spy when he did, so wanted to keep me close. Not to mention I'm a handy insight into certain sectors of society he isn't welcome.' Not that he ever actually told the old man much. It generally wasn't wise to inform on one's more useful friends and associates for no good reason. 'So I am forced, day in and day out, for years, to deal with class after class after class of selfish, melodramatic, arrogant, short-sighted, empty-headed morons.

'Did you think I enjoy this? Lecturing on the most basic principles of my chosen field, concepts I had mastered before even entering Hogwarts, fruitlessly attempting to force them into the heads of children who, with a few notable exceptions, really couldn't care less, have no respect for or appreciation for or motivation to learn the art at all. Again, and again, and again. The same simplistic potions, the same idiotic mistakes, the same infuriating dunderheads who never seem to listen no matter how many times I try to correct them. Again, and again, and again. And just when I have the idiocy properly beaten out of them, once the fools are trained enough to brew without becoming an immediate danger to everyone around them, they are gone, and are replaced with a fresh batch of insipid imbeciles. It never ends. The great, perfect Albus Dumbledore has put me in my own personal hell, and I am certain by now I would have lost my mind entirely if I hadn't found some way to entertain myself.' Which he knew was unfair to the poor children so unfortunate as to be exposed to his nonexistent mercy. He could acknowledge that, but he really didn't give a damn. 'If I'm going to suffer, all of you may as well join me.'

The look Black was giving him was very strange. But, in a way, that wasn't entirely surprising. It was possible he'd let a bit more emotion colour his voice than he usually allowed, it was possible the idea that he even had this constant struggle going on had never even occurred to her. Not that he would expect it to — it often didn't occur to children that adults had internal experiences that had absolutely nothing to do with them. It took long seconds for Black to shake off her surprise, and she finally asked, 'What would you do, then, if you could?'

'I was planning on becoming a Healer.'

He could quite nearly taste the shock from here. Black went completely still, eyes so wide he would be surprised if she weren't straining something, mouth sitting pointlessly open for a short moment. 'A Healer?'

'Yes, a Healer.' To her lingering doubtful expression, he said, 'Not for the reasons I imagine most Healers have. Wanting to ease the suffering of their fellow men and all that sentimental nonsense, oh no.' Surprisingly, Black's lips were twitching with a repressed smirk at that. 'No, it is quite simple, really. Tell me, Black, do you like riddles?'

She frowned at him. 'Riddles?'

'Yes, girl, riddles.'

For a short moment she just frowned, then shrugged, clearly dismissing her own confusion. 'Ah, not really, I guess? I never really got the point.'

No surprise there. 'The point is an exercise in cleverness. To test your wits against another's. I always liked them, you might imagine, liked being able to find an answer, to solve a problem, that others couldn't. Healing is like solving a riddle, but far more complicated. You are given hints, but some hints might be missing. Some observations that seem like hints might not truly be hints at all, completely unrelated to the problem. Perhaps there is no one answer, but multiple answers, and before you can even attempt to go about solving it you must determine which hints belong to which answers. And the magic itself is interesting — the human body is an incredibly complex machine, so logically the magics to manipulate it must be just as complex. The problems found in Healing are the most complex problems in the world. The entire field is inherently fascinating, filled with riddles I could spend my entire life attempting to solve.' Severus shrugged. 'Instead I am stuck here.

'But, we are quite off topic. I was clarifying a few things you needed to know before we can finalise this perhaps ill-advised apprenticeship of yours.'

Black's face split into a grim smile at that. 'Yeah, I guess.' Whether she was referring to the apprenticeship being ill-advised or that they had gotten distracted, Severus had no idea.

And he didn't care. 'There is etiquette that is involved, but I do not particularly care about it. For the most part, so long as you are not annoying me unnecessarily, it makes no difference to me. There will certainly come a time, however, when I am invited to some function or another, and you will attending as my apprentice. I would request you observe the proper niceties then.'

Lips curling and fingers twitching, looking to be quite nearly cringing away from the very idea, Black said, 'And what exactly are the proper niceties?'

He flipped a few dismissive fingers at her, shaking his head. 'Honestly, I wouldn't know. I was taught proper society manners as pertained to men, I wouldn't be able to tell you how to go about it. Ask Andromeda when you're home at the end of the year. She's a proper pureblood lady, she'll know. You won't need to know it before then.' Black just nodded. Still didn't seem pleased with the idea, but good enough — and he could always confirm she'd done as bid with Andromeda later. 'The last is, perhaps, the most important. If you do not obey, there will be consequences. Severe ones. I don't think I need to remind you about what I can choose to do.'

Pathologically contrary as she seemed to be — yes, he noticed the hypocrisy — Black gave him a raised eyebrow at the half-veiled threat. But she nodded all the same, said, 'No, sir, I remember,' easily enough. Cheeky girl.

He stared at her in silence, just a moment, eyes cold and sharp and unwavering the way he'd long ago perfected. Originally copied from Lily, not that he'd be telling Black that. 'What I will be teaching you is for you alone. You will not share it with any of your little friends. You will not share it with any of the other Blacks. You will not even tell anyone else what exactly I am teaching you. The topics in general will be a matter of public record, but not specific details. This goes double for everything else. By the end of our arrangement, I am sure you will know an uncomfortable proportion of my secrets. That is the way these things go. As my apprentice, you are allowed to know, but no one else. I will also certainly learn quite a bit of your personal matters myself, but I will keep them to myself. As your master, I am allowed to know, but no one else. And it will stay that way.

'To the vast majority of mages the world over, the bond between master and apprentice is sacrosanct. Break it, and you will regret it. Not only because I will be displeased with you, though I certainly will be. Betray me and I will ensure everyone the entire world over knows you cannot be trusted. That is not a light burden to carry for your entire life, believe me. But, do not betray me, do not abuse what I teach you, and...' He flipped the folder open slid the contract over to settle in front of Black, a flick of a finger and a light flash of power bringing a self-inking quill floating over to land right next to it. 'Well, I do have quite a lot to teach. No one would accuse me of being helpless, after all, would they?'

Save for the constant crackling of fire in the hearth to Black's back, the room was still and silent for a long moment. Black stared unmoving at the parchment in front of her, and Severus simply waited, trying not to be impatient. Which was easier than usual — at the least he could understand a bit of hesitation in committing oneself to something like this, it wasn't unreasonable. Finally she picked up the quill, but didn't sign right away, the fingers of her off hand idly playing with the feathered end. 'The, er, the Dark Lord, he was your master.'

All right, then. 'Yes.'

Black hesitated for a short moment, by the barely noticeable hints visible from the outside biting her tongue. 'What was he like? I mean, really? It feels like... Well, what I know doesn't all fit. It doesn't make sense, and I'm not sure what to think.'

For a couple seconds, Severus paused, staring steadily over at the girl. Mostly, trying to figure out how to answer that question. 'Thomas Gaunt is a very complicated man. I am one of only a handful able to make any half-legitimate claim at truly understanding him. However, those are secrets I have kept for many years. I will not tell you. But I may tell my apprentice.'

Black shot him an exasperated look at that. But, with a clear air of reluctance, she turned to the contract. And started actually reading it. Good, she wasn't completely hopeless. Her face tightened with annoyance in a few places, but she didn't say anything. At least not until she got to the end. 'I have to sign as Harry Potter, don't I.'

'Yes.'

'But, when this is filed at the Ministry, wouldn't that be a problem? I mean, apprenticeships being public record and all that. I'm sure someone would take notice if the Boy-Who-Lived was suddenly in a Dark Arts apprenticeship.'

For a couple seconds, Severus couldn't speak. He was too blindsided by the bitter hatred on that ridiculous hyphenated monstrosity. Fascinating. Eventually, he pulled himself together, forcing an irritated tone into his voice. 'Did you think that hadn't occurred to me? The documentation will be under an illusion until the appropriate time. Before you ask, yes, that is illegal, but I'm not one to care.'

To his annoyance, the girl wasn't at all satisfied with that answer. 'What kind of illusion? Only, I would figure the Ministry would expect that kind of thing might happen occasionally. Shouldn't they hit everything with a general dispel, at least?'

'Really, Black? I thought you would have learned by now not to give the Ministry too much credit.' Just for an instant, Black's doubt was replaced with a flicker of amusement. 'But you are right: they do have a process to detect any interfering magics on sensitive documents. However, I am a more capable wizard than whoever they have handling such things at the Office. It'll be under a displaced enchantment. I will not be explaining the technique right now. Suffice to say they are extremely difficult to create, but almost impossible to detect. It's taken care of. Don't worry about it.'

After one last moment of hesitation, Black brought the tip of the quill to the parchment and, with a very clear grimace of distaste, signed her birth name on the empty line.

Another flick of his fingers cast another wandless movement charm, sending the contract floating over to a waiting envelope on his desk. 'There. Was that so painful?'

Black gave him another impotent glare. He was starting to suspect, by how easily and lightly she gave him, there wasn't any real feeling behind them. Just a thing she did. 'Will you tell me about him now?'

'I suppose I could. It is relevant to your own position, after all.' He dithered for just a moment, then internally shrugged — why not? It was possible he'd developed something of a habit dealing with Draco. A few more flicks of his fingers brought a hidden bottle of rum floating over to the table, closely tailed by two obediently following glasses. He didn't bother lifting his arms from his chair, pouring the glasses with magic instead. The girl would probably think he was showing off, but honestly he only did it this way because handling the bottle by hand was slightly awkward.

Also, force of habit. Nothing like a casual demonstration of superior magical ability to silence annoying blood purists.

Ignoring the distrustful glare Black was shooting the glass in front of her — if he'd wanted to poison her he'd have done it before making her his apprentice, honestly — Severus settled a little further into his chair. The long, leisurely sip he took from his glass was definitely not just to delay this conversation another moment. 'I'm sure Lily mentioned, in those journals you have, our Professor Horace Slughorn.' Looking only slightly confused over where this was going, Black nodded. 'She might have mentioned he would throw these insufferable little parties every once in a while. Slughorn may have been a Professor of Hogwarts, yes, and perhaps the greatest Master of Potions of his generation, but he was also an incorrigible influence broker. An academic matchmaker, if you will.

'At first, he wasn't interested in having me at his fancy parties. I was not a very pleasant child, you see. I assume he figured I would embarrass him by making a spectacle of myself. But, eventually, it became very clear to him that I had exceptional talent, exceptional enough to overlook issues he found in my temperament. Lily vouching for me also might have helped. He'd always favoured Lily.'

He paused when, immediately after taking a sip from her own glass, Black burst into a noisy coughing fit, enough she had to set the glass down to prevent herself from spilling. Once she'd finally quieted, which took a surprisingly long span of time filled with increasingly breathless gagging, Severus drawled, 'Do try not to choke to death. I would hate to have gone through all this tedium only for you to die now.'

'Sorry, I just...' Black let out a noise something between clearing her throat and another cough, indicating the glass of rum with a tilt of her head.

'Never had spirits before? I find that hard to believe. From what Minerva tells me, the Weasley twins smuggle enough firewhiskey into Gryffindor to lay out the entire tower on a regular basis.'

'They do. I stick to butterbeer.' Black returned Severus's look with an awkward shrug. 'The butterbeer bottles are still sealed, the firewhiskey is always opened. Never take anything from the Twins that isn't in a sealed package, from a brand you recognise.'

That wasn't entirely idiotic, actually. Dismissing the topic without another thought, Severus returned to the previous one. 'One day, in third year, Slughorn was throwing another one of those annoying parties. He introduced me to a man, telling him I was the best talent in Potions he'd seen since the other had graduated. Perhaps even better. Slughorn told me this was the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt. The Lord himself said that was a bloody mouthful to be saying every time, so I should just call him Thomas. We talked for half of the night, mostly about potions and alchemy. At one point, that I'm a halfblood came up, and I was rather surprised when not only did he not care, but he is one himself. A halfblood, a Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House? Who had ever heard of such a thing? At the end of the night, he said something about it always being wonderful to meet rising talent, and if I wouldn't mind overmuch if he wrote me on occasion, just to keep up with what I was doing. I said he could though, honestly, I didn't expect him to. I figured a Lord of the Wizengamot had better things to do with his time than bother with me.

'I got the first letter within a week. And another soon after I replied, and another, and another. For months we wrote back and forth, about all sorts of things. Mostly academic, only the barest bit about our personal lives — far more mine than his, admittedly — a little politics here and there. That summer, one day he simply showed up at my parents' house in Cokeworth. No warning, I hadn't even told him where I lived. With no explanation, rambling off about something to do with enchanting, I don't remember what, he dragged me off to Diagon Alley. Bought me some more suitable clothes over my protests, then to lunch somewhere I certainly wouldn't have been able to afford on my own. Once I was thoroughly confused, he threw up a few privacy charms, and told me he was quite impressed with me. So rarely, he said, did he meet someone with quite so much natural talent and intelligence, nor quite so much drive to prove his worth despite constant jeering and interference from the increasingly powerful blood supremacists of the day. He would like to make me his apprentice, if I was willing. I said I couldn't, my mother likely wouldn't agree. He said, Well then, I would have to be one of his secret apprentices, wouldn't I?

'So he taught me. All kinds of things. And I didn't even learn about his involvement with the Death Eaters until over a year later.' Severus paused a moment, apparently to take another sip from his rum, but really to plan out how to approach the point he wanted to get across. 'Tell me, have you ever heard of Väinö of Livonia?'

Black blinked at him for a second, clearly unbalanced by the apparent change in subject. 'Erm, nothing? Don't think I've ever heard of...him?'

'Yes, him.' Not altogether surprised, Severus admitted. It wasn't a topic usually covered in History, and most don't educate themselves beyond what was needed for class. 'How about the Brotherhood of Dark Lords?'

'Er, didn't they try to invade Scotland or something? The Founders fought against them, I remember that. They were famous for that even before Hogwarts, I think.'

'That is correct — before Hogwarts was a school, it was their base of operations in their war against the Brotherhood. Is that the sum total of your knowledge on the subject? You know nothing about them, only that the Founders fought them?'

At the very least, Black had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed about that, shifting in her seat a little. 'Ah, no, I don't really know anything else.'

Severus let out a short, thin sigh. Not surprising, but still annoying. He really wished Dumbledore would get someone else to teach History. That bloody ghost was useless. But he shook his annoyance off, settled in to explain far more than he'd like.

A lot of people think the title "Dark Lord" is in reference to the person using dark magic, but it originally wasn't. In fact, the title or an equivalent isn't even used everywhere in the world, just Britain and a couple other places in Europe. It is a reference to the Brotherhood, though even then was a mistranslation. The original Norse did not refer to darkness, but the night, and the connotation was not negative — a single hundred might have one leader who dealt with non-magical affairs, and another who dealt with magical ones, referred to respectively as their chiefs of day and night. The Brotherhood was nothing more than a regional cooperation of numerous chiefs of the night, not all too dissimilar from the muggle þing.

The old Nordic Dark Lords weren't necessarily cruel people, but they sometimes were. Give enough people enough power, and some of them will inevitably abuse it. Most did use what modern mages would call dark magic, of course, but in most places in Europe at the time their concept of exactly what dark magic was was entirely different — it generally wasn't illegal, for one thing. The majority used dark magic back then. They did have a tendency to impose themselves on foreign peoples, but so did their muggle counterparts. They weren't so terrible as British stories tend to make them out to be.

In fact, the historical Helga Hufflepuff was a "Dark Lady" named Helga Einriðisdóttir, a member of the Brotherhood and already a famous dragonslayer before defecting to join the other three Founders. The soft reputation she has in modern times was originally inspired by how she brought every single member of her clan with her to the Valley — she left behind not even those who had to be carried, the story went. The expression on Black's face when Severus mentioned that was simply priceless.

But it is true they participated in the various raids and invasions on foreign lands their muggle cousins were so infamous for, and they were just about as gentle. Which is to say, not very. Black would have learned at least a little bit about the defensive war the Celtic Nations fought against the Brotherhood, but they weren't the only people so assaulted. One such place was Livonia, modern-day Estonia and Latvia.

Väinö was a young child when Norse raiders, led by the Brotherhood, fell upon the defenceless village of his birth. Most of the people were either slaughtered or abducted, every structure burned to the ground, only a small handful escaping with their lives and freedom. One was Väinö, now consumed with an intense hatred for all things Dane, and especially the Brotherhood. He swore to himself he would see them all destroyed, no matter what it took.

His revenge took years, decades. He left his homeland, made his way to Scania and ingratiated himself into the local culture. Learned their customs, learned their language, learned their magic. After years of planning, years of work, years of fighting and politicking and backstabbing, he was finally respected enough among his enemies to be honoured with an invitation to join the Brotherhood. Once he knew where they would be meeting, he planted a few enchanted plates of his own devising.

When the Dark Lords of the Brotherhood arrived, the air turned to poison, and they died gasping. Every single one. The loss kept Scandinavia magically vulnerable for the next century or two.

Every single one except Väinö, of course, who hadn't been stupid enough to get caught in his own trap. He returned to his homeland, openly bragging about his accomplishment. His victory would be immortalised, songs sung and legends written about him for generations, and even into modern times similar schemes are still referred to as uses of Väinö's Gambit.

Finally coming around to the point after the long, unfortunately necessary detour, Severus finally said, 'The day my former master revealed to me he was this Lord Voldemort people were whispering about, he also explained to me why. He asked me, just as I asked you, if I'd ever heard of Väinö of Livonia. And he explained his plan to see them all destroyed. Every single one.'

'I'm not sure I understand.' No, Severus was nearly certain Black did understand. She just didn't necessarily want to understand. It was too great of a shift in her perception of the last few decades, too sharply contradicting everything she thought she understood. Not that he could necessarily blame her for that — she had been fed lies her entire life, after all. 'Destroy every single one of who?'

'Use your brain for once, Black, and it should be obvious. Consider what Väinö of Livonia did. Consider the implications of my former master telling me his intent with Lord Voldemort was to accomplish much the same. Connect the dots. It's not complicated.'

'He...' Black frowned down at the table, her fingers tight about the glass she'd barely drank from at all. She swallowed, closed her eyes for a moment, making a very clear effort to keep herself externally calm. And not doing that great a job of it, honestly, her magic was still roiling about her in a nauseating tempest. She really couldn't tell she was doing that, could she? 'He wants to...to get rid of the pureblood supremacists.'

Severus nodded. 'Yes.'

The confusion shifting to rage so quickly Severus almost didn't notice it happen, the magic about her turning thick and hot enough he could feel it prickling at his skin, Black nearly shouted, 'But, but that doesn't make any sense! With how many muggleborns and halfbloods and not terrible— There had to be a better way to do it!'

'How?' The simple, flatly-delivered question disorienting Black enough there was no longer any danger of her breaking anything, Severus paused a moment to take another sip from his mostly-drained rum. A moment he drew out far longer than necessary, just because. The way Black's left eye twitched with irritation was quite amusing. 'From nearly the beginning, I wanted to bring Lily into my master's confidence. Partially to make her survival more likely, partially because I knew she'd be useful. Finally I convinced him, and arranged a meeting between them, spring of our fifth year. When it had all been explained, Lily had the same problem you do: too many good people would die in the process. Later, when I asked her if she had any better ideas...' Severus shrugged. 'She couldn't think of anything either.'

Black did seem to be slightly pleased with that — the parallelism with her mother, he'd assume — but by the tense air about her she wasn't quite settled. 'But... But why? I mean, why does he want to kill them all so much?'

'Is that really so hard to understand? For his first couple years at Hogwarts, everyone thought he was a muggleborn. Sorted into Slytherin. This particular prejudice was not quite so overwhelming then as it is now, even in Slytherin, but you can safely assume he did not have a good time. When he finally confirmed he was a halfblood, it didn't make his situation any better. This arrogant, penniless halfblood attempting to claim not only the name of a Noble and Most Ancient House, but the Lordship as well? Consider how much these people would have hated him. More than an ordinary halfblood, even an ordinary muggleborn, this one thinks he's special. This one thinks he's one of us.' Severus shook his head, setting his emptied glass on the table. 'No, Thomas Gaunt grew up facing an endless litany of prejudice and violence, propagated at the direction of mindless bigotry. He has every reason to hate the purebloods of Britain. He has every reason to plot the destruction of their entire way of life. And he was going to use the character of Lord Voldemort to do it.'

Not that Severus had been entirely confident of that until very recently. He'd thought... Well, he didn't know what he'd thought. That his former master had seduced him into his service with talk about destroying the hold blood supremacy had over the British government, but hadn't intended to actually do it. That it had been just words. He wasn't even entirely sure why he'd come to think that.

No, that wasn't true. There was no point in being dishonest with himself. He'd killed Lily, and Severus hadn't been able to be rational about him anymore.

But now, now he was certain. It was the only thing that made any sense. If his former master had only been out for power, or his own entertainment, he would be doing something. Something, anything. But he wasn't. The obvious answer, the only answer, was that the means he had available no longer suited his purposes. Voldemort had been designed to attract the worst of the blood supremacists to himself. To root them out wherever they hid and gather them all in one place, so they could be efficiently disposed of. He no longer thought the original plan could work. So it had to be abandoned.

In his own head, he could admit dangling the Boy-Who-Lived in front of his face had been something of a test. Lily would not be pleased with him for that, gambling with her daughter's life. But it had turned out well in any case.

He would come up with a new plan. Severus was certain of that. He couldn't leave the situation unresolved. He was like Severus in that way — if he saw a problem, knew the solution, and had the power to enact it, he was entirely helpless to stop himself from doing it. It was just the way they were. Whether it was in their own best interest or not, whether the people involved permitted their interference or not. Problems necessitated solutions.

And Thomas Gaunt would solve them. He was capable of nothing less.

He should have known better. Severus should have known. That he could doubt his master like that... Hadn't he said it himself, only minutes ago? He was one of the very few who could claim to know Tom with any legitimacy. He'd known what Tom was, from quite nearly the beginning. And he'd let himself become blinded. By his own feelings. It was quite embarrassing. Thomas would be so disappointed. Lily would be disappointed, come to think of it.

Actually, his former master was probably already disappointed. In retrospect, he doubted he could have hidden his internal conflict nearly as effectively as he'd thought he had been. Tom surely knew. That was a bit embarrassing.

But he was supposed to be informing his apprentice here. Jesus, that sounded absurd, even in his head. Melantha Black, his apprentice. He suffocated an involuntary shiver, started reaching for his rum only to find the glass emptied. Yes. This was going to take some getting used to. 'You do not have to worry about the Dark Lord any longer. I asked him what his intentions are with you. He said he had none. So long as you do not get in his way, he feels no particular need to harm you. And it is unlikely you will find yourself in his way.'

Disbelief so thick on her voice she nearly choked, Black said, 'And you trust him?'

'As absurd as it may sound?' He raised a single eyebrow a tick. 'Yes. The Väinö's Gambit he had devised will no longer work, so he is abandoning it. By this time next year, there will be no Lord Voldemort. That I certainly trust. His actions confirm his words. If he will not be Lord Voldemort, he has no reason to care about the Boy-Who-Lived.' If anything, he'd probably be inclined to favour Black, recognising her new status as his former apprentice's apprentice. If his numerous apprentices were the closest Thomas Gaunt would ever come to having children, those they apprenticed in turn were the closest he'd ever come to having grandchildren. But she wasn't likely to believe that if he tried to explain it anyway.

'But, that...' Black trailed off, leaned forward in her chair, rubbing at her face with both hands. Severus let the silence hang. He could imagine this was quite a change of circumstances for her to wrap her head around. Many people in the Order had been talking about the Dark Lord's return like it was the end of bloody days. It was only natural she'd have trouble adjusting to the idea it wasn't. So he waited, long moments, trying not to be impatient. Or at least not to look it. Finally Black straightened, let out a long sigh. Her eyes slightly unfocused on the wall behind him, she said, 'Then why are we doing this, then?'

'Doing what?'

'This whole apprenticeship thing.' Black's eyes darted back to his, only for a second, before jumping down to the table. 'I mean, the whole reason... The point was to defend myself properly. From Voldemort. And if he's not a problem...'

'Surely you don't think the Dark Lord is the only threat you will ever have to face.' Black winced at the scathing ice on his voice, the message obviously sunk partially through already. But Severus had never been one for half-measures. 'You are the Boy-Who-Lived. Though, I suppose—' He felt a smirk touch his lips. '—we'll have to do something about that title now.' Normally he'd rebuke Black for rolling her eyes at him like that, but the whole myth was ridiculous enough he'd let it slide this time. 'People all over the world know of you. Less so in other nations than in Britain, but all the same. Eyes will be on you for all the days of your life. You cannot escape it. And you are an exceptionally powerful witch. You may not realise that yet, but you will come to understand in time. You will come to understand what it means. Everything you do and everything you say will be analysed for meaning, intentions and desires and goals that never occurred to you extrapolated from them. And people will act on what they believe you want. You cannot stop them.'

By the expression on Black's face, this wasn't exactly a surprise. That she was exceptionally powerful, perhaps — a momentary flicker of doubt had crossed her face during that part — but the rest she faced with only a visible sense of disgust. Almost petulance. He wasn't sure what to think of that. 'And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?'

'People will try to harm you. I can't tell you who, or when. But it will happen. You must be prepared to stop them when they do. But it's more than that. No matter what you do, people will assume you want something. Want to do something. With the power you will have at your disposal, people will assume you must. They would, in your place. They won't believe you if you tell them you only wish to be left alone, no matter how true it may be. Power going unused is much like a river ceasing to flow, the winds never blowing, the stars freezing in the sky. If you do not give them something, they will invent it for themselves.' Severus shrugged, the gesture as easy and casual as he could make it. 'It is better to come up with something. That way, people don't dictate your image for you. You can control, at least to some extent, how people will see you.

'So, Melantha Black, tell me.' He leaned forward a bit, staring hard and steady. Staring right into her eyes, those unnervingly familiar eyes, willing the message to be heard, to sink in deeply, and stay there. 'What do you want to accomplish with your life?'

Black stared blankly back, silent. But she didn't have to actually say anything, he knew the answer already: she didn't know. She had no idea what she wanted to do with herself. All that untapped power, all that unharnessed talent, and she had not a single thought at all.

But that was fine. He could work with that.


Þing — A word in various Germanic languages for an assembly of free men, one form or another of which governed most historical Germanic societies (in pre-feudal times, anyway). The Anglo–Saxon Witenaġemōt is a rather late, French-influenced iteration of the same thing, where JKR got the name Wizengamot. So, the Brotherhood of Dark Lords is essentially the Norse equivalent to the Wizengamot. That's on purpose.

[Helga Einriðisdóttir, a member of the Brotherhood and already a famous dragonslayer] — Yes, this is actually headcanon, not Severus just fucking with Mel's head for shiggles.

Väinö — In case any nerds out there are wondering, it's far more likely Väinö was named after the god/hero Väinämöinen, which Väinö is short for, and not the other way around.


In case anyone was thinking it, yes, my headcanon Snape is basically magic Doctor House.

And yeah, this chapter got really late. Sorry about that. First the TLG chapter went long, then sleep stupidness happened again. And, well, then I drove roughly seven hundred miles, which threw off my writing a bit. It's possible I might have invaded LeighaGreene's house. She's in the room, right over there, as I type this. Which is sort of absurd. Did you know all those words on the internet are, like, real people? You learn something every day.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep something resembling a normal schedule moving forward, but we'll have to see.

Until next time,
~Wings