1.07 Death Eater

"So, do you think it'll work?"

They were in the Potions lab, where Harry had been promoted from the grunge work of cutting, dicing and powdering, to the more advanced job of stirring. Although Harry thought he should be feeling proud at the step up, this gave him a higher chance of making a mistake, which made Snape annoyed, and on the whole, Harry preferred the slightly calmer version.

But this was Snape's idea of distraction, and after two whole days of being cooped up in his room and gorging on the newspapers, reading about all the attacks and everything that people said (or didn't say, because some people had 'no comment'), Snape had decided that he needed a break and ordered him into the Potions lab.

"I do not." Snape was standing a little way away from him, working on another potion, though his eyes were usually on whatever Harry was doing.

Harry carefully counted the stirs and then added the Bicorn root. "Because of what Dumbledore said?"

"It takes a great deal of evidence to put someone like Lucius Malfoy into prison. The word of a boy who overheard his blonde captor being called by the name of Lucius doesn't count as hard evidence."

Put that way, it really didn't. "So you think it's just a waste of time."

Snape gave him a sour look. "Dumbledore does not make decisions that are merely a waste of time. If he thinks it might work, it might work."

"But if the evidence is so little, like you said—"

"He is banking on your image in the wizarding world." Snape looked like he'd bitten into something particularly disgusting.

"I'm as famous as Lucius Malfoy?" He'd read a few articles from the rise of Voldemort's reign, and there were a lot of quotes from 'the Malfoy family', mainly Abraxas Malfoy, who was apparently Lucius Malfoy's father. They were quoted and re-quoted as if their opinions were the only ones that counted. The Malfoys, the Blacks, the Lestranges, on the one side, on Voldemort's side. On the other, the Potters (Harry's heart had given a little twist at reading the words of his grandfather, Fleamont Potter, 'known for his famous Sleekeazy Hair Potion', quoted as being decidedly anti-Voldemort), the Boneses, the Longbottoms.

"You must be delighted, Potter," he said with a sneer. "You're quite the celebrity."

Harry tried not to rise to the bait. "I hope it works like Dumbledore thinks it will," he replied.

"If it does, will you hand out autographs after the trial? A nickel for a sign, a galleon for a picture?"

Harry glared up at Snape, feeling furious all of a sudden. "I'm famous because Voldemort tried to kill me and couldn't, for some weird reason that nobody understands, and my parents died that day, so no, I'm not delighted."

There was a flash of something in Snape's eyes. "Should I feel sorry for you then, Potter? Offer you my condolences over such a tragic incident?" he said, in a mocking voice.

"Why, did you kill them?"

His lips twitched. After a long stare, in which Harry refused to back down and look away, Snape said, "Your potion, Potter."

He hurriedly lowered the flame and added the Newts' eyes, his face still red with anger. He placed his hands on the counter, clutching the edge. "You don't need to feel sorry for me," he said, keeping his voice as level as he could. "Sir. I don't need your pity."

"How noble of you."

Harry gritted his teeth. "My parents died to save me," he almost spat, meeting Snape's cold eyes and almost wishing he could scratch at them. "I don't need pity for that."

Silence in the room, broken only by the bubbling of their potions.

"Your father's middle name was Henry," Snape said suddenly, catching Harry off-guard. He stared at Snape's back in confusion, before remembering that he'd told Snape a while ago that he didn't know his father's middle name.

He frowned. Was that Snape's way of apologizing?

He remembered his potion, and hurriedly took it off the stove. It was a few shades lighter than it ought to have been. Snape came over, and gave a small nod. "Passable."

Then he waved his wand, and the contents of the cauldron disappeared. "Do it again."

Harry sent a glare at Snape as he turned. Prat.

It took another hour before Harry could finish it again, and this time it was almost perfect. Snape gave another nod, with a verdict of 'adequate', and then Harry was allowed to leave.

He rushed back into his room. Newspapers and pieces of parchment were lying in a messy semicircle around a round empty spot that he carefully settled into. He'd had to order a Wizarding dictionary the previous day because nearly a tenth of the words were foreign to him. He kept the dictionary in his lap and leaned over the newspaper.

He'd lost almost all track of time when he heard footsteps coming up the hall.

"I have to meet some people," Snape said from the doorway.

Harry looked up at him. "Okay?"

"Seeing you here would raise awkward questions, and Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to know you're not with the Dursleys. Stay here in your room."

"Okay."

"Go to sleep," he called over his shoulder as he left.

'People', Snape had said. Not friends, or colleagues. Harry wondered idly who it, or they, didn't bother much about it, though. He was soon sleepy and so he went to sleep.

He woke up with a start. This kind of awakening was a common occurrence since he'd been rescued, as was the wide awake feeling that followed it. He lay staring up at the ceiling for a while, before flinging off the covers and getting off the bed. He walked to the door.

The door was locked.

This sent a tendril of panic into his stomach before realisation settled in— of course, Severus had made sure he wouldn't accidentally stumble into his meeting with his visitor. Harry didn't know how long he'd been asleep.

Still rather groggy, Harry wasn't inclined to think much of the knowledge that something was being kept from him. This, however, was Severus. What kind of people warranted locking Harry in? He scooted to the side of the door that met the wall, and huddled in the corner, trying to listen. There was absolute silence from the other side of the door. That was magic, he knew. He briefly considered going back to his bed. No, he decided. This was comfortable. He liked this small space. He huddled in the corner, his head on the door. It was rather cold, but he was getting sleepy again and he didn't want to go back for his blanket. Besides, he'd gone to sleep plenty of times without one before. He wrapped his arms around himself.

What awoke him a second time was the sound of the door being unlocked. Harry blinked, confused for a moment. As it opened, he scrambled away from it. Snape strode in, apparently oblivious to Harry's presence on the floor. He looked at the bed, at the lump of the blanket. From his half-hidden position, Harry watched as he stood still in the middle of the room, his stiff shoulders lifting and lowering in what looked like a very long (silent) sigh. Then, in an almost subconscious gesture, he pulled up his sleeves and turned to leave.

That's when Snape saw him.

That's when he saw it.

Snape's eyes widened, and he yanked his sleeves down.

But Harry saw it.

He froze for a second, staring at the sleeve that covered the mark—the mark he'd seen on everyone in that prison, faded, but still visible. His eyes travelled up ṭhe dark sleeve and shoulder to meet Snape's eyes.

"Are you one of them?" he asked quietly.

At least, he thought, he should confirm it first.

"Potter, listen to me—"

"Are you?"

Snape stared at him, his pale face like a beacon in the dark. "—not anymore."

That hit him almost as a physical blow. He reeled back and his head hit the wall. A kaleidoscope of visuals danced before his eyes—Snape capturing him, Snape killing Mrs. Figg, Snape in that awful mask, Snape holding him down as they forced their thousandth liquid into his mouth.

Pressing his palm against the wall, he scrambled up slowly. He took three steps forward. Then he turned and rushed out the door.

Snape groaned. He contemplated running after the boy, but what then? He was too terrified to listen to reason, and running after and catching him would just scare him more.

He strode out the bedroom door and to the hall. Harry was standing there, at the main door, having apparently found it shut. His entire demeanour was that of one who knew full well he was defenceless and was yet determined to go out fighting. "Let me out."

"It's night." Snape stayed still, as far away from him as he could be while still keeping him in his line of sight. He really didn't want any wild magic in here, not right now. The last thing he wanted to do was use his wand.

"Let me out." This time his voice broke.

"Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. What do you care?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"Britain." A bit forcefully, "England."

"That narrows it down." He took a step forward. Harry leaned back, as if trying to meld inside the door. "I'm going to use the fireplace," Snape said slowly, arms up, palm outwards.

"To call your friends?"

"I'm going to call Dumbledore."

"I don't believe you."

"You can do it yourself, if you want."

There was a brief second of hesitation. "How?" then, "No, it's fine, you do it." Rather bitterly, he added, "I doubt I can stop you if you really want to hurt me."

Snape took the jar of Floo powder and went to the fireplace. Throwing the powder in, he said "Dumbledore's office." He watched a small frown appear and disappear on Potter's face. A minute later, "I need you."

Then he waited.

Dumbledore came through in a minute, brushing ash off his robes and looking the picture of geniality in his yellow robes. "Hello, Harry," he said, nodding at him with a pleasant smile. Then he turned to Snape, who had barely opened his mouth when Potter blurted, "He's got the snake mark."

Snape watched Dumbledore. The twinkle in his eyes almost disappeared and the set of his mouth became serious before he said, "I know."

Potter's shoulders stiffened. "And you don't — you don't care about that?"

"Severus has my complete trust."

"So? You could be a Death Eater too!"

Albus smiled at that. Potter frowned again. "What's so funny?"

"Pardon me. It's not every day that people accuse me of being a supporter of Voldemort."

Potter bit his lip. He'd read the newspapers too. He was staring at Snape, and the temptation to Legilimize him was too great. He slipped in effortlessly, skimming through the surface of his roiling thoughts.

Albus Dumbledore, fought a Dark Wizard. Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Light. Champion for Muggles and Muggleborns, and that was not normal here. Albus Dumbledore the good guy.

But him. Him with the Mark. That snake and skull mark that they had and he could not, not ever, trust someone who had that—

Snape withdrew quickly, feeling the oddest sensation in the back of his throat. He'd felt guilt so many times by now, he should've been used to it. Apparently not.

"I'm sorry," his voice sounded choked and hoarse," but I can't trust you—or this—" he hesitated vaguely at the room "—or anything at all."

"We've covered this already—" Snape said.

"Look, I don't know magic! All I know is that those people tried messing with me like this, with my head—just like this—and I've no way of knowing if any of this is actually real!"

Albus sighed softly. "It's quite impossible to sustain such pretence for very long, and with such particular attention to detail. Getting up in the morning, the smell of your food, the touch of your bedsheets."

He slumped against the door. "O-kay. It's not very possible. But I still don't trust him." A pointed finger rose, aimed at Snape's chest.

"You must trust me."

Snape could see tears in his eyes and his mouth wobbling as he looked at Albus. His mouth worked, as he struggled to speak. He rubbed his forehead. "Okay. But I have questions."

"We'll do our best to answer them."

"Questions for you," he said, looking at Snape.

Snape glanced at Albus, who met his eyes with a thoughtful look. "He will try to answer your questions as best he can."

"Albus—"

"Severus, he's afraid. A little openness will go a long way." He put a hand on Snape's shoulder, tapped his index finger, smiled, and turned to Potter. "I will leave you here, then?"

He hesitated, still looking at Snape. He'd done it once, might as well do it again. He slipped in, staying on the barest surface of the boy's emotion.

Harry remembered, belatedly — he was a wizard, too. He could use his magic; he had never deliberately used it but it had always worked when he needed it to. Ignoring the time in the cellar of course, because then they had done something to him—

Potter nodded his head, determinedly. Dumbledore stepped into the fireplace, and then they were alone.

Snape and Potter regarded each other for a moment before Snape walked to the table. "Sit."

The boy sat across him, his fingers on the table, restless, before placing them in his lap. "Who was here earlier?"

"No one you need to know."

"One of the mark people?"

"They're called Death Eaters."

"You mean you're called Death Eaters." He looked up at him, straight in the eye. Bravely. Gryffindor for sure. Well, wasn't that just perfect. Snape didn't answer that. "Well, were they?"

"There was just one." Lucius Malfoy, in fact, come to inform him of the 'no press trial', and to ask if he'd heard anything about it, if he'd been called, in fact, because if he hadn't, then it meant it was just a hunch and likely wouldn't work.

"That's not a good enough answer!"

"You can take comfort in the fact that I'm not lying to your face."

"Why won't you?"

"Because, Potter, the purpose of our talk is to establish trust."

"By not answering my questions?"

"You've only asked one so far, and non-replies are better than lies."

He shrugged. "Next question, then," with an eye roll that nearly made Snape snap at him about respecting his elders before he remembered that he wasn't his student, although he could still insist on respect—

"Did you take the mark because Dumbledore needed you to, um—be part of their group?"

"No."

His head lurched back, just a tiny bit. Apart from that, he was sitting still. "You wanted to join them?"

Snape didn't answer.

"Why?"

"I had reasons."

"Like what?" sharply, like an interrogator.

Snape hesitated. "I was younger then. I felt it was required of me."

"Required?" He breathed this out.

"I cannot explain any further."

"Do you regret it?"

Snape didn't answer that, either.

"So now you're working for the good guys and the bad guys don't know?"

"Yes." And I might have to Obliviate you after this, only then you'll mistrust me all over again. I'll just have to do it when you leave.

Silence. "Is that all?" Snape asked.

"How many others got away? Like Malfoy and you?"

"Too many. More than a dozen."

He was staring at him again. Stop that, he wanted to say. You make it too easy.

"How did you know my father?"

Snape had to take a moment to regain his composure—as it was, he barely managed to keep the emotion off his face. "We were in the same year at school." He managed to say that normally, at least.

He nodded thoughtfully. "My mother too?"

"Yes." Short and curt. He didn't pick up on that. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "What's the mark for?"

"It was given to all of the Dark Lord's followers when they joined his cause."

Potter gave him a strange look. "Why do you call him the Dark Lord?"

"Does that matter?" he retorted.

"You said everyone called him You-Know-Who."

Snape exhaled. "Force of habit, Potter. The Death Eaters call him that."

"And you're a Death Eater."

There was a curious mixture of emotions on Potter's face—he was furious, and a little afraid, which made him defiant. But there was something else too, that Snape couldn't place. "Listen, Potter. You are far too young and ignorant to understand the reasons for my loyalties. This is all you need to know: I did join—Voldemort—willingly, I then chose to join Dumbledore, but my position as a Death Eater is helpful for Dumbledore, so he insists that I keep up the pretence of being one."

Potter was chewing on his lower lip, which had disappeared into his mouth. "And do you regret joining him?"

"That is quite irrelevant—"

"No, it's not, because otherwise you're just very obedient to Dumbledore, and you're just doing what he says because he asks you to!"

Snape fixed him with a cold glare. "I joined Dumbledore out of my own interest, Potter."

"Why?" his voice was almost pleading. "You said you joined Voldemort because you wanted to, why did you change your mind?"

Lily's eyes were staring at him through a mess of James Potter's hair. "I—hurt someone."

Snape did not think this answer would be sufficient, in fact he'd been bracing himself to cut off Potter's next question with the statement that 'that is quite enough, Potter', but the boy sat back in his chair with a curious light of understanding in his eyes. Snape watched his eyes, fastened to the edge of the table, before he quietly said, "I'm sleepy. Can I go to bed?"

"Are you satisfied now?"

He nodded. "Just about." He got up. "If I think of anything else I can ask you, right?"

"Why would you think otherwise?"

Potter walked to the door. His hand was on the handle when he turned. "You still don't like me."

Snape was thankful he wasn't looking at the boy. "Why do you say that?"

"You never look at me properly, like in the eye."

Snape did, then. "Really?"

He snickered. "Really."

Snape was silent for a moment. "Good night, Potter."

He pursed up his lips, the edges of which widened in a smile. "It's okay if you don't. It's nicer if you rescued me when you didn't like me." He looked away, fondling the door handle. "But it's stupid to not like me without knowing me. Good night." He slipped out the door before Snape could even think of formulating a reply.

AN: Yes, I am alive. And well. I was, however, very busy for the past couple of weeks. I am back to being quite, quite free now. I thought of uploading multiple chapters to make up, but I just lost the last few chapters of my work (I know, i really should have uploaded them to gdrive or something) so my supply is rather short. I will be posting twice a week, however.

Reviews are good! Reviews are brownies and vanilla icecream.