Seven
Chapter 1
He hadn't expected to remain idle after securing the job as the resident Potions Master at Hogwarts, no, but he hadn't thought about spying so frequently ever since the Dark Lord's disappearance.
Of course, most of it was just the guilt that drove him to attend these inane chatters of Dark Lord's loose trail. In fact, Dumbledore had always assured him that a missive stating that he wouldn't be able to attend due to unforeseen circumstances and a lucky chance to overhear information-would let him be excused.
He was working hard, Albus had said, and had far too many duties as the resident Potions Master and the Head of Slytherin. The Death Eaters would have to understand his position, he had said. Severus had vehemently shoved off the sentiments that seemed to ooze from the Headmaster, though he knew what Albus said was true.
He was overwrought with his lesson plans and had a spy position to put forth. He attended the meetings whenever he could, which was sparse attendance as too much time away from Dumbledore would raise suspicions within the circle. But from Rowle, five meetings past, Severus found himself filled with dread every morning.
He hadn't attended the last four meetings, and when he had gotten the owl from Lucius stating that the next meeting would be held in Malfoy Manor, Severus had known he had to attend.
Lucius was, by far, the most withdrawn, rivalling Karakoff, of the Death Eaters. Of course, he had a family and was raising the miscreant he called for a son and had gotten off with the Imperious plead, which somehow translated into reinstating everything Malfoy back to the dreaded blonde. Severus couldn't help but allow a bit of bitterness to creep in whenever he thought about how much evidence was to be piled on him for him being a spy, yet Malfoy only had to prowl into the hall, plead and drizzle galleons, causing the bumbling morons of the Ministry to let him off with a few sharp words, as if Lucius Malfoy was only a troubled teenager.
Lucius was a Slytherin in every manner, though. His atonement, as he stated, was to readily be installed as a Board Governor and become the biggest financial donor to the Ministry. Severus was not fooled, though. Lucius, even when he used to look up to the blonde in awe in his youth, looked down at anything less than pureblood or Slytherin. His position was a valuable asset, merely, and gave him a day job rather than bloody atonement.
He was no child anymore, and the Dark Arts had torn his life apart far enough, so Severus knew that he had to analyse every Malfoy appearance as a double edged sword where the inbred blondes were to be the ones holding the hilt.
Hence, when the owl had arrived with the statement that the next Death Eater meeting's venue was to be the Malfoy Manor, Severus had gone straight to Albus right after a lunch of sawdust to his tongue. Of course, it had ended up on him agreeing to go attend and to be on his guard. After all, Lucius Malfoy breaking his absentee streak was a highly suspicious matter. Malfoy Manor, from Severus's own experiences, was not a home open for guests. It was merely a place of getting work done for the Malfoy's-as if the oily history of the Slytherin blood had to be polished by such actions.
Hence, being invited could only mean big news that could only make Severus's stomach churn, of course.
Albus had briefly brought up the topic of the Potter boy when Severus had asked on his opinion on the venue, which made Severus almost drop his cup of tea.
"I cannot say, my boy, what they would find in young Harry, but I advise you to be on your guard more than ever and remember your vow. That boy is only such-a boy, and by our reports, quietly disregarding magic."
Severus had nervously asked if it couldn't be on the Dark Lord's trail, yet Albus could only say that the information that he holds was the same amount the Death Eaters would know—non-existent.
He never liked the topic of the Potter boy. It had always made him sick whenever Minerva had tears in her eyes, hoping and praying on the little fool's birthday—the boy was probably living the best life an orphan could ever have, coddled and swaddled even at the age of seven, yet it never seemed to be anyone else's opinion.
After all, it was James Potter's spawn after all?
Yet, Harry Potter's name had always bled guilt into his ears. After all, he had condemned the boy's parents to their early graves.
Lily's boy as well.
Oh, how her death still affected his dreams.
Every year, on her birthday and death day, he would go back to the park in Spinner's End and spend at least two hours, late at night, with a candle in one hand, and firewhiskey in another—the only times of the year he allowed himself to get completely knackered over the effects of the godforsaken alcohol.
In dry amusement, he knew he wouldn't let himself be if Lily wouldn't keep haunting his dreams.
She could've been his if he hadn't been so adamant over the power he was offered—mainly fuelled by his bitterness over his abusive, drunk Muggle father. He knew Lily knew that. She was only trying to help, the sweet angel. Oh, but Severus and his clever mouth had screwed it over, and there she was, spurning his apology and making Severus's stupidity crash over his anger. The only happy, safe thing in his abused, poor life was stripped away from him—all because he had been tortured a little more than usual by the bloody Marauders. After all, one's pants meant nothing when Lily was dead at his words, leaving her infant son, bleeding in a crib over her dead body.
But James Potter. The name would always drawl out his sneer. That bully, the bloody pompous arse, had somehow won Lily over. The arrogant toe rag, as she had once screeched at him, that man was her choice. Severus's bane of Hogwarts—him.
Yet, how terribly vindictive it must've sounded. Pleading for Lily's life, and leaving out her husband and son to both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Dumbledore's disgust…it had hit him what exactly Potter meant to Lily. And how Severus had messed up every chance of Lily ever thinking about him, even as a cold bastard.
He was disgusting. And he had to make up for it.
That load of guilt made Severus only swear again and again about making sure the boy lives through this, and making sure the boy never hears about his vows. Embarrassing and guilt inducing. Not something Severus wanted from Potter's whelp—not ever.
So there he was, at the long, exquisitely crafted wooden table at the Malfoy's, where he heard Rowle explain with a smirk about administrating the same boy's slow death, as if he founded a new Magical theory.
With a goblet in hand, he had described the sheer delight that their Master would feel on knowing the humiliating twit's death by the hands of the faithful, to which the other dunderheads that call themselves Dark Art enthusiasts and Death Eaters had nodded their heads excitedly to.
All but Lucius and Severus, though.
Severus couldn't speak and he felt as if he was thrown in a Body-Bind. The hell was he meant to do? Go along with them and make them question his position as too enthusiastic to remain as a spy? Or defy them, and make them all turn against him?
Rowle was paying even more attention to him in this meeting more than ever—he probably expected Severus to convey more words from the Headmaster.
But, as much as Severus was known for being reclusive and anti-social, he wasn't used to being shocked into utter speechlessness.
He remembered Occluding like a mad man and running through his options, when Lucius's oily tone had broken his frantic thoughts.
"Forgive me, but the idea seems far too…desperate. The Dark Lord, in my opinion, would want to humiliate the boy as the boy had done to him. It would only do you more harm than good in the future if you were to kill Potter."
Rowle's eyes had lingered on Severus's for a moment before turning back to Lucius.
"Oh? Let's say I were to do the killing, Lucius. I've lost my wife, I bore no children and I merely live as the final heir to the House of Rowle. Tell me, Lucius, if he were to find the Potter whelp's death from my hands as a sign of dishonour, would my hurt or death really hurt you all? More, it would only do us good." The insufferable, and now, suicidal mad man grinned, crinkled his glinting, brazen eyes. "He would get over his disappointment in me, and use the Potter boy's death as an advantage. The Saviour would be decimated. The Wizarding World loses their little mudblood angel— "
This idiot, thought Severus as he cleared his throat. Rowle's eyes had whipped to his, and his eyes narrowed. What the hell?
"I have to agree, becoming as fugitive as a werewolf pack to the eyes of the Ministry, doesn't seem to be the right course of action if we were to promote our ideologies of nobility."
Severus met Lucius's eyes who gave him a curious look. Severus sighed and looked back at Rowle, who's eyes were still in slits, to which Severus arched an eyebrow at.
"Kidnapping and murdering a whelp who hasn't barely even reached the age of seven would only make the Wizarding World call us low-class predators. As such, he is, an angel to the world. The riots and protests might even reach the Ministry and blow at alarming rates if Dumbledore gets involved. And what am I to say to the old man, hm? Casually state that I had no idea that the whelp was to die? I must agree with Lucius, Rowle, it is an awful jump of plans."
Another voice joined. Yaxley.
"Of course," he drawled in a gruff voice, "we could play it out as the work of someone outside? Perhaps as a Ministry official with Polyjuice and perhaps get Bellatrix out to do it? It wouldn't be on our heads."
He could feel rather than see Lucius's nostrils flare on the mention of his sister-in-law. Not the proud part of Lucius's reputation, brother-in-law to an Azkaban inmate and all.
"Don't be foolish, Yaxley" said Lucius sharply. "For all we know, she could most certainly be a madwoman in emotional distraught. Think of someone new and bold."
Oh, Merlin. Here I thought Lucius wouldn't look for the whelp's death.
The whole time Severus was focused on Yaxley's intervention, he could feel Rowle's eyes boring into him, which he pointedly ignored.
He couldn't stand it after a few good moments of silence. He whipped his head at Rowle and glared. "What is it that you find so interesting in me?"
He heard the Carrows snigger while the rest of the Death Eaters merely looked upon them with mirth dancing in their eyes.
Rowle's eyebrows shot up as he leaned back in his chair. "Whatever do you mean, Snape?"
Snape gave an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples. He looked back to the calculating gaze of Rowle and scowled.
"What exactly are you trying to get out from me?"
Half the table chuckled, including Rowle. "I was thinking about what you would have to say to the old codger, Snape. I did not mean to insult you." The man shot him a grim smile, making Severus roll his eyes towards the ceiling.
"I'm a Master Occlumens, Rowle. The old man doesn't expect me to retaliate his teachings at him. I thought it was obvious—I'm his troubled ex-student that he trusts with his life." Severus's eyes reached back down to Rowle's. "A false trail here and there puts him off—he wouldn't dare Legilimise me, if that's what you're afraid of. He doesn't want to break the already-broken Slytherin by breaking my trust."
"Ah," said Rowle, swirling his goblet. "May I ask if you've been Occluding even now?"
Purebloods were usually brought up with the stoic of a man ready to be tutored with the Mind Magics, and hence, require honing of the mind for the arts. All the Death Eaters were competent in it, but it never met Severus's talent, no.
Severus's daunting upbringing had made Occluding an innate talent of his, especially when he had to shut of his mother's tortured screams- and had exceeded even Dumbledore's abilities which had both saddened his mentor as well as made him fiercely proud of Severus.
It was from that day, Severus could see the man gracing Severus as a son-like figure over his disgust and the vow for Lily, making Severus flush and feel like a praised toddler. He wanted to make his mentor proud, was what he knew at the age of twenty-two, and make the man trust him in every way—which was quickly proven after his two exceedingly perfect Legelimency lessons over which Dumbledore merely embraced Severus, muttering about wronging the little, lost Slytherin that he discerned from the small glimpses of Severus's stream of memories. He had, much to his own chagrin, returned to embrace and awkwardly stated that there was no need to gush sentiments and that he would be perfectly alright around him.
The so-called sentiments hadn't even caused Severus to spit fire about watching personal memories. The embrace had shaken his very core and his childish longing for a caring guardian was slowly emerging. It had terrified him.
Slowly, Albus Dumbledore had become Severus's only confidante of his emotions and life. Everyone else metaphorically, and literally, was Occluded from his life.
Of course he kept Occluding. It was second nature to Severus. It was the matter of how much he had to Occlude in company of people that he practiced.
"Yes, I am. The dunderheads have submitted their horrendous assignments before their summer break, and in between I'm serving the Dark Lord and spy for a barmy, old man. I have an immediate stress reliever in forms of Occlumency as my mind is disciplined enough to prioritise my attention. I hope that gives you relief that I'm not hiding anything from you?" he drawled sarcastically.
He wasn't wrong. The Slytherin, pragmatic approach with the Occlumency barriers tied in made Severus confident and sorted. He probably wouldn't have lived after Lily's death if he hadn't had them both.
Another round of chuckles broke through, and Lucius slapped his shoulder with a thin smile.
Rowle grinned and raised his goblet to Severus. "Very well, Snape. I shall leave the concern of your spying activities…though perhaps we could revisit the option of the Potter boy's death later?" Rowle looked at both Lucius and him, to which both nodded.
The conversation immediately turned to the Dark Magic trail left in Greece, which had suspiciously, according to Dolohov, retreated near the city of Preveza. Of course, Dolohov's suspicions were correct—the signature on the cloth he had salvaged from his Greek excursion was indeed reminiscent of Dark Magic, but one could not tell after the Dark Lord's many endeavors that made himself more and more powerful-especially now that he was Merlin knows what after the Potter incident.
In conclusion, the meeting only proved influence of Dark magic and the non-existent proof of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Yet, upon the return to Hogwarts to his chambers in the dungeons, he immediately flooed Albus and stressfully explained his predicament. Albus had entered his chambers, Pensieve in his wrinkled hands and all but demanded Severus's memory.
After Albus returned from the memory, they stressfully examined the situation. Albus had made fit to, shockingly, indulge Severus with the knowledge of Harry Potter's address, apparently in Surrey, Little Whinging(A fitting name for Petunia's terrible character), and showed the memory of the seemingly bland house, which the Headmaster had fiercely guarded, causing Severus to both take pride and apprehension on the gravity of the situation. Albus had sternly told Severus to tread carefully around Rowle—he was one of the cleverest Slytherin in his year, told Albus.
Albus had then, gotten up from the settee and cupped Severus's cheek, to the dour man's surprise, and gently caressed it. "Your path is hard, my brave boy, but I hope you find a balm to buffer to your worries. Occlumency is, and as you know very well, a mere block to emotions, not as you said—a stress reliever. I am always here for you, my boy, and you would do well to remember that when you are greatly distressed, even with trivial matters. It may be your balm, Severus."
Severus's throat had suddenly constricted painfully with unaccustomed emotion and he turned his head towards the bookshelf practically clogged with his tomes. He took three calming breaths and Occluded, and turned back to Albus and rested a hand on his mentor's wrinkled hand that rested on his cheek.
"Of course, Albus. I trust you. It's… a hard habit to break, you might say."
Albus had merely sighed heavily, suddenly looking very, very old. He retracted his hand and searched Severus's face for a few moments before bidding Severus a good night and flooing back to his office.
The next day, a tawny owl with the crest of the House of Rowle arrived stating to attend every following meeting somehow.
He agreed. Albus, did not. But Severus couldn't be bothered. He shouted at Albus—he lived merely for Lily's boy, salvaging his atonement. Albus merely ran a hand through his beard and retorted with the fact that Albus Dumbledore cannot be so easily fooled—for his Potions Master has to leave the castle for three consecutive nights. It was summer and one might think a Potions Master might have some time away from the dunderheads, snapped Severus. Albus stated it was a plot, Severus could only say hang it all. Albus said there was no way the Death Eaters could find the boy, but Severus argued that no boy, especially one with Potter's blood, would always stay cooped up in the house. Albus said he'd send a letter to Petunia, Severus thought that if a simple letter could tell Petunia Evans off, then he was a hippogriff.
"Severus, try to understand— "
"Albus, I won't. The boy's life is in our hands."
"But— "
"You can strengthen the wards by the radius when I come back with their words. Please, Albus…"
Albus heaved a heavy sigh, one that made him instantly wither and gestured Severus to do what he intended with a flourished, wrinkled hand. Severus whipped around, his greasy hair suddenly bouncing across his now flushed cheek, as he made for the door.
These meetings were going to make him curse the existence of Potters more than ever.
The following day, he was tense. So tense, that the dour man couldn't do more than wear his black robes and nurse a cup of firewhiskey. To hell with lesson plans. To hell with his experimental potions. Severus prided himself on his methodical lesson plans that he would schedule and finish off by the end of the first month of summer.
He was halfway done, but now that the meetings about the boy had popped up, he could literally burn his plans for all he cared as he merely wished to drink till he couldn't function—which he knew Albus wouldn't allow. He quickly cast the spell that cancelled the smell of the drink, and rose out of his couch to exit his chambers.
Minerva, that damned cat, had somehow sat next to him for breakfast, instead of Filius, and in a rare show of concern to the Head of Slytherin, rubbed his forearm, and asked why he was so wound up.
He flinched unintentionally and scowled at the look of concern his ex-professor was showing him. Prying her fingers of his arm, he glared and told her that he was running out of time for a certain potion that he could not place on stasis as he did not know its effect on it. Minerva softened and soon, gave him a stern look and pestered him to eat more sugar to keep him more energized for his 'potions vigil.'
"Damn you, Minerva," he growled when she placed a sugar coated croissant on his plate, making his stomach clench in absolute disgust. "This is far too much sugar for a potions vigil. I was just tensed!"
Minerva smirked. "Well, we mustn't be rude and leave our food to waste, no?"
He could feel Albus's twinkle and all the other eyes on him as he grumbled through the undeniably sickening sugary pastry, tension decapitated.
Unbeknownst to the youngest Potion Master of England, Minerva had been observing her former student for the past few days, and whether the boy knew or not, Minerva knew he was jumpy for the past few days—apparently Death Eater meetings, said Albus when she had asked him. It had struck her as a curious matter, as Severus was the last person to openly project discomfort in his situation, and asked Albus the matter of the meetings. He raised a hand in a gesture of defence, and told her it was only between him, Severus and the Death Eaters and could put her in a precarious position if explained to.
But Albus, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, asked whether Minerva could 'settle' his nerves tomorrow, as Severus was indeed, being sent into a hard-pressed Death Eater situation. Minerva, with these years, learnt much about Severus's past from Albus himself, (of course, Severus would never know) and had grown a soft spot as well as a tinge of guilt for never having interfered with the Marauders. She usually, had nothing to banter about during the summer with Severus when she was around, and generally kept the conversation as civil as she could with the young man that was always cooped up within Hogwarts and his lab.
Naturally, she agreed to make him feel better for the next few days. It was Severus, after all.
And she couldn't help but smile at the rest of the teachers, who were watching their banter happily, and smirk when she heard Severus curse at her precociousness.
The boy, she knew, was pushing himself very hard, and she would finally be there for the little, hurt Slytherin boy that grew to be the brilliant and snarky Potion Master that she worked with.
And with that thought, Minerva playfully tweaked Severus's ear, to which he violently startled to, causing the table to burst out laughing. The man, after choosing a few choice curses at her way, got up and brushed his dark robes, and excused himself with a flourish only the graceful bat of the dungeon's possessed.
"Enter!"
Severus stood still as Albus's office door opened on its own. With a deep breath, he entered the office determined to get over the conversation of the second consecutive meeting.
"Albus."
The Headmaster, after a good minute of staring Severus up to down, consequently making Severus highly uncomfortable, frowned.
"Severus, I will not lie. You do not look well."
Severus raised an eyebrow at that.
"The meetings take place during the night. I haven't slept."
Albus then removed his half-moon spectacles, and rubbed his face with the other hand. The old man's sudden vulnerability made Severus mentally kick himself. A gesture to sit on the chair opposite to him followed, making Severus to follow through.
The chair, Severus thought, was highly uncomfortable.
"Severus," started Albus, "you must realise that it is indeed, the summer vacation. Many know that I am not one to up and leave for a holiday when I hold Hogwarts so close to my heart…must you go so diligently? And what could I possibly be doing catching up with family? Aberforth is in Hogsmeade…why would I suddenly attend to him when he is of prim health and conscious?"
It was Severus's turn to rub his face. Albus's eyes weren't twinkling and he was looking all the years that he had lived through, making Severus groan and hold his face in his hands.
Miserable.
"Severus, my boy?"
"He persists to convince me of the boy's death." His voice may have been muffled, and he might have not been meeting Albus's eyes, but he knew Albus knew what he had said as he heard an audible sigh from the man.
"Child, look at me." Severus raised his head at the gentle order. Only Albus and Lily could rouse and comfort him.
One comfort dead by my hands, and her son shortly.
"Harry Potter will not be affected as long as he stays inside the house with Petunia Dursley, and before you say anything, I still had to warn the Dursleys, no? The boy, according to Petunia, follows his Uncle's rules diligently for the fear of certain consequences. She assures little Harry will listen. Petunia may not like the Wizarding world, but she cares about her family enough."
"In short, she assured me that Harry would not be outside for a good two weeks, which is excessive, I understand, but it is a small concession for his safety."
Severus could feel the start of a pounding headache, yet he forced himself to keep his tone neutral.
"What should I do now?"
Albus drummed his fingers on his desk while the other hand propped the spectacles back on his crooked nose.
"You must trust me, Severus."
"Albus— "
"No, you will not argue with me any longer. You will attend tomorrow's meeting and inform them that the Headmaster plans to spend two weeks at Hogwarts with his staff as his catching up of his family, as you put it, ended quicker than expected."
"But— "
"You will then spend two days sleeping and eating properly, which Minerva has complained about as well, and only then will we talk about Harry."
Severus nearly growled. "You're the Supreme Mugwump! Headmaster of Hogwarts! Surely two weeks will carry some work!"
Albus gave Severus a mischievous grin, with his usual twinkling eyes which both settled but unnerved him.
Bloody Gryffindors.
The Headmaster bounced a lemon sherbet in his hand.
"Ah, but after all these years of work at the Wizengot surely has given me some pent up holiday rewards, hm?" Albus, looking far less worn and definitely up to something, made Severus slap a hand across his forehead and sigh.
"You…you are sure they'll stop pursuing the boy in these two weeks?"
Albus turned his twinkling eyes to the many trinkets on the left side of his office.
"That orb…do you see that?"
Severus turned his head to look at the particular object. He would never admit it, but the curiosity of Albus's trinkets and gadgets was something that would never leave him.
The object in particular was a small, gold sheened ball encased around another orb—transparent. Both seemed to be working as the encasing orb spun in the opposite direction as the transparent gold orb inside. But the apparatus was not too large, only around the size of a first year's cauldron. The other trinkets around the levitating sphere were strangely spread away from it, as if the orbs served far more important things.
In fact, Severus's usual favourite trinket to view, the Magnifying Torrent, a long, levitating ornate glass stick that could easily identify one's magical presence that resulted in a colour that emerges and surrounds—unique to every magical person, (Severus's colour, much to his delight, was a warm, olive green), seemed to pushed back and was levitating a good distance away from the orbs. The Obscurifying Orbit and the one other object he had no knowledge of was also pushed back.
He cast a curious glance to Albus.
The Headmaster crossed his arms and rested a wrinkled palm on his cheek and nodded towards the orb, gesturing Severus to look back.
"I had requested a good friend of mine, Nicolas Flamel, yes, the same alchemist of the Philosopher's Stone- to make such a device after a secured the blood protection over Petunia and little Harry. The orb—Nicolas did not name it—after all, it only signals the working of the blood wards…hm…I daresay 'Harry's Orb' sounds far too bland…"
Albus stroked his long, silver beard in thought.
"You may inform your associates about the existence of such a trinket in my possession and the working of it. Tell them…I suspect Harry's involvement in their plans and that I've told you about this gadget—Harry's Orb turns red if he is in mortal peril, you see. Tell them…that I've been expecting their conversation at one point or another…and my Potions Master seems to be constantly absent for the past two days after I hm…returned from visiting Aberforth, yes…it is half the truth after all…"
Severus blanched as his knotted his fingers together.
"How long have you known about this impending conversation?" Severus snapped.
Death sentence rather conversation.
Albus quirked an eyebrow at him as he kept stroking his beard. "Ever since James and Lily died and Voldemort," Severus shivered involuntarily," lost his powers, of course. It was inevitable ever since the Death Eater Trials, Severus. Rowle—I had not expected him to escape through Malfoy's Imperious Curse story…he was, alongside Lucius, the most persuasive boy I've ever had the honour of meeting…I suspect Lucius had helped him through, and that itself kept my thoughts on baby Harry."
Severus was trying not to give into his urge to shiver like mad. The Death Eater trials…he couldn't remember much but being pushed around by Albus and Occluding like a mad man to prevent himself from blubbering about Lily and how he deserved to die. He only remembered afterwards that Malfoy and a few others like Yaxley and the Carrows, got through the Imperious Curse story.
Upon the first potluck of his fellow associates five years ago, he found that new recruits had somehow increased. The Dark Lord's presence, it hit him, did not need to be there to initiate the encouragement, no, only to intimidate and bark orders. These new recruits were a stubborn bunch of absolute dunderheads that decided that they would rather sell their lives to the branded rather than the Master.
A shaky breath. "I did not think it was so…obvious."
Albus gave a little chuckle. "He is, as you so kindly state quite often, Potter spawn. I did not find it surprising that you forgot about our little Harry after I told you that he was under blood protective wards with a relative. I must apologize, you were still young and getting used to me…I did not want to put Harry's pressure on you from the beginning."
Severus did not hide the wince that came after he heard our little Harry. As if he had taken part in child-rearing the Potter brat alongside the Supreme Mugwump.
He suddenly felt a hysterical urge to snort, which he fortunately, tapped down as quickly it began.
The way Albus put it…Merlin, he sounded so childish. Potter's boy made him constantly cringe, for he represented the existence of a life he could never have. He was getting used to Albus, and the Potter boy would've gotten in between it all? His pride, he felt, was quivering in anticipation to shatter into several pieces. Was Albus actually finding him hard? What else has Albus hidden in fear or breaking their trust?
A miserable, greasy toddler.
He ran a hand through said greasy strands. "I…I shall say what you suggest."
He refused to look at Albus as he could feel Albus's face growing soft. With an exaggerated sigh, which sparked Severus's anger, but only so, Albus moved out of his chair and towards Severus.
He had to meet Albus's eyes though, as Albus had placed two fingers under Severus's chin to meet his eyes. The azure blue to the ivory black made Severus feel so very uncomfortable but strangely, reassuring. Legelimency wasn't required for Albus-he knew exactly what to say to Severus as he knew the frigid man far too well.
The twinkle in his eyes dimmed as it searched Severus's face. "You are only twenty-seven and yet the youngest Potions Master of England as well as the Head of Slytherin. You've lost the one you so dearly loved to the boy you despised, but you live for her as well, with the greatest capability to love, I daresay. You joined Tom's ideologies out of the hateful vengeance over your father to soon, discourage and retaliate against it for both Lily and in understanding. I've said this before, my brave boy, but you refuse to back down when it weighs on you. A balm, Severus, not Occlumency. You may not have any friends to trust, but you have me, do you not?"
Severus could feel his cheeks flush with the gush of such sappy words, causing Albus to smirk and Severus to scowl. But neither broke eye contact, even as Albus placed another hand on Severus's shoulder.
"I do not offer my trust and compassion so lightly, Severus…I admit, your first impression had appalled me, but seeing the young man you are now through all that you've never once said or shown, makes me so, so, so negligent as well. You know Gellert and my trust in him, hm? Aberforth and Ariana, yes?" A nod from the Severus against the fingers. "I've only spoken about such a topic to a select few…the few I trust my life with, my child. Those few are estranged, dead or in their own prison, at the moment. I love you as my own, though I am only as human and morose as you—I do not deserve to give love after Ariana…but you, my boy, oh you deserve far more. I can only love you, nothing more. If there are things I hide from you, it is only to give you comfort…you've been working as much as me for the past month, if you must know, and it troubles me to see the young in another war. Little Harry…poor boy, he'll be swept in it soon enough. But please, Severus, I do not think to hide things to burden me, no, rather to refuse to see trouble befall you sooner than later. You and I seem to share the same many problems, but we try to work through them, no? I will always tell you what I know at the end, which I do not even do with Minerva, my boy, and if that doesn't show you my trust, then you may consider me a hippogriff in heat over sentimental bygones long gone."
Severus snorted as Albus chuckled. The fingers under Severus's chin made its way to his cheek where a palm caressed the sallow skin.
He wouldn't ever admit it, no, he'd take it to the grave, but Albus saying such things always made Severus feel as if the good part of his mother had returned—chasing away thoughts about his father's next drunken rage and beatings. The feeling of complete trust and safety that even his mother could only cautiously provide with the emotional words and teasing…it was Albus that gave him more than he deserved. What could Severus, the greasy dungeon bat who spewed vitriol of rage at the students, bordering verbal abuse, possibly deserve more of? He was caustic, and terribly brought up. He held pride in being Slytherin and only his Slytherins and was ambitious to the point that it destroyed him.
And Albus still cared for him…like his own, he said.
Before Severus could understand the sudden tightness in his throat, a burst of flame behind Albus startled Severus violently, causing Albus to drop his hand and sigh.
"Fawkes…"
Only when the phoenix settled on Albus's shoulder, crying, did Severus's heart rate calm.
"Silly bird, my upset and troubles cannot be cured by your tears..." As Albus said the last word, the phoenix threw its attention on the dark-haired man on the chair and cocked its head.
Severus curtly nodded, tightness mellowing. "Fawkes."
The phoenix trilled notes of encouragement, the sound positively shrill and warbled, but soothing, instantly making Severus calm with a sense of clarity rather than Occlumency.
The fiery bird swooped down on Severus, and to both men's astonishment, perched on Severus's lap, with wings spread wide and flapping.
With only owls for aviary experience, Severus stroked Fawkes's cocking head, while the bird ruffled its wings and folded them into itself.
Severus sent a questioning look towards Albus while Albus merely crossed his arms behind him, and looked upon the sight in a fond manner.
"He's finally taken a liking to you…only took him six years, hm?"
Fawkes trilled once again against Severus's long and gentle fingers, and butted them before hopping of the thin knees and flying straight at Albus's extended arm.
Albus started cooing at the phoenix, causing Severus to break out of his stupor. He cleared his throat, tightness completely gone, and stood up from his chair.
"I'll take my leave now, Albus."
Albus smiled wholly and nodded. "Take some rest, my boy. You have a long day tomorrow."
With another nod, Severus gracefully turned towards the door, making his dramatic exit with his billowing, dark robes. Only then did the Headmaster remember that he had not seen such a scene for the past two days, making the old man suddenly full of love for the Slytherin he called his own.
"Ah, Snape, we were wondering where you were."
Rowle's slimy words rolled through that persuasive mouth like grease on a rusting iron.
Methodically.
Severus, clenching his jaw, stalked into the room and immediately pulled out the chair, and sat on the ornate cushioning surface.
Rowle Manor wasn't much different from Malfoy Manor, no, but it had more cool undertones—signalling the existence of a lonely, manic man, whereas Lucius's home, as much as it was dreary, signalled the existence of familial bonds and perhaps, even love.
As much as Albus coddles me, we lot are just a dreary, ostracised bunch with lethal amounts of neglect and ignorance.
He quickly scanned the table, and found the absence of Lucius. He hadn't cared much of the boy's life, but he was the only one who had told and agreed with Severus—there was no need for the boy's imminent death.
Quickly subduing the feeling of distress, he faced his host, and curtly nodded.
"Rowle. We've seemed to run into a problem." He wasn't one to dance around a demanding topic.
Rowle's eyes gleamed for a moment, and quickly vanished, while the other Death Eaters looked upon the Potion Master with apprehension.
Severus idly played with his wand, not hiding his discomfort. They might think the information to be threatening to them, but Severus had to make sure he had to ply his words signal truth. This was far more discomforting than he realised.
Rather unnerving that Albus had called Rowle 'one of the most persuasive boys' he had the honour of meeting.
"It seems…the old man took a two-week holiday from all his duties for the summer, save being a Headmaster, and took it upon himself to showcase his knowledge of the Potter boy to me."
A collective gasp resounded. Rowle slowly stood from his ornate seat at the head.
"Go on."
"He had predicted that the Potter boy's death was something we would've brought up. He has no idea that I indulged or know that such a conversation has occurred," he lied, "but he warned me that should the topic arise that I am meant to convey his intentions to you all. In fact, he expects me to have told you this tonight," he drawled with a sneer. The last sentence rang true, hopefully churning the same ringing in the rest of his words.
"He has procured a gadget—made by Nicolas Flamel himself, that signals the blood wards at wherever Potter remains in residence— "
"He did not seem fit to confide within you of the whelp's residence?" He could hear the accusation slice through the words.
With a glare at the stocky host, Severus ploughed forward. "He found fit to inform me that he intends to keep that information away from me—he believes it will keep both me and the boy safe, though by Circe, he seems to be getting along with his lunacy day by day. Now," the new recruits flinched on his stern clamp—something he used on his students.
"It is an encased sheer, gold orb around a larger, transparent one. They rotate in opposite directions, all the while levitating. It turns red when the boy is in mortal peril, which has happened three times in total, according to Dumbledore, and had quickly disappeared in a matter of seconds. His death will shatter the orb, which is tuned through Legelimency in the old codger's memory, so no matter where or what the man's doing, the orb's shatter will most definitely ring through the man's deteriorating mind. Any thoughts?"
Severus, as he was buttoning up his robe that morning, had heard the sound of a whoosh of heat from his living room in his chambers—usually ignited by a first year dunderhead. He rushed in, confused and panicked and found Fawkes crooning on his sofa. He found the letter tied on Fawkes's foot, and while stroking the fiery, teasing creature, he read through the mechanics of said 'Harry's Orb,' the three strokes of mortal peril and the process of linkage of such a device to Albus's memory, which, Albus correctly guessing Severus's excitement on such powerful knowledge, promised to teach, so long as he bought the old man a new pair of 'one-of-a-kind' socks for his birthday in August, which Severus had never indulged—but the old man played well; he was most definitely buying overgrown children's socks for the barmy, old man for this new branch of Legelimency.
Severus nearly snorted at the intense look of concentration on Crabbe's face across from him—nothing usually passed through the thick numbskull's head, but the furrowed brow made him wonder if he was a miracle giver.
He heard Rowle's unceremonious thump into his seat, over the chattering of the rest, causing him to slowly turn his head towards the strangely defeated man in confusion and slight apprehension, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
Rowle let out a heavy sigh, and plastered a smile. "Well," he nearly shouted, causing the room's noise to immediately quench, "I will think on the matter further. Thank you, Snape." He inclined his head towards Severus to which Severus nodded back in acknowledgement.
This man is certainly planning more than thinking.
Goyle started a discussion on a new Dark text he found while roaming Preveza, which thankfully, diverted the calculating gaze of Rowle away from him. Severus welcomed this discussion—he was fond of such texts and the concept of Magical Theory behind the Dark Arts as a young boy, and now, he indulged in the mere theory of the existence of such crippling magic in the world through tomes.
After a heated discussion between him and a younger pureblood man—Caplet, he overheard—debating about the use of Dark Magic in the possibility of forcible Animagus transformation, Yaxley had rung his booming voice-stating that day was fast approaching and the meeting had to be wrapped up soon.
Rowle, as a pureblood host, toasted a glass of an empty glass of wine, signalling an affirmation of dismissal.
Severus, continuing to state the point to the bloody Hufflepuff that had approached him immediately after darting out of his seat—that such bodily transformations had to be intentional…after all Dark Magic starts and ends with intention.
Caplet had just started to call Severus an unflattering name, when he heard Rowle say, "Snape? Would you mind if I discussed a few things in private?"
A surge of trepidation darted through Severus's spine. Whipping his head back and nodding to Rowle, he strode over to the chair that Rowle was gesturing towards—one right next to him.
A small flitter of amusement filled the Potion Master as he heard the grumbling of the Hufflepuff and the groaning and shutting of the large, wooden door of the meeting room.
He raised an eyebrow in question to Rowle raising from his seat, and using his wand to quickly mutter a spell to banish the glasses of wine, rather than calling a house elf.
Rowle chuckled at his actions and languidly gestured to him. "A man of random habit in times of distraught," he simply stated.
Severus placed a hand on his wand, that laid beneath his robes, unnoticed by the stocky man.
Out of habit.
"Of course. Now, what was it?"
The man heaved a heavy sigh and gracefully walked to the large, ornate window, that overlooked most of Wiltshire.
"Dumbledore is quite a parasite."
Severus gave a dry laugh. "Quite."
The man's indigo robes flared as he snapped back to Severus, with his eyebrows inched up.
"I expected him to be more forthcoming, Snape. He is leeching more information from us, than we are from him."
Severus's eyes flared with anger as he let his wand be toyed in front of the man.
"He only knew what I told him, and which all of you know about. The fact that I could glean the information of the Potter whelp's protection was quite a feat. It takes years of trust for an old man to give information that he would've taken to the grave with," he said, gritting his teeth. Severus, though enraged at the accusation, could feel his anxiety simmering in the pools of stomach.
Rowle narrowed his eyes at Severus, his hands behind his back, which could only signal the man's wand was being restrained on will. Severus's hold on his wand tightened as he scowled back at the man, arms still firmly at his sides.
"I find it very…convenient…that he decided to divulge information of this boy now, of all times."
Severus's eyes flared with anger as he stared down at the man, currently smirking at him.
"You dare accuse me of aiding Dumbledore?" he roared, as he drew his wand at Rowle.
The man's face tightened with equal fury.
"Yes," he spat, "you gave too much away. In fact, I believe you willingly did. None of us are as trained in Occlumency as you are, and I would completely agree that Dumbledore is hiding things from us through you." Rowle drew his wand at the furious Potion Master.
Severus was stricken. He was angry, oh furious, with the situation—but anger kicked in when he couldn't deal with other emotions—such as the overwhelming sense of fear that lapped through him, which of course, was getting harder and harder to tap down.
No, this cannot be happening.
Before he could spit a tirade of lies at the man, Rowle wordlessly casted a Stunning spell, that knocked Severus to the opposite wall and bound him frozen, pain flaring through his back, and the back of his head.
Through a blur of tears, a hiss and a matter of seconds, he quickly made out that Rowle had discovered a variation of Petrificus Totalus that was cast in a very similar manner as a Stunning spell, and even felt like one—sluggish and blocking his magic.
"Ungrateful half-blood," he heard Rowle hawk as he approached Severus's frozen and pained form, "if you so happen to be doing just what I accused you of, I can only administer you a tortured death, and believe me, Snape, I can make you scream and yell till you call for death just as the Dark Lord can."
Severus's mind was in override. What could he do? He was trapped, stunned and frozen in a body bound spell against a wall of Rowle's Manor that was highly impenetrable and wound with a mixture of Light and Dark wards.
Severus could only fret.
I'm going to die, oh dear Merlin…Lily…Albus…I'm so sorry…
"Did you like that spell?" he could hear the man smirk. "I presented that spell to the Dark Lord for my branding. He was immensely pleased…to see him learn the spell from me…ah, what an honour."
Severus knew that his eyes were darting around the room, just to see if there was any hope that would crash through the wooden door and save his cover and sorry hide.
"Listen, traitor. Imobulus."
Severus's eyes froze on Rowle's face and panic was taking over him.
He couldn't blink.
"The Dark Lord…he taught me privately, see. A little spell that I thought I might as well make use of in this situation…"
Severus's eyes were burning. He wanted to scream at the man to kill him like a true wizard, one to duel for. But he quickly remembered, he was a traitor and this man was alone, suicidal and ready to torture.
Severus's eyes involuntarily welled up with tears and fogged. Rowle's wand touched Severus's temple and the Severus's panic was making his breaths through his large nose, erratic.
Kill me…please…Lily…
"Hm…let's try it shall we? Legilimens."
Severus's eyes must've been on Rowle's through his tears as Rowle mercilessly tore through his mind, and the variation of the Stupefy spell preventing him from Occluding.
His head throbbed and pierced him as Rowle tore through the memory of his desperate plea to Albus.
A double crossing traitor, he heard Rowle spit, even I'm disgusted by your actions, you coward.
Severus's eyes felt as if they were literally screaming. He watched through increasing amounts of pain as Rowle tore through his memories.
The old man coddled you far too much…you deserve nothing more than a slow, torturous death, you despicable mudblood-lover.
He watched with utter despair and pain as Rowle relived the memory of Albus giving out the address and memory of Potter's residence while Rowle continued to spew vitriol through his torturous end of life.
Rowle's words, though, tore a burst of something that seemed to well inside his chest on the increasing pain his eyes were beating with as well as the indignation of being found it. With a guttural shout, magic surged through him, only strong enough for him to put up his barriers—which were strong enough for Rowle, as he quickly lost his concentration and stumbled just enough for Severus to shove the man out of his mind.
The burst of accidental magic, he quickly put together, allowed him to finally get the reprieve of blinking his eyes, which caused a searing burn that was quickly put out, to Severus's piling relief.
The kneeling Rowle was panting, furiously, on all fours, and snapped his manic brown eyes at Severus's, which Severus took complete advantage of.
The magic was completely back, and with a wordless, wandless Legilimens, he proceeded to rip through Rowle's mind, where he found the magical will of Rowle that held him immobile and proceeded to tear it thoroughly, including the memories of the formation of such a spell. The man let loose a raw scream, that tore Severus from the wall, and without another thought, he immediately pounced upon the man—he knew Rowle hadn't and couldn't move through the pain.
He kicked the man in between his legs as he pinned the wizard—causing Rowle to moan in pain.
The pain must've given Rowle the sudden conscious to call out a name.
"Morby!"
Severus tore memory after memory of today, starting with his arrival to into Rowle's hall, while Rowle yelled the name.
And to his utter horror, the currently yelling man gasped through pained breaths and said one sentence.
"Number 4, Privet Drive…Little Whinging…Sur…rrey…"
Severus quickly retreated from the man's mind as he heard a "Yes, Master Rowle," and was immediately confronted with a pounding headache that blurred his sight.
He pinned his forearm to the man's throat as the man deliriously muttered "Eleanor…" through clenched teeth.
Though the pain became overwhelming, he got up to his knees and let loose a non-verbal Levicorpus, and quickly ran his options as the man who's mind that was currently completely shredded wailed for 'his master,' upside down. It must be painful, thought Severus in a split second, as the blood had to rush into Rowle's pounding head.
He didn't have time to let himself be amused—Rowle had to die.
Severus quickly spun his wand in a slashing manner and cast Sectumsempra thrice on the now howling man, one on his eyes, second on his chest and the third on his abdomen—making sure he pressured his magic to make the spell deep and gruelling.
With staggering weight and pain that suddenly blossomed throughout Severus's thin frame, making Severus's eyesight suddenly blur and cause a sudden sensation of vertigo, he managed to get to his feet and steady his weight. He looked down at the bloody mess of Rowle, and quickly managed to find the man's wand and snap it beneath his boot.
It was fitting, as he heaved precious breaths of air—seeing Rowle take his last breath to a spell he devised for the Dark Lord's appreciation. Once the man shuddered his last, Severus had suddenly wished that whatever house elf he called upon could be here and died along with its master—the elf knew the Potter brat's address and the last remaining Rowle was dead.
Severus, in a mode of panic, transfigured the chair he sat in into a long, silken white curtain, and quickly tossed it on the body of Rowle.
The last Rowle dead meant the mansion was suddenly penetrable as the Dark spells were woven around the man's blood—so Severus could only think of one thing.
He had to protect Harry Potter.
Lily's boy.
He Occluded quickly, dulling his unbearable pain, and thought of the sight of the unobtrusive house, on Privet Drive that Albus had shown him, and with a scream of agony, he disapparated on spot from the now much lonelier but foreboding Rowle Manor, praying that whatever the elf managed to do for its now dead master, had not reached the boy.