Brief International Cultural Notes:

Sun Tzu, author of 'The Art of War', died in 496 BC in the Zhou Kingdom (now North East/ East Central China)

Moleskine is an Italian paper manufacturer and producer of luxury notebooks and similar, which can be bought in the UK. 'Mole' sounds the same as the animal, 'skine' rhymes with 'seen' or 'clean'. The stress is on 'mole'.

Brief British Cultural Notes:

A 'spring chicken' is an expression meaning a young person. It can be loosely applied to anyone who isn't really very old, i.e. isn't just for children. Typical example: someone who's just graduated says "I feel so old now I've left uni(versity)!"; the reply by a friend: "What are you talking about?! You're only, what? 21, 22? A spring chicken!" It is qualified by 'veritable', so 'a veritable spring chicken' means a 'real' or 'truly' young person, or 'I'm really young', not just 'I'm young'. We say 'uni' when referring to 'university', by the way, with the stress on the 'u', like in 'unicycle' (as opposed to the stress on 'university' coming on the 'ver'. Some native English speakers will know all this, of course, but I mention that, since a non-British native English speaker asked me what it means (as well as below, Voldemort used 'a veritable spring chicken' in an earlier chapter, too).

Chapter Eleven

Dominating the Dark Lord

The girl having gone…

"Budge up!"

Voldemort climbed into bed, with Sev.

"We're in public!" protested Severus. "Please… Not in front of the students!"

The handful of pupils that were also convalescing could, in all likelihood, still see.

Despite the fact that Madam Pomfrey had done her best to put them in beds as far away as possible from the Headmaster.

Again. Not out of consideration for him, you understand.

And not knowing that the Dark Lord would pop round for a visit.

Not for nothing was the Headmaster known as 'the notorious Severus Snape'…

"They're all the way down the other end of the room!"

"It's really not that big a room!"

Voldemort scoffed.

"Fine! If you really are that delicate and sensitive- I suppose I ought to make allowances for the fact you've hit your head and might yet take a turn for the worse- Yet I'm more inclined to think there's nothing wrong with you whatsoever!"

He flicked his wand in an aimless way, summoning a nearby set of curtains, to provide cover. A white, hospital style screen, with starched, white curtains attached to a white, metal frame, on wheels.

"Happy now?!"

"You're still in my- Get out of my bed!"

"There are no chairs!"

Obviously Madam Pomfrey had no desire to encourage anyone to ask after the Headmaster.

To stop and stay with 'Snape the slaughterer'. 'That bastard butcher'. For a cosy chat.

In all likelihood he'd try to turn them towards the Death Eaters. Her patients. She surmised.

But her oaths to her profession prohibited her from refusing to admit and monitor the man.

Much as she wished that that was not the case.

"They can still hear us," Severus muttered, seeing the futility of his protestations. "And deduce that you still haven't got out of my bed, for some bizarre reason!"

He would try to humiliate the man into action, instead. Make him feel embarrassed.

Voldemort cared so much about what others thought of him.

Even kids.

Severus knew the man so well.

For better or worse.

But rather worse than better...

"By my reckoning…"

Voldemort stood up to peer over the top of the curtains.

And smirked, gratified to be met with a handful of screams, on his suddenly looming out of nowhere, as it were.

"-they're 12, 13. Not 2, 3!"

He sat back down.

"I thought you're always telling me how clever children are, and how we shouldn't treat them like idiots or take them for granted?"

Naturally, Voldemort had sought advice at the earliest opportunity from Severus on how to defeat Harry Potter, on his return.

"What of it?"

"They can probably guess why I'm 'in your bed for some reason'. They're not idiots! The other children in here are, what? Second Years? No doubt they have hormones. And needs-"

"You really are disgusting!"

"You telling me you never had thoughts in that direction at that age?"

Severus said nothing.

"I suspected as much. They know about the facts of life, Severus!"

"How can you be oh-so-clever and yet so moronically stupid at the same time?"

"Explain."

"The great Lord Voldemort! Oh for-"

"You'd better get used to hearing it, kiddies!" cried Voldy, gleefully, in response to several screams at the sound of his name, popping his head back up over the screen again.

"See! They're hanging onto our every word!"

"My every word, Severus!" He sat back down on the bed, stretching out. Lying down. Languidly. Lazily. "As you say, I am the great Lord-"

"To be HONEST, Sir! What Snape's got to say is pretty funny, too!"

Said Lord was conscious of childish tittering.

"WHO SAID THAT?!"

Voldemort popped back up like a jack-in-the-box.

Even Severus sniggered.

"Severus: you recognised the voice, did you not?"

Voldemort sounded frantic. Anxious.

"You know all your students so well! Who was it?!"

"I really couldn't say," replied the man, blandly.

Not technically a lie, he supposed...

"TELL ME WHO IT WAS!"

"Forget it. The point being-"

"You're always telling me we should treat children like adults! I should punish the boy responsible!"

"I only meant you shouldn't talk to 11-year-olds as if they were toddlers. Or small puppies! Come to think of it, you shouldn't talk to toddlers like small puppies. Or, perhaps, puppies, for that matter-"

"DON'T try to distract me to prevent me from punishing the miscreant youth! And I don't follow. You should talk to children like adults. But not- Explain!"

"As in, talk to them respectfully. But don't treat them like them! As in, don't punish a little boy! Make allowances for mistakes in youth!"

"I hardly think a joke at MY EXPENSE constitutes a youthful MISTAKE!"

"It was at my expense!"

"Oh. Was it?"

"Yes."

Partly...

Voldemort sat down on the bed. Again.

Even Severus was struggling to keep up.

He just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep...

Voldemort had leapt up and begun to pace round the bed, frantically, during his diatribe.

"I nearly cursed a child into oblivion. For insulting you!"

"Yes!"

"That was a mistake. Wasn't it?"

"That would have been, yes-"

"Whereas I should have only threatened him, and then followed through on the threat, if he had insulted me? Afterwards?"

"No!"

Voldemort huffed.

"This sounds complicated! Do I need to take notes?"

"It's all in there already!"

In his pocketbook, his Moleskine.

"Under 'Campaign to win hearts and minds'."

"Oh all that bollocks? I told you before. I've changed my mind about all that. Tyranny is the way to lasting power. And notoriety. Machiavelli said so. Well, more or less-"

"Machiavelli was writing about small city states!"

"Perfect! We've got a population of, what? 40,000, 50,000 max? In wizarding Britain?"

"-A particular small city state in a particular context, in the fifteenth to sixteenth centuries! And even at the time, his own abilities were limited: he got himself hauled up in prison. His writings weren't enough to keep his new masters happy, following regime change. So you mustn't take it as gospel truth!"

"I didn't think that you thought that the gospel was true?"

"Seriously?! You bring that up in public?"

"Why on earth not?"

Severus closed his eyes. Such that his thoughts could not be read.

A very sectarian place, wizarding society. In Britain in particular. Hardly surprising, perhaps, in so small and insular a traditional society. Deeply religious. At least, outwardly. Those who were not… kept quiet about the fact. If certain Slytherin elements (Anglican and Catholic) knew he was agnostic-

Or was he perhaps an atheist?

Agnosticism is atheism, with an element of cowardice, after all.

So the saying goes...

Am I perhaps a coward?

I suppose I might be.

He mustn't give the master ammunition to use against him in future.

"It's nothing. Forget it. It's just- It's just a figure of speech. 'Gospel truth'. Don't take things so literally! Use a bit of initiative when reading great works of the past! Your stratagems and battle plans shouldn't just be based on 'The Prince'-"

Originally, 'De Principatibus'. In Italian, 'Il Principe'. Published in 1532.

"-or only on the likes of Clausewitz!"

Author of 'Vom Kriege', 'On War', published 1832. Prussian General and military theorist.

"What about Sun Tzu?"

The ancient Chinese expert on espionage and warfare.

Author of 'The Art of War'.

Perhaps one of the most influential military texts ever written.

"You really are impossible! Don't base your strategy on any single book by anyone!"

"It's not based on a single book, Severus. Multiple books! Besides: Sun Tzu really has all one needs to know on espionage! I can't think of any work that adds much to what he has to say in the final chapter: 'On Spies'!"

You say that. Yet I'm the only spy you have in your entire fucking espionage operation-

Oh.

Ohhhh.

Of course.

Of course!

He, Severus, was an expendable agent.

And was not to know of other spies. Whom they might be. What they might know, might have been told.

He, then, Severus Snape. Would have been told deliberately false information, at one time or another. In case he were to fall into enemy hands. Or to be recruited by them. Or-

Didn't Sun Tzu say never to trust a double agent in full? In case he might be a triple agent?

In case he might be at risk of becoming one?

In which case-

This was extraordinarily valuable intelligence, as far as Severus Snape was concerned.

The Dark Lord appeared to be genuinely desirous of consulting his opinion on strategy. Pained to hear that memorising books wasn't good enough. Seeking praise. Reassurance. Validation.

In the course of which.

He had just revealed the primary source- apparently, the single source- for his entire spying operation.

The Art of War. Sun Tzu's chapter: 'On Spies'.

Which took all of about ten minutes to read, if that.

And now. He also knew.

He was an 'expendable agent'. Severus Snape. By Sun Tzu's very own definition.

And might be disposed of. Or denounced. Or dropped.

At any time.

And he was also suspected, correspondingly, of being capable of becoming a triple agent.

If he wasn't known to be one already.

This changes. A great deal. Concerning my own strategy.

Severus resolved to be seen to encourage the man. To be direct. And critical, as usual. But constructive.

"It's all that I know, Severus!"

Voldemort sounded pained.

"All my life! Everything I've achieved! I became perhaps the most skilled wizard of my generation- I mean. The most powerful wizard ever to have lived!"

He mustn't forget his carefully cultivated public image, the myths that constituted his mask, even in a moment of vulnerability.

"And how did I achieve that? Through rote learning! And repetition! Learn this spell, learn that spell! Read this book, read that book! Exams, exams, exams! Regurgitate what you know! Memorise and recite! It was my formula for academic success- the only formula that worked! And they all said I had such brilliant prospects, all the schoolmasters back in the day! Slughorn! Dippet! They said I was set for life, that I could achieve anything I set my mind to!"

"I bet they regret having ever given you any advice at all."

Voldemort laughed, mirthlessly.

"Very funny, I'm sure."

Well. Slughorn does.

Dippet was dead...

"But don't you see, Severus? I equate success with memorising books. With memorising the rules! There have to be foolproof formulae in life! It's just a question of perfecting and strengthening them! With practice!"

"Is that why you keep going after Harry Potter?"

Voldemort pulled his legs up to his chest, leaning forward on the bed, arms covering his head. As if he were curling into a ball. Or attempting to adopt the brace position.

"Don't ruin my day by mentioning the boy!" he moaned.

To Lord Voldemort, there was always, only, one boy.

The boy.

"I can't kill a single fucking fourteen-year-old if I set my mind to it-"

"He's 17 now."

"Wow! Really? Christ- I mean, Mordred! Where's the time gone? Am I getting all old and forgetful?!"

"Well you are. What? 72 now?"

"Quite. A veritable spring chicken, by our standards. And then of course there's the fact of my-"

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

Voldemort hadn't told Severus about his horcruxes.

"I only meant… then there's the fact that we can live to four, five-hundred in our society."

Severus followed his lead.

At least.

He thought he did.

"You mean you still haven't given up on the Philosopher's Stone idea?"

"You know the Americans call it 'the Sorcerer's Stone'? I never have understood why that is!"

"Dumbing down, marketing. So I gather. All rather complicated to explain."

"Well, anyway, yes, I err… The point being. I'm confident that I will live to four-hundred plus!"

Severus said nothing, quietly calculating.

"Aren't you going to ask me anything?!"

Voldemort never missed out on an opportunity to brag.

Even while trying to abide by the highest standards of discretion…

"You're close to discovering the Stone's secret, then?"

Voldemort tapped his nose, and winked.

Meaning: 'it's a secret!'

Well, that is to say: he instinctively tried to tap his nose… And found only a blank space. Where his left nostril should have been.

The slit that had replaced it being lower.

This realisation was depressing.

That he still could not repair his mutilated body.

Become handsome, desirable. Beautiful. Once more.

He proceeded to try to hide under the covers.

"Don't do that!" snapped Snape. "Your make up will come off all on my sheets!"

"You mean it's obvious today that I've powdered my face?" came the muffled reply.

"Yes! And I don't want to have to reapply your eyebrow pencil again!"

"I've worked out how to do that myself, now!"

"And women don't use powder any more, it looks awful-"

"It's very hard to find something that matches my complexion! Pale and old fashioned usually go hand in hand, no?"

"Use foundation!"

"It's too dark! Even ivory: it looks like I've been sat at a tanning salon! So very vulgar! So awfully tacky!"

"Well it looks awful regardless!"

Voldy peeped his head out from under the covers. Hands on hips (not that Severus could see them).

"First you say I can't wear my toupees or wigs; now I can't cover up my wrinkles and stop looking so sweaty and shiny!"

"Your head always was going to look shiny, given the baldness-"

"Well then let me wear a wig, damn it, man!"

"You put me in charge of your PR campaign. You made me Sartorial Advisor. It's a mark of my loyalty to you that I am so honest in my criticisms. If I let you go about wearing too dark, ill-fitting wigs that kept falling off, about whose itchiness you complain of constantly, by the way… then everyone would laugh. I cannot allow that. I would be doing you a gross disservice!"

Severus was sounding a little cross. A little hurt. His voice was deep, and loud. Something which apparently indicated his caring about a topic a great deal. Defensiveness. And sincerity.

Well. Severus had to say something honest. Here and there.

To keep up the pretence.

The Dark Lord really did look awful in those ghastly wigs of his...

"Thank you, Severus."

Voldemort could tell when he ought to say thank you, and had memorised a few judicious combinations of the expression, hand in hand with the occasions on which they worked.

He noted that the phrase often had a pleasing effect on his servants. When used sparingly.

Even though he couldn't quite understand why...

Nor why 'thank you' was less effective when used with increasing frequency.

"I must thank you. For your honesty. Advice. Assistance. Most sincerely, I thank you again."

He paused.

"I really mean that."

His pauses were always, of course, calculated.

For effect.

Severus stared. Puzzled.

"You are a good and loyal servant. And always have been. I value your honesty, and integrity."

Another pause.

While he apparently tried to find the right words.

"I know that much mirth is made of my lack of friends, my apparent, as it were, absolute inability to form friendships and, furthermore, my apparent clumsiness around such subjects, but… Well I may as well come out and say it. I consider you to be my friend. I really do. My special- I mean. My best friend. Did I get that right?"

Severus nodded, slowly.

"See, I am learning! Dare one hope… you feel the same way? In return?"

The servant said nothing.

"I am told that people avert their gaze in British society... when they are embarrassed…"

"I am touched, my Lord. Not embarrassed. Touched. Really I… I say that most sincerely."

And that was no lie.

Severus was supposed to betray the man.

To be prepared to do the deed, if necessary!

"...Or. When they are hiding something. Which is it in your case, Severus? Since you continue to avert your gaze."

"Touched and embarrassed overlap somewhat," muttered the man, the servant.

"You are not perhaps hiding something from me?"

Severus tried not to blink.

"No."

"That was a long pause."

"Indeed."

"What did it signify? TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

"I… I- I am concerned. About the... implications. Concerning the. Strength of feelings. I have for you."

Not technically a lie, either, that...

"You are using lots of big words. I infer that you are flustered!"

"...Yes. Yes I suppose I am..."

Voldemort did not understand his meaning, then?

Good. He had spoken rashly, off the cuff.

It would not do for the master to suspect that there might be any feelings, however furtive, of….

He could hardly even think the word, it was all so ridiculous.

Beneath the cracks in the veneer. Beneath Severus's mask of indifference.

This entire train of though is silly. Utterly daft!

"What are you thinking? Severus? I see nothing..."

"Only… Only that-"

He couldn't possibly feel anything resembling love! Towards 'perhaps the most evil man ever to have lived'!

Could he?

Utterly preposterous notions!

Weren't they?

Severus recalled the words.

I consider you to be my friend. I really do.

My best friend...

Such stock phrases were only turned out on extremely rare occasions, for effect, reflected the Dark Lord. After much experimentation and practice, Voldemort had surmised that going round frequently calling people his friends (way back in the day) was far less impactful than frequently claiming that he had no friends, that he was proud of the fact... before imparting offers of friendship, here and there. Very, very sparingly indeed. For maximum impact. Towards the few who were of most use to him (each of whom, of course, assumed that he was utterly unique. The Dark Lord's true friend, the master's only friend).

Severus continued to sit in silence.

How am I supposed to kill the man… Who calls me his only friend?

He did not know what to say.

Neither did the Dark Lord, precisely. At this particular juncture.

When in doubt, turn the conversation towards-

"Let's have sex!"

The Dark Lord's idea of diffusing tension...

"I'm tired. I want to go to sleep now. My… my head hurts so much."

"Liar!"

"Ask Lucius."

"What, do it to Little Lucy? Such a cop out!"

"I'm going to sleep now-"

"Do it to Lucy! Quoth he! Wakey wakey!"

Voldy shook Snivvy.

The man didn't react.

"…...DO IT TO JULIA!"

"Christ!" Severus shot up in bed at the yell in his ear. "You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!"

Voldemort ignored him, bent double as he was in fits of hysterics.

He had a nice laugh, Severus reflected...

"You've read 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'?! I had no idea!"

Voldemort straightened, his tone and expression that of the mortally offended.

"Of course, man! What do you take me for, an ignoramus?! It's one of the best handbooks there is!"

"Oh, don't start all that again!"

"On propaganda! Terrorising! Making people more malleable-"

"Of course. Only you would regard 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' as a textbook!"

"What's that supposed to mean?! Anyway, just shut up and shag me, Severus!"

"Think of the children!"

"To be honest I would quite like some privacy too- You're a bloody wizard- Ooooohhhhhh! I should have cast some wards at the beginning! You no doubt think."

Severus sighed.

"Why didn't I think of that?" he muttered.

"Why indeed?!" quipped the master, imitating his servant's favourite biting retort. And Severus's sarcastic tone. Perfectly.

Must be losing my touch.

If I've not lost it completely already…

To be honest, I've probably lost it completely in general.

Not just my touch-

"What about Poppy?!" Severus suddenly remembered. "The school Matron! She'll have put up anti-ward-casting spells to stop drug-taking unobserved, or some such!"

"I'm sure I taught you the spell for making people remember a need to be elsewhere when you were, what? 15? Yet again: I have to condescend to do everything myself! Cast it on the curtains! Due to your lack of forethought and initiative! You really are the most useless servant, Severus!"

The Dark Lord cast all the necessary spells.

All that magic was exhausting.

"I do so much for myself. What's the point in having servants?"

Voldemort sounded tired. Quiet.

Reflective.

There was no brightness or humour in his tone now, Severus observed. No sense of the jocular or mirthful. The usual self-deprecation was gone.

"What little you do is so clinical and dull. You're so useless, Severus… Sometimes... I wonder whether I ought to get rid of you. Since you can do nothing for me."

And know so much.

Too much.

"You are limited in utility."

Expendable.

"Always that same, fixed expression; the blank stare into my very-"

Voldemort was taken aback at the force of the kiss. On finding Severus Snape's tongue rammed towards his throat.

Voldemort's tongue battled back.

He was not accustomed to seeing his servant's dominant personality.

Nor was he accustomed to the man being on top.

"I take all that back," panted Voldemort, gasping for breath, after Severus himself withdrew for air. "You're a most capable kisser, at least, and-"

"Shut up and strip!" growled Severus. "Then suck me off!"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"My my! My little masochist, my sexy little sub… Quite the delusions of grandeur we're developing now, aren't we-"

"No more talk!" barked Severus, holding the man down by either wrist, yet still able to aim his wand, at 'the master's' head.

Severus stared, eyes narrowed.

Voldemort read his thoughts.

Possessiveness. Lust.

Urgency.

Need.

Oh he could smell the lust and desire and fear-

Fear?

Just a hint. Beneath the surface.

What could that mean, in such a context as this? When his servant was taking charge?

For the very first time-

This thought was interrupted when the tongue plunged again, deep down.

Voldemort battled for dominance.

And whined when his tongue was bitten.

Severus withdrew once more.

"Strip," he ordered, breathing heavily.

He pushed himself off, pointing his wand.

"And get on your tummy."

The servant ordering the master about?

Well it certainly is novel!

And I am frequently prone to bouts of boredom.

And complaining that he appears to just go through the motions.

A transactional arrangement, or no… It is hardly satisfactory. Hardly satisfies me-

Very well.

I shall humour him.

"As you wish. Master."

Voldemort gave a flourish of the hand, in a circling motion, and a mock bow of the head, with Lucius Malfoy in mind.

The whole display was one of mirth, and self-deprecation. While he smiled.

His face fell as he cried out at the sting from the slap.

"Call me Master…" growled Severus Snape. "Like you MEAN it."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

"Make. Me."

He tried to reach for his wand-

-and found that his wrists were tied to the bed post's railings.

With-

-with thin strips of leather?!

How had the man conjured all that silently and wandlessly? Such that he couldn't even feel it, hadn't even noticed, at the time?!

I have perhaps been underestimating my little servant Severus!

Severus stood tall, all six foot seven/ two metres, one centimetre of him.

Gazing down from on high.

At the man who made him call him master. All five foot eight/ 1.73 metres of him.

"You challenge me."

His voice was quiet.

"To make you?"

Serious.

Severus lifted up the man's robes, with his wand.

"Oh I'll make you call me 'Master'."

He removed the man's trousers-

"And mean it."

-then the undergarments.

"With…"

Severus positioned himself, on the bed.

"... pleasure!" he growled.

And with that one word (and a squeal from the older man), Severus was inside the Dark Lord.

No preparation.

No warning.

His motions and manoeuvres were frantic. Furious.

"You're such a filthy little slut! I can feel how hard you are, in spite of everything- I'll have you begging me to let you come-"

"Hey! That sort of stuff's what I always say to you!"

Voldemort cried out again, at the thwack.

"Don't talk back!" came the barked reply. "And DON'T touch yourself. Or me. Be still!"

"I don't like not being the one in control!" the master complained.

"And SILENT!"

"It's far less fun for me!"

"The shoe is on the other foot!" snarled Severus.

"That's what this is all about? You want me to allow you to- aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh! God I had no idea you were so talented in this respect!"

Voldemort's body was awash with pleasure and arousal.

"How are you even doing that? I should let you go on top again: I hardly think a can last a moment- oh GOD I-"

Voldemort found that he had been silenced by a wandless spell. Initially cross at being cut off, he found that Severus had gone in for another plunging kiss-

-and found that he kissed the man back. Equally desperately. Urgently.

And to think! I seriously spoke of getting rid of so capable a servant just moments ago!

Not of giving him the sack, no indeed. Of killing him, of course!

He knows far too much-

Clearly knows all sorts I never gave him credit for!

So much for that blank mask-

Clearly been gagging for it all this very long time!

Severus closed his eyes…

The things I do for Albus- did.

The things I do for England...

Lie back and- well. Think of England, anyway.

And Scotland, perhaps.

Since we're here.

'There'll always be an England.

They'll al-ways be an England.'

Will there always be a Scotland, I wonder?

I wonder...

I wonder what we're having for tea tonight?

A/N:

Ooooh. So Severus is conflicted to think he is regarded as a friend, the only friend, of his, as it were, Lord and master.

Yet has vowed he would kill the man at the right moment, to win the war for the Light (if, for whatever reason, he were best placed, in the end).

If Albus were a sensible spy-handler, he would certainly have never confided the plan in full in either Harry or Severus, in case one or other were captured and tortured, or defected. We wouldn't suspect Harry of being capable of defecting of course but what if his nearest and dearest were threatened with some of the horrible things Voldemort is capable of, how might he react then? Let them be tortured and worse, or killed? Offer himself, as Voldemort's prisoner, in exchange? Perhaps Harry might kill Voldemort's final, remaining soul fragment, but be killed himself in the act. Presumably, then, Harry would be unable to ultimately do the deed, and someone like Severus would be lined up in reserve, to finish the job.

Regardless, Albus of course needed to establish that Severus was willing and committed in principle to kill Voldemort at the right time in the end, whatever the likelihood of that happening, rather than Harry finishing the monster off, may or may not be: Severus's loyalty to the cause of the Light, his willingness to only feign closeness to Voldemort and his other colleagues in DE, the Death Eaters, needed to be tested, and established, by his handler, or agent runner, Albus Dumbledore.

Voldemort is sparingly offering offers of friendship and thank yous, for effect (and that seems to be working very well, even if he doesn't quite understand the sentiments themselves: he has learnt to recognise the reactions different combinations of expressions produce, and made an effort to memorise specific conversations and situations when these came about, so that he could repeat them to good effect, when needed).

Of course, Voldemort's being sadistic and evil are entirely separate from his being quite autistic, but the latter explains why he cannot quite comprehend love and friendship, and confuses when people 'desire', 'admire' or 'love' him: these all appear to him to be synonymous expressions (this also explains why Voldemort can't understand what Severus says about being concerned about his strength of feelings for Voldemort: the latter is not familiar with this turn of phrase, having not ever been in a situation before where a prudish and private follower is in effect declaring his love for 'the master').

Severus believes now that he is an 'expendable agent', because Voldemort told him he rates Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War' so highly.

And so Severus is worried that he may be found out as a triple agent. And realises that he can't really be the Dark Lord's only spy.

Voldemort keeps his cards close to his chest, about all that. But we saw earlier, he is very worried about the possibility that Severus may know about his horcruxes, that Ginny may be spying for him, having found Ginny's library book, with the note in the margin 'for him'.

Actually, this was for Harry's attention, as Ginny was trying to be helpful and find anything relevant for his mission, and doesn't know what he does and does not already know about the subject. It's not easy to get access to the Restricted Section at the school after all, and Ginny doesn't know whether Harry will have read Magick Moste Evil, and was confident, rightly so, that Slughorn would sign off and give her access- being a pretty young woman who her teachers take a shine to, and all that.

Of course Harry knows more than his girlfriend about his own mission but Ginny isn't thinking like that, she's just feeling a bit helpless, with Harry having been away and out of comms (not in communication) so long, Ginny wants to do whatever she can to help by doing whatever research she can at Hogwarts, before, she hopes, Harry reaches out to her to say he's safe, and she can tell him gushingly, to much praise (she expects), all she has been able to discover that will be crucial to solving his mission...

So Ginny would like to believe. I mean it's a horrid civil war, she's very afraid for herself and her friends and family, and there is very little to nothing she can reasonably do to contribute to winning the war at 15 at school, so let's be fair to her, if she has somewhat grand ideals and delusions and we, me the author and you the reader, all know she can't really discover anything Harry doesn't already know, alone in the library! Or... can she? Or if not on her own. Might she and Severus Snape-

It's all so exciting, what on earth will happen next?! No spoilers! Stay tuned… To find out!

Feel free by the way to offer constructive crit etc., as ever I want to write what readers like and hone the craft of writing etc. I do take plot requests if they fit in the wider context of the planned story.

Oh, and by the way, on Brief British Cultural Notes:

For those of my international readership who may not be familiar (apologies to Brits, I know you probably know this sort of thing!):

'Just lie back and think of England' is a stereotypical expression which might be heard for example in films from the mid-twentieth century, which can also be heard in normal conversation (today used in an ironical way). It basically means just have sex to get it out the way out of a sense of duty. Essentially, the British are quite reserved and it might be fair to say, by extension, prudish today, anyway, but just think back to a time when the vast majority never had sex before marriage, there was no sex education, no discussion of such things in public or in polite society, and where the done thing (or the encouraged thing, anyway) was just to have sex within marriage for procreation purposes. So 'lie back and think of England' might be the sort of thing that a no nonsense, stiff upper lip type chap, might say to try to encourage his nervous new wife on their wedding night. Or perhaps a woman who was going to be married might get that advice from her married (female) friend, or something. It essentially means 'just get all that sordid business and unpleasantness out the way with a view to having kids for the sake of the country's future'.

So, by extension, if there were a reason for a hypothetical spy to try to manipulate an important source into revealing secrets for the good of the nation's future, in the course of having to just get 'stuff' done as business is business, then that expression, lie back and think of England, might come to mind (as in this plot) if the person were British, or English. There is no equivalent 'just lie back and think of Scotland/ Wales/ Northern Ireland', as often the lines between the Home Nations (the four countries of the UK), and that of England specifically, are blurred (what is just British and what is just English when each of the four Home Nations has its own capital but the capital of the whole of the UK is also the English capital, and establishment British and English culture therefore overlap so much? I doubt anybody can say for certain!)

Of course, Severus's actions are prompted by his very valid fears of what Voldemort said, but he has to both be convincing and always be in control, and never let his guard down, nor forget (his idea of) professional standards, and of the need to not lose himself in the moment, while actually appearing to do so (to satisfy 'the master'). He must never forget the need to stay detached. (Whether or not he had done that successfully is another matter entirely...)

'There'll Always Be An England' is a song sung Vera Lynn, famous for such Second World War hits as 'We'll Meet Again' and 'The White Cliffs of Dover' (she passed away aged 103 in 2020). 'There'll Always Be An England' actually came out earlier in 1939, before the war broke out between the UK and Germany, but the song quickly became very popular, after the war started, and is still remembered today. Unlike some of her still-loved other numbers, it would perhaps be considered a little twee and overly patriotic today.

We British are always careful and cautious and understated: 'I'm afraid I don't quite follow, could you perhaps explain again? I am sorry, I must be being terribly stupid' means 'you're talking complete bollocks you cretinous arse of a moron with shit for brains. Explain! Do better!' Or something like that… So when I say 'it is perhaps considered a little twee' I suppose that means it is very, very much so! One just isn't allowed to be abrupt and direct in my culture, that would be exceedingly rude. But as not all cultures are like that, there are many memes out there to the effect 'What the British say, vs. what the British mean'! So, for example, 'not bad', in the right tone of voice, is very high praise indeed, 'not bad at all' is exceptionally fantastic praise (I realise this confuses foreign nationals, who must think 'not bad' is worse than 'good', whereas 'good' is probably only ok, quite good, as opposed to 'not bad'/ 'not bad at all': outstandingly original, exceptional, that often means! 'Interesting', in a certain tone of voice, or written on an essay, e.g. at university, can mean 'this is complete crap' or 'I'm bored out of my mind listening to/ reading this'. Look such memes up, sometime! ;)

For anyone who wants it, link to the song below, a part of which Severus played back in his head (remember to remove the spaces):

www. youtube watch?v=EGrES89AKz4

Having said all that, a quick view of comments on a different version on Youtube shows a range of people in Singapore, Hong Kong, Northern Ireland, England, Gibraltar and elsewhere all making fond/ sentimental/ patriotic comments about England relating to the song in this story. So not everyone thinks overt displays of patriotism are silly, clearly. But I would say most people in the UK/ England (I can't speak for the other Home Nations) would think patriotism is all a little ridiculous and silly (you hear people here say: why do Americans put up flags so much over there? Have they forgotten what country they live in?! We don't really fly flags but the English do when we've got quite far in the World Cup. Then we hide them in shame because we just lost again... ;) )

Across the UK I'd say we equally love the monarchy: we love our royals. We just love to gossip about and rate and mock them at the same time. See Spitting Image on Youtube, for example! We also love to take the piss out of our politicians (I nearly used the phrase 'take the piss' for the royals but couldn't quite bring myself to: too disrespectful!) But I think few, if any people, even extremely political ones supporting one party or another, would claim to love any politician in particular! I saw someone on Youtube said something like: "Oh no! Now Cummings and Hancock and Raab are gone! (The Prime Minister's Special Advisor and the Secretary of State for Health and the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, i.e. two cabinet ministers). That means all the funniest characters from Spitting Image will be gone!" (Matt Hancock, instead of being mocked for mishandling the covid crisis on the programme, was depicted as bullied by the other Secretaries of State, and made to go and stand behind the tall potplant in the corner, while the others carried on the meeting of Cabinet without him! Ahh I love British satire!)

Ah well, I'm told some of you (among my correspondents) like my cultural notes, so I hope you find this sort of thing interesting (and if not you can always skip!) I don't know what you don't know/ what you do or don't find interesting, so my selection of (what I assume is) less well known stuff, I hope, helps international readers, whether that be to expand your cultural knowledge more generally, or whether you are not familiar with British English but are interested in learning the differences between it and the variety you speak and write in, for help reading fanfiction, or otherwise! Most my readership are based in the US but I see there are those of you in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, as well as many from across Europe, Asia and the Americas outside of the Anglosphere. My second largest readership seems to be in Germany, the UK is coming in in about third, at the moment. All so very exciting, that you're joining us together from around the world!

Take care for now! Until next time!

MBSP/ Val x