Apologies to anyone who read the previously posted chapter 19. FFN does not have the most user-friendly posting/writing mechanism, and I proof the writing on AO3. The chapter was only missing the last three paragraphs. Cheers to Ugly-Duckling123 for catching it and letting me know!
Usually it was Lucius that summoned him; few others would deign to ask the filthy half-blood to join them. Lucius and Narcissa were horrible snobs and blood purists, but they still cared to live in society and knew the winds had shifted—they would wear what masks they must. That Nott would owl him and ask him to join a meeting at his manor was unthinkable, but he had.
It was especially unthinkable that one of his so-called brothers would summon him by owl when the brand was so clear on his arm. He knew a summons was coming from the moment he awoke, but he expected it from the Dark Lord.
He was not obliged to answer Nott, and had no former friendship with him to honor, but the Dark Lord's silence was troubling. If Nott knew anything at all, he owed it to Albus and the girl to find out.
So when the clock struck noon, he apparated to drawing room of Nott Manor, a house even older than the Malfoy's but one that also showed its age. Only ancient magic kept it from crumbling into ruins, as was the case with so many pureblood homes. They were little more than monuments to an era gone by inhabited by people who could not live in the present. He had wished for a grand home like this as a boy, even a dilapidated one, but now he found himself pitying the generations of children who had grown up here, raised for a day long past.
Nott sat at the head of the table, Lucius at his left hand. Both had perfectly disinterested visages, but Severus could feel the intensity and crackling magic in the room. He was the last to arrive—the others were well settled and had been here for some time. There were no seats remaining at the table, and that did not bode well.
Nott disarmed him with a flick of his wand. His wand clattered across the room.
"You saved the girl," Nott said.
"I saved myself. What use could I be to the Dark Lord dead?"
Nott laughed, a cold and deranged cackle. "What use are you to the Dark Lord? You've always sought a place better than befits a filthy son of a muggle, Snape. You slink around, seeking glory that belongs to your betters—but something always goes awry—you save yourself, you save the Potter girl."
"I answer to the Dark Lord alone," Severus said. "Not a mere servant with illusions of grandeur."
"Indeed? Perhaps you've been unanswerable to your betters for too long. Crucio!"
Severus fell to the floor thrashing, every nerve on fire. He had expected punishment, perhaps death, but at the Dark Lord's hand. When he had been affronted, he let no others dole out what was his alone to give. His body was still rigid from months of petrifaction, and the agony was unbearable, worse than any he had yet endured. He was screaming, cursing, crying, but found no respite. Nott would not relent, and Severus was certain he would lose his mind.
"Enough," Lucius said after what felt like an eternity, and the curse ended.
"You always did have a soft spot for the greaseball," Nott said. "If you'd never bothered with him…"
"The Dark Lord has marked him as our equal. He is our brother, however distasteful I find it now."
"The Dark Lord is not here!" Nott shouted, grey hair jutting in every direction. "This is my home, Lucius, and I say the half-blood goes. The cleaning starts within our own ranks!"
"Wilmod—"
"Crucio!"
Severus wished he had not been so foolish as to come, but that was the last coherent thought he had. He thrashed on the floor, twitched like a spider. Blood trickled from his mouth, and the others watched with disinterest or glee. His chest heaving, he found Lucius's icy eyes. His one-time friend looked away. Severus reached out with his hand, calling for his wand, but knew it wouldn't come.
"Trying to summon your wand?" Nott said. "As if it would help you now, you filthy traitor."
But then his wand rolled ever so slowly across the room. No one seemed to have noticed, but it was silently creeping towards him, inch by inch. He prayed that it would not stop, prayed to any god that would listen to someone as wretched as him. He willed it towards him, but it stopped moving. Just when he gave up, and just as Nott began mouthing the killing curse it flew into his hand.
Severus apparated away with the last of strength, almost missing the fleeting look of relief in Lucius's eyes.
*HP*
Hazel sat some distance away from the cottage, watching the stormy sea. Dudley was inside playing his Nintendo, and Albus was in another one of his interminable staff meetings, that had only grown longer and more frequent since Ginny's death. She had written Ron, but he never answered her, not that she blamed him. The twins had written telling her he was just being a prat again, and invited her to the Burrow, but Hazel declined. The Weasleys were entitled to privacy during the grieving process.
The crack of apparition sounded nearby, and Hazel drew her wand. Albus didn't let her go anywhere without it these days, even though she was not yet thirteen and had no hope of defending herself against a fully trained witch or wizard. It was no surprise to her that someone was coming to Flamel Cottage—tutors of various sorts were always coming to help Hazel catch up on six months of missed schoolwork, but Albus urged caution.
When a familiar dark form emerged from the sparse line of trees, Hazel pocketed her wand. Professor Snape. But he fell to his knees and she drew it again, sprinting towards him, heedless of the danger. He was covered in blood—but she owed him her life many times over, and quieted that little, fearful voice inside her.
"Professor Snape!" she shouted. The closer she got, the worse he looked. He trembled, and blood dribbled from his mouth. He stumbled to his feet and staggered towards her, his hand outstretched. His eyes turned wild and he drew his wand, and Hazel's stomach plummeted when she saw it was snapped.
"It's me, Hazel!"
He lowered his broken wand, breath coming in labored gasps.
"Lily…" he breathed, laying a hand on her shoulder. She was grateful the professor was a small man when his weight collapsed onto her. She struggled to hold them both upright, but managed to haul them both across the clearing to the door of Flamel Cottage. When she threw the door open, Dudley came to her side and helped her move the professor to the sofa.
"What happened?"
"I don't know," she said, grabbing a fistful of floo. She had no idea where Albus was, only that he was at the school, and he had instructed her to floo to Fairfield Place in case of an emergency. But she didn't know if she could pull the professor and Dudley through the fire with her and she wasn't about to leave them defenseless when danger could be nearby. So she stuck her head through the fireplace, feeling the heat of the green flames, and shouted for Daphne, who appeared in an instant.
"Bloody hell!"
"Daphne—please get your dad—Snape's hurt really bad. He looks half dead." She couldn't keep the hysteria out of her voice.
Mr. Greengrass was through the floo in the blink of an eye.
"Where's Dumbledore?" he asked, crossing the room in a few long steps. Daphne stepped through the fire behind him and gasped, but Mr. Greengrass had eyes only for Snape.
"Hogwarts! He said he had a staff meeting, he should be back soon!"
"And he left you and the boy alone?"
"No," Hazel said. "My tutor, she left just before Snape showed up. I'm ahead in Transfiguration now…she said there was no need to continue!"
Mr. Greengrass muttered something and his scarred face turned red. She heard her tutor's name and was sure poor Tonks was in for it, even though she hadn't really done anything wrong.
He drew his wand and pointed it squarely at Snape's forehead, who barely had the wherewithal to flinch away.
"I'm trying to help you, you bloody fool!" Snape's arm darted towards his pocket, but Mr. Greengrass was faster. He pulled the splintered wood from his hand and tossed it across the room.
"Hazel—take your cousin and Daphne, and lock yourself in the cellar. Don't come out until Dumbledore or I say you can. Be ready for anything."
*HP*
"What the hell happened, Snape?" Greengrass hissed as soon as the cellar door slammed shut. He set to work mending what wounds he could, summoning potions and stitching together wounds with surgical precision.
"Wilmod Nott…tried to kill me…"
"And You-Know-Who?"
"Wasn't there. They were acting…without him."
"Messing around with those creeps has always been your downfall," Greengrass said.
"No choice."
"Yes, you bloody well had a choice," he said. "You always have choices. Not every Slytherin became a Death Eater, certainly not unpopular half-bloods with nothing to offer—"
"Enough, David," Albus said. Both men turned to look at the wizened, weary headmaster. "Severus has already paid for his crimes. If you could fetch the children, I'm sure they would be happy to know they are safe and that Severus will recover. Take them to Diagon Alley for some of Florean's delightful ice cream."
"Headmaster—"
"Do as I say, David. I will tend to Severus."
Greengrass looked anything but happy at his dismissal, but did as Albus bid. With neat little flourishes, Albus staunched what bleeding remained and spelled him into a clean nightshirt.
"David means well," Albus said. "He cares for Hazel and our cause."
"He'd sooner see me in Azkaban than free."
"He does not know you, my boy. You keep that big heart of yours hidden so well."
Severus scoffed, but the sound quickly turned to wracking coughs. Albus summoned him a glass of water, which he drank in gulps.
"I thought," Severus said, raising his head and letting it fall again. "The girl said you were at Hogwarts."
"No," he said. "And I fear she may now realize I have not been in staff meetings as I claimed."
"Why are you lying to her?"
"Let her enjoy what little childhood she has left," Albus said. "She is not yet thirteen…"
"She knows the world is a cruel place, Albus. She's known that since the first time her family laid their hands on her. She knows it all too well, now that Ginny Weasley is dead. You're not protecting her by keeping her ignorant."
"She is not ready," Albus said. "I will tell her in my own time."
"Albus—"
"Severus, please."
"No, Albus. We can't teach the girl to protect herself if she doesn't know what evil threatens her."
Albus summoned a chair and sat down, tears pooling in his blue eyes. "It is not so simple, my boy, and you are in no shape to have this conversation. The truth is more terrible than either of us imagined."
"Don't prevaricate," he said. "For a decade I spied for you, and tonight I nearly died. You owe me the truth."
"The truth," Albus said, "is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."
"Save your trite wisdom for someone who actually cares," he said. "And answer me."
Albus sighed. "Perhaps…this is not a burden I should carry alone. I am an old man, Severus…but never have I encountered evil such as this. Promise me," he said. "That should I be unable to see this war through, that you will do what you must…"
"Albus…"
"Promise me, Severus, and I will tell you all I know."
"I promise."
"What do you know of Voldemort's quest for power and immortality?"
"That he will take what he desires at all costs, but has seldom had to pay anything to anyone."
"Precisely. Even as a boy, he could take what he wanted without consequence. Even at Hogwarts, I could not control him. All the others saw was a charming orphan boy…Dippet and Slughorn in particular. Few people remember Tom Riddle, because Lord Voldemort destroyed all traces of the boy he was."
"Riddle isn't a wizarding name."
"Indeed. Tom Riddle always knew he was different," Albus said, "but grew up in a Muggle orphanage without a penny to his name."
"What?"
"It is a long and tragic story, and I will not repeat it tonight. But soon enough he found his wizarding parentage, and learned he was of Slytherin's blood. He always believed he was destined for greatness, and his heritage only confirmed that to him."
"But what does this have to do with the girl?"
"He seeks immortality, Severus. I always understood that to be game through the accomplishments of great feats. But the portrait Hazel found—it said he maimed his soul in pursuit of immortality."
"A Horcrux."
"My naivety allowed me to believe he would not go so far, but everything fits. I spoke with Horace," he said. "And young Tom Riddle asked him about Horcruxes. Horace would not give me the full memory…but I feel certain he has made at least two. One took Ginny Weasley's life and allowed him to regain his mortal form."
"And the other?"
Albus didn't respond, and Severus's heart sank. He had heard of a terrible magic and knew Nagini was no mere familiar, but for another human being to be an unwilling vessel—it was evil beyond words, cruel, and entirely possible.
"Hazel," Severus said.
"I am afraid so." Tears now openly flowed down Albus's face. "That she is so good and kind, in the presence of a constant, malignant presence, speaks to her goodness. It is beyond words, for her to have endured all she has and still have a pure heart."
"How are you going to remove it?"
Again, Albus didn't answer.
"How are you going to remove it?" he asked again.
"A horcrux cannot be excised…only destroyed."
"No."
"I have found no way. Books on Horcruxes are scarce, evil things, but I have read every passage on Horcruxes known to modern man. And found nothing: the soul fragment must be destroyed, by basilisk venom, fiendfyre, or some equally dark and powerful magic. That is the only solution the books offer…unless the one who made the Horcruxes can be made to feel remorse, to make the soul whole again."
"There's no way?" Severus said. "Then make a way! You're Albus Dumbledore!"
"I am only a man," he said. "And a foolish one at that. You see now, why we cannot tell the girl?"