The Reckoning
By Eline
Part Four
There had been no teachers accompanying the Hogwarts Express for years now. But then again, that had been when Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been lying low. The times had changed again.
Now the headmaster had reinstated the old security measures. Severus Snape stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and watched the milling crowds of students, frowning ever so slightly. He knew Minerva McGonagall was somewhere by the barrier, watching the students entering through the concealed entrance.
Had it been more than twenty-five years since another generation of young wizards had lugged their trunks onto the platform under the watchful eyes of Ministry wizards when Voldemort's reign of terror had begun in earnest? They were probably the parents of this batch of students--those who survived anyhow.
It was still amazingly clear in his mind. But back then, he had been a lot less jaded and a lot more bewildered by all the noise around him. He had not been used to crowds--that first trip to London with his gran to get his school things had seen him gawking like an idiot at the sights and sounds that assaulted him from all directions.
The boy Severus had tried to keep his cool even though there was probably no worse feeling in the world than being alone on the first day of school. As luck would have had it, he had run into those who would be his future House mates in Slytherin. Maybe he had not actually run into them by chance--they were the sort who would look at the labels on your trunk first before speaking to you. Just in case we accidentally get chummy with Muggles or half-bloods . . . Know what I mean?
The exact words of Edward Wilkes, who had an older brother in the seventh year who was in turn a crony of Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape had not really known what he had meant. But that didn't matter--what mattered was that some other first years were asking him to join them in their carriage. And besides, it was not as though Wilkes was expecting any answer to a question like that.
Snape's family had been of a respectable line of wizards and he had let himself be drawn into their circle easily enough. Not one for conversation himself, he had sat there listening to the preliminary introductions, noting the easy way these other eleven-year olds conducted themselves amongst their peers.
His turn came eventually but he had never expected the reaction he had got after he had told them where he had come from. Not the suburbs of Hampton like Belinda Rookwood, or even York like the Wilkes. No one had a clue where his home village was and what it was about except that it was out of their social--and hence geographical--sphere.
It was like a bucket of cold water in the face to be called a country bumpkin, no matter how little tact the average eleven-year old Slytherin had. That meant that he had to be wary, even here. One lesson even before the train had moved off. These people could be your friends, but not the friends you could trust. They wouldn't mind kicking anyone while they were down, their own "friends" included.
But he was a fast learner and sarcasm served him well. Fortunately, he did not speak the local patois like the boys from the village--something which he could thank his grandparents for--and sharp sarcastic barbs soon became his trademark. It had been necessary to cultivate that sort of verbal weaponry--he had been placed into Slytherin with his new friends after all.
In retrospect, one could think that a meeting like that all those years ago had just been another step closer to the wrong sort of company. Whatever *wrong* was back in those days . . .
There is no right or wrong. There are only choices.
Severus Snape had made his choices a long time ago. And here he was now--living proof that one could never escape the consequences of certain choices. Still the lackey of some megalomaniac who was only letting him live because he was currently short-handed and in need of an experienced potions-brewer.
It hadn't exactly been a walk in the park either. He had taken the opportunity to go down Knockturn Alley to search for certain hard-to-get items. Where in the world did one get powdered hens' teeth these days anyhow? And manticore's bile? Certainly not in an apothecary or herbalist's shop in the city these days. He would have to get in touch with the less reputable types of suppliers to get things like that . . .
But the truly frustrating thing was that for once in his life, Snape was stumped by a potion. Quite a few sleepless nights had gone by and his research was getting him nowhere in a hurry. Then he was struck by the idea that maybe it was a test or that Voldemort had omitted items from this mixture. That bright little notion wasn't doing him much good--cross-referencing every potion that had mandrake root in it was a fool's quest in itself.
After a fruitless morning's search, he was waiting impatiently for the train to leave--Snape could hardly wait to get out of this polluted, congested city. The noise the students were making did not improve his humour.
Over and over he watched the hoards of teenagers pound up and down the platform, in and out of the train . . . Voldemort would hardly attack a trainload of students at King's Cross Station unless there was something to be gained from it. A mob of several hundred outraged parents was something even the old serpent was not prepared for. Not yet anyway. It was not time yet to show his hand.
As he watched the chaos at the station, he witnessed one of the many commonplace exchanges on the platform as a gaggle of girls lugged their trunks up into the train just in front of him. A shout from the crowd halted one of them in mid-stride.
"Carrie! Wait a minute!" A witch in dark green robes--presumably the girl's mother--ran up to her with a paper bag. "You forgot your lunch. Have you got your water-bottle?"
"Yes. Don't worry, Mum--I'm fine," said the girl with the age-old look of exasperation that children over ten save up for their parents.
There was something vaguely familiar about that voice . . .
The woman was sharp-featured, dark-haired and very recognisable as she looked up abruptly.
"Severus Snape?" She looked more than a little surprised to see him there.
Althea Llewelyn.
Memory opened the required mental files and shoved him the reference card. Althea was another Slytherin from his year, but he had not seen her in years on the account of her being abroad.
"I thought you were in Australia?"
"I moved back three years ago," she said. Here she looked a little grim. "That was after my Dennis got a little careless with those scorpions he was studying."
"My condolences." A meaningless pleasantry, and Thea knew it.
"You didn't know Dennis--what's there to be sorry about?" She was still as blunt as a hammer. "Are you seeing someone off too?"
"No." He looked down at the eleven-year old girl. "Carrie St. John" was printed in white on one side of her trunk. "Your daughter?" The child bore only a slight resemblance to Althea.
"Yes--Carrie's starting her first year at Hogwarts . . . Carrie--you run along and find your friends--I'll be speaking to an old schoolmate here," she told her daughter and shooed her towards the train. "So what brings you here this morning then?" she queried.
"I teach at Hogwarts."
"You're a *teacher*?" Althea exclaimed incredulously. "Fancy that! Severus Snape--a teacher? What do you teach? Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
No, he did not teach that class despite the fact that he was more than qualified for it. "Potions," he replied shortly.
"Now that is strange," Thea said quietly. "You were always one for dabbling in the Dark Arts . . . I'm surprised you're still--"
"Alive?" Thea knew what he had been. She had always been a collector of secrets--his own included.
"Yes," she admitted. "After all that trouble I heard about back then, you can't blame me for wondering . . ."
He could not blame her for wondering, but he certainly could stop her from prying. "I get by as well as I can. Good day to you, Mrs. St John--the train's about to leave soon."
Having effectively distanced himself from her, he strode down the platform purposefully. Professor McGonagall met him halfway, herding a group of lost-looking first years in front of her.
"Professor Snape, would you have a word with the driver that we're due to leave soon? I need to get these students settled in. "
The driver probably did not need any reminding after so many years on the job, but he took the chance to move even further down the platform. When he chanced to look back, Althea was no longer there.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It had been one of the better holidays for Harry Potter.
The Durselys had let him go to Ron's for the last three weeks of the holidays. Between leaving Harry at home while they went to Corsica for a vacation and packing him off to the Weasleys, they had opted for what looked like the lesser of two evils. No doubt they would have been even happier to get rid of him permanently, but Dumbledore had been most insistent that Harry had to stay with his relations for most of the holidays.
Harry actually looked forwards to school even though it normally entailed a lot of danger. At least he was with his friends and schoolmates.
They were at the train station, idly watching the students milling about. Harry noticed that there were less cheerful faces in the crowd on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and said so.
"It means some people believe Dumbledore," Ron said optimistically. There had been some controversy over that during the summer vacation. Hermione had collected clippings from the Prophet and Ron had filled him in on what had been transpiring in the wizarding community.
"It's surprising--I mean, everyone's still coming to school."
"Of course they are! What d'you think they'd doing?"
"Well, Hogwarts is under Dumbledore's protection . . . Maybe everyone thinks that's the safest place to be." Hermione frowned. Her parents were Muggles and she had a valid reason to be worried with Voldemort on the loose.
"It's going to be all right," Ron said awkwardly. "You-Know-Who wouldn't--"
"Don't do that Ron," Hermione said suddenly. "You're better than that--go on . . . say it."
Seeing Harry's expectant look, Ron took a deep breath. "All right--*Voldemort* doesn't want to give the game away. He hasn't made a move in *months*."
"It doesn't mean he isn't going to," Hermione continued glumly. "Right, Harry?"
"Yeah, I guess--"
"Hey, look--there's Snape," Ron said, pointing down the platform at a tall figure swathed in black.
The Potions Master was indeed there and instantly noticeable because of the wide berth he was being given by the students. His chilly, grim stare could have something to do with why even most of the adults were also avoiding him. As that was Snape's usual demeanour towards students and every living being on the planet, they were not particularly alarmed.
"I can definitely believe he was a Death Eater," Ron said quietly. "I always said he was on Voldemort's side."
"But he wasn't," Harry admitted reluctantly. "Dumbledore believes that."
"Yeah, but I reckon he'd run right back to Voldemort pretty quick if he looked like he was winning," Ron predicted ominously.
"I wonder what's he doing here though . . ." Hermione looked thoughtful. "Has anyone every seen him outside Hogwarts before?"
"No--and I hope I never will," Ron wished fervently. "It's bad enough that we get picked on in every Potions class . . ."
"Well, let's not spoil it before the first Potions lesson then," Harry said. It had been, all in all, a most satisfactory summer. He had gone with Ron to a Chudley Cannons' home game--the second Quidditch match where he was a spectator and not a player. Ron had been appalled over his lack of Quidditch-watching experience even when Harry had pointed out mildly that he tended to watch matches from the vantage afforded to him by his broom. Hermione had arrived at the Burrow a week before the end of the summer holidays, interrupting the continuous flow of Quidditch discussions and asking them if they had done any revision because "We are going to have our O.W.L.s this year! Aren't you two the least bit concerned?"
But even that was not enough to dampen their ebullience. The only thing that troubled Harry's current existence was Voldemort's return to power. It lurked at the back of his mind, springing out to taunt him during the times when youthful high spirits weren't nearly enough to make him forget that the most powerful Dark Wizard to ever walk the world was his nemesis.
Bill Weasley--home for a short holiday--had taken him aside one day after he had told the three of them about his first brush with the supporters of Voldemort. Harry thought that he must have looked particularly troubled at that time for Bill to be reassuring him and telling him that he had friends, he was protected to a certain degree--so he should not live in fear and wind up a nervous wreck before he turned sixteen. It was sound advice and Harry had been able to spend most of his holidays in relative peace.
They had received an enormous care package with a card from "Moony and Snuffles" just yesterday and it had been no chore at all to take the sweets along with them for the trip. They shared it out with some of their fellow Gryffindors on the train--this made their carriage a very popular place to be during the journey to Hogwarts. It even got rather rowdy later in the afternoon.
Dean Thomas had taken Seamus Finnigan to a few soccer matches in return for the introduction to professional Quidditch last summer. The debate of "Quidditch vs. Footy" raged on over Harry's copy of Quidditch Monthly and Dean's Match magazine while Hermione, Lavender and Parvati ignored the lot of them in favour of discussing their holidays. Neville was loyally backing the pro-Quidditch faction and Dean was outnumbered long before the train arrived at their destination.
Tired but cheerful, they made their way up to the castle proper by coach, ready for the Sorting and feasting. Everything went by in a whirl of noisy festivities, until Dumbledore stood to make his usual start of the term announcements.
"Regretfully, we do not have a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with us this term," Dumbledore began.
Harry exchanged bewildered looks with his friends. Surely now was the time when Defence Against the Dark Arts was most needed? Of course, the job was reputed to be jinxed and nothing Harry had seen had proved it to be a *wrong* assumption.
So far, the D.A.D.A. teachers had been a) working for Voldemort (Moody/Crouch and Quirrell), b) weren't who they appeared to be (Lockhart and Moody), c) were absolutely useless at the job (Lockhart and Quirrell) and d) keeping dark secrets (every single one of them).
Harry wished that Professor Lupin would come back--he had been the best D.A.D.A. teacher of the lot. But not many wizards and witches would be tolerant of werewolves teaching their children, so that was a moot point anyhow.
"However, we will be having a series of teachers who have made time in their busy schedules to come in to take your classes," he continued after the whispered had died down. "We will have Alastor Moody with us this week--he'll be arriving tomorrow. Mr. Filch would like to remind you all that, quote, 'students caught tramping around after dark will be severely dealt with--most probably with a red hot poker', unquote. And lastly, please be reminded that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds."
"That's sort of odd--having no teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said as they made their way back to the Gryffindor Tower. "How are we going to have exams then?"
"Is that all you think about?" Harry asked, climbing through the portrait hole with the others. "With what's happening--or what's going to happen--exams are the last thing on *my* mind."
"That's the point! We need all the magical training we can get," Hermione said. "Maybe no one applied for the job and Dumbledore couldn't find any one who would take it up?"
"Maybe they heard about what happened to the last four teachers," Ron said, yawning. "But maybe a bunch of them could do better . . . G'night anyway--I'm ready to drop any minute now."
Harry agreed. There was nothing in the world that could ruin his current good mood. A full stomach and a long eventful day were conspiring to weigh down his eyelids.
He should have known that the fragile state of bliss could not last past the first Potions lesson.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Severus Snape swept back into the dungeon and saw that the class was certainly not brewing that panacea potion for common aliments like they were supposed to. He had just gone into his office for a moment--just *one* moment--and there had been a commotion shortly after.
"Cease this at once!" he ordered as he approached the cause of the ruckus.
In the past, that might have been enough, but somehow it never was whenever it came to scraps between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. It was so much worse after they had learned hexes . . .
Neither boy had put down his wand and they were both glaring at the other as though it could make up for any amount of curses they could have thrown.
There was a heavy tension in the air that boded ill--Snape recognised it at once. "Potter, Malfoy--put away your wands."
Two pairs of eyes barely even spared him a rebellious glance as they backed down slowly from the confrontation.
"I said, put them away! That goes for the rest of you too!" Some of others had been in the process raising their own wands.
There were a few sullen looks as the class obeyed. "Get back to your places and remember that you are fifth years for once!" he snapped. "I don't have to tell you to get on with your work again, do I?"
The class shuffled back to their places reluctantly and he could turn his attention back to Potter and Malfoy.
"You will see me after the class is dismissed to discuss your detention." His tone made it clear that it was going to be detention or a trip to the headmaster's office. Potter glowered at him while Malfoy sneered in a way reminiscent of his father.
The rest of the lesson was spent correcting the mistakes that the most ham-handed first year wouldn't have made. Everyone seemed distracted and no amount of sharp comments was going to snap them out of it. After what happened last term, it wasn't that surprising to find everyone's nerves on the edge. The Gryffindors were glaring at the Slytherins mistrustfully and vice versa. The end of the lesson dispelled the uneasy atmosphere ever so slightly, but the worst was yet to come.
Potter was first. At least he knew where he stood with James Potter's son. They loathed each other.
Snape regarded the boy standing before his desk warily. "Trouble in the first week of school. Why am I not surprised that you're in the thick of it, Potter?"
"Malfoy started it--he all but said that he and his father were in league with--"
"I don't know how you managed to survive so long with your knack of getting into trouble," he cut in, "but I think your charmed life might be cut short if you persist in meddling in matters that don't concern you."
Harry just glared back. "It does concern me--same as it concerns you."
Snape was momentarily stunned. How much did the boy know?
"Am I right then?" Harry pressed his advantage. "Something's up and you--"
"Which is none of your business!" The damnable boy also had a knack for making him lose his temper--such as it was at the moment. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"
The boy might think he had seen something of the Dark Magic Voldemort practised, but that was just the tip of the ice-burg. There were always darker things--secrets so vile that even the Death Eaters avoided mentioning them.
"I've seen Voldemort k--"
"If you know what's good for you, you will stay out of this! You should *never* have become a wizard!"
"Is that your idea of *protection*?" the young upstart asked. The disdainful look on his face was exactly like James Potter at that moment. "That I'd be safer if I were a Muggle?"
Snape knew he was giving away too much already, but fortunately, Harry had not caught on yet. He forced a measure of calm on himself and looked up coldly. "I couldn't be bothered with how you live or die, Potter. But it will not be in this school or in my class--your father's paltry debt will only extend so far." If only the ignorant boy knew the real reasons . . .
"Detention, Potter--and twenty points from Gryffindor," he snapped to forestall any more tiresome quibbling. "Another word from you and it'll be thirty."
The expression on Potter's face became even more mulish--if that was possible--and he strode out stiffly. Draco Malfoy smirked unpleasantly from the doorway as his nemesis walked past.
Draco thought he would get away with it. Well, that might be the case if Snape could wrangle out of the boy what he had been unable to find out from his father . . .
"Direct disobedience will not be tolerated, Mr Malfoy," he said softly. "Nor will there be any disruption of my classes, or duelling in the dungeons."
"But--"
"You have to learn to be more careful. Or didn't your father teach you any better?" Lucius Malfoy was getting too arrogant about the still uncertain future--his son was following his example.
"He did teach me," Draco said with dark glower. "But it won't matter soon. You should know--"
"I do not need a rebellious teenager to remind me. Just remember where you are, Draco--"
"You can't believe that Dumbledore can do anything to stop--"
"But others do," Snape said, irritable at being interrupted. "You might find yourself in the minority here, Draco . . . However, there will be detention, Mr Malfoy--you can carry out your vendetta against Mr Potter outside the classroom."
Surprise and shock supplanted the smug look on his face. "It wasn't just Potter--" he began.
"I see precious little to prove otherwise," Snape countered.
"My father will hear of this!"
There was a sudden silence. Draco was looking angry and stubborn at the same time--but it was not merely some form of teenage sullenness. "Was that a threat?"
"Yes," Draco hissed sharply. "I am my father's hand in Hogwarts."
"I have heard of no such matters concerning you." They were speaking almost in whispers by now.
Draco regarded him suspiciously. "So maybe you aren't privy to my father's mission--"
"Or perhaps we merely received different sets of instructions," Snape said swiftly. That was very likely to be the truth anyhow. "Don't tip off Potter and others to what you're doing."
The widening of the boy's eyes was enough to tell him that his last guess had been correct. There had to be a reason why Draco and his friends were still coming to Hogwarts. It was starting again. Right under Dumbledore's nose too.
"Your enthusiasm is to be commended, Draco, but try to be a little more discrete," Snape said, dismissing the boy without the detention he so richly deserved. Unwelcome memories had began to wake the moment Draco had confirmed his worst suspicions. Dumbledore should be warned--the canker was already taking root . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hogwarts, February 1975
"Meeting tonight." A seventeen-year old Severus Snape crumpled up the scrap of parchment and shoved it up his sleeve to hide it from old Professor Binns. Not that it mattered much. It was the weekly History of Magic lesson and Severus doubted that the ghostly Professor would even notice if they had brought in a brass marching band as he droned on and on in his monotonous voice.
But now, he was not feeling bored anymore.
It had something to do with the events that were shaking the wizarding world like a series of silent earthquakes. No one dared to say any names. No one dared to mention it as though it would bring catastrophe down on their heads.
You *heard* about it though.
Whisper . . . whisper . . . all year long, everywhere you went--the whispers . . .
Of fear. Of deaths. Of terrible incidents that the Ministry was hard pressed to cover. Hushed voices in the corridors. The students who were being summoned to Dumbledore's office and were later seen all red-eyed and sniffing, and sometimes crying outright. The teachers wore increasing haunted looks and one of them had to resign because of "a bad case of nerves".
But Snape was curious, his interest in the Dark Arts notwithstanding. Most the Slytherins seemed outwardly unaffected by the slow, insidious changes. But there was more whispering in their dorm--not whisperings of grief and fear, but hints of darkness and power. Something to do with the meeting that night.
It was not the most convenient time for this sort of thing as the N.E.W.T.s were looming up ahead of them and the seventh years was under pressure to perform. Keeping an ear to the ground for the latest news while rushing homework was quite an effort in itself. The other Slytherins got their information from their families and networks of friends. Snape had never felt the lack of such connections until recently. He would have been completely out of the loop had it not been for some quick manoeuvring in the last two years that allowed him to spend the holidays with some of his housemates and their lives outside school.
It was fortunate that he was a fast learner, for these were worlds of intrigue where Severus Snape would have been like a fish out water considering his limited experience. His own sphere consisting of Hogwarts and a home on the outskirts a small country village was suddenly extremely cramp and stifling. In all seventeen years of his life, he had never travelled any further than his own school. A fact that he carefully hid from his so-called friends. He had learned that weaknesses were things to be exploited--especially around Slytherins.
The current group he had insinuated himself into consisted of Melissa Travers, Evan Rosier, Pascal Zabini, Althea Llewelyn, Edward Wilkes, Andre Lestrange, Belinda Rookwood and Thomas Avery. They had roughly the same classes and normally came together to do homework and swap interesting news.
That particular evening, they ousted the younger Slytherins from the choice seats by the fireplace by virtue of their seniority, ignoring the dire looks and angry mutters because it wasn't done to pay attention to younger members of their House.
Ink and quills were brought out. Complaints about various teachers were aired as per normal. Even Slytherins could empathise with each other over homework done at the eleventh hour. Especially Advanced class homework. Snape was doing the maximum of two Advance classes, hoping that they would prove useful when he applied for an apprenticeship after graduation.
Althea and Pascal had the same idea. Evan and Andre took the advanced D.A.D.A. class just to get into the Restricted Section of the library to look up those curses Snape had known about long before they did.
Right now, the ones with a single Advanced class were finished up their work, leaving Snape with Slytherins doing the double load of Advanced classes--Melissa, Althea and Pascal.
Melissa got up and came back with a Honeyduke's bag., claiming that she would fall sleep over her essay if she didn't have something to snack on. Snape thought that was very likely--she was one of the rare few taking Advanced Divination and he couldn't fathom how anyone could make anything out of that boring gibberish, much less do an essay comparing the effectiveness of Tarot Cards and the I Ching.
"Swap you one of my quills for two of those sugar ones?" Althea asked. Her grandfather was an illuminator and she didn't have shop-bought quills because she had home-made ones of better quality.
"Done. What happened to your stash?" Melissa asked as she handed over the sweets. "We were in Hogsmeade only yesterday."
"Yes, but I think someone nicked it when I brought it down here and turned my back for a moment," Thea said, passing over a quill. "Probably some poxy first years . . ."
Slytherins certainly did not share, but they weren't above a little sneaky pinching now and then.
"You aren't going to hunt them down and hex them?"
"I can't be arsed to," Thea said predictably. She could never be bothered with a lot of things--it was an astonishing fact that she had managed to survive in Slytherin House for this long. "I'll put an Indigestion Hex on my stuff the next time. But now I've got to rush this essay for Locusta . . . Snape--I hope you aren't doing anything on naturally occurring poisons, are you?"
It was usually better to have completely original papers for their Advanced classes. "No--mine's hallucinogenic compounds. How much have you got done?"
"Three inches--which is why I shan't be getting any sleep tonight," she complained. "Starker's essay took up the whole afternoon!"
Professor William Starkly--called "Stark-ravin' Liam" or just "Starkers" by everyone else--who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts was one tough, paranoid customer to please. Unfortunately for all concerned, Professor Nero Locusta the Potions Master was possibly even more anal-retentive. Snape had used up his afternoon free periods for the past three days to do his own D.A.D.A. essay. He had done his research for his Advanced Potions essay yesterday evening and was confident of his ability to produce something that wasn't completely smoke and assorted horse apples at the last minute.
"What did you write on then?" Pascal Zabini wanted to know.
"Gorgons. I got the idea after Madam Pince gave me the Evil Eye in the library," Thea replied. "What did you two write about?" she asked Snape and Zabini. "I saw you taking your own sweet time in the Restricted Section."
"Ancient Roman and Grecian Death Hexes." He had done seven feet of it--surpassing his second longest essay record by four inches.
"That even *sounds* tedious," Pascal said. "Mine's on cursed weapons of the Medieval Ages."
"Boys and their swords," Thea laughed. "Is it a wand-thing, I wonder?" she asked Melissa slyly. Thea was *never* above taking the mickey out of all and sundry.
"Is that right then?" Zabini asked indignantly as Melissa snickered along dutifully. "You girls--"
"Us girls *what*?" Someone came back down again, bearing a candle to illuminate the dark stairs.
It was Belinda Rookwood. "Still up?" she asked. "All right for you swots, I suppose." She handed over a roll of parchment to Althea. "Almost forgot about this. Thanks so much, Thea."
"Oh cheers, Belinda."
"They're cribbing off you again?" Melissa raised an eyebrow quizzically as Belinda returned to her dorm.
"I don't see why you let them," Snape said. He had strong views about cribbing--especially when others were too lazy and took advantage of someone else's hard work.
Anyone who thought they could pick Severus Snape's brains or pick on him had been quickly disabused of the notion in his first year when he had lashed out with his ample supply of hexes at an erstwhile bully who had been attempting to intimidate him. He had gotten into heaps of trouble and received a month's worth of detention for that, but everyone else had taken note of it and either left him well alone, or tried to befriend him amidst the little power games the Slytherins played amongst themselves.
"Yeah, but they don't make my life a misery. And they can't crib off me during the exams, so their grades aren't getting any better. I've been waiting for them to catch on for about six years now, but I don't think they get it," Thea said with a smirk. "I don't think they'll pull through during the N.E.W.T.s."
"Maybe it doesn't matter to them anymore," Melissa said. According to hearsay, her older brother was in it deep. But she still wasn't letting on if she knew anything substantial. "I heard that Belinda's family are on Voldemort's side."
"Old news, Melissa, very old news." The majority of the Slytherins and their families were for Voldemort. Not openly, of course.
"I mean right in Voldemort's inner circle . . . But it could be a rumour for all we know."
"For all *you* know," Pascal began in a superior tone. "Some of us are a little more in the know."
"I see--so what is it that you know that we don't?" Melissa countered.
Snape could see how tempted Zabini was to announce the meeting for the whole world to hear and settled for giving him a warning look instead of the kick the idiot deserved.
"If I told you--"
"Then it wouldn't be a secret anymore," Thea finished dryly. "How convenient. *Do* tell us when you've finally made it to Voldemort's inner circle. Oh, wait--that's got to be a secret too, right?"
"They'll want grown wizards, Pascal--not boys who haven't learned to shave yet," Melissa said disparagingly. Oh yes, the girls were going at him with all claws bared now. "And even if they want some schoolboys, they'd pick someone who could actually do a proper curse like they *meant* it. Like Snape over there."
"But you've got to have the right attitude," Pascal said, manfully gathering up the shreds of his dignity while Snape refrained from smirking. "I happen to agree that Muggles should be exterminated--like that Sirius Black and a couple of those half-breed Gryffindors."
"That's coming on rather strong--what's gotten into you?"
"It's not right--mixing the bloodlines like that," Zabini said, looking uncomfortable at the very mention of the subject. "Avery and Wilkes were right about that--we might lose all the magic if it were diluted."
"Oh, I don't know . . ." Thea murmured. "Those farmers next door always said that inbreeding was bad for the sheep . . . Hybrid vigour, you know?"
"But we're not *sheep*, Thea" he said condescendingly. Althea gave him a look that quite plainly said Then why are you acting like one?--which he failed to see completely.
"Stick to reading tea leaves," he continued with the nonchalance of someone who did not know that he was treading on very thin ice. "It's probably easier for you to understand."
Snape wisely concentrated on his essay. Thea and Melissa had the same look girls normally wore before strange spells of bad luck suddenly afflicted unwitting boys. Like ripening stinkhorn in boots, Tripping Hexes and large groups of girls pointing and whispering their direction. Most Slytherin girls were vindictive--to say the very least--and he did not want to spend the next few weeks checking for hexes every time he turned around.
"Go bugger a sheep, Zabini," Thea said, rolling her eyes and continued penning her essay in a neat hand that betrayed her usual lackadaisical nature. Conversation stalled after that. Snape was glad for it was easier to concentrate without the distraction and he could get this done before the meeting.
Two hours later, all four of them were rolling up their parchments and calling it quits for the night. It was quite a record--their homework was done and it wasn't even one in the morning yet. Pretending to yawn and complain about missing hours of sleep, they made their way up to their own dormitory where the others were wide-awake and waiting. It had been a conscious choice by Wilkes and Avery to include only the most likely seventh years in this outing because it was their first time they were contacting real Dark Wizards. They hadn't been too sure about some of the girls yet and decided not to chance it.
"It's about time!" Avery muttered when they finally showed up. "What took you so long? Your soddin' essay must be ten feet long by now!" Snape had spent one vacation with Thomas Avery in London and had his measure now. He might snap and snarl, but being natural born bully that he was, he wouldn't go for anyone who was stronger.
"Shut up, Avery--you'll wake the whole school," Edward Wilkes said. "We're still on time--it's at two o'clock. Is that enough time to get there, Snape?"
None of them knew the school and its grounds by night half as well as he did, which was why he had been given the responsibility of guiding them to the meeting place. He had done his own midnight forays through Hogwarts in an effort to trace Potter and his gang's movements, but they seemed to know of secret passages he had not found yet. But those trips had not been entirely wasted--Snape could take them through Hogwarts and out to the gate without a lamp or a spell.
"We'll leave in five minutes in case anyone's still up," he told them. "Then after that, no talking. The new caretaker's got a cat and that wretched thing seems to pop up everywhere."
It would seem as though he had inadvertently jinxed them, for they almost ran into the mangy grey bundle of fur when they reached the ground floor of the castle. They all froze, hardly daring to breathe while expecting an over-zealous caretaker to pop up before them.
But they were lucky that time--no one else appeared after one heart-stopping minute. The grey cat moved on, distracted by the sound of mice near a suit of armour and it was all Snape could do not to sigh too heavily in relief as they moved on.
Despite the odd thrill of that near miss, Snape was fully aware of what they were doing and just how much trouble this could land them in. It would be expulsion for certain. And yet he could not have backed down from it at this stage, could he?
The rest of the way out of the castle was uneventful and soon, they were standing at a small seldom-used side gate that faced the approximate direction of Hogsmeade and the surrounding countryside. It was locked, but it would not prove to be an obstacle. Andre Lestrange stepped up briskly with his wand and got to work on the lock.
He was good at picking locks--magical or otherwise. His past experience had supposedly came from sneaking out at night during the holidays to meet with his girlfriend from Durmstrang who just happened to take her vacations in a place an hour's journey south of Hogwarts. Whatever the reasons were, he had the gate open in under two minutes and they were outside school grounds on a chilly February night.
Winter still held sway over the land even though it had stopped snowing two weeks ago. Their breath rose like steam as they trod down the rough track, following Wilkes' lead. It had been Edward's older brother who had tipped him off to this little gathering. It had been a terribly convenient arrangement, Snape had thought to himself before curiosity got the better of him.
And so he was trudging along in dark with Pascal Zabini nattering on nervously beside him and the others acting like it was some sort of interesting adventure. Pascal was being dreadfully tedious. Snape mentally wrote him off as another one who was all bark and no bite.
"I mean--what if they decide they don't need us after all?" Pascal was saying as they skirted Hogsmeade and a few fields.
"I wouldn't worry about that," Snape said, "it's not like we're going there to pledge allegiance or anything." They seemed so eager to throw themselves into this--Snape wondered why he was having reservations.
"Ed's brother said there's always room for more," Avery said in an encouraging way.
"Yes--I suppose they need all the help they can get . . ."
That was a reasonable assumption. Voldemort's supporters were only a very small minority who hid themselves well. They might even need the help of teenage boys if they were that desperate.
They *had* to be desperate if they were risking a meeting so close to Hogwarts . . .
A dark shadow detached itself from a dense copse of trees and startled them all. The figure threw back its hood and then it was just a young woman in a cloak. Lestrange recovered first and went forwards to take her hand.
"This is Drucilla Kristóf," Andre said reverently. It didn't take a genius to figure out who she was and how he felt about her.
"Gentlemen." She was tall and her stance was proud as a queen's. Her thick black hair gleamed slightly in the dim light as she inclined her head slightly at them. At close range, she could not have been older than any of them, but she looked mature for her age.
The others looked reluctantly impressed as introductions--a little too formal considering the setting--were made. Even now, he could see Pascal and Evan shoving their wands back under their cloaks hurriedly and the others desperately trying to act nonchalant. Snape knew that they probably looked like scared little boys about to wet themselves a moment ago.
Wilkes did pull Lestrange aside for a moment in a futile attempt to reassert himself. "Andre--this isn't some romantic outing! Why'd you arrange for your girlfriend to coming along?"
"Drucilla is quite serious about this--I assure you," Andre said defensively. "We thought this through together."
"Maybe it's not your brain that's doing the thinking," Wilkes said darkly. But he strode on, muttering to himself. Snape privately agreed with him. At that moment, Andre Lestrange did not look like he would have been able to refuse Drucilla's smallest request.
"You're from Durmstrang--that's quite far away, isn't it?" Pascal asked in an attempt to start a conversation with Drucilla as they walked on.
"I Apparated here. I wouldn't dream of missing out on this." And her heavy-lidded gaze met Andre's for a moment as though they shared some secret.
Illegal Apparation. They had probably been meeting for months in secret. Drucilla and Andre's standing just rose a few more notches in their eyes. Snape would have tried it himself long ago, except that even the strongest wizard had to get out of Hogwarts first before performing any Apparation or Disapparation.
"All right--we're here," Wilkes hissed at them before stepping through a thicket. It proved to be a clever screen for a small clearing where several dark figures were assembled.
"Put up your hoods," Drucilla cautioned them. Belatedly, they saw that the others there were all cloaked and hooded. It was probably done to safeguard their identities from the others. No wizard would ever want to be caught or identified at this particular gathering . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Snape could still remember the secrecy involved. It was necessary when one was meeting up with Voldemort's servants. The likes of them would never meet up with the Dark Lord. Only the most trusted could bypass the intermediaries and back then, they had been callow schoolboys who had been throwing themselves into things they did not understand yet.
But that didn't matter very much for the seventeen-year old boys they had once been. Awed by the secrecy and sombreness of the gathering, they had clustered in a cold clearing with other anonymous figures and waited for Voldemort's emissaries to speak.
They were faceless figures who spoke with such conviction that one could not help but listen. They were convincing because their zeal had been *real*. Snape had not known enough at that time to be weary of such extremists yet.
It was easy to remember what they had said because it had been so frighteningly logical. Down with the Ministry and its oppressive ban on Dark Magic. No more pandering to the Muggles and hiding their magic. The magic was theirs and why shouldn't they use it to rise above the ignorant Muggles?
Fine words. Persuasive words. It appealed to the class-conscious Slytherins. If Voldemort was opposed to Mudbloods and Muggles, there would be many from the old families who would back him.
Then came the promises. Promises of power. Promises of safety from the coming scourge. Promises of how things would be so much better if only they followed Voldemort to greatness. The promised chance to rise above all those who dared to oppress them.
It worked on the susceptible youths they had been. Or perhaps it only backed up the conditioning the Slytherins had received from their own families. People like Lestrange and Rosier looked for greatness in someone else's shadow. Others were merely cowardly and easily swayed. His teenage self had dispassionately considered just how this option could benefit him and how many doors it could open for an unknown but ambitious wizard without any connections.
Whatever the reasons, Voldemort had snared them there and then. Get them while they're young and impressionable . . .
Recruiting from the schools of magic--Malfoy wouldn't need any encouragement to spread it about. Most of the Slytherins' families had links with Death Eaters anyhow, so it stood to reason that the next step was the same tried and tested plan of cajoling or intimidating other wizards to join them.
That meant none of the teachers were going to get any sleep until certain breaches in security had been closed. Snape got up wearily to go to Dumbledore's office. It was going to be an uphill battle to maintain a balance in the school.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
To Severus Snape:
Your order is going to take some time to fill as certain items have not been in demand for some time now. As for the list of references you sent, some of them are not available and it will take some considerable effort to obtain those you need. I am amicable to bargaining.
Regards,
Xu Fu-Tzu
* * * * * * * * * * * *
R.,
Went around the country checking up on stolen items. Weather is terrible as usual, but not quite as bad as back home. Have attached list of items taken--make what you will of them. They seem to be mostly antique crockery and manuscripts. Have to take a commission to catch hobgoblins, so I'm disengaging for a week.
D. Kheryvek
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Lupin,
How goes the search? D. tells me it's not looking promising and he's got to go back to work for a week. Snooping around London isn't a picnic, I'll tell you--getting called an Irish troublemaker lost its appeal about ten years ago.
Kyra, Danny and others will be coming down soon. Just thought you should know.
Gerad
P. S.: Kailing said she's getting rid of her bike for a Honda Civic. (I shudder to think about what this means in the long run.) Ask your friend if he wants it second hand.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Remus,
Progress is slow but steady down here in Boffin Central. They said we could expect some results soon.
Larissa M.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Severus,
I need to see you--this is important. I will be in Hogsmeade on Thursday.
Thea
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jargon and stuff:
Advanced classes: See part three for details.
I Ching: Book of Changes. An ancient Chinese book of divinations.
Illuminator: Person who does illuminations--i.e. designs/illustrations in books
Eternal thanks to beta-reader Earthwalk and CLS for the additional comments
The author's bothersome notes: Went on holiday in the UK and did not write anything for two weeks, so excuse me if it sounds disjointed or weird. The whole past/present/past/present-thingy might be a bit tiresome, eh? Comments?
(Did not see any werewolves there--even though it was of full moon--or interesting looking Professors in black. However, I immediately thought "Wormtail!" when I saw the rats in the subway. Just my luck . . .)
Re-posted on 03/01/00