Sev and Lily were probably the only ones who knew the true reason behind Fennel's towering fury. Even Audley Fletcher flinched away from him when he started to rant and rave in earnest.
Sev and Sirius ended up in detention, naturally. So did James and Peter, who'd had the misfortune of standing nearby when Fennel went ballistic.
Sirius had obviously explained to his best friend how Snape had been the cause of it all, and the two of them spent their detention period sending evil glares in his direction. Peter wasn't quite brave enough to do that, but he sat with them and sort of pretended to be joining in.
Sev had come no closer to guessing why the Sorting Hat had put Pettigrew in Gryffindor. In Remus Lupin, the Gryffindor qualities had been slow to show up because of his quiet voice and polite manner. In Pettigrew, they were simply nonexistent.
James had taken to him, in the manner boys like James Potter took to people they felt sorry for. Peter was fumblingly, pathetically eager to be a part of the gang, with a level of fawning hero-worship Snape found quite sickening.
The sickened feeling was decidedly mutual. Sirius Black was no friend to the Slytherins at the best of times. This, apparently, had been the final straw; now it was personal.
"We'll get you back for this, Snape," he muttered darkly as they finally escaped from the Potions dungeon.
"Oh, of course you will," he sniped back, with his most mocking sneer. He had no use for the friendship of Sirius Black, and his hatred served a purpose. The more the Gryffindors were convinced he was their enemy, the less he actually had to do to make Malfoy believe that.
He swung by the library on a hunch, to see if Lily had waited for him. She had.
"We have to go to Dumbledore," she said instantly, abandoning their usual pretence of casually discussing homework assignments.
"With what?" Sev refuted. "'While we were sneaking about in the middle of the night, we heard something that sounded like Professor Fennel might be planning to do something to Audley Fletcher, and we think he deliberately sabotaged a potion in an attempt to injure him'?"
"You don't think all that stuff, you know," Lily argued.
"Such confidence you have in me," he noted dryly.
"Such confidence you have in yourself," she countered.
"And it's well-founded."
"If you're that sure, Dumbledore could-"
"Dumbledore could do exactly nothing, without proof."
"Yes, but at least he'd know."
"The more people that know, the more chance Fennel will notice he's being watched. Dumbledore's more than sharp, but he trusts too easily. We have to be spies, and that's not something you share. The only safe spy is the one who works alone."
Lily was shaking her head in something like disbelief. "You're so... how do you live, being so cynical all the time? Not trusting anybody."
He shrugged. "It's how I've always been."
"It's awful," she said, hugging herself as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.
"It saved Audley Fletcher today," he reminded her. "It'll probably save a whole lot more people tomorrow."
"Yeah," she said softly, "but who's gonna save you?"
In the weeks that followed, Professor Fennel and Audley Fletcher acquired two extremely discreet shadows. Most of the time, they were safe enough. Dumbledore was, as usual, seeming close to omnipresent. Fennel was growing steadily more bad-tempered; even the other staff fled from his scowls. Sev wondered if his unseen master was growing impatient.
Lily had convinced the not-exactly-poor Sirius to take out a subscription to the Daily Prophet, claiming that, being from a Muggle family, she wanted to learn about the wizarding world outside Hogwarts. She did, too, but most of her attention was reserved for the activities of the Aurors.
Auror Fletcher was the current darling of the media, having bust up an entire coven of Dark wizards in Bulgaria. There were troubled stirrings about some new power rising in the world of magic, and in these times the heroics of men like Fletcher were very well received. Sev had read enough to know that the man doted on his only son, and should anything happen to him it would near destroy him. And that destruction would be an incredible blow to public belief in their safety.
So, much as the seventh-year failed to impress him, he kept a look out for the safety of Audley Fletcher. He quickly saw Fennel's problem; it was almost impossible to find Fletcher alone. He was always surrounded by a crowd of adoring hangers-on, a group into which Fennel could hardly insert himself without being noticed.
So, thinking as he did so how much the idea would horrify Lily, he sat down and started to think like a murderer. It came perhaps entirely too easily.
Another opportunity like the potions tuition could not be relied upon. Yet there was barely a single place Fletcher set foot without being followed... which left somewhere he wasn't setting foot. The air. Quidditch.
Yes. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. If I were planning to hide a murder...
The question was, was Fennel as smart as he was when it came to planning one?
He shared his theory with Lily.
"At a Quidditch match? In front of all those people?" She worried at her lower lip. "Surely that's too exposed?"
"Where better?" Sev countered. "Hundreds of witnesses to say it was an accident. All it takes is a little creative hexing on his broom..."
"Yeah," said Lily slowly. "Okay. I can buy that. But even if he falls a long way, who's to say he'll be killed, or even badly injured? He could get lucky."
"Doesn't matter if he does. Somebody's fallen a long way, the staff are on hand... who's the logical one to rush to his side?"
"The Potions master," Lily agreed sickly. "God." She shook her head. "You really think that's how he'll do it?"
"It's how I would. -If I was ever planning the perfect murder," he added, perhaps a shade too late. Lily was looking at him oddly.
"I worry about you, you know that?"
"I'm touched," he said dryly, getting to his feet.
"Where are you going?"
"Malachite's office," he explained. "I need to find us a completely untraceable, unnoticeable poison, and somehow I don't think we'll find it in the student library."
As luck - good or ill - would have it, Professor Malachite himself caught the two of them in the act. "Ah, Severus." His tone cooled off noticeably. "And Lily." Obviously he was not exactly thrilled at Sev having extended the invitation to another student. Sev wondered if it was the fact that she was a Gryffindor that irked his housemaster.
"Felt the need for some company, Severus?" he asked dryly.
"It's always good to have someone to bounce your ideas off," he said neutrally.
Lily quickly excused herself, sensing that he'd overstepped his bounds here. "I'm sorry, sir, did you not want anyone else using your books?" he asked after she'd scurried away.
"Not at all, not at all," Malachite quickly backtracked. "Ah... but perhaps Malfoy might be better suited..."
"Oh, I share with him too, sir," he said, trying to strike the right balance between innocent and sounding like he was acting. "I like to get multiple perspectives."
"Commendable," said Professor Malachite, in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Yes, a touch of inter-house rivalry there for sure.
He glanced at the weighty tome in Sev's hand. "Moste Potent Paralytics; a little light reading before bed, Severus?"
"It's as well to be versed on poisons, sir," he pointed out. "Else how would anybody ever discover the antidotes?"
"Quite, quite. Planning on making a name for yourself as a research wizard, hmm?"
"Maybe," he said, neutrally. For some reason, he didn't like the idea of sharing his newfound ambition to teach with Carnus Malachite. The Slytherin head of house might find it a little... unambitious.
He retired to the dorms and read pages and pages about the deadly effects of a few hundred poisons. Lucius and the others read over his shoulder, and tossed about the more disgusting descriptions with glee.
"Wow, these are so cool," grinned Avery, as they all tried to picture exactly what exploding lungs might look like. Sev, however, was looking for something altogether less flashy.
He finally found it, referenced in a brief footnote at the bottom of page 924. Called 'Callahan's Brew', it was a poison that had been used by unscrupulous wizards in the Dark Ages. Back then, when the rules about interacting with Muggles had been far less strict, it had been a favoured cushy job to act as 'court wizard' to some minor king or other. However, kings could be quite unreasonable at times, and the odd ambitious wizard would need a way to bump off their 'master' without provoking the slightest suspicion of magical involvement.
Enter the long-ago Callahan. He had perfected a poison that was the complete opposite of all the flashy brews Dark wizards delighted in. This one was subtle, quick, untraceable, and damn near invisible. The only drawback was the antidote was something any halfway competent wizarding student could brew up... but that would require them knowing in advance that the poison was going to be used.
Sev was a great deal more than halfway competent. And he strongly suspected that if Fennel read the same books he did, he too would have come upon Callahan's brew.
Lily was unconvinced. "Okay... out of all the millions and billions of possible poisons in the world, you're betting Audley's life that he'll use this one?"
"Yes."
"And you're sure of this because...?"
He met her gaze coolly. "It's what I'd use."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Lily was the first to look away.
Audley Fletcher was Gryffindor Quidditch captain. That gave Lily ample excuse to be at his matches, especially since she had shown up at a number of the team's practises, even before they knew Audley's life might be in danger.
This, Sev suspected - however much she denied it - had more to do with James Potter's fanaticism for the game than any wild passion of her own. James and Sirius had attended every practise going, fielding escaped Quaffles and chattering loudly about how they would be the stars of the team when they were allowed to enter try-outs next year.
That made his own job only harder. Not only was he well known to be deeply disinterested in the sport, but he was a Slytherin to boot. It would stretch belief for him to show up to support his own team, and he'd stick out like a troll at a tea party at Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.
It was actually Sirius Black's wild enthusiasm for the game that provided a solution. On the eve of the first game of the annual Quidditch cup, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, he had donned a scarlet scarf over his uniform, and a magical badge that said 'Fletcher for the cup!'
This get-up was fondly tolerated by Gryffindor head of house Professor Vitae, but when it came to Herbology, a little bit of well-placed sniping did the job. "Professor! Can you tell Sirius Black to take that stupid scarf off? He's frightening the plants."
The Slytherins snickered. Professor Parilia, a small, dumpy red-headed witch, was extremely good-natured and easy-going. She was also head of house Hufflepuff, and a big Quidditch fan.
"Come now, Sirius. Do you think that's really appropriate wear for the classroom?"
"It's a greenhouse," Sirius scowled, but he took the scarf off. He shot Snape an evil look as he folded it up and put it away.
Later that lesson, Snape put a subtle little enchantment on his badge, so it read 'Fletcher for the cut' instead of 'Fletcher for the cup'. The Slytherins got a good fifteen minutes' amusement out of that until Remus Lupin finally pointed it out to him.
Sirius threw down his baby Flutterby Bush, which quivered indignantly. "Oh, very funny," he snarled at the Slytherins. "Oh, that's so mature. What'll it be next? Writing 'Gryffindor stinks' on the toilet walls?"
"Oh, we don't need to do that," said Lucius Malfoy smarmily. "After all, everybody knows you stink." It wasn't a particularly funny line, but his gang of cronies bust-up laughing. Sev pulled one of his trademark tight-lipped smiles, which seemed to infuriate Sirius twice as much as the outright laughter.
"You're just jealous," he accused, practically foaming at the mouth. "You can't take it that we've got the best team in the school, and you're going down."
"Yeah, we're going down. We're going down to the Trophy Room to collect the Quidditch cup!" grinned Avery.
"You? Yeah, right. The only way you're getting your hands on that cup is if you steal it. Which, hey, knowing you, you'll probably try."
"Yeah, it'll be like stealing. After all, where's the sport in beating a team as crap as yours?"
At this point Sev stepped back in, sneering. "You're going to lose, Black," he whispered darkly. "You're going to lose, and we're gonna be there to see it. And every match, if you're not too busy looking at the floor in shame, you can look up and see us grinning at you. Because we are way out of your league. We are way out of your league, and you are gonna get thrashed tomorrow. Hufflepuff'll beat you, and Ravenclaw'll beat you, and when it comes to Slytherin... well, you might as well just tell your boys to stay back in the dressing room. The score'll be the same, but it'll be much less embarrassing for you."
And after that, of course, there was no way in hell anybody from house Slytherin was going to miss a single Gryffindor match.
Snape found Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff breathtakingly dull. There was something to be said, he supposed, for mastering the difficult art of flying a broomstick, but zipping around throwing balls through hoops? What the hell for?
Fennel wasn't even there. Sev soon spotted the reason; Professor Dumbledore was right there in the front row, cheering as overexcitedly as any twelve-year-old. He was normally far too busy to attend anything but the finals, but he'd obviously decided to make an exception for the first match of the season.
Gryffindor team were, to the Slytherins' dismay, every bit as good as Sirius had painted them. They were absolutely massacring Hufflepuff, tossing the Quaffle through hoops as if the defenders weren't even there.
However, a surprise twist soon had Malfoy and co crowing with delight. Audley Fletcher, Seeker, spotting a few girls beaming up at him, wasted a few crucial moments to wave - at the exact same time his Hufflepuff counterpart caught a flash of the Golden Snitch.
Even so, it was very, very close. Fletcher realised his mistake in a fraction of a second, and he flew like a maniac. Watching him twist through the air like a corkscrew, Sev realised Fennel had missed a diamond opportunity to knock the boy from his broom. Everybody but the deliberately unimpressed Slytherins had their hearts in their throats.
The Hufflepuff boy, though, reacted with desperation. His fingers closed around the Snitch when the Gryffindor captain's were literally half an inch away. Even that victory, though, was overshadowed by the crowd's awe as Fletcher effortlessly peeled away to avoid a collision.
Hufflepuff had got the Snitch, but it wasn't enough to win them the game. By sheer virtue of their outstanding Quaffle-work, Gryffindor still came out of the game seventy points ahead.
Sirius and James were shouting down the Slytherins triumphantly, but Malfoy snarled right back. "Oh, right, right! Wow, your team can get a ball through a hoop - a Muggle could do that! You just wait 'til you're facing a team that actually knows how to defend."
"Oh, you'd better know how to do that, 'cause it's all you're gonna be doing!" James snapped back.
"Your Seeker needs glasses, Potter!" Malfoy shouted back. "Why don't you lend him yours? Oh, wait, no. You don't wanna give Audley Fletcher anything that reflects - he'll be stuck in front of it for weeks!" The Slytherins howled with laughter.
Malfoy, though, was in a very dark mood as they stormed away. "Bloody mudblood Gryffindors," he cursed. "Think they're so goddamn brilliant. They need taking down a peg or two."
"You wait 'til next week," Avery piped up eagerly. "Our team'll tromp 'em. They haven't got a prayer!"
"Oh, I'm not just talking about Quidditch," said Malfoy slowly. A wicked grin started to spread across his features. "Oh, that's not the half of it."
And, dark mood suddenly forgotten, he wandered off, humming to himself. Snape stood watching him go; impassive on the outside, on the inside... troubled.
