"Quod Me Nutruit, Me Destruit – Chapter 3"
By The Crystalline Temptress
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the brilliant writer J.K. Rowling does. So don't sue me.
A/N: Finally, more of Severus! :) Many thanks to those who commented and to my betareaders, Misao and Sicaria. You two help immensely! :)
A thought came into my mind that perhaps I shall use for the latter parts of my story, if I plan to use it at all. Hermione was the person to solve Snape's riddle in the 1st book when they were trying to get to the Sorcerer's Stone. Would that make her intellect a match for Snape's? Or would that just say that she had a lot of logic, which Snape has too? My friend told me that it was harder to make a riddle than to solve one; I personally agree. But to unravel the mystery of a riddle, one must be thinking along the lines of the person who made it in the first place. But anyway, I should save this discussion for another day. :)
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Snape drummed his fingers on the polished surface of the wooden table. He narrowed his eyes as he read the newspaper article. It had served to be the day's source of preoccupation, much to his disdain. Couldn't people see that it was too blatant?
It is all obviously a hoax, he thought, scoffing in exasperation. Although a well-staged one.
He had to admit that the article had made a lot of sense regarding the issue. Black's dossier was taken, along with the files on the Death Eaters. No wonder the writer accused the supposed criminal of being one of them.
It's too obvious. Snape shook his head in disgust. I'm sure some will remain skeptical. But to those who don't know the truth, this is like light shining on the subject. Sadly, more people do not know the real story.
Annoyance still surged through him at the thought that Sirius Black would be accused as a Death Eater. In all my days here at Hogwarts with Black, he is one of the least likely to be drawn into the Dark side. He was too . . . loyal to James. The reflections were accompanied by self-abhorrence, somehow magnified by his dislike for Black. Besides, I never saw him at our . . . meetings. And he wouldn't be cunning enough to even get to a meeting.
He cushioned his cheek on his knuckles and stared at the Daily Prophet idly as his thoughts formed themselves. The reason why someone would want to frame Black wasn't very clear to him. The man's reputation was sullied enough; there was no possible gain to be elicited from the ploy.
Maybe I'm just not thinking the way a Death Eater should, he thought with a sigh. Or maybe I'm just not thinking as clearly as I would like to. He scowled as his temples throbbed slightly. His headache was still present, but thankfully, it had lessened in intensity. Still, it was a hindrance to certain things, like coherent thought.
Maybe I'm beginning to be immune to the Cure-All potion. Snape exhaled in frustration and bent over his desk, pillowing his forehead on the teak. It's not as if it hasn't happened before.
Resolving to find another potion that would have the same effect, Snape shut his eyes and decided to sleep for a while, despite the fact that his spine was already protesting from the awkward position.
Just as he was about to succumb to the clutches of slumber, he heard a tapping upon his windowpane. He opened one eye irritably to peer at whatever was making the infernal racket. It turned out to be an owl, fluttering behind the glass. Curiosity piqued, wondering who would send him mail, he made his way to the window and pushed it open. The owl fluttered in, landed on his desk and held out its leg, where a letter was attached. Snape took it and unrolled the fresh parchment, immediately recognizing the scrawl with a sickening lurch of his stomach.
Let us discuss the news, shall we? I'll meet you and a bit of the old crowd at Moonshine Tavern, 6:30 P.M., today.
There was no name signed. There was no need for it; the handwriting was familiar enough.
The owl stared unblinkingly at him, making his skin crawl unpleasantly. It was obviously waiting for a response.
Tearing off the lower portion of the letter, Snape wrote his response, affirming his decision to come. He secured it to the leg of the owl and sent it off.
Time to tell Headmaster Dumbledore.
Deciding to do so, he rubbed his sleep-laden eyes and moved in the direction of Dumbledore's office, noting that he had about an hour to prepare—to steel—himself. One always had to have his wits about him when meeting with the Death Eaters.
Dumbledore was just writing a letter to Flourish and Blotts regarding a shipment of books he was expecting when a knock sounded on his door.
"Come in," he said loudly, mildly surprised to see Snape step in. The Potions master was wearing a most dismal expression that no doubt meant bad news.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Snape began, clearing his throat. "I received a letter from Lucius Malfoy today. He asked me to meet him at Hogsmeade. I already sent an owl with my reply, saying that I will attend the meeting."
Dumbledore sighed, lowering his quill. "I was wondering when he'd summon you again." He dipped the tip of his feather into the inkbottle and peered at it for a moment, then lowered it back into the bottle and fixed his gaze on Snape. "I suppose they want to talk to you about the recent events?"
"Yes," Snape said, nodding jerkily.
"At least maybe some light will be shed on the subject of Sirius Black," Dumbledore said. "You must find out as much about it as you can. Perhaps we shall discover what the involvement the Death Eaters have with the problem."
"Do you think, headmaster, that the Lucius Malfoy has something to do with the raid in the Ministry of Magic?" Snape questioned sharply.
"It is possible," the older man nodded. He stood up and walked to his phoenix, Fawkes, who watched benignly from his perch. The majestic bird fixed an eye on Snape and let out a quivering note, rustling its scarlet and gold plumage.
"Are you feeling ill at ease?" Dumbledore asked. "Fawkes seems to think so."
There was a terse pause. "Slightly," the professor answered.
"It is natural, I presume, since you have decided to turn your back on your old crowd. Only a fool is not afraid. But keep in mind that there is nothing to fear but fear itself." The headmaster fixed him with that piercing blue gaze of his. "Good luck, Severus."
Snape took this as his cue to leave. He nodded jerkily and proceeded to the door.
"Best be off with you," Dumbledore added. "And now, I will return to my note regarding Poisonous Plants and Whatnot. Flourish and Blotts seems to have gone out of stock." His eyes twinkled once again as he watched Snape leave.
"I'm sure that you can handle it; Mr. Malfoy shouldn't be a bother. In fact, I can still recall very clearly that he was rather intimidated by you during your earlier years together," Dumbledore added. Snape looked at him in surprise, and he just smiled sagely.
Adrenaline thrummed through his veins. Snape strode down the hallway briskly, as if quickening his pace would leave the negative emotions behind.
This is ridiculous. He shook his head at his apprehension as he made a turn through a secret passageway.
What's the worst that can happen? He pushed the doors open and stepped into his room. He swung the boards with so much force that they banged on the wall, making him grimace.
I could be revealed. His robes landed in a crumpled heap on his bed as he threw on fresh ones. My status could be jeopardized. Everything that I've worked for could vanish.
Stop! He took a moment to breathe, leaning on the post of his canopy bed. His head pounded sharply. Nothing is going to happen. This is just a meeting regarding the news.
Snape rubbed the back of his neck wearily, resisting the urge to just fall on his knees in weakness. He knew that his perturbed emotional state stemmed his poor physical state. If only he had time to brew a potion, then all would have been fine.
Relinquishing his grip on the column, he put on a heavy cloak and took the secret passageway leading outside the school.
He reached Hogsmeade at a quarter past six, meaning that he had fifteen minutes to reach Moonshine Tavern. Punctuality was something Lucius Malfoy took rather personally; the man tended to get angered whenever others were late.
Voldemort was particular with punctuality too. One minute late and the Cruciatus Curse.
Snape rushed to the dead end and pressed his palm to the brick wall, glancing around for any passersby. His hand momentarily glowed a sparkling red, and then the wall receded until it formed a doorway. Snape passed through it, and the bricks moved to their original structure.
The pub was dingy, noisy and filled with smoke. A piano played at the far end of the room, while several rather suspicious looking people sat around tables and drank.
Snape swam his way through the crowd, déjà vu churning in his belly.
When he was younger, the Death Eaters would gather at a pub similar to that one, but it was eventually blown up by the Ministry of Magic when it was discovered to be a Death Eater meeting place.
The Moonshine Tavern had only been a secondary option then, until the loss of their first. The Death Eaters only gathered at the bar only when they wanted to mingle a bit and have a spot of liquor. Snape actually thought that it was also to get away from Malfoy's mansion, where most parties were held. Splendid as the place was, Malfoy was a bit too cocky about its appearance.
He reached the extreme end of the tavern and felt around for the trapdoor. The procedure was the same; he held his palm to the door and it glowed crimson. He pushed it open and stepped through, immediately shutting it behind him.
He was in a corridor of stone; torches lit the walkway eerily, flickering as he moved past them.
He had only been to this area once, and it was just before Voldemort's downfall. The sensation of being there again sent prickles of trepidation up his spine.
Several doors lined the hall, but he dared not open them. He did not want to know what was hidden behind those doors. He only knew that he had access to the last one at the end.
Finally reaching the end of the hallway, Snape looked at the right door. If he was not mistaken, that was the way leading to the sitting room.
He went through the threshold.
The surroundings were dim, but the light cast by the embers in the fireplace illuminated the place just enough for it to be visible. Noticeably the room was less seedy; in fact, the furnishings looked rather on the expensive side. Leather couches surrounded a brick hearth; beside it were bookshelves filled with what looked like expensive volumes. A mahogany centerpiece lay between the sofas and the fireplace, and on top of it were a few bottles of wine and glasses. On the other side of the room lay a desk with parchment scattered all over the surface.
Yes, déjà vu.
A few people looked up at his entrance.
"So glad you could come, Severus," a cold, drawling voice remarked from the shadows.
"Yes, so am I," Snape sneered, noting how Draco sounded so much like his father.
"I detect sarcasm." Lucius Malfoy emerged from the niche behind the bookshelves, where he seemed to have been searching for something. He held a thick book in his left hand and a glass in another. Snape also noted how looks ran in their family. Like father, like son.
"Have a drink," another man said from the couch, the cinders casting ghostly shadows on his face.
"Avery, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle." Snape stated their names and gave them all a curt nod. He strode to the sitting area, his feet padding soundlessly on the carpeted floor. Avery handed him a glass near overflowing with red wine. Snape took it grudgingly and wet his lips to appear courteous.
"So, how have you been keeping yourself?" Malfoy leered, sauntering over to them like he was drunk. Perhaps he was.
"Rather well," Snape replied darkly. His voice seemed unusually loud in his ears in the enclosed space.
"I'm sure," Malfoy laughed. Suddenly, Snape felt his head throb again. The sound of Malfoy's guffaw grated on his nerves. He raised a hand to rub his forehead.
"You've got a headache?" Malfoy taunted. "Can't even brew a potion to relieve it? Potions master indeed. Oh yes, I forget, you would rather be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." He made a humming noise and turned to return the book to the shelves.
Do you want to know why? Snape questioned mentally as sinister, scathing thoughts ran through his head.
"Did you call me here just to insult me?" he demanded instead, his black eyes glittering dangerously behind the fall of hair. It was not a direct threat, but the low timbre of his voice made it so. Malfoy ignored the warning.
"No. I summoned you here to ask your opinion. What do you think of the news, Severus?" the man asked him, those unnerving silvery blue eyes watching him from behind his glass of wine.
"It puzzles me why you would frame him to be a Death Eater," he answered brusquely, tucking his hands into the folds of his overcoat. "I honestly don't see the point, since everyone already thinks that he's the biggest supporter of Voldemort."
His response was met with laughter from all sides.
"And I thought you were clever, Snape," Macnair told him obnoxiously.
"It's simple, but brilliant," Malfoy said with a sardonic chuckle. "I suppose that you always try to look at the bigger picture, eh, Snape? Look at it on a simpler level and maybe you'll understand." He smirked and took a swig of his drink. "But I suggest that you find a new potion to heal that headache of yours. You look paler than usual. How long have you had it?"
"Why the sudden interest?" Snape muttered. "I've had it for a few days now." Yes, open yourself to more insults.
"And it hasn't left?" Malfoy clicked his tongue. He had returned to the bookcase, running his fingers over the covers. "My, that could be serious.
"Come take a look at these books, there might be some that will interest you," he said, abruptly changing the topic.
Snape had always had a love for books; everyone who knew him knew that. His passion for written works was part and parcel of his being, along with his love for potions, of course.
No harm in looking at books, he thought warily, rising to join Malfoy by the thick cabinet.
His eyes widened as he read the titles on the spines. There were books on complex potions and how to brew them. There were books on scarce ingredients and how to handle them. There were books on certain ways to concoct potions to alter their effect. But what shocked him most was that those books were rare. Rare and advanced. He had been looking for those books for years, and some of them for decades.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, running his fingertips reverently over the silken-bound spine of a particularly fascinating book he would have loved to get his hands on. "And why?" he distractedly added as an afterthought.
"Where? Other countries around eastern Europe." Malfoy paused to look at him shrewdly. "Why? Why does my motive interest you?" He turned back to look at the volumes.
Snape chose to hold his silence, keeping his gaze trained on the shelves.
Malfoy exhaled softly. "Your love for books, I assume." He had answered his own question.
"Gentlemen," he said, facing all the people in the room. "I must leave. An appointment with the Ministry of Magic awaits." He smiled rather nastily. "Have to keep up with appearances, don't we? Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, we might as well go." He turned to look at Avery. "I'll be seeing you again?" he inquired.
"The next time we have a meeting like this." Avery gave a swift nod. Everyone stood up and fixed their appearances.
Snape lingered, reading the names of the books. Some he hadn't even heard of. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore would be able to enlighten him. He noted the titles, then moved towards the exit, not wanting to be left alone in the chamber.
He felt like his brain had no more oxygen left in it; the pain was there again, tightening around his head. Snape took in deep breaths as he returned to the streets of Hogsmeade. The cold wintry air stung his throat as he inhaled deeply. It was of no use; no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of the headache, it always remained.
It had started to snow again, making the houses look like gingerbread cottages with the snowflakes as frosting.
How cozy, he thought irately, patting his arms to keep him warm. He just wanted to return to the castle as soon as possible. But the sight of Hogsmeade looking like it was something straight out of a fairy tale somehow reassured him in a way; it was sharp relief from the ambiance of the tavern.
The appearance of Moonshine Tavern was too familiar for comfort. He honestly wondered how Malfoy and the rest of his cronies could deal with the sensation of being there again. He exhaled and pushed the thought out of his mind, telling himself that trying to decipher Lucius Malfoy was near impossible.
Snape pulled out a gold pocket watch from his sleeve and glanced at the time. A quarter to eight.
I'll tell Dumbledore about how the gathering went. Afterwards, I may have enough time to eat dinner. If I have the strength, I'll make another potion.
He kneaded his nape exhaustedly. Or maybe I'll just tell Dumbledore, then go to sleep.
Frustrated at having to walk such a long distance, Snape decided to Apparate, arriving near the gates of Hogwarts. He pushed the steel bars open and entered the grounds, grateful to be back on school grounds.
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A/N: Snape's line "maybe I'm just not thinking the way a Death Eater should" has some relevance to the line Crouch Jr. said to Karkaroff: "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do. . . ."
The line "one always had to have his wits about him . . ." was derived from the movie when Filch said "got to have your wits about you" before Hagrid, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco went into the forest.
The lines about fear were derived from Madeleine L'Engle's book A Wrinkle In Time.
My, so much derived lines. :)
Just a thought. . . . Quite a number of people asked me what "teak" was. Teak is a kind of wood. :)