Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1, please.
Rating: PG
Summary: Now that the skeletons are out of the closet, they have no intention of going back. Not unless Snape has one last trick up his sleeve. The lines in italics indicate past, while non-italics are present.
A/N: Yay! Thanks to everyone who took the trouble to review this thing! Okay, I'm sorry for stating that the story was complete in the chapter before (Bah. I can't believe I left out Snape's reaction! I must be getting old. =P), so here is Chapter 2, all yours to enjoy and criticise. And when you're done, please don't forget to leave your footprints, all right? Even if it's just a couple of words, I'll be delighted.
The Trick Up His Sleeve.
The problem with Death Eaters, decided Severus Snape, as he took his place in the sanctum of acolytes, lies in our murderous nature. We kill, we torment, and we hurt. But occasionally, our malevolence is directed towards one of our own. Our numbers might be increasing, but only the Inner Order knows that the Dark Lord himself has murdered more than a few of those who carried out his duties.
Johnson's body was testament to that.
He stood beside Lucius Malfoy, head tilted downwards as though an unseen hand was applying its pressure on it. Voldemort moved towards him soundlessly. Snape noted with morbid interest the Dark Lord's intriguing movement. He glided, he slithered and he Apparated. But one could never detect his footsteps, not even when the only sound at St. John Cemetery was the suppressed breathing of the many hooded figures.
A distant Mortimus Owl hoot broke the quietude, but it only served to clench Snape's heart with fear. Trepidation manifested as he realised that the Mortimus Owl's call was an omen of death. Not many knew of the Mortimus Owl's origins, but those who were fluent in Latin knew where the owl got its name.
Death.
The day before, he had watched Lily take flight with Harry in her arms shortly before Voldemort's arrival. The infant that she cradled might not know it, but he had already soared through the night sky with the moon and constellations as a backdrop on a broomstick before he was even old enough to appreciate the beauty, and the stakes of it all.
The infant would be exceptional. Snape just did not know that he would turn out to be exceptionally exceptional.
Voldemort drew to a halt just before the raven-haired man. Snape begged his visage not to give him away. The spark of fear in him had transformed into full-fledged terror that threatened to show during unguarded moments.
"Severus," hissed Voldemort quietly, "More than one of my minions have accused you of mingling with a…Mudblood." He said the word 'Mudblood' as though it was blasphemy.
Snape set his jaw.
"Master, I serve you and you alone. Filth and scum mean nothing to me. Not when my loyalty to the one who gave me power, acceptance and trust is for eternity."
Voldemort smiled a sardonic smile that ended at his lips.
"Then I am certain that you would not mind if I did some 'interrogation' of my own, would you, Severus?" His voice took a mocking edge.
"Do you think that I am being perfidious, master?" asked Snape softly. He had mastered Occlumency, but sometimes, the Dark Lord's cunning Dark Arts had a way of breaching his defences.
Harry Potter stared intently at his Potions Master, seeking for signs of recognition, shame, or any indication that verified the illusion in the Mirror of Erised.
There was none.
Snape's face was inscrutable, devoid of emotion. When he spoke, his voice neither faltered nor trembled, but came out in crisp, enunciated words. In other words, his appearance was the antithesis of the one that Harry was looking for.
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter," he snarled. "I see that you have your father's folly, but he, at least never took it upon himself to question his origins. How very ungracious of you."
Harry was fully aware that Snape was looking at the inkstand on his table as he spoke. And as Lupin implied, he wasn't a halfwit. Most people would assume that Snape was merely examining the queer inscriptions on the stand, but Harry was not most people. A faint memory was aroused, as he watched Snape trace his mouth with a long, thin finger.
"Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency."
The boy glared at Snape, feeling as though he was on the set of a soap opera. Only this time, he doubted that they would ever end the whole farce with a family hug.
"So, how come you aren't saying it to my face? Sir?"
Voldemort fingered his wand lovingly. The streamlined piece of wood was a deadly weapon in his hand. "I don't," he answered.
Snape breathed a sigh of relief.
"But some of your brothers do, Severus. And who am I to dissent the notion that you are a traitor without evidence?"
Silence preceded Snape's response. Then-
"I'm ready….master."
Snape awaited the cry of "Legilimens!" and as he did, he transitioned from an angst-ridden man, plagued with desires and regret, into a cold, calculating, utterly emotionless sentinel.
It was his aptitude to repress that had kept him alive all along.
Snape shut his eyes in fury. He neither trusted himself to speak nor look. How is it even possible that I'm able to withstand the Dark Lord's gaze, and yet I cannot answer a mere boy without the shield of Occlumency? Is it because my adroitness is waning, or can it be that I am tired, weary of this whole façade? That I want nothing more than to end the damn charade, and claim my son as my own?
He preferred to think that he was getting old.
"Insolence!" he shouted, glaring at Harry at last. How long must we wait before all is over? "How dare you dictate where I should look? Who are you to accuse me of fathering a child that never existed in the first place? And who are you, you impostor? Because you cannot be Potter. That boy lacks intellectual skills, but he is never so asinine to claim that I am his father!"
Harry Potter's entire countenance spoke of hatred. Every pore on his body radiated abhorrence –for Severus Snape. He was confused, enraged and betrayed. Just as Snape himself had felt before he joined the Death Eaters.
"You think that I want you to be my father?" he whispered in a barely audible voice. The sting of the words hurt Snape more than a Crutiatus Curse ever could, but he summoned the strength to retain stupendous composure.
"You think that I'm begging you to be my father?" continued Harry. His voice sounded as though it was merged with invisible sobs, but the boy never cried. Not in front of Snape. "I was merely retelling my encounter with the mirror, and nothing more. I know that James Potter is my father, and that itself is something worth living for."
Snape turned his attention towards his inkstand once again.
"I mean," continued Harry nonchalantly. His voice took a conversational tone, and he even gave a laugh for added effect. "Who cares if my father is still alive, right?"
He damn well is, thought Snape darkly.
"Who cares if I've been living all those years of my life, lamenting my orphan status, just because someone is too much of a coward to acknowledge his mistake, right?"
Nobody told you to 'lament', you foolish boy. Lamenting is for dunces. An imbecile laments, whereas a Snape never dwells in misery. At least not in public.
Snape sat in his chambers, and massaged his neck tentatively. Hours of bowing had an adverse effect on his muscles.
He had been lucky today. But he knew that the boy must never be linked to him, ever. The cataclysm that would ensue would be indisputably catastrophic. I have an obligation to fulfil. The boy would understand. I'm sure he would.
Snape took a deep breath. He never cried, crying was never in his blood. He never wailed when his parents filled his sleepless nights with vicious arguments. He never wept when the quartet of Marauders taunted him mercilessly throughout his 'golden years of youth'. He never shed a tear when his father died.
Crying was to Severus Snape as manners are to sailors. They did not exist in his world. Sobbing made you all the more human, and humans were fools.
Which was why he refused to look at Harry in the eye.
It was a chilly night when the turning point of his life arrived. Snape was summoned to the Malfoy Manor, and before he could lay his hand on the knocker, the door swung open, revealing a very flushed Lucius Malfoy.
"Did you hear the news? Our master is gone! GONE! Not a trace left of him, not even a footprint. He's gone!"
Snape blinked. "What did you mean, gone?"
Lucius's bewildered expression faltered a little, and he placed a hand on Snape's shoulder. "The Dark Lord went to the Potters to dispose of the patriarch and his son earlier. Did you not know?"
Snape frowned, not comprehending. He never told me anything about killing the Potters today! Why the hell am I not informed?
"Severus, is the news too-"
"Never mind me," he snarled. "Lucius, was the boy killed? Their son. Was he killed?! And what about the mother? Is she-"
Lucius Malfoy gave a high laugh and shook his head. Snape found it strange that his friend could laugh just hours after their master's death, but the thought was insignificant.
"Severus," chuckled Lucius, "my ears must be failing me. I actually thought that you asked after the boy and a Mudblood, instead of our master!"
A dangerous glint in Snape's eye silenced the blond man. "I never jest," he replied coldly.
A few creases appeared on Lucius' forehead. It was most uncharacteristic of Snape to fret over a child, even if he was reputed to be anomalous at times. But still….better not to take chances.
"The parents are apparently dead. The boy……I'm not sure what happened to the boy. But we have better things to worry about, Severus. With his departure, the Aurors will be upon us sooner than I would like."
Lucius went on talking, but Snape barely heard a word. His mind was reeling, and he wanted nothing better than to seek the corpses out, and see if there was a child among them.
Perhaps, he thought, if the Dark Lord is gone, I can claim Harry for my own…provided he lives, of course. Perhaps.
He must never know that I am his father. Never. That boy's mind is still unable to withstand the Dark Lord's attacks, as he was so eager to prove last year. And Black, sadly, was the victim of Potter's gullibility. If it is discovered that I am Potter's father, all shall be lost. I will be killed before the next gathering, and the Order will no longer enjoy the advantage of having an insider by the Dark Lord's side. And for the last time, where the hell did Potter get his information from? From a MIRROR?
"What makes you so sure that you have a 'father in the shadows'?" asked Snape frigidly. "The Mirror of Erised is a very obscure object. It might have shown you a man that resembles me, but that is no reason for you to delude yourself into thinking that such a man exists. I shall have that mirror smashed for committing such an atrocious sin."
"And I think that you only saw me in it because you wanted to. It is, as you said, a mirror that shows you what you want. You, for some unfathomable reason, seem to assume that I am your father. Therefore, the mirror only gives you an image of me because you wanted to see me in it. Illusions. Simply illusions. Never place complete trust in a magical artefact, Potter. Those are the words of a sage that your pathetic mind has yet to learn."
"He lives."
The little snippet of information brought a surge of life through Snape's jaded soul. The man was sitting in a secluded corner at the Hog's Head Inn when a tall, raw-boned man who looked rather elderly approached him. Nevertheless, Snape knew that the older a wizard, the more scrolls he had pored over. In other words, a sorcerer's age could occasionally be used as a gauge for his prowess.
Snape turned, and found himself tremor most uncharacteristically. A shiver ran through his spine as he looked into the one face that could invoke insecurity within the Dark Lord.
It was Albus Dumbledore.
But Harry was relentless in his pursuit of his true genesis. He was ruthlessly persistent. It was the same unyielding nature possessed by both father and son that once drew Lily Evans to James' nemesis. But Harry did not know that.
And he doesn't have to know, thought Snape. That is irrevocable.
"Oh, really?" asked Harry with more than a tinge of rebellion in his voice. Snape eyed the boy with profound loathing, but his heart spoke otherwise.
"Then pray tell, sir, what is this all about?"
Snape found himself staring at a piece of crumpled parchment, in which was written words in red.
"Severus," greeted Dumbledore. Unlike Voldemort's, his smile did not end at his lips. "My dear man, how tremulous you are! Have some Firewhisky, please. It'll bring some colour back to your lips."
Snape ignored his drink, and clenched his fists angrily. "He didn't inform me about tonight's attack! I was deliberately kept in the cold-"
Dumbledore only sipped his Butterbeer. "Sit down, Severus. We ought to be celebrating, what with the fall of the evil sovereignty." He said it in a friendly way, but as one who was used to commands, Snape immediately recognized that that was no ordinary invitation.
"Besides, we have a lot to talk about your son."
"PREPOSTEROUS!" shouted Snape and he threw the letter into the fire, where it was incinerated within seconds. Harry almost cried out at the lost, but he saw that Snape was already pushed to the limits of his limits. "So," he continued in a controlled voice, "Professor Lupin sent this, I see."
"My…….son? But, how did you know?"
Dumbledore leaned against his chair and wiped his half-moon glasses. "At least that was what Mrs. Potter told me. And rest assured, Severus, I know for a fact that the boy is alive. In fact, I just delivered him to his relatives an hour ago. The Dursleys. They're Mrs. Potter's closest relatives. Nice folks, in their own unique way, of course."
Snape could have howled. "But I am his father! Shouldn't I be-"
Dumbledore raised a hand imperiously. "No," he said firmly. "The risk is too great, and I believe that there is something that Petunia Dursley possesses that surpasses any possible protection charm that you could come up with. I do not doubt your calibre, Severus, but if you must know, Harry's owes his survival to his mother's sacrifice. And sometimes, blood magic can prove to be the strongest of them all. Especially when it is merged with Love."
Snape's voice was hoarse when he spoke. "But the Dark Lord is gone. What is the point-"
"Voldemort isn't gone. There is absolutely nothing that speaks of his death. He is, as his name implies, someone who 'flies from death'. Tom has simply fled, and I believe that he is bidding his time, waiting for the precise moment to seek revenge. And when he is back, I will still need you as the insider. But I will give you a choice, Severus. Would you choose to reveal yourself as Harry's father, or would you rather continue your spying duties when Voldemort returns? Pray note that acknowledging Harry as your son would spell the end of your double-crossing appointment, as your son is the one Voldemort hunts. You will still be able to serve the Order, of course."
Snape shut his eyes. I want to be Harry's father, he thought.
"I choose to retain my distance."
Harry nodded, but he continued to stare at Snape with his eyebrows arched questioningly until the man felt unnerved by the green eyes. But it was the flicker of realization across Harry's face that troubled him most.
"Sir," began Harry slowly, and his voice took a shrewd edge, "how was it possible that you were able to read the contents of the letter? Professor Lupin wrote that it was I alone who was accorded the privilege to read it. I'm sure that you're familiar with the Secretio Potion?"
Snape almost bit his tongue in ire, when he realized that he had been tricked into confessing.
"So, Professor," continued Harry in the same insinuating voice that made Snape's entire being tremble at the outrage of it all, "if you were able to see the scarlet words, then my guess is that…………Professor Lupin meant for you to read it too."
"And right now, I can only think of one reason, one plausible reason, why he would intend to do so."
It was a decision that he regretted many times over. But he knew that with the ascendant of Voldemort, his service was much more crucial than ever. But now………..
Snape sat down, and gestured for Harry to follow suit. "Potter," he began carefully, "if you do, indeed, have a father who is alive and walking, wouldn't that ruin everything that you've worked for? Your deplorable Occlumency skills would no doubt render the both of you vulnerable to the Dark Lord. Eventually, he will find out that your father lives, and seek to kill him as well. Then you would lose another father."
If things get out of hand, I shall be forced to perform a Memory Charm on him. We cannot risk of the Dark Lord knowing. Snape surreptitiously took out his wand, and contemplated the precise moment to Obliviate the boy opposite him.
Harry was ready for that one. "Suppose that I do, indeed, have a father, I am sure that my theoretical father would agree with me that I have almost mastered Legilimency, as I have proven earlier."
Snape said nothing. He only stroked his wand thoughtfully.
"In fact, my hypothetical father would be interested in knowing that I had even managed to breach the mind of the one wizard who could face Voldemort and lie in his face without turning a hair."
"Don't say the Dark Lord's name," snapped Snape. His emotions were an assimilation of wrath, regret and fear.
"And to answer your earlier question, sir, I did not rely on the mirror alone to tell me who my father is, or was. I relied on my 'deplorable Legilimency skills.'"
"I owe my 'deplorable Legilimency skills' to my father. As you would say, I learnt from the best……….or the worst."
There was a very pregnant pause that hung in the air like a certain vast, green glittering skull conjured by a Death Eater whose wand had just tasted blood. And the silence was just as ugly as the Dark Mark itself.
"So," said Snape as he struggled to keep his voice under control with Herculean effort, "I take it that by 'hypothetical father', you meant me?"
Please do not answer 'yes', Potter. Please don't. Or I shall be forced to perform a full-blown Memory Charm on you. A single word, and the secret that I've harboured for almost two decades will be wiped from your mind. We both know that to gamble with fate is a fool's duty.
And neither of us are fools.
Snape directed his wand at Harry. The boy sat opposite him, looking abnormally composed with his wand left untouched in the pockets of his own robes. He knew what Snape was about to do – he had known all along that the Potions Master always had one last trick up his sleeve. But he did not regret confronting Snape. Not the least bit.
At least, Potter, for a few hours, you know who your real father is. At least, for a few months, you know that you aren't an orphan. But some things just aren't meant to be. Remus might have found a way to tell you, but in the end, his efforts will be in vain.
Because at the end of the day, you are still James' son. You must be, in order to divert the Dark Lord's attention from your true origins. If he finds out, he shall have the upper hand.
So don't say 'yes.'
Harry Potter's eyes met the tip of Snape's quivering wand. He felt an unexplainable serenity envelope him, most unusual for someone who was about to be hit by a spell.
Harry looked into Dumbledore's light-blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"
Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."
Dumbledore never failed to defend Snape whenever Harry questioned his loyalty and integrity. Once, such unswerving trust in the ex-Death Eater perplexed Harry.
And now, the Boy Who Lived knew why.
Ah, thought Harry and he looked into the eyes of his father's for the last time.
"Yes…………Father."