Though You Cannot Fly
Verse VI of the J. Alfred Prufrock Arc
- Vain
8.20 - 28.2003


Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. Harry Potter and all the elements therein are the intellectual property / registered trademarks of JK Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Brothers. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock was written by T.S. Elliot. I am not profiting from this.

Warnings: SS/HP slash implications.

Continuity: This is the sequel to And While the King Was Looking Down and is Verse 6 of J. Alfred Prufrock Arc.

Notes: The second quote has been removed from the context of the song. The King refers to Dumbledore, and the Jester is Severus. The rest of the characters, I leave to you to figure out. V

A thousand laurels to ladydeathfarie for her incredible beta-ing. So prompt and efficient—one of the best I've received in ages. Thanks, hon:-D

Sorry if this fic seems a bit . . . odd (moodwise)but it's necessary for the next few fics. It's aaaaall about the foreshadowing . . . :-)

This story was originally launched under my secondary pen name, "Hanakai." For convenience's sake, I have decided to streamline my fics under my original pen name, Vain. SAME AUTHOR. SAME STORY. DIFFERENT NAME. As a fic is re-uploaded under my Vain pen name, I will delete it from my Hanakai profile. Eventually, Hanakai will be deleted entirely, so please update your faves and bookmarks to reflect this.

Thank you for all your previous reviews—I saved them all—and I hope you all review again. I'm greedy.

For progress notes on the pen name transition or if you have any questions, please see my Livejournal (linked both my profiles). I hope this doesn't inconvenience anyone & thank you for your patience.
Do not steal from me.

Enjoy!



"Calamity has come on you, my brethren,
and, my brethren, you deserve it.
"
- Albert Camus
The Plague
- Albert Camus

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and stared fixedly at an odd, off balanced tower of colored glass that occupied the center of his desk. His blue eyes were hard and tired looking. The tower consisted of a tall, twisting stand of clear glass. Six arms extended off the stand and supported six glass boards roughly a foot long on every side. Each board was a square composed of six rows of six colored circles. On every board, multiple bits of peculiarly shaped glass and metal seemed to spin and dance, the pieces and the board's spaces flashing different colors as they twirled. The whirling pieces were carunculous and the tower itself was called the Scaccarium.

Currently, however, Albus was ignoring the other carunculous in favors of watching two particular pieces on the fourth level. They danced together on one space that glowed an intense bluish-green, revolving only around one another at the moment. The larger piece was tall, with a sharply tapered top and bottom and a broad disc-like middle, and seemed so precariously made that it was a wonder it didn't fall over. It glittered darkly in the candlelight, the silver, obsidian and emerald coloring appearing to move and sway. The other, slightly smaller piece was deep blue and an odd, strained green that Albus had only seen in one other place. It was flecked with gold and silver. Unlike its top-like larger counterpart, the smaller carunculous had a base like a narrow three-sided pyramid set on its tip; the top was a rounded dome that swirled with green, looking almost as though the color would boil over at any moment and spill out onto the board.

After a moment of observing the two pieces interact with one another, Albus carefully removed the level they occupied from the Scaccarium. The other pieces on the board, seven in all, all stayed in place as the board slid out. They dropped down to the third level once their stage was gone. He set the board down on his desk and the circular spaces flashed a vibrant white before settling down again. Fawkes trilled curiously as the two pieces began to dance and spin around one another, now free of the obstructions of the other carunculous. Albus watched, his expression gradually moving from disturbed to calculating, but the slight light of displeasure in his eyes did not dim.

Fawkes trilled again from his perch, opening his wings slightly. Albus looked up and his eyes brightened slightly. "Yes, I thought so too, old friend." He turned back to the board and sighed heavily. "Most unexpected." The smaller carunculous flashed brightly as it came in contact with the larger one and Fawkes warbled once more.

After several more moments, the old man shook his head, his long white beard trembling slightly with the motion. "But there's no help for it now."

Behind him, the phoenix made a noise that sounded curiously like a snort. The Headmaster turned slightly, looking amused. Before he could respond, however, there was a soft chime. With a muttered word, the Scaccarium and carunculous vanished and Albus settled back in his chair, blue eyes fixed on the door. The chime sounded again. Albus leaned forward again and took a sherbet lemon out of the bowl on his desk and popped it in his mouth.

One of the portraits on the wall shifted as its occupant let out a sniff of displeasure.

"Really now, Albus. You aren't going to make the boy wait, are you?"

Albus frowned slightly and the woman in the picture, a bitter-looking elderly woman with beetle-black eyes and streaks of black running through her frizzy platinum hair, dabbed her nose delicately with a silk handkerchief. It was obvious that she had once been breathtakingly beautiful, but time had apparently not been kind to her.

Another sherbet lemon vanished into the Headmaster's mouth. "He's made his bed, Lamia. Now he'll lie in it. Besides," he shot her a cheeky grin that belied the expression in his eyes, "Snapes are always so much more malleable after they've been left to stew a bit."

Lamia made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat and glared at the elderly man. "I suppose that the same does not apply to Lupins or Potters," she hissed nastily.

The chime sounded again.

Blue eyes flickered up to the large grandfather clock stuffed in a niche between a bookcase and a wall. There were twenty-seven hands on it. He had had to remove a hand after Sirius's death. Simply another hand from the clock and a piece from the game in the grand scheme of things, he supposed. Currently the hand that bore Severus's symbol was pointed towards the spot designated "My Office" and scrawled up the arm were the words "Knickers in a twist."

"My great-great-great-great-great grandson is not a pair of your socks, Albus," Lamia squawked suddenly in dismay. "You cannot just throw him into hot water and expect him to emerge good as new!"

"Severus is quite capable of jumping into hot water himself. He needs little help from me. Now do try and behave yourself, Lamia. I don't particularly want to send you to be cleaned again, my dear."

Lamia Snape made another squawking noise and shifted so restlessly that her painting swung precariously to and fro. Eventually, the former Headmistress settled down, apparently content to glare at Albus beneath half-closed lids while feigning sleep.

The chime sounded a fourth time and Albus shifted a bit to get a bit more comfortable. He waved his hand and a pot of tea and a plate of raspberry scones appeared on the table by the fireplace. Personally, Albus had little affection for scones—they weren't sweet enough to suit his tastes—but Severus had always been fond of them. Another wave and the fire leapt up from a smolder to a roaring blaze. Immediately the temperature went up three or four degrees; far too hot by the Headmaster's standards, but Severus was anemic. Regardless of what he said about the dungeons suiting his tastes just fine, the man simply did not get nearly enough sunlight.

Satisfied, the old man pitched his voice slightly and summoned the younger wizard: "Severus, do be so kind as to stop wearing a hole in the stones outside my door and come in, my boy."

A moment later the door swung open to reveal the Potions Master. The Headmaster smiled faintly as the young man swept stiffly into the room. For a moment the dark-eyed wizard hesitated as though unsure whether to sit down or resume his prowling inside the office.

Albus's smile widened and he gestured benevolently to one of the seats by the fire. "Please have a seat."

Black eyes flickered from the Headmaster to the proffered chair and back before Severus reluctantly moved across the room and sat. Albus stood slowly, feeling the telltale creak in his bones as he did so, and walked over to join him. The heavy leather chair gave a muffled squeak of disapproval as he sat down.

"Have some tea," he offered, allowing his eyes to twinkle just a bit brighter to irritate his former pupil.

Grimacing slightly, the young man reached forward and took the cup, jumping slightly at the slight shock he got when his fingers brushed Albus's.

For an instant Albus's hand seemed to tremble as though suddenly tired, but he immediately recovered. "Scone?" he asked before the man had a chance to dwell on the odd occurrence.

With a slight blink of confusion, Severus accepted the pastry and had it halfway to his mouth before he quite knew what he was doing. Immediately he growled, long fingers tightening around the confection and sending a shower of crumbs down onto his black robes. He glared over the semi-crushed sweet at the Headmaster who was looking at the crumbs with bemusement.

With exaggerated care, Severus placed his damaged scone on the tea saucer in front of him and folded his hands firmly in his lap. "If you wish to talk about the additional boomslang skin and swine educe I added to this year's inventory, I—"

"We get so few opportunities to talk these days, Severus." The older man paused and took a long sip of tea.

"I'm in the middle of a—"

"Nonsense," Albus interrupted cheerily. "Surely those Healing Potions can wait a few moments while you indulge an old man, child."

Severus took his tea with a scowl and settled back into his chair begrudgingly, looking thoroughly annoyed with himself for doing so. Albus also settled back in his own seat and took the opportunity to observe the younger man.

Severus excelled at keeping his private thoughts and life exactly that: private. However, Albus had mastered spy games before the other man's father had even been born. Besides, Snapes were not known for their calm, relaxed dispositions and this one was no different. The only time that Severus was calm was when he knew something that others did not or he had a distinct advantage over his opponents. And, to Severus, everyone was an opponent. He still excelled at being fairly opaque to the average person, though. Nevertheless, there were dozens of little signals to indicate his mood—a twitch here or a tic there—and Albus could read every last one.

The slight tightening about his eyes and mouth meant that he had been brooding. The subtle, nigh imperceptible swaying of his left knee meant that he was hiding something that he was extremely agitated about . . . something big. The glazed look over his normally crystal-clear gaze meant that he was tired. There was also slight a twitching in his right hand, as though he could not keep it still of his own volition—a betraying sign that he was afraid of something.

The Headmaster took in all of this wordlessly, peering through his half-moon spectacles over the lip of his teacup while the silence stretched on uncomfortably. He resisted the urge to turn around and check the boards to see what the pieces were doing.

At last, Severus could stand no more, and he sat up a bit straighter in his chair and shifted unhappily. "I thought you wanted to talk," he snapped peevishly after another long silence.

Albus's bushy eyebrows rose to a surprising height on his forehead and he lowered his cup, smiling gently. "My dear boy . . . I thought that it was you who wished to speak with me."

Severus's eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. It was the closest he had ever seen the man come to gaping, even when Severus was a child. Most interesting of all, however, was the damning flush of red that rose to stain those high, aristocratic cheekbones. On a normal person, the blush would have been barely detectable. But on Severus's pale skin, it burned like a brand.

Albus felt a slight surge of satisfaction at the sight. It was strangely gratifying to see his self-possessed former pupil so . . . expressive. Despite the sudden light of fear in his eyes.

It would do Severus a bit of good to have something other than the inadequacies of his own action and the world in general to angst over.

The momentary lapse, however, was only an instant long before the other man came back to himself. He stared hard at Albus for a moment before he sneered unpleasantly, giving the vague impression of a snarling animal. He glared at Albus and set his tea back on the table with a defiant click. "I kissed Harry Potter."

Albus beamed joyously. "So do I. So glad to see that you two are getting along better. The boy needs someone to be there for him now that Sirius is gone."

This time Severus truly did gape at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, and incredulity vying with fury for dominance over his expression.

Still beaming and apparently oblivious to the reaction his words had elicited, Albus continued while reaching for a scone. "Do you remember that time when you were twelve and—"

Severus surged to his feet. "You what!"

"I miss the young man, too. It's perfectly natural, Severus." Albus took a rather large bite out of his scone. "But don't worry—he'll be back soon. Now as I was saying—"

"I KISSED him! Not 'I miss him!' Are you daft?"

The older man frowned sternly and his blue eyes peered over the top of his spectacles, hard and sharp. "There's no need to be insulting, Severus. Now have a seat."

For a moment the pallid wizard stared down at Albus as though doubting his sanity. Then, with stiff, mechanical movements, he sat down in his chair hard enough to make the seat shiver in protest. The headmaster smiled gently at man across from him and took another bite of his scone.

Black eyes watched the older wizard warily as Albus retrieved his teacup and settled back in his seat. "Do have some tea, Severus. You really should eat more, you know."

Severus let loose a short bark of dark laughter and vigorously scrubbed his face with his hands gracelessly sprawling back in the chair. He dropped his hands to his lap and stretched his legs out in front of him, giving him a loose, gangly appearance that he hadn't had in years. His teacup remained untouched on the table. "What is it you want of me, Albus?" The words were a weary whisper.

For a long moment Albus watched his former student with unreadable eyes before he took a slow, careful sip of tea. He stared down into the reddish brown liquid, looking uncharacteristically sober. It occurred to him absently that he was getting old. "Remember that time when you were twelve and James and Sirius locked you in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for five hours? Professor Binns let you out sometime after 1 am, I believe. Slytherin lost . . . twenty points, was it?"

"Forty," Severus ground out, his tone clearly telling the Headmaster to reach his point.

"Mmmmm . . ." The old man's eyes flickered up to his companion's suddenly, their sparkle nowhere evident. "What did you do after that?

The Potions Master looked away, his gaze fixing emptily on the fireplace. "I wrote home to Mother, but the post got intercepted."

"Oh?"

Severus shifted moodily. "Father sent me a reply stating his disappointment at my inability to deal with a problem so minor as two Gryffindors." His thin upper lip twitched towards a sneer at the word "Gryffindor." The man sat up a bit taller and continued to sneer at the flames. "But he sent me a potion that he said might be of some use—" Abruptly he cut himself off and turned back to the older man in obvious agitation, dark eyes flashing. "We both know what happened after that, Albus! What is the point of this?"

"You thought you'd be clever and try to brew a particularly unpleasant, if mild, poison and in the process blew up the lab and flooded the entire lower level of the dungeons, if memory serves. Managed to break your right arm in three places, too."

"So?" Severus spat sourly. "I was young and foolish."

Albus smiled slightly, as though laughing at some private joke, and the twinkle retuned to his eyes. He took another measured sip of his tea. "What did you do after that?"

"I wrote another letter to Father," the other man snapped, now looking thoroughly aggravated.

The look in Albus's eyes seemed to dim a bit. "Indeed. You always did write home quite a bit, even for a Slytherin," he mused, fingering the handle of his teacup delicately for a moment.

Severus watched the Headmaster's hand for a moment before looking away with an inexplicable shudder. "Your point?"

"No need to get defensive, Severus" the old man chided mildly. "I was only pointing out that in times of distress you have a tendency to . . . mitigate responsibility . . ."

Severus stood abruptly, an angry flush rising to his cheeks and his eyes cold and hooded. "I need to—"

"Sit down."

It was not a request. For an instant the other man vacillated, but one sharp glare was all it took to cow him. Severus threw himself into his seat and slouched again, looking for all the world like one of the impudent brats he so often accused his students of being. Except perhaps that his students had never looked so hunted.

Albus regarded him through hard blue eyes for a moment as though weighing his next words. Finally, he sighed tiredly and placed his teacup on the table, all pretenses gone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and steepled his hands just under the chin, scrutinizing the man across from him intently. Severus leaned all the way back in his chair, almost sinking into the fabric, and tried to meet Albus's gaze, but his eyes darted away uncomfortably.

"How old are you, Severus?"

Long, delicate, stained hands seemed to flutter nervously, making as though they were going to wring themselves before aborting the attempt. Black eyes looked anywhere but directly to the front. "Thirty-seven." He seemed to wince as he spoke, as though ashamed of the words. "Thirty-eight come November."

Albus nodded shortly. "Yes. Thirty-seven, Severus. And all your life there has always been someone there when you got in just a bit too deep. First your parents, then Voldemort," here Severus flinched again and his hands repeated their odd pattern of half-wringing, "then myself . . . You have always had someone to go to when things became . . . thorny."

He stopped as though waiting for Severus to interject. For his part, the younger man had given up on his stunted hand movements, choosing instead to tuck his right hand beneath his chin and catch a few strands of his long hair between his fingers. Periodically he would tug lightly at the hair, a gesture of agitation that Albus had thought he'd long ago broken. Severus did not appear to be aware of him anymore, his eyes dark and depthless as he stared blankly at the far wall.

After a long silence, Albus folded his hands and pursed his lips unhappily. "I am old, Severus."

The man jumped as though startled and his gaze latched onto his former teacher. "Alb—"

The Headmaster waved away the words. "I am old," he repeated a bit more gently. "And I am beginning to feel it, my friend." Severus made a small noise as though about to protest, his eyes a bit wild. Albus smiled sympathetically at the younger man's misery, but continued: "I love you as though you were my own son, child. But I will not—cannot—always be there to help you. Or to save you. Or those you . . . care for."

For a moment Severus merely stared at him with empty eyes; then he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as though he could find what he was seeking somewhere above him. The fire crackled loudly as a log split. " . . . I don't know what to do."

The admission sounded painful, as though it had been physically drawn out against his will.

Albus leaned back and watched the man's pale throat work soundlessly for a minute. Blue eyes dimmed with an unidentifiable emotion and the fire popped loudly once more. "I cannot help you." He regarded the normally controlled man silently, watching as Severus's shields slowly unraveled, layer by layer. The process had to be painful.

At last he stood slowly, ignoring the protests of his body. "You are a good man, Severus," he ignored the bitter snort the comment earned him, "and I trust that you will utilize your best judgment . . . in all things."

Severus rose tiredly, his slow motions and tense expression making him look far older than he actually was. Albus's sharp ears picked up a distinct mutter of "Your confidence warms my heart," but didn't respond. Severus stared blankly at the table for a moment, his expression gradually relaxing into the familiarly cruel mask he usually wore as he gathered himself to go.

The Headmaster sat down in the chair behind his desk and began humming an anonymous tune under his breath. Fawkes preened shamelessly.

"The boomslang skin—" Severus started abruptly, still gazing at the table.

Albus beamed for no particular reason. "Is on order. It will be in just in time for the seventh year's classes. The students do come back in just weeks." His eyes seemed to sparkle brightly as he spoke.

Severus grunted noncommittally and turned sharply on his heel, heavy robes belling out around him dramatically as he moved towards the door.

"About our dear Mister Potter, Severus . . ."

The man froze.

Albus continued, seemingly oblivious as he shuffled through some papers, "Ever since the sad events at the Ministry and a rather . . . unfortunate incident with the Dursley family this summer, he will need someone there for a him—a constant, if you will."

Severus did not turn around, but his voice was that of a man on his very last reserves. "I am sure that Minerva—"

"He respects you and you—"

Abruptly, Severus spun around roughly, his hair flying into his eyes. "There is no time!" The words were harsh and strained and as soon as they left his lips, Severus snapped his mouth shut, almost biting his own tongue in the process. A flash of panic appeared in his eyes, as though he had just said something unforgivable. Then he swayed slightly on his feet, his eyes narrowed, as he frowned darkly at Albus for a moment before something like horror crossed his face.

He took a step back and clenched his hands into fists. "What have you done to me, Albus? What did you—"

The words died as Albus looked up slowly, his gaze suddenly painfully penetrating. Silence descended between them, heavy and uncomfortable, for just an instant before Albus lifted a single eyebrow. "Perhaps Mister Potter had missed you as well, Severus." He smiled rather whimsically and looked back down at his papers once more.

The dismissal was clear. For an instant Severus was frozen with impotent rage, then he whirled around violently and stormed out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Albus looked up from his paperwork at the door with a soft sigh. Fawkes cooed and he shook his head, a look of vague frustration marring his aged features. "No help for it," the Headmaster muttered once more under his breath.

Lamia stirred in her frame.

The former Snape matriarch sniffed at her handkerchief once more and shot a half-hearted glare at her successor's back. "Give him two months and I daresay he'll have that boy's heart in the palm of his hand. Or vice versa." She sounded immensely pleased with the situation.

Albus frowned at her irritably before waving his wand once in the air in the shape of a triangle. The section of board that he had made removed reappeared on his desk. The smaller piece spun busily around the larger's slower rotation. Albus watched them critically for a moment before turning back to the portrait. "Then let us hope that neither of them makes a fist."

Lamia frowned slightly and the fire popped loudly once again, reminding Albus of its presence. It suddenly seemed unbearably hot. When he raised his wand to lower the flame, though, his attention was suddenly—insignificantly—arrested by something on the table.

Albus sighed and lowered the flame. His bones creaked as he sat down again and his eyes flickered over to his clock before returning to the table. Only twenty-seven hands. The old man closed his eyes wearily. When he opened them they fixed once more on the tea table.

Only twenty-seven hands.

And Severus hadn't even touched his tea.



"When the Jester sang for the King and Queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me . . .
Oh, and while the King was looking down,
The Jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned—
No verdict was returned.
"
- Don McLean
American Pie
- Don McLean

Fin