Hi All,
First of all, Harry Potter belongs to Rowling, and I only do this for fun.
The summer's almost over, the uploads will come more regularly, promise! We had a great time with my kids, thank you for your patience!
And now I won't waste your time any longer:
Chapter 25. The Apparent and the Lurking Peril
Snape turned up by the Hogwarts gates shortly after midnight and promptly began to climb uphill under the nearly crescent moon. It should have caught his eye how artistic the old castle looked against the moonlight, but the only sensation tearing through his acute occluding was the fact that the skies were cloudless, so the night was colder than ever.
Not that it could be colder than the pit of his stomach.
It happened.
Tonight, Lucius presented the Dark Lord with the exact place of the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, the price of his success paid by Broderick Bode, the Unspeakable presently residing in the St. Mungo's without hope of recovery from his insanity inflicted by breaking the vow of his office and Lucius' curses. There was nothing between the Dark Lord and the Prophecy any more and his preparations for resuming his reign by the New Year. He only wished to eliminate the boy. And he had just found the right tool to get Potter for him by Christmas.
Realistically, it had to come down to that. It was inevitable. It was the worst thing he had ever imagined and one his cynicism had always suggested he prepare for. Murphy's Law. Damn Murphy too! He wasn't prepared for this. It was a scenario he'd thought of in most of his nightmares in these past five years, and some before. He could never work out a solution because he always lacked sufficient details.
Now you have your bloody details, work this out, you smartarse! - His not-always welcomed inner voice drawled. Take Lily's son to the Dark Lord! You are exactly the one who has always been unfit to protect him, you could have been ordered to do this at any second, and you knew it. You selfish arse, you agreed to the old fool's plan because you knew no better. You agreed, so you could lie to yourself that you hadn't lost it all. You agreed because -
Oh, SHUT UP! – a new voice, strangely similar to a certain presently enraged witch's, unexpectedly joined in. You should accept yourself, Severus, as I accept you.
Accept the dunghill of selfish delusions, indeed – the first inner voice didn't give up. Accept the way I ruined his mother, not so far from the way I could ruin you! I should have never agreed to be your friend, never to use you, your knowledge, your humour, your every breath, to present you right at the feet of the beast! How dare you argue against it? To help you out of your struggles indeed, to develop and learn indeed! It would have helped more to the world had the old man left me drowning in my potions! It would have cut it short, not this slow agony demanding my dying for the brat just when I -
Severus halted. "Factually incorrect." – he murmured. Besides the fact that presently I am seriously uninterested in hearing any excuse to stay alive, I didn't present her to the Dark Lord more than Lily. Even if it tells all about my idiocy, that was also not the darkness of intention. I am probably the biggest fool around and sure undeserving because of that, but I have never intentionally betrayed these witches, and I won't begin it now!
He stood in the snow only mere metres from the entrance to the castle and to his fate – as it felt – and waited for the inner voice to deny his words. It didn't, but that was no relief. Despair was a better choice of expression, even if he knew better than to blame himself for all agony of the world after his small tour at Héloïse's.
What would Beauxbaton think when he obeyed? What when he denied and marched into his death? Thank Circe, all deities, even the East and West witches of Oz, for he could stop before he harmed her more! He had done enough. What would Lily say on the other side? The real Lily – he hasn't thought about that creature for a long time, but even now, it was senseless, even she could not help him!
Severus Snape swallowed a big lump in his throat and entered through the oak door to mount the steps to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was waiting behind his desk exactly as he promised a few hours ago.
The Headmaster only raised his eyebrows to question Snape's features already told half of the tale.
"Lucius found a way to get to the Prophecy. Bode, the Unspeakable, lost his mind in the process, but now the Dark Lord knows everything he wanted. He will send the snake to the Ministry to retrieve the Prophecy and after that… I was chosen to deliver the boy."
The room sank into uncommon silence. Dumbledore sat in the same posture, and nothing showed his inner thoughts while he processed the news. Snape had no reason to hurry him.
"It is way too early," – the Headmaster finally spoke. "I didn't expect it this soon, but you have no choice, my boy, if you don't follow his whims, he will never trust you again, and I have no way to identify the next one who would try."
Snape stared at him as if he lost his mind, even more taken aback when a small smile began to twist the corner of the old man's mouth.
"What is the plan?" – he finally asked, not believing for a second that Dumbledore would sacrifice his golden boy.
"You should try, and you should fail, Severus. That is the only way to keep both of you alive. At least it gives you a chance, and all of us to use your abilities for a while longer, at least. This is not an opportune time to take risks. Not before we tracked down everything I just found out."
"Could you work out the issue of the Horcruxes, Sir?"
"Some of the more pressing parts, yes, I think I have. We had no time to discuss the memories I acquired. Would you like to take a look now?"
The Headmaster said that in a casual and carefree voice as if their discussion didn't even touch the possible end of a war or a monster. Snape ought to have been used to that voice, but this night his feathers were ruffled – to say the least, making it hard to keep his calm, while the old wizard called the Pensieve from its small black cabinet.
"These are the memories of old Hepzibah Smith's poor house elf. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do for the creature." – With that, he poured the milk-coloured foggy contents of two phials into the bowl, waited until their surface smoothed, and gestured Severus to follow him to the memories.
The memories showed a young Tom Riddle, practically courting an old witch. They talked about Helga Hufflepuff's cup, the locket that the Headmaster and Beauxbaton already mentioned, and a ring Severus assumed they already found.
"A locket and a ring, connected to Slytherin, a cup to Hufflepuff, what's next? Ravenclaw's lost diadem? And what would you expect to find for Gryffindor?"
"As much as I enjoy the logic in your question, nothing. I believe with the diary, we already examined, and I suspect something else… we already have all the items we need for our list."
"What makes you believe that? Did the house elf perchance know how many pieces the Dark Lord wished to fracture his soul? Or did you find other means to ascertain that?"
"Oh, I believe you already have everything to figure out the answer" – the Headmaster smiled. "You have seen my own memory, collecting Tom for his school years, after all."
"I'm sorry, Sir, I–"
"How many rocks did you see in Tom's window?" – Snape only stared – "Seven!" – Dumbledore cried excitedly – "Seven, the strongest magical number. As soon as I can leave the school again, I will try to confirm my suspicions. Please, until then, I'd like you to take this as our supposition."
"How are you planning to confirm something with that significance, sir?" – Snape cautiously asked. "Your presence here is important enough, shall I–"
"No, I believe it would be better if I talked to Horace on my own, presuming you are not proposing to visit him and–"
"Horace Slughorn?!" – Although he had no idea what summoned the old fart's name into this conversation, Snape was by principle taken aback just at his mention. "I would leave this in your capable hands, sir," – he hurriedly assured. He had more than enough problems without worrying about that cake-eater; he was only too happy if he never had to see his once-Head of House ever again. "So we are to win time to find and destroy the Horcruxes. Do you have any theory about their whereabouts?"
"Sadly none. Although maybe there is a cave by the sea, I would like to think it over again…" – Dumbledore mused.
It was too much to suffer, and he could only roll his eyes instead of any attempt to answer.
"Severus, I suggest we don't run ahead of ourselves," – The Headmaster went on – "first you should kidnap Harry. I believe we'd better stage it to our convenience."
"What if I am not the only one appointed to take the boy?" – Snape asked back, closing off the image of the expectable punishment from his thoughts for his - failure.
"Do you think Tom doesn't trust you enough to send you alone?"
It was almost a ridiculous idea from the perspective of a Death Eater.
"It is not about trust, sir. Whatever He believes or hopes, none of us can move alone, especially not with something He finds as important as this. Without my knowledge, or even with, there will be others to back me up or present a second line. I am lucky if none of them see you thwart my attempts. Then, when you are sufficiently occupied with my struggles, one will make the leap. Before the New Year. We were told that He wishes to begin his reign then."
By some unfathomable reason, Dumbledore's eyes sparked up with a moment of joy.
"New Year? So I imagine you are to kidnap Harry around Christmas."
"Sir, I am not–"
"Did I misunderstand Tom's plan?"
Snape cleared his throat with discomfort. "No."
"Wonderful! Can you gather all those who might be the second string for your attempt?"
"Sir?"
"Severus, you have to attempt to take Harry, and you have to fail. If you're afraid unknown others might come in your steps, we should catch you all at once!"
Severus tried to gulp his sudden fright but couldn't swallow against his dry throat.
"I can gather those I think would be the second row."
"Please do just that! You will stand up against me, and it shouldn't be that shameful a failure if I am the one to personally stop you. I wonder if Tom would try to come in your stead if he knew."
Severus rather wondered if he was to be sent to Azkaban for attempting to kidnap his own student, the boy-who-lived-to-make-life-impossible, or if he was to die a short death before Dumbledore's wand instead of a long and harrowing one under the Dark Lord's.
"So a trap then" – he summed up instead. "We have to choose the place with care, sir. I doubt it should come to a sight for the school to behold."
"I can accommodate your shyness here. Harry usually spends his holidays partly with the Weasleys. I will arrange it with Arthur." – Dumbledore nodded deep in thoughts. "Perhaps at the same time, you should count the number of your attacking forces. We need to discuss in detail how many we could possibly take on. You keep telling me since the summer that we are unbalanced in forces. Let's look upon this as an opportunity rather than a threat."
Of all the possible answers that came to mind, Severus admitted there was only one acceptable. "Yes, Sir."
He slowly rose from his chair and gestured toward the door, wordlessly asking for permission to retreat and process the plan. The Headmaster nodded with a benevolent smile.
"I'm sure she would be proud of you, my boy. I told you once, I tell you again. You are the proof before my old eyes; we probably Sort too soon."
Not wishing to betray his feelings or even to work them out at the moment, Severus only turned and left the office without a word.
…
"We sort too soon." "I am the one to personally stop you." "You kidnap –" "You have to fail." "She would be proud of you" – the hell with Dumbledore! All those fragments of thoughts worked in Severus' mind while he strolled down to his dungeon quarters at an uncharacteristically slow pace.
It's not like anyone would notice the change past midnight on a Thursday morning…
Oddly, he thought about his seventh-year NEWTs and their assignments. It was all for the sake of giving a chance to his Slytherins. To Jugson.
To imagine facing Dumbledore's wand in battle, or Voldemort's in torture after – if there would be an after…
Who would stand up for those kids once he's gone? When Dumbledore mentioned Slughorn, it felt as if a thick roller blind ran down behind his eyes. If that disgusting glutton was ever to return to lead Slytherin, sure as hell he would put additional curses on the container of the students' folders.
He could not win—that simple.
Blast Héloïse to seven equal pieces; it didn't really matter if he deserved this or not!
Except don't, because it did matter – he had to admit that after closing doors and wards behind him and sinking into his favourite armchair, rubbing his face. It did matter if he is born to be a filth to deserve only the worst or not because he wouldn't try to find a way out if he still believed he should justly die.
The problem was that he didn't see any way around it.
Dumbledore's wand was not a jot less terrifying than his adversary's. He could be honest with himself in the privacy of his chambers enough to admit that he was close to crapping himself if he thought about that so-called battle where he was supposed to face them – either or both.
To escape the clutches of fear, Severus tried to work his mind around the whole evening, and he found it was actually much longer than the shock he received after his Mark ignited. Yes, he had a serious problem, but there was nothing to do about it.
Pragmatism kicked in and tempered the horror, so a quick picture could rise about Lily's face and her possible reaction to Dumbledore's words.
Snape had to chuckle. If something Lily would never be for anyone kidnapping her son – that's probably proud. Sweet Merlin, the old schemer this time was thoroughly off the mark!
The sad truth was, he didn't even know if he had any chance to look after Beauxbaton or his NEWTs, even if he somehow survived this absurdity. It would be either Azkaban or exile. Not exactly conducive to be of service for anyone. Which means no one would care about them anymore.
Slughorn would seek his own ends, letting Slytherin go down in flames like last time, and Dumbledore was straightforward enough to tell him he couldn't care less about Sage.
It would have been so nice to be able to feel outraged upon the Headmaster's lack of concern! Alas, Severus couldn't be confounded about it any more. He still wondered, though, if Mad-Eye initiated this with his over-suspiciousness about his former family or was it only about the so-called greater good? Did he deny his daughter the safety and support, or was it Dumbledore? Severus always took Beauxbaton's disparaging words about the Headmaster as signs of her standing up for him in a way, but it also meant she got her mental whipping as much as he did.
For what? Being a dark witch? Like bloody hell! Not after seeing Héloïse!
Even if Beauxbaton bowed, even if Leroy was killed, even if she gave over her townhouse… If Dumbledore knew about those tomes in Héloïse's library, how could he possibly accuse them of darkness? He said himself that he knew the difference! Then WHY?
Severus remembered Beauxbaton called all those verbal lashings her leashes. He accepted similar scoldings because they followed and reinforced his father's judgement that was clear by now. Why did she accept her leashes? He could acknowledge his idiocy on more than one occasion in his youth, unfortunately even these days, he didn't feel as wise as he probably should be… Were those then his leashes? Leashes to direct him in the middle between the wands of the two most powerful wizards?
Where would Potter hide in such a battle?
Severus had a disturbing feeling it would be his task to shield the boy if things came to that. Of course, whatever Dumbledore said, it was true; he wanted to make it up for Lily, and if he had even the slightest chance–
Oh, Merlin, what made it so obvious that I screwed it up with Lily that Beauxbaton took it for certain without knowing anything about it? They were so different, yet he hurt them both. It must be his father's blood.
Lily stood up for him, yet he messed things up because he resembled Tobias too much and thus drove her away. - It was a thought as old as he remembered loathing himself. And now he could easily apply it on Beauxbaton too.
Oh really? So if you behaved as your father and hurt Lily like he hurt your mum, she should have stayed by this logic! So why did she not stay? – asked the new voice of his inner musings. You cannot have it both ways! If you think you re-enacted their feral marriage, Lily should have stayed, like mother always stayed with her husband! Why would you mimic that loathsome scum anyway? All your intentions had always been to deny him, to defy him!
The new voice had a point. Something felt deadly wrong here, and Severus began to miss Héloïse's grumpy old house elf to feel safe while he tried to explore the depth of his memories without the layers of hurt, pain, self-hatred and shame that coated them. It felt like swimming against the stream. Nothing seemed to work this time.
Of course, now Beauxbaton hated him too. She refused to forgive just like Lily had denied him. Maybe this was good. He couldn't turn out like Tobias until all these witches refused to behave like Eileen.
She doesn't hate you – that new voice whispered. She is angry, and rightly so, but she cannot hate you. You would know if she did. Leroy's pustules – can you remember? If Sage Moody hates a wizard, that's not too hard to discern!
Severus sighed heavily and wished if the voice was right.
Of course, this is right, think, you dumb-arse! Why would she ask for time if she didn't want to forgive?
Maybe she only tried to avoid me – his old insecurities pulled their shoulders.
She would have said so – the new voice insisted. Think about that: she told you she wants you out of her sight because she didn't want to hit you, right? So tell me, you Ace of Logic, who was the last one to hesitate before landing a punch on your face?
The thought felt surprisingly thrilling. She didn't want to hurt him, not even in her own pain!
Unlike Lily, who gave him what he believed was the most one could give – but somehow this was more… Which questioned the foundations of his beliefs, for Lily was supposed to be everything. But was there more than everything?
That bitch wolf came to mind from the edge of the Siberian forest and the question about devotion.
Lily was not everything for him because he wanted his potions, his research, his life to turn better, and her. Potter already had everything. He probably only wanted her. Even if the realization hurt like hell, after about sixteen short years, Severus finally understood why she had to marry that jerk – at least partially understood.
Beauxbaton was angry because he obviously had other things on his list again. He didn't take her as a priority because he couldn't. He left her on the floor, and he turned away, kept his silence- not unlike Lily behaved after she sent him away.
But the priority is her safety, the small fragments I can still provide, not having her! Whatever she thinks! – Severus felt he could scream of frustration, and he arrived at a point where he was too tired to match any more thoughts to feelings.
It is all for naught anyway. After kidnapping Potter, probably facing Dumbledore and Voldemort the same day, you won't have any earthly problems any more! – his inner voice offered as some twisted kind of consolation. Let's just tidy up things first.
Severus nodded. The fact the Headmaster mentioned Slughorn couldn't be just a slip of the tongue. Slytherin needed a Head whatever was to happen, and Sluggy already proved he was unfit for the task. – So, Severus counted, he had a little less than a month to gather forces against the Burrow and the same amount of time to help his Slytherins somehow.
First of all, Jugson. And maybe that Korch-kid. And Malfoy and his other NEWTs. And… – Severus slipped into slumber in his armchair till the house elf woke him in the bright morning.
…
"Master hurries, master lates for breakfast!" – Chubby's words opened December with an urgency that gave no place for fruitless musings for weeks.
Severus made sure he hammered into his NEWTs the profession's responsibility to such a level that his seventh-year Roger Davies asked for a heart-to-heart in his office hour, admitting his doubts if he should ever seek employment as a potioneer. Of course, to extort such a spectacular response from his Slytherins was wishful thinking. Still, Jugson often seemed deep in contemplation, and even his sixth-year, Bletchley showed signs of some additional thought.
His work was not yet done, but Severus took these signs as the only reason for cautious optimism. Unfortunately, he still had no idea how to ensure these modest steps would go forward without his continuous presence among the living, but that was not an issue he had time to consider.
He divided his time between his classes and London, using Dumbledore's shielding presence against the Pink Toad, and Lucius was nothing if not ready to help. He assisted Severus to reconcile with Avery, talked Nott into mobilizing some of the footmen he commanded, and arranged a meeting with Martin Lefevre, so Severus learned the position of the sympathizers and footmen associating with the French and already in the country.
Severus frequently missed meals in the evening, so he couldn't be sure about Sage's whereabouts, but he found her more and more worn out whenever they shared breakfast or dinner as the days progressed to weeks. Neither attempted to talk.
Hagrid presented the castle with twelve pine trees waiting for decoration and an incredible amount of holly, yew and mistletoe to apply all around the halls. Severus convinced Knott to take part in the planned attack against the Burrow, thus elevating his position within the first circle.
The new educational decrees were showered on them and spotted the walls of the Teacher's Room. Avery agreed to take part in the attack, too, proving his amicability. In the rows of the fourth-years, Young Avery finally seemed to care more about Tabitha Bainbridge from third-year than his Head of House.
The fight against the mounting essays on his desk seemed beyond hopeless, but Snape relentlessly attacked the pile every night as soon as he returned to the castle, occasionally sleeping head-on the parchments. The Tuesday-rounds of additional strolling through the castle seemed time wasted.
Chubby relentlessly reported all plotting in the Common Room, and every time Sage Moody returned to the castle after her unknown missions. At least she was physically unharmed.
On the second week of the month, an unusually agitated Flitwick sought out Snape's reluctant attention in the lunch break and asked for a conversation in his office to avoid the Teacher's Room.
"It is a serious issue, Severus, and I'm afraid it is of a confidential nature."
I wonder what such business may be like – Severus' inner voice grumbled disrespectfully, but he followed the tiny Professor of Charms to his fifth-floor office and patiently waited until the door closed behind them.
"I'm sure you must know what I need to discuss, and it couldn't wait any longer. So I have to ask you to cease your vendetta against my seventh year."
Snape had a good hunch about what this conversation was about before Flitwick uttered the word "vendetta," which made him rethink his dealings with the Ravenclaws, but he couldn't recall a thing that even McGonagall would qualify as such.
"I'm sorry, Filius, I have to admit to being utterly lost. Which of your brightest have complaints against my additional homework? Or has Mr. Davies sought out your advice too about his future employment?"
"Please, no need to play your games with me," – Flitwick seemed disconcerted – "Minerva told me in advance this won't be an easy conversation, but if you –"
"Minerva?" – Severus interrupted this time by intentional malice. "Shall we call for her assistance? Or if she is so well acquainted with the issue, why don't you work it out with her? I would hate to interfere."
Flitwick wiped his forehead with his handkerchief despite the freezing outside weather seeping through his office windows.
"Severus, I should have phrased it less unfortunate, but the predicament won't change by the phrasing. You are intentionally targeting my seventh-year Mr. Prout, to a level he feels it is detrimental to his studies."
"Did Mr. Prout elaborate on the details of our encounters?"
"Well," – Flitwick sighed – "he mentioned you threatening him with thwarting his future apprenticeships," – Flitwick coughed – "modifying his points on ongoing assignments upon as mundane an issue as breaking curfew, not even talking about you insinuating his desire to steal potion ingredients from your or the Infirmary's supply… I cannot understand that Severus, Mr. Prout has always been beyond reproach!"
"What other nuisance did I cause to the irreproachable Mr. Prout, Filius? Please don't miss out a thing!" – Snape purred.
"Well," – Flitwick sat up his pillows in his high armchair, glad his colleague seemed open enough – "well, it is none of my business, so I would never have dragged this up, but if you straight-out ask, your assignments are a little over the Moon, Severus. I am all for the quality of education, especially in NEWT level, but three essays, and as I hear not easy ones, without suggested reading or other pointing –"
Snape smirked a way that even Flitwick couldn't take as encouragement.
"I see," – he leaned back in his chair. "Filius, by chance, could you ask some of your students to join our discussions?"
The old Charms Professor was taken aback.
"Do you mean we should ask Mr. Prout to join us now? He explicitly asked –"
"Oh, if Mr. Prout finds it distasteful to show his face in my presence, I cannot argue against his judgement, but I didn't mean him. Can you ask Miss Turpin, Miss Fawcett, Miss Brocklehurst? I would also suggest asking for the assistance of Miss Karanasu and Miss Owens from Hufflepuff, but of course only if you don't feel it threatens the reputation of your House."
"The repu-reputation of my- Severus, whatever can you be talking about?"
"Well, of course, Mr. Belby and Mr. Carmichael assured me, Mr. Prout disappeared all factual evidence, but I believe if the female students' witnessing match, we can be reasonably sure. Probably the best would be to interrogate them one-by-one, separately, and in private. In such cases –"
"What cases, Severus?! I demand an answer I can understand!" – the tiny wizard squeaked with reddening cheeks. Judging by Snape's innocent complexion, he could not have a possible reason to act this agitated. Yet he was worked up beyond measure.
"Why, brewing Amortentia without an official license and outside of school assignment, admittedly not for educational purposes – it is an incriminating issue, Filius. Especially if it proves he offered his handiwork to more than one of his fellow students. Either way, it is worthy of the interest of the MESP, the Ministry of Magic's Department of Law Enforcement and of course the Department of Magical –"
"All – all these students could attest to his brewing an unauthorized and dangerous potion? But how?"
"I never denied Mr. Prout's skills, Filius,"- Snape drawled with unshakable calm. "I am questioning his moral standards and his judgement. He repeatedly threatened his fellow students by mentioning the Amortentia he allegedly brewed, mocked and bullied my sixth-year NEWTs to a point I had to give a special outlet for their wish to prove their skills to prevent them retaliating in a physical manner. The curfew issues cost House-points to all those wanton female students, who accepted his company despite his apparent hedonism. Such as young Miss Turpin." – Snape added with a small twist of his lips.
Flitwick was beyond words.
"I expect he didn't bother with such details on his detention with you" – Snape added just for the sake of his revenge.
The Charms Professor's face changed to a disturbing shade of boiled lobster.
"We are yet to fix an appointment in regard of that… detention," – he admitted softly.
"I see. Well, if you are in possession of some rare free-time, Filius, I would recommend you fix one, if you can," – he offered a tight smile. "And if it happens to overlap with my class with Mr. Prout, please don't bother. I find I can do without his presence any measure of time."
Snape emerged from his seat and prepared to leave when the tiny old wizard jumped off his seat and caught him at the door.
"I'll be honest, Severus. I had no notion about any of what you unfolded here, but I cannot say I had no idea even if it exceeds all my imagination. You should believe me when I say I will deal with Mr. Prout."
He waited on Snape's nod before going on. "However, we should not let such youthful foolishness shade his future life. As you said yourself, he has the skill, and after deflating his head, he would be a good and useful addition to society. I accept all you told me, and I will punish the boy, but I am asking you –"
Snape couldn't content himself with staring any longer.
"Filius, do you hear yourself when defending a lecher, a rake, past his age of eighteen since September, making out in front of your House's Common Room with Miss Turpin, a mere girl, under the age of consent?! Deflating his head? What the hell do you mean? Is it some magic I am yet to be aware of that befalls on the students upon their leaving of Hogwarts? What kind of miracle can possibly make them capable of a level of responsibility they neglected to show just a day before?" – He would have gone on and on if Flitwick didn't try to put a calming hand on his arm, reaching high above his head to pat him.
"I accept your outrage, Severus, I really do, but think about what it felt to be young, and, well, ready…."
"WHAT??"
"As you say yourself, Prout didn't poison anyone," – despite Snape's checked-out yell, Flitwick went on – "and some youthful bragging, although it is admittedly not nice, should be handled in its place."
This did it. The mention of some youthful bragging, similar to what had been like hearing to mention the adventurousness and errors of the youth, and consequential accidents… Twenty years or two, the memory was not old enough not to raise the bile when Severus heard it.
"Filius, I recommend you do make a private discussion with at least Miss Fawcett and Miss Turpin before you decide upon your best way of handling this," – Snape hissed, knowing he couldn't interfere with another House's inside issues. He would have been enraged if someone tried to put his notions across him about his owns.
"It is sad, isn't it?" – Flitwick suddenly hung his head, making Snape completely lost about his meaning. "Miss Fawcett and Mr. Prout. Their romance was the talk of everyone, and now they are no more. I wonder what could have happened, but I find it unwise to interfere with such matters of the heart. There is no other like first love, and it is not similar to any other experiences. If Mr. Prout is looking for love elsewhere, I cannot fault him –"
"Did you say love?" – Severus couldn't tell what made him so incensed upon hearing the word, but suddenly he felt incapable of restraining himself. "What is love about overrunning a young woman out on a corridor? A mere girl, out for anyone to see? What is love in demanding favours in an alcove or an abandoned classroom, in leaving the girl behind to deal with the consequences alone after he steps out to "life" to "deflate" his bloody head? Do what you want, Flitwick, I'm sure you will anyway, but do not for a second think that such actions have anything to do with love!"
Suddenly regretting his lack of restraint and may be feeling more than he would ever wish to pour into words, Snape turned on his heel and, robe billowing, left the office, the floor, and after his afternoon classes the school to convince Crabbe to talk Macnair into attacking Harry Potter at Christmas.
The next day's NEWT preparations were packed with his vicious remarks, and, honestly, he didn't watch where he shot. Not that it changed much. After his last classes of the previous day, the news about his exceptionally bad mood ran around the castle like Fiendfyre.
It still didn't spare him the obligatory walk through and through the castle, being it a Tuesday, but at least drove every even half-witted student back to their Common Rooms well before curfew.
Meeting nothing much noticeable on his way, Severus halted when he heard stifled voices arguing behind a corner and slowed his steps to find out who had business on Minerva's side of the fourth-floor corridor.
"…I never thought I would live to see the day; that's only what I said."
"That is hardly all, and you know it. You make a mistake if you go after Severus, but if I cannot convince you, at least prepare yourself better! If you care about my opinion, you shouldn't have even tried to –"
"I am not speaking about the ease of a Slytherin sliding out of…."
"Filius, as I gathered, this is not any issue of House-affiliation, it's –"
"Oh, Minerva, not the Houses, I will protect my student, but that's hardly the issue! Imagine to hear a lecture on love from no other, but Severus Snape!" – he snickered silently. "It was a moment in life, I will treasure for the rainy days, as if –"
"Filius!"
"…as if he had any basis for even forming an opinion! Seriously," – he chuckled again – "can you imagine –"
"Filius!"
On McGonagall's apologetic glance and shrug, obviously both directed behind his back, the Charms Professor turned and flushed to the colour of beetroot.
"Severus, I didn't mean any of that as disparaging."
Snape stared down at his colleague and tried hard to check himself. He might have even succeeded just two and a half weeks prior, but as it was…
"Get stuffed, Flitwick!" – he uttered with a snarl. "Minerva," – he added with a pinch less venom, and, turning, robe billowing, he retreated to his quarters for the remainder of the night.
Of all the bloody business in London, all the discussions with Albus, the well-prepared, fake reports to the Dark Lord about him "trying to figure out the boy's plans for the Holidays" – all that feeling as if he was preparing the settings for his own death… Of all the silence and the memories, all the nightmares - Why ever did this one sodding piece of blow hurt so much?
Anger and hurt mixed so deep, they managed to exclude the usual agony for the evening and cried for a good potion or a drink—neither a good idea under the circumstances.
Instead, Severus poured his feelings into his side notes on the essays he was correcting well beyond midnight, and even falling on his bed, he still didn't feel less wounded. Only fatigue numbed his seething thoughts. Fatigue, and its only gift, the unexpected speed of falling asleep.
The next moment he felt light and familiar weight descending upon his bed. Soft, long fingers carried the calming and delicate scent of fresh rain, caressing his temples, his throat, his chest… by the time they slipped under his navel, he was on fire.
His arms reached up and pulled the witch into his passionate embrace. Their kisses were not tentative for a second, her lips seared his tongue, and her fingers stroked his back before they grabbed the nape of his neck, possessively and conveying her abandoned joy.
The witch melted into him, giving herself to his every move. He could feel all the curves and silky softness of the naked body moving under him. Only a thought later, he was inside her.
The pleasure was so intense he had to gasp for air. Their kiss never broke, her soft strokes never stopped, his hips moved in an excruciatingly tender and slow pace; still, he had no chance, the end was too near…
Severus wanted to see the witch's face before he let himself go completely. He tore his mouth from her and opened his eyes. Sage's light brown eyes were warm and tender, full of promise and passion! He admired them for a second with aching desire, and the first tremors of pleasure coursed through him…
Before her features morphed into the look of the house elf. "Master has no basis to even form an opinion. Mistress Sage already told him he was a jerk."
With an unusually high-pitched scream, Severus pushed himself away and bolted from the bed. He grabbed on the far-side wall of the room for support and tried to flee, stumbling through the threshold of his bedroom door. Finally, still panting with horror, he stared back at his empty pillow and slowly understood, it was a nightmare.
Just a nightmare.
He gasped a string of curse words grabbing heavily on the doorjamb and tried to gather his senses. It took longer than any time before. Finally, with his arousal lingering despite his mind was horrified to the point of nausea, Severus escaped to his lab and began the Wolfsbane potion before he had a chance to think for even a second.
Just not to think!
Not to think ever again…
Wolfsbane was mercifully complex enough to engage his full attention until the morning. He meticulously avoided even looking in the witch's direction at breakfast, evaded McGonagall at all costs and sent a vicious snarl towards Flitwick when the tiny wizard seemed to think about attempting a greeting. To engage anyone else in conversation was no option, and he had no inclination to even glance at Dumbledore, so after chewing half-a-toast, Severus pushed away his cup of tea with disgust and went to see after his classes.
The Pink Toad's request for more Veritaserum was almost welcome, tempering it was a diversion he would have found twistedly entertaining had it not gone against at least three regulations of MESP, including the prohibition of bottling substandard brews with certification, or as a matter of fact charming the trademark of the MESP on anything without authorization at all…
At least if he died before Christmas, he wouldn't know the humiliation of losing his place in the organization. Here's the upside! – he reassured himself acrimoniously.
After his experiences at the breakfast table, Snape didn't feel the need to participate in any additional meals in the coming days. If Dumbledore had a say about his behaviour, the old bastard should travel down to the underworld of the castle because sure as hell he was not to leave that if not for London.
And the Prefects decorated the castle, and the suits of armour began to sing. Twelve Christmas trees adorned the Great Hall, and Umbridge radiated smug complacency. Essays, classes, reports and the trap stood up, while Beauxbaton hadn't even looked him in the eye when they collided once in the oak door at the Entrance Hall.
His nights were dedicated to his Occlumency meditations so he could keep his equilibrium while sleeping in his armchair again. No matter how many times Chubby redressed his bed, there was no way for him to even look at that offensive piece of furniture anymore! He'd never had the ability to accept betrayal, and his sheets and pillow obviously did just that the other night. No matter what, he didn't want to think.
Severus accepted that Occluding was not always the right choice in personal endeavours. Still, it was one of the best tools in his repertoire to get through the days. And nights. Emptying his mind of all thoughts and emotions didn't solve his problems, but at least it made it possible to have some rest.
The sixth-year NEWTs began their preparations for their special session on their last double class before Christmas, and Snape tried to ready himself for the onslaught of the sensations their brews would undoubtedly induce. Maybe it was for the best. All those scents and memories about Lily would reinforce his resolve to march before the wands of both of his masters before the New Year. Only one more day and he would practically be drowning in the smell of her hair and flowering linden on a warm and dusty summer day -
Severus leaned above the parchments to get on with correcting and marking the last essays of the term when a soft knock sounded on his office door. Before he could so much as reply, long fingers appeared on the wood of the door, and a swish of blue skirts pushed through the narrow opening. He stood up from his desk unthinking and with sudden trepidation, and when the witch's sad eyes hesitantly met his, the air seemed to abandon the room.
"Albus sent me," – Sage softly began to explain her presence, and her words tempered the odd expectations that started to rise in Severus's chest.
"Did he?"
"Yes, but I would have come anyway when I gathered my courage -"
Blasted expectations rose again, and his mouth felt dry.
"What would you need that courage for?"
The witch trailed her glace over the office, unsure before she met his gaze again.
"To say I was sorry…?" – it was unclear if she asked this or told.
Severus struggled to swallow.
"I take you don't wish to punch me anymore."
She emitted a noise similar to a shy chuckle.
"No, you're safe. I… I was wrong. It took some time to understand, that –"
Severus stepped past his desk and reached her with two long strides across the room, hesitantly lifting his hand towards hers. Sage's long fingers circled his gratefully.
"You had every reason to –"
"No," – she cut in, "I- I should have trusted your judgement."
"I –" – it was impossible to convey his regrets without altering his decisions, and Severus was painfully aware of the inopportune time.
Whatever he wished to say or do, he was most likely to face his end soon, and only the exact moment seemed unclear. Yes, he did the right thing in the wrong way. However, that didn't mean it was not the world to see her come around to say goodbye.
Sage cleared her throat and took a step back. "Anyway… I have a message for you. Albus thought you would be relieved to hear it, though I cannot get why…" – she looked up now with more of her usual manner – "Arthur was attacked in the Ministry about half-an-hour ago. The Potter-kid saw it in his dreams and alerted everyone. He and all the family already left the castle, and they shipped Arthur to the St. Mungo's. Your Pink Peril is out demanding blood."
Severus blanched. "Did he get it?" – he managed to choke out before he cleared his throat too and collected himself. "Did the Dark Lord manage it?"
He felt relieved indeed, even when she only shook her head. "No," – Sage said with confidence – "the snake couldn't even get through the door. I guess it won't be the best of summons, but he doesn't have what he hoped for."
The rush of relief was so strong and sudden, Severus teetered and almost lost balance. Sage took his elbow and tried to make him sit back by his desk, mumbling questions if he was all right. He could have laughed at her worries. The Dark Lord couldn't get through the door! If He didn't have the Prophecy, He couldn't want him to attack. Potter was safe. He was safe. The Burrow was safe, and the witch came to him without her ire!
Severus half sat on the edge of his desk and hid his grin into his palms before he looked up at her.
"I couldn't be more all right" – he smiled at Sage and boldly reached for her hand again. "Thank you."
"I only passed a massage" – she stared at him with those light-coloured, warm eyes, and in his exceptional mood, Severus had to remind himself not to lose himself in them. "I should go," – Sage said softly. "Whatever this was about, if the snake failed, the Dark Lord would be enraged, and Lucius would demand me to give him some means to save his arse. Will you be all right?"
"When he summons me?" – Severus contemplated with some surprise that she cared. "I did everything he demanded," – he deemed deep in thoughts – "if he chooses another punching-bag, I'll be just fine." Then realization stroke mercilessly. "Will you be there?"
"Not if He doesn't request it. I am supposed to report to Lucius."
"Don't let the bastard grow upon you" – he squeezed her hand lightly. "He doesn't deserve your sacrifices. I wish you didn't make them."
"I don't do it for him, and you know that" – her voice was firm and sad again. "My endeavours don't matter much, maybe only to lure some into a false sense of security… and maybe I am making my petty little traps" – added with a malevolent half-smile that never reached her eyes.
"At what cost, Beauxbaton? Lucius told me you give away all you've got in pieces. He believes you are ready to… he believes you don't even want to survive."
She searched his eyes as if she tried to measure him.
"Is that your priority?" – When Severus was hesitant to answer, she smiled and shook her head. "You have no reason to worry about me. The less if your friend believes I have no fight in me. Is that enough?"
Severus stared down on their still entwined fingers.
"Hardly, but I know no better" – he admitted. "So… are we still friends?" – he lifted his hand holding hers.
Now she was the one to squeeze his fingers lightly.
"Of course we are."
It was only a second. A second out of place and out of air, a second when he believed he couldn't stop himself from hugging her. Then his Mark ignited, with fury conveyed by the pain, and Sage's hand fell from his as he grabbed on his forearm.
"Good luck" – the witch stepped back somberly, and he could only nod before he summoned his winter cloak and strode out of his office.