Hi Guys,
Welcome notrealestate, I'm glad you joined us. I'm trying to post every ten-ish days.
Dear Guest-reviewer! You made my day and it's not just a phrase. I have troubles in my personal life which keep me in a very contemplative mindset lately… reading your review made me smile for at least about half an hour and I'm grateful, thank you! I'll try hard not to disappoint.
As usual, it all belongs to Rowling, I only have fun.
With this Chapter we are beginning to leave behind canon, there will be some references of canon events to the very end, but now I officially kick into the sacred timeline and have my way – hopefully, you wouldn't mind the outcome too much. It will be more and more apparent from now on in every chapter, please remember I promised that this story will solve out before the end of Harry's fifth year. And if you happen to wonder where the characters will find the time to do the additional work, well… :)
Please try to enjoy!
Chapter 30. About That Wolf…
Spinner's End – he knew the place as well as one knows an old pain in the stomach or arthritis. It almost seemed a part of him, it was so familiarly uncomfortable. Or comfortably hateful, because it didn't require any additional thought.
With Chubby's insistent nudging, Severus forced himself to swallow some food and kept on emptying one glass of water after the other just to keep the elf at bay. He was so exhausted only by this effort he planned to turn in as soon as the little fellow let him. The house-elf insisted it would do him a world of good, but the only upside he saw was the lack of thoughts while at sleep.
It worked out pretty well for the first few hours, but then came the dreams. He was alternately searching for something in a maze of herbs and flowers, never finding it, never remembering what it might have been, or making passionate love to the woman it all belonged to. Finally, he couldn't take any more of the frustrating rolling and tossing. Severus pushed himself upright and wandered down to the surprisingly clean kitchen with an un-confessed intention to sink back into the liberating arms of some potions.
His hand stopped shakily between his calming draughts and a dreamless sleep potion when he spotted himself in the windowpane. His skin looked like parchment, his eyes were sunk deeper into his skull than he ever remembered, and his whole appearance was more unkempt than he could have imagined. He looked up at his hand shaking inside the cupboard, then down at himself, admitting his body was almost bursting with need and closed his eyes in shame.
He knew without a shadow of a doubt what his father would say if he saw him now. He knew so well, he even shuddered when thought about the possible phrasing. However, he would be right in the essentials, now wouldn't he?
In the essentials – her words standing up for him, yet again. He attempted to overlook the twitch such a simple memory caused inside of him. It was all too different from anything he knew. It was hard to comprehend. When Lily was there, she had listened to his tales of 'a distant world', she had played with him when they were small children and had tried her best to stick to him even in Hogwarts – for a while…. He still couldn't recall more than one instance where she stood up for him, and thankfully so, because even that one was a horrible memory. So why? Why could Sage stand up for him with such ease, without making him feel like an emasculated pile of flesh-eating slugs?
There was no help to it, he felt overwhelmed with longing for her presence, for her voice... any small sign of her approval… he tried to breathe, if not able to do so evenly, and recalled the feeling of her touch. Could it really be that she gave up on him? Could she really deny him her presence like Lily had when he screwed all up? His head cleared enough by now to recall she spoke about friendship…. She still called him her friend before saying good night, now what did that mean?
He knew the worst part of him, maybe the paternal part, would say he only worsened his predicament by lamenting about her. It still felt important. Truthfully, he had no idea on what leg he stood with the witch at the moment. He had no practice in hoping but hoping seemed the closest he could get to her – without her.
But his thoughts inevitably changed and morphed already, and soon he would have given everything to feel her long fingers caressing his again, or caressing him. Anywhere, really… although if she accepted suggestions… Severus leaned on both arms on the counter to keep himself upright and tried to form a coherent thought. His magic swirled around him disoriented and aimless, he could understand its confusion.
The next moment found him with his head in the sink, whimpering as the cold water poured through his hair and shocked him back to a more human-like state. Emerging, he tried to catch his breath and faced that alien in the windowpane. Pathetic beggar! How could you even dream of her approval, even your goddamned father knew better than this!
To imagine for some moments that she was his was maybe the most to achieve but also the most selfish way of loving a woman. A way that was about him and only him. He knew better. He had always known better. And it occurred to him that recently he learned more about what he should do than any time before. Self-denial used to be the way, and it didn't work out very well, but in Siberia, there was that wolf. The wolf taught him that the key was devotion. Yes, females bite but with true devotion, they could be tamed to a measure. The wolf proved his heart and intentions and he seemed as if he had won. At least he didn't seem to mind getting bitten…. That is where he was lacking as a kid, he knew that as soon as he saw those wolves.
In these last two days, he had been anything but devoted. Turning back to his oldest self when he thought himself hurt and sank into the pain. Just like twenty years ago. Where had that landed him? Merlin, what a fool! Even Lucius saw more clearly, because he was right. If someone was worth the additional effort, it was surely her!
Wait, – a new thought emerged, surrounded with terror – last time he had relied on Malfoy's advice he became a Death Eater, for crying out loud! No question the bastard intended good by his measure, but… was there something else he'd tried to make him do now?
After some time spent searching through the haze of the last days, he was reasonably sure he hadn't done anything with the same magnitude. Gods mercy the fools in self-pity! It didn't seem more than sheer luck. If only once his Mark happened to burn and he stood in front of the Dark Lord wearing his heart on his sleeve…!
Severus took a minute to hit his forehead into the kitchen cabinet, repeating phrases he wouldn't have uttered in Hogwarts, the mildest of those being a stupid idiot.
Devotion, you say? You selfish cretin, who do you think you would kill with your idiocy this time? Can you never learn? How many of those witches you've ever found splendid would you like to kill? Cretin! Arse! Boneheaded bastard of a good-for-nothing son of a bitch, you deserve it! You really should rot, you dolt!
The small voice arguing that he would make it right got hushed up in the rage of his judgement turning on his deeds.
HOW? - the merciless inner voice demanded. And it gave him a strange pause.
By true devotion – the small voice argued. By becoming better?
Something seemed to laugh with his father's hateful baritone.
I CAN BECOME BETTER, YOU MERCILESS BRUTE! I ALREADY HAVE! – the tiny voice attempted to scream but all it could achieve was painfully familiar to teenage histrionics. Nevertheless, he argued. He argued he could, for Lily. And he could prove it, after spending time with Héloïse, he could. It only turned out that it wasn't enough yet. And the baritone finally had no more to say.
Severus sat in rare peaceful silence and enlisted everything he had to overcome.
Bloody promises. A strange image emerged about some owl perch deep in Knockturn, it didn't make much sense at the moment, so he swiped that away. Whatever he was to do, his promises chained him – but did they? He couldn't imagine living his life forever with a sense of owing to Lily. Also, he already knew Sage needed her freedom too, and it only lay in winning the war. And the key to that was with Lily's son. Whatever Dumbledore wanted him to believe, the fact the Dark Lord could not stay in this realm was absolute.
Severus swallowed hard and boldly attacked the problem: How to win the war?
Oddly, no answers popped out from the corners of his kitchen. Hence he didn't have much on his hands, but he was calmer than any moment in the past few weeks.
It was only too much anyway. He had been making ready to die, and when it turned out he didn't have to, he fell into the pit of loving, after a short Crucio-session, and before he found his bearings, a Horcrux was shouting with Lily's face, then Black babbled, and Sage made him the happiest man he remembered to be. For three minutes. Blast it! Even thinking about this roller-coaster made him a little dizzy, but Severus decided he would not sink back into self-pity now! He straightened his shoulders and went on with his list.
Chubby. The elf deserved his prize.
Dumbledore – Severus decided he deserved his answers.
No Slytherins could count on any other but him, as he saw it.
And Potter should learn. Because he was the key and the closest threat to all.
And he should try to get back Héloïse's property because Sage deserved her cognac and everything else, as he had already vowed.
He looked up at the windowpane and the wizard he saw was still worn out but somehow a bit more dependable. He should wash off his disgrace and offer himself a comb. And a razor. That was the least he could do.
To make himself presentable took longer than usual, but had the added benefit to order and arrange his thoughts. When he finished, his Occlumency was back at what he was used to and he was ready to play his part. He felt different, though. Different enough to rely on his magic to conceal the changes. Something was brewing under the surface he managed to keep seemingly intact. It was not ready, but all brews needed time, and he would pay it. After these last days, he didn't think he had much left to lose.
The walk up to the castle was less gratifying than last time, to say the least, and he tried his best to avoid the memory. Help came from a corner he expected it the least: His magic was twirling, curling and playing around him, snapping into the frozen edges of the snowbanks, and pulling at his cloak as if a handful of spells had been hurled at him, nothing serious, only distracting enough to keep his bearings among the barriers of his Occlumency.
He grumbled a reluctant noise of appreciation after he got through the oak door, and felt the magic enveloping him like another self. A calmer, timeless imprint or selfhood that belonged to him but had its own… life. It wasn't any less comforting than in his early childhood when he used to hide, covering himself into its soft folds and defence. It will still do - he absently mumbled before telling the password to the gargoyle.
"Severus!" – the Headmaster greeted him cheerfully. "Lemon drops?"
"You know they're not to my taste, sir."
"People change, my boy, one day you might like one. Would you deny an old man the right to keep trying?"
"Not as long as you leave me the choice to refuse, sir."
Dumbledore sent him a small smile under his scrutinizing look; it only took him a minute to reorder his wrinkles. Then he pulled out the broken locket from his desk drawer.
"You seem uncommonly – taciturn, even for yourself, after such an achievement."
Severus diligently told the tale of the house elf he had never seen in the Black-house, and the uncommon collection they found in the creature's hole. Dumbledore seemed exceptionally bothered by the critter's absence, but he listened through the process of eliminating the Horcrux without interruptions.
"And what kind of wards did you encounter?"
Occluding or not, Snape pulled a face. "Most likely a protection charm, sir, built on the inner fears and darker thoughts of the one trying to penetrate the locket."
"How interesting it must have been to learn about a house elf's inner fears, would you–"
"No, I would not, sir, as you must very well know already." – Severus lost patience. "However, about that elf–" – he stopped short, hearing the old wizard chuckle.
"Forgive me, my boy, but this was such an easy joke. I hope you don't mind. It must have been a scene to behold."
"Quite," – Snape admitted. "About that elf, sir. There is a request I need to make. He– Well, I learned about the house elf's deep desire to serve one and only one master. I don't find this far-fetched from his kind's disposition. His choice of a master is… well, you could say it is more novel, sir," – he cleared his throat. "By some unfathomable reason, when I offered him a reward, he chose to ask for let him leave Hogwarts' authority and…" – another deep breath – "I am asking you to let the elf become my servant, sir."
Dumbledore's brows lifted to his hairline. "Peculiar!"
"Headmaster, I must confess I am as baffled at the request as anyone would be, however, not ever having a house elf in Slytherin with such a quick mind and tolerable personality is an experience I also have to own. The simple fact I could summon him outside Hogwarts should weigh something on the scale. His loyalty has visibly shifted already, although I have to assure you, it was most unintentional on my part."
An adventurous glint appeared in the Headmaster's eye and he proposed to see the elf for further inspection. Before Severus could summon him though, he asked him not to communicate with the elf while they were at it. With some reservations, he agreed to the terms.
"I heard about your request, Chubby" – Dumbledore began in his most authoritative tone of office. "Before we discuss it, I would like you to answer some of my questions."
Chubby peeked at Severus, but as he assiduously gazed out of the window, he answered with a small bow.
"Chubby is happy to serve, Headmaster Professor, sir."
"I would like you to tell me about Professor Snape's habits, Chubby. Does he keep secrets from others? Does he talk in his dreams?"
The elf anxiously danced from one leg to another and tried to peek at his master again. Finally, he shook his head biting hard on his thumb.
"I see. Now tell me, has he ever requested you any other services outside Hogwarts? Have you ever had to gather for him anything besides venomous basilisk fangs, risking your life?"
Chubby stopped his habitual dancing and his ears shook with anxiety while he stared from one wizard to the other with bulging ball-like eyes.
"Professor Master Snape asked Chubby not to risks life, Professor Master cautious," – he only replied, pulling at his ears.
"I wonder how you could enter the secret chamber at all, as I heard it was not only guarded by the snake…?"
"Chubby Apparated, Headmaster, sir, there's no other way without giving a password to the door, and Chubby knows no snake-tongue, Headmaster, sir," – the elf said quickly, visibly happy to finally being able to give a straightforward reply.
"All right then," – Dumbledore smiled at the elf. "I would only like you to retrieve the Veritaserum from Professor Snape's storage, then we may move on and discuss your wish. The hidden one, please, with the full effect he had no time to mess with."
The house elf's ears sank low, he was violently chewing on the left one, almost pulling blood. Severus couldn't stand not looking at the desperate little fellow, his bulgy eyes were shining with unshed tears.
"Headmaster, are you quite sure this process is unavoidable?"
"Why, Severus, I thought you need all the reassurances of the elf's true loyalties!"
"It had never occurred to me to doubt them, sir. The creature is obviously in distress, if you don't believe we should cater to his wishes, I–"
Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him and leaned back on his chair with a flagrantly wide smile. "This decides it. You deserve each other. Chubby, Hogwarts can do without your services. I wish you both good luck with this new arrangement!"
Severus and the elf stared at each other, then at the Headmaster. He had the nerve to chuckle at their astonishment. "House elf magic is under-researched, as you, Severus, surely know. I cannot say I understand all the circumstances that led to this situation, perhaps the elf senses something we are yet to learn… I know, however, how dangerous it is to keep a servant against his wishes, a similar incident you might recall."
Severus remembered Malfoy's outrage after losing a house-elf to Potter, and he had to nod.
Dumbledore carried on: "That said, if your Master agrees, you may continue your duties at Hogwarts, elf, as long as you both stay with us."
When Severus nodded, Chubby let his ears lift and dried his eyes. "Chubby would like that, Headmaster, sir. Chubby loves to serve!"
The rest of the day Severus spent planted into his armchair after he was fed up with the elf's happily balancing all around, blissfully alone. He wished himself back into that orchard, into Héloïse's gardens and the library with that ridiculously grumpy elf to keep him company and refuge.
He would need time. Time to assess his feelings and thoughts, time to untangle all the various emotions pulling him apart. Time to understand the Headmaster better. Time to assess the boy's needs. Time, time, and time. He should work his way through his issues and find peace and purpose. Again.
He missed Héloïse and her ways of making him feel at ease. Even when she knew – she must have known – what he probably already felt for her granddaughter, the same witch whom he might have ruined as a child and loved as a woman – she never judged and never challenged him about his dubious deeds or intentions. The only master who never made him pay for what he learned, despite there had been way more to her than what she'd let him see!
Héloïse never demanded, she offered choices. She never hurried, only walked her way on the endless paths of that garden as if she didn't experience time. Similarly, he hadn't felt the time there. It was endless, just an aspect, a flow without purpose, a construct of humankind to measure if needed. There, it was unneeded. He would have given an arm to have time like that now. His left arm, if he had a say about it.
But wishes were like the wind. Soon it would be New Year and even if it didn't mark his death or a battle, he couldn't expect a long life. Not like this. His life was worth as much as its purpose. He had done his utmost to push himself into such a corner, and it was too late to change it. There was no escape but fleeing in disgrace, also a short route. Karkaroff could tell that. Also, that would be a betrayal of all that he heldprecious. Lily's son would fail sooner without him, that he knew, and Sage wouldn't have someone secretly hoping for her triumph.
Oh, hell, he missed her! That senseless game, with only their hands on the table, awoke his sensuality and he couldn't push it back to make it dormant again. The longing was too strong and too deep to just swipe aside, yet it was not to be. A few days at the most, and he would find himself standing before the Dark Lord, playing the obedient servant and hoping for the best, hiding all thoughts about her or Potter.
Potter. The arrogant, haughty dimwit. He had vowed to help him, aid him whatever occurred, and he had always known it would not be without a challenge. However, the years presented an ever-growing amount of those challenges, and honestly, the magnitude of it all was now an avalanche! Before Christmas, he'd known he operated at the edge of his capacity. Now he wished his job was as easy as that had been.
The Dark Lord's influence on the boy's mind presents an incalculable threat. As a wizard knowing and practicing mind magic, he could describe a thousand scenarios just from the top of his head where things would go straight south. Take only a day of the boy's life. Just the evening he recently witnessed, with half of the Order present at a presumably unknown place. Even if He couldn't get the location, what would He see? Black and his influence on the kid; the werewolf among them, next day courting Greyback; the Aurors playing both sides between the Ministry and Dumbledore; not to mention His so-called spy lusting after His goose with the golden eggs.
Severus shivered with horror. He didn't want to think about the possible dangers of an actual Occlumency lesson. But let's play optimist only for irony's sake! How long would it take for the dimwit to learn anything to protect them all if five years didn't suffice for him to learn following written instructions, mapped out and ordered for his precious use? He should know!
Merlin, the anger felt so much better than longing, he had practice handling that!
With a long, calming breath Severus went back to the beginning of the thought circle and began anew. If the boy failed, the last piece of Lily would leave this world, taking with him fifteen years of hard work (the last five the hardest) and the sacrifice he now was to make. Because he couldn't do a thing for Sage at the moment and whatever he felt he went through, if it was right, wrong, or imagined, he could not even get close to her without risking both of their lives. Not until they were around the Dark Lord, not until they were around Potter.
The question remained: How to win the war? – and as much as he hated it with every instinct he had, the answer was Potter. Unhitch the threat from the chain of effects before he or anyone could move. Then to move. Eliminate whatever Horcruxes that sick bastard had made. Only then could come the end of the Dark Lord and his freedom. If it has to be done with Potter, so be it. As much as he detested the brat the mutt's tale showed a light on something crucial. The boy had as much right for revenge as he had. At this point, Severus would have allied with the devil or with a dimwit just to make himself space to move.
That should be considered poetic justice. He had already tried the devil and the saint, now let's get on with the fool! Just like the sodding cards of Trelawney – he grumbled. Curse that bint, was she truly as phoney as she seemed – this thought was useless – he yanked his thoughts back to the problem at hand.
He moved on, wishing for a balancing point, just a step of ground to put down his feet if he couldn't gain time, just a little measure of security amidst the craze. But he couldn't get back to Héloïse, and Sage needed her place to hide and retreat. He didn't trust his infamous self-denial if he ever found himself alone with her in that attic again… unattended… oh, shite, he needed his own safe-place to learn to switch off these thoughts!
Severus paused. Then he smiled with unexpected ease.
The next hours saw him studiously designing his plan, making several calculations and using up way too many parchments. His logic led his quill through all and any scenarios he could envision, and some he could not even imagine, but meticulousness demanded that he include them. When he was ready, he chose the most likely ones and reorganized his thoughts.
One of the main subjects he drafted was about his safe place. For him, the charm's greatest flaw was the lack of options to change it. He could change the time, but never change the place. Now had there ever been in his life a place where he was actually safe, cared for, nourished? A place where he could get back hurt, damaged or weak and he would find aid and assistance? Better to think of another way around this.
A big handful of parchments landed in the hearth.
He could alter the spell, but the more he thought about its working mechanism the more he admired Mira Rasical. He was reasonably sure he could come up with a method to manipulate the details, but it would take time and effort, both lacking at the moment. He probably would try if he survived this, if only for the sake of intellectual pride. What else?
Another load of parchments fed the fire.
Was the safe place indeed safe? It was not Fidelius, if the Dark Lord discovered it in his mind or in Sage's… Let's say in that case it was the least of their problem. Who else might know? Sage talked about it as a family heirloom. Her family had the chance to know it. Severus doubted she would have shared it with her father, Mad-Eye would have refused it offhand as black magic anyway, but there was Polla Poultron and Iris! The dark witch was far away, without foreseeable intention to come over. What about Iris?
He accepted that as a flaw in his plan, impossible to check. With Iris's mind, he would not be trackable. However, it was worth a thought to warn Sage. If he could. Then all washed away with a sudden flood of emotion when he realized, he was the one knowing about her family spell. The closest to get her as family, it was– It was stupid, and he needed to focus more.
Discipline.
He needed a safe place the furthest from where anyone would look for him. Far enough that if he ever happened to leave traces, no one would track him.
He eliminated another bunch of parchments listing possibilities in connection with his maternal ancestry, Spinner's End, or Hogwarts.
The Siberian woods were surprisingly alluring, he wondered if many felt the same about them. However, arriving there possibly in pain, wounded, or otherwise incapacitated, without connection to any soul or at least being on friendly terms with the people around, even if he avoided wintertime… Suicidal.
This load went to the flames with a heavy sigh and a wistful thought about those wolves. He liked them dearly, but not enough to forget starving.
The last parchment held only one name at the top. His father's. Not appealing. That name was equal to years of fear followed by years of hatred for the man who made his early life a hell on earth, who was responsible for his awkwardness a great deal, who took much more than he ever gave. Severus watched the name patiently, wondering if it recalled anything else but disdain. Unfortunately, it did.
It came to mind how he was introduced to Héloïse. He had never lied to the witch. When he said his father had been trying as hard as he could but had failed miserably… He could as well have been talking about himself.
Severus shut his eyes and tried to endure the blow.
This was not one of his father's disparaging lies, this was his thought. How many times did he find himself failing? The last time was less than three days ago. Epic. He kept telling himself he should try harder. What could have the old dolt telling himself when he failed? Surely that it had been his son's fault, hadn't it? And if not only that?
He remembered hearing his father swearing to become a better man after he awoke to see a beaten-up woman beside him. What had he just vowed for not half a day ago?
Blast it! It was so sudden and way too much to bear. Logic dictated he was no better than the man he hated with all his fibres. Had he been better he wouldn't sit here now searching for an escape, to win time and gain a chance. He had no right to judge his father. A fleeting thought recalled Héloïse's non-judgemental household and he briefly wondered if he had right to judge anyone at all if not even his father, but he was way too deep under the shock of it all to think that through.
A short walk in his study between the hearth and the window to the lake, and Severus sat back to his desk with pragmatism. So what could the old dolt offer for his sins? Was there anything useful he got from him but bruises? A long stare at the flames and he knew the answer.
Mechanics.
Few wizards had a mind for logic, mathematics, physics or other Muggle traits. His father hadn't been a well-educated man, but he loved tinkering with his car on Sunday afternoons. More than his motorbike, until he had it. Tobias was a proud man drunken or sober, and he showed off his skills. He even helped in the neighbourhood just to hear the praises and those times kept his son close to him – and told him off. Whatever he thought to say then, Severus was sure he could still repair an older Muggle van's motor, but a single-cylinder, four-strokes BSA B33 bike? He could probably still fix it blindfolded – Heck, he used to wish so much they had had a Gold Star! As long as the old drunkard could stop selling it for booze, goddamn him, he had to add.
So here it was, the wondrous paternal heritage. An unused skill, not linked to him the least. How was this useful? After spending the afternoon, the greater part of the evening and most of the night sketching up his moves, shortly before dawn Severus was ready to summon his elf.
Chubby came happily and most eager to serve, but got stopped short by the mood in the room.
"Now, Chubby, you have a right to know what you mixed yourself with. I won't tell you that you won't ever regret what had been done. You can read, can you?" – Severus began.
"Chubby reads and writes like the other house elves at Hogwarts," – the elf replied, looking more and more anxious by the minute.
"Good," – Severus picked up two separate parchments and took a deep breath. "This is my last will and testament. Here and now I entrust you to carry out my will if and when you get proof of my decease. Here I pass all my earthly possessions on Sage Moody. This one," – he lifted the first parchment – "says I pass you back to Hogwarts, this one" – he lifted the other – "says that you are to get into her service. There are no other differences between the two. You and only you can decide which path you would choose, and I order you to choose only when and if I have already passed away."
The elf's ears quivered, but he didn't dare speak.
"This here is a letter," – Severus went on, lifting the third parchment. He noticed it shook in his trembling hand and reminded himself of discipline. Again. "I want you to read it very carefully, commit it into memory word by word. I order you, Chubby to never speak about this letter, not about it existing, not about its contents."
Severus handed Chubby the parchment, but the elf had a hard time opening the scroll. His ball-like eyes shone with confusion and worry, his ears emerged with something Severus understood as careful hope. He could not accommodate his wishes. Answering his strict glance, Chubby un-scrolled the parchment, and began to read, with all his emotions displayed in his moves. His ever-present dance gave place to trembling legs, his ears shook with emotion and his bulgy eyes were ready to tear up. Severus fervently hoped they wouldn't get to that.
He was grateful for the elf kept his eyes on the parchment until he finished with the scroll, it was easier. He was not going to argue or explain himself this night. The house elf obediently adopted and accepted his mood – a small relief.
The parchment rattled and the elf looked up.
"Have you read every single word?"
Chubby nodded.
Severus held out his hand for the scroll, tore it to pieces and shoved them all in the fire. He waited for the flames to consume the whole parchment and raked the ashes until all traces of the letter vanished, except from the memory of the elf.
"You are not to talk about this, not even with me. You are not permitted to share your thoughts about it with me or anyone else. Once you heard of my death, you will contact Professor Sage Moody, and linger around until she decides to search your mind. You are not permitted to offer. After she learned what she has to know, you will be free to decide upon your fate. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master," – the elf vehemently nodded, struggling not to add a single word.
"Good," – Severus lifted the fourth and last parchment from his desk, it was now clean. "Now, here is what I consider our chance to spare you the trouble I just mentioned. This is a narrow chance, elf, you should know that. I want you to hide this plan and only produce it on my command. I will need it, I presume, soon enough" – he added with a self-reflexive half-smile.
"Chubby will hide and protect it with all the power Chubby has. Master will do what he must and Chubby will serve him for a very very very long time!"
Severus understood the words as the house elf's chance to use the small breach to express his opinion. He accepted his wishes for luck. Merlin knew they needed it.
"You are indeed a good elf, Chubby. This will be all tonight."
When the elf popped away, Severus sank into the silence of the room. This time he didn't close and hide all emotions and desires into the safekeeping boxes of his Occlumency. Instead, he lifted the rest of the boundaries and let everything flow. The room seemed to turn around him, but he let his magic free regardless, enduring the onslaught of his own making, pain, failure, regrets, guilt, shame, longing, fear as they circled in the dark room. The only force he added was restraining himself before grabbing for any. He watched and withstood the swirling and the peaks evened out, the edges smoothed, the pain dulled, and the memories softened. He trusted his magic and let it do the work until all parts fell into place. By the time he finished, the earlier heavy silence of the room changed into the silence of an empty place.
I will teach Potter even if I have to spend with him all nights and days. I will be the most obedient servant of the Dark Lord and find out Dumbledore whatever may come. I will destroy as many Horcruxes as it comes, and I will end this war for good to make myself free. If I survive all that, – Severus sighed, and let himself have a wistful half-smile. The last thought had no words. He patiently waited for the Sun to emerge and walked down to Hogsmeade.
The Hog's Head Inn was dark and empty at the early hour, but the door wasn't closed. The taproom was stinking with the ever-lingering stench of goats, and a backdoor was open to what seemed a dusty garden behind the house. Severus boldly stepped closer to have a better look under the guise of looking for the bartender.
However before he could step outside, the tall wizard blocked his way. He didn't push Severus aside, it was wholly unneeded, only walked through him, forcing the intruder to trot backwards until they both reached the counter. Aberforth picked up a rag there and mimed cleaning up, eying his "guest" with distrust.
"I thought I was clear when I told you, you're not welcome in this pub again," – he finally grumbled, and Severus couldn't act as if he didn't understand him.
"I hoped to have some words–" – he began.
"We are closed."
"The door was open."
"The bar is closed."
Severus lost his patience. "Fine for me, I didn't come to talk to the tap."
If he thought for a second that picking at the grumpy wizard might have been unwise, he didn't falter, and Aberforth rewarded his perseverance in his way.
"If you came on an errand for my dear old brother, I already told that goddamned French witch I have nothing to say."
Severus felt about as surprised as if his beer tried to gulp him but did his best to keep in control.
"I was not about to talk to her either," – he said, and with that, he seemed to surprise Aberforth.
"You're the spy," – the old wizard reminded. It was hard to discern if he had any emotion backing the statement.
"A lot believes that."
"I have nothing to say."
"Then just let me talk first," – Severus grabbed the narrow chance and pulled Lily's photo and letter from his pocket, presenting both on the counter.
"How does this concern me?" – Aberforth alternated his suspicious gaze between Severus and the letter.
"After what you said in the Headmaster's office, I am sure you could clarify," – he showed the first line on the second page, not missing the second when the old wizard's eyes narrowed seeing Grindelwald's name.
However before he could press him, Aberforth turned away and rummaged through dusty glasses, only mumbling something that sounded "I was drunk."
Severus nodded, put away the letter, and turned to the door.
"Where are you going?" – Aberforth yelled after him. His tone was surprisingly concerned for someone who didn't care.
"Godric's Hollow," – Severus tried to sound nonchalant. "I find I have a sudden flare for wizarding history. Wish me luck with Madam Bagshot!"
His hand was on the door when he heard some grumbled curse words and a glass rattling on the counter.
"What can I serve you?" – Aberforth grimaced when he turned.
"I'd like to have your opinion on Gellert Grindelwald for a start."
Aberforth thoughtfully nodded. "You do have a peculiar taste for a morning," – he sighed. "Why mine? Anyone can tell you how the great Albus Dumbledore defeated the great dark wizard in '45, so why asking me?"
Severus finally sat down by the counter. "Because you have a different tale to tell."
"And what good does it do to you?"
"So I cannot be hoodwinked anymore…" It was risky to admit to his doubts, but there, he said it. Severus eyed Aberforth warily, fully knowing how a dangerous path he chose, and that the old wizard knew the same at least as much as he did. Maybe Aberforth could also add some reasons to what he already felt.
Curiously, the old wizard didn't mirror his apprehension, he rather looked amused as the point of his beard began to shake with a suppressed laugh.
"How did he get rumbled?" – he asked back. "It couldn't be me, or that letter, my little brother's followers are much more blinded by faith and awe…"
Severus averted his eyes and thought about how the Headmaster's innuendoes failed to hit the mark lately about Lily… mostly since Sage took him to Héloïse. The bile rose in his throat when he thought about the way the great wizard was ready to abandon Mad Eye's precious daughter to the dogs after all she had been through, and all that was done by the same man who assured him in the summer that not everything was dark that seemed… None of these were thoughts to utter aloud. Not even here.
"I am trying to understand the concept of the greater good," – he finally managed to mumble.
Aberforth laughed out loud. "That indeed!" – he roared – "Than you'd better get acquainted with history indeed because that was a slogan for another world. A world for Grindelwald's liking indeed, and for all those who agreed with his aim." He put two shot glasses on the counter, but Severus shook his head. Aberforth shrugged and downed a drink, sinking deep into his thoughts. "My dear old brother never cared a wink about those around him. You've already heard the story of our sister, Ariana. She needs no resurrection, she would have needed his care, after Muggles attacked her and our vengeful father got into Azkaban for teaching them a lesson. You've never heard that, have you?"
Severus shook his head again, this time truly surprised.
"The great Albus Dumbledore is a son of a jailbird and a selfish saint who preferred the damaged daughter to two healthy sons. I didn't mind it, our mother loved Ariana just like I did, but Albus could never stomach being second. He built up his own world where he could shine… as he probably should, who knows" – Aberforth added thoughtfully – "Whatever happened, none of us had what we deserved in his opinion. And I'm no fan of what he thought of pushing for balance.
"The greater good was the slogan he used with his bestie when they prepared to take on the world. Yes," – he scratched his chin with a half-grin as if he found Snape's bewilderment amusing – "Grindelwald and Dumbledore were supposed to be the two names in the history books to hallmark the bright new era when wizard-kind finally took on the Muggles. Albus lived in his dreams.
"Do you know what prompted that infamous wizarding war? It was revenge. Albus the Saint was looking to avenging his sister. His, not ours. He plotted to end the Statue of Secrecy to avenge his father. He provoked a war to live out his insanity with his bestie in body and soul – that is your Gellert Grindelwald, as I knew him. Baby-faced bastard with shiny blond hair, eloquent demagogy, and little care for anything but power. I always wondered if he loved my brother as much as he was into him. It doesn't matter anymore."
Aberforth seemed to sink deep into his memories and Severus thought it better to give him time. He soon went on. "When Ariana died, Albus backed out, but it was too late. His friend was on the loose, everybody believed he killed our sister, for who would believe such crime about a Hogwarts prefect? With all the prizes and connections, he could never be at fault! Any one of us could have been it…
"The war erupted," – Aberforth went on with a fortifying sigh – "and Albus never made a move. Not when New York had to be restored overnight, not when half of Paris turned into dust. He prompted a young clown to swipe his dirt, you're even similar in your constitution, although not as handsome as he was…"
"Who?" – Severus risked interjecting.
"Newt Scamander. The lucky fellow who had the honour to sacrifice life, personal interest and love for all my dear brother could not pull together. Because at the heights of their romance, he and his Gellert made a blood-pact to never face each other in battle. Eventually, Albus broke the pact… just so you know who he was. He found a way around it," – Aberforth showed with an index finger crisscrossing through the air.
"They had a duel and even a child knows what happened next. Albus the Saint saved the world, his best friend in Nurmengard and his sister in the grave. That is where the greater good takes us, he still believes in it, and in fairy tales about wands and pebbles. Are you feeling less hoodwinked now?"
Severus stared at the grumpy bartender who smugly straightened his shoulders before dismissing the whole issue – and possibly him too – with a wave of his hand. By Aberforth's tale, the Headmaster was hardly better than the traitor and the fool he was. Maybe the old wizard did everything since to right his error but could never help the death of a beloved. Why did he never imply he understood his mistakes? Why did he play on his guilt, which couldn't be greater than his own?
Was it a lack of trust? Severus tried to search his soul to guess if he would trust anyone with his deeds fifty years from now if he ever lived that long. Honestly, he had no idea.
"You are mentioning a stone and a wand and the letter talks about an invisibility cloak" – he pressed on, determined to understand as much as he could, but Aberforth cut him:
"Don't tell me you're also into this childish bunkum! To rule Death indeed! Dragging my sister back from the grave would not be a deed less dark than making an army of inferii, I tell you that! Although I hear we might see that too…"
Understanding it was a question and a chance to pay information for information, Severus couldn't avoid a grimace of reluctance. "It didn't occur to me we were at that point yet. One might think the Dark Lord has an army in Azkaban as it is. Why bother with the dead before he must?"
"Interesting thought," – Aberforth nodded. "No wonder you are not welcome here, don't you forget that!"
Severus stood up. "I will not. Maybe I wasn't even here."
"Oh, I would be sure to tell my brother about your curiosity" – Aberforth told him with glee, – "how could I watch his face when his card tower collapsed otherwise?"
Even knowing that such a report would never endear him to his master, Severus couldn't regret his decision to come. "You will do as you must. Have a nice day."
He left the Hog's Head before the bartender could grumble an answer and walked out of Hogsmeade on the shortest route. He needed some moments of fresh air before he Apparated to London, and to the third step of his plan.