Either Snape was an exceptionally sound sleeper, or he was exhausted past all endurance, because he hadn't moved once since Graihagh woke up. She lay beside him with her head on the mattress, gazing up at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker across the wood.
She didn't know what to make of him. He'd let her care for him when he was half-dead, he'd sleep in her bed even, but the moment he was well again he'd throw up his armour and shut her out. He'd sent for her in the middle of the night knowing she'd take him in and keep him warm, but only the day before he'd called her stupid and tossed her gift aside like it was rubbish. She was still fuming about it, whatever he'd said. The impact had cracked the magnifying glass and bent the pages and she'd fixed them as best she could, supposing she'd use it herself sometime.
Snape started in his sleep and she propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. His hair was lank and plastered to his face, eyes fluttering under half-closed lids. Dreaming.
He'd warmed up enough that he'd thrown the blankets off his arms and his robes were slipping off, exposing his bare shoulders. A silver-white scar ran the length of his collarbone and Graihagh wondered where it went, what stories were written into his skin.
She sat up on the mattress and moved in closer, close enough to pick up the scent she'd come to know, pungent and sharp, unwashed skin and oily hair. She lowered her fingers and gripped the edge of his robes.
Snape gasped in his sleep and Graihagh snatched her hand away as he shifted his weight, stretched his legs out. She didn't know why she was doing it, maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was just because she could.
She lowered her hand again and peeled back his robes to reveal bare skin, smooth and unmarked except for a few scars here and there, a few stray hairs. This was delicious, he'd be mortified if he knew what she was doing.
Snape let in a great grunting snore and twitched in his sleep. Graihagh waited until he was still and peeled back his robes some more, exposing his chest and part of the stomach that rose and fell with his slow breathing. He was so thin, almost fragile, skin stretched tight over his ribs and collarbone, sharp angles and sculpted edges, and she imagined the way they'd feel under her fingertips as she traced him, his skin underneath hers. Her breathing got deeper, heavier, and she didn't know why, it wasn't as though she was attracted to him or anything...
Bony-thin fingers gripped her wrist like a steel clamp. "And just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Graihagh gasped and yanked her hand away, sitting up straight on the mattress and adjusting her t-shirt. "I was just, erm, checking you for injuries..."
Snape clutched his robes over his chest, his voice deathly soft. "I didn't realise hypothermia left any visible injuries."
"Yeah, well, you know...frostbite."
"On my chest?
Graihagh rubbed the back of her neck and didn't look at him. "Yeah, well..."
Snape shoved her pillow aside and sneered-literally sneered, like someone in a film. His lip curled and everything. "You know what I think? I think someone put you up to this. Don't think I don't know what you're doing, giving me gifts, attempting to get close to me, getting me into bed with you-"
Graihagh shoved her blankets aside and stood up. The nerve of that asshole.
"Excuse me? Just what do you think this is, exactly?"
Snape's hands flew over his robes in his haste to button them up. He stood up and smoothed out the fabric. "I should think that's obvious, Corlett."
"Oh, you think so do you? You don't have clue."
"Don't I?"
Graihagh let out a frustrated noise and stepped towards him. "No, you don't. Do you know why I do all this?"
Snape opened his mouth but Graihagh cut him off, backing him up against her work table.
"Do you want to know?"
"I-"
"It's because I happen to care about you, in spite of the fact that you're an insufferable ass. And I just thought, since we're working together anyway, and I'm stuck here, maybe we could be friends. But every time I do anything remotely nice for you, you throw it in my face."
"I don't-"
"Oh, but you'll let me help you when you're half-dead, you'll let me work my arse off making an antidote that you won't even tell me about. If anyone's being used here it's me."
"How dare you suggest-"
"Oh, but it's alright for you to accuse me, is it? I'll tell you something. I don't have a bloody clue what's going on with the war. I sit up here and I make potions all day and barely see anyone and no one tells me anything and if you think for one second that I'm having fun up here, that I'm getting something out of this, that just shows how little you know me."
They were less than a foot apart now, close enough that she could smell his stale morning breath. He stared back at her and for once words seemed to fail him; his lips moved but nothing came out, and the anger in his eyes softened into something else, something that mirrored her pull towards him, her longing to touch his face, to tuck back the loose strands of hair that fell across his eyes.
She reached up and he stepped aside, his expression darkening into something so stern and so accusatory she couldn't look at him.
"I don't believe you," he said.
"What do you mean, you don't believe me? What do you think-why-" Graihagh grasped for words that wouldn't come. "Look, that wasn't what you think it was. It's just that everything's a mess right now, and I've been going mad, stuck in here..."
Snape looked every bit as flustered as she did, but his voice was hot, a low snarling thing. "It's your own fault you're here."
Graihagh stepped back and thrust her arm towards the door. "Get out."
"That's the best idea you've had in awhile."
The nerve of that-she couldn't even find the words-she seized his cloak off the chair and threw it in his face. "Don't come back here unless you're five seconds away from being dead."
Snape yanked the cloak off his face and draped it over his shoulders. "What makes you think I'd contact you even then?"
"Fine then. One less thankless task I have to do."
"It was no more enjoyable for me."
Graihagh opened her mouth but before the words were out he'd punctuated his retort with a sharp snap of the door.
She kicked at a box and sank down on her mattress, unable to explain anything that had just happened, or why it upset her so much.
Graihagh couldn't settle to anything. She'd sit at her workspace, got back up, walked round the room a few times, sit back down. She needed to go someplace, do something, not just sit there, hidden away in that cluttered room.
She'd gone with Snape to test some antidotes in the weeks leading up to Christmas, but nothing had worked and she was running out of ideas, so that was a wash, not that it mattered. She wasn't sure she believed him, that it wouldn't be helping Death Eaters.
She paced the floor and weighed her options. She could pack up her things, go to the camp, see if Milo and Fynn needing anything. She could try and find Cate, or go back to Mann and see her family, it wasn't as though she needed to be there in that room.
She picked up the valise at the end of her mattress and shoved her clothes and books inside, then scribbled out a note to Aberforth, thanking him for everything and promising to pay him back when she could. She glanced up at her work table, at the bottles and jars lined up along the shelves. She'd packed her potions kit, but she couldn't fit all those extra ingredients into her valise, having never mastered the Undetectable Extension Charm.
She supposed Snape would just have to make the antidote himself. He'd probably be all smug about it too, muttering under his breath about how she'd run away and left it unfinished, how she just didn't have the skill.
She opened the valise and dumped all her clothes and books on her mattress, digging through the pile for her book on venoms and thumbing through it for inspiration. She'd finish that antidote if it bloody killed her, and she'd smirk like a Chesire cat when she shoved it in Snape's hands.
There was, however, one hitch.
"Well?" said Snape, when he showed up in the alley behind the Hog's Head. The sun had just risen and the village was unnervingly quiet.
Graihagh leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. "I need some black mamba venom."
"That's a class-C non-tradeable substance," said Snape, in the same tone he used when someone asked a stupid question in class.
"I'm well aware of that. I had to do all kinds of paperwork when I ordered rattlesnake venom at the apothecary. I was wondering if you could do it."
She didn't even bother to make herself ingratiating. She knew how much he wanted it done.
Snape considered her a moment and stared down the alley, hands in his pockets, his desire for a working antidote battling with his desire to leave Graihagh hanging, she would've bet her life on it.
"I know how to procure some without the need for Ministry involvement," he said after a long silence.
"You mean on the black market?"
"Obviously."
"Knockturn Alley?"
"Among other places, yes."
"Can you get it for me today?"
She couldn't keep the urgency out of her voice, and she knew Snape heard it too.
"I suppose. How much money do you have?"
Graihagh had been expecting this. She reached into her pocket and handed him a pile of coins. "There. Twenty galleons, it's all I have at the moment."
Snape thrust the coins in his pocket and turned to leave.
"Can I come with you?"
The words were out of her mouth before she'd even thought them. Snape turned around, surprised, but not, she thought, displeased. There was a softness around his mouth that wouldn't have been there, if he had been. "Rather dangerous, don't you think?"
"I'll take some Polyjuice with me. When we get to London I can summon some hair off someone."
"I'll Disillusion you," said Snape, reaching into his pocket. "Fewer questions."
"Fine," muttered Graihagh, and he tapped his wand to her head.
"We'll go to Cheatam's Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. You know the place?"
Graihagh nodded. They'd run into each other there a few times over the years.
They stowed their wands in their pockets and spun into the air at the same time, appearing behind an inn in Knockturn alley, the nearest Apparition point.
Graihagh glanced up and down the street, her hand on her wand. There were only a few people about, all brisk movements and unfriendly expressions, clearly in a hurry to get in, get out, and go back home.
"Follow me and don't make a sound," whispered Snape.
Graihagh rolled her eyes. As if she didn't know she was supposed to keep quiet when she was walking into a shop completely invisible.
They stepped through the door and she breathed it in, that dry-dusty bitter earth scent she knew so well. Just to be anywhere was a relief, but this was a place she loved, with its kaleidoscope of coloured bottles reflecting the light like stained glass, the indefinable sense of potential, of things waiting to be discovered. Snape paused at the threshold and she knew he felt it too.
He strode up to the counter, Graihagh alongside him.
"What can I get you?" said a tall, barrel-chested man, whom Graihagh knew to be a middling potioneer, an inveterate crook, and a brilliant businessman. He could get his hands on anything.
"Something out the back room today," said Snape, and the man turned round and tapped his wand to the wall behind them, where a small door appeared, the room beyond something like a storage closet, full of shelves. Graihagh followed along behind, completely at ease. She and Owain had been to this room a few times, to buy especially rare or expensive ingredients so they could avoid the expense of Ministry paperwork and fees. Owain always passed the savings on to their customers.
"What'll it be?"
"One vial of black mamba venom," said Snape, with a glance at where Graihagh was standing, wondering if this was enough, she thought, but she had no way of telling him it was.
The man tapped his fingers to the row vials along a high shelf and pulled one down. "There you are," he said. "That'll be forty galleons."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "You realise I could get this directly from the source for fifteen? You've marked it up by over a hundred percent."
"Yes, but I didn't get it directly from the source, did I? Had to go through a middleman. That raises the cost."
Snape's mouth twitched in a faint sneer. "Oh, you mean buying it off a cartel in Spain and smuggling it back to Britain up your arse?"
Graihagh snorted and Snape stepped on her foot.
She clamped her mouth shut and glanced at the man, whose eyes darted just to the left of the spot where she was standing. His cheeks were blotchy and flushed and she sneaking suspicion that Snape wasn't far off the mark. She wondered how he knew.
"I'll give it to you for thirty," he said, eyes back on Snape.
"Twenty."
"Twenty-five. And that's my final offer."
"Be a shame if I tipped off someone at Customs..."
"Twenty it is," said the man through clenched teeth.
Snape smirked and tucked the vial into his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Snape and Graihagh left the shop to the sound of the man shoving the galleons into the till with many exaggerated clinks and muttered curses.
"That was amazing," whispered Graihagh when they'd stepped outside, momentarily forgetting how furious she was with him.
"It's simply a matter of knowing how to use his own skullduggery against him," said Snape, but his eyes were smiling and Graihagh suspected he was rather chuffed.
They stood facing each other in front of the apothecary, hands at their sides.
"We should get back to Hogsmeade," muttered Snape, so that only Graihagh could hear him.
"Yeah," said Graihagh, but neither of them moved.
Snape glanced up the street. "Since we're here anyway, I may as well stop at The Magical Menagerie."
"Isn't that for animals?"
"Yes, well. One of my staff needs flea shampoo for their kneazle."
Graihagh covered up her smile before realising she was invisible and he wouldn't see it. "I see. And does this staff member happen to be very attached to this kneazle?"
"How would I know?" said Snape, as though he couldn't care less.
"What's it's name?"
"Paracelcus." He stiffened and muttered something under his breath as Graihagh snorted again.
"I knew it," she said, with an almost gleeful triumph. "I knew you were a cat lover."
"Keep your voice down," hissed Snape, and Graihagh shut up, but she smiled all the way to Diagon Alley.
They lingered awhile in the Magical Menagerie, watching the owls and chameleons and bats, Graihagh careful not to get too close to anyone. She studied Snape's bent figure as he stopped to examine a tiny finch in a wire cage, his face half-concealed under strands of long black hair. He'd had a hard life, she'd suspected it for years, and the things he told her only confirmed it. She'd been through Cokeworth a few times, past the rubbish-strewn fences and abandoned mills, the weed-choked tracks that led nowhere. Maybe he'd grown up in one of the nicer neighbourhoods, with a tidy front garden and a father who came home from work and ruffled his hair as they sat down to a big dinner, but she doubted it.
He paid for a few things and they left the shop in silence, headed to the nearest Apparition point, Graihagh's head full of thoughts, about Cokeworth and cats and the person beside her and who he really was. She didn't know anything was wrong until Snape put a hand to her back.
"Stay calm and don't move," he murmured out the side of his mouth.
"What-"
Graihagh's question was answered by the two hooded figures walking towards them, one of them so tall and broad-shouldered that Graihagh gasped and froze in place, fumbling for her wand, arms so stiff she couldn't move them, like she was stuck in one of her dreams where someone was breaking into her flat and she couldn't get the lock in time.
"Snape," said Rowle, inclining his head with a faint smirk.
Snape said something she didn't hear. All she could see were the front of Rowle's robes, bottle green and strained at the breast pocket where something had been tucked inside. Maybe he'd gotten the dagger back, he'd been to Borgin and Burkes, and any second he'd raise his arms slash it through the air.
Graihagh fell to the ground and she opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was bleeding, she must've been covered in it, why wasn't anyone coming...
Someone put a hand to her shoulder and she pulled out her wand and shot it at their face, and this time she'd kill him, she wouldn't let him get away, she wouldn't let him hurt Milo. She summoned up all her hatred, screamed the incantation but nothing came out. She writhed and shouted, fighting for breath, fighting to stay alive.
"Corlett."
She shouted the incantation again.
"Graihagh!"
Graihagh started. The light was dim and she was sitting against a wall in the narrow space between two buildings. Snape was beside her, pointing his wand to her throat, his other hand on her shoulder.
"What-"
"Finite."
Graihagh could hear herself again, breathing hard. "Is he-what happened?"
"He's gone," said Snape. His voice was curt, brows knitted, all sharpness and rough edges. "He went into Knockturn Alley, but if I hadn't done a Silencing Charm you would've given yourself away. Do you have any idea the kind of danger you put yourself in? Didn't I tell you not to panic?"
Graihagh rubbed her face in her hands. "What did you expect?" she snapped, glaring at him through her fingers. How the hell he expected her to stay calm when the man who tried to kill her-how many times was it now...?
Snape lowered his eyes and scratched the back of his head. "Come," he said, and his voice had lost some of its sharpness. "Let's get you out of here."
She stood up slowly, testing each leg to make sure it would support her weight. She was shaky and wrung-out, like she'd been sick.
"Can you Apparate?" said Snape.
"No."
"Grab hold then."
Graihagh took his arm as he spun into the air. She hated Apparition, that suffocating feeling, wasn't there some other way they could get back?
They appeared just outside the back door to the Hog's Head, and Graihagh steadied her hand and worked the lock open, pausing with her hand on the door.
"Thanks for everything," she said, voice flat, but she meant it.
Snape inclined his head to her and glanced up the alley.
"I was thinking that perhaps my choice of words the other day was not entirely tactful," he said, eyes fixed to a point just to the left of her. She knew him well enough to hear the sincerity behind the stiffness, but she raised her eyebrows just the same.
"You really think that's an adequate apology?"
"I wasn't apologising, I was merely stating a fact."
"Apology accepted," said Graihagh with a wry half-smile. Merlin, he could be stubborn, but it was amusing at least.
Snape watched her as though waiting for something, shifting his weight to the front of his feet and Graihagh shot him an indignant look.
"What, you think I'm going to apologise? You deserved everything I said to you."
She waited for the retort, and sure enough, Snape scowled, but his face softened as he adjusted his traveling cloak. "Let me know as soon as you have something."
"I will."
She stayed where she was, her hand on the door. She could ask him upstairs, lie down beside him the way she'd done a few nights before, bury her face in his back as it rose and fell, let his body become her refuge. She couldn't say she didn't want to.
Snape stood facing her, half-expecting the invitation maybe, but she couldn't give it. She was ashamed of herself, of the way she'd acted, falling apart when everyone else was off fighting. You kept a stuff upper lip in the wizarding world, kept your cool, and if you found it hard you kept it to yourself. He'd probably say it was her own fault anyway, and he wasn't wrong.
"I'll see you soon, then," she said.
Snape nodded and strode up the alley, his hands in the pockets of his robes, glancing up and down the street ahead.
Graihagh went upstairs and poured herself a capful of calming draught, but it didn't do a whole lot. The protection was too thin, too fragile, the memories just on the other side, threatening their way in. She curled up against her pillow and held it to her chest as though it breathed.
She'd been resting a few hours when someone rapped on the door. She jumped up off the mattress, drawing her wand from her pocket and holding it out in front of her. "Who is it?"
"Aberforth. I've got something for you."
She knew his voice well enough. She stowed her wand in her pocket and let him in.
"You've earned yourself twenty-five galleons," he said, handing her a small sack of coins. "Your Wit-Sharpening Solution was a top-seller this week."
"You gave the watered-down version to the Death Eaters though?"
"They're still dumb as fuck, don't worry."
Graihagh caught his eye and smiled-or her lips turned up at anyway. "Cheers, Ab." She pulled out a few coins and played them between her fingers. "Erm, listen, could you have five galleons changed over for me? To Muggle money? I'd pay you."
Aberforth gave her a sharp look. "What d'you want Muggle money for? You're not thinking of going out, are you?"
"No. I just need to order something."
"What are you going to do, send an owl to Argos? They'll think you're batshit."
"No, it's something else. Could you get it for me, please?"
Maybe her desperation showed on her face, because he took the seven galleons she gave him and put them in his pocket. "I'll see what I can do. It's no skin off my arse if you do something stupid, but I'd be careful if I were you."
"Yeah. I know."
When he'd left she sat back down on her mattress and tried to read, but a dozen broken thoughts were swirling through her head and she couldn't focus. She hadn't done this in ages, it wasn't like she needed it or anything. She just wanted a break, a few hours outside of her own mind. Anyone would.
A few hours had passed when Aberforth rapped on her door, holding a dinner tray with thirty quid tucked under the plate.
She took three bites of her corned beef sandwich, slurped a few spoonfuls of soup, and set the tray aside so she could change into the short-sleeve top and jeans she'd been wearing when she'd first got there. When she'd reached the bottom of the stairs she tapped her wand to her head, to Disillusion herself.
Hogsmeade was quiet but there were a few villagers about, some in black robes and long pointed hoods. She stuck to the alley and spun in the air as quickly as she could. The air was freezing and she didn't have a coat, but it'd be worth it in the end.
She emerged between a skip and a piece of construction scaffolding, just off a narrow street near the city centre in Liverpool. She stowed her wand in her side pocket, concealing it under her top, and followed the street signs until she found one of her old haunts.
She ordered a drink so she could watch the crowd awhile and get a feel for the place, work out who to talk to. The club was packed and the Prodigy was blaring from the sound system and part of her wished she could stay and dance until they closed the place down, but mostly she was tired, and wanted to get the thing done so she could go back and sleep.
She knew what to watch for. She finished her drink and within a few nods and whispered conversations she had what she needed. She walked out slowly, casually, lingering on the dancefloor a bit and working her way towards the back doors. She half-ran to the alley, hand around her wand, and spun in the air without concealing herself, trusting she'd get close enough to the back door of the Hog's Head to duck inside without anyone seeing her. She did, just barely. The Dementors were out in full force and Rowle's voice was loud in her head, but it didn't matter. In twenty minutes she'd be oblivious to everything.
The blankets were drenched in sweat and Graihagh was freezing. She pulled her cloak off the back of the chair and draped it around her shoulders, hugging her arms to her chest and rubbing them up and down to warm them. Something made her stomach turn-bacon and eggs, she thought, and sure enough, there was a plate of it sitting on her table. Aberforth must've sent her breakfast up. She buried her face in her cloak so she wouldn't have to smell them.
She'd meant to get up, get to work on the antidote, but she couldn't focus, couldn't stop her hands shaking. She sat with her head in her hands, shivering in her cloak.
She'd just gotten up to get a glass of water when Remus knocked on her door.
"Be right there," she called, trying to keep her glass steady, teeth clinking on the rim. She set it down and wiped her sweaty hair out of her eyes.
"Is everything alright?" said Remus, eyebrows raised slightly, forehead creased.
"Yeah," said Graihagh, studying his shoulder because she couldn't look at his face. "Just a Christmas cold. How have you been? How was your Christmas?"
"Well, it was rather quiet," said Remus, "A lot of us have had to go into hiding. It was just Dora and her mother and I."
"Dora?" said Graihagh, realising she'd never asked who is wife was.
"Tonks, she's known as. But you must've gone to school with her...?"
"I did actually. She was a few years behind me. She used to go round the corridors doing these impressions of the teachers, had us laughing our arses off."
Remus smiled. "Yes, she has a particular talent for that. Her impressions of Cornelius Fudge were the highlight of our Order meetings."
Graihagh smiled, but Remus must've sensed she wasn't well, because he got right to business.
"I was wondering if you had any extra Wolfsbane for the camp? And your friends requested a calming draught, if you have any on hand."
Graihagh pulled the bottles off the shelves and handed them over. "How are they?"
"Good," said Remus, tucking the bottles into a satchel. "They told me to wish you a happy Christmas."
He searched her face, her wrinkled robes and unmade bed. "Is there anything I can get you?"
She didn't know where the idea came from-maybe it'd been lurking in the back of her mind ever since the Dementors came, or maybe it was just the need to do something, to face something head on.
"Could you show me how to make a Patronus?"
Remus' eyes widened in surprise. "Well...yes. Yes, I think that's a good idea. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. We use it to communicate with each other-members of the Order, I mean."
He drew his wand from the pocket of his robes. "Right then," he said, with the relaxed confidence of someone who felt more comfortable focusing on other people, and Graihagh remembered that he'd been a teacher. "The incantation is this: Expecto Patronum. Emphasise the second syllable of each word."
"Expecto Patronum," said Graihagh.
"Good. Now you want to close your eyes and focus on a single, happy memory. Something especially meaningful to you."
Graihagh closed her eyes and remembered the time she and Cate had tried to teach Milo how to ride a bicycle, when they'd come to visit her the summer after their seventh year.
"Now raise your wand, concentrate on the memory, and say the incantation."
Graihagh raised her wand, but her hand was shaking and she couldn't focus. The memory was hazy, broken by bits of other things, like a radio that wouldn't tune.
"Expecto Patronum," she muttered, knowing before she'd even said it that it wouldn't work.
"That's alright," said Remus. "Keep trying."
She rested her hand a moment and raised it back up, doing her best to keep it steady. "Expecto Patronus-Patronum, sorry. Expecto Patronum." Nothing. She tried a few more times but nothing happened, and her frustration was mounting, reaching its breaking point. She let out a low noise and shoved the wand in her pocket.
"I'm sorry," she said, breathing hard, a stitch in her shoulder. She walked over to the water jug and poured herself another glass.
"That's quite alright. I didn't expect you to get it the first time. Keep working at it, and when you've got it I'll show you how to make it speak."
"Thanks Remus." She finished her water and set her glass down. "How long did you teach for?"
"Just the one year, at Hogwarts. Although I did a bit of work for a charity that provides instruction to people who never sat their exams. People who found the school environment too stressful."
Graihagh couldn't help but respect him for this, even as Snape's words surfaced her mind, about the things he'd done at school. She pushed them away, or tried to.
"You must've been a good teacher."
Remus ran a hand through his hair and lowered his eyes, the self-conscious gesture of someone who couldn't accept praise. "Well, I like to hope I was."
Graihagh sat down on her crate to rest. "Would you go back to teaching, if you could have any job?"
Remus stood a moment in thought, hand on the back of his head. "I suppose I would."
"Maybe you'll be able to when the war's over."
Remus' mouth twitched in a wry smile. "Maybe. Imagine how thrilled my child will be when they go off to Hogwarts and see their father sitting at the staff table. Perhaps I could even volunteer to deliver to the sexual education lecture. They'll be so pleased."
Graihagh started to laugh, but the movement made her stomach queasy. She swallowed hard and rubbed her face.
"You don't look well," said Remus.
"I'll be fine. I think I just need a lie-down."
"Of course," said Remus, as he slid his satchel over his shoulder. "I won't keep you. Take care. And Happy New Year."
His words took a moment to register. "It's New Year's Day?"
Remus smiled. "Get some rest."
"I will. Happy New Year to you too."
Graihagh closed the door behind him and when he'd gone she sank down on her mattress and wrapped herself in the damp woolen blanket, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up. She closed her eyes but she didn't know if she slept or not.
The flashing white hurt her eyes and she though stupidly of strobe lights, but the light coalesced into a silver-white dog, a Corgi, that spoke with Cate's voice.
I'm fine, we're in hiding. Don't contact me, we're being watched. Please don't do anything stupid. I love you.
Graihagh reached out to touch it, but it vanished, its outline burned into the back of her eyelids. She curled up in her blankets and tried to sleep.
Snape had been avoiding it for the past week, but he couldn't really put it off any longer. The Headmaster always met with the heads of house at the start of each term, it was tradition, he couldn't just call it off.
He stood and paced the back of the staff room, wondering if they'd even show up. There was a deck of playing cards on one of the rickety tables, a few empty glasses, and he imagined it was Saturday night and they were getting together to play gin rummy or brag the way they used to do...but no, this was weakness, he couldn't allow it. He was a Death Eater, and he would lead the school into a glorious new era, by force if necessary.
Tsk tsk tsk. Every clack of Minerva's sensible flats against the stone floor was a fuck-you. "Let's get this over with," she said, sitting down at the far end of the table.
Sprout and Flitwick came into the room after her, Slughorn shuffling in last, clearing his throat and mopping a bit of sweat off his forehead.
"I see that we're all here," said Snape, cringing as Minerva punctuated this pointless observation with a derisive huff.
"I suppose we might as well get on with new business-"
Loud clacks sounded on the floor as Alecto Carrow breezed into the room in her 1-inch platform boots, taking a seat next to Minerva, whose lips thinned.
"Professor Carrow," said Snape, struggling to keep his expression neutral. He hadn't asked her to come, but he supposed she saw it as her right as deputy headmistress.
"As I was saying," he went on, with half a glance at Alecto, who stared back at him, completely unabashed. "Does anyone have any new business?"
"I have some new business," said Minerva. Sprout and Flitwick locked eyes. "What are your thoughts on Piaget's approach to pedagogy, and it's advantages and disadvantages relative to direct instruction?"
What the fuck?
Snape cleared his throat to buy himself a few seconds of time. "Erm...Yes. Well. I haven't really formulated an opinion one way or the other...just use whatever method you prefer."
Sprout reached up to scratch her nose and stifled a laugh behind her hand.
"But surely you must have some idea?" said Minerva, disdain written all over her face. "Isn't it your job to provide pedagogical leadership? We ought to have a consistent conceptual framework, don't you think?"
What was this nonsense?
"Your pedalogic-pedagogi-your teaching methods are fine," he snapped. "Just carry on."
Minerva raised an eyebrow and smirked. She was gloating.
"Is there any other business?"
Flitwick cleared his throat. "What is it?" said Snape.
"Do you have any thoughts regarding behaviourism versus cognitivism, and how to these theories are applicable to classroom instruction?"
Minerva's mouth twitched and Sprout was red-faced with suppressed laughter. He had a sneaking suspicion they'd all gotten together in Flitwick's office and planned this out ahead of time. The thought made him sick inside and he didn't know why.
"Yes, well, I believe that both theories are applicable to the classroom in an, erm, variety of ways..."
Minerva whispered something that he would've bet his life was "he doesn't have a bloody clue."
"Moving on then-"
"I have some business," piped up Sprout. "I was told there'd be food at this meeting."
Flitwick shook with suppressed laughter and Slughorn let out a strangled sound halfway between a cough and a chortle. Minerva laughed openly, leaning against Sprout, who laughed with her.
A sharp snap rent the air like a firecracker as Alecto slapped her palm on the table. "Enough!"
Everyone turned to stare at her, but it was Snape she was speaking to, eyebrows slightly raised, are you really going to take this?
Snape stared round at them all, and they'd stopped laughing. They were defiant, challenging and-did he imagine it?-a little afraid.
They were seeing the same person, all of them, and he had to be that person, and he was that person, he wasn't just acting. There was a part of him that hated everyone, even them, for the way they'd acted towards him when he was a student, for the way they were acting now. He pictured their faces after Black had nearly gotten him killed, devoid of any sympathy.
"Right then," he said, standing up straighter in the hopes that confidence would somehow flow from his upright posture. "Henceforth you will keep the topics relevant to the school's new mission, or you will keep quiet."
"And what new mission would that be, Severus?" said Minerva, ignoring Flitwick's hushed admonition. "Turning our school into another outpost of the Death Eater's brutal regime?"
Alecto hissed and Snape glared at Minerva as though he could make her shut up through sheer force of will. She had no idea what she was doing.
"Nothing less than preservation of our wizarding traditions and the honing of young minds," he said in his coldest voice. He could've insisted she call him Headmaster, but he knew she wouldn't, and couldn't afford to lose face in front of Alecto. "Any more insubordination from you Minerva, and you will be removed from this room."
Minerva stood up, back straight, head high, lip curled as though she'd caught some disgusting scent. "With pleasure."
Sprout and Flitwick stood up with her, and Slughorn followed behind, with an apologetic glance that was meant to spare himself, and not Snape.
"You don't need to put up with her sass, Headmaster," said Alecto when they'd gone. Her mouth was trembling slightly, as though she were trying not to smile. "It's you what's in charge now, you can punish her however you see fit."
"The Dark Lord's orders were to keep them on," said Snape. "Insolent and insufferable though they may be, they're the best in their respective fields."
Alecto rose from her chair and stood in front of him, still straining to suppress her smile. "Doesn't mean you can't Crucio them a bit, make them a bit more pliable, d'you know what I mean?"
"I'll keep it under consideration," said Snape, rolling up his parchment and quills and stuffing them into a leather briefcase. He snapped the clasp shut and swung it over his shoulder to show her the conversation was over.
"I'd do it, if I were you," said Alecto to his retreating back. "Wouldn't want anyone to think you're weak, now would you?"
Snape heard the threat underneath her words, the taunt. He turned round slowly and looked her straight in the eye. "I run the school with restraint on the Dark Lord's orders. But believe me Alecto, when all this is over, when we have free rein at last, no one will think I'm weak."
Alecto's smile faltered and Snape swept from the room.
Snape went straight to his office and pulled out his dog-eared copy of the Oxford dictionary, licking a finger and thumbing through the pages until he found the definition for 'pedagogy." Not that it would be much help, the old man hadn't taught him a thing about educational philosophy, and how he was supposed to learn on top of everything else he had no idea. He slammed it shut and shoved it back into his desk drawer. Dammit, he was keeping everyone alive, wasn't that enough for them?
"Long day, Headmaster?" said Phineas from somewhere above him.
"Longer than a day on Venus," said Snape, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Well, someday they'll appreciate you, sir."
"Thank you, Phineas," said Snape, and he wondered at this. He hadn't given much thought to the end of the war; he didn't really expect to survive. And if he did, what then? They'd never believe him, except perhaps the boy, if he ever told him the whole story. He didn't know.
He leaned back in his chair, but he was too restless to stay there. Sinistra was on patrol that night, along with the prefects, but he didn't feel right holing himself up in his office, and so he got up and wandered through the mostly empty corridors, watching, listening.
He descended the steps to the Slytherin dungeons, breathing in damp stone and candle smoke and it was the fall of '87 and he was headed back to his office after a staff meeting, to make some potions for Madam Pomfrey, and maybe he'd drop by the greenhouses to get some plants from Professor Sprout, and she'd show him something she picked up over the summer, at a bazaar in Morocco or someplace, a new species of plant to breed.
Alecto's voice burned through his dream like melting film. He swore under his breath and leaned against the wall to get his bearings, listening hard. She was around the corner, down another corridor.
"...perfect target. He's been making trouble since day one."
"Does Professor Snape know about this...?"
Snape recognised Miss Parkinson's voice. He pictured her face, mouth turned down at the corners, eyes fixed on Alecto, cautious, wary.
A long silence. Snape stepped as close to the corner as he dared, flat against the wall, straining to catch the next words. There was something accusatory in the silence, as though they were listening for him.
"We'll discuss this later," said Alecto.
"But-"
"Later, Miss Parkinson. Get back to your common room, it's nearly curfew."
Miss Parkinson stepped towards the corridor where Snape was standing, rubber soles clacking softly on the stones. Snape raised his wand to his head.
"Occulo."
He faded just as she turned the corner. She glanced in his direction as though she'd sensed something, but walked past without stopping.
Snape crept through the corridors on the balls of his feet, deeper into the dungeons to Alecto's office, an abandoned classroom he'd converted into a living space, because he couldn't bring himself to give her his old office. He'd sealed it from everyone but himself, and he still kept his old specimens there.
She'd been careful enough to put an Impeturbable Charm on the door, but her magic was no match for his. He drew his wand and tapped a complicated rhythm along the wood, muttering a long incantation, until he heard her voice, and a deeper one answering.
"...going a bit far, do you reckon? The Dark Lord didn't authorise this, did he?"
Alecto dismissed him with a sharp tchah. "You really think the Dark Lord's going be upset about it?"
A pause. "Snape know about this?"
"No, and he doesn't need to. He'll just interfere, like he always does."
"But-"
"Listen. I had it from Bellatrix herself that the Dark Lord doesn't trust him like he used to. Told her to keep an eye on him. And McGonagall's got him by the bollocks, I've seen it. I reckon he hasn't got long."
Amycus let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a skeptical huff. "You saying what I think you're saying? Bit of a stretch, to think they'd put you up there-"
Flesh hit flesh his with a muffled slap and Amycus grunted in pain. "What the hell, woman?"
There was a long silence, broken by a dry heaving sobs. "I'm sorry," said Alecto, her voice muffled by something, Amycus' robes maybe. "...been having such hard time of it lately. The nightmares are back and those awful students keep making trouble..."
"S'alright," grunted Amycus. "You don't deserve it, you know that."
"Ah, you're too sweet, always were." There was a pause and a creak of wood, as though she'd sat down on a chair. "Pour me a capful of headache potion, will you? And I've got this nasty kink in my back..."
Snape had heard enough. He restored the Imperturbable Charm and the intruder jinx and went back to his office, pacing back and forth across the floor.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Something troubling you, Severus?"
Everything, you oblivious fuck.
"I overheard Alecto talking to her brother. Apparently the Dark Lord doesn't trust me the way he used to. He seemed to think I was behaving a bit too mercifully toward the students."
Dumbledore's shock was like gravity, pulling everything towards it; he could've sworn the candles flickered. "He must trust you, Severus. That is-"
"I know."
Snape slumped down in his desk chair, rubbing his forehead. He stayed there a long time, unable to move.
Snape ate dinner at his desk the next evening, scribbling at some paperwork between bites. He'd nearly finished when there was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" he called, without looking up.
"Draco Malfoy, sir."
Snape stood up and opened the door for him. Draco was tapping his fingers to his thumb, his eyes flickering towards Dumbledore's portrait.
"What is-" Snape started to say, before realising how clipped this sounded. He relaxed his posture and softened his voice, though the effect was to make him sound rather stilted. "What can I do for you?"
Draco glanced towards the door and Snape had all the apprehension of one about to be hit with a bomb.
"I wanted to talk about"- another glance towards the door-"about what happened at the party."
Snape considered him, alert, wary, unsure where this was going. "What about it?"
"You didn't kill that Muggle woman."
Snape's heart beat faster. "Pardon?"
"You let her go. I followed you through the garden and I saw you."
Draco was searching his face, keen to see his reaction. Snape kept his expression neutral, betraying no hint of his shock, his confusion, his astonishment that the boy was looking at him the way he used to, as his teacher and old family friend.
"I see. And I take it you're not angry about this?"
Draco looked him straight in the eye. "No. I sort of wish I had done it. I'm so fu-I'm so sick of-"
His voice trailed off and he eyed Snape as though he'd said too much, but Snape nodded very slightly.
"I mean, I'm not saying I want to leave or anything but, I don't know, I thought it'd be different."
"I know. I thought so too."
Snape gestured towards the chair opposite his desk and Draco sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him, staring at a set of silver scales. They'd never been close, really, but he might've been fifteen again, come to his office to talk about the Dark Lord's return, and what it meant for them.
"If you were to leave...you'd be protected."
Draco scrabbled at the fabric on his knee. "That's what my mother told me."
Snape was surprised by this; he hadn't expected Narcissa to say anything. Draco stared at his desk.
"I'm not really sure what I want."
Snape ran a finger along his mouth and didn't say anything. He wasn't any good in these situations, but he knew enough to know not to push.
"There is one thing you can do," he said after awhile. Draco looked up.
"You know something about the poison."
Draco sat up straighter and leaned forward, his expression earnest, fierce. "It was an accident. We didn't mean Warrington to find it."
"I know. I'm not accusing you. I only want to know its intended use."
Dumbledore cleared his throat, making Draco start in his chair, but Snape ignored him.
Draco turned his face from Dumbledore's portrait and Snape could see him thinking, debating, deciding whether or not to trust him.
"I'm not sure exactly. But I know Aunt Bellatrix has been obsessed with her sister's family-"
"Andromeda?"
"Yeah. And Nymphadora."
And the werewolf, but Draco never would've acknowledged his family's shame by speaking his name out loud. Snape leaned back in his chair and rested his chin between his fingers. He'd known Bellatrix was obsessed with her cousin's family, but she hadn't been able to finish them off, or he'd have heard about it. Likely they were under the Fidelius Charm, which would protect them from direct attack-but not against an airborne poison.
"I see," he said. "I appreciate you telling me this."
"You mean-are you going to-?"
"I don't know."
Draco let out a breath and tapped his fingers on the armrest. Snape could feel Dumbledore's eyes burning holes through the back of his head.
"Listen to me," said Snape, slipping into his teacher's voice. He waited until Draco had made eye contact. "Remember what I said. If you were to leave, you'd be protected."
Draco stared back at him. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, and nodded.
"Is there anything else?"
Draco shook his head. "No sir."
Draco stood up and when his back was turned Snape raised his arm.
"Confundo."
Draco froze in place, unsure where he was going. Snape tapped his head with the tip of his wand. "Obliviate."
And just like that, he erased any memory of his saving the woman's life, erased their entire conversation, erased everything but the last thing he'd said.
When Draco had gone Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You did the right thing, Severus."
Snape turned on his heel and went straight to his room without a word to him.
Thanks for reading and for putting up with all this angst! Things get a bit more lighthearted in the next chapter.
