Snape tucked the bluebells into pocket and made his way to the gates to Disapparate to Malfoy Manor. He was a hundred yards away, maybe a little closer, when his arm stung like an invisible scalpel scraping letters into his skin. He crouched down and rubbed his arm with the palm of his other hand. This helped sometimes.
When the scraping stopped he yanked up his sleeve and read the white-hot writing on his arm, part of the magic that had been burned into his skin all those years ago.
Do not abandon your post. I shall be arriving at the castle shortly.
Snape raised an eyebrow at the elaborate writing. Leave it to the Dark Lord to be unneccessarily verbose when the message was being carved into his flesh. He could've used about ten fewer letters to get the point across.
He wasn't sure what to make of this. Surely the Dark Lord wouldn't have cared whether or not he stayed at his post, if he'd killed the boy. He'd want him at the manor, jeering at his lifeless body, the ultimate proof of his invincibility.
He dropped down to his knees in relief from pain and from worry, the pre-dawn grass wet on his robes. This wasn't affection or some such nonsense. He wasn't feeling anything for the boy. But there were things...there was information he needed. And maybe some small part of the story. Not all of it. Not the things he'd felt for his mother. But it wouldn't hurt for the boy to know they'd been friends. He could tell him that. He'd probably have to anyway, to gain his trust.
He stood up and strode back to the castle, straight to his office, where he stuck the flowers rather haphazardly in a jar and placed a charm on them so they wouldn't wilt.
"The Dark Lord is back in Britain," he said to Dumbledore. "I've been instructed to remain at my post. He'll be arriving here shortly."
Phineas clicked his tongue and several of the portraits cursed.
Dumbledore looked grave. "Does he have Harry, Severus? Do you know?"
"I don't think so. But I cannot say."
Snape turned to Phineas. "Any word on Potter's location?"
There was no trace of a dry smile in Phineas' eyes; they were alert, serious. "No, Headmaster. Still on the move, as far as I can tell."
Strange, that. Unless...there was more than one...but no, that was unthinkable. He'd have destroyed himself.
Snape stared into Dumbledore's face as though he could read his thoughts. He couldn't bring himself to believe, after all this time, that there were no thoughts to read.
"What is it the Dark Lord is searching for, exactly?"
Dumbledore seemed to waver; for just a fraction of a second his mouth opened slightly, but he shook it off with the faintest twitch of the head. "I'm afraid I-"
"Cannot tell me, yes, I know." Snape refrained from cursing with great difficulty. "Does Potter know?"
"In a sense, yes, I think so."
"You've left him a trail of near-useless riddles, in other words," muttered Snape. Perhaps he didn't trust Potter that much after all. He'd left him in the dark, just like he'd left Snape. Blindfolded pawns in his nimble hands, the two of them.
Snape sat down at his desk and stared at the brass gauge that measured the strength of spells, something he'd picked up for himself in Diagon Alley. At the jars of preserved animals and plants along the walls, the Hi Fi turntable in the corner with a stack of records beside it. The Clash, Beethoven, Philip Glass. Kate Bush-he kept that one hidden. The office was becoming his, and it had only taken eight long months to make it that way.
He tucked the bluebells away in a drawer, so he wouldn't think of Corlett. He couldn't just bury her; that wasn't enough. He'd have to become someone who'd never cared for her at all.
White-hot letters carved themselves into his skin and Snape clapped his hand to his arm and clenched his teeth. He'd known what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. He rubbed his arm until it subsided to a dull throb and read the black writing.
I am at the gates.
Snape glanced out the window. The eastern sky was striped with red-tinged clouds but the moon had set and the grounds were still dark. He grabbed a lantern off the shelf and fastened his traveling cloak.
The Dark Lord could not be kept waiting, but he closed his eyes a second, visualised every detail of his face. He was happy to see him. They were nearly there now, and Snape would be rewarded beyond any of his Death Eaters.
His tall figure was just visible as Snape approached the gates.
"My Lord," he said, as he bowed to him and undid the protective enchantments. "It is a pleasure to see you again.
"And it is a pleasure to see you again, Severus," said the Dark Lord.
Snape hated how pleased he was at this, like those times he'd run to show his father a drawing he'd made or a bit of money he'd earned. He never knew whether his father would be in the mood to praise him or not, which made it all the more special when he did.
They walked through the grounds in a silence that was full of purpose, Dark Lord's eyes fixed somewhere ahead of him, his fingers curled around his wand. He seemed to have brought his obsessive focus back to Britain with him. Whatever his mission was, he hadn't finished it yet.
"I shall join you in the castle shortly," he said as they approached the lake. "Leave me now."
Snape bowed and returned to the castle. Tempting as it was to linger and see what he was up to, it was far too dangerous. The Dark Lord rivalled Dumbledore in the ferocity of his secret-keeping.
Snape paced the entrance hall and waited. He couldn't alert the staff, or any of the students. He could only hope that they didn't do anything stupid. But this wouldn't do, he couldn't be caring about them at a time like this. He visualised the Dark Lord torturing the staff, striking them down one by one. Anything was possible, and Snape would have to be numb when it happened.
I am his right-hand man.
The front doors creaked open and the Dark Lord stood and drank it all in the way some might gaze at the Mona Lisa or a great cathedral. He wasn't smiling. His mouth turned down at the corners and his face was serious, sombre, sad even.
"It's been nearly forty years since I was last in this school," he said, tracing the banister on the marble staircase.
"It is an honour to have you back my Lord," said Snape, with sincerity, but a trace of detachment. He'd been called many things over the years. Obsequious wasn't one of them.
"Is it, Severus?" said the Dark Lord, fixing his eyes on him. Snape pictured him triumphant before the students, green and silver banners hanging from the walls, everyone cheering, before switching to the first verse of 'A Cauldronful of Hot Strong Love.' The Dark Lord would never be able to get that infectious tripe out of his head now.
The Dark Lord wrinkled his nose a bit and gazed around the Entrance Hall some more. The dull rhythmic click of Minerva's flats grew louder and to Snape's dismay-no, to his delight, he'd see how smug she was now-she stopped short and gasped audibly.
"Minerva McGonagall," said the Dark Lord, with a trace of his old charisma. "You look well."
Minerva's lips thinned and her nostrils flared the way they did whenever one of her students did something abysmally stupid. But she didn't say anything. To do so would have been nothing short of suicide.
The Dark Lord clicked his tongue. "Such insolence, Minerva." He kept his eyes fixed on her, but his thoughts were with him, he could feel it.
"Bow to your Master, Minerva," said Snape.
Minerva's eyes flickered to Snape, sharp, piercing, the anger on her face giving way to something else-was it shock? He didn't care. She didn't protest, but she didn't bow either. She stayed where she was with her feet planted on the floor like the stone guardians at the bottom of the staircase.
Snape drew his wand. "You will bow to your Master, or you will no longer be a member of this staff, do you understand?"
Minerva stared at him as though demanding an answer, but Snape didn't give her one. She pursed her lips as though warring with herself, and gave a small bow, a irritable twitch of the head.
"I think you can do better than that."
Minerva clenched her jaw and gave a slightly deeper bow.
"Well done, Minerva," said the Dark Lord, his voice barely above a whisper. "It is a start, anyway." He turned to Snape. "Come, Severus. I believe it is time for breakfast."
Snape locked eyes with Minerva for a fraction of a second, the barest hint of apology, but whether or not she knew he couldn't say. He turned and followed the Dark Lord into the Great Hall.
The Dark Lord conjured a chair for himself and sat down at Snape's right side. In twos and threes the students drifted into the hall and sat down, talking and eating. They didn't notice him at first. A few minutes passed, and here and there people looked up. Gasps spread through the hall, little hissing whispers like water on a hot plate. The chatter stopped and they sat without eating, even the Slytherins . Miss Parkinson fidgeted with her silverware and gazed around the room as though determined not to notice anything and Nott drummed his fingers on the table.
Only a quarter of the seats were filled, the rest of the students gone for Easter holidays, and that was a mercy, but Snape knew word of the Dark Lord's sudden appearance among them would spread, leaving them scared and on edge, as though he might jump out at them any moment. Which, of course, he could.
The Dark Lord ate heartily as Snape picked at his food, pushing it around his plate and forcing a few forkfuls into his mouth. Sprout, Minerva and Flitwick were rigid in their seats, not even looking at each other. The fear was so palpable even Snape was sweating a little. He'd envied the Dark Lord this power, when he was younger. Now it was just irritating.
"A private word if you please, Severus," said the Dark Lord when they'd finished eating.
Snape led him upstairs to his office and the Dark Lord walked over to his desk, studying the silver instruments. Snape took advantage of his distraction to throw his cloak over the turntable. The portraits were so still, so quiet, Snape knew they were awake and watching.
"Dumbledore," said The Dark Lord with a faint smile as he strode up to his portrait.
"Fancy seeing you here again, Tom," said Dumbledore, inclining his head to him.
The Dark Lord let out a derisive huff and tapped the canvas with a long finger. "You call me that. Yet look at you. Nothing but a flimsy piece of linen. I heard your bones shattered into a thousand pieces when you fell from the tower. How did it feel, old man, to know you'd been betrayed by the man you thought your most devoted servant?"
Snape didn't dare look at Dumbledore. He caught the Dark Lord's eye and smirked. "I remind him every day, my Lord."
The Dark Lord's mouth turned up at the corners. "As you should," he said. He studied the instruments some more his hands behind his back. "Well, everything seems in good order here. But there remains a small problem. Do you know what that might be?"
"I don't, my Lord."
"I've been hearing things, Severus. About how you're students have been rebelling against you for the last eight months, and they've suffered little more than detentions."
"Some have been punished severely, my Lord. We've instituted regular torture of students who earn detentions-"
"Ah, but that was the Carrows' idea, was it not? And word is that you're not particularly fond of it. You've stood by as those snivelling elves tend to the students' injuries."
Snape gripped the edge of his sleeve but he kept his face impassive. He had no idea how he could've known that unless...Minerva. She was an accomplished Occlumens, but not as good as him.
The Dark Lord resumed his pacing, his fingers playing the wand in his hands. Dumbledore's wand. So that's what he'd been doing in the grounds. That sick...but no, this was a good thing. He'd perform extraordinary magic now.
"I expect better from you, Severus. You are capable of so much more than this."
He stopped just beside Snape and whispered against his ear. "We're so close, Severus. So close." Snape shivered and he hated it, how he could always get this reaction out of him. The Dark Lord knew. He breathed into his ear, his lips just brushing the skin. "You will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."
He straighted up and stared directly in his eyes. Snape knew what he was doing and he couldn't stop him, the Dark Lord wouldn't tolerate it.
"You could have everything, Severus. They'll give you the respect you've always deserved, if you're not too weak to squander it." An image played in Snape's mind like a film he couldn't control, and he saw himself striding through the halls of the Ministry like Lucius, shaking hands with the Minister, who bowed profusely.
"Imagine it. Wealth, power, women. All of it could be yours." Against his will Snape saw himself in a bed with silk sheets with a beautiful woman, her red hair flowing all around her, screaming his name. The Dark Lord let the scene play out until Snape's breathing was heavy and slow.
"Much better than traitorous little half-bloods, no?" whispered the Dark Lord.
Snape pretended he was still aroused and kept his breathing slow, his eyes unfocused. He couldn't have meant Corlett. Surely Bellatrix wouldn't have known enough about her to tell him.
"You will not disappoint me anymore, will you Severus?"
"No my Lord."
"I know you won't. Because I respect you, you know that. I appreciate you like no one else has ever done. It pains me to do this, Severus."
Snape knew what was coming a second before it hit him.
"Crucio."
He sank to his knees with his head on the cold stone floor.
"Professor Snape, sir."
Snape's head was pressed against the stones. His eyes were swollen and the floor was blurry.
"It's alright now, Professor," said Phineas from somewhere above him. "He's gone."
Snape pressed his hands to the floor and pushed himself up.
"That's it, Professor, easy does it," said Dilys.
All around him the portraits murmured words of encouragement, praise. Armando was beside himself. "Outrageous! Utterly despicable. Oh, not you, my dear Professor," he added in soothing tones. "I meant that dastardly bell-end..."
Hearing Professor Dippet refer to the Dark Lord as a bell-end heartened Snape more than anything else. He propped himself up on shaky legs and Summoned his traveling cloak from the top of the turntable, draping it over his shoulders. When he'd tucked the jar of bluebells into his pocket he held the bollan cross to his lips and whispered her name, so she'd be ready for him.
He wasn't alone. Two black-robed figures patrolled the streets near the inn, but Snape simply tossed a decoy detonator over their heads and slipped inside under cover of chaos. He wouldn't let anything stop him from seeing her.
"Oh my God," murmured Graihagh as she put a hand his swollen face. "Let's get you upstairs."
He followed her up the stairs to her room, where she laid him on her bed and put a cool cloth to his eyes. "Does anything hurt?"
Every cell in his body hurt like it'd been doused in petrol and set on fire, but he didn't see the need to trouble her. "No."
She saw right through him, like she usually did. She got up and rummaged around her work table and when she came back she was holding a capful of her pale yellow potion. "Drink this."
Snape swallowed the mellow-tasting potion and sank back into the mattress, the jar of bluebells pressing against his hip bone. "Here," he said, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to her. "These are yours."
Graihagh held the jar up to her face and bit her lip, her eyes strained like she might cry. She set it on her nighstand and knelt beside him to kiss his cheek. "I love them."
The question was on the edge of his lips but he couldn't bring himself to ask it, couldn't open himself up that way.
He didn't need to. She lay down beside him and curled her body around him, lacing her fingers through his and pressing down. She didn't ask him what happened, or tell him everything would be all right. She knew those words were hollow. The only thing he needed was her, and she lay beside him with her hand in his until he fell asleep.
When he woke up she was crawling into bed again, only this time she was in a t-shirt and pyjama trousers. He propped himself up on one elbow. "What time is it?"
Graihagh tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Half past nine. You've been sleeping over twelve hours."
"I should get back to the castle."
"Better not. Ab said they put some sort of Caterwauling Charm on the village in case anyone's wandering about after curfew."
Snape supposed this was put in place in case the boy showed up, or members of the Order, but he'd grown so paranoid he couldn't help but wonder if they'd put it in place to catch him.
"Would you rather I sleep somewhere else?" she said, mistaking his silence for discomfort.
"No. This is fine."
She settled in beside him, just touching him—it was impossible not to on that narrow mattress. She kissed his cheek. "Goodnight," she whispered.
She closed her eyes and that was all, she didn't kiss his lips or get on top of him or run her hands along his chest. Whether it was because she no longer wanted him that way or she was waiting for him to make the first move he didn't know, but he didn't worry about it just then. All he wanted was rest, and he got his best sleep when he was with her.
He woke when Graihagh's foot collided with his knee. He gasped and swore and she started and propped herself up.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"Oh not at all, I love being mistaken for a football at six in the morning."
Graihagh smirked. "That's the risk you take when you sleep with me—sleep next to me."
They glanced away from each other, both of them aware, perhaps, that there was nothing between them but a few layers of cotton. She settled herself back in the blankets, keeping her face a couple of feet away, but even still it was like being under a spotlight, leaving him exposed and self-conscious. Part of him wanted to get the hell out of the room and part of him wanted to move closer, until nothing was hidden from her.
She tapped a finger to his face. "Your eyes look better."
Snape turned on his side so that he was facing her. "I hope so. It's hard to look intimidating with puffy eyes."
"Mm. I miss that withering glare of yours."
"You find it alluring, do you?'
She traced his face with her finger. "Extremely."
Well this was just perfect. He'd gone and flirted with her in her bed of all placesand now she'd expect him to kiss her and he wouldn't be able to stop himself and he'd panic again...He flipped onto his back and Graihagh snatched her hand away.
"I think one of my students is plotting something," he said without thinking.
"An attack, you mean?"
"Yes."
Graihagh was so quiet he wondered if she'd fallen asleep.
"Well," she said, in a would-be casual voice. "If anyone can stop it it's you."
He looked at her and heard his voice from all those years ago, all the things he'd said to her, his warnings and advice, his assurance that she could always change course. She hadn't forgotten.
She sat up and stared at the opposite wall so that he couldn't see her face, and he didn't understand why. Surely she couldn't be feeling self-conscious, that would be absurd, after all the things he'd done. But then, he supposed she didn't know about them. He'd never told her.
He stood up and pulled his traveling cloak from the back of the chair. Graihagh must've taken it off him while he'd been sleeping and set it there.
"I should get back to the school," he said, checking his watch. "They'll be waking soon."
"Sure," said Graihagh, standing up and following him to the door. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him softly. "Take care of yourself."
Snape nodded to show he'd heard her, but he couldn't promise anything. He wasn't even sure what it meant, exactly, to take care of himself. At least he had her.
Snape didn't know how he knew, exactly. The same intuition that told him when Potter was poking around in places he shouldn't, or when his mark was about to burn, he supposed. Or maybe it was Alecto getting on his case about Longbottom every day of the Easter holidays, to the point where he'd ordered the arrest of his grandmother, knowing whatever poor bastard they sent to fetch her didn't stand a chance. He'd heard enough about her from Minerva.
Longbottom returned at the end of the holidays, alone now, without either Miss Weasley or Miss Lovegood, his preferred accomplices. Snape patrolled the corridors nightly, listening for any hints of his footsteps, or the sound of Miss Parkinson under cover of a Disillusionment Charm.
He found Longbottom lingering down the seventh-floor corridor a few nights later, just as he'd expected.
He forced his face into a scowl. He didn't find it so hard to pretend to hate him; the boy had been a thorn in his side for nearly seven years now, and whatever grudging respect or vicarious thrill he might feel for his little rebellion, it was making his job far more difficult.
"It's after curfew, Longbottom."
Longbottom's eyes darted from Snape's face to the pocket where he kept his wand and for the first time in a long time, he looked frightened. Snape chose his words carefully, determined to get through his thick skull before he got himself killed.
"So," he said, his mind a frantic blur. He must warn the boy, but to do it outright was a death sentence, with the Dark Lord back and the Carrows watching him so closely. "You can barely follow two simple lines of instructions, but you think you can lead a rebellion. Any dunderhead with an ounce of sense knows you don't do it openly. One of these days you'll wind up on the wrong end of the killing curse."
Longbottom swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He watched his wand hand, rather than his face. "Is that a threat?" he mumbled.
Snape forced his lips into a smile. The boy was hopeless at Occlumency; he must look convincing. "Perhaps it is to you, Longbottom, but to the rest of us it's the promise of a catastrophe-free school."
Longbottom's face reddened and his eyes were bright with some suppressed feeling. "May I go now?"
"Yes. But be warned: keep wandering down these corridors at night and you may just find the next corner you turn, the next tapestry you walk past"-he paused and stared at him a second, willing him to take the bloody hint-"will be your last."
"I'll keep that it mind," muttered Longbottom through clenched teeth, and to Snape's dismay he walked right past the portrait of the fat lady at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.
Snape followed some distance behind. "Why is it everyone in your house is a reckless moron?" he whispered to her as he walked past her portrait.
The Fat Lady rolled her eyes. "I could've done with a simple 'good evening,' you know. You were never this rude to me when you were a teenager."
"I never had to deal with Longbottom when I was a teenager."
There was no sign of the boy on the sixth-floor, but he found Miss Parkinson's Disillusioned figure crouched behind a tapestry on the floor below, so still he could just make out the distortions in the air around her, somewhat like heatwaves. The scene was different and yet shockingly familiar-the hissing of the torches, the smell of damp stone, the quiet waiting corridors, all of it was just like that night with Selwyn and Graihagh and Rowle. His pulse quickened, just enough to kick-start his senses and make everything sharp and focused as a well-adjusted lens.
He made his way down the staircse. Generous of Alecto, to let the girl take all the glory. Bellatrix was in the spotlight now, but Alecto was waiting in the wings, playing the long game. Parkinson wouldn't do it, though. He could feel her reluctance from five feet away.
His foot collided with hers on the third step from the bottom.
"Who's there?" he said in a low, even voice. "Show yourself."
"It's me, Professor," whispered Miss Parkinson.
"I see." He listened for footsteps, but none came. "Waiting for Longbottom, are you?"
Miss Parkinson shifted her position. "I suppose you're going to tell me not to."
"Are you serious? I've been wanting to poison him for the last seven years."
A distant voice from somewhere. But still no footsteps.
"I suppose you intend to use a killing curse?"
Miss Parkinson said nothing. He took her silence for assent.
"Impressive. But you must be careful. If we should lose and they trace the spell back to your wand..."
"We're not going to lose," snapped Miss Parkinson, with such vehemence that he knew he'd struck a nerve.
"What makes you so certain?"
"Because I just-look, even if we do lose, I'm going to go down fighting, so it doesn't matter."
Snape raised an eyebrow.
Miss Parkinson stuck her head out the tapestry to see if anyone was there. There mustn't have been, because she crouched down beside the wall again, or at least it looked that way. She was skilled enough that it was hard to see her.
"The Dark Lord wanted a seventh-year," she said, as though he'd demanded some explanation. "So they'd have more of us inside the school, you understand. They were going to take Daphne, did you know?"
"I heard something about it," said Snape. He didn't think they'd been serious.
"She didn't want to, she was terrified. So I told them I'd do it. I knew I could."
Another silence. The noise was somewhere down the corridor, but he couldn't make out what it was.
"They won't arrest me ," she whispered. "I won't let them."
"You're still a student. You'll get off."
"My mother was only twenty-three and look what they did to her."
Snape knew the story; everyone did. Miss Parkinson's mother was a minor player in the war, hadn't even been Marked, but Barty Crouch and his Aurors had seen fit to torture her within an inch of her life, for whatever scraps of information she could give them. She was never the same after that. She rarely spoke to anyone, and never left the house.
"You'd do better to act by stealth," said Snape, changing the subject. "Poison, perhaps. I could assist you..."
"If you don't mind, I just want to get this over with. Sir."
The footsteps grew louder. Miss Parkinson pulled back the tapestry and raised her wand—still visible, and trembling slightly. She wasn't going to do it. But he raised his own wand just in case.
She drew a sharp breath. "Avada Keda-"
Confundo.
A second's silence. Heavy, broken footsteps thudded against the stones and faded away.
"Oh shit," said Miss Parkinson, voice rising in a panic. "I must've missed, how did I miss?"
She jumped out of the tapestry, Snape right behind her. "I think he's headed for the staircase," he said. "You take the fourth-floor corridor, I'll take the sixth."
He knew perfectly well the boy was headed back to Gryffindor tower, and wasted no time running after him.
Alecto caught him up on the sixth floor. "What's going on-"
"Longbottom got away," spat Snape. "Someone should check the lower floors."
Alecto raised her wand and hurried along beside him. "No, he'll be headed back to his dormitory."
She was determined to follow alongside him, but he kept several steps ahead of her, until he ran into her brother, on the seventh floor. Fucking hell. He was bound to have reached his dormitory by then at least—but no, he was just outside the entrance, about to step inside.
"Incarcerous!" bellowed Alecto, but her spell just missed as Longbottom tore down the corridor. Snape hurried after them.
He'd nearly caught up when he caught sight of Longbottom, twisting open the knob on a small door that had appeared in the wall. Alecto raised her wand.
"Avada Keda-"
Really. Was he the only person in this school capable of a non-verbal incantation? He flicked his wand, neatly concealed under his sleeve.
Confundo.
The spell just missed, shattering a bit of the stone wall. Alecto swore and Amycus spat on the floor.
Minerva stepped out in front of Longbottom and shielded him with her body. "Run, Neville!"
Longbottom vanished through the door and Minerva stepped towards Alecto, white-faced and trembling with shocked fury.
"How dare you-you foul-"
"You'll stay out of it if you know what's good for you, harpy," said Alecto, voice strained with resentment. Minerva opened her mouth to make some sharp retort and Snape held up a hand to stop her before she got herself killed.
"Come now, Alecto. I'll deal with her."
"Like hell you will, you let her walk all over you-"
"Silence," said Snape. "I do not take criticism from anyone, not even from you. The Dark Lord is satisfied with my performance. Perhaps you'd like to take it up with him? While you're at it you can explain how you missed such an easy target as Neville Longbottom."
Alecto scowled, but didn't protest. She beckoned Amycus to follow her and they disappeared down the corridor.
Minerva waited until there'd been a few minute's silence.
"Homenium Revelio," she whispered, holding her wand aloft like a sensor. She caught his eye and nodded slightly to let him know the Carrows were still there, spying on them.
Snape nodded back. "And just what do you think you're doing prowling the corridors after hours, Minerva?" he barked.
"I have just as much right to be here as you," she snapped back.
"How dare you speak to me that way?" he said, much louder than he normally would have, so Alecto would catch every word. "Perhaps you'd like me to do to you what I did to Hagrid?"
"I'd like to see you try." She nodded in the direction of her office, down the next corridor.
"Come with me," he said in his most threatening voice. He pointed his wand to Minerva and marched her down the corridor, until they reached the relative safety of her office. She closed the door behind them.
"Well?" she said, her eyebrows raised, as though expecting something.
"Well what?"
"Longbottom was five feet away from her, Severus. No one's aim is that poor. And I see you have your wand hidden up your sleeve." She nodded to his left sleeve, where the wand tip was just visible.
"And much as I might want to wring your neck"-her voice rose so high it nearly cracked, but she drew a breath and recovered herself-"I can't help but notice that none of the students have, thus far, died."
Snape knew what was coming, but he waited for her to say it; he needed time to think.
She looked at him over the top of her glasses the way Dumbledore used to do, as though she could see inside him without the layer of glass in the way. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Severus?"
He knew she'd keep his secret. She was a remarkably clever woman, and they understood each other without the need for words, the way they'd just done in the corridor. But discretion alone wasn't enough to stop the Dark Lord finding out, not when he could see inside her mind. Not when Snape himself lacked the strength to stop himself from seeing her, talking to her, the way he'd done with Graihagh. He'd put them both at risk. He didn't deserve their comfort.
Deep down he'd always known it, from the time he'd given Dumbledore his world. This was something he was meant to do alone.
"No."
Her expression was pained, like she didn't want to believe him. He couldn't understand why.
"Are you s-"
"I act with restraint on the Dark Lord's orders."
"And you're trying to tell me he didn't want Longbottom dead, Severus?"
She was as bad as Graihagh, trying to get past his defenses like that. "He's practically a child," he said. "I'm not a complete monster."
"No, I suppose you save your wrath for defenseless old men." She sounded more tired than angry, which made the cut that much deeper.
"If you'll excuse me," he said in his coldest voice, and this time it wasn't entirely put on. He swept out of the room, Minerva staring after him.
He walked the castle one more time, both to relieve some of his stress and to make sure all the students were in their beds and Miss Parkinson hadn't decided to target someone else. He'd underestimated her.
She was sitting on a narrow staircase, rocking back and forth her head in her hands. He'd seen this before in his comrades, in himself, after those first attacks, those first kills. That moment when it all became real. When you felt something shift inside you. But she hadn't torn herself in two, not yet. She hadn't let herself go numb.
"You're out late," he said, in a somewhat softer voice that what he'd normally use. She said nothing.
"He escaped," said Snape. "He's not dead."
Her head jerked up just a split second before she hid her face again, but she hadn't been quick enough to hide her relief.
She rubbed her forehead. "I'm going to get punished for this."
"No you won't. He's not important enough."
"How do you know-"
"I won't allow it. You're barely of age. You have exams to study for. They shouldn't be setting you tasks like this."
She raised her head again and this time her expression was all forced toughness. "What if I want to do them-"
"I think we both know that's not true."
Silence again. Bloody teenagers, thinking they could get out of things by ignoring him.
"Nothing you've done thus far is irreversible. There was no harm done. You don't have to do this."
"Yes I do."
"You haven't even been Marked yet-"
Miss Parkinson stood up and yanked down her left sleeve. Her skin was still red around the Dark Mark, like a fresh tattoo.
Snape gripped his sleeves in spite of himself and forced his face to look impressed. What the hell were they thinking, Marking her? He had no idea what to say.
"I can't back out now," she said, pulling her sleeve back up. "I can't..." Her face crumpled up like she might cry, and she twisted it into a scowl, like she was disgusted with herself.
"I see," he said slowly. He studied her a moment. "Still, as long as you're here, you're safe, do you understand?"
Miss Parkinson wiped her eyes with her sleeve and nodded, or at least he thought so.
"Better get back to your dormitory."
She stood up and rushed past, not looking at him. He waited until he was out of sight, then went up to his office to get his traveling cloak. He knew he shouldn't. Knew he wasn't meant to have her. But he couldn't stop himself. One more night. Just more night with her and then he'd be ready for whatever it was he needed to do.
Graihagh was waiting for him at the door, in her t-shirt and blue pyjama bottoms. Her bed was already warm, and he fell asleep in her arms.
A/N: Thanks again so much for the reviews, favourites, and follows! It means a lot to me. One thing I've been meaning to mention is that if anything happens to this site The Bollan Cross being posted to AO3 under the same title and the username Maria_de_Salinas.
