Lord Voldemort had never felt such agony. It clawed at him like something feral, shredding his insides. There was panic too, and fear and horror and loathing, and while it was not a physical wound it stung like one, ached like one.
Best of all, it wasn't his.
He breathed deeply, enjoying the phantom tightness in his chest, and ran a hand over Nagini's smooth scales.
Potter did not usually feel things strongly enough to disturb Lord Voldemort, but Lord Voldemort had been actively foraying into Potter's mind of late, testing, studying, and finally, planting the vision of about their plans with the dragon. Perhaps he had widened the link between them accidentally. Perhaps he was merely attuned to the boy after so much time spent reaching out to him.
It was useful, undoubtedly, but a liability; if he could exploit it, so could the boy. He would have to see what he could do about closing it, or at least blocking it between instances of it being useful.
But not right now.
Right now, he was enjoying himself.
Harry Potter had been thwarting him since he was born under prophecy. The boy had defeated him at Godric's Hollow all those years ago, had somehow weaseled the Philosopher's Stone away from him, had slain his basilisk and destroyed his diary, had thwarted his servants again and again, and usually had some of Dumbledore's drivel or a taunt on his lips whilst doing so. The cloak had been a success, but a narrow one and hard fought for.
This, though… this was a win.
Potter was in the Tournament, but that had been the product of so much careful planning that it had more or less been an inevitability. Lord Voldemort had not been able to foresee any circumstances under which Potter would not have been made a Champion.
But breaking him… Lord Voldemort had known Potter would understand the significance of the uniform and note, had known it would rattle him, had known he would see it for the gloat it was, but he hadn't thought it would be enough to break Harry Potter, the boy that dared call him by name, that dared defy him. And yet it had, at least in part.
It was delicious.
When Potter's irritating luck inevitably kicked in and started to make Lord Voldemort's plans that much harder - because Potter as a Champion was an inevitability, but the rest was not - he would think back to this moment, would remember this heading feeling of victory over Potter, and let it drive him to do whatever he could to ensure he felt it again.
The morning seemed a lot darker than it had a few moments ago when they were laughing about Quidditch and Hermione's dislike of flying, and colder too; Harry had gone silent and unnaturally still, so still that she might have thought him Petrified, or the victim of a Body Bind, except she could see the almost forcedly even rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional blink. His eyes had not left the box. Ginny was shaking - she had been from the moment she laid eyes on the note - and her eyes were open but she wasn't seeing, Hermione didn't think.
Hermione cleared her throat - softly, but obviously enough that they should have been able to hear her.
Ginny's head moved to look at Hermione before her eyes did.
"I'm fine," she said, after a moment. "Just seeing- it took me by surprise, that's all." She took a shaky breath and hugged herself. "I'm fine."
Hermione wasn't convinced, and she didn't even have Harry's animagus senses. But, Harry himself said nothing to dispute Ginny's claim, so maybe she was telling the truth. Then again, Hermione wasn't sure he'd even heard her.
"Harry?" she asked, reaching for his arm. The moment she made contact, static zapped from her fingers to her elbow to her shoulder, painful and then numb in quick succession. Hermione yanked her arm back, shaking it to try to get feeling back into it. "If you didn't want me to touch you, you could've just said so," she said, trying for levity but only managing to sound hurt.
Like Ginny had just before, Harry's head turned toward her before his eyes, hazy for a moment and then suddenly clearer.
"Sorry," he said, voice hoarse, "I didn't- that was an accident." Hermione's eyebrows rose of their own accord, and he reached out to squeeze her fingers in apology. And then he was gone again, expression scrunching and eyes glazing over slightly. She knew the expression, had seen it only a few days before, while they were watching Durmstrang's representatives arrive.
She gave Harry's hand a sharp squeeze - there with him, even if he didn't know it - and reached out to pat the nearest part of Ginny - her ankle - to get her attention. Ginny yelped, startling and looked around with wild eyes before taking in Hermione, Harry, and the box, and- well, not relaxing, but at least seeming to realise where she was and that there was no immediate danger.
"Would you like to go inside?" She wished Ron or Draco - or both of them - were here, not because they'd know how to handle it any better, necessarily, but so that they could divide and conquer, so to speak. "We can find Sirius. And then-" Hermione wasn't exactly sure how best to help Harry, but Sirius was a good start. She didn't have much idea of what to do with Ginny, either, other than just be there. "- you can help me work out what you need."
"I told you I'm fine," Ginny said, rather sharply.
"I'm just trying to help," Hermione said, matching her tone.
"Shut up," Ginny muttered, and then, sighed. "Not you," she said, both apologetic and defensive all at once. "Sorry. I- Can you put the lid on?" Her eyes flashed and flickered to the side, as if listening to something Hermione couldn't hear. Then, through gritted teeth she added: "Please." She very carefully did not look at the box, but Hermione did, slapping the lid onto it without hesitation.
"Better?" Hermione asked. Ginny gave a curt nod. "Good. Now: inside?"
"It's better out here," Ginny said, sounding slightly more normal. She glanced at Harry, apparently remembering him, then reached out to poke his foot with her own. "You with us?" She was clearly making an effort to sound gruff, but her voice wavered slightly. "Harry?"
Harry made a quiet sound that might have been acknowledgement or might have been a noise he'd have made regardless of whether Ginny spoke.
"Clearly not," Ginny said, expression tightening. "Has he got his mirror?"
He did, and Hermione managed to free it from his pocket without getting zapped again, cross with herself for not having thought of that already.
"Sirius Black," she said, and he answered immediately.
"Hermione?" His voice sharpened. "Where's-?"
"You should to Floo to Hagrid's," she said, as calmly as she could, and just like that he was up and moving; she could tell, because everything behind him blurred. "Harry's- upset and a bit… out of it." She was pleased how even her voice stayed. "We're on the grounds, by the lake. Ginny and I are with him, but…" But Hermione was a bit out of her depth and not convinced Ginny was doing well, so...
"I'm on my way," he said, voice firm but reassuring, "and I'll send Moon- Remus ahead." And then he was gone and Hermione set the mirror down atop the box, then shuffled over to put and arm around Ginny. Ginny went stiff for a moment, then sighed and relaxed, resting her head against Hermione's shoulder.
"Thanks," she said, so quietly she was barely audible, and Hermione gave her a squeeze.
Harry blinked and let out a ragged breath a few moments later. Hermione was thrown by his silence; usually he launched into an explanation, or a theory, or questions. This time his expression was shuttered and he was still too still. She wondered what he'd seen.
"Harry?" she said gently, and he seemed to hesitate, then nodded as if agreeing, then looked away. She saw his eyes land on Ginny, and then on his mirror, shining silver atop the box. "Sirius is on his way," she said, before he could ask. "And Remus."
Harry let out a gusty breath.
Remus emerged out the front door of the school only a few moments later and moved as quickly across the grounds as he could without running.
Harry watched him, expression a strange mix of relief and resignation.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked.
"Alive," Harry replied. Ginny shifted under Hermione's arm, then, gently, shrugged her off. "You?"
"Not quite that bad," she said, and took a deep breath, "but I've been better."
"Sorry for scaring you" Harry said, looking at Hermione now. "And hurting you."
"It'll heal," Hermione said, glancing down at the red mark on her hand. Truthfully, she'd already forgotten about it.
Remus reached them then, with a cautious greeting and even more cautious eyes that flicked from Harry to Hermione to Ginny to the box. He crouched down beside Harry and put a hand on his shoulder, apparently looking him over. His first question was not about how Harry was though, but:
"What's that?"
"A present," Harry said, tone flat. Remus looked at Harry, apparently after permission, and Harry gave a curt nod. Remus cast several quick, silent charms on the box. He returned Harry's mirror, then pulled the lid up almost hesitantly, frowned, glanced at Harry, then back at the box, and then slowly lowered the lid.
"I see," he said, lips pressed together in a way that reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall. Then, he glanced over toward Hagrid's hut, probably checking for Sirius, and, when Sirius did not appear, moved closer to Harry again.
"Padfoot's on his way," he said. Harry nodded again, and Remus turned to Hermione and Ginny, a kind expression on his face. "Are you two all right?" He wanted an answer from Ginny more than Hermione, if the way his eyes rested on her was any indication. Hermione thoroughly approved; Ginny wouldn't be able to get away with lying to Remus, not with his nose.
She could, though, as it turned out, find a way to get around it; she didn't answer verbally at all, just shrugged and gave a vague nod, eyes on Harry.
"Padfoot's coming," Harry announced a moment later, and Hermione turned to see Sirius crossing Hagrid's garden at a jog. He reached them much more quickly than Remus had, eyes flicking over them - presumably taking in the lack of obvious injuries - then crouched down beside Harry. Remus kept ahold of the box, but didn't immediately open it to show Sirius.
"What's happened? What's wrong?" he asked. Harry didn't say anything, but his mouth turned down. That scared Hermione, more than anything else had that morning, because Harry was always quick to update Sirius when something had happened. Was he scared to? Or embarrassed? Both Sirius and Remus must have been thinking along the same lines, because they glanced at Harry and then at Hermione and Ginny, and then at each other.
"Maybe not here?" Sirius said. Remus nodded in agreement, giving the box an awkward pat. Sirius glanced at it.
"Somewhere private might be best," Remus said, and Hermione realised he was worried about how Sirius might respond to its contents, or, perhaps, worried about how Harry might react to its contents now that he had Sirius there. "Your office?"
"Shack's closer," Sirius said. Remus shrugged and nodded, getting to his feet. "Come on, kiddo."
Harry stood, movements almost mechanical.
"Would you like me to take you back up to the school?" Remus asked. Hermione glanced at Ginny who shook her head.
"No, thank you," Hermione said. "We'll be all right here. See you later, Harry."
"Yeah," he said, and Remus and Sirius exchanged another look. "See you."
"Goodness," Remus said, looking around the Shack with an expression that might have been fond if it wasn't so troubled on Harry's behalf, "but it's been a long time since we were here."
"A few years," Sirius agreed, eyes on his godson, who had followed them in and was looking at the Shack's clean floor with no surprise whatsoever. He had to be able to smell the werewolf all over the place and - even with his eyesight - shouldn't have been able to miss the pale fur littering the floorboards. Sirius knew two of the kids from the camp that had formerly been Greyback's spent moons here, but he hadn't realised Harry was in on the secret. That, though, was a conversation for another time. "Last time would've been… when? Harry's first year?"
"It was already in use," Remus said. "We stuck to the forest, or used my cottage. The last time…" His eyes flicked to Harry, though he didn't elaborate. As it turned out, he didn't need to:
"The last time would have been the time I ran away," Harry said, swallowing. "The Christmas before they made you an Auror again, after I saw my scar in the mirror and thought..."
"That's right," Sirius said, remembering a much dustier Shack, his panic for Harry's safety - stronger then, or perhaps just not as familiar to him as it had become in the years since - and Harry himself, smaller, dustier, but equally in crisis; he had better control of himself now than he had, then, and Sirius wondered if crises had become as equally familiar to Harry as panic had to Sirius. "You were hiding under the bed upstairs." Sirius attempted a grin. "I made you write lines as punishment - I am not evil or dangerous and should not have run away and scared poor, frail Moony or my dear, brilliant godfather Padfoot. Remember?" Remus' mouth twitched ever so slightly, but Harry's expression remained shuttered. "I reckon that's as good a place to start as any," he continued lightly, because the look Harry had about him was similar to the one he'd worn back then.
"I didn't run away," Harry said. "Coming here was your idea."
"I think this might be a better place to start," Remus said, offering Sirius the mysterious box he'd brought along. Sirius took it, figuring between them Harry and Remus would either have removed or triggered any nasty magic that might have been on it.
"May I?" he asked, pausing with a finger hooked under the box's lid.
"Go for it," Harry replied, the corners of his mouth turning down.
Sirius pulled the lid off and set it on the arm of the maimed couch. A piece of heavy parchment bore the Walpurgis crest; a skull with a gaping mouth, inside which the slitted eyes and forked tongue of a snake could be seen. It was what the Dark Mark might look like if it were frozen in the sky moments after being cast, before the snake could fully emerge… The promise of a Dark Mark, perhaps - the promise of death - and it rested both on the note - For my Champion - and on the black fabric beneath.
Sirius set the box and note down and pulled the bundle of fabric out for a closer look; it was a set of black robes, plain and simply cut, but for the silver-stitched Walpurgis crest - on the left side, Sirius noticed, where it would sit over the wearer's heart - and the unusual inclusion of a hood. Resting at the bottom of the box beneath the robes, was a quilted duelling vest made of black dragonhide. Both were, Sirius noticed, exceptionally well made.
"My uniform," Harry said, jaw set, and voice hard and brittle as broken glass. Sirius didn't blame him; it was a Death Eater's uniform, minus the half-skull mask. "His Champion's uniform." The silence was so heavy it was making Sirius' chest tight. He was desperate to break it but didn't know what to say. In the end, Harry beat him to it:
"I dreamed about this, you know." He stepped forward to point at the Walpurgis crest, eyes distant, voice quiet, and almost eerily matter of fact. "I dreamed I tried to cast a patronus and got this instead, but the snake was further out, and the whole thing was green, not silver."
Sirius caught Remus' eye, stricken.
"When was this?" he asked, and tried not to sound too strangled.
"Last night," Harry said. "I couldn't remember seeing it before, but I knew it. Now I know why."
"It's the Dark Mark," Remus said hesitantly. He flicked a glance in Sirius' direction - seeking forgiveness rather than permission - and Sirius lifted his shoulder in a resigned shrug; if Remus hadn't said it, Sirius would have.
"Oh." Harry's voice didn't change, but Sirius knew he was piecing things together; he'd never seen a Dark Mark - at least not as far as Sirius knew - but he was familiar with the idea of them. Harry worked his jaw, then swallowed, and Sirius wondered if he was associating the patch on the robes with the tattoo Death Eaters were branded with, or the sign they cast into the sky to announce a death.
"We'll get you a new uniform," Sirius said, tossing the robes and vest down in the general direction of the box. "Burn those, and get you something in red and gold, or- whatever colour you want. Who's going to know?"
"You won't be able to burn dragonhide easily," Remus pointed out, but Sirius could tell from the resignation in his voice that he wholly agreed with the sentiment.
"Watch me," Sirius muttered.
"He'd just send another set," Harry said dully. "And probably directly to Sprottle or Bagman or someone to make sure I wore it." Sirius had the rather absurd mental image of Voldemort owning an entire wardrobe filled with identical, Harry-sized robes and vests to use as back-ups. He shook his head to clear it.
"Sprottle and Bagman aren't going to dress you." They'd answer to him if they tried.
"Aren't they?" Harry asked, eyes still on the robes and vest. He glanced up at Sirius, expression tired. "You don't think Cedric'll compete in Hogwarts robes, or that Karkaroff'll want make sure everyone knows Krum's his?" Sirius was silent, then glanced at Remus.
"Madame Maxime had male and female competitors' garb designed before we came over," Remus sighed.
"I expect Hogwarts and Durmstrang will have something similar. Still, it might not be a rule, per se…"
"Everything else has been," Harry muttered. He had a point there. For a moment, Sirius could only stand there, staring at the finely made robes and vest, and skin crawling with horror and fury, gut twisting with helplessness. Then, he forced himself to get it together, because Harry needed him to.
"Fine," Sirius said. "So you wear them." His voice came out louder than he'd intended. "I wore Azkaban robes for years." Remus and Harry both looked at him like he was mad. "Years and years," Sirius said, clearing his throat. "And people looked at them, at me, and thought I was Voldemort's most loyal servant." Remus' shoulders hunched slightly, still carrying the guilt of that all these years later, though Sirius had long since forgiven him, and been forgiven by Remus in turn. "Not the point I was trying to make," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, and got a wry quirk of the mouth in response. "The point is a uniform doesn't make a person. Harry Potter, Walpurgis Champion, is as empty a title as Sirius Black, mass-murderer." Remus smiled at that. Harry did not.
"Titles are important," Harry said, mouth turning down. Sirius exchanged a baffled look with Remus.
"Since when have you cared about titles?" Sirius asked. "You call Voldemort Voldemort-"
"I care because he cares," Harry said, and for the first time, agitation broke through his rather eerie calm. "Voldemort- he- this matters to him, so it- it matters."
"It only matters if you let it-"
"Of course I'm letting it!" Harry burst. "This- He's shaped my entire past, he's constantly popping up in my present and there is nothing certain about my future except for him and the prophecy!" Sirius felt like he'd been slapped, but rather than a warm sting, he felt a deep cold that reminded him a bit of Azkaban. "It's not enough that he took my parents, not enough that he left me with this-" He made a jerky, aborted gesture toward his scar. "-not enough that he's tried to take you too, and my friends, and had a few more goes at me while he's been at it. He's in my head and it's deliberate now! He's been testing me, and he knows I know about the dragon in the first task, and he's enjoying this. He's happy right now, because he knows I'm not! And even that's still not enough for him, being in my head, no, he's got to be on every other part of me too." He flung a hand toward the Walpurgis uniform.
Harry had said a lot of very important things just then, things that they would need to sit and talk about - like how exactly Voldemort was testing Harry, and how he knew that Harry knew about the dragon - but those things could wait. Those conversations weren't what Harry needed right now. What Harry needed was to know:
"That doesn't make you his." Sirius looked to Remus for support, but Remus was frowning and moving toward the door that led to the tunnel. "Do you remember after my trial," Sirius said, "you were telling me how you didn't have to introduce yourself to anyone? And I told you it didn't matter, because they didn't know you. They knew Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Disappeared… Or they thought they did. This is the same. But just like then, the people that matter - me, and Moony-" Remus looked over at his name, but then went back to staring at whatever it was in the tunnel that had caught his interest. "-and now Dora and Stella, and Marlene, and Ron and Hermione and Draco and Ginny… we'll know otherwise." Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder and used it to tug him into a sideways hug. "You'll be his Champion because you don't have a choice, but that doesn't make you his. You're ours, kiddo. Ugly robes and all." Harry didn't disagree out loud, but he was silent. "Harry," Sirius said, as sternly as he dared.
"Wearing his robes and doing what he wants, competing under his name… sounds a lot like that makes me his."
"Not willingly," Sirius said.
"Even better," Harry said darkly. He glanced at Sirius, then at Remus, and sighed. "I- look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, I do, but you don't... get it." Sirius didn't know what to say to that; he wanted to ask more questions, or keep trying to convince Harry to see his side of things, but he thought that would only serve to make Harry's point. So, he tugged him closer and said nothing. Harry's arms tightened around him.
Peripherally, he saw Remus move and then there were soft noises the tunnel; whatever Remus had been so interested in before, Sirius was sure. Harry's head turned that way as well and Sirius released him, listening carefully and trying to pick the footsteps. He couldn't, but neither Remus - who could see whoever it was - or Harry - who smelled of recognition - seemed worried, so he could only assume it was Harry's friends.
Sure enough, Ron poked his head through, followed by Draco, Ginny, and Hermione. Hermione and Draco both looked guilty, but Ron seemed perfectly at ease, and Ginny looked almost defiant.
"Sorry," Hermione said, looking at Harry first, then at Sirius and Remus. "We wanted to make sure you were all right, we weren't trying to listen in-" Draco nodded his agreement.
"Couldn't help it, though," Ron said, somehow managing to come across as tactfully unapologetic. "Door was open and you weren't really whispering, mate." Harry rubbed a hand over his face and laughed tiredly. Ron grinned, but it was cautious. "We didn't mean to interrupt, though."
"It's all right, Ron," Remus said. "It's actually good timing, I think. Come on, Padfoot." Remus tilted his head towards the tunnel. Sirius frowned at him. "He's in good hands." This was said quietly so that only Sirius, and maybe Harry - who had Ron's arm flung over his shoulders now and Hermione holding his hand - would be able to hear it.
He was in good hands with his friends - they were to Harry what the Marauders had been to him on his bad days - but that didn't stop Sirius from feeling like he ought to stay, ought to keep trying to help.
"We've done what we can for now," Remus said. "Pulled him out of his head a bit. Let them see what they can manage." Sirius let out a breath and went to join him at the door. He caught Harry's eye and patted his pocket, letting him know he had his mirror. Harry nodded and while he wasn't quite smiling, his expression was grateful.
It was silent but comfortable in the tunnel between him and Remus, until they rounded the final bend and could see the little circle of daylight that was the passage at the Whomping Willow's roots, and Sirius heard himself say: "I miss the days where I could tell him things were going to be okay, or not to worry, and he'd just… believe me, because I was an adult and I said so." Unfortunately, Harry had learned the hard way that he couldn't.
"You've raised him better than that," Remus said. "It's… hard to watch on days like today where we'd like nothing better than to take a bit of weight off his shoulders, but the rest of the time, that bit of doubt or stubbornness, or pessimism, or whatever you want to call it-"
"Realism?" Sirius suggested gloomily.
"-has probably done a lot more good than harm. It's almost certainly saved his life at some point."
"Stop being reasonable," Sirius grumbled, but had to agree. He glanced back in the direction they'd come. "D'you reckon he's all right?"
"Probably not just yet," Remus said. "But he will be."
They lapsed back into silence as they clambered out at the Willow's roots - safely, thanks to a well-placed spell of Sirius' that hit the knot and froze the flailing branches.
"You know," Remus mused, "I think this might be one of the only times I've managed to walk out of this tunnel of my own volition."
"Huh," Sirius said, seeing through Remus' attempt to initiate a more normal conversation, and allowing it. "It's Thursday after next, right?"
"It is," Remus said, glancing up at the sky. Though the morning was overcast, Sirius felt sure that if the clouds parted right where Remus was looking, they'd be able to see the faint moon. "Does that suit you?"
"Actually," Sirius said, pretending to think about it, "the Wednesday would be better, so if you can just delay it…" Remus snorted and Sirius smiled, amused. "I'll be there." Remus smiled, then looked thoughtful:
"Just you?"
"Who else- Oh." Sirius cocked his head and Remus shrugged. "Yeah?"
"He's big enough to handle himself now, and he might like the distraction, what with everything else that's going on. As long as you're all right with it, of course."
"He'll be happy with that," Sirius said, smiling. Remus smiled back. It wasn't a fix to Harry's problems, and it wasn't going to do anything to help them get it - whatever the it was that meant Harry refused to be comforted about this whole uniform situation - but Remus was right that it would be a good distraction.
The front doors opened, then, and Snape stepped out, carrying a basket of jars and boxes. He spotted Sirius and Remus, nodded stiffly, and then set off around the lake. Sirius watched him for a moment, mind churning, then looked at Remus:
"Coming?"
"Ah… no," Remus said, eyeing Snape. While they tolerated each other, Remus' relationship with Snape had not made the same progress as Sirius' had over the years. "Enjoy, though."
"I'll see you later?"
"I'm having lunch with Matt in Hogsmeade," Remus said, "so likely this afternoon."
Sirius nodded and they parted ways, Remus heading back toward the Beauxbatons carriage, and him trailing Snape across the grounds.
When he caught up, Snape was crouching in the lake's muddy shallows, clipping the slimy leaves off some sort of water plant.
"Yes?" he drawled, without looking up.
"Morning," Sirius said, finding a flat rock to perch on. "What are you collecting?"
"Hornwort," Snape said.
"What for?"
"Dispense with the niceties, Black," Snape said, though not nastily. "What do you want?"
"To understand," Sirius said, and then paused, trying to work out how to word things.
"Having spent breakfast beside the Headmaster, I have little tolerance for crypticism this morning," Snape said, still without bothering to look up. The small, silver scissors in his hand snipped away at the hornwort with incredible precision. "Whatever it is, spit it out."
"Voldemort-" Snape hissed at the name, or perhaps at the little stalk he'd just mutilated when his hand spasmed. "-sent Harry a uniform to wear in the Tournament. Death Eater robes."
"The boy?" Snape asked, after several long moments that left him with a dark look on his face.
"What about him?" Sirius asked. Snape's expression twitched with irritation, but - albeit unwillingly - he added:
"Is he… coping?"
"Sort of," Sirius said, trying not to show outwardly that he was touched by Snape asking; Snape had mellowed significantly as the term had dragged on - something Sirius attributed entirely to a much-improved relationship with Draco - but probably not so much that he'd be happy to have anyone acknowledge his concern for Harry.
"Unsurprising," Snape said.
"You think it's a big deal too, then?" Sirius asked.
"You don't?" Snape turned to him then, expression uncharacteristically open in its incredulity.
"I do," Sirius said defensively, then sighed. "But apparently not as much as Harry, or you."
"So have the boy explain," Snape said, turning back to his work.
"He tried, and then said I didn't get it," Sirius said. "And I didn't want to push him."
"So you've come to push me instead," Snape surmised. "What makes you think I can explain it any better than he did? Or that I'd be willing to?"
"Harry runs on the assumption that I'm smart enough to understand things. You, on the other hand, think I'm an idiot so you'll break it down and use simple words." Sirius grinned, and though Snape's expression was impassive, Sirius could smell a faint current of amusement. "As for being willing to, I'm sure you'd rather not." He was equally sure that Snape would, despite not wanting to, but rather than wait for Snape to find some way that he could justify helping Sirius and Harry, Sirius decided to - pleasantly - force his hand. "But I figure you owe Harry for the end of last year, and that spell you told him to use against Peter. An explanation doesn't fix that, but me understanding'll maybe go a ways toward fixing this, so..."
"There's no fix," Snape grunted.
"Even so." Snape looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead set aside his scissors and his jar and waded out of the water, drying himself with a flick of his wand. Sirius waited expectantly.
"The Dark Lord is playing a very deliberate game," Snape said. Sirius gave him a flat look; he'd been joking when he said he expected Snape to treat him like an idiot. It did not escape his notice that Harry had used the same word - deliberate - to describe Voldemort's actions earlier, though. "Entering the boy was deliberate, obviously, but the way he's gone about it is even more so. He could have tampered with the Goblet to ensure the boy was chosen to represent Hogwarts rather than a fourth school. Or, he could have used the fourth school but with a name far less conspicuous than Walpurgis, or under a headmaster with either a false name, or one far harder to track back to his own." Snape had clearly been talking to Draco or Dumbledore. "Instead, he's claimed Potter, and in doing so ensured Potter knows exactly who he's competing under-"
"He would have even if he'd been entered under Hogwarts, or with a fake headmaster," Sirius said.
"Yes," Snape said. "And you would know, and the Headmaster, and a few others, but no one else. Admittedly, the general public are probably oblivious enough to miss it even now, and most Death Eaters are unaware of the significance of the name Tom Riddle, but they know of the Knights of Walpurgis. Combine that with the uniform, and even the Dark Lord's dimmest, and furthest removed followers can't fail to work out who's put Potter into the Tournament." Snape eased himself down onto a rock near Sirius, and massaged the stump of his leg. He stretched it out, scowled at a bit of pond weed that had stuck to the polished wood of his fake foot and sent it whizzing away with a flick of his wand.
"The boy has a reputation," Snape continued, tucking his wand away again. "I'm sure you you don't need me to go into details there..." But he trailed off, voice snide and expression seemingly not quite convinced that Sirius wasn't dense enough to need him to explain further. Once, that would have got right under Sirius' skin and had him itching to say something equally snide in return. Now, Sirius only rolled his eyes and gestured for Snape to continue.
"That reputation is such that there are those that have refrained from taking up the mask again - even after the World Cup - for fear that they'll be joining the losing side. Similarly, there are those whose loyalty the Dark Lord is unconvinced of and so he has not yet reached out to." His expression didn't change, but his scent spiked with a mix of worry and frustration. Sirius took that to mean he was one of them. "Those same people will now watch Potter compete in an arena of the Dark Lord's choosing. If Potter embarrasses himself, or is simply far outranked by the skill of the others, it will be a humiliation at the Dark Lord's hand. If he is able to wield his luck as he usually does, and back it up with any of his own ability, it will be demonstrative of the fact that the Dark Lord has power over him despite that." Snape sneered at Sirius, perhaps out of habit, or perhaps just to ensure Sirius didn't take his helpfulness - and he was being helpful, surprisingly so - as a gesture of any sort of friendship. "Following so far?"
"Only just," Sirius said, as dopily as he could manage. Snape snorted. "All joke aside, though," Sirius said, "while it's an interesting perspective to consider..." He hesitated, trying to work out how best to say what he needed to without offending Snape too badly.
"What?" Snape asked impatiently.
"I'm just... not sure how relevant it is to Harry," Sirius said, trying not to cringe at the way Snape's eyes narrowed. "I don't really think he's bothered by what Death Eaters think of him." It had been Voldemort's opinion he'd seemed bothered with.
"Perhaps not," Snape said, curtly. "But the Dark Lord is mindful of what his Death Eaters think, and will consider this a victory as a result. Potter may care about that." Sirius nodded - I care because he cares, Harry had said earlier - then frowned:
"I've never been under the impression Voldemort cared what his Death Eaters think." Snape twitched at the name.
"The Dark Lord," he said, pointedly, through gritted teeth and Sirius waved a hand in insincere apology, "works hard to shape his image to ensure he is seen as mysterious and powerful and cunning enough to be impressive and trusted to lead, while also ensuring he generates enough fear to keep his followers loyal. Outward perception is everything; it's why he renounced his birth name and took up his current title."
"I thought he was just embarrassed about his muggle heritage," Sirius said.
"Are the two mutually exclusive?" Snape asked silkily. Sirius frowned again. When Snape spoke again, his voice was brisk: "The Dark Lord is using Potter as a way to prove his own power and reach. More than that, it's symbolic; historically, a Champion was one person that fought on behalf of another - sometimes on behalf of someone unable to fight themselves, other times a Champion would be a knight-" Snape gave Sirius a significant, rather patronising look, clearly wanting to be certain he'd made the connection between Champions and the Knights of Walpurgis. "-chosen to represent the interests of someone in power. Kings, usually. So, in the Tournament, Potter will fight Dumbledore's Champion - and therefore Dumbledore himself - on the Dark Lord's behalf." Sirius felt a little ill.
"I- I don't think Harry thinks like that," Sirius said, but with less conviction than he would have liked. Snape arched an eyebrow. "I mean, not symbolically, or-"
"But the Dark Lord does-" Snape said. He stood from his rock, collected his jars and waded back out into the lake, with his back to Sirius, a sure sign that he was done with the conversation. "-and Potter knows the Dark Lord's mind."
Wearing his robes and doing what he wants, competing under his name… sounds a lot like that makes me his, Harry had said, and finally, Sirius understood.
