Disclaimer: The character Crowley is from the TV show Supernatural.
Author's Note: Reminder that there is a pertinent note at the beginning of Part 1 about a particular character; it's relevent to the end of this chapter and the next. Don't say you weren't warned.
Part 3
Snape was growing on Harry. It still felt a bit weird to call him Dad, but he was trying, and it felt like Snape was trying too. At least, Harry felt Snape liked him more than James did, and that was good enough for a start.
Sleeping in the guest room was weird. He had sleepovers at unfamiliar homes before, but he always shared a room with his friend, which made it less strange. This bland empty room felt overbearing and scary, only slightly eased by his dragon night-light. He usually didn't need it anymore – he was seven, after all, not a baby – but he was glad for it this once.
He didn't get to sleep until late, but still woke around seven the next morning, like usual. There was no noise from the rest of the house and, wary of waking up Snape, Harry remained in his room until his bladder forced him out to the bathroom. When he was done and there was still no sign of Snape, he got dressed and dared to venture downstairs.
Breakfast was minimal. The only cereal Snape had was porridge, which Harry didn't like, there was no milk, and although there was bread there was no toaster or spreads. He settled for a couple of buttered slices and a glass of water; hopefully Snape would reveal something else when he woke up.
It took some time. Harry took the chance to explore the house unsupervised, but there was nothing much interesting to see. He inspected the bookcase hiding the library, but even if he could have got it to open he wouldn't have. He wasn't sure how Snape did discipline, but he wasn't willing to find out yet. Snape could still choose to get rid of Harry.
He did dare open the cabinet in the living room, and finally struck gold – there was a TV inside. They didn't have one at home – at Godric's Hollow – but the Fawcetts had one. It was one of the things Mary and David argued about. Sonya – and Harry when he visited – were only allowed to watch it on weekend mornings.
Well, it was the weekend now and Snape might not even have any rules about it, so he switched it on, found some cartoons, and settled on the sofa to watch.
Ten minutes later the door flew open. The room flashed red. Harry half-fell, half-leapt off the sofa, heart pounding, as a spell whizzed over his head, missing him by more than a foot. It hit the wall, leaving a small charred mark, and Harry ducked behind the sofa, peering over the top to stare wide-eyed at Snape, standing at the base of the stairs.
He was stunned; James might have been a bit unpleasant, but he never turned his wand on Harry in anger. He said only bad parents punished their children with magic. Harry didn't even know what he'd done wrong!
Snape's wand hand followed Harry behind the sofa, but he cast no more spells. He looked surprised that Harry was hiding, then he growled irritably and jerked his wand aside. The TV turned off with a slight crackle and the doors of its cabinet swung shut.
"That is not a toy, and you do not use it without my permission," he said gruffly, finally lowering his wand to his side. "Come out from behind there."
Harry straightened up with a scowl. "It's just some cartoons. Mary lets me watch cartoons at weekends, and there's nothing else to do here."
"I don't care," Snape snapped. "You're living in my house, you'll obey my rules."
"It's a stupid rule."
"It's my rule."
"It's stupid!" Harry said again, angry now. "You're stupid and mean! You nearly cursed me!"
"Don't be dramatic, child, it came nowhere near you."
"You tried! You were aiming for me, that's bad! Only bad parents curse their kids!"
A part of him thought he ought to shut up before he upset Snape too badly, but he had to find out his limits one day. Besides, if Snape was going to make a habit of hexing him then Harry didn't want to live with him, no matter what his other limited options might be.
"Then go!" Snape spat.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Go back to Fawcett, or beg Potter to take you back. Look after yourself, for all I care. I certainly don't need a rude, ungrateful brat calling me a bad parent when you've no idea what poor parenting really is."
Harry gaped at him. Snape was actually throwing him out? For all Harry knew it'd been a possibility, he hadn't actually thought it would happen. Sure, James got rid of him, but he wasn't Harry's real dad. Real dad's didn't throw out their kids.
Snape was still glaring at him. "Well?"
Surprise gave way to anger. Harry glared right back. "Fine. I don't want to live with you anyway. I don't need you, I don't need anyone! I can look after myself."
"Then go," Snape snarled.
Harry stomped to the front door, twisted the handle, and wrenched it open. He turned to look back, saw Snape's face still twisted angrily, and yelled, "I hate you!" before stepping outside and slamming the door shut behind him.
An hour later he was huddled in a bus stop, its old schedule so faded it probably wasn't right anymore, the three brick walls providing shelter from the rain if not the cold. He'd stormed away from Spinner's End in an anger, but quickly realised he had nothing but the clothes on his back, no shoes, and no idea of where to go.
Eventually he'd thought to make his way to the Fawcetts, but that meant reaching Manchester and he had no idea how to do that. He couldn't summon the Knight Bus, and had no money to pay for any Muggle transport. He thought he might be able to sneak onto a Muggle train, but never found sign of a station.
So he'd walked, passing through an industrial area before reaching roads bordered only by fields, and just kept walking until he found the bus stop.
He sat there for what felt like hours with no sign of a bus, and very few cars, none of which even slowed as they passed him. Eventually, however, a middle-aged man in a black coat waltzed up and sat down, leaving a space between them large enough for another person. He had a receding hairline and wasn't particularly remarkable until he spoke, revealing a Cockney accent.
"I don't think the busses run on Sundays," he said conversationally.
Harry said nothing. He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers.
"Where are your parents, kid?"
Still, he said nothing.
The man shrugged. "You ain't the first kid whose parents abandoned them in the middle of nowhere and Apparated away."
Harry started. "You're a wizard?" he blurted out, forgetting that he wasn't meant to talk to strangers.
"Do you know what the Ministry does to abandoned young wizards?" the man asked, ignoring Harry's question.
Curious and slightly concerned at the man's tone, Harry asked worriedly, "What?"
"They erase their memories of magic and put them with a Muggle family."
Harry's eyes widened. "They never!"
The man nodded seriously. "They do."
Harry shook his head, refusing to believe it. "My godmother's a witch. She won't let them erase my memory."
"She might, if your parents demand it. Some parents do, when they really don't want their children."
Harry glared at the man. "You're lying. My dad wouldn't do that."
"He left you here, didn't he?"
"No!" Harry only half-lied, leaping to his feet. "I ran away!"
"Did you now?" the man said, grinning. "What'd you do that for?"
Harry's moment of bravado faltered and he sat back down. "I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers."
A hand was thrust under his nose. "My name's Crowley."
Harry blinked up at him. The man wiggled his fingers.
"C'mon, kid. We've already been talking, and I promise not to kidnap you. I don't need kids for anything; you're way too much effort to look after. What's your name?"
Cautiously, because the other option was running away and it was still raining, Harry shook his hand. "I'm Harry."
"Nice to meet you, Harry. So why'd you run away?"
"What d'you care?"
Crowley shrugged. "Just making conversation."
"What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighbourhood."
Harry looked around pointedly at the distinct lack of housing then looked up at him. Crowley chuckled.
"No really. I went for a walk. A very long walk. I needed to get out for a bit."
"Out of where?"
"My work place."
"Won't your boss fire you?"
Crowley grinned and leaned in with the air of someone imparting a great secret. "I am the boss."
"I guess that makes it okay," Harry said. "What's your job?"
"I'm a businessman. I make deals and give people what they want."
"What kind of things?" Harry asked curiously.
"Anything. I grant wishes."
Harry wrinkled his nose. "What's that mean? You sound like a genie."
Crowley laughed. "Certainly not a genie. But I do grant wishes. I can grant you a wish, if you like."
"Like what?"
"Anything you want." Crowley's smile softened. "If you could have anything right now, anything at all in the whole world even, say… something happening to someone else… what would you ask for?"
Harry gave him a sceptical look. "You're saying you can grant any wish? Even something magic can't normally do?"
"Yep."
"I don't believe you."
"Tell me your wish and I'll prove it."
He thought for a moment, trying to come up with something impossible. Money for Mary so they could buy a bigger house and she could take him in? No, money could come from anywhere. To make James love him, so he would take Harry back and things would be like they used to be, or even better?
That's what he really wanted, except for that to happen Calla had to be cured too, so did he wish for that? But even if Calla was suddenly cured, that wouldn't prove this man did it, it could just be a coincidence, the healers figuring out how to heal her at the very moment Crowley claimed to do it. So then what?
Suddenly it came to him – for him to heal Calla. That would make James love him and prove if this man really could grant wishes.
He lifted his chin. "I wish I was the best healer in the whole world – that I knew everything about healing magic and all about Muggle medicine so I could make my sister better so James would love me and I can go back home."
Crowley grinned widely again. "Wish granted," he said, and Harry gasped as a red smoky substance infused the man's eyes, filling them corner to corner until only the black pupils remained amidst the red. Crowley grabbed Harry's chin, titled his head up, and kissed him firmly. Harry shoved at him and then –
A car squealed, a door slammed, and Crowley was jerked away. Harry stared forward, blinking, suddenly filled with a world of knowledge that he never had before. He looked at his hand and thought –
Trapezium. Trapezoid. Scaphoid. Hamate. Capitate. Pisiform. Triquetrum. Lunate –
Laughter broke his thoughts. He shook his head and focused. The car he'd heard was stopped at an angle across the road, facing towards him. A woman in smart-casual wear had Crowley bent over the bonnet, jerking his arms behind him and snapping handcuffs around his wrists.
"You sick son of a bitch," the woman snarled.
Crowley laughed. "What's the matter, Superintendent? Or have you not got the call yet and it's still Detective Inspector?"
The woman jerked him up and slammed him down against the bonnet again. "Shut up, you bastard."
She wrenched him up and moved him to the back door of the car, opening it and roughly manhandling him inside. She slammed the door on him and then turned to Harry. She smiled, but it was clearly forced. Her eyes betrayed her fear, though Harry wasn't sure what she was afraid of.
"Hey there," she said softly, as if he was a frightened animal. "Are you okay?"
Harry nodded. He could name every bone, muscle, and organ in his body, he knew what spells would fix a fracture and how to stitch up a flesh wound, and he knew which drugs a doctor would prescribe to treat high-blood pressure and what potions a healer would give, but he wasn't hurt.
"What's your name?"
"Harry."
"Harry, this is really important. Before that man kissed you, did you ask him for something?"
"I made a wish."
The woman's face went ashen. "Oh god."
"Is he a genie?" Harry asked, looking around her at the car. Crowley was still sat in the back, grinning at them through the front window. "I thought he was lying when he said he could grant my wish but he wasn't." When he looked back at the woman, he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "What's wrong, miss? I'm not hurt."
She huffed, a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and wiped her eyes then took a deep, shaky breath. "Harry, my name's Alison Morgan, I'm a police officer."
"You don't look like one. You're not wearing the uniform," Harry pointed out. He'd seen police officers in Godric's Hollow; he wasn't like the Weasley children who had no idea how to recognise Muggle law enforcement.
"I'm a detective inspector, a plain-clothes police officer." She withdrew a leather wallet from her pocket and showed him her ID then tucked it away again and ran her hands distractedly through her hair. "Gods," she whispered.
"What is that man?" Harry asked worriedly, unable to miss Alison's clear concern. "Should I not have made a wish? Is he a peado?"
He wasn't a hundred percent sure what a peado was except that it had something to do with bad touches.
"I don't know," she half-whispered, sounding close to tears and staring at him, then she sighed and moved to sit next to him, glancing into the car to check Crowley wasn't trying to escape or get up to anything. "I don't think so. He's a…" she swallowed thickly "… a demon."
Harry peered through the car's front windscreen. "He doesn't look like a demon," he noted sceptically, but then remembered the red that filled Crowley's eyes just before he kissed him.
"I don't think most demons look like the bible says," Alison said bitterly. "It's how they trick us into thinking they're not so bad."
Harry knew nothing of the bible except that it had something to do with Muggle religion. Mary was religious and Harry had learnt a few things from her, but he really doubted there was a giant friendly man living in the sky. Mary had said that wasn't exactly what God was, but her explanation of Him being everywhere all the time was just confusing so Harry decided religion was just something Muggles made up to explain magic, like James told him.
But he knew a little about demons. Fred and George Weasley had scared him, Ron, and Ginny by telling stories of grotesque, shape-shifting creatures from hell dimensions (which, from what Harry could tell, meant they came from another planet) that came to torment humans for fun, eating up their insides and sticking their heads on pikes while they were still alive.
Harry had nightmares for a week, even after James assured him that while demons did exist, they couldn't freely come to earth whenever they liked. Only a summoning ritual would bring them out of their hell dimension and only dark wizards summoned them, and all the really dark wizards were in Azkaban so he had nothing to worry about.
Alison looked at him with sad eyes again. "Harry, will you tell me what you wished for?"
He opened his mouth to answer – to mention only the Muggle medicine, as he was fairly sure she wasn't a witch even though she knew about demons – but before he could –
"Harry!"
He leapt up. Snape stalked down the street towards them, wand in hand, although he shoved it in his pocket when Alison turned to look. He came to a stop just under the bus shelter and Alison got to her feet.
"Harry, do you know this man?"
"Yeah," Harry admitted reluctantly.
"I'm his father," Snape bit out. "Who are you?"
Alison showed her ID. "DI Morgan. Would you like to explain why your son is sitting alone in a bus stop so far from town?"
"He ran off."
"You kicked me out," Harry pointed out sullenly.
"Is that true?" Alison asked.
Snape didn't answer, looking over her then cutting his gaze to the car, where Crowley still sat watching, looking amused. Harry wondered, if he really was a demon, why he was so content to just sit in the car.
"I asked you a question," Alison said tersely, drawing Snape's gaze back to her. "Did you kick you son out?"
Once again, Snape didn't answer. He drew his wand and Harry gasped as he pointed it at the woman.
"Obliviate," Snape murmured, and Alison's eyes glazed over. Leaving her standing there dazed, Snape moved to the car, pointed his wand in at Crowley, and then paused, eyes narrowing.
"What are you?"
"That's a bit rude," Crowley remarked, looking completely unruffled. "Don't you mean who are you?"
Snape's voice was sharp. "I know a human mind when I see one. What are you?"
"I'm just a man. You wizards get your knickers in such a twist –"
Snape flicked his wand, but Crowley vanished from the back of the car before the silent spell struck, and the rear seat was slashed through to the back panel.
"Someone really needs to teach you some manners," Crowley said, and both Harry and Snape spun to see him now standing across the road, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. "But I can see when I'm not welcome. Shame," he added, with a shrug. "I was hoping to make a few more deals down at the station, but never mind." He cut his gaze to Harry and grinned. "I'll see you in ten years, littl'un."
Then he vanished.
Alison moaned softly and lifted a hand to her head. "What…"
Snape snarled, stalked to Harry and grabbed his arm tightly, and Disapparated. They reappeared in Cokeworth and Snape hurriedly led Harry back to Spinner's End.
"What happened out there?" Snape demanded as soon as the door snapped shut behind them.
"You're not supposed to use magic on Muggles," Harry said instead of answering. Snape's lip curled.
"She was an interfering cow who would have dragged us both down the police station. I erased her memory and saved us the trouble. Tell me what happened. Who was that man? Why did he say he would see you in ten years?"
"I don't know. The police lady said he was a demon."
Snape dismissed this with a scoff. "Muggles know nothing of these things."
"I think she's right. I saw his eyes go red."
Snape sucked in a sharp breath. "Red?"
Harry nodded.
"How do you mean his eyes turned red? Tell me everything, Harry."
Instead of answering, Harry asked, "What are you going to do to me now?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't want me. You said I should look after myself. You tried to hex me."
A flicker of something that might have been shame flashed across Snape's face. He turned away, unbuttoning his cloak and draping it over the sofa. "I did not intend to hex you, earlier. When the TV woke me, I thought someone had broken into the house; I'd forgotten about you. After, I lost my temper. I… am not pleasant in the mornings, especially when I've not had coffee." Snape turned back to him. "Do you really hate me?" His tone was curt, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"No," Harry admitted, and then shrugged apologetically. "I don't really know you."
"That's fair enough," Snape murmured, and ran a thoughtful finger across his lips. "I realise that, for the same reason, you would prefer to live with your godmother, however I would like to ask that you at least give me a chance. We've both only just discovered our relation; at the very least, we ought to get to know one another."
"I guess," Harry agreed.
"Right. Good. Now tell me what happened out there."
Severus had read about demons during his sixth year, a passing but intense interest primarily spawned by his broken friendship with Lily. He'd been miserable and eager to bury himself in any distractions; demons were an appealingly dark one. He never summoned one, but he came close. He knew all the theory, and summoning a crossroads demon, the ones that most often made deals with humans, was the easiest to do – so easy that even a Muggle could.
So he recognised Harry's description of events with horrifying ease. An intense quiz soon proved that the boy really did have an impossible amount of healing knowledge; he could name all the ingredients of healing potions that Severus himself had to look up, and he could give a detailed description on how Muggles treated a variety of injuries and illnesses.
Severus even leant him his wand for Harry to try a couple of small healing spells, cutting his own arm when Harry objected to practising on rats. It took the boy a few tries, and the wounds left faint scars, but with his own wand he might have done it perfectly.
There was no doubt that he'd made a genuine deal with a bona fide demon.
Of course, he hadn't summoned the demon himself, but there was nothing that prevented a summoned demon from sticking around if it wasn't subsequently exorcised or banished. Evidently whichever moron summoned Crowley hadn't been smart enough to get rid of him afterwards, and as a result Harry – Severus' own son! – was now doomed to hell in just ten short years.
It was the cost of the kind of deal made with a crossroads demon – ten years later the demon would send hellhounds to hunt the human down, kill them, and then their soul would get dragged to one of the hell dimensions for the rest of eternity.
Not that Severus told Harry that. He might be new to the business of parenting, but he realised the folly in telling a seven year old they were doomed to a hell dimension before they were old enough to even finish Hogwarts.
Besides, if he had anything to do about it, Harry wasn't going to die that way.
He did nothing about it during the day. He took Harry out for a proper breakfast, then reluctantly took him shopping for food and bedroom furniture. The former was a necessity – Severus kept his kitchen cupboards sparsely stocked, content with the same few meals all the time, occasionally visiting restaurants, the Malfoys, or Regulus if he sought something different.
The latter was part apology, and part parenting efforts. He'd never been able to do much with his bedroom as a child, and recalled the jealousy he felt when he visited Lily's house and saw her highly personalised room. Letting Harry decorate his room how he liked was the right thing to do, as a good parent, wasn't it?
Either way it made Harry happy, picking out colour-changing paint for his walls, a bed with butterflies carved into the foot- and headboards, and an elaborate desk with multiple hidden compartments that he insisted he absolutely needed. The price made Severus wince, but he bought it; he didn't lack for funds, he just wasn't used to spending so much in one go.
Mary Fawcett came by after lunch. Harry thankfully didn't mention that morning's incident – either their fight or the demon – and Severus certainly didn't intend to. Fawcett would probably try and take Harry away from him. She couldn't, legally, not anymore, but she still might try.
She looked a little surprised when she heard they'd changed Harry's name, and sad when Harry confirmed he was happy to remain with Severus, though she made a good effort to hide it from the boy. Had she been hoping he'd refuse and beg to live with her, even though they all knew it wasn't feasible?
"I'll fetch a few more of your clothes and things from James' house and bring them by tomorrow," she said. "We'll have to arrange something to pick up the rest of your things."
When she'd gone, Severus tested Harry on his medical knowledge, then a few hours after dinner, when Harry asked for a hot chocolate before bed, Severus slipped a couple of drops of sleeping potion into it, waited until the boy was out for the night, and set to work.
He had a few whole yarrow plants in his potion supplies, he'd dug out an old photo of himself from Draco's naming ceremony, and he took a handful of graveyard dirt from the local cemetery. A brief trip to Knockturn Alley – which thrived with street traders after the standing shops shut for the day, dodgy salesmen advertising their wares amidst the catcalls and offers of the prostitutes – got him the bone of black cat, the final ingredient he needed.
He stuffed all four in an empty ingredients jar, took it to the small crossroads on the edge of town, put up some temporary Muggle-repellant spells, and charmed up a chuck of concrete. He put the jar into the hole, replaced the concrete (transfigured just enough to fit snugly), and looked around impatiently. He didn't put away his wand.
A woman appeared, silently, just on the edge of the crossroads. She was dressed in a Muggle skirt suit, hair in a bun, all business. Severus appreciated that.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, direct and to the point.
"My son made a deal with one of you earlier today," he said coldly, turning to keep her in view as she paced a slow circle around him, like a cat circled a mouse it had no intention of eating, only playing with. He kept his grip firm on his wand. "I want to know how to void it."
"Void it? We don't void deals," she told him disdainfully. "Now an exchange, that might be an option, but only the boss does them."
"Then summon your boss."
She frowned. "He almost never agrees to it. You'd only be wasting your time. Make a deal with me."
He waved his wand and a shower of salt appeared from thin air to drop over her. She shrieked, leaping away from it, and then glared furiously at him. Her legs below the skirt were now red and blistered where the salt had touched her skin.
"That was uncalled for."
"Summon your boss."
Her lip curled distastefully, but she made no more objections. "Bastard," she spat before disappearing without a sound.
Mere seconds later, Crowley stood before him instead. The demon grinned.
"Nice to see you again. Come to make a deal for yourself?"
Snape's fingers clenched on his wand. "You're the boss?"
Crowley spread his arms. "King of the Crossroads, at your service. Or not. I'm not making an exchange on your son."
"How do you know he's my son?"
Crowley shrugged. "No one else comes asking for exchanges on kid's souls. Hopeless endeavour; very few adults have souls equal in worth to a child's."
"Then you do make exchanges," Severus said. "It's just a matter of price. How much is Harry's soul worth?"
"To you or to me?"
Severus said nothing. A chill wind blew his cloak around his knees and hair in his face.
"Tell you what," Crowley said. "I'll give you the run down on our Exchanges and Voids deals, and you can decide what you're willing to pay."
"I thought you didn't do voids," Severus remarked.
Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Company line. Can't let every Tom, Dick, and Harry know we give voids under the right circumstances."
"What circumstances would those be?"
Crowley smiled the smile of a salesman who knows he's got a buyer in the palm of his hand.
"We have three possible deals for the discerning parent: Deal One – you get a soul of equal or greater value to willingly give it up for the kid's life. Kid loses his knowledge and the kindly saviour gets ten years before taking a trip downstairs. Note that 'willingly' not only means no coercion, magical or mundane, but also that the person understands exactly what they're giving up and to what."
So no cheap fools bribed to relinquish their souls in ignorance.
"Deal Two – you get three souls of equal or greater value to willingly give it up. Kid gets to keep his knowledge for another ten years, but loses it when the three die. Deal Three –" here, Crowley paused, giving Snape the look of a man who expects to see carnage and plans to enjoy it "– you get three souls of equal or greater value to give it up immediately, and the kid gets to keep his knowledge forever."
The thought of sacrificing three innocent people for the sake of his own son barely gave Severus even a flash of guilt. Curious, he asked, "How many people have ever fulfilled the terms of a deal like this?"
"Three, and only Deal One."
Severus wasn't surprised. "How do I determine the worth of a soul?"
Crowley clapped his hands together then folded them apart to lie flat. A black crystal lay on his palm, roughly cut, two and a half inches long. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger.
"Touch this to the boy's skin and it turns a certain colour, calibrates to his soul. Touch it to someone else, it'll turn lighter if they're worth more, darker if less. Capiche? Good. Make sure he's the first to touch it, or it'll calibrate to someone else."
Severus looked pointedly at where Crowley was holding it.
"Demon," Crowley shrugged. "No soul. No calibration. Have the people bleed on it, then smash it and the kid's soul is saved."
"The chances of finding even one willing sacrifice is astronomical. You expect me to fail."
Crowley smiled. Unlike the earlier grins, this was a truly cruel smile. It reminded Severus uncomfortably of the Dark Lord.
"Since you mention sacrifices, there is one way that you can avoid the willing part."
"How?" Severus asked suspiciously.
"Kill them yourself in a Dark Sacrifice."
Severus stiffened. The demon grinned.
"Anyway, I have actual work to be doing, so make your choice, Daddy darling."
Severus almost hexed him for that. He refrained and just transfigured a pebble into a small pouch. Crowley sauntered forwards and dropped the crystal in it.
"One last thing before I go," Crowley said. Severus gripped his wand tightly; he didn't like the demon's tone. "This deal is only valid for three days from the moment I made a deal with the kid. Don't think you can wait ten years and sacrifice someone just before your son kicks it. If there's no exchange in seventy-two hours, the offer's gone. Got that?"
Severus inhaled sharply. Crowley grinned, and vanished.
He reappeared again just a moment later. "By the way, you remember that copper from this morning? She's the one that summoned me before. She also happens to have three kids that I'm fairly certain are worth as much as your son," he added, and vanished once more.
"You damn your own soul."
Severus whirled, wand raising and a binding spell leaving the tip as soon as his gaze fell on a figure behind him. The spell missed by an inch and his target didn't even flinch, just stepped out of the shadows to reveal the wasted figure of Nemo.
"What are you doing here?" Severus demanded.
"Followed you," Nemo admitted with a careless shrug. "Had a feeling Harry made his deal after your spat –"
Severus lunged forward, grabbed Nemo's dirty robes in one fist, and shoved his wand tip into the man's throat.
"How the fuck do you know about the deal?"
"I know everything."
Severus growled, digging his wand harder into the thin throat. "Don't try and mess with me. You've no idea what I'm capable of."
Nemo looked supremely unconcerned. To Severus' absolute shock, and no little fear, Nemo calmly pried Severus' fingers apart and extracted himself from his grip, while Severus found himself suddenly frozen in place. Try as he might, he couldn't move below the neck, not even a twitch of his fingers or toes, not even to stop Nemo plucking the wand from his hand.
"Who are you?" he asked, hearing the fear in his own voice.
Severus hadn't felt fear like this in years, not since the vast majority of his fellow Death Eaters inexplicably turned themselves over to the Aurors after the fall of the Dark Lord. He had been terrified that he, too, would suddenly feel compelled to give himself up, confess all his crimes, and get thrown in Azkaban for life.
It hadn't happened, and to this day he had no idea why he, Lucius, and Regulus – if there were any others, he didn't know them – remained free when so many others didn't, including people who'd never have been suspected as Death Eaters if they hadn't given themselves up.
"Who am I?" Nemo said, moving around Severus and waving his wand at the ground to pull up the concrete again, retrieving the buried jar. "I'm no one. Everyone. I've been so many people I'm not sure I know anymore."
He turned and levitated the jar to Severus, who suddenly found himself able to move. He took the jar from out of the air and looked at the man warily.
"How do you know about Harry?"
"I told you, I know everything. But that's not important. That's important."
He pointed Severus' wand at the jar and Severus couldn't restrain a flinch. He didn't appreciate having a wand pointed at him, especially not his own.
Nemo didn't seem to notice. "You damn yourself if you kill those children. There's no redemption from a Dark Sacrifice."
"And you're concerned for my soul?" Severus sneered.
Nemo considered this. "No, not particularly. Not for a long time." Severus had no idea what he meant by that; he didn't see that Nemo should ever have been concerned for his soul. "I merely thought I should make you aware of all the facts."
"How touching. But my soul is already damned."
Not that it bothered him, because he didn't believe in afterlife judgement. Certainly hell dimensions existed, but Severus didn't believe some god or other being would weigh a soul's sins and send it on to one of those dimensions as punishment.
"No, it's not," Nemo said softly.
Severus' lip curled. "What do you know?" he spat, angered by the man's attitude and actions. "Just give me my wand and go home before I decide to never sell to you again."
"You wouldn't do that. I pay you too much, and I bet you don't know yet how expensive kids are. And I know a great deal about damned souls. I know even more about you. I know about the shag in the woods that produced Harry. I know you were a Death Eater."
"How dare – !"
"I know you only killed a handful of people," Nemo went on, ignoring Severus' anger, "and I know you only did so on command. A damned soul that does not make. Tarnished, perhaps. But not damned."
"You were one," Severus said, feeling his heart pounding in his chest at his past being so openly discussed. "You were a Death Eater."
He and Lucius rarely spoke of it, he and Regulus never, and there was a silent agreement that the past was best left buried. Despite what drove them to join Voldemort in the first place, they all preferred life without him. True, Severus occasionally wished for that power and glory that Voldemort once offered him, but he was content with his lot. He had a reasonable income, a quiet life, plenty of time to experiment with his brewing and just enough thrill from dealing in illicit potions to keep from getting bored.
"Once upon a time," Nemo confirmed, and laughed. It was ragged and dry, touched with insanity.
"Those potions have addled your brains."
"On the contrary, the drugs help me ignore my insanity. Or at least live with it." He stared down at his hands. Severus looked at them, but saw nothing of note. "I don't have nearly enough drugs in me right now, in any case." He sighed, looking up again. "Crowley intends you to damn yourself by killing those kids with a Dark Sacrifice. It guarantees an extra soul more than if you found willing people to exchange their souls."
"So what? You plan to stop me?"
"No, just warn you." He looked down at the wand in his hand, back up. "Just out of curiosity, what did Harry ask for?"
"Does it matter?"
"Not really," Nemo admitted. "I just wondered."
Severus glanced at the wand in Nemo's hand, the fact he was making no move to return it, and answered, "Knowledge."
Nemo stared at him. Severus frowned, shifted. "What?"
"Sorry, drugs are fucking with me. What did you say?"
"Knowledge," Severus repeated, eying him even more warily now. "Healing knowledge."
Nemo continued to stare, expression one of utter bafflement. Maybe Severus really should stop selling to him; he knew all those drugs would fuck him up eventually.
Eventually Nemo said, "D'you mean healing magic?"
"I mean the knowledge of it," Severus said irritably. "He knows as much as any trained healer. And Muggle doctor."
"Okay, but like, he can perform it, right?"
Severus shrugged. "Technically, but no great skill. With practice and his own wand, he'd probably be more than capable."
"So you're telling me he's not a seven year old magical healing prodigy?"
Severus raised his eyebrows. "No. Why should he be?"
"Because!" Nemo yelled. "Because it's always supposed to be fucking magic!"
He threw Severus' wand then, so suddenly Severus started and then lunged forward as it clattered to the road. He snatched it up and immediately aimed it at Nemo, but the man had already vanished.