"You look awful."
"Gee, thanks Ginny," Harry replied sarcastically.
"I'm talking about the dark circles under your eyes. Haven't been sleeping again?" Ginny finished tightening Harry's tie and began futilely attempting to get some of his unruly hair to lay flat.
"I have been sleeping a bit, actually. But I keep having strange dreams and wake up feeling more drained than I did before I went to bed. Been about the same effect, really."
Ginny's brows furrowed at the mention of dreams, "You don't think…"
"No…" When her frown deepened, he gently pried her hand from his head and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, coaxing a more reassuring tone out of his voice, "No, he's gone, Ginny. They're not anything like those were. Haven't felt so much as a tickle from my scar."
"I don't doubt that…that's not what I meant," warm amber eyes studied his face all over, looking for the right words to say, as though there were flies buzzing around his head.
"You know, Hermione has taken up an interest in muggle psychology lately…about the effects loss and trauma can have on a person. I don't understand a lot of the terms she goes on about, but talking it out with her has really been helping me. Mum and Dad too."
"I don't—"
"I know you don't want to talk about it with us. You've made that perfectly clear," she snipped, losing patience with him more quickly every time they had this particular conversation. "Maybe you could read about it though, or talk to somebody impartial…"
"What, like a mind-healer? Don't know if I trust someone fiddling about in my brain after these last few years."
"You have to start trusting in someone, Harry."
"I do trust—"
He was thankfully saved from further confrontation when Hermione walked over with her handbag and produced a small bottle with gusto. His nostrils were then assaulted by some kind of chemical smell as she began attacking Harry's face with a little applicator.
"Uhg, what is that?"
"Concealer," she huffed, rubbing the gooey substance under his eyes and then giving him a couple of slightly-too-hard pats on the cheek, "You're up next."
"Wish me luck," he groaned.
"Don't need to. I wrote most of your speech, you twit."
—
Harry tried to keep himself focused by counting the number of people in the crowd who had dozed off as he plodded his way through the long eulogy. It was difficult to maintain a balance of being detached enough to stay composed and yet heartfelt enough to sound sincere, and he suspected he was not entirely succeeding with either. The crowd was a sea of faces, and for every pair of living eyes he could see, still just as vivid in his mind were the eyes of the corpses of their relatives and friends with the light all gone out from them.
"—Let this monument stand," he gestured to the massive marble and bronze phoenix behind the stage, its gleaming wings unfurled in triumph against the ruins of Hogwarts in the distance and over the names of the fallen inscribed at its base, "as an eternal reminder of their sacrifice, so that we may never again repeat the tragedies that caused them to lay down their lives. Instead, we must rise from the ashes of sorrow and adversity and bigotry to forge ourselves in the fires of love and acceptance that will help us build a brighter future for all." Harry surveyed the crowd one last time to scattered applause and murmuring before stepping down from the podium.
In his eagerness to flee the limelight, he almost missed them, and his heart nearly stopped when he caught the familiar pair of black eyes glancing up at him from behind a veil. Willing his legs to work and nearly tripping over his dress robes, he unsteadily made his way toward the dispersing congregation. He must have gone pale, for Ron had come up to check on him. Nothing he said made Harry's notice, however, and he rushed past him without so much as a glance.
Pushing his way through the mass of black-attired bodies, he struggled to keep sight of his target in its modest and simple black robe. Just when he was about to give up, the frail-looking figure suddenly appeared at a distance from his line of sight with its back to him, alone and nearly ready to apparate.
"Mrs. Snape! Please wait!" he called out, dashing up to meet her.
She turned around abruptly at his voice, and as she had removed her large sun hat and veil, he could see her pitch-coloured hair was generously flecked with grey and pulled securely into a bun without so much as a single flyaway. She eyed him scrutinizingly with a shrewd stare, which she quickly arranged into a cordial look of indifference after glancing at his scar.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid you have the wrong woman," she addressed him in a stern-sounding but otherwise pleasantly silvery voice.
"Oh! Um…" Harry, dazed and lacking a knack for manners, wiped the cold sweat from his palm on his trousers and reached out to gently shake her hand. "I apologize…but I don't believe I've mistaken you. I recognize you…from some pictures I've seen. Is it…?"
"Ms. Prince," she offered, returning the handshake with loosely-gripped bony fingers. "I wasn't aware that a hero of the wizarding world should know me from anywhere, but it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," he smiled at her in what he hoped was a charming way, "I was a student of Professor Snape's, and to be perfectly honest, I consider him just as much a hero of the war as anyone, if not more…" when his endeavor to lead the conversation with flattery was met with a vacant stare, he continued, but with a nervous stutter breaking his voice somewhat. "I was hoping I might ask you about him…it so happens I have some of his things and—"
"I'm not sure what that has to do with me, I'm afraid," she cut him off, both hands tensely clenching the brim of her hat and looking very much as though she wished to leave. "Is there something I can assist you with?"
"I just thought…well, we believed Professor Snape to have no living relatives. As his mother, I thought—"
"I beg your pardon," her voice had taken on an icy edge, and her dark eyes were now wildly darting about for an excuse to escape, "I can assure you, I do not have a son, and unless you have some business with me, I really must be going."
When she turned abruptly on her heel to leave, Harry moved to catch her by her delicate upper arm, but she flinched rather violently away from his hand. Slowly, she fixed a pointed glare upon him once again, and he was taken aback by what appeared to be a total absence of understanding behind those eyes. "Prof—Severus Snape, he was your son with…Tobias Snape…wasn't it?"
A long silence stretched between them, and for a moment Harry thought he might have gotten through to her. Her tightly drawn features were pinched in deep concentration as though she were on the verge of recalling something very important.
"I…" she stammered, looking for a moment as though she were vaguely in pain. He might have imagined it however, for her expression all at once had become vacuous.
"I have never been married…I do not have a son…and I'm not to be seen in public…" she repeated wispily, eyes fixed somewhere faraway and lightless. It was a type of expression Harry was intimately familiar with.
"…My apologies, I'm sorry to trouble you," he lowered his head in a short bow as an awkward attempt at courtesy, "I won't keep you any longer, then…It really was good to meet you."
She held him in that fathomless stare for a long time, searching. When she spoke again, her voice had returned to its former demeanor, "Indeed. Good day to you, Mr. Potter."
"Good day, Ms. Prince."
With that, she turned and apparated.
Harry stood there still staring at the place she had been standing when he felt Hermione's warm hand on his shoulder. She and Ron had been standing just off to the side and behind him, and he could see behind them that Ginny was also making her way over.
"Been standing there long?"
"A bit," Hermione nodded, "I recognized her as well."
"What do you make of it?"
"She's been obliviated," she said softly, chewing her lip.
"Yes…I think so too," Harry replied.
—
Severus licked his dry lips and glanced restlessly down the dimly lit alleyway, waiting for someone. He despised London with its oppressive atmosphere, thick pollution, and entirely too many people skittering to and fro like ants in an intricately designed terrarium. They could decorate it with all the coloured lights in the world but that wouldn't change the fact that these ants liked to nibble each other's heads off for the barest of reasons. The wizarding community too lived stacked on top of one another here. Like so many cauldrons, they required only a flick to topple over one another and take out everything around them in the resulting clatter.
Privately, he wished for vast open fields and forests to explore. His Mum long ago had told him about secret patches of flowers in the woods where if stumbled upon by children, they would be spirited away and never be seen again: a fate he'd thought sounded like heaven at the time. As a much more practical adult who had abandoned the concept of fairy stories, he still knew that all manner of natural magics existed in such places, especially in the plants. Lots of ingredients to gather, and green everywhere.
The sunny fields in his mind dissolved back into the night of London as a group of inebriated pub goers who had just exited through the rear door of a nearby building raucously blabbered amongst themselves. His face contorted in disgust and he glanced away as one of them began to take a leak on the wall. He wanted to relocate, but it was a safer bet to just attempt to blend in with the shadows and attract as little attention as possible.
Unfortunately, drunk pricks always seemed to be drawn to him when all he wanted was to go unnoticed. He heard the man spit and the pull of a zipper.
"Wha'chu lookin' at, perv?"
"Just insects," he hissed maliciously, fingertips brushing the tip of his wand hidden inside his cuff. How easy it would be to simply stamp them out as such, too.
The other men whistled jeeringly, and the wall-pisser inflated himself like some ridiculous baboon as he sauntered drunkenly towards Severus, "Dear me, it sounds like this wanker wants words with us! Shall we oblige 'im, boys?"
Indeed, what words would be suitable to waste upon rubbish such as this? As they approached, Severus straightened himself with a look of defiance, abandoning what little remained of his pretense of remaining inconspicuous. He started going over a list of his favorite disfiguring spells in his mind…if these idiots knew what kind of terrible man he was, they wouldn't dare—
Don't! His wand flinched from his grip.
"Confundo," came a familiar voice from behind him, suddenly.
The approaching drunk stopped in his tracks, looking dazed for a moment. Slowly, he turned back to his cronies. "What did you say, yo-o-ou cunt?!" he slurred, taking a wide, inelegant swing at the one nearest to him, whose mouth had gone agape with shock.
They began shouting heatedly at each other in the confusion, and the situation quickly escalated into a brawl amongst themselves. Seemingly forgotten, Severus would have hung around to enjoy the entertainment, but he was still puzzling over what exactly had stayed his hand. But he soon found himself led by the wrist into the pub the men had exited before he could dwell on it much.
"Why are you always spoiling for a pointless fight?" Regulus castigated him as he released his arm, pointing to a table in a far corner that was heavily obscured from view.
Severus shrugged moodily, making his way over with his friend to the dingy seats and throwing himself into a chair. "Maybe I've grown savage from being kept on a leash at all times. They were only muggles, anyway."
"While I've no love for their kind and I'm normally all for you being let off your leash, I did say that I wished to keep a low profile!" Regulus growled under his breath, glancing about the room skittishly.
Severus nodded stiffly in a manner that might have been interpreted as apologetic by anyone who didn't know him all that well, which was just about everyone. As it so happened, though, Regulus could be considered one of those few who did, and he appropriately rolled his eyes in response to Severus' nonchalance.
"I didn't know you knew any muggle pubs, Reggie," he muttered offhandedly, ignoring the look he'd earned for his attitude. This place was, at best, a cesspit. The wallpaper was a brocade in a garish shade of red, a colour he particularly hated. Tacky Tiffany lamps hung above the tables were either broken or had long lost the colour of their glass to a thick layer of grime, having achieved nearly the same hue as the mahogany paneling.
Regulus himself had never been terribly handsome either, but tonight he looked particularly bedraggled. His mismatched attempt at muggle attire was thoroughly wrinkled and his normally tidy hair beyond unkempt. There was also a sickly tinge to his skin as though he'd not eaten properly in a few days and several beads of sweat dotted his furrowed brow. He shot a silencing look at Severus as a waitress approached with several pints of beer. They accepted one a piece, and once she'd left, Severus pushed his mug towards the other man.
"Muffliato."
"Sometimes it's best to hide in a crowd, and there's less of a chance we'll be recognized here. You know very well the Dark Lord doesn't take kindly to unsanctioned meetings between his followers…" he added, with a desperate falter in his voice, "and somehow he always manages to find out."
"Which makes me wonder why I agreed to this in the first place," Severus complained, running a hand through his own lanky hair.
Regulus didn't reply right away, instead fishing around in his chest pocket for something. A pack of cigarettes? Perhaps he had stolen them from Sirius. He offered one to Severus, who held up his hand to decline. Regulus produced a tiny flame in his palm to light it, but his hands were shaking so badly he was having difficulty doing so. Severus reached out and clasped the other man's hand to steady it, and eventually, he succeeded and took a very long drag.
"You are…uniquely qualified to offer me advice in these matters."
"And what makes you think I won't just turn you in?"
"I trust you," he offered simply, taking another puff.
Severus curled his lip disapprovingly and drummed his fingertips on the surface of the table. "Such a thing will surely get us both killed."
Regulus leaned in uncomfortably close, with tobacco smoke still issuing from his nostrils, and pressed onward, "You do a very good job of hiding how you feel, but we both know the man is insane. Things cannot continue like this!"
Severus eyed him warily for a long while, and eventually he settled back into his own seat, stamping out the hastily consumed cigarette. "I know you don't want to get involved. I swear, all I'm asking for is your expertise."
"That distinction will make no difference to him if we are discovered. It is still treason you are speaking of," he huffed and made to leave the table. "I should not have come here."
"Please!" Regulus' trembling hands grabbed at the waistband of Severus' tattered jeans, and his dark eyes narrowed at the other man's as they filled with tears, "Severus…Please…Lucius has taken my father into custody and they won't tell me what's been done with him. He only suggests that my mother will be next if I don't cooperate…I-I…"
"Would it not be safer then, to just do as you are asked?" his gaze remained hard, but had imperceptibly softened as Regulus let out a pathetic sob.
"I will…I have no choice, now. But where does it end? Who's going to stop this, if not me? My family…I can't let him…"
Severus whirled on him, anger blossoming across his normally controlled countenance, "And what of my family, Reggie? What assurances can you possibly offer that will make it worth the risk of me placing her in danger for your sake?"
"I wouldn't have come to you if I hadn't planned for that," he wiped his face with his sleeve and swiftly regained his composure as he pulled out another cigarette, "I'm very good with memory charms. I have something that can hide her in ways your occlumency can't…I can make sure she's provided for, too."
Severus shook his head, dark curtains concealing his fear. "This is utter madness…there's nothing to be gained…"
"There is everything to lose, though. He's already proven he has no reservations coming after those that even his most loyal dogs care about," Regulus stood as well, and Severus stiffened at the contact as he grabbed fistfuls of his dark shirt, clinging to his shoulders, "I beg your trust, Sev, I have no one else to turn to…!"
His mind was a whirlwind, imagining all the possible downfalls of plotting against the Dark Lord. Equally terrifying were the thoughts of what would become of all of them at the end of a loyal service, something he had started pondering nearly the moment that he'd been branded a little over a year ago. Trust? Who could even be trusted? Severus had long learned the hard lesson that the only one he could trust was himself, and even that was debatable.
Trust him… trust your instincts, some laughably soft part of himself urged.
Instincts…instinct had led the both of them into the welcoming arms, safety, and promises of power offered by Lucius Malfoy's association to the madman. In his loneliness, he too had spilled every miserable detail about his family to that snake in the grass. Although he didn't care one whit about what happened to Toby, wherever he was, his instincts asked him how long it would be before Mum became collateral in this dangerous game of war they were all playing. When would he find himself sobbing and prostrating before someone more powerful to protect those that he loved, even if they did not love him in return?
Severus slammed down his barriers against all of those horrible mixed feelings and guided Regulus back into his seat, taking his own again as well. Refusing to meet the other man's gaze, he instead pointedly eyed his beer, which Regulus began chugging down at this insistence. And for the first time in his life, Severus found himself tempted to drown his own worries in the stuff.
"What exactly is your offer?"
Regulus' face lit up with some small measure of hope, like the light eking out through the Tiffany lamps. He produced something small and bound from inside his jacket.
"This."
The vision cut off violently this time, as though the object had been forcefully torn from Severus' memory.