Chapter 7: Honour Among Snakes
September 4, 1995
Harry Potter
His head still spinning from the simultaneously hopeful and disappointing conversation with Cho, Harry followed his friends down to the dungeon to have their first Potions class of the year. Hermione and Ron were arguing, as usual, but Hermione was being strangely withdrawn, responding to Ron's bull-headed remarks without the usual sharpness her voice would hold in such situations.
"'Shut up, Ron." Harry said finally, as they lined up outside the dungeon to await the greasy bat's arrival. "You okay, Hermione?"
His friend blinked, lifting her brown eyes from the floor where they had prior to been fixed. "Oh. Yes. Why are you asking me? Ask Ron why he's such a stupid berk."
There is was again. The noncommittal jab, said more out of expectation than feeling. Quite unlike Hermione.
"You seem kind of… distant?" Harry shook his head. "Are you thinking about that pink Ministry woman?"
"Oh." She shook her head. "No… actually, I was thinking about Snape."
"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it either." Ron put in glumly. "The way he looked at us after Snuffles tried to prank him. Thought he was going to kill us there and then. But he's going to put us through hell for it today."
Harry nodded, feeling apprehensive. "And I have a feeling I'll be getting most of the inferno."
"Well, I wasn't thinking about that, actually." Hermione said. "I was-" she faltered, seeing the dungeon doors open with an ominous creak. She lowered her voice as they shuffled into the Potions classroom. "Remind me to talk to you boys about it later. It's important."
Ron and Harry exchanged glances. A lot of things were important to Hermione- her grades, following the rules, her cat, S.P.E.W… but she seemed quite serious this time. They gave her a quick nod, because whatever it was, it would have to wait until they had escaped Snape's Potions class, presumably with all limbs still intact.
Harry could already feel Snape's glare piercing through him from the minute he entered the class. His inner Hermione was telling him to just stay as unobtrusive as possible and not give Snape a reason to hate him any further, but as usual, his Gryffindor instincts won over, urging him to defiantly raise his gaze to meet that of his most hated teachers. He did not like what he saw. Snape's eyes glittered with pure loathing, and his mouth twisted upwards into a malignant smirk. Involuntarily, Harry gulped.
"Settle down." Snape said frostily, softly shutting the dungeon door behind him.
From the moment Snape uttered those words, he commanded the complete attention of the class. Everyone was fully focused on the hawknosed teacher, as if they would be punished for merely looking away… which, considering Snape's temperament, was a definite possibility. He launched into a smug speech about the demands that the years' Potions O.W.L. would have on them, and what awaited them should they fail. Harry was quite pleased to know he wouldn't have to endure another two years of Potions after the O.W.L.s, since the onerous git insisted on those entering his N.E.W.T. level classes having achieved Outstandings… and Harry knew that certainly wasn't going to happen to him. Like he cared enough about Snape's stupid potions to try and earn the Outstanding.
The Potions Master then proceeding to instruct them in the preparation of an extremely complex and fiddly potion. If the Draught of Peace was a taster of what the rest of the year's curriculum looked like, Harry could tell he was going to be in for a lot of failed grades and spoiled potions. Especially with Snape in his present mood.
He wasn't the only one having trouble with the potion. From the look of the cauldrons Harry could see on the desks around him, the only person who had got the potion right was Hermione. Of course.
Snape waited until Harry's potion was exuding thick smoke before pouncing, a dark smirk on his ugly face.
"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"
Harry gritted his teeth, feeling the eager eyes of his Slytherin rivals fixed firmly in his corner.
"The Draught of Peace."
"Tell me, Potter." Snape's voice was dangerously quiet. "Can you read?"
Harry's inner-Hermione forced him to answer with a quick three-syllabled affirmation, but his Gryffindor anger was probably written all over his face.
Snape then instructed him to read the third line of the blackboard's instruction… and upon doing so, his heart sank. 'Why didn't you read it properly?' chided his inner-Hermione. But she needed have, because Snape ripped into him with relish, forcing him to admit his mistake before finally vanishing his whole potion. Harry dug his fingernails into his palm, furious. Snape was bound to take great pleasure in giving him a nice fat zero for that day's work. And his potion wasn't the even worst there… but, then, Snape had warned him of the kind of Potions classes he might expect after the boggart incident. 'Not that I had anything to do with it anyway. But try telling Snape that.'
But Snape, with a last malignant glare at Harry, had turned now to Ron, obviously to castigate him also for being witness to Sirius's attempted prank. "Weasley. Well, since you follow your friend in everything you do, I can't say I'm surprised that you are firmly intent on duplicating his incompetence. This is nearly as great a failure of a potion as was Potters... Evanesco." Harry winced for his friend when Snape wandlessly vanished Ron's potion in the same way as he had just dealt with his own.
Ron's face flushed violently red. He wasn't often the subject of one of Snape's abject attacks… the git tended to use Harry or Neville to get his kicks. "Yes, sir." He mumbled. To be fair, his potion was rather pathetic, spitting green sparks and pungent with a stench somewhat close to that of rotten eggs.
Snape then strode over to the Slytherin tables, inspecting all the potions. As he passed each one, his face grew darker and darker. Obviously not even Draco had managed to achieve an acceptable potion. The entire class had gone deadly silent as they watched his inspections. Snape wasn't customarily so judicious in checking the potions… usually he just picked a particularly poor piece of work to upbraid, before ordering the students to provide samples. Finally, he moved over to the other side of the classroom, and glanced over at Hermione's perfect potion, taking in the delicate silver steam that rose from the top of the cauldron.
His face soured instantly, and after a moment, he said. "Miss Granger, as Gryffindor's resident know-it-all, I should not be surprised you are the only one capable of reading. Your potion is…" he paused for a fraction of a second, before grudgingly continuing. "Adequate. Five points to Gryffindor." A look of utter disgust crossed his face and the class stared at each other in gobsmacked disbelief. Snape gave five points to Gryffindor?
Harry looked at Hermione with his mouth open in astonishment. Hadn't she also been at Grimmuald Place when Sirius attempted to spring a boggart on Snape? How then was she being rewarded? Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen Snape give points out to Gryffindor, and never had it been in a number as high as five points. Hermione looked just as surprised. Harry shook his head. For the fourth time in a month, Snape had shocked him… first by turning up at Privet Drive, then with his Patronus, then with his boggart-lord powers… and now this. There was something seriously wrong with the universe.
Snape didn't seem to want to give the class time to dwell on his unusual action, so he hurried on. "For the rest of you, fill one a flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Let us hope none of you manage to produce potions as poor as those made by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Homework, twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its use in potion making, to be handed in on Thursday."
Ron and Harry turned to each other in a mixture of anger and shock, before packing up their materials. Everyone around them was filling up their flagons, but by vanishing their potions, Snape had obviously had no intention of even considering them for marks even a fraction above zero.
"Not so fast… Potter, Weasley." Snape's dry voice halted them. "Since you are obviously too monumentally dunderheaded to make the Draught of Peace correctly, you can write an essay on it, detailing the correct procedure required for this potion and the history of its make. After all, I can hardly expect students as lazy as yourselves to bother discovering such a thing in your spare time."
"But you already assigned homework for the class!" Harry exploded at the sheer injustice.
Snape smiled cruelly. "Yes. I did. I shall expect both essays to be handed in on Thursday." And with that, he turned back to his desk, just in time to prevent Crabb from going up in flames after his potion's flagon exploded.
When the bell rang, Harry and Ron stalked mutinously out of the dungeon, exchanging obscenity laced commiserations. Now, Harry didn't feel at all sorry for telling the others about the git's Patronus form.
They both reached the Great Hall before Hermione, and by the time she joined them, they had already began furiously forking lunch into their mouths. "Well… that was an interesting class, wasn't it?" Hermione began cautiously, serving herself a helping of Shepard's pie.
"Speak for yourself." Muttered Ron around a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. "The bastard gave us two blasted, buggering essays to do! Even for him, that's low."
Harry pushed his food around on his plate. "Well, we knew he was going to punish us for that incident in the summer… but what was that in there, Hermione? He's never given Gryffindor that many points, and he doesn't even like you."
"Actually, I'm pretty sure he's given Percy points before." Hermione looked uncomfortable.
"Of course, because Percy is just as much a bastard as he is." Ron said spitefully, his brows growing stormy at the mention of his erstwhile brother.
Hermione paused, and then said in a low voice, "I have an idea about what might have made him do that. Last night, I-" She then paused, looking around as if to make sure their conversation was private. The area around them was sparsely seated and no one was walking by. Yet she shook her head. "Look, this just makes it more important I talk about it to you guys."
"Oh yeah, the mysterious talk." Harry grumbled. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about. Everyone in the school hates me and thinks I'm a liar, we have a Ministry incursion on our hands, and now Ron and I have a mountain of Potions homework to do in our first week. Do you really think we have time for this?"
"You better have. I'll even help you with your homework, but I think this is important." Hermione said firmly.
Ron laughed, sending bits of food flying from his mouth. "Well, when Hermione offers to help you with your homework, you know things are serious."
Despite his ill mood, Harry laughed along with his friend, but Hermione merely frowned disapprovingly, and sniffed, "Really, Ron, learn some tables manners already. Anyway, both of you finish quickly so I can talk to you."
After a few minutes, Harry and Ron grudgingly followed their friend out of the Great Hall. Hermione led them to a little alcove that was in the middle of an empty corridor near the Northern Tower. "I like to read here." She said briefly, before launching into her 'talk' with a harried air.
"All-right, so last night when I was on prefect patrol, I actually went looking for Professor Snape."
"WHAT?" Ron stared at her as if she was insane… which, considering the admission, was quite possible.
"Oh, stow it." Hermione said stoutly. "Be quiet and let me finish. Yes, I went looking for Professor Snape… you know he's always prowling around at night. Anyway, I wanted to apologise to him for Snuffles' prank… and don't look at me like that, Harry James Potter. You know as well as I do it was a sodding rotten thing to do. And I wasn't playing teacher's pet… I was as shocked as you were when he gave me the points. Anyway, I apologised to him, which he brushed off rather nastily, of course, but then I thanked him for saving your life."
Harry swallowed guiltily, recalling how he had omitted to do such a thing. 'Two essays. Not going to feel guilty.' He reminded himself.
"And?" prompted Ron, clearly looking amazed that Hermione was standing before them with her scalp still attached.
"Yes, and he just stared at me for a moment before saying something rather odd. It was something like… 'I may hate you brats, but surely you've noticed that I tend to concern myself with the safety of my students. It is, after all, my duty.' And something about death by imploded cauldron."
Ron snorted. "What kind of pretentious piffle is that? Snape would sooner chop us up and turn us into potion ingredients and the only reason he cares about keeping the classroom from exploding is because he wants to keep his precious Slytherins safe."
"Shh, Ron." Hermione cast him an irritated look. "Then he indirectly reminded me about first year… he knew I set fire to his cloak, you know?"
"Oh." Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. Remembering now that he had never thanked his snarky professor for saving his life in first year suddenly coloured the reason Snape seemed to hate him more in the second year. He'd always assumed it was because of the Ford Anglia incident, but now it seemed it could have been a mixture for both. So that was twice Snape had saved him…
"Yes." Hermione nodded sagely. "I thought the same. You didn't thank him for saving your life in the first year either, did you?"
Harry shook his head guiltily. "No. And… not this time either."
"What?" Hermione looked gob-smacked. "I know you hate him, but he saved your life! And you even give him a tiny bit a gratitude?"
Harry nodded a little shakily.
Hermione threw up her hands. "Honestly…"
"C'mon, Hermione." Ron began weakly. "Snape probably wouldn't even want thanks."
"Actually, while he looked really shocked when I thanked him, he also seemed kind of disgusted with me that this is the first time I've ever done it. And I've been thinking… remember how hard he worked to make sure Quirrell didn't get the stone for Voldemort? He even got his leg mauled. And then in the second year, he helped cure those of us who were petrified. And…" Hermione blushed. "He also cured my… cat accident."
"Oh… I bet he got a laugh out of that one." Harry scoffed, desperately trying not to let Hermione's words sink in.
"Maybe, but I never thanked him for that either." Hermione looked ashamed. "And then… in third year…"
"In third year he was really angry with me for going to Hogsmeade." Harry interrupted, his voice slow with dawning realization. "He was rude to me, but I never thought it was because he was… worried Sirius Black would kill me. I thought he was just mad I broke the rules."
"Based on what we know now, I'd say it was a bit of both." Hermione said, biting her lip anxiously. "Anyway, last night I realized something else about third year… in the Shrieking Shack-"
"In the Shrieking Shack he went completely insane and wanted to get Sirius and Lupin sucked soulless." Ron interrupted, his face set cold and stubborn. "Don't try and turn him into a hero here."
Hermione nodded impatiently. "I know he wasn't exactly non compos mentis at the time, and for a moment he tried to get Sirius and Lupin kissed, but think. He ventured out after a werewolf on full-moon, and after a mass murderer… and he tried to protect us. That was pretty brave…"
"He did it for revenge." Harry argued, wilfully ignoring his conscience. "He hates both of them, and just wanted to catch them, not protect us."
"But given what else he has done, how would you know, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry lowered his eyes, memories crowding into his head, one over the other over the other. Quirrel, standing in front of the Mirror of Erisad, his face a picture of triumph. "Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.' Then, after Harry had snuck into Hogsmeade, Snape, his lips twisted into a malicious smile, 'Everyone from the Ministry downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry for his safety.' Was Snape saying that he was one of those ordinary people? Yes. Harry realized. Yes, he was. Then, when later on in the Shrieking Shack, moments before they knocked him out, when Snape was almost incoherent for pure rage- "I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee!"
'I've never thanked him.' The thought finally hit home, like a bludger to the gut.
"There's something else." Ron's voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away, and Harry tried to surface above his thoughts. "When me and Harry missed the feast because of the Ford Anglia, Snape was the only one of the teachers that noticed.
"He… probably just wanted to get me into trouble." Harry said half-heartedly. But, given what he'd just remembered, he was having trouble believing himself.
"Don't forget, he never actually fed Sirius to the dementors, even though he wanted him to die." Hermione said. "He got us out on stretchers and took us to the hospital."
"Even after we hit him on the head." Ron added, looking at the floor.
The realization had shocked both Harry and Ron. That Snape, evil, nasty, horrid git that had assigned them extra homework and unfairly failed them… that he had been constantly looking out for their safety…
"Oh, this is all wrong." Harry moaned, running his hands through his messy hair.
"Well… he is still a Death Eater, Hermione." Ron whispered, as if trying to retain his grip on to the ledge of his former beliefs.
"Yeah…" Harry looked up, hopeful. "Maybe he just saved me to make Dumbledore trust him."
"Really, Harry?" Hermione looked sympathetically at him. Obviously, she had already had time to reflect on it all.
Harry slumped against the alcove's window, looking down into the grounds beyond. "Great… so now what do I do?"
"An apology and a belated thank you would be a good start." Hermione said pertly.
"But why?" Harry looked up at her. "I don't understand why Snape would work so hard to protect all the students when he just makes up for it by bullying us."
Hermione didn't even bother correcting the way he omitted Snape's title, for her eyes sparkled in excitement. "That's what I want to find out."
"Oh, no…. I know that voice." Ron looked anxiously at her. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"
"What?" Harry felt out of the loop.
Hermione lifted her chin. "I want to find out what makes Professor Snape tick. Why did he become a Death Eater? Why does the Headmaster trust him? Why does he hate you and Sirius and Lupin? Why is he a spy? Oh…" she added unnecessarily, as if trying to convince them. "And I want to prove to you that he's loyal, so you all shut up about questioning Professor Dumbledore's sanity."
Harry stared at her, his brain suddenly extremely tired. "Let me get this straight… you want to investigate Snape?"
Hermione nodded, not even having the grace to be abashed. "So, what do you say, Harry? Will you be my Dr. Watson?"
"Doctor what-now?" Ron choked.
"Muggle thing..." Harry mumbled absently, still staring at Hermione. "'Mione, are you cracked? Snape will kill us!"
"And what's so interesting about Snape anyway?" Ron put in.
"That's what I want to find out." Hermione grinned, although she looked nervous. "It's a risk, but… after the Patronus thing, I got curious. How can someone be a Death Eater, and be able to conjure a Patronus? As a Death Eater, he would have performed Dark Magic and Unforgivables… the darkest of Dark Magic, yet he can also produce the lightest and most pure of magics. It's a… paradox. And why does he hate you so much, yet go to great lengths to save you?"
Ron was slowly nodding now. "Why does he hate everyone, why is he so unpleasant?"
Hermione rattled on alongside him. "Who was his family, what was his life like in school?"
"Why does he never wash his hair?" Ron sniggered.
"Fine." Harry held up his hands. "We'll do it… I suppose it would be a good thing if we make sure we know whose side he's on. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you, Sherlock."
Hermione smiled gleefully at him. "If I get caught, I just hope he assigns me a detention with him. Who knows what I could learn about him while scrubbing cauldrons and collecting frog guts?"
Harry sighed. "Well, we can probably start by asking Lupin what he knows of Snape. I'll owl him a letter."
"All-right, but, be subtle, won't you?" Hermione said. "I don't think Professor Lupin will approve of us poking around in Snape's life."
"Hermione, I am the definition of subtlety." Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
And with that, they went their separate ways for the day- Harry and Ron to Divination and Hermione to whatever complex class she'd signed up for. As the day went on, it only got worse… the homework piled up in Divination, and once they'd finished with Umbridge's horrendous class, Harry found himself with detention for the rest of the week. He couldn't believe how adamant the woman was against Voldemort's return. Though Hermione seemed to have abandoned her elf-liberation campaign in favour of solving The Mystery of the Greasy Git, she and Ron were arguing by the end of the evening and Harry and Ron were too snowed in with home-work to help her begin the mystery-case.
The rest of the week was no better. On top of having to avoid staring at Snape during meal-times, he then brought Angelina Johnson's ire down on himself for having to miss Quidditch due to his detention with Umbridge… and coming to that... Merlin, Harry couldn't believe what a maniacal, evil woman she was. Astonishingly, she was worse than Snape. At least Snape had never physically tortured him. Harry was certain her cutting quill was illegal, but he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone besides his friends. For starters, he doubted anyone would be able to do much. After all, Umbridge was basically the mouth-piece of the Ministry… so illegalities probably wouldn't even apply to her. And then, finally, his scar started hurting... a wonderful first week of school all round.
September 9, 1995
Severus Snape
The first week back was surprisingly more restful than Snape had originally thought, especially when compared to the horror of a summer he'd had to endure. Madam Pomfry had tutted and frowned when giving him his monthly check-up, for he had lost a great deal of weight over the past few months. Constant exposure to the Cruciatus curse had given him some nerve damage and irritating side effects, but he was better equipped to deal with those symptoms than the Order's mediwitch. He tried in vain to console the woman's concerns, telling her that the Dark Lord had honoured him with a higher position this war around, so his punishments would be less frequent and less severe. But Madam Pomfry had seen him crawling into the hospital wing the night of the Dark Lord's returns, bloody and twitching with pain, so he could hardly blame her for being sceptical. 'At least,' he told her, 'during the school term the Dark Lord has enough sense to leave me relatively capable of performing my teaching duties.' At any rate, he hoped so.
Umbridge was a constant trial, as he had expected, made more so because, on top of her giggly, girlish tone, she also had a disturbing fascist streak directed towards 'half-breeds'. Part-goblins, part-veelas, part-giants, centaurs, werewolves… she hated them all, and seemed to think that the Ministry would be doing the wizarding world a service if they were all rounded up and Avada Kedavra-ed. She didn't dare speak badly of Professor Flitwick, for even the Slytherin students loved the little old professor, but Snape occasionally caught her glancing at the part-goblin teacher with her flabby little lip curled in disgust. It was a good thing that Hagrid hadn't returned from his diplomacy mission yet, because Snape was certain she'd have a plan for removing the well-meaning oaf.
But while the woman was seriously testing his patience, he consoled himself by routinely and covertly humiliating her in front of the entire staff. Professor McGonnagall especially found it utterly hilarious how oblivious the toad woman was to his well-crafted sarcastic insults.
There were, however, some problems brewing in his own House. He'd sensed the coming storm that night at the Sorting Feast, but soon it became obvious just how serious the situation had become. A near quarter of the entire house were children of Death Eaters, and it was apparent that none of their parents had gone to the pains of shielding their children from the influence of the Dark Lord. The fifth and fourth years especially were filled with such children. No doubt, as soon as they came of age, the Dark Lord would find his ranks swelling with the impressionable young Slytherins. Snape knew the signs from when he had been a boy at Hogwarts, and he could see that nearly a third of his House were now furtively organising 'training sessions', longing for the day when they would be branded with the Dark Mark. But they were not all evil children, despite what the Headmaster and the rest of the world might think. Snape knew his Slytherins were just as human as Gryffindors… yet no one else ever bothered to try and see that. Only a scant handful of those among his House had any genuine sadistic streak… the ape-brained boy Crabbe among them, but most of them were just spoiled brats, brain-washed by their parents to believe the pure-blood claptrap, and to swallow the falsity of the Dark Lord as the wizarding world's salvation. And a few of them… Snape recognized the signs… they would end up joining the Death Eaters because no one wanted them, because they couldn't see that they had anywhere else to go. 'Little fools.' He softly thought, a twinge of pain thrumming through his chest when he remembered himself once in the same position. There would be slim chances of saving those children already committed, and he knew that he himself could not obviously try to sway them without jeopardising his position as a spy. No one else would bother to help his snakes. No, despite being Head of their House, he was resigned to having to watch them helplessly as they walked down their chosen paths.
It was with these dark thoughts in mind that Snape awoke on the Saturday of 1995's first school week. He was not a morning person. Stumbling out of his bed, he had to splash water in his face three times, ingest a strong cup of coffee (courtesy of the kitchen elves), and perform a good half hour of exercise before he was capable of coherent and logical actions. So he was mightily displeased when, in the middle of his dressing ritual, he heard a familiar snotty voice hailing him from the vicinity of his fireplace.
"Severus, my dear friend. Are you there?"
Snape paused, his fingers at the buttons of his white shirtsleeves. "Lucius." He growled.
"Tut, tut. So unwelcoming. I trust I haven't interrupted you mid your morning ablations? Not that they are that extensive anyway."
Snape rolled his eyes. Lucius Malfoy never lost an opportunity to goad him for his unkempt hair.
"Well, considering that you are a man that spends a good hour on your hair alone, and who knows how long painting your toenails and what-not, I am wary of taking your definition of 'extensive' into account."
"Touché, you old git, touché." Chuckled the fireplace, from where Snape could see Lucius's handsome face glowing in the flames.
"Enough chatter. Why are you bothering me on a weekend?"
"Would you prefer I bother you during your classes?"
The man did love to banter, but he should have known Snape was irritable in the mornings.
"Lucius, I am not a patient man."
"Truer words were never spoken." Lucius chuckled back. "You sound like you are ready to demolish your fireplace in an effort to get rid of me. Fine then. I want you to come to breakfast."
"A social call?" Snape groaned. He had planned to use his weekend marking the last of his essays, and then perhaps researching for a potion to cure Cruciatus after-effects. Merlin knows he was soon enough going to start needing it urgently.
"Well, we have not caught up in a good while, and haven't had time to discuss… recent events, either."
Oh, was that it, then? Snape gritted his teeth. He knew Dumbledore would direct him to go, seeing as he would likely be able to garner some useful intelligence from the man. After all, at the present moment, Lucius Malfoy stood as the Dark Lord's right-hand man and would have access to information that Snape himself was not trusted with. But he wasn't exactly eager to spend the day staring at peacocks and avoiding Lucius's offers of cognac.
"Ah… I catch your meaning." Snape sighed. "Very well… breakfast, you say? I will Apparate to your home in a few minutes, for you know, Hogwarts has unaccountably locked Floo passage to your home. Just… don't spike the meal with alcohol? Please?"
"You truly insist on spoiling all my fun, don't you, Severus?" was the drawled response, before the flames abruptly died and the call ended.
'Wonderful.' Snape thought dryly, although he wasn't really as annoyed as he told himself. 'Haven't even had breakfast, and already I have to employ my spy façade. But then, for fifteen years now he had been required to upkeep a measure of wariness and stone-walling. It seemed that only with Dumbledore he could be himself, and Dumbledore often made him so angry, it wasn't worth showing his true nature.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Lucius's company, for his relationship with the Malfoy aristocratic was close to what one might call friendship… although patronage was an equally fitting term. Truth be told, Snape actually took a reluctant pleasure in exchanging sarcastic banter with the man, and engaging in long conversations about wizarding political history. Snape knew that Malfoy's opinion of him was closer to that of a master's pride in an extremely talented show horse that he also happened to get along well with on a personal level. For, during their Hogwarts years, Lucius had been the first to notice the dirty little half-blood for what really he was… a powerful but isolated boy. A budding Death Eater from his fifth year onwards, Malfoy had taken Severus under his wing, aiding his studies of the Dark Arts and intensifying the boy's prejudice against Muggles. Although Malfoy graduated Hogwarts in Severus's third year, he continued to write to the half-blood, often proffering him with financial gifts. (Which Severus usually refused.) Eventually, when Severus was nineteen, Malfoy sponsored him into joining the ranks of the Death Eaters and helped him attract the Dark Lord's notice.
Snape hardly knew how to think of the man. He would always be grateful to Malfoy for being one of the only people in the whole school to appreciate and admire his abilities even while he was a child, despite the nefarious ends the aristocrat ultimately desired them for. Yet Malfoy was also the one who first lured Snape into the darkness, the one directly responsible for the Mark on Snape's arm and for the servitude he was even now forced into. So he did feel some bitterness and resentment towards him for that. But Snape could not hate him for it, for Malfoy only guided him to the path of darkness, whereas others, like the Marauders, shoved him down it. And he himself was the one who would make the ultimate choice. Snape hated himself and the Marauders too much to bring himself to hate Malfoy also. After the Dark Lord's first banishment, the two had retained contact with each other, and actually grown to have a deeper friendship than the mentoring relationship that had existed prior. And, while it was definitely a Slytherin friendship, based off mutual manipulation and exploitation, considering that Snape's companionship options were limited to one scheming old wizard and one smug, Death Eater aristocrat, he appreciated what he had.
Snape finished dressing, obviously without bothering to wash his hair (let the fop suffer), owled Dumbledore a note that informed him of the reason for his absence, and then swept out of the castle.
He apparated onto a lane bordered on one side by an overgrown mass of thorn bushes, and on the other by a tall, neatly clipped hedge. A short walk led down that path led to a wide, gravelled driveway that was guarded by a great, iron-wrought set of gates. Malfoy had keyed the gates to Snape's wand signature years ago, so all Snape had to do was present his wand, and he was permitted to pass through the gate as though it were invisible. It was a strange feeling- like being washed in a cold mist, but it ceased the minute he stepped out onto the other side.
There was no denying that Malfoy Manor was beautiful. It had come into some disrepair a few centuries back, and had been refurbished into a late Elizabethan style of architecture. The morning sun lit up the steepled towers, and the windows glinted like diamonds. But Snape cared little for its grandiose aesthetics, and took no pleasure in the beauty.
Malfoy had come to meet him, striding down the long driveway with his well-bred swagger and serpent headed cane. "Severus. Ugly as always." He extended his hand with a flowery gesture, to which Snape ignored, merely giving a mocking bow.
"Lucius. Dressed like as prick, as usual." The uncouth response was spoken in such a refined, silky voice that the one insulted couldn't help but break into laughter.
"My friend, it is a rare talent to swear like a Northern chimney-sweep, yet speak in the accent of a Malfoy." Lucius finally choked out.
"I think you may want to revise your Muggle history, Lucius." Snape raised a mocking eyebrow, moving to walk down the driveway. "I believe the Muggles dispensed with the use of chimneysweeps about fifty years ago."
"Well, you are in a position to know Muggle history, aren't you, you filthy half-blood?" Lucius could be very cutting with his race-fuelled insults, but with Snape, he never truly meant it. For Snape was a very special half-blood, the talented mongrel that he gave exception to.
Snape just passed him a friendly sneer.
"But then, you always did have a natural talent for sarcasm." continued Lucius contemplatively, as they continued walking side by side up the gravel driveway.
"As do you, although I don't know who developed it first." For Snape had learnt a lot more than a refined accent from the wealthy pureblood.
"I imagine we taught it to each other." Lucius said lightly.
"It's a shame you haven't been able to teach it to Draco. The boy is positively un-Slytherin in his verbal wordplay."
Lucius turned to regard him with a faint smile on his pale, aristocratic face. "What's this? The dungeon-bat criticising his favourite student? You must not allow those mangy Gryffindor brats to hear of this… they will doubtless die from sheer shock. But do you truly think my son lacks subtlety?"
Snape's lip twitched. "Oh no, he has subtly. He knows who to insult and how, but his form of delivery leaves much to be desired. It is immensely disappointing to hear even Harry Potter beating Draco at what should be his own game. Do not mistake me. Draco is a good Slytherin in many respects… far more talented at Potions than the abysmal Boy-Who-Lived, but the art of sarcasm has not yet come firmly into his grasp. He is more one for clumsy insults."
Lucius nodded, but then, like a curtain being drawn, the smile flickered from his eyes. "Unfortunately, in today's current situation, there are greater skills than sarcasm I regret not teaching my son."
The mood suddenly became heavy and depressed.
"You fear for Draco? I thought you would be delighted that the boy can now join the Dark Lord's ranks." Snape cast his companion a sidelong glance.
"Oh I am. Delighted. That is." Lucius's face had suddenly tightened, and he said in a lower voice, "How honest can I be with you, Severus?"
Snape sniffed, while inwardly slipping on his 'faithful-Death-Eater' mask. "My loyalty is ultimately to the Dark Lord, as, I should hope, is yours, Lucius. But I hardly expect a man who has found himself the right-hand man of this century's most powerful dark wizard to contemplate treachery against his master. So, if it is not in that vein, then by all means, be as honest as you please. After all, we have an understanding, do we not?"
Yes, 'the understanding'. The basis of all Slytherin friendships. You help them out and they help you out. You guard their secrets and they will guard yours. Malfoy and Snape were both perfectly capable of back-stabbing each other, and as Slytherin friendships dictate, if a better offer arises, one should feel free to back-stab away. Indeed, Snape was doing just such a thing to his old benefactor without the man's realization. But until that was made public, they both had 'an understanding'.
"Hmm. Very well then. Yes, I do fear for Draco. He has entered that rebellious teenage stage of his life… perhaps you have noticed? He is determined to prove himself to the Dark Lord… he's not even marked, for Merlin's sake, and I noticed when I hosted our lord a few weeks ago… well, the Dark Lord showed an interest in him."
"Is that not a good thing, Lucius?"
"Perhaps… but…" the man paused, his eyes flickering slightly. "Don't you think that the Dark Lord is a little… unbalanced since his return?"
Snape froze. Was it a trick? An attempt for Lucius to try and get him to speak treason against their master?
"Explain yourself, Lucius." He said quietly.
"We have an understanding, Severus." Lucius hissed, turning a little pale. "His return is something I have longed for these many years, and I will fight alongside you under him to bring our world to the order it should be in. But I fear that our lord's banishment has taxed his strength and compromised his judgement. Quite understandable, for what he has been through… returning from noncorporeal form itself! But… he may take time to heal completely, and meanwhile… surely you have noticed his temper is somewhat volatile? He never used to torture his uppermost lieutenants, yet this time around, you, I and Yaxley have all borne the brunt of his displeasure in an embarrassingly public manner."
Snape nodded, recalling, with a well-disguised shudder, the first evening of the Dark Lord's return.
"You fear for the boy's safety?"
"I do not want him to join until I am certain that the Dark Lord is… well... as collected as last time."
Snape stiffened, and softly uttered. "Have a care, Lucius. Do not speak ill of our master. He is not insane."
The atmosphere was now quite tense. 'Oh yes, I play my part well, even enough to threaten one of my only friends with betrayal. Of course the Dark Lord is battier than Peeves the poltergeist, but it is not as if I will break from the image of his loyal servant. Not even for Lucius.'
"Severus, I'm not speaking ill of him. I just don't… I don't believe my son is ready for our lord's attention quite yet."
Snape turned cold, dark eyes on his associate. "If I recall, Abraxas Malfoy had you branded at the tender age of twenty, and I received my mark at a year younger than that. Surely age makes little difference in a war now? After all, famous Harry Potter-" -here he easily inserted pure venom into his voice- "is already an integral part of the Dark Lord's plans, and we must not forget that the first casualty of this war was a Hogwarts student. Mark my words, Lucius, this will be a war involving children, and as much as it concerns me also, I must tell you that you will have little chance removing Draco's involvement."
Lucius sighed deeply. "I knew you would give it to me without any frills or amenabilities. That's why I like you, Severus. I suppose the best I can do is try and make sure he is prepared."
"He already has all the passion needed to serve the Dark Lord." Snape pointed out.
"But has he the strength?"
"That remains to be seen, Lucius. At one time you believed that I, for all my skills and talents, did not have the ability to do what must be done."
"You too were soft-hearted back then, it is true, Severus. You never had the stomach for sport. But I could also count on the hatred and desire for revenge you harboured against blood-traitors and Muggles. You killed quickly, without any emotion, because you had your eyes on a goal. But Draco-?"
"You may be right. He does not know what it is to truly hate. He probably hates Potter more than any other person, but that is just a petty rivalry, based off mutual jealousy and dislike. It is nothing like my hatred for Dumbledore or my feud with the Marauders."
Staring out onto his immaculate grounds, Lucius said, "Speaking of the Marauders, did I omit to tell you that earlier this week at Platform 9 ¾, I saw a very distinctive dog bidding farewell to our young Gryffindor hero?"
A blaze of anger erupted in Snape's belly. Black! The filthy, selfish, mule-brained mutt!
"Ah… so he isn't hiding in Albania, as the Ministry seemed to think." Snape drawled. "Well, well, I'd should have expected Black to be foolish enough to hide in the very heart of the wizarding world… but I suppose even the Order have so little use for him that they haven't bothered to keep him well-hidden." It was all a string of nonsense, but Snape's heart was racing.
"You didn't know?"
Snape snorted contemptuously. "Please. The Order hardly trust me as it is. Don't you think if they gave me Sirius Black's location, I might just let it slip... ever so accidentally, of course? They at least have the barest remnants of common sense." After all, if it wasn't for Black's location being in the very Headquarters of the Order itself, Snape doubted very much that even Dumbledore would have trusted him with the mutt's whereabouts, forced truce or otherwise. But now it seemed that all Shacklebolt's hard work would go to waste… Lucius would undoubtedly publicise Black's sighting, and now the Dark Lord would be provided with a helpful scapegoat on which to place any disappearances or murders.
They wandered the grounds for a little longer, before settling down within the manor to a light breakfast of fruit, crumpets and butter. Narcissa was apparently visiting some distant thrice-removed cousin down in Ireland, so it was just the two men that morning. Both of them eschewed the tea that Lucius's new house-elf had offered them, Snape preferring water, and Lucius, of course, pouring himself a glass of cognac.
"You sure you won't have any?" Lucius asked, smiling.
"I believe you ask me that every time I visit this gaudy old place. I do not consume alcohol unless I am injured. You know that."
Lucius sighed over-dramatically. "Severus, I shall never puzzle you out. You don't eat, you don't drink, you don't wash your hair… you don't even have sex, or make any attempt to seek out romantic company. You must be utterly miserable."
"I fail to see why engaging in debauched and distasteful activity should bring me any happiness." Snape returned coldly, disliking Lucius's reference to his virginity, a fact that, although he was not at all ashamed of, he preferred to keep as a subject unspoken. "I shall leave the carnal pleasures to you, while I engage in those that are cerebral."
"To Severus Snape, the single-minded intellectual." Lucius chuckled, mock-toasting him with his snifter, before throwing it back with practised elegance. "No wonder the Dark Lord favours you. Pure, unadulterated genius, unhindered by the weaknesses we mere mortals are doomed to suffer."
"Perhaps you might ask the Dark Lord to tell your wife that, so she will stop attempting to set me up with pureblood women." Snape returned sourly.
"Oh, no." smirked his companion. "I take too much pleasure in watching you squirm."
The rest of the morning passed in such a way, and the conversation turned from politics to the Dark Arts, to reminiscing the school days (something Lucius enjoyed far more than Snape.) Every now and then Snape was able to extract sensitive information from the man, who was not very guarded in his words when it came to him. The spy was eventually able to learn that it was Lucius himself that had Imperioused Sturgis Podmore to break into the Department of Mysteries, and he also discovered, to his well-hidden dismay, that Voldemort had finally succeeding in recruiting the Welsh faction of giants under his banner. 'But then, that was to be expected. As if the Light has anything of use to offer the giants.'
By the end of the morning, Snape had gathered enough information to satisfy any qualms Dumbledore would have at his spending time at the Malfoys. 'Should I feel guilty', he wondered, 'if I allow myself to enjoy the company of this Death Eater?' He could imagine what Lily's response would be to the loyalty he felt towards the man who was, Snape knew, an unrepentant murderer. But unlike Lily, Snape had never seen the world in black and white, but in shades of grey. Lucius may be a sadistic killer, a Death Eater, and a blood purist, but he was also a man who had been kind to Snape. Of the Light, only Lily and Dumbledore had extended such kindness, and although Snape knew what side he had chosen, he also knew that he would do everything in his power to protect Lucius Malfoy from both the Dark Lord and from Azkaban, just as Malfoy would do for him. Snape would go no further and if his hand was forced, he would not hesitate to strike Lucius down where he stood. But it was a decision he hoped he would never have to make, because kindness was a debt Snape would never be able to repay, and he hated to dishonour his debts.