Chapter Twenty-Three – The Warlock's Oath

For several days Snape went to ground. McGonagall had extended her trip by a few days and he used it as an excuse for reclusion in the Head's Office, where for hours he sat beside the fire in an armchair and stared blankly at files and correspondence. He refused to sit at The Desk and ignored the orbuculum, preferring to pace or stare out the window, and, in one blinding moment of rage effected by several whisky's, he took down his portrait and threw it into a cupboard, only barely restraining himself from crashing it over the back of a chair. When Dumbledore and Nigellus began their commentary as a result, Snape waved his wand at them.

The visions he'd acquired from Charity's ghost only gradually began to dim, and he took copious amounts of Restoration Remedy and Dreamless Sleep to knock himself out late at night, only to wake a few hours later and lie with eyes wide, awake, heart racing.

He made a number of futile attempts to write to her, but nothing, nothing he wrote would suffice, now he knew how she felt, now he knew what she'd experienced. And the words of Servius – where were you, were you there when she died, why didn't you come for me – ran like a tickertape through his mind, light behind the pinholes seeming to sear his retinas. There was no respite.

Then late Tuesday, his fourth day without seeing Servius, he was informed by a gargoyle that Concetta Cropper had come to the Tower unannounced and asked to meet with him. Snape was staring out the window and did nothing for several long seconds, trying to understand why this information was making him hesitate, why it had made him suddenly nervous. Then he muttered, "Admit her," and waited, his throat dry, wondering about this flutter of hope he felt.

She entered and came forwards into the office, standing before the Desk, but Snape was still at the far window, elevated from her, and remote. He turned but did not speak.

"Severus?" she said. They had perhaps exchanged ten words since their initial introduction; he gave her a wide berth, but she had never addressed him by anything other than his first name despite being virtual strangers. "I have a patient confidentiality clause in my contract that prevents me naming anyone I meet with, but I thought you might be interested – as Headmaster – if I told you that I have invited one young boy to come and see me because he is showing signs of some distress. He has become withdrawn and isolated, aggressive, unresponsive and has taken to skipping classes. I've noticed this boy since orientation, and for a little while he seemed to improve, but he has taken a sharp turn recently and I am concerned about him." She shrugged her shoulders. "Unfortunately, he refuses to have anything to do with me. Every invitation is rebuffed."

Snape listened, expressionless. When she stopped speaking, there was quiet in the room for several moments, only the ticking and plinking of Dumbledore's contraptions could be heard. Then he said hoarsely, "I see."

She cocked her head a little, her lovely eyes contemplating him. "What would you like me to do, Severus?"

"What do you suggest?"

"I wondered if you might know why he's suffering. Perhaps I can try a different approach with him."

Silence. Snape turned again, back to the window. Cropper began to shiver a little as there was no fire in the room, not even sconces.

"I don't believe I can help you with that boy."

"Why? Why can't you help? Don't you want to?"

"Madam Cropper, you are speaking out of turn," he muttered sharply.

"He's hurting -,"

"We all hurt!" Snape retorted loudly over his shoulder. "Hurting never killed anyone! Hurt builds character, Madam, the sooner he learns to deal with it the easier it will get for him. It can't be avoided, why should he be exempt?"

"He can't cope with -,"

"He'll learn! We deal with it. We…find ways, we…have mechanisms and…controls. He needs to discipline his emotions, discipline his mind. I did it. I learnt that."

There was a stunned silence from the Desk. Snape refused to turn and look at her, the outburst hadn't come from anywhere he'd planned or expected, but some small part of him felt envious that compassion was being offered to his son. The envy wrestled with the fervent hope that somehow Cropper would see through this display and give Servius the help he needed. He also felt like he'd stepped out onto a ledge somehow, and he'd only done it because Cropper was watching.

"You learnt that? At his age?" asked Cropper quietly.

"He's been coddled. He's a spoilt Muggle."

"You don't believe that."

"Don't presume to know me, Madam. Don't ever presume to think you know me or my life or -,"

"I didn't. I guessed."

He didn't reply but wrapped his gown around himself a little tighter.

"This boy is very bright, he's funny, he's brimming with potential, you can see what a magnificent person he could grow up to be. I expect he was much like…you at the same age. Didn't you grow up as a Muggle?"

It was like the fingertips on his cheek, his brow, just tiny, gentle touches that he could only stand there and accept, nothing he could see or hold or have back again.

"I think we've talked enough," he snapped, whirling in order to glare at her. "You have my answer. Good day, Ms Cropper!"

She returned his glare with her jaw set, then she turned pointedly and left the office without another word. And the voice in Snape's head that called out after her: Why didn't you ask about me? Aren't you supposed to know when someone's not alright? was swiftly wrenched from its moorings, whatever hopeless place it had cried out from, and annihilated.

McGonagall arrived back to Hogwarts on Wednesday morning by Flooing to the Heads Office fireplace. Snape was awaiting her, standing demurely to one side, having spent the previous two hours tidying the office and fixing up administrative loose ends in rather a hurry. He did not replace the portrait, however. The cupboard where it was now re-housed was on one of the empty rooms on 7th floor since the Room of Requirement was no longer an option. He would worry about explaining it when she asked.

"Ah, Severus," she said with a smile upon seeing him as she stepped onto the hearth and took off her pointed hat and dusted flecks of ash off her coat. He was glad to see that she seemed a bit brighter, looked rather relaxed – evidently the time away had been beneficial. "How are you? How is Hogwarts? Everyone in one piece?"

"Unchanged, Ma'am. The better for having you back. How was London?"

She had removed her coat and was now busy Engorgio-ing her luggage. "Oh, a cup of tea I think, first! I see you've tidied the Office. Hello, Albus!"

"Minerva, welcome home. Did you go to St Mungos like I told you?"

"Yes, Albus," she replied with a resigned glance at Snape, whose brows had risen in interest. He lifted her bags and carried them through to her quarters, while she magicked the kettle on. "Seeing as that is the matter of greatest interest to you, I shall report on that first. But as I said, tea."

A few minutes passed with little more than small talk and minor news reports as McGonagall waited for the tea leaves to stew (no magic existed to make that any faster) and re-lit the fire. Snape had deposited her belongings outside her room, and on his return she invited him to take a seat in one of the armchairs beside the fire, then she levitated her teapot and cups to the small pedestal side table.

Seating herself opposite, she took a deep breath and smoothed her gown. "Well then. I have a disease, it is incurable, but it tends to be very slow moving. They anticipate I will live to a ripe old age in spite of it."

"What condition?" asked Snape, instantly alert.

"I think the name of it is somewhat inconsequential -," she murmured, pouring two cups.

"I should like to know."

"It's a completely natural, genetic condition, Severus – it's not like Albus's curse -,"

"Ma'am, I still may be able to help. St Mungos has its limitations -,"

She frowned at him and he paused, but then her brow cleared. "Actually, I shall confide, but not because I have any expectations. Rather I think we need to make the most of our time together at Hogwarts, and if I am open with you, I'm sure you'll be more inclined to return the courtesy."

He balked inwardly at this, but said, "Ma'am. Naturally."

After a short pause as she took a delicate sip, she said: "The Healers – whom I trust absolutely – have informed me that I have early stages of the disease known colloquially as Crone's Decline -,"

"I don't believe it," interrupted Dumbledore immediately. "You are as sharp as ever, Minerva."

She flicked a glance at him, and continued. "The Muggles call it something different."

"Alzheimer's," said Snape, his heart sinking.

"That's right. When they've been obliviated too many times."

"I have never looked into the Muggle research on it. But Crone's Decline…Ma'am, you have perhaps fifty years or more before -,"

"Before old age for a witch," McGonagall finished for him. "But this disease is somewhat indifferent to that. As you know, a crone is not defined by her age, but her madness."

"It's not madness," muttered Snape. "I had a Grandmother who had it."

McGonagall's eyes widened. "Merlin…when you first started…I do recall a grand lady -,"

"She did succumb, not long after," he said shortly, his gaze concentrated on his tea.

"Then you will understand, Severus, that I want to make the most of my time while I…have it."

"Minerva -?" said Dumbledore with a warning note to his voice.

McGonagall stood in one smooth motion so that her tea scarcely rippled, and approached the portrait. "Now see here, Albus – my trip away has made me quite decided. You were the one nagging me to go to Mungos, and they have done a fine job of confirming my suspicions. My Healer said this job will do some good to keep my brain active, but I don't want to keep it active worrying about builders and payroll and disgruntled parents. It is time for me to see the world and be with people whom I love. And who…ultimately…may need to care for me."

"That's years away," he retorted.

"I have no war to fight, Albus – I'm not needed here like you were. I have the indulgence of peace-time to enjoy a retirement."

"Ma'am," said Snape. "There are treatments for the symptoms which will prolong this early stage for quite some years. I can brew them for you. There's no need to discuss retirement."

She stood in the middle of the room, glancing back and forth between Snape and the portrait. "Why am I arguing with you both about this? Is the decision not my own?"

Silence descended while McGonagall frowned at them a moment longer, and then she returned to her chair. In a no-nonsense voice she said, "Severus, I discussed it with Sir Byron. You will succeed me."

Snape lifted his eyes to hers but his expression was solemn. "When, Ma'am? I'm not ready."

"The end of this school year."

"I must decline."

"That is up to you. But you can decline when an offer is made, not now."

He swallowed. "Perhaps Flitwick?"

"No. He's not strategic like you. The Deputy takes over, you know that, you knew that when you accepted this position."

"I was under the impression I had several years -,"

McGonagall pulled an annoyed face at him. "What's all this false modesty about, this reticence? You're perfectly up to the task. What's the matter?"

Snape lowered his eyes. "Perhaps another time, Ma'am."

"He's been in a state!" declared Dumbledore. "While you were away, Minerva."

"What? From being Headmaster?" she exclaimed.

Snape was glaring at Dumbledore, then looked back to McGonagall. "No, not being Head, although I understand better what you've been managing. The matter is a personal one."

"Servius?"

He didn't answer, suddenly struck dumb by the name.

"What's happened, is he alright?"

"He's fine."

"Severus and the boy used the Pensieve," Dumbledore informed her. "It's a shock for a youngster…I remember Harry -,"

"He saw Charity, his mother?" McGonagall asked Snape, cutting Dumbledore off. "Was it too much?"

Snape heaved a breath. "He keeps asking what happened to her."

"Oh Merlin…oh Severus, that's going to be tough to explain – I wasn't aware he didn't know."

"I can't…tell…him."

"Oh…yes, well I can see how…that would be difficult…perhaps Concetta?"

He shook his head slightly and then sat upright in his chair. His face had neutralised. "Will you permit me to brew the treatments for you? And we can reconsider the Headmaster post again at the end of the year."

There was quiet while McGonagall studied him. She was a little sad, but somehow reconciled. "Yes," she said finally, quietly. "Thank you. I shall purchase the ingredients privately if you provide me with the list. And Severus…I trusted you with this. No, don't misunderstand me, I don't have any qualms at all that you will be utterly discreet. I meant, I confided. I told you. I shared."

Sinistra was in her office, filing, and as the last folder slotted itself neatly away, the cabinet door banged shut and locked itself. She surveyed her neat, clear desk with satisfaction – it had been a long time since she'd seen that particular tabletop. But it was now late, she was tired, the full moon on the seventh had kept her up with midnight classes for three nights in a row and she was due for a shift-change to daytime – tomorrow was a day off that allowed her to make the changeover, and she was looking forward to breakfast in bed and a nothing more physically stressful than changing her socks. She dimmed the sconces and left the office, pulling shut the door behind her. She was just about to go down the stairs when she heard the faint but familiar and unmistakable sound of her primary telescope creaking on its axle. It sometimes did that in a strong wind, but the evening was still and foggy. Had an owl landed on it? Was there post for her?

Curious, she took the few stairs upwards to the observation deck. There was moonlight picking out glass and metal, sieved through the fog, but otherwise all was still and dark. She held for a moment, looking, listening, but then she shuddered from the evening chill and shrugged, turning to go.

A creak.

"OK, who's there?" she said loudly, overcompensating for the spasm of fear she suddenly felt.

No answer.

She took two steps towards the telescope and pulled out her wand from inside her robe. It didn't pay, in the Wizarding world, to be too casual with your safety after dark. Strange things, strange beings, preferred moonlight. And castles hid a lot.

"Lumos," she whispered, and just as wandlight shone out, the telescope suddenly pivoted around and groaned on its unfamiliar cast and she jumped, a small cry escaping her.

"Sorry," said a voice. "I kicked it by accident."

She dipped her wand in the direction of the voice, in the corner, behind the telescope mounts. And she saw a boy sitting on the cold, stone floor, hood obscuring his face, visibly shivering. The emblem on his breast was Slytherin, and he wore white Muggle trainers.

"Servius?"

"Sorry about your telescope."

"What are you doing here? How long have you been sitting there?"

"I'm alright. I wanna be left alone." His voice sounded choked up.

"Don't be bonkers! It's freezing! Why don't you come with me and I'll order some hot chocolate? Come on, the fire's still on in my office."

He didn't reply, and he didn't move.

"C'mon sonny-jim, upsy," she extended her hand. "Upsy-daisy."

With great apathy Servius rose onto this feet but kept his hood on and face averted. "Good, come with me."

Servius took a step forward and immediately hit the downward end of the telescope with his shin, once more sending it swinging.

"Servius!" she cried.

A few minutes later they were both in her office. Sinistra stoked and replenished the fire, but left the sconces dimmed – the boy clearly wanted some privacy. He was sitting on the plush, velvet sofa she owned, the one on which she and Charity had once sat, drinking Trelawney's supermarket sherry while Sinistra had confided in times past she'd carried a torch for Severus. She'd played it down, made it sound as if it were ancient history, used it to prove to Charity how rare and valuable her relationship with him was. But inside her, in a place she didn't even want to admit let alone examine, there were embers of envy, fanned by the vicariousness of her position as bestie, witnessing up close what it was like to be the woman loved by him. The Bewitchers Ribbon she'd enchanted barely worked. She'd played round with it, remembering an old charm she and her sisters used to trifle with as teenagers, but the magic itself was sketchy at best. Charity and Severus had seemed convinced the ribbon had almost dangerously bonded them, and Sinistra didn't do anything to shatter the illusion, but she knew herself it had nothing to do with charms or any other kind of magic, least of all in a bit of old ribbon. Their love, their bond, had been all their own doing. Her own feelings came second to that.

She'd hailed an elf to bring hot chocolate and when it arrived, she placed the mugs on the table before them and took the plump seat next to Servius. "Are you feeling a bit warmer?"

He nodded.

"Can you take your hood off now?"

He shook his head. He reached forward to lift his mug but seemed to grasp it with difficulty. She saw his fingers were mottled with black ink, not unusual in a first-year, but also looked rough and red. "What happened to your hands?"

He shrugged. When he returned his mug, she took his right hand and opened it up. Inside were welts and blisters. He snatched it back.

"Servius – seriously – I'm your godmother. Tell me what happened?"

Stubborn silence.

"Don't be like your Dad -,"

"No! Don't ever say that!" he yelled suddenly.

Her eyes widened in horror. "Did your father do that to your hands – he wouldn't - ?"

"No."

Of course Snape didn't, he could be tough but he wouldn't have injured Servius. Carefully taking his hands she opened them palm up. "Then tell me what happened."

"Just stupid digging with a spade."

"Why were you digging? And with a spade – there are spells for digging –,"

"It was a detention."

"What? Who -?"

"Herbology. I get in trouble a lot with Professor Longbottom."

"Did you show him your hands?" she said, appalled. "Why didn't you wear gloves?"

"I did for the first hour."

"First hour?! How long were you digging?"

"I dunno. Three maybe."

Her mouth hung open. "You were digging with a spade for three hours? But why?"

"I dunno. We knocked over the compost bin."

"Why didn't you tell your Dad? That's outrageous!"

"The ground was really hard," he added in a small, choked voice and then snuffled.

"Oh sweet Merlin," she muttered and drew the boy in for a cuddle against her, noticing his arms and shoulders felt cold and bony. "We're telling your father."

"No, I don't want to."

"I'm telling him, Sev; that was really wrong. Your father will be furious."

"No! Lame - I mean Professor Longbottom will be even worse if you say anything."

He was yielding to the embrace and she discreetly pulled back his hood so she could stroke his head and hair, her mothering instincts kicking in like a train. He hid his face into her gown, sniffing almost continuously.

"He won't. Your Dad will make sure of that."

"I'm not talking to him. I told him to leave me alone. I hate his guts." With gulping breaths, Servius pulled away and collapsed back against her sofa, grimacing. Sinistra levitated his hot chocolate over to him, and then noticed his face was covered with bruises.

"What happened to your face!"

"S'nothing. Doesn't hurt like my hands."

"Was that Herbology as well?"

He shook his head. "Quidditch. I can't ride a fucking broom. It hurt to hold it with my hands."

"Don't swear," she chided. "When did that happen? Did you see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Try-outs on Wednesday. I didn't make the team. The bloody Gryffindors made the broom whack my arse when I was leaving – thought it was bloody hilarious."

"Oh what?" she breathed in despair. "Papus lived, Servius, you've had a shocker of a week. I'm assuming by all the bruising you didn't get them looked at?"

He shook his head, too busy slurping the hot chocolate to speak. "Have you had dinner tonight, my lad?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head.

"Who was supervising the Slytherins at dinner?!" She cast her mind back. She knew Snape had missed several.

"Sluggy's getting his portrait painted in the evenings."

"Did you sneak off? And don't call him Sluggy, that's disrespectful."

"Will was supposed to bring me something in a napkin but he didn't show."

Sinistra jumped up, unable to contain her dismay and consternation any more. "You're starving and injured and – for Merlin's sake, Sev, what's happened? You're coming with me right now to see your Dad. He swore to me that he would look after you. And I am going to talk to the Headmistress about Professor Longbottom and Professor Slughorn, and then we'll see Madam Pomfrey, then we'll get you some dinner – how has this happened?! Charity – I mean your mother – would be horrified!"

"I told you. I'm not talking to him."

"I can't not tell him - that would make me irresponsible. He would want to know."

"No he doesn't. He hasn't looked for me once."

"What's going on with you two?" she asked gently, sinking back down on the sofa, noticing tears well in his eyes. He rubbed his forearm across them and she noticed his robe was filthy. "I thought you were getting to know each other."

"He won't tell me what happened to mum! I think he knows, but he won't tell me, and when I asked him why he didn't save her, he won't tell me. And he won't tell me why he just ignored me for eight years. I didn't even know he was still alive! And then because of him, I have to come here, and I hate it here, and I wanna go home and he won't let me. So why does he ignore me for eight years but make me stay here? And he won't let me have a football club and he's a total git to all the kids in his classes so they all think I'm like him, and Professor Longbottom seems to hate me because of him."

Then Servius was overcome and burst into noisy sobs, shoulders shaking as he stood and turned away from Sinistra, pulling his hood back over his head.

Sinistra sat and stared, trying to process everything he'd divulged, wondering if she was in a bit deep now – he'd clearly come to her out of desperation, the closest thing in the world he had to family, to a mother, to someone who might help. But she was used to students, not emotionally scarred children, children she barely knew. Her instincts were to fix this up as a school problem, but this really needed Snape, he needed to be here for Servius.

She stood and placed a hesitant hand on his back, near his neck, then on the back of his head. "Servius? Sweetheart, you're in a terrible state. Here…" she gently turned him, he didn't resist, and brought him back to her and embraced him, feeling his hot tears soak into her gown. "Would you like me to talk to your Dad for you? I can talk to him like a grown up and make sure he understands how you're feeling-,"

He shook his head rapidly, almost angrily.

"Maybe not tonight, hm? Alright. Why don't I organize something for you to eat and you can stay here a bit longer?"

There was nodding against her and snuffling.

"Here -," she found an old beanie on her desk and handed it to him. "Wipe your face on that, I don't need it anymore. Sit down again. You can lie down if you want, that sofa's ever so comfy."

Servius obeyed, looking red and puffy and like the saddest zombie in the world. He plonked back down, wiping his nose on her old woolen hat. She went to the fireplace and used the Floo to place an order with the grumpy after-hours kitchen elves for soup, sandwiches, biscuits and milk. When she turned back, Servius was sound asleep, and she found herself wondering how many nights he'd been out of his bed.

Sinistra allowed Servius to sleep in her office for two hours, during which she nodded off herself in her office chair and obtained an excruciating crick in her neck as a result. Closing in on midnight, she roused him and together they went to Snape's quarters. Slughorn, she knew, would be in his home in Hogsmeade, and though she had debated long and hard about letting Servius sleep through the night on her sofa, her own need for rest was getting critical. He needed to be in his own bed, as did she, but she wouldn't see Snape in the morning, and somebody needed to be keeping an eye on him.

The dungeon corridor was very dark and she lit her wand on low. Servius, beside her, could barely keep his eyes open and was of no assistance whatsoever in identifying Snape's door, but he at least remained upright.

Quite certain she had the right door – being unmarked – and not the brewing room by mistake, she knocked loudly upon it and waited. Almost instantly she heard: "Who is it?"

"Aurora. I have Servius. Can you open up please?"

The door opened wide. Snape was down to his open-collared, untucked shirt and trousers which she somehow managed to notice distractedly, but his face revealed nothing but alarm and grave concern. His eyes scanned from hers to Servius in less than a second, and then they widened a little at the sight of his son, who stood slightly swaying with his eyes shut. "Where was he?"

"Astronomy Tower, hiding behind my telescope. Severus, I think we need to talk."

He tore his eyes away to glance at her, frown deepening. "Now? He needs bed – where did he get those bruises?"

"No; not now. But soon, I'll tell you everything I know. I'm changing shifts tomorrow, but after then perhaps."

"Yes, uh, yes – thank you, Auora. I'll take it from here."

Sinistra gave Servius a little nudge and he grunted, and she said, "C'mon tiger – Dad's going to take you to your dorm."

No response from Servius. She looked up at Snape and said, "You may have to carry him."

"Carry him? He's eleven!"

"They sleep very deeply, Severus. And I think he's not been in his bed for a few nights."

"What?!"

"That's one of the things we need to talk about."

Snape scrutinized her face for a moment to confirm she was serious, then he leant down and hoisted an unresisting Servius over his shoulder, with a slight "Oof!" Then he turned back into his quarters.

"Where are you going? Take him to his bed!"

"I'm not staggering about in the dark with this over my shoulder. He can have my bed tonight. Sleep well, Aurora." Then his door swung shut.

Snape deposited Servius on top of his bed and considered him. The boy's once-white trainers were now covered in damp dirt. He had bruises all over his face. His hands looked raw and tender and his robe was filthy. What under the Constellation of Crux was going on? There clearly wasn't going to be anything particularly illuminating coming from Servius for now – he had immediately rolled onto his side, curled up and disappeared into nod. Snape pulled off his shoes and carefully removed the robe as well, then pulled the spare blanket up to cover him before extinguishing the candles in the room. For several minutes he stood undecided next to the bed, then softly exited, leaving the door open a crack.

In the living area, he put extra logs onto the fire, then collected his winter cloak from its hook and, making himself as comfortable as possible on the armchair, draped the cloak over himself. His mind began reeling and occasionally he glanced at the crack in the bedroom door, half-hoping the boy would awake and then he could barrage him with questions. The reaction he'd had on seeing him confounded him as well. It would have been easy to take him to his dorm, but a sudden surge of anxiety and protectiveness compelled him to keep him nearby, under his own watch, where he knew he'd be safe. His son had come to harm, and on top of the information shared by Cropper, it wasn't difficult to deduce that Servius had suffered every bit as much as he the past few days.

Snape allowed his heavy lids to close, expecting the scenes from Malfoy Manor, but instead he saw the image of Servius as a toddler, about two or three years old, a full smile of baby teeth, shock of black unruly hair, looking directly at him. But it wasn't at him, it was Charity the child was seeing, holding his hand out to. Her remembrance of Servius as she'd said goodbye. Her pleas and crying had annoyed Voldemort and she'd been gagged – any farewells were only in her mind. Presumably no-one around the table had been any the wiser that the opinionated Muggle-Studies teacher was leaving two children behind. Not that it would have made any difference. But if he'd known…? Snape wondered again if he would have played that evening differently.

I have him, Charity, he thought. You can rest on that. I have him, he's safe with me.

The next day was Friday the thirteenth and it started fittingly at barely past six am with Servius discovering his whereabouts, yelling expletives at a stiff, still-drowsy Snape and demanding to be released from his quarters. Snape shouted back, barely restrained himself from jinxing Servius, and objects were thrown. Finally, at six-thirty and urgently in need of strong coffee, Snape took Servius by the upper arm and frog-marched him to the Hospital Wing, to be met by a bewildered Madam Pomfrey, who had more success winkling the causes of the various injuries out of Servius than Snape did. Snape had to be evicted from the Wing before Servius would talk, which Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully advised was perfectly understandable. Even more furious at this needless and provocative spurning of his paternal rights, Snape went to the kitchens for coffee, whereupon the kitchen elves used his sudden proximity to table a long list of complaints and requests about their terms and conditions. They held his coffee hostage while they did so. He very nearly throttled the nearest elf in a frenzy of impatience, who kept grunting his support of each and every complaint.

When he went back to the Hospital Wing to check on progress, bearing a cup of coffee for Madam Pomfrey as well as his own, he learnt that Servius had been treated and released to go for showers and breakfast. When Snape asked the cause of the injuries, Madam Pomfrey was infuriatingly non-committal and merely explained that Servius had spoken in confidence, a trust she couldn't morally disobey. Snape banged down her cup of coffee on to a table a touch too hard, slopping the contents, but which he left and stormed out.

At breakfast, Hagrid had taken all the sausages again, and in the post, Snape received a letter from Narcissa announcing the birth of baby Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy to Draco and Astoria, and an invitation to the Christening in a months' time. Snape groaned, simply loathing such occasions, and began the hopeless task of dredging an excuse that would sound plausible. Servius, meanwhile, sat amongst the Slytherins, his bruises already starting to fade, and utterly ignored him.

Towards the end of breakfast, and facing a double period of potions with third-years for which there wouldn't be enough ingredients and the students would have to work in rowdy groups, Slughorn appeared in the Great Hall, still knotting his tie, and made his way directly to Snape.

"Severus, Severus - a moment before the bell if I may?"

He was in so foul a mood by this point that Snape's only means of answering was to glower at him.

"Er, right – well, I just wanted to check everything was in order for you to take over the Slytherins next week -?"

"What?! I thought you were here – the portrait -?"

"Dear boy, I've sat for the portrait all week. The artist assures me he has ample to take it from here, as it were. He has a photograph to work from now. He can animate it at any time apparently so we'll do that at a later date. I did put in my leave form, did you get it?"

Snape was distracted trying to figure out where he'd lost a week. "Uh, um – yes I suppose -,"

"So I'm off to Toulouse tonight by Portkey. Send an owl if you need me, but I don't think there's a fireplace on the boat."

"I see."

"There's a House Meeting next Wednesday, but apart from that, it's just business as usual."

"House meeting?"

"Yes – Slytherin House Meeting, SHM – don't tell me you've forgotten them, Severus."

"No…no of course not."

"Oh, and the Slytherin Quidditch teams are all selected – don't forget to get a photo of them in uniform."

"Me? Why do I - ?"

"Must pack, Severus! I'll leave the last of the Potions marking for you in your office, alright? Toodle-pip!"

And Slughorn hastened away. When Snape looked up, Hagrid was contemplating him with detached interest, chewing the last sausage.

The day continued in a similar vein with first-year potions in the middle, during which Amelie Hellmann presumably did something to Servius's potion to render it worthless judging by his remonstrations, but nothing could be proved, and Snape was obliged to scourgify it. Snape was virtually numb with hatred for the day by now, and Servius's skin-flaying glares bounced right off him. Immediately after class, outside the door, Servius hexed Amelie with a Steleus, which Servius strenuously denied had anything to do with him, but he was rather undermined by Wait for William who was muttering emphatically: "Don't break the Oath, Sev! You'll be Verbotened!" and the rather unimaginative choice of hex which Snape knew was Servius's best and only one.

Snape calmly counter-hexed Amelie, whose continuous sneezing had her hiccupping in between and her eyes streaming, and sent her on her way.

"Verbotened is not a word, Master Huan. What Oath can't he break?"

"The Warlock's Oath sir!" burst out William before Servius kicked him. "Ow!"

"You've taken the Warlock's Oath?"

"We both have sir!"

"Will you shut up!" hissed Servius, then turned black eyes on Snape. "So. Is it detention for using wands?"

"Watch your attitude. Recite the Oath."

"Sir?"

"You claim to have taken the Oath. Recite it."

"No way!"

"So it's not true. Or did you fail it?"

"No!" said William. "He only failed Quidditch try-outs."

"For fucks sake, Will!"

Snape's hard stare softened a little when he appraised Servius, who blushed up the back of his neck and stared at his shoes. "Is that where the bruising came from?"

Wait for William was clearly desperate to fill Snape in on all the details, but he clamped down on his tongue and neither spoke.

"In that case, recite the Oath or it will be double detention for using wands and using profanity."

Servius fidgeted and sighed from the depths of his now-grey coloured trainers. His eyes glanced everywhere but at Snape and it was only after William nudged him that he finally mumbled, eyes down: "When a Warlock shall do homage to his duty as a witch or wizard of great responsibility, he shall hold his wand before him upright and his hand upon the book and shall say thus: "I become a Warlock from this day forth, for life, for member and for worldly honour, and shall bear fealty to the rules and the customs in this book that maketh a Warlock a witch or wizard of virtue, integrity and reason, so help me Merlin. Semper fidelis, ut magus, et deus."

Snape listened, and mouthed the final few sentences along with him, though his moving lips were barely discernable. Wait for William had watched hard and encouragingly through the whole thing, and then beamed at Snape at the finish.

"You are a Warlock initiate, Servius. Congratulations. You as well, Huan."

"Thank you sir!"

"On your way."

"Sir?"

"Go. Now. Both of you before I change my mind."

The pair gave him one last glance before disappearing, no cloak required.

Friday the thirteenth continued through to dinner, which was ox-tail and tripe, a meal Snape detested, as did, in fairness, everyone in the Hall, even Hagrid, who cleared his plate nonetheless. Snape barely touched his own, and was thinking about sneaking out early when he remembered he had to see the Slytherins to the Common Room and oversee end of day. He felt like banging his head on the table, but then his mind went to the memory of Servius reciting his Oath, and the enormous swell of pride he'd felt, and how he would have given anything to see Servius take it, holding his wand upright and his palm flat upon The Sport and Art of Duelling. Snape hadn't taken the Oath himself until his fourth year of school, and then was later forced to rescind it when he swore his allegiance to the Death Eaters and Voldemort. That particular initiation wasn't quite so pretty.

Things didn't get any better when Hellmann slipped quietly into the empty chair to the left of Snape, cleared his throat, and said, "Professor, I regret that I must talk to you about a matter that is awkward." He had taken off his glasses and was wiping them busily with a napkin before replacing them and blinking at Snape.

"Which is?"

"My daughter, Amelie, she said that Servius hexed her after Potions class today, and that you undid the spell, and that Servius did it for no reason whatsoever."

"Well…that is up for debate but…yes?"

"Professor, I regret, but I think that Servius has broken several rules, and I would like that he should apologise to Amelie. She is very upset, ja?"

Snape paused, knowing exactly how Servius would respond to that idea. "I have, in fact, already punished Servius for his misdemeanor -,"

"Klar, but, my good sir, Servius has taken the Warlock's Oath, and to hex an innocent person unprovoked would normally be treated very, very seriously. If he swears to act with virtue and integrity, then he should apologise. You don't see this?"

The person acting with the least virtue and integrity the way Snape saw it was Amelie. She was making a top notch Slytherin.

"Ah, we really don't know that he was unprovoked -,"

"Amelie did something?!" exclaimed Hellmann, causing McGonagall to turn slightly and glance over.

"There was some…problem with Servius's potion…there's no proof so…"

"Servius's potion? But how is that Amelie's -,"

"Yes, yes I do understand Professor," snapped Snape, his last fingers on any rope slipping free. "I do not expect Servius will make a genuine apology if forced to do this."

Hellmann regarded him with concern. "You are saying that Servius was not sincere when he took his Oath? His Dossier would have indicated that I think -,"

"Fine. And if he doesn't?" Snape ground out.

Hellmann looked rather aghast that this might be even a consideration. "Well, I'm deeply sorry Professor Snape but I don't see how I can have him continue in Duelling -,"

Snape heaved an inward sigh. Exactly what he'd predicted. "Leave it with me."

He didn't broach the subject with Servius that evening, however. From dinner, he shepherded the Slytherins – including one rather smug looking Amelie – down the dungeon stairs and to the Common Room. The Slytherins were full of questions about Slughorn's holiday and Snape's caretaking duty and what the Slytherins were like when he had been Head of House in the past. It didn't take long before it began to feel like putting on an old pair of slippers. Plenty of routines he'd used to enforce were challenged and questioned with claims that "Sluggy doesn't make us do that!" and "Sir, I don't think that's been a practice since 1998", but duly, the junior Slytherins were pyjama'd and bedded with Prefects instructed to 'lights out' at eleven, since it was Friday. Snape also placed an old portrait of Ostanes near the hidden entrance and told him to provide immediate notice if anyone was seen coming or going after dorms were closed.

With a tightening in his chest, he walked back along the dungeon corridor and stopped in at his office, where he partook of some liquid fortitude before opening his hidden drawer and collecting his enchanted parchment and quill. The unlucky Friday he'd endured gave him some reservations about what he was about to do, but he'd also been steeling himself for over a week. It was time to follow-through with Charity.

The last two occasions had been so unpleasant, he had developed a bit of an aversion to the archive and knew that subconsciously he'd procrastinated what needed to be done. He recognized this as a weakness in himself. Fairly or not, he now had a duty to help Charity's lost soul, and he loved her so that the only thing he found more difficult to countenance than his own suffering was hers.

Like a shadow, he made his way in the dark to the Archive, and, like the previous visit, spent the first few minutes attending to light and heat. The room was unchanged, but his view of it had – anxiety made his hands clammy, and when he went to the table and picked up his quill to write, at first he couldn't make his fingers grip it properly. Then he wrote: My love – will you talk to me? and the words dissolved away at the slight tap of his wand. "Convey."

Presently, he felt her suffusing warmth around him, and a melancholy smile rose to his lips. "Charity…I'm here. Share with me."

After a moment he felt her invisible fingertips touch the skin on his face and then seemed to stroke his hair and he stood motionless, trying hard to wrap his mind around what was happening. "How do I feel to you?" he whispered.

Words materialized on the parchment, even while he could feel her fingers. You feel like you, how I remember you, the same.

"I don't understand how it can be. I don't understand what you are."

I feel halfway. You told me I died. Why am I here? Her touch disappeared.

"I - I think you're not at rest, that your spirit or your soul is trapped here. You haven't…crossed over."

Some minutes went by before the words appeared: How do I cross over?

"I don't know, my love," said Snape shaking his head slowly, no longer sure what he even believed. "Are you here all the time?"

No. I don't know. I see you, I see Servius. Moths.

"Moths? Your Patronus…"

Help me.

"I will try."

Where am I buried? Where is my body? I can't find it.

In spite of her warm glow, an icy blade of misgiving sliced through Snape. He didn't speak.

Is it lost?

Snape swallowed hard against the hot lump in his throat. "Yes."

Where is it? Help me.

"My love, what good will come from knowing?"

I'm driven to know. To rest.

When Snape hesitated, he felt her warmth start to diminish. Severus? Help me said the parchment.

He began to shiver as the air turned frigid. Her warmth had left entirely, and in its place a tragic sadness, yearning and an inner, empty cold.

"I think you know my love," he said finally, closing his eyes, every muscle tense. "I think this is my punishment."

The snake.

"It was not my doing," he muttered, hanging his head, shivering almost painfully.

My final resting place.

"No, no my love, we will lay you to rest." The sadness; such unutterable grief. His whole chest and throat ached as if he were being gently strangled.

The room around him dimmed, and then behind his lids, were visions. Quick, staccato, mere flashes of an image. He saw Trelawney and he saw Nagini. Once more, through Charity's eyes, her recollections plagued him. Trelawney was gazing vacantly, eyes wide behind her glasses, and her lips were moving but the words were almost unintelligible. There seemed to be darkness around her, flickering candlelight below. The scene cut to Nagini at Malfoy Manor, the giant reptile sliding up the side and shoulder of Voldemort, then back to Trelawney. What was she saying?

"Charity…release…me…" gasped Snape, staggering backwards, as tears coursed down his cheeks and his heart pounded. "Sorry – I'm so sorry -,"

And she was gone. The light in the room glowed again, the barren cold faded away, the tears dried into tracks along his cheeks. He breathed deeply for a little while, simply staring ahead and almost waiting for her to return, but the archive seemed only polite and neutral.

A flickering in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned: it was a moth, small and pale like fragments of ash. It beat frenzied wings and crawled along the edge of the mahogany table before alighting into the air and disappearing into the shadows.

The parchment lay on the table, and he moved to pick it up. The words remaining read only: Always speak the truth. And your love will find a way.