The Dead, Dying and Dastardly
"Alright, settle down, settle down. On to the agenda. What's the first order of business, Ruby?"
Snape nodded to seventh-year Ruby Morely, the Chair of the Slytherin House Meetings, and who – despite wearing her hair in two jaunty bunches with an emerald bow for each – was unusually humourless for a Serpent. She frowned darkly at each of the other five boisterous Slytherins sitting on the Common Room sofas or drawn-up chairs, and then consulted her Dossier.
"Sir, we need to discuss House Points. It's only first term and Slytherin has fallen to third place. We lost a lot of points after that food fight -,"
"The one about the Quidditch?" checked Michael Tattinger.
"Yes -,"
"They stairted it!" declared Ben McGregor.
"Well four Slytherins were in trouble for that and they each lost five points each," continued Morely. "We lost fifteen points when Blake and Cox put that invisible paint on the Gryffindor bench-seats - ,"
"Totally worth it!" declared Reggie Chiverton. "Did you see their green arses!"
"Again, they stairted it!" said Ben defiantly. "Hae ye never bin stung by a billywig?"
"We don't know it was Gryffindors," murmured Snape not looking up. While he was supposed to have some sort of facilitation role at the meeting, he'd made himself comfortable on a leather armchair with one ankle resting on his opposite knee to use as a balance while he marked papers. Turned out the holidaying Slughorn had left him quite a pile.
"Sir – Professor Hellmann -," began Chiverton.
"I know what Professor Hellmann thought he saw."
"Professor Hellmann gave me ten points for my supplementary assignment," said Talia Clarke, her pointed nose even sharper when she was being huffy. "That must have helped redress the balance."
"Professor Hellmann is really generous with us, have you noticed?" said Chiverton. "Better than Sluggy."
"Professor Slughorn, please," said Snape.
"There's been half a dozen points here and there lost to individuals for minor infringements," said Morely in a slightly raised voice. "But…one Slytherin has earned eighteen points alone in six weeks, it would seem…" she trailed off.
Snape's brows drew together and he glanced up. "Which Slytherin?"
"Uh -," said Morely, giving her Dossier rapt attention suddenly. The other students swapped looks and Snape's heart sank.
"Servius?" he asked, his tone cool as he flicked his gaze to each student.
"Sorry sir," said Morely. "He seems to be having a bit of…trouble."
"I am aware of it," murmured Snape, his mouth dry. Tattinger was sitting opposite him and Snape felt the weight of his eyes, tried to ignore them but eventually conceded. Tattinger's expression was of concern and solicitude, as if he too felt somehow responsible.
"Carry on," said Snape gruffly, and he bent back towards his marking, but for a long time the words on the paper made no sense at all.
After the House Meeting, Snape had an appointment with Sinistra. Their schedules hadn't allowed for a discussion before now, but she had sought him out during breakfast to arrange a time and Snape had readily agreed. He headed directly for the Astronomy Tower to meet in her office, at her suggestion, noting he felt somewhat anxious but also oddly eager to see her – it would be a relief to have someone he trusted to share the burden.
He bound up the stairs, greeted the Bloody Baron who was making his way down, paused to wonder if the Baron was aware of Charity's ghost, then shook his head and carried on, collecting himself outside Sinistra's door before knocking.
"Come in, Severus," she called, and when he entered and found her sitting rather formally at her desk – and she looked…different. Her hair was loose and fell around her shoulders, and her lips looked shiny and her eyes were…pretty. Instead of her high-necked witch's gown, the type Charity had taken to wearing, she had a soft wool, rather clingy, blush-coloured top with a deep V-neck, and Snape caught a glimpse of lacy bra when she leaned forward. It was hard to drag his eyes away from her décolletage which he didn't recall ever seeing before. He was confused. Did she often dress like this but he'd never noticed? Had he come for the right meeting?
"Tay – take a seat," she said, suddenly swallowing hard, gesturing at her velvet sofa.
He sized it up and replied, "Thank you, but I'll sit here." She had an uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner on which she stored a broken spectrometer, and it took several moments for him to carefully re-situate it on the floor before drawing the chair forth. Then he positioned himself opposite her, across the desk, and forced himself to look at her face. When she wasn't looking at him, his eyes dropped to the smooth, bare skin, hoping for a hint of that bra again, the gentle swell of what it contained.
"Severus," she began, "We need to talk about Servius. Here's what he told me when I found him on the Observation Deck the other night."
She related everything and Snape listened attentively. Too attentively. He was staring. And she stammered once or twice, and colour rose in her cheeks, and she took two sips from a glass of water on her desk.
"So as you can imagine," she said, drawing to a close, "I thought perhaps you could take him to see Concetta because he's on this downward spiral at the moment -,"
"His broom was going in the opposite direction," said Snape. "He had no control of it at all."
"Did you talk to him about that? He must have been so humiliated."
"No," Snape admitted. "I assumed he'd want to put it behind him. Madame Cropper informed me she has already approached him and he has declined any…meeting with her."
"But you're his father. You can insist on it."
"Those meetings will do nothing but raise more questions. I'd rather deal with the problems. Such as Longbottom."
"I've talked to Minerva about Neville," said Sinistra, sounding defeated. "She won't hear of any possibility of bullying. She says Neville already mentioned to her that Servius took a long time to dig the hole, but that he wasn't digging the entire time, rather mucking about and trying to get out of it. According to him, the whole exercise would have taken half an hour if Servius had applied himself."
"Did you happen to mention the questionable notion of hard labour for a first-year detention?"
"It was for a tree-planting apparently. Subject related. Much like…cleaning cauldrons, I expect."
Snape frowned at her. "Detentions aren't meant to be fun."
"Hm. That's what Longbottom would say."
He scowled into the middle distance and she said hesitantly, "Severus, when are you going to tell Servius the truth about Charity? Doesn't he deserve to know?"
"Why?" he snapped. "So that he can feel worse? Hate me even more? Feel completely vindicated in rejecting everything about this world, me included? You?" What he couldn't articulate was his cold, hard dread at the prospect of losing Servius because he hardly knew it himself.
Sinistra considered him in gentle surprise. "You would miss him, wouldn't you?"
"No," he retorted. "My life would be a great deal simpler without him in it. But…well, I have a duty and…I take my responsibilities seriously."
There was quiet while Sinistra stared at her desk and seemed to search for words. "Have you considered what…his mother might want?"
"More than you know," he muttered immediately.
"He thinks you were aware of his birth. He thinks you just didn't want to know about him for all that time."
"How am I supposed to explain that I erased all trace of her? I've told him that I love her still, that I wanted to be with them during the war but that I couldn't…he took comfort from that…how can I tell him the truth now?"
"Well is it so far from the truth? You did want to be with them – but you thought you couldn't. It was a mistake – he'll understand that. Severus -," she looked at him appealingly. "Just listen. What if you told him the truth, and yes, he hated you, maybe even for a long time. But then…came back? Maybe he'd learn to forgive you? It might take some time, but then at least…at least it would be with a clean slate."
Snape shook his head. "He would go. He would be lost to the Muggles forever. But all he has is his grandparents and they are elderly, and I sense they are moving on without him -,"
"What? They what - ?"
"They think he has found a home here. They never adopted him, and now they think he's with me they are withdrawing. To them, he is an unpleasant reminder of the world that took Charity away. A world into which they were never invited, didn't understand and which never explained her loss."
Sinistra's eyes were wide and dismayed. She shook her head. "Oh Merlin, this is terribly complex. I -," she shook her head some more. "I don't know what to do."
"Neither do I."
"But you always know what to do…"
He saw himself at the table at Malfoy Manor, watching Charity slowly rotate. "Ah, yes" he'd said.
"No," he replied. "No, Aurora, I don't always know what to do."
It rained. So much rain, the first Junior Quidditch match was cancelled. It fell like an iron curtain outside every window; the Forbidden Forest looked to be half its normal height, the trees laden with water, and the lake lapped high above its tide-line, swilling precariously close to Dumbledore's sarcophagus. A damp and miserable Hagrid could be seen emptying full buckets outside his front door on the hour, as much steam as smoke emitting from his chimney. So too were buckets deployed in the castle, once more on the seventh floor, while Flitwick attempted every charm he knew to plug the holes and chinks. "It's water!" he explained to every bewildered person who asked. "Water! The most magical property in the solar system! D'you honestly think it won't find a way in if it wants?" But there was nothing stormy or tempestuous about this downfall, no passion in its non-negotiable, unequivocal dump of precipitation. The only recourse was to outlast it.
McGonagall fretted about the castle when she saw it leak. She couldn't stay away from the seventh floor during the deluge, caught up in that fruitless human foible of watching and worrying in hopes it will somehow allay the worst. It was during this vigil that she absently opened a cupboard and happened upon Snape's portrait, which she extracted, rain momentarily forgotten, held before her and shook her head. Then she returned it and carefully shut the cupboard door.
When classes had finished for the day, she summoned Snape by Floo to her office, and when he arrived she said simply: "Walk with me, please, Severus."
Silently falling into step slightly behind her, they ascended the moving staircase to the seventh floor corridor, and with a vehement muttering she went immediately to the stone wall next to a large tapestry and ran her fingers across the surface. "Wet," she declared, and looked at Snape, as if this were somehow his doing. "Help me take this down, Severus. See; it's the one of Harry defeating Voldemort in the Great Hall. I won't have it ruined." A moment's inspection permitted Snape to absorb the stitched image of a very discernible dark-haired, bespectacled Harry appearing much more solid and muscular than he remembered, in an exaggerated pose with his wand aloft, clearly expelling the overly ornate Elder Wand into the air, while a somewhat puny, slightly reptilian and aghast Voldemort was launched backwards in defeat. Surrounding the scene, to the light of the floating candles, were jubilant rosy-faced students and half a dozen or so be-masked and hooded Death Eaters, who cowered and bent their heads. Snape's mouth twitched, but he refrained from comment while he assisted McGonagall lower the tapestry with her wand and carefully roll it up. It wasn't that he disagreed with the outcome or Harry's deeds, but rather the shamelessly hyperbolic version of history as told by the winners, something likely to irk the majority of Slytherins when they laid eyes on it.
"Please, would you carry it?" asked McGonagall. "I think I know a safe place to store it. I'll arrange for Filch to have it re-hung on a lower floor corridor somewhere."
With a dent between his brows, wondering what all this was in aid of (he had cauldrons still bubbling in the brewing chamber), Snape followed McGonagall with the tapestry levitated beside him into an empty room of which there were several on this floor. He recognised the room immediately as they entered through the door – there was the cupboard – and realisation began to dawn.
"Here is a good place!" said McGonagall with a glance at him. "It should be quite safe in there I think."
"Ma'am – obviously you've been -,"
"But what's this?" she stated in mock surprise upon opening the cupboard door. She looked back at Snape and held his eyes as she pulled out the portrait.
He heaved a sigh. "I think it's better left in there."
"Why?" she demanded, all pretence now dropped.
Snape used a moment to carefully lower the tapestry to the floor while he thought. Outside the rain poured steadily and the bleak, grim light of day scarcely penetrated the dense windows. The painting itself looked dark and shadowy: an unsmiling Snape in black against a sombre background. Is that how he was remembered, after the war? The painting conveyed a collective experience of him, and the reflection was somehow far worse than even a mirror.
As if reading his mind, McGonagall looked at the portrait at arm's length – not easy for a small woman as the paining was a decent size and heavily framed – and remarked: "Do you not like it? I think it's accurate; it's faithful."
"I don't like it, no - but not because of its quality."
"You don't like who you were then – when it was taken? The original picture I mean."
"Ma'am – you were there – I think you and I can safely say that it was the worst year of my life. And I've had some bad years. I have no pride attached to the time or appointment. I didn't ask for it, I didn't earn it, and if I hadn't had Dumbledore's guidance throughout, I'm not sure I would have done very well at it. It was little more than a strategic manoeuvre and deserves no more in any memory than the movement of a chess piece on a board. Ma'am – I don't believe you if you argue otherwise."
She was listening to him, paying close attention and in the quiet that followed, the rain steadily drummed, so much so he barely heard her when she asked: "Did you know Voldemort intended to -,"
"No. I didn't. But I had resigned myself to the notion that death, ultimately, must be inevitable. "
Snape remembered each dawn when he would find himself still alive, but someone else had died, and he would think: what if we fail and he wins? What will become of my life? How long will I have before he discovers the truth? And his thoughts would degenerate to the same point, always the unavoidable, incontrovertible conclusion that no future existed for him. He would die fighting for the Order or die for his betrayal.
And yet, perhaps for his sins, he didn't. Fate had other deeds for him.
McGonagall stood still, watching him, and he lifted his eyes to hers. "Ma'am… I need your help."
"I thought you'd never ask."
The portrait and the tapestry were carefully stored. McGonagall said, "Do you know, I remember this very cupboard. I was scoukin' when my parents came to collect me for summer holidays. I didn't want to go home, I never wanted to leave Hogwarts," she smiled. "They didn't search for me, they just waited until my conscience got the better of me and I went down. I was aye tae obedient for my own good. I might be a Gryffindor but I had a strong Ravenclaw rising."
"There is no need for you to ever leave Hogwarts," said Snape. They were walking now, along the damp, empty corridors of seventh floor, sometimes patching up a Flitwick plug or moving a bucket. McGonagall wore a fur-lined shawl that she drew tightly around her shoulders and tucked her thin hands deep within her folded arms.
"This is the first time I've ever actually thought of life outside school and work. I have a lot of nieces and nephews scattered about the world – I want to visit them. But I still have a place in Hogsmeade. There's folk in it at the moment, but if I need it, it's there."
"You'll always have a home here."
"Severus – what do you need my help with?" She deflected the abruptness of the question by scourgifying a net of cobwebs off a coat of armour. Not being subjected to her penetrating gaze made it easier for Snape – they both knew it.
"You…you mentioned you knew someone who had crossed over," he murmured, clasping his hands behind his back. "I wondered…if you knew how to help them."
McGonagall busied herself cleaning the next coat of armour along. "Hmmm, I'm assuming you're not about to help Professor Binns find his way, so can I ask how come? Are you being haunted, Severus?"
When there was no immediate response, she glanced at him and he nodded faintly, his eyes dark. "I think so."
She paused, considering him. "Charity?"
"Yes." The word was barely audible. He loathed this kind of admission, the opening of clandestine places, the humiliation.
"Is she haunting you alone, or is she generally about the castle? I haven't seen her - ,"
"She's not like the Hogwarts ghosts, Ma'am. She's not visible. I can summon her, and as far as I know, I alone am aware of her."
"So she is haunting you in preference to the place she died. Then her unrest stems back to you," McGonagall resumed slow steps along the corridor and Snape took his place alongside.
"The ghost I helped," she said, in conversational tones, "was my husband. He died traumatically and he didn't know he'd been killed. These are true ghosts and they are confused and lost and their souls are trapped in limbo while they come to terms with their demise. Sometimes they need some care in finding their way to the light, but sometimes they can't leave until unfinished business gives them the peace they need. Such was the case with my husband. He fretted about my welfare, my safety and security because I couldn't let him go. Once I had the chance to process his loss, and I moved into Hogwarts, he gradually faded and then was gone."
Snape almost forgot his own thoughts while he pondered on McGonagall's words. He'd had no idea she once was married – clearly it was long before his time – and yet, he'd never asked. He felt ashamed, someone he'd valued as a friend and colleague had kept these memories to herself for so long and he'd never stopped to enquire.
"Are they real, Ma'am? This isn't just some….manifestation of my…guilt or, or remorse?"
"What's the difference?" she replied shortly. "It felt real enough to me."
He swallowed. "She…she didn't know she was dead. I had to tell her, and it was worse than watching it the first time."
McGonagall looked up at him, grave sympathy and concern marking her eyes and brow. "I can't imagine, Severus. I heard…well we heard what we thought happened to her. Of course you never said muckle at the time. I expect she was waiting for you to do something? To save her?"
"Yes. I – I couldn't."
"A wee test from Voldemort, no doubt?"
He lowered his eyes. "At the time, she represented no more to me than an acquaintance – I had erased all memory of our…time together; I hadn't seen her for years. Had the circumstances been different, I would have done anything I could to have saved a work colleague - or a lover, you know that Minerva, you know I would have tried anything, I did try -,"
"Severus," she said with a note of alarm. His use of her name surprised her. "You would have. We know that. You didn't forsake her -,"
"But I did! What else do you call it? But what could I do? Why couldn't I think of something?"
"Severus, calm yourself, you won't change anything now -,"
"She didn't know. She still loved me the same, she thought I did too, but that I – that I -,"
There was a stone seat where the corridor on the north wing met with the east, and McGonagall sat upon it, one leg crossed over the other, her long skirts draping down to her ankles. But Snape couldn't sit. Instead, he stood nearby before an arched lancet window and gazed out into the sheets of rain. What watery light remained ebbed as though rinsed away.
"Has Charity's ghost sought atonement? Or does she seek something else?"
"She's asked for my help. She doesn't know how to cross over. How do I help her?"
"You need to discover what is keeping her in limbo…you must set to right whatever wrong is an obstacle, what is worrying her. Has she given you no clue at all?"
The visions from the latest encounter flashed into his mind. "There was a prophesy – from Trelawney – a long time ago. She foretold Charity's death. It's in riddles, I can't make it all out, but Charity gave it to me, like a memory."
McGonagall's eyebrows raised, then she reached over and took Snape's hand and patted it comfortingly. "Then that's what you need. Put the lass's memory into the Pensieve – she gave it to you, now find out what it means."
The rain was days behind them, but it was going to be a frosty evening and twelve shivering children sat on stools around the Observation Deck of the Astronomy Tower, putting their Dossiers away into their rucksacks and talking.
"Don't forget to mark the transit points of that meteorite on your starmaps," said Sinistra, placing lens caps back on the individual telescopes and her binoculars around her neck by their strap. "We were lucky tonight, weren't we Stargazers? I hope everyone made a wish?" She smiled at them, looking for confirmation. She had herself, she did every time she saw a shooting star. Always the same wish.
"What are transit points?" Wait for William muttered to Servius. William was only in the Stargazers Club because Servius was and he wasn't good at staying focussed – in any sense of the word. Sinistra was constantly adjusting his lenses for him and bringing his attention back to the group.
"I'll show you later," said Servius, and stood to hoist his rucksack over his shoulder. Once again, he glanced out over the ramparts, into the clear evening, and this time was rewarded with a movement in the sky. An owl. It was flying towards the Tower and he stared. "Tāne?" he wondered aloud.
William jumped up and, after witnessing the owl with his own eyes, thumped Servius on the upper arm. "There you go mate! Told you he'd come!"
The pair hustled through the jostle of exiting students to stand before the ramparts, awaiting the owl, but it swerved steeply and flew over the top of the castle, not even slowing down. Servius watched it go looking mildly stricken. "It wasn't Tāne."
William looked as galled as his friend. "Oh well, next one mate. Maybe he's carrying something huge. Maybe it's slowing him down?"
"He's not coming, alright?" Servius snapped in reply. "For fucks sake, Will, give it up."
"Fuck you Sev," was the rebuttal, but William was hurt. "It's not my fault."
Sinistra had heard the exchange, only faintly, but enough to make her look over her shoulder at the boys, surprised that any of the students were still there. "Who's that? Is that you Servius? William?"
"It's alright. We're going," said Servius, but William called for him to wait.
"Look! Sev, look – it's Lamebottom! What's he doing?"
Servius returned to William's side and looked to where he was pointing. Down below, in the shadows of the courtyard, moved a man dressed in Longbottom's trademark moleskin trousers, wellingtons, patterned jumper and apron. As they watched, he pulled a winter cloak about his shoulders and began a purposeful stride across the width of the courtyard towards the steps at the far end.
Sinistra had joined them and peered over the edge. "What are you boys looking at?"
"Professor Longbottom. Out for a walk," said William.
"That's amazing – how can you tell from here -?" She lifted her binoculars to her eyes. "No that's not him – Oh! Yes it is…he just didn't look…quite right."
"Where's he going Professor?" asked Servius as they observed him hastening down the steps onto the steep slope that led to the dirt track.
"I don't know," she murmured, still looking through the binoculars. There was something about him that niggled. For a start, his boots seemed to be too loose on him – his gait became slightly ungainly as a result, as if they were about to slip off at each footstep. He kept glancing around him, clearly keeping a close look-out, and within a minute, he had lifted the hood of his cloak and she could no longer make out anything distinct.
"He's going into the Forbidden Forest," pointed out William with his uncanny knack for stating the obvious.
A distant bark rang out. All three glanced towards the noise, coming from the location of Hagrid's Hut. There was Fisk, the hound's tail slowly swinging back and forth as he noted the unusual passage of the hooded Professor slip into the shadow of the denuded trees. The dog was clearly as undecided as they were why Longbottom would be entering the Forbidden Forest at night. The boys wouldn't get it, but Sinistra - with her decades at Hogwarts - knew that grown-ups lurking in the Forbidden Forest after dark almost always signalled some nefarious plot afoot.
The two boys turned their attention to Sinistra expectantly as she lowered her binoculars. "He, uh, he could be…I don't know…collecting nocturnal specimens? Or maybe it's something for Halloween? Whatever it is," she concluded in brisk teacher-like tones, "it's none of our business. Now look at you both, teeth chattering. Hot chocolate?"
"Oh yes please!" said William, and smiling, nudged Servius.
Servius shook his head. "I can't. Professor Snape wants to see me."
"Professor – you mean your father?" said Sinistra. "Honestly, Servius, this is getting silly."
"Oh. I forgot about that," said William. "Actually, we'd better go, we're late."
With a rueful expression, Sinistra stepped aside to give them room as they swung their book-heavy rucksacks over their shoulders and began the descent down the Tower stairs. She shook her head.
Snape was in his office in a Floo meeting with a chap from the Ministry of Magical Education about funding for roof repairs. It hadn't gone well, and a knock on his office door gave him an excuse to call the meeting to a close, so he promptly lit a fire to break communications as the accountant attempted to sneak in a final word.
He was about to swing his wand and open the office door when he recognised voices outside, talking. He was expecting Servius and William as it was now the appointed time to meet, but he paused to listen closely when he heard Servius say, "It's because I don't have a mum. If mum were still alive, I would've gone home."
"So was your Mum a Muggle too?"
There was no answer from Servius. Snape imagined that Servius had shaken his head. Or had he nodded?
"I don't have a Mum either," said William.
Snape literally had his ear up against the door by now. It was hard to hear them clearly through the heavy wood, and he frowned in concentration as he listened.
"Where is she? Did she die?"
"Don't think so. She left when I was born."
"Gone where?"
"Back to America I think. My Dad paid for her to have me."
"What?" said Servius, echoing Snape's thoughts exactly.
"I saw it on this paper that belongs to my Dad. Like a contract. She agreed to grow me in her stomach like a normal baby, but when I was born, she gave me to Dad and then she went back to her home in America. So only my Dad was around when I was little."
"Wow," responded Servius thoughtfully. "So your Dad didn't even like, know your Mum that well?"
"He said he wanted a magic boy, not a wife." William sounded philosophical.
"What if you'd been born a girl?"
Idiotic giggling for a moment that made Snape roll his eyes, then William said, "Dad said he could make it so that I would definitely be a boy."
"Are you?" joked Servius. "Are you sure?"
"More boy than you, I reckon."
More idiotic giggling then there was a pounding on the door and Servius yelled, "Professor? Are you in there?" Further snickering.
Snape abruptly swung open the door causing the two boys to fall back in surprise. Snape found his attention turned to William, the magic boy brought to life, and he studied him fleetingly with a slightly perturbed curiosity before turning back to Servius. "Come in."
The pair followed him into the office and Snape took his seat behind the desk, whereupon he rested his elbows on it and steepled his fingers, considering the pair as they stood awkwardly waiting. After one or two minutes of contemplative silence, he sat back and announced, "Servius, you are to apologise to Amelie Hellmann."
Predictably, Servius cried, "What? NO!"
"You broke your Oath."
"So did she!"
"Did she hex you?"
"No, but - ,"
"She ruined his potion sir!" said William, his face as appalled as Servius's.
"You took an Oath. What can I do? If you won't apologise, Professor Hellmann will ban you from Duelling."
"You're taking her side."
"I'm trying to keep you in the Duelling Club. Professor Hellmann said you showed great promise."
"Sir, this isn't fair -," began William.
"Is there anything about taking that Oath you didn't understand?" Snape snapped in response. "Didn't the warning in the first club meeting make sense to you? How about your Dossier reporting back any infringements? What exactly isn't fair?"
The boys fell silent for a moment, then William said in a small voice, "She keeps getting away with it."
"All the more reason not to fall for her antics!"
"You failed me in that potions class and she didn't get punished at all," said Servius.
"I couldn't prove she did anything."
Servius and William looked at each other. Then Servius said, "I'm not apologising to her. Not ever. I'll do detention."
"Then you'll have to explain that to Professor Hellmann. What do you suppose he'll do?"
"He'll kick you out, Sev," muttered William, and Snape's ears pricked at the sound of the nickname Lily had used to call him by.
Servius had a face like thunder. Hot blood pounded along the artery in his neck, Snape could see it from where he was sitting, and the black eyes were blazing. His breathing came hard through his clenched teeth and jutting jaw.
"Servius -," he had time to say warningly before the boy exploded, shoving at the items and papers on Snape's desk then swinging around and kicking over one of the heavy wooden chairs.
"I fuckin' hate this place!" he hollered. "People here are jerks! I just wanna go home. I fuckin' hate it here and I fuckin' hate you too." And with that he grabbed the strap of his rucksack and stormed from the room.
In the silence of the office afterwards, William turned back to Snape with eyes as large as the giant squid's. Snape glared at him.
"Sir – um, maybe you should know – Sev's been in a bad mood all day -,"
Snape's eyes merely narrowed.
"It's his birthday, sir," said William.
It was October 26th. Servius was twelve.
And now was the last day of October: Halloween. The All Hallows Committee – overseen by Oosthuizen - were in full swing and had been given exemption from classes for the day to decorate the Great Hall and create a spookily-festive ambience in time for the Halloween Party, which had been their chosen means of celebrating. The tables were cleared away after lunch and the Hall opened up for dancing, as the students had voted resolutely in favour of a fancy-dress disco, replete with Wizarding rock band The Sibylz, and the Great Hall ceiling had been converted to a single, flattened disco ball.
The party was due to start at eight pm, but before then, and after classes for the day, there was a Duelling Club meeting. On the sixth floor, with William, Servius stood with a pounding heart flat against the wall in the corridor, watching as the other members turned up and went directly into the Club rooms, chatting and laughing with excitement about the forthcoming evening.
"Come on Sev," said William. "Just get it over with. I think it's a great idea."
Servius shook his head. "I'm not ready. You go in. Keep a seat…well, just in case. I just need a minute."
"You sure – I can wait -,"
"No. Go. It's okay, you go."
William hesitantly started towards the door, glanced back, then dropped his head and walked into the club rooms leaving Servius alone in the corridor.
Servius quickly ducked into the nearby washrooms, raced to the nearest sink and gagged over it, but his mouth and throat were bone dry. He ran the tap and sluiced water into his mouth, then splashed his face with icy water. It made him gasp. He gripped the sink and looked up, into the mirror. "You can do this," he croaked, remembering words in the Handbook. "You're a Warlock."
His black eyes stared back at him and for a moment, he saw his father. It made him step back in surprise, and he was himself again. But when he furrowed his brows, there was his father, like a tracing over his face. "Ah, shit," he muttered, and for some reason, a laugh erupted. "Just what I need." He pulled his hood over his head so that his eyes fell in shadow and took a deep, shaky breath.
He exited the toilets and with legs like jelly, forced them across the corridor and towards the now shut door of the Duelling Club rooms. When he reached it, he raised a fist and banged hard upon the wood three times.
Silence from within, perhaps surprised. And then he heard Hellmann say, "Ja? Herein!"
With sweaty palms, Servius pushed open the door and walked into the room. The Club members were seated in a wide circle again and every single pair of eyes turned to him, quiet and unsmiling as he paused at their perimeter. Professor Hellmann was seated at the apex, if it could be called that, and when Servius came to a standstill, he tilted his head back slightly and appraised him.
"Master Snape. You wish to join us?"
"Yes sir," mumbled Servius. "I – I must seek forgiveness to honour my Oath."
Hellmann nodded and watched closely as Servius took heavy steps through the gap in the chairs and approached the centre of the circle. All eyes were on him and the silence was deafening.
Servius turned on the spot until he faced the chair upon which Amelie was seated. She looked up at him steadily, her face blank, but there was heat in her eyes.
Withdrawing his wand, Servius bent to lay it down before her feet. Then he stood very upright, unknowingly the image of his father, and said as clearly as his constricted throat would allow: "Amelie – I am sorry I hexed you. I am sorry for what I did, and if I hurt you or humiliated you. I was wrong. And I give you my wand to show that I beg your forgiveness and…and I will let you decide if I can…if I can continue being a Warlock."
It wasn't a grand speech, but it was the lone work of Servius and it cost him greatly. His heart was still thumping hard in his chest, and he forced himself to look into the ice-blue eyes of his enemy. Hers were intense, unwavering. They were, he noticed, fringed with thick black lashes that only seemed to emphasise the clarity of them – he could almost see himself reflected. The chemistry pulsed between the pair and every person in the room held their breath while they watched.
Amelie didn't speak, but slowly arose from her chair so that she stood mere inches from Servius. Still holding his gaze, she bent and picked up his wand, then handed it back to him. But still no words, no smile, she barely even blinked, and he received his wand uncertainly, watching. She then reached into the drapes of her robe and withdrew her own wand, which she raised before her at forty-five degrees.
There was some hushed murmurs and Professor Hellmann cleared his throat. "Everyone – see – Amelie has challenged Servius to a duel."
Servius heard the words but he didn't look away. He noticed that Amelie's eyes had dropped from his own and seemed to scan his face briefly before returning, and then flags of colour rose to her cheeks. Her lips parted. Her breathing quickened.
"Do you accept, Servius?" Hellmann asked.
"Fu-u-u-ck," he heard distantly. Wait for William. Hellmann snorted crossly.
The interruption helped Servius find his voice. Strange things were happening inside him. He had become fixated on her parted lips, the glint of white teeth behind their softness, her eyelashes, her fierce blue eyes. He hated her…hated her.
"Yes," he gulped. Then he raised his wand and crossed it with hers. They buzzed slightly at the touch. She locked onto his eyes and time ground to a standstill.
"Then, I think," said Hellmann, breaking the tension like a pick-axe, "through to the shoot room. It is set up. You may use the Assingo charm. The blue will remain on your uniform and I will assess it – the Warlock who receives the most direct hits after twenty minutes loses."
Placing a hand on one shoulder of both Servius and Amelie, Professor Hellmann guided them from the meeting circle to the door beside the dais, through which the shoot house in the adjoining room could be reached. The other student warlocks followed in a little, shuffling, wide-eyed knot and when Servius glanced at them, he saw Wait for William raise his thumb and force a smile.
Hellmann turned to the pair before opening the door. "The house has been arranged in its traditional setting, which means it is constructed of the walls and baffles. You can swing the walls horizontally or also vertically for defence, but remember, the idea is to be offensive and fire as many hits as you can at your opponent.
"When you enter, Servius turn right, and Amelie you turn left. A baffle will move between you and the main lights go off. I will shut this door and time you. After twenty minutes I will call time and the main lights will turn on again. You must stop and return to this door. Verstehen Sie?"
"Yes sir," said Servius.
"Only the Assingo charm. Am I absolutely clear about this?"
"Yes sir."
Hellmann looked at them both earnestly for a moment or two, his eyes had a gleam to them that had nothing to do with his glasses. Servius was frankly surprised that he was agreeing to let them duel – perhaps he knew Amelie was about to demolish him and thought this was a good means of teaching him a lesson. Well it was too late to back out now – he had crossed wands with Amelie and his body was still slightly reeling from the sparks that had flown between them; he would just have to make the most of it.
With his own ebony wand, Hellmann opened the door and revealed the shoot house. It was proportionally almost the size of the Great Hall – it must have been several empty rooms joined together. Like all the other classrooms, the walls were stone, the floors ancient oak boards and along the west wall were tall, shuttered windows. But the interior space was like nothing Servius had ever seen: wall-like partitions of differing lengths and heights were erected on poles, or suspended invisibly in mid-air, or pivoted on a beam. Each of the partitions was decorated differently to look as if constructed out of wood, brick, stone or even hedge, with shapes cut out to resemble windows, and some were mirrored, reflecting an infinity of other walls. Each panel intersected with another, creating corners and angles and narrow passageways, and as they watched, Hellmann went forward and eased a floating partition towards him so that a passage that had been open to the right, was now closed, and an alternative one opened on the left.
"Remember your Oath, Warlocks. Virtue, integrity and reason." Hellmann pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and looked at his watch. "Get ready. Your time…starts….now!"
The room had been brightly lit with gaslight before, and this suddenly dimmed to a few candle sconces at intervals along the classroom walls. As the door shut behind him, Servius had time to register Amelie dashing away to the left and he quickly made to the right and hid behind a partition where he stopped and tried to think. It wasn't easy, his heart was hammering, and even though he knew he couldn't be hurt, the awareness that somebody in the room was hidden and hunting him electrified his nerves.
Yet it wasn't enough to stay hidden. He somehow had to find Amelie, and then he had to try and get her with a shot from his wand. And for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, he urgently wanted to find her, intrigued with the idea of somehow catching her in here, alone.
He shut his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and thought: what would HBP do in here?
In the diaries, HBP seemed to find himself constantly plotting for, or in the throes of, hexing and jinxing guerrilla warfare. The incidents mostly comprised of one or two shots fired away between individuals or groups, but they were on a slowly, escalating arc of sophistication and harm, including something dangerous that seemed to have happened in some kind of tunnel. HBP professed vehemently in his own words that attacks on himself were anticipated or of a lowly standard, but Servius detected beneath that the nuances of fear and even panic. It seemed the more HBP fought, the more distant L became, and the growing awareness of loss was paralysing to him. Servius wanted nothing more than to dive into the diary and grab HBP around the shoulders and say, "Dude, tell me what you want me to do. I'm here, I'll help, I'm on your side. I'll tell Linda or whatever her name is that you're a good guy, and if she goes with them, then she's the loser."
Servius felt that HBP would have mastered this shoot house within minutes. He would have noticed everything, analysed it with speed and accuracy, then gained control of himself. HBP seemed to have some ability to separate his emotions under stress, something Servius admired desperately. He felt himself the opposite, and even now his anxiety made thoughts and decisions pop like bubbles in his head: nothing stuck, nothing held as a plan.
Control your emotions, he thought to himself. Discipline, that's what HBP always says to himself. I am my own master. I am in control. I will discipline my mind, my emotions.
And for a full minute, Servius concentrated on reining himself in tightly. Anything not useful in his head, he shoved away. He breathed until the nerves were still and his heart slowed and his fingers around his wand were calm. I am in control. Now find Amelie.
He listened as he started to move. He searched for any evidence he could find: a sound from her, or from the partitions moving, a shadow, a candle flicker. He crept as silently as he could through the baffles, trying not to breath, staying low. Wherever he went, the walls seemed to come together and block him like a maze, or usher him down an avenue to nowhere. When he least expected it, the wall he was hiding behind would shift or change, and maps in his head were instantly useless.
He was poised behind a brick-rendered wall, trying desperately to hear her, when the panel shunted sideways and the next thing he knew was the shout of "Assingo!" and a blue mark had hit him squarely in the chest.
Amelie stepped out from behind the wall, smiling at him. "You'd be dead now, if that had been the Killing Curse."
"What are you doing?" Servius blurted. "Why are you showing yourself?"
"Do you still want to play?"
"The twenty minutes aren't up!"
"Well then – go on – hit me." Her smile dropped a little, but she held his eyes.
"That's not how you do it."
"Can't you hit a girl?"
"It's not that you're a girl, it's that you're not duelling."
She raised her wand and pointed it at him. "Do you want me to hit you first?"
"I don't get what you're doing!"
"Run, Servius."
But he didn't. He aimed his wand and cried Assingo and hit her on the shoulder. The blue mark glowed brightly against the black of her robe. She looked at it and smiled, then looked at him again. He ducked, and grabbing the nearest partition, which was mirrored, it swung around unexpectedly – he thought it would slide up, but it was pivoted in its centre and the edge of the partition collected Amelie on it way round, pushing her directly into an unsteady Servius.
He stumbled and fell and she fell on top of him, and when he twisted over onto his back, instead of rolling off, she laughed and sat up, astride him. Then she grabbed his wrists and slammed them onto the floor on either side of his head, knocking the wand from his grip.
"Incarcerous!" she hissed, and his hands were pinned. She didn't get up, she stayed splayed atop him for a moment and he felt her warm weight, her scent of shampoo and girl type things, conscious that her school skirt had ridden up her bare thighs as she straddled him across his groin. What was she wearing beneath her skirt?
"Your Dad -," he gasped, and she sat up a little to look at him intently.
"Yes. Listen, before the lights come on. You and I – we're the same. We want to go home. We hate it here and our fathers won't let us leave. We can help each other. I will help you get expelled, and you can help me. You can go back to a Muggle school and I can go back to Durmstrang. I was a top student there, they will take me back. And -,"
Her eyelids lowered, she stared at him. He felt her heat - heat where she sat on him. "We can have fun."
He stared back, speechless. His mind was working over her words, but below – it was weird. It wasn't responding to him at all. It was responding to the heat, to the bare thighs, to the sheer closeness of her.
A fuse in his head blew. He struggled and bucked and she swung off him. She merely smiled at him, though, unconcerned. "What do you think?"
"I – I don't get it. I thought you hated me -,"
"We don't have time. I need you to do something."
"What?" he said in a mild panic. HBP was no help at all right now.
"Assingo me. Like…three times. You need to win this duel."
"Why? No. No way. It'll go to my Hog Doss or something."
"It won't. But I'll be the one in trouble anyway. Please?"
"Why?"
"So my father will think I'm no good at duelling. He will give up on me. Then I can go home to Durmstrang."
"That's…kinda like…" he wanted to say cheating, but it looked more like he was the one who'd be cheating. "I don't believe you. You're playing a trick on me."
She seemed to expect this. She leaned towards him and held his eyes again. She had an expression he'd never seen on her before: it looked…sincere. "Why would I Servius? I have helped you get closer to your goal than anyone here. I like you very much. Trust me. Trust me."
He gazed at her, hypnotised. Words bubbled up but died in his throat.
She rose slowly to her feet, releasing his bind, and he was like a cobra to her flute, also rising, hardly aware he was doing so. He watched as she lifted her wand. "Assingo," she murmured, and a blue mark hit the sleeve of his gown.
"Now do me," she said, and she accio'd his wand before handing it back to him. He saw her eyes meet his as if in slow motion. "Three. In different places. Trust me."
And hardly knowing what he was doing, he raised his wand, and with his wand's faint huzzes, he marked her thrice. She smiled throughout, and he thought, she's really pretty.
Then the gaslights came back on.
The Sibylz were pounding out party-starting pop music up on the stage and throwing themselves about as though possessed, and the be-costumed teens of Hogwarts were loving it. It was the Halloween Party, and wands had to be handed in at the door (kept under close watch by Hagrid), otherwise probably every student would have had them alight and aimed upwards to bounce off the reflective angle-mirrored ceiling, which had to make do instead with the light of hundreds of candles and four strobing wands of different colours 'operated' by the band's roadies.
Great kegs of red-tinted Butterbeer were flowing freely (to middle and seniors only), served by scantily-clad coven-members paid by the hour, and floating mounds of extravagantly carved and glowing pumpkins decorated all the darkened corners of the Great Hall. It was the students themselves, however, that were the most eye-catching, in their costumes created for the theme of "dead, dying or dastardly". There was a lot of fake blood makeup, masks, blackened eyes, crooked teeth, mock-machetes, unattached limbs and drawn-on scars. A laundry's-worth of bed-sheets comprised 'hospital gowns' for the girls, and a lot of ripped trousers and shirts comprised the boy's 'undead' uniform.
Snape, on duty and manifestly un-costumed, was almost invisible in his black as he patrolled a darkened section of the Hall and kept watch. The party was only two-hours in, but he had the beginnings of a headache and, despite all the apparent novelty, was bored. Unless he was teaching, the pastimes and amusements of teenagers held no interest for him – he was happiest when everyone got to go their separate ways. But, he was deputy. And nobody had his talent for spying trouble.
He had his eye on a little group of third-years who were huddled around what might have been a lighter, when he felt a touch on his arm. He turned to find Sinistra smiling up at him. In her stiletto heeled, thigh length boots, she didn't have to look up far. She had made some attempt at a costume, but Snape couldn't make out what she was supposed to be exactly – that was of less interest than the ripped fishnet stockings and the extremely figure-hugging short black dress she was wearing, also torn in several places. Perhaps she was meant to have been attacked or slashed by something – regardless, it very successfully revealed a lot about her highly beneficial exercise programme, moisturising regime and her mother's good genes.
"Aurora," he said pleasantly, although of course she couldn't hear a word.
"Severus, it's good to see you've gone to so much trouble," she half-shouted sarcastically. "At least tell me the boys have worn their costumes?"
Snape pointed to Servius and William. The pair were headbanging with abandon, dressed in their new Ninja Warlock outfits that Snape and Sinistra had hastily organised as a late birthday present. Following William's revelation, Snape's inspired method of dealing with his dire parenting fail had been to drink several whiskies at his desk, until he remembered the designs he'd seen the boys drawing in their Dossiers, and had then gone directly to Sinistra in her quarters. When she opened her door in her dressing gown and found a rather inebriated, open-collared Snape on her doorstep, she wondered if finally her wish-upon-a-star had come true, but then she discovered he was distraught and garbling something about a birthday present and couldn't she magic something up for them the way she and McGonagall had for Charity's witch's gowns?
When finally she'd made sense of the problem, she, Snape and Froggonmore convened the following day and transfigured some older school uniform cloaks into very impressive black velvet-lined, fur-trimmed deep-hooded cloaks, with mediaeval clasps at the collar and silver inscriptions and symbols around the shoulders. Each cloak was, naturally, accompanied by a black eye-mask and a leather belt for holding the multiple scabbards, wands and daggers the boys had apparently decided was necessary for such an occupation. Snape approved highly of the final product and knew that he, at the same age, would have very likely worn such a costume to its death. In some ways, he still did.
To Sinistra, he'd given the task of packaging and offering the gifts. He knew that coming from him, Servius would reject them outright. As it was, the same afternoon, he saw both boys lurking about the castle courtyard dressed as their alter-egos and pretending to hex any student that poked fun at them. There was nary a thank you, but he didn't expect one.
Sinistra smiled at the sight of the pair, and nudged Snape when she observed Iona MacGhee sneak up behind Servius and pull his hood off. "Ah, young love," she commented fondly, but Snape wasn't listening. He was staring hard before him at something he'd glimpsed, something he thought must have been his eyes deceiving him.
Through the flashing lights, the shadows, the throng of dark, moving bodies, he'd seen a Death Eater mask.
The glint off its metallic sheen was unmistakable. Pale, full-faced and ornately engraved, with slits for the mouth, it chilled his blood to see it, even if only for a moment. The bearer in a black cloak had glanced in his direction for barely a second, and then melted out of sight.
On instinct, Snape lurched into the crowd, bodily moving students out of the way and slipping his wand into his hand as he went. He scanned frantically, searching, and was rewarded with another glimpse: the masked wearer having clearly seen him was looking in his direction, then once more disappeared, this time behind the east wall and into the alcove leading to the ante-room – the room that opened to the balcony where he'd kissed Charity.
Snape stormed after him. He hadn't seen a Death Eater mask in almost a decade. They had been confiscated by the Ministry, his own had disappeared somewhere in the Hogwarts Battle. This was either an excellent duplicate worn by a student as a prank, or an old recruit had held onto theirs and it had fallen into the possession of someone, possibly illicitly, most likely a Slytherin. Either way, to wear it in Hogwarts was neither funny or smart, in fact it was prohibited, but more so to Snape, it was harrowing; it made his hair stand on end.
Suddenly, blocking him, was a barmaid with a tray of empty glasses. He waited impatiently for her to pass, and by the time he could advance again the Death Eater had vanished. Snape raced to the short section of corridor but it was completely empty, with no means of exit. He heard faint noises coming from inside the ante-room – only an hour earlier he had evicted Reggie Chiverton and Hufflepuff Laurence Owen in a passionate clinch from the same room – and flung open the door.
What he saw inside made words die in his throat. The embracing couple on this occasion were caught square in the act, and so enamoured that Snape instinctively averted his eyes. But he cleared his throat – somewhat needlessly as the couple had looked up as soon as the door opened – in order to overcome his own shock.
Neville Longbottom slowly smiled. "Severus," he said. "Always on duty."
Diaphne flushed a deep red, but her eyes had that same lust-induced mist to them that Snape knew well. She pulled free of Longbottom and tugged down her blouse.
Longbottom was in his normal attire – he hadn't bothered with costume either, unless a black cloak and Death Eater mask could be counted - however neither of those items were visible. Undeterred, Snape held forth his wand, pointed it at Longbottom, and said, "I saw…someone. Move aside, Longbottom, I want to inspect this room."
"Who did you see, Severus?" asked Longbottom. "I'm sure if it was someone living, I'd know about it if they came in here."
Snape stared at him. Someone living. What did he know? Longbottom held his gaze.
Without answering, Snape lit all the candle sconces in the room. It was used primarily for storage these days: spare chairs, an old piano, boxes of old songsheets for the choir. Nothing remarkable, nothing that even vaguely resembled a Death Eater mask. Longbottom and Diaphne stood silently for a short while as he inspected the nooks and crannies, then Longbottom drawled, "Am I being accused of something? If not, Diaphne and I will make our way -,"
"There was nowhere else he could have gone but here. Who was he Longbottom? Who did you help escape?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Snape went to the door to the balcony and yanked it open. A cool, autumnal wind blew in, but of course, there was nobody out there.
"No-one came in here," said Longbottom, his voice rising. "And I don't care for your tone. You're making a baseless allegation. I used to be an Auror, Snape, don't start playing cops and robbers with me, you don't know what you're up against."
Diaphne watched wide-eyed as Snape banged the door to the balcony shut and glared at Longbottom. "You don't intimidate me. You're naught but a Herbology Professor now, and you're in contravention of the teacher student relationship policy."
"Professor -," began Diaphne in a small voice and he shut her off with a look of utter contempt.
Longbottom snorted and raised disbelieving brows. "Really? That's the crime? Well handcuff me now."
Snape slowly approached him until they were almost nose to nose. With narrowed eyes, he examined him closely, scrutinised him, and Longbottom fell silent. "I know what I saw. And you have something to do with it."
And with that, he stormed out the room again, headlong into a dismayed Sinistra. "What's going on?" she asked, but Snape merely scowled and marched away.
"Damn you, Severus," she muttered through gritted teeth.