5. Consequences
The apparation to the small park at Grimmauld Place easily made top five of his most jarring magical transportations. To make sure his temperamental magic would cooperate, he'd been forced to interlace dark crafts into the intent of his spellwork.
That meant something had to be offered in payment.
He'd made a traditional blood sacrifice, which was far more common in potion making, where the offering could be added to directly to the cauldron. However, it worked just fine for spells as well, which was one of the reasons why the dark arts were so lethal, and which was why he was sitting on a white metal park-bench, trying to tie a dirty sock around the place where his right big toe had once been.
He'd focused on his right littlest one but the magic he'd spent had obviously required a somewhat bigger sacrifice than he'd thought. After all, the distance from Manchester to London was nearly one hundred and sixty miles, as crows fly.
There was a small fountain in the centre of the park, and when he was satisfied with his improvised compress, he limped over to wash his face and hands clean from the blood. He let his fractured nose be. It was unlikely that it could get any uglier than it already was. Besides, he didn't fancy spending dark magic to heal it; he only had nine toes left, and intended to keep them all as long as he could help it.
Number 12 was visible to him across the street with its darkened bricks and rusted wrought-iron fence. He'd never liked the place, and suddenly found himself doubting his decision. Did Potter even live here anymore? He'd acted rashly and out of fear to come here, and now he had to swallow his pride.
If the Dark lord was alive though, Potter would know.
He crossed the street and trod onto the familiar front step. A large lion holding onto a brass ring had replaced the old Black family-crest knocker. It snarled at him, folding back its ears in warning. Ah, so Potter did live here. He avoided touching it, knowing that he'd already set off a small handful of wards.
After a moment, Potter opened. Calmly, he looked down at his unexpected guest, leaning lightly against the doorframe.
Instinctively, Severus attempted legillimency, only to find himself promptly blocked.
Shite. He probably shouldn't have done that.
He watched warily as Potter straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a frown on his face. There was no wand in his hand, but as he'd learned not even a week ago, Potter didn't need one. Bugger and shite. He should apologise for the legillimency. And for his crass words the last time they had met. Try to be polite for once.
"Has the Dark Lord returned?"
Potter started at the rushed question, his body tensing.
"No." Green eyes searched Severus' face, alarmed. Potter caught hold of his arm. "No! Are you insane? What would make you say that?"
Oh.
Actually, he did sometimes wonder. He had been prone to the occasional fit of paranoia ever since his teenage years. It had been a major hindrance during the wars, really, the problem being that his fears became somewhat irrational. During his tenure in Azkaban, the Dark Lord's return had been a recurring theme, even though Shacklebolt had long ago reformed the prison and thrown out the dementors. Apparently, he didn't need them to remind him of his terrors.
He licked his dried-up lips, ill at ease.
"Snape," said Potter earnestly, relaxing slightly. "Voldemort is dead." He released Severus' coat, patting his shoulder brusquely in the process. "Now, you seem upset. Tell me what's happened."
Never before had he imagined that he'd find comfort in a Potter, but here he was. He looked up, half expecting the sky to fall on his head. But it was dark out, and he couldn't see anything except lights from the neighbours' windows.
"I killed someone." He said at length, reality setting in. "It was a young man. They…" He looked at Pottter's face, checking for a response, but the green eyes were expressionless. "They wore the dark mark. At least, that's what I thought they did."
"I see." Potter rubbed a hand over his scarred forehead. He was not a mere boy any longer; Severus could tell. Even in blue-striped pyjamas, Potter had managed to keep his cool better than he would have.
"Where exactly did this happen?" Potter was reaching for his cloak
"At home. They set my house on fire."
"Right." Said Potter. "I will tidy this mess for you, but I expect your cooperation in return."
Severus looked into Potter's face. There was no compromise in Lily's eyes. "You have it." He could hear the resignation in his own voice.
Potter eased the cloak onto his shoulders, not minding about his pyjama. "You will take an oath tonight then?"
Severus nodded once. "I will."
"Good." Said Potter, all business. "I'll wake Hermione and bring her along; we'll need her to seal the vow. Won't you come in in the meantime?"
Severus looked inside the familiar hallway. It was the same house, yet different. Soft lights shone down from the first floor. He could hear a small child crying, and the cooing song of a woman.
"No, I'll stay here."
Potter looked only slightly suspicious. "Don't go anywhere. My wards won't let you."
Then he was gone with hardly any sound at all.
Severus exhaled sharply. Not even a year since his release and he'd gone ahead and made himself a murderer again. With shaking hands, he fished out a fag from the packet in his coat pocket, fumbling to light it. What would Hermione think of him? There was no way that he'd gain her affection now; he didn't know much of what qualities she looked for in a man, but wonted killer was not one. Of that, he was sure. Locked back up in Azkaban probably wouldn't do much for his chances either, not even mentioning his ill-tempered personality or the way he was old, and ugly as sin.
At least he would get to see her again tonight.
He sat on the front step, still as the night around him. Had a muggle happened to pass him by, they would not have noticed his presence but for the scent of Players No6.
…
Sometime later, a sound made him startle sharply. Did he doze off? He lifted his head from the wrought-iron railing to see two familiar figures on the street below him. Potter beckoned him over, extending his arm.
"Take hold. We're going to the Ministry."
Hermione smiled up at him, her hair messed up prettily. He tried to return the favour but failed miserably, hoping that she wouldn't take notice as Potter promptly apparated them all directly inside of the Department of Mysteries.
To his surprise, Potter's office was rather bland. There was very little that was mysterious about the stacks of ordinary paper folders, the muggle Computer, and the dried-out houseplants.
They sat down around an ordinary round table with an ordinary, ugly, brown-and-yellow tablecloth on top. It somehow made him think of Molly Weasley. Hermione made tea with biscuits.
Potter turned then, his chair scraping on the tiled floor. "I've made the remains of your house unplottable. And removed the body." He reached into his pocket and put a severed ash wand on the table. "The man was one of the vigilantes. Peter MacLean."
"Vigilantes? Who the hell are they?"
Potter looked surprised. "After Tracie Mair was instated five years back, the political environment has turned increasingly pro-muggle. The 'Mair vigilantes' are a group of extremists, mainly young people, who has made it their cause to hurry along her politics. Don't you read The Daily Prophet?"
Well, now that Potter had mentioned it, he may have 'neglected' to renew his subscription after his release. Money had been short, and after twelve years in prison, he was accustomed not to pay attention to the world around him.
"Who's this Mair woman then?" he demanded.
Potter rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Why, she's the Minister of Magic of course!"
Severus felt his hackles rise. Powerful or not, Potter could make saints swear! Before he could speak though, Hermione had abruptly shoved a cup of milky tea into his hands, silencing both him and Potter with a frown. "Mair started a reform back in 2008 to gradually merge the wizarding world with the Muggle one," she lectured. "The 'Decree of Union' states that over a period of ten to twenty years, muggle science and technology shall be integrated into the wizarding world. At present, it's happening mostly at people's workplaces. For instance, everyone here at the Ministry are learning to use personal computers." She pulled over a chair to sit between him and Potter, as a form of human barrier.
"The vigilantes are terrorists though," said Potter. "They demand immediate exposure of the wizarding world. To pressure Mair, they have made several attacks on pure-blooded families and on gatherings involving elitist members of wizarding high society."
Words failed him. "Indeed."
"Harry was not aware that you didn't know this, Severus," Hermione said. "Neither was I. He thought that you suspected that our mission was connected to the vigilantes."
Severus suddenly felt old and weary, the eventful night catching up on him. "I suppose it does then?" He sighed heavily, not really interested in the answer. "Potter, is Lucius Malfoy still imprisoned?"
Hermione and Potter exchanged a look. Severus was aware that the question was out of place, but he had not forgotten that there was an oath to seal. That meant he needed some answers.
"No," said Potter. "He was released five years ago. Unlike you, he wasn't ruled guilty of murder. He has retired now; lives as a recluse at their old estate." Potter adjusted his chair, so that they were facing each other.
"We can talk more on Monday. Once you've taken the vow I can explain everything to you." He extended his hand, palm up. "Let's do this, shall we? Hermione?"
Severus swallowed, taking hold of Potter's arm, so that their pulse points were touching. His arm was trembling and he had the uncomfortable feeling of not having complete control over his body. Next to him, Hermione produced her wand.
Without further ado, she locked eyes. "Do you, Severus Snape, swear to obey by Harry Potter's wishes in any case pertaining to the Mair Vigilantes?"
A blue cord of light encircled their arms. He took a shaky breath.
"I swear it."
The cord disappeared into their skin.
She turned to Potter. "Do you, Harry Potter, promise not to abuse your power, and to use it only to promote muggle and wizarding welfare?"
Another cord appeared.
"This I promise."
As the light faded from their wrists, he felt the magic settle between them. He looked warily at his new Master, rubbing sweaty palms on the thighs of his trousers.
Potter smiled, almost bashful. "I suppose you need someplace to stay tonight?"
He was about to respond that right now, Potter could go ahead and hang, when Hermione once again interrupted.
"He's coming with me."
Potter looked at her, uncertainly. "If you're sure, Hermione? We've got plenty of spare rooms at home."
"Absolutely, Harry." She said with certainty, and Severus had rarely felt such gratitude.
"One more thing, Snape." Potter, who was obviously not finished with him, took hold of his arm, dragging him into a far corner, out of Hermione's hearing range. He went straight for the throat. "I caught traces of dark magic at your house," he said urgently. "I'm assuming it was yours?"
Severus nodded once.
Potter sighed. "You can't go about throwing curses and killing and maiming like that," he insisted. "There will be consequences. The war is over. It was over a long time ago."
Severus stayed quite still. Potter was perhaps right. He had panicked upon being attacked. That was when one made grave errors in judgement. It may not have been necessary to kill. The thought was upsetting. Did he even belong among free men anymore?
"Duly noted," he murmured.
Potter nodded. "Alright. I'll get you out of this one, Snape, but I won't do it again. Indirectly, you work for the Ministry now, so watch it."
Potter released his arm and turned to Hermione, who was observing them attentively. "Hermione, I need to go into the archives and delete Snape's wand trace. No one must know which spells he cast tonight or he'll go straight to Azkaban."
She nodded and waved her hand in dismissal.
"I'll see you both on Monday." Said Potter, and was gone.