Chapter 5 – Enemies and Friends

The sight that greeted Cameron when he entered Gringott's stopped him in his tracks. He blinked for a few interminable moments and rushed back outside to lean against the exterior of the building.

He'd been wearing a glamour, but Cameron saw through it and recognized him anyway. Sometimes, he was not at all thankful for his greater-than-average magical power.

The dirty, traitorous, sniveling little wretch of a rat!

Deep breaths. Murder is bad, he reminded himself. No murdering.

Would it really be so bad, though? He'd done the traitorous bit and revealed the Secret that got his parents murdered over a year ago. Sometime relatively soon, Cameron figured, he'd change to his all-too-appropriate animagus form and become Percy Weasley's pet rat. This could be his only chance.

But what about later? What about when he helped his Master return to life? The first time around, Pettigrew had been the only one to seek his Master out, to help him survive. Surely, if Pettigrew didn't do it, someone else would. But what about the timing? What about the business in the Shrieking Shack in third year, the Life Debt? He needed to be able to predict events. He needed to make sure all the Horcruxes stayed the same. How much would he be changing if he gave in right now?

Presumably, young Harry had a Horcrux in his scar just like the first time. If that was the case, Harry would need to sacrifice himself to get rid of it. Would he do that if his godfather hadn't died? If Cameron were to out Pettigrew now and exonerate Sirius, who knew what might happen.

No. It was far too great a risk. He decided to go get an ice cream and come back to the bank later, when it was free of murderous Death Eating rodents.

XXX

The last of his year-mates had left fifteen minutes ago, but Cameron wasn't ready to go home yet. He was at a lovely stage of drunkenness, and he wasn't going to give it up so easily.

"Just you try and make me," he challenged his napkin.

It may have been immediately after that, but it also may have been a half-hour later that he heard a familiar, "Mr. Sage."

He looked up and grinned. "That's Master Sage, if you please. After seven, I mean six, years of hard work, you may finally call me Master. Won't you sit, Mr. Snape?"

"I'm afraid I must insist on Master Snape," he drawled as he dropped into the seat across from Cameron.

"Yeah? Congratulations. Since when?"

"Last year."

"Last year! No fair!"

Snape smirked. "I don't know why you're so surprised. I took five years. Even if I was holding down a full-time job for the last two."

"Oh, that's right. I took a year off before I started. Wait, five years? And with a job? Wait. How old are you? How old am I?" he mumbled, thinking. "Twenty-five. That makes you only twenty-four. You must be pretty damn good."

"I am."

"Well. I think we're familiar enough by now to drop the titles, don't you?" Cameron proposed.

"I think you've had too much to drink, Sage," Snape answered.

Not exactly what he'd had in mind, but he'd take it. Small steps. "And I think you haven't had nearly enough, Snape."

At that, Snape snatched the nearly full tumbler of scotch on the rocks Cameron was cradling and downed it in one. He smirked. Again. Cameron was beginning to really enjoy that smirk. "Better?"

"A bit, I suppose. Certainly can't hurt," Cameron replied.

"So, you're out celebrating your Defense Against the Dark Arts Mastery? Do you always celebrate alone?"

He nodded. "I am. And I wasn't. I mean, not alone. They just left already. It's better here with you, anyway." Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you're—" he stopped himself before he could give it all away. "Your Mastery is what?"

"Potions, of course."

"Of course."

There was an awkward silence. Cameron signaled the barkeep for another round, vowing to drink this one slowly. When the waitress brought their drinks, Snape tried to pay for his, but Cameron stopped him.

"This one's on me. So, what are you doing here, anyway? Got something to celebrate?"

"Hardly," Snape scoffed.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Are you meeting someone? I didn't mean to keep you."

"Who is it, precisely, you imagine would be meeting me?" Snape asked.

Cameron shrugged. "I dunno. A date? Your…girlfriend, boyfriend. Lover, whatever. Friends? Malfoy," he offered though clenched teeth. He didn't know why he should be so pissed off about Malfoy maybe hanging out with Snape, but he was. Maybe he really had had too much to drink.

Snape snorted, half amused and half disbelieving. "You cannot be serious," he said, then narrowed his eyes and stiffened. "Are you mocking me?"

"What? What do you mean? You're my friend, I wouldn't do that."

Wait. My friend?

"Your friend?"

Cameron chewed his lip. "Well, yeah. I mean, I think so. Right?" Was it possible he and Snape had become friends without him noticing? And why did he think of this as a good thing?

Snape was looking at him with quite a bit of suspicion. "You think of me as…as a friend?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Frankly, yes."

Cameron sighed. Some things would never change, he supposed. "Do you dislike me so much?"

"What? No, of course not. Why should I dislike you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out!" Conversation with Snape was like a bloody maze.

"I do not dislike you, Mi…Sage."

"Then why can't we be friends?"

"Don't you dislike me?" Snape asked slowly, like Cameron was six years old and not all that bright.

"Huh? What makes you think I don't like you?"

"Don't be thick, Sage—no one likes me," Snape answered, taking a long drink of scotch.

"Why not?"

Snape looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Look, Snape," Cameron proposed, "can't we just agree that, for whatever reasons, I don't dislike you and you don't dislike me?"

"But…"

"But what?"

"You're so…nice. Charming. Powerful."

Cameron gave him a lopsided smile. "You think I'm charming?"

Twin spots of color—not exactly pink, but not the parchment tone of the rest of his skin—appeared on Snape's cheeks. "No."

"Oh good," Cameron answered, trying rather unsuccessfully not to grin like an idiot, "because I don't think you are, either. Not appealing at all, really."

Yep, the spots were definitely pink now. Who knew Snape blushed? Cameron decided to have mercy on the man.

"So what's this job, then?"

XXX

Cameron's breakfast was interrupted by a bird tapping on the window. He didn't know offhand what kind it was, and it took off again immediately after he relieved it of its burden, so he resigned himself to eternal curiousity.

He couldn't help but smile—he had been so sure Snape wouldn't really write him, and he'd never been gladder to be wrong.

That night at the pub, Cameron had surprised both Snape and himself by saying, "We should do this again sometime," on the way out.

First, Snape had nodded, then changed his mind. Apparently, he'd been planning to spend the summer gathering potion ingredients from various exotic locations and was due to leave soon. Cameron's first impulse was to offer to go along. He managed to quell that rather frightening instinct and asked Snape to write while he was away.

He tried to push down the anticipation bubbling inside and unrolled his letter.

Sage,

I am currently in the jungle in Bali, in search of a stellanfruit. There is not much to say about it, except that it's bloody hot and the monkeys have no fear of humans whatsoever. That may not be true by the time I leave.

The local version of the Ministry—what little there is of one—is an absolute menace. Utter fools, questioning my permit to carry magical botanics out of the country. Ambiguous paperwork, indeed! If they'd learnt their translation spells properly, we wouldn't be having this problem.

There, you've had your letter. Happy?

Severus Snape

Master of Potions, HSWW

Cameron couldn't seem to stop smiling. It was such a Snape letter. He could picture him so clearly—stomping around the tropics in his layers upon layers of black with a scowl, terrorizing monkeys and government officials.

He decided it was high time he got himself an owl. After all, if he was going to be keeping regular correspondence with Snape, he'd need one.

Two hours later, he sat down with quill and parchment to introduce Snape to his new owl, Fuzzball.

XXX

He was at a bit of a loss. He'd decided the only way to get his hands on the diary was to wait until the day Malfoy planted it on Ginny at Diagon Alley and nick it before she noticed she had it. And he couldn't do that for another eight years.

Nagini still wasn't a Horcrux. And once she was, the Grey Menace would keep her by his side at all times. He'd have to leave her until the last minute so she wouldn't be replaced.

The cup was presumably already in the Lestrange vault, guarded by all manner of unsavory things, and he wasn't sure he was prepared for that just yet. Especially not alone.

And the diadem was still in the Room of Requirement, which he still couldn't get at. This was ten kinds of frustrating.

It had been three months since he'd graduated, and he'd run out of books to read. What was he supposed to do now? He supposed he could get a job. What does one do with a DADA Mastery? The DADA job at Hogwarts was cursed. Not that he didn't think he could break it if he wanted to, but that would mess with the professors who should be there during Harry's Hogwarts years. Couldn't have that.

Maybe he could get a job curse-breaking, like Bill. He could go back to tutoring, but if all teenagers were like Regulus Black, he didn't think he'd last very long.

He had to do something, though. He didn't even have the blokes from class to go out to the pub with anymore. No matter how much money he might have, he couldn't just sit around on him bum all day. It was boring.

XXX

Snape—

Sorry to hear first-year has been cursed with two unmitigated disasters. Try not to kill them, won't you? Not everyone can be a genius at Potions, you know.

Who's this Kensington? Sounds like an arse—let me know so I can avoid him. And try not to kill him, either. I don't care how incompetent he is, they'll still send you to Azkaban.

I seem, completely by accident, to have become a freelance investigator of possible Dark artifacts. Just last week, I was asked to go through the Matton estate and remove curses from various items the old bat had stashed in her attic. There was a statue of Bast with a permanent, really powerful Confundus Charm on it—I tried to explain to the family that they only had to do the right counter-charm on themselves before handling it, but apparently that would be too much work and they just let me keep it. I don't know what they think I'm going to do with it, but whatever.

I'm beginning to get fed up with my houseguests, by which I mean the doxies taking over my attic. One of the little buggers bit me yesterday! Do you brew Doxycide? The stuff I bought at the apothecary seems woefully inadequate. All it did was make them a bit woozy for a while, and I think they enjoyed it.

What are you doing for Christmas?

—Sage