Chapter 7 – Modifications

After leaving yet another scorched patch in the meadow, this one encircling a somewhat opalescent lump from the tiara's gems melting and blending with the metal, he headed south.

The house took almost two weeks to rid of curses. Obviously, the previous owners had had too much time on their hands, in addition to being a little bit nuts and rather enamored of the Dark Arts.

On the third day, he'd been surprised by a man entering the house and pinned him to the ground, only to learn that he was the next-door-neighbor and had noticed activity in the long-abandoned house. After he convinced the man that he had a legitimate reason to be there and let him up, they shared a look of mutual appraisal.

The sex had been good, but for some reason it didn't feel quite right and Cameron didn't seek him out again. He couldn't figure out what was wrong, but it was definitely something.

And, after the longer than expected job on the house, he didn't feel like hanging around anymore. He just wanted to get back to Britain. He knew Snape had much more free time in the summer, and he wanted to take advantage of it before school started up again.

XXX

Snape—

How's the new truth serum coming? Have you thought of a name for it yet? It sounds intriguing, but it also scares me to death. I'm sure you know what I mean.

My garden finally looks like a garden. I've been working on it since I moved in eight years ago, but I really put my back into it the last few months. I might actually make use of the stone bench out there, now that it isn't such an eyesore.

I leave for Switzerland next week—September third. I'm really looking forward to the symposium. Bolton Schendry himself is giving a workshop on curse detection. Can you believe it? There's also a dueling workshop I'm really excited about. It's too bad school is starting—I think you'd really enjoy it.

I'm not sure when I'll be back. The symposium lasts a month, but I'll probably stick around there for a while. Never been to Switzerland before.

Congratulation on being appointed Head of House, I guess. You didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but I'm sure you'll do a great job. Just try not to make any of them cry.

Time to go. I've got a ton of packing to do.

—Sage

He rolled his letter whistled. The owl alighted on the kitchen table and he instructed, "This is for Snape, of course. He'll probably be at Hogwarts," as he secured it. "Off you go then, Fuzzball."

Once the owl had taken off through the window, he got out his suitcase and wondered what the weather was like in Switzerland.

XXX

It was February before he made it back to the UK. The symposium had been every bit as interesting as he'd been hoping. He'd learned a lot, but he'd surprised himself somewhat by not sleeping with any of the wizards he met there. He didn't quite understand his sudden lack of interest in sexual liaisons, but decided it wasn't really anything to worry about and ignored it.

He'd spent the next several months in a rented chalet, working his way through all the references brought up at the symposium that he hadn't yet read and learning how to snow ski. By the time he left, he could make it all the way through a run without falling down, but only just. He decided that perhaps skiing wasn't really for him.

He resolved to accept the next invitation he received to join a pick-up Quidditch match. It was much more his speed.

He was a bit sad that he and Snape wouldn't be able to resume meeting for drinks every other weekend like they had in the summer. He missed their conversations. Letters were all well and good, but it just wasn't the same. But Snape had Head of House duties now, and he couldn't really leave school grounds except in extraordinary circumstances. Maybe they'd be able to start again once summer rolled around.

XXX

It was the last week of August, and the last time they'd be able to do this for a while. As a result, they'd gotten a bit drunker than usual.

He had to stop himself from begging Snape to stay just a little longer when he said it was high time he got back to the castle. They settled their tabs and stumbled toward the door.

"Are you okay to Apparate, Snape?" he asked once they were outside.

Snape smirked. "I've Apparated with no less than eight, no nine broken bones and quite a bit of blood loss before—a bit of scotch isn't going to stop me."

Cameron stopped himself from asking if Snape was all right—it had happened a long time ago, and he was obviously just fine.

"Until we meet again, then."

"Yes," Snape said, "Perhaps at Christmas?"

But Cameron couldn't answer right away because Snape had raised a hand and gently stroked his knuckles across Cameron's cheek. What was he doing? Why was Snape touching him? And why couldn't he seem to breathe properly anymore?

"Sage? Christmas?" Snape asked again, lowering the distracting hand.

"Christmas. Yes, perhaps," he answered, still wondering what in the name of the Founders was going on.

Snape sighed, seeming a bit disappointed for no reason that Cameron could fathom, then said goodnight and Disapparated.

XXX

He'd invited Snape for Boxing Day tea again, but he'd seemed distracted the entire time. When he rubbed his arm for the third time, Cameron gave up pretending not to notice.

"Snape, is something wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't mean to pry, but is your Mark bothering you?"

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. "It—it's like it itches," he admitted with extreme reluctance.

"Has it ever done that before?"

"Off and on for the last few weeks."

"You know what that means, don't you?" he asked. Cameron, of course, knew exactly what it meant. Even if he hadn't known it for a fact, he'd learned enough researching for his Master's thesis to guess. The Supreme Prat's spirit was gathering strength.

"I have a guess. I hope to Merlin I'm wrong."

"But you know you're right."

"What would you know about it?" Snape snapped.

"Calm down, would you? I did my thesis on the Dark Mark—I probably know more about it than anyone save the monster who put it there."

"Ah." Snape studied his lap for a moment, then abruptly looked up at Cameron with a expression of unmasked hope. "Do you know how to remove it?"

"Oh. Er, not as such. There isn't a counter-curse—it wasn't meant to be removed." Snape's face fell. "But that doesn't mean it's impossible. Would you mind…?" he asked, gesturing at Snape's arm.

"I suppose not," he answered and rolled his sleeve up to the elbow. It was obvious that he had to force himself to turn his arm over, that he was waiting for Cameron's recriminations.

Cameron kept his face carefully neutral, knowing that Snape would think the disgust he felt for the one who'd done the branding was directed at him. He placed a hand over the Mark and closed his eyes, feeling for the dark magic inside his friend.

"Wow," he said without opening his eyes, "does it hurt all the time?"

"Less so since he's been…gone, but yes. It does." No wonder Snape was always so cranky. Well, the pain definitely couldn't be helping, anyway.

Cameron sifted through the magic he found, focusing until he could separate it into distinct threads. "This is even more complex than I expected," he commented, mostly to himself, then asked, "When he…when he did it, did he say the incantation in Parseltongue? Any part of it?"

"No, he didn't say anything at all. It was all nonverbal."

"Good." Cameron had been hoping he wouldn't have to reveal his ability to Snape. It would be rather difficult to explain.

After what felt like only a few minutes to him, but was probably almost an hour, he removed his hand and looked up. "I'm not sure if I can remove it or not. I think it's possible, but I wouldn't know until I tried. Are you sure you want me to do that? You won't be able to spy anymore when he comes back."

"You're so certain that he will?"

"You know it's the only explanation. He's out there somewhere, gathering strength, and as soon as he's able he'll pick up right where he left off."

Snape looked away, considering. "I suppose not, then. It isn't worth the loss of intelligence."

"It's your choice, of course, but your safety and mental well-being seems more than worth it to me."

Snape's eyebrows went up. "I—thank you for that. But I have to do what I can. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

"That doesn't surprise me. Let me do this little bit for you, though," he said and leaned forward to take Snape's arm again.

When he was finished, Snape looked at him warily. "What did you do?"

"Does it still hurt?" Cameron asked.

Snape looked down at his arm in surprise. "No. How…?"

"It's complicated. I'm not sure I could really explain it. I just know that I made it so he can't use it to hurt you anymore. You'll still know if he calls, but it won't be painful. Did you know he could have killed you through it if he wanted to?"

"No, he neglected to mention that. It isn't exactly a shock, though."

"Yeah, not really an open and honest sort of guy, is he? Now that I've poked around with it a bit, I'm sure I could remove it completely. I can't guarantee it won't hurt, but I could do it."

"Are you…are you certain?"

Cameron nodded. "Completely. If you change your mind, let me know, okay?" He sincerely hoped Snape would. Thinking about him walking willingly into the viper pit made Cameron shudder.

"You'll be the first."

XXX

The conversation about Snape's Mark brought The Quest forcibly back to the forefront of his mind. He still couldn't get at the diary, but he knew exactly where Hufflepuff's cup was, and waiting wasn't going to make getting it any easier.

His biggest concern was retrieving it undetected. If Bellatrix was alerted after she managed to escape Azkaban that her vault had been robbed, she might tell her beloved Master and that would not be good. There was always the possibility that she'd keep it to herself, fearing punishment, but he couldn't count on that. It would be nice if he could use Gryffindor's sword as a bargaining chip again, but there was no way he would be able to get his hands on it without arousing suspicion. Or getting arrested.

After months of fretting, the answer came to him in the form of an accident.

He was stumbling home through the floo after having a few too many (somehow it seemed healthier to drink alone at the pub rather than alone at home, but that obviously wasn't taking travel into account) when he reached up to the mantel for balance. He couldn't remember anything after that when he awoke on the floor the next morning. At first, he thought it was just the alcohol fogging is memory, but then he saw the statue he'd knocked to the floor in his struggle to stay upright.

The cursed statue of Bast.

After raiding his stock of store-bought potions for a hangover remedy, it all seemed so simple. He'd bring the statue with him to Gringott's, acting like he wanted to add it to his vault, and once he was alone with his goblin escort, use it to Confund him into thinking he was allowed access to the Lestrange vault even without a key, and leave without anyone being the wiser. He'd just have to be sure not to actually touch anything in the vault. Or let the goblin get the drop on him. Or anger the dragon.

It didn't go quite as smoothly as he'd hoped—he had a bit (maybe more than a bit) of a burn on his right arm from the blasted dragon)—but by July, he'd added one more to the collection of burnt patches in the meadow.