Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.
Chapter 4: Rumors and Gossip
The Council of Nine met rarely, yet, when they did on occasions of vast urgency, it was a very solemn affair. They met only when matters of earth required their intervention, when an imbalance in power threatened to spiral the fragile existence of earth's inhabitants into utter chaos.
Their meeting-place was not exactly in the physical plane, but had the look and feel of the physical - at least from the inside. It was a room, a room with no location, and no outward appearance. Just a room that existed by itself, out of nowhere.
The room itself was triangular, shaped like a pyramid, its cold stone walls broken by neither door nor window - yet the interior, though dark, was clearly visible. Symbols adorned the three sides, each representing One of the Nine. Along one wall was a representation of Yin-Yang, taoist symbol of the interplay of forces in the universe; next was Hunab Ku, the supreme creator god of the Maya; and Horus, protector god of the egyptian Pharaoh. The next wall displayed the Alpha and Omega, representing the eternal nature of Jesus Christ; after that was the Triple Horn of Odin, emblem of the Norse god Odin; and then the pentacle, representing the integration of body and spirit and spiritual mastery of the four elements. The third wall showed the African symbol of god alone, the Gya Nyame; next was the Celtic Triquetra, representing the triplicities of mind, body, and soul, as well as the three domains of earth - earth, sea, and sky; and finally the Caduceus, the legendary wand of the Greek god Hermes, symbol of harmony and balance.
In the center of the room stood the Round Table; the very same Round Table as was built by Merlin.
The thin air of the room stirred from a sudden breeze from an unknown source, and gradually thickened, becoming murky and opaque. This thickened air stirred again and shapes gradually emerged and shifted, and then separated into nine distinct but shadowy beings, each taking their place in front of their corresponding symbols on the walls. Some of the shapes had formed whole bodies, a white cloudy form of a body; others just formed heads, still others were heads and upper torsos.
They each looked around the great table and nodded gravely at one another.
"The Wicked One was not vanquished, but fueled by hatred."
"It has become a devil, a demon, it lurks in shadows, and taints the innocent."
"Evil grows in the darkness and feeds on hatred, it grows ever stronger and must be smitten."
"The wrong must be set right."
"The boy of prophecy betrayed the teachings, and thus failed."
"The Redeemed One sits in despair and solitude, who will be his champion?"
"Send the boy to the Underworld, lock him in eternal combat with his enemy. Let that be his fate and his salvation."
"The seer proclaims an alliance can yet be born, but what will be the catalyst?"
"Who will be the catalyst?"
The voices reverberated around the chamber, deep and serene, echoing into the void.
"He must be a warrior."
"He must be a slayer."
"No, the prophecy still holds. The boy must wield the final blow."
"He must pull the boy from the darkness. He must be a teacher."
"Nay, the boy must learn the way back from the Redeemed One. He must save the Child of Destiny."
"He must be brave."
"He must be cunning."
"He must be objective of the events, but have a link to their world."
The last shadowy form thought silently for a moment and then nodded to himself.
"He must be a she."
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Remus lay quietly, gazing with equal parts amusement and affection at the young witch sleeping beside him. She was snoring softly, even though she was half-turned on her side, facing him, one arm slung across his chest. Her hair, turned back to its natural brown in sleep, had been a vivid pink two hours earlier, when they had engaged in a rather spirited and rollicking sex. Now, he eyed the arm resting on his chest warily, and considered his options. She had proved to be an active sleeper, constantly turning, sometimes flailing; the night before she had bloodied his nose in her sleep when she flung her arm wide. His howl of pain had not even woken her.
Gingerly, so as not to wake her, he moved her arm and sat up. He could not sleep with all the events of the last few days swirling in his mind; the waning crescent moon doing nothing to relieve his tension. Severus's release from Azkaban had been a relief, but his physical condition had left Remus guilt-stricken. Added to that was his conversation with Albus's portrait, which had reduced him to a shame so raw he had been physically sick for a whole day. And now, today, his meeting at the Ministry.
A full year after the defeat of Voldemort and it was safe to say that things were not going well. At least, it was safe to say among his close friends and associates. Remus Scrimgeour, who had always been an unpleasant and mean-spirited man in Remus's opinion, was up to something.
And it involved Harry.
A month after Voldemort's defeat, when Harry and Ginny had married, Remus had sensed something . . . off. He couldn't quite place it, had chalked it up to after war jitters, but now, looking back, he knew that even then Harry had changed. He seemed colder, more moody, and his temper, always explosive before, was darker, more dangerous. He supposed that was to be expected after casting Avada Kedavra on Voldemort, which, no doubt, had needed all of Harry's hatred to fuel the curse. The problem was that Harry seemed to be getting worse. And even though he had followed Albus' orders concerning Snape, Harry remained unwavering in his hatred and contempt for the spy.
Especially after the trial, which was when Scrimgeour had requested Harry's audience, and the two seemed to have struck a truce. Not a coincidence, in Remus's mind. He worried uneasily about what may have transpired between the two, what Rufus could have possibly done or said to get Harry on his side. Scrimgeour was definitely up to something, and planned on using Harry to get it.
He wondered if it had to do with Snape. Shifting uneasily at the thought, Remus looked to Tonks to find her brown eyes watching him with concern. Running his hand up and down her arm, he gave her an apologetic smile.
"Did I wake you?", he asked softly.
"Not at all, love. Your thoughts don't rattle nearly enough for that." She frowned at him thoughtfully, and he watched with some amusement as her hair shifted back to pink, and brown eyes turned sea-blue.
"Thinking about your meeting with Scrimgeour today? How'd it go? I meant to ask you before . . . well, you know . . .", Tonks trailed off sheepishly.
Remus smiled down at her. "Yes. I do know. And I'm not entirely sure how it went." He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He was now spokesperson for the werewolves and the meeting had been requested by the Minister in regard to the new Werewolf Registry, Restrictions, Control and Enforcement Act. Keeping the public safe from dangerous dark creatures, etc, etc.
"He was asking a lot of questions about the wolfsbane. He's planning something . . . I don't know . . . I don't like it. I just have a bad feeling, is all. None of what is happening now is right."
Tonks ran her hand along the side of his face, her thumb brushing across his dry lips.
"There are some things that are finally happening that are right.", she said slowly. "We'll figure out the rest. Together."
Remus drew in a deep, steadying breath and exhaled slowly, nodding his head.
"I ran into Hector while I was there. He still plans to appeal the terms of release. "
"He still feels bad, doesn't he?"
"I believe he expected a full pardon, or at least clemency, based on the circumstances. He certainly didn't expect parole, and the terms to be so restricting."
"But he should have known that Rufus was out for blood. And Snape did kill Dumbledore. No matter what the circumstances, the Wizengamot, with Rufus leading them, couldn't just dismiss that. He's lucky that Snape got parole."
"Well, Snape certainly had public support . . . for a while, at least. Rufus couldn't very well sentence him to the Kiss after viewing those memories, but parole still gives him power over Snape. It's just too bad everyone believes that latest nonsense coming from the Daily Prophet. Damage control from the ministry, of course. And Harry is letting them get away with it. I never would have believed his hatred for Snape would override his own pride. Confounded indeed. If anyone's confounded him, its Rufus, not Snape."
"He's been acting very strangely though, hasn't he?"
"Yeah. I saw Ginny with Hermione the other day. Ginny was crying. Apparently Harry had said some nasty things to her, which isn't like him at all. I don't know what to make of any of this."
Tonks just nodded her head and they both sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in their separate thoughts.
"I ran into Hermione at the library the other day", Tonks finally said. "She was doing research on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's judicial system. She's on the warpath, I should warn you. Especially that we have no laws against something the muggles call 'cruel and unusual punishment'."
"She's upset about how Snape was treated." It was a statement, not a question.
"I'm upset about how he was treated. And it's not like I didn't know what was going on - those Azkaban guards talked about it enough. But I never . . . I should have . . . "
"We all should have done something. Maybe we couldn't have prevented it, but we could have at least shown some support. We abandoned him, Tonks. All of us. Knowing full well why he did what he did, we left him to hang out to dry. Its always been easier to hate him, he always made sure of it. My God, Tonks, I can't even imagine what that had to be like for him, to do what he did. To kill a friend, a mentor, because it's the right thing, the only thing to do. And have to live with yourself afterwards. Not to mention what they did to him in Azkaban, and having to overcome that as well."
"They raped him, Remus", Tonks whispered brokenly. "For over a year, they raped, beat, and cursed him. Sexual torture is an art form to some of the Azkaban guards, it's their favorite method to break a prisoner. Physical torture is a close second. They treated Snape to both."
"Hector said his house elves have treated most of his physical injuries except for the hand and the limp, but he still hasn't really responded to anything else. He's showing all the signs of Acute Dementor Exposure. I don't know if he'll pull out of this or not."
They both sat quiet again before Remus continued with a forced brightness. "But if anyone can pull through all of that, it's Snape. He's strong, Tonks, and has a will of steel. He's a survivor. Hell, he's Slytherin. He'll make it through this. And we'll be there to help him."
That last sentence came out completely on it's own, and startles him silent.
The surprise he feels upon uttering those words is followed by renewed shame - for why should those words, words declaring support for another human being, an alley, compatriot, and colleague be so shocking?
Something any friend or family member would say and feel for another. But Snape - no Severus - was alone. No family. No friends. Only two house elves and a portrait containing a dead man's memory.
Remus felt a new determination take hold. If Severus pulled through, if his mind was not already broken - and Merlin forbid, even if it was - Remus would be there for him. It would be a battle, he knew. Possibly one of the toughest battles Remus had ever fought. But it was a battle long overdue; a stance he should have taken ages ago.
He would become a friend to Severus Snape.
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Five months later . . .
The little trading post stood alone on a remote wind-swept clearing, at the crossroads of two dirt paths - the only major roads in the area. It was the closest place the local witches had to obtain supplies and exchange gossip, at least for those who had small children too small to apparate or floo. The nearest village was a good day's ride by broom.
None of the area residents really minded. Their little cluster of homes were scattered miles apart from their nearest neighbors in this remote area of the Scottish Highlands; the little store had been a part of their lives since before they could remember. Going to the store was as much a social function as going to a dance. The witches always tried to outdo each other with the latest fashions, the men ignored them in favor of card games or chess, and the little ones ran amok, supervised by no one in particular and by everyone at the same time.
A wide verandah spanned the entire length of the storefront. Elsie Goodman, a rather plump, hefty witch in her mid 60's, sat fanning herself in one of the many spindle rockers scattered on the porch. It was an uncomfortably warm day for early June, promising a long, hot summer to come.
"Have you heard the news, Gwen", she crowed to her neighbor in the next rocker - a younger witch in her early 50's who was almost but not quite as robust as Elsie.
"You mean about Edna's daughter and that muggle tennis player?", Gwen replied, and then giggled. "My, but he is dreamy, isn't he? Does she think he's the one? You think she'll tell him? You think . ."
"No, no no, Gwen, that's old news. Why I just heard . . ."
"She'd better have someone handy, just in case", another witch with short dark hair interrupted. "She was never any good at Obliviate. She tells him and he freaks, he'll likely wind up at St. Mungo's for sure if she tries to do it herself."
"Really, Sharon", Elsie eyed the slender witch with distaste. "Just how would you know - did she try it on you? Could it be that's why you forgot to tell us that you saw HIM the other day, hmmm? I know you did because old man Jones was there - he had sense enough to hide behind the bushes - but he saw you and that double-crossing no-good. Said you passed him by and didn't even have sense enough to let out a good scream to alert the neighbors. Nearly gave him a heart attack, he said. Thought the devil would hex you for sure for being in his way."
"Really, Elsie", Sharon, the slender witch replied. "He had his head down the whole time - he never even looked up! I don't think he even knew I was there. As for telling you all about it - nothing happened. There was really nothing to tell."
"Nothin' to tell!", screeched Elsie. "We get the most vile man in wizarding Britain dumped in our backyard and you tell me there was nothing to tell!? I'm tellin' you, we have to keep our eyes and ears open! Constant Vigilance! Just like that nice retired auror, Mr. Moody said when he told us all that scum was comin' our way . . ."
"Oh, that poor man - Moody, I mean", Gwen quickly clarified after a sharp glance from Elsie. "Why, to think that he fought so bravely with only one leg and one eye - well normal eye, anyway", she half giggled, then continued. "And now he has only one arm and one ear left as well. Sure hope he doesn't get into any more battles. I do declare, I don't think that poor man has anything left to give!"
"Even so, he still feels duty-bound to protect us innocents from convicted murderers like Snape . . ."
Sharon cut in. "But Professor Snape was . . ."
"He's not a professor anymore. He's a parolee. And he would have been Kissed or at the least sentenced to life in Azkaban, if that Sizemore feller had been smart enough to check his evidence", Elsie stated firmly, fanning herself faster in the noonday heat. "And his sources. They say that Potter kid was likely Confounded. Why, that poor boy has been through the ringer - it's no small wonder he's not a resident at St. Mungo's what with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named messin' with his head and all."
"It's just so confusing", complained Gwen who, like Elsie was fanning herself frantically in the heat. She privately longed to cast a cooling charm on herself, but Elsie would frown on that. Elsie had a flair for the dramatic. She had just finished reading an old muggle book called 'Gone With the Wind', set in the 19th century American South and liked to imagine herself as Scarlett O'Hara. Gwen was loathe to appear any less dramatic, and so refrained herself, with an effort, not to use the charm - it would ruin the effect of them being southern belles.
"Watching those memories on the wireless - they seemed so real. But now all those articles in the Prophet and the Minister's speech last month - I just don't know what to think anymore" Gwen finished in exasperation, touching a hanky to her forehead to daintily mop at the perspiration there.
"Isn't it obvious?" Elsie asked sharply. "That Snape's a sneaky bastard who slithered out of what he had coming to him. Apparently, he's had lots of practice - he got away scot free during the first war too . . . Dumbledore, poor deluded man that he was, vouched for him personally. Bet Dumbledore would blast him to next year if he could now, though."
"Why did they have to stick him here, of all places though?" Gwen asked bitterly. "I just don't feel safe at all anymore. And the Johnson's and McCaffey's both moved to Lazer's Creek, all the way on the other side of London. Their families have been here for generations. I don't want to move, but I don't feel good about stayin' either."
"We'll be fine, Gwen", said Sharon. "I don't think he'll hurt us . . ."
"Of course he won't hurt us", Elsie snapped. "He'd be a right nitwit to try. Especially since the Minister had the foresight and presence of mind to give him all those restrictions. You know he's not allowed to do any magic. The Minister snapped his wand before his release. And he can't come on to anyone's property without gettin' special permission from the landowner's themselves. And it all has to be documented and filed at the Ministry of Magic. Why, the only place I know where he's allowed is to this very store to get ingredients for that potion he has to make for St. Mungo's. And he is only allowed to come here on Wednesdays and has a specific route he has to walk to get here. And that Granger muggle-born friend of Potter's and Potter's werewolf friend. Don't know what in the world they was thinking, giving him access privileges like that!"
"How do you know those are the only places he's allowed?" asked Sharon.
"Because, Mr. Moody keeps me informed. Said he'd keep us up-to-date so's we know what's going on", Elsie replied primly.
Gwen looked at her with a hint of jealousy in her eyes. "What else did Mr. Moody say?"
"Only that Snape's under constant surveillance. They got him on some kind of rehabilitation program, and they check on him every week - search his house and stuff. They make sure he hasn't done any magic. They take him to St. Mungo's to check his magical levels for that. There's an auror Dawlish who is in charge of him - his Minder, I think they call it. Must be pretty good at it - Mr. Moody said Snape's afraid of him and laughed."
"Rehabilitation program? What's that?" Sharon asked, frowning.
"Oh, I don't know exactly. He's got to do stuff for them and go with them to make public appearances - sort of like community service, I think. That's why he is required to make the potion for St. Mungo's - it's a healing potion that doesn't have any ingredients that could be used for any nastiness, of course. The minister got the idea from the muggles. You know, how they use convicts for roadwork and stuff."
"But he was granted parole, wasn't he?" Sharon asked.
"Yes, but Sizemore agreed to the restrictions. It was either that or Scrimgeour was going to appeal on the basis that the evidence was fake and order a new trial. It could have taken years. and he would have been kept locked up in Azkaban the whole time. Hector agreed to the terms, but I guess he wasn't happy."
"So, you're saying we should be safe?" Gwen asked, looking at Elsie for reassurance.
"Quite safe", Elsie said smugly. "One toe out of line and boom! He's back in Azkaban where he belongs".
"I just hope he doesn't go mental and kill us all", muttered Gwen darkly. "Knowing he'll be going back to Azkaban won't be too comforting if we're all dead!"
Whatever reply Elsie was going to make got lost as two little boys and two girls came screeching around the corner, play wands raised in mock battle. "Avada Kedavra!" yelled one of the girls, her play wand pointed at a little blond 4-year-old boy with a smudge of dirt on his chin. "You missed!" yelled the boy, who ran down the wide porch, snaking through the three women sitting there, and around another corner out of sight. "Did not!" screamed the girl, chasing after the boy through the women and around the corner after him. "Avada Kedavra! You're dead!" they heard her yell. "Stop running and fall down! I'm an auror and I just killed you!" The children's shouts faded as they ran off into an adjacent yard.
Elsie and Gwen chuckled. "That reminds me", Elsie laughed. "I heard that Harry Potter is going into the Auror's Training Program. Just think what He-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be able to do with the proper training!"
"Yeah, if we live that long" Gwen grumbled.
"Oh, that reminds me again! My news! You all got me so sidetracked I almost forgot the biggest news yet!" Elsie said excitedly.
Gwen and Sharon looked at each other with raised eyebrows, each thinking the same - what on earth could be more newsworthy than having a Death Eater in their midst. They waited expectantly while Elsie pulled her chair closer to the others'.
After settling down again and producing three iced glasses of lemonade, Elsie continued.
"Well, Mr. Moody told me this - I guess the Ministry of Magic's been buzzing with the news for awhile now. But they don't want to make any grand announcements - might just scare some folks silly - could be she'll come and go and no one will be the wiser. But some in the Ministry are all up in arms over it". Elsie looked around as if to make sure no one was listening in.
"Well, do tell, Elsie", cried Sharon in exasperation.
"Well, O.K. but only cause we all will probably get to see her. You see, she's coming here. Going to be leasing that old muggle's house - Snape's grandparents estate it is, on the father's side. He's livin' in the old Prince house that sits behind it beyond the woods and the lake. Be a stone's throw away, she will. Maybe she'll vanquish him. Mr. Moody thinks that's why they steered her here. Hopin' she'll do him in."
"WHO are you talking about!" both Gwen and Sharon cried.
"Charity. Charity Wilson", crowed Elsie, looking smug. "You'll never guess who she is!"
"I don't believe I ever heard of a Charity Wilson, before." answered Sharon.
"Oh, do tell us! Who is she? And why is she coming here?", asked Gwen.
"Charity Wilson is an Ariconte"
"A what"
"Ariconte. Aren't they all from America?" asked Sharon.
"They all went to America. From here. About two hundred fifty - three hundred years ago. Nobody is FROM America unless they're natives." Elsie replied in a condescending tone.
"Whatever. Is she here on vacation or something?"
"No. Apparently she has a job to do. Mr. Moody said that the Council - Ariconte leaders, I guess - assigned her to do their own independent investigation into the war with He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named. To make sure it doesn't happen to them, I guess. She's gonna write a book or something, is my guess, and report her findings to the Council."
"What's an Ariconte?" asked Gwen, looking from Elsie to Sharon and back again.
"There an odd race of witches", Elsie said, shaking her head. "They actually live among muggles - can you believe it? Think their magic's some gift to be used for a higher calling and so they use it almost exclusively to protect muggles from dark wizards and vampires and the like. Arrogant, is what they are. All looking down their noses at us. But they are formidable fighters, I'll give 'em that much. Killers, is what they really are. Dark Magic hunters."
"Then where were they when He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named was rampaging through Britain?"
Elsie shrugged her shoulders. "Good question. Apparently decided it was not their problem."
"Well, then if that's how they felt, why should we help them now?" Gwen demanded.
"You tell 'em no", Elsie scoffed. "If the Minister can't stop her from coming, I'm certainly not about to get in her way. They've lived in America for generations. Terrible tempers they have. Besides, you don't know what they can do."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they don't use wands. They have Inherent Magic. Hereditary witches they are, magic gets passed down from generation to generation."
"So, they are all purebloods?"
"No, they marry muggles lots of times. But the magic gets passed down anyways regardless. I suppose, those who are purebloods have more powerful magic. But like I said, they don't use wands. Mr. Moody says they each have special powers that they can wield just by thinking about it."
"That actually sounds pretty limiting", Sharon, who had been quiet for some time, put in now. "We can do wandless magic too, if the situation is desperate enough. And think of all the hexes and curses we know. If they only have a handful of powers, then why are they so special, even if they can do them without wands?"
"Because, Sharon", Elsie replied as if to a small child. "They use their powers to destroy dark wizards and demons - to kill. And, it's not only their own powers they use - they can tap into the magical realm of their ancestors with all kinds of spells. It's an ancient and very powerful magic. Mr. Moody is not happy at all that she is coming here. But he vows that she'll be registered just like everyone else. Otherwise, she won't be allowed to stay."
"Will we know what powers she possesses? After she gets registered?"
"I'm sure Mr. Moody will inform us. He has been quite forthcoming." Elsie smiled to herself.
"Maybe it will be worth it. Her coming here, I mean. Maybe she'll take one look at Snape and will send him to hell in a blaze of fire", Gwen muttered.
Elsie smiled grimly at the vision: A plump witch with short mousy hair and lazer-like beams of fire shooting out of her eyes. And Snape, terror in his eyes for an instant before his body was engulfed in a howling mass of flames.
Oh, yes. They would all have front row seats to watch the event. And they would be the ones to tell the tale for years to come.
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A/N I have borrowed the Ariconte from a South American myth – the Ariconte and Tamendonare – twins with different fathers who set out to avenge the murder of their mother. Each one died and was reborn with his brother's help. I have twisted it for this fic to fit the different "races" of witches. Think Star Trek and the relationship between Vulcans and Romulans.