Hello again after a long break!
I must explain my absence - I restarted my educational journey and I'm still finding my rhythm, basically. My amazing fantastic wonderful beta, FawkesyLady, also needed a break after her own exams. I am posting this chapter today because my fingers were literally itching to do so, and I miss all your reviews!
From now on, I will continue to try to post one chapter a week, but I can make no promises. I have three assignments due in next week and they have to take the front seat, I'm afraid, but I'll still do my best. The chapters might also be shorter, but this story will probably end up running into hundreds of thousands of words anyway.
Important Information - In this chapter, I am going to introduce another OFC. My beta is American, and so I decided to include a US character largely for her!
From now on, forget all about canon. Forget everything you know. Well, not everything, because I am still going to keep some parts and events of HBP and beyond, but in this fic I let my imagination run wild and so I am going to rewrite history in order to suit my needs. I mean, I have two OCs, and of course they need to have a purpose of some description. ;)
Anyway. Here's the new chapter. Enjoy. :)
Severus blinked rapidly, straining to see in the semi-darkness. He was disoriented, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side, and he perceived that he was in a bed, in an unfamiliar room decorated in warm, outdated shades of yellow and orange. Fixing his gaze on the wall ahead of him, he was greeted by a massive Muggle poster depicting a quintet of smiling young men in daft poses on a blue background. The writing underneath read, 'Backstreet Boys' and Severus scowled at the grinning goons, wondering if this was his own, personal hell.
He looked around the bedroom as much as his stiff neck allowed, taking in his immediate surroundings. The bedroom was sparsely furnished, with a solitary window to his right, hidden behind thick velveteen curtains. Next to it stood a large wooden wardrobe with a matching dresser in the opposite corner, and a quick glance to the left revealed a single bedside table on which stood a jug of water. Severus deducted that the furniture must have been quite old, but was very well cared for a polished to a high shine. Still, it was nothing he could immediately recognise, and to add to his discomfort, there was nothing magical about this place.
The comfortable warmth and silence suddenly became oppressive and deafening, and he rolled over to one side with the intention of escaping this strange household immediately. He tried to prop himself up, but found that his arms could not support his weight. He fell back onto the mattress heavily, groaning as a twinge of pain awoke in his stomach. He found that he couldn't lift his legs, they would only slide up and down the mattress by a few inches at best. Yes. Definitely hell.
A folded piece of paper on the bedside table caught his eye. He reached out to grab it, struggling to grip it properly with unco-ordinated fingers. With growing frustration, he managed to roll over onto his back again and held the paper in shaking hands. At first, the crude stokes scrabbled across the page like startled spiders, but with concentration his eye finally divined meaning. It might have been easier to read tea leaves or throw the bones because the handwriting was atrocious. The note read, 'Gone shop, back soon'. Severus crumpled up the note and stared at the artexed ceiling, considering. Obviously, somebody was looking after him, but who were they? He was reluctant to believe they were a friend, but could only continue to wait for Merlin-Knew-What, be it his doom or salvation.
When the door latch clicked unexpectedly, Severus instinctively reached for where his wand should have been. His heart began beating a rampant staccato in his chest as he found himself unarmed, and he held his breath in anticipation, cold sweat breaking out on his back, his senses on high alert.
A petite woman stepped into the bedroom. Ah, Alice Crowley. Bugger. He could barely remember his own name, but it was impossible to forget her. He had suspected before, but now he knew for sure that her life's ambition was to make his miserable life even more unbearable. She had her hair up in a high ponytail that made her resemble an onion, and wore a red strappy vest and dark denim shorts. In her hands she carried a plate, and approached him warily, never taking her eyes off him, as though he was some kind of dangerous creature.
Severus seethed. He had no idea why she was there, or why he was there for that matter, but he did know that she was the last person he wanted to see. Waspishly, he spat, 'Get out.'
'And a very good morning to you too.' Her tone was surly, but laced with exhaustion and lacked any real bite. Brows drawn together in confusion, Severus took a closer look at the girl's face. She was heavily made up, with thick layers of concealer and mascara on her eyes, but even with all that product, Severus could see the dark circles beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She looked positively haggard.
Severus looked at her with distrust. His instincts prickled his brain like sharp needles, warning him of potential danger. 'Who are you?' He asked, his eyes boring into the witch who looked like, but may well not have been, Alice Crowley.
The witch's brows shot up in surprise. 'You really have gone 'round the bend, haven't you?'
Severus ground out, 'Who. Are. You?'
'Alice Crowley, obviously. Do you know who you are, or shall I have you transferred to the Janus Thickey ward?' Her voice rose a fraction, taking on a raspy, gritty quality one might expect of a heavy smoker. She thinned her lips into a tight line with downturned corners as she took another step towards him, and he held up a hand to stop her progress.
He looked her up and down with a sneer. 'Prove it.'
'Prove what?!' The witch stopped in her tracks and placed one hand on her hip, visibly agitated.
'Prove that you are who you're claiming to be.' He bluffed, 'I won't warn you twice. I am a dangerous man, a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord had trained me himself. You would do well to take this seriously.'
The girl took a cautious step back, eyeing him with apprehension, her bravado visibly dimmed. Severus was pleased to see the hint of fright in her face. 'What was your last Potions assignment before the end of term?' He asked, his eyes boring into her painted face menacingly.
The girl swallowed audibly. 'Um… Fourteen inches on toxicity of Aconite leaves…' She paused for a couple of seconds, thinking. 'Their uses in brewing of poisons, and known antidotes. Did I pass?'
Severus snorted lightly, ignoring her question. 'I once put Messers Fred and George Weasley in detention for slipping Devil's Tongue into my tea. How did you retaliate?'
Crowley blushed and stammered, shifting her gaze from side to side. 'I, erm… um…'
Severus raised an eyebrow. 'You…?'
'I - I broke the wards on your personal stores and... '
Severus prompted in a deceptively soft tone, 'And…?'
She sighed heavily, her posture slumping. Shifting her eyes to the side, she muttered, 'And let Peeves in.'
Severus relaxed in his certainty that the girl standing before him was in fact truly Alice Crowley. His voice dropped by half an octave, as he settled into the familiar, silky drawl of the superior Potions Master, ever attentive to the most pleasant of duties - disciplining uppity Gryffindors. 'That, Miss Crowley, is a very serious offence. 1780 Galleons worth of damage that the school had to pick up the tab for. Rest assured that it won't go… unpunished.'
'That was AGES ago!' She shrieked, and the plate she was holding came dangerously close to slipping off her hand. She caught it just as it was about to tip over. 'Surely you have better things to do than digging up minor misdeeds from ancient history?!'
'Minor misdeeds?' Severus pinned her with a glare that could curdle milk, his voice rising. 'Do you truly consider it a minor misdeed to allow an unruly Poltergeist to ransack my personal stores and damage countless precious, or in some cases nearly irreplaceable ingredients? Do you have any idea how much disruption, not to mention expense, your idiocy had caused? Do you realise that your minor misdeed caused a significant and prolonged shortage of essential healing potions in the Hospital Wing?!'
He paused for breath, feeling a flush of fury rise up in his face. 'Sick students didn't have access to the potions they needed to stay healthy because of you, Miss Crowley. But of course, I wouldn't expect an arrogant, dim-witted Gryffindor to understand such difficult concepts as just punishment for pranking a Professor on duty, or respect for personal property, or the idea that some people have had to put a lot of effort into straightening out the results of your minor misdeeds, for that matter.'
He fell back onto the pillows. His nostrils flared, and he was breathing laboriously, realising that this tirade had cost him a lot of precious energy.
Crowley crossed the room without comment and placed the plate on his stomach. 'I see you're feeling better.'
Severus looked down at the proffered dish. It contained what looked like a piece of toast, cut into thin strips, and a soft-boiled egg in a dotted egg cup. His brows knit together as he looked up at Crowley, pointing at the food with one finger. 'What's this?' He asked flatly.
'Eggy soldiers', She replied, tilting her head to the side at Severus' disbelieving glare. 'It's what sick people eat.'
'I'm not eating this. It doesn't even look like food.' He pushed the plate aside and folded his arms decisively, narrowing his eyes at the ridiculous witch.
Crowley shrugged with apparent indifference. 'Don't know what you expected, smoked salmon and cream cheese? With some artisan crusty bread to boot, maybe? Well, you're not getting any of that. Don't eat if you don't want to. You can starve for all I care.' She walked to the window and brushed the curtain aside. 'But if dying was your intention all along, you should have warned me earlier, so I wouldn't have spent two sleepless nights saving your sorry arse.'
Severus ground his teeth. His brain refused to present him with any fresh memories of how he ended up in this house, and Crowley was the only person who could provide him with answers. From his spot in the bed, he considered the girl, who was muttering lowly as she looked out of the window. He was composing his list of questions and deciding what to ask next when the pitch of her grumbling penetrated his reverie.
'... He's shagging her next door, he is. Thought he was in jail… oh bloody hell, I swear if she lets that fucking dog of hers shit on me doorstep again, I'll- '
'BOLLOCKS!' Crowley turned away from the window and bolted out of the bedroom faster than a Snitch without so much as a word of explanation, leaving the door wide open. Severus stared after her, bewildered, listening to the thumping sound of her footsteps, stomping angrily down the stairs. Not long after, he heard her voice, coming from the outside of the window.
'WILL YOU CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR FUCKING DOG?!'
A high-pitched, feminine voice replied, 'MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS YA NOSEY TIT-LESS CUNT!''
Crowley's voice rose to a furious roar. 'HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I WENT AND TOOK A DUMP ON YOUR FUCKING DOORSTEP?!'
Severus, finding that the needs of his stomach outweighed the needs of his dignity, had snuck a bite of toast but the language coming out of the girl made him choke. Suppressing his gag, he wondered if this was Crowley's idea of dinner and a show. She and her neighbour were making enough of a din to wake the dead, and the screeching threatened to make his ears bleed. As he laid there with his hand hovering in mid-air, a new male voice joined the argument, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Severus recognised it as belonging to the yob who had yelled at him when he visited Crowley with breakfast.
'WILL YOU TWO BINTS SHUT UP! PEOPLE ARE SLEEPIN'ERE INNIT!'
The two harridans paused mid-shout, turning their attention to their new interlocutor. In unison, they began hurling abuse at the idiot, and Severus was only able to make out, 'GET A FUCKIN' JOB, YOU BONE-IDLE TWAT!'
After this, the quarrel escalated to a shrieking cacophony of insults, with expletives flying left right and centre. Severus missed most of it, unable to contain the violent fit of laughter that erupted like a first year's cauldron boiling over after adding too much heat to mooncalf milk. Tears of mirth appeared in his eyes, and he held his trembling stomach, guffawing until the muscles in his face began to hurt.
Alice Crowley really was Jacqueline's granddaughter, of that he had no doubt.
Crowley came back upstairs some minutes later in a thundering grouch. Severus stopped laughing as soon as he heard her ascend the staircase, and now observed her with only a hint of mild amusement hovering around the corner of his lip.
'Curtain twitching, Miss Crowley?' He asked. 'I never took you for a prying type. That performance was… tremendously entertaining.'
The witch huffed and placed a small collection of phials on Severus' bedside. Gesturing, she commanded, 'Take these.'
Severus stared at the phials as though they contained dragon dung. Squinting, he read the labels, written in Crowley's diabolical scrawl - Blood Replenisher, Painkiller and Strengthening Potion. He pronounced, 'I refuse to imbibe inferior potions.'
Crowley sat down heavily at the foot of the bed and rubbed her eyes with a sigh that screamed of defeat and exhaustion. 'It's good stuff, I brewed them myself. You've been surviving on these for the past, ahh... thirty-six hours or so. Don't take them if you don't want to. I really can't be arsed to argue with you anymore.'
Grunting dramatically, Severus made a great show of unstoppering the phials and drinking the potions one by one, checking each with a stealthy sniff to ensure that they were what Crowley claimed them to be. Swallowing loudly, he shuddered against the vile taste. He offered a simple, 'Thank you, Miss Crowley.' He couldn't bring himself to go as far as complimenting her work. After all, it was his skills as a teacher, it would be like complimenting himself, would it not? He wondered just how far she'd get with the individualised instruction of Apprenticeship. Too bad he refused to take them on, but he had too many cauldrons on the burners as it was.
Crowley turned her head slowly and favoured him with a tight-lipped smile. 'You're welcome.'
They fell into an uneasy silence, and soon, Crowley began fidgeting. As she got up to leave, Severus asked abruptly, 'How long have I been out?'
She leaned against the doorframe, avoiding eye-contact. 'Oh dear… let me think. You've been unconscious last night, all day yesterday, and the night before… It's nearly noon.'
Severus' hair stood on end. 'How… how did I get here?'
Crowley shrugged. 'You tell me. You just turned up in my kitchen at two in the morning. I assume you must have apparated.'
He swallowed thickly. This was bad. 'Where is my wand?' He asked, shifting to sit upright. He had to report to Dumbledore. He had wasted too much time.
'Downstairs, with the rest of your things. Except the cigarettes. I smoked them.'
'You've gone through my things?!' Severus spoke up sharply, staring knives and daggers at the witch. 'You had no right to -'
'I had to wash your robes.' She interjected firmly. 'They were absolutely filthy. You might be happy enough to put on clothes that stink to high heavens and are covered in… stuff, but I will not have such things under my roof. Your possessions are safe. I took none of your money. But I took the fags, because I ran out of tobacco and could not leave you to go to the shop. You were in no state to be left home alone, believe me.'
Severus stared at Crowley for long moments, not knowing what to say. His memories were jumbled up and unclear, but the things he could remember made his skin crawl. He had to know.
'What happened to me?'
Crowley stood, staring at the carpet beneath her feet. Quietly, she said, 'They… brutalised you. You were bruised and beaten, and they… ah.' Severus could see that she was tense, her features pinched in a poor attempt at self-restraint. 'They… they…'
Severus noticed the tears forming in her eyes, making them look even redder than before. The last thing he needed was her pity, and he was too tired to comfort her. He'd better say something before she started to cry in earnest. He cut in, 'Enough.' Slowly, he felt snippets of memories return, and he moved to wedge the floodgates of recall closed, lest he lose his tenuous hold on reality.
'I cleaned you up and changed your clothes. And dosed you with these.' She pointed at the empty phials with her chin. 'I thought you were a goner.' She admitted quietly.
Severus snorted lightly. 'Silly girl. I wouldn't have died. You managed to heal me with basic potions. My injuries probably looked worse than they were.'
'The damage I could see was bad enough at first, but then… you started to bleed. Heavily. Down there.'
Severus' expression froze, and his emotional walls slammed into place. Behind them, the tides of shame vied with boiling spots of rage. His mind's eye presented him with an image of his body, scarred as it was and soiled, laid bare for her to see. He hated her eyes, the eyes that had seen what no student should ever see, and the mind that was now oh so intimately acquainted with his privacy, with his history and the ugliness he carried beneath his woollen robes every day of his life. This girl, who should have been innocent, had torn his dignity into shreds. Death seemed almost preferable to this shame.
He could just imagine what Crowley must have been thinking when she found him. He pictured her, standing above him smugly, sneering down at him in judgement. He could taste her revulsion in his mouth. She probably saved him out of pity, or for perceived personal gain later. Did she think he would feel grateful, even beholden to her for her efforts? That she'd get special treatment in his class? Was she going to announce his humiliation to all of her little Gryffindor friends? Was she going to blackmail him into… buying her fags, and Merlin knew what else? He needed to set her straight, immediately.
'Why do you always dress like a common strumpet?' Severus hissed, baring his teeth at the girl who had by now managed to compose herself.
She tilted her head to one side, her ridiculous ponytail hovering above her shoulder. 'So you can admire my cracking arse.'
THAT was below the belt. Her face was open, the corners of her mouth turned upwards in what looked like a light, indulging smile. Severus scowled at her, knowing that smile for what it was. Gryffindor deceit.
He looked her up and down, his expression cold, as though he was judging a sample brought to him by a student, cataloguing each and every fault with sharp accuracy. 'I assumed it was to draw away attention from your pathetically flat chest.'
Crowley inhaled sharply. The sweet smiled disappeared, twisting her features into tight lines of indignation67. Pouting, she spat, 'Bugger off, Professor Snape', and turned neatly on her heel to leave, muttering, 'Ungrateful, goat-brained… DUNDERHEAD.'
Severus leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk. The girl's anger realigned his world - it felt right. Very quickly, his pride at his victory withered as her parting words sunk in, and he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she left. She swung her hips in deliberately languid figure-eights, a witch grown and confident in the power of her fine, nay, cracking arse.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his mahogany desk, reviewing the contract sent to him by one Tina Tchihende, the newest Defense professor and ex-Headmistress of Ilvermorny School of WItchcraft and Wizardry, who had consented to come out of retirement and travel all the way from the States to teach at Hogwarts. Tchihende was an extraordinarily powerful witch and a living legend, and although her list of requirements was almost as long as Albus' beard, the correspondence was promising and Albus looked forward to welcoming her towards the end of August.
If anything, Albus was glad to have found a suitable teacher, especially after last year's trouble with Dolores Umbridge. He had been somewhat apprehensive at first, wondering if it was strictly necessary to search for a teacher all the way across the pond, but conceded after receiving pressure from Minerva, whose idea it was in the first place - two witches had met at some point during her years in the Ministry and had been in touch ever since, and Minerva was beyond thrilled when Tchihende accepted the job. She spoke fondly of the mischief they got up to many decades ago, and Dumbledore could not help but wonder how he would keep the two women in check.
Despite the good news, the old wizard was deeply troubled and found himself unable to concentrate on the paperwork. He kept glancing nervously at the mantelpiece clock and then at the door, as though by doing that he could make Severus appear. The spy had not been in touch in days now, and all attempts at making contact had been unsuccessful. His Patronus returned with the message undelivered, as did the School owl. The Floo was unresponsive, and subtle enquiries among the Order members revealed that nobody had heard from him. Albus was sick with worry, the knot of anxiety tightening in the pit of his stomach with each passing hour. Severus had never gone so long without so much as a word.
Albus put down his quill and rose from his chair with a heavy sigh. The work that needed doing did nothing to assuage his concerns. Pushing the mountain of parchment to the far corner of his desk, he reached for his bowl of lemon sherbets and popped one into his mouth out of habit. It fizzed and burned his tongue, its acid as repulsive as the fear that enveloped his brain and twisted his guts into tight loops of distress that would not let him rest.
Hands behind his back, he began pacing the room like he usually did whenever his mind was burdened with troubles great and small. The fireplace was a constant distraction as he made his rounds across the patterned rug. His head kept jerking towards it with each flicker of the flames, and the periodic sounds of the crackling wood made him jump and turn only to step back again in disappointment when Severus' raven head did not appear in the grate.
'Severus, where are you?' He thought, sending up a mental prayer to Merlin. 'Please, give any sign you're alive. You don't even have to waste energy on niceties. I'll take a ''fuck off''...'
Next to his desk, Fawkes appeared in a cloud of red smoke. Albus trotted up to his perch, his brows drawn in an expression of hopeful anticipation. 'Any luck?' He asked, and looked down at his feet sadly when the phoenix shook its head to the negative. 'I will have to alert the Order… conduct a search…' He resumed his pacing, his ancient mind reeling with the ramifications. 'I can't believe my own foolishness, Fawkes.'
The phoenix chirped, a low, drawn out sound, offering comfort to his life-long friend. Albus stroked his feathered neck slowly, a sketch of a plan forming in his mind. First, he would have to Floo the Headquarters, then he would speak to Minerva. No - he would speak to Minerva first, then the Headquarters. Arthur would need to be notified and asked to see what he could find out at the Ministry, and of course he might have to search for a new Potions professor…
That last thought felt like a Bludger to the head, really driving home the probability that Severus would never return and would need to be replaced. But how was Albus supposed to replace the irreplaceable? He could find a new Potions teacher, but how could he ever find another spy? The chances of victory have never looked so bleak, and he only had himself to blame.
Shoulders slumped, he walked over to the fireplace with the intention to Floo Minerva in her home in Scotland, and nearly jumped out of his skin as the flames in the grate sprung to life violently with a great whooshing sound, changing in colour to the typical green of the Floo network. Eyes wide with anticipation, Albus peered into the fire, but the glint of hope disappeared as fast as it had appeared when the caller turned out to be Alice Crowley.
He cleared his throat, and before he could greet the young witch, she spat, 'We need to talk.'
Albus replied firmly, 'I don't think this is the best moment, Miss Crowley.'
The girl snorted. 'Yes it is. We need to talk right now, while Snape is sleeping. It's important.'
Albus' hair stood on end. Frozen, he felt a parade of sensations wash across his brain in rapid succession. Relief, anxiety, guilt, elation and shock spun and collided inside him, fighting for dominance. Did she really say what he thought she was saying?
He finally croaked out, 'Come through,' the only thing he was capable of saying. She nodded, and moments later, she stepped out of the enormous grate with ease, wiping her slippers on the hearth rug.
Dumbledore observed her as she methodically wiped dust off her arms and knees and tidied her hair. Despite his excitement, he was grateful for the few precious moments to arrange his own thoughts, to compose the hundreds of questions he wanted to ask.
'Is Severus…' he began, but Miss Crowley cut him off sharply.
'He knows. You-Know-Who knows about the Essence. And I demand a pay rise.'
Albus paled. 'What - how?! Miss Crowley, what are you talking about?'
Miss Crowley put her hand on her hip, a picture of teenage sulkiness. 'I'm not talking, just relaying what Snape told me. Basically, Lord Thingy knows and now we're buggered.'
Albus walked over to the comfortable chairs by the fire and sat down heavily, gesturing for Miss Crowley to do the same. All of this was terribly confusing. 'Please sit down, and start from the beginning.'
Miss Crowley fell into her chair gracelessly, as though she had been on her feet for hours on end, and Albus noticed that she looked exhausted and very annoyed, although the latter was not that unusual for the notoriously moody, unlikeable girl.
She sat with her back slumped forward and her knees wide open, resting her elbows on her thighs. 'Well he turned up at my house, Snape did,' she began without much preamble. 'The other night. At two in the morning. He was in a state, and I assumed he had been to the pub and got himself completely hammered, but then I saw his robes and that ugly mask, and realised he had been with Lord Thingy.'
Albus nodded patiently, gesturing for her to continue.
'Not going to tell you what they've done to him - put it this way, if I could erase those memories, I would. Never seen such brutality in me life. He was screaming and crying and pleading, and mentioned the Essence. He was saying he didn't know about it.'
Albus straightened in his chair, slipping back into his Commander persona, all cold facts and no emotion. 'Are you absolutely sure he was referring to the Essence? Did he say anything else?'
Miss Crowley thinned her lips. 'Oh, he was saying all sorts of weird stuff, but I wasn't exactly listening because I was too busy saving his life, like. But yeah, he was speaking of the Essence, of that I have no doubt.'
Dumbledore inhaled deeply, keeping his composure. 'And you didn't think to inform me earlier, or to have him transferred to the infirmary?' His tone was accusing, sharp.
The girl held his gaze without so much as a flinch. Her expression changed from one of petty annoyance to that of disdain. 'Oh yes, yes I did. But I decided that it wasn't in his best interest to have you anywhere near him. This is all your fault, Dumbledore. You're remarkably free with other people's lives. You've already ruined mine. Saving his was a considerable effort, and your own peace of mind was at the very end of my immediate priorities.'
A hint of guilt rose up in Albus' chest, but he refused to let it float up to the surface as he processed the girl's words. Each one was dripping with hatred, and Albus understood where she was coming from. He only wished that the girl would understand him too - he had to make difficult decisions, ones he would rather not make, but if he was to help Harry Potter fulfil his destiny and end this war once and for all, he had to do what it took. 'How is Severus?' He asked quietly, unable to hide his concern.
'Better.' Miss Crowley smirked and straightened regarding him smugly. Obviously she could tell that her words had an effect on Albus, and was having a merry old time twisting the knife just that little bit more. 'He was alert and aware earlier on, but he's still weak, very weak. Too weak to go back to his duties, if that's what you're asking.'
Albus shook his head. 'No no, of course.' He continued, 'I appreciate that he needs to recover, but I hope you realise that if what you told me is true, we are in a very serious situation indeed. You must tell me everything you know.'
Miss Crowley sneered. 'How touching. On Snape's behalf, I am ever so grateful for your concern and generosity.'
Albus shot her a hard look, and she cleared her throat, acknowledging the warning. 'But anyway. I already told you the relevant bit. Everything else is… none of your business, frankly, and nothing to do with the war. Except…' she pinned him with a steely glare. 'He was begging, you know. Begging for you to come and help him.'
In his mind's eye, Albus imagined the scene, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. His heart twisted at the idea of Severus, the brave brilliant boy, reduced to wailing and pleading for help that would not come. Swallowing thickly, he had to look away, unable to look the messenger in the eye. 'You… seem to care for him, Miss Crowley.'
She snorted, 'Care? That's pushing it, but he's been absolutely lovely. No, honestly!' Albus raised a surprised eyebrow, noticing the faint blush that spread across the young witch's cheeks. 'He's a handful, Snape is, but nothing I can't handle. He's actually alright outside of the classroom. Cracking sense of humour, and thick-skinned. Doesn't mind a bit of banter either. Top bloke.'
Albus smiled lightly, studying his steepled hands. 'That's very true. There's more to Severus than meets the eye. I assume you that you did not fuss over him too much?'
'I'm not his nanny.'
A faint chuckle escaped Albus' lips. 'I'm sure he appreciated it. He always complains that Madam Pomfrey mollycoddles him too much.'
Miss Crowley crossed her arms decisively. 'Well, I don't. But anyway. What do we do about Lord Thingy?'
Her question brought Albus back to the problem at hand. His expression morphed to one of extreme seriousness, and he considered his response for a long moment. 'If he knows about the Essence, he will do his best to get his hands on it.'
The girl supplied, 'And if he doesn't?'
'Then Severus' life will be forfeit. It looks like he was very lucky to escape with his life this time.' Another difficult choice, another impossible decision. 'Severus cannot know where the Essence is located. If we assume that Voldemort wants Severus to find it and bring it to him, which is likely, then…'
'I don't know.' Crowley interjected, wincing. 'It looked to me like he had gone to extreme lengths to ensure that Snape would not survive.'
Albus sighed. 'If Voldemort wanted Severus dead, he would have killed him there and then, believe me.'
Ignoring Miss Crowley, whose expression suggested that she was not entirely convinced, Albus continued, 'As I was saying, if Voldemort wants Severus to bring him the Essence, we can safely assume that he will not be summoned again for at least a couple of weeks. Even Voldemort knows that missions such as these require time. I don't know how he knows, but what I do know is that Severus will have to give him something. Solid proof, if he wants to live.'
Miss Crowley's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she stood up abruptly and began to pace around the office, waving her hands in agitation. 'Well we can't just give it to Snape to present to You-Know-Who, now can we?! We don't even know what it DOES! And I don't necessarily want the fruit of my labour to go to that… that… that DICKHEAD of a Dark wizard!' She stopped pacing, and after a brief pause added, 'Innit.'
Nodding thoughtfully, Albus regarded the witch through his half-moon glasses, the corners of his lips drawn in a lopsided smile. 'I don't see any other way out of this. You do want Severus to live, don't you?'
'Of course I do!' Miss Crowley threw up her hands, looking at Albus as though he just said something incredibly stupid. 'He's an absolute delight and I'd rather keep him as my neighbour. And stuff.'
Albus smirked inwardly, and spoke softly, drawing on his powers of persuasion. He knew very well that Miss Crowley could not care less about the Greater Good and the wizarding world as a whole - she was far too selfish and immature for that, but the ''and stuff'' told him everything he needed to know. 'Then we must do whatever we can to ensure Severus' safety, don't you agree?'
'Yes. But how do you intend to do it? Do I go back home now, and give him the cauldron, and -'
'No.' Albus cut her off sharply. 'Severus must not know that the Essence is in your possession. I must rely on your discretion, Miss Crowley. I want you to produce a sample, a single phial will do, and bring it to me as soon as possible. I will handle it from there.'
'A sample?'
Albus could see the cogs working at double-speed in the girl's brain. 'What's the point of that?' She shook her head. 'Nevermind. Any special instructions? Should I make it so it's a deadly poison of some description?'
Albus chuckled darkly, 'If a simple poison could finish off Voldemort, we would have won the war before it even started. No, just bring me the sample, Miss Crowley. Let… Let Voldemort think the blood in it is mine.'
Miss Crowley considered for a moment before sitting back down in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She grumbled, 'I don't think I like the idea of HIM having anything containing my blood. I don't want to strengthen him.'
A spark of humour lit up Albus' face. 'In all honesty, I doubt you could make much difference. Please forgive me, but I must say that in terms of magical power, you are really quite average.'
She grimaced, 'Oh, thanks. Especially considering that I can knock out several opponents in Defense without breaking a sweat.'
'There is much more to a wizard's power than brute force, Miss Crowley.' Albus leaned forward, favouring the surly witch with a mild smile. She obviously didn't like his explanation, and replied with a grumpy roll of her eyes. Albus continued, 'More often than not, it isn't quite enough to make a witch or wizard great. You will understand it in time, I'm sure, but for now, let me tell you this - there is nothing wrong with being average. What matters is what you do with what you have.'
The girl rested her head in her hand and looked away with an expression of casual boredom at Albus' little motivational speech. After a while, she said, 'He's going to harm me, isn't he? Thinking the blood is yours.'
'I can make no promises, Miss Crowley. We both know that the Essence will not be used for good, but I have no idea how it's going to affect you, if at all. However, its uses are rather limited in its current state, and I doubt that Voldemort would know more about it than we do.'
'I don't even know why you wanted me to brew this, you know.' She muttered, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. 'The Essence is dangerous. Why didn't you just destroy that pigging recipe? We wouldn't have this problem now if you did.'
Albus considered her question, unsure whether or not it was wise to divulge his reasons. Finally, he answered, 'Initially, I wanted to. But then I decided that it might be useful, and wanted to have it at hand should the need for it arise. You need not concern yourself with my reasons, Miss Crowley. And as for our problem… I had hoped that Tom would never find out. And now that he knows, we just need to deal with it. And if I did not ask you to brew the Essence, you would have nothing to occupy yourself with during the past few months, besides maybe schoolwork. And we both know that you are allergic to that...'
She snorted blackly. 'I am also allergic to interfering old codgers with long beards and garish robes. And what if What's-His-Name demands the recipe?' Miss Crowley looked up at him from beneath hooded lids, obviously unconvinced.
'One challenge at a time.' Albus shrugged with apparent indifference, but inwardly, he was asking himself the exact same question. 'For now, please provide the sample.'
Miss Crowley rose from her chair and walked over to the grate, picking up a spindly object from the mantelpiece and examining it closely with mild interest. 'I don't know, Dumbledore. This,' she gestured widely, 'Is like a house made of matchsticks. Your plan doesn't hold water. I'll get you that fucking sample, but if the Death-munching loons come knocking on my door, I will point firmly in your direction.'
'Nobody will come knocking if do what you are told.' Albus' expression turned serious once more. 'I need you to co-operate, Miss Crowley. For your own good, and for Severus. The Light cannot afford to lose him. If Harry Potter is to fulfil his destiny…'
Miss Crowley pulled a face, as though confronted by a very unpleasant smell. 'Harry Potter is a complete moron. I doubt he can tie his own shoe laces. How he's supposed to kill You-Know-Who is beyond me!'
Albus sighed. 'Be that as it may, he is the Chosen One and we must do everything we can do help him.'
He was growing tired, feeling every ounce of this new weight on his shoulders. He was truly happy to learn that Severus was alive, but he knew that Miss Crowley could not be fully trusted. Lowering his voice, he said, 'Remember that should you disregard my instructions-'
'Yes, yes, I know.' Miss Crowley turned her back to him with a sour grin. 'You will have me rot in the deepest pits of Azkaban. I remember.'
Albus' brows knit together. It was necessary that she remembered not to step out of line, that she felt the threat and heeded his warning.
She said, 'I have used up my supply of potions ingredients saving Snape. As our employer, I expect you to cover the cost. I am going to send you a list.'
Without further ceremony, Miss Crowley dropped a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the grate, disappearing from his office. Albus continued staring into the fire for a long time after she left, his relief mixing with new, terrifying anxieties. After what seemed like an age, he turned around to look at Fawkes, who had obviously been following the exchange and was now staring at Albus with open curiosity.
Albus petted the phoenix absent-mindedly. 'You know, Fawkes, whatever pact or friendship the pair of them have, and wherever it might lead them, it is probably the best thing that could have happened for them. I don't know if the same can be said for the rest of us…'
Fawkes chirped questioningly, making Albus chuckle. 'Oh yes. The very fact that Severus had gone to Miss Crowley in his hour of need speaks volumes. Who would have thought?' The man trailed off thoughtfully, staring into the middle distance. 'Alice Crowley… young, bad-tempered and a Gryffindor who cannot see past the tip of her nose had somehow managed to gain Severus' trust. Absolutely bizarre.'
'I think you're being hypocritical, Albus.' A new voice piped up, and Albus looked up at the portrait of Dilys Derwent, scowling at him from her gilded frame. 'You speak of forgiveness and second chances, and yet this doesn't seem to apply to a child whose curiosity and impressionability resulted in committing one single mistake.' The witch waved her finger. 'Don't look at me like that, young man! I remember very well what happened in this office two years ago!' Dilys crossed her arms, thinning her lips in disapproval.
'I stand by my decisions and I have to live with them every day, Dilys. I am not a monster.' A wave of sadness crossed Albus' face. 'I only wanted to prevent Miss Crowley from going off the rails.'
Dilys scoffed, 'By dragging her into a war against her will? Using manipulation, threatening her and resorting to outright blackmail? And the Snape boy, oh, I remember that too. Both times you saw an opportunity and you will continue to exploit them both for as long as you possibly can. My heart breaks for those children!'
Dumbledore averted his gaze and turned his back on the portrait, ending this line of conversation. What was he supposed to say? How could he refute the truth? He stared into the bare ugliness of necessity, the consequences of not taking every opportunity to defeat Tom Riddle. The Muggleborn witch would be just as surely dead if Tom won, so while she never consented for all of this, Dumbledore knew that sooner or later she would be swept up in it. That idea loosened the pang of guilt that twisted in his chest, and he looked down, surprised to see his own fingers fisted over his heart. Miss Crowley was a crude, common witch, but she was in danger, and if she didn't help, she would surely have been killed or imprisoned later for stealing magic.
Alice Crowley and Severus Snape were allies in the fight and at least had one another for all that was worth. What a waste it will be when both unfortunate souls were ultimately sacrificed on the Altar of the Greater Good. Well, Dumbledore would be sure that they would receive public accolades after all was said and done. In fact, the story had wonderful potential for winning over skeptical hearts. He rubbed his hands together, his mind pleasantly occupied with composing bylines for articles in the Prophet, lauding the doomed, tragic heroes he would build up in Alice Crowley and Severus Snape.