Snape snorted in amusement, not caring that the room was staring at Potter as if he had suddenly turned into a bat.
"That was the very first thing I thought of, Potter," He said, a dark chuckle in his voice. "Unfortunately, it wouldn't work."
"Severus," The Headmaster admonished him sharply, but Potter seemed to share his amusement.
"I would have been disappointed if you hadn't, Professor," Potter answered. "But you probably never considered a ritual killing combined with a soul curse."
"A what?" Madame Pomfrey asked, irritated that once again non-medical wizards were supplying the crucial information.
"A soul curse," Potter repeated. "That's what Voldemort did to himself to gain his personal version of immortality. Basically, he bound his soul and magical core together and anchored them I this world so that only his body would die, but the rest of him would remain, conscious and thinking, to organize himself another one."
"How did you find that out?" Tonks piped in when Potter paused to take a breath.
"I knew some of it even before I was taken, back in my seventh year", Potter answered, then, smiling slightly. "And I had eight years to understand what happened."
Madame Pomfrey huffed again, an irritated sound that told everyone who cared to interpret it how little she thought of all these would-be healers around the table.
"And how exactly," She asked. "Would this soul curse help with your condition, Mr Potter? As far as I know, you already have the problem of being bound to another plane."
Potter smiled again, refusing to even acknowledge the barely hidden criticism.
"Exactly, Madame Pomfrey," He answered, in a tone that suggested nothing but admiration for her cleverness, and Severus had to raise his hand again. "But what I found out in my years studying is that you can also reverse the curse. The effect would be not a soul bound and anchored to this world, but the complete and utter annihilation of it. If you reverse the soul curse, you can scatter a mind and magical core into nothing. Unfortunately, you have to kill the one whose soul you want to destroy, for the curse only works in the short seconds between life and death."
That said, Potter leaned back comfortably in his chair and let his eyes rest of Dumbledore again. "I am glad that we found this solution before I became too weak to research it. Now the danger of Voldemort's return is banished."
Snape had expected the Headmaster to answer with the obvious, but Dumbledore remained silent and Snape felt a cold hand grasp his heart. It was Minerva, who, after a sharp glance towards her superior, voiced protest.
"But Mr Potter, we can't kill you!"
"Why not?" He asked back pleasantly, his eyebrow cocked in a show of surprise. "You accepted my death two times already, once when I was taken and again when I vanished after Voldemort's demise, didn't you? And I would die anyway if this treatment I undergo shouldn't work. The only difference is that this way I will leave this world with a clear conscience, not with the knowledge of having brought back the darkest wizard of this age. It's a fair deal, to my mind."
He paused, but only to rise from his chair, and before anyone could thinks of something further to say, he smiled once more, fixing them all with his clear, sharp gaze.
"Now then, if all is clear, I would like to retire to your library. There are some details about the curse that need further research. I would be glad if Madame Pomfrey accompanied me – Professor Snape was adamant that I always have someone around in case of a seizure."
He paused, perhaps waiting for reactions, but all remained silent. They came here to meet a little lost lamb, Snape thought grimly. But what they found was a tiger in a sheep costume. And Madame Pomfrey was an excellent choice for accompaniment. No one could question her competence on Potter's illness and her right to be present; yet she was barely involved in the machinations of the Headmaster and had never been part of the Order.
She wouldn't use the time to carefully probe Potter's mind, she would bustle and discuss the therapy and research on her own. She wouldn't even know afterwards which books Potter had checked or how much time he had spent over them. For a moment, Snape pitied the Headmaster.
Potter nodded once at the continuing silence, slowly, as if accepting that none of his old friends had a word for him, a gesture of sympathy, that they were frozen in their chairs by what he had become.
"Should I not see you again," He then continued. "I wish you all the best for your future. Fare well. Would you come to the library if you are finished here, Professor?" He asked Snape, who nodded silently and watched him and the bustling, nervous nurse leave, just as the rest of the former Order did, piercing his back with eyes full of the questions they had not dared ask in his presence.
Once the door had closed behind the thin figure of their former saviour, however, the attention turned to Snape.
"Severus," Dumbledore began, his voice apologetic. So to me you apologize? I wonder how I earned that privilege.
"Albus," He answered aloud. "I thought this room was out of use." He could make out signs of frustration in the faces around him and knew what caused them. Potter had disappointed them – they had probably hoped for some sentimental nonsense and only gotten a slightly bored young man in total control.
Perhaps they had expected him to supply details now. He never ceased to be amazed at how little these people knew him.
They had wanted someone to inform them about Potter. What they got was a Snape in full spy mode, eyes hooded, body relaxed to the point of insult and face expressionless except for the slightly condescending curl of his mouth. Potter had kept at least a polite smile on the empty stage of his face. But Snape's masks were designed to irritate the hell out of everybody.
And he was really looking forward to it.
"This coldness isn't good for the boy, Severus," Dumbledore now answered his implicit question. "We hoped we could get him open up to us a bit, to remind him that we were once one trusting family."
"I see."
Only two little words, drawled by the silky voice of the man who had been one of their master strategists, but it sufficed to make some of them flinch as if whipped.
He curled the right corner of his mouth a bit more and let a hint of dark amusement enter the blackness of his eyes.
"Severus," A hidden admonishment this time, a gentle hint that he shouldn't be difficult. A Slytherin that isn't difficult is a knife in your back, old man. But he complied, let the smirk vanish and life return to his features.
"I don't think it worked," Was all he said, however, earning and irritated huff from Minerva.
"What about this plan of his," She then asked. "Will it work?"
"I have no idea," Snape admitted. "I didn't know about it before we came here. He doesn't trust me with the story of his life, you know?"
Just with his friends and his home, He added silently what no one around this table had to know. Instinctively, he kept his eyes averted from the Headmaster as this thought flickered across his mind.
"But he did trust you to accompany him into his past," Dumbledore remarked rather too off-handedly. Snape had to suppress a smirk. Had he heard an undertone of jealousy there?
"I consider that more as some kind of punishment for my past behaviour towards him than a display of trust," He answered after a moment. There you are, He thought, My first genuine lie in this council for longer than I can think, and it's all Potter's faul
But he couldn't forget the way Potter had looked at him while they had been walking to the castle, the way he had said that he trusted him completely, and the utter conviction in his voice.
He must have placed a spell on me! But in his heart, Snape knew that it wasn't magic urging him to protect the brat now, and he cursed mentally. He would have preferred being under Imperius to this.
"It must be hard for him, to see these memories replayed," The Headmaster continued, again in that same off-handed tone. "They can't be pleasant."
Snape had to suppress a snort of disgust at this lack of subtlety. Oh come on, you Gryffindor, He thought, Can't you do any better? You could as well go ahead and ask me what I saw!
"Frankly, I don't care what Potter feels, Headmaster. We are progressing steadily, but we still didn't find the cause of the split, and that's honestly all I care about. I want to finish his treatment as fast as possible, leave that goddamn Fidelius-protected house and return to my work here at Hogwarts. If he wanted someone to care about his mental state, he should have chosen you."
He couldn't believe that this answer actually satisfied Dumbledore, but the gentle twinkling in the Headmaster's eyes told him exactly that. How sure you are that I am absolutely loyal, He thought angrily, How sure you are that I will come crawling with any information you need to know. And how sure you are of my continuing prejudiced hate.
If a little voice whispered to him that he was repeating nothing but the beliefs he had held about Potter for the past fourteen years, he chose to ignore it.
"You shouldn't be so critical of him, Severus," The Headmaster said quietly, but the satisfied line of his mouth told him the opposite. "He is just a boy in mortal danger."
Snape very nearly laughed at that. Seldom had he heard such an inept description. Even if Dumbledore didn't know what he, Snape, had found out over the last days, Potter's first appearance in the castle, the incredible power with which he had bent Hogwarts itself to his will, and the casual way he was talking about his death should have told the Headmaster that Potter was anything but a boy. And that, in Potter's view of the world, mortal danger was nothing to get fussy about. Better sit down and bake some more poppy seed muffins.
"He is an irritating, whiny Gryffindor that dragged me away from important work," Snape replied curtly and, rising from his chair and smoothing his robes in an impatient gesture, once more scowled at them all. "If that is all, I will not repeat that fruitless conversation about Potter's merit. I am preparing a detailed report concerning Potter's memories and will send it to you as soon as it is finished. But time is short, and I would prefer to collect Potter now and resume his treatment. Even I have no desire to place a soul curse on him because our work progressed too slowly."
He waited for the Headmaster's nod of agreement and a quiet "Keep me informed, Severus. And thank you for your efforts", sneered again and swept out of the room. He kept the scowl fixed on his face while he walked over to the library, sneered at Potter to get finished and shrunk the heap of books the young man was fixed on borrowing. Then he gave a nod to Madame Pomfrey and made his way to the entrance hall, Potter at his side.
They kept silent until they had well left the castle and approached the Quidditch Pitch.
"Why didn't you tell me about this, Potter?" Snape then growled, angry at his own feeling of betrayal and the painful lump that constricted his throat. "Shouldn't I as your healer – or at least that's how you introduced me to your friends – have the right to know about this so called treatment before you drop it on a whole group of not so friendly minded wizards?"
Sarcasm was heavy in his tone, but he could also detect the hint of a dejected whine, and he hated Potter for that whine.
"I'm sorry Professor," Potter answered. "I knew how you would feel about this and I wish I could have let you know beforehand, but the situation is difficult enough as it is. Dumbledore only lets you work with me because he thinks we hate each other, and because he thinks you're more loyal to him than you could ever be to me. Your reaction hat to be genuine, or he would have wondered why we suddenly trusted each other so much.
"So the only chance to ensure that we could work together undisturbed was to create exactly the impression that I didn't trust you enough to inform you before the others."
"You should know by now that I am a consummate actor," Snape grumbled, silently snarling at himself to stop
"Course you are, Professor," Potter answered, his smile a little sad. "But the Headmaster does not rely on his ability to judge people or even his Legilimency. No act could ever fool him. Only the genuine thing could. But I apologize for it. And of course, we will sit together and discuss it once we return home."
Snape wanted to tell him that he certainly didn't consider that cottage in the middle of nowhere home, that he was, in fact, home, thank you very much, and that he had no desire to return to that muggle contraption he called a house, but Potter had already turned from him, and, to his surprise, stepped even closer towards the Forbidden Forest.
"I thought you wanted to see the Quidditch pitch, Potter," Snape said.
"Well I did see it, didn't I," Potter answered. "And now, we're going to meet some more friends of mine."
Horror dawned in Snape as Potter accompanied these words with another determined step towards the edge of the forest. The memories of a cold knife at his throat and a tavern full of vampires flashed through his mind. He really didn't want to meet any more friends.
Especially not the kind of friends that lived in the most dangerous forest of Great Britain.
"Please don't tell me Potter," He said. "That your friends live in the forest. With Hagrid gone, there's absolutely nothing in there I would want to meet, and neither should you."
"You will be surprised." Potter said. "The forest holds many wondrous and beautiful things. But don't worry, we shouldn't have to go very far until we meet my friends."
"Why can't we simply wait here for them?" Snape grumbled. "Or are you yet again the leader of another mysterious group? The acromantulas perhaps? Or are there a few hidden giants in the Forbidden Forest? There are millions of respectable people to know in this world, Potter. Why must it always be the weird ones with you?"
Potter chuckled. "Oh, Professor, it's a shame we never travelled together! We would have had so much fun!"
Snape very nearly smacked him, but he kept going.
When they finally reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and stepped between the trees, their steps springing on the soft layers of decaying leaves, twilight enveloped them immediately and Snape felt nervous tension rise inside him.
He had never liked this forest. Too often had it been the hiding place of Death Eaters. And even if you ignored the human criminals that made it their home, the forest was full to the brim with creatures he did not want to meet. Even Hagrid had been careful out here, and that certainly said something.
You are accompanied by the adoptive son of the Vampire King, Snape reminded himself. Nothing to worry about. Oh, how much better that thought made him feel.
The meeting with Albus and the realization of the old man's treachery had set him on edge. But he only noticed how much when a rustling of leaves through their side jolted though him like a bolt of electricity and the figure that appeared from behind a tree found itself face to face with his wand.
"Strange creatures roam the forest," The figure announced and stepped towards the light, completely ignoring the wand pointing towards him.
It was a centaur. Snape forced himself to relax and lower the wand to his side, but kept it ready in his hand. After the war against Voldmeort had truly began nine years ago, Dumbledore had formed an insecure truce with the centaurs, but they had never hidden the fact how little they liked wizards.
It had been years since any contact had been made, and Snape wasn't keen on finding out first hand that the truce had expired. He half turned around to Potter.
No, I'm not looking to him for leadership, I just want to know what the brat will do, He told himself firmly.
Potter was standing very straight, his eyes dark and fixed on the creature half horse half man.
"Yet what could be stranger than the wonders of our minds?" He asked, his voice deeper than usually and very self-confident.
Snape couldn't help it – he gaped at the young man. He's talking like a bloody centaur! He thought in disbelief. Ye Gods, what have I done to deserve this?
Potter smiled, but still his face appeared older and wiser than Snape had ever seen it before. "Put away your wand, Professor," He said. "You won't need it here. We are among friends."
"What are friends but the facets of our future?" The centaur asked, face and voice still expressionless.
"They are our past that remains and our future that will carry our memory onwards," Potter answered in the same tone.
Snape however ground his teeth in silent frustration. This simply couldn't be true. He was not standing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest and witnessing a nonsensical philosophical conversation between a centaur and Potter. Potter, who had in his whole school carreer lacked even the ability to form grammatically correct sentences.
It simply wasn't fair.
Suddenly, something in the atmosphere of the little clearing changed. Snape took in the posture of the centaur and realized that he was standing even straighter than before, the distinct frown on his forehead lending his face an aura of dignity. Snape half turned around to Potter and saw him, too, fixing his face in an equally grave expression
"Venus is dull tonight, and Saturn chills the air with his approaching steps," Potter told the centaur, his voice implying some deeply important, hidden meaning, and all Snape could do was hide his irritated eye rolling.
Then Potter performed a strange hand gesture Snape had never seen done before, threw his head back so that his hair whipped the air like a mane and blew air through his nostrils. He sounded like a horse, and when the centaur repeated this gesture, adding a deep bow and a deferent movement with his hind leg, Snape had to remind himself sternly not to stare.
"Mercury looks favourably on your journey here, Eques," The centaur finally announced in a deep, ringing voice. "It is good that you came. Follow me, please. The Stallion King awaits you."
0o0o0o0o0o
A/N: Eques is Latin for rider or, in the middle ages, knight.
In medieval astrology, Saturn is considered the coldest of the planets. He is the sign of winter, old age and approaching death. Mercury was the Roman God of travellers and messengers.
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