It is not the oath that makes us believe the man, but the man the oath. ~Aeschylus
The harsh, useful things of the world, from pulling teeth to digging potatoes, are best done by men who are as starkly sober as so many convicts in the death-house, but the lovely and useless things, the charming and exhilarating things, are best done by men with, as the phrase is, a few sheets in the wind. ~H.L. Mencken, Prejudices, Fourth Series, 1924
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Of course there were wards. There hadn't been when he was here, but that was twenty years ago and before Flamel had died. He tried to remember Dumbledore mentioning the changes but through the fog of whiskey tinged thoughts and the dizziness of the street, nothing came to mind. Not that he would have told his spy anything that wasn't directly pertinent. Severus eyed the old building before him and shrugged his cloak about his shoulders more firmly to keep out the growing drizzle. The Muggle facade, with their erroneous historical plaque and numerous reconstructions stood about 4 yards to his right. Before him stood the hidden, unedified far grander facade, the same four storeys high but with the original windows, the stone work charmed to deflect the filth of the street, the runic carvings clear and undistorted despite the passage of time. He stood for a moment, testing to see if he drew the eyes of any passerby's but the Fidelius Charm obviously still stood, and it was only the later spell work that he had to contest with. Stepping into the doorway he reached his magic out towards the wards and felt the hum of protections responding. There was a distinct lack of amoninity in the thrum of the shields and he reached further still, inching forward until his hand traced the wood of the door itself. With a flash, a golden sigle of a Phoenix materialised in flames, and the magic of the wards shifted around him.
He scowled, and then swore. Nothing could be simple so long as Granger was concerned. Fumbling in his pockets he drew out the battered muggle packet of cigarettes, before seating himself on the doorstep and charming a hasty Impervius on his cloak, and the thin white paper of the smoke. As he took the first drag, he felt the haze of the whiskey soak through the intake of nicotine and was almost content, before thoughts of what he now must do brought on uncomfortable feelings of both dread and satisfaction.
Granger had never been inducted into the Order proper. The old man had been content to let her risk her life and family for the cause, let her run about the countryside with a tent and a children's book, but had refused point blank to induct the underaged into the sanctimonious, hypocritical Order. So now it fell to him. Moody would be turning in his grave. A spy, turncoat, outcast, leading the initiation ceremony, in the midst of a muggle street.
He took another drag and watched as the amber burnt mid way, dusting the illustrious steps of the order's safe house in muggle ash. Staring at the dwindling light of the burn as it met the butt, he stubbed it out on the stairs and felt a prickle of attention down his neck. Turning, he watched Granger scan the muggle signpost for the Flamel house, still wearing that ridiculous slip, now with a leather jacket thankfully covering her from the elements, mostly- the flimsy muggle umbrella she clung to failed to stop the drizzle that caused the translucent wet cloth to cling to her shapely calves.
Lecher
Hermione had made her way from the Cab, dubious as she immediately spotted the oldest house on the Street, titled bold and clear with the red, shield shaped sign marking it as the Maison de Nicolas Flamel. She didn't know what she expected, but the obvious evidence that it had been refurbished as a muggle restaurant chipped away at her confidence, as did the clear absence of Severus. She ambled closer, peering to read the marble plaque that declared it once more as the "House of Nicolas Flamel and Pernelle, his wife. To preserve the memory of their charitable foundation, the city of Paris restored in 1900 the primitive inscription dated 1407."
She scanned the number inscribed above the doorway and frowned. Snape had told her 52 Rue de Montmorency, not 51.
He made no move to signal to her, and waited to see if the Fidelius Charm would reveal both the extension of the house and his position on the steps to her. She wandered down the street and he knew the moment the gleaming magical stone work and runes were revealed to her, her neck revealed in it's glory as she craned to see the full scope of the building, before her gaze panned to see him sprawled, drunk on the steps. She still didn't hurry and Severus was too far gone to feel sheepish as he fixedly watched her approach. It was only when she stood a foot away, that he resignedly rose to his feet.
"There are wards."
No greeting, but then, she should expect no less. It had been awkward enough seeing him that afternoon, and now she had dragged him away from whatever he had been doing.
"Oh. Thank you for coming then." She kept her voice earnest and steeled herself for further antagonism. It didn't come. He didn't bother to denigrate her for her thanks, only grunted his response, and Hermione squinted to see him clearer in the dark. Severus stalled further, as she inspected him, the whiskey clouding his brain as he struggled to find words that wouldn't incriminate him when-
" You're drunk." Hermione let the words escape her without thought, getting a whiff of cigarette smoke and whiskey and putting it together with his lack of usual vitriol.
He scowled down at her, meeting amber eyes that were more surprised than disapproving: "Not nearly drunk enough for what has to happen next."
"What has to happen next?" Her eyes darted to the door behind him and she collapsed the muggle umbrella, shoving it away in her satchel in order to move up on the step beside him. He didn't think, when his arm shot out to stop her and he stepped down from the step himself, the physical contact of his hand on her shoulder obviously startling her, along with the distance that he had closed between them. He huffed out in frustration and withdrew himself from her person as though scalded. She opened her mouth to no doubt ask another question and he forestalled her-
"Additional wards have been placed. They were keyed to allow my approach, as a member of the Order. I don't know what they will do to you. You were… underage, and never officially sworn in."
Hermione eyed the door and the ancient runes that adorned the impressive stone work cautiously, before turning to the obviously tiddled man before her.
"Show me?"
He grunted once more before moving back on to the stoop and placing his hand on the door demonstrably, and Hermione let out a bated breath, tearing her lingering gaze from his pale elegant hand as she saw the fiery sigle of a Phoenix in flight flash across the wood.
Hermione met his gaze once more, unsettled by his open demeanour so far, and the fact he had willingly touched her, if only to protect her from possibly harmful wards. She felt off balance by the unpredictability of a man usually so reserved, and had to once again remind herself that this was not her old professor, and Severus Snape was in fact human.
"I don't think I even remember the words." Snape chuckled bemusedly. It had been twenty years ago. He had been her age when he had heard them last. His only recollection as Dumbledore secured his vow in return for saving Lily's life was that he was shitting himself scared. Apt really, as he looked down at the obviously discomfited girl before him.
"The words to what?" She questioned, still too enthralled seeing Snape so out of character to be worried that she obviously wasn't keeping up.
"I'm going to induct you into the Order of the Phoenix. I don't remember the words, I'm not the leader of the Order, there is no fucking Order anymore, but it's the quickest way to get you through the wards." Snape drew his wand, and turned to face her, trying to regain his composure.
"Take out your wand."
Hermione stared at him, and her rational side urged her to walk away, get back in a taxi, and book herself into a hotel room, where there was no uncertainty, or fear. Her wand was out in seconds though, and she followed his instructions on autopilot. She had decided to trust him with her research, she had asked him for help, and Hermione realised with a start that what was so disconcerting was, for the first time, despite it being borne from alcohol, he was treating her as his equal, not as his former student.
"Tell me what happens first. What do I need to do?"
"You need to take a wand oath, pledging yourself to the Order, to answer when called upon, to take a stand against the tyranny of evil." Hermione glared at the sarcastic uplift of the last few words.
"If it's a specific oath, the wording needs to be correct!" Snape was so far gone as to shrug glibly at her.
"It's something along those lines. I doubt I constitute the paragon of justice required to induct new members anway." Hermione pursed her lips at his self-denigration, and watched as he offered his hand out to her, wand balanced in the centre of his palm.
Severus tried to categorise her reactions while schooling his own features into seriousness. Her hand rose to meet his, and he could detect no revulsion in her eyes, only fierce determination.
"Do you Hermione Granger, pledge yourself to the Order of the Phoenix?"
"I do."
Hermione tried to feel for a hum of magic between their clasped hands, but could feel only the thudding of his pulse and the surprising warmth of his large pale fingers clasping around her palm and the wands between them.
"Do you pledge to answer whenever called upon to fulfill your duty?"
"I do."
Severus could hear neither fear or falter in her voice, or as he studied her face, but the small tremor of her delicate hand within his own betrayed her.
"Do you pledge to oppose the darkness in whatever form it may take?"
"I do."
Hermione was so focused on waiting for a rush of sensation to flow between them, or some outward spark, that she was thoroughly disconcerted when Snape, still holding her hand in his larger grip, wands clasped between them, drew her up the stair and towards the door. He watched her face closely for any sign of reaction to the wards, before placing her hand slowly onto the wood. Hermione tore her gaze away from his and let out a breath of relief as the golden phoenix, wings aloft, sparked a brilliant gold.
It was a beat before he removed his hand, and Hermione stood before the now open door as Severus turned from her, leading the way into the dwelling.
He was awash with a warmth he could not entirely attribute to the whiskey, and he quickly put some distance between himself and the girl. Only when he was well into the room did he glance back, and curse as he realised that standing in the drizzle for so long had only worsened the situation of that damnable slip. Without a thought, he rose his wand in a backwards flick and shot her with a drying charm, as he navigated his way through the ancient, decrepit drawing room, to where he remembered the kitchen was.
Hermione felt the whoosh around her and felt the comforting warmth of the drying charm, before looking down at her white shift and blushing furiously.
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I have many reservations about this chapter: I was unsure whether the integrated perspectives rang clear enough, or whether Drunk Severus was too out of character from the way he's been written so far. I feel Hermione would be more disapproving than I've written her, but the eagerness she hasn't yet examined to remain close to the man despite his state is drawing her in.
Mostly though, the nature of the wards troubled me the most. I took my inspiration largely from the Crimes of Grindlewald- I had originally (circa 2012) intended for Hermione to visit the Flamel House when she came to Paris as I thought it was something that would cement the magical world in Paris further- so I enjoyed seeing the same setting used in the Crimes of Grindlewald: I also loved the teaser of Flamel's phoenix embossed photo album book: it seems to hint at a precursor to the Order of the Pheonix, possibly instigated by Dumbledore against Grindlewald, but then possibly older still. The flash of the Phoenix troubled me though: if such a charm existed then the Order would have used it at Grimauld Place, rather than the ghost of Dumbledore that Moody constructed. The logic bothers me, but then perhaps Flamel created the wards, or if Dumbledore had than perhaps he couldn't place them on Grimauld Place while Harry and the other children were there as non-order members... or perhaps Moody didn't know the charms to place them after Dumbledore's murder or maybe he reasoned that they wouldn't have kept Snape out regardless.
And would the Order use something like a wand oath? Surely an unbreakable vow would be too extreme and coercive, and a magical contract may have been more legitimate, but I doubt it would be charmed with any true repercussions, like SNEAK spelled out in Acne. The Crimes of Grindlewald hinted towards blood pacts, but I feel that Dumbledore probably matured and had had his fill of them. So I invented a wand oath, it seems to be something legitimately used elsewhere in fan fiction and hopefully my spin of it isn't too ludicrous.
So anyway despite my reservations I decided to post this so I can move on and not let perfect be the enemy of (hopefully) good. I also fixed up the formatting on chapter 54- thank you to those that pointed out it had been corrupted.
