xxxii. hand to the heart
Severus was having a wretched evening.
The day itself had been wretched from the outset, the first class a double period with the first year Slytherin and Gryffindor sods, two full hours spent attempting to squeeze information into their vacuous little skulls while he toadied to Death Eater brats and sneered at Minerva's charges. Longbottom spent much of the lecture silently scoffing at everything Severus said before he and Finnigan proceeded with their abysmal work in the practical. Malfoy's sprog almost laughed himself sick when the Boy Who Lived melted yet another bloody cauldron.
Potter and her cohorts required little attention; indeed, the three girls sat clumped in the back and only Granger dared ask questions during the lecture. As long as he allowed Black to partner with the other two, her catastrophes were limited. They formed a veritable paragon of social awkwardness and floated about the edges of Slytherin House, escaping pure-blood posturing and dissenting politics with an ease only children were capable of. It kept interested eyes away from Potter, kept her safe. Being able to somewhat ignore the girl as a result proved relieving for Severus.
He picked at his cold dinner, ignoring Minerva's little irritated sniffs of disapproval. Gryffindor lost a grand total of forty-five points in Longbottom's class alone and he knew the miffed Scotswoman would be banging on his office door later that evening, demanding an explanation. Slytherin would probably come slinking by for the show, foul creep. He felt the impending headache already lurching in his skull like a dark and foreboding promise.
Severus reached for his goblet—and swallowed a scream when agony tore through his hand.
Lucky for him, no one noticed; at that moment, a shriek filled the hall and several bodies at the Slytherin table leapt to their feet. As pain savaged Severus' arm, Harriet Potter toppled from her seat between Granger and Black, spewing blood.
Severus couldn't breathe. It's the Vow, he realized. In that instance of time, seemingly suspended for an eternity, the world moved in slow, languorous increments around him as he cradled his burning wrist. It's the FUCKING VOW!
"Professor Dumbledore!" Granger cried. The Headmaster was already descending the dais with Minerva in tow, students scattering before them like sparrows watching a cat approach. Minerva may coddle her Gryffindors, but not even the Potions Master could construe that fondness as neglect for any child of the other houses.
"Severus! Quickly!"
Albus' voice shattered time's suspension and Severus moved with ungainly speed, throwing himself over the table and down the dais steps with little more than a lunge. His vision wavered. With every passing second, the agony spread like a curse, pulsing with his heartbeat past his elbow, his shoulder, reaching for his chest and the vulnerable muscle racing inside its cage of bones. It almost appeared as if the shadows themselves rose from the floor to thrust the puling onlookers aside as Severus slid to his knees at the girl's side, but he couldn't be certain; his left eye strained and the right could see little more than blurs.
The Vow, the Vow, the Vow—.
He had a bezoar in his breast pocket, a habit he had picked up years ago in the wake of Slytherin's nasty little curse as he didn't trust the wretch or bloody Selwyn not to poison him for amusement. Severus wrenched the lumpy little stone out and had to almost break the girl's jaw in his effort to pry it open. She convulsed even as he shoved the bezoar down her throat, her teeth cutting his fingers, not that he could feel the biting beyond the Vow's unmitigated fury.
If she dies, I'll die as well. A hysterical part of his beleaguered mind put in, What an embarrassing way to pop off, keeling over at the side of a student like a geriatric having a heart attack.
Granger, kneeling next to the girl, held Potter's arm down and sobbed. Black stood behind her, fists clenched tight and her face pale as a unicorn's hide. The tightness in Severus' chest began to subside as the girl's convulsions eased, though her breathing remained thin and several blood vessels in her eyes had burst. The Potions Master drew his fingers from her mouth and hissed at the sting. "She must be taken to the infirmary."
Pomfrey shoved her way through the gawking brats and conjured a stretched, which Severus and Minerva helped load the girl onto. "I will go with her," McGonagall said as Albus ordered the Head Boy and Girl to help the prefects disperse the crowd back to their dormitories. Naturally, Granger and Black resisted Farley's efforts to escort them away and remained behind. The other professors trailed their charges.
"I'm her Head of House," Slytherin sneered. "You needn't bother, Minerva."
Minerva narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. She also followed Pomfrey and Slytherin out of the Hall as the former levitated the stretcher and the latter curled his lip. Severus didn't know why Slytherin bothered; the wizard professed no interest in his students beyond those malleable to the Dark Arts and had no patience for sick children. What is his game now?
His hand and wrist continued to throb as if both had suffered a sudden collision with something hard and unyielding. Severus sat back on his haunches and stared at his bitten fingers, blood oozing from the torn incisions, the flesh marbled with ripening bruises. Below that, he could barely see the pearlescent scarring of the old Vow.
I knew the truth all along, didn't I, Lily? I knew it was the Vow but didn't want to admit what it would mean.
He thought of all the times his hand had ached and pained him, of the weeks it would echo with distant prickling, of the nights he would wake in a cold sweat, searching for the blade piercing his skin only to find none. The pain had abated upon the girl's admittance in Hogwarts; the worst incidents had been in the Headmaster's office over the summer, and when the troll went on its rampage. The letter, he realized. We were discussing Potter's reply to the letter when I was in the office. What happened to her then?
Despite its rather transparent name, the "Unbreakable Vow" was a gray and vacuous area of magic; those who studied it often died, infringing upon invisible terms and stray addenda, taken by a deadly curse masquerading as a promise because one cannot qualify what an oath means from one person to the next. Those dunderheads who had any real understanding of the Vow would never undertake it, and in the extreme hypothetical that they did, they knew only to agree to three stringent promises, three concise goals ingrained with expirations or loopholes that allowed for their survival. One did not promise something as wretchedly vague as "protecting" someone else.
Will you protect my daughter, the person I love most in this world, if I cannot, Severus Snape?
The Vow surged with agony, with warning, whenever he came close to failing her, like a tightrope frazzling under his feet. Swearing to protect a girl marked by the bloody Dark Lord may've been a stupid choice, and it may've been cruel of Lily to ask it of him—but Severus would've rather, quite literally, died than be shut out of his best friend's life for a second time. Against the cold reality of lost absolution, pledging himself to the girl that had become Lily's whole world was a little thing.
Movement jerked Severus' attention to the handkerchief Dumbledore proffered, the older wizard's eyes trained on his. Severus took the cloth and wrapped it around his injured digits.
I'm going to fucking kill Petunia.
"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said in a soft voice to the girl still kneeling on the floor by the blood-splotched stones. He offered his hand and, once she took it, he helped Granger take a seat on the crooked bench behind her. The girl's face was mottled and her hair a mess of frazzled curls. "Can you tell us what happened?"
"I—I don't know, sir," she replied, stealing a fortifying breath to still her tears. "We were talking about—." Her eyes flicked toward the open doors, then away. "About things, and Elara noticed Harriet's face had gone a bit funny. She started coughing, and there—there was blood, and she knocked over—." Granger stopped and her eyes opened wide. The girl whipped herself around and stared at the blood splattered table littered with dinner's remnants. "The tea!"
"Tea, Miss Granger?"
She pointed out the offending cup, tipped over in its saucer, most of the brown liquid splashed onto the floor or Potter's abandoned plate. "The cup there! It wasn't here when we sat down. I'm sure of it! Harriet drank from it and right after—!"
"Thank you, my dear…."
Severus swiped the cup from the table and gave the rim a delicate sniff. He heard Albus gently encouraging the two first years to return to their dorm, though Severus himself paid them little mind. He inspected the liquid, then dipped his little finger into the dregs and tapped the tip against his tongue. The burning, acrid taste confirmed his suspicions.
Soon only Dumbledore and Severus remained in the Great Hall, the solitude punctuated by the heavy thud of the hall doors coming closed. "Our poisoner has a sense of irony," he spat, taking up a stray water goblet to clean his mouth. "They used an extract of Salazar's Tongue." A plant found common enough in the Forbidden Forest, though the average student wouldn't know how to take the snake-like petals and brew them properly for a working poison.
"Hmm. It wouldn't be my first choice for a poison." The Headmaster stroked his beard in thought, then said, "Loppy."
A loud crack heralded the arrival of a miserable, floppy-eared house-elf wringing the edge of his tea towel. "The Headmaster Dumblydore is needing Loppy?"
"Yes, thank you, Loppy. Could you bring us the elf responsible for supplying this cup of tea?" Dumbledore pointed out the cup in question and the elf's blue eyes followed.
"Yes, Headmaster, sir. Right away!"
The house-elf disappeared. Severus sneered at the spot where it had stood, more out of frustration for himself than anything else. Poison. She was poisoned no more than a few meters away from you. Albus sat on the edge of the Ravenclaw table's bench and held his single hand in a fist, the knuckles white. He was angry, Severus knew, but also worried; the skin about his eyes tightened, his white brow low and furrowed as the Headmaster's brilliant mind set to work.
"You know," the Potions Master said into the quiet, his voice cold. "I find your concern for Potter…surprising."
"Why is that, Severus?"
"Because of her House." Pacing the aisle between tables, Severus hid his trembling hand in the folds of his robes and rounded on Dumbledore. "I assumed you would be disappointed in her—suspicious, even. You've shown your precious Gryffindors considerable favoritism in the past, Headmaster. I am simply curious as to why you haven't written Potter off as a lost cause."
"Ah, my boy." Albus heaved a weary sigh and his beard twitched in what could have been an indulgent smile. "You of all people know I've made many mistakes, especially in regards to your own person while you attended this very school. I allowed a schoolboy rivalry to progress into hostility on both sides."
Severus looked away. "This is not about me."
"No, of course not, my apologies. I simply mean to tell you that even men of my age are capable of changing and learning from their missteps. I have learned to not allow Tom Riddle's corruption of Slytherin color my perception of its children; I have, after all, been shown that some of the purest hearts come from the House of Serpents."
The Headmaster's knowing gaze caused Severus to scoff. Pure-hearted indeed.
"There is good in Slytherin still. I will not give up on it. Harriet is kind—withdrawn yes, but kind and well-meaning, as are her friends Miss Granger and Miss Black. Miss Granger's time with the Malfoys seems to have tempered her resolve and ambition, while Miss Black appears determined not to repeat her father's mistakes," Albus continued. "Aside from that, I find a poisoning always warrants the Headmaster's concern. Don't you, Severus?"
The Potions Master said nothing.
Loppy reappeared a moment later with a second house-elf in tow. The latter creature swayed where it stood, eyes hooded as if dazed, and when Loppy let go of its arm, the elf fell to the floor.
Severus shared a look with the Headmaster. It's been Imperiused. Not well, either. The caster had left the spell to recede on its own without contingency, rendering the elf more of an insentient fool than usual as its personal will fought the expiring will of its attacker.
"This is Rikkety, Headmaster, sir," Loppy said, dragging the other elf back to its feet.
"Thank you, Loppy, that will be all."
The elf vanished again with a final worried glance about the Hall, and Dumbledore reached out to hold Rikkety steady as the cursed elf teetered. "Severus, if you would—?"
Nodding, he retrieved his wand and flicked it between the creature's dazed eyes. "Finite Incantatem."
The elf stumbled as the Imperious broke. A quiver ran through its spindly limb—then it burst into tears.
Wonderful, Severus griped as the green-skinned creature wailed. Dumbledore gave it several reassuring pats to the head and back before it calmed, snot dripping from its skinny nose, its tea towel wet with miserable tears.
"Oh, Headmaster Dumblydore, sir," it said in a high-pitched voice. Female, then. "Rikkety is being a bad elf, sir!"'
"Can you tell us what happened, Rikkety?"
The elf nodded, head bouncing as she sniffled and fresh tears threatened. "Rikkety was told to serve the bad tea to Harriet Potter, sir. Rikkety didn't want to, Headmaster Dumblydore, but Rikkety couldn't stop herself!"
Albus conjured a handkerchief. He handed it to the elf, and she used to blow her nose. Tears peppered the ground underneath her.
"All is well, Rikkety. You were placed under a particularly powerful curse. Did you see who cast it upon you?"
As Severus expected, the elf shook her head. "No, Headmaster Dumblydore. Rikkety was cleaning up after Peevesy in the sixth floor corridor when someone came up the stairs and told Rikkety to go to the kitchens and make the bad tea."
Severus and Albus shared another look. The Imperius Curse necessitated a certain level of power and knowledge to perform with any proficiency, but any student sixth year and above had knowledge of the spell as per the curriculum, and a particularly studious fifth or fourth year could figure it out. Their suspect had thinned, but not by much.
Albus sighed. "Thank you, Rikkety. I would ask you to warn the elves to be cautious over the coming weeks and to alert me if they witness anything suspicious."
"Yes, sir, Headmaster Dumblydore," the elf said. She paused and wrung the damp cloth tea towel between her knobbly hands. "Is—is Miss Harriet Potter going to be all right? Oh, Rikkety is a bad elf, very bad…."
"She will be fine with a bit of rest, never you worry. Off you go now."
Rikkety sniffled again before disappearing. Severus stared at the far wall and fought his revulsion, his frustration. "Why," he said to Dumbledore. "Would the agent go after Potter and not Longbottom? The stupid boy ate and drank plenty tonight, to no ill-effect. Why not curse the elf to taint both of their beverages? We would have only had time to save one." And I would have gone for the girl, if only to save my own hide.
"The limits of the curse, I suppose," the Headmaster replied, voice weary. He lifted his wand and banished the evening meal's remnants.
"That still begs the question of why Potter and not the Boy Who Lived."
Albus said nothing. They both knew the answer already.
"The agent is closer to the Dark Lord than we suspected," Severus said, dread pulsing in his chest like a living thing, coupling with the fading agony in his arm. "If they know Potter is not all she seems—if he remembers something about that night—. Using Longbottom as a red herring will be pointless."
"Not pointless, Severus. Tom does not know the truth. I am assured of this."
"How?" the Potions Master snarled. "How can you be so sure of this when the girl almost choked to death on her own blood not ten meters from us?!"
The Headmaster raised his hand and Severus calmed himself, forcing one breath, and then another, into his chest. "I believe Voldemort—." Snape flinched. "—ordered his agent to test the waters, as it were. Had he known who Harriet is, he wouldn't have bothered with Neville."
"Unless attacking Longbottom was a rouse."
"I don't believe he has the patience for that, not in his current situation. Had he knowledge of Harriet and not just suspicions, or an old grudge, he would have gone for her directly."
"You underestimate him."
"No." Albus shook his head. "I know what Voldemort is capable of—what he, Slytherin, and Gaunt are capable of. In any iteration, Tom is not a man to suffer fools lightly, but what is left of his true self will be desperate, Severus. We must be cautious."
The Potions Master stared at the Dumbledore's empty sleeve and the dread in his heart refused to abate, curling and snapping, tearing at his flesh until he felt he might bleed inwardly. Cautious. Severus no longer knew how to live any other way. "As you say, Headmaster."
"Excellent. You should go to the infirmary and check if Poppy needs anything. I will check the third floor corridor."
They departed, and as Severus walked the empty corridors, night clinging to the stone casements, his cloak trailing on the floor like a personal shadow nipping at his heels, he prayed the Headmaster was right.
