cliv. dark mark
Severus Snape stood in the empty corridor looking out the diamond-paned window toward the lake. He rested his pale, slim hands on the sill and exhaled a weary sigh.
As far as holidays went, this had not been the worst he'd experienced in his recollection, even when forced into close quarters with that muddled dung-brain Sirius Black and his simpering lapdog Lupin. Slytherin was preoccupied with his own ruminations—which would, undoubtedly, prove fucking devastating for Severus somewhere along the line, but at the moment, it provided a brief interlude of relative inactivity for the Potions Master. By all rights, he should be ensconced in Spinner's End, committed to his private research or reading a good book with something alcoholic in hand, if only for the weekend, but here he was, watching the steady undulations of dark water moving against the shore.
An echo of the girl's voice came back to him. "I hate you."
Unsettled, Severus curled his fingers into fists and leaned forward with more weight, his shoulders tense. Pathetic, he sneered at himself, angry that the juvenile ravings of the stupid chit could upset him so. She should hate him. It was no more than what Severus had hoped when he'd started to rant at her, when he'd shown her the Dark Mark. He'd wanted the girl to see him for who he really was and she had; now, she either glared or ignored Severus entirely, like he was a boggart without a dark corner to inhabit.
He'd end up dying for Harriet Potter one of these days. But, in the privacy of his own mind, Severus could admit that decimating what regard and respect she held for him bothered him more than he liked.
The lake rippled, water rolling like flat silk, and Severus sunk into Occlusion, drowning his thoughts one by one in the sleek depths of his mind until he registered nothing but the sunshine's warmth on his front and the distant call of forest birds. In his head, his shields stretched out indomitable and quiet—a veritable tundra of blank, frozen water and the vague shapes that lurked beneath. Sometimes he mused it would all come bursting out like a brassed-off Kracken one day.
He watched Hagrid stroll across the lawn, Fang loping along at his feet. Two underlings from the Department of Magical Games and Sports chased after him, carrying survey flags and rumpled rolls of parchment.
"Ah, Severus."
He turned his head enough to spot the Headmaster and McGonagall coming around the corner at the corridor's end, both wearing light summer cloaks. Recognition flickered over Severus' face, but he otherwise didn't acknowledge the pair, his eyes flat and black as unpolished obsidian. Dumbledore studied the younger wizard, a knowing look in his blue eyes, and he frowned.
"Minerva and I are about to attend some maintenance on the wards. Would you like to join us?"
Severus nodded and followed them without objection, if only to give himself something other to think of for a time, allowing his shields to firm and solidify as he concentrated on the repetitive action of walking forward and then following Albus' back from the castle and into the trees. It should have bothered him more, considering he was taking the same trails he had months before, running for his life from Fenrir Greyback, but the emotion flitted futile and distant, skittering over the surface of his Occlusion.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.
Being here didn't feel the same as it had before. Instead of cold and rain-filled, the air was warm, humectant, smelling of earth and sun-baked foliage, Severus raising a hand to shield his eyes against the brilliant light. Minerva and Albus chatted as they walked the dirt path, discussing hedges of all things, and he kept a pace behind them. He turned his ear to the rattling buzz of insects in the underbrush, the reverberating cries of mundane and magical birds too cheerful for his preference.
"Run, Harriet!" his memories echoed.
"Professor!"
"Run, you little fool!"
"Severus, are you listening?"
He faced forward, finding Albus before him, the older wizard pausing to consider him when their eyes met. "It appears not, Headmaster. Forgive me."
"That's quite all right. I was just asking if you'd like to take the line to the lake—but, oh, I think I may need your help over here. My footing isn't as good as it used to be. Minerva, if you would—?"
McGonagall rolled her eyes at the unsubtle request for privacy and walked off the path toward the lingering shadow of plinths leading down the hill toward the lakeshore. Severus remained with Albus, watching the witch move away before both wizards continued to the nearest iron-gray plinth. Albus gave the intimidating stone a fond pat, and Severus felt a twinge against his awareness as the magic shifted under the Headmaster's touch, arching like the spine of a persistent feline until the runes glistened against the porous rock. Runes had never been Severus' best subject, but he could read the general impression written there, symbols shifting and corroding under Albus' gentle probing.
"This will better accommodate our foreign guests."
Severus scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Guests. Gaunt's cloak of international cooperation is thin at best and transparent at worst. The only cooperation he is seeking through this Tournament is to push his own agenda and secure his reelection next year."
"So we have speculated," Dumbledore said with a sigh. They moved to the next plinth, stepping carefully through the springy underbrush. "But it does not mean we can't use the Minister's plans for the Triwizard Tournament to our own ends. Why, under normal circumstances, I would welcome the chance to interact with old friends and to have our students meet Wizarding children from other cultures."
"But circumstances are not normal, if such a thing were to exist at all, Headmaster."
"No, they are not."
"Gaunt will find the Durmstrang population pliant and best suited to recruitment," Severus said, voice more bitter and despondent than it had been earlier. "It is a Dark school, more so under Karkaroff than ever before, and the students and their families will be amenable to his agenda. He will bolster his forces with new allies from Scandinavia and Eastern Europe."
Dumbledore said nothing, and they kept on to the next plinth. "What of Igor? He has avoided pledging loyalties for over a decade now. I am not entirely unconvinced it wasn't Gaunt's aim to flush him out into the open with this plan."
A rude snort left Severus. "Karkaroff has avoided pledging loyalty, as you put it, by pleading ignorance and hiding away at Durmstrang. The school is more remote and thus more safe than Hogwarts." He flicked a leaf from his buttoned sleeve. "He is a second-string, irrelevant collaborator brought on for his family name, without the grit or ingenuity to last long term under the Dark Lord's regime. He will avoid Gaunt as he has avoided Slytherin for all these years, though I do not believe he will succeed. His oldest students will be most affected."
"A coward, then. A shame that Durmstrang has fallen so far as to allow someone without conviction or skill to tend their children."
"As you say." Severus exhaled. "And the French, Albus? The Spanish? Gaunt will find them more difficult to woo, but they are not impervious to his silver tongue or influence. At best, we can hope they close their borders against his rising madness, but we will find no allies from Beauxbatons' quarter."
"That is not true. Madame Maxime has long been sympathetic to the Order's goals and actively disparages Gaunt's anti-Muggle-born policies. She promotes social activism and equality within her school, and Beauxbatons' Board suppresses the proliferation of Dark magic. We have more allies than you assume, Severus."
"And more enemies."
"Yes. And more enemies."
Dumbledore completed the next plinth and paused to watch the magic brought to bear, the glittering relay of ancient sigils strung between the towering stones like gossamer. With the wards brought so close to the surface, the inside of Severus' left arm started to itch, and he scratched at the unseen Mark.
One plinth remained, and they approached it.
"This constitutes an escalation, Albus," Severus intoned. "Gaunt is exerting power over the school—stepping over the line—and Slytherin will retaliate. He will not stand idle while Gaunt uses what he perceives as his territory as a platform for the Ministry's agendas."
"Has he mentioned his plans to you?"
"No. But he is—furious. On edge." The mere mention of the Triwizard Tournament was enough to elicit a violent reaction from the man, and Severus had suffered the worst of Slytherin's tantrums these last few months.
"And if you were to put yourself in his place, Severus? What would you plan if you were Professor Slytherin?"
The suggestion made the Potions Master distinctly uncomfortable despite Occluding, like slipping on a pair of shoes and finding the insides wet with something foul. "I—he will want to consolidate power. It has always been a game of tit for tat between them; Gaunt and Slytherin are two bullies in the schoolyard, both wanting to be king. So if Gaunt is using the Tournament to find more allies, Slytherin will move to counter his influence by either negating it or supplementing his own."
Dumbledore didn't require his suppositions, of course. He'd thought of this all before. "Yes, I came to the same conclusions," he sighed. His gaze swept over Severus, settling on the younger man's eyes. "I need a moment to catch my breath. Go on and finish the final marker."
Taken aback, Severus blinked, the reaction slower than it should have been. "I beg your pardon, Headmaster, but I do not know how."
Albus smiled. "It's simple enough with my presence and permission. You need only reach out and place your hand upon the stone…."
He waited for Severus to move, and the Potions Master hesitated for a long moment, until the weight of Dumbledore's expectation forced him to huff and press his palm against the plinth, feeling ridiculous.
"Of course, if you were Occluding, my boy, you'd have to stop that."
Severus shot the meddling old man an unimpressed glower, then did as instructed. "You seem perfectly capable of doing this on your own, Albus," he grumbled as he pulled his shields apart, letting his thoughts have free rein once more. His irritation returned to the fore—and his frustration, his guilt, his ire. It amassed with physical force in his chest, and Severus' nostrils flared, magic stinging against his skin.
"Now. Raise the ward toward yourself…."
Impatient, Severus yanked at the tangible line under his fingers—and stumbled, suddenly aware of the school's presence rising above him like a veritable tidal wave, ancient spells exuding from the earth like the watchful eye of something vast and unknowable. The runes glistened red on the plinth like new wounds cut into flesh.
"Superimpose Mannaz over Ehwaz. Just there."
Severus incanted the rune in his mind and pressed it forward into the plinth's structure, watching the new sigil form over the first. He didn't understand how, but he sensed the wards shivering and flexing, forming new pathways and allowances for the prospective foreign visitors who'd be arriving in the fall. Peeling his hand from the plinth felt like extracting himself from quicksand, and he gasped, sweat building under his heavy robes.
"Excellent work," Dumbledore said with another bright, appeased smile. He reflected none of Severus' exhaustion, looking as if he'd merely gone for a stroll in the woods instead of repeatedly prying and pulling at a magical eldritch force. Why did he have me do that? Severus wondered, because the Headmaster had a reason for everything he did, though the reason here didn't present itself readily. It could be dangerous for Severus to know how the wards worked if Slytherin ever broke his mind.
What are you playing at, old man?
"Let us go and collect Minerva. Then, if you're willing, I propose for us to undertake one last excursion today…."
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.
xXx
Willing or not, Dumbledore was not to be denied, and so Severus found himself back in the castle, leading his older colleagues by the hand through the silver mirror in the blind hall off the library. He released Dumbledore and McGonagall the second they cleared the glass, and he once more crossed his arms over his chest, standing sullen in the bright corridor of Ravenclaw's Aerie.
Fascinated, Dumbledore went to the nearest shelf and touched a book, inspecting the title imposed on the spine. "How utterly delightful."
"Yes, well. Whatever information you seek from here will be antiquated at best. I don't see why I needed to come as well," Severus complained, earning an unimpressed tsk from McGonagall.
"I'm afraid no one else on staff has figured out the riddle for the entrance yet," Dumbledore admitted. "Much to Filius' frustration."
It remained a strange, bitter mystery how Severus Snape still managed to pass through the Moon Mirrors while no one else could. No one else, he amended, eyes narrowing. Aside from the girl.
He knew Potter and her reprobates disappeared through the Mirrors on occasion and took refuge in the Aerie when they thought no one was any the wiser. Severus fixed the thought of the Slytherin trio in his mind and strode forward to the nearest arch. He stepped through and entered a lounge, the vaguest hint of hearth ash and parchment lingering in the air. He approached a table set by the hearth itself, surrounded by the three chairs, and glimpsed through the old parchment left behind. One sheet bore a half-hearted Charms assignment with the name Harriet Potter scribbled in the corner.
Minerva came up behind him, looking over his shoulder. Severus scratched his arm.
"Her handwriting remains abysmal," he drawled, flicking the page toward the barren grate. He glanced at the empty portrait over the mantel.
"Is this where they disappear to when they're not causing mischief?" Minerva asked, observing the room with veiled interest.
"No. They never cease to cause mischief; this is simply where they attempt to hide it."
A soft flutter from somewhere across the room drew their attention, a minute passing before the sound came again. A tidy stack of vellum on a polished sideboard shuddered, a self-inking quill dancing over the top-most sheet, then lifting back into its stand, the sheet turning itself over into another pile. Severus and Minerva studied the vellum, the former testing the texture under his fingertips, the latter squinting at the completed sheets.
"What is all this?" she murmured. "A map of some kind? Or—well, there's a great deal of other information here as well."
"I believe this is part of their little trinket, as they like to call it." Severus traced a line depicting a wall in a familiar building. "On hydra vellum. It retains magical signatures and allows for its replication."
"That's—impressive magic, Severus! But what on earth are they doing with it?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
They returned to Albus, the older wizard entrenched in a section devoted entirely to Ancient Greek texts. He wore an expression of great discontent, a look that froze Severus in place when he saw it, for he had never seen Dumbledore look so inexplicably desolate, and yet the wizard wiped his face clean when he caught sight of Severus and Minerva. He forced a smile as he snapped a decaying volume shut.
"…Albus? Is everything…well?"
"Perfectly well, Severus." No trace of his sudden melancholy touched his voice. Instead, he offered his arm to Minerva. "Are you ready to depart, m'dear? I find myself growing rather puckish after a day of so many adventures…."
"Headmaster?"
"Come along, Severus."
"Did you find what you were searching for?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
xXx
Later, after Severus picked over his supper and returned to the quiet solitude of his quarters, he laid in silence and dread as he contemplated Gaunt and Slytherin and what horrors waited just beyond the horizons. He stared at the ceiling and counted his fears like an insomniac counting flying hippogriffs.
Half-asleep, his left arm began to burn—and Severus' eyes sprang open to see his Mark darken in the waning candlelight.
A/N: Sorry for the wait!
Severus: "Okay, I faced a werewolf, a hundred Dementors, and Harriet Potter hates me. Now it can't get worse than that."
[Voldemort has entered the chat]
