clxxvii. the man of many masters

The duel lasted for only a minute before the Headmaster descended and tore the two wizards apart.

"What has gotten into you, Severus? Alastor?" Dumbledore demanded, his wand in hand as the white glimmer of his Shield Charm faded in the dungeon's dim light. It was just as well he'd come along. If another Auror had wandered across Severus trying to hex the face off Mad-Eye Moody, he would have ended up in Azkaban and dead within a fortnight.

Moody stuck his wand back into the brace on his arm. "Just had ourselves a disagreement, Albus," he growled, and Severus noted how his magical eye rolled to point at him through the side of the wizard's skull, more than likely staring at the scorch mark on the wall.

Severus brushed his knuckles against his own abraded cheek, smearing what little blood had come to the surface. He said nothing.

Unsatisfied with Moody's answer and Severus' silence, Dumbledore flicked his wand and threw open the nearest door, which happened to lead into the Potions Master's office. The three wizards filed inside.

"Nice space, Snape," Moody commented with a harsh, jeering lilt to his grating voice, gesturing at the jars of preserved ingredients. "Very welcoming for all the nasty little snakes you recruit for your master."

Again, Severus said nothing. Instead, he stood with his back to a set of shelves and gripped one of the wooden ledges, willing himself to bite his tongue and not fly off the handle. He wouldn't allow himself to be baited in such a gauche manner. He wouldn't.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said, sharp and cutting, not a twinkle to be seen in his narrowed eyes. He lit a fire in the dormant grate to give more light to the dim, eerie space, though Severus wished he left it to the dying candles alone. Then at least he didn't have to see Moody's ugly face quite so clearly.

The Headmaster stepped away from the hearth once the flames had risen properly and leaned against Severus' desk, eying the two wizards who stood as far from one another as they could in the enclosed office. "I would have one you give an accounting for your behavior in the corridor. We cannot have allies drawing their wands on one another, and most certainly not in the school with children about."

Mad-Eye snorted. "Strange allies you're keeping, Albus," he said as he picked up one of the jars and inspected it, placing it back in the wrong spot. "Seeing what I did makes me wonder what other contraband this one is letting the brats bring into their dorms."

Dumbledore turned a quizzical look to Severus, who ground his teeth and restrained himself to simply jabbing a finger in Moody's direction. "He saw the snake Potter keeps."

The Headmaster's expression cleared. "Oh," he said. "Dear me, have I not mentioned it before, Alastor? Harriet has a rather unique familiar. I am fully aware of its existence and the precautions she takes in caring for it." He frowned. "I must confess, I do not understand why this resulted in violence."

"You did not let me finish," Severus snapped. "He saw the snake Potter keeps under her attire, not because she flaunted the wretched beast. Had I not known of the snake beforehand, I wouldn't have had any idea what this letch spoke about."

"What's the issue, Snape? You've an eye of your own, don't you? Haven't told Albus what you can see with it, eh?"

If he hadn't been in the Headmaster's presence, Severus would have struck the Auror. "It detects the presence of magical glamors and concealments," he spat, voice rising until he was shouting. "It does not look through a young girl's clothes!"

"Enough," the Headmaster said, but Moody got in his parting shot.

"So you say. Don't know if I trust you on that. It'd be my guess you've been enjoying your own private show at your students' expense. It seems the kind of thing your lot would do."

Severus lunged.

A spell from the Headmaster caught him high in the chest and flung him back hard into the shelves. The force of it knocked the air out of him, and Severus staggered, fighting the instinctual reaction to wince as the pain swelled and ached under his skin. Jars hit the floor. Betrayal rankled, colder than the stunned silence that followed, harsher than the snap of broken glass under his boots.

"Severus—."

He gathered his robes about himself and left.

"Severus—!"

Let them have the sodding room. Let Dumbledore burn everything inside—let the two codgers lock themselves in and starve to death. He didn't care.

Departing the dungeons, Severus had to stop at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, tucking one finger into his cravat and giving it a hard, fruitless yank. Students meandered in the open foyer, meaning he didn't linger in place long. He didn't know where he was headed, so long as it was away from the Headmaster.

He burned two hours needlessly patrolling, taking points and assigning one detention for the sheer displeasure of crossing his path. Severus' mind paced in circles, and though he willed it to, the anger and displeasure did not dissipate. Nevertheless, Severus pulled on his mental shields until they rolled over him like the morning fog, and the hard glint in his eyes dulled to unrelieved black.

He passed a pair of Aurors on the fifth-floor stairwell, neither paying him any mind as they chatted by the open casement window and neglected their rounds. It was all a farce anyway, a transparent ploy through which Gaunt thumbed his nose at Dumbledore and Slytherin and kept his foot in Hogwarts' door. It mattered little if they patrolled or not.

The golden pins on their lapels glinted like honey in the afternoon sunlight.

The sight of Aurors often filled witches and wizards with a sense of relief; their guardians had arrived, ready to fend off prospective evils and keep their poor, wretched selves safe from the travesties of Dark magic. Severus did not share in that opinion, not in the slightest. The presence of Aurors inundated him with a horrid well of ineffectual rage, spite, and no little amount of fear.

He did not recall much of his time in Azkaban. He didn't recall anything from that time period really, but Severus remembered the terror and grief best of all, two weeks in a malignant haze, dragged by unkind hands, thrown and kicked and spat upon by wizards in maroon robes.

Mad-Eye had been there, he thought. The bastard had a distinct, memorable voice, and now he thumped around the school like a spare nightmare for Severus to trip over.

The door to the sixth-floor staff lounge swung in on well-worn hinges, and Severus almost groaned aloud to find Slytherin inside, seated at the best table by the window.

Of course. Of course, I can't catch a break.

Red eyes flicked in Severus' direction, lingering upon his reddened cheek, then returned to his work.

"Sit, Severus."

Given little choice in the matter, the Potions Master assumed what dignity he could and crossed the lounge to the table, seating himself in the chair opposite Slytherin. The wizard paid him little mind at first, finishing the essay in his hand and topping it with a bored, indifferent 'T' before glancing at Snape.

"Having an enjoyable afternoon?"

A soft huff left Severus. "Marginally so, my Lord," he drawled, adjusting his sleeves. "Though, I did have a slight disagreement with the Headmaster."

"And he's such an agreeable person." Slytherin flicked to the next essay, dipping his eagle quill in the inkwell. He made for an odd picture, very collegiate in his meticulous robes with the work of his students settled before him, still crimson-eyed and sinister, fair hands spotted by flecks of ink. "Well? What is the problem with dear Albus now?"

Severus blinked, freeing himself of his introspection. "He seems unbothered by the liberties the Aurors feel free to take in the school."

"Hmm." He lifted his gaze to Severus. "Which Auror, in particular, has caught your ire?"

Snape's lip curled. "Mad-Eye."

Slytherin laughed—a cold, mirthless sound that raked against Severus' spine, and he regretted opening his mouth in the first place. Pieces of the truth fed the lie of their relationship, but some part of him felt guilt for taking his honest frustration against Dumbledore and giving it to Slytherin. He didn't want to give anything of himself to this wizard.

"Moody is a paranoid relic," Slytherin said as he flicked to another essay, an unspoken spell from his fingertip laying the rolled parchment flat. "A perfect counterpoint for Dumbledore and a loyal little poppet to stuff in his pocket. Though, he has his uses, making noise in Gaunt's ear and stumbling the misguided fools in the Ministry." Another faint, humorless laugh. "Poor Severus. Did you really believe Dumbledore would take your side over one of his real loyalist's?"

There it was. The Dark Lord's unfailing propensity to find a sore spot and drive the dagger in deep. It was what he preyed upon, the glinting, vulnerable diamonds in a person's soul, small things that bought loyalty and turned ears to his mouth—but Severus had grown wise to his schemes. There'd been no sides in his argument with Moody and Dumbledore; just a flash of spellwork, a throbbing ache in his back, and a mouthful of swallowed vitriol.

"I've long since moved past any need for Dumbledore's approval, my Lord," he said, lacing his hands together on the table. He met the other wizard's gaze and held it without challenge, the flat, unnerving monotone of his own voice and expression untouched by Slytherin's scrutiny. "I am merely aggravated the Auror continues to seek access into my laboratory."

He did not tell Slytherin the truth about the confrontation. Truly, Severus doubted he would or could care, that grasping the exact dearth of privacy when under Moody's eye was beyond what nebulous scraps of empathy Slytherin emulated. Severus couldn't decide if the wizard even had a real body under those robes. Perhaps he was simply a morass of snakes piled atop one another.

Now I'm being ridiculous.

Slytherin returned to his work, and Severus' mind ran circles around itself, his thoughts harried and angry but contained beneath the sleek, unyielding surface of his Occlusion.

He'd ruin Moody's magical eye if he caught him looking at Potter again—at any of his students—with more intent than was absolutely necessary. No threats. No going to Dumbledore for permission or prevaricating like a Gryffindor hopped up on bravado and stupidity. Just action.

"Ah," Slytherin sighed aloud as he turned to the next parchment in his stack. He repeated his silent spell to straighten the roll, and his finger lingered on the edge, sliding upward to tap the tail of the familiar writing on the page. "Miss Potter."

Severus did not react to the usage of the girl's name. He turned his wrist ever so slightly so the Vow's scarring would not catch the light from the broad window.

"I must confess, I am disappointed she's not brought me her name yet for consideration. I do wonder what is holding her back…."

Severus said nothing.

"Perhaps I should be overjoyed by her circumspection. So many of them jumped at the opportunity without a single thought toward prospective consequences. She's a very odd girl, Potter. Very audacious. Her magic is…sharp, if ragged. Hmm. A pity."

Severus knew he should interject, that he should urge Slytherin to approach the girl again and give her a perfect chance to comply with Dumbledore's suggestion. It was what being a spy meant, maneuvering pieces, creating avenues. Albus asked Potter to enter Slytherin's competition, and Severus should facilitate that request.

Still, he kept silent. Something weak and anxious fluttered under his heart, and it recoiled from any notion of opening his mouth. Did they not see how tired he was? Did they not look at him and realize how little he wished to be in this position? That, despite all attempts otherwise, he was not a stone tool?

A sudden spasm clutched his left arm, and Severus gasped against his will, bringing the limb closer to his chest. Or, he would have, had Slytherin not grabbed him by the wrist with all the speed of a striking snake, yanking his hand across the expanse between them. A simple flick of his thin, untried fingers split Severus' sleeve, and a second incantation brought the loathsome Dark Mark into view.

He could not conceive of what Tom Slytherin thought whenever he forced Severus to show the Mark like this, why he needed to see the cursed thing writhe within his unwilling servant's flesh. Each time the spasm came, Severus grew more and more terrified as the pain ascended closer to a true Summons. It'd grown darker over the weeks, the sting more acute.

"You will go to him when the time comes," Slytherin murmured, leaving no room for argument—however preposterous that would be—as he curled his fingers under Severus' forearm. "And you will play the good puppet just as you do with Dumbledore. But remember, Severus—." His nails bit into his skin, bearing down until blood welled. "You belong to me."

The pain in the Mark eased into the mundane ache of the minor, half-circle wounds. "Of course, my Lord."

Slytherin released him then, leaving streaks of red on his wrist and the hewn edges of his buttoned white shirt. He tugged the parchments out from under Severus' limp hand, bloody fingerprints on Potter's essay, and took his leave. Severus remained where he was, still quiet, his arm and back and chest all pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat.

He whispered the spell to hide the Dark Mark again and watched it disappear.

If only everything were that simple.

xXx

He was still sat in the empty staff lounge when Dumbledore came upon him. The Headmaster stood in the doorway for a long moment to study Severus, the lowering sun at the window gilding his unmoving frame, his sleeve split, a cup of cooling tea before him.

The door shut with a gentle thump, and the Headmaster sighed.

"I've spoken with Alastor," he told his Potions Master. "He has agreed to adjust the enchantments on his eye to preserve our students' privacy."

Snape scoffed under his breath.

He heard the scuff of soft-soled shoes cross the floor, and the weight of the Headmaster's hand settled on his shoulder. "Severus, I must apologize for my actions earlier. I did not intend for the spell to be quite so forceful, but I cannot accept you threatening bodily harm against our allies over a simple misunderstanding."

Severus exhaled and fixed his sleeve. "You needn't apologize, Headmaster," he said, voice cold. He shrugged off the hand and stood. "I have come to expect such treatment from my masters."

Severus departed from the room.


A/N:

Tbh, no I don't think Moody's some horrid perv, just incredibly paranoid, and incredibly judgmental of Snape. But this is Snape's perspective on him, so it's going to showcase his worst attributes.

Slytherin: "Potter would make an excellent candidate, don't you agree?"

Severus: *slowly sinks to the floor and oozes down a drain*

Slytherin: "…."

Slytherin: "I didn't know he could do that."