ccvi. the coward
The dead, decaying leaves broke softly under Severus' boots as he picked his way through the winter trees.
Minerva followed at a similar pace and with similar care; cat-like, Severus would call it, if he wasn't so rigidly opposed to voicing a thought so close to a pun. Clouds had moved in with the afternoon, and their wands provided more light to the dim woods than the covered sun.
His eyes scanned the bare trees, listening. In the distance, the Aurors tromped in the undergrowth with heavy, plodding steps. They called to one another every so often, and their voices echoed like stones skipping across a pond.
"Do you sense anything, Severus?" Minerva asked, voice low. "This is about where Potter said they saw him, yes?"
"I'm not a bloodhound," he replied, distracted. Of course it had been Potter to stumble upon a suspected murder scene—Potter, Black, and that little French chit who had no business wandering about the grounds on her own. Albus' first order after hearing the children speak was to send them into the safety of the castle, canceling classes for the afternoon so half of the professors and Aurors could comb the grounds. The other half secured the school.
Severus wished the Headmaster had sent Potter with them to spare the hours of blind searching. Better to have her here with them than with Slytherin indoors. Slytherin, who'd been too bored by the prospect of picking through the weeds for a dead body to stir from his office. His exact words to Severus had been, "You had best get started before the spring thaw makes things…ripe."
"You don't suppose the girls could have run afoul a Boggart or other grim apparition, do you?" Minerva spelled a series of weak magelights ahead of them, the glow veiled to spare their vision. "Morgana knows enough evil lurks in the Forest to confuse or trick a mind."
"You don't believe that." Severus stopped to study a thin branch, broken by something run past. The body had been shorter than his, roughly shoulder-height with a fourteen-year-old witch.
"No." The older witch sighed, an unguarded gesture on her behalf. "Misses Potter and Black are not so easily frightened as that. And Albus' attempts to contact Mr. Crouch have been fruitless."
Severus didn't roll his eyes, though he wished to. He jerked his arm and pointed his wand toward the north. "This way."
Minerva followed, setting her feet where Severus did, the occasional flash of magic raining on the shrubs to detect traps. Ahead, they discerned the shape of an odd barrier, a wall of roots and branches rising to twine about the tree boles and block passage. Squinting at the obstacle, Minerva asked, "What could have done this?"
Severus brushed his fingers against the roots, studying the knots. "Potter," he said. He knew because it was his spell—a testament to Potter's ability, as she'd only seen him use it once, and yet she'd mastered it, finding new forms of use. A Tangling Charm had torn open the earth, and Severus' Root Cage Jinx weaved the tree limbs around the trunks, forming a phalanx several meters long. Not terribly practical, but helpful in a pinch.
He paced a meter along the barricade and stopped upon finding an area where the roots had been severed so something may pass through. He touched the cut ends, felt the tell-tale sting of Dark magic prick his fingertips.
"Death Eater."
Minerva stiffened and approached. "How do you know?"
Because it was his spell, his Blade Curse, one of his spells the Dark Lord liked so much, he stole it and distributed it among his faithful. He would recognize it anywhere.
"I know," Severus grunted. "Sectumsempra."
A harsh slash of his wand mimicked the old slices in the roots, carving a larger hole to walk through. Minerva followed him to the other side, her mouth pursed in disapproval.
Another fifteen minutes of search led them to a glade that matched Potter's rushed description—with the glaring exception of no corpse. However, the lack of body didn't deter Severus as he took a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air. The tang of iron marred the heavier odors of salt, pine, and ozone.
Severus lifted his eyes to the tree at the edge of the clearing, many of the branches on the south-facing side snapped off or broken. He brushed back the hair from his face displaced by the breeze and approached the tree, ignoring an alarmed noise from Minerva. He opened his robes to reveal the leather bandolier stitched into the inner lining.
"What are you doing?" Minerva inquired.
Severus picked one of the vials, studied it in their wandlight, then pulled out the cork. He tipped it to the side, and with two definite taps, sprinkled the pale powder. The loose grading dispersed the powder in the air, and once it touched the ground, it burst into a cloud not unlike a heavy plume. Severus watched as the shimmering haze revealed white streaks on the tree's bark.
"What is that?" Minerva asked, standing at his shoulder, eyes honed on the powder. "I do wish you'd simply narrate what you're doing, Severus, so I could stop asking questions."
"Blood," he told her as the cloud went higher and the tree fairly glowed. "The potion works similar to a Muggle black light, if you've heard of it. The bioluminescence is preserved by dissecting and drying a particular algae from the Welsh coast. It shines on traces of bodily fluids, no matter what magic employed to vanish them."
The two professors stood in silence as the cloud dissipated, leaving behind a tree painted in negative, the white blotches and streaks centered most on the broken branches.
"Morgana have mercy," Minerva whispered before mustering herself, one sharp nod steeling her eyes. "They returned to remove the body. A blessing, if it means they didn't go after the students as an alternative. We should start looking—."
Severus shook his head. "We won't find it."
"No? How can you be so certain?"
He sneered. "Death Eater," he reiterated. He allowed her to make assumptions about whom he meant. "We won't find the body. A pity; I'm certain Crouch made for a better Yule ornament than a person."
"A man is dead, Severus."
"And it couldn't have happened to a better one." To be honest, Severus regretted not being able to see the body himself. It would have slaked something inside his shriveled little heart to look down on that bastard and give the corpse a good kick when Minerva turned her head.
"For your own sake, please keep your mouth shut when the Aurors come," Minerva snapped as she waved her wand and summoned a wordless Patronus. "The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation is missing, and we don't need you cooling your heels in Azkaban for your horrid sense of humor."
The silver light of the spectral cat vanished into the trees, taking with it the momentary flush of warm feeling that left Severus more bitter and annoyed than he'd been when leaving the castle. He crossed his arms. "The only humor here is you thinking I'm joking."
It only took one additional Patronus to lead the Aurors and Headmaster Dumbledore to the scene, Albus' eyes appearing dark and veiled as he studied the trees. He raised his hand, and magic unfamiliar to Severus flared gold, revealing more destroyed evidence—the pale, ghostly impression of a body in the canopy, the golden outline of three girls on the outer rim, flickering in motion, and the garbled gray haze of a fourth individual moving in and out of the trees.
"What're we supposed to tell Gaunt?" one of the thick-headed Aurors asked, breaking the clearing's hush. "There's no body and no witness aside from a couple of brats. He's not gonna like that."
The other Guardians in their midsts exchanged shifty, uneasy looks. Standing in the back, Severus smirked.
Mad-Eye stumped his way into the center of the collective, growling, and smacked the nearest Auror in the chest. "You!" he snapped. "Set up a standard perimeter! And you three! Start searching for vestiges of spell casting! The first buggering moron still standing here gawking in the next thirty seconds will be written up with Bones!"
The Aurors shifted into action, making a show of being busy when Severus knew they'd find nothing. Death Eater. There was a Death Eater somewhere in the forest—or in the school, but to whom did they belong? What was their purpose here? Why kill Crouch?
Severus had turned to begin the trek back to the castle when a voice stilled him, spelling rage into his bones.
"And where do you think you're going, Snape?" Moody demanded. Severus could hear the uneven thump of his footsteps approaching.
"Alastor…." Dumbledore said.
Moody ignored him. "What were you up to this afternoon, eh? Settling a score with Crouch Senior? As I remember it, you didn't much enjoy your time in his custody all those years ago. Maybe you saw a chance to get even today."
"Anyone with a pulse despaired of spending time with Crouch," Severus drawled, his teeth grinding. "As for where I was, I was teaching—you know, my job? Not all of us can laze about the castle and treat our careers with such…." He turned to stare at the murder scene, a single brow raised. "Lackadaisical care."
Moody pointed his gnarled finger. "Seems I'm looking for Dark wizard and there's one right in front of me. Maybe you should be put somewhere nice and safe, Snape, until the end of this investigation."
Severus' expression didn't change, but he felt reluctant horror churn in his guts as he remembered his weeks in Azkaban and considered what returning there would mean. The cold, the despair. The humiliation. Slytherin would be furious with him. Facing down his ire fresh out of a prison stint might just kill Severus.
"Alastor!" Dumbledore raised his voice to such a volume no one left in the clearing could ignore it. "That is enough."
"Leopards don't change their spots, Albus."
"I said that is enough. Severus has been an employee of this school and a member of the Order for over a decade, and his service is above reproach. You have no cause to impugn his innocence any more than Minerva's or mine."
Both of Moody's eyes landed on Albus and stared as if he'd lost his mind. Severus didn't wait to hear what else would be said; he yanked his robes from the snagging bracken and walked into the woods. After a moment, the quiet snap of Minerva's footsteps followed.
"This is absurd," Minerva hissed, fairly fuming with indignation. "The whole Tournament has been an exercise in madness from the beginning, but this is beyond the pale. Murder on the grounds! In sight of children! The Aurory so filled with political lackeys it—och!"
Her foot snagged on foliage, and Severus' hand shot out to catch her by the wrist, glowering when he let go. Minerva muttered her thanks and readjusted her robes.
"Severus—what could this mean? A Death Eater in the school? Why chance killing a Ministry official like Crouch? It's not a logical decision."
He didn't have an answer for her. There was certainly a Death Eater in the school—two, in fact, with a third having killed Crouch. But where? Granger had exposed Crouch for stealing from his stores, but Severus hadn't been able to theorize why he did it. To plant false evidence on him? To steal Polyjuice ingredients? But for what reason? For himself? To give to someone else?
"Should I venture a guess, Professor, there's a Death Eater under Polyjuice gallivanting around. Dipping farther into speculation, let's say I know Crouch was poking around in the ingredient cupboards, stealing boomslang skin and Bicorn horn."
Minerva wasn't a potioneer, but her time at Ministry hadn't been spent idle, meaning she could recognize the pieces of an illegal potion easily enough. "And you believe he was what? Brewing? Giving these to another person?"
"I would say he was Imperiused. He thrives—thrived—on how others perceived his so-called noble leanings, and such a weak-willed simpleton wouldn't be able to throw the curse off. Not easily. But, should the person holding his leash grow complacent, should Crouch perhaps make a break for it or threaten to reveal the intruder's presence…."
"He's expendable." Minerva glanced the way they'd come. "But to kill a loose end on the grounds? And in such a—gruesome fashion! That's hardly subtle or sane for someone apparently trying their hand at espionage!"
"And there's very little we can do about it."
She sucked in a short, angry breath. "But there must be something we can do to flush them out—."
"There are nearly three hundred students at Hogwarts—not including staff, auxiliary employees, the foreign pupils, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons professors, the Aurors, or the Ministry peons tramping in and out of the gates at every hour. Beyond that, we haven't the means—nor the authority—to test them all. The foreign dignitaries would steam at the ears if it was suggested one of the visitors had been compromised, and Gaunt would laugh himself sick over a warrant requesting the Ministry idiots be checked."
"Why would a—Death Eater go through all of this? To what end?"
"Someone had to put Longbottom's name in the Goblet. Somebody wanted him to compete." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his eyes, exhausted by this whole meaningless venture. Crouch was dead; Potter had seen it, and it didn't matter if they had a body or not. What mattered was there being a potential maniac roaming the castle and they were no closer to finding them.
Severus continued walking, and Minerva didn't follow. He kept on until he reached the crest of the hill, the castle doors within sight, when he paused and allowed the wind to buffet against him. He faced the woods and the denser forest beyond, the breeze flaring his cloak as he looked not toward the trees, but rather at the sky.
No flare of green marred the clouds—no Morsmodre lingering above the canopy.
They'd taken the body, removed the blood. They tried to keep the kill silent despite being interrupted—but why? Why take the risk? Why pose the body and make such a scene if not to sign their work? Death Eaters spelled the Dark Lord's Mark into the sky when they killed. It was almost blasphemous to forego the custom.
Severus narrowed his eyes, and the sky didn't change. Birds winged from the bare tree limbs. What does it mean?
xXx
Severus had one short, blessed hour of silence before the door to his office slammed open.
Why Igor Karkaroff thought himself entitled to barge into Severus' space, he'd never know.
"Is what they're saying true?" the wizard demanded. He slung the door shut with such force, it bounced in the jam and sprung open, left ajar. "Is it true, Snape?"
Severus lowered the old ledger he'd been perusing and snapped the cover closed. He'd spent his hour since returning from the grounds trying to account for every known or suspected Death Eater. If he could narrow down their locations, he could find who possibly could have breached the school's wards. Well, he could account for Karkaroff, as the git was currently in front of him, sweating like a constipated Erumpent.
"Look at it! Look at it, and tell me you are not afraid!" the wizard insisted as he shoved the thick material of his lined robes up his arm, revealing the pale, marked flesh below. "It has been burning all day!"
"Has it?" Severus asked, sending a cursory glance over Karkaroff's brand. It looked marginally more inflamed than his own, which hadn't bothered him much that day. Severus and the Headmaster theorized it didn't mean anything significant; the Dark Lord's power fluxed in irregular ways and pulled against the tendrils linking him to his servants. Some tendrils burned, others tingled, and it varied from day to day.
"It has been burning like a fire, and there has been a murder?! Crouch is dead?!" Karkaroff took a step forward and slammed both of his hands on Severus' desk. The Potions Master curled his lip. "It is the Dark Lord!"
"Not every murder that occurs is the Dark Lord's doing," Severus mocked. For fuck's sake, he knew Karkaroff hadn't traversed the darker echelon of Tom Riddle's followers, but how he'd survived even a year was a bloody mystery. He fairly oozed cowardice. "Do try to find what composure you're capable of before Moody comes knocking for an interview."
Karkaroff's face paled more than it had before, his skin glossy in the candlelight. He perspired like a toad secreting oil, and it disgusted Severus.
"If you mean to vomit, do so in the corridor." He returned his attention to the books he'd pulled from the library. Most contained preserved records of old Daily Prophets, not entirely unlike Muggle microfiche. Though Severus had gone through them before, he intended to once more comb the archives and trace the activities of old classmates. Someone might have slipped through. That someone could be in Hogwarts.
"What are you planning to do? You must be planning something!" Karkaroff leaned closer, his breathing heavy. Severus could see his left arm spasming, the muscles beneath the clammy skin jumping and twitching. "You always had a plan for—for everything! You must have a plan for this! Tell it to me!"
He reeked of desperation, and Severus wished for nothing more than to tell him to douse his head in the lake lest the stench seep into his clothes. "I believe I already told you my plans are no business of yours. I believe I told you to stay away from me."
"What do you want? Money? You're just a poor half-blood; you must need money."
"You'll have to make your own way, Igor," Severus told him, a nasty smile spread across his face. "Just like us poor, filthy half-bloods."
Karkaroff stole a shuddering breath, his tongue flicking across his lower lip. He was skinnier than he'd been upon arriving at Hogwarts, his cheeks paunchier, loose. "Do you want information? Is that it? For Dumbledore, or—? Slytherin?"
Severus scoffed. "Pathetic."
"I—I can give them information on the families in Europe! The Durmstrang families!"
"Selling out your newest allies? My, my," Severus sneered. "I can't say I'm surprised. As I have told you before, my associates and I are not interested in your information, as you so generously call it. We are not interested in you or your fate."
Karkaroff's face twisted at being denied yet again, and his arm came out, knocking the books and candle from Severus' desk. The latter went out as it bounced on the stone floor.
Severus, for his part, simply rolled his eyes. He dealt with enough melodramatic, angst-ridden teenagers daily, and though very few had the gall to throw his things, some did. Karkaroff was no different. "Typical," he sniffed.
Just then, a shadow passed between the slight crack in the door, and Severus felt more than heard the air pressure shift. The door eased open, and a familiar voice called, "Professor Snape…?"
Harriet Potter stood on the office's threshold, her green eyes flickering as they took in the scene. They landed first on Severus himself, then the mess on the floor, Karkaroff, and finally, Karkaroff's arm. His bare arm and the blasted, repulsive Dark Mark on full display.
Karkaroff reacted first, jolting from the desk toward the girl, grabbing her wrist. Potter gasped in shock or pain as the wizard nearly yanked her arm out of its socket in his rush, and her other hand rose to guard her face. Severus was on his feet in an instant and threw himself at Karkaroff, the shelves behind him rattling as the wizard's back slammed into them.
"Severus," Karkaroff wheezed as the Potions Master's hands twisted in the front of his robes. "Severus, she's seen too much—."
"Let. Go." The words slid through his teeth like knives, cold and unforgiving, and he could feel Karkaroff's heartbeat race under his balled fists. "Now."
For once in his miserable life, Igor made the right choice and unclenched his fingers from around Potter's slender wrist. She cradled it against her middle and lurched back a step, already halfway out the door. Red marks marred her skin.
"I didn't—I just wanted to know if you found anything! If you found Crouch!" she stuttered. "I didn't mean—."
"Go back to your dormitory," Severus told her, still holding Karkaroff against the shelves. The wizard made as if to shake off his hold, and Severus thrust him back again, harder, glassware chiming as it clashed together. Karkaroff grunted. "Go, Miss Potter."
She went, still holding her bruised arm, the sound of her scampering footsteps loud in the empty passage. He waited until the noise dissipated, then released Igor, spelling the door shut properly. The lock clicked home.
"She knows too much!" Karkaroff spat, a low whine in his voice from having the air knocked out of him. "The stupid little bitch saw my Mark; what do you think you're doing—?!"
His words cut off. A slow, contemplative look overcame the older wizard's face, and something like understanding bloomed in Karkaroff's beady little eyes as he straightened. What understanding that was, Severus didn't know.
"Is that how it is? Is that what you're after?" Igor asked. His tone wheedled like an old friend trying to commiserate, and Severus tipped his head to one side, his brow furrowed. "I must say, I didn't expect you to like them young, but a man has his vices. I'm not one to judge."
Severus said nothing. He almost couldn't hear the filth coming out of Karkaroff's mouth over the ringing in his ears. The unctuous man took Snape's silence for agreement and continued, shooting him a wink and a toothy grin.
"Nice little thing she is, easy, I imagine. Not quite my type. I can get you better, Severus, my friend. Prettier. Younger, if that's what you need. Just help me—."
Severus' fist collided with his face. Karkaroff reeled as blood burst from his nose.
"Bastard—!"
The second blow caught him in the mouth, breaking teeth. The third, against the cheek, Karkaroff toppling into the ground, hitting the shelves once more. The jars that had so far resisted falling now hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces, shattering like Severus' composure.
Nice little thing.
He snarled as his fingers broke, not caring about the pain radiating through his bones, up his arm, his limp hair in his face, fist raised for a fourth and a fifth blow. He cared for nothing but the rage hot like Fiendfyre in his veins, scouring his chest, rising from his throat in an almost bestial shout. His dragonhide boot landed on something tender, and the downed wizard howled.
"Wait, wait!" Karkaroff shrieked, blood and saliva dribbling from his busted lip, smearing his chin. "Severus, please—!"
"I warned you," Severus hissed. He flicked his wrist, summoning his wand, and he leveled the length of ebony wood at Karkaroff's ruined face.
"Please!" Igor begged. "Please, I—!"
Severus didn't listen. He acted before he could change his mind, before he had to tell the Headmaster why a second body had turned up on the grounds that afternoon. If Karkaroff said one more word, Severus would bloody kill him.
He twisted his arm, wand raised, and incanted—.
"Obliviate!"
A/N: Poor Igor learned the meaning of "Fuck around and find out."
Karkaroff: "The Dark Lord's coming!"
Snape: "…"
Karkaroff: *touches Harriet*
Snape: "REEEEEE!"