cclxix. great-uncle
"Didya see it?"
"Hard to miss. It's across his whole bloody forehead."
"Do they have any idea who did it?"
"Nothing they can prove."
"Bloody hell. Lestrange is never going to be able to live this down."
Severus leaned on the mezzanine's railing and listened to the voices of the students rise from below. The attack on Accipto Lestrange had been a constant topic of discussion for Hogwarts over the last two days, and little of it was tinged with pity. Most simply assumed the boy had reaped what he'd sowed after the incident with Granger and didn't feel inclined to look deeper. Even many staff members had turned a decisive blind eye.
The Potions Master sniffed, gripped by a sinister sort of amusement. How ironic, he thought. For a moron so possessed by his own purity to have 'Mudblood' permanently emblazoned on his forehead.
Severus leaned off the railing and continued on the upper passage, unnoticed by the student horde below. The words he heard continued a familiar pattern—gruesome, cruel curiosity and gossip-mongering, speculation and delight that the head of the bothersome Inquisitorial Squad would be out of commission for a while. Umbridge, of course, was furious, and the Board was quaking under pressure from the Ministry—but they'd already made their own bed.
The door to the stairwell's staff entrance opened before Severus could reach it, and he paused in the shadows stretched between the tall windows to watch who came through. Minerva stepped into view, quietly allowing the door to shut behind her. She shut her eyes behind her square spectacles and heaved a breath of relief.
"Taking a break?" Severus said, startling the older witch into swearing. He arched an amused brow.
"Och, you ruddy bat," she wheezed, palm pressed flat to her chest. "You did that on purpose."
"Perhaps." He glanced once more over the students below, able to anticipate when the bell would ring. He braced himself, and the bells echoed through the stone corridors, vibrating through Severus' bones. Minerva paused to allow the noise to pass, then joined Severus at the railing to watch her charges hurry off toward their classes. Severus likened them to cockroaches scattering when the lights came on.
"Albus is still with the Board," she said, and from the corner of his eye, he saw how she wrung her hands. "Thaddeus Grimwood is being particularly tenacious in his search for answers about Accipto Lestrange."
"Annoying fuck," Severus grunted, earning a stressed tut of disapproval from Minerva. "Gaunt's funneling embezzled funds into his pockets. If we're lucky, he'll walk into the lake and the weight will drag him down."
It was a testament to Minerva's irritation that she didn't reprimand him. "He's always been so…friendly with Professor Slytherin before, but now…."
"It's politics. Campaigning means Gaunt's wringing every last Galleon he can out of the pure-bloods, and he's using the money to push his agenda where he pleases. It pleases him to flex his influence here and to keep reminding Dumbledore and Slytherin he exists—like a muling, needy child."
"This feels like more, Severus. It feels like he's trying to integrate the school as part of the Ministry, and that's—absurd. Outrageous."
He clenched his jaw and refused to agree, though he knew Gaunt's recent behavior had been pushing the boundaries of what could ostensibly be considered "flexing." If he kept pushing Slytherin's patience, the professor would push back—and Severus worried what would happen to Albus, seated so precariously between the two.
Minerva sighed. "How much of this are we meant to allow before the school descends into chaos? We cannot condone what those girls have done, no matter what's happened to Miss Granger."
"Girl," Severus said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Girl, as in the singular form of girls. If I had to guess the identity of the culprit, I would say it was Black, and she acted alone."
Minerva looked at him as if offended, then away, the offense dissolving into disgruntled acceptance. "All the more reason we should intercede."
"If we intercede, we'd paint a target on Black's back for Lestrange, the Ministry, and anyone with an ax to grind. At the moment, the identity of Lestrange's attacker is muddled. Black had her possessions searched prior to the incident, and as far as the Board knows, Slytherin confiscated the dagger. Albus vouched for Potter's things, and Granger's luggage was clean. Many members of the House claim Potter, Black, and Granger were in the common room at the suggested time of Lestrange's attack." Severus turned his hand, his open palm facing up. "Let it go, Minerva. Does it truly matter what happens to that miserable little shite?"
The witch's mouth pressed into a firm line, and she shot Severus a sharp, biting look. "Of course, it matters. Accipto Lestrange is still a student of this school, more the fool us. Our charges are mutilating each other, and yes, I have compassion for the boy. I have seen too many children pass through this institute into the hands of madmen, and I must question where it is we've failed this lad—why he's turned to violence and misery instead of goodness and mercy."
"Don't be absurd." Severus rolled his eyes. "Some brats are the way they are, and there's nothing you can do to change them."
"Could we have changed you, had we paid more attention?"
He bit his tongue. "This isn't about me, Professor. Do yourself a favor and let it go."
Gathering his robes, Severus departed the mezzanine, climbing the tight spiral steps to the floor below. Now mostly vacant, few students saw him emerge through the narrow passage utilized by the staff, and he was quick to snap at those still lingering to chat.
On his way to his office, Severus heard a familiar voice call out to him.
"Professor Snape."
Severus halted, his robes eddying about his ankles at the sudden stop of motion, and he turned his head to stare down the recent subject of his thoughts.
"Miss Black," he said, mouth lingering on the last syllable with particular displeasure. "You and your friends are growing far too audacious if you think you can skip class as you please and shout in the halls."
Black grimaced, but held firm to the satchel at her side. Severus noted she had her little trinket hanging loose on its fob, ready to use at a moment's notice.
At least they're not completely brainless.
"I have Divinations. I'll tell Trelawney I had a vision or something that made me late."
Severus narrowed his eyes at her flippancy. "I'm in no mood for your cheek," he said, lip curling. "Not after the newest travesty you're forcing us to deal with."
She stiffened and stuck her nose in the air. "There's no proof. I never touched Lestrange."
"Oh, shut up," he snapped. "Do I look like a drooling Auror? Anyone with half a brain knows what you've done. What is it you want, Black?"
She scowled at him, looking far too much like her mongrel of a father. "Can…can you make it so the portraits don't hear?"
Severus didn't move at first, but when Black refused to say more, unmoved by his unimpressed glare, he retrieved his wand and cast his muffling Charm. The spectating portraits grumped and shuffled off into other frames.
"I won't bother with lying," the witch said in a tone that clearly said she didn't think much of Severus' supposed wits. "I won't deny I did what I did to Lestrange. You're not going to do anything with that information, so it doesn't matter if I tell you. But, you should know, I didn't go after him initially."
"Initially?"
"No. Harriet did."
Now that gave Severus pause. He knew Potter better than he ought, and he couldn't say it was in her demeanor to Stun and attack someone, even someone as loathsome as Lestrange. She would defend herself—fiercely—but he'd seen her accept punishment simply to spare those who loathed her and she loathed in turn.
"There was something—odd about her that night."
"What do you mean odd? Speak plainly, girl."
"Simply that, odd. She didn't seem to hear me when I called out to her, and I thought—." She paused, shifted her feet. It was odd for Severus to be able to look any student in eye, let alone a witch, but Black stood nearly at his height. "I thought her eyes were red for a moment, but that's absurd, isn't it?"
A different pair of red eyes flashed in Severus' recollection and he swallowed the sudden urge to vomit. Red eyes? What the fuck?
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"She's fine now," Black said as if this were a perfectly stupid question to ask. "She and Hermione have a free period, and she's being obnoxious with her snakes. I thought—well. With everything that happened afterward, and once I gave it more consideration, I can't be entirely sure of what I saw. I decided I should tell you all the same."
Severus didn't know what to think. Red eyes? The fuck did he know about red eyes beyond the fact that Tom bloody Riddle's eyes were a particular shade of dark, odious scarlet? Magics existed that affected the irises, both in intention as a side-effect, but they weren't extensive or overly common. Had Potter been cursed? Had Black been seeing things?
Whatever the answer, Severus still descended to the dungeons and went to the vacant common room. He summoned Potter out from the dormitory, and she came, glowering at him for apparently waking her from a nap. A red nape peered at him from her untidy hair, tongue flickering.
"What're you doing?" the girl grumbled as Severus took out his wand.
"Shut up," he said, casting spells to detect different traces of magic. There were vague smudges of malignancy around her, but nothing Severus himself didn't pick up from being in Slytherin's vicinity. It was like an ugly, ghostly cologne. Nothing indicated she'd been cursed or touched by any manner of magical interference.
Severus canceled his spell and gave the girl another look over. "How are your lessons with Slytherin progressing?"
She blinked at him and idly scratched her stomach. "I dunno. He's going over the stuff we talked about in detention the other night. He's a berk, but that's normal."
His attention lingered on her eyes—a shadowed green found in the deepest parts of the forest, offset by the purple smudges left by fatigue, so dark they bordered on bruises. The 'stuff' she so glibly mentioned was the integration of runes in defense matrices—a remarkably boring, if advanced, practice of picking etymology and choreography apart to develop stronger spells. The only kind of harm Potter would run into was her head smacking a solid desk when she fell asleep.
"What happened with Lestrange?"
"What d'you mean? The—?" She jabbed a finger toward her own forehead. "Reckon you and the other professors know more about that than I do."
"Don't play stupid. You were following him."
Her brow crinkled, and Potter shook her head. "No, I didn't. D'you think I did—?" She again indicated her forehead. "I think he got what he deserved, but I wouldn't do that shite! What the hell, Snape!"
She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember what Black saw.
Severus grunted, then dismissed her, Potter wandering off toward her room after muttering about how rude he was. Severus left the common room, no closer to solving the mystery.
He rubbed at his temple as he approached his office, wondering what he was meant to do with this information. Black, for all her faults, wasn't fanciful, and if she claimed to have seen an oddity about Potter, Severus was inclined to believe she'd noticed something, even if it hadn't been exactly what she thought.
He opened his office door—and stopped. It appeared he had a visitor.
"Which of the elves let you through the Floo?" he asked, gruff, as he kicked the door closed behind himself. The man behind his desk lifted a brow, and his drink.
"I think it'd be intolerably cruel of me to say and unleash your offensive temper on the poor thing."
For much of his early life, Severus' mother had made it a point to tell him how very much he resembled his great uncle Tiberius Prince. He didn't know why she felt the need to do so after she'd been so unceremoniously disowned by his grandfather Gallus, but she seemed to believe it a mark of his superiority, as if resembling any of the toffs in the House of Prince meant anything at all to Severus. Frankly, he thought if what he saw now was what he had to look forward to, he should do the world a favor before it was too late.
He'd first met Tiberius in his school years, not long before creating his rather embarrassing 'Half-Blood Prince' sobriquet. Unlike his brother Gallus, or their shared father Carus Prince, Tiberius had found Severus worth nominal interest, if only because of his talent with potions. He'd kept contact with him since then, exchanging occasional letters, but it wasn't often the now Head of the House of Prince felt the need to visit him.
Tiberius sipped from his tumbler of cognac as he observed Severus, his dark eyes cold and watchful. "I've heard your administration has been facing difficulties."
Tired, Severus answered with a noncommittal, "Hogwarts always has its share of difficulties" and hoped his great-uncle would either get to the point of his visit or move on. He didn't have an abundance of spare time to entertain visitors.
Apparently, Lord Prince was in no rush, as he spent several minutes sampling his spirits while Severus cleared books off his desk, returning them to the shelves or sorting them into piles bound for his quarters or the library.
"One of your students is blackmailing me," he said, casual as could be. Severus froze as he set a tome on a higher shelf, but he moved fast enough to make it seem normal.
"Oh?"
"Mmm. It's over the vote in December." Tiberius set his glass on the desk, ensuring it had a coaster beneath it. He stretched in that graceful, practiced manner the pure-bloods seemed to know from birth and yawned. "Mind, it was fairly well done of them. You should pass on my compliments."
"If I had any idea what you're talking about, I would," Severus lied, idly wondering if he could strangle Potter and put them both out of their misery.
"You won't even give me a hint? I'd love to know which one managed to thwart my wards and enter my office. Will you introduce us?"
Severus grit his teeth. "No."
"Touchy, touchy, I see. Did I not already say to pay them my compliments? At the end of the day, I can only applaud a well-placed dash of espionage. Though, I doubt they'll find it so simple to try again."
The Potions Master thunked a bottle into his cabinet with particular heat. "Again, I've no idea what you're on about."
Tiberius rolled his eyes and gave him an indolent stare, one Severus himself might give a dishonest student. "I already know the one doing the blackmailing is the Granger girl, Severus. You needn't be coy; it insults both of intelligence. Our good Minister's followers have been sure to spread that information where he could—." Here, Tiberius laughed, a huff of air that passed through his sizable nose. "Of course, he assumes no one besides his magnificence could have ever postulated on the identity of the person stirring the metaphoric pot." He picked over what remained on Severus' desk as if bored and looked over a stray essay. He pronounced it drivel and tossed it aside. "Though, Verus did assume it was someone more closely linked to Bones' cabinet."
"Verus is an idiot," Severus said, referring to his other great-uncle, a man more alike to Gallus in his disdain of Muggle-borns and half-bloods.
"You won't hear me disagree." He settled on his glass again, examining the remaining sip of cognac glistening at its bottom. "You should tell your three students if they mean to break into Brierstone again, they shouldn't tromp through Verwerry past the pub. Drunks are mostly useless, but perfectly capable of remembering three pretty young witches from out of the area when they're headed in the direction of the estate."
Severus didn't groan, but the irritated noise he emitted against his will was very close to it. Idiots, all three of them. It infuriated him they thought leaving campus for an instant was a good idea, but to actually go in search of blackmail material? And he knew exactly how Potter had gotten in without having to ask, as most Wizarding homes came built with perfect egresses for crow-sized burglars.
Tiberius finished his drink, his tongue catching the last drop against his lip. Severus sensed a shift in his attitude, understanding that the conversation was about to shift from droll, teasing gossip to whatever Tiberius truly wanted to speak. The shift happened in his shoulders, the tightness of his posture and the cant of his head.
"I do plan on voting against Gaunt," the older wizard pronounced. "And you should know your House will do so, especially considering where your…allegiances lie." He said this with a sneer, as Tiberius—and much of House Price—had never been a fan of the Dark Lord.
"True Slytherins—," he'd said when Severus first spoke to him about joining Riddle. "—do not follow. They lead."
He recognized Tiberius' thinly veiled and ultimately misplaced concern. "I'm hardly connected to the House," Severus said. "Your choices do not reflect upon me."
"Keep that in mind when more than just our House changes direction." Tiberius stood, straightening his robes. Though bespoke, they lacked the embellishment and gaudiness another wizard of his station might have worn. Tiberius had a taste for the finer things, but he'd always been a practical man. "It pleased most to follow Gaunt's agenda when it aligned with our ideals. He's overextended his reach now, and I know you understand that whisper of discontent has been growing louder among the families for the last five years. Oh, he can play the bully and threaten some to tow the party line, but he can't threaten us all. If even a spineless jellyfish like Lucius Malfoy can find his bollocks and change course, so can the rest. I do hope you and Dumbledore are prepared for the fallout."
Severus didn't tell Tiberius the terror Lucius and his family had endured at Gaunt's hands, and didn't relay Voldemort's fury at the dissent. He'd nipped any other fulminating insurrection in the bud by liberal applying Crucio to his remaining Death Eaters, cowing them to the point of abject misery and silence. Tiberius thought Gaunt couldn't threaten them? He was going to find out how wrong he was.
Tiberius snapped his fingers, and his cloak jumped off the hook by the door—and smacked Severus in the arm. He accepted the slight and snatched the article of clothing from the air, holding it open so his great-uncle could slip it over his arms. Tiberius pulled it on, sniffing—then turned suddenly, too close to Severus' face. He didn't retreat, as that would have put his back against his shelf, but he did frown.
"I want to meet the girl who broke into the manor. The one you're protecting." Tiberius' thin mouth quirked at Severus' thunderous scowl. "Mind your manners, boy. And tell her to ring the bell next time."
He disappeared into the Floo, and Severus threw the glass at the hearth.