Severus Snape: An Answer in Shadows
Severus Snape
The throne room had been the first change the Dark Lord had made to the Ministry. He'd blasted his way through the Department of Muggle Relations, hollowed out the rooms above and below, and transfigured the simple plaster walls into dark granite. The throne sat at one end of the cavernous space, raised on a platform over six feet high. Floating candles flickered weakly around the edges of the windowless room, creating perpetual twilight. The Death Eaters surrounded the throne, standing stiffly.
A massive mosaic of a serpent and skull dominated the vast wall behind the throne. Whole and broken wands embedded into the granite formed the serpent. The skull through which it writhed was made of the polished bones of muggles. A lone wand hovered in front of the mosaic, between the serpent's fangs.
Bellatrix Lestrange stood over a kneeling hooded figure within the circle of Death Eaters. The area around the eye holes had darkened from tears. Either from fear or from the spell that pulled at the eyelids, preventing them from blinking. The figure's head was frozen in an upturned position, locked in a gaze with her.
"Show me where he is," she said a little too loudly, no doubt to show off the intensity of her mind magic to the others. "Show me your memories. The brat couldn't have taken them all." The figure shuddered despite the immobilized head. Under the shapeless prison robes, something metallic rattled.
Severus's throat constricted. So much for the hope that Potter's magic had kept them from remembering. The interrogations of Potter's friends had begun. He mentally prepared himself to show no reaction if the figure turned out to be someone he had once known in another life.
"Severus," the Dark Lord greeted him. "I'm so pleased you could join us."
The position of the throne and the candles kept him shrouded in darkness. Once seated, he dwelled in shadow, sensed only by the flash of a pale hand, the glint of a wand, or his glowing red eyes. And his low-burning voice: hissing, rasping, then sharply crackling back to life.
Severus had met with the Dark Lord enough that he could picture him clearly. In recent years, his skin had lost its sheen, growing mottled and dusty. He'd grown thinner, nearly skeletal, and his back now hunched. The dim light and draped robes hid these changes to the less observant. But even the dullest Death Eater couldn't miss his gleaming teeth. His canines had elongated and sharpened. They often sliced through his bottom lip, and he'd taken to the disconcerting habit of darting out his thin tongue to lap at the blood.
Nagini slithered at the foot of the throne, winding and unwinding in wide coils. She flicked her tongue at Severus.
He suspected Nagini tasted fear and conveyed the information to her master. He buried his thoughts, buried his feelings, and let old memories rise. His father's rough voice and rougher hands, his body wearing away from hard work and harder drink. How desperate Severus was to escape the same fate for himself. James Potter and his gang, and how that arrogant voice brought sharp fear and helplessness. Wanting to be near the Dark Lord, needing to be near someone so powerful. Someone who understood.
Before all this, before he took the Mark, he'd thought of leaving England to travel, perhaps to gather exotic ingredients unavailable in his little corner of the world. Go to the jungles of the Amazon or the Mindoro rainforests of the Philippines. At night in the Mindoro rainforests, for a few weeks in the spring, a magical variety of the jade vine blooms. The flowers tumble like tresses, glowing a deep blue-green in the moonlight. The petals, properly brewed, are said to clear the mind and heart. Difficult to cultivate from seed, but he would've liked to try, to wander the moonlit forests and listen to pattering rain in the canopy and mimic the echoing call of the Mindoro hawk-owl. He would've liked to clear his mind and heart.
But that was not the life he'd chosen. His choices chained him to the here and now, and there was no shaking them off.
"Some of you may already know why we've gathered here." The Dark Lord's gaze swept over Lucius and Bellatrix, finally landing on Severus. "If you don't, you will soon enough."
Severus stilled the surface of his mind. But there was a new undercurrent, deep and chilling. It pulled at him until a thought emerged: you made a mistake. You are in danger.
"I've asked a guest to attend." The Dark Lord indicated the hooded figure. Bellatrix released him and stepped away as the floating candles darted forwards, surrounding the figure in a bright circle of flame. The hood and prisoner robes tore away, revealing the uniform of a low-ranking guard. "Please welcome Mister Arlo Boyce." A sweaty man with thinning hair looked up, his gaze darting from one Death Eater to the next.
The name was unfamiliar, but the face struck a ringing blow. It was the guard who'd stood outside Potter's cell.
"I've asked Mister Boyce," the Dark Lord said, "to explain a peculiar mystery to me. I'm afraid he's not been obliging."
Sweat dripped from the guard's forehead. "M'lord, I don't know what you're talking about. I swear I don't."
Nagini wound her way down the throne, towards the guard, curving around the stone railing on one side of the raised platform. Grotesque stone heads capped the balusters, each one in a different state of agony. The one mounted on the post at the foot of the stairs was the face of Charity Burbage, the muggle studies professor. Severus had witnessed her slow and agonizing transformation into stone. Her last look had been directly at him, each knotted line around her eyes and mouth captured forever.
The guard had a similar look now as the Dark Lord eyed him speculatively.
"It took me quite a while to find you, Mr. Boyce. I'd forgotten about you. But Nagini hadn't." He roused himself from his throne, slowly straightening his back until he stood at full height and descended the stairs, watching the snake's progress fondly. "She tracked the scent of the boy all the way to the cell you guarded."
Severus silently sent thanks to his own paranoid nature that he'd cleaned his robes of any scents before arriving.
Nagini's tongue flickered, and the Dark Lord smiled. "She thinks she's going to feed tonight. Tell me, where is the prisoner now?"
Boyce trembled, his eyes wide, his gaze fixed on Nagini, who now slithered around his knees. "My lord, I can't remember, I..." His gaze roved frantically around the room, landing on Severus, then Lucius, then Severus again. "Maybe... Maybe someone..." he struggled with his words, lips working, trying to piece together any semblance of a memory. "Maybe he was transferred to another prison."
The Dark Lord stroked his wand thoughtfully. "Or perhaps he escaped."
Nagini hissed.
"No! No, I wouldn't let anyone escape, my lord." He shook his head fervently, bowing, and the keys on his belt jangled.
A frisson of terror ran down Severus's back. The keys. The key that opened Potter's cell hung there, on its separate ring. He'd spilled his blood on it. And Nagini knew the scent of every Death Eater: the scent of their fear, and the scent of their blood.
Slitted nostrils flared. "I would hope not, Mr. Boyce. Well?" he called out to the assembled Death Eaters. "Tell me, my elite company of dark witches and wizards, my most skilled casters and cursers. How did Harry Potter disappear without a single one of you noticing? Would anyone like to explain? Lucius? You've been a particular disappointment as of late. Perhaps you'd like to redeem yourself."
Lucius Malfoy stepped forwards with his usual haughty posture, but there was a hesitancy in his step. He knelt. "My lord, I have news—"
The Dark Lord's breath quickened. "Of Potter?"
Severus composed himself, giving Lucius a look of mild curiosity. Breaking cover was for cowardly men, and he was no coward. He would hold back his fear and find a way through. He must.
Lucius stopped, his mouth working. "No, my lord, but—"
"I have no interest in your prattling reports. Potter is what you should focus on." He contemplated Lucius. "As if your very life depends on it."
"Of course. But I…" A light shone in Lucius's eyes. "His rebel friends might have broken him out. He might be at their base at this very moment."
The Dark Lord waved the suggestion away. "They would have announced it if they had. Given hope to the mudbloods that their so-called savior has returned."
"They may wait for the right time. It's a possibility, surely?" Lucius had kept his head down, but now risked a glance upwards.
"Perhaps." The Dark Lord drummed his fingers against his lips. Red cracks ran along the nails and the cuticles had blackened. "But such speculation does me no good. I want Potter now."
"My lord, it doesn't need to be speculation. That's my news. The goblins have turned."
Severus's focus narrowed to Lucius's voice. Roughened from fear, but not from deception. He was telling the truth, at least as he knew it.
"Ah, finally. Much more of their neutrality and I would've blasted Gringotts apart. There was one stubborn holdout, wasn't there?"
Severus knew this was an empty threat. Destroying their source of goblin gold—the only type of gold that couldn't be magically replicated—would destroy their economy. Even in his most fevered moments, the Dark Lord understood the need for funds in war.
"Yes. Griphook, my lord. But with enough pressure on his family, he came to his senses. And just a moment ago, the Granger girl signed a transfer, agreeing to the use of archival methods for delivery of funds—"
The Dark Lord stiffened. "Get to the point."
Albus had told Severus about the Dark Lord's impoverished roots. He likely knew very little about Gringotts banking regulations and was loath to admit it.
"Of course, my lord," Lucius said hurriedly. "It means that if the girl isn't present at Gringotts to receive the funds, they will deliver them to her current residence. And to know her current residence, Gringotts is able to trace her to—"
"Their current base." The Dark Lord gazed into the distance, his eyes fixed on a point only he could see. He held out a hand. "You have the location?"
Lucius got to his feet but remained at a half-bow, carefully placing a scrap of parchment into his upturned palm.
He read the fragment and smiled. "A perfect place to end that miserable little rebellion."
They were going to attack the base, and he had no way of warning them. He thought quickly. "My lord, may I suggest sending a few scouts first to see if this base is even real. The goblins have only recently joined our cause. Sending all our forces to a place they suggest—it's a sign of trust they've not yet earned."
"Hmm. What do you think, Lucius? Is it not possible that the goblins are deceiving you? Attempting to lure us into a trap?"
Lucius shot an icy look at Severus and then focused on the Dark Lord. "My lord, if Potter is there, we should attack immediately, before he slips away. We can bring several units of the Dark Guard as well. The rebels are rapidly dwindling. Even if there were a trap, they couldn't hold us."
Dread reached up and grabbed Severus. He'd spent too much time focused on trying to heal Potter and not enough time on his duties as a spy. He should've discovered the turn of the goblins and been informed of the location of the new base. Stopped the leak of information or sent a message to warn them. The tiny resistance was no match for a horde of Death Eaters and several units of the Dark Guard. "My lord, let me go in advance to observe. I'm well versed in detection spells, and can disable any the rebels cast to alert them of our coming."
"I'm also experienced in detection spells," Lucius said smoothly. "At any rate, such spells will do them little good. We'll set anti-apparation barriers before we close in. All the warnings in the world won't help them when they've nowhere to run."
A deft strategy. Severus felt a spike of fear. "My lord—"
"Enough." The Dark Lord raised a hand and turned to Lucius. "Go. Set your barriers and attack. But not our entire force. Surely it's not needed for that feeble band." He listed off half the Death Eaters in the room, but Severus was not among them. "Take your troops and lead the charge. If you do well, then perhaps your family will be redeemed in more ways than one."
Lucius gave a quiet nod, his face flushed with excitement.
"But Lucius… You must bring back Potter alive." His gaze roved the room, landing on each Death Eater. "I want him alive. If he dies…" His hand caressed his own throat. "Anyone who's even indirectly responsible will know tenfold the pain Potter has known."
Silence filled the room. Quietly, Lucius and the assigned Death Eaters shuffled out.
Severus wanted desperately to follow them, but knew that leaving in defiance of the Dark Lord could mean torture or death. But perhaps he could depart soon after them, whilst they were still setting the barriers. He could work against them in the shadows, hobble them, and they'd blame the resistance. He only needed a location.
He'd barely had the thought when the Dark Lord crumpled the scrap of parchment in his fist. Red light flashed through the skin, illuminating grey hand bones. When he opened his palm, powdery ash slipped through his fingers, adding a bitter taste to the air.
"My lord," Severus said, working to keep the misery out of his voice. "The likelihood of Potter being at the base—"
"Oh, I know. That ragged handful of miscreants breaking into the Ministry and stealing Potter? They never managed to do that when they were still a force to be reckoned with." He let out a long sigh. "Potter, however… He's a different matter. I'd forgotten him completely. What power could overcome my own memory? Unless…"
The Dark Lord grew meditative, staring into the distance. It continued for so long that Severus wondered if he'd forgotten the rest of them were there. That had happened a few times of late. He would begin to speak and then fall into silence, sinking into his own thoughts so deeply it seemed as if he would disappear from sight. And the rest of them waited, sometimes for hours, none willing to be the first to leave his presence without permission.
But this time, he roused himself. "We've other matters to attend to. This escape must have some explanation. Bellatrix? What did you find?"
Bellatrix came forwards, her twitching hands reminding Severus of Potter drawing on the magic around him to escape. "My Lord, the memories are gone. I found no sign of…" She frowned, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple. No sign of…"
The Dark Lord growled and slashed the air. Blood spurted from her ear and dribbled down her long neck. She cried out, her eyes wide in confusion.
"No sign of Potter." He pointed at her. "Do not heal it. Let it serve as a reminder."
She nodded fervently. "Potter, of course. His mind magic."
He snorted. "Perhaps I should carve a new Mark. Engrave that wretched name on you and anyone else who forgets."
Her gaze roved the room, full of fear and calculation. It landed on Severus. She'd made it clear that she resented his position in their circle, lowly half-blood that he was. "Mind magic… yes. But there are all kinds of mind magic." She smiled, a jagged thing pulling at her features. "Severus, you are so clever with mind magic. Perhaps you could help us." Her look was sly. "I sometimes get the feeling that you so desperately want to help."
The Dark Lord looked at him curiously. Severus approached and knelt. The guard wheezed near him, his keys frantically rattling.
His face reflected in the black marble floor, calm and thoughtful, not betraying his hammering heart. He shut it out of his thoughts and considered his options. Alive. The Dark Lord wanted Potter alive. Moments of Potter's previous torture flashed, sparks amid the fog of forgetfulness. Had the Dark Lord wanted to keep Potter alive before? He'd directed the torture sessions from his throne or, frequently, close to Potter, his eyes shining, urging them to draw out each step. That had kept Potter alive, too, but they'd all known it was a matter of time before the inevitable.
Potter's new magic had made him valuable again. The Dark Lord didn't know the extent of it, of his ability to alter spells. But the memory spell clearly fascinated him. Forgetting the existence of a person—just as it would be an asset to the resistance, it would be an asset to the Dark Lord. Severus nearly shuddered, thinking of the possibilities. He would be unstoppable.
And Potter. If he were found, it would start again: the tortures, the games, each Death Eater having their turn casting curses, breaking bones, slicing skin. Kept alive while the Dark Lord invaded his mind, probing his secrets. And if by some miracle Severus kept his cover, it would mean taking part in the torture, blotting out whatever tentative humanity still remained inside that feral shell. He knew quite a lot about clinging to meager scraps of humanity.
"Severus?" The Dark Lord inquired.
He only had a moment before the Dark Lord entered his mind. "My lord, I suffered from this magic as well. I'd forgotten Potter's existence until a few days ago. But one morning—"
"The spell—or curse—broke. Yes. I knew you'd be able to fight it. Unlike these simpletons." He swept his arm out at the other Death Eaters, glaring at Bellatrix.
Bellatrix shot a look of fury and frustration at Severus, but quickly switched to babbling apologies at the Dark Lord.
Voluminous black robes swept across the marble floor, the hem brushing Severus's knees. A cold, skeletal hand caressed his throat. His mouth went dry and he swallowed. Elongated nails lightly scratched against his bobbing Adam's apple. The fingers pressed under his chin, and he looked up into crimson irises threaded with black veins.
"But you remember. You're special, Severus. We're so alike. That drew you to me." The Dark Lord smiled, his sharpened teeth glazed in blood. His breath had a cloying scent, like incense and fermented honey. The edge of his nails ran along his jaw and scratched under his chin, like he was a favored pet. "You can bend mind magic to your will. If you don't think Potter is at the base, then find him. Find some clue about his escape. Fight this spell and give me your memories." The cool presence of the Dark Lord prodded at his mind, preparing to enter.
As if by reflex, a familiar eagerness pulled at him. His younger self, so eager to take the Mark. The one who believed that the Dark Lord was the only one who had ever truly seen him, seen the intelligence and skill so ignored or mocked by others. He let this version of himself bloom as his real self faded into the darkness. Yes, the Dark Lord valued him as no one had ever valued him. He yearned to bring Potter before him, to please him. The Dark Lord was a great wizard and to be cherished by him was an honor few could achieve. But Severus had, and he would do everything in his power to keep that regard.
In the darkness, his shadow self trembled, his thoughts as insubstantial as mist, gone before they could be caught. You gullible fool… The Dark Lord is a great man… If I could warn them… The resistance was always doomed to fail, and if they were all killed, it was better than they deserved… I have him, but he is lost. There is no saving him… The Dark Lord gave me a place to belong, and I will be forever grateful… There's no saving any of us… And then a sharp clarity before he receded fully into the locked areas of his mind. He understood what he needed to do, what it was necessary to do. Even if it meant losing another piece of his humanity. He shielded his thoughts, even as he found the will to do what must be done.
"Forgive me, my lord," he said. His voice was raspy, and he worked to smooth it. "I've not been able to locate Potter. It's likely he used this new magic to conceal his whereabouts after his escape."
The crimson gaze bored into his, and the legilimency was like the touch of his cold hand, nails digging into his thoughts, searching through his false memories, and touching on the genuine feeling of how his gut twisted when he saw bitter disappointment in the Dark Lord's face.
"He didn't escape." Boyce shook his head fervently. "I wouldn't let that happen. Maybe there's some way to... a record of..."
The Dark Lord left his mind, and Severus stood quickly, confronting the guard. "Useless cretin. You not only let him escape, you allowed your weak mind to be manipulated. You cannot offer a single memory to aid our search. Sectumsempra!" He slashed his wand downwards, slicing into the guard's arm. Boyce cried out in fear and pain, and Severus dove into his mind, pulling at feelings of anger and violence. They were easy to find and raise to the surface.
Soon the guard's open mouth turned into a snarl. "Accio wand!" The floating wand flew into his hand and he shouted a curse.
Severus deflected it easily, but not until it almost reached him—and nearly grazed the Dark Lord. Hissing between his elongated teeth, he stepped back, nearly stumbling, grabbing onto Severus's shoulder to regain his balance. Several of the Death Eaters gasped.
He noted how little he felt the pull—the Dark Lord was far thinner than he appeared. But he didn't have time to think about it now. He had to finish what he'd started.
"You dare to attack your lord?" He raised his wand again, but felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He turned, half hoping, half dreading. "My lord?"
The Dark Lord nodded his approval and released him. The crimson eyes shimmered in anticipation. "Nagini." His hand lifted into the air, gesturing lazily. "Kill."
Nagini slithered over the glossy floor in the softest of whispers, her scales glimmering in the candlelight. The guard's eyes widened as she approached. He stumbled back and fell, his wand clattering against the stone. Nagini bared her glistening fangs. A hiss rose from her throat, building in power as she moved in.
Severus dared not close his eyes or look away. In his peripheral vision Bellatrix's teeth glinted, her grin wide and slick.
He remembered how the guard tortured the rat, how he took pleasure in the curse. It was cold comfort.
Boyce raised his arms to cover his face. Nagini struck at his belly. Blood erupted, soaking through his grey robes and dripping onto the floor. He howled, clutching himself and curling onto his side. The blood bubbled through his fingers. Nagini slid across his body and sank her fangs into his throat. His howl stopped abruptly. The only sound remaining was the gurgling wheeze of his breath. Then that, too, stopped.
Nagini positioned herself over his head and unhinged her jaws. Boyce's twisted features disappeared inside her gullet. The Dark Lord watched the serpent stretch and fill, enraptured. The Death Eaters stood silently, knowing it was a ceremony not to be interrupted.
Keys jangled as they disappeared inside Nagini. His blood had poured over the key to Potter's cell, obliterating his scent. Any remaining evidence of his guilt disappeared with the body. Soon, nothing remained but a pool of blood and a wand. The Dark Lord gestured, and the wand rose and floated to the wall behind the throne. Stones shifted, and the wand settled into place. The serpent's tail grew longer.
Arlo Boyce. He wished he'd never learned the man's name. Now he would never forget it.
Severus went directly from the Ministry to one of the resistance's emergency drops, leaving a message. Little good that it would do them. Lucius and the others would already be at the base. The resistance had no way to apparate out and no way to fight against those numbers. The Death Eaters would take the purebloods and half-bloods alive, if possible, to be re-educated at the prison camps. The others…
He managed to apparate to the alley across from his house before his roiling thoughts caught up with him. The heavy weight in his gut became too much to bear, and he leaned forwards, vomiting heartily onto the uneven paving stones. His stomach heaved until long after it was empty, and he had to force himself upright and press his shaking hands against a wall to make himself stop.
Gasping for air and tasting bile, he stared at his house across the road. The night's events were nothing he hadn't seen before. He'd been present for many additions to the mosaic in the throne room. But knowing he had lured Boyce to his death, and for what? To protect his sorry soul and the murderous creature in his house?
He wondered if the battle was over, or if the resistance were still fighting for their lives, desperately in need of help. He wondered if the pool of blood on the throne room floor remained. What he didn't wonder was what he could do about it. He knew. Nothing, nothing, nothing. This could be the end of the resistance, and where was he? Encouraging the Dark Lord to kill yet another wizard. It was possible there was no one on the other side left alive and free, except for Potter.
He wanted to shout, but his throat was too raw. Potter. He thought that rescuing him from the dungeons would be a catalyst for change, but everything was the same, if not worse.
He gulped the cool night air. The full moon was slowly sliding behind dark clouds. He thought briefly of the Mindoro rain forests with glowing tresses of flowers, but of course, it wouldn't be dark there. It would be early morning, the sun breaking over the ocean. He wondered if the sun dawned brighter there, if the rains made the leaves shimmer at first light.
He would never know. Here it was dark, and here he would stay, to soldier on and save who he could. He may not be able to help the resistance or even himself, but it was still within his power to help Potter. To reason with the savage thing who would rather gnaw his own leg off than take a healing potion.
And yet… even through Potter's animalistic behavior, there had been signs of intelligence. Mocking him, deceiving him. There must be some way to reach him, some way forwards. And he must find it soon, because something was shattering inside him.
He cast a silencing spell before opening the front door, entering soundlessly. Potter lay motionless on the bed, illuminated only by the glow of moonlight through the window. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and even. He'd emptied the bowl of broth, but the potions remained untouched, still resting on the queen's faded image.
He found it difficult to control his breath as he stared at Potter. What are you? Is there any spark left, or are you simply a creature of instinct striking out before you're struck? Survival at all costs, even if you have nothing left to live for?
His harsh breathing quickened until the world seemed to tilt. With a jerk of his wand, he cast finite incantatum, and the wards around the bed dropped.
Potter stirred, but Severus moved quickly, pinning him to the bed before he could bolt away. His eyes flew open and Severus grasped him by the back of his head, turning his face towards his own. He struggled, but Severus only gripped his head tighter, their faces so close they nearly touched. Potter's breath was sour and hot, but Severus fixed on his eyes, staring into his widened pupils as if falling into a dark well. He focused on one word: legilimens.
He searched Potter's mind hungrily for memories, thoughts, even feelings. Some semblance of humanity. But he found himself lost in murky emptiness, the only sign of life a dim pulse of panic and hatred.
Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Why had he expected anything else? He laughed, a strangled sound that died quickly in the dark room.
Clouds shrouded the moon, and Potter's eyes were no longer visible in the dim light—just another gathering of shadows in the hollows of his face. He withdrew from his mind and loosened his grip. Let Potter escape. Let Potter kill him. What did it matter?
The throne room welled up again, despite his desire for a reprieve. As if for the first time, he felt the icy touch of the Dark Lord's hand. He tried to push the sensation away, but couldn't. The mosaic of bones and wands cracked and reformed in his mind, the serpent staring at him. Keys rattled and Boyce screamed. The wet creak of stretching flesh filled the quiet throne room as Nagini swallowed him whole. Her slick glottis whistled thinly as she sighed in satisfaction. Don't look away. To look away shows weakness. But that was when others were watching. He blotted out the image, but it returned, again and again. The mosaic serpent hissed a chant in Parseltongue. Green eyes bored into him.
Green eyes…
Severus started, aware of his surroundings again. Potter was still staring at him. Not at his hands, but directly in his eyes. He grabbed Potter by the back of the head again, wrapping his other hand over the shadows where his eyes would be. Potter jerked in the grip, gasping. With the break in eye contact, the memory faded away, and he was fully back in the present.
He made sure his occlumency shields were in place before removing his hands. But Potter twisted his head away, refusing to look in his eyes now.
"You saw." Impossible. He would have sensed Potter. Unless Potter hid in plain sight, even in his mind. "You know legilimency?"
Potter shook his head, revealing a flash of the whites of his eyes. A strange sound emerged from his mouth, something between choking and growling. He looked away and balled the sheets in his fists.
Severus couldn't help but marvel. Such an instinctual talent for magic. The Dark Lord had used legilimency on Potter many times in the throne room. He said it amused him to explore the most painful moments of the boy's pathetic life. He would feed him a glowing emerald potion—the drink of despair, he called it—and stare into the boy's eyes, sometimes for hours, so intent that the muscles of his face went lax, spittle dribbling onto Potter's frozen body.
Potter's magic could draw on the spells of others. He could explore the magic cast on him and twist it to his own ends, perhaps even learning—
"Occulmency." He looked at Potter for confirmation, but only received an uncomprehending stare in return. Of course Potter wouldn't know the names of spells in mind magic. No one had ever given him lessons in such things. But lessons wouldn't have taught him to hide every thought. There were no false memories, no misdirection. Simply… nothing.
The misdirection used in occlumency was not simply to fool a legilimens. It was a practicality. Few occlumens could hold back all thoughts. It would take incredibly strong mental walls. He'd only read about one case: a wizard suffering from schizophrenia who used it to hold back the voices in his head. He wondered what thoughts Potter so desperately wanted to keep in check.
There must be something, even if he could not observe it. An animal did not practice mind magic. He tried to grasp onto that, to give him something to face whatever news came from tonight's battle, to endure whatever he had to do next. But it wasn't enough.
He knelt by the bed. "I need some sign. Can you understand that? I need..." But he felt lost, unable to explain himself. He'd kept his barricades well tended, a fortress against any incursion into his true self. But at this moment, he felt not strong but calcified, cemented in place and unable to move. He wanted so desperately to move.
He grabbed Potter's hand. Potter jerked back, inhaling harshly, but he held firm. "Wait." Perhaps it was the gentleness in his voice—a novel experience for them both—but Potter stilled. He pulled Potter's hand up to his cheek, locking their gazes. "Look." For the first time in a long time, he willingly let a wall fracture. A mere crack, letting in the thinnest sliver of light. It illuminated the moment when he lied to the Dark Lord about Potter's whereabouts. It was only a moment, but if Potter had any sense left, he would understand the risk he'd taken.
Potter nodded and broke away, pulling the levitating tray closer. He pushed something towards him. A Stitcher's Inn tumbler, half-filled with the dark magic diminisher. Potter held another cup, also half-filled with the potion. He motioned at the cups and the two of them, getting his intention across clearly: If you drink, I'll drink.
"I'm not the one infected with dark curses," Severus began, but stopped. The occlumency had been the first sign of a working mind inside Potter, but this was something else. Not quite trust, but perhaps an opportunity for something new.
He took the cup, running his thumb along the rim. With no curses to cure, the potion would have no effect on him. And if this is what it took to break through… He raised the cup and drank.
Potter drew back and watched him, the shadows so deep that only the glint of his eyes appeared in the depths. He raised his own cup and drank.
Severus closed his eyes, and imagined that he could see the potion working, removing a bit of dark magic from Potter. And then he imagined the potion working in him, too, finding some way to remove a darkness that had no name. He laughed, a genuine laugh, and raised his empty cup to Potter. "Cheers."