31 December, 1997 23:45
Severus Snape regarded the image of Albus Dumbledore as his former employer and sweets pusher, now murder victim, asked for proof that he knew how to handle the Potter situation. He felt at once ridiculous and nettled that a bit of magic-imbued gesso, pigment, and linseed oil could still reduce him to a pubescent state of sullen defensiveness. Severus flicked his wand, a bit harder than he should have, and said the incantation that would reveal his heart’s folly to said former employer/murder victim. The symbol of his weakness scampered around the room, gracefully clearing the leather chair that now sat in the area in front of the fireplace. It was the only article of comfort that Severus had deigned to retrieve from his former subterranean residence of the castle. The chair had been purchased from the Evans’ estate through a discreet third party. It served as his last physical link to Lily.
As the luminous spell slid out into the night and dissipated on the wind that wailed just outside the windows, Albus asked in some emotion bordering on awe, “After all these years, Severus?”
Severus turned from the painting, feeling the leaden weight of the portrait’s eyes on his back. He merely answered, “Always.”
Severus said the word as he knew he should, but it echoed hollowly in his mind. Once again, he had the feeling of watching himself as from a great distance and being inside himself at the same time. It was a strange sense of déjà vu that had plagued him since that afternoon on the Astronomy tower. He shook his hand, the one that held his wand, sending sparks across the room. Albus asked, “What is it, Severus?”
Snape answered, his voice tight, his expression closed, “Nothing, Albus.”
“I see.” Albus’ knowing tone grated on Severus’ nerves as it always had, but tonight it felt as if his irritation was swathed in cotton wool.
Alarm seeped through him at the change. He said, “It seems...” Severus stopped himself. Showing weakness was not his way. The thought of turning to anyone with his concerns had been beaten out of him by the end of his fifth year as a student of the institution he served now. He heard the portrait inhale as if to speak and Severus rushed to fill the void. “It’s nothing, Albus. I simply need some Pepper Up Potion.”
“Well, take it so that you can be on your way. Time is of the essence on this matter, Severus.” Albus answered even as Severus rolled his eyes in a manner he had not done since he was fifteen. Once he had located the potion, taken it, and gathered the things he needed for his journey, he swept from the room without a backward glance at the portrait. If he had taken a moment to look, he might have seen the satisfied smirk on Albus Dumbledore’s face, and wondered why it was there.
31 December, 1997, 23:55
Ron Weasley moved restlessly against Hannah Abbott, his sleep disturbed by a vision of dark water and the blackest magic. He began to stir as if to wake, but was soothed by the silvery hand of his former Headmaster, now meddlesome ghost. Miss Abbot slept on beside Mr. Weasley, her hand clutching at the sparse hair on the boy’s chest as she fought off her own dreamtime demons. Albus wished he could spare them the pain that they were about to endure, but would willingly sacrifice their immediate happiness and well-being for the bigger picture, the Greater Good as he used to say whilst he still lived. Mr. Weasley mumbled in his sleep and turned over on his side away from his companion’s warmth, a scowl marring his brow and drawing down his lips. Yes, Albus acknowledged, all was not well, but the young people would only find out later. Albus would guard them in their sleep this one important night, the night that he had chosen to launch his latest reclamation project.
31 December, 1997, 23:57
Harry didn’t know what woke him, but he was suddenly awake laying in the suffocating quiet of the tent listening to the faint rustle of snow falling from the trees onto the tent roof. He felt fully alert and energised, not the type of waking that would allow him to nestle back into his covers and sleep some more, even though he was physically exhausted. He stifled a low moan as he swung his legs over the side of the camp bed that he had retreated to after a tense dinner with Hermione, and stuffed his already sock-clad feet into the boots he had purchased a few days ago in a Muggle town not far from their campsite. He shivered at the chill of the leather against his feet and cursed softly under his breath as he heard Hermione moan. Searching for his glasses brought him into contact with the vial of Dreamless Sleep he kept by his bed, in case he was visited by another vision of V—Him, the Great Arse Who Didn’t Deserve a Name. He shoved the bottle aside and latched onto the glasses, hooking them over his ears deftly.
He rose and went to the front of the tent to see if the small snowstorm that had blown in earlier had abated yet, and was arrested by the site of a silvery doe disappearing into the woods. He grabbed Hermione’s lightweight skiing anorak and pulled it on over his Weasley jumper as he slid his wand into the holder that Ron had made for him a few years ago as a gift. He felt only a fleeting sense of remorse at the thought of his friend and what had occurred that afternoon, before it was replaced by dull anger, a more familiar and manageable emotion to Harry in his late night forays. Once outside the tent, he saw a faint glow as the deer peeked her head around a tree, as if she were daring him to follow. He smirked, hoping that whatever the glowing figure was trying to guide him to would be worth the battle through the snow he would have to wage to reach it. He said with a mirthless chuckle, “I’m coming, girl.”
1 January, 1998, 00:01
Were it up to Severus’ sole discretion, he would allow Potter to drown and let Weasley deal with the repercussions. Damn the hothead, letting his pride do his thinking whilst there was a war going on about him! He kicked Potter’s discarded Muggle coat and the jumper of the Weasley variety that lay in the snow beside the pond, scattering them across as he attempted to calm his mind. His position was too important for him to be involved in this little play which Albus had set up. A bubble broke the icy surface of the water and then two more before he made his decision.
Severus shrugged out of his cloak, cursing himself for his own insistence on wearing his Death Eater garb on this particular mission. It wasn’t as if he expected to run into Snatchers on this evening. The Dark Lord might insist on constant attention to duty, but New Year’s Eve was an evening for revelry, and not the kind his more bloody-minded brethren might like to commit. A well placed stash of spirits was all Severus had needed to ensure that the patrols in the area were otherwise occupied whilst he completed his duty for the Order. Once out of the encumbering robes, Severus looked about once again, hoping that Weasley, by some miracle, would pull his head out of his arse and appear for what Albus needed him to do. When Severus was sure he could wait no longer, he dove into the frigid water, floundering in the murky darkness for the slight figure of one Harry Potter and the elusive Gryffindor sword.
He reached the bottom, nearly panicking as he lost his bearings when the boy thrashed against the magic enhanced weight of the locket. Severus reached for and found the sword and cut the locket from the boy’s neck as Potter sagged after one last kick. Severus pulled the boy to him, praying to whatever careless gods watched over them that his abominable luck would give way and Potter would live long enough for him to get them both to the surface. The locket, which Severus, somehow clutched in his hand still, whispered in his blood of his failure, his treachery, of his murderous past, present, and near future. As much as Severus tried to Occlude, he could still feel the torn portion of his soul reaching towards it. How easy it would be to give into the siren’s call that seeped from the metal to stop the haemorrhage of painful memories.
He felt sickened and alarmingly elated by the thought of willingly coming into contact with such vile magic. With what manner of magic had Albus armed this boy? And of what benefit could the foul, oily, tainted magic be to the Order? Severus cursed Albus for his Chinese puzzle box handling of his last year. Severus should have been allowed to at least know what the boy and his meddlesome friends were up to...
Severus broke through the frigid water, dragging the boy’s head above the surface as he paddled toward the edge of the pond, the sword slapping loudly on the ice as he reached the goal. He pulled them both free; his own teeth chattering as he lost the small insulation of the water and the slight breeze of the night seemed to cut through him. He knew the effects of the chill would be trebled in Potter’s small, malnourished frame. He leaned over the boy’s body, his lips unable to form the words to enervate him. He pressed a knuckle into the boy’s chest, rubbing along the sternum, hoping the pain would bring him to consciousness so that Severus could leave without having to reveal himself to the boy. It did, and Potter coughed weakly before a spasm hit him and he retched and coughed the black, frigid water from his lungs, nose, and gut. Severus flung the sword weakly aside as he fumbled with numb fingers for his robe and cloak. He threw the robes over the still convulsing Potter and drew his cloak around his own shoulders; he laid the locket to the side, glad to be away from the Darkness. He rose to slip back into the welcoming cover of the trees, hoping that Potter would not realise who had saved his worthless arse again.
“S-uh-s-nape,” Potter said, “S-s-stab it.”
Severus recoiled from the boy and Potter grabbed his ankle, a weak gesture, but commanding in its intensity. “T-t-the l-locket. Vol---Tom R-r-riddle’s H-hor-crux. K-kill it.”
Severus spun around, understanding enveloping him in the horror of what he had held. He grabbed the sword, lifting it over the locket even as it began whispering of his betrayal of Lily, and his unworthiness, saying that hated name from the schoolyard over and over.
He was and always would be Snivellus, the pathetic, ugly son of a Muggle... not good enough for Slytherin, not good enough for Her...Tobias’ work ravaged hands spun him around to belt him for living, to beat the magic out of him, the one thing that gave the son power over the father... The image of Tobias was rapidly replaced by one of Lily’s body lying still and cold on the cement slab of an undertaker, her hands crossed over her chest, and in that nightmare way of his worst dreams, her eyes opened. He was transfixed by the lack of life in them. The emerald green that he had so loved had a film of white over the iris. She raised her livid hand and caressed his cheek with her dead flesh, her only word an obscene hiss of his name...He felt his jaw open in a tendon-popping scream as she kissed him with dead lips before she drew away and the many faces of the innocent, the not-so-innocent, and the very guilty who had died by his hand... For the greater good! The Dark Lord hissed with Albus’ face... Severus would soldier on and die an ignominious death, lost, alone, betrayed as he had betrayed everyone and everything he ever touched...
He felt the tears on his face, alien and warm against his frigid skin, breaking his frozen heart with the agony of losing her once again due to his hubris. He raised the sword over his head, a pure, blue light encompassing him as he did, and dropped the point into the locket, killing the one creature that had betrayed him the worst as the locket morphed into his beating heart, his body, his very soul. He vaguely thought he screamed her name as the vile power escaped the locket. He knew if he had made the pronouncement it might have betrayed his love for her, but he no longer cared. She was dead and he still lived. That was his punishment.
As he dropped the sword from nerveless fingers, an unearthly scream rent the air, splitting the silence of the clearing with a noxious sort of music. It was a Dark atonal symphony, yet to the ear attuned to it, seductive in its clashing harmonies. Severus vomited, the putrid fluids spewing from his mouth, defiling the once pristine soil. He had followed the mad creature that had made that abomination, blithely, unknowingly, happily for a short time. Tears leaked heedlessly from his eyes as he covered his face with his hands. He had never been a good person, never good enough for her... never for Lily...
He felt Potter’s slim hand on the back of his neck and then his youthful arms encircle his shoulders. “It’s okay, s-s-sir. It’s gone now. Y-you have to get up before we‘re discovered“
1 January, 1998, 00:07
Hermione followed Harry’s clear tracks to the pond, wand drawn. Something was terribly wrong; she hadn’t needed to hear the screech of whatever creature it was that died to know. She could feel the crackling blackness of foul magic against her skin and in her heart. She took small breaths through her mouth as if that would keep whatever it was from contaminating her. It spilled around her like blood in water and she shivered at the thought before she gathered Harry’s cloak around her and began following his tracks.
She entered a clearing by a pond and drew her wand as she noticed the black figure lying in it. The dark shape rose, becoming two figures one small and easily recognisable as Harry with his unruly hair, the other taller. Hermione almost cried out in recognition as she thought that Ron might have returned, until the taller man raised his face to the moon, revealing the hatchet-like features of Severus Snape. She cast wordlessly before she thought, disarming him and shooting him back a few feet in the air. A tree caught him and his head connected with the trunk with a resounding thunk! He slid bonelessly to the snowy leaf litter and did not move. She cast a full body bind on him and only realised that Harry was saying something rather frantically to her once she ensured that they were both protected from Snape.
“Bloody hell, Hermione!” He shouted as he drew abreast of her, clutching black robes that were obviously Snape’s about his shoulders. He shook her by her upper arms, whipping her head back as he did. “Are you in there?”
“Of course, I am, Harry,” Hermione snapped as she pulled out of his grasp. She began struggling through the snow to Snape’s supine body. “What do you want to do with him? We obviously can’t let him go now that he knows...”
Harry retrieved his wand from beside the pond and cast a drying charm on both himself and Snape. “I don’t think... We need to get him back to the tent. He has some explaining to do...”
“What?” Hermione nearly screeched the word. She hated that about herself, that tendency she had to turn into a fishwife when she was surprised by something. A scowl darkened Harry’s features before she could moderate her tone. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose just as her mother’s yoga instructor had taught her. Once she felt reasonably in control, she asked, “Didn’t you tell us all that he killed Professor Dumbledore in front of you?”
“I did, but...” Harry began, but stopped as he fidgeted with something in the cloak he wore.
“What’s changed since then, Harry? Has he suddenly decided to switch sides again?” Hermione felt the same bitter betrayal that she had felt when Harry first told them of Snape’s treachery. It seemed to choke her. She had defended Snape to Harry and Ron!
Hermione barely controlled the impulse to stamp her foot and start shouting her frustration. She hated not knowing, not being sure of the situation. She was tired of flying by the seat of her pants, making things up as she went. It just wasn’t her way. Everything needed careful consideration before she was willing to rush off pell-mell in a new direction. That was her role in their friendship and she felt odd not using her intellect to make a decision. “Do you honestly think we can trust him?”
She turned to face Harry, irritation at him, Ron, Snape and the situation spilling over as she grabbed the piece of paper that he held out of his hands. She dashed it to the ground. “Harry, please, this isn’t the time to mess about. We need to make a decision about this situation.”
“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Harry scrabbled after scrap catching it before it was soaked by the snow. Snape moved his head and moaned and Hermione looked his for a moment but Harry shoved the paper under her nose. “Look! Snape said some things when he destroyed the Horcrux... and V- you know... he was taunting Snape with how my mother never loved him... that he wasn’t good enough for her...” Harry lowered his gaze to Snape’s apparently unconscious form, his next words coming out in a whisper, “I think Snape was... in love with my mum, Hermione. Maybe there’s more to his story than we know, and maybe more to his and Dumbledore’s story than what I saw that night. I mean... I feel like I know that I’m right about him now, like... I’ve seen this film of his life... I’m just sure I’m right about this.”
“Just as you were sure he was evil so many times before, Harry.” Hermione was unsettled by the entire situation and expressed it with a compression of her lips and her brows drawn together. “Fine, we’ll take him back with us, but how will we know if he’s telling the truth? I can’t whip up a batch of Veritaserum on the fly, and even if I could, he probably has some way to counteract it.”
Harry rocked back on his heels, a small smile playing about his lips as he said, “He drew the Gryffindor sword. Dumbledore told me that only a true Gryffindor could do that. I think we’re just going to have to take him at his word on this one, as much as you—and I-- don’t like it.”
“How touching that you have so much faith in me, Potter,” Snape drawled, his voice rougher than it normally was. “But could you please remove the restraints and allow me to walk to my interrogation under my own power? I seem to remember having several contusions after the last time you knocked me out after I attempted to save you both from a slavering werewolf. I would prefer to avoid having to visit Madam Pomfrey when I return to my post. She is rather irritated with me at the moment. I’m sure you understand why.”
“If you return there at all,” Hermione muttered darkly before releasing his bonds and thrusting her wand in his face. “You’ll walk between us so we can keep an eye on you...” At Snape’s uplifted brow, she added grudgingly, “Sir.”
Harry muttered something that Hermione couldn’t quite hear, and she shot him a venomous look, but said nothing in return. She thought it might look bad if she and Harry started fighting whilst they held Snape prisoner. And besides, she didn’t feel up to one of Snape’s scathing commentaries on their deficiencies. It was late, she was tired and continually hungry, and she just wanted to get this over so she could attempt to get back to sleep.
Not that she thought that would happen after they interrogated their former professor.
1 January, 1998, 00:24
Severus sat on the chair which Granger indicated with a jerk of her bushy head before she bustled away. The girl had lost the pudgy, swotty look she’d had the last time he had seen her. Both she and Potter were haggard, thin to the point of emaciation, and older than they should have been in such a short time. Potter leaned on a pole in the middle of the tent his gaze on Granger, his hair flattened out by the weight of it. It hung in shaggy waves about his face. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, revealing dark circles under them. When he looked up just before putting the glasses back on his face, Severus was struck by how much his features had changed. He was still a handsome child, just like his father had been, but unlike the older Potter, there was none of the sneering arrogance that Severus had always seen before. What arrested Severus’ attention, were the boy’s eyes. They were so like Lily’s, but not just in colour. Severus, in that one gaze finally saw the compassion and intelligence in them that the boy had obviously inherited from Lily. Suddenly, Severus was shamed by his constant belittling of Potter through the years of their acquaintanceship.
And then the Merlin be-damned boy opened his mouth.
“So, you and my mum...”
Severus said through clenched teeth, “That information is outside the scope of your ‘need to know,’ Potter.”
The boy looked rebellious for a moment, but finally shrugged. “Okay.”
Severus waited for the beat of a heart before he held out his hand. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Potter’s vapid look was one that Severus was sure the boy had invented just to vex him. Potter stared at him for a moment before shrugging out of the borrowed robes. “Yeah, I suppose you do need these. Sorry if they’re still a little damp. I can’t do drying spells as well as Hermione.”
Snape took the robes and set them carefully aside with a small sneer, before he returned to his original hand-out position. “The photo, Potter.”
The boy shot him a smirk, reconfiguring his facial features to the more loathsome ones to which Severus was accustomed. “I think that belongs to Sirius, and as his heir, to me. I found the other half at Grimmauld Place.”
Severus stood abruptly, knocking the chair back in his haste to get to Potter and throttle him. Potter smirked. “It’s in the pocket you had it in. I didn’t keep it.”
Granger returned with a pot of tea and some cups. She steadfastly ignored Severus as she set down the tray. “Sorry, no milk, Harry, but at least it's warm. You must be freezing.”
Potter blushed as the girl passed a cup to him and his fingers brushed hers. Severus noted with mild amusement that the girl avoided Potter’s eyes, but when Potter looked away her own gaze lingered on him, as a lover might. He was certain there was something between the two, though it surprised him. The Weasley girl seemed exceedingly devoted to Potter even now, and Albus had mentioned something in passing about Granger and the youngest Weasley boy. What an interesting little quadrangle that would make, if Severus was correct about these two. He picked up his cup to hide his knowing smirk as Granger began her rapid fire interrogation of him.
He answered to the best of his ability without divulging anything the Dark Lord would find damning. He would not appease the curiosity of the swot at the risk of his own neck. He spoke in riddles and half-said truths, all the while watching Potter’s temper raise its impatient head. After only a few moments, the boy broke in, “You can quit talking like some James Bond film and give us the information we need, Snape. It won’t go outside the walls of this tent.”
“But it will be rattling about that empty head of yours, Potter,” Snape scoffed. “And when the Dark Lord once again gains access to that lump of clay which you call a mind, the situation will become extremely unpleasant for all concerned. Most especially me.”
“Try me,” Potter stood, putting his cup away from him and tossing Severus his slim, dark wand over Granger’s always too strident objections. “Try Legillimancy with me.”
Severus merely huffed. “You expect me to believe that you have mastered Occlumency whilst on the run, even though you refused to work on the skill when you were under my tutelage? Please, Potter, tell me another fairy story.”
“Try... Me...” Potter took a step towards Severus, fists clenched and jaw jutting, reminding the older man forcefully of Lily when she would fight with the unholy quartet over their treatment of him. His heart flickered with remorse again, but he discarded the emotion as extraneous to the situation.
“Very well, embarrass yourself once again, and in front of Miss Granger this time. It’s of no consequence to me.” Severus gave a half-hearted flick of his wand, casting the spell nonverbally. He was met with mundane images of Potter’s life before the last year. Nothing surfaced at his more insistent battering, merely images that were put in place for Severus to see. He pushed harder and was rewarded with a backlash so strong, it broke the contact and left him panting and Potter rubbing his temples. After thick moments of silence, Severus asked, “When did you...?”
The Granger girl had risen and stood between the two men, her mouth gaping open as her shrill voice joined the fray. “Harry?”
“I woke up this morning, knowing how to do it.” Potter said hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know how or why, but I just can. It feels like I studied it... a long time ago, but when I was older... I know that doesn’t make sense, but I feel like I just remembered how to do it or something. I’ve been feeling that way about a lot of things today.” Potter’s eyes cut towards Granger and then skittered back to Severus.
Severus had scooted forward at the boy’s words, his heart hammering. He’d had that feeling too. He said, “You feel as if you are in a memory, but there are new possibilities.”
“Yeah, that’s what I feel.” Potter shivered. “How did you know?”
“It sounds like... Harry, do you remember the feeling you had when we went back to save Sirius?” Severus snorted and rolled his eyes as Granger said, “Because you and Professor Snape have obviously been feeling the same way that we felt then. I think... I think someone or something has been... twisting the timeline for you two or something.”
Severus scoffed even as he acknowledged to himself that Granger might be correct. He would need to know who was behind this strangeness and to what end before he acted further on the knowledge. He pulled his robes from the back of the chair and donned them.
Granger asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To my demise, Miss Granger, if you do not let me return to Hogwarts,” Severus answered. “You have all the information from me that I am willing to divulge at this time. I shall be in contact with you.”
The girl raised her wand once again even as Potter moved to stop her. Severus whirled on her, catching her under the chin with his own wand, his nose scant millimetres from her cheek. He was so close he could feel the erratic tumult of her pulse and could smell the faintly acrid tea on her breath. “Do not draw your wand on me again, Miss Granger. If you do, there will be consequences.”
Granger fought against him, but stilled as Potter said as he attempted to pull her out of Severus’ grasp, “Don’t threaten her. She’s not done anything that you wouldn’t have for one of your friends.”
Severus relaxed slightly, letting the coil of magic subside as he cleared his mind. He pushed her away letting her stumble against Potter as he retorted bitterly, “I have betrayed all those that I called friend at one time or other. Do not presume to think you know anything about me because you caught a glimpse of something that was none of your damned business in the first place.”
With those words, he strode to the tent flap, lifting it and peering out at the wintry scene before him. “You have Phineas Nigellus’ portrait. You may relay any messages you might have for me through him.”
Snape stepped outside the tent and then Apparated away. There was a portrait with which he needed to talk. If any being would know what was going on, it would be Albus.