Erebus started making odd grumbling noises and McGonagall snickered. Snape realized only then that he had been muttering under his breath and was now being mocked by his familiar. Even Flitwick and Sprout were smiling, though they, at least, were polite enough to attempt to hide their mirth.
"Very funny," he said, tapping the bird lightly on the beak. Erebus laughed and subsided, though through their bond Snape could feel the smug pleasure Erebus felt at his antics.
He chose a seat next to McGonagall, Erebus stepping off of Snape's shoulder to perch on the chair's high back as he did so, and let the banter of the other professors wash over him. Not wishing to engage in the polite inanities of meaningless small talk, Snape pulled out the book he always kept in his robes as protection against just this sort of awkward situation and began reading about the latest methods in detecting and safely dispatching curses on objects.
"Ah, good, you're all here."
Snape had not seen Dumbledore enter the room, and it was only his surprise that stopped the sharp, "because we were on time and you were five minutes late," on the tip of his tongue from slipping out. That would have ensured the meeting would get off to an acrimonious start and while Snape might not always see eye to eye with the headmaster of late, that did not mean he was foolish enough to antagonize the powerful wizard without good reason.
"I apologize for interrupting your summer holidays, but I believe it is imperative that we act at once. As you know, I have involved some outside help in searching for our missing Mr. Potter."
Snape refrained from rolling his eyes at the euphemism. 'Outside help' was code for members of the Order of the Phoenix. Flitwick and Sprout were not members and Dumbledore had, in one of his periodic bouts of illogic (or logic he did not care to explain to others, at the very least), decided that they were trustworthy enough to know that Harry Potter was missing and aid in the search for the child, but not trustworthy enough to speak to about the Order. Ridiculous.
"I have good reason to believe that he has been found!" Dumbledore announced, clapping his hands together.
Sprout, to Snape's secret disgust, looked thrilled, and Flitwick squeaked in excitement. McGonagall, however, met Snape's skeptical gaze with one of her own. They had both been sent on too many missions where there was "good reason to believe" that Harry Potter had been located at last. The last time he had been sent out—about eight months ago now—was thanks to a tip received from Mundungus Fletcher. Fletcher, of all people, whom Snape would not trust to tell him the color of the sky on a sunny day, and yet the headmaster considered his word good enough to warrant Snape losing an entire weekend right before the end of term!
As no one else seemed inclined to ask questions, Snape took up the task, speaking with as neutral a tone as he could muster through his wariness. "And what do you require of us?"
"To the point as always, Severus," Dumbledore said, beaming and twinkling at him.
The ache in his jaw made Snape aware of just how tightly his teeth were clenched and he carefully unclenched them. The headmaster's misplaced cheerfulness was bringing out a strong desire to hex the man into next month. Snape settled instead for gripping the arm of his chair; it kept him from reaching for his wand.
While Snape had been mastering his roiling emotions, Dumbledore had continued to speak, "…you both to join me as we do not know how difficult it will be to extract him from the situation." He must have been addressing McGonagall and Sprout, because both witches nodded. "Now, Filius and Severus, I will need you to sort out things with the Dursleys."
Snape leaned forward, irritation momentarily forgotten. The day was suddenly looking much brighter. If the boy had indeed been found, Snape would at last be able to visit justice upon the cretins. Half-made plans that he had amused himself with over the last four years presented themselves for consideration as his lips rose into an anticipatory smirk. "Do you wish to eventually hand them over to the aurors, or shall we sort things out more…informally?"
"Oh, I don't think we'll need the aurors for this. Just ensure that they treat our Mr. Potter more equitably from now on. There are a number of suitable and creative spells to chose from, but do take care to avoid anything that causes irreparable harm."
It was doubtful that a single person in the room could have failed to hear the click of Snape's jaw snapping shut against the furious words that threatened to burst forth. Merlin help him, Dumbledore intended to return the child to his abusers! He had suspected the possibility, but always had hoped that he was being overly cynical in his view of the headmaster. There was no way on Gaia's green earth that he would stand back and allow this to happen. He took a deep breath, determined not be the first in this altercation to raise his voice, but the effort involved in maintaining his restraint made his head ache. And his hand too. He looked down to see that despite his best efforts his wand had found its way into his hand, and his knuckles were white with the force of his grip.
Meanwhile, despite his silence, the conversation had grown heated. McGonagall, it seemed, took Snape's view of things, although the words were echoing as though they were rising from the depths of the Black Lake making the conversation difficult to parse. From what he did manage to make out, McGonagall was arguing that it was abhorrent to put Harry back in the care of his family. Dumbledore for his part was waving aside her arguments as he always did whenever presented with information that he did not wish to acknowledge.
That damn dismissive tone, the one that implied that of course Dumbledore knew best and that he was willing to indulge you by listening to your concerns, but he did not find them meaningful. Snape hated being patronized and he lost the thread of the conversation again as his ire rose another degree.
The shock of Erebus joining the argument cleared his mind enough to focus once again. "Dunderhead Dumbledore! Detention! Fifty points from Hufflepuff!" This was followed by a series of ear-splitting wordless shrieks.
Snape agreed with the sentiment, but reached out a hand to calm the parrot all the same. Erebus was furious, and it took some minutes for him to settle, minutes during which Snape attempted to use their bond—which communicated magic and emotions well enough but was not robust enough to transmit words or ideas—to communicate his intentions to handle the situation. Despite having ceased his screams, Erebus's body language remained aggressive, and Snape rather thought anybody reaching out right now was in danger of losing a finger to that wicked beak.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said when the bird had subsided and then turned back to McGonagall. "It is the best place for him," he said.
"Have you been kicked in the head by a hippogriff? Their lack of care was criminal and you must have lost your senses to expose him to such abuse again."
"Not at all," Dumbeldore assured her, his eyes twinkling still. "That is precisely what Severus and Filius are to prevent. There are precautions we can take, charms that will prevent them from harming him."
"Yes, and physical abuse is the only kind worth worrying about. It is of little matter if they ignore his very presence." Snape's eyebrow rose. It took a lot to inspire McGonagall to the level of sarcasm she was currently exhibiting. "That home is not a fitting location," she insisted
"You speak of his emotions, Minerva. I speak of his very life. Petunia's home is the only location for him."
Snape understood then with dreadful certainty that Dumbledore would not be moved on this topic. It was not unexpected, but there had still been a flicker of hope that reason and duty would win the day.
The anger that was still boiling within him became laced with deep sadness that clenched at his heart. Sadness for Potter, yes, but also for his own loss of respect for his erstwhile protector and mentor. His shoulders slumped and he sank more deeply into his chair feeling cut adrift and directionless. For all that he had been at odds with the headmaster several times over the last few years, he had still respected the man. Dumbledore had taken a great chance in accepting Snape into The Order, and Snape had felt obligated to repay that great debt.
However, he could feel no loyalty to a man who would forsake a child in this manner. He had hoped it would not come to this, but as persuasive argument seemed doomed to failure he would take a more aggressive tack.
"…be perfectly safe," Dumbledore was saying.
Gathering his anger around him like a cloak, Snape stood. "No," he said, allowing magic to suffuse the word so that, despite its lack in volume, the portraits on the walls rattled in their frames.
He felt the eyes of his fellow heads of house on him but ignored them, keeping his attention fixed on Dumbledore. The older man had not managed to completely mask his surprise, Snape was gratified to see. And he had drawn his wand. Now that was interesting. Not even when he had been a Death Eater and had arrived uninvited to Hogwarts had the headmaster felt Snape was enough of a threat to require his wand be unsheathed. That had apparently changed today, like so many other things.
"Harry Potter will not be returned to the Dursleys."
"That is not your decision to make, Severus." No twinkle, no smile accompanied those words. No, they were spoken in a tone edged with ice and steel.
"And I suppose you believe it is yours? Perhaps it was at one time, but no more. The welfare of a child is a sacred trust, and you have forsaken your duty."
There was a gasp to his left—Sprout, probably—and Flitwick was muttering something under his breath, but Snape had a driving need to continue. He took a breath, but Dumbledore spoke first.
"I advise you to consider your next words with extreme caution."
Snape could count on one hand the number of times he had been witness to Dumbledore as angry as he was now. The thrumming of magic he felt against his skin as the headmaster's temper stirred was frankly terrifying, and Snape fought to suppress a flinch with moderate success. Any magical battle between them would lead to his defeat, Snape knew, but he could not retreat now.
"I will not abandon the child, though it leaves us at odds. Should you attempt to return Harry Potter to the Dursleys, or to place him in any home that I deem unsuitable, I will oppose you with every fiber of my being, even unto my last breath."
Dumbledore's power again flared painfully, but the sensation ceased a moment later, replaced with the warmth of Erebus's magic flowing through him. Though it did not happen often, Snape was familiar with the sensation and merged their magics together seamlessly. Then, with the full weight of their combined resolution, he met Dumbledore's gaze. This time it was the headmaster who could not quite suppress a flinch.
"From this day forth, Harry Potter is under my protection. Choose your actions accordingly."
Snape shook his head, the flagstones of the floor swimming slowly into focus. How had he come to be on his knees staring at the flagstones? There was the sound of a footstep nearby and he tightened his grip on his wand, turning his gaze up to find Dumbledore standing over him with a dangerous look on his face. When had that happened? The headmaster had been halfway across the room.
Keeping Dumbledore in his peripheral vision, Snape took stock of the situation. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were all more or less where he remembered they had been standing, so he could not have lost too much time. Erebus had moved from the back of the chair he had been perched on to its seat and was looking somewhat dazed.
Snape drew in a sharp breath. Whatever had incapacitated him could have affected Erebus as well given that their magics had been intertwined at the time. If it had felled him, how had Erebus been affected? He needed to check on the wellbeing of his familiar, but Dumbledore was speaking, his quiet, dangerous tone demanding Snape's attention. Deal with the danger first, then tend the wounded. Praying the delay would not cost Erebus his life, Snape turned back to the headmaster.
"What have you done?" Dumbledore all but growled the question.
Snape hadn't the least clue, but nothing could have induced him to admit that at this time. Instead, he stood as gracefully as he could manage, noting as he did so that he had sustained no major injuries. Not until he regained his feet did he speak; kneeling in front of Dumbledore felt too much like his interactions with the Dark Lord for comfort.
"Merely what was necessary, headmaster. I will protect the child to the best of my ability, even from you." Then, feeling his point had been made, and willing to risk Erebus's health no longer, he directed a fierce sneer at Dumbledore, and turned his back. In a trice he was kneeling by the chair where Erebus was standing unsteadily, his head canted and his eyes half-shut. It was a risk to turn his back on an angry Dumbledore, to be sure, but not much of one. The headmaster was not a man to hex somebody when their back was turned, at least not in front of witnesses. (As a Slytherin, Snape was cynical enough to consider the possibility that Dumbledore would act dishonorably, but only when there was no one around to see.) And even now Snape did not think that the man was deliberately evil, just so focused on the war, on the greater good, that he would overlook the suffering of those he relied upon.
Snape ran gentle hands over Erebus's head, and then stretched out the glossy black wings one at a time, looking for wounds or broken bones. Magic would have been faster and given him a more information, but he needed the tactile connection. Furthermore, judging by how Erebus was leaning into his touch, his familiar was of a similar mind. Although the contact with his familiar was soothing, Snape only relaxed sufficiently to release his wand once he heard Dumbledore's footsteps cross the room followed by the door opening and clicking shut.
"Well, that was interesting," McGonagall said somewhere behind him.
Erebus's half-closed eyes had him concerned, so he cast a diagnostic charm. There was some constriction of the blood vessels in the brain due to swelling of the surrounding tissues. It was not enough to be dangerous, but it was likely causing quite the headache. Come to think of it, he had a headache as well.
"Indeed. That's not something one sees every day," he heard Sprout reply.
He coaxed Erebus onto his arm and walked over to the cabinet in the corner of the room where there was a small stock of every-day first aid supplies and potions. Uncorking the one he needed, he selected a dropper and fed a few drops to Erebus before drinking the rest himself. The pain flowed away, carrying with it lingering tension Snape had been unaware of.
"Once in a lifetime," Flitwick agreed.
Snape returned to the chair he had occupied not so many minutes ago. A few minutes, it had felt like hours. Merlin, he was tired. Absently, he stroked Erebus, who leaned against his chest and gave a contented sigh.
"I don't know about that," Sprout said. "Dumbledore doesn't lose an argument often, but it has happened from time to time."
Flitwick shook his head. "Not the argument, Pomona, although that was impressive enough, I daresay. No, I was speaking of Severus's invocation of Old Magick. One could live their entire life and see nothing like it."
His head snapped up and he stared at his diminutive colleague, his hand pausing mid-stroke on Erebus's back. "What?"
"The Old Magick." Flitwick stopped and stared at Snape for a long moment. "Did you not realize? From your final words to the headmaster, I surmised that you knew what you had done."
Snape's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Not at all. I simply did not deem it wise to admit my ignorance at the time." He was beyond caring if these words got back to Dumbledore. Let the man know he had been duped. That suited Snape perfectly well.
At that, McGonagall burst out laughing. "I saw the look on Dumbledore's face right after you turned your back on him, and he judged the situation just as Filius did. I daresay he was both incensed and impressed. More the former than the latter, mind, but it was there all the same.
"This is all well and good, but what does it all mean?" Sprout put her hands on her hips and looked between the three of them. "Severus summoned Old Magick in a spell so powerful he collapsed under the weight of it and then when he recovered he forced some sort of concession out of Dumbledore, but to what effect?"
"Concession?" Snape asked, incredulous.
"Dumbledore left, did he not?" she said.
That was an excellent point, and Snape nodded an acknowledgement.
Flitwick cleared his throat and looked at Snape. "The magic took hold directly after you declared Potter was under your protection. I believe it safe to assume that your word has been taken as a binding oath. As innocuous as that may seem, however, these sorts of things often have broader implications."
The phrase "broader implications" sent a shiver down his spine. "Such as?"
"I could not say, I am hardly an expert on the vagaries of ancient magics, much less ones as mercurial as you invoked. I would need to do some research."
Of course he would. Bloody Ravenclaws and their bloody research. He pinched the bridge of his nose. In this case, he decided, Flitwick likely had the right end of the wand. Snape knew very little of the ancient forces that had been relied upon in the early days of witchcraft beyond that they were powerful and fickle, with a tendency to backfire on those who summoned them, and incomplete knowledge of what he had done could prove to be a liability.
"I believe some reading is indeed in order," Snape agreed. It was a task he was quite capable of undertaking on his own, but in this matter promptness was more important than pride. "I would appreciate any assistance you would be willing to offer."
Flitwick bounced in his chair, appearing thrilled at the very prospect. "There are a few grimoires in the restricted section that should be of some use."
Erebus nudged his hand and Snape resumed his stroking, listening to Flitwick's plans with half an ear. Somehow he had bound himself to Harry Potter. Four years ago the very thought would have been abhorrent, and yet, knowing what did of the child's upbringing, he could not find it in himself to regret either his words or their unintended magical consequence, at least as far as he understood that consequence at the moment. Dumbledore might not even comprehend the extent of the bond, which would give Snape a fair bit of leeway in his actions. It was satisfying to know that when the child was found, Snape would be able to ensure he was given the opportunity to experience a loving home. Perhaps the Weasleys would have some advice on that.