The Intercourse of Kinbote and Shade by Timorous

Severus allowed Potter three hours to sleep before he realized the time was far past what it should be. Stepping over, he gently shook the boy’s shoulder. Potter woke from sleep slowly and with a calm Severus could never recall seeing the boy have.

Withdrawing, Severus went back to his desk where notes had been accumulated over the past three hours. The session had left him shaken, frayed at the seams and trying to get a grip of himself. Empaths were considered extremely rare, however that was attributed to the fact that they often went undiscovered, and in most cases magical communities viewed it as a malady. Empaths generally had less control over their magic, due to a sensitivity to their environment, which made them less capable as witches and wizards.

It was only spoken of as a beneficial trait on a few occasions, Merlin himself was one, and his ability was used quite artfully in King Arthur’s court. Bayfield the Ravenous was also known to have employed an empath in his judgements at althings during the early third century B.C.E.

As Potter roused, Severus organized the instructions he had outlined for the boy. Hopefully they would help, because legilimency and occlumency had a different set of laws with empaths. It might explain the lack of nightmares or visions, all of which had most likely only been experienced as emotions. In some ways it made Potter safer, and yet it exposed more vulnerabilities.

“Professor?” the boy queried softly.

Severus looked up. It was past eleven at night, he was exhausted, and the remnants of Potter’s transference of emotions still lingered in him.

“Wh-what happened?” Potter’s brow was crinkled in concern.

“I attempted legilimency on you, however, you are an empath so the situation required a very different approach,” clear, concise, his tone even; he could manage that much at least at the moment.

Potter’s confusion grew.

“Empath, sir?”

“One capable of apprehending the emotions and feelings of other beings. It also means the way your mind works is a little different than most others. Emotions are the chief composition, rather than memories, at least to a purveyor such as myself.”

Severus steepled his fingers, not in the mood to humor Potter. However, his mood was not to be taken into consideration, no matter how exhausted he was. For now he was going to build on what he could do with Potter’s difference, and that had to do with helping to control the boy’s seizures.

“It also means you have easier access to dumping ‘memories’ and ‘emotions’ as it were. This is key to your recuperation. I’ve drawn up some instructions for you to follow.”

Severus neatly stacked the parchment papers and held them out to Potter. The boy’s mouth was slack, still sleepy eyed and relaxed. The sheen of wonder, surprise, and earnest gratitude that was slowly settling on the boy’s face tugged at a part of Severus that was kept locked up. He did not make anyone grateful, he was not kind or helpful.

“I would suggest you head to your quarters now, I’ve included a note which will excuse your presence out of your dormitory so late at night.”

“Sir-I,” Potter fell short, a small, brilliant smile coming onto his face, “thank you.”

Severus waved his hand tiredly, not watching as the boy turned and walked away. He didn’t look up until the door had shut. Closing his eyes he tried to will away everything, all emotion and thought. The Potter puzzle would have to wait indefinitely, tomorrow he had his meeting with Dumbledore.

____________________________________________________________

Severus’ eyes carefully traced back over the words he had already read on numerous accounts. Dumbledore was peering at him, patiently waiting. They were in Severus’ rooms. The joy, excitement, and extreme apprehension warring in Severus were not helping him, and the soft silence in the carpeted sitting room seemed to press insistently at him.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, raising his head and referring to Dumbledore as if he were fourteen again and looking for the reassurance of an adult.

“It is mainly your own design, Severus, I’m afraid you would know better than I.”

Severus gave a small, tight nod. Of course Albus was completely right, and looking over the theory, the experiment notes and then the final product, Severus knew that it was perfect. All those years ago he had not stopped his experimentation with spell making when he was sixteen, it being one of the many talents the Dark Lord took advantage of, and Severus was intimately familiar with failure and what it looked like. That helped his current project immensely.

Of course this particular spell was stabilized by an illegal and forbidden element practiced only in the dark arts. Severus knew it would work, elsewise he wouldn’t have approached Lucius a month ago asking the unthinkable. However this did not alleviate his misgivings, and his own personal anxieties and insecurities.

“Severus, do we have another choice?” Albus’ tone indicated that this was not a genuine question, rather a prompting. The man had taken his silence as moral unwillingness.

The man wasn’t entirely wrong, Severus did not, on principle founded by Lily and smelted through her death, wish to do what was required. However he knew that it wasn’t a question of wanting, it was necessity.

“No,” Severus softly replied, steeling himself and sweeping his emotions neatly away, “it will do. The date is set, for both things.”

Albus leaned back, a sigh of relief at Severus’ capitulation issuing forth, and he seemed to relax. His frailty showed starkly, the curse proving its potency. Albus had months left. Or, in light of their plan, he had a mere month left. The man was taking it much too easily. It angered Severus, an emotion much easier to handle and hide away than the grief which also grew in him as the time approached.

He had many complaints against Albus, but the wizard was a man and flawed, and he had been kind to Severus at some point, almost paternal. Despite that though, Severus’ allegiance would always lie with Lily.

“You say that Draco has completed the cabinet, I always knew he was a bright young man,” Albus had a small, wry smile on his lips as he spoke.

Severus said nothing, it was macabre listening to the man talk about his death so lightly. Though maybe it helped ease his thoughts on his own passing.

“Yes, Draco was not raised a fool, and anyone pressed upon in time of great duress can rise to the occasion.”

Albus eyed Severus, then his gaze wandered. Severus looked back over his notes again, his meticulous testing and retesting of the spell they had created together. His brain tumbled over the plans for the coming year, the precarious position he would be taking. It was much like the muggle saying of going from the frying pan to the fire. Potter was probably the most dangerous unknown variable. They had no way of knowing how he would react to what would happen, and Severus, with some slight confusion, did not want the boy to see him kill the headmaster, however it was an absolute necessity.

“We must speak with Potter soon,” Severus said sharply.

Albus frowned, letting out a disgruntled humm.

“I’m not sure that is the best idea, Severus, Harry is still so young, and fragile. I don’t want to make him suffer through the coming weeks.”

Severus’ face flushed a little, fingers trembling for a second before he managed to control his emotions. The statement was utter nonsense, the boy had endured more in his state of ignorance at Hogwarts than was quite fathomable. Even Severus could admit that the boy’s life had been an unending nightmare since he had started at Hogwarts.

“And let him suffer through the shock of me murdering you? That is better?” Severus said incredulously, “Knowing nothing, and expected to trust his teacher, who will be a fugitive from the law?”

Albus dipped his head, gazing at Severus solemnly.

“You are, of course, correct.”

Severus felt his stomach churn. Albus conceding was necessary, but it grated at Severus. He didn’t want to be right about this. The boy was starting to trust him, and to destroy his efforts in the last months frustrated him.

“Then you will tell him?”

“We, we will tell him,” Albus replied, blue, usually magnanimous eyes weighing Severus.

“Fine,” Severus spat out, knowing that it would be better for him to be there to answer the inane questions that Potter was undoubtedly going to ask.

Albus let out a soft sigh and Severus raised his head to look at the man. The old wizard did not speak for a moment.

“You’ve been very good to me, Severus, and I’m sorry the world cannot know about your sacrifices. If the Dark Lord is to be stopped, it will be mainly due to you.”

Severus said nothing, they’d had this conversation too many times.

“I’ll make the arrangements with Lucius,” he said, standing up, wishing to escape the man’s mawkish speech.

“Thank you, Severus.”

Severus did not glance back at the headmaster and instead left the room.

Sitting at his own personal desk merely twenty minutes later, Severus was thinking. Fingers steepled and his chin resting atop them, he could feel the burn of exhaustion in his body. It wouldn’t do to be so burned out before the penultimate act of service to the Dark Lord, Albus’ last request, or truly second to last. The whole future lay with Potter, with the destruction of the Horcruxes, with the boy’s death. He felt a soft pang at the thought; injust, unfair, cruel. The world demanded everything.

A soft pop drew him from his musing, a small roll of parchment now sitting on the corner of his desk. Severus reached out, recognizing the wax seal as Dumbledore’s, in both mark and by the fact of extravagant flourishes, and he opened it. It was an invitation to his office, this Sunday, along with Potter.

Severus took in a deep breath, dropping the scroll and massaging his head. In less than a week all his hard work with the boy would be destroyed, and his true intent revealed. Making Potter privy to the plan though would be more efficient, despite Dumbledore’s reluctance. They were deciding the fate of the wizarding world.

____________________________________________________________

As the week inched by, Severus tried to retrace his planning, perfect it, still thinking that maybe some alternative to Malfoy’s sacrifice would suddenly appear. It did not. Today was Friday and he had tea with Potter in the afternoon. Tomorrow would be the execution of his spell, and the day after the revelation to Potter. Then, two weeks until the deed.

He sludged through his third year class of Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were at the tail end of Nocturnal Creatures, and happily ended it a couple minutes early. As he waited for the fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to arrive, he cleared the chalkboard and began writing notes on it.

The door opened. He did not look over, though he was surprised that a student had made it so quickly from Professor Binns classroom. Whoever they were, approached.

“Professor?”

It was Draco. Severus paused, turning to look at the boy. The boy appeared ragged, bags under his eyes, hair disheveled, and his clothing crumpled and unwashed.

“I-I wanted to ask a question,” the boy would not look at him.

Severus’ eyes quickly darted around the room, but no other student had entered as of yet and they were alone.

“Yes, Draco?”

The boy’s lip trembled, “my dad? With this thing, mother she told me just-”

Severus waited for him to continue.

“Will he die?”

Draco Malfoy was undoubtedly a youth, brash and stupid, arrogant and unthinking. But it had been a while since he had seen the boy look so young, gaze turned to Severus begging for reassurance and safety.

“No,” Severus replied, “he will not die.”

The boy let out a choked breath, one which was almost a sob, shoulders heaving. He gave a nod. It was a promise Severus hoped could be kept; for this reassurance would break the child if it were to be false.

“Thank you, professor,” Draco whispered.

Severus felt like he should reach out, offer comfort to the boy. His hand only made it a few inches when the door opened and a small group of Hufflepuffs entered. Draco flinched, turning heel and fleeing the classroom.

Severus shook away the regret, knowing he could not afford to indulge in caring.

By afternoon the grounds outside were being ravished by an angry sky. A thunderstorm was over Hogwarts, and every so many minutes lightning would flash in Severus’ periphery of the window followed by a low, angry grumble.

Potter arrived right on time, as usual, and as he walked through the door Severus couldn’t help but notice that even now the boy appeared to be more relaxed. He felt a sense of satisfaction and happiness he knew wasn’t entirely attributed to his own success, but instead because some small part of him had genuinely started to care about the boy. It worried him.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Harry said softly.

Severus gave a nod, summoning the normal spread of tea and snacks. Harry, so thin and usually without much appetite, grabbed a biscuit and began nibbling on it. The boy looked relatively, well, happy. Severus felt another pang, this would most likely be their last afternoon together. For some reason it made him sad.

“Have you found much use in the notes I gave you?” he asked, trying to turn his mind from his emotions.

Harry smiled, “yes, sir, they’ve helped, a lot. I’m not so,” he paused, in thought, “tired.”

Severus almost smiled in return. He cleared his throat, shaking off the deceitful emotions once more. He closed his mind, detaching and forcing himself to focus on what his goal was: to ensure Potter was as prepared as possible for the upcoming months.

“Good, continue with it, I believe it will be crucial in helping you recover from your episodes.”

Harry gave a small nod before turning bright, curious eyes on him, “sir, how did you know, just on entering my mind, that I was an empath?”

Severus set his teacup down.

“I’ve spent many years studying the mind, and the magics which involve it. Though I have not met an empath until now, I am aware of it and have studied it.”

“Why don’t they teach such magic at school?”

The question gave Severus pause. It was a good question, because he could see where such a topic would benefit a great many students.

“It is complex, and not many can use or understand it. There are very few competent witches or wizards who can, and even then their ability is very limited.”

“You’re quite special, professor,” Harry said, the words meantly kindly and said with a bit of awe.

“I’ve dedicated years to it, as with most subjects it is time and determination which lends themselves to mastery. Something you’d do well to remember in your studies.”

Harry gave a nod. He’d finished his biscuit and was now starting on another.

“Will we meet for another potions session this coming week?”

The question was innocent enough, but Severus knew that after this meeting with Dumbledore they would not meet again.

“Yes,” he lied, without missing a beat.

“I was hoping we could look at this potion I found during my reading. It is from the potions master Jacoby, in the 15th century.”

“Ah, yes, the obruo medeis, it is quite famous.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and as the conversation continued Severus forgot his worries.

___________________________________________________________

Saturday came quickly as well, and in the early morning, the storm having passed and the grounds slick with the freshly fallen rain, Severus made his way out and to a point where he could apparate. Draco Malfoy accompanied him. The boy was extraordinarily quiet, not having said a word since he had met the man in his office that morning.

Standing just outside the boundaries of Hogwarts, and its magical wards, Severus met Draco’s eyes for the first time that morning. The boy looked unsure and scared. Severus said nothing, offering his hand out. As soon as the boy had placed his hand on Severus’ arm, he flourished his wand and they disappeared.

They reappeared in a small country lane. It was overcast, and fields rolled out around them in soft hills. A small house was in front of them, plain and painted a faded white.

Severus began walking forward, Draco following.

As they approached the door opened revealing Narcissa. Her gaze was somber, hair loose and falling about her shoulders. She moved to the side to allow Severus to enter and then swept Draco into a tight hug.

The small house was empty of furniture and everything had a worn, abandoned look to it. Lucius stood in the center of what was both the front room and the living room. Once upon a time this had been the house Narcissa and Lucius had eloped to. The many complex spells that had once caused this house to occupy much more space were gone, and it was once again an abandoned muggle home.

Severus watched Narcissa, an arm gripping her son, step over to her husband, the family together.

Draco was shaking, fingers unable to stay still, even when held between his mother’s hands. The Malfoy family looked like refugees, all pride gone, Lucius’ hair had been cut short, in a demeaning occurrence with Voldemort where failure had been rewarded with humiliation. It had been a long fall for them, and yet, unlike the many people who had been affected by the Dark Lord, they were still alive. If they could move on they would be more fortunate than most.

“Arrangements have been made, completely?” Severus queried.

Lucius gave a small, short nod, lips drawn tight.

If things were not set up, if the Malfoy family did not follow through totally with what they had promised, then all would be for naught and Severus would live out the short remainder of his life hunted, tortured and then killed upon the Dark Lord finding out.

Severus drew out his notes for the spell, despite the fact he had them memorized.

Everything was ready, his notes poured over so many times he had needed to cast a protection spell on the pages, and all that was left was the deed. His eyes moved over to Narcissa and Draco, both looking on fearfully.

“You do not need to be here for this,” Severus said, feeling a strain of pity for Narcissa.

She could wait outside, or least in another room.

“No, I want to be here,” Narcissa argued, eyes going wide.

Severus inclined his head in acquiescence.

“Very well,” he said softly.

Her eyes quivered with unshed tears, and the red rimming them showed she had already shed many.

Severus moved to Lucius. From his pocket he drew a thimble, one he carried for the purpose of transfiguration. He gestured to Narcissa.

“It would be best to find something for him to sit on, this is a painful and draining process.”

She nodded her head, moving to the other room to look for something to transfigure. Severus meanwhile changed his thimble to a small table, on which he spread his many notes and papers. Lucius’ face was stoic, pale and drawn.

“For this to be successful, I need your complete willingness, do you understand?”

Lucius gave a jerky nod.

Draco was staring on, eyes filled with apprehension and fear.

“Let us begin.”

Severus drew his wand, examining his papers one last time. Narcissa returned with a yellowed bottle in hand which she changed to a chair. Lucius looked to Severus who gave a nod. He sat down.

Severus grabbed Draco’s arm, the one which held the mark, and began the incantation. Lucius immediately let out a cry of pain. Narcissa’s hand reached for his. Severus continued, watching in fascination as the dark mark on the boy’s arm began to fade, in conjunction he could feel Lucius’ magical core being destroyed, burned as fuel for the spell.

Lucius screamed, Draco let out a whimper, eyes clenched shut. Narcissa clutched at her husband, tears streaming down her face.

Lucius’ screams grew louder, and then, Severus was done. The man fell quiet, slumped against the chair and breath coming in heavy gasps. Narcissa was crying, staring at her husband helplessly. Draco stood there, eyes still shut.

“Narcissa,” Severus said, stepping forward and grasping her arm, “quickly.”

She gave a shaky nod to show she was listening.

“Draco will not return, he is to be sick, grievously. Do not leave until Lucius has finished the task, he will need you for that. Keep Draco hidden.”

She gave a nod of understanding.

Severus gathered his papers, stowing them in his robes. He transfigured the table back to a thimble. He did not spare the family a final look, instead striding out of the house. Outside the overcast sky had grown darker, rain threatening. The wind whipped around him, a faint scent of ozone tickling his nostrils. He raised his wand and apparated away.

___________________________________________________________

Dumbledore had arranged his office so that three chairs were centered around a small table. On it were small cakes, some tea, and various candies the man fancied. The chairs were large comfortable things, and Severus had already taken it upon himself to change his own to something which offered more back support.

He knew this was the man’s way of trying to break the news more easily, or, perhaps Severus was wrong, and the Grim standing over him leaving merely weeks had him attempting to enjoy what he could of the life he had left.

All the same, Severus believed it to be inappropriate given the occasion, but, in any case, he couldn’t think of what setting would make telling a child they were, essentially, a sacrificial lamb, appropriate. The whole thing bothered him, although it had been his idea to begin with. Telling Potter was the only option though, they could not just disenthrall the boy from the grasp of Fate, no matter his promise to Lily.

“You’ve sighed again.”

Severus raised his head from where it rested on his fist and tried not to glare too much at the headmaster. The man was nonplussed, a lemon drop making a small bulge in his left cheek as he sucked on it.

“I’m merely observing,” Albus said contritely.

Severus turned his gaze back to his cooling cup of tea. He held back a sigh and let his mind wander through topics more suited for this upcoming meeting. The exact details of the coming months, the reasonings, the ideas for what the horcruxes were. The boy needed to know so much.

A soft rap sounded on the oak door and a moment later it opened. Albus smiled benevolently and Severus sat upright.

Potter entered.

“Harry m’boy, sit!” Albus invited, voice cheery.

“Hello Professor,” Harry said, settling in the one empty chair.

His eyes roved over the table, pausing at Severus for a moment before he was looking back at Albus.

“Now, I’m sure you’re curious about why I’ve brought you here tonight. I will start by warning you that this may well be a very long meeting, so feel free to eat and relax.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Potter did not take anything though.

“I know you’re aware of how you lost your parents, and of how you got your scar.”

Potter gave a nod.

“There are implications though which go beyond that, one’s which are why Tom Riddle was able to return, and why you are so important to him, though I do not think he knows it.”

“Tell me, Potter, have you heard of something called a Horcrux?”

Severus' question had the boy turning to him and Albus sending him a probing glance.

“No sir,” the boy replied, voice soft.

“They are a part of the soul which has been ripped away to be used as a mechanism for furthering one’s life. It is a dark magic, and to create one you must commit murder.”

Severus paused, waiting for questions, for even a physical reaction. Harry sat there though, still and unchanging. Albus waited, watching.

“The Dark Lord throughout his time, and in search for an answer to immortality, created six. He has, however, seven. This last one he is unaware of, he made it the night he tried to kill you. You are that last horcrux.”

“Oh.”

Severus watched, waited. Potter should be terrified, devastated. He merely sat there. Albus stepped in.

“To save the wizarding world, Harry, we must destroy all of them. You’re a brave boy, we know you understand what that means.”

Harry gave a short nod, “yes, sir.”

Severus felt his chest twist with anger and pain.

“I have tried to track them down, and I found one, but I made a grave mistake and I am dying,” Albus said.

“In two weeks time many things will change. Severus will kill me, this will solidify his position with the Dark Lord. We merely need you to wait, and to trust him.”

It was quiet as they waited. Harry seemed to have no response.

“Yes sir, I understand.”

Irritation rose in Severus, the fact that the boy was so patiently accepting of all of this, that he wasn’t angry or confused or upset. He should be devastated, hurt, angry with the fact that his entire life had suffered from and was to be decided by his connection to the Dark Lord.

“That is it? You understand, Potter?” Severus said this with a sneer, voice vituperative and cruel.

Potter looked away.

Severus felt his anger rise and something in him snap.

“Don’t you get it, you fool! My job is to defeat the Dark Lord! That means I will kill you! I am not here to be your friend, and my only interest in you is the fact that the defeat of the man cannot be done without your involvement! Believe me, I have little faith in your abilities, you’ve mental and physical handicaps which I have been striving to ameliorate, but it does not change the fact that you will simply be a burden! The wizarding world is at stake, there is no affording to have friends, merely tools or enemies! At the end of this you will be dead!”

Severus’ tirade came to a sudden end and he was left in the unpleasant quiet. The boy’s face was blank, Albus for his matter looked very tired and very old.

“You know, so when the time comes, be prepared. If we are to succeed, all must go right,” he said more quietly, voice still tight and full of venom.

Severus then turned, storming from the room.

__________________________________________________________

The rest of the two weeks passed very quickly, Severus did not see Potter beyond classes. It hurt, in a strange way. The knife which had sunk into his heart after parting ways with Lily seemed to be twisted anew at him having ruined yet another relationship. He could argue that it hadn’t been real, it had been pretend for the sake of greater things, but it did not change the fact that Severus had started to value the boy’s company in a way he could not claim for the many other people in his life.

In some bitter way it felt right, Severus had been born into an unforgiving world, one which loathed him, and he did not feel that he deserved anything, certainly not friends nor family. Still, it did not ease the small burning sense of loss.

The night before the event, before Albus’ death and the start of the beginning, Severus sat in his office, a stack of essays sitting in front of him despite the fact that by the end of tomorrow it would not matter. Severus Snape would not be a potions teacher ever again. Next to the essays was a glass half filled with fire whiskey. It had been full at the start of this evening.

Raising his quill, Severus took the next essay and began to draw angry red marks on it. Despite reading about what a second year believed were the properties of griffon blood, he was thinking about the morrow.

He did not want to kill Albus, no matter that it was a mercy killing. He did not want to go to the Dark Lord and pretend to be honored to serve him. He did not want to make Lucius Malfoy into a squib. He did not want to guide Harry Potter to his death. Ultimately, he wished he did not have to fight in this war. However, many years ago he had put himself in moral debt, and he was responsible to repay it. Lily waited in the afterlife, and he could not forget her, nor the harm he had done to her.

In anger, he drew a large X over the entire paper. Even now, he missed her.

A knock came at his door. Blinking, he frowned as he glanced at the time. It was just before ten, when curfew for sixth and seventh years was. He rarely had students ask for help at this time, unless it was to beg a grade change, or some other ludicrous exception.

With a sigh, he called out for them to enter. He did not hide his glass, by tomorrow people would be shocked by something much more serious than him partaking in alcohol on a weeknight.

The door opened and it was Potter who entered. Severus felt out of his depth, emotionally unprepared, especially after he had been thinking of Lily.

The boy was nervous, and he hesitantly approached. He had something in his hand.

“This is for you, professor.”

Potter set the object, wrapped in brown paper, on the table. The boy’s emerald green eyes, so like Lily’s, were impossible to read. He gave a soft nod before turning and hurrying out of the room. Severus was left feeling dumbstruck.

After a few minutes, he gathered himself enough to reach forward and grab the object. It wasn’t large, and it was in a box. He frowned, carefully peeling back the brown paper. The box which lay beneath the wrapping was that used for potion shipping, in this case, a single vial. Severus’ curiosity was piqued.

He opened it, pulling out a potion that was cloudy and luminescent. There was a small note.

“Fortudinem meam,” Severus read aloud.

It was a tricky and fickle potion, with ingredients difficult to obtain. It strengthened the magical core, and depending on the skill with which it had been made, it could last for nearly forty eight hours. This potion looked nearly perfect, no easy feat. It would have taken months to brew. As a potions master Severus felt pleased and surprised, everything else he was feeling was too complicated to pay heed to.

He read the rest of the note:

Dear Professor,
For help in the task at hand. And to thank you.
Harry

Severus swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat. He set the potion down, overwhelmed. In his half sober, half drunk state of mind he could only think of Lily, of all he had deprived her of, a son like this, of a life where joy and happiness were deserved. Severus felt so low, so undeserving. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let himself cry, for Lily, and the world he had stolen from her.