Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe; to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.
Chapter 04 Lies

Severus lay back on the bed and closed his eyes slowly; the effort of keeping them open was too much for him at the moment. Finally, after ten minutes of silence, Severus said, without even bothering to open his eyes, “Well, ask away, Headmaster, then you can leave me to die in peace.”

That Severus remained closed to him, eyes shut and body stiff, and had addressed him as Headmaster only added to the dread Albus was feeling. Had he finally placed Severus in a situation that his legendary ability to work miracles had failed? His face grave, Albus asked again, “Was it worth it?”

“I’ll let you know,” Severus said murmured. “If Voldemort doesn’t kill me next time we meet, then it probably was.”

“Not the life of children, Severus,” Albus finally acknowledging what he knew from Harry and Draco. “It is never worth the life of any child.”

“Old man, we are in a war.” Severus snarled with a ghost of his usual bite, of course the bite didn’t. The Order could wail and weep all it liked, but he’d been in the front lines for too long, and didn’t have that luxury. “If you want accurate information, then Voldemort has to at least trust me; he may not like me, he’ll probably abuse me, but now he will trust me.”

“But what of the price, Severus. That was not a price we were willing to pay,” Albus retorted, his normal gentle demeanour vanishing under the shock of Severus’ act. Even with the power of a Master Wizard flowing around him, Severus didn’t react.

“Well I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Headmaster, but I really didn’t have much choice at the time.”

“You always have a choice, Severus,” Dumbledore said roughly. The fact that Severus had calmly and almost callously admitted to knowing of the killing of the children had shaken him like no other act could; he may not have done it, but in Dumbledore’s eyes he was now guilty regardless.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Headmaster, but as I am not yet contemplating suicide, which is what any rescue attempt would’ve been, I did not see many other options. You put me into this situation, you meddlesome old bat; now I suggest you leave, lock the dungeons down and go commiserate with the rest of the Order. I did what I had to do to survive and get closer to Voldemort. If you don’t like it, well, send me to Azkaban for a well-earned holiday. Otherwise, get off that self-righteous horse and accept that if you want to defeat Voldemort, someone has to crawl into the abyss. Sometimes, ‘old friend’, you need a monster to catch a monster.”

‘And have you become the abyss, Severus’? Dumbledore thought to himself. ‘Merlin, forgive me if you have’. Still, being aware of the burning need for accurate intelligence, Dumbledore only sighed. “On second thoughts, I won’t announce your ‘punishment’ to the student body in general, as it will only add to the panic. I will however inform the staff that you will be confined to quarters when not teaching or attending to house business.”

Wishing that the burden of that choice should never have fallen to his Potions Master, or to any of them for that matter, Dumbledore began to concentrate on the task of keeping Severus alive. He’d need to protect Severus, not only from Voldemort now, but the Order and the Aurors as well. Turning as he left the room Dumbledore said, “Poppy will be in soon with a sleeping draught and I suggest you take it. I will also ward your rooms against intrusion.”

“Do you really think that will stop Black, Lupin and Potter?”

“It will.” Closing the door Dumbledore whispered, “I hope one day you will forgive me, Severus.” His ears straining, he thought he heard Severus say almost the same thing.

Severus waited patiently for Poppy to return. The Medi-Witch, normally so punctilious in her duties, took over an hour to return, alerted him to the fact that the day’s deeds were now known to all and sundry. Poppy walked in, having spent as long as she could with Draco. The young, arrogant Slytherin had needed her most potent sedation due to the day’s events. This further increased her anger at the Potions Master. With a look surprise on her face and an extremely powerful sleeping draught in her hand, Poppy marched up to the still wizard.

“I’m not dead yet, Madame Pomfrey.” He smiled his usual thin smile, regardless of the energy it took.

“You’ll need to drink this then, I’ll check back on you in the morning,” Poppy said stiffly. She cast a few perfunctory stabilizing spells and literally tipped the entire goblet down his throat. Severus’ place in the universe, or lack thereof, was further reinforced as Madam Pomfrey took only rudimentary readings and cast a scant few stabilising spells. She left as soon as his head collapsed on the pillow, and Severus vaguely heard her mutter, “I wish you were dead, you bastard.”

Lying still, Severus wondered if he ought to get Dumbledore to ward his chambers against the Medi-Witch as well. Still, she may wish him dead, and if she had any idea of the level of barbarity of today’s apparent events, he really didn’t blame her. Dumbledore had commented about Draco telling a different story and that piqued his curiosity. What had Draco Malfoy said? Had he inadvertently given young Malfoy a reason to think for himself and if so, then even Severus would have said that today had gone better than expected.

Severus gave Poppy a few moments to clear the area around the dungeon before he began to lever himself off the bed. Using whatever scant energy remained in him, he reached into his left cuff and activated the Portkey bound there magically. He would need help to be able to appear well enough in the morning to stave off any inappropriate information reaching Voldemort’s ears. Severus was thankful that Dumbledore thought that the wards of Hogwarts were sufficient, since he was in no condition to set up or activate the portal.


Dumbledore returned to his office after seeing to the wards on Severus’ chamber with a heavy heart. Remus was still with Draco Malfoy in the infirmary, and that was something he would not have preferred, Remus could at least me something of a moderating influence on Sirius Black. There would be no moderation present when he returned to his office and answers were to be expected.

Remembering the state Severus was in when he left him, Dumbledore had serious doubts about the worth of the entire exercise. If Severus died, then it was all for nothing. As the thought hit, he realised he at least had a way to control the members of the Order. Outright attacks would only cheapen the loss of the Gryffindors.

“Well, what did he have to say for himself?” Molly Weasley asked, her hand resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“He wasn’t able to say much of anything, Molly,” Dumbledore said gently. “It is going to be touch and go as to whether or not Severus survives the night.”

“If he’s done anything to Hermione, or the others,” Sirius growled in a fair imitation of a werewolf scenting blood.

“We will need to wait for Moody to return,” Dumbledore said, trying to ignore the sick sensation in his belly. Sirius was going to be a problem.

“Why?” That was Arthur Weasley, commonly thought of as a bit of an absent-minded eccentric. However, his mind was as sharp as a well-honed blade and that was something Arthur took great care to hide, but Arthur would spot any false answer that Dumbledore gave instantly. Dumbledore hoped he’d keep silent, however.

“Because I’m not even sure Severus can actually tell us what has happened,” Dumbledore replied wearily.

“Can’t or won’t?” Sirius interjected, ready to crucify Severus. Sirius didn’t need to know what had happened. His dislike of Severus allowed him to paint the blackest picture possible.

“Can’t!” Dumbledore almost shouted, already weary beyond belief. “I doubt we will ever know what really happened, Sirius. Severus’ only comment was that Voldemort needed to trust him, and he did what he had to so he could achieve that goal.”

“I’ll kill him.” Dumbledore wasn’t sure who actually said it, at least three mouths were moving at the time, Sirius, Harry, and surprisingly, Arthur. Molly, and Madam Tonks just looked sickened.

“No! You! Will! Not!” Dumbledore intoned forcefully, emphasising every word with all the power of an ancient wizard. “That would mean that their deaths were for nothing,” he whispered, all of a sudden looking and feeling the centuries of his life.

“So you believe he killed them as well?” Sirius was like a dog mauling a mangy old bone.

Closing his eyes Dumbledore prayed for divine inspiration. When none was forthcoming, he looked at the assembled members of the Order and said, “We will need to prepare for the funerals. I want ALL of you to give me your word that you will not attempt to harm Severus.” Watching them closely he remarked, “If I don’t have your word, I will organise to move Severus to a safe place where none of you will be able to get near him. I like this no more than the rest of you, but as I was the one who sent Severus to Voldemort today, then I must also bear some of the blame.”

The idea of blaming Dumbledore for the deaths of the children didn’t sit well with any of the assembled members of the Order. Blaming Severus, well he was the greasy git; Dumbledore however, was the one who led them. They gave their word to Dumbledore, no crossed fingers, toes or legs. ‘Of course, Remus isn’t here’, thought Sirius with a nasty smile.


Dumbledore had left the infirmary after talking with Draco Malfoy, a pensive look on his face. Remus knew that the Headmaster was going to talk with Severus, but given the state of health the Potions Master had been in when he and Sirius arrived, Remus doubted that Dumbledore would actually get any coherent information. Whilst Draco Malfoy had been almost incoherent at times during his discussions with Dumbledore, it had given Remus a fair idea of what had happened during the evening. ‘Severus is a dead man’, he thought, several scenarios running through his mind, threatening to unleash the beast within.

The return of Madam Pomfrey was something of a blessing he thought, initially. She had quickly ascertained the level of distress the young Slytherin was exhibiting and prescribed one of the more potent sleeping draughts. Draco drank it down greedily and fell into a fitful sleep almost immediately.

Instead of falling into the oblivion the draught should have promised, Draco dreamed, and the dreams were far from pleasant. Scion of the Malfoy line, he had been feted and fawned upon all his life. Every advantage was his and more than one person had assumed that all he had achieved had been through the result of toadying patronage, definitely not ability. True patronage had played a part, but he was actually quite a gifted young man anyway; if he had applied himself he could easily make Hermione Granger work for her Know-It-All title. It was those brains of his that were currently leading to his state of distress.

Being Slytherin, the house most likely to produce ‘bad’ wizards, he knew that the chances were he would end up being one of the so-called ‘bad’ sorts of wizard. He also knew that while it was likely, there was no guarantee that you would end up on the dark side. He could easily name a few current members of his house that would not likely end up in Voldemort’s Camp; the faces of those now haunting his dream, taking the place of the younger Gryffindors.

A heart-wrenching scream broke through the infirmary as Draco’s dream reached its inevitable conclusion. He felt Professor Snape’s wand trace his jaw, he saw the gentle, loving smile that graced the Head of Slytherin’s face as he heard the whispered curses that he himself had used. He screamed as the ‘Avada Kedavra’ was cast. Draco broke from the dream, drugged and frightened, to find himself in the embrace of Remus Lupin. He held tightly to that anchor and fought Poppy’s sleeping draught to ask, “Stay with me, please?”

Remus acquiesced, brushing silent tears from the boy’s face. For the first time in his long acquaintance with anything Malfoy, Remus finally realised that the line was actually capable of turning out human beings. The child slid back into sleep, still wrapped in the werewolf’s embrace; any attempt to extricate himself had Draco fighting him. In the end Remus gave into the inevitable and drifted off to sleep himself, the child remaining safely tucked in his arms.


Severus collapsed in the middle of his private laboratory for the second time that evening, with no passengers in tow this time. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open, and the effort of getting out of his bed once Poppy had left, nearly killed him. The only reason he’d made it at all was that Poppy’s stabilising magic held, and the ‘Potionia Refusalis’ that he had swallowed at daybreak had nullified the sleeping draught.

Taking ‘Potionia Refusalis’ was a daily ritual from which he never wavered since his induction into Voldemort’s crew of lunatics. Only certain ‘legitimate’ potions would actually affect Severus. Poppy, however, would assume the sleeping draught had taken effect and that he would be unconscious for at least three hours, and given her current approbation of him he didn’t expect her to return to check on him till until dawn at the very earliest. If he was alive at dawn, of course.

“Jaidy,” Severus tried to call, his voice cracking into what could charitably be called a croak. Luckily for him the elderly House-Elf, sure he would attempt to return to the Manor this evening, was waiting patiently at the Portal. She had in fact been standing there from the moment she had ensured the children were safe in the Nursery Wing.

“Oh, Master,” Jaidy sighed, “I’ve got you.”

Feeling like a small boy again, just come in from falling out of the willow tree yet again, Severus relaxed for the first time since the day had begun. Jaidy was well versed in the needed potions, spells and, if necessary, good old fashioned Muggle first-aid. She also had the means to override any concoction that Severus subjected himself to, and the only other being he trusted with that power. She would see to his care as she always had.

All Severus had to do was concentrate on the almost impossible task of breathing. Every breath brought forward a new physical definition of pain. In fact, Severus felt sure he could quite confidently devote an entire thesis to the discussion of this one insignificant word.

Any concentration dedicated to breathing, was only possible due to the significant tolerance to pain he had developed over the years. A necessary skill honed to perfection due wholly to Voldemort… and Poppy, for that matter. A rictus grin landed on his face and refused to abate.

Jaidy, for her part, was too busy concentrating on keeping her charge alive to worry about any ‘Wizardly’ niceties. She took no notice of the old phrase, ‘only magic should be used to cure a wizard’. She would use any and all means available to her, and she expected to need her entire repertoire of skills that she had developed over the years helping Severus. “Who worked the girl over?” she asked, remembering the length of time the memory trace had taken to resolve.

“I did,” Severus answered, interrupted with a bout of coughing. He noted the rapid look of anger that flashed across Jaidy’s face. “Stupid girl just didn’t know when to lie down and quit fighting,” he muttered feebly to himself, “and I get the bloody bill.” Still, if he was capable of being honest with himself as he normally was, he admitted that Pansy Parkinson was far more responsible for his current state of health. At the moment, however, that train of thought would derail his already non-existent resources, so Pansy’s bill was ignored for the current timeframe. Later… well payback’s a bitch.

Jaidy just sighed. Why couldn’t anything be easy where Severus was concerned? “How long have I got before you will be missed?” she finally asked, realising she didn’t have time to dwell on which of the children was to be held most responsible for her Master’s current state. Jaidy was sometimes a little biased where Severus was concerned; intellectually, she knew the children were not at fault, but emotionally, well, that was a far different matter.

“Three hours, maybe, if I’m lucky. Much less, I would imagine,” he mused, his eyes drooping further as the effort to remain conscious became harder. “I’ll need to be…” His voice finally trailed off as oblivion captured him.

Jaidy, ever practical, worried about what Severus needed to be able to do. That he kept struggling against the oblivion of sleep was apparent to her as she started in with the more complex healing magics. Finally realising the futility of trying to heal him whilst he fought for consciousness, she called in the senior House Elves and the only other human that remained permanently at Snape Manor, Brendan, Severus’ man servant.

“We’ll need to use the house magics again,” she said by way of introduction.

“Brendan, you are finding out what he wants when we gets him awake?” she asked the young man who had literally flown into the Potions Lab. Brendan, of medium height, blonde, blue-eyed and bespectacled, just knelt beside Severus, pen and paper in hand.

Brendan had been sleeping peacefully when Pepper, Jaidy’s assistant, had woken him with the message he was urgently needed in the Master’s Potions Lab. Muggle, he may have been, but Brendan arrived in the lab so fast he may as well have Apparated. The sight of his friend and mentor so ill-used, was enough to bring his own anger to the fore. “Voldemort,” a statement, not a question.

“And three wizardly children.”

“Oh shit,” Brendan said, remembering his own introduction to the Snape household. “Three?”

“Yes, an he not be lettin’ us heal him. Needs to be telling us something.” Turning to the assembled elves, she gave a minute signal and began to chant. In harmony, they joined their voices to hers. A gentle green light formed around the stricken Potions Master, his breathing settled, the look of pain on his face eased, and he opened his eyes to stare intently at Brendan.

“I must appear at breakfast, whole, tomorrow,” Severus breathed out. “Parkinson or Malfoy mustn’t see…Voldemort can’t know…any weakness.” He struggled to put to words the danger of his current state of health making it back to the Dark Lord. Nothing had happened to Severus, so Voldemort’s suspicions would be aroused if he were less than healthy. “Must…” he gasped out again hoping that his people would understand.

“Rest, Severus,” Brendan said, gently touching his hand to Severus’ face. “Rest, we’ll take care of it.” A gently soothing voice, whilst his agile mind considered the problem. “Rest.”

Hearing a trusted voice, and knowing the mind behind it, Severus finally gave up the fight. If Brendan, Jaidy and Pepper couldn’t figure something out, no one could, not even Granger.

“We can’t get him whole by morning, can we?” Brendan asked rhetorically, as Severus’ face lolled to the side resting on his hand. Knowing Severus, it must be imperative that he be at breakfast, otherwise he’d have given himself into Jaidy’s care without the slightest fight. “When will he get some peace?”

No one answered. They all knew the question could not be answered until Voldemort’s death. The something that Severus had been working towards for the greater part of his life.

“There really is no chance of getting him anywhere near whole, is there?” Brendan asked again, this time more for clarification, as his agile mind went to work on the problem of having Severus appear revitalised by dawn. ‘How many people will we need to fool’, he thought to himself. “Dumbledore is likely to be the biggest problem,” he said to the house elves.

“With him carrying three near deaths, we being lucky if we gets him well without bloodlines magic.” Jaidy allowed herself a small whimper, but then schooled her features to banal implacability. “He WILL be healed, Brendan.”

Brendan didn’t even bother asking why Severus was carrying these deaths; he had his own memories to supply those details. Watching Jaidy work closely on Severus now that he was resting peacefully, Brendan thoughts flashed over what she had said. “Wizardly children, how in Merlin’s name did Voldemort get a hold of wizardly children?” he asked Jaidy. “How are they, and where did they come from?”

“Hogwarts students,” Jaidy replied, “and before you be asking’, we’ve no ideas how Voldemort be getting them. The younger ones is first years, the other is Hermione Granger.” Jaidy had easily recognised the auburn-haired student. Severus had spoken of her often, in great detail, using every available description in his own private thesaurus.

“Bugger.” Brendan had also heard Severus speak of Granger before. The implications were not pleasant. Still, that was a problem for another day; the current problem needed dealing with immediately. His mind raced, and he saw Jaidy come to the same conclusion. “Polyjuice,” they said simultaneously.


Hermione Granger woke to find herself ensconced in a large feather bed, luxurious and warm. The clothes of yesterday had been removed, replaced by a simple silk shift. Muggle discussions of heaven floated through her mind, she twitched her shoulders trying to see if she had suddenly sprouted wings. No wings, and she realised that she ached somewhat; surely heaven wouldn’t allow pain, unless…a quick, discrete, check revealed no horns. ‘Ok, I’m not dead’, she mused as she lay staring at the ceiling for a few moments, ‘so where am I’?

Her memories of the preceding day were fuzzy. There, but shoved back into some nice dark corner. She would later be grateful for this fact, but at the moment she was more curious about her current locale. The room she woke in was obviously meant as a young adult’s room, probably a late teen. The room’s furnishings were in darker, more masculine colours and had her wondering whose room it was, or had been. Strangely she found it a very comfortable room.

The room had a large desk below a window that looked out on a large, well-manicured garden, a peaceful view to have whilst studying. A comfortable looking wingback chair sat near a cheerfully burning fire; just the sort to curl up in with a large hot chocolate and a pile of books. Beside the chair was, in fact, a largish table placed just where you would want it if planning a good night’s read. Hermione silently approved, remembering how inadequate her own side table was in size. This table would be able to cope with her voracious reading habits.

The curtains were only partially drawn, dark heavy velvet, allowing in enough light for her to see a breakfast tray laid out on the desk. The aroma of coffee, something she normally avoided, combined with the sweet scent of fruit porridge made her mouth water. Without being aware of the fact, she found herself seated at the desk, eating as thought she hadn’t had food in days. Whoever the cook was, they were to be congratulated.

Completing breakfast in very short order, the rest of her body began to make its demands known. The room’s arrangement suggested that the large double doors probably led to a corridor; the smaller door she reasoned would lead to the bathroom. In essence she was correct, but the room the small door led to was as close to her concept of a bathroom as the earth was to the moon. This was no student-shared arrangement with shower stalls and toilets. The room boasted a claw bath that looked like it could easily have accommodated Hagrid; three mirrors, one full-length, two cupboards, a toilet set discretely in the far corner and a bidet. What she surmised was a magic window, at least she hoped it was magic, otherwise anyone on the grounds would get a great view of anyone using the room, looked out over the grounds and to the hills beyond. A stack of towels in the corner, dark green, almost black in colour, almost begged to be picked up; the towels were incredibly soft and velvety. Jars filled with exotic spices, liquids and bath bombs lined the wall behind the tub.

Quickly seeing to her more immediate needs, Hermione then allowed herself the luxury of a long, deep, and very hot soak. It was then that she found the true magic of the bathroom. Musing that a book to read was all that was she needed to complete her dream of the perfect bath caused a space to open up next to the tub. The space was filled with books as far as the eye could see: novels, texts and even some rather risqué table books. Time slipped away from her and it was over an hour before she realised that the bath was not cooling, but happily maintaining an optimal soaking temperature.

Exiting the bath, eventually, she looked at the shift she had shed, suitable for sleeping in, but of no use for daywear. In desperation she began opening the cupboards hoping to find something else to wear; the second cupboard revealed sets of robes in a range of size suitable for children and young adults, all were dark green, trimmed with silver. Strangely it was the Slytherin colours that brought her mind back into focus. ‘Snape’, was the first coherent thought that formed. “These or the shift…what a choice,” she muttered to herself as she donned the Slytherin-green robes. Surprisingly, she felt a lot more able to cope with the world now that she was robed.

Remaining in the rooms she currently occupied would not provide any answers, so out into the world she must go. She was surprised to find the double doors unlocked, either an accident or oversight, but it meant she was able to leave the rooms and explore. The corridor was quiet with candles cheerfully blazing away in sconces at regular intervals. The floorboards were polished to a high sheen, and a deep red carpet lined the hall. Listening intently she heard nothing untoward and she ventured out into the hall.

Getting her bearings, she noticed a set of stairs off to the left and a long corridor leading to the right. She decided to quickly check the other rooms on this floor, finding a number of suites similar to the one she had just left. In two of those rooms she found her fellow Gryffindors sound asleep; food laid out on the tables still warm to the touch. No amount of shaking, however, could wake the other children and realizing that they were probably charmed to sleep, she didn’t try for very long after that.

The current floor appeared to be the top floor of the mansion, for mansion this building obviously was. Heading towards the stairs, she heard a muffled cry from below her. Following the sound she crept along the second floor corridor towards a room at the end. The closer she got to the room the louder, and more distinct the sound became.

She approached the door at the end of the wing with trepidation, not really sure what she could do, wandless (for she remembered Draco taking great delight in snapping hers), in a strange locale, and with no way of transporting herself, let alone anyone else, she still felt herself drawn to the room. The cries she heard were pitiful, the whimpering mews of a kitten unfed, a child trying to be brave with a broken limb, or a fox with its foot caught in a trap. Pressing her ear to the door she heard someone uttering soothing noises.

“Resting, you must resting. We’s can’t be doing more house magics. You be needings more than that.” The voice was laced with love and concern.

Curious, another trait of Gryffindors, Hermione opened the door carefully and peered inside. The sight that met her eyes was one that would burn itself in her mind. Years later she could recall it in almost graphic detail, stereophonic sound and smell. The elderly house-elf she remembered from the previous night sat in the middle of a large bed, a head in her lap. She was rocking back and forth very like a mother with an injured child; but the person she held was no child. Severus Snape, Potions Master, bane of Hogwarts and almost terror incarnate to the younger students, was curled on his side, caked blood covering his front. She could see his right arm hanging at a grotesque angle, a parody of a limb, his face looked as though it had been trampled by a herd of elephants, and if those mangled legs could support his weight, then she could defeat Voldemort with one arm tied behind her back. It was his voice she’d heard whimpering.

In fact the more she looked, the more she was aware that some of Severus Snape’s injuries were like the ones she should be bearing. That fact brought the walls around her own experiences crashing down. She remembered…she remembered! Hermione Granger, bravest of Gryffindors, collapsed into a heap just outside the door, throwing up the remains of the breakfast she had eaten earlier.

Jaidy, her hands holding Severus, had looked up to see the ‘insufferable Gryffindor’ lurking in the doorway. Locking down the anger that coursed through her at the sight of the girl, she continued to concentrate on pushing what healing energies she could into her master. She could not afford to be distracted from her task, but the sight of the girl obviously losing breakfast was somewhat enjoyable; still the distraction was unwelcome as Severus’ life tried to slip through her fingers. Calling for Pepper and hoping that Brendan had returned, she considered her options where the child was concerned.


Dumbledore arrived with Madam Pomfrey, half expecting to find that Severus had passed away in the night. He was aware that Poppy’s care had been perfunctory at best after she had dealt with young Malfoy last night, and he knew that if Severus was to die, it would it would cheapen the deaths of the three students, but for some reason he found it very difficult not to wish Severus to Hades and be done with it. This feeling was only intensified on entering the Potions Master’s quarters. Instead of finding Severus at death’s door, he found him sitting comfortably on his wing-backed leather chair by the fire, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and apparently whole, hale and hearty.

“Headmaster! To what do I owe the pleasure of you and Poppy’s company this morning?” Brendan asked, his voice fairly dripping with the disdain Severus was known to show anyone before finishing his morning coffee ritual. His heart was racing, but he always got a perverse sort of thrill from this performance. There was something about getting into the mind of his mentor that intrigued and fascinated him. All those secrets, all those hidden recesses; Brendan got the slightly more than merest glimmer of what made Severus tick through his association with the wizard, but that was always more enough to fool anybody, even the master wizard before him.

Brendan was pleased to see a look of horror briefly flash across the Headmaster’s face before Dumbledore could gain control of himself; horror was good, suspicion not so. Madam Pomfrey was less able to control her expression. Surprising, since as a Medi-Witch, as with most other health professionals, her face normally only showed what she wanted it to show. She almost growled in a manner worthy of Sirius Black.

“Feeling better?” she inquired blandly. ‘Ouch’. Brendan steeped himself deeply into his mentor’s psyche. Brendan had once read that it was possible to die of sugar overdose, he hadn’t believed it until he heard the sweet voice of Madam Pomfrey asking after ‘his’ health.

“Yes. Much better, your care last night was exemplary, as usual, Poppy.” Brendan almost burst out laughing at their nonplussed faces. Brendan had no idea for their reaction, not been aware of how little care Madam Pomfrey had actually given Severus last night. Still the comment fitted well with Severus’ persona in dealing with the staff at Hogwarts regardless of what had happened last night.

“Are you up to joining us for breakfast this morning, Professor?” Dumbledore asked into the ugly silence that had descended on the room.

Brendan quirked his eyebrow at Dumbledore. He’d noticed that the Headmaster had refused to call him by name. ‘Severus, why can’t you let them know’? he wondered. The answer would have to wait on Severus’ health, which according to Jaidy before he donned the persona of Snape this morning was still a near thing.

“Who was looking after my Slytherins last night?” he asked, curiously. ‘And more importantly how do I get you to relieve ‘me’ of that task’, he mused.

“Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said with some satisfaction.

Knowing some of the reason for the enmity between Severus and Black, Brendan was able to give a fair approximation of Severus having an apoplectic fit. “You left MY Slytherins in the paws of that mangy dog!” he yelled, not so thinly veiled threats in his voice.

“We were a bit short staffed last night, and given the circumstances, he was the only one available. I had planned to leave him and Remus, looking after Slytherin until you had recovered,” Dumbledore said with a malicious glint to his normal twinkling eye. “As to yesterday’s events, Miss Parkinson and Mr Malfoy’s stories are likely to be spread about the school by lunch today. Thus, even though you have recovered, I would prefer to let it be known that for reasons of stress you are taking an extended sabbatical from teaching.”

“Stress?” Brendan almost had to laugh at that. “And you expect that to be believed? You must be out of what little mind you have!”

“I am sure Madam Pomfrey can be relied upon to diagnose advance stress-related illness in you, isn’t that right, Poppy?” Dumbledore asked, addressing the last to the Medi-Witch who had remained silent throughout the discussions.

“I can make sure he’s got stress-related illnesses alright, Headmaster,” she mumbled under her breath before answering Dumbledore. “Given the circumstances, and the loss of one of the most brilliant student minds, we can have Severus suffering stress.”

“Stress over a Gryffindor? What next, am I to frolic in the autumn mist? Really, Headmaster, who in their right mind would believe that twaddle?” Brendan asked, ‘Oh to have a camera handy when I tell Severus that one’.

“Would you rather be available to talk to the Ministry Aurors who will no doubt be visiting us before the day is out?” Dumbledore asked. “I have decided that ‘placing you under house arrest’ as we discussed last night, oh, don’t look so shocked Poppy, is totally unacceptable. We are going to have enough panic I suspect as it is without adding to the furore. No one may believe it, but it will cover for why you are remaining in your quarters.”

Turning to Poppy he said, “Would you mind leaving us for a few moments? Professor Snape and I will be up to breakfast shortly.” Poppy left without a word.

Waiting until Poppy had left the dungeon area altogether Dumbledore turned to face Severus again. This time he let the full force of his fury, and disgust, show on his face. “I will keep the Aurors from you, but I expect that the sacrifice YOU decided WE had to make WILL be worth it. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly.” Sharp, bored and full of disdain, Brendan answered. Being confined to quarters was the best outcome.

“I have warded your quarters so that no one can enter without your express permission,” Dumbledore said.

“And just how are we to deal with visitors, if I am not present to give that permission,” Brendan sneered. “After all, I suppose this ‘arrest’ is about letting me attend Death Eater meetings without having to worry about unexplained absences.”

“I would be very surprised if you had any visitors, expected or otherwise, for a considerable time, Professor Snape.” Dumbledore stated blandly. “Let us just say the reaction of the Order was not particularly good, and in light of other events I would suggest that until we see some concrete information come out of this debacle, you would be better served remaining in your quarters at all times.”

‘And now I am one of them’, Brendan thought. He’d heard enough comments about the Order and Dumbledore since he took up the post of manservant to Severus to have a reasonably clear idea of what Severus thought his place in the universe was. It was not at all heartening to see it confirmed. “I believe that I am feeling particularly overwhelmed by the events of the last few years, a rest would certainly be appreciated,” he said with exaggerated care. “Now Headmaster, shall we adjourn to breakfast, I am feeling a touch peckish.”

Dumbledore silently lead his Potions Master to the Great Hall. Normally attendance at breakfast on the weekends was sparse and sporadic. This morning every seat, except for three, was filled. Draco and Pansy both looked up as Dumbledore and Severus entered the hall, one with a look of adoration, the other with a look of horror, mixed with fear. When Dumbledore had made it to his seat, he picked up a glass and in the tradition of end of year speeches, he tapped it twice to get everyone’s attention; the act itself was superfluous, he’d had everyone’s attention since he walked into the hall.

“As you are all no doubt aware by now we had three students taken from us from within the very halls of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore stated, no sugar coating today. “The act was perpetrated by a person, or persons unknown.” Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “As yet we have no word on their condition or whereabouts. Whilst it may be premature, we are currently assuming the worst. Voldemort,” he continued ignoring the startled gasps from the hall “has made it abundantly clear that he is willing to take the lives of both adults and children to further his aims. We will, as a result, be increasing security measures at the school, and all Hogsmeade weekends are cancelled until further notice.

“This callous action has affected us all, some more than others.” Dumbledore let his gaze rest on the Gryffindor table. “It is my somewhat sad duty to inform you all that Professor Snape feels particularly distressed at yesterday’s actions and has requested an extended leave of absence.”

Brendan sat calmly through Dumbledore’s pronouncements eyeing the student body with a profound look of bored amusement. Well aware of the thoughts likely drifting through that vacuum that characterised the student mind, on the subject of Professor Snape no longer teaching, he waited to see which group broke first. In the end it was their collective respect for Professor Dumbledore that stopped the students dancing for joy.

Giving his words time to sink in, Dumbledore addressed himself to the repast in front of him. Out of the corners of his eyes he noted the various looks directed at Professor Snape by the rest of the staff, and those members of the Order that were present. Mad-eye Moody’s look was the most interesting; the Auror had returned earlier unable to verify, or invalidate, Harry and Draco’s claims that a dark ritual had taken place where Harry’s parents were buried. Moody looked bemused. The rest of the staff looked ready to find out if they could cast Avada Kedavra.

Under all that scrutiny any normal man would have baulked. Brendan just concentrated on eating a hearty meal. After all he had heard Sirius Black’s comment as he had sat down, “You’re a dead man, Snivellus.” May as well aggravate the dog whilst he could, he knew for certain Severus would have. Tipping his head in Black’s direction he just smirked. Black’s fork snapped in his hand, but he did nothing else.

Brendan took his time eating breakfast; after all it was rare that he got to feast on the workings of Hogwarts kitchens. Almost as good as the one at the estate, but he had to agree with Severus that the coffee lacked a certain potency. Interestingly he noticed that while many of the students had finished eating, none had left the hall, and all conversation was subdued. ‘I bet that changes when I leave’, he thought to himself. Still, he needed to remain visible long enough to convince everyone of Severus’ health. After a leisurely hour, he finally got up to leave. He jauntily rose from the table, giving Dumbledore a perfunctory nod, and sneering at Black. The effect was immediately felt in the Great Hall, silence fell, and no sound was heard until he left, then the noise level went through the roof.

Brendan made his way down to the dungeons, never once breaking from Snape’s persona. Everyone may be in the Great Hall, but there were still the portraits to consider. Most of the occupants turned away as he passed. ‘I hope this is all worth it in the end’, he thought, finally reaching Severus’ quarters. The portal had been opened and was now beckoning him home, though he was guaranteed not to enjoy the trip.

Brendan strode through the portal with all the arrogance of Professor Snape on the prowl. He looked once at Pepper, who was waiting impatiently having just received word from Jaidy they were needed in the Master’s rooms, and turned an interesting shade of green. He then turned blue, followed by yellow, orange, and purple before settling on a nice shade of aquamarine. He didn’t actually notice any of this; he was far too busy trying to throw up his toenails.

Pepper, who had never had the chance to see the insides of a Muggle, thought he saw far more of the Brendan’s anatomy than any self-respecting elf should see. “Is you fine, sir?” he asked politely. “We’s needed in the Master’s rooms.”

A Babel fish would have been needed to actually translate Brendan’s reply to this rather innocuous question. On the other hand, said fish with a language filter would have said absolutely nothing. Brendan, however, on hearing the comment about needed in the master’s rooms pulled himself together and followed the elf towards the master bedroom.


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