Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Suspect

Chapter 43

Suspect

xxx

Something was very, very wrong with this picture, at least from Severus Snape's point of view. He was lying on his back, surrounded by vagrant pillows and fluffy mounds of blankets twisted with their complementary sheets. One of his legs had found its way off the edge of the bed and was dangling precariously, supported only by the swaddling layers of thin white fabric from which his bare foot protruded, exposed to the chilly morning air. The slightly ajar window was permitting the melodious sound of the wintering birds' songs to drift into the room; through the gaps between the leaves of drapery, sunlight was streaming through, falling elegantly across Severus' face and highlighting his rather large, rather misshapen nose.

This was not how Severus Snape did mornings.

Kicking the blankets off in a huff of frustration, Severus immediately rose from his bed and lifted his dressing gown off its hook. He threw it over his shoulders and moved to the window, which he snapped shut, cutting off the offending noise that the birds were making. With more zeal than necessary, he readjusted his robe and pulled the ties together, fastening them with precision. Summoning the hair band he normally kept in his working robes, he pulled his hair back, away from his face, only because he knew that it was likely to be sticking up in every direction. Glaring balefully at the mirror as he strode past it, he dared it to comment on his appearance. No sound issued from it, though it let out an unheard huff of frustration as Severus flung the door open forcefully enough that it swung on its hinges and rebounded off of the dresser, rattling the surface atop which the mirror was propped.

Severus' first thought was to ponder what his well intending but often errant child was doing that he hadn't considered rousing his father from his semi-unconscious state. He was either too distracted to notice that Severus had gone uncharacteristically comatose or he was ignoring the fact on purpose. Severus didn't like the odds of either.

Of course, Severus reconsidered as he paused mid-angry-stride in the wide hallway, it was also possible that Harry had given himself over to teenage inclinations and had also overslept. Scratching the back of his neck unconsciously, he realized that this was the more likely explanation. He quickly changed directions and headed for his son's room.

Upon finding Harry's room empty, however, Severus' indignation quickly returned. So the boy was awake. Awake and apparently unconcerned that he had seen neither hide nor tail of the normally early rising man he lived with. Moving quickly towards and down the staircase, Severus redirected his goals towards the kitchen. Surely, if the boy was not having a lie in, the kitchen would be the most likely place to find him. If sleep was not calling, food certainly was.

However, the kitchen too was empty, and Severus found himself perplexed and dully suspicious. He considered whether the boy was foolish enough to leave the house; he wanted to believe that he wouldn't be quite that stupid… but then, he had been awfully inquisitive as of late, and when curiosity struck Harry, disaster tended to strike everyone around him.

Trying to dismiss this fear as an irrational one, Severus quickly summoned Tibby. He'd be damned if he went on a wild goose chase through his own house; he had a house elf for a reason.

A split second later, Tibby instantly appeared, gazing up at her master with watery eyes and nervously kicking at the ground. Severus rolled his eyes in annoyance, but did not comment on her anxious state.

"Master calls for Tibby, sir?"

"Yes," Severus answered tersely. "Do you know of my son's whereabouts?"

"He is being in the library, sir," Tibby answered dutifully, though she looked surprised by the question.

"The library?" Severus asked with an expression of doubt, frowning and lifting his upper lip. "Harry?"

"Yes, sir," said Tibby.

"That is all, Tibby, you may go."

Tibby curtseyed before disappearing again, but Severus did not notice. He had already turned and made straight for the library, pondering what on earth Harry would be doing in there first thing in the morning.

"Harry?" Severus said tentatively as he opened the door, though he needn't have called. Harry was sitting at his desk, poring over the great tome Severus had given him only days earlier. Caught in the midst of jotting what appeared to be an important note, he absently murmured his hello without looking up. Severus stood patiently in the doorway until Harry turned his full attention to him, a grin lighting up his features as he took in Severus' ruffled 'just out of bed' appearance.

"You slept in?" Harry noted in way of question, grinning even wider when Severus scowled and gave him a peremptory nod, unwilling to discuss this lapse in character. "You must be getting more comfortable here," Harry commented offhandedly, redirecting his attention to his notes.

"Yes, astute of you to notice my absence," Severus sneered grumpily, but Harry seemed to take his response as benign, shaking his head and returning to his book.

Severus was glad when Harry broke eye contact; his observation had caused him distinct discomfort. It was the sort of presumptuous comment he would expect from Dumbledore, maybe, or even McGonagall on one of her more docile days, but from his son, it was a reflection that seemed a little too close for comfort. He did realise, of course, that as they got closer, it was only inevitable that Harry would begin to evaluate his actions and the reasons behind them with as much accuracy as Severus could predict his son's behaviour. Nevertheless, it was a discomfiting notion.

"Are you finding the book useful?" Severus asked after a moment, as Harry stilled his quill once again.

Harry nodded mutely, and then replied a second later, "I never would have understood how it fit into our situation if you hadn't described it so specifically before."

Blast the boy to hell. Severus' expression softened against his will at the subtle praise, and he resisted the urge to growl as he felt some of his tension leaving him. His own response to Harry's unnaturally good disposition made him feel as though he was being pacified intentionally, which both irritated and pleased him at the same time.

"Naturally," Severus replied, amending when Harry glared at him, "though that is due to no fault of your own. It's a complicated text; one needs a refined knowledge of Potions to apply it to real circumstances."

"There are ingredients listed in here that you didn't mention before," Harry commented.

"There are," Severus agreed, nodding. "Some are just basics of any such potion; some are included for stasis, and some are completely irrelevant and won't be used at all."

"Won't that… I don't know, won't that mess it up?" Harry ruffled his hair thoughtfully before continuing. "I may not be at the top of our class, but I've always had the common sense to at least follow directions… when I read them correctly, that is."

Quirking an eyebrow, Severus asked coldly, "Are you accusing me of having no common sense?"

"No, that's not how I meant it," said Harry defensively, frowning. "I was just hoping you would explain."

Severus nodded, and stepped into the library. Out of habit rather than necessity, he closed the door behind him, and with a flick of his wand, moved one of the chairs over to the side of Harry's desk, where he sat down and pulled the book closer.

"Take this, for instance," Severus said, pointing to a spot on the page. Squinting, Harry looked to where he was pointing, and Severus asked, "What is the purpose of this herb in your most basic potions?"

"It normally prevents the potion from overheating," Harry replied easily, remembering an essay they'd written on inhibitors only a few weeks before the Holidays.

"Correct," Severus responded, a note of approval in his voice. "But, look at this direction here; read it to me."

"Heat should only be used as a catalyst when the effects of the potion are to be limited to a specific time frame, in which case the amount of time required for brewing will be shortened. Exposure to heat over long periods of time will cause the stasis ingredients to break down, and will therefore have catastrophic effects on the potion as a whole. See page 229 for further instruction on catalytic enhancements—"

"You needn't read that far," Severus said amusedly, causing Harry to stop abruptly. "But do you see why an herb used for the purpose of controlling heat would be useless in this case?"

"We can't heat the potion because we need to brew it over a long period of time, to…"

"To enhance the efficacy of the potion," Severus finished for him, nodding.

"That makes sense," Harry agreed. "You know, if you taught like this all the time—"

"It might be unwise to finish that statement," Severus told him warningly, rising from his seat. "When you have finished in here, would you like to accompany me into the local market? I've a number of things to purchase before completing my work area upstairs."

Self-consciously running a hand over his mop of hair, Harry nodded, but said, "I'll just need to shower first. Can we go after that?"

Severus wanted to comment on the amount of time this would be wasting, but then he considered his late lie in, and realized it wasn't such an extreme request. He nodded his assent and turned to leave, contemplating his own need for a boost in personal hygiene.

xxx

It was a particularly calm day in terms of the weather. There was a definite chill to the January air, but the wind stood still and the sun was blindingly bright for a winter afternoon. Harry stood at the beginning of the path leading towards the end of the property line, waiting patiently for Severus to join him. He felt somewhat foolish, having donned the same Gryffindor themed winter wear he had begun using in his first year at Hogwarts, but he doubted anyone else would mind it as much as he did.

"I would have happily obliged your need for new winter apparel had you mentioned it. There's no need to insult my vision to make your point."

Except, perhaps, his very Slytherin father.

Harry turned to glare at Severus, who had just emerged from the house, tugging on his gloves and smirking at his own quip.

"There's no need to mock me," Harry informed him, starting down the path, to which Severus gave a low chuckle.

"It's only in the name of healthy house rivalry that I do," Severus told him as he matched Harry's stride.

Harry rolled his eyes, but with less annoyance than with force of habit. "So, where are we headed?"

"Is it necessary for you to ask the same question several times in one day?"

"I know we're going to get supplies for finishing the work room, but I mean, I've never heard of any place other than Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade—"

Severus lifted an eyebrow, amusement creasing the pale skin around his eyes. "Surely you don't believe that the every Wizard in all of Great Britain must travel to either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade in order to obtain the necessary materials for day to day life."

Harry shrugged. "I hadn't thought of it until now."

"You'll see once we arrive. Now, grasp my arm."

Harry did as he was told. In one quick and uncomfortable moment, the familiarity of Severus' grounds dissolved; when he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the back of an alleyway. He tottered a bit and extended his arms in a lame effort to regain his balance, and locating his father already at the street ahead of them, he dashed quickly to the older man's side.

"Are you quite alright?" Severus inquired in a way that was neither genuine nor curious.

Harry scowled.

"Fine," he muttered.

Stepping out onto the cobbled street after his father, Harry glanced at his surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a small market; there were shops lined up one after another, and outside of them, small stands, most of which were abandoned due to cold weather, but a smattering of them occupied by middle aged, shabbily dressed witches who seemed to be holding out on the hope that customers would turn up despite the bitter nature of the air.

"I thought the markets in the area were all run by muggles."

"All the known ones are," replied Severus. "You cannot reach this market by foot; you must enter it magically—there is no other way to gain access."

Harry murmured his understanding, but Severus wasn't paying attention. He had already located his first destination, and was instructing Harry to follow him inside.

There was little light within the shop; it wasn't gloomy or ill-kept, but it was dim and plain. A strong looking wizard with short, medium brown hair and heavy eyebrows emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel and grinning in anticipation of a sale.

"Hullo there," said the man in a voice higher than what Harry would have expected. "What can I do fer ya today?"

Severus explained to him that he was constructing an area in which he could work with volatile spells and potions, and that he would need the countertops he had constructed from wood reinforced accordingly with magic resistant stone.

"O' course, o' course," said the man, nodding and pulling a book from underneath the counter. "Per'aps ye would care ter choose a sample."

"I could really care less about the way the room looks, so long as it serves its purpose," Severus responded. Harry was impressed with the cordiality of his tone.

The shopkeeper gruffly nodded his assent, and, giving noticeable attention to Severus' attire, said, "Certainly makes meh job easier. Will basic black do?"

"That will be fine," Severus agreed.

After giving his information and choosing a date to pick up the supplies for the room, Severus and Harry left the shop almost as quickly as they had come. The rest of their day continued like this; every shop they entered, Severus quickly manoeuvred his way in and out, and come high afternoon, they had made all their trips to the stores within the market. Harry was beginning to wonder why Severus had brought him along; Harry was certainly of no assistance, and he'd barely been spoken to all day. His father seemed intent on completing the task at hand (of course, nothing less could be expected of Severus Snape, for if nothing else, he was efficient) and had rushed Harry through every shop, seemingly annoyed when Harry proved reluctant to move so quickly from place to place. Just as they exited their last destination, however, Severus turned a smile of satisfaction toward his son, and seeing Harry's irritable expression, suggested conciliatorily, "Lunch?"

"It's nearly four o' clock," Harry pointed out unnecessarily, following Severus, who was already on his way to the pub, down the street.

"Indeed," said Severus, his back still to Harry.

Frustrated by Severus' lack of cooperation, Harry looked around, searching for some way to stall his father. He didn't want him eating yet; he had asked Tibby this morning to have a nice dinner prepared as a way of celebration for his father's birthday, and had quoted the time of their arrival between five and six. He had to burn at least an hour, and he had to keep Severus from ruining his appetite.

Not for the first time, Harry found himself inordinately aggravated with his father's keen sense; he knew that whatever attempts he made at stalling, the man would pick up on his plan right away. Harry didn't consider himself a master of cunning, but he privately thought that if it weren't Severus he was dealing with, it would well within his capabilities to pull this off without even the tiniest hiccup in his plan. As it stood, however, he was seriously doubting himself.

"I'm not really even hungry," Harry said as he trailed after Severus, walking several paces behind as the man refused to slow down.

"No?" Severus asked, stopping and turning to face Harry. "Well, perhaps just a few drinks then, before we return."

"Yes," Harry quickly agreed, at once pleased that his father was playing directly into his plans. "Yes, drinks would be good."

Severus gave him an odd look, clearly noticing Harry's unusual behaviour but not knowing exactly to what it could be attributed. After momentarily considering the boy, who had plastered a convincing look of innocence on his face, Severus seemed to decide that whatever Harry was up to was relatively harmless.

Harry quickly joined Severus at his side, and saying nothing more, the two set off together towards the pub that looked to be in desperate need of business.

xxx

It was somewhere around five-thirty when Harry and Severus finally returned home. The aroma of freshly cooked food greeted them as soon as they stepped in the door, and Severus at once aimed a suspicious look in Harry's direction. Harry pretended not to notice.

"Let me get your cloak," Harry offered, to which Severus narrowed his eyes even further, though he did hand over the heavy black robe. He paused in the doorway as Harry disappeared into the coatroom, seemingly aware that he was to follow his son's lead. "Erm..." Harry muttered as he re-emerged, knowing instantly by the look on his father's face that he had a sense of what was going on. Not knowing what to say, he settled on a beckoning hand gesture as he turned and headed towards the kitchen. Sighing mildly at his son's lack of eloquence, Severus shook his head and followed.

The table, they found as they entered the kitchen, was set with elegant china that Harry hadn't known they owned, with a variety of rich dishes arranged across the tabletop. Tibby was nowhere to be seen, but Harry supposed she must have only just finished setting out their dinner as steam was still rising from each plate of food. Small dinner salads were set in front of each of their respective places, and next to them, full glasses of deep red wine. The look of suspicion on Severus' face had been replaced by a softer one of combined astonishment and sentimentality, if such a thing was possible on such harsh features.

"And what is all this?" Severus asked with a certain amount of gentleness to his voice, waving a hand at the scene before them.

"Ah... Happy Birthday," Harry said somewhat feebly, flushing against his will.

"You're a few days late," Severus said, though half of his mouth was quirked up into a smile of appreciation.

"I know," Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I did try to come down on Thursday, but you were at an Order meeting."

Severus quirked his eyebrow, as if to ask how he could know such a thing, and Harry explained, "McGonagall told me."

The other eyebrow raised, and huffing slightly, Harry added, "She caught me in your rooms."

The two lifted eyebrows drew together in a tight frown, and Harry hit his own forehead in frustration, saying, "I baked you a cake, so I wanted to bring it to you."

There was a pause, and then, "You baked me a cake?"

"Yes."

Taking another moment of silence, Severus contemplated what exactly he was supposed to say to that. Finally, he settled on asking, "What happened to the cake?"

"Well, erm...we ate it. Well...mostly Ron ate it... The point is that it was eaten."

"I see." It was all Severus said before moving to the table and taking his seat. Scratching his head and looking slightly confused, Harry followed suit.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked as he sat down across from his father, to which Severus immediately shook his head.

"Quite the contrary, Harry," said Severus, his eyes flickering briefly to the boy across the table. There was far more warmth in his voice than Harry was accustomed to, and he flushed all over again. Giving Harry an uncharacteristically sincere smile, Severus added, "Thank you. This is quite nice."

"Oh," Harry said, averting his eyes. "Well, good. I mean, you're welcome."

Chuckling, Severus said, "Of course."

Far more affable than Harry had seen him in quite some time, Harry thought with a hint of pride that he had done quite well. As far as his Father was concerned, he seemed to dislike overdone displays of affection or grandeur, and so a pleasant dinner between the two of them was all the recognition of his birthday he needed to feel appreciated.

"Purely out of curiosity," said Severus several moments later, pausing to take a sip of wine, "how exactly did you go about making a cake?"

"Hermione helped me," Harry admitted. "We used the Room of Requirement."

"Interesting."

Harry frowned and set down his fork. "What do you mean 'interesting'?"

Severus lifted his eyebrows at Harry's defensiveness. "I had simply never thought of using the Room of Requirement to bake... seems it would be simpler to ask the house-elves for one."

"Well... I wanted to make it personally."

Severus considered the boy across from him for a moment before answering. He was struck again by Harry's proclivity towards acting from the heart; it seemed strange to him, after all that the boy had been through in his life, that he could be endowed with such a natural tendency to care for the people around him. While Severus, when faced with the trials and tribulations of a rough childhood, had become more withdrawn and emotionally distant, Harry seemed to have developed a stronger sense of sentiment and loyalty towards those who treated him well. It seemed a strange reaction to rough circumstances, but one that he was not entirely adverse to. In fact, as time wore on, Severus found himself more and more fond of the boy for this very reason. Harry had offered him forgiveness on a silver platter, without Severus ever having deserved it. It occurred to him that while he had softened considerably towards the boy, he had done a poor job of expressing to Harry what a positive effect he had on Severus' life.

Clearing his throat, and suddenly finding himself grasping for his normal eloquence, he said, "That was very..." He paused, not knowing exactly what to say. Pressing his knuckles to his lips and thinking it over, he began again, "You are..." He paused again. Harry sat across from him, looking distinctly uncomfortable and expectant all at the same time. Severus closed his eyes, and keeping them closed, he said quietly, "You matter very much to me Harry. I hope you know that."

"I do."

Harry's voice was almost a whisper, and when Severus opened his eyes again, he saw that the boy was smiling at him.

"I'm glad it's you," said Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm glad you're my father," Harry repeated, his voice stronger this time. Severus folded his hands in his lap and gave him a slow nod, not knowing exactly what to say. "When this all began...I didn't know how it could possibly work. We hated each other... I mean, we really did. But I'm glad we gave it a shot, because I think... Well, all in all, we've done a pretty good job. I mean, we've hit a lot of rough patches, but that's to be expected, don't you think?"

Severus nodded, and Harry continued, apparently having reached his stride and not wanting to slow down. "No one has ever really been there for me like you have been these last five or so months... I mean, I know Dumbledore cares about me, but he won't tell me the truth about anything and he's certainly never spent as much time as you have making sure that I'm...that everything is okay. And Sirius...well, he was great, but I think he saw me more as another version of James than as...well, as a son. But not you. You don't see me as a friend or as a stray of sorts who needs to be taken in. You treat me like a son. Even if you are a little hard on me sometimes."

"Your Mother would have been so proud of you," Severus said, shaking his head. "Though... I like to think she already knows what sort of a man you've become. I feel justified in saying she is just as proud as I am."

"You're proud of me?" asked Harry, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Don't be thick," Severus said gruffly, returning his eyes to his meal. "Of course I am."

Though Severus had looked away, Harry continued to stare across the table at him. It wasn't that he hadn't known his father was proud of him. It wasn't that he hadn't realized the man cared for him. It was somewhat startling, however, to hear these things said aloud by someone normally so reserved; Harry simply hadn't expected it. Yet, though the whole conversation had caused Harry a certain amount of discomfiture, it had been a comforting and rewarding one nevertheless.

Seemingly aware of Harry's eyes on him, Severus raised his own to meet his son's gaze. After a brief moment, both looked away again; as they did, it occurred to Harry that something had passed between them that could somehow change the nature of their shaky relationship.

xxx

A tall and hulking figure moved swiftly up the gravel pathway toward Severus Snape's house. His hood was drawn over his face, as if to conceal his identity, but the dark of the night would have just as easily obscured his features. It was late; later than most would have dared to be seen outside in such a day and age, but the confidence of his stride suggested that he saw no danger in such a thing.

The man continued up the pathway, unencumbered by the many rocks smattered across the sloping ground. He purposefully drew his wand as he approached the front door, throwing back his hood to reveal a cleanly shaven head that gleamed in the moonlight.

As if on cue, the door of the house swung open and a stream of light issued from inside, illuminating the cloaked figure. The man stopped in his tracks and waited, wand at the ready. Another figure stepped outside, the light casting an eerie silhouette of all billowing robes and long hair blowing in the midnight wind, and he drew his wand as well.

A silvery jet of light issued first from Snape's wand, shortly followed by the man in front of him. Neither spoke as the beams of light took shape, forming a lynx and a fox in between the two men. The two patronuses circled each other once before each man abruptly ended his spell.

"Kingsley," said Snape, nodding curtly in the man's direction and closing the door behind him.

"Snape," came Shacklebolt's deep voice. Snape moved to his side, and the two men began to walk.

"I trust Harry is safe staying here alone?"

"The house is heavily warded," said Snape, with an air of defence. "And as you well know, Tonks is ready to come to Harry's aid should he need it."

"The advantage of having an Auror only a town away," commented Shacklebolt.

"Harry doesn't know that she's been stationed there as a precautionary measure," said Snape.

"I imagine the boy would resent it."

Snape nodded and continued walking, checking over his shoulder to see that Harry's window was darkened. "As he would resent knowing how many Order members we have surrounding the area. He can't know, Kingsley."

"I thought you were adamant about Harry being let in on more information?"

"Of course. But where Harry's guilt complex is concerned, I have no doubts that there are some things best left unsaid. He would despise knowing that others were putting themselves in danger for his sake."

"Did he know you were planning on leaving tonight?"

"No," answered Snape. "The House Elf will let him know should he awaken and look for me, but I doubt he will. He's not a child; he can take care of himself for a night."

"I have no doubt of that."

The two continued to walk to the end of the property in comfortable silence. As they reached the end of the path and approached the open gate, both men stopped, and Shacklebolt turned to Snape, pulling a flask from his robes and handing it to him.

"I told you this was unnecessary," said Snape, though he accepted the flask.

"You know you can't be seen," said Kingsley firmly. "I procured the hair from one of my trainees, so if you are sighted it will simply look as though I am taking you along on a patrol."

"Name?"

"Charlston Leiry, born Charlston Baier, graduate of Durmstrang. We run the risk of recognition, but considering the boy's family background, we are putting him in little more danger than he already faces. His situation is more desirable than yours, at any cost."

Snape raised his eyebrows in question, and Shacklebolt elaborated, "Wizard born, muggle raised from the age of twelve. His parents are both in Azkaban for the murders of muggleborns across Germany; he publicly denounced them at the start of his Auror training, when his loyalties were called into question."

"Ah," was all Snape said, uncapping the flask and sniffing the offensive potion. "Did you brew this?"

"It's safe, Snape, I tested it myself."

Though he still looked skeptical, Snape could apparently find no other reason not to take the potion. He lifted it to his lips and drank unflinchingly, withdrawing a moment later and giving a small shudder as the transformation began. Shacklebolt tactfully turned from him as his limbs shortened and increased in thickness, his formerly black hair lengthened, curled, and became a dark shade of blonde, his nose straightened and widened, and his eyes lightened from the deepest chocolate to the palest amber.

The change complete, Snape looked down to inspect his new body. He was shorter than before, but sturdier as well. He tied back the thick mess of blonde waves whipping around in his face and grunted as he adjusted his now misfitting clothes, repairing the button that had popped off the top of his pants during the transformation.

"I hadn't realized you were so thin," Shacklebolt commented offhandedly as he turned around and observed, causing Snape to scowl deeply.

The two passed through the open gateway, and Snape paused to close and lock it behind them.

"Grasp my arm," Shacklebolt immediately commanded, and somewhat reluctantly, Snape reached over and did so. Shacklebolt turned on the spot and the two Disapparated.

The two reappeared in the middle of a busy street on which several pubs were located. Witches and Wizards hovered outside the entrances waiting to be admitted, some dressed casually and some garbed in more revealing and attention-grabbing styles. Snape wrinkled his nose in distaste as several young Witches walked by and giggled in their direction; Shacklebolt remained neutral, surveying the area.

"He's here?" asked Snape quietly to Shacklebolt, who nodded his head.

"Lupin is waiting for us inside," he said, leading the way to a dark pub at the very end of the street, the only one of the four in the area that didn't seem to be drawing such a crowd. Shacklebolt nodded to the large Wizard positioned at the entrance, and the man stood aside, allowing the two to walk through.

Once inside, Snape expertly observed his surroundings, taking in every detail. Most of the pub's customers were old in age; the music that was playing was approximately ten years outdated, but the crowd that had gathered seemed to be enjoying it. The bartender was a grimy looking man, looking to be about sixty, and was ignoring his patrons at the end of the counter in favour of chatting with two attractive witches who appeared to be flirting their way out of sobriety.

As Snape continued his surveillance, his eyes fell on a crowd of people located closer to the back of the pub, near the restrooms. They looked distinctly out of place, all dressed in black robes and huddled close together, talking quietly amongst themselves. It didn't help that they were all considerably younger than the rest of those gathered in the pub. Sneering at their lack of subtlety, Snape turned to Kingsley.

"I assume our friend is among that group?"

Shacklebolt nodded, but said, "But we must leave them be for now; let's join Lupin over there."

Snape privately thought that he didn't quite need lessons in subtlety, but he didn't say so. Instead, he followed Kingsley over to Lupin, who was sitting alone at the end of the counter.

"No signs that they plan to leave soon?" Shacklebolt asked Lupin as they sat on either side of him.

"Not quite, but they're on their third round of mead, so I assume we haven't much longer to wait."

The plan was to wait them out; it was a popular crowd for older people, and so Snape, Kingsley, and Lupin blended in nicely amongst the other patrons. Their backs were to the group, and young and naive as they were (even for aspiring Death Eaters) they had not taken notice of the fact that two Aurors and a known member of the Order of the Phoenix had conveniently arrived on the same night on which they were gathering. It also served them well that Aurors frequently patrolled this street, and normally ended their nights here.

Contrary to Lupin's assumption, it was late when the group began to gradually disband. Snape noted the faces of the members as they left, recognizing with a pang of regret several students that had graduated from his house only a few years ago. It wasn't until most of the circle had disappeared that he was able to sneak a glance at Kinnaird's face.

The boy hadn't changed much since Snape had last seen him. He wasn't astonishingly good looking or impressive in figure, but neither was he completely unattractive. He had sandy brown hair that he now kept short on the sides but with enough length on top that he was constantly tossing his head in an effort to get it out of his brown eyes, which sat under dark, thick eyebrows. He had the look of one who had only just emerged from boyhood, with a flat nose and pink cheeks still slightly rounded by youth. He had grown thick facial hair in the form of a well trimmed beard that lined his jaw and surrounded his mouth; it was the only thing that made him look any different from the sixth years Snape taught on a daily basis.

The man's face was set in a deep frown as he spoke with the two men who remained at their table. His manner was far more reserved than Snape recalled, and there was a certain dark quality to his gaze as it settled suspiciously on the man sitting directly across from him. Apparently, whatever the other man was saying, Kinnaird did not appreciate it.

"It's nearly time," said Lupin from his right, drawing Snape's attention away from his former student. "Three left...he'll be leaving soon."

"That sounds familiar," growled Snape irritably, thinking he'd had rather enough of the pub scene. Lupin, however, ignored his comment, addressing Shacklebolt as he rose from his seat.

"I will alert you when he's on his way."

"Attempt to delay the others, if possible," said Shacklebolt, to which Lupin nodded.

Taking their leave of Lupin, the two men passed unnoticed through the pub. The street that had seemed so busy upon their arrival was now relatively empty but for a few stragglers; silently, Shacklebolt led Snape to a shallow alleyway from which they could watch for Kinnaird. As they settled into position, Shacklebolt extended the flask of Polyjuice to Snape. Snape, however, had no intention of remaining in his current form, and refused it with a certain shake of his head.

"Have you forgotten the price on your head?" chided Shacklebolt, offering the flask with more insistence.

"It is of no consequence," muttered Snape distractedly, half focused on his slowly lengthening limbs and simultaneously examining several men who were exiting the pub, stumbling slightly in their drunken stupor. After a moment of scrutiny he dismissed them as mere drunks and returned his gaze to Shacklebolt. "If Lupin is not successful in delaying the others, you may apprehend them, and I will be free to pursue Kinnaird unhindered. I'm certain he's not fool enough to make an attempt on my life, much less deliver me to the Dark Lord."

"We have no proof of his loyalty-"

"Precisely," hissed Snape as he gave an involuntary shudder of pain, irritation prominent on his slowly transforming features. He tapped his wand to his clothes in order to give his body room to grow upward and shrink inward, and barred his teeth as he continued to speak. "Let us not forget what a precarious position he finds himself in. Even if he were skilled enough to defeat me, it would certainly be unwise given the importance of convincing Albus of his loyalty. The importance of a spy far outweighs the bloodshed of a traitor."

On this point Shacklebolt seemed to acquiesce, for he withdrew the flask and tucked it back into his robes. It was not long before Snape's silent suffering came to an end and he was returned to his usual state; it was not necessarily an improvement, but it was normalcy, something Snape was glad for. Adjusting his robes around him, he glanced sideways at Shacklebolt, who was intently watching the fake galleon in his dark palm, waiting attentively for Lupin's signal.

"Ridiculous," muttered Snape under his breath as he leaned against the alley wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even in his early days as a Death Eater, he had never seen the need to stay late into the night in low class pubs on popular streets; it was not only distasteful, but it was also tedious, and unwise above all. These were the glaring errors of novices: meeting in crowded, well-known places which Aurors regularly patrolled, closing out the pub rather than leaving as soon as they began to drain, making their presence even more noticeable. These were the small things that told Severus that they were certainly not dealing with the more notable members of the inner circle. These were the new recruits, boys who wished to become men, who sought camaraderie above discretion and success.

"It's Lupin—" Shacklebolt said in a low voice, distracting Severus from his thoughts just as he caught peripheral sight of Shacklebolt reflexively tightening his grip on the galleon. Before Severus could respond or Shacklebolt could continue, however, a hoarse shout from across the street caught the attention of both men. They turned to look just in time to catch sight of one of Kinnaird's companions making a hasty exit from the bar as the pub owner emerged with the other caught by the hood of his robes. The owner was a rather burly Wizard, formidable in expression and apparently rather accomplished with a wand, as he'd managed to gain possession of both of theirs.

"Trying to get away without paying your tab, eh?" rasped the man as he roughly shoved his captive into the street. "We'll just see what the Aurors have to say about this, eh lads?"

It was as the two young men locked eyes with each other that both Shacklebolt and Snape sensed the situation taking a darker turn.

"Go," commanded Snape quietly, stepping back into the shadows. "Detain them; I will intercept Kinnaird."

A silent nod signalled Shacklebolt's agreement with Severus' hastily contrived plan, and he was across the street before he could hear Snape's added remark about the stupidity of both the pub owner and the junior Death Eaters. Severus watched darkly from the distance, unable to interfere now that he had lost the protection of an alternate appearance.

As Kingsley apprehended the delinquent young men, Severus' eyes traveled to the alley on the side of the pub from where a dark figure stood watching quietly. As the pub owner became absorbed in vehemently explaining the details of the situation to Shacklebolt, the figure slipped out onto the street and made his way quickly in the opposite direction, unnoticed by the gathered group.

Severus had very little question in his mind as to the identity of the hooded man. Glancing around the street, he threw his hood up over his head so that it hung down to his eyes and tilted his head forward so that his hair hung in his face, obscuring all but his dark eyes and hooked nose. Abandoning his own hiding place, he set off in the direction which Kinnaird was headed, following at a distance and lingering close to the buildings as he stalked along, safe from the flood of light surrounding each enchanted lamppost. He remained on his side of the street until Kinnaird reached the next and crossed to his side, continuing past the corner which escaped Severus' line of vision. Hastily changing direction, Severus ducked down a side street and ran towards the direction in which Kinnaird was headed. He knew the area well, even if he hadn't frequented it as a young man. Kinnaird was heading deeper into the depths of the city, and Severus needed to stop him before he reached an area where he might easily stumble across allies.

Severus rounded a corner quickly, his robes swirling around him as he came to an abrupt halt. He took several steps toward the next street, wondering if Kinnaird had already passed. Lowering his hood and brushing his long hair out of his eyes, he waited quietly. A shadow interrupted the steady flow of light on the pavement, and Kinnaird's profile shortly followed; Severus, standing back several meters, remained unnoticed. Eyes narrowing at his target, Severus stepped out onto the street, his wand clutched tightly in his hand but hidden by the long sleeve of his robe. In front of him, Kinnaird halted abruptly, shoulders stiffening in anticipation.

"Rather interesting crowd you're consorting with these days, isn't it, Kinnaird?"

Severus watched him quell the reflexive twitch of his wand arm as he took in the voice of his pursuer, and then he glanced over his shoulder, apparently gauging Snape's intent. When Severus made no move against him, his stance relaxed marginally, and he slowly turned to face his former mentor. Now that he was closer to the boy, he saw the signs of growing older in his appearance; frown lines were beginning to form between his eyebrows, and though his facial hair hid it well, the hollows of his cheeks had become more defined. Severus swept his eyes over the boy's form, and saw now that he was standing that he had lost weight over time. Eyes returning to his face, he observed the darkened circles under Kinnaird's eyes and noted the correlation between the two.

"I wondered if you'd make yourself known," Kinnaird said slowly, distracting Severus from his evaluation, and he could hear the deliberate taunt in his tone. He curled his lips at the boy's brashness.

"You knew I was following you?" he asked sceptically, unsure whether Kinnaird was simply attempting to preserve his pride at being tracked so easily or if his skills had simply been fine tuned over the years.

"I thought you might," Kinnaird responded carefully. "I noticed you in the pub."

Snape's eyebrows lifted in question, but he did not trust himself to speak. Instead, he trusted that Kinnaird would elaborate.

The boy did not disappoint. "I studied with you, Professor, for several years. I know your mannerisms. And furthermore, as I am to be your replacement…" Kinnaird paused here, seemingly repeating the words in his mind and questioning whether they were the right ones. After a moment, when Snape offered no reaction except to fold one arm elegantly over the other one, he continued, "I assumed you would make an appearance at some point. I've been waiting for you, Severus Snape."

xxx End Chapter 43 xxx

Chapter End Notes:
I know. I’m bad. *Extends wrists for shameless slapping*


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