The Comfort Of Good Friends Tom had dozed off. It took quite a bit to do that to either of them, and it never lasted long, but he lay perfectly still with air whistling softly through his crooked nose. Severus pushed a piece of hair out of his face. It promptly fell back. Without the silver ring to hold it, it went everywhere. "Tom?" Severus said softly. His arm was numb where eleven stone of Dark Lord was cutting off the circulation. No answer. "I can't feel my fingers, Tom." A slight smacking of lips. "Budge up." Tom snorted. He muttered something incoherent and rolled over. Severus pulled his arm free while he could. Tom immediately settled into the pillow. He shifted for a few moments and the soft whistling started again. Severus smirked and kissed his bare shoulder before rolling out from under the duvet. The Easter holiday hadn't gone quite as he'd hoped. Normally, there were loads of students there and it was easy to sneak out. After what happened to Romulus, though, most of the parents called their children home. Lupin had left the day after his brother died, accompanied by a woman with his large, amber eyes and tawny hair, and a man who looked like he would crumble any moment. The result was that fewer students were easier to look out for and it was more difficult for him to sneak out for long periods of time. To make matters worse, Tom was busy almost every day and night. The proof was in the Prophet every morning: sixteen Muggles found impaled on fence spikes in Lancashire, three Mudblood homes burned to the ground outside Bristol, suspected use of the Imperius Curse on Ministry officials. Severus made mental notes on everything, where subtlety was necessary and how to improve this or that. It was all fine and wonderful as far as a reign of terror went, but the execution was sloppy. Finally, on Good Friday, Tom was free, Severus was able to sneak away relatively early in the day, and the Invisibility Cloak Tom had lent him was put to good use. That was a good couple of hours ago. The Invisibility Cloak and the rest of Severus' clothes were strung from the door to the bedroom. Stretching, Severus rubbed his tingling left arm. A few good flexes of his fingers and the blood ran swift once more. He followed the trail, pulling clothes on as he found them, leaving his shoes and socks where they'd fallen. He found himself standing in the hall underneath the trapdoor to the attic. He wasn't much in the mood to read, and Tom had encouraged him to treat the cottage as his home. With a flick of his wand the trapdoor slid open, and he levitated upstairs. It was a large attic, larger than a cottage of the size should have had and probably magically altered. Torches came to life on command, throwing flickering shadows over shelf upon shelf of bottles and vials and jars and odd packets of dried things. Everything was meticulously alphabetised and listed by common and scientific names. An enormous set of shelves was devoted to completed potions. Cauldrons hung upside-down from the ceiling to avoid dust settling in them and causing issues. Severus selected an enameled iron one and within a few minutes had a variant Painkilling Potion simmering over a small flame. Tom had given him the formula to help with his legs. It had to simmer for half an hour, and the only necessary stirring was fifteen minutes in. Severus set a timer and wandered to the potions shelves to pick through. He lifted jar and phials of liquids, delicate, shimmering ones that would kill with the most exquisite pleasure, thick, toady ones that slurped when he turned them and could dissolve a person from the inside out. From the most whimsical to the most lethal, Tom's chemical arsenal could make a hardened nihilist tremble in fear. The timer dinged and Severus dutifully stirred the cauldron twelve times before setting the clock again. He cleaned the stirring rod and went back to the shelves. He'd just set down the fragile Flower of Morning (so named for the chrysanthemum-shaped fireballs it created) when he noticed an exceedingly small vial at the back of a shelf. It was the same type they used in school. Severus frowned. None of the others were standard student vials. He picked it up and held it up to the light. Transparent green gel broke the light, creating a shattered lattice of light and shadow. Hesitantly, he unscrewed the cap and waited for the scent to fill the air. Mint. Severus recapped the vial. He turned it over. Etched on the bottom were the letters L.B.M. He nearly crushed the glass in his fist. He barely heard the soft sound of feet settling behind him. Long arms wrapped around his chest, and lips found his cheek. "You should have woken me." "How long have you had this?" Severus opened his fist, letting the vial rest innocently in his palm. "Ah, Lucius' potion." Tom plucked it from his hand. "He brought it... maybe last November? He didn't tell me where he got it. After you told me about finding my notes I assumed you'd given it to him. Why?" Severus was quiet. His fist curled. His lip twisted into a sneer. "Has he brought you any others?" "No. I helped him make some antidote, though." A pause. "Oh, dear." The arm around Severus' waist tightened. "I'll speak to him, shall I?" "No." "No?" Severus wriggled out of Tom's hold and swept over to his cauldron. He stared at it, fidgeting. He heard the rustle of heavy robes, felt a hand lay against his back. "I'm going to kill him." He said it calmly, matter-of-factly. The cauldron burped. "I'd rather you didn't." "Why? Running out of lackeys?" Tom's hand stiffened in surprise. "Actually," he said with an edge in his voice, "I'm not keen on the thought of you being sent to Azkaban. You're cleverer than that, Severus. I'm disappointed that you'd stoop to something as crass as murder." "What am I supposed to do? Just ignore it?" Severus spat. The timer dinged, and he hauled the cauldron off the burner. He dropped it, and it splashed on his hand. He hissed. "Calm down!" Tom grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the potions shelf. He quickly pulled down a bottle of clear goo. It stank of menthol. He took Severus' hand forcefully and smeared the goo thickly on red skin. "You of all people should know better than that." His reddish eyes were narrowed, lips drawn thin and tight. "Sorry," Severus muttered. He sneered slightly, but let Tom rub the burn potion into his hand. "If you're that set on revenge, wait. He's too dunderheaded to remember anything a year from now. That ought to give you enough time to come up with something fitting." Severus was quiet. Tom kept rubbing more potion into his hand. The redness had faded, and a cool tingle ran from his fingers to his wrist. "Think about it," Tom said softly. "Is it better to kill him now and spend your life in Azkaban, or make him pay in flesh for a long, long time? He doesn't even have to be certain it's you." "I want to do it." "I never said it wouldn't be you. I only said he doesn't have to be certain it's you." Tom set the bottle aside and wiped his hands on a towel. He stroked Severus' cheek. "Look at me, love." Severus did. Tom's eyes were level with his. A few strands of black hair fell around that pale face. Long, slender hands grasped Severus' narrow waist. Tom said nothing, only gazed at him intently. It clicked. Severus' lips curled in a slow, wide smile. Tom mirrored it. It was a thing of ominous beauty and stark terror. They really were so very alike. Sirius Black glared straight at Snape. Lucius did the same, but Snape kicked him under the table and he stopped. They were down to seven; Lupin had, understandably, been excused from the Academic Bowl. The Great Hall churned with motion as swarms of students shoved and shuffled to their seats. The noise made Snape's stomach clench. Tom had cast Amplifico Impressio - the minor form, not the curse form - on him as an experiment the night before. Severus had simply blinked at the end of the spell and, suddenly, tiny flecks of dust were visible on the clean table. The microscopic thread wrapped around Tom's miniscule hook on the table was as clear as yarn in the low light that always filled the cottage. His hearing, his senses of touch and taste and smell, everything was amplified viciously. While it certainly made for a fascinating time on top of the duvet, Severus was starting to wish it took less than a few days for the charm to fade. He squinted in the bright sunlight of the Great Hall. Severus had tilted his hat so the brim cast a shadow over his eyes. He was silently grateful that he'd inherited his mother's pitch black eyes; it meant nobody else could see the slits his pupils had become. Thankfully, the noise in the room was settling down. He could still hear the shuffle of feet and the swish of fabric, and the low noise of a couple kissing at the Ravenclaw table, but the overall crushing roar was dying. Dumbledore clapped his hands. It sounded like a bullwhip. "If you'd all settle down, round four is about to begin." Severus thought he heard a subtle hissing beside him. He glanced at Lucius. Lucius narrowed his eyes. The array of small sounds lessened. It became bearable. He no longer felt as if his ears were about to split. A Hufflepuff's compact suddenly reflected a shard of sunlight into his eyes. Severus whimpered. He squeezed them shut. When he looked up, the headmaster was watching him with an unreadable expression. "If everyone is ready?" he asked, turning away from Snape. Silence. Dumbledore nodded and picked up a small stack of cards. "Hands on bells. Question one is: In the underground regime of the Goblin Rebellion of 1843, what was the title given to the primary tactical advisor of a guerilla general?" Severus smacked his bell a fraction of a second after Lucius. He cursed mentally. The names came up above the headmaster's head: MALFOY, SNAPE, PIERCE. "Mister Malfoy?" Lucius paused a fraction of a second. Severus frowned - the odd hiss rose and fell. "The Gurzkah Geh'main." "Correct." Lucius gave Severus a smug, sidelong look. Severus raised an eyebrow. "Question two, a continuation of question one: What is the literal translation, into English, of 'Gurzkah Geh'main'?" Again, Severus smacked his bell. Again, Lucius beat him by the slightest fraction of a second. Severus scowled. Once again, the names came up: MALFOY, SNAPE, LONGBOTTOM, PIERCE. "Mister Malfoy, again?" Lucius paused, once again, for a fraction of a heartbeat. The hiss was lower now. Severus had to strain to even be sure it was there. "An obsidian blade that fits well into a skilled hand." "Correct." The questions came as quickly as before. By question fourteen, Lucius had taken thirteen of them, every single one with Severus close behind. Lucius didn't know all those things. He'd be lucky if he knew a third of them. The hiss accompanied every question. The fifteenth was the same as before. Lucius hit his bell and waited for the names to come up. Severus looked at him. In that fractional pause, Lucius' eyes flickered towards the Slytherin table. Emeric had his hand over his mouth. He looked like he was mouthing something. Severus' eyes narrowed vengefully. Lucius was just opening his mouth when Snape cut in. "Headmaster?" "Mister Snape, I'm afraid it's not your-" "Malfoy's cheating." He sneered at his own House. "He's got a Surveillance Charm running and Avery's giving him the answers." Emeric pounded the table. "That's not true!" It might have been more convincing had he not used the hand he'd been muttering into. Lucius yelped and fell over backwards. He got up, rubbing his ear. He didn't take his vicious eyes off Severus. A hand went for his wand. Severus stared him down. Go ahead and try it, Malfoy. You've got plenty of witnesses, and I don't have a skull on my arm. The room had gone up in a roar of excited chatter once more. Severus glanced around and saw Black staring at him with open shock. The headmaster cleared his throat. When that didn't work he clapped his hands. Severus winced at the sharp sound. "All of you, settle down!" He swept the room with a stern blue gaze. "We will have a short recess until this matter can be resolved." Dumbledore motioned to McGonagall and Flitwick. They stood with him. Flitwick went to the Slytherin table and glowered at Avery. Avery reluctantly stood. His face had gone red enough to hide his freckles. He shot Snape a look that could have burned holes through steel. McGonagall touched him lightly on the shoulder. "You'll have to come with me, Mister Snape." He nodded and stood primly. She led him to Flitwick's nearby office, where Lucius and Emeric were already hunched against the cold stares of professor and headmaster. There were no empty chairs, so he simply stood behind his Housemates, hands clasped at the small of his back. Emeric glanced over. He looked ready to spit venom. Dumbledore paced around the three of them. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, giving him an air of constrictive authority. "I'm disappointed. Deeply disappointed." "You haven't got any conclusive evidence, sir," Lucius said sharply. "I think Snape is only lying because he's not good enough." "We'll see about that, Mister Malfoy. Filius?" Professor Flitwick hopped off his tall chair and trotted around the desk. His wand was in his hand. Clearing his throat, he pointed it at Lucius. "Denudo Incantatem!" An odd red glow developed around Lucius' right ear. Three cirrus like branches hovered and shifted around it. One led straight to Emeric's right hand. The back of Lucius' neck turned just as red as the cloud. "Minerva, would you please find Socrates and inform him of the situation?" "Certainly, Albus." She threw the two of them her own cool look and left. "I'm deeply, deeply disappointed that any Hogwarts student would stoop to such levels in order to cheat. I'm afraid the punishment will be severe." He paused. "Considering that it was a member of your own House who revealed you, I'm loath to take points. However, rest assured there are plenty of suitable alternatives." "How d'you know Snape wasn't involved, sir?" Emeric looked up with arrogantly hooded eyes. "I had nothing to do with this, Headmaster. I saw Avery speaking into his hand, and, based on Malfoy's performance today, I deduced what was going on." Dumbledore nodded. "Very logical, Mister Snape. Ten points to Slytherin for that alone. Assuming you're telling the truth, which I have no reason to doubt." He turned to Flitwick. "May I leave these two with you, Filius? I need to speak with Mister Snape in private. Perhaps you could try to find out who our other two miscreants are?" "Yes, sir." Flitwick's expression was steeled behind his cloud of a beard. "Sir?" Lucius piped up. Dumbledore looked at him. "I hope this is good, Mister Malfoy. You're in enough trouble as it stands." "Well, sir, you know, Severus talks in his sleep sometimes. He's been saying... suspicious things lately-" "Spit it out, Mister Malfoy." "You ought to look at his left arm, sir. I think you'll find something interesting there." Severus blinked at his former friend. The fool didn't know what sort of mistake he was making. Whatever trouble Dumbledore had in store for him was nothing - nothing - compared to what the Dark Lords would subject him to. He raised the loose fabric of his left sleeve. "I don't see what's so interesting about my arm, Lucius. New fetish of yours, perhaps?" Malfoy stared incredulously. He reached out with stiff fingertips to touch the unblemished flesh. "No. No, you're one of the Dark Lord's followers. I... I heard you. You-I-" "Please. Do you honestly think I would stoop to following some self-declared 'Dark Lord'?" Lucius shook his head. "You self-serving, pretentious, greasy-haired bastard-" "That's enough!" snapped Dumbledore. "You have been found guilty of cheating, Mister Malfoy. The method alone is very nearly enough to have you expelled. I suggest you hold your tongue before I do so." The pale blue eyes burned with bottled fury. Severus found himself stepping back from the headmaster - he'd certainly not want to tangle with him magically. Dumbledore touched Severus' shoulder. "Come with me." Severus nodded silently. He looked back at Lucius and Emeric as he walked out. They stared at him with an intensity that might have made another man crumble. They walked in silence towards the headmaster's office. Severus held his chin aloof, swooping along in his hip-propelled way. Dumbledore kept up more easily than a man of a hundred and thirty should have. The whispered password, "Wine gums," was more than audible to Severus. He smirked to himself; should he want it, he had access to every particle of information Hogwarts had to offer. At least, he did until the password was changed. Dumbledore motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Severus knew for a fact that Sirius Black had sat in it not that long ago. He wrinkled his nose, but sat anyway. He folded his hands gracefully in his lap and waited. The headmaster clasped his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "What happened, Severus?" Snape blinked. The headmaster seldom called him by his first name. The only time he could remember, he'd just been informed of a curse that, despite his best efforts and research, was, indeed, permanent. He'd only stopped looking into cures when he found out that Tom had it, too. It became a point of pride. Snape straightened his shoulders a bit more and opened his mouth. "Malfoy paused after every question. Additionally, he was answering things he couldn't have known." "Such as?" "The precise ratio of saltpetre to African violet sap to manticore blood to iron filings in Malicious Elixir, the significance of larger prime numbers in relation to quadrilateral Arithmagical extrapolation, the literal translation of 'Gurzkah Geh'main'. Shall I go on?" "How do you know he wouldn't know them?" Severus smirked. "If you'll look at his record, headmaster, he's average in Potions at best, has never studied Arithmancy, and finds History a complete bore. However," his smirk grew into a cold smile, "Rosier is fifth in our year in Potions, Avery is third in Arithmancy, and Wilkes is virtually fluent in Gobbledygook thanks to his mother's work with Gringotts." Dumbledore regarded him. "You're certain they're involved?" "I'd wager my life on it, sir." Severus sat calmly, eyebrows raised in a secure, serene sort of way. "What about Patil? He's the only other Slytherin boy in your year." "I'd sooner suspect Hagrid, sir. Nagendra would never stoop to cheating." "Is there anyone else you'd suspect?" "No, sir." Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Severus." Snape started to get up. Dumbledore waved a hand at him. "Sit back down. I have a few more things to ask you." Severus sat a bit suspiciously. He kept his hands on the arms of the chair. "Sir?" "How did you really figure out what was going on?" "I already told you, sir." Dumbledore shook his head. "You've been wincing at the slightest sound since you arrived at the Great Hall. Furthermore, your hat?" He motioned to it. "You haven't normally got it pushed so far over your eyes. You heard something, didn't you?" Severus blinked. He feigned shock. "Headmaster, I don't quite know of what you're accusing me." "A sense amplification charm isn't forbidden, Severus, but I don't understand why you would use one unless you suspected something." Caught between transparent lie and damning truth, Severus decided to compromise. "I was simply experimenting last night, sir. I honestly had no idea they had planned to cheat." He looked at Dumbledore innocently. "It seems to have been for the best, though." Dumbledore chuckled. "That it has." He stood up. Something in his eyes told Snape the matter wasn't quite settled in that sharp old mind, but he wasn't about to hear another word of it. "Let's hope this is the last time any outrageous claims are made against you, eh?" Severus smirked. "Yes, sir." A few minutes later, Severus sat alone at the Slytherin portion of the table. A strong round of applause had risen up when he re-entered the Hall, surprisingly well divided between Houses. He glanced down the Gryffindor table and caught Lupin's small smile and enthusiastic clapping. He returned the smile. Professor Dumbledore was once again in the middle of the staff table. He cleared his throat, and the deafening (to Severus, anyway) rumble of feet and hands and voices settled to a low growl. "In light of the situation, all points will be reduced to zero. My apologies to Ravenclaw for this necessity." He nodded to Longbottom, who'd beaten Lucius once. "The first sixteen questions will be stricken, and the final tally will be based on the remaining eighty-four. If all players are ready, we'll resume now." He picked up his cards again. "In what year, by whom, and in response to what was the position of Auror instated in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Three names came up: SNAPE, PUGGLESBY, BLACK. "Mister Snape?" "In or around the year 1347, by the modern calendar, by the first Auror, Lord Aurelius Camden of Bath. It was created to hunt down and 'illuminate in the light of day' - hence the name 'Auror' - the Dark wizard Sericus and his followers, known as the Silken Cord." "Correct." Severus smiled. There was no way he could lose. Two days later, he was still quite pleased with himself. Out of eighty-four questions, Severus had swept forty, and he could have done much better had the day's general buildup of noise and other sensory overload not given him a Cruciatus-level headache. He'd made a mental note to mention that to Tom; really, how could the man live with the permanent curse form of the spell? Severus peered in the mirror. His pupils were no longer serpentine slits. At least, he couldn't see if they were or not and so he assumed that they'd gone back to normal. His skin was still hypersensitive, however; touch and smell seemed to take the longest to go back to normal, and they seemed set on translating everything to pain. He'd suffered through classes for a single day. He'd tolerated the combined stench of three nauseating meals. Now, after what should have been a soothing blood warm bath in the prefects' tub was marred horribly by the last prefect using those damned scented bubbles, all he wanted was to escape. He pulled on the robe Tom had given him a couple of weeks before, buckled himself in thoroughly, tossed a light cloak over top, made a quick detour to leave his toiletries in his trunk, and went outside for a walk. The early May evening was cool, pleasantly so. Were his skin not still so sensitive he would have forgone the cloak. As it went, though, he'd decided to try Tom's habit of going without anything underneath. The occasional slight breeze tickled its way up the robe and caressed his bits. It sent a shudder up his spine. Not an entirely unwanted shudder, he had to admit. The air smelled cool and clean, and from the distant mountains he detected the faint ozone scent of snow melting and running in slushy trails. Severus smiled; Tom outright forbade any shoes past his radiator until the thaw was over. Severus wandered past the Quidditch pitch, simply enjoying the falling dark. It was going on nine, and there was still plenty of light from the west. The brightness touching his eyes triggered no pain, simply a warm burst of ecstasy over being alive. The grass was soft beneath his shoes, the ground firm and comforting and perfect for walking, and were his skin not so opposed to the idea he might have found a secluded spot to pull off his robe and just enjoy the cool green softness on his body. After all, the world needed senseless acts of beauty. He started down the large, natural ramp that ran along the cliffs to the lake. There were doubtlessly people there, but Severus could find a secluded place like an alcove or maybe a small cave in the cliff side and just be isolated. He paused for a moment to soak in some of the sunlight. Severus felt rather like a cat. He stretched his arms and arched his back and only that kept him from landing on his face when the body bind struck. He would have winced if he could when he crashed full-force on his fingertips. His hat rolled away. There was the sound of muffled footsteps, a few hissed orders, and he felt himself being dragged by the feet into the edge of woods that ran along the path. He couldn't see who'd done it, but by the scent of cologne wafting back at him, Malfoy was involved. "Drop him," Lucius said when they reached a small, grassy clearing. Someone did, and a moment later he was balanced precariously on his fingertips, pointed toes digging into the soil. Someone - Wilkes - asked what to do about the cloak. "Just shove it up with everything else." Severus' heart pounded. He felt a distant, detached shiver of fury run through his petrified muscles. Robe and cloak alike were pushed up almost to his shoulders. Severus tried to close his eyes. He couldn't. The cool air bit his skin. It felt like being thrust into a vat of ice. Lucius laughed when he saw Severus' lack of anything underneath. "Oh, well, this is an unexpected invitation. Here I thought you'd had your fill of me, Sev." Severus tried to grit his teeth. Malfoy's suffering would be unparalleled. A soft, wheezy voice asked, "What now?" "We already discussed this, Emeric. God, you didn't even bring your potion with you, did you? Brilliant, we're in the woods with an asthmatic, surrounded by pollen-" "I brought one." A slight rustling of robes. "Then why don't you drink it already?" "I don't," wheeze, "need it yet." Lucius snorted. "You lot, go get to work. And hurry. S'not like we've got a lot of time, here." Three distinct sets of footsteps trudged off. Lucius knelt in front of Severus. The magically oversized Stetson had slipped over his eyes. He nudged it back with a finger. "Evening, Sev." Severus didn't answer. He couldn't speak. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" Silence. "No, I don't think we'll have any rain tonight. Too bad, really. You'd enjoy camping out, I expect." Again, silence. "What's that? What am I doing?" Still, silence. Lucius patted Snape's head. "Don't worry about that. You'll find out soon enough." He knelt there, a blissful look on his delicate face, humming softly to himself. Severus seethed quietly. Tom was going to hear of this. Oh, yes, he was. A minute later the three sets of footsteps came within hearing distance again. Voices were arguing, and the dry wheeze was steady now. "Just take it, Emeric! You should have told us you're allergic to roses!" "I'm not," gasp, "allergic," wheeze, "to roses! I," wheeze, "told you it was the," gasp, "Whomping Willow blooming!" "Take the stupid potion. We had to drag Snape out here, we don't want to have to drag you back." "Bite me," wheeze, "Evan." "Emeric, just take the fucking potion already," Lucius snarled. "We don't have time to muck about." He stood, leaving Severus to stare unblinkingly at a field of green. From behind, the sound of a vial being opened and a small amount of liquid being sucked out filled the air. Severus smelled the bitter chocolate stench of Easy Breathing. The wheezing lessened, but it would take time for it to go away completely. More sounds arose, thick, whippy sounds, and the crack of vines being stripped. Lucius giggled. "I think we're set. Emeric, go sit down until you can handle it. We don't want to have to carry you up to see Madam Pomfrey again." "Prick." Another wheeze, softer and moister than before. It was followed by a violent fit of coughing, a wet, choking sound, and the unmistakable splat of something thick landing in the grass. "God, Emeric, that's disgusting. Can't you hold it?" "Only if you want me to choke to death." "Would be an improvement, sometimes." A pause. "Hold tight, I'll have him ready in a minute." More footsteps, and Lucius once again knelt in front of Snape. "I've got a little surprise for you, Sev." He reached into his robe and withdrew a small jar of yellow lotion. "Not much left, is there? You've been a busy boy this year. Seeing as it was in your table and not your trunk, I didn't think you'd mind." He unscrewed the lid. The sweet, cardamom-tinged scent of kulfi wafted out. Lucius dipped three fingers in. He smirked lopsidedly. "I've wanted to do this for so long, my friend. The Dark Lord would be pleased with our creativity, no?" He stood up. Suddenly, there was a piercing, slapping pain in the middle of Severus' back. He would have flinched. Another quickly followed, and another, and merciless hands began rubbing the lotion in. The bite of the cool air turned to flensing. Severus had no choice but to take it. "Give me that thing, Adam. I'll tell you when you can help." A rustle of vines, a slight hiss. "Goddammit, I thought you stripped all these off. Least that stuff's still good. Ow. Dammit." There were a few experimental whistling sounds. Severus braced himself. The first bite of thorn and vine dug into his flesh and seemed to carry off huge chunks of it. He couldn't even gasp. Pain upon pain, magnified ten times beyond what it should have been, radiated out from myriad tiny holes. A metallic miasma teased his nostrils and threatened to bring up his supper. Another lash, this one lower on his back, dug into spine. For a moment, the agony made him black out. A few more hideous lashes, and two more whips joined in. They devoured him from scapulae to sacrum, wrenching flesh, renting nerve. Trickles of hot blood began to drip from Severus' sides, run down through the cleft in his arse, pool behind his knees. The searing, knifing pains filled him, bounced back and forth, built upon each other until his nerve endings fizzled and failed and all he felt was heat, damnable heat, immolating his flesh and dissolving the last remnants of his skin. The whole time, Lucius murmured to him in a sweet, loving tone. "The Dark Lord doesn't like it when people hurt his followers, Sev. All we wanted to do is make sure Slytherin wins. Can't you understand that? It's a simple concept, really, although I honestly wouldn't expect someone as ambitionless as you to understand. He's trying to make the world better for our kind. I suppose that if you're too stubborn to accept that... well, it's a shame, really, isn't it? He was so eager to meet you. All in all, he was a bit surprised when I told him about that little spell I helped you with - did you know that you've got an Osmosis Curse? I found it in one of his books. S'why you're so ugly - but I don't think he minded terribly much. Seemed rather impressed with you. Too bad you're such a failure, then, isn't it? Oh, and he loves making potions. You're a bit alike in that respect. He helped me make one. Why do you think Evans told her pathetic little boyfriend that you shagged her rotten?" The lilting tone went on and on and on. "'Course, that leaves a whole other matter. You used an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow student. That sort of thing really ought to come to the attention of the headmaster, wouldn't you agree? I'm sure Lord Voldemort will be pleased to know that we've sent one of his opponents to Azkaban. If you'd only watched your mouth when you met him you wouldn't be in this mess, Severus. We Death Eaters watch out for our own. We're one big happy family. That's what you want, isn't it? A family who'll accept you for who you are? You don't seem to have much luck with that. Shame. Nothing that can be helped now, I suppose." An especially vicious whip and tear seemed to lay Severus' shoulder blades open to the air. Cooling, useless tears involuntarily dripped down the sides of his nose. Emeric still wheezed softly behind the noise. The wheezing had grown steadily more intense. "Lucius... Lucius, stop it. You'll," wheeze, "kill him." "Grow some balls, Emeric. It's only a little blood." "Lucius," wheeze, "please. Stop it." "He's right, Lucius," Adam said. One of the flails stopped. "I really don't want to have to explain anything." "He's not going to die." Lucius brought his flail down hard. "Am I right, Severus?" "Lucius, stop it," Evan said as his whip ceased as well. "Do whatever you want, only stop hitting him. I mean, god, there's no skin left on his back!" Lucius' whip came down twice more and finally stopped. There were a few moments of silence, and the soft sudden fuff of a rose vine hitting the grass. "Fine. I suppose you want me to clot him up, too?" "Please, Lucius?" Emeric still wheezed. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. I mean," wheeze, "it's not like he's a Muggle or anything." "You cowards. Fine." There were a few muttered words and an itching stiffness covered Severus' flayed back. "Don't go anywhere. I've got things to finish." He made a thoughtful sound for a moment. "I think... put him on his back." There was a small array of protestant sounds, but Severus felt himself being rolled over. Blades of grass dug into his flesh like knives. Lucius hovered over him. He pointed his wand. "Finite Incantatem!" Severus' arms fell to his sides. Wrenching pain shot through his skull and ricocheted. He went utterly limp, trembling at the onslaught still echoing through his battered body. Lucius smiled. He started to open his mouth to perform some other spell, but Severus somehow found the strength to rasp, "You shouldn't have done that, Lucius." "Oh? And why not?" "I'll tell." Lucius laughed derisively. "And what are you going to tell old Dumbledore, hmm? That you were abducted by a pack of Death Eaters and lived?" Severus said nothing. Bitter frost seemed to envelop him from inside. Slowly, hands clumsy and slipping, he managed to undo the high neck of his cloak. It fell back. Silver buckles glinted in the muffled twilight. The organic stench of urine filled the air. It came from Wilkes' direction. Rosier keened; Avery's low wheezing turned desperate. Lucius simply stared, blanching. "I don't believe you," he hissed. "I'm sure Tom will be eager to hear this." "Tom?" "Riddle. Lord Voldemort." Lucius took a step back, pale face impassive. Adam started to whimper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he chanted. "Don't tell him. Don't tell him. I'm sorry. Please, Severus. Please. Don't tell him." Severus glanced at him with hooded eyes. His hands had fallen back to his shoulders. He could barely find the strength to breathe. Lucius stood back, staring. The harsh rise and fall of his chest belied his calm. He didn't budge as Adam and Evan carefully, reverently began to pull down and smooth the cassock-cut robe. They kissed the hem gently and scurried back, heads bowed. Lucius glanced at them in disgust. He didn't dare speak, though. Quietly, Adam still whimpering in terror under his breath and Emeric wheezing steadily, they left the clearing. Lucius walked backwards, hat slipping over his forehead, until he was mostly hidden by the trees. Severus kept his black eyes fixed on his former friend. Only when Lucius was out of sight did he close them. \tab Descent Severus squirmed in his chair. Three weeks later it still hurt to lean against anything. Tom hadn't been able to heal his wounds completely; scar tissue had formed an eroded mountain range of translucent white flesh. It forced him to hold his shoulders stiff, giving him an air of arrogant nobility. He wasn't sure anyone in the school (save four particular Slytherins who'd been banned to Filch's office) wasn't present for the final round. It probably shouldn't have been anything for him to care about. However, it was a last chance to prove his superiority before the school. It was a last chance to prove to Black, glaring from the other end of the staff table, that Gryffindors weren't better. As a precaution, the final four players had been tested for cheating spells. A soft yellow glow appeared around Lisa Sprout, but it was quickly determined to be a Calming Charm. She still looked a bit nervous. Longbottom and, to Snape's disappointment, Black were clean. Snape, of course, showed the fleeting silver sparkle of a curse signature; it was there and gone before the other three even saw it. He finally leaned forward with his forearms on the table. It kept the cruel chair from biting through his buckled robe. Tom had given him two more for the simple reason that anything but that cool silk lining caused the most ripping pain. His voluminous student robes fit nicely over top, and hid the telltale buckles from prying eyes. The Hall fell quiet as soon as the headmaster stood. "As this is the final round, we will have a different process of elimination. Fifty questions will be given, at the end of which the player with the least number of points will be asked to leave the table. The process will be repeated at seventy-five, and should the final two players be tied after the hundredth there will be a single tiebreaker question. Are you ready?" Severus readied his palm over his bell. Nobody spoke up. A low hush rippled through the room. Dumbledore, looking about innocuously, picked up his thick stack of cards. "First question: What toxic component of centaur blood is distilled for use in the anti-carcinomatous potion Cancri Evertere...?" Forty questions. Severus was calm. Black was in a similar state. Longbottom was sweating slightly but not outwardly upset. Sprout's voice was shaky and reedy. There was good reason; she trailed Black by five points. Dumbledore read the forty-first, and that margin increased to six. Forty-five questions. Slytherin was leading by nine, and Gryffindor had caught up more or less with Ravenclaw. Lisa frantically pounded her bell and nearly broke into tears when she gave the wrong answer. Flitwick patted her on the shoulder. Severus smirked to himself as he succeeded where she had so spectacularly failed. Fifty. Lisa stood with more dignity than she really had any right to (in Severus' opinion) and marched along the table towards her House table. They cheered her anyway, and Black grabbed her hand, smiling up at her and muttering something. She smiled weakly before making her way down the steps, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Her mum caught her in a crushing hug, and Severus saw her lips form, "I'm so proud of you." Pathetic. Giving laurels to the losers. Sixty. Severus' back was starting to burn with the tension of slumping forward. He silently wished for a Painkilling Potion, and hit his bell at the question. "Square root of negative one over theta." "Correct." It was a small victory. He gritted his teeth. Seventy. Slytherin was still in the lead by eight, with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tied. The pain was getting worse. Severus shifted his shoulders. The slide of silk did little to ease the burning. He shut the world out for a fraction of a second and missed the question. Seventy-five. He was up by nine again, with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor still tied. Part of him begged for both Houses to be eliminated so he could go dig a Painkilling Potion from his trunk. It occurred to him that he ought to have had one with him. Dumbledore mildly said, "Questioning will continue until Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are no longer tied. What role does environmental temperature play in the creation of an Ice Draught?" Trick question. Severus hit his bell without thinking. "Mister Snape?" "None." His voice was a bit strained. Severus mentally shouted at himself to pull together. Dumbledore glanced at him. "Correct. Rounded to the nearest whole number, what percentage of genetic material do the grindylow and the kappa share according to recent magical analysis?" Severus hit his bell quickly, but when the list of names came up they read, "LONGBOTTOM, BLACK, SNAPE". He cursed silently and took a deep breath. Holding it eased some of the acidic burn. "Mister Longbottom?" "Ninety-seven." "Incorrect. Mister Black?" Painful silence fell over the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. Black frowned to himself. "Ninety-six?" he asked cautiously. "Correct." The Gryffindor table exploded with deafening cheers. Potter jumped up on the bench, waving his fists in the air, shouting, "Yes! Yes! Kick his Slytherin arse, mate!" "That will be ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter!" McGonagall snapped. "It's worth it!" Potter grinned gleefully and danced in a circle before sitting back down. Frank stood up quietly. He nodded to Severus, who glowered in pain, and walked around the far end of the table. Once again, Black shook his hand, and Frank took his seat at the Ravenclaw table, looking only slightly abashed, and smiled when half the girls in his House covered him with kisses. Black sneered proudly at Snape. Snape looked wearily back. He shifted in his seat again and stared at the tabletop, awaiting the next question. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "According to-I understand you're excited, but unless all of you quiet down we can't have a winner." He smiled good-naturedly at the Gryffindors, who had started up an impudent boom-clap-boom-boom-clap-clap pattern pounding on the table. One last BOOM-BOOM-CLAP-CLAP and they mercifully shut up. The headmaster smiled wryly and cleared his throat again. "According to the abandoned 1667 Wizarding Declaration of Separation, what were the three primary incidents cited for complete separation from Muggle society?" Severus got to his bell ages before Black. "The burning of Overmass Hill, a settlement of Muggle pagans mistaken for a wizarding village; the general accusation of witches and wizards for causing the Black Plague; and the deliberate poisoning of a wizarding family's well outside London, resulting in their deaths." "Correct." Severus smirked through his pain. Black didn't stand a chance. Ninety. Severus gritted his teeth. His back felt like it had been grated. Even the smooth silk was rubbing it raw. He sat up carefully, back bowed strenuously to keep the fabric away from his skin. The healing charms Tom had used regenerated the nerve endings. Something about the Scabbing Spell Lucius had cast made them detect almost any touch as pain, though. He shifted a fraction of an inch and had to suppress a gasp as his skin was wrenched. He and Black were nearly tied. Severus was a mere two points in the lead. If he could only ignore the pain enough, there'd be no question that he would win. It was difficult enough not letting it show in his actions or face. The next question came: "Firewhiskey is the result of what potion-making accident?" Severus hit his bell. Black got there first, though. "Mister Black?" "Tiberius Ogden's attempt to improve the formula for Flower of Morning." "Correct." Yes, and I'm sure there's a reason you know that, 'Mister Black'. How many bottles have you sneaked into the school? Severus fumed. He had to stay in the lead. He had to find a way to ignore the white-hot pokers raking furrows over his back. Ninety-five. Severus was still up by one. He closed his eyes and listened, focusing on the sound of Dumbledore's voice. The ninety-sixth question was, "The process of becoming an Animagus is regulated due to its extreme danger. What are the three most common dangers and their results?" Black got to it first. "Inability to revert to human form, which in the worst situation is permanent; mid-point transformation failure, which causes the wizard to retain animal features such as antlers or fur; and inversion, in which the wizard is turned inside-out. Inversion is fatal, and it'll ruin a good carpet faster than you can blink." "Graphic, but correct." Dumbledore widened his eyes slightly. McGonagall covered her mouth with her hand. Severus frowned. They were tied with only four questions left to go. Ninety-seven. Arithmancy question. Snape. Ninety-eight. Transfigurations question. Black. Ninety-nine. Ancient Runes question. Black. McGonagall threatened to take points from Gryffindor if they didn't quiet down. It still took them nearly thirty seconds. Severus' taut, thin muscles pulled tighter with each one. One hundred. Potions question. Snape. Tied. He and Black stared at each other. Black's eyes were wild, wide, unblinking. Severus glared back unrelentingly. He wouldn't blink. He'd never blink. The screaming in his back dwindled in comparison to the viciousness of his stare. Neither looked away as Dumbledore opened his mouth... Severus slipped out quietly. He preferred to focus on the pain in his back rather than the outright humiliation he'd just suffered. The whole of Gryffindor screeching, "Pleased to meet you! Hope you guessed my name! But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game...!" grated on his ears and his tortured spine. Potter had started singing at the top of his lungs almost as soon as Black answered the damned question. Severus had gotten there first. And he was wrong. He skirted the wall, letting the overwhelming pound of noise fall behind. His back felt like it had been flayed all over again. If Lucius hadn't done that to him... He would pay. They would all pay. He'd almost made it to the dungeons when a soft voice called out to him. "Severus?" He turned to glare at Lupin. "What?" The large amber eyes darted to the floor. "You, um... you did well." Snape looked away, wrapping his arms around his chest. "What would you know about it, werewolf?" Lupin didn't say anything more. Severus took a long drag of his cigarette. He let it out through his teeth and ground the butt into the wall. It joined the other three and he started to roll another. It was a hot day, pleasant and sunny. He stood in a shady alcove along the side of the school. Bright sunlight was one thing he had never gotten used to. He blinked, and imagined the slits of his pupils widening before contracting again to threads. He looked up at the buttresses, the lichen-crusted granite of the castle. It hadn't changed much in the last three years. Hogwarts never changed much, as far as he could tell. He'd skipped the Hogwarts Express and gone to Hogsmeade just long enough to get his Apparator's Licence. His NEWTs were unsurpassed, his instructors kept telling him that he had the whole world to choose from, and none of them seemed to realise that he didn't have to choose. It was his already. Tom was waiting for him when he Apparated outside the gate. They finally made it inside forty minutes later, and back out in a couple of days. From there... He kept to the background. There was no sense in confusing the great unwashed when they already spoke the Dark Lord's name in hushed whispers. Within a year, they didn't speak it at all. The problem, it seemed, had been his followers. They had years ago decided upon the unlikely name of "Death Eaters" (after a night of heavy drinking and flipping Sickles, if rumour held). The majority were power-hungry idiots with no idea what to do with power once they had it. This led to random killings, simple-minded torture performed on as many people as possible until it started to lose its effect, several captures and near-captures by Ministry officials, and the general sense that the horrifying Dark Lord would take decades to fully establish himself. Tom tried, but he'd never had much instinct for teaching. Most Death Eaters were young, had been recruited during or just out of school. Tom's strategic brilliance began to shine when his instruments of execution learned the true meaning of discipline. After much moaning and rather a few glares, Tom allowed Severus to cast a Severing Charm on his prized mane. The three-foot tail was still trapped in its silver hoop; it hung on the bedpost for weeks. However, the sacrifice was necessary. And Severus promised to let his grow out in exchange. The addition of a curse-form Amplifico Impressio on Snape's part was a slightly more difficult, but no less necessary, change. Over the next month, his senses heightened until he could make out individual strands of cobweb in a dark corner and discern a temperature change of less than a degree. What little mass remained on his body sheeted away until he was as thin and wiry as his beloved. He spent a week more or less locked in the darkened bedroom, counting threads in the sheets, silently mourning what he'd been a year before. His hatred for Malfoy latched onto the pain in his heart and the heightened pain in his back and it fed. The first Death Eater on whom he was allowed to vent some of that hatred didn't stop screaming for seven hours. Half an hour in, Severus cast a silencing charm on him. He could still hear the hoarse hiss as clearly as if there'd been no charm. He smiled behind his mask, tenderly stroked the mask of his anonymous subject, and brought the rose vine down in an unmarked spot. There were some doubts to the identity of the new disciplinarian. Most Death Eaters were content to believe that Voldemort had acquired some new skills. A persistent wave of dissidence claimed that it was somebody hired on just to torment them; the rumour branched off into theories of a trained torturer and those of a natural sadist. Severus' name never came up. He supposed Tom had something to do with that. Life was beautiful. One warm summer night, a new figure joined the Death Eaters' circle. He was given no introduction, simply stood quietly, a bit behind the others. The mask he wore was stark and white, and his bare hands were nearly as pale as those of the Dark Lord. Whispers filled the night until Lord Voldemort appeared. He raised a delicate black eyebrow and looked at his hissing followers with his piercing red eyes. They fell silent. The next attack was a shambles. Without so much permeating fear that Voldemort was the one doling out their punishments, the Death Eaters grew sloppy. Two Muggles were left alive - alive - and reported everything to their authorities. The shambles this caused took weeks to set right. Tom didn't sleep for four days straight at one point, devising strategy, pacing, shouting useless threats at the curtains. Severus was allowed to punish those responsible, but it didn't take in quite the same way as before. So Tom planned another visit to the Muggle world. This time there were four of the chattier Death Eaters, Severus, and Tom himself. The home was Mudblood. Severus might have been loath to attend had there not been an interesting incident a few days before. Apparently, an eight-year-old child in Plymouth had been hanged on his school playground with his own uniform tie. Strange things happened around him, windows cracking without reason and doors flying open in people's faces and other such nonsense. A small group of bullies took it upon themselves to scare the "magic" out of him. They swore they didn't mean to drive the life out of him as well. Severus read and re-read the article for an hour. His hands trembled every time he came to the part about cutting the boy down only to have him gasp once and go still in his teacher's arms. Tom cocked his head in curiosity but didn't ask questions. That night, Severus announced through action his devotion to the cause of taming Muggles like the animals they were. Anyone, anyone, who made a child suffer like that deserved no less. Not that he mentioned that fact. There was something personal about it he didn't want to share with anyone yet. The bloodbath stained the walls and the ceiling of the Mudblood home. All four Death Eaters stood back, afraid to breathe, as Severus slowly gutted the wizard who had dared marry outside his species. Through Scabbing Charms, Ennervation, and a choice variety of potions he was able to keep the man alive for nearly four hours. By the time he set down the small obsidian blade, a thick rope of intestine dribbled its contents to the floor, draped about the reddened room like a garland. He'd requested the Muggle woman watch. It was her fault, after all. After Severus put down the translucent black knife, the woman picked it up. He pretended not to notice. She waited. He waited. The moment his back was turned, she lunged. There was the whip of Tom's wand, a burst of green light, and she fell with the blade still clutched tight in her hand. As the four uncharacteristically quiet Death Eaters watched, Tom tenderly removed Severus' mask. He traced those long, loving fingers over cheekbones, eyebrows, nose, and with a faint smile of utter bliss kissed him. Hands clasped, arms wrapped around each other's body; to the melody of their heartbeats they waltzed in the blood of the dead. Naturally, none of the pissants ever dared treat Severus as less than Lord and Master again. Severus frowned and lit another cigarette. He'd have to pick up more tobacco in Hogsmeade once he got out. If he got out. Absently, he rubbed the sore place on his left arm. It burned, as if mild acid were trying to eat the skin. Tom said the Dark Mark was to "remind" him. Severus wasn't yet sure if it was meant to remind him, like a wedding ring, that there was someone waiting for him whenever he chose to return, or, like a brand, that his soul had been claimed. After that night in the Mudblood home, the Death Eaters became so diligent in their efforts that neither Severus nor Tom could readily pick out any in need of punishment. Severus turned his attentions on Lucius, Emeric, Evan, and Adam. He never left scars. He never let them brush the face of death. However, they paid in flecks taken from their souls, chipped away by a bed of nails and burned out by blazing light. Every one of them screamed when the light touched their serpentine pupils. It was simple enough to keep their eyes open. The first time of many that he spent with Lucius, he learned a wealth of information that he'd not known before. Lucius had only had enough Imperius Salve antidote for two people. In a burst of calculated intuition, he arranged a small accident. The morning of the second match against Gryffindor, Pettigrew upset Evans' pumpkin juice. He promptly gave her his untouched juice, and, mysteriously, she found herself somewhat less tongue-tied on certain matters than she'd been. Apparently, it took rather a lot of cajoling to convince Pettigrew that the clear liquid wouldn't hurt her. In fact, Lucius drank some himself just to prove it. It was only a few days before the Daily Prophet advertisement for Hogwarts teachers that things changed. Bodies, Muggle bodies, Mudblood bodies, disagreeable pureblood bodies, were all the same. They weren't human. They were little more than firewood. Severus was supervising a raid on a Muggle household. They'd had several children. As always, he demanded their deaths be as quick and painless as possible. He picked up yet another small corpse. The cocoa mug was still in the boy's hand. Severus frowned. It was half-full. The little Muggle wasn't moving or breathing, and he couldn't hear a pulse. Despite the fact he'd learned to filter out most of the excess sensory input, a pulse was usually loud enough to hear without effort. He was just about to throw the body on the pile to be burned when the mug slipped from its small hand. Severus froze. He looked down. A low rattle came suddenly from the slender brown throat. Large eyes, the occluded brown of amber, fluttered open halfway. They couldn't focus. One of the pupils had dilated, and the other was red where the eye had filled with blood. Before he could drop the little wretch a hand grasped weakly at his robe. Miniscule twitches betrayed the scream of crippled nerves. Dry, purplish lips parted with a sound like old leaves... and went slack. Severus stared for a moment into the glazed eyes. The boy's hair was thick and soft, almost as black as his own. Warmth still clung to the body. It almost felt alive, as the boy had been when Severus pulled him to his chest. He tried to deny that the boy hadn't been dead. He tried to forget as he dropped the corpse on the pile and set the thing ablaze. He stood and watched as the flame licked at tiny fingers, blackening them and forcing the flesh to peel back in fragile charcoal curls. Behind his mask, he bit his lip until the blood ran. It wasn't a Muggle. It wasn't a monster. He was only a child. Something withered in Severus Snape's blackened excuse for a soul. He thought, over and over, I'm one of them, we're the same. For days he tried to ignore the morbid fact. He spent every possible moment with Tom, with the perfect shining creature he would love until time ceased to exist. He noticed the cracks now. The comments. The propaganda. The childhood grudge Tom had convinced himself was a crusade. One morning over breakfast, Tom looked up from the Prophet and suggested, eyes shining a bit too much and his warm smile sad, that perhaps they ought to have a contact at Hogwarts. He didn't trust a mere Death Eater with such an important, sensitive mission. If Severus were willing to make the sacrifice, it would mean they were one step closer to their perfect world. For the first time, Severus wondered how content Tom would be to co-rule once the reality set in. He once again denied to himself that he certainly wouldn't be. That night, neither of them slept much. Between the soft kisses, the mutual tears of impending loss (for nobody was more qualified with potions than Severus Snape), the imperfectly perfect moments and abandoned cries of lovemaking, all that Severus could comprehend was that a part of himself had been gutted. "Severus?" He hurriedly ground out the cigarette and held out his hand. "Headmaster." Dumbledore smiled. He shook Severus' hand warmly and motioned to the castle's front door with his head. "We'll go up to my office, if you don't mind." Severus nodded. "That would probably be the most ideal place, sir." "It's Albus. You're not a student anymore." "Yes, sir. Albus." Dumbledore sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nobody can ever simply call me by my name. Sometimes I wonder why I have it in the first place." They chatted inanely about such trivialities as the weather, recent advances in potions distillation, how unfortunate it was that Dram decided to retire the same year Fellus was tragically eaten on holiday by a lethifold. When asked politely which position he was applying for, Severus only paused a moment before responding with, "Both." "Severus. You can't teach two classes." "But I'm qualified for either one." "Hmm. I have no doubt of that." Dumbledore's voice was neutral. Severus shivered anyway. He shifted slightly in his robe. He'd learned to ignore the pain along with the sensory overload. However, scar tissue still kept his back stiff and aristocratically straight, and he still swooped to spare his legs. Over time the motions had become more refined, and with his cloak billowing out over his buckled robes he rather resembled a huge bat. Tom had... no. This was rending enough. He didn't want to think about Tom. Inside the comfortably dim office, Dumbledore waved Severus to the chairs in front of the desk. Delicately, he sat in the one Potter had taken so long ago. Back straight, hands neatly folded in his lap, he waited patiently. Inside, his stomach threatened to burn its way out if it had to. Dumbledore sat down. He held out a dish. "Sherbet lemon?" Severus shook his head. "No, thank you." The headmaster smiled and popped one in his mouth anyway. "Tea? Coffee?" "I'm fine, si-Albus." Dumbledore nodded. "Well, I know your background is excellent. Tell me, Severus, what precisely do you feel you can bring to Hogwarts?" Severus blinked once. He took a shallow, shuddering breath and, averting his eyes, pulled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark still swelled red from where Tom had applied it that morning. "Information, sir." Dumbledore's eyes flickered. His mouth set rigid; the corners drew down. "Well. That's certainly a unique qualification." He hesitated. Severus' guts clenched; he wasn't going to make it out alive. Aurors would come for him. His father would come for him. The knowledge of what her baby had become would kill his mum. Mentioning it had been a daft idea to start with. He didn't speak, only hung his head, afraid to look up. "You were sent to spy." Severus nodded. "And, yet, you chose to jeopardise your mission and your life." He nodded again. The Dark Mark itched something horrid. "You've chosen to defy your master." He almost said, "My equal, not my master." Instead, he nodded dumbly yet again. "Why should I believe you, Severus?" Severus told him. Dumbledore's eyes twitched. His expression was torn between shock, horror, pity, and an odd sort of sad compassion. "Well. Perhaps I ought to strengthen some of the wards around the grounds." He took a deep breath and let it out explosively. "Why didn't you tell anyone about Romulus?" "It seemed... private, sir." Severus tilted his chin. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." "No, no, dear boy. I'm rather glad you did." The headmaster looked around his office. "Perhaps we ought to have a bit more privacy to discuss... terms of employment." With a gentle flick of his wand he locked the door. It clicked, and the world slipped from Severus' desperate grasp. It felt rather like ice on his skin. He imagined it was the same feeling Lucifer had when he fell. -end-   :: HOME:: BY AUTHOR :: BY PAIRING :: LINKS :: LINK TO US :: SSF UPDATE LIST :: VISIT OTHER SSF SHIPS ::