Harry stepped forward, leaning comfortable against his desk, more nervous than he looked. He wouldn’t meet Snape’s eyes when Minerva entered the room and took one of two empty seats in the back. He knew that the Potions’ Master was all but ready to scream traitor. He had said Seventh Years only, but he figured that the Head Mistress didn’t count as a breach of that agreement. Although… he chanced a look at Snape. He didn’t look happy.
“I’ve asked Professor Snape here today in hopes that he may be willing to answer some of your questions that I couldn’t.” He wasn’t quite sure how to warn his students which topics it would be best to avoid so after an awkwardly long pause he stepped aside, giving the floor over to his colleague.
“You may ask any pertinent and appropriate questions you wish to in the next hour,” Snape began, “however…” he paused to make sure he had the full attention of every person in the room, including the Head Mistress, “this subject is not open to discussion after that time. I will only answer the questions I decide are worthy of my time.”
There was silence as the students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They had plenty of questions, but were afraid of incurring the wrath of the Potions’ Master.
“I believe there were several questions as to the nature of what defines dark magic,” Harry said, trying to get the conversation started.
“That is purely decided by the Ministry.”
A Hufflepuff tentatively raised her hand in the air, “why does the Ministry have the authority to decide what forms of magic we can and cannot use? It seems very… autocratic.”
“Miss Grey, despite the despotic nature of the Ministry they do not regulate the entirety of which magic can and cannot be used. They merely label it as dark… or not.” Snape said in a bored tone.
“But if its dark magic, doesn’t that mean we shouldn’t use it?” the Hufflepuff persisted.
Snape sighed, what exactly did Potter think he was teaching these students? “An example…” he raised his eyebrows as he looked out at his students. He felt a headache pricking behind his eyes at the blank looks he was receiving. “Very well, I shall provide one for you. The ring of Gyges.” He nodded at a Ravenclaw, whose hand had shot in the air at the topic provided, “Mr. Shelley, attempt to enlighten your fellow classmates.”
“The original ring was used by Gyges to betray and murder his master and seduce his wife, it makes the wearer invisible. A number of copies have been made and are commonly used by thieves and dark wizards.”
“An incredibly enlightening textbook answer,” Snape deadpanned. “Yes, the Ministry has banned such rings and labeled them as dark. Mr. McKean?”
“But it doesn’t have to be used for deviant purposes. If the right person were in possession of such a ring… it’s not much different than an invisibility cloak, except…”
“Except what Mr. McKean?”
“Death Eaters are well known possessors of such rings.”
“And they also possess invisibility cloaks.” Snape looked out at the troubled students. His eyes flickering briefly to Harry, who didn’t know if that was a personal jab or not, before going back to the students, clearly expecting them to make a connection of some sort. His sharp eyes caught the slip of paper that Dierna slipped to Serena, he had a feeling she knew what he was aiming at, but her stony silence had also extended to the classroom.
“The Ministry only bans what it doesn’t have a use for,” Serena said slowly, “they’re acting in their own best interest…” her eyes flashed angrily at the sense of injustice that implied. “There’s so much magic that could be put to good use, but if the Ministry sees it as a threat to itself they can ban it and attempt to destroy it completely…”
“Governments have a long history of doing so, both in our world and in the Muggle world,” Severus agreed.
“It makes you wonder if that might be part of the reason some people became Death Eaters, it would be an excellent research opportunity,” Isabelle Zambini, a half-blood Slytherin pondered out loud. Her eyes instantly grew large and she snapped her mouth shut, sending Mark a terrified look. The Head Boy glared back at her, slightly promising her swift and merciless retaliation once they reached their Common Room. But the damage had already been done.
“Why do people become Death Eaters?” one of the Ravenclaws asked. He looked rather surprised to find all of the Slytherins and both the Snape twins glaring at him. Surely it was the question that everyone wanted to ask?
Damn him! Mark resisted the temptation to shut his eyes and not watch, but loyalty and a sense of duty made him drag his eyes back to his Head of House. Snape’s face was unreadable, but it often was.
“I cannot speak for the Death Eaters as a collective group,” Snape finally said coolly.
Don’t do it, Mark begged in his head, please don’t. He wondered if perhaps he should get up and tackle the offending Ravenclaw just to be on the safe side. It would most certainly get him one of Snape’s notorious detentions. Not the kind the rest of the school got, the kind reserved for Slytherins. But it would be worth the act of devotio to save his Head of House if the accursed wearer of blue and bronze continued down the path he had started on.
“Then why did you become a Death Eater, Professor?” the Ravenclaw blazed ahead.
The silence in the room was palatable, hanging thick and heavy and dark. Half the students waited in anticipation, feeling vaguely guilty that they were so eager for an answer. The other half was murderous.
Snape crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his weight against Harry’s desk, making himself more comfortable. “Some people do not choose to become Death Eaters.” He started quietly, hardly above a whisper, but the room was so quiet that it seemed loud, “the choice is made for them.”
He looked out over the gathered students letting that sink in. No doubt half the worthless dunderheads still maintained idealistic notions about good and evil that left no room for greyness. In their confined simplistic worlds everything was black and white. He blamed Dumbledore for that. He had respected the man, but never admired him. Anyone who promoted such a strong degree of prejudice and competition between the students, who might have been so promising, didn’t deserve admiration.
“In some families being a Death Eater became tradition. Parents expected, and still do expect, that their children will follow in their footsteps. This tradition has survived several generations, always with willing participants. However, some have been less than inclined to follow in the wake of Death Eater family members…” he paused as his eyes met those of Mark McKean, to whom he gave the slightest of nods. None of the other students noticed it. “But they do not have to be willing.”
He tore his eyes away from the Head Boy and opted to pace the front of the room. As soon as he had arrived back at school in the fall Mark had confided to him some of the… methods… being used to persuade new members to join. He had instantly handed over most of his personal supply of pain relieving potions so that the students involved wouldn’t have to come up with excuses to get what they could from Poppy. He had also spent several very late nights in his office and classroom, making himself discreetly available to the Slytherins who needed the comfort their parents didn’t provide. To try and heal the wounds their families caused, both physical and mental.
“Despite many noble intentions it is all but impossible to refuse if your family wishes you to be a Death Eater.” He turned back to face the class and noticed that the Ravenclaw who had brought him this far was staring down at his desk, fingers nervously twirling his quill. “Ask the question,” he growled in a dangerously silky voice.
The boy chanced a quick, fearful look up, before returning his eyes back to the top of his desk.
“Ask it,” Snape demanded.
The Ravenclaw, looking thoroughly abashed, mumbled the question. “Did you become a Death Eater because of your family?”
It took Severus a moment to answer. First he had to shoot Mark a warning look to keep him in his seat. If given half a chance he was sure the Head Boy would have already beaten the unlucky Ravenclaw bloody. He was incredibly proud. He also felt a surge of hope as he watched Dierna snap her quill clean in half. Perhaps she was starting to come around. He was getting rather tired of being met with silence. It made him realize how much she carried the discussion in his seventh year Potions class.
“No.” He raised one eyebrow, daring the Ravenclaw to ask again why he had become a Death Eater. But he had been sufficiently cowed into silence. “There are many reasons to follow that path. Remember that. Class dismissed.”
The class filed out silently. It was early, but they didn’t dare say anything. Mark hung back, waiting until the rest of the students were gone, “if you could stop by the Common Room tonight sir…”
“I will be there Mr. McKean,” Severus promised.
“He is quite a remarkable young man,” Minerva said as she rose from her seat.
“Don’t you dare!” Severus threatened her, “if you show so much as one tear I shall resign on the spot!” He glowered as the Headmistress plucked at her handkerchief.
“You’ve opened a lot of eyes today Severus…” Harry began.
“I haven’t given you permission to use my given name,” Snape reminded him.
“I really think the students understand so much more now. I think they’ll be less quick to judge, more accepting, more…”
“I don’t want to discuss it!” Severus snapped at him, “and if you ever bring this up again…” he trailed off as he caught the faintest flicker of movement from the empty chair next to Minerva. A second later Potter’s invisibility cloak slipped to the floor and he met his wife’s watery eyes.
“You told a classroom full of students more than you’ve ever told me,” she accused in a pain-filled voice.
Severus crossed his arms in front of himself protectively as Potter and McGonagall quickly followed the students out of the room. “I have my reasons,” he said defensively.
Morgan sighed, “sometimes, I wish…” she cut herself off. Did she really wish she could change her husband? He was a self-proclaimed bastard, he was hard on those around him, and harder on himself. They fought and he never really apologized. He hid his past from her. When she wanted to just be with him he went and spent his evening in his Common Room. And he…
She slowly stood up. And he loved her to distraction. She knew he valued her life above his own. She suddenly remembered why she had married him in the first place… She had known she didn’t love him, she knew she was attracted to him, and that scared her a bit. He had scared her more than a little bit. But he had promised to take care of her far better than her worthless father ever had, which although it touched her meant little. She knew she could take care of herself. But she had seen something… vulnerable… in him. She had married him because, although he seemed like the last person who would ever need it, she wanted to take care of him. She wanted to protect him from the world at large.
She had had such grandiose dreams of him admitting how much he needed her and how she had made him a better person… She had never changed him, she had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t possible. And as much as it had hurt to watch him confide more about his association with the Death Eaters to a room full of students than he ever had to her… it hurt even more to watch him assume his characteristic defensive posture against her. Her heart wrenched painfully. But she couldn’t bring herself to go to him, she was still mad at him about the Draco situation…
“I find it rather hard to be remorseful about keeping whatever I have kept from you that would fulfill some sort of morbid curiosity about the Death Eaters and my time with them when you would stoop to sneaking about to get that information from me,” Severus said coolly. He watched his wife closely to see what sort of reaction it would illicit from her.
“Don’t try to transfer the blame to me Severus. It’s…” she wrapped her arms around herself, imitating her husband’s posture.
“Not fair?”
Morgan shifted her eyes to the side, “I’m used to unfairness Severus. I know life isn’t fair. A drunken father who doesn’t love you is proof of that. Three children not given the chance to live are proof of that. Losing the relationship you once had with your husband because of a war should not be a reason why life isn’t unfair. It goes beyond that, it’s…” she stopped to take a long shuddery breath.
“Morgan… it has never been my intent to create a distance between us…”
Morgan’s head snapped up, “how can you say that?! You have tried to create distance between us! You’ve kept things from me, you make decisions without consulting me and go through with them even though I don’t agree!” She slowly closed the space between them, “you’re a private man. I’ve always known that and you’ve never given me cause to expect anything else. But sometimes, sometimes I need to know what you’re thinking. I can’t read minds. You’re the only one in this relationship that can.” She stopped right in front of him, feeling better now that she had spoken her piece without interruption.
“I do not believe that it would be selfish of me to demand that it come in my own way and time. And not everything. There are some things that, for my own peace of mind, I shall never repeat.”
Morgan nodded in agreement, “I just don’t want to feel like an outsider where you’re concerned.”
“And I have made you feel like that lately?”
Morgan rolled her eyes, “yes.” As though the entirety of this conversation hadn’t convinced him of that…
“And you feel like we have grown distant?”
“Yes.”
Severus wrapped his hands around Morgan’s waist and effortlessly lifted her from the floor. He turned and deposited her on Harry’s desk, hands placed on the flat surface on either side of her. “I would have to say that there is relatively little distance between us at the moment,” his face was barely a handbreadth from hers.
“Very funny, professor,” Morgan said dryly, but she couldn’t help smiling. Whatever had been happening to them… it seemed to have disappeared. She didn’t really understand it, but she liked it. She also liked that her husband had moved his hands from the desk to under her skirt, where they gently brushed her knees, his long tapered fingers slowly inching… “Severus!!! We are in Harry’s classroom and I am sitting on his desk!” She tried to push him away.
“I know,” Severus smirked maliciously. Given the amount of time they had been in here the bane of his existence should be making an appearance at any moment. Very deliberately, although he made sure her modesty was kept completely intact, he pushed his wife’s legs apart. He let her long skirt pool back down, but he stood between her legs, one hand at her back, the other gripping her waist, as he tasted her lips. He knew the exact moment that the door to the classroom opened, and lifted Morgan off the desk, pulling her roughly against him, as he deepened the kiss. He pressed into her even more as she squired, no doubt trying to get away from the buttons of his frockcoat, which were pressing into her chest.
Harry nervously cleared his throat and then decided that it would be best just to leave.
“Don’t bother, we were just leaving,” Severus said as he set Morgan back on her feet. He rather enjoyed the way she was glaring at him, while looking rather smug and satisfied, whereas Potter looked like he was going to be sick. He hoped the boy still maintained an overly active imagination.
“I wouldn’t want to rush you,” Harry said sarcastically as Snape swept by him, Morgan trailing behind with the faintest blush staining her cheeks.
Snape, remembering what he had just been through for the been through for the benefit of his former student quickly formed a retort, “There are some things that I never rush Potter. Perhaps if you had been in better relations with your wife these last few years you would understand the supreme joy of a woman lying properly beneath you…”
Harry slammed the door the moment the Snapes were across the threshold, having no desire to hear how Severus was going to end that lecture.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Why do you have no more information for me?” his voice was deceptively soft, layer upon layer of malice lying beneath the breathy hiss of words.
Macnair bowed his head respectfully, not meeting the Dark Lord’s eyes, “it cannot be helped, my lord. Our spy has become… less willing.”
“She has never had a choice in the matter! That leaves me to wonder about your abilities, if you cannot control a mere woman… perhaps I should rethink your effectiveness.”
“Please my lord, you know what she is… she is strong. I shall make sure that any reluctance on her part is overcome. Perhaps I have tempered too much caution into my actions, it would not be prudent to have her caught.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Voldemort mused as he tapped his long skeletal fingers on the arm of his chair. “It would be devastating to lose our contact at Hogwarts. Even if she has proved less than efficient.”
“Then should I continue on as I have?” Macnair asked.
“Yes, yes, go on. Remember, a bit of force is not out of line. She is expendable after all, not matter how far it would set us back to lose her she can be replaced if worse comes to worse.”
“My lord, is there any particular way in which you wish me to… persuade her?”
“Enjoy yourself. You have been incredibly loyal and deserve the diversion.” His eyes narrowed, “what news do you have of your son?”
“The negotiations are going better than we expected. The citizens of Muspelheim were very interested in the proposals we sent to them. Svartalfheim may be harder, and Alfheim may be near impossible to win over, but we expected that. The devotees of Freyr want nothing to do with us, but they want nothing to do with Dumbledore’s remnants either. They are happy keeping to themselves.”
“I am not concerned about them, but concentrate on the Svartalfer, they may be useful.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
