Life is, in fact, a battle. Evil is insolent
and strong: beauty enchanting but rare; goodness very apt to be weak; folly
very apt to be defiant; wickedness to carry the day; imbeciles to be in great
places, people of sense in small, and mankind generally unhappy. But the world
as it stands is no illusion, no phantasm, no evil dream of a night; we wake up
to it again for ever and ever; we can neither forget it nor deny it nor
dispense with it.
HENRY JAMES
He had managed to slip a
message into his pursuit’s pocket, but he didn’t know if this one had found and
read it, or if he had, whether he would follow the call. It wasn’t just that.
He was even less sure if he hadn’t been followed by someone, or if he had got
himself into a neat trap set up by Dumbledore, or if the old man wouldn’t solve
the problem by killing his observer straight away. He knew which wizard Severus
Snape had called his master for more than two years now.
But it all didn’t matter,
nothing of this really mattered, if only… Yes, if only he’d let Severus live
long enough to say what he had come for. He was almost mad with fear, but it
wasn’t for his own life – if he had had a nerve to think about it, he would
have come to wonder if he had ever feared for his life… He had been in
lethal danger a number of times, but in the moments itself, he hadn’t felt
anything. All the close moments when escaping from the Aurors, seeing the green
jet of light fly past him only inches away, fleeing from Dumbledore himself…
All these moments had been like the very first time when he had glimpsed around
a corner, only to see that he was facing his own end there. He had instantly
known that it was over, every time he had firmly believed that, and he had
accepted it every time, too, only going on for the firm will to not go down
without a good fight. Only later, the fury would come, the shock… But it was
good that he had this time delay in his solar plexus – it helped him keep his
cold blood – perhaps it was this lack of fear in crucial moments that had
repeatedly saved his ass in the end.
This time was different. He
had to talk to Dumbledore before it was over – no matter what was to come,
Dumbledore must hear him out – he dreaded to think what would happen if
he didn’t last long enough to say it all. He was eaten up with breathless
horror that he might fail, shaking as much on the inside as the tempest that
was tossing and turning him along on that hilltop.
Suddenly, a blinding ray of
light flashed over the dark, stormy sky, pushing him down and forcing his wand
away. “Don’t kill me!” he shouted.
“That was not my intention.
Well? Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”
Severus got to his knees
showing his empty hands, and cried against the gust, “No – no message – I’m
here on my own account!”
Anxiously, he looked up into
the little he could see of the Headmaster’s face. He was clenching his hands,
scared that he would say the wrong thing, that Dumbledore would not believe, or
not care, or…
“What request could a Death
Eater make of me?”
“The – the prophecy – the
prediction… Trelawney –” His panic put out his last bit of sense; the more he
panicked, the less he could speak, and the less he could properly communicate
to Dumbledore, the more his panic grew.
“Ah, yes… How much did you
relay to Lord Voldemort?”
“The prophecy did not refer
to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July,” Dumbledore said coldly,
and Severus thought he had only got one chance left.
“You know what I
mean! He thinks it means her son! He is going to hunt her down – kill them all
–”
Again, a cold sneer marred
the wizened face. “If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will
spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the
son?”
The man didn’t understand
– why wouldn’t he understand… “I have – I have asked him –”
“You disgust me. You do not
care then about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die as long as
you have what you want?”
“Hide them all, then! Keep
her – them – safe! Please!”
“And what will you give me
in return, Severus?”
Of course. If he could save
them – if he could somehow keep the blood of these people off his hands
– he didn’t care how much other blood he’d have to shed to achieve that. It was
obvious, wasn’t it, what the old man wanted. He’d demand Severus to kill the
Dark Lord, right? He had spent many a night in the last two months, ever since
talking to Narcissa about the same topic, contemplating her suggestion. He did
not doubt that she was serious, he knew her well enough for that. But unlike her,
he did believe in the Dark Lord’s immortality, and therefore considered her
plan to be impotent. Perhaps Dumbledore would have an idea how to bypass that
snag. And if not – well, if he could elicit that promise from Dumbledore – that
the old wizard would personally see to Lily’s safety – in that case Severus
didn’t mind dying during the attempt to fulfil his part of the bargain.
Dumbledore slowly pointed
his wand at the young man on the ground, blinding him with the light beam from
the tip. Severus thought he knew what he was doing, but he let him, feeling an
odd sort of peace. Yes, if the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were at their merry
feud, and Severus, the other Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s own order folks were
mere mercenaries, Severus would always give his allegiance to the highest
bidder. And this was whoever guaranteed the life and well-being of Lily Evans.
He’d die – no doubt, Dumbledore was going to ask him for the same like
Narcissa had – and he’d die in the pursuit of it. Well, it didn’t matter. It
really didn’t matter, as long as Lily was safe.
“Sir, I’m a great Occlumens,
though I say it myself. Please, I ask you to use Veritase-”
“I have seen all I need to
see,” was the curt reply and the glaring light turned softer. “I take it Lord
Voldemort still craves for a spy in Hogwarts, does he?”
Severus nodded. “Yes, Sir.
He wants me to take that position if I can.”
“Send me an application,
Severus. I think it’s time your master gets his wish fulfilled. Oh, and it
wouldn’t hurt if you hinted that you had infected my Arithmancy teacher with
the Morose Measles. You will return to your master and spin him a tale. You
know better what might work than I do – tell him how you had persuaded me of
your changing allegiance, and being the old crackpot that I am, I believed you.
Something like that.”
Severus nodded once again.
“You – you’ll keep her safe. Them safe. You’ll look after Lily and her kid,
yes?”
Dumbledore nodded, too.
“I’ll do what I can, yes. Tell me… Do you know the name? Do you know how Lily
Potter’s child is called?”
“Harry,” he whispered, “he is
called Harry.”
“And do you believe in what
the prophecy said?”
He couldn’t but give a
beaten chuckle. “No,” he said with emphasis, “I certainly don’t. But it doesn’t
matter what I believe. He thinks it’s true.”
“Then he’s less high-handed
after all than I had come to believe.”
“So – you believe it’s true,
too?”
“I believe that Lord
Voldemort cannot be killed like that, regardless how mighty the wizard, or how
Dark the spell, and you should better believe that, too, and forward
this message to whomever it may concern.” Dumbledore shot him a poignant
glance. “But I also believe that little Harry Potter may well be the
only chance we’ve got.”
“I thought – I take it… You
don’t want me to kill him, then?” Severus asked in genuine bafflement.
“I don’t want you to kill
anybody and tear your soul apart. Most of all, I don’t want you to do anything
that could make him doubt you. Lord Voldemort desired a spy in my ranks – I am
delighted to have one in his. You can do so much more for your old friend by
providing us with information, than in an useless act of ill-conceived heroics,
that won’t lead anywhere, anyway. He cannot be undone like that.”
“I… I see…” he murmured,
though truth was that he didn’t comprehend anything at all.
“It’s getting late. Send me
your papers as soon as you can, and wait for my answer. Oh – and one more
thing… Welcome, Severus. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, and
you have chosen the right way after all. Don’t prove me wrong.”
Not eight hours after this
meeting, and absolutely unwitting that this one had taken place to begin with,
Lily Potter was once more the object of a conversation between two other, and
just as unlikely people. Old Tobias Snape had woken up with a bad hangover, and
while still trying to get his act together and his body off the couch, he
remembered two or three things. Firstly – his wife had died the previous
Wednesday. Secondly – he’d have to remember to somehow get hold of his wretched
son to tell him that his mother was dead. Thirdly – last night in the pub, an
idea had darted through his head how he could bring that about. What had he
been thinking though…? He remembered after his third cup of coffee, and after
the sixth he set out to pursue his plan.
He sought and found the
house of the Evans people. He was fairly sure that their kid had
been in the same school like his kid, meaning that she was a witch, too,
meaning she had other means of communication than Tobias had himself. His
son didn’t deign to have a telephone, or a postal address than one could
actually send a letter to by the Royal Mail! Disgruntled by the mere thought of
all his son did not have, he rang at the door and explained the rather
bewildered Mrs Evans that he hoped she could be of help in conveying his son
the urgent message.
Of course, Rosy Evans agreed
at once – not for the sake of the terrible man before her, but because of the
fond memories she had of this one’s son. She instantly contacted her daughter,
and this one… This one became very still for a moment. Mrs Snape was dead… She
couldn’t have accounted for it, but she was overcome with unaccountable grief.
She had lost so many people in the last year alone, friends, acquaintances, her
parents-in-law, fellow order members – but Mrs Snape she hadn’t even seen in
four of five years. Neither had she been very fond of that woman back then.
Still, she was awfully upset.
When her own dad had died
then, shortly before the start of their fifth year, Sev had been there for her…
And now she couldn’t return the favour. She couldn’t. He… He had long
burnt that bridge. But what she could do, and what she would do
was inform him, of course. She looked after Harry in his cradle, told her
puzzled husband that she’d be gone for half an hour, soothed his concerns about
her looking so pale, and was gone.
She had never been in Haddon
House, where most of the male junior years lived. On the way, she tried to
breathe calmly and get her head clear. She’d tell him and that was it. She would
not argue with him. She would not be sentimental or melancholic
either. Just the plain facts and off she’d go –
But she didn’t come any
further than into the entrance hall anyway, because there she was stopped by
the stately-looking Matron. “And where do you think you’re going, Missy?”
“I’m looking for Severus
Snape.” The Matron pointed at a sign forbidding ‘young ladies’ all entrance,
and Lily wrought her hands. “Please, Ma’am, it’s really urgent. Can you
please call for him?”
“No, I cannot.”
“Madam, please, it’s
– his family – he ought to –”
“I can’t call for the young
gentleman because he isn’t here, Missy!”
“Oh! And where is he?”
“He is presently sitting his
Transfiguration exam, so if you don’t mean to wait for another four or five
hours, I suggest you leave that urgent message with me instead.”
Lily felt numb, and meekly
nodded. “Yes… Please, tell him that he ought to get in touch with his father at
once – his mother, she – she died…”
The old witch mustered a
mildly pitiful face. “Perhaps it is better if I merely say that Mr Snape is
supposed to go home, and let his father explain –”
Lily was on the verge of
saying that Sev would never listen to a single thing his father said, but she
also realised that he would know what had happened as soon as hearing that he
wasn’t supposed to get back to his mother, but to ‘old Toby’ instead. It
couldn’t mean anything else, could it… She felt tears welling in her eyes,
shrugged, pressed a ‘thank you’ through her tight lips and turned on her heels.
“And your name was…?” the
Matron cried after her.
“He’ll know,” she cried back
and stormed out.
So this was the chain of
communication finally delivering the dreadful news. Four days after her death,
Eileen Snape’s son was literally the last one to hear of it. The official
investigations announced that her death had been a tragic accident; in a crowd
on a subway platform, she had stumbled and fallen onto the track bed seconds
before the Circle Line had arrived. But Severus didn’t believe that. Either she
had jumped deliberately that morning. Or she had stumbled, and decided on the
spur of the moment that getting up again, saving herself, wasn’t worth the
trouble. More and more things hadn’t been worth the trouble in Eileen Snape’s
life.
At first, she had stopped
taking care of herself. Severus knew only from old photos how much she had
changed in fact. Of course, there had never been enough money for her to go to
the hairdresser, or buy herself some new clothes, but she had made ends meet
for a long time. She had cut her hair herself; not very artfully, but still.
She had sewn her blouses and everything else, out of cheap rags that she had
found somewhere. But one day when coming home from primary school, Severus had
pointed out to her that her coat was missing two buttons, and she had merely
shrugged. A few days later, she still hadn’t fixed it, and the seam of her
church skirt had been falling apart, but she hadn’t done anything about it
either. In less than one year, most of her wardrobe had looked like this. She
had worn her hair lank, indifferently tied up in an untidy tail, she had had
dirt under her fingernails, and her reading glasses had been mended with a
piece of Sellotape.
To be capable of buying her
son the necessary school equipment for Hogwarts, she had sold all the books she
had inherited from her parents. He had grown and needed new robes, so she had
sold her mother’s modest wedding ring. With every bit he had grown, another
item had disappeared from their house, always the magic ones only – Tobias
would have gone berserk if anything of his property had gone missing, no
matter how useless. And along with the books, the silver picture frames, the
magic camera, the chandelier that had been in the Prince family for more than
150 years, the light had gone out of Eileen Snape. As long as Severus had
constantly lived at home, she had tried still, but from the moment on when he
had gone to Hogwarts, her decay had accelerated. Severus was going to be
twenty-two in a few months. She had probably thought that her child was truly
old enough to look after himself, and he was.
Yes, he thought grimly, he
was ready. What did he still have to lose? Exactly… He had lost her once, and
completely, but she was still there, and he had never fathomed how much
this could mean to him. She had come to tell him – Lily herself – Lily!
Despite everything, she had come in that desperate moment – some hours later,
and she might have come no more. Once Dumbledore had told her that she was
marked for death because of a nonsensical prophecy that he, Severus, had
overheard and passed on…
He’d do it for her. He’d
make it all up to her. Lily was going to live, and so was her son, and even her
bloody jerk of a husband. They would live. Dumbledore had promised. But
there was one more thing he had to do yet.
That night, he waited in a
dark backyard, behind Tobias’ residential pub, for this one to come out. He
thought he knew how to use an Avada Kedavra, but this one didn’t
seem remotely appropriate. Avada Kedavra was instant, painless
death. Tobias didn’t deserve ‘painless’, or quickness – his death ought to be
as agonising and slow as his wife’s undoing had been. Severus had conferred
with Lucius and Mulciber what curses might do instead, and the mourning about his
mum’s death had been mitigated by his ferocious determination to finally pay
back for everything.
When he was younger, Severus
had often fantasised in painful detail how it would be to just kill his father.
As a small boy, he had often resolved to simply jump at him with a knife, the
next time he harassed Severus’ mum. One time he had even tried it, but Tobias
hadn’t paid much attention – hadn’t even realised what his own son had
been prepared to do. He had simply hurled the boy across the room and continued
to beat up Eileen and scream at her that she’d ‘deserve to be burnt at the
stakes’. Then the boy had come to Hogwarts, and additional to the curses he had
already learnt from his mum, he had happily employed his time by mastering
every single nasty jinx he had come across, and by inventing new ones, too.
Every now and then, he had tried these on Tobias, but his mother wouldn’t have
it, making her a bit of a hypocrite, because Eileen herself had often enough
cursed her husband secretly. Had jinxed his briefs to shrink while he was
wearing them, until he had to run out of the pub because of the pain. Had
poisoned his booze, making him cringe with stomach aches. Had turned the
tobacco in his cigarettes into dried horse dung. Severus smiled fondly with these
memories. ‘You couldn’t part with him in life, Mum, I hope you’re glad to be
joined in death, too!’
But Tobias didn’t show up
this night, and his son was compelled to satiate his rage by hexing the
obnoxious barman instead, who had never wavered in serving his old buddy Toby
as many drinks as he liked and put them on the slate, just like had never shown
any scruples to send a gang of thugs to their house and threaten his customer’s
wife to pay the debts, or dare their retribution.
Maybe his moment for revenge
would have come at last, but not three days later, he received an owl
announcing that he’d be more than welcome to join the staff of Hogwarts School
as soon as possible. He finished his last College Junior exams three weeks
later, half a half year earlier than his peers, summa cum laude, and started as
a teacher for Arithmancy in Hogwarts, for the time being. In his spare time, he
tried to shadow the Potters as well as some of his fellow order members, to
find out what they were going to do, to find out who the cursed traitor among
Dumbledore’s men might be. He slept no more than four hours per night, and
Tobias lost the last bit of significance he had ever had for his son. He was
too unworthy even to be killed.
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