“You there! Young man! What do you think you’re doing?”
Blast. He had been caught. The unfamiliar voice continued to speak on the other side of the door to which his ear was pressed, but he could no longer decipher the words. Even at the young age of nineteen, however, this young man was an expert at swift thinking.
“I thought I heard a disturbance in this room,” he answered, the mock concern in his eyes belying the sinister intentions he held inside.
“A disturbance, eh?” growled the old bartender, glaring at the dark man before him. “I might let rooms to some questionable characters sometimes, but I am quite certain nothing of importance to you is happening beyond that door.”
You have no idea, he thought, as the barkeep took a step toward him. His voice was low, both in volume and temperature, as he snarled, “Lay a hand on me, you old goat, and you won’t live until morning.” His fingers clutched the wand in the folds of his robes.
“Are you threatening me, boy?” The old man’s voice was a shout now. There was a flurry of flustered movement behind the door, and finally, it swung open.
Ironic, he thought, but he merely raised his eyebrows at the bartender and said silkily, “You see? A commotion.”
“A commotion?” a jovial voice asked from the doorway. “Where? We should go at once. I do enjoy watching drunken pandemonium from time to time.” The blue eyes that belonged to the voice twinkled mischievously.
“Aye, Albus,” answered the barkeep to the occupant of room eleven, “but this boy claims the ‘pandemonium’ was coming from inside this room.”
“In here?” Albus laughed, as if he hoped it were true. Turing to face the eavesdropper, his warm face crinkled into a smile of recognition. “Young Mister Snape,” he greeted him, extending his hand.
“Headmaster,” Snape answered, giving the hand a polite shake. “My apologies for disturbing you.”
“Well now, no harm, was there?” the Headmaster asked, clearly trying to persuade the bartender. “Aberforth, if it’s all right with you, I’m sure Mister Snape would just as soon return to his room. After all, he was only concerned for my,” he looked at Snape pointedly, “safety.”
The look on Aberforth’s face clearly indicated that it was not, in fact, all right with him, but he seemed willing to appease the Headmaster. “Fine,” he grumbled.
Albus bade both of them good evening and gently closed his door.
“Be on with it then,” Aberforth growled at Snape.
Glaring at the old man, Snape drew himself to his full height, then turned sharply and swished away, his black robe billowing behind him.
Once securely inside room number twenty-one, Snape let a small smile creep into the corners of his mouth. This will surely win me the Dark Lord’s favor, he mused. The position of power was one he had sought for the past four years. Growing up alone and despised, a place of glory had always been one of his most ambitious goals. And now he had the means to achieve it. This called for a celebration.
He uncapped a bottle of firewhisky and treated himself to a shot. Of all the Death Eaters, he had been the one to overhear this valuable information. Oh how angry Bellatrix would be when she learned it was he with the tidbit, and not her. Picturing the look on the woman’s face, he cheerily helped himself to another drink.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. How pleased his Master would be when he informed him of this! Well, not pleased, he thought grudgingly after his third swig of liquor. But he would be pleased that Snape could tell the Dark Lord which particular child, the one born as the seventh month dies, was going to destroy him. With that knowledge, his master could destroy the child first. Then, the Dark Lord would continue to reign over the Wizarding world, and he, yes he, Severus Snape, would be there by his side! The Dark Prince, he thought, downing another celebratory shot. Even better a title than the Half-Blood Prince, which was what he had called himself to that point. Yes, much better. In this reign of blood purity, it would not do for the population to know that the Master’s right-hand-man was not a pure-blood himself.
He capped off his night with a final shot. His head was light, but he still was in control of himself. A laugh escaped his lips. All right, maybe not as in control as I thought. But upon further reflection, he laughed again. Laughed for the vengeance that would be leveraged against those who had tormented him throughout his youth. Laughed at the fear his very name would strike into the hearts of his subjects. Laughed for the insolent boy who had grown to become a very powerful man. It was quite a feeling, and one that would take him no time at all to become accustomed. He noted that even now, an hour later, he already reveled in its embrace.
He awoke with the room still dark, save for the light of the full moon that streamed through his window. His head ached, Merlin he had celebrated a bit too much, and he looked around the room to discover what had awakened him.
At the foot of his bed stood a woman “ a glorious woman garbed in mail and holding a shield at her side. Her chestnut locks cascaded in curls down her back, and her face was beautiful, as if sculpted from porcelain. He had to blink his eyes a few times to believe she was real. After the third blink, a smile crossed the woman’s lips, and she said to him, “Greetings, Severus Snape.”
Mother of Merlin! he thought, sitting straight up in his bed. It had to be a dream. It had to be “ for only in dreams did beautiful women come into his room, speak his name, and look him in the eye. In fact, this woman far surpassed any of the women he had dreamt about before. “You’re beautiful…” Blast! Wrong answer! “Who are you?”
She laughed, a melodious sound such as he had never heard. It sounded like the perfectly-tuned keys of a piano. “In answer to your question, my name is Minerva. In regard to your statement, I am nothing as compared to my dear friend, Venus.”
Minerva. That name stirred something within him. He had known someone by that name once. Upon reflection, he recalled that Minerva was the first name of one of his school-boy professors, and that she was a dull and sour hag compared to the fair creature who stood before him.
“Why are you here, Minerva? Do you randomly just let yourself into people’s rooms as they sleep?” His characteristic snarl edged its way into his voice. Gods, he was sullen after he had been drinking “ even more so than usual.
Ignoring his icy remark, Minerva chose instead to answer his first question. “I am here to discuss with you some information you gleaned tonight “ information that was not meant for your ears.”
Through the dull pounding in his head, Snape recalled what he had overheard in the Headmaster’s room. “How do you know what I heard? Unless…unless you were the occupant who spoke the words?” He questioned her sharply; perhaps she was a Seer.
“I was not the occupant of the room, Severus Snape. I am only a very wise being, here to endow some of that wisdom to you.”
“And what use is your wisdom to me?” he shot at her. Lovely or not, this cursed woman was going to drive him mad.
“Severus Snape, I can tell you that the Seer whose prophecy you overheard is the descendant of the legendary Cassandra. Even further back in her lineage is said Cassandra’s namesake, Cassandra of Troy, who foretold of the fall of her city. Such as it was, Cassandra was cursed that her prophecies would not be believed, and thus the city fell to the Greeks. I tell you this because if you share the prophecy you heard this night, you will be believed, but it is the one you serve who shall fall.” Minerva’s brown eyes bore into him. “I am aware of the power you seek, and I must tell you that this is not the means with which to achieve it.”
“What do you know?” he growled at her, convinced she was not real, merely an aftereffect of the firewhisky. “You are nothing more than a hallucination of a drunkard’s mind. Do not be so bold as to try and give me advice!” With a solid hrrmph, he flopped back onto the bed and turned his back to the woman.
He could sense her affront even before she spoke. “Very well, Severus Snape. If you do not desire to hear the musings of a wise goddess, I will leave you. But before I do, take this last message. It is always the truth that will redeem a man.”
Snape was a man with little use for the truth. It was only one story amongst many others; something that must be kept sacred and never told. And after he shared his knowledge with his Master, he would have no need for redemption either. He simmered angrily until sleep once again overtook him.
When he awoke the following morning, a dull throbbing pounded behind his eyes. Celebration or no, you will not consume that much firewhisky in one hour again, he scolded himself roughly. As he sat up in bed, a process that made the throbbing worse, he vaguely recalled the events of the night before. He remembered the woman standing by his bed, and he remembered she uttered some nonsense about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She also had told him that telling his Master of the prophecy would bring about his downfall. For an hour, he sat in the bed, trying to come up with a way her words would come to pass. An expert in thorough thinking, he exhausted all possible scenarios before he was able to conclude that goddess in his room had been only the vision, albeit a beautiful one, of a dour drunk.
He arose and prepared to meet his Master. There was much they needed to discuss.
The Dark Prince strode smugly into the Three Broomsticks. As he entered the bar, eyes rose curiously, and at the sight of him, quickly fell back to their tables in dread. Inwardly, he gloated. In the past year, ever since he had relayed the prophecy to the Dark Lord, Snape had gained much position in life. Instead of a jobless boy staying at his family’s old home in the northern part of England, he was now a respected Potions Master at one of the finest Wizarding schools in the world. Though he commanded respect as a gifted potion maker, it was the hint of fear in people’s faces when they saw him that truly made him happy. The people of Hogwarts and its neighboring village, Hogsmeade, knew that the Dark Lord grew ever stronger, and that Snape was one of his most cherished minions, though Snape would never admit to such.
He swept to a table in the far corner of the bar and ordered his drink. He also asked the curvy barmaid, Rosmerta, if she had a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet. She returned moments later with both his ale and the newspaper and left him in silence.
Skimming through the headlines, he smirked at the stories the paper contained. More news of grief and suffering, just as the Dark Lord commanded it should be. It would not be long now, before his Master would be able to eradicate his final threat “ a baby. A baby! As if a babe could ever defeat a man like the Dark Lord! It was now the third week of August, and he was hunting the paper for birth announcements. He was eager to see who the infant was that would soon be killed by the Master’s hand.
Turning the page, a sharp gasp caught in his throat. He pulled the paper closer to him, scrutinizing it. This couldn’t be! James and Lily (Evans) Potter…pleased to announce…birth of their son, Harry…the thirty-first of July… His eyes widened in shock, though none around him saw as his face was concealed by the newspaper. Of course it would be the Potters! James Potter had never been a friend of Snape’s, and since leaving Hogwarts, he had openly announced his allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix. A part of Snape was glad it was his baby the Dark Lord would seek; the git deserved every hardship thrust upon him.
Then, the small part of his mind that still supported compassion flashed on the baby’s mother. Lily Evans. Of all the witches in the world, why did it have to be her? He cringed. He recalled the lovely witch he had known in school. She was charming and vivacious, brilliant and cheeky. She had stolen his teenage heart during their fifth year. They had become friends through their studies. Both of them made top marks in Potions, but she struggled in Defense Against the Dark Arts and he in Charms. They made fine tutors for each other.
He suddenly found himself consumed in memories that had long since been buried. The nervous flutter in his stomach whenever she smiled, the one quick kiss they had shared the day of the Charms O.W.L., the color that had risen in her cheeks to match her fiery hair… And then the memory that tore them apart. He was tormented by the Potter prat and in his anger and humiliation had let the word “Mudblood” pass his lips in reference to her. She had been so furious with him; he had never seen someone so upset. She swore then that she couldn’t bear to think of him the same way again; she doubted they would even remain friends.
She had been right, really. She was everything he wasn’t supposed to tolerate. The fact that he had let her past his defenses spoke only to the significance of his feelings for her. Though they did not remain on good terms, it did not stop him for harboring a secret passion for her anyway. Had she so much as said the word, he would have jumped at the chance to kiss her and be with her again. Then, she did the worst thing she could have done. She married James Potter.
Though he never showed it to anyone “ he even kept it hidden behind a wall from the Dark Lord “ he would still do anything he could to guard her. Lily was the one girl to have ever shown him true kindness as opposed to tolerance. Though unrequited, he never had stopped loving her.
It was though a dagger had pierced his gut. The pain was mounting, and quickly. Not bothering to finish his drink, he threw a few coins hastily on the table and left the bar. His pace was quick on his trek back to Hogwarts. Along the way, he explored countless options of ways to protect his Lily.
A small piece of his conscious tried to tell him that there were other babies born at that time; he didn’t even know for certain the baby Potter would be the one. He quelled that thought quickly. The prophecy had clearly said born to those who have thrice defied him. He knew the transgressions the Potters had committed against the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord would have no choice but to go after the child who, had things worked out differently, might have been his own.
Think, Snape! he commanded himself as he approached the castle. As he made his way up the pathway, the answer came to him. Lily and the baby would have to go into hiding. There was no other way. If the Dark Lord didn’t know where the baby was, he couldn’t kill him. The simplicity of the plan was brilliant, but how in the name of Merlin would he possibly be able to convince her that she had to hide for the safety of her child? Especially once she knew that he was the one who had given her boy up for slaughter?
As he pushed open the heavy front door of the castle, a voice rang inside his head. It was a beautiful, musical voice, and it spoke so clearly that he spun to make sure no one was beside him. He pondered these words briefly, and then, he was suddenly granted the wisdom to know what he must do.
He bounded up several flights of stairs before arriving in front of a stone gargoyle. “Cauldron Cakes,” he panted at it, trying to catch his breath. The statue leapt aside and Snape, with renewed fervor, took the steps two at a time. When he reached the top, he rapped firmly on the solid wood door. He heard a voice call, “Enter!” from within and he pushed the door open.
The office was dimly lit and behind a desk piled high with papers, sat a man with a crinkly face and twinkling blue eyes. At the sight of his guest he rose and greeted the professor warmly.
“Headmaster,” Snape said, kneeling before him, “I have been incredibly foolish. Though I know what I have done cannot be reversed, with your help, there is still time to stop it. You must protect Lil- the baby Potter.”
The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Sit down, Severus. Pease, do not try to convince me otherwise “ I know better. You are one of Voldemort’s closest allies. Why do you speak thus?”
His mind flashed quickly back to his night with the goddess and repeated to Albus the words he had heard in his head moments before, “Because, sir, it is always the truth that will redeem a man.”
And with the words of wisdom from the goddess ringing in his head, he confessed all his misdoings and his reasons to the one person in the world who might be able to put it right.
True Words of Wisdom by Phoenix5225
Chapter Notes: Technically, this could be called a companion piece to Lethal Affection. Part of this plot is detailed more fully in that chaptered work. This can stand alone, however.