He looked warily at the approaching waiter, unblinking as the man set an ornately decorated ceramic mug and saucer on the table in front of him, along with two Chocolate Frogs.
“I did not order that,” Snape said as the man set the wrapped confections in front of him.
The waiter smiled at him pleasantly and without a hint of fear, and said, “They're included with the coffee, Professor. Can I get you anything else?”
Snape scowled, but waved the man off. He wasn't sure he liked this new development, and couldn't comprehend why the insolent boy was referring to him with a deferential title. His new job was supposed to be secret. Although he didn't much care for chocolate, he opened the wrappers for lack of anything else to do. He'd already read the paper.
The first wrapper yielded a croaking white amphibian which hopped onto the table and looked about.
White chocolate? he thought to himself. Ogden's must be expanding their line.
He thought it was ridiculous that a whiskey maker would make chocolate, but who was he to judge?
He looked down at the card, and suppressed a gasp. The happy face of Albus Dumbledore smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. Disturbed, he set it down and looked closely at the card, careful to look only at the words in the biography, wondering if it had been recently updated.
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
March 1842 ” June 1997
Headmaster of Hogwarts 1954 ” 1997
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald (113) in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel (102). He was also instrumental in providing information to Harry Potter (100) in order to facilitate the death of the dark wizard Voldemort (112). Dumbledore's death caused a great uproar in the wizarding world when it initially appeared he had been murdered in cold blood by Severus Snape (103).
During his life, Professor Dumbledore was known to enjoy chamber music, ten pin bowling, knitting patterns and sweets, particularly the ubiquitous sherbet lemon.
Snape frowned. He had his own card? This was ridiculous. He'd resolved to find it at his earliest opportunity.
Scowling, he opened the other wrapper. The nearly black frog within bellowed reproachfully as he stared in shock at his own face, his gourmet cold-brewed coffee forgotten.
SEVERUS SNAPE
January 9, 1959 ” present
Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, Head of Slytherin House and Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor
Widely renowned as one of the main reasons the Order of the Phoenix (105, 106) won the war against the dark wizard Voldemort (112), Severus Snape was initially appointed to serve as Hogwarts Potions Master in 1981, serving there until 1996, when he was then appointed as Defence instructor. He took a two year hiatus at the end of 1997, during which time he played the role of spy masterfully and surreptitiously fed information from the Death Eaters (107) to the Order, and was absolved of Albus Dumbledore's murder in June 1999, and was reappointed to his previous positions of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and Head of Slytherin House, as well as being appointed Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.
He gawked, paying no heed whatsoever to the two frogs posturing on the table in front of him. His card didn't contain any non-flattering words such as: bat, git, dungeon or greasy? (Or, you know, murder, traitor, coward . . . whispered the voice in the back of his head.
His head shot up and he looked around at the sun-dappled bazaar”so much like, and so different from”the way it was on his very first visit to Diagon Alley.
Across the alley, getting ready to enter the bookstore, a student that had been a third-year Ravenclaw the last time he saw her raised her chin and grinned shyly at him by way of greeting. Up the street, a fifth-year Gryffindor raised his hand, and down by the Leaky Cauldron, a group of Hufflepuffs were huddled together, looks of amazement on their faces as occasionally glanced in his direction and chattering rapidly to themselves.
If he had been confused before, it was nothing to how he felt now. His eyes alighted once more on that morning's front page of the Daily Prophet.
. . . with the wizarding world facing it's first true peace since 1945. Repairs are ongoing and preparations for a normal life continue to be made, but everyone is breathing easy, including those who correctly insisted the Dark Lord Voldemort had not in fact been vanquished by Harry Potter in 1981.
Snape picked up Dumbledore's card and looked at it closely, almost reverently. Suddenly, he noticed a single strange marking on the side of the card that looked like a smudge. He moved his finger to rub it off and was shocked by the sensation of being wrenched out of his seat and whirled through space.
Someone had turned the card into a Portkey, and his first thought was that if the waiter thought he was going to get a tip, he was sorely mistaken.
He landed on his bum in a strange place and looked about, trying to get his bearings. The very first thing he noticed was that the entire area fairly reeked with Dark Magic.
Severus Snape was a man who had spent the better part of his life studying and immersing himself in Dark Magic, and associating with those who did likewise. So unlike some others he knew, he wasn't particularly bothered by the existence of it. However, being Portkey'd unwillingly to ANY place was always bad, and when one added in the presence of Dark Magic made the situation even more worrisome.
He crept carefully to his feet, all senses on alert”it hadn't been that long since he'd been a “master spy”. He backed slowly to the nearest wall, casting non-verbal detection spells on it as he approached. With his back against the wall he was in a better position to analyse the situation, and not have to worry about protecting himself from an unseen attack.
He looked about, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, ears straining for any sound of movement. His wand twitched nearly imperceptibly as he cast spell after spell”shield, silencing, detection, disillusionment”the list went on.
As he interpreted the results of his spells, he cringed. Something very bad had happened here to some hapless victim”the layers of dark magic were many and thick. Oldest and faintest was sex magic, then blood and soul magic intertwined, but the signatures from the sex magic were interwoven with all of it, although one presence grew fainter and fainter.
Snape didn't like the conclusions he was drawing in the least.
He inched along the edge of the area, fingertips dancing lightly against the wall behind him, searching for a change in the rock face behind him. He found it presently, where it dropped off into nothing. He turned slowly and discovered a break in the wall just big enough for him to slip through. He did so, his wand arm leading, and only after casting a thermographic spell on his right eye. He blinked to adjust to the new images but saw only black, and stepped through, closing his right eye and allowing his left to lead him.
The break in the rock wall turned out to go through it, and on the other side was a forest, blessedly clear of the feel of the Dark Magic.
He heard a loud grunting ahead and stepped forward slowly and carefully, taking cover from the trees. With the aid of another silencing spell, he darted around them until he reached the edge of the forest.
With both eyes open, he peered around the tree he was sheltering behind and he saw what appeared to be massive, mossy boulders in a haphazard circle.
However, they were glowing bright golden, surrounding the brilliant magnesium white of what could only be Gubraithian fire.
There in front of him was a giants camp. He counted ten sitting around the fire”one of them reached behind him with a grunt and without bothering to get up, yanked a tree out by its roots, then stuck it in his mouth in a manner reminiscent of a toothpick. He watched for a moment as the giant dislodged something that looked suspiciously like human bones from his teeth. The giant passed the tree off to the one sitting next to him and Snape slipped back behind the tree.
There were far too many of them for him to fight on his own. He wondered where he was, and if he could Apparate back to Diagon Alley, but without knowing the distance, he daren't try such a feat lest he wind up splinched. He decided to Apparate to the other side of the clearing, but felt like he was slammed in the head as he encountered an anti-Disapparation jinx.
Blast!!
Snape scowled. Disillusioned or not, he really didn't feel like traipsing across the camp. Getting beaten to a pulp by angry giants was not his idea of a good . . .
. . . beaten to a pulp! he thought triumphantly, and scuttled over to the side of the clearing where one of the giants was drifting off, sitting slightly behind what appeared to be the Gurg.
He used his wand to levitate a good-sized rock, and with the same precision that had enabled him to shoot down flies as a teenager, shot it at the back of the head of who Snape had assumed was the leader”hard.
With an enraged bellow, the presumed Gurg rounded on who he assumed was his assailiant, feet and fists flying in rage. The shocked surprise of his innocent fellow soon joined in, and the entire clearing immediately became a bellowing mass of quaking earth. Snape dashed through the trees to the quietest part of the clearing, Disillusioned himself once again and darted across as quickly as he could. He declined to waste his energy on a silencing spell, given that it simply wasn't possible for the giants to hear him over their own racket.
Once safely across the clearing, Snape darted behind a boulder (that he was sure was actually a boulder this time) and peered carefully around it. Convinced the giants were still firmly distracted, he reached down and grabbed a piece of pine bark. Scowling at it's vanilla scent (now how exactly did that get here? For that matter, where IS 'here'?) he nonetheless tapped it with his wand and muttered Portus.
The Ministry was as stringent as ever about unauthorised Portkeys, but he figured what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. In any case, he reasoned, it was highly unlikely that they would suddenly decide to persecute him for that, after letting him off for Dumbledore's murder.
After another sickening whirling sensation, he found himself more-or-less where he'd started”but at a significantly different time than when he'd left.
Diagon Alley lay in deep in shadow. Even after the end of the war, only a handful of people braved the streets at night, with the war atrocities still fresh in their minds.
It was all very good for the Daily Prophet to natter on about breathing easy, normal life and peace during the light of day, but during the dark of night, the demons of the past still ruled.
He looked around at the deserted street, where during the night not even rodents dare tread, although Snape knew full well nothing predatory (save him) was in the area. Brought back to his earlier reverie, his eyes alighted on the deserted wandmaker's shop, it's sign teetering precariously above the ignored door. A silent Alohomora unlocked the door and he let himself in. Everything inside, which consisted entirely of empty shelves and floorspace, was covered in a layer of dust”a far cry from it's previous heyday when thousands of wands lined the shelves.
Something in the window caught his eye and he walked purposefully toward it. Three wizard cards lie before him, but the one that caught his eye was the one with Rowena Ravenclaw on it, wielding the wand that Snape knew well had sat on a faded purple cushion in the window for many hundreds of years. He picked up the card and studied it closely”Neville Longbottom had bought that wand right before Octavian Ollivander packed up his shop in the middle of the night and disappeared without a trace. That wand was a sister to the one that had been handed down from generation to generation, ultimately ending up in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, and the relationship between the wands, by means of Priori Incantatum, had kept the shy and unassuming boy from permanently destroying his soul, much like Potter's wand had done against the Dark Lord four years previously.
Longbottom had grown a great deal since Snape had last seen him. He'd conducted himself like a ruthless fighter in battle, yet until facing Bellatrix had never lost his sense of fairness. It was an unusual combination and he had high hopes for the boy”man, now”who was newly appointed Head of Gryffindor House. Things were going to be . . . interesting . . . he predicted, as they learned to deal with each other on a professional level, undoubtedly an uncomfortable situation for Longbottom. Snape was slightly amused by the thought that Longbottom probably thought that, since Snape no longer needed to rely on hi s Death Eater persona, his manner would probably change dramatically.
This, of course, was not to be the case.
Broken out of his reverie, Snape tucked Ravenclaw's card in a fold of his robes and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. In the distance, a light flickered in one of the towers”but as newly appointed Deputy Headmaster, Snape knew nobody except the elves were scheduled to be there, as Minerva was vacationing.
He reengaged his Disillusionment charm and with the surely only long years of practice could bring, snuck forward on the grounds, darting from shadow to shadow.
Reaching the castle, he looked around. Sensing no immediate threat, he took the card out again, and examined it closely. Rowena's portrait was holding up a tiny piece of parchment, upon which the words words “Dw i'n ymwahani carreg” were written in a flowing calligraphic script. He gawked at it for a moment, and she waved the parchment at him and pointed at it insistently. Clearly she wanted him to . . . respond appropriately, but what “appropriately” was to that string of characters, he had no idea. In fact, if it hadn't come from Ravenclaw herself, he'd have levelled the accusation that it was pure gibberish.
She scowled at him, and looked around whatever it was she could see in her portrait. On a clear mission, she levitated the table in the portrait as close to him as she could, and set the parchment on it, spelling the corners down, and strode off purposefully. With her gone and no longer flailing the miniature writing about, he found it slightly easier to focus on the words and stared at them, wondering if he was supposed to rearrange them somehow. But then, something in the back of his mind rather dimly registered that the last word bore a vague resemblence to the word “cairn”.
At that moment, Rowena walked back into the portrait, wielding an enormous tome upon which was inscribed “Gymraeg”.
Ah. Welsh. Well, not much I can do with that . . .
“I apologise, fair lady, but Welsh is not a language I have a command of.” She glowered at him so precipitously that he cringed. “My father had no reason to know it and my mother died when I was young!” he protested, feeling quite abashed.
There were not very many people who could claim to have made Severus Snape feel like a recalcitrant child. Most of those that could lay stake to such a claim were dead.
For that matter, THIS one was dead!
The little figure of Rowena Ravenclaw huffed in annoyance and drummed her fingers on the table-top as she glanced from spot to spot in her portrait again with a scowl. Finally, she yanked the parchment towards her and attacked it with such intensity he could very nearly hear the nub scratching.
After a few moments she presented it to him”with what looked like a phonetic-to-English translation. He quirked his eyebrows at her, and with no desire to be suffocated by a bovine, mouthed the words a few times to himself before hesitantly repeating them aloud, glancing at the famous Founder for confirmation.
And just because he was paranoid, he started with the last word, reciting it properly until he thought he got it.
She pointed at the original saying and looked at him expectantly.
He took a deep breath, and said hesitantly, “Dw i'n ymwahani carreg?” and was just about to ask “what does that mean?” when the remarkably ugly gargoyle on the wall slid aside and seven rocks beside the wall dissolved.
He found himself staring into the mouth of a huge tunnel, that he knew he had never seen before. He peered inside, and with all senses on alert, stepped carefully inside.
Once inside the tunnel, he tried to find a way into the castle to seek refuge, but it had been a long day, and Portkey travel always exhausted him, which is why he generally preferred to Apparate. Since the end of the war, he'd gotten out of the habit of carrying a Rejuvenation potion with him everywhere he went”more fool him, as he was now too tired to think straight. He gave up and slumped against the wall in defeat, thinking he could catch a little bit of sleep. Maybe after some rest he'd be better equipped to deal with the challenges.
Sleep was slow in coming to him and erratic when it did. In the pitch darkness, all the failures and defeats in his life loomed larger than life. When he woke up tired, sore and slightly bruised for the sixth time, he gave up on the idea.
But suddenly, with the undeniable clarity that only comes with sleep and sensory deprivation, he realised the source of these strange occurrences had been right in front of him the whole time.
Although difficult to face up to the source of his torment, he realised he had to do it now or risk being sucked back into the blackness.
Bone-weary and not at all looking forward to confronting his demons, he hauled himself to his feet and lit his wand to illuminate his path.
Presently, he came to a dead end. Long years of wandering Hogwarts' in the dark of night had long since educated him to the layout of the school and he thought he knew where he was. He felt the walls around him, searching for the seam in the wall he was nearly certain was there. He found it, and traced his wand along it the seam, muttering the spell given to the staff to open any portal in the school.
The door opened, and he took a glance down both sides of the hall to get his bearings. Although he wasn't precisely where he'd expected to be, he recognised he wasn't far off and set off for the Headmistresses office”an office which hadn't been graced by his presence since sometime in May 1997. Any business he'd had to conduct with Minerva he'd smoothly talked his way out of and managed to arrange meetings with her elsewhere”for example, by having a critical need to gather some plant or other in the Forbidden Forest when she wanted a meeting, but of course he'd love to have her tag along. He even managed to delude himself that she was none the wiser that he was avoiding her office.
The gargoyle sprang aside when he approached the office, and with hot lead expanding in the pit of his stomach, he stepped on the stairs, wincing as the staircase started to rotate and willing his heart rate to slow and his breathing to steady.
When the staircase stopped turning, he stood facing the immense door with the heavy brass gryffin knocker and for a moment entertained the thought of creating an illicit Portkey to take him anywhere but here. But before he could bring his plan to fruition, the door creaked open. As if commanded by Imperio, he moved slowly, jerkily forward.
All the portraits gazed down on him expectantly, including that of his great-great-grandfather, to whom he shot a pleading glance which was summarily greeted by a disappointed frown.
Snape pinched his lips and sighed, and turned to face the beaming, twinkling portrait of Albus Dumbledore. "Hea-" he croaked, not making it past the lump in his throat. He took a few calming breaths, and tried again. "P-p-professor," he managed to stutter out.
"Severus, my dear boy! Please do sit down!"
I'll stand, thank you”the easier for me to bolt to freedom.
He sat, and willed himself not to tremble.
"How have you been, dear boy?"
Snape folded his hands in his lap and gave that question serious contemplation for a few moments. He cleared his throat and replied, "I assume that Headmistress McGonagall has advised you of the end of the war and my subsequent acquittal?"
"I was aware, yes," the portrait of Dumbledore answered cagily.
Snape's eyes narrowed momentarily at that, noting that the question wasn't completely answered, but choosing to let that slide for now. "I've been . . . reappointed as Head of Slytherin house, with no loss of tenure, and”well”appointed as Deputy Headmaster," he finished softly, sealing his lips.
"That's not what I asked you, Severus”I was aware of all that, but I was asking how YOU have been doing."
Severus felt like an admonished schoolboy, and hung his head slightly. "I suppose, Headmaster," he began, his voice breaking slightly, "that under the circumstances, I have been quite well." Which is more that can be said for you and at my hand, too!
Dumbledore's portrait sighed, as if it could read Severus' mind. "Severus," he said kindly, to break Snape out of his reverie which was rapidly escalating to internal hysteria, "do you remember when I delivered your Hogwarts letter?"
"Yes, sir," Severus replied almost sullenly.
"Do you remember it took me some time to return with your father?"
"Yes, sir."
"When you get a chance, I want you to go back to your house. A package should have been delivered and I don't know if you've been there since."
Snape looked up, eyes narrowed, and shot a glance at Headmaster Prince, who just shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Yes sir," he acknowledged, nodding and rising to his feet.
He quickly strode to the edge of the grounds, using the walk to clear his head, before Disapparating to Spinner's End. As promised, a package awaited him, hefty and unwieldy. He tore the brown paper aside carefully, and only just managed tosuppress a gasp when he saw the ornate gilt frame around a portrait of Albus Dumbledore, which blinked sleepily at him.
"I . . . uh . . . Headmast . . . I, uh, don't know what to say!" he sputtered.
"Never mind that for now, my boy, did you see the other one?"
"The other one what, Headmaster?"
"Ah, there should be two items in this package. Look at the other, if you don't mind," he offered, clearly expecting immediate compliance.
Severus carefully laid the portrait of Dumbledore to the side, and gasped out loud when the dark-haired and hook-nosed face of Tobias Snape grinned puckishly back at him. He blinked, and moved slowly from side to side, wondering if the eyes were really following him or if it was just the Muggle illusion. He started violently when the man blinked.
"B-but how?" he demanded. As a rule, wizards didn't make moving portraits of Muggles, and he had no photographs of his parents.
"I arranged for the sitting after I dropped you off at Florean's that day, Severus."
"Why?!" he asked, completely incredulous.
"Your mother's family will have portraits and pictures of her, but there wouldn't be any for Tobias, and I didn't think anyone would take the time to arrange for it. So I did."
Severus looked at the portrait of his father, which was remarkably not wheezing. He flared his nostrils in an attempt to mask his quivering lip. ". . . Father . . ."
"Dumbledore tells me yer got a new job!" he said, beaming happily.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"I'm right proud o'yer, boy."
Snape scrunched up his face. He hadn't seen portrait or photograph of Tobias since that fateful day. Severus had been forced to murder his father in order to induct himself into the Death Eaters and ingratiate himself to the Dark Lord. Faced with his father's smiling face now was almost more than he could bear. On top of facing Dumbledore for the first time since his death, Snape was feeling closer to an emotional breakdown than he had since he was a teenager. Or maybe since Black escaped.
"'ey! None o' 'at now! I know wha' yer did, and why yer did it! An' yer had ter do it, an' no hard feelin's, neither!"
Snape sniffed then, and swiped his hand roughly across his face. DAMNIT! "You don't . . . you don't know what it was like!" he insisted.
"No, I don'. An' I don' t'ink I could 'ave pulled 'at off. Yer good man, Severus”great man. You didn' do 'at, do all o' it . . . where would yer be now? Not second in t'school . . . "
He shook his head almost imperceptibly, not believing what he was hearing, even though he heard the truth in the statements.
"Severus?" Dumbledore chimed up quietly from his portrait, and Severus' eyes silently flickered over toward him. "School is starting soon, and I believe you've a lot of work to do. I hope you will take both portraits and give us a place in your office."
Snape looked horrified. "Did you truly think I would do anything but?! I just wish I could have a copy of each here and there!"
"Ah, now that's my boy."
"No," protested the portrait of Tobias genially. "'at's MY boy!"
References:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welsh_language
http://www.geiriadur.net/
“suffocated by a bovine” - in Charms class, Professor Flitwick reminds everyone to “remember baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and ended up with a buffalo on his chest'
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to MithrilQuill for adminning and Snape's Talon for being my guide!