Title: The First-born Child
Author: Rakina
Team: Dragon
Genre(s): Alternate Reality
Prompt(s): Anniversary, Possessive
Rating: NC17
Warning/Kinks: *Coercion. Underage in some countries as Harry is 16.*
Word Count: 70,337
Summary: Come, my friends, and listen to the tale of a flawed hero; the tale of Severus Snape who loves Lily Evans and is determined to have her. But when Lily passes beyond his reach, Severus manages to salvage something for himself: Lily will give him her child. Her first-born child, to be his own, his wife, and his love. Lily only has one child, and she comforts herself that her contract with Severus is void, for Lily's first-born is a son, and Severus had wanted a wife: a girl just like her mother. Severus thinks rather differently; Lily owes him. But in acquiring Harry Potter he discovers, belatedly, that love cannot be coerced or bought however desperate your need; that love is free, and the most valuable thing in the world.
A/N: Firstly, A big thank you goes out to my regular beta, Hel Bee, whose steadfast support has kept me going through thick and thin on many occasions. I also had input during the Snarry Games from my fellow Dragons, whose help is hugely appreciated, especially Lilyseyes and the most excellent Svartalfur.
Next, please note that this story is set in a parallel universe slightly skewed from our own. Do not assume everything here is the same; it's not. Here, Harry's significance to Severus lies in being Lily's child, and nothing else. There is no prophecy and no Dark Lord out to kill him, although there is a Dark Lord. I wrote it this way because, to me, Harry's significance for Snape was always his parentage, the rest be damned.
The Games is a wonderful thing to be part of, and owes its existence to Djin7. Much love to you, Djin.
(Almost) lastly, I must mention the mods of Team Dragon, who have been endlessly helpful; most of all our Team Capitan, joanwilder, who is made of so much awesome that sometimes I get lost in my head contemplating her.
And finally... I should shut up, because this reads like an Oscar speech and you need to get to the story.
Mercy Standish opened the final nest box in the hen coop. Five brown eggs, still warm, were nestled in the straw and Mercy carefully put them into her collection basket. There would be enough for a delivery to the village store today. For the last week they'd been getting desperate and sending messages every day to Mercy's mum, Maisie Standish. At this grey, gloomy time of year the hens were not fooled by Maisie's light and warmth spells inside their coop, they could feel what the Earth was telling them: winter was almost here, and hens did not lay often in the winter time. Maisie's flock was at its largest now, with the older birds being kept past their best in hopes of getting a few winter eggs nestling alongside last year's young ones who hadn't yet begun to lay. In the spring, when the young birds reached point of lay, the oldest ones, five years old or more, were taken to market to be sold as meat. Which meant that for now, Mercy's work took longer than usual, with more cleaning, more feeding, more care of their flock in every sense of the word, but the villagers needed every egg she could coax from them. Carefully, she added the latest five to her haul before taking them indoors to show her mum.
"The bard! The bard!" A raucous squawk made her jump.
Mercy spun around and saw a wild-eyed child running down the street. His hair was flying behind him, a red tail whipping from the back of his head created by the little boy's agitated flight. His face was rosy with the effort of running; he looked like a child made of fire, and he looked panicked. Despite the alarm, Mercy still had hold of her egg basket. It would take more than a child's squeals to make her drop her precious haul.
"I saw him, I saw him Appear!" the child cried out to the people who had come out of their houses and workshops to see what all the fuss was about. Panting with excitement and short of breath from running, it was a wonder he could speak at all. "Back there in the field. I saw him!"
He had come to a halt now in front of his mother, waving his arms in excitement. She had emerged from the house three down from Mercy's, and tried to calm her son, but the boy was having none of it, pointing back in the direction of the meadow where he had been sent to check on the horses. The bard's arrival was good news, it meant stories for the children at teatime before they were sent off to bed – and with no arguments or there would be no stories for them next time. It was a real cause of excitement for the magical community, for the impressive elderly man did not visit often. Hopefully he would stay awhile and they would have several nights of entertainment to look forward to.
There would be music and songs to start the evening and stories for the grown-ups once the children were abed, Mercy thought appreciatively, smiling now as broadly as the rest of them. Mercy was fourteen years old and her mum considered her old enough to stay up and listen at last; tonight she wouldn't be sent to bed with the younger children. Mercy pulled herself up to her full height – which was only just over five feet tall – proudly. She thought of firelight and the pleasure of new tales and smiled at her neighbour, who had taken her son's hands and was dancing a little jig out there in the street. The short, grey November day had just brightened, even if the sun was nowhere to be seen.
Mercy settled beside her ma. The villagers had piled into the pub, The Full Net, and were arranged in a circle around the hearth. A cosy chair was set ready by the fire and there was a pint of ale on the small stool standing beside it, which was serving as a table. The soft sounds of a flute added to the expectant atmosphere.
The torches seemed to flicker as he approached, light brightening then muting again. The man walked over to the chair and sat down; the villagers watched his every movement with fascination. Mercy could hardly sit still; this was her first grown-up story and she couldn't wait. To the casual eye the man looked ordinary; so ordinary he could be overlooked. But pinned to his tunic, as earlier it had been pinned to his cloak, was the insignia of the quill on a silver brooch; it told everyone he was a story-crafter and teller. A bard. And once he began to speak, time lost all significance; everyone's focus was on the words:
and gather round. Gather round, good people of Swinfield, for the nights grow cold and the fire burns brightly. I bring you both wisdom and entertainment, for the magic of my tale is a treat you'll not be offered until I travel this way again. In return I ask little from you, save your attention to an old man's tale, a warm bed for the night and perhaps a little money to carry me on to the next town, and the next tale. So gather round and glean wisdom by listening to my story.
Tonight, I give you a cautionary tale about happiness. For what is happiness and how best can it be acquired? That is at the heart of my tale, and it is a question few sages can answer and few bards truly tell.
Oh no, young Mercy, you need not look disappointed, for though it is thought-provoking, this tale concerns love just as much as wisdom. True love, my dear ones, true love! For this was a love that burned almost violently, bringing to its victim fierce longing, sacrifice and years of torment. And so it was the best kind of love, the kind that has to wait for its resolution, even as it doubts it will ever arrive, and yet remains faithful.
Now listen! My tale for this evening is set in the past, in turbulent times we are fortunate to be free of, in a land divided by ideology. But yesterday is the past just as much as your grandparents' time, and so I will not tell you how long ago this happened, whether it is separated from us by centuries or mere months. I will only say that it is true, to the best of my ability to tell it, and allow you to take from it what you will.
Now listen, for only a fool fidgets when a bard speaks!
in this blessed land of Britannia the most powerful mages were those who followed the way of the Dark Sorcerer, Lord Voldemort. They were the most powerful but also the most shunned, for good folk did not seek either their company or their regard; for didn't everyone know that nothing good came out of the county of Hangleton, the stronghold of Darkness?
All magical children were taught this at their mother's breast and also during their schooling. But in the way of children, there are those who find the forbidden attractive, convinced that adults warn them away merely to spoil their fun, or to keep the best secrets for themselves. The Dark has always had its allure and no amount of warning can destroy that; to some warnings merely add to its appeal.
It might seem strange to you, dear listeners, but I will start before the beginning, just to introduce you to our troubled hero. Two years before our story really starts we see Severus Snape, a young wizard in training at the Seminary for Magical Education. He was one of those enquiring minds I spoke of, a lad from the north of Britannia who wanted to know everything and would use any means to find out. Even as a boy he had questioned the wisdom of what he was told by his elders, examining it for believability. If he thought it was valid and good he would live by it; but if not... well, you get the idea about Severus. Severus had been brought up to be this way, you see, for he had learned to mistrust his parents, particularly his father, whose proclamations often seemed flawed in the boy's estimation. Severus had good reason to distrust authority then; later I may tell you a little more about why he felt that way. But for now I must get on with the start of our tale.
Well now, my friends, since Severus had arrived at the Seminary for Magical Education up at Swineswood Castle on yonder hill, he had been judged by his tutors as a young man with a fine searching, analytical mind. He was the most intelligent of his age-group at the Seminary, and far and away the most intense. While other boys wasted their time racing around on brooms or planning pranks, Severus worked. And because he was different from the majority of his peers, it was no surprise that his personality did not endear him to them. The only ones who ever spared a good word for Severus were those also considered misfits. Oh, and one girl. A girl who was determined to be fair-minded whenever she could; a girl Severus was determined to have.
Lily Evans was as fair in body as she was in mind. She was slender and willowy, with vibrant, dark-red hair and unusually beautiful, bright green eyes. But what made Lily truly exceptional was not these undoubted charms: it was her nature. For Lily always made up her own mind; she did not hate people who were different, nor take a dislike to them just because others told her she should. Even at her tender age Lily realised that prejudice was a bad thing, my friends, but she believed that Dark magic, too, was bad. And for a long time Severus openly agreed with her, willing to see things her way, so enticing was she to him.
Lily's thoughts about Severus, however, were confused. She befriended him and remained his friend, and they spent many hours together as they studied side by side. She found it refreshing that he was so studious where the other boys were wild. And Severus was always nice to her – Lily was the only girl he had time for in the entire school – but she was wary of him, for some of the others insisted that Severus was researching Dark powers, and Lily knew he was fascinated by that hidden magic. She knew Severus' magic was stronger than hers and suspected that extra strength came from studying Dark magic. Pure Light magic was limited in its power; good for everyday spells but lacking the added strength of the Darkness. But really, Lily had no proof that he was practicing such things, and as I've already told you she did not listen to others' opinions about Severus, and so she thought no more about it most of the time.
Now young Lily did not stop to question why Severus was so nice to her, and in that she was understandably naïve, because everyone was nice to her. I am sure they always had been, ever since she'd been the tiniest child, and Lily could not imagine anyone behaving differently. For what was there not to like about Lily Evans? So Severus' regard was natural to her and she did not question it as being anything different than anyone else's. Lily knew Severus had watched her from their very first meeting at school; he watched her like a hawk. For her part, she largely avoided thinking of boys in a romantic way, and whilst she socialised with both sexes she made it obvious that no one had caught her eye romantically.
Between you and me, my friends, I think she must have liked the look of a couple of those young men well enough, for the best-looking of their age were fine specimens indeed! But Lily also thought they were stupid and immature as they horsed around and strutted about like peacocks, trying to impress the girls. But all the while they did this, they were repelling her.
Oh no, Lily Evans was not impressed by those antics; that was just another reason why Severus Snape loved her. And partly because Severus' behaviour was so unlike those other boys', he was convinced that he alone was what she needed.
One of those boys in particular, James Potter, who was one of Severus' main antagonists, aimed all his bravado at Lily. He was desperate that she should be impressed by his sports ability, or maybe he hoped to impress her with his marvellous skill at tripping up the frankly weird, creepy know-it-all called Severus Snape. This was a stupid mistake for him to make, good people, for the more James tried to impress Lily in that way the more he exasperated her, for Severus remained what he had always been – her friend. James was too foolish to realise this, only seeing Severus from James' friends’ estimation of him, and so he persisted in baiting him, plotting with his close friends how to make more of an impression on Lily by ridiculing the odd boy.
Throughout his school years Severus had remained aloof from the rest of the boys; all his intensity, all of his attention, was focused on study. Except for the little bit he saved for Lily. They spent many hours together, you see, Lily and Severus, either reading, studying or talking together. They sat together in most classes and sometimes ate together in the dining hall even though they were members of different clans. Lily was from a family allied to the Griffin clan, while Severus was a descendant of a powerful family that owed fealty to the Serpent laird. Yet still, it was only when the bell rang at nine in the evening to send the girls off to their dormitories and the boys to theirs that Lily and Severus would part.
I am sure you have all noticed, dear listeners, that adolescence is a difficult time for both boys and girls. You have lived through it; a few of you are still doing so, I see. Just when it becomes overwhelmingly important to appear attractive – or as attractive as you can with what nature has given you – your body decides to make it difficult. Spots appear, your hair and skin becomes greasy and you sweat more. It seems quite unfair that these things happen just as young people are struggling to impress the opposite sex, but there it is. And so you will understand when I tell you that at this point in our story our hero is going through this awkward stage.
Alas, it was even worse for our Severus, because he was so focussed on what he thought was really important – his study of his school subjects and his ongoing desire to research everything that interested him – that he was rather less than meticulous when it came to his appearance. Severus realised that his looks were never going to win him anything in life; he was not handsome, but he was clever. So the exercise of his formidable brain was what concerned him, morning, noon and night. And as a result, his appearance was not as good as it could have been. His hair was usually in need of a wash, his hormones ensured it was very greasy as well as giving him acne, which he also ignored. He did not wash his body often enough either; Lily would gently remind him to change his clothes or take a bath, and Severus would do it, for her, reluctantly tearing himself away from his books. He would bathe quickly, or shower even more quickly, giving his hair a quick rub with the bar of soap before rinsing off.
When they had more time at weekends, and while James Potter and his little gang were occupied on the sports field, Severus would walk the Highland hills with Lily. And on those walks they would casually touch each other: a brush of hands here, a gentle tug or a playful push there. To Lily, at that time, Severus was a good friend and a person worth knowing. And Severus, for the first time in his life, had a friend he could depend upon, someone who, in his mind, was just for him.
Then, amazingly, good people, James Potter changed, and everything changed along with him. This happened after James' friends had carried out one of their most despicable plots to prank Severus, a prank which had left our hero shaken and subdued. James displayed an almost overnight transformation.
Now, I will tell you as much as anyone heard about the incident at that time. You see, it seemed that James' brash friends Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had tried to scare Severus by trapping him in an underground lair with a ravening werewolf they must have found somewhere, as unlikely as that might seem. They were very foolish to do this, for Severus could have been killed, and he would have without James' arrival.
Now whatever else he was at that time, James Potter was a brave and fearless boy, a member of the clan of the Griffin. So when he overheard Sirius – also a Griffin, to that clan's shame – muttering about his plans and drawing a map on a piece of parchment, he couldn't believe he was serious. Sirius put him off, saying he was just being silly, talking nonsense and doodling because he was bored. But James wasn't so sure, knowing just how reckless his friend could be and how much he hated Severus Snape; so he went to the spot Sirius had mentioned, found the underground lair, and there he saw a horrific sight – the werewolf backing a terrified Severus against a wall. Using the advantage of surprise James intervened and rescued Severus in the nick of time, and literally from the jaws of death, by spelling a magical barrier across the passageway that kept the werewolf imprisoned as they fled.
Naturally, after this adventure Severus owed James Potter for his life, and because he now owed his erstwhile enemy such a debt, Severus grew to hate James even more. It was embarrassing and galling enough to Severus to have frozen from fear and have to be rescued from a Dark creature, but by this boy? Severus seethed and moped around the infirmary, and he was not coherent enough to return to his lessons for several days.
Just when Severus had lost some of his self assurance and had to spend time in the infirmary recovering from the shock of realising that some of his peers resented him – no, not resented, hated him – so much that they were willing to kill him, James Potter turned into a responsible and sensible young man almost overnight. And Lily Evans, who had always liked the look of him – for James Potter was good on the eye, my friends, for he washed obsessively and never suffered from spots – suddenly found herself liking him in other ways too. Romantic ways.
James visited the infirmary; he tried talking to Severus after the attack. He really had changed, you see. He'd grown up; discovered the terrible truth that to be young is not the same as to be immortal, and that foolishness can very easily end in tragedy. In short he had, rather belatedly, learned to take responsibility and had come to regret all his years of bullying. But Severus would not talk to James, merely stared at him glassy-eyed before turning his head away. James left, thinking Severus had been made ill by his brush with death, which was true enough.
James tried again once Severus was out of the infirmary, and he came up to Severus as the students left a lecture one day, grasping the gangly boy's arm and stopping him in his tracks. Lily, who had, as usual, been walking with Severus, her study partner in most lessons, watched the interaction with interest.
“Can’t we be friends, Severus?” James began. But the taller youth merely sneered down his considerable nose at him, embarrassed to have Lily watching, realising his indebtedness to his enemy. “Let’s just forgive and forget, eh?” James proposed.
“That’s a joke,” Severus replied, snarling, “and a bad one. What do you have to forgive, unless you think my attempts to defend myself from your unprovoked attacks require forgiveness? And frankly, I don’t think they do. The forgiveness would have to be all on my side, wouldn't it, Potter, and I’m not ready to forgive you or your friends for making my schooldays hell. I will never be ready to do that, understand? So just fuck off and leave me alone.”
And Severus gave James, his rescuer, a rough shove to get him out of his way and stalked off to the study rooms. Alone.
And before Severus had really gathered his breath from the traumatic incident which had nearly cost him his life, James and Lily began spending time together, my friends, holding hands, smiling and staring into each other's eyes in the way of young people in love. They looked almost heartbreakingly sweet, and that was just what the sight was to Severus: it was heartbreaking and even more painful than his new understanding of the true depths of his unpopularity. Severus scowled at them, sure now that Potter’s attempt to befriend him had been just another ploy to make Lily Evans regard the Griffin clansman with favour.
In their new infatuation James and Lily spared Severus hardly a glance and did not seem to notice him or care for his opinion. Severus hated everything about the situation, and the fact that he was being disregarded he hated most of all.
And yet they were foolish, good people, for they should have noticed him! Severus' fierce antagonism, even then, was a very scary thing, coming as it did from someone far more involved with Dark magic than anyone else of their age, and far, far more intense.
Eventually Lily did notice that they were being followed. Severus was so subtle at tracking and so good at concealment spells that it took her a while, but Lily finally glimpsed him as a swirl of darkness on the edge of her vision. She only glimpsed him, and many people would have put that dark shadow down to mere imagination or a trick of the eye, but Lily began to take notice of the prickling of her skin that warned her someone was there. Usually she was a most observant young woman; it was only her infatuation with James that had caused her not to notice sooner; that she became aware of Severus at all proved her ability.
So Severus watched as Lily pulled back from James' kiss in the woodland glade and whispered into her boyfriend's ear. Now an ordinary wizard could not have heard her tiny puffs of words, but each time he followed the pair Severus cast powerful surveillance spells on them, spells which he'd perfected for himself. And so he heard Lily say: "We're not alone."
James stiffened in Lily's arms and, seeing the movement, how Severus wanted to rip him away from her!
"Who?" James asked.
Lily sighed against his cheek then; so sensitive was Severus' spell that he heard the slight huff of her breath against Potter's skin. It caused Potter to shiver in desire, and now Severus really wanted to kill him, not just pull him out of her arms!
"Severus."
Ah, how sweet was the sibilant sound of Severus' name upon Lily's lips, whispered in a breath of desire! Except it was not desire, or not for poor Severus, alas.
"That greasy-" James began. In his anger his voice was discordant and harsh, but Lily put her finger over his lips, stopping his rant before it could start.
"He's odd, I know," she whispered very quietly, but Severus heard every word as clearly as you can hear me. "But he's my friend; I don't think he means us any harm."
Ah, dearest Lily, he did not! Severus would never harm you, oh no. But James Potter? Oh yes, Severus meant him harm and wanted nothing better than to pluck him from your life like a hawk taking up a rabbit's kit.
And if in doing so he disregarded the debt he owed to James, what then? Why then, my friends, he would have chosen his path, wouldn't he? And it was not the path of pure Light that Lily so wanted him to travel.
"Harm? I don't care if he means us harm," James blustered, and by then Severus hardly needed a spell to hear him. "I won't have him watching us like this! It's creepy."
And Potter pulled away from Lily and looked wildly about the woods, walking in a circle around her, unable to tell where Snape was. "Come out, you greasy bastard!" he yelled to the trees, waving his arms about. "What the fuck are you doing following us?"
Ah, he was so erudite, the Potter heir. And he'd quite forgotten his desire to make peace with Severus.
With a rustling of the undergrowth Severus emerged, and he was like blackness materialising from shadows, his presence darkening their romantic tryst in the woods, spoiling their sweet pleasure with his scornful estimation of it. He sneered at James Potter. "What makes you think I'd follow you?" he taunted, beginning to enjoy himself now. "I was gathering celandine here in Swinfield woods; they have such a short season."
And Severus wandlessly conjured a few bright yellow flowers in his hand as proof and offered them to Lily with a courtly bow. It hurt him when she stepped back, backing away from them as if the flowers were somehow dangerous.
"Don't make us laugh," James growled. "You're always following Lily. Do you think I haven't noticed? You're a creep, Snape, and I'd have to be blind not to see you."
And yet he hadn't seen Severus, had he, friends? It was Lily who had detected him.
"I could oblige, if that's what you want," Severus warned, releasing his wand from up his sleeve, letting it slide down his arm and into his hand.
Potter, far from being cautious at seeing the movement, strode forward until he was close to Severus, prodding him in the chest with a sharp finger. "Leave Lily alone, Snape. If I catch you sniffing around her again-"
"You'll end up like this."
And with the merest twitch of his wand Severus turned, leaving them alone. He cast the golden celandine flowers onto the ground as he left. Once away, he paused and watched them from the gloom, not far behind the surveillance curtain he had erected over the surrounding bushes.
Meanwhile James had cried out and his hands had flown up to his eyes. Lily rushed over to him, casting fearful glances at the undergrowth as if she could feel Snape there, gloating over her boyfriend's discomfort. "What is it? What's happened?"
"I'm blind!" Potter yelled, panicking. "Lily, I can't see! He said he'd-" Suddenly he stopped and stumbled back.
He blinked wide-eyed at his girlfriend, looking for all the world like a bemused bull that has just seen something flapping in the hedgerow. "Lily... I can see now. Oh, thank Merlin! I thought I was blind. The bastard said he'd blind me!"
Lily slipped her arm around him, trying to support and comfort him, and they embraced. Severus was close enough that he could hear her breath coming quickly; she was panting as her heart was beating fast. Oh, how Severus wished he could put his hand against that heart, feel its agitated fluttering transferred to her soft breast. He dreamed of calming her, of soothing her...
"This can't go on!" Lily cried, and her final words were shouted out as if she knew that Severus was still there, listening. Then she turned and they made their way back to the Seminary in a subdued mood, all thoughts of romance in the woods banished for that day.
And Severus Snape smiled as they went, thinking his purpose achieved.
knocked on the scriptorium door and peered into the studious sanctum where the advanced students worked. Its very air smelled of parchment and ink and the wood of the old desks. On one wall a scroll was pinned up; its title was large and easy to read even from the doorway: The One True Path. This document laid out the aims of education at the Seminary, detailing what all students would be expected to learn during their stay here: the received wisdom of the Light. It was intended as a spur and an example to the young people working in the scriptorium, a constant reminder of excellence, or so the deputy headmaster, Professor Flitwick, averred. All the study rooms and dormitories sported one.
"May I come in?" Lily asked. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
Severus lifted his nose out of the scroll he was studying long enough to look up at her. "It's fine, come in."
Lily walked over to the desk Severus was still wrapped around. He seemed to be curled over his work with his long back arched in the shape of a sickle moon as he pored over the materials spread out on the ancient surface beneath him.
In truth, Severus welcomed Lily's interruption, believing she had come to apologise for her recent behaviour and ask to be with him again. But he was a young man of rigid pride – and sometimes, friends, pride was all Severus had – so he would let her come to him. He looked back down at his work as if engrossed in it still, his nose almost touching the ancient parchment as he struggled to make out the faded script. Yes, Lily must have realised what a mistake she'd made by going out with Potter, Severus thought as he listened to her approaching footsteps. She'd seen the way forward at last.
The old school desks came with their own chairs, but they were far from comfortable as any Seminary student can tell you to this day, and for one as tall as Severus Snape it was twice the ordeal. Lily had once asked Severus how he stood it, sitting there for so many hours, and her words ran through his mind now as he waited for her to reach him.
"There's no way your bony body could find these seats comfortable, Severus," she'd joked.
"But I've added spells to them for my comfort, Lily, ones I've devised for myself. Surely you expected no less?" Severus' voice had been teasing. He was always more light-hearted with Lily than he was with anyone else, for you must understand that light-hearted was not a natural part of Severus' personality.
Lily had admitted that she should have known, for she always expected the best of Severus when it came to magic; he had the cleverest solutions to life's little problems. She'd said she understood him then, and when Severus cast doubt upon that notion Lily admitted that there were parts she still didn't understand, though she thought she knew him as well as anyone could.
Lily Evans was right about that, my friends, for she did. But what she knew was still far from the whole truth, which Severus kept to himself, hidden behind his mental shields. She would never know him that deeply, not unless she went to him freely, to be at his side and sleep in his bed. It was this that Severus believed was happening, and so he began to let his guard down.
Lily sat at the next desk along, and as her dress settled over the bench the scent of her rose perfume made the grim student smile. "Severus," Lily began, "I've always thought of you as a friend."
Severus looked at her intently, catching her vibrant green eyes with his dark gaze, pinning her. Lily didn't – couldn't – look away. "Yes... you are my friend. I always knew you were."
"That hasn't changed, Severus, not unless you want it to. But I can't put up with you following me and James. It's not right."
"It's not right!" Emotion deepened Severus' voice and made him sound quite vicious. "You're right to say that – it's not right, Lily! You shouldn't be with him."
"What?" Lily was confused by this reaction; it was as if Severus hadn't understood her words at all, which were surely plain enough. "I know you don't like him, but-"
"No, not him alone. Not any man! You're meant to be with me. Don't you realise that?" Severus' voice rang with conviction.
"What? No! Severus, I..." And Lily's voice, by contrast, became full of her confusion; she was floundering to make sense of this. Just then young Lily felt very unequal to what was happening, as I am sure any young woman would have been.
"You've always been mine," Severus continued fervently. "All these years I've paid court to you and you seemed to understand. I was waiting until we left school, but I always intended you to be my wife."
"What?" Lily was frankly incredulous now, and she sounded it. "I had no idea you felt like that. I mean, I knew you liked me, but..." She trailed off, unable to complete the thought, and now it was Severus' turn to fail to understand.
"Liked you?" His voice was quieter, as if he was talking to himself, musing; he'd lost all the conviction he'd had mere moments before and was thoroughly confused. "Liked you? I've never liked you! Not liked you, Lily. I love you. Don't you realise that?"
And Severus, for whom this declaration was a huge thing, a gesture he'd never considered making before, reached out and took her hands in his own longer, paler ones. His fingers were spotted with ink as usual, and they looked odd against hers.
"This is serious, Lily. Potter is only playing one of his games to discomfort me; he's toying with you. But with me, it's always been for life."
Lily jumped a little at the cool touch of his fingers. "Severus... I honestly had no idea you felt like this. Why didn't you say something to me?"
"Did I have to spell it out as to an idiot? Why do you think I spent so much time with you? I don't socialise with girls, or with anyone for that matter. You know that, you've always known it."
Severus saw it in her eyes when she finally understood. Why hadn't she seen the way he looked at her for what it truly was before now? Severus imagined Lily must be feeling very foolish at that moment, for she swallowed and pulled her hands from his, plainly embarrassed. She straightened up on her seat.
And then she dropped the bombshell, speaking words that would run through his mind forever: "Severus, I have never thought of you that way; I never could. You were my friend. A genuine friend, a dear friend, but I never thought of you as a lover. Please understand..."
Severus reeled back, and though Lily was still speaking he never heard her regretful words as she tried to let him down gently; his face tightened with the rage that suddenly welled up inside him. "I see. So you don't want me as your friend any more, is that it?"
"What? No, of course not, I mean you'll always be my friend." Lily was gabbling, beginning to panic as she noticed the change in him. "But nothing more, Severus; I could never leave James. Please understand... we're... we're going to be married. But if you want me to stay your friend you just have to stop pursuing us, Severus; stop pursuing me. You have to stop thinking of me that way."
As Lily looked pleadingly into Severus' eyes, into those darkest of eyes that revealed both his magic's allegiance and his soul, she saw something there she'd not seen before. A shiver passed down her body. "I'm sorry," she said lamely. But bravely she added, "Will you still choose to be my friend?"
She looked scared of the answer, scared of the look Severus had trained on her. Finally she understood why the rest of the class were so wary of him.
Poor Severus was barely in control of himself. His brows drew together and he surged to his feet. "Choose? There is no choice – you offer me nothing!" He drew his robes around him and swirled away, desperate to get away from her and her false choices, her offer of nothing, desperate to keep his faint grip on control and a shred of dignity. Lily must not see how she'd hurt him; at that moment he felt that would be more unbearable than the pain of rejection. His entire body was rigid as he strode over to the scriptorium door, walking fast with jerky, angry strides.
Lily watched him go, good people, and her shoulders were slumped in defeat.
As he passed out the door and turned to close it, Severus caught sight of her still sitting on the bench. Vindictively, he hoped she would worry about where he was going, whether he was going after her precious James. If he did, James Potter would not stand a chance, and Lily knew it. Yes, Potter was a strong enough wizard in the ordinary way of things, he was good in all the disciplines they taught at the Seminary, but he lacked the edge Severus had. He lacked that biting desire to excel and never fail, so typical of those who served the Serpent laird, but particularly of Severus Snape.
So now Lily could only get down on her knees and pray to any god who might listen to her that Severus would not go that far. And he would not, for Severus would have been thrown out of school without graduating, which would have been unbearable to him, no matter what else was done to punish him. Study had always been the dearest thing to Severus' heart, beside her. He would not risk his place in the magical school and society, especially now that study must become his only love, if he had the strength to make it so.
Well, time passed and they approached the end of their schooling. Lily and James began to plan their wedding and Severus kept away from them. Lily was relieved, though she didn't miss the heated, angry glances he shot at her from time to time. When their eyes met on those occasions Lily remembered the argument and she feared anew; but then her fears would abate as nothing further happened, and she would be lulled into a sense of security reinforced in James Potter's arms. And it is difficult for a young woman in love to be unhappy, or to dwell on problems, as I'm sure you good ladies know.
Severus, however, became obsessed with his final year's study, determined to rank as highly as he could, to break all previous records for achievement and be acknowledged as a master mage in the making. Then he could move on to anything he liked; take his pick of apprenticeships or mentors, or travel to any civilised country he might wish to see.
In Swineswood Castle rumours began to spread through the school about just what that strange Severus Snape could be studying during all those hours in the library, the storerooms and the scriptorium. The more dramatic gossips claimed he was going to Hangleton after graduation, and that Severus' further study would be at the feet of the Dark Sorcerer.
Now it happened that one day, as he passed the little Chapel of the Phoenix that lay deep within Swineswood Castle, Severus heard Lily praying. As she was there alone he slipped inside, hidden under a concealment spell. Now, a well known fact that I'm sure you all appreciate, my dear listeners, is that eavesdroppers overhear nothing for their own good, and the soft words Severus heard there tore him apart. For Lily was praying, not for herself or for James Potter, but for Severus himself. She was begging the Light deities to keep him from the Darkness, assuring them she had always believed Severus would stay with her in the service of the Order, begging that it might still be so.
Of course the Order of the Phoenix was then, as it is now, the wizardly religious order dedicated to performing Light magic not only at great ceremonies but through the regular spell-casting and prayers of its followers. Many witches and wizards supported it by going to the Order houses, either the one up here in the Highlands or the other that lies further south in Godricsham, to join in with the spell casting. The force of Light magic that was built up in the Britannic atmosphere as a result of these efforts was one of the most important impediments to the followers of the Dark Sorcerer. When enough magical folk cast Light spells the Order could block Darker magic from working in the way the Dark mages intended it to, thus weakening their power, which as you can imagine did not make them happy at all.
Now, with graduation only a week away, Lily had seen how Severus' gaze burned her, she had felt it strike her almost like a blow and it made her tremble. So she prayed fervently, telling the gods about the frightening level of desire she saw in Severus' eyes, a burning lust that almost looked like rage. Lily had finally recognised it for what it was: a force that might yet harm her. She did not fear for her life, she knew better than that, but she knew that if Severus had the chance to supplant James, he would do it. In her prayers for Severus she revealed her heart, for underneath it all Lily still thought of Severus as her friend, for they had been together for years in happy companionship and she still hoped to bind him to the Order and keep him from following a darker path. But Lily also knew she urgently needed her impending marriage and the security of the marital spell-weave which would bind her forever to James Potter.
As Severus listened he overheard her final words, and they caused a twisted expression to appear on his face. It could have been pain or it might have been a sneer. And which is was at that point, my friends, I cannot truly say.
"Please, Severus," Lily whispered the final words of her prayer into the peaceful, scented air of the chapel, as if she somehow knew Severus was standing back there in the shadows listening to her. "Don't go to Hangleton."
before the pivotal event that would shape Severus' destiny, and some months after the attack that had changed James Potter for the better, the sun rose in a splendour more usually seen in July or August. But Severus did not appreciate the good omen. He never went to Swinfield church on that spring day to watch them get married. He didn't want to see her with him. He didn't want to see her happy on that day, not if it was James Potter who made her that way. Severus would rather she was weeping. His face twisted with bitterness and his guts felt as if acid was running through them. For Severus Snape this was a day of mourning, and a day for taking schismatic action. On Lily's wedding day he threw his leg over his old horse and turned his head south.
The journey south taught Severus more about Britannia. On horseback he saw far more and learned much about the lives of magical and non-magical folk alike as he travelled from town to town, something he would have missed had he travelled by magic. With each mile south the land changed and so did the people. Everything altered: their clothing and the accented sounds of their speech, their staple meals and their music, and to Severus that felt all to the good.
South and west Severus travelled. Have any of you good people travelled further south than York? No? Well, Severus went many miles beyond that fine city, down through the flatter farmland and busier market towns, and as he approached the county of Hangleton he found people who told him to be sure to respect the folk who lived there. So Severus did.
Now, Severus soon rode along past the waymarker that said he was entering the county of Hangleton, and that it was another fifteen miles to the town of that name. Severus rode on, looking around him, but he saw little beyond fields and hedgerows, barns and scattered houses, until ahead of him he saw a good-sized town nestled below a ridge of land. He had arrived at Hangleton.
Hangleton town was all Severus could have expected, and more. It was a community formed outside of accepted society, but it was self-contained and for the most part lacked for little. Dark mages found work easily enough; their spell-casting was sought after by plenty of folk who paid lip-service to the Order but found they needed the help of spells unapproved by Light mages. There were many, many spells that fell into that category; spells that included elements of Darker magic than the Light purists would use. Such magic had been used throughout Britannia for centuries but in those rather puritanical times it had fallen from favour, at least among the leaders of society. Most ordinary people, however, did not understand the philosophical differences that separated Dark from Light, nor did they care. What had been good enough for their grandparents was surely good enough for them, and so many people still employed the mages of Hangleton.
Severus set up home in a farmhouse he rented on the outskirts of Hangleton town. He knew that by doing so he was making a statement to the world, setting himself at odds with the Order, and therefore with Lily. But Lily had chosen her own way. Severus hoped he could still persuade her of the error she had made in marrying Potter, but he was no longer willing to deny his magic its natural inclination for her sake. The error was hers, she had chosen the weaker path; he could only hope she would come to recognise that. Severus would do his best to turn events to that end, and he could deny his own nature no longer.
Soon after Severus moved in he received an invitation to visit the Dark Sorcerer in his manor. He knew well enough that such 'invitations' were summons for the inhabitants of Hangleton, but though he decided to go, Severus was anxious not to appear overawed. He did not intend to become a mere lackey to the great mage. So he visited him, keeping his mind and his magic shielded from the powerful man's probes, which was in itself a huge achievement. Severus came away from the meeting accepted; he had not crawled in on his belly like some of Lord Voldemort's more sycophantic followers, nor had he been struck silent by the discovery of the man's sheer power. But Severus had acknowledged Lord Voldemort as his overlord, accepting his superior power and his mastery in their county.
Now, dear listeners, I must tell you a little about the famous Dark Sorcerer, who was feared by the Order of the Phoenix above all other mages.
The Dark Sorcerer's eyes were weird – their pupils were mere vertical slits in crimson-tinged irises. He was of medium height but very slender, almost skeletal in fact. But despite his strange appearance he was still human, and yet when Severus first saw him he thought Lord Voldemort did not look entirely human any more. The Lord of Hangleton gave a salutary warning of how Dark magic can alter a wizard. From his studies, Severus had already learned that lesson long before he left school; he had no intention of becoming so altered. When he finally took Lily away from James Potter he did not want to see revulsion in her eyes. No, on that day Severus wanted her to see his greater power and worth, but he also wanted her to be able to appreciate him as a man. Severus Snape was not a fool, he knew he wasn’t as easy on the eye as James Potter, but surely he was not repulsive! Lily had been happy enough to sit close to him when they'd studied together in years gone by. She had touched him happily enough in her innocence, and Severus vowed that one day she would touch him in a very different way. So Severus took particular care to keep control of the Dark magic, not letting it take him over; using it, admittedly less powerfully than his lord did, but without being abused by it in return. It made him more powerful than any of the Order members could ever be, so long as they shunned Dark magic.
Sometimes Severus went to Godricsham to watch Lily in her new home. Although she had married his rival Severus could not forget her; in his heart he still thought of her as his own. He went when she would be alone, and she often was, being a creature of habit. Lily Evans – Severus could not bring himself to call her Potter – had charming, appealing habits, including her love of her new home, and Severus longed to be a part of them. Why hadn't she chosen him when he was hers for the taking? For Severus never doubted he was a far better man than Potter, and yet Lily had chosen that shallow braggart as her husband. You see, Severus had not noticed any improvements in James’ personality, and it is doubtful he would have admitted it to himself even if he had. The ever-present knowledge of Lily’s choice had etched lines of anguish in his mind and, young as he was, on his brow.
So Severus followed Lily on her quiet country walks while her husband was away working, sent off who-knows-where by the Order of the Phoenix, for whom he was a soldier-cum-administrator. Severus followed her, and to him the sight of her bright hair, the sound of her voice as she spoke or sang to herself was agony. How could anything so sweet, so unthreatening, be so painful?
"My Lily..."
The winter drew on and Severus went to Godricsham less and less, but he continued to study and practice openly at home. He'd always been a fine creator of new spells, you know, something very few wizards had the imagination or power to do. So Severus began to amass an arsenal of personal spells which could not be shielded against with ordinary shielding spells, for no one had ever seen his spells before.
The second focus of Severus' practice was perfecting wordless spells, performing them perfectly with just a twitch of his wand, his face impassive. It became virtually impossible for an opponent to detect when Severus would attack, and he was in no hurry to do so as a rule, making them wait, making them sweat and fear all the more while he shielded against their own assaults which they watched repeatedly fail. But when he struck, it was like lightning, the swift strike of a viper, the stoop of a hawk. And that skill, too, was fast turning Severus into one of the best duellists in Britannia.
Severus practiced duelling with the other residents of the county of Hangleton. They would gather on Friday nights in the duelling club in town and take turns against each other. Everyone pulled their punches, for this was pleasure, not combat, but they gained an appreciation of each other's skills while they kept their own honed against an attack from the Order. Although Severus was the youngest there he was rapidly becoming known as the best of them. His reputation was being bandied about town and so it was not a complete surprise when the Dark Sorcerer himself turned up to duel one Friday in February.
Those who follow the Dark are but a small percentage of the magical folk of these islands; it has always been so. Such folk are brave enough to tread shunned and dangerous paths, spurred on, like Severus, by curiosity and the thirst for knowledge. Or perhaps they are just plain evil... and yes, there were those in Hangleton at that time who were nothing but evil, though Severus did not fear them; he knew he was powerful enough to be respected and left alone by all except the Dark Sorcerer himself. And Severus knew it would be foolish to waste time fearing that man, for Voldemort could do just as he wished and to show fear before him would be to invite his scorn. The Dark Sorcerer demanded respect, but he wished his followers to be powerful, to enhance the status of Hangleton and be able to defend their land in case of an attack from the Order.
What happened at that club that evening was awesome, my friends; all who watched agreed on that. Severus used a couple of his personal spells that he'd never shown to anyone before; even now he did not want to reveal the full extent of his ability though, and he kept back more than he revealed. His mind was shielded as tight as a vault; he let no hint of his hidden powers or secret spells pass through those mental shields. Lord Voldemort took the blows Severus dealt him, despite his shields he even staggered under them a couple of times, but he replied with a fearsome volley of powerful spells that knocked Severus right off his feet without causing him any permanent damage, though the implicit threat was there. There was never any question that the Dark Sorcerer was the more powerful wizard, but everyone present knew that Severus was being recognised as a worthy opponent by receiving the honour of being sought out for a duel by Lord Voldemort.
The next morning, Severus nursed some fine bruises. He was salving them with a remedy he had brewed himself – have I mentioned that Severus was as fine a potion-maker as he was a duellist? – and he was using a useful little spell to apply the salve to inaccessible places.
Oh, now that's enough of that, Thomas Dingle! I perceive that your mind is, as ever, in the gutter! Your cackles are disturbing the other listeners and that is impolite. Now, if you have recovered, I will continue.
Poor Severus' arse and back had come off the worst where he had been knocked off his feet, and the spell to apply the salve was very necessary. In short, he was feeling battered and sore, and so his spirits were much improved when he received a gift from the Dark Sorcerer – a gift that delivered itself. It was a harrier, a very fine bird of prey that had been trained to carry messages like an owl. The note that came with it expressed Lord Voldemort's admiration and his hope that they could work together closely in future. Severus took his time and replied most carefully, with thanks for the gift and assurances that he certainly was not going to oppose the Lord of Hangleton in any way; rather that he was always working for his lord's, and the Dark's, glory. It was perhaps less than the Dark Sorcerer wanted, for Severus knew perfectly well that Lord Voldemort was asking Severus to become his sworn man, contracted tightly to him, but it was all Severus felt able to offer at this time. For Severus needed to be free to act when the opportunity arose; to be free to leave his home in Hangleton if, and when, that happened.
And in the autumn of the year, it did.
Severus was startled by a high-pitched squeal emitted by his wand, as if the ebony shaft was in pain. It was an alarm Severus had set and it was telling him that Lily was going out for a walk, but the raucous tone told him more – that she was with him. Severus only wanted to watch Lily, but he hadn't been to Godricsham in quite a while and he needed to see her. Perhaps he could still do so and ignore James' presence, so he Appeared behind them on the path, completely silently.
At that time, friends, silence was a gift of the Dark; the followers of the Light made so much noise whatever they were doing that it made Severus shudder – they moved around so openly, so brashly, scorning stealth and sneakiness as Dark behaviour.
And what Severus saw when he Appeared was disgusting to him, for he had still not learned the lesson that eavesdroppers hear and see nothing for their good, and the sight that met his eyes made him grind his teeth in helpless fury. They were laughing and flirting like adolescents. When he looked back with the eyes of age Severus would come to realise that they were not much older than that, but nor was the very proper, dignified young wizard called Severus Snape, and such behaviour was both alien to him and pitiful to look upon. He boiled inside with frustrated rage, for she should feel the same way, had used to feel the same way before Potter had ensnared her! His Lily.
The couple headed along the path that led to the sea. Severus followed them so silently and invisibly that day that even Lily could not have detected him if she'd tried, but she did not, wrapped up as she was in her newlywed love. Severus expected them to climb down to the beach, perhaps to start frolicking in the waves like a pair of selkies, and he thanked Pluto when they did not, but took the path that led along the cliff top instead.
The sea breeze rushed up there, up the cliff face until, cresting over the top of the cliff it tossed Lily's bright hair away from her head like a pennant and she laughed for the joy of it. She looked beautiful at that moment – she was always beautiful, my friends, but it was poignant and lovely, a moment too soon wiped away by time, but one that Severus captured and held in his mind's eye, hoarding it. Then the golden memory was shattered as James leaned close and kissed her, and Severus' stomach turned. Suddenly he felt sick, but he would not give way to it. Severus was too practiced by that time; he'd had a year of getting used to performing some rather unpleasant procedures during his study of Dark magic. This was minor, it was less than nothing, or so he told himself. It should not hurt like it did.
Numbly Severus let them move ahead; he stood there awhile unknowing. Once he regained his senses he hurried after them. The crooked path meandered along the rocky top, hugging the contour. At times it came near to the edge, giving an immediate sense of the frightening drop and an impressive view of the expanse of wide ocean stretching away to the distant horizon.
What lands lay out there beyond their sight? What wonders were to be found in those unimaginable places?
Now, I may have mentioned it before, but I will have to remind you now that James Potter was a member of the Griffin clan and therefore a gentleman, so naturally he placed himself between his wife and the precipitous drop. Seeing this, Severus' heart rate picked up; this was something he had not looked for and his hand curled around his wand. Severus could feel the slight dampness of his sweat feeding the magical wood; the link between him and his wand felt alive, immediate, and oh, so good. And the ebony wand responded as it always did, warm in his grasp and vibrating slightly with its own eagerness to be used.
Wandless and wordless, hidden from their eyes, Severus Snape cast a spell. It was just a tiny, simple spell that any child could have used: "Friabilis."
But with that tiny spell, my friends, Severus made a snap decision that was quite reprehensible, for he owed James Potter a life debt, didn't he? Perhaps he should have considered more carefully, but he did not, for the opportunity was given to him and he acted on instinct, and later the outcome swept away any misgivings. And as the crumbling spell hit the cliff edge the chalky rock fragmented, my friends, just a little, well away from Lily's feet but just under his feet as he stepped with his weight just there. And suddenly James slipped, his hand wrenched from hers like a captured fish shooting from a child's grasp, and James was scrabbling for a hold that wasn't there, his face showing abject shock and terror as he felt nothing but air beneath him. He fell and she screamed; Severus' heart sang.
Severus moved forward eagerly to where he could see, looking for James Potter's body shattered on the sand and rocks beneath, for the tide was well out and there would be no cushioned landing. Severus had lost control of his concealment charm in his eagerness, but Lily didn't notice him as she peered frantically over the edge, not kneeling too close as she feared the cliff crumbling beneath her as it had beneath her husband.
But what was this? James was not dead... he was hanging, clinging to the trunk of a spindly excuse for a tree, a tree destined never to gain the grace and size of its landward kin; a contorted, weak parody of a rowan. Those who have studied tree lore, as all of you, my dear listeners, will have done at school, know that rowan is a powerfully protective tree, even this weak specimen. If it had been safe to do so, Severus would have cursed it, but Severus was not foolish enough to lose the goodwill of the woodland spirits by doing so.
Lily was calling to her husband, holding out her hand and beseeching him to grab it, but although his legs scrabbled he was helpless, too far beneath her. The cliff fell inward here, a concave, underfed belly that the tree overhung. Severus gave thanks to Mother Earth who had made it that way, because James could not find a foothold. Desperately, Lily tried casting spells to support him but her pure magic did not succeed. She was too agitated and her state of mind weakened her Light magic, and Severus did not need to intervene. Finally she stood up and turned away from the edge, calling for help. Only then did she see him standing back along the path the way they had come.
"Oh, help! Please!" she cried as she ran toward Severus, arms outstretched in supplication, and Severus sneered when he realised that she was not upset that he'd followed her this time.
Severus' thoughts were bitter, my friends, for oh yes, she ran to him now, didn't she? It was a little late though, dearest Lily. Severus stepped forward, eager to see the end, but Lily took his approach as the aid she'd requested.
"Hurry, Severus, your magic is strong. I can't hold him up!"
She grabbed his hand, pulling him forward more quickly. Severus had a slight smile on his lips which, despite his control, he could not prevent as she touched him. As Lily expected, he stopped and glanced down the cliff at the dangling man. His slight smile widened – again, he could not have prevented it, nor did he wish to do so – and it became a wide grin. James looked up at him, saw Severus' expression, and read it clearly. Until now he'd had some slight hope bolstered by his wife's cries from the cliff top, thinking someone was coming to his aid, but now James' blue eyes darkened with the knowledge of his death.
Now listen carefully, for things began to change.
The tree that Severus would have dearly loved to curse was not strong enough to withstand the underlying will of the Earth. This was the Earth Severus worshipped and had such a rapport with from his ongoing studies. He understood her in all her moods, both Dark and Light, and she in return responded to his wishes far more than she would Lily or James'. She had first denied James Potter a foothold down there, now she denied the rowan's roots a bed. The tree began to part with the cliff; James found himself held up by a snapping thread and fear was there in his eyes. Severus, gloating, thought it was almost too delicious to watch, sweet recompense for all the taunts and pranks he'd endured at Potter's hands through the years.
"Please, Severus, please." Lily was moaning the words over and over, her hands pulling at Snape's arm, begging him to use his wand. Severus badly wanted to ignore her, just let James go, but she would hate him then, and that was not his wish. He found he was more desperate to keep her regard, slight as it might have been by then, than to see Potter fall. So he took out his wand and it quivered, waiting. A flick and Potter was held up, cushioned by nothing more than air, but supported.
"I tried to do that with an ordinary levitation spell, but I couldn't. You didn't say a spell. How are you doing it, Severus?" Lily was gabbling, her bright eyes wide with fear and awe. Fear for James, awe for Severus. Severus decided he liked that.
"It is that magic you spurned, Lily, from a man you scorned. You chose your way, and you see it is weak, no help to you now."
"I did not scorn you, Severus!"
Severus didn't believe it, and he let the man drop a little with a sudden lurch, catching him only when James thought, again, that he was about to die. James shrieked.
"Please! Oh gods, please don't let him die, Severus."
Potter was now hanging far out over the abyss, suspended over a jagged mouthful of rocky teeth ready to shred his body when it fell. Severus had his wand trained on him, his eyes unmoving, controlling the man's buoyancy. Lily clung to Severus as James had clung to the rowan, as if Severus was the only hope for life itself. For her husband, he was.
"You lie, Lily, you gave me nothing but disrespect," Severus snarled. As he spoke he did not take his eyes from Potter and he noticed, with a frisson of strange pleasure that was almost sexual, that his rival's trousers were wet. At the point of a death that hadn't quite taken him, James Potter had pissed himself.
"I did not scorn you! Great Merlin, Severus, I chose James because I loved him! I do love him; he is my husband and my life." Lily gulped. "But I never scorned you," she cried. "Please..." Her eyes were streaming with tears by then but she didn't brush them away, and the sea breeze dried her face almost as soon as the tears fell.
"And why should I save him, Lily? If I save him it leaves me with nothing; you go back to your beautiful life together, and I remain alone."
Lily's grip tightened on Severus' arm, she tugged, impelling him to action, to move his wand and save her husband. Severus did not do it, he held his wand still, suspending James in midair; he needed a promise.
"Just what is it worth if I save his life?" Lily did not reply and Severus' voice hardened, insisting on an answer. "Would you come to me?"
"Oh, no! Oh please, ask anything else of me, Severus, but not that," she moaned. "If you ever cared for me ask for something else. James is my husband, and I carry his child."
Severus' heart jerked inside him then, quite painfully. So, it had all come to that. He was too late, if he'd ever really had a hope at all. But it seemed he had not, and for Severus this had become an exercise in futility. He had been holding his arm out straight, controlling Potter's fall, no, preventing it. But now, dear listeners, he lowered that arm.
"Noooo!" Lily screamed as James dropped again. "I'll give you anything else! Anything!"
And Severus caught James again on a cushion of air, just before he struck the ground, and then before James could recover Severus lifted him again until he was too high to jump to safety. Severus was unsure at first quite why he was doing it, except that anything is a word full of possibility, is it not, my friends?
Severus, still holding James on the cushion of air, turned to Lily. And now he sneered at her weakness, a weakness she'd never shown before. Potter had made her like this, and what a travesty, what a crying shame it was, compared to what she could have been at Severus' side: a powerful young witch in command of mixed magic.
"Then give me your first-born daughter, Lily," he said coldly, his words falling on her like blows. "Give her to me and perhaps she will be an acceptable substitute. You will raise her for me-"
Lily's face filled with horror. So far it had shown shock, fear, anguish and begging, but now it showed horror. Severus was offended at the sight. Was he so disgusting then that she could not bear to think of her daughter in his arms? Apparently so.
"No, please..." she moaned brokenly.
And with that she angered him. Severus snarled, "Then he is dead!" and flicked his wand a little.
The suspended man, nearer the ground now, lurched as the magic pulled at him. Severus raised James until he was cushioned high in the air again, even higher than the cliff top and well away from the cliff's edge. Then, with another flick of Severus' wand, James fell.
"All right!" Lily screamed, sobbing as Severus caught her husband again.
The beleaguered man was a wreck, and who can blame him for it? James was shaking, begging quite incoherently after repeated plunges to a death which, amazingly, had never come. He had been in the jaws of death and repeatedly chewed up, but yet he lived.
"All right," Lily moaned again, her voice full of defeat. "I will give her to you." Her hands were on her belly now; it was still flat and only the eye of faith could see her pregnancy. "But only one child, only one," she cried as her shoulders heaved and sobs welled up in her throat.
And again, Severus was sorely offended. What did she think he wanted? A harem of nubile Lily lookalikes? Severus' cock twitched and he growled at himself, impatient with his libido. He had always wanted Lily and no one else in his bed, to be his in every way. A possession – yes, that was it. He wanted her to be his, indubitably, permanently and endlessly his. That had been taken from him, and had gone beyond recall, but Severus would accept the next generation, to follow the pattern of his love. It was all he could have, and the knowledge that she who had denied him, and her husband who had long tormented him, would know that their child was going to be Severus' as soon as she was old enough to come to his bed, would keep him warm on the long nights while he waited.
Lily had fallen to her knees now, crying and whispering to herself. Severus could not hear most of it, her sobs were distorting her words, but he did catch: "I can have more."
And Severus smiled. Oh yes, she could, dear friends, but this would be her first-born, and special, and it was now his.
Now this certainty of Severus' is rather odd, is it not, my friends? But Severus' mind was working in a rather strange manner up there on the cliff top and I am not sure he was thinking logically about any of these events. He was beginning to realise just how serious his actions were though, that he was going against a life debt and had taken a step closer to Darkness. But events were running away from him, and Severus fought to regain control and the prize he wanted. That prize was no less than a wife. You see, almost as soon as he'd learned about the child in Lily's womb Severus had come to believe it had been created just for him, and therefore the baby could only be a girl. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that he was already convinced Lily was carrying a girl; that he could tell just as if he could see through her flesh. You have probably encountered women who claim they can tell the sex of a pregnant woman's child, either by the shape of her abdomen or by some act of divination. I suppose Severus was feeling a similar conviction to those ladies, but in truth it was based on little but his fierce desire.
Now Severus summoned power to keep James where he was, in stasis, and then he raised his hands to the sky, his dark robes billowing and snapping in a magical breeze that whirled around him as he called upon all his power. The suspended man watched, slack-jawed, while Lily looked up, fearful.
"Hear me, you spirits of earth and sky, of water and wind!"
And Severus Snape's voice, always impressively deep, was magnified and echoed out into the atmosphere as he called upon the elemental forces. The wind whipped, the clouds gathered, flying across the blue sky to join into one vast capping cloud above him in answer to his call. The sea roiled, surging toward the cliff, toward him who called it, its tidal patterns overcome as the element of water answered him. The earth moved beneath his feet, the ground undulating as if it was breathing and Lily cried out, afraid. Severus could have told her not to fear, that he had it safely in his thrall, but, he thought vindictively, why should he? She had scorned his Darkness; she did not deserve to know how completely he had mastered elemental magic and that he could, if he willed it, prevent it from hurting her.
The wind grew fiercer; it swirled around the young wizard who was calling it to him, whipping at his robe. Snape was the centre of the vortex; he was its origin and its hub, and would only release it when his power and words of command were released from him.
"Lily Potter has promised me her first-born child. I will collect that child seventeen years from this day. If Lily fails me, if she loses faith and does not raise this child to be my wife, then everything she cares for will fall into ruin."
Severus paused awhile to make sure she understood this. Lily looked at him with moist green eyes, her red hair whipping in the breeze. She knew. Her husband, still bobbing on his cushion of air being buffeted now by the magically summoned wind, had passed out from the constant fear of death and was useless as a witness. As, Severus thought vindictively, he was in everything.
"Everything!" Severus roared. "Everything she has will fall into ruin should she default on this. Her child will be mine seventeen years from this day."
And as Severus' wand arm fell, the spell was completed. The wind had blown his words up into the sky where they could not be called back. The earth had buried them deep inside where they could not be uncovered. The water flowed backwards; the sea receded, taking those words with it to mark the time with its tides, to count out the days of his loneliness.
Now seventeen years is a long time, my friends; longer than some of you have lived.
It was a long time for Severus to wait, but it would be like a heartbeat in Lily Potter's life, as she was yet to learn.
"Stand up," Severus ordered, for he did not like to see her grovelling there on her knees.
Lily stood shakily, but her green eyes recovered some of their spark. "Are you happy now, now that you've forced me? Does this make you happy, Severus, to take everything away from me?"
"It is not I who took everything, Lily, but you. You took everything from me when you married him, and do not pretend innocence! You knew it, and yet you did it anyway. No, I have not taken everything from you, merely a child. I will even let you raise her."
Lily looked disgusted by his words; she was incapable of understanding how he could think that way. Wanting nothing more to do with him, she gestured to the abyss and snapped, "My husband."
Severus' lips curled into a snarl as he brought James back to the cliff top, lifting and moving him to safety. Severus finally had his way; it was not what he'd wanted, but it was surely some sort of substitute. He could afford to be generous in his moment of strange victory, so he let James Potter down to earth slowly. The man sprawled over the ground, his limbs ungainly, almost looking like a pile of discarded linen. Lily ran over to him; she fell down onto her knees again, pulled him into her arms and poured a stream of soothing words over him.
Severus did not want to see it and he turned away.
Lily could only look down stunned, my friends, as James Potter lay like a landed fish on the grass there at the cliff top, gasping and half dead from shock.
She held him, and her hands were trembling and her long red hair tickled his face as it was blown about in the lively breeze. James cracked open his eyes.
"He was going to kill me! I saw it in his eyes, Lily," he gasped. "Why did he save me? What did you do?"
Lily's eyes could not hold her husband's anguished gaze, she had to look away. "I... oh gods." Lily swallowed, gaining control of herself. "James, I had to pay him."
James' face, already shocked, filled with even more alarm. Where he thought he'd reached the depths over the past hour, convinced that nothing could make his experience of this day any worse, he found he was wrong. "You're going to him, aren't you? He's forced you."
"No, no..." Lily was crying now, her tears were running freely down her face and one dropped on James' lips, where he licked it away reflexively. "No. He spared me from that. He wanted it, but I begged him, and he spared me. He does have some mercy in him still, some good."
James realised that Lily was trying to convince herself of Severus' goodness just as much as she was James, and he felt cold dread at what she hadn't yet revealed, why she had to believe in the Dark wizard's kindness. "Then what did he accept, Lily?" he grated. "Because that bastard sure as hell didn't let you off for free, did he?"
Lily paled, and her skin, already ashen, went milk-white. It was obvious she was struggling with the words, reluctant to say them.
"Lily! Tell me, please." James sounded – and he was, good people – quite desperate.
"Our first-born daughter, to be his wife."
At Lily's admission, James looked truly horrified. "I should have died!" he cried out, anguish in every word. "I am not worth a child's life; she has her whole life ahead of her."
Lily's head whipped round and she fixed him with a fierce, green glare. "And would you leave me with no husband, James Potter, no source of comfort and strength for the years to come, and no father for our child?"
James reached up an arm and slid it around Lily's waist, offering comfort he didn't realise he still had to offer.
Lily swallowed convulsively, forcing herself to go on. "Should this baby be a girl, then our daughter will live with us while we raise her. He doesn't want her until she's grown. Think of it as an arranged marriage, James, they're common enough in some families. She'll have a good childhood; we'll show her love, a normal family life. Maybe she can show him how to love in return, because I'm not sure Severus knows what love really is. With him life is all about achievement and possession. And we will have other children."
Severus had seemed convinced their baby was a girl, and his certainty wasn't something Lily had the confidence to question, for Severus knew so much more magic, more obscure, stronger, and yes, Darker magic than she did. So Lily's hand had dropped to her belly as she spoke, and now she stroked it, a tender gesture as if in apology to the child within, her first-born child whose fate was already sealed.
And now, my dears, I will pause awhile to take a drink of ale. Telling tales is thirsty work, and I need to give my throat some comfort before I continue with a few words about Lily, for the young woman was in some turmoil by this time, as you must appreciate. And so far our dark hero has behaved rather less than heroically, hasn't he?
Maisie and Mercy settled down again. Like the bard, many of his listeners had taken the opportunity to have a drink and exchange a few words about the story so far, trying to predict what would happen next. They were anxious for the bard to start again though, and waited impatiently for him to finish his pint. As he replaced the empty glass on the stool he looked around at them, smiling with his eyes twinkling with pleasure at their eagerness.
Lily cradled her baby; she was incredibly tired and incredibly happy. She looked into the small, scrunched-up face, the dusting of black hair that was his father's colour, the slate-blue eyes that might become any colour in time, darkening to James' brown or changing to her own green. He smelt warm and alive, with that perfect smell tiny babies have that is lost by the time they can talk. "Harry," she said softly, "my little Harry." She dropped another kiss on his velvet-soft forehead; his eyebrows were so fine they were hardly visible yet. "You're just like your father."
Hers, and now there was no fear that Severus would take this child from her. He would have to wait for a daughter; Lily's first-born child was to remain hers forever; he was her son.
Lily was watching Harry toddling around the lawn, falling at regular intervals only to climb back up, unperturbed, onto his chubby little legs. He was heading for the herb bed again, and Lily ran over and scooped him up, laughing and tickling his tummy. "Oh no you don't! That way's not allowed, young man."
Little Harry laughed; his laughter was the sound of sheer joy that small children make so effortlessly. Lily took him to the other side of the lawn and let him go, and Harry immediately set off in the forbidden direction again, his chubby legs moving as quickly as he could make them. He tried too hard and fell forward, crying at the shock of the awkward fall. When Lily scooped him up and kissed him, Harry soon pushed against her, eager to try again.
"You're not hurt, are you? You were crying because you were annoyed with yourself for falling." Lily laughed, swinging the baby around before setting him down again.
Her happiness was complete. James had a good position in the household of General Moody, head of the Order militia. Lily worried sometimes, scared that his natural leadership and bravery would lead James into danger, but she was happy that he loved his job. He was away right now pursuing renegade wizards on the borders of Wales while Lily played games in their sunlit garden, chasing her little son who was growing healthy and strong. She couldn't stop smiling as she looked at Harry, now distracted by their cat, Pickle, a ginger tabby who had just ambled onto the lawn. Harry was setting off determinedly after him, practicing his new word, 'Tat!' excitedly as he went.
Lily looked up as the garden gate opened. A man was being led towards her by their household elf, Suzy. Lily checked that Harry wasn't heading for the magical herb bed and turned to greet the visitor.
The man looked grave. "Mrs Potter? I'm Lieutenant Wilson from the militia."
Those words were enough. Lily shook her head in denial before he reached her. "Oh, no..."
Lieutenant Wilson caught her as she fell; Suzy retrieved Harry.
When Lily came round, she wished she hadn't. It had been a beautiful day; a summer's day, and only fifteen minutes ago all had been well in her world. They had a nice house, an income, a healthy little boy. They had each other.
"Your husband was a hero of the Light, Mrs Potter," the lieutenant was telling her. "He would not send anyone to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. Late one evening we had word of an enclave of the Dark Sorcerer's men we'd been seeking for weeks; they were meeting in a house near Knighton. Captain Potter led us against them. He was so keen, he rushed ahead and burst in upon their gathering before we caught up with him. We followed right after, but by the time they saw us and fled, they had killed him. It was quick and clean, Mrs Potter; the Killing Spell. He wouldn't have known any pain."
"Noooo!" Lily's denial was drawn out into a wail of pain. She remembered nothing else of that day, and from that day she was never the same.
heard the gossip that Lily had had a son, he was quite disgusted to find out that the brat that was inside her while he stood with her on that windy cliff top was a boy. It was more than annoying, for his satisfaction was put back a few years until Lily could have a daughter. Severus determined to work spells to ensure Lily's next child was a girl. So this was a delay, a setback, nothing more. It occurred to Severus then that Lily and Potter might delay their next pregnancy just to spite him, but he was cleverer than they and would cast anti-contraceptive and fertility spells over their house. It would be his first priority.
Severus hated thinking of Potter with Lily, hated imagining them having sex, though he'd done just that every night since they'd been together, his imagination torturing him far better than any outside force could have done. But now he would make that torture work for him.
Severus already knew a spell he could use that he'd learned from the Dark Sorcerer's library, and he could devise his own spell, even better. He would cast them both and they would not fail. He would make Potter pay for having sex with Lily. And Lily would pay for her poor choice.
my dears, it happened that, on the anniversary of hearing about the child, Severus heard something else while he was visiting a busy marketplace on the lookout for some rather obscure ingredients. Something that left him both joyfully happy and bitterly angry: James Potter was dead.
It was on everyone's lips: Potter had died a hero's death fighting for the Order of the Phoenix. Severus' lip curled as he listened; he would have said Potter died a fool's death, haring off without waiting for backup, into a situation where he was outnumbered, bolstered by little except his belief in his own immortality. The fighting men of Potter's clan were trained to be bold, fearless and aggressive warriors. In Severus' opinion they were merely stupid, those Griffins.
Severus' mind had already begun spinning, planning how he would go to Lily now, bring her and the child back to Hangleton and a new life with him, but as he listened further, he discovered something that stopped him in his tracks before he'd got going. Along with news of Potter's death there was more to the story, the gossips telling how his grieving, tragic widow had devoted her life to the Order of the Phoenix. Lily was now a novice at the convent at Godricsham and she planned to take the veil. A life of prayer and helping others was what Lily Potter said she wanted now. The magical vows she had already taken, though not yet the final, rigid vows of full sisterhood, were sufficient to keep Severus from interfering in her life again.
So Severus Snape fled home and raged through his house, throwing the few ornamental items he possessed against the walls, crunching the remains of vases and picture frames under his booted feet as he paced, kicking at the heavy paperweight in the shape of a dragon which had not broken despite the force of its impact with the wall. Severus was so angry his vision was clouded with red. When he could finally form words he shouted to his rafters: "Damn them! Damn their endless, fucking chanting and their repulsive wards! I could break in, at whatever cost to my body, but still I could not break her bond with the Order and bring her away with me. She is lost to me far more than she ever was with Potter."
Severus howled like a whipped dog then and he pulled at his hair, tangling his fingers in his greasy locks and tugging, relishing the pain and his watering eyes. "When Lily married James Potter she bonded herself to a man; this time she's bonded herself to a whole fucking organisation! Merlin help me, but I don't have the strength to stop a religious Order that wields such spiritual and magical power. Did you do it on purpose to spite me, Lily? Do you hate me that much?"
Well now, friends, Lily Potter was subtle enough, for even though she was a Griffin she was not like her husband; she thought things through more carefully than James had ever done. Her son, who, in Severus' mind should have been his son and part of the Serpent clan, was likewise a Griffin. He would end up living with his own clan at the Seminary for Magical Education, probably end up as foolish and headstrong as his father. Severus loudly damned the turn his life had taken; was everything of Lily Evans to be kept from him? Was he so wicked he deserved nothing? Well, Severus vowed, Lily need not think that now James Potter was dead the debt she owed Severus had died with him. She must know magical debts did not work that way, and if she was harbouring such a delusion, Severus would have right on his side when he taught her differently. Severus would oppose the Order of the Phoenix which had taken her away; he would oppose everything it stood for by fighting for the Dark Sorcerer. If Lily still hoped for his conversion to the side of Light and the Order, by her latest actions she had merely driven him further in the opposite direction.
And so it was, dear listeners, that after this news young Severus sank into depression. He knew his Lily was irrevocably lost to him, and he felt the final hopeful flicker in his heart being quenched. He would sit in his house and remember all the things that had gone wrong – and there were plenty – from the time he was a very small child. Almost, indeed, from his very first memories. . .
When Severus was a small child their neighbour's terrier bitch had puppies. Severus had always been a quiet, thoughtful boy, and he used to walk through the green hills and brown fields around his home a lot, just to get out of the house. You see, Severus' childhood home was not like any child should live in. There was nearly always an unpleasant atmosphere between his parents, who bickered and fought every day; it made the house uncomfortable.
The farmer next door, however, liked the strange boy. He had the wisdom of one who works closely with nature and animals, and he understood what the boy's slouching posture and suspicious looks meant. He used to talk to Severus, recognising the boy's solitary ways and surly attitude as a defensive posture. Farmer Bowyer would talk, not expecting a reply, just telling Severus what he was doing that day, how the sheep were lambing or what the weather would be, things like that. So he gradually drew young Severus out and they became friends, and when he offered Severus a puppy the child was ecstatic, but he was wary too. Would his father permit it?
That afternoon Severus asked his mother and she, being a clever witch, asked his father when he was in a good mood. Oh yes, that happened sometimes, most likely in a post-coital haze on a Sunday afternoon after Tobias Snape returned from his weekly visit to the Pig and Whistle. So, amazingly, young Severus was allowed the puppy and brought him home, as proud as a peacock with two tails.
They loved each other, my friends, Severus and his little Renny. The boy had called the puppy Renny because he was a fox terrier and the name was an echo of Reynard. The little dog ate with the boy and slept curled up at Severus' feet at the bottom of his bed. And Renny ran with Severus when he fled into the open spaces of the countryside. Renny was both a pet and a friend all in one, for Severus had no human friends but the farmer; he was shunned by the local children who were all scared of the odd little boy, the defensive, scowling son of the witch and the wizard.
Now Severus' father was, in his way, an impressive man. He lived up to a wizard's reputation. He was adept at magic, no slouch at spells and potion-making, but he was also fierce and ill-tempered, someone the ordinary folk approached only in their direst need. And Tobias wished it to be so, for magic should not be used lightly; it is, as we know, rare and precious. But yet the local folk approached him often enough, offering money or their services in exchange for his skills, for he was their wizard and there was no one else to help them. Severus' father was a competent country wizard then, nothing more, admittedly, but he seemed powerful enough to the folk of Blackstone Dell.
Severus' mother was a witch, and she had once been someone they could approach freely, but by then she was cowed by years of Tobias Snape's ill temper. She had lost her youthful confidence and rarely visited the nearby town; when she did she did not linger, hurrying home again before he could become suspicious. The locals no longer approached her for help, except a few desperate women needing fertility spells or help in childbirth. Sometimes Severus' father would chase them off, for when he was in one of his towering rages he allowed no one to see his wife, whatever they might need.
Between you and me and the gatepost, I wonder if he feared her loss, afraid perhaps that she would run off with some more attractive man. Attractive in personality, that is, for Eileen Snape was too wise to care much about outward appearance by then, seeing it as the triviality it truly is. She was no beauty herself, but she was not dreadful either, far from the pantomime image many un-magical folk have of a witch. She was just a greying, tired woman who had learned better than to argue with her tyrant of a husband.
Severus' father practiced experimental magic and brewing. In truth he was pretty rotten at it, proceeding by a process of trial and error that was far more error than achievement. He did not understand the underlying magical theory or the reason his successful potions worked, but Tobias pursued those rare, elusive successes with fanatical zeal. Nothing else was important; not Eileen, not Severus, and certainly not his son's dog.
"Boy! Bring that dog here!"
The order came from Tobias' workroom, shouted out in a tone that brooked no argument; to fail to obey – quickly – meant pain. Severus' long fingers gripped Renny's collar, and both cowered, trembling.
"Now!"
Tobias' workroom door was ajar; reluctantly, Severus pushed it further open. His father was behind his work-bench, a cauldron was steaming gently in front of him. Tobias Snape was as wild-eyed and wild-haired as ever; he'd probably been working through the night and anyway, he wasn't one for hygiene at the best of times, or even for brushing his long, impressive hair and beard.
"Why do you want him?" Severus quavered. Try as he might, good people, he just could not keep the fear from his voice. If his father heard, though, he ignored it.
"I need the baculum of a dog. Bring him here."
Severus' blood ran cold, his eyes widened for a second just before he turned to flee with Renny. But Tobias was quicker, the old bastard, and he stunned Severus without further thought. Severus dropped like a stone.
So Severus Snape did not hear the little dog's whimpers as his master fell, or his vain attempt to keep Tobias from looming over his fallen master, and mercifully, he did not hear his father casting the Killing Spell on Renny. Renny had growled bravely at Tobias, but his loyalty to Severus gained him nothing; he was killed without another thought. To Tobias Snape he was no more than the source of a bone he needed for his potion: a baculum, the shaft bone that supports the penis of a dog.
Now all this came back to Severus as he picked up the baculum he needed for his current potion. He had bought this one from the apothecary, not knowing the details of its source. Except the dog was probably not a pet, for Merlin knows stray dogs were ten a penny in the alleyways of York in those days, and I have found, dear listeners, that there are still plenty there today.
Thus was born Severus' need to keep what was his; to own and protect and hoard, and maybe you can understand our hero a little more. Renny was his, but in the boy's mind Severus had failed him. He did not keep him safe, did not keep him close. And so he learned better, and he determined that in days to come there would be few who would steal from him, and none who would survive if they did. Later, when he lived in Hangleton, all Severus' livestock was marked with his personal tag and kept close within protective wards. No one would take away what belonged to Severus Snape; never again.
Ah, good listeners, don't look so sad! This tale is of a tragic hero and a terrible love; did I not tell you that at the start? Lean on your friends and be glad your life is not so sad. I know I told you this tale would be of happiness, and so it will, if you listen long enough. My tale will continue for a few more nights yet, and you should not take any notice of my sadness as I reflect on it. I live it, you see.
No, do not worry yourself about me. I'm used to telling such tales, and I accept that happiness is not easy to find sometimes. I walk this land alone; it is the life I have chosen, the life of the story-teller. A bard's task is to tell tales; to keep old stories alive and find new ones you've never heard before. If the price is high, we know that when we begin. It is only the magic, the magic of words and the stories we carry that keeps us bound to this way of life. But yes, you are right; I get tired at times. I am no longer as young as I once was and it will soon be time for me to take on an apprentice. I will teach that person the tales, show them the country, and then I intend to settle down somewhere at long last.
That is very kind of you, my friends. That day is a little while off yet, but I thank you most kindly. This community is very dear to me. Perhaps I shall settle here and watch the Black Lake as the sun rises and sets, and eat haggis and neeps as often as I like.
Now, we are becoming distracted, and so I must return to our hero. And you will do well to be quiet and not interrupt me again this night, for things are becoming intense.
Yes, even more so. Now listen!
Severus watched the baculum powder swirl into his potion, never disrupting the rhythm of his constant clockwise stirring as he gradually sprinkled in a tablespoon of the powder. It was just a white powder, quite innocuous. There is nothing terrible about bone, after all. Bone is the stuff of cookery: of roast meats, and of stews and casseroles, all of which can contain bones; it is nothing dreadful.
But the thick, yellow liquid Severus sprinkled the white powder into was dreadful. It looked – and it was – far from innocuous. Severus was creating the perfect truth potion, a potion with the means to force whoever drank it to speak the truth – all of the truth. It was powerful but difficult to administer. It worked best in this thick form, where its vibrant yellow colour made it look like custard – or, more fittingly, like pus. If he could have been assured that trifle would be served on his spying missions Severus could have left it as it was. But desserts did not often feature at such gatherings, though alcohol could usually be relied upon to make an appearance. So Severus needed to make it more usable, so that he could easily add it to a drink without anyone noticing. It needed to mix in nicely and not look like it did at present: blobs of yellow mucus sitting at the bottom of the glass, lurking beneath a disgusting layer of floating slime. He still had a great way to go.
Now, even while he watched the swirl of the ugly potion, Lily was never out of his mind. He could see her green eyes even amidst his yellow goop. He'd not quite given up, you see, despite all his setbacks. For it was not in Severus' nature to give up. He had accepted that he couldn't have what James Potter had. He couldn't have her, his Lily, all of her; he knew that and he thought he had accepted it. But Severus vowed he would have some part of her. If she was foolish enough to think she had won, that by fleeing to the Order of the Phoenix she had evaded both Severus and the promise she had given him, she would learn different. What Lily had given him was a magical promise, you see, sworn before the elemental gods, and she would have to pay. And Severus suspected that in her heart Lily knew it, even as she knelt and prayed, as she wrapped her religion around her many miles to the south in Phoenix Abbey, trying to hide from the truth.
Severus had no doubt that Lily now saw him as evil, seeing his magic as no better than the summoning of demons, a true alliance with the Dark forces. But if Lily truly thought that, my children, then she misunderstood both Severus' magic, and him. You see, Severus worked with the basic elements of our world, and that is not Dark, it is fundamental. He was a man unafraid to use the forces of both Life and Death, of Darkness and Light. Most wizards only use one half of the world-force, and so they are less powerful, however well they wield the Light. What people failed to realise was that Severus still wielded it too, Light mixed and infused with Darkness. Severus had never been foolish enough – as most of the inhabitants of Hangleton were – to eschew the Light. No, he kept it with him, learned how to blend it with its opposite, to balance the two forces without cancelling them out. And so the magic Severus wielded had strands; it was like the mottled wool the spinners use, sparkling flecks of pure Light carried on a matrix of Darkness. It worked for Severus, though I do not know if it could have worked for anyone else at that time, for they were taught to think a different way.
His Lily. She should have been his; but Severus believed he had failed there as he failed with Renny. As he stirred now, controlling his arm with a discipline perfected after years of practice, Severus vowed, yet again, that he would never fail again. Next time he would keep what belonged to him.
And so, my dearest listeners, we will return ten years after that terrible vow, to see what is happening with Lily.
was looking out over the upland moor, staring through her bedroom window at the miles of grassland intermittently dotted with sheep that stretched away into the distance. White dots on green, living reflections of the fluffy clouds drifting across the summer sky. Despite the idyllic setting, a sense of dread was with her; it felt like a living presence standing behind her. Lily knew there was nothing there, that the feeling, this presence, was something she created. She knew that well enough but didn't know how to stop doing it. She obsessed about time, checking the calendar and the clock every day, repeatedly casting the Tempus spell.
What is time anyway? thought Lily, sheathing her wand. It's been ten years, ten long years... how they have crawled by, the slowest cripple, for every day without James is a bleak desert, desiccating my heart. And yet it has sprinted, slipping past like a glimpsed bird swiftly flying from sight, and every day nearer to Severus' ultimatum I feel colder, frozen into helplessness.
In defence against her thoughts Lily chanted in her mind: I have seen the power of our spells, of the glorious triumph of Light. So why do I fear? And, as always, she had no comforting answer. There was only one thing to do, and so she hurried off to the chapel to light candles and pray. Lily felt warm and safe there, but she knew she could not stay in there forever. As she hurried along the stone corridors she passed the junior school rooms, comforted by the knowledge that nine-year-old Harry was there. Safe, he is safe. Severus would never want him; the deal was for a first-born daughter. Harry is mine; he is my son, all I have left of James, he will be with me forever.
Perhaps Severus has found a wife by now, she mused, hoping. He is a strong wizard, he used to be a good man, I know he did. He would not be unkind, and he could support a family with his skills. Yes, he would have gone out and found himself a wife once he knew he could not have me and heard my baby was a boy and not worth waiting for. Why, he could have a brood of children of his own by now, he has no need of my son. Yes, Severus has surely forgotten me, she thought.
And Lily hoped it was so, good people; she prayed it was so every day of her life, but yet she did not really believe it.
Wrapping her shawl closer, holding the warmth of that thought closer still, Lily still felt the chill. The chill spread into her from the never-to-be avoided presence of dread that followed her; it was the truth of the contract that couldn't be avoided, its deadline drawing ever nearer.
As Lily entered the chapel she glanced through the brilliant stained-glass window depicting the Founders of the Order. It was out there; that chill came from out there, from beyond the walls of the convent, from wherever Severus was, and there was nothing Lily could do about it.
"Lily?"
"Mother Minerva."
"Are you well, child?" The older woman put her hand on Lily's shoulder.
"I... I'm so afraid, Mother." Lily turned huge green eyes on the Order-mother. Mother Minerva McGonagall was a thin, grey, elderly witch who, despite her strict demeanour, was a good friend and fierce protector. Lily always felt better when she was around.
"You fear the outside again. There is nothing to fear in here. You know how we surround ourselves with Light. We project that Light into the gloom of Britannia, aiding those who work good magic, who intend no harm."
"There are those who do the opposite." Lily's voice was flat, factual. Whatever the older witch said, she knew it was the truth.
"There are. But you know they cannot come here; the concentration of Light drains their powers. I've heard it hurts those who are given to the Darkness, hurts them to the core so they cannot enter this place. Light banishes the Dark, you know that."
Lily nodded. It was true; she'd seen it in practice. The Order's convent was open to runaway women and children fleeing tyrannical husbands or fathers. The men would always pursue, and always be turned away by their wards, crying out in impotent rage as they were repelled by the fierce protection of the Light spells surrounding this place. Anyone who meant harm could not enter the enclave of the Phoenix. So there was no reason to fear, none at all. She was safe, and Harry was safe at the convent school; he was just as safe as she was. No, there was no reason to fear.
And yet she did, for couldn't Darkness engulf and swallow the Light, if it was strong enough? That thought was heresy here, and she dare not confess it to Mother Minerva.
Lily moaned, hugging herself tighter. She turned anguished eyes to the carved phoenix above the altar; the symbol of life eternal, of hope. "I said 'child'," she whispered inaudibly to herself, though her whispered words would have meant nothing to the other woman who prayed beside her. Lily had never confessed her promise, for in her heart she knew the truth: "I owe him."
The confession hurt, splitting Lily's heart so she felt like she was being impaled on a sword. The pain assured her that she was not safe, not really, not even here. And Mother Minerva's presence, although it was meant to be comforting, was the empty promise of no help at all.
And so, dear listeners, we move on, to
A doorbell jangled; the small man behind the counter looked up. "Ah, Master Snape, come in, come in," he said in a warmly satisfied tone, as a fox might speak to a visiting goose.
Severus strode to the front of the shop, took a sheaf of parchment from his pocket and passed it to Felonius Burke, the apothecary.
The small man perused it a while and nodded. "We have all these in stock, sir, despite the rarity of your requests. Have I ever let you down, Master Snape?"
Severus did not reply, for the man's self-aggrandisement needed no assistance from him.
"The heartwood root is scarce, very scarce these days," Burke continued to talk up his prices. "Ever since the outbreak of swamp beetle in the Somerset Levels, but I have managed to source some from another country, at added cost for the trouble and the transportation, naturally."
"Wherever you got it, it had better be good quality, Burke. None of that soggy stuff you tried to pass off last time."
The small man cringed as if expecting a blow. "Oh, no, no, this is the best, sir, only the best for you, I know how discerning you are, Master Snape; yes indeed, you are truly one of my most discerning customers. I would never dream of selling you inferior ingredients, no indeed I would not. I had that other wood in stock last time only to fill the gap between decent supplies. As you expressed your displeasure with its quality I made extra efforts to find a new supplier, searching far and wide and having to pay many contacts to find better. Let me go and fetch you a sample of my current stock. You will see it is satisfactory, oh, yes indeed."
With that the small, rather rat-like man disappeared into a back room through a heavy brown curtain that covered the wall behind his counter. Severus stood and looked around the shop disinterestedly. He had been here so many times he knew its every shelf, every box, every nook and cranny. Nothing here had changed: the stock looked, smelt and felt the same, the background level of magic given off by the ingredients was unchanged from his last visit. But hopefully the heartwood root would not be similarly unchanged.
Felonius Burke was an annoying man; he was slippery and untrustworthy, but he had the best connections when it came to acquiring ingredients, especially the rare ones Severus so often needed. Only by keeping a very close eye on him could Severus be sure he got a fair deal. Burke's less suspicious, less difficult customers would have no chance against the wily businessman.
"Master Snape," the man said, returning with a rustle of the curtain. He extended his hand; a piece of gnarled, twisted wood was poked towards Severus.
Severus made a small gesture with his hand and the wood floated in front of him, surrounded by a pale blue light. Burke didn't fail to notice the easy use of the powerful wandless, wordless magic that Snape had just demonstrated. Satisfied the piece was what it seemed to be and nothing more, Severus took it. He ran one long, pale finger over the surface, following the lines of the tree's growth that were preserved as a map on its bark, in its very shape. He squeezed the wood, pinching with two fingers, then lifted it to his nose. He inhaled carefully, delicately, then deeper. Finally, he turned the piece over and over, checking all sides of the wood before giving his verdict. "It will do."
"Thank you, Master Snape, I did say it was good quality."
"I did not say it was good, Burke, merely adequate to my needs and apparently free of worms. I will take as much as you have."
The apothecary bowed, hiding his smile as he hurried into his store room to fetch the heartwood root, but Severus knew the man was smiling; he could feel it in his mind. Had Severus been blind by this stage of his life he would have been but little inconvenienced when it came to judging his fellow men, so good was he at the mind magics he'd been learning in Hangleton. He would have missed the world bitterly, however, its colours, the movements of living things, like the appreciation of a horse's sleek lines, the power and grace of the animal as it galloped.
The little man came back carrying a medium-sized sack which bulged with the odd shapes of the roots. Severus, who trusted no one, least of all this oily little fellow, took it from him and, ignoring the man’s outraged squawks, emptied it onto the counter and went through the pieces of wood, one piece at a time, checking they were all heartwood and all in good condition.
"It is my entire stock, as you requested. It will be hard to find more. Other customers will be disappointed." Burke sounded just as disappointed as those potential customers – as if Severus was doing him harm buying so much.
"And yet to sell such a quantity while it is fresh is a bonus for you," Severus said, his voice at its silkiest but with an odd inflection added to it that Burke was unaware of. "You will offer me a good discount for the pleasure of it."
"You are doing me a favour buying my whole stock, Master Snape. I will let you have them at a very good price."
"You will. Just keep a consideration for yourself, a little for your time and trouble, but do not put the hefty mark-up onto my items that you charge your other customers."
"You may have the sack of heartwood at five gold pieces, Master Snape. With your other ingredients..." the small man picked up a box and peered inside at its aromatic contents: an odd assortment of leaves, more twigs of an obviously different sort and some brown, shrivelled items that were unrecognisable, except to the heightened touch and smell of a man learned in potion-lore. "...Say another two gold pieces? Seven for the lot, how is that? I can't say fairer."
"No, you cannot." Severus agreed with the smarmy salesman who was unaware of just how fair he was being, for once. As he passed the seven gold coins to Felonius Burke, Severus Snape smiled.
And that, my friends, is where I must leave my tale for this evening. Even with the generous lubrication of this ale which you have been kind enough to provide for me my throat threatens to become sore if I speak much longer. I've no doubt you all have comfortable beds calling to you, and another day of honest labour tomorrow, and thanks to dear Maisie here, so do I.
No! no more this evening, Mercy, not even a little more! If you wish to attend me again, I shall be here tomorrow evening. I intend to sit in this very comfortable chair by the fire and drink this excellent brew again before I take my leave of Swinfield. If you wish to come and hear the rest of the tale I will be happy to welcome you and as many as will come. For I still have a way to go before I show you how Severus gained rather more happiness than his transaction with Felonius Burke could give him.
For this tale is about the gaining of happiness, though I must admit that so far Severus' best efforts have not brought him very much of it.
Now, dearest listeners, it is time to revisit our flawed hero, Severus Snape, for you all wish to know what he will do next or you would not have ventured out on this windy evening to sit here before me looking so expectant.
was, by this time, an expert in concealment. It was an art, an art he taught to other members of the Dark Sorcerer’s regiment, to which he had been appointed adviser and de facto commander. So he was invisible as he stood behind the boundary hedges of Godricsham Convent. He didn’t try to enter, but he was fairly sure he could do so if he exerted himself to penetrate their wards. He didn’t need to go inside, to see where Lily lived, and prayed, and hid away.
The convent was set beneath a gentle hill, the encircling green mass rising behind the stone building and stretching out around it like a pair of arms. Sonnet Hill seemed to be cuddling the sisters of the Phoenix, Mother Earth offering her shelter to them. That and the protective wards encompassing the convent and its grounds meant the people within were well protected. Severus could feel the prickle of the anti-Dark, anti-violence spells woven around the convent's land even from here behind one of the hedges that flanked either side of the road. He had a fine view of the gatehouse from here; it was both promise and warning to him. It held the promise that his love might emerge from it, that he might see what he hadn't seen in months. And it held the threat of repulsion, implying that he was not welcome here. He was a man; his presence at this women's refuge could presage violent activity and the spells were set up for that, they would recognise him as uninvited and would keep him away. Add to that the Darkness that must be mixed into his own magic by now and Severus knew those warding spells would burn him; he could feel their heat even from behind his bush.
Determined to make his surveillance as comfortable as possible, Severus cast cushioning charms on the ground and sat down, adjusting a cushioned boulder at his back until it felt like the back of a sofa and he could recline in comfort. He might be here for hours.
There were times, like today, when Lily emerged from her sanctum onto the road in order to greet refugees seeking the sisters’ help. Alarm wards were set along the approach road. Severus had half-expected that and so he approached through the undergrowth. It took tracking skill to do so without making a noise, but Severus had plenty of practice at sneaking. His thin lips quirked as he remembered how, at the Seminary, the members of his clan were often called 'sneaks' or 'sneaky snakes' by the Griffins. Just because they did not go charging about like a herd of Erumpents, but approached unknown situations with subtlety!
Remember, friends, that in those days the Griffin and Serpent clans were very different in outlook, so different that many of them were at odds with each other. During his time at the Seminary, Severus had been unusual in that way too; he, the Serpent, had spent the majority of his time with Lily, a Griffin.
Now, dearest listeners, you probably do not realise quite how things were in that divided time, living as you do in a more peaceful era, so I will just tell you a little about the other clans. You've already heard about Severus' and Lily's clans, but there were two other powerful groups.
The members of the Raven clan formed the majority of Britannia's intelligentsia then, just as they do now. Lawyers, doctors, bankers and the administrators of great estates were all likely to be Ravens. Now they weren't bad trackers when they wished to be, and they could be just as sneaky as the Serpents when they needed to be, but they rarely had the need to spy. And as they were not at daggers-drawn with the Griffin clan, no one ever mentioned their sneakiness. Oh no, it was always the Serpents who were mistrusted.
Finally I must mention Britannia's last major clan: the Badgers. By and large they were honest tradesmen and farmers who kept to their own business, worked hard and didn't bother the other clans. Nor did they express loud opinions of other folks' worth. Those Badgers' interests lay in dealing with everyone, be they Serpent, Raven or Griffin.
The problem in those days, my friends, lay in that divide between the Griffin clan and the Serpent clan; it was a divide that mirrored the conflict between Light and Darkness, the difference in ideology that split Britannic society so dangerously.
But I digress, for back behind the hedge Severus suddenly sat up and took notice as a flash of colour enlivened the browns and greens of the landscape, and the grey weathered stone of the convent. It was Lily, standing by the gatehouse just inside the wards. Her head was uncovered letting her hair fly free on this beautiful spring day; it was the first time Severus had seen its vibrant colour since last autumn. The sight of that particular dark shade of red made his stomach clench. “My Lily,” he whispered, denying the truth, again.
Now a raggle-taggle party appeared in the roadway, hurrying toward the gatehouse. As they approached Severus could see a woman and two children whom she held by the hand. The woman’s back was bowed under a heavy backpack, no doubt containing her worldly goods. As she hadn’t magicked it smaller or lighter, she must be a Squib or even unmagical. Severus had made it his business to research the convent and had been rather surprised to learn that many of those seeking help were not witches, but Squibs or even non-magic folk who had links to the magical realm. Squibs were often abused by their partners; it was a cliché that they were undervalued in the Wizarding world, but cliché because it had happened so often. Those without magic were at a disadvantage in mixed marriages, but Severus had also heard that the convent helped some ordinary women flee from their non-magical abusers. It was the duty of the Order to uphold Light values. Severus sneered, suspecting that the Order members were also working to strengthen their side in the never-ending civil war between Dark and Light. Any partisans were welcome in the enclave of the Phoenix.
Lily emerged as the party approached, waiting quietly. As they neared she held out her hands in welcome. “Welcome to Founder Helga's convent; my name is Sister Lily. Come, you’re safe now.” She smiled at the woman and then at each of the children in turn. “Nothing can hurt you here.”
Severus sneered again, but it was true enough; it was well known there was nothing in there worth an attack – except Lily – for his master was not interested in Squibs, the unmagical, or runaway wives. The convent was not connected with the military side of the Order, and only an idiot would attack a spiritual haven. The Dark Sorcerer's followers did not need the gods’ disapproval.
In Hangleton, they worshipped the same gods as the Order, plus some rather questionable older gods and elemental forces linked to the Darkness. Their ‘chapel’ was a cave under the cliff that ran behind Branston, the county's second town. The celebrants were elderly, a witch and a wizard who had spent decades researching the unfettered worship of the ancients. Their ceremonies gathered power and made the hairs stand up on Severus’ neck. He emerged feeling full of strength and health, and he never missed a single gathering. Exactly how Lily and the Order members worshipped nowadays he couldn’t say, but back in his Seminary days it had been fairly tame. Maybe the adult members of Founder Helga's flock conjured power and projected worship more strongly, though Severus truly doubted it could compare to what happened in Bran’s Cave.
Lily was smiling, talking quietly and confidently to the small party and gesturing for them to come inside the refuge. The sight of her face, lit with such pleasure at seeing and helping these people, hurt Severus. He would never see her welcome him that way; never again.
Lily took Marjory and her children inside, feeling such a sense of relief when the woman put her family in the Order’s hands. Nothing could hurt them here; the abusive man, Marjory's husband, could not pass through the wards. The children were too quiet, too small and thin for Lily’s liking. Marjory had introduced them as Graham, who was six, and Tansy, three. Marjory was pregnant again, and scared stiff. She didn’t want the dreadful conditions of her home life to affect these children any longer. If she hadn’t run when she did she would have been stuck as her pregnancy advanced, unable to gather the strength to run and the wit to make up a story. She’d told her husband she was going to see her mother for Mother’s Day, something he derided but allowed her to do. It had coincided with her finding out about the Convent of Founder Helga, and she’d taken the children and the few things she could carry, claiming the backpack contained gifts for her mother and some of the children's pictures and toys. It did, but underneath it contained a few precious keepsakes that Marjory couldn’t bear to leave behind.
Lily thought Graham looked about four, not old enough for first school, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Poor little Tansy’s legs and arms were like sticks. Lily ran a soothing hand over the little girl’s hair. “I have a lovely room for you, Marjory, and there’s a separate bedroom for the children. Come, let me show you your new home.”
“Are we moving here then, Mummy?” Graham asked, his brown eyes wide. “When’s Daddy coming?”
“You’re staying with us awhile, dear,” Lily said. “But your Daddy’s not allowed in the convent. It’s only for women and children like you. Your Daddy’s too angry; the Light wards won’t let him through.”
Lily watched the young boy carefully as she spoke, looking for signs of distress. She saw the moment when his body relaxed, as if he’d been holding himself taut, ready to run at a second’s notice. It was something she'd seen before with other abused children, and it made her happy to see it vanish. She smiled, feeling a welcome sense of achievement.
Marjory was hugely thankful, exclaiming that the rooms were more than she’d expected. Lily always felt embarrassed giving the families just a couple of rooms to live in, but to the fugitive women they obviously looked like a palace. The women would work together to build up Marjory's confidence; Lily had seen how the women changed once they were away from their abusers, opening up like a flower under the morning sun. Eventually, Marjory and her kids would move on. She would find a job and a community that would accept her. Being a Squib she could live anywhere, even in non-magical Britannia, and it was unlikely her husband would ever find her. All the women helped by the Order were given alarm pendants that they could tap with a code that activated them in emergency. They were not abandoned, though in practice few needed further support once the sisters’ jobs were done.
The work gave Lily much of her satisfaction in life, more even than raising Harry, which had surprised her. For Harry was so like his father – self-contained, strong and healthy. Now he was growing up he almost looked after himself. Harry roamed the surrounding countryside, helped with the convent’s horses and other livestock, and generally ran free in an almost idyllic childhood. There were children of his own age at the convent, but although Harry made friends readily his companions eventually moved on with their mothers, and his friendships were fleeting. Harry was a good enough student, but his focus in life was more on the physical. As he grew that might change, but at the moment it was rare to find him sitting at home at the weekends. Lily was used to seeing him only at mealtimes and bedtime, and her work, naturally, became her focus.
When Lily left the family to settle in and went back to her rooms, she made herself some tea and looked out over the convent grounds toward the wards. No sign of life there, no pursuing man yelling and threatening them. It was quiet and still, and yet...
When she’d met the little family Lily had felt as if someone was watching them. Paranoia? She often wondered if she suffered from it, for that feeling was often there, that sense of being observed. She knew she'd felt like this since Severus had followed her and James, but to keep thinking this way now was just foolishness. Still, she’d looked around as she’d stood in the gatehouse, just to be sure; but the countryside was clear, there was no one concealed behind the hedges and trees. No one.
Lily shivered; she turned her eyes back to her room, to the inside of the convent, which was her refuge as much as it was Marjory’s. Thank all the gods for the Order!
Cruel sing-song taunts from a group of students followed first year student Harry Potter along the echoing stone corridors of the Seminary. He'd been there just a week and already, to his shock, he'd found enemies. Above all, the son of a man his father had arrested years ago, long before Harry's birth, hated him and was the ringleader of his persecutors. This boy who hated him so much was called Draco Malfoy, and he told Harry that James Potter, back then a newly appointed captain in General Moody's militia, had taken Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, away for questioning. Draco blamed his father's subsequent breakdown on that.
Lucius had been a prisoner in his own home for several years afterwards, imprisoned not by the authority of the Magical Council, the governing committee that had the last word in the magical kingdom of Britannia at that time, but by his own fear. Whatever the interrogators had done to Lord Malfoy while they held him for 'questioning', whatever spells they'd used to tear secrets from the proud man's mouth, whatever taunts and indignities they'd heaped upon him, they had shredded his mind. Lucius was still, to this day, regarded as 'highly strung'; he jumped at the tiniest sound and his wand, hidden in the handle of an elegant walking cane, was never far from his hand.
Harry could understand that Draco had been brought up with the tale of his father's maltreatment at the hands of the militia, that the other boy hated those responsible for the change in his father, and the captain who had arrested him most of all. Lucius had never been tried, never officially imprisoned or held, so there must have been no case to answer and nothing he said under duress had damned him. For it was not illegal to study Dark arts, no matter how much some people hated them.
But it was unfair! Harry wasn't responsible for the elder Malfoy's jumpiness, his night terrors and trembling hands, even if his father had been. But that, it seemed, did not mean a thing to Draco, who hated James Potter's son with a burning intensity that promised Harry no quarter in the years of magical study that lay before them. Draco would extract revenge for the father from the son, so Harry knew he would need all his stubbornness, all his reserves of determination to get through the coming years at the Seminary.
Was she? His mum, buried deep within Helga's convent, praying to the Light and offering love and protection to all who came asking for it. She wasn't much like other students' mums, but did it make her weird? Harry had always felt his mum loved him, fiercely, just as fiercely as Draco hated him. But despite that love Lily seemed to have little time to spare for Harry. She spent nearly all her time in the chapel, praying and weaving Light spells to send out over Britannia; helping the fugitive families or studying the holy books of the Founders. Lily loved her son, Harry knew that, but she no longer wanted to play with him as she had done when he was little; no longer delighted in walking the hills or taking the steep path that led down to the beach. No, nowadays Lily Potter spent hours staring out of the convent windows with a bleak expression, as if all the ills of the world lay beyond the walls that enclosed the little convent founded by Lady Helga Hufflepuff, an early head of the Badger clan. Helga Hufflepuff and the other Founders were almost legendary figures who had founded both the Order and the Seminary.
Lily's life was a cloistered one, and she was known as one of the most intense sisters, deeply dedicated to the Order. But Harry was young and his heart was restless. The world lay out there – full of excitement and discovery. Full of things Harry didn't know about and couldn't have dreamed of, but he knew exciting things were waiting there for him, just as if he could feel them in his blood. Yes, there was evil out there, Harry knew that, but there was good too; it was the mixture that made up the world wherever you travelled. His mum wanted to stay here, safe where the forces were all for good and evil could not enter, so she no longer had to deal with that mixture that filled the outer world. But Harry knew he would have to go out there one day, to leave both school and convent and go out into the world. It was outside that his destiny lay, his future, and his work – whatever that was to be.
For eleven-year-old Harry had no idea of the direction his future might take, and why should he at such a tender age? Did any of you know what life would bring you? Truly? Instinctively, Harry knew his life would be exciting, and that it would not lie within the Order's religious houses. He would never be Brother Harry of the Phoenix Monastery; the monastery was the brother house to the convent and had been founded by Godric Griffin.
Harry was the only fatherless boy in their year. Some of the older kids had no dads or no mums, because they were the children of the last period of turmoil when Dark and Light had fought for dominance. Now things were quieter, but the Order kept its militia on call, ready to respond or even take the fight to the Dark mages if necessary. Harry could only presume the other side was just as ready, poised to fight. Harry didn't understand why the two sides of magic couldn't co-exist. It was the natural way of things to have opposites, like fire and water, earth and air. Each had their place and none was considered better than the others, all were of use to magical and non-magic folk alike. Harry learned about those in his lessons. They were opposites, but equal elements that made up the world, both equally necessary for balance and health. Harry thought that maybe the Dark and Light magics were just the two elements that made up magic, essential in their oppositeness. Weren't they?
Oh, but that word 'opposite'. That was like 'opposition'. It meant to oppose, to be at odds with. So was the state of constantly being poised on the brink of conflict normal? It was all so confusing, and young Harry knew lots of older people were confused by it too. Surely the Order leaders – Moody the general of the militia; McGonagall the head of the convent and the spiritual leader, and above all the great sage Albus Dumbledore, their leader and final arbiter – should understand these matters. Harry had seen Dumbledore when he had presided over the start of the school term, watching the children settling in with their clans and smiling at all of them, must understand all this better than he. Dumbledore was old, so old that he must have learned tons in his lifetime, so old and powerful that it was said even the Dark Sorcerer feared him. And Albus Dumbledore was not going to tolerate the Darkness, nor allow the Dark Sorcerer's influence to spread without a fight.
Harry had heard a bit about the leader of the other side: the infamous Dark Sorcerer, Lord Voldemort. He had heard the man had his own army, a following of fearsome Dark magicians who he trained in black spells and combat. Some of the boys in Harry's clan, the clan of the Griffin, said the Dark Lord's army was full of monsters, with creatures like vampires and werewolves as well as humans. Harry hoped it wasn't true. How could you fight a vampire that could appear without you seeing it coming? How could you tackle a werewolf, so fierce and strong it would rip you apart limb from limb before your lips could form a spell?
Harry didn't know the names of Voldemort's commanders, not like he knew those of General Moody, and of Brigadier Shacklebolt who was a great Moorish warrior famous for his strategy and fierceness in battle. Harry's mum had told him that the Dark mages did not deserve his attention, but he could not help wondering what kind of men they were. Were they all cruel, all in it for the pleasure of spilling blood and causing pain? Was it really that simple? And were the Order members all the opposite: kind and selfless, fighting for the good of others? And yet Draco had said that Harry's father had persecuted his dad, taken him and mistreated him for no reason other than suspicion of his library and his collection of Dark artefacts. Oh, and he lived in Wiltshire, on the very borders of the county of Hangleton, and Sister Alys, their History teacher, had said that anyone who lived near Hangleton was probably guilty of using Dark magic, because 'birds of a feather flocked together'. But Draco had said that Lucius was a famous international collector, nothing more than a gentleman with wide-ranging interests that had led him to patronise a particular shop the Order was watching. It was there he'd bought the cursed objects that the Council later decided were illegal, passing the Control of Cursed Artefacts legislation a full two years after Lucius' detention. Was the Order really that unfair? Were they, in their zeal, as cruel as the Dark side?
Harry's head was spinning as he sat in the study room trying to do his work. The words of the chant played through his mind in an endless loop, and as he tried to make sense of everything the beliefs his mother had passed on to him suddenly seemed to collapse like a house of cards and Harry moaned aloud. He had friends here, not many but he had them, there was no need to panic because his enemies outnumbered them. His mum had always told him that would happen, because it was easier to be bad than to be good and that was why there were so many unpleasant folk out there in the world. His dad hadn't been a bad man; certainly he couldn't have been equally as unfair and cruel as the Dark mages of Hangleton. He hadn't. He'd been a hero, his mum had said so, and Harry had to believe her.
But... yer mum's weird... Harry felt sick now. He gave up trying to read the book whose print had long since blurred in front of his eyes so he couldn't make out a single word. He gathered up his things, ignoring the curious glances of the rest of the students in the library, and fled to his room.
And oh, how time flies as we have seen! For our hero, who is strange, to be sure, but is still the real centre of this tale, our
was busy. It was now thirteen years after Lily's marriage, thirteen long, lonely, unlucky years for Severus' heart, during which he'd pined and become quite bitter. He scorned those with happy personal lives as mere naive fools. And do you notice, my friends, that here we see hints of the fable of the fox with the grapes? Well, anyway, however bleak the state of his heart, nevertheless our Severus had his hands full.
You see, shortly after Severus arrived in Hangleton his old horse, which had been exhausted by the journey south, had to be put down. Knackered! Made into dog food perhaps, or did he end up in Grandma Miggins' Famous Meat Pies? What, Mercy, you don't think so?
Well anyway, Severus was horse-less, and he soon found that Hangleton as a county, and Dark wizards as a group, were woefully short of quality equine transport. Horse riding was a popular pursuit among the nobility and the farming class, and a horse had many uses besides. He could pull a cart, carry packs, but most of all he just looked good. Like the hawks many wizards liked to carry on the hunt or the fine greyhounds they liked to chase, a horse was a status symbol. But Severus could not buy another there in Hangleton for love nor his available amount of money, nor was that money welcome in the Order's markets now Severus was rumoured to be 'one o' them Dark mages from Hangleton'. So Severus, being an enterprising young man with a love for horses which he'd acquired from his days with Farmer Bowyer, decided to do something about it. He became a horse breeder.
Now Severus loved black. Naturally he wore black robes – it was the only colour for a student of Dark magic, and besides, it suited his sallow complexion; most colours clashed horribly with the yellowish cast of his skin. So black was good in Severus' eyes. His furniture was all of the darkest wood, the majority of his hangings, where they weren't outright black, were almost-black: the darkest of dark greens, purples or blues. And his old horse had been black as well, even if he was clapped out and sway-backed, and stiff with arthritis by the time Severus had Avada'd him to put him out of his misery. Still, he had once been a striking steed, a lord's mount that Severus had acquired when he got older and was sold off cheaply.
So Severus travelled over the sea to France, Appearing in an area where bloodstock was more freely available at a price he could afford. Some of the French were wary; they remembered the wars that had spread throughout Britannia a century before, wars that had spread into France. But enough of them welcomed him, for Severus spoke their language fluently.
You remember he was a star student, don't you? Well, languages were one of his strong points and he spoke several almost like a native: romantic French, the warm sounds of Italian and the mysterious tones of the Russian tongue, and he also got by in Spanish and German. So Severus managed to buy a black, Arabian colt and three equally black fillies from the best breeder of Arab horses he could find there.
And the rest, as you might say, was history. Severus' stock became highly prized for their looks; their speed and their spirit was such as had rarely been seen in Britannia before. At first Severus started small: he sold to his neighbours; but before long all the wealthy families wanted a black Arab horse from the Dragon Stud and Severus could name his price.
Severus really loved his work. He hired a couple of Branston boys, Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle, to help with the care of the stables and to sit up at night when the mares were close to foaling. They would call Severus when the time came, and Severus became a very competent vet. As with everything he turned his hand to, he devised spells. Severus crafted spells to help with the birthing and care of the horses, and his pride and love for the beautiful creatures was obvious to all who knew him there in Hangleton.
Lord Voldemort approved of Severus' activities. "You are bringing respectability to Hangleton, Severus. The Order is quite discomfited by the enthusiastic reactions of all who buy from you. Their propaganda is failing and we are rarely unwelcome now whenever we travel into their markets and towns. They begin to see that those who study Dark magic do not have horns or a tail, nor forked tongues. It is very amusing."
Each year Severus chose which mares to breed with his new stallion, Wulfric, and which to put to Alaric, the more standard stallion he'd started out with, whose progeny he sold on to those wanting his stock. The prize foals were normally kept, especially the best fillies so he could breed from them. It would not do to let other breeders have a potential top stallion prospect either. When Severus sold colts they were gelded first, using a non-reversible spell of his own devising for the removal of the young animals' testicles and another to heal them. By then Severus was a more competent horse vet than any in Britannia, though he did not advertise the fact. He had quite enough to do without working for other horse-owners.
Just before the mares started foaling in the spring, Severus stood watching last year's young stock in their paddock. He would need to separate the colts from the fillies soon, for one or two of them looked like they were getting ideas above their station.
There were four colts and three fillies this year. The fillies were nice, one especially promised to be the blackest of blacks; she was strong but fine-limbed, already showing the spirit of her breed. "I will call you Holly," he told her as he watched her, "for while you're prickly, you're strong and good. Glossy perfection in everything you do. You will have my best stallion as a mate, and your foals will be famous."
The other two fillies were pretty enough and Severus would retain them to put to Alaric and produce stock for sale. And then there were the colts. Usually the colts were gelded and then sold, though Severus always watched for an exceptional one he might be tempted to keep as a new stallion. Severus watched them chase each other around. One colt was the fastest and his antics were compelling; he would suddenly stop, whirl around and buck up on his hind legs, hooves pawing at the air in mock-battle at his pursuers. He was very fine, full of spirit with straight, strong limbs; as graceful as Holly in his way, but far stronger and fiercer, with his glittering dark eyes and bared teeth. He was a little stallion in miniature, and Severus made up his mind to keep him intact. "Storm, that is your name. You are like a storm, full of pent-up fury and power. And yet I will tame you, young man, just as I can control the elements." Severus smiled at the young horse – he smiled a lot when he was with them. "Just beautiful," he added, turning thoughtful.
For in horseflesh, Severus considered, the colts, the hopeful young stallions, were just as beautiful as the fillies. Beauty... where did it lie? In every line of his Arabs' bodies, in the fierce spirit of their kind; in the scent of the pines on the ridge behind his house when the summer breeze stirred the branches. And in Lily's eyes...
Severus gasped at the pain of it, the memories that haunted him still. He remembered the day he'd realised he could no longer recall her face clearly. But her eyes, they were with him still. Their bright, special green haunted him, as did the sound of her voice. "I never thought of you as a lover..."
Severus shook his head, trying to dismiss the sudden pain that assailed him, and the desperate mood he could feel pressing against him, threatening to darken the day and spoil the pleasure his life now offered him. He had nothing of her to help him through these long, seemingly endless years, nothing but snatches of memory, and memory could play tricks. But he would have something, one day, and it was not so long to wait now, more time had already past than remained until he would have her child. Her son.
And could it be, could the male truly be as beautiful as the female? Could Severus learn to look at Harry Potter and appreciate him that way? Would Lily's son be true recompense for his mother? Severus had tried to take happiness into a life that had never known it; to force it to come to him, but it had not worked. Would he be doomed the day he took the boy from her? Would the act of taking Harry result in misery, or would the dreamed-for future be his after all? It was something Severus was holding out for, gathering faith from he knew not where to believe that he would have it one day: the true happiness that only love could bring.
If people were like horses, if they could be like his horses, then maybe, just maybe it would happen. For surely Lily's son would be beautiful. How could he not be, my friends, for he was her child?
Severus thought about it. He had never considered before whether he'd ever seen a beautiful man. And he decided he had not, or at least he didn't think so. He'd seen strong men, and handsome men, elegant men and proud, but he had never seen a beautiful man. But Harry Potter would be just sixteen years old when Severus fetched him, for the contract had been for seventeen years from the day Severus prevented James' death, seventeen years after Lily stroked her baby protectively against her flat belly. On that anniversary, when Severus fetched him, Harry would still be a boy. And there were beautiful boys, Severus knew it.
Sirius Black had been beautiful, as had James Potter himself. Even Remus Lupin had possessed a kind of wild, fey beauty. How ironic that Severus' tormentors at the Seminary should have been beautiful boys. Had they tormented him then because he was ugly? Is that why they had taken an instant dislike to him? They'd taunted him often enough for his looks, though Severus had assumed it was merely jealousy of his cleverness that had driven them to do so. Was he really that ugly? And would the beautiful Harry – for in Severus' mind, dear listeners, Harry was now beautiful and could not be anything else – recoil from the sight of the ugly man who came to claim him?
Yes, Harry would hate him at first, for Severus would be taking the boy away from his beloved mother and bringing him to Hangleton, which the boy would have been taught to hate. They would have poisoned him against the Dark side of magic, and it would take all of Severus' powers of suggestion to overcome that conditioning. But Severus could do it, he knew that. And maybe the boy would be intelligent, unlike Greg and Vince. They had been too stupid to be admitted to the Seminary – poor, slow boys that they were – but they were strong and willing workers and that counted for a lot. But yes, his Harry would be intelligent, Severus decided, for Lily would have taught him well. And so maybe the boy would question received truths, for that was a true mark of intelligence, something Severus had done from his earliest years. The thought made him smile, and the despair that had threatened earlier retreated now as the dark-haired wizard contemplated his horses and his future with a beautiful, intelligent young man, with considerable satisfaction.
Later that day, dear listeners, Severus took a trip over to Lord Voldemort's mansion to consult the great man's library. This time he was not in pursuit of spell books, but something from the Dark Sorcerer's collection of erotica. Severus' practical experience was limited to his own right hand, but his theoretical knowledge was much wider, and could be as wide as he wished for Lord Voldemort's collection was extensive, to say the least. Severus had always sought the fulfilment he instinctively knew could not come from a casual partner; he had always wanted true love. Lily represented that to him, even to this day, though now he wondered if maybe her son could do that, too. This was the first time Severus accepted the possibility into his heart. And in accepting it, he gradually began to transfer his dreams and his needs from Lily, who he knew was lost to him and had finally accepted it, to Harry, who was not.
Severus returned home that evening after a pleasant dinner with his lord, with a book tucked into a pocket of his cloak. Only one book, but it was a book that would tell him all he needed to know.
Oh no, Amos, I will not tell you its title! And I am not doing it to be awkward; it is just that I do not know that detail. Maybe it was a unique volume, something written for the Lord of Hangleton's library alone, for he had many such books. Maybe it is even lost to the world now, but I am sure there are many other works you could consult, my friend. If I were a Seer instead of a bard I would predict a trip to Eden's Burg or York in your near future.
Now, we must return to our hero, for I know many of the ladies especially wish to hear about his latest subject of study.
So, later that evening we rejoin Severus, who lay sprawled on his bed. He was naked, but he was not cold for the fire burned brightly and his body burned brighter still. He stroked his erection lovingly as he read the book and learned. Severus tried some of the techniques on himself, pinching his nipples, flicking them with his fingers or twisting them and rubbing the flat of his hand over them, while all the time he held his stiff cock with his other hand. Severus thought it rather odd that a man's nipples should feel good, he'd never thought of doing any of this before. Now, reluctantly, he let go of his cock as he made his hand trail lower, ignoring his testicles and venturing behind into territory he'd never explored before. He whispered a slicking spell and began to trace a finger around his entrance, teasing the crinkled flesh of the opening and gasping as he realised it felt good. He pressed, and that too felt good, the pressure making him instinctively push back against it.
Severus' reading had taught him that a man could receive pleasure from his anus and further within his passage, that inside lay an almost magical place which, when stimulated, would eventually result in an orgasm more intense than any other. Severus didn't know whether to believe this, but it sounded too good to ignore. And so he explored with his finger, and soon decided that his finger was rather awkward to do the job easily, he wanted to relax more. So Severus conjured himself a magical prick; it was sleek and slippery, made of glass, but he spelled it to body-heat for comfort. It was narrower than a man's cock, for Severus did not want his lessons to be uncomfortable at this stage, and it slipped inside delightfully. Once he was used to having something inside him, he animated it with more whispered spells, and gradually engorged it, and in short order he could not do anything but moan as he learned far more about that hidden place deep inside him. And Severus came, harder and more exquisitely than he had ever done before, and he cried aloud as he sprayed semen over his belly. He cried from ecstasy and also from pain, for you see, my friends, he was still alone.
And now we must change our focus and look away from Severus, look north to where our younger hero is struggling with his life.
young Harry was making his way through the wintry landscape with some difficulty, following the path that led to Hagrid’s cabin. The newly-fallen snow covered it completely in places, leaving hints of the track in others. The effort was worth it, though, because visiting Hagrid for tea was always a treat.
Rubeus Hagrid was the gamekeeper at the Seminary. Everyone called him Hagrid – not Rubeus, and not Mr Hagrid, just Hagrid. Now the Seminary, as you good people of Swinfield all know as you live so close to it, is an old building, much more like a castle than a school or a monastery, and at that time it was surrounded by extensive grounds just as it is today. The estate includes an ancient forest full of wildlife of both the ordinary and the magical variety. Hagrid managed the plants and animals of that estate. He was a huge man, and some said giant blood flowed through his veins, though Harry didn’t believe that for a moment. Giants were ferocious, likely to eat you as soon as look at you, or so his friend Ron had assured him. Hagrid couldn’t be less like that! He was very strong, though. Rubeus Hagrid had won the caber tossing at the Highland Games twelve years in a row, and everyone knew he’d win it again, just as often as he chose to take part, for no one could compete with him. He was over nine feet tall, hence the rumours about his ancestry, but Harry believed that Hagrid was just one of those natural anomalies that happened from time to time, just as the opposite, very short people were.
Many creatures that other people shunned were welcomed by Hagrid; the giant man kept many of them in a sort of menagerie which he kept for the students to refer to. Some of them frightened Harry, but Hagrid showed him how to handle them and Harry quickly learned the valuable lesson that outward appearances can be deceptive when judging a beast's true nature, and that it was equally true for man.
This open attitude was what attracted Harry to the huge man; he felt welcome whenever he went to spend time with Hagrid. You see, most of the kids at the seminary were rather wary of Harry. He was the son of the strange Sister Lily of Godricsham, that weird, red-haired witch who'd been seen declaiming at the county shows, going on and on about the dangers of the Dark and the evils of men who couldn't control their temper – all of whom, of course, had to be tainted by the Dark, for why else would they attack their wives and even their children? Justin, who was a boy in Harry's year, had told Harry that what his mum needed was a good shag. That had upset Harry rather a lot, because his dad was dead. Did his schoolmates think his mum should be having sex with just anyone? She had taken holy vows. Justin made it sound like that was a bad thing. "It's only old widows that do that! Young women want to spend some quality time with a man, if you know what I mean," the boy had said coarsely, nudging Harry in the ribs with an elbow and jerking his hips in an obscene gesture. "She's weird, yer mum. P'raps she hates men – bet she's happy living with all those other women then!" This caused another outbreak of jeering laughter, so Harry yelled at them to shut up, and when they hadn't he'd retreated to his bedroom.
The truth of it was that Harry was confused by their taunts, my friends. He wasn't really sure what sex was about or what he should think of it; it wasn't mentioned at all at the convent, not in front of him anyway, and he had no uncles or grownups he could talk to. He could hardly ask his mum why she hadn't wanted another husband. He was sure it was because she'd loved his dad though; his dad who, she kept telling Harry, was such a hero. Lily obviously couldn't stand the thought of another man after James, they just wouldn't measure up. It had been true love between his parents, his mum often said so.
And this was where Hagrid came in, because Harry could talk to him, and one day he'd ask him all the questions he wanted answers to, all the sex stuff, because Hagrid had never treated Harry differently because of who he was or what the others said about him.
So here Harry was, determinedly picking his way through the snow to Hagrid's, already thinking of the tea and the freshly baked scones that would be waiting for him, still warm with strawberry jam and a dollop of thick cream on top. The scones were Harry’s favourite, and Hagrid always baked them when he knew Harry was coming to tea. It gave Harry a warm, loved feeling; but having a man treating him like this made Harry feel a bit sad too, because he wondered how much he'd missed because his dad had died while he was a baby.
It was perfect to be out there, Harry thought, even if the air was frigid and his cheeks were going numb as he walked. Their lessons all week had been difficult; Harry's class were studying the theory of Light and how dangerous the Darkness was. How everything Dark had to be avoided, from the darkness of night which had to be banished by burning fires and candles in special warding patterns throughout a house; to clothing which had to be of certain colours lest Dark forces were attracted to the wearer; to dreams which could show the Darkness slipping into the dreamer's mind and threatening to enter their soul. Dream interpretation was a whole discipline by itself; dreams were classified according to subject and some were definitely Dark, some less obviously so. For instance, Harry really couldn't understand why the lilac bush was shunned and feared if it appeared in a dream; its flowers were never to be brought into a house; their textbook – Dark Omens, Dark Desires by Gilderoy Lockhart – assured them it was highly dangerous to do so. Harry just copied it all down but really, he doubted it. His teacher for Dreams and Divining was Professor Trelawney; she was a witch from Cornwall who was so over the top about the whole subject that it deepened Harry's doubts about all of it.
Harry accepted magical theory if there was a good reason to do so, but he was becoming increasingly sceptical the older he got. Did everyone just believe this stuff? Didn't any of the adults think it was stupid to shun a common bush? And night time, well, it got dark, yeah, it did, but was that really evil? Harry had always found it difficult to sleep with his room lit so brightly, though his mother had been horrified when he'd asked her to snuff the candles. And the dorms at the Seminary were just as bad. When he got his own home, or room, or whatever he could call his own, Harry reckoned he'd be able to get a decent night's sleep at last.
No, Harry really didn't think the night was evil. The animals of the night – foxes, wolves, owls – were not evil either. They were cunning, fierce hunters, yes, but that wasn't evil; Hagrid had taught him the inner beauty of these beasts' natures, especially the wolves, which Harry loved for their fierce loyalty to their families. He thought his clan should have been named Wolf instead of Griffin; the animal stood for everything he admired. Could the Darkness be like that – something most people didn't understand because its outward appearance was fearsome, but once you understood it you saw it was actually something wholesome that had a real place in nature? The thought was heretical, Harry knew that, so it could never be spoken aloud and all this was scary even to consider, so he made himself concentrate instead on his route, which was becoming increasingly difficult to follow.
The ground was a bit uneven along the track here; it almost felt untraveled, unlike the smoother path that led to the gamekeeper's cabin. Had he strayed to one side in the thick snow that covered the path? Harry looked down at his feet, not wanting to trip over...
And then he was on damp ground, pressing down into it with his hands and knees. It was cold and soggy and the wetness was soaking into his trousers. He was surrounded by gloom. The sudden loss of the bright, sparkling snow and the burn of the frigid winter wind against his cheeks had been replaced by a still, gloomy dankness. It was disorienting, making him stay down on his knees awhile. Peering ahead he saw earthen walls and realised he was in some kind of underground chamber. A fat, pink worm slithered along, intent on avoiding him. Harry watched it disappear into a hollow by a tree root. Looking up he saw the grey light of the winter’s day and a few treetops far above him.
And oh dear, my friends, what he also saw was the face of Draco Malfoy, grinning down triumphantly at him.
“Malfoy!”
“Who did you expect, Potter? Your fairy godmother?”
Harry gritted his teeth and got to his feet. His head came well below the surface of the pit and he assumed he couldn’t get out simply by jumping. Draco was still grinning, happily watching his efforts and no doubt guessing his thoughts as Harry tried feeling for handholds on the sides of the earthen pit. It felt oddly smooth despite its appearance and his hands slid down uselessly. So, this whole trap was magicked, and definitely not so easy to get out of.
“No way out, Potter, not without help," Draco jeered gleefully. "And guess what? I’m not going to help you.”
“You think I expected that? I’m not stupid, Malfoy, even if you are,” Harry spat defiantly, though he knew he had little going for him right now except that defiance. This helplessness was something Harry almost expected in Draco Malfoy's presence; the bully was usually accompanied by his gang to torment him or else, as now, he persecuted him with magic.
Harry took out his wand and tried a levitation spell, but something held him down, some barrier Malfoy had conjured, no doubt. He tried casting a compulsion spell at Malfoy to force him to help, but the spell reflected back from the barrier and Harry quickly stopped casting, fearing a ricochet.
“You’re hardly in a position to be rude, Potter.”
Gods, how he hated that jeering voice! So Harry played for time instead while he considered ways to escape. “How did you catch me? I saw nothing,” he asked the jeering blond boy.
“That’s thanks to Snape’s Trapdoor Spell, Potter. Anything Snape creates is good; bloody good spell-maker he is. He’ll lead his regiment against the Order one of these days, and you just wait – the Order won’t know what hit it.”
“Snape?”
Draco looked incredulous. “Yes, Potter, Snape. Severus Snape, Lord Voldemort's second-in-command. That Snape, you idiot!" Harry must have looked confused, for Draco kept taunting him. "You've never heard of him? You must have been living under a rock, which I suppose explains your appearance. Anyway, my father says Snape’s a brilliant strategist and spell creator. And thanks to his little ambush spell I’ve got you exactly where I want you, and there's no way you can get out without help.
"Now, it’s bleeding cold hanging around up here, so I’ll just give you a taste of another little creation of Snape’s that my father taught me, and then I'll be on my way. Goodbye, Potter, have fun down there! Someone might find you, if you’re lucky. But if you’re not, well, you must have fallen into one of that oaf Hagrid’s poachers’ traps, mustn’t you. Awful shame, he’s always being told to be more careful, but being the stupid half-giant he is, he never listens.”
Harry drew breath to defend his friend, but his breath was taken away when the slapping started. It felt like a hand had slapped him, though of course there was no one else down there with him, except for the worms, and the whole thing was downright eerie. Stinging slaps started to rain down on his cheeks then, at first it felt like one hand slapping him, then like several all hitting him at once. The slaps turned to shoves and pushes all over his body, then bruising punches and finally sharp kicks. Poor Harry cried out and tried to dodge, but in such a confined space it was impossible to dodge what you couldn’t see. It felt like there were many attackers, though of course there was no one down there but Harry and it was just a spell. Harry’s yells turned to cries of pain; they were loud at first, then weaker, and finally they were nothing more than an agonised keening as the boy fell into semi-consciousness. Only when his world had gone totally dark was Harry finally silent.
Harry was a lucky boy, good people. He’d always been lucky at getting out of tight corners, sometimes it was through the intervention of others, sometimes he managed to think of something at the critical moment. He was just lucky. And so Hagrid found him.
You see, when Harry failed to appear promptly at teatime like he always did, the gamekeeper set out to travel the path, worried that Harry might have twisted his ankle on a hidden tree root, or wandered off the track in the deep snow. Though Harry had travelled this way before, things looked different in the heavy snow and it was easy to get lost on the path through the edge of the forest. Hagrid noticed how the path near his cabin was covered in deep, undisturbed snow. He ploughed on towards the Seminary and saw where the snow had been walked through not long before, but Harry’s track – it must be his – led off to one side. Hagrid followed and after a while he found the opening in the earth, knowing straight away it was one of his poachers' traps designed to capture those who thought the creatures Hagrid cared for would make a good free meal.
So Hagrid rescued Harry and took him to his cabin, warmed him up again as he’d got thoroughly chilled lying there at the bottom of the pit. He sent an owl with a note for the school nurse, Sister Poppy, to come and treat the boy. Harry’s body was a mass of bruises. Thankfully, it turned out that there were no bones broken, but the bruises looked very painful nevertheless.
Harry woke; his whole body hurt. Sister Poppy was rubbing his leg with some salve – it felt cold and it hurt like hell where she applied it, every touch feeling like a new blow. Harry cried out, and Poppy’s words soothed him, a constant stream of comfort as she efficiently did her job. Harry discovered he was immobilised on the hospital bed, unable to pull away from her ministrations. He knew the salve would heal him but he didn’t think he could stand the application. Tears fell unbidden from his eyes and he had no way of controlling them. Sister Poppy ignored it, continuing with the job. It seemed endless, the touch and the pain, but Harry knew she was being as quick as she could. He wished he could pass out again, but all that happened was a weird fuzziness in his hearing and a dimming of vision. He thought he saw shadowy figures surrounding his bed then, and they seemed to offer him strength. When Poppy’s ministrations ended, Harry drew several deep, gasping breaths.
“Thank the gods,” he whispered fervently, feeling a real sense of connection with the spiritual realm as he spoke. He wondered if his mum felt this connection with the divine powers when she was in the chapel. If so, he could understand her fascination with the Order rather better than before.
The nurse had soothed an injured Harry before and they were used to each other, but Harry still hated being in the infirmary; it made him feel weak. Lessons were getting intense lately and he didn't want to miss any; the prospect of taking his First Level exams when he was sixteen was beginning to seem far more real. Once it had been a distant prospect, now it was quite scary, and there was heaps of homework from each teacher. Harry hoped to get good marks then so he could leave school with the prospect of a career, an apprenticeship perhaps. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stay on into sixth and seventh year. Yes, he could get higher qualifications and a better choice that way, but if he could find a good master after First Level exams that might work better for him. No more persecution, no more Malfoy. It sounded good.
Later, when Harry told how he’d been trapped by Draco Malfoy, the headmaster conducted an enquiry, questioning Malfoy. But Malfoy denied it, he said Potter was delusional, had never liked him and was always trying to get him into trouble. Obviously Potter had fallen into a hidden trap; it was all an unfortunate accident. Draco managed to look quite sympathetic when he said that, but he was at a loss to explain Harry’s bruises; perhaps the fall had been very traumatic? As Harry and Draco's mutual dislike was well known, Malfoy’s excuse seemed believable. Draco’s wand was examined, but there was no hex in its recent history. Harry fumed, knowing Draco would have borrowed one of his gang’s wands to cast the Trapdoor Spell, but the teachers were not about to search everyone. In the end, Albus Dumbledore had no choice but to let Malfoy go on the grounds that there was a ‘reasonable doubt’ that he had done what Harry accused; it was just one boy’s word against the other, there had been no witnesses, no proof of foul play.
And so we move on, good people. We have two heroes now, don't we, but neither has an ideal life, though Severus' life at the Dragon Stud was far more comfortable than Harry's at the Seminary. Severus would have understood that Harry was finding his schooldays uncomfortable, despite what people often said about schooldays being the best days of your life. But at that time Severus really had no idea that Harry's life was anything but charmed. He believed that James Potter's son, Sister Lily's son, must surely be having an easy ride.
It is amazing how wrong we can be, isn't it? We think we know about other people's lives, but often we base our opinions on our own attitudes and beliefs rather than other people's reality.
Oh dear, I am getting a little philosophical here, and that is not my intention, really it is not.
I must get on with the story, for in my story it is still
and I have more to tell you about that time.
Severus Snape was approaching a farmhouse on foot; he was alone and disguised under a glamour. It's the way he liked to do things, not wanting to be dependent upon the stealth or skill of anyone else, for Severus knew he was far and away the best of them when it came to spying. He did not want to suffer for anyone else's mistakes, nor have to punish any of his men for ineptitude; he fully understood they did not have his years of practice. No, when it came to surveillance and spying missions, Severus would send no one but himself.
Pendlebury Farm was a large, stone building set well back from the country lane that led from Cardingham to Biggleswick in the county of Bedesford. The wards surrounding it felt foreign to Severus, who was more familiar with the deeper, more complex wards of his own home. This farmhouse was the base of one of the Order's officials, a country squire named Arthur Weasley.
Severus had discovered that Weasley and his wife, along with their huge brood of children, were the Order of the Phoenix's record-keepers. Severus knew there were documents in there that would be of the greatest interest to his master – documents that would make his regiment's next target easy. All he had to do was get inside, copy them, and get out again. The Order would never know their security – Severus' face twisted as he considered just how ineffectual it was, hardly fit to be called 'security' at all – was breached. Why in Britannia hadn't they appointed Moody as their record-keeper?
So Severus' face stretched into a wry grin as he hunkered down behind a hedge, watching the comings and goings from the farmhouse. It was still busy despite the hour; there were indeed a lot of Weasleys. The farmhouse, Severus thought, resembled a rabbit warren.
Severus had scouted the property before and he knew the best way in; he would wait until the house settled for the night, until all the lights were extinguished and he could enter with confidence. With so many people milling about it would take a while to be certain they were abed, but Severus was prepared for a long wait. He set his usual surveillance spells and a cushioning charm so he could sit comfortably, but there was no need for a warming charm at this time of year. There was still some light lingering in the sky on the western horizon; he had not arrived until about ten o'clock, but the summer darkness was slow in falling down here on the south coast of Britannia. Severus had come early to be sure nothing strange was happening in there tonight; he did not want to walk into a sleepover and find the corridors filled with witches and wizards in conjured cots. That had happened once a couple of years back to one of his junior officers; the resulting debacle had been one of the reasons Severus no longer delegated surveillance to his men.
From his vantage point Severus could hear the odd burst of laughter or the excited shriek of a female voice – the Weasleys had a daughter, their youngest child. Circe, but they were a noisy bunch! If they had been recruits to his regiment he would have despaired; they'd have been on a perpetual charge.
It seemed to take hours, but after a while they began to go to bed. Lights shone from upstairs windows one by one. A light went off downstairs. At last, with most of them in bed, the house began to reach a bearable level of background noise, in Severus' opinion. He watched the glowing windows and saw there were still several lights on upstairs. He did not expect all of them to go out throughout the house; many of these Light families clung to the safety of illumination and kept at least one light glowing all night on each floor. To Severus, who felt at home in the concealing, secretive darkness, these people seemed like frightened children.
After the house went still, and with what looked like just one Dark-dispelling light burning on each of the floors, Severus stood up. He was still wrapped in a concealing spell even though it was now fully dark outside, for the half moon was bright tonight and the stars were clear; anyone whose eyes were used to darkness might have seen Severus without his spell. Even with it he was not truly invisible, my friends, just much less likely to be seen by the casual eye.
So Severus moved quickly and efficiently to get through the anti-intruder wards, casting his own swift spells to slice through them like a sharpened scalpel through flesh. Severus had pierced many Light wards before and he found them ridiculously easy. Although often made up of several spells – usually only one or two casters were involved in setting them, though Severus had once entered a house where he judged ten different people had cast layers of spells into the wards – the magic was all variations of one kind, and thus it was no challenge to him. Indeed, our Severus still used that kind of Light magic mixed into his own spells, for he was not an evil man and could still manipulate the power of Light.
At this time Severus was a man driven by loneliness and a desperate need to have someone for himself. And surely that is not true evil, good people, for if it is then many of us are likewise damned. No, Severus managed to slide through the Light wards of Pendlebury Farm without them burning him, and he walked quickly across the lawn to the front of the house. He avoided the drive where the gravel might crunch beneath his feet; even though he walked on cushioning spells it was not worth the risk of turning a stone and making a noise.
Severus had no intention of using the front door; he was not a guest here and doubted he would ever be invited into this house. So he headed around the side of the building and found what he was looking for – a window left half-raised to admit the evening breeze. The house would be warm and stuffy at the height of summer; even now, in May, it would benefit from the fresh air. Severus slipped through – his slender frame was just made for the job of spy. He loved outwitting other people's security; he was naturally curious – nosy, really – about their lives. It always gave Severus a sense of superiority when he observed the haphazard way other people lived: there was no organisation and precious little sense of decorum; in his opinion most people were loud, brash and incredibly inefficient.
When Severus straightened up he found himself standing in a small sitting room; there was just a fireplace, a low table and several chairs around the room. A small bookshelf stood to one side; with a glance Severus could see it contained non-magical books, mostly novels. One chair had an ashtray balanced on its arm; Severus grimaced at it – it didn't look as if it had been emptied in a while. A pipe lay beside it, perched precariously, and Severus took note to skirt it carefully. If it dropped it might be noisy, or break; he didn't need such complications.
An empty pint glass stood on the table. This looked like it was Arthur's haven, a little patch of calm in a manic household, a perk of the patriarch. Not much of a perk, in Severus' view. True, he wouldn't have minded having a couple of children with Lily, but his household would have been run on the same lines it was now. He would have needed order, and silence while he worked, not the chaos the Weasleys lived in. And there were just too many of them to live comfortably, despite the generous size of the farmhouse. If that opinion made him like his father, well, so be it. Whatever else could be said about the old bugger, Tobias Snape had had a few good ideas, and he'd been bloody good at brewing potions too.
Severus cast a spell on the door that was his way into the main part of the house. He then opened the door very slowly and carefully; his muffling charm should have dulled any creaks, but acting rashly was not the way to be successful as a spy. Forethought was everything. Severus looked through the crack of the door and saw nothing but a corridor stretching ahead. He pulled open the door and walked out, leaving it ajar behind him; it was not obvious enough to attract attention should anyone come this way, but enough to make a quick exit that bit easier.
The moonlight spilled into the corridor through a long window at the end and Severus made his way toward it, aware he was heading towards the back of the house. He needed to find the library or office, the room where Arthur Weasley kept the documents. The little sitting room was obviously not that, so there must be another, more formal area for keeping things safe. Severus did not expect the man to have warded the room or shrunk the documents, much less hidden them in wizard space. Weasley was just not that sort of sneaky. Severus knew the man by reputation, and while he admired him in some ways, he frankly wondered why the Order would have made him their Secretary. Arthur Weasley did work for the Council, so that was probably the reason he'd been landed with the job, but there was no sign of Council procedures here, Severus realized as he just avoided walking into a haphazard pile of shoes that spilled over into the centre of the corridor. Merlin knows why the family had dropped them there; it was all too random for Severus to understand.
Severus halted between two doors, one leading left, one right. He just stood awhile, absorbing the feeling of the house around him. To the right was the kitchen, he was fairly sure of it judging by the lingering smell of cooking, but he cast his muffling spell on the door and opened it just to check. Yes, a huge kitchen which looked surprisingly spic and span in the moonlight spilling through its wide window; there was evidence of real organisation here as nowhere else he'd seen so far. It must be Molly Weasley's influence. Severus decided he disliked the shrill matriarch rather less than he had half an hour ago. After all, living in this set-up would make any female strident.
Severus left the kitchen and opened the door opposite, and smiled. Shelves lined nearly all the walls. There were three desks and some chairs placed in the room. Candelabra were plentiful, but Severus did not need extra light to start with, the large window let in moonlight quite generously. Later he would use a spell, but only after blacking out the window so light did not spill out onto the lawn and alert someone on one of the upper floors. Severus closed the door behind him; on careful feet he moved toward the tall document bureau that stood against the far wall.
"That's far enough!"
Severus froze at the male voice that came from a tall, wing-backed chair that had been placed to look out into the moonlit garden. A man stood up, confronting him; he was young, tall and well-muscled. His hair was just a subdued gleam of copper in the subtle moonlit darkness of the room. "Illumino," the man said with a flick of his wand and everything flared to life as the magical candelabra lit and his head seemed to flame, so bright was his red hair.
"Who the hell are you?"
Severus smiled gently, aiming to be as unthreatening as possible. "You won't have heard of me; I've come on a mission from General Moody."
Severus' voice was deep and resonant, he'd pitched it into the register that accompanied his next wandless spell, and so he was prepared to cast it. It was a spell that no one ever noticed him perform, and no one had even realised a spell had been cast on them. It had taken years to perfect, but Severus had it now, and it had never failed. This young man had no chance.
"Moody? We've had no message..."
"It's a rush job," Severus said, and the young man's wand lowered as the Suggestion Spell took effect. "He didn't have time to let you know. He sent me for some documents he needs in a hurry. I'm to take copies of them. I won't take anything of yours away from the house. You will help me by showing me where the right document is."
"Which document do you need?" Percy Weasley asked, all efficiency now as he headed for the bureau tucking his wand away in his sleeve. He rummaged on a shelf next to it, pulled out a small iron key and began to unlock the bureau.
"The general needs plans of the stronghold at Ness Point. He is worried about the defences and wants the architect to look at them. Also the list of passwords for all the strongholds."
"All the passwords?" Percy turned back, a hint of almost-suspicion in his eyes despite the Suggestion Spell telling him that Severus was trustworthy, an agent of their general. "Isn't that a bit reckless? I mean, we have several lists; there's no single list with them all on. That would be a stupid thing to do."
"Yes, it would," Severus agreed, smiling appreciatively. "The general must have meant all the lists."
"Oh... yes, he must have meant that," Percy agreed quite happily and turned to the bureau again, pulling out papers. Satisfied, he started laying them on a nearby desk.
"This is the plan of Ness Point. It's a huge paper for such a small fort, don't you think, but it's very detailed. The passwords we have are on these papers..." Percy laid four smaller sheets on top of the unrolled blueprint of the fort. The plan was giving him some trouble, it kept trying to roll itself up again, and Percy helpfully weighted it down with the big glass inkwell, holding the other side down for Severus.
Severus lifted his wand and performed the copying spells, first on the smaller papers. He tucked those copies into his robes and with a broader sweep of his wand copied the building plan. As he was rolling up this copy, he asked things of Percy Weasley. "How many men are stationed at Ness Point all the time, do you reckon? I thought it was only two."
"Yes, two. Doesn't the general know that? He's responsible for the guard rota."
"Of course. I just wondered. I'm only a junior lieutenant, you know. The general will deal with all these papers personally. You should not speak about this to your family; Order business is best kept between as few people as possible for good security, you know that."
"Yes, I know that. I won't mention your visit."
"No, you will not mention my visit to anyone; not to your family and not to the general. He will not approve of me talking to you, telling you these things. He is always urging constant vigilance, you know that."
Percy chuckled. "Everyone knows how paranoid General Moody gets. I won't say a word, don't worry."
"Good. I'm sure you'll get on very well in the Order, or the Council; wherever you work."
"I'm a junior undersecretary at the Council," Percy said, puffing out his chest in proud self-importance.
"I can tell by your efficiency," Severus assured him, only half-mockingly. "You will get on really well there." He smirked at Percy, who took it as the smile Severus couldn't quite manage and smiled back. "I'll take my leave now. You need not show me out. You should forget me as soon as I leave, that would be for the best."
"That would be for the best, yes. Farewell then."
Severus turned and left the document room, hearing Percy locking the bureau and returning the key to its hiding place as he left. He hurried back along the corridor to Arthur Weasley's little sitting room, shutting the door behind him. He moved to the window, successfully avoiding the over-full ashtray. Outside, he hurried away and over to the edge of the wards. It was conceivable there were anti-theft spells among them and he took a moment to check, but to his surprise there were none, so he slipped through without further ado.
Really, the Weasleys were a ridiculous choice as Order record-keepers! Their security was almost non-existent, just the ordinary anti-intruder wards any wizarding family might have. True, not many wizards were as adept at slicing through wards as Commander Snape, and few were as good at moving silently and unseen, so they no doubt thought any risk was minimal. But in a time of war, or at least the civil unrest that Britannia seemed to be in endlessly, they were far from adequate.
Severus had been quite surprised by Percy Weasley's presence. His Suggestion Spell had soon dealt with the young man, but if Percy had been the type to hex first and talk later he would have been captured, for he'd truly been unaware the younger man was sitting there. Perhaps the junior undersecretary was not so inept after all. Severus could hardly blame him for succumbing to the Suggestion Spell – everyone did. It was his, unknown to the rest of the wizarding world and so they had no way to shield against it, and Severus wanted to keep it that way. Not even his lord would learn of it if Severus could keep it hidden, and he was very, very good at keeping things hidden, both in his mind and his property. What Severus owned, he kept, and the Suggestion Spell was one of those things.
By now Severus was becoming rather well known, good people, as second in command to the Dark Sorcerer. But had the world known of his prowess as a spy he would have been more notorious still. They did not, and as long as he did the job well, they never would, would they?
Severus hurried home; his Dark master would be well pleased with his latest gift.
And I will turn again, my friends, and talk to you a little more about our other hero, for I need you to see how these two men are working their way through life, so you will understand them better later on.
And so it was that
Harry had been fished out of the hole in the ground and Severus had visited Pendlebury Farm, Severus was talking to Jedediah Miller, his local supplier of hay. This winter was proving to be a long, hard one, and Severus was looking to buy further supplies as his hay didn't look like it would last the winter.
"Bad skirmish up at Carlisle, wasn't it?"
Severus looked into Jed's open, worried face. "It was. We lost Lieutenant Mulciber, and Corporal Yaxley was captured."
"I don't envy him," Jed said grimly, shaking his head. "They're never very kind to Dark soldiers. Course, if you'd been there, it wouldn't have come to this. I doubt they'd have got Yaxley then."
"I don't think much could have been done differently. Lestrange was commanding. He's not stupid, Jedediah, and the troop was experienced."
"What's so important up there then? Having a whole troop there, like."
"It's Lestrange's family estate. The Order had been patrolling in the area, wandering around their boundaries and scaring the pants off them and their neighbours, so they requested a troop to make an appearance and get the Order idiots to back off a bit."
"I don't blame 'em. I wouldn't fancy them marching up and down outside my house, scaring my wife and kiddies. Not that I'm important enough for that, mind you," Jed chuckled at the thought of soldiers staking out his hay stores. "And living here in Hangleton is pretty safe."
Severus nodded. "For now, and I hope we can keep it that way. A war would be disastrous for all involved. I just hope their leaders can see that too."
"Yes, see it and leave us alone. I never did understand why they couldn't. What the hell do we do to them anyway?"
"Most of us do nothing, except sell them horses, in my case, or buy and sell at their markets, in yours. But you know it's not so simple. Many of the spells we use routinely are classified by the Council as Dark, but few of us are willing to stop using them, they're too useful. And there are those down the south of the county who do far worse, despite the fact they put the Order's backs up all the time. I've advised our lord that he should discipline them, but he's loath to stop their experiments, or be seen to restrict Dark activity. That's Order behaviour."
Jed sighed. "Well, we'll not solve it standing here looking at my hay store, that's for certain. How much of this d'you want then, Commander Snape?"
"I'll take it all. It's not prime, but nothing will be this late in the year. It's acceptable, though. My mares are pretty big now, I need the extra supplies."
"I hope you have a good year. Not so good last year, I heard."
"We had three live foals from seven pregnancies. Lost a couple to early abortion, then a couple more had stillbirths. Nothing I can do about either, sadly, and one of those with a dead foal was a maiden, her first foal. It's hard. I've not bred her this year to give her chance to recover."
"Ignorant folk think breeding's easy; easy money."
"You're right there, Jedediah; ignorant, indeed. Now, I must get back. Send the hay round as soon as you can; I'm not out yet, but getting near."
Gregory Goyle was waiting for Severus back at the stud. Severus hurried when he saw Gregory standing by the gate, worried that the boy's presence there meant something terrible had happened. Thankfully, the news was good.
"General Moody's been hurt, some say he's dead!" Greg crowed. "He was at Carlisle, looking over the site of the skirmish. Seems Rab Lestrange left a booby trap – a rock charmed to explode when General Moody was standing near it, wouldn't explode for no one else. There was blood and guts and bits of body all over the place, according to what I heard."
"Where did you hear this?" Severus was breathless with excitement. If they'd got Moody, maybe there would be a chance for peace. Moody was one of the most outspoken commanders of the Light side, a real hawk opposed to any kind of accommodation between the powers.
"Jem Davis! His brother Tam was with the Lestranges, works for 'em, wears their uniform, he does. You remember Tam, he couldn't get a place in the Dark regiment because you wouldn't let him in, said there was no places available and he wanted to join up so badly he joined the Lestrange household instead. They've got extra servants but everyone knows they're really their own army."
Severus scowled; he was well aware of the problem of some of the more important families running their own private militias, though the Lestranges' version could not be that large as they'd called for help quickly enough. Greg's assessment of it as an 'army' was certainly an exaggeration, but perhaps the gossip about it was why the Order was prowling around there in the first place.
"It's got to be true!" Greg was hopping from foot to foot how, desperate for his master to believe him. "They wouldn't be saying it in the town square if it wasn't!"
"You think not?" Severus knew he was sneering by the way the boy suddenly stepped back, cowering. He forced his face into a more neutral expression. "Jem Davis is not a reliable source, Gregory, but what you say has some interest. I doubt he'd spread invented gossip in Hangleton; Lord Voldemort would not appreciate the instability that would cause. He deals harshly with rumour-mongers who spread outright lies." Severus paused, frowning. "Unless, of course, Jem is a plant and this news is some kind of trap to lure us out. Well, if so it won't work. I'm not leading the full regiment out on the word of a farm boy."
Severus glanced at the paddocks before instructing Greg. "Now you tidy up the hay store and make sure it's ready for Mr Miller's delivery. And no getting distracted by this news, boy. The horses won't be fed by you listening to gossip, will they?"
"Right, master, no, master," Greg gabbled.
You see, friends, Gregory Goyle very well knew that it didn't pay to get on Commander Snape's bad side. Greg had learned that lesson quickly, for him. The hexes Severus threw weren't that painful, but they were bloody inconvenient, and Greg didn't want to revisit the persistent anal itch he'd got hexed with last time, or the particularly liquid diarrhoea of the time before that. He hadn't been able to walk properly or even sit still for weeks after either of them. No, Greg thought, hurrying off to his work, it didn't do to upset Commander Snape.
Now, while Greg went in one direction our hero had hurried off in another, determined to find out the truth of what he'd heard, and so he visited a manor house not far away from his stud farm.
"My lord," Severus said reverentially, bowing low.
"Severus. You've heard the news?"
"I've heard a garbled retelling of gossip from the mouth of one of my stable boys. What's really happening?"
Lord Voldemort stood and began pacing, stroking a long, pale finger over his full lips. Apart from the strangeness of his eyes Lord Voldemort was a handsome man, had I mentioned that? Well, I have now, anyway. But our hero had never been tempted; Severus knew his lord was more dangerous than a nest of scorpions, and he had also learned from observing his neighbours that sex complicates relationships.
Lord Voldemort answered Severus. "Moody is injured, at the very least. Quite badly too, we can be sure of that. His death, however..."
"Could be exaggerated?" Severus asked.
"I think it may be. The old bastard's not so easy to kill, Pluto knows we've tried! But if he's out of action, it's something. It was a blow losing Mulciber, and Yaxley will be useless even if he ever gets out of the Stronghold. No, it was a bad do. Lestrange lacks your subtlety, Severus; I've thought it for a while."
"I'm not sure I could have done anything differently, my lord. It sounds like they walked into an ambush."
"Of course they walked into an ambush!" Voldemort's voice grew higher, the dangerous edge obvious now. "This was precisely the sort of thing they should have suspected and scouted for. Which you would have done, and don't tell me otherwise, Severus. You should have been there."
"I... I am not a full-time soldier; I cannot be, my lord. I do as much as I can, you know that. I always will."
Voldemort turned one of his strange, red-tinted eyes on Severus. "See that you do." He sighed dramatically and turned full-circle on his heel. "I need a drink. Join me." As always when Lord Voldemort spoke, it was not a question.
Severus accepted the whisky and sipped, glad of the fortification. Unlike many who were summoned or brought here, Severus did not fear poison. He carried antidotes on his person at all times, but on top of that he was sure of his worth to Lord Voldemort. He was not in danger here, except from his lord's disappointment. Voldemort wanted him, one hundred percent of him, but Severus would not give him that and worked hard to keep their relationship on his terms.
Now Lord Voldemort knew quite well that to push Severus would result in a very dissatisfied, powerful servant, and that would be dangerous. He had not become leader of the Dark wizards and ruling Dark Sorcerer by sheer power alone, but also by cunning and understanding of how to rule his minions. Lord Voldemort lost few, except to the Order's attacks. And he vowed that each loss would be paid back, threefold. If Moody was dead it was still not enough to compensate for his two men.
"Lead a raid down south, Severus," Voldemort directed. "Turn their attention from Carlisle. They've no grounds to enter the Lestranges' property, but that doesn't always stop them. That maniac Moody was going to do that, I'd wager that with anyone. Now he's reduced to a bloody smear over the landscape – if we're lucky – they'll pause. So strike in Godricsham, or the capital perhaps; somewhere to bring them down south again."
Severus pondered, taking time to sip his drink. After a while he said, "They have a fort on the edge of the Forest of Dean. I could take a small troop there and flatten it; in and out in a trice before they know what's hit them. You remember that vulnerability I pointed out when we went over the plans? If I take it out they'll feel exposed both at the convent and the Dumbledores' estates."
"Yes, yes, that would be brilliant!" the Dark Sorcerer's eyes lit with pleasure. "You see! Subtle, low risk and high impact. There is no one else to command my men but you, Severus. I will try not to send anyone else on missions in future; we lose too much."
Severus was feeling doubtful, not of his own abilities, but he did wonder if Lord Voldemort was underestimating their opponents. He knew the ambush at Carlisle could have happened to him just as well as Lieutenant Mulciber. He was just relieved he'd been away in France at the time, negotiating a swap of mares with DesVoeux, the man he'd originally bought his Arabs from, when Voldemort sent out his troop to take the pressure off Lestrange Court.
So Severus went south, and the raid on Dean Fort was successful. The Order backed off, withdrawing from the north and returning to their more scattered defensive positions. Two guards were killed at Dean Fort, necessarily, for Severus had been unable to use the Suggestion Spell during the operation – the alarm was raised before he got to them. They were good, the Order men there, well trained and suspicious of everything that moved. Severus hadn't expected it, but he'd dealt with it. His magic and shields were too powerful for their spells and he'd killed them as the dangers to his men they truly were. Low risk, Voldemort had said; Severus didn't think so, but it had served its purpose. Of course, when he killed them, he didn't know the guards' names.
And so we move on a couple of days, no more, until...
"Master!" Greg was panting so hard it was a wonder he could speak at all and his face was bright red from running so fast. "Yearling fillies! Dead!"
The colour drained from Severus' face. "What the devil?"
He immediately Appeared in the paddock where the yearling fillies were kept. Two dark bodies lay in the field, the beautiful horses' limbs contorted into positions of agony. Glossy tails lay matted in excrement where they'd died. Severus moaned softly and sank to his knees beside one of the fillies, Silken.
"Poor girl, poor girl," he crooned, touching the graceful head. Her eyes were clouded in death, her sensitive nostrils empty of the breath of life. "Oh, Silken, you were such a fine, beautiful little lass. What has happened to you?"
He extended his awareness around the body; there was no remnant of Dark magic here, no spell residue at all. Whatever had killed them, it hadn't been magic.
Both Greg and Vince were hurrying along the track now. Severus pulled himself together, and stood. Silken's companion, Clover, lay a little way beyond her in a similar state. The horses looked to have been dead a couple of hours, probably before dawn. Greg must have found them as he came to do the morning feed.
"Oh, Master!" Vince moaned. "Poor girls, they was so lovely."
Severus nodded. "I will find out what's happened. One might have died suddenly, that can happen. But two? No, something must have poisoned them, I think." Severus strode over to the fillies' trough and taking an empty vial from his robes filled it with a sample of the water. Then he went back to the body and took a sample of the excrement from near Silken's tail.
"Boys, stand still." Severus withdrew his wand and made a complicated movement over each of them; this was the Eavesdropper Charm, and yes, you've guessed it, Severus had created it. It was a modified surveillance spell, its range much improved over the original.
"Now, take all the other stock into the loose barns; colts in the little one, geldings and mares in the bigger barn. The stallions are stabled at the moment, thank the gods. But check they're all well. Hurry now!"
The two large boys hurried off, Vince heading to the next paddock with the barren and maiden mares, Greg heading for the geldings.
Severus called after them: "If you find a problem, shout. I'll be able to hear you."
Severus went straight to his workroom and analysed both the water and the faeces; both yielded the same substance: ragwort. The plant was deadly to equines and a concentrated extract had been put into their trough. Severus' blood boiled, he gritted his teeth in pure rage. Someone had done this to harm him, no doubt because of his public position. That person had not cared for the agony the young horses would undergo; the beautiful beasts had done them no harm, whatever their grudge was with Severus.
Now Severus knew what had caused the deaths, my friends, he had to find out how it had been done. He already had suspicions about the man who'd visited yesterday, ostensibly to examine the stock for sale. Vince had given the man a tour of the stud and no doubt there had been an opportunity to put the poison in the fillies' trough. Severus could not blame the boy; it was an easy crime to commit. Rather, he blamed himself for not keeping the horses safe, and his mind reminded him of all his previous failures, starting with Renny. Gritting his teeth, Severus began to plan some new alarms and wards around the stud.
A raven landed on his window, cawing loudly in its harsh voice and interrupting Severus' dark thoughts. Severus hurried over and removed the note it carried. With ice in his veins and a heavy heart, Severus stared at the piece of string holding the scrap of parchment tightly rolled; it was not good, he didn't need divination skills to know that. His fingers were steady, however, when he unrolled the note; he had control now. That control would be focussed, and whoever was responsible for this would suffer.
Snape, the note began,
Your filthy Regiment killed my brother at Dean Fort. You'll pay for it; you'll pay and never stop paying. Those horses are just the start. You deserve to be wiped off this earth, you filthy shit-faced bastard, and I'm going to do it.
Long live the Order!!!
Pro Lux Aeternum
Pro Lux Aeternum: for everlasting Light. Severus' face twisted. Some of the servants and followers of the Light were as cruel as any mage from the backwoods of Hangleton. They would think themselves righteous, they'd never cast a Dark spell in their life. But couldn't they see it was just semantics? That magic was magic, and it was the intent that defined it, not the spell itself. Severus had used Dark spells to castrate his horses quickly and painlessly, a huge improvement on non-magical methods, better even than most magical procedures. He'd used the Darkest curse of all to euthanize a dying horse. He'd used that in combat too, but no one called killing 'murder' in wartime. Severus didn't consider himself a cruel man, certainly he would not be cruel where there was no threat. But whoever did this had struck at helpless creatures, beautiful creatures that never did them any harm. The note-writer had dealt out an agonising death to Severus' charges, and in Severus' eyes that made him Darker than the Dark Sorcerer himself.
That was all there was in the letter, good people; just a couple of lines of vitriol and the motto of the Light, but it was enough. Severus knew where to look for the man now, for the idiot had told him who he was. Severus would get straight onto it; he'd travel in disguise and find the poisoner. No one threatened his horses; no one threatened Severus Snape.
Dean Fort was being strengthened, there was building going on there. They were renaming it Fort Dean; it would be a major bastion in that part of the country and would protect the convent and the Order's surrounding interests.
Severus turned up one morning as one of the volunteers. An overseer approached carrying some papers which he kept consulting. He looked over Severus from head to foot.
"You're not very big, too skinny; certainly don't look very strong. Don't reckon you'd be much good on the masonry gang. How good are you at spell-casting?"
Severus shrugged. "About av'rage, I s'pose."
The overseer frowned and looked further down his list. "Used to horses?" At Severus' nod, he added, "Can you drive a cart?"
"Oh, yeah, I can do that."
"Then take those blokes in that cart and get some more limestone. Landry Quarry. The blokes'll tell you the way."
"Don't you want ter see some identification or somethink?"
The overseer looked incredulous. "Yer helpin' rebuild a Light fort. Yer hardly going to be a Dark mage, now are you?"
Severus shrugged and ambled off towards his cart.
It turned out that the 'blokes' in the cart were chatty; full of pride at General Moody's miraculous survival – the fact that he'd lost a leg and half his face wasn't mentioned – after those Dark bastards had sneakily left a booby trap to catch him. They couldn't kill Moody, he was immortal, they said. Severus listened and nodded from time to time, asked leading questions and learned.
The men talked among themselves about those sneaky bastards who'd come down from up north and got into the fort – Merlin knows how, but they're all in league with demons, so they can do those sorts of things. They killed both guards. It was gruesome, they'd mutilated the bodies and there was blood everywhere.
Severus shook his head and muttered 'dreadful'. And it was – a dreadful lie because the men had died cleanly, Avada'd where they stood. No blood, no pain. Just here, then gone.
The guards were named Trooper Kingsworthy and Sergeant Dixon, Severus learned. He nodded and tucked the names in his mind. Yes, they were both local lads from the forest, grew up in the little wizarding enclave there. Terrible shame. Kingsworthy was an only child, too, and his poor old da' has taken a turn for the worst, poor old sod. All the medals in the world wouldn't bring his son back, so he'd yelled at Albus Dumbledore when the great wizard had visited him. Wouldn't be surprised if Seth Kingsworthy didn't die of a broken heart, suffering such a shock at his age.
"Blimey," Severus opined.
His single day of work was to be the only one. It wasn't unusual for men to turn up on their day off, do a day's work to help the cause, then go back to their lives. Nothing unusual at all. The cart driver had seemed ordinary. Boring and easily forgettable, and so he was. Forgotten.
Severus paid Dixon's family a nocturnal visit. He cast containment and silencing spells. Robert Dixon learned not to poison horses; unfortunately he didn't live long enough to exercise his new awareness of the dignity of nature. Because this time, dear listeners, there was blood.
Now, many miles away from these happenings
paced the room, his pitted and scarred face was twisted in frustrated rage and his rough wooden leg struck the floorboards as sharply as his words assaulted his listeners.
"This latest disaster is just one too many! As if having them infiltrate Dean Fort wasn't a bad enough fuck-up, now we've lost a fort altogether! How the hell did they discover the passwords to Ness Point? They knew exactly how many guards would be there; they must have known the layout of the passages and the position of the cells too. And the bastards left it flattened to the ground! Merlin knows how many there were, must have been a lot to reduce it to a ruin. Left us with nothing. Took a couple of suspects and that bloody Yaxley away with 'em, not that he'd do them any good now." He snorted and cleared his throat, turning to address Dumbledore directly. "The whole bloody mess reeks of treason, Albus, it was an inside job!"
"By whom, Alastor?" Albus Dumbledore asked. The Head of the Order of the Phoenix tried to make his general stop and think before he threw accusations around, but he had little hope of it. Moody was a good general precisely because he thought and reacted quickly, on his feet. If he sometimes regretted his actions later, well, that was sometimes the way of a soldier.
"Not the guards..." Moody mused, thinking aloud. "They were tested with truth serum and were clean. They're on permanent duty up there and were in touch with no one from outside the Order. So, did any of you see anything suspicious, anyone acting oddly?"
The members of the Order – a dozen were present for this meeting – were all just as obviously mystified as Moody. Heads were shaken, shoulders shrugged. Moody growled in response and stomped up and down the carpet in front of the fireplace, the sound of his wooden leg providing an audible demonstration of his mood.
"It was Snape, I know it," Moody groused. "Whenever he's involved it's quick and clean and there's no trace left behind. I don't know how he does it – and I don't want to know! Some filthy dark spell, no doubt. The whole thing is an unmitigated disaster, Albus! They sprung those two prisoners we'd captured at Godricsham where they were hanging about trying to undermine the Village Council meeting. Then later in the pub they were recruiting for Hangleton, bold as brass, when we caught 'em red-handed. His followers, no doubt about it. So we stuck 'em in Ness Point fort, far away from help while we interrogated them. They knew quite a bit about Lord Voldemort's setup, and promised to tell more once we'd softened 'em up a bit."
"Please, Alastor," the plaintive voice of Arthur's wife, Molly, interrupted the general's musings. "I don't think we want to hear about that. It's... unpleasant."
"You're not that naive, Molly," Moody growled. "War is unpleasant; things have to be done that we'd never normally do."
"You seem to forget that we are not yet in a state of open warfare, Alastor," Albus reminded him, his voice reproachful. "I have told you before that we should only use those methods which are appropriate in times of disturbance, not war. You should interrogate prisoners as the Constable would."
Moody's eyebrow shot up his forehead; the eye was missing on the left side, replaced by a glass eye that didn't move quite like the remaining one. It swivelling about quite drunkenly; the effect was eerie. There was no eyebrow on the left side either, nor that half of his nose. The cheek seemed stretched, as if made of reused skin from somewhere else, perhaps salvaged from the devastation after the booby trap went off. "Constables? Do you think they would be kind to the prisoners, take them tea and toast and ask for a little chat? We do nothing they wouldn't, let me assure you of that."
"I think we should be careful. We run the risk of being Dark in everything but name if we behave in the same way they would." The new speaker was one of the teachers up at the Seminary. Professor Remus Lupin was one of Severus' old antagonists, but he had grown into a fair-minded, upright man who took his responsibilities as a teacher very seriously. He was also a werewolf, which was known to few but the leaders of the Order. As such, he was well acquainted with the Darkness, and his opinion on such matters held real weight.
Now on the subject of werewolves, my friends – oh, do not shiver so, Jeremiah! Werewolves play only a passing role in this tale. Your village is well warded against them and you all know better than to wander abroad on the night of the full moon. No, what I was going to say was that Severus himself had come across this very werewolf years earlier, but he still had no idea that it was Remus Lupin who'd nearly killed him in that underground lair. Severus thought Remus had been involved in the capture of a feral werewolf from the magical forest, he would never have considered that Remus, by far the quietest of James Potter's friends, was in fact a Dark creature. Now, to go back to the meeting, for Professor Lupin had just spoken up, and spoken wisely...
"You are quite right, Remus," Dumbledore agreed warmly. "Let's all bear that in mind, shall we?"
Moody was now discomfited, and he changed tack a little. "There's only one way they could have acquired all that knowledge of Ness Point." He looked straight at Arthur Weasley, who so far had been sitting quietly to one side.
The homely Arthur, not needing a crystal ball to divine Moody's implication, bristled. His face turned as red as his hair. "Now see here, there's no traitor in my home, Moody!"
"No? Then how did they know all that? Only you have all those details stored in your place."
"I keep them safe under lock and key, Alastor! No one has broken in – the records are all still there, safe and sound. I check them last thing at night and first thing every morning."
"And just how safe is that?" Moody resumed his stomping, up and down the fireside carpet. The others watched him, feeling helpless to deny his words. "Snape must have used some spell he's used before, because yet again no one remembers a thing, which is unbelievable."
"In that case how do you propose we guard against him?" Lupin asked, appalled. "If he can just walk through our wards, and leave no trace..."
"We move the records to the Convent or the Monastery," Moody declared. It was something he'd suggested before but had always been refused; the religious part of the Order wanted to remain separate from the military wing. "Look, he can't get in there; the wards are too full of Light magic, pure anti-Darkness wards. No Dark wizard has ever penetrated the religious houses and none ever will. And it's not as if those records are just military, they concern the whole Order."
"They've always refused before now; they say the religious foundations are not to be used for warfare, even in defence," Arthur reminded him. "They're afraid of losing their credibility; that's how I ended up with the files." He glared back at Moody. He hadn't asked to keep the records; the job had been handed to him because he lived in an isolated farmhouse with a large family. There was always someone around to keep an eye on things and raise the alarm.
"This isn't anything to do with warfare," Moody insisted, coming to a halt in front of his fellows. "It's just safe record keeping. They can't object to that. We're all servants of the Order of the Phoenix, aren't we?"
A soft cough caused every head to turn to a chair set off to one side. Albus Dumbledore stood up with an impressive swirl of multi-coloured robes. "I will take the records to the convent; Mother McGonagall will accept them from me. There is no taint of suspicion on your family, Arthur. If the records were compromised it was no doubt by Snape. He is the master of subtlety as much as outright attack. It was an evil day for the Order when he went to Hangleton – he was quite brilliant at the Seminary." Albus sounded truly regretful at losing such a good student.
Lupin, as Snape's contemporary, knew that well and nodded at Albus' words. Moody, however, was far from happy with them.
"You sound as if you admire him, Albus," he said in a disgusted tone.
"Hm?" Albus' voice remained calm and gentle. "Oh, well I do, Alastor. He is still brilliant, quite obviously he has developed his skills beyond what I knew him capable of. It is a terrible shame that those abilities are in the service of the other side. I never thought of Severus as truly Dark."
"He's Dark," Moody growled. "As Dark as they come."
Albus merely shook his head, but Molly spoke up. "Perhaps we can recover him, encourage him to come back to the Light? Think how useful his skills would be."
Albus shook his head sadly. "Perhaps, though I do not know how, Molly. The incident that drove him to Hangleton, well... let's just say he won't have forgotten it. And what do we have to offer him? Since he started his horse breeding he has become a well known character throughout the land. To many folk he hardly seems sinister these days, and that too is part of his power."
"I find that hard to believe, Albus. He looks every inch the Dark sorcerer."
"As I look every inch a Light mage, Alastor? Yes, you are right. But looks can be misleading and enough folk accept Snape's appearance as just that, misleading and against his true nature. He and his workers are welcomed throughout the markets of Britannia, and most of our people have business there."
The general could not stomach this thought. He shook his head. "If we could take him out..."
"Short of a full-out assault on Hangleton I doubt we'll get the chance," Remus said.
"No," Moody admitted, "But at one of those markets... perhaps it could be done."
"And just what kind of message would that send to the people?" Albus sounded horrified, and enough of the others looked appalled at the proposal to make Moody abandon the idea. "Marketplaces are off-limits. Voldemort's men have never attacked there. If we set such a precedent we would descend into outright warfare again, and then our weakness as a nation would make us vulnerable to foreign powers. Have you forgotten the last war? It is not that long ago that our nation was poised on the brink of destruction. A war would result in many civilian casualties, both magical and otherwise. No. We will not stoop so low, nor be responsible for such a disaster. I have told you before, Alastor, if war begins it will be the Dark mages who start it. How can we claim to be the side of Light if we behave in such a fashion? We oppose the Dark, but that is all. Now, as the fate of the records is decided, we will turn to other matters."
Moody was still frowning as the topic turned to the need for better charmed cloaks for camouflage and protection against hexes, but it was apparent that the majority agreed with their leader.
And it was truly fortunate for the side of Light, my friends, and for all of Britannia for that matter – that they were led by a wizard who had lived long and learned wisdom; a man who was a politician rather than a soldier.
And once again our scene changes, the strands of the story weaving into different patterns; some characters step back while others come forward. But all the time I am taking you on through time, closer to the day when they all come together into the final design.
And so, my dear listeners, we return to
By now Harry was fifteen years old, and for the first time he watched with interest a ceremony which was held at the end of every school year. The Consenting Ceremony was one the sixteen-year-olds went through to mark their newly gained right to consent to sex.
Sex was not a topic taught at the Seminary, nor was it openly mentioned. Rather, its existence and importance to magical folk were both implied. Everyone knew that sex magic was more likely to be used in Dark rituals than Light ones, so that was another reason to steer clear of mentioning the subject. But as everyone on the planet knows, sex is a necessary part of life and so it could not be ignored altogether, even at the Seminary for Magical Education at that time.
This ceremony was the one that acknowledged the students' transition into adulthood, at least as far as their responsibility for their bodies was concerned. Harry had sat through it in previous years, virtually dozing in the seats closer to the back of the hall where you couldn't see anything anyway, as he'd waited for the start of the end of year feast that followed the ceremony. The first years sat right at the back, for this had nothing to do with them. The second years sat in front of them and so on until the eldest students had the best view at the front. Those who were to be acknowledged, having reached sixteen during the year, sat on benches at the front of the hall, from where they would go up to the headmaster, that great sage Albus Dumbledore, who would hand them a garland of dark foliage, red roses and interlaced strawberries symbolic of their newly mature and fertile state. The boys and girls both popped them on their heads and wore them proudly for the rest of the day.
Many of this year's celebrants would be leaving the Seminary, either to move on to apprenticeships or into their family craft or business. The academically inclined would be back in the autumn to start their Second Level courses, but the ceremony had a bittersweet edge as many would be saying goodbye and scattering to the four corners of Britannia.
Harry wasn't sure what his own choice would be when next summer arrived. Should he go back to Godricsham to work with his mother? She greatly desired that he work for the Order as his father had done. Or should he take an apprenticeship if one was offered? Harry had imagined being offered a position by a master or mistress, someone highly skilled in some magical discipline – runes, divination or potion-making, perhaps. Should he stay for further tuition in the subjects he excelled at, or should he head off into the world to seek his own fortune and find his own version of the future? Everything felt up in the air, undecided. It was both liberating and oddly uncomfortable at the same time.
Harry watched as one by one the students went to accept their garlands from Dumbledore. Laughing together afterwards they were surrounded by a strange tension that Harry had quite failed to notice when he was younger. He now realised it was sexual tension, and could see that it underpinned many of the interactions of the older students.
The Consenting Ceremony had seemed irrelevant to Harry in previous years, but now he realised how much it symbolised and that it would be his turn next year. You see, my friends, in the past year Harry had begun to be fascinated by sex; by the insistent demands of his body. He knew he could only ease his sexual tension by masturbating and it was hard to find privacy to do so.
Touching a witch or wizard who hadn't been 'garlanded' was a crime punished by imprisonment in the Stronghold, that grim fortress that stood on a remote island in the North British Sea, the mere mention of which was sufficient to make anyone think twice. Yet Harry had heard whispers of men who assaulted young girls, or sometimes even boys, men who had ended up in the Stronghold, or fled abroad. And until recently that, too, had seemed an irrelevance to Harry, to his carefully protected life within the convent and the Seminary.
Lately though, Harry's traitorous mind had begun to imagine being touched and touching a partner in return. Harry had no idea, beyond fondling his own genitals, of just what sex might mean and girls' bodies seemed as mysterious as the moon. His thoughts as he sat in the hall made Harry's body react and he felt the hot heaviness in his groin that meant he'd have to do something to ease it soon, or risk being the butt of his classmates' jokes. So after the ceremony ended – the procession of sixteen-year-olds seemed endless, there seemed far more of them than the Seminary had enrolled – Harry ducked into the boys' toilets and took refuge in a stall. That hot urgency had come upon him again, and as he leaned against the side of the stall and took out his hot, heavy cock and began to stroke himself, he tried to imagine what having sex might be like. It wouldn't take long to do this; Harry was fifteen and he'd been half-hard for most of the ceremony; a few strong strokes and it would be over. As the urgency poised at the brink of discomfort, and his hand flew to turn need into pleasure, he imagined how nice it would feel to kiss someone, and to have them touching him just like... this.
Harry's semen shot forth and so did a strangled cry, because try as he might Harry never managed to stifle that noise completely. When the moment of release came, his self-control always went with it.
He was lucky, as I told you before, good people; this time because it was a Saturday; Malfoy and his gang weren't hanging around. After the ceremony Harry had seen a group of them heading off into Swinfield to hang around on street corners and try to impress the locals.
Ah, I see by your face that still happens! So you are not impressed by the students from the castle? They are not so bad, surely... But no, you are right, I am getting distracted and you wish to listen to more about our young hero, Harry Potter, who is growing up quite nicely, as you can tell. So...
Harry snorted as he cleaned up his mess with a wave of his wand, envying anyone who had privacy to do this; the Seminary was just too open for comfort. Harry left the stall and headed off for a walk, going in the opposite direction to the village.
Harry thought that now his own tension had been relieved he would be able to spend time without thinking about his fantasy woman. Oh, but he was wrong, because sex was what his mind really wanted to dwell on. And so after a while he couldn't keep walking, he had to stop and lean against a tree; he dropped his trousers, imagining himself in the hands of someone who was a capable tutor in the art of sex. Harry had never dared to do this outside in the countryside before; anyone might be watching. The thought made it all more intense, and Harry blushed as he imagined prying eyes all around him, peering from every bush and behind every tree, watching the dirty thing he was doing as he stood here imagining his fantasy woman on her knees before him.
Harry had never had a proper girlfriend, so his fantasy partner appeared undefined and faceless. Above all she was capable though, and Harry longed for her as he brought himself to a satisfying, if lonely, second climax. He realised he had little idea about sex and would have liked a partner who could teach him; a young widow perhaps. His lack of experience was woeful – he'd taken a girl to the Midwinter party last year and kissed her in the hope of having something to boast about, just like the other boys in their dormitory did. But nothing much had happened. Cho had been nice, all sweet and blushing as he'd kissed her, but it hadn't seemed very exciting and he'd had no idea how to make it better. He had a hell of a long way to go before he'd find a wife, that was for sure. Unless his mum already had one lined up for him, which wouldn't surprise him either. Harry shook his head regretfully; he was sure he was going to disappoint her in so many ways, because in so many ways he didn't want to follow the plan she'd set out for him.
Harry slumped against the tree trunk and looked at the surrounding greenery of the woodland that bounded the Seminary. His mum had never spoken about sex as such, but she'd always talked as if it was pre-ordained that Harry would marry and have a family, just as she and his father had done; as if it was all so easy and natural. And maybe for them it had been, but so far it didn't look like being that way for Harry.
"Foolish," he muttered. "It's all just wrong, like the rest of you; it's like Malfoy always says: 'you're not right in the head'. Going around dreaming of some woman coming along and sweeping you off your feet! Life's not that easy."
And so, as our evening draws towards its end, my friends, we have seen how our heroes have fared in the years following the vow that is at the heart of this story. Severus has a settled life in Hangleton, as honourable and settled as such a life can be during a period of ideological strife. He has no personal life though, no longed-for loving partner, and so he is lonely.
Harry is feeling rather restless; he has come to the end of his schooling, a period in his life he has found difficult enough, to be sure. He's unsure what he wants to do now, but he's looking forward to leaving the constraints of convent life and his mother's plans behind him. Finally he will have some choice in his life, be able to kick his heels a little. It's something all young men like to do, or so I seem to remember... But if only Harry can do it without hurting his mum!
Now you and I know that it's not unusual for a young person's choices to upset their parents, for them to want something completely outside their parents' plans for their lives. Harry doesn't realise he's being quite normal in wanting to spread his wings like that. He still thinks he's different, or even that he has some mental abnormality, thanks to dear Draco's efforts to make him feel exactly like that. So Harry broods in his mother's rooms, planning just how to tell her he's going to leave.
And so it is at this point,
after the vow and late in the afternoon, when Severus Snape Appeared inside a suite of rooms in the Convent of Founder Helga near the village of Godricsham, the convent of the Order of the Phoenix. The wash of the wards passing over him as he penetrated them felt like fire running over his skin and rushing through his veins; the powerful Light magic they were woven from was warped to react with and reject the Dark magic that infused Snape's being.
If you can imagine it, friends, it felt something like being roasted alive, but Severus gritted his teeth and suffered it, for today was the day he had been waiting seventeen years for, and he would stand whatever it took in order to take possession of what was now his.
Lily was sitting at her desk in her sitting room, surrounded by photographs which she'd been sorting. She looked up, alerted by the sound of displaced reality as Severus appeared within a few feet of her. It was a feat of pinpoint magic to arrive like this, to zoom in on her location after penetrating such wards. Few could have achieved it, then or now, but Lily did not have the inclination to admire Severus' skill at that moment. Besides, she was already well acquainted with it, and it had lost its appeal. And so, my friends, Lily paled at the sight of him, knowing what his appearance here in her rooms, in her convent, in her sanctuary that all the time had been no such thing, must mean.
Lily, all the sisters, and the Order Mother as well, believed that Dark mages could not penetrate the convent's wards, nor angry, dangerous men reach the women within. But our Severus had never been ordinary, he'd never followed the rules, and so he had to be the first to do so. He was no classic Dark mage though, any more than he was of the Light. No, dear friends, Severus was unique. Now Lily recognised it, and she feared it, and with a rush of bright memory she recalled her very real fear of him on that same day seventeen years ago. The day when he'd summoned the elemental gods to his aid.
As Lily looked at him, she decided that Severus Snape now looked even darker and dourer than ever. "No!" she gasped, and the denial came instantly to her lips, softly spoken and desperate.
What Lily didn't know was that Severus was concentrating on standing upright before her despite the roiling pain that was boiling through his veins and heating his very bones. So determined was he to keep control of this encounter that he managed to look at her calmly and even raise a nonchalant eyebrow, just as if he was in his own sitting room in the county of Hangleton. "You have no choice, my Lily, you know that," he said quietly.
Lily did know it, she knew it very well, but still she shook her head, denying it. "No, please... Ah, Severus, I only had one child."
"And am I to be short-changed because of it? I think not. I have kept my side of the bargain, Lily. I left you alone for seventeen years while you raised your child to be my consort, my companion in life. It is not my fault your husband was an over-confident fool who threw away the life I restored to him. He put himself in harm's way like the idiot he truly was. He wasted his life and the opportunity to have other children. He already had you, and a child, how stupid to risk all that on a petty dispute he should have left to his men! No, I will not be penalised for James Potter's idiocy."
"He was an honourable man. Whoever you are, you obviously don't understand honour."
Severus whirled, turning to look at the young man who had just entered the room and spoken from behind him.
"And you must be..."
"Harry Potter."
The young man was not tall, he was also slender but it was not an unhealthy thinness; he looked strong enough, wiry like Severus himself. He was nothing like Severus' helpers, the boys Vince and Greg. Harry was fine, like a young squire. Severus felt his body react then underneath the pain, a prickling of promised desire that startled him. He was pleased that Harry was as beautiful as he had always known he would be, and happy that it aroused him. Harry had dark hair quite unlike his mother's, wayward in the way it grew with a tuft sticking up at the back. His jaw was set and his eyes, trained fixedly on Severus, were a green as bright and special as his mother's. Severus' pain was almost forgotten as he looked for the first time at his future companion.
Lily spoke again, disturbing the moment as the two men stared at each other, taking each other's measure. Her soft voice sounded so different from her son's angry tenor. "I had a son, as you can see, Severus. He is my only child. So there is no point you taking him; the contract is forfeit. You wanted a wife."
"What foolishness is this now?" Severus asked, scowling as he turned back to her. "It is your child who is forfeit," he cried, and pointed at Harry with a shaking finger, "as we agreed on that day seventeen years ago. The child that lay within your belly, the child of your promise witnessed by the very elements of this world is standing over there. If the contract is not honoured, your world will end and you will lose everything. I agree his sex is unfortunate, but it cannot erase a magical contract."
"What is he talking about, Mum?"
Harry's voice betrayed uncertainty for the first time. Until now he had been sure they could send this man on his way; that no interloper could ever take him from his mother.
Severus looked at his red-haired love, and the sight of her was bittersweet. Accepting she would never be his had been the cruellest process he had ever lived through. Her dark-haired son was so different, but he was still Lily's child, and so he was now Severus'.
"You truly have not told him, Lily? That was foolish!" Turning back to Harry, he continued, "We had a pact, your mother and I, a magical contract. I fulfilled my part by saving your father's life; now your mother needs to fulfil hers. I gave her seventeen years from that day, ample time for her to raise you, to have your childhood together. I could have taken you as a babe, but I loved her and left you with her. She was to raise you to be my consort, but I see she has not done so. Her failure to comply fully with the contract makes it harder on you; you are not prepared but still you must fulfil it. You must come with me; your path lies this way now." Severus stretched out his arm, offering his hand.
Harry looked at the proffered hand, knowing somehow that if he took it he would be making a decision, changing his life forever. He hadn't been sure where life would take him, but he certainly hadn't expected this – being taken away by a tall, dark, hook-nosed man who exuded power. "Where? I cannot go with you and leave my mother. She needs me."
"She may come with us if she wishes. If she leaves the Order of the Phoenix she can live with us. My home has always been open to her."
"This is my home, Severus, and the Order is my life." Lily spoke with pride, her voice clear and firm. She was proud of the Order and the work they did here; she was proud of her husband's choices, his honour and his reputation. She would not admit she had chosen badly. She did not think she had.
"This is our home," she insisted finally. Her denial had gained an edge; Lily wondered if she could summon some of the senior witches and prevent this, even now.
"Not so," Severus insisted, his voice growing harder. "He is no longer a child and his home is with me from now on. The contract is clear, I have a copy here in my robes should anyone question it, but none can deny a contract bound by the elemental gods. Is this place more important to you than your son?"
"Nothing is more important than Harry," Lily insisted, touching her son's hand but not quite taking it; despite her last-ditch efforts she knew in her heart she no longer had the right of possession. "But you live in Hangleton, and I will not set foot there."
Severus' hand had remained outstretched to Harry, who had not moved. The scene was like a tableau, the final moment would only occur when that hand was taken, the contract acknowledged and fulfilled.
Harry looked at his mother. "He lives in Hangleton... Then he is truly a Dark mage?"
Lily opened her mouth to reply, but Severus got there first. "I am a student of the Darkness, if you wish to use such simplistic descriptions." At Harry's frown, he added, "But also of the Light."
Severus had spoken more quietly, recognising Lily's acceptance of the end in her body language. Soon he would be away, this boiling pain would end, and Harry would be his. He was sweating from the effort of standing upright, stoic and not writhing on the ground under the onslaught of pain. The mages who set these wards had made the interaction with any Dark magic manifest as pain. It was a cruel way to identify Darkness. "And why do you fear it so?" he grated at Harry.
"Do you follow Lord Voldemort?"
Horror was plain in the boy's voice. Severus understood the indoctrination that had put it there, remembering his own ostracism as a student who studied the hidden magics, those that were frowned upon by the Light. "Lord Voldemort is the Lord of Hangleton, it is true, but I am still my own man. I have always been and always will be. I am Commander of the Dark Regiment and have both position and honour in the county of Hangleton. Lord Voldemort demands our loyalty and is happy enough if we remain faithful to him.
"I have a stud there; I breed the best riding and racing horses in Britannia; there will be plenty for you to learn and plenty to do, Harry. I will teach you whatever you desire to learn, for I am a scholar as well as a soldier and many other things besides."
Severus could see the young man was listening intently; he could detect a spark of real interest in Harry's green eyes, despite the shocking circumstances of what was happening to a young man who'd had no idea of this debt. If Lily had been honest with her son Harry would not be finding this so difficult; it had been no kindness not telling him his fate. So Severus lingered, enduring the pain in order to coax the young man to leave without the necessity for violence or force.
"Despite my work it has been a lonely life for me," he continued. "I have never shared my home with another, knowing that one day you would be at my side; it was not fitting for another to occupy that place before you." Severus managed a slight smile, hoping to encourage Harry, to show him he would have an honoured place in Hangleton. "I have always borne my solitude in the knowledge that when the time came I would have the companion my heart desires. It could not be your mother, for she joined our enemies and passed beyond me, but at least I had the promise of her child."
"If you loved my mother, why didn't you come and find us after my father's death? Maybe she would have gone with you willingly then." Harry sounded confused and he looked questioningly at Lily, but she remained silent. The notion that the man wanted some kind of romantic companion made no sense at all to him, unless the mage wanted his mum to go as well as Harry.
"When she joined the Order she was kept from me." Severus began explaining where Harry's mother obviously would not. He moved away from them now, pacing the room as he talked, arms and hands gesturing elegantly. His movements, which were distracting him a little from the pain, were impressive, as if he was in tune with the very air around him and the ground beneath his feet. Lily and Harry watched him carefully as he spoke.
"You will have to ask her why she did that. For my part I am convinced she did it to spite me, to thwart the dearest wish of my heart because I held this contract over her. She and your father joined the Order before his death, and I am sure it was for that reason as much as any other. Lily has been part of them ever since; she raised you in their junior school, indoctrinated you with their beliefs about Light and Darkness. But I could have taught you all you needed to know and more, far more than those fools did. I have learned that much magic is suppressed wrongly, just as I'd suspected while I was a student at the Seminary, and found proof of when I studied the ancient records. I will teach you if you wish to learn.
"So, instead of me, the student of all magic, the student of the Dark just as much as the Light, Lily chose the one-sided certainty and rigid structure that the Order represents. It is true that my life in Hangleton and her vocation cannot mix, not as things stand at the moment."
"I chose it because it was right," Lily said looking at Severus sadly, but before they could become mired in an argument about right and wrong, Harry interrupted.
"So..." he spoke carefully, his thoughts were still spinning. "If I joined the Order of the Phoenix you could not take me from here."
Severus turned, disappointed. He sneered at the boy who had answered just as his father might have done. Severus' face twisted unpleasantly, revealing his feelings. "You could, but you are too young. At sixteen you are not of age or counted an adult until your next birthday, so you're not able to make such decisions. And thus they will not accept your service."
"Then I am too young to go with you!" Harry exclaimed triumphantly.
Severus' face showed the satisfaction his answer would give him even before he spoke. "Not so, Mr Potter. At sixteen you can be married, and you can have sex. Oh yes, you can do many, many things."
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine just as much at the tone of the tall, ugly wizard's voice – oh yes, if you saw him you would think Severus ugly, I am quite sure of it – as at his actual words. Somehow Harry realised that the 'many things' Severus had spoken of were things that Harry could never have imagined in his sixteen years of life. Severus' leer made the words sound dirty, and by now Harry realised the tall wizard was talking about the kinds of things that two men could do together, things he'd heard whispered about only once or twice, things he'd hardly been aware of. Severus was speaking just as if it was acceptable to speak of such things here in the convent. Harry knew it was difficult, if not impossible, to speak like that, for the holy atmosphere regulated its inmates' behaviour through a system of wards and hexes. The convent was stuffed full of those spells. This place was holy ground and the more earthy bodily needs were rarely acknowledged; Harry knew you could not speak out of place because you would be punished with a hex. Yet the intruder seemed unaffected and spoke as he pleased. This wizard was really powerful. Harry realised he should have expected that from the man who had announced himself as the Commander of the Dark Regiment.
Snape, this Severus' name was Snape then. Harry remembered Malfoy mentioning the name the day he caught Harry in the Trapdoor Spell, a spell which had been created by this man. Snape had told them he'd studied hidden things, things others did not approve of. He was taking Harry to Hangleton to be his consort and it sounded like he wanted him to be something like a wife. That all added up to something Harry had never considered, though Severus spoke of it as if it was quite normal, and maybe in Hangleton it was. That was an intriguing thought, but scary.
Snape was still speaking. "But you cannot join the Order at sixteen. That is their foolishness, the foolishness of the current law; I am not complaining, for it prevents you evading your duty as your mother has done."
Lily spluttered, but before she could interrupt, Harry was speaking again, his temper rising. You see, he was still loath to let any possible loophole slip away despite the rather intriguing turn of events.
"I can get married, yeah, but it's with parental consent only, Mr Snape. And even if I could marry a man, my mum would never give you that, would you?" He turned again to his mother, his face expectant.
Lily put her hand on Harry's arm in a supportive gesture, but her next words cut any support from beneath him even as she did it. "Two wizards can bond together, Harry, and Severus already has my consent, darling. The contract for your father's life gave it to him."
Severus, aware of the moment of victory, strode across the room and gripped Harry's arm, pulling him away from his mother.
Lily looked into Severus' eyes, her gaze halting him for a moment. "Severus, Harry will never love you this way. Only freedom, the freedom to choose can bring true love, like the love I had for James. You're forcing Harry with this contract; it's a kind of legal rape. Haven't you learned yet that love is not a possession? It is a blessing one person grants another. Harry will do his duty, but he will never love you."
"Had you fulfilled your part of the bargain and raised him for me, then he would," Severus snarled. And I must tell you that he was really angry with her by now; the pain he was suffering did not improve his patience. "But it is no matter, it must be done." Severus broke eye contact with Lily and turned away, truly leaving her for the last time.
"Come," he said to Harry, "I will take you to my home." He paused with his dark eyes never moving from Harry's. "And you, Lily," he asked softly without looking back at her, "will you come with us?"
Severus knew the answer she would give, but he was determined to give her a choice, to make her say it in front of Harry so Harry could see it was her choice, with no coercion from him.
Lily's shoulders shook; tears began to slide down her cheeks at the last. Her hand had dropped from Harry's arm when Severus grasped him, and she made no effort to replace it or reclaim her son. Severus now held Harry, his grip denoting his possession. "I cannot come," she said sadly, "My vows bind me; I have work here, and it is worthwhile work. It is my life, all I have known for fifteen years. I would not have the strength to start again if I broke such holy vows. And in Hangleton..." Lily shuddered.
"Wait!" Harry yelled, struggling in Severus' grip, but it was strong and Severus would not release him. "Will I never see my mother again?"
"You may visit her, if I find I can trust you to return to me."
Harry's green eyes seemed to flicker, their colour to intensify as his mood changed from desperation to fierce indignation. "I am not an oath-breaker! If there's a contract, and my mother says there is, then I will fulfil it. I am a Griffin, and it is our way to be honourable in all things." At that he took Severus' hand in his, marking his acceptance of the task of keeping their side of the contract.
Severus bristled at Harry's words, hating the mention of the clans and the immediate denigration of his own that was implied by it. "Of course you will; you're just like your father," he sneered even as Harry grasped his hand.
And with that, Severus gathered his power and they disappeared, leaving Lily to stare at the shimmering air where her son had been standing moments before.
It was seventeen years to the day from the moment when she had watched a vortex of power and listened to the words that would take her child from her. For Lily, the evil day had finally come, and she was truly alone.
Seventeen years, and it felt like little more than a dream.
And with that, my dears, I must bid you all good night, for sweet dreams await me, at least I hope so.
What? You think me unfair to leave at such a juncture? Not so, not so! The rest of the story still has a way to go, and it is truly the part you have been waiting for, the part that concerns our hero's happiness. One day is the smallest time to wait, just one day and you will hear it all. If you are impatient, then consider how patient our Severus has had to be to wait seventeen years for his happiness.
And what price happiness for Severus now? He has taken Lily's child, but the child was not raised to love him as he'd hoped. And how can young Harry, who had been looking forward, finally, to having some control over his life, enjoy this new turn it has taken?
I will tell you the answer to these questions and many more when we return tomorrow night. For yes, this chair is truly comfortable and its seat has become quite moulded to my shape. I am already looking forward to finishing my story with my backside cushioned in such luxury! But first I need sleep, as I've no doubt all you hard-working people do.
So let us say good night, my friends, until we meet here again.
And so here we are again, good people of Swinfield, and I see you are all present and correct and ready for the final part of my story. As there are so many of you! I am gratified that my tale is being well received, for you would not bother to leave your warm firesides on such a windy, stormy night to listen to the ramblings of an old man if it were not a tale of the choicest quality, now would you?
Very well, very well, I will stop teasing you and get on with it. I can see many of you at the front are beginning to mutter and fidget; and soon those at the back will start throwing rotten vegetables at me, and I cannot have that – the stains often prove resistant to cleaning charms. Not to mention that I will end up being banned from The Full Net, and that would be a crying shame for the ale here in Swinfield is second to none.
And so...
took a deep breath as he appeared in a farmyard in a very different part of the country, noticing the buildings set amid gentle hillsides and the patchwork meadows that were horses' paddocks. Here it was threatening rain, with alternate patches of blue and grey sky promising showers and sunlight in roughly equal proportions. It's like life, he thought again, remembering his own thoughts about how bad mixes with good, how, he now realised, it was only that mixture of opposites in so many things which made life rich. He was still rather lost in his dazed thoughts when a small, squeaky voice piped up from about waist-level.
"Welcome home, masters, welcome home. I have afternoon tea ready for you in the kitchen."
Harry looked down at the elf – for he recognised the little female as one right away. He considered elves, and his mind replayed what he knew. He didn't remember the very first elf he'd met, the Potter's household elf Suzy, who had looked after him while he was very small. His mum had told him Suzy had found a new job living with another wizarding family after Lily and Harry had moved into the convent in Godricsham. Harry had always got along with the elves at the Seminary, mostly due to Hagrid's influence for it was the huge man who had introduced him to the tiny elves. This had amazed Harry at the time; the contrast between them was so striking: one huge, almost a giant, and the elves small, but all of them accepting of other people, all hard-working and happy there at Swineswood Castle.
At that first encounter Harry had looked down at the small creature standing in front of Hagrid, at the large, bright green eyes and the pearly white teeth when the little man smiled. Yes, the elf was probably male, Harry considered, because he was dressed in trousers and a tunic cinched with a length of soft leather. "You're very small!" Harry had exclaimed in surprise.
"I is not," the elf had replied, standing as tall as he could and thrusting back his shoulders to emphasise his chest. Harry's remark had obviously stung. "I is tall for an elf. You should see my friend Winky – she is tiny, Harry Potter, sir."
"Oh, sorry." Harry had gulped, looking at Hagrid for help, but Hagrid was no help at all – he was chuckling and didn't join in with the conversation. "Er, what's your name?"
"Dobby," the male elf had replied, "and I is very pleased to meet you, Harry Potter. Hagrid is telling me a lot about you."
Harry eventually got used to Dobby's strange way of speaking and his diminutive stature, and when he met other elves he found Dobby's boast wasn't idle. Most of them proved to be smaller than Dobby, whose head reached as high as Harry's chest. Harry, who stood about as high in relation to Hagrid, soon got used to their odd company at weekends, the sizes of those in Hagrid's cabin varied like those nesting dolls you can buy at Swinfield market.
Well now, Harry remembered those visits with Hagrid and the elves fondly; he'd always been happy in their company. So now he smiled at Snape's elf, genuinely pleased to meet her. "What is your name?"
"My name is Sally, young master."
"Please call me Harry, Sally."
Sally's pert, pointy ear-tips drooped. "It is not right for an elf to call a master by name, master."
You see, friends, elves were then, as they are to this day, very protective of their position within a household. Part of their dignity is their willingness to serve and they do not take kindly to having that taken from them.
"You may call him Master Harry, Sally," Severus said, putting his elf out of her misery.
He'd watched this interaction with interest because it was very unusual for a young person to address an elf. While at the Seminary, and since, Severus had found most students were disinterested in who washed their laundry or prepared their food, just as long as it was done it was fine by them. Servants were not there to be conversed with, whether they were human or elf. Harry was obviously different, and Severus smiled a little at that. Of course he was different – his Harry was special; Severus had known he would be.
Severus had not released Harry's hand from when they had Appeared, and now he tugged on it, leading the boy to his new home.
Harry initially resisted when he felt Severus' urging, but the elf was trotting off ahead and he realised they were going indoors for the promised afternoon tea in the kitchen. As if to remind him it was indeed teatime, his stomach rumbled. Harry gave in to it and to Severus, and he walked to the house without further hesitation. After all, he couldn't stand outside all night, could he? Even if it hadn't been about to rain.
Now as you might have expected, Severus' home was as distinctive as the man himself. The Dark mage lived in a round tower. There were more ordinary buildings surrounding it, nestling like chicks around a mother hen, but the centrepiece was the tower standing straight like a pointing finger aimed at the sky, and they were headed there.
"Wow!" Harry gasped.
Severus smiled at him. "You like it?"
"It's very different from most houses, but yeah, I like it."
Harry found himself grinning back at Severus, and to be honest with you, good people, he wondered at it. He'd just been taken from his mother, from the convent he'd lived in all his life except for the time he spent at school. He should hate this, don't you think? But he didn't, oh no, because the convent hadn't been destined to be his home for much longer anyway. Harry had planned to travel, or at least to try to find a niche in life that would suit him. He'd already decided he didn't want to stay in the religious house; he just hadn't told his mum he was leaving school yet, let alone that he didn't want the life she had planned for him. He'd stalled, knowing she'd hate his decision. Now this strange man had saved him the trouble; Harry had left the convent through no fault of his own – in fact it was his mother's fault more than anyone else's. And so far nothing terrible had happened to him; perhaps living in Hangleton wasn't going to be too bad after all, Harry considered. But either way he had to stay here, in the county of the Dark Sorcerer – which weirdly didn't seem much different from any of the other places he'd been before. When he first heard he'd have to come to Hangleton Harry had been imagining cliffs, dark crags with even darker castles perched atop them; cold dungeons surrounding him. Not this rolling countryside with its farm buildings and round tower! No, Harry was now in this man's service or some such arrangement. He was still a bit confused about what he'd have to do, but Severus had spoken as if he'd be joint head of this household and there would be work for him here. So Harry looked around as he walked along and he couldn't help but be impressed with the place he'd come to.
I don't know if any of you remember travelling, leaving home when you were old enough to get a position, to find work or a new master or mistress? But even if you haven't, perhaps you can imagine it now.
It was like that for Harry; he'd imagined his future and thought about leaving the convent, travelling on horse- or mule-back if he was lucky, on foot if not, taking lodgings wherever he could – a room in an inn if he had money; a farmer's barn if not or even a haystack if he couldn't find anyone willing to put him up for the night. So this... well, it was wonderful. Of course, it could all turn sour pretty quickly if Snape turned out to be the monster Dark wizards were supposed to be. Maybe Snape would beat him, Harry mused, or shut him away or... well, it was no good guessing, was it? Really, friends, the young man had no idea what lay ahead of him.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted as they entered a door in the round tower and passed straight into the kitchen.
"Welcome to the Dragon's Tower," Severus said. "This building has been here for years, perhaps centuries, and its name is the reason why my stud is called the Dragon Stud."
Harry looked around. The room was round. Harry decided he liked the circular walls, they felt warm and friendly. They were made of stone like the convent walls, but there the resemblance ended. Their shape made them feel protective and cosy, like encircling arms, rather than cold or unforgiving. And the decorative hangings, some of which showed magical beasts on dark backgrounds, made it feel like you were sitting in a magical landscape rather than a kitchen. Fittingly the most striking of the tapestries showed a magnificent dragon in flight, his inky black scales and glittering eyes reflected a bronze iridescence and he stood out against the blue background of the sky. Harry watched him fly around the hanging, in and out of the field of vision. A sudden flare of fire made Harry gasp but the dragon was not flaming at anything, merely venting his exuberance at life. Harry thought a kitchen was a funny place to find a dragon, even given the name of the tower, and he said so.
"Really?" Snape asked, looking quizzically at Harry. "I've always found he fits right in. He breathes fire more frequently when we're cooking meat on a griddle."
Harry could only laugh and shake his head. The dragon turned his scaly head and looked at him then, huffing smoke from his nostrils before turning away and flapping off towards a distant peak. He perched there, looking like an eccentric rock formation on the horizon. If Harry hadn't known it was a dragon he would never have noticed it.
Hanging racks of dried plants and herbs and the gleam of copper pots and pans added to the cosy impression inside the kitchen. It smelled of cooking – herbs and roasting meat that made Harry's tummy grumble. It takes a lot, does it not, to put a teenage boy off his food?
The light in the kitchen was provided by floating, dripless candles and wall sconces making the entire room glow with a friendly light amidst its dark furniture and hangings. A stairway spiralled around the walls, disappearing up through a gap in the floor above. To Harry's surprise the tower seemed warm and cosy while still feeling protective; it was almost womblike and felt nothing like part of a stronghold as he'd expected when he first saw it. Even the towers at the Seminary had not felt as friendly as this, and Harry felt wrong-footed. He'd never have expected a stone tower in Hangleton to feel so comfortable.
"Sit down." Severus gestured to a round table in the middle of the room. The promised teapot sat there, its spout sending up a tantalising plume of steam. There were plates of cakes and biscuits and two places set with side plates, cups and saucers. Six chairs were tucked under the table; Harry pulled one out sat at one of the set places.
Severus was watching Harry all the time, watching him very carefully if largely surreptitiously. He wanted the young man to settle, to lose his state of prickly almost-panic that lay not very far beneath his outward calm.
"This is a room we use a lot, Harry. All our meals will be eaten here. At lunchtime we will be joined by my assistants on the stud, two boys of your age."
"Oh, right."
For his part young Harry was still feeling awkward; he didn't quite know what to say or even what to call the man. He thought Severus was behaving as if this was all routine, nothing out of the ordinary at all. And of course, my friends, to Severus it wasn't extraordinary, for this was his home. And now it was going to be Harry's home too, which the young man was still having trouble understanding, as Severus could quite plainly see. Harry's face was an open book to the older wizard, and the boy would have been shocked to know how easily Severus was reading him.
"Okay. Er... what's their names?" Harry asked, interested that there would be boys of his own age on the stud.
"Vince and Greg: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They live in Hangleton and go home for dinner and come back in the morning. During the foaling season, in spring that is, they stay on the stud and have their own rooms."
"I don't know them. They didn't go to the Seminary, did they? Um... do you have your own school here in Hangleton. For Dark magic?"
Severus snorted, partly to cover the way he found Harry's naiveté and innocence about the world quite delightful. "Hardly. Vincent and Gregory were not considered... intelligent enough to be taught at Swineswood; they were never offered a place. Their education, such as it has been, took place in our primary school and at their homes. I have taught them a fair bit since they started working for me.
"Our 'normal' children go to the Seminary when they're eleven as is traditional for all in our society; it would isolate them if they did not do so. We still have to live in the society of Britannia, Harry, however Dark we are painted, and travel beyond the boundaries of our own county. To make our children stand out as different from such an early age would not work in anyone's interest, not ours, and not wider society's. You will no doubt recognise some of those who went to Swineswood when you go into town, but all our nasty Dark magic is taught at home or in our lord's manor. He has an extensive library which I envy, but which any of us can access; though I do have one of my own which is not trifling."
Harry swallowed some of the tea Severus had poured him. He was finding all this interesting; it seemed so different from the way he'd been taught to think about the people who lived here. Harry had been taught that the people of Hangleton were irredeemably lost to the Darkness and unable or unwilling to mix with good, ordinary folk. He frowned a bit at the mention of Severus' lord, though.
"Er... that's Lord Voldemort you're talking of, isn't it?"
"It is."
Severus was impressed the boy had mentioned his lord; many of the Light-raised children would not, as if even the mention of the man's name would somehow taint them. He waited for an outburst, but it never came. No, my friends, Harry just frowned into his tea. Severus was impressed, but he decided to let the boy settle before he tried to make his points about the stupidity of the ostracism of the Dark; indeed, perhaps showing by example rather than lecturing might be the best way with Harry.
You see, dear listeners, Severus had spent weeks planning how it would go when he collected Harry, how he would welcome him here in his home. But it was already very different, for Lily hadn't told her son of his future role and Severus had to start from scratch. He had to tread carefully, but he would start as he meant to go along, for that was his way. Harry was his now: his consort, his lover. The boy didn't seem to realise that yet, but Severus determined that he would find out tonight. At the thought of the coming night Severus felt the prickling heaviness in his groin that heralded arousal. Yes, Harry Potter would fulfil his destiny; there was no way Severus was going to let him off, but he wasn't going to taunt Harry with it now. The boy must be feeling very out of place here as he'd not expected to be taken from home today. Damn Lily for assuming the contract was void! If she did, that is, which Severus couldn't quite believe. Why hadn't Lily told her son what to expect? Even if it had never come to pass there was no harm in preparing the boy for the eventuality.
Severus sighed, drank his tea and ate a piece of the sticky ginger cake in silence. He hardly spoke as they shared the meal, except for offering Harry cake. Severus couldn't help quirking his lips at the boy's obvious delight in the amount on offer. Really, friends, Severus was finding Harry quite alarmingly sweet, and that was something Severus Snape had never thought about anyone. Except his Lily.
"Did Sally make these?"
Harry's voice brought Severus out of his thoughts. "She did. Like most elves, she is an excellent cook."
"They're great. We had cake at the Seminary. Not as many sorts as this, never this kind of choice, but it was nice. At the convent they don't have much cake at all, just scones and buns, that sort of thing."
"Perhaps cakes are considered decadent," Severus observed, deadpan. "Unholy."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he bit into a piece of chocolate sponge. "I think you're right," he grinned. "Lots of things aren't found there. No swearing, for instance."
Severus grinned back, genuinely pleased to see the boy beginning to open up. "Really? And what makes you think I will tolerate swearing here? Do you have a filthy mouth, Harry?"
Harry was startled at the change in Severus' tone. There was something under the words; Harry knew there was something he hadn't understood, but I expect all my listeners understood it right away, didn't you?
"Er... no, not really," Harry stammered. "But last week I stubbed my toe on the marble plinth around the bathtub. It hurt like merry hell, but not as much as the stinging hex that hit me on the backside just for saying it."
Severus snorted. "It is impossible to stub a toe without swearing. That is a fundamental law of nature. I certainly will not object to that. What did you say that was so terrible anyway?" he asked, interested to see what word had caused Harry so much bother.
Harry flushed. "Oh, er..."
Severus just looked at him expectantly. The boy would get there if he let him.
"Bugger."
Severus grinned, and it was really quite a scary grin, believe me. "If you wish."
"Er... what?" Harry was confused now. It was plain to see on his face.
"If you wish, we can do that later."
"Do what?"
Severus grinned; oh, this would be fun, he thought, mentally rubbing his hands together. It was almost worth the wait, the long years of satisfying himself with his own hand or his toys, reading the theory of what was to come when he finally had his Harry.
"I will show you later what 'bugger' means, don't worry. You know, it helps to know what your swearwords mean when you use them." Severus paused to savour a particularly zesty piece of ginger. "It generates more feeling."
"I suppose."
"And just where did you learn such a word? In the Seminary?"
"Oh, no. There're wards there too, anti-cursing wards. The ones at Swineswood aren't as painful, though, they just give you a prod like a bony finger in the ribs. No, I heard that word in Swinfield one Saturday."
"Ah, it's a regular den of iniquity, Swinfield."
What? You disagree? You are brave folk to disagree with a Dark mage, aren't you? Now...
Severus was licking the sticky traces of ginger cake from his fingers meticulously, smirking a little as he did so.
Harry watched him, strangely mesmerised both by the action and the unsettling conviction that he'd understood only about half of the man's conversation.
"We have time before dinner for a quick tour outside. Not enough time to see the whole stud, but enough to give you an idea what terrible Dark wizards like myself spend their time doing. The rain has cleared; it will be a dry night. Would you like a walk?" Severus stood and offered his hand to Harry.
Harry found himself staring at the man's hand once again. But ah, my friends, it seemed just as ominous as it had before. It was only a hand, a slender hand, but it was strong, with long, elegant fingers. Harry had watched these hands gesture eloquently while the man talked, he'd watched these fingers meticulously picking up pieces of cake, he'd watched them being cleaned by a red tongue, being caressed by it, almost. It was Severus Snape's hand, and its gesture was both an offer and a claim to ownership, Harry just knew it. Swallowing, he took the hand and got to his feet.
Severus smiled at him and led him out through the only door. Once outside, Harry looked back at the Dragon's Tower standing tall and slender like a pointing finger in the landscape; stone from the Earth joining with the sky, a builder's gesture of striving to reach beyond the earth, pointing to lands and universes beyond. Harry sometimes had such whimsical thoughts; he put them down to daydreaming or mere fancy. Later, Severus would teach him to follow his instincts and go with those strange thoughts when he taught him of the magic of the elements, something never taught in the Seminary. For didn't such raw power hint of Darkness just as much as Light? And wasn't it dangerous to teach children such matters, in case they were tempted to stray from the one true path?
"Shall we take the path towards Dunston Wood?" Severus asked. "It is a pleasant walk and we'll pass the yearling paddocks; I can show you some of my youngest horses."
"Fine," Harry said, following along.
Severus' legs were long and his stride correspondingly so; Harry hurried to keep up, for Severus still hadn't released his hand. Having someone hold his hand felt really strange to young Harry; no one had wanted to get close to him at the Seminary. You must remember that if they befriended Harry it automatically meant Draco Malfoy's disapproval, and few wanted to do that unless they were already ostracised and had nothing to lose. Harry's two friends at Swineswood were Hermione, a poor bookworm, and Ron, a boy from another family Draco hated, but neither of them had ever held his hand like this. Suddenly, since this man had suddenly appeared in his life only this afternoon, Harry had found himself being touched frequently. He wondered if it would continue.
And so are you, aren't you, dear listeners? Well, for Harry's part, he realised he quite liked it. Severus' grip was firm and his hand, larger than Harry's, was warm and strong. As they walked and he looked at the surrounding countryside Harry was aware of the heat of that grip the whole time. He thought it was a bit like being burned, but in a good way.
Severus did not know of these thoughts, for he was concentrating on putting Harry at his ease, telling him about the stud. He was unaware of how much the simple act of holding Harry's hand was affecting the young man. Severus told Harry about the pedigrees of the yearlings, all of which looked the same to Harry: all black, glossy and beautiful beyond his dreams. Black horses, Harry thought, were surely a work of the gods. Although these were not magical creatures, not flying horses or thestrals, still they were as wonderful in their own way; they seemed much too fine for normal use.
"What are these horses used for?" Harry asked, looking at Severus. He still felt very odd here, ill at ease in this new landscape, not yet a part of it. But he was beginning to think he wouldn't mind being so.
"People buy them mostly as riding horses. There are some enthusiasts who race them; they run like the wind. When fully grown they have long manes and tails, beautiful hair like you've never seen, Harry. These yearlings do not have theirs yet. They are just promises of what they will become. Wait until I show you my two stallions. Merlin, now they're impressive!"
If you could have heard him speak, friends, you would have seen it was obvious that Severus loved talking about his horses; his eyes, as dark as his horses' coats, shone with his enthusiasm. It made him seem more human to Harry, because so far he'd seemed like a creature of legend himself, a Dark mage, maybe even a demon or a bogey man who had snatched him from his home. But then Severus had fed him chocolate cake. It was all very confusing.
"I always keep a few to ride, for myself and my guests. You can choose one to be your own if you like."
"Um, I don't ride," Harry admitted.
Severus stopped walking and stared. "You don't? Oh, I suppose you don't, it's not taught at the Seminary, though in my opinion it should be, especially for young people who haven't learned or cannot master Appearance. And not everyone likes to ride broomsticks; there are those who do not like heights. Even though I can travel anywhere by my own skill, Harry, I like to ride. It is a wonderful feeling. I will teach you."
"Thanks." Harry grinned, excited. "It must be fun to ride these horses."
"Yes, but they are spirited," Severus warned. "The stallions are difficult to master; most riding horses are geldings, though they are still more spirited than most breeds. But don't worry – I have plenty of bruise salve and I cast good healing spells."
Harry's eyes widened until he realised Severus was teasing. At least, he thought he was. Perhaps.
So they walked on together, still hand in hand. It looked quite sweet, or would have done had anyone been watching them; Sally looking through the kitchen windows, perhaps, or Vince and Greg peeping out from the barn. But there was no one to see, and the only record of it is my tale.
Harry wondered if Severus liked holding his hand as some sort of romantic gesture, or if Severus was holding onto him because he owned him. Like everything so far it was confusing, exciting, and there was also a scary edge to it all. Harry half expected something sudden to happen, like that day the earth had dropped away beneath him, leaving him in Malfoy's trap.
Now the pathway passed by a lake, lying calm beneath the blue sky. Geese and ducks were swimming or standing around on a small island in the middle. Harry thought the scene was so peaceful that surely nothing dreadful was going to happen to him here. "Is it okay to swim in there?"
"You like to swim?" Severus was surprised.
"Yes, I do. We had lessons at the Seminary; Professor Hooch taught us swimming as well as flying."
"I do not know Hooch." Severus frowned, thinking. "He must be new. They never taught swimming when I was at school."
"Oh," Harry laughed. "Professor Hooch is a witch, and she's very sporty and fit. To be honest there was something scary about her – she had the weirdest yellow eyes. She seemed so different from the other female professors."
"Hm. Perhaps she was an Animagus," Severus mused. "Or maybe she had some creature blood in her. I could not venture an opinion without meeting her."
"Can't you swim then, Mr Snape?"
Severus frowned, but did not correct Harry's form of address. "No."
"Then I will teach you!" Harry declared. "In return for the riding lessons."
Severus looked wary, but finally nodded. "That would be fair, you're right. Perhaps we will wait a month or two to start; the water will be warmer then."
Harry laughed at this. "It should be okay now. It's cold at first but once you get under the water you get used to it. We managed up in the Seminary, and it's colder in the Highlands than it is here."
Severus still looked unsure, and I cannot say I blame him, for swimming in a cool lake does not seem very inviting to me either, but Harry just laughed.
Harry couldn't help noticing that when he laughed with Severus everything felt okay; it had already happened several times. He wished he could just believe it would be all right, that there was nothing here to be wary of. He wished it, friends, but he was still pretty sure it couldn't be the case. For this was Hangleton, and Severus Snape was the Commander of the Dark Regiment, was he not, and a powerful Dark mage to boot. Harry had felt the power radiating from off of Severus when he'd come to the convent to fetch him. Once they'd arrived back here it had dissipated, but Severus must have had to exert a lot of magical power to enter Lily's rooms, and yet he'd not collapsed, nor did he seem particularly tired now.
They walked as far as the edge of the woods before turning back. The land lay before them like a patchwork quilt, divided into paddocks for the horses, the lake, and in the distance the farm buildings with the Dragon's Tower rising from their midst. It was beautiful, and Harry was lost in his thoughts as they walked back in silence. And Severus, being wise in this, was content to let him absorb the atmosphere of his new home.
Harry became filled with an appreciation of how worthwhile everything was that Severus had done here, how he'd managed to turn this perfect, peaceful landscape into something productive without ruining it. If the man hadn't come to his home and stolen him away so abruptly, if he hadn't been the notorious Commander Snape, a Dark wizard who invented cruel curses, Harry knew he'd be openly admiring him by now.
Harry's thoughts continued in this vein, my friends; he was almost daydreaming as they walked back in such a companionable silence. Maybe, he thought, if Severus hadn't held the contract with his mother, Harry might have met him on his travels once he'd left home. He'd always intended to visit the great annual Goose Fair at Nottingham; he could imagine Severus being there, perhaps showing his best horses. Maybe they could have been friends. But instead Severus had just barged into his home and torn him away from it without warning, and Harry knew he should be having trouble feeling comfortable. He was, he assured himself.
Was this reality some kind of twisted answer to Harry's dreams? Those cherished dreams of having an older mentor, a woman who would fall in love with him. Was this the reality then, a kind of theft by a man? His mother had called it 'legal rape', was it going to be that bad? And Severus – Harry sneaked a sidelong look at his companion as he thought this – was a man, and Harry had never considered a man as a partner. And he was no handsome mage from a fairy tale either.
But Harry had already learned a lesson early in his life, and it's one I'm sure you good people already know too: that real life is never quite like dreams; it always falls short in some way. Severus had looked so forbidding and dour when he'd come for Harry, his attitude had been so like-it-or-lump-it, this is the contract and you must come with me, that he was very unlike the woman of the young man's fantasies.
Yet in my travels, good people, I have found that the human heart has a great capacity to make the best of whatever situation it finds itself in, to take whatever good it can find from any experience. So this is why Harry dwelt more on the beauty of the land and on the fascinating business of riding and breeding Arabian horses, and he turned away from comparing his host with the woman of his dreams. And you notice how Harry was thinking of Severus as his 'host', not his owner, for that would be just too much reality for him to cope with right now.
Harry thought Severus Snape seemed polite enough, even if there was a definite feeling of hardness beneath the exterior he was currently showing him. Cross him, Harry felt, and he would show a different face. Wisely, my friends, Harry was in no hurry to do that.
They were nearing the house when Severus spoke up again. "I will show you the stables and the riding horses tomorrow, Harry; if we pause now we will be late for dinner, and Sally is easier to live with if you do not ignore dinnertime. She makes allowances in the foaling season, but at this time of year, with all the foals on the ground, she expects better from us."
"What time is dinner then?"
"Seven o'clock. Tea is more flexible, any time between three thirty and five, whatever we like, for it is easily prepared and served, and Sally bakes regularly. Breakfast is usually at eight, but sometimes later. No, it is dinner time that is inflexible, and I expect you to abide by it, Harry."
"Okay, I will," Harry said, unsure what to call the man. Harry was just out of school and didn't quite know what he was to Severus, or what Severus was to be to him. But he was soon going to find out, my dear listeners. Oh, yes.
So the men washed their hands in the little sink set aside for that task, and sat down at the round table as Sally served dinner. Harry would always remember that first dinner together, partly because the food was so delicious compared to the Seminary food and the plain convent fare he was used to, but equally because, sitting across the table from the dark, hook-nosed wizard, with the lights conjured low was a very different experience from what had happened so far.
Harry was having a good look at the man opposite him; until now he'd not stared, aiming for politeness, but now he couldn't help it.
You see, Severus' hair was quite long and it hung below his shoulders in a silky, dark curtain. He had fine hair, glossy and sleek like his horses' manes. It was full of natural oils which meant that although adolescence was far behind him, it needed regular washing. There were times in Severus' life – the majority of it so far, if I am to tell you honestly, and I assure you I am trying to do just that – when it simply looked greasy. But now Harry was here, Severus intended that to change. So he had washed his hair that morning before fetching his consort, and now it shone in the candlelight and was one of his best features. It could not completely take the eye from the prominence of his nose, but it did help.
Oh, and his dark eyes, my friends, they were a sight to see! They were unusual; they would glitter like polished coal. Truly, he was a wizard of the Dark, with his black hair and black eyes. And his black heart? Well, maybe not, but there were folk outside of Hangleton who would claim it was so, not only from his place of residence but from what he had done. Lily Potter herself would probably say so without hesitation now, for she had lost much to the man. The time when she had defended him to her husband was long past.
And was he truly ugly, friends? Yes, as the world judges these things, he was. And was his heart black, this man who desired his own love, someone to keep forever? And not just anyone, oh no; he had to have Lily Evans' child. No one else would do. Well, you must make up your own minds about the colour of his heart, for that was rather less obvious than his appearance.
But as for Harry, he didn't know if he was now in a 'den of iniquity' as Snape had called Swinfield, or just an ordinary home, and a very pleasant one.
"You are very pensive, Harry."
Harry came back to himself with a start; he'd been lost in his thoughts again, openly staring at the very striking man opposite as the gentle glow of candlelight softened Severus' harsh features. "I... er, sorry. I was just thinking. It's all a bit strange, you know."
"Yes, of course. But you are safe here, Harry. Believe me, you will be valued. There will be plenty for you to do and you can pursue any hobby you might have here as well as you could have in the convent. When I show you the other floors in the tower you will find much to interest you; at least I hope so. You might enjoy some of the other buildings, too. I have a potions workshop out there, for instance. Did you enjoy Potions at the Seminary?"
Harry's face darkened. "No," he said shortly, dropping his eyes to look at his plate. He was unwilling to explain about the problems he'd faced as Draco's target of choice. His efforts at potions had always been spoiled. "No, I didn't. Maybe I could learn here though," he added.
"I am happy to teach you; whatever you wish to learn. You will find I have many skills, Harry."
Harry had that feeling again – that Severus was saying things that Harry was missing. He ducked his head and concentrated on his steak, which was cooked to perfection. He thought it was very tasty and tender, every mouthful an explosion of flavour on his tongue. Sally had cooked potatoes, cut chunky, fried quickly then finished in the oven; they had a lovely crispy texture. There were perfectly cooked large mushrooms and tomatoes as well. The food was so delicious that any worries Harry might be harbouring were soon forgotten again while he ate.
And all the time Severus watched the young man sitting opposite him. He could not believe his luck, you see. Harry's wayward black hair looked tousled at all times and Severus just wanted to run his fingers through it to find out what it felt like. The boy's face was not girlish, but it was very attractive, in shape rather like his mother's but with the strong cheekbones and jaw-line of a male. His teeth were even, unlike Severus' own crooked ones, and his eyes... oh, how Severus longed to get lost in those eyes. He just knew they would be like his mother's too – variable like the weather, stormy or soft, their green changing swiftly from agitated to calm.
Severus was looking forward to tonight, very much so; he had been sitting here watching Harry in the warm candlelight, and his cock was already half-hard.
The steak was followed by a dessert of raspberries and cream. They were light and easy to eat, but the dark red fruit had a rich, almost decadent flavour.
"These come from the market garden just along the lane," Severus said. "You will come into town with me whenever I go, then you will get to know our neighbours."
Harry nodded, his mouth full of raspberries. He swallowed and asked, "So I'm to be introduced to people?"
Severus looked up sharply, mystified why Harry would need to ask that. "Of course, why wouldn't you be? You will be my partner, Harry, my consort."
Now, all that was clear to Severus and he thought he'd made it clear to Harry too, but in fact it was as clear as mud to the young man!
"Right," Harry mumbled, and concentrated on the raspberries again, aware his face was probably turning the colour of the fruit.
You see, he really had no idea what the word 'consort' meant. Well, he'd never heard of such a thing before this afternoon, had he? Not that anyone ever spoke to him about marriage or anything like that; after all who would want to bother discussing such things with Harry? Oh, yes, his mother would, of course. But all Lily had spoken of was Harry settling down with a nice girl, then giving her some grandchildren in short order. Harry would never have heard about men living together from his mum, nor from others in the Seminary or the convent. Obviously that was not normal, or not for the Order of the Phoenix. But here in Hangleton, where Dark things were encouraged or at least tolerated, would it be okay? Harry really didn't want to appear a freak; he didn't want Draco's taunts to be true, even though he constantly feared they were. Now he was away from the Seminary he wanted to leave those cruel words behind him. Severus certainly spoke as if it was normal here, but Harry couldn't help wondering just how normal Severus was. Which was quite astute of him, really.
Well, Harry concluded, Severus couldn't be considered too odd or he would never have reached the position of power he now held as Commander of the Dark Sorcerer's Regiment. So, if it was acceptable to be with a man here, then for that reason Harry would try and be happy with it, because this contract gave him no choice anyway. His mother had known what Severus wanted from her son, but only now was it all sinking into Harry's mind. How he wished she'd told him before, so he wouldn't have been so shocked when Severus had come for him. Harry shivered inside at the thought of just what Severus did want from him, but if Severus noticed Harry's anxiety, Harry was grateful that he did not comment on it.
Sally came in and cleared the dessert dishes, breaking the mood. "Would you like coffee in here or in the sitting room, master?"
"The sitting room, I think. Come, Harry."
Severus stood and extended that hand again. Harry was getting used to taking it and did so easily enough this time, though it just underlined the thoughts he'd been having over dessert. Severus led him to the spiral stairway.
"The next floor is our sitting room. Only favoured guests are invited up there; the upper levels are my sanctuary. Now they are yours, too."
They emerged into another cosy, round room. This one was filled with soft armchairs and a couple of more upright chairs, small tables were scattered around and also some display cabinets containing many different, intriguing things. Severus pulled Harry down onto a settee beside him and so Harry never got the chance to look closely, but some had looked like rocks, and there were statuettes, jewellery, knives, paperweights and many other things he could not identify nor put a name to, but quite a few continued the dragon motif by the look of it. Harry determined to have a good look later. This room was decorated in deepest reds – the hangings were the colour of red wine, their dark designs abstract: Celtic knotwork, Arabic patterns and rustic weaves blending different shades of the same colour. The sofas were a muted burgundy, the rugs black or darkest brown. Again, the firelight and candlelight made the round room warm and very comforting.
Sally Appeared with a soft popping noise, carrying a tray with the coffee. It smelt heavenly and Harry's mouth watered. He loved coffee but had rarely got to drink it. Hagrid occasionally made it instead of tea, and he'd had it once at a visit to his grandma's house when he was younger. His grandma had died a few years ago, and Harry regretted not having the chance to visit her more often. He could have gone and visited whenever he liked once he'd left school, indeed he'd been planning to do just that, but her death had intervened.
Severus poured the coffee and passed the pensive Harry a cup. They were sitting at either end of a two-seater sofa. It felt warm and friendly to Harry, if still very odd to be so close to someone he'd only met hours before.
"Help yourself to cream and sugar if you take them," Severus prompted.
In truth, my friends, I have to tell you now that our Severus was rather amused by Harry's rather vacant expression at times throughout the evening. The younger man kept going into a semi-trance; he was obviously thinking things through all the time, trying to make sense of his new life. Severus wondered if his home was coming up to Harry's standards or to his dreams. He wanted it to be the latter, very much.
"I'll show you the rest of the house when you've finished your coffee," Severus said, his voice warm. "Tomorrow you can spend the day wandering where you will. There is much to be explored."
"Um... you mean on your estate, don't you?"
"Of course. You will find the walls are strong here, if invisible. We are surrounded by anti-straying wards in case any of the horses get out. In my first year my stallion Alaric jumped the fence and set off up the lane. It was a long while before he stopped. He could have ended up at Ness Point if he hadn't been distracted by one of my neighbour's mares who was in season. To my surprise, Jack Featherstone was not at all pleased when Alaric covered his cob. The foal was not strong enough for farm work. But it was a damned sight more attractive than his carthorses, at least to my eye. And he got a fair penny for it at Buxton Fair, but it wasn't the working horse he hoped to breed from his Marigold. He had to wait another couple of years for that.
"Still, it was while Alaric was distracted covering Marigold that I managed to catch up with him and get a lead clipped onto his head collar. He was so pleased to have covered the mare that he was quite tractable when I led him back home."
Harry chuckled. "It sounds like a funny story."
"It wasn't funny at the time. An Arab stallion is a feisty beast, let me tell you, and he can run like the wind. I was worried just where he would end up. I had visions of him colliding with the York to Hangleton stage, which would have been fatal. They drive that stretch of road like maniacs. You've not seen my stallions yet; you'll know what I mean when you do.
"So, to get back to your question, Harry; yes, you can wander where you will because the wards will keep you on my property. There is no fear of you straying."
Harry frowned. That sounded like imprisonment. Mind you, the whole contract thing sounded like that, didn't it? "So how do Greg and Vince get in when they come back?"
"There is no impediment to getting in as long as the wards recognise you. Greg and Vince come and go freely. They are not mine to keep."
Severus' dark eyes glinted at Harry and it made him look pretty fearsome, let me tell you, dear listeners. It was just a hint of the powerful dark wizard who had conjured the elements seventeen years before to make Lily's promise unbreakable. Harry saw that hint and recognised it for what it was, though. You see, he was, as Severus had hoped, an intelligent boy with a good imagination. It was part of the reason he kept drifting off in thought.
"So," Severus said, standing and extending his hand again. "Are you ready to continue our little tour of the tower?"
This time when Harry put his hand in Severus', he felt that ominous feeling again, just as he had at the convent. The almost easy camaraderie of the walk to the woods seemed to have dropped away, leaving strangeness and fear. Harry swallowed as they took the spiral stair upwards, emerging onto the next floor.
This bright room was the library Severus had mentioned, and just as he'd said it was not trifling, friends, oh no indeed. There were floor-to-ceiling shelves around the circular walls; they were arranged in short sections each about a yard long which altogether made a polygon out of the round tower. There were magical lights shining on the shelves; all the titles were illuminated and clear to read. Three desks were stocked with writing materials, book rests, bright lamps and comfortable chairs for study. Harry had never seen so many books outside the Seminary. Severus must really be a scholar, he thought, and hadn't he called himself a 'student of the Darkness'? Oh, and of the Light too, he remembered.
"You...er, do you need all of these books?" Harry asked weakly. Then he wondered if Severus would take his words as an insult, but thankfully the man simply snorted with amusement.
"Indeed. As I told you, I study many things; I found many subjects fascinating right from the moment I arrived at Swineswood Castle. So many things I wanted to read! I regretted the need to sleep, the wasted hours of insensibility. And I confess I found the Seminary frustrating at times; there would be hints of subjects I wished to pursue but no books to read on them. Then there were books shut away that students were not allowed to look at, which is complete foolishness in a place of learning. If a student wishes to learn he or she should be encouraged to do so and provided with the materials they need. So when I left, and as soon as I'd earned some money, I sought to change that. Now, any subject I wish to pursue I go out and buy the books for. You will find the books in sections according to their subject matter, but in no particular order. As fast as I spell them ordered I move them again. I know where everything is and that is the point of this library. But now, perhaps, it will have another student and a need for more efficient organisational spells. I will look to that."
Severus looked carefully at Harry who was busy reading titles in one section that seemed to have caught his eye. The books there were concerned with the art of creating spells and shaping magic to the caster's needs. At that time, good people, that subject was hardly touched upon in the Seminary where the spells they taught were unchanged from year to year; generations of witches and wizards had learned them before Harry and Severus. Tradition was all, innovation something to be wary of, and I seriously doubt the curriculum had changed since Severus' grandfather's day, and possibly earlier.
"Many of the books are in other languages. If you are interested you can take a book to read anytime; I can teach you some translation spells if you don't know any. Just be sure to return the books. I do not want to find heaps of them abandoned in odd places throughout my house." Severus thought a bit, realising he sounded rather brusque and school-masterly, something he wasn't aiming for. So he added, "Our house, that is."
Harry turned and looked at his companion. What was Severus really, he wondered again; was he his owner, his master, as if he was an apprentice, or something else entirely? "Th... thank you," Harry stuttered, his voice betraying his uncertainty. Giving himself a good shake inside, he decided to face the problem head-on. "There's plenty to occupy me here. Look, please, I just don't know what you are, what I am here in your home. Would you tell me what the contract is, what it means to me?"
Now Severus' answering smile was full of satisfaction. Harry took a step back at the sight of it, but he didn't flee. No, you see he wanted this answer, however bad it might be for him. He'd decided it was pointless denying reality and he was pretty sure he was ready to face it now.
"You will call me Severus at all times, for you are, in effect, my wife," Severus said, and his voice was rich with appreciation as he looked into Harry's anxious green eyes. "You see, Harry, your mother swore to give me her first-born daughter."
Harry interrupted straight away, which was rude, but he couldn't help it, you see. "But she never had a daughter!"
"How observant," Severus sneered, and he couldn't help the sneer, either. "No, she did not. However, the fact is that the wording of the vow, sworn before the elemental gods themselves, went like this:
Lily Potter has promised me her first-born child. I will collect the child seventeen years from this day. If Lily fails me, if she loses faith and does not raise this child to be my wife, then everything she cares for will fall into ruin."
Harry gasped. Well, Severus' voice had been deep, dark and resonant as he spoke again the vow he'd only spoken once before so many years ago, but the words he spoke... oh, those words sealed Harry's fate!
Harry understood that magical vows couldn't be avoided, not if the debtor wanted to stay on the right side of universal magical law; and so his debt was plain enough. He was the first-born child; in the absence of a sister coming along after him and being accepted by Severus as more suitable, Harry should have been raised to be Severus' 'wife'. Would something terrible happen to his mum because she hadn't done so?
Severus' lips twitched into a smile. He saw the dawning understanding on the boy's face and divined his thoughts easily enough. Severus knew he had him, my friends, trapped both by his love for his mother and by his duty. "Yes, you see it, don't you?" he said softly. "The failure has been Lily's, that she did not raise you to your proper place in life. I have you now, though. Perhaps that will be enough to stave off disaster for her."
Severus stepped close to Harry again and put a proprietary hand on the boy's arm, gripping it, not tightly enough to be painful but tightly enough to show his ownership. "It will be best for your mother if you fulfil your part adequately, Harry."
Harry swallowed. Oh, he could feel the sweat prickling the back of his neck and along his forehead. "I... I don't know how to be a wife." Gods! he thought, what normal boy does? Oh, but wait a minute – he wasn't normal, was he? That was what Draco had always told him, and it looked like it was true after all.
"The vow your mother took has bonded us into the equivalent of a marriage between two men," Severus continued. "I will not ask you to wear a dress or simper like a woman before our friends and guests. Just be amenable to my advances, Harry, be there for me when I need you."
Severus' voice had dropped again, this time to a deep, warm cadence that sounded very different from the impressive way he had spoken the words of the vow. But it was just as affecting; the voice went straight into Harry's bones and turned them to liquid. At least it felt that way, for Harry staggered back as he heard it.
You see, my dears, so much was happening so quickly here, and young Harry was quite clueless how to deal with it.
Severus put his other hand on the boy's other arm, steadying him. "Come, there is just one more floor to visit this evening."
In a daze Harry followed to the staircase and stepped up behind Severus. Under the numbness of shock a voice kept replaying in his mind: he is your husband, Harry, and you must do as he says; do as he says in all things, just do as he says...
Still walking on legs that felt numb, Harry emerged onto the next floor; they were high up in the Dragon's Tower now. As he stepped into the room, immediately its function was as clear as the library's one floor down: this was the master bedroom.
A huge bed stood off to one side; windows hung with deep green curtains flanked it on either side of the tower. Harry halted, feeling his legs begin to tremble, trying hard not to show it. "Er, look, do you mean I have to be a wife here? I mean... Oh, gods."
Severus turned; his eyes were alive with that glittering intensity that seemed to fill them when his magic or his emotions were running high. "That is rather the point of a wife, Harry."
"Look... er... couldn't we wait?" Harry asked, backing up a step or two. "I mean, it's all new to me, I wasn't expecting... Oh, gods," he said again, helplessly.
"I have been waiting seventeen years. I have no intention of waiting another day because your mother failed in her duty!" Severus' voice was harsher as he closed the distance between them. "And if you back up any more you'll fall down the stairs. You are a Griffin, boy, raised to know your duty and act honourably. Now think of that duty!"
"I... I'll be sleeping with you? Always?"
"You are mine. Think of it as your mother thinks of her role, if you like. It's a life of service. She serves the Order, you serve me."
Harry dropped his head and sighed. "Yeah, I know. And you serve the Dark," he added in a whisper.
But Severus, the master spy, heard it of course. "No, that is not right. I serve myself, Harry, and I offer fealty and a duty of service to my lord, as is normal in Britannia, even for non-magical folk. The Dark serves those of us who can manipulate it, as do the elements and magic itself."
Harry rather doubted that, but he said nothing. All his life he had been taught that the Dark takes over, that even the strongest mages end up servants to the Darkness in the end, not the other way around. But so far Severus had done nothing to hurt him, not really; and the fact remained that he did save his father on this very day seventeen years ago.
Severus had been watching the boy, seeing the conflict and the struggle to accept his duty. He knew that in the end Harry would do it, that it defined everything he was as a Griffin clansman and his mother's son. And his father's, who, Severus thanked the Dark god Pluto, was not here to interfere. "The bathroom is over there," Severus prompted, pointing to the side of the room opposite the bed.
Harry's eyes followed his gesture and he saw the doorway for the first time. He'd been so focused on the bed and everything it meant that he'd not noticed there was a door. "B...bathroom? Oh..."
"Yes," Severus said staring meaningfully. "Make sure you are properly clean when you come to bed."
Harry gulped, swallowing something that hurt, some lump that his body had conjured to make him look like a fool, a naive child. The problem was that's just how Harry felt, my friends; like a little boy, not ready for this. Not at all. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I will," he croaked.
Severus watched Harry stumbling off to the bathroom. Had Harry been prepared for his role, as Severus had the right to expect, he would have gone into the bathroom with the boy. They would have got to know each other's bodies as they relaxed together in the water. But Severus could see that Harry needed this time to get himself together. He was determined that tonight finally... finally... he would get the partner he had waited for so long. But he was not a monster; he would give Harry all the leeway he could. Severus sighed heavily; everything was happening so differently from his plans, his seventeen years of dreams. But it would be all right, he told himself, he had the boy. And after tonight he would truly possess him.
Meanwhile, young Harry shut the bathroom door and stared around at the white basin with its sparkling chromed taps, the matching sunken tub and the loo. He let out a breath in a huff of relief at the rather clinical appearance of the room, the sheer ordinariness of it, and went over to sit on the low chair beside the bath. "Merlin!" he huffed, quite at a loss for anything else to say.
Harry's mind was whirling, trying to find something to help him in this situation. Harry knew nothing about sex between men, my friends. In fact he knew little enough about heterosexual sex, only what the boys in the dorm had said, and he was well aware that that was likely to be nine parts bragging to one part genuine information. Sex with women sounded like just sticking it in and pounding away, if you could work out where to stick it, that was. But with men? Was it the same? Harry shifted on the chair, frankly horrified at that thought. What would Severus do to him? He felt lost, and very young. He felt like crying. Only then he caught sight of himself in the mirror opposite where he was sitting and shook his head at the sight.
"Get a grip, Harry," he said aloud. "You're in this; you owe the man. It was your mother's debt on your father's behalf. Do you begrudge them that?"
He shook his head at himself again. Of course he didn't begrudge it; his dad had been saved. Not for long, but that wasn't Severus' fault. Now Harry had to pay the life debt and he knew that sitting there worrying like a nervous virgin wasn't helping. The fact that he was a nervous virgin, my friends, had to be forgotten, and Harry was coming to realise it.
"Get washed, Harry," he told his reflection, not stopping to consider whether talking to his reflection was normal or not. It didn't matter, not now.
So Harry stood up again and walked over to the tub, and turned on the tap until the stream of water was fierce. The plumbing must be magical because the water was at just the right temperature for him. Harry smiled at that; this was luxury compared to the basic plumbing he'd endured at the convent and the Seminary.
Harry stripped quickly. He stood and took a good long look in the mirror, wondering at his reflection. Was this what Severus Snape wanted? Was Severus even gay? But no, he couldn't be, because Severus had loved his mother... so what did he want Harry for, Harry wondered again?
Harry ran his hands over his chest and abdomen, finally sliding them down to cup his genitals. His body was okay; it was a bit scrawny still, and he was short too. But it was okay – not flabby or scarred. Perhaps Severus would like it. Then Harry had a dangerous thought: he wondered what Severus was like...naked. And it was scary to think of, but a bit exciting too. Harry had seen his dorm mates naked during normal activities – looking for clothes, bathing, showering after sport, but he'd never seen an older man, a really adult male. Did that mean that Severus would be bigger than him down there? Hairier? Well, whatever it meant he'd find out pretty soon. The thought was oddly exciting and Harry's heart pounded in his chest; he could feel it thumping against his ribs. He grinned rather manically and slipped into the bath. Time to get 'really clean' for his husband; Harry's heart pounded even more insistently, but this time it was with nerves again.
"Merlin, whatever is he going to do to me?" he asked as he reached for the shampoo.
What? You think I should tell you? You think you do know anyway? Piffle, my dears! I will tell it in my own good time, and you will not know if you have guessed rightly until I do so. Perhaps you already know young Harry's fate, but you are probably older than him and maybe you've led less sheltered lives. One thing is certain, Harry, busy cleaning himself in Severus' bathroom, has no idea. How could he?
Now, if you wish me to get to the point, the moment of truth, as it were, you had best settle down and stop fidgeting!
Now then, as I was saying, Harry thought one thing was for sure, even as the rinsing water trickled over his face, over his tightly closed eyes: Severus Snape was going to touch him tonight. Touch him intimately. How would Harry cope with that? He'd hardly been touched in his life, except by his mum when he was younger, and she'd done it less and less as he got older. Hagrid had patted him on the shoulder several times – sometimes it had been rather too much and Harry's knees had buckled, he remembered with a smile. The headmaster himself, the great sage Albus Dumbledore, had shaken his hand at his Consent Ceremony. Oh, and Severus had held his hand today. A lot. He'd walked with him, holding Harry's hand as if he really wanted to, as if he liked it, liked touching him. Now Harry looked back on that walk and realised it had been something like a date; it felt a bit like the time he'd taken Cho to the Midwinter Party. Admittedly Severus hadn't kissed him, but they'd talked together, like they were getting to know each other. It had been friendly and Severus' conversation was interesting. And the horses, and the countryside here, it was all lovely. And Harry suddenly realised that Severus had looked at him with that same intensity and interest that people did when they were hoping to become lovers.
Harry thought he must have been pretty slow on the uptake not to have realised that sooner. "You're a bloody blushing virgin," he told the bar of soap as he worked up a good lather.
Harry slid his soapy hands over his chest and under his armpits. He stopped, lifted one arm and sniffed. "Right, that's okay," he told himself as he soaped up some more. Then he kneeled up in the water and applied his soapy hands lower down. "I don't know about this kind of sex," he muttered, finding talking to himself a real comfort at that moment, "but I bet it involves these parts."
Harry caressed his cock with his soapy hands, rolled back his foreskin and washed it carefully, rinsing well; soap could be uncomfortable if not rinsed out properly. He spread his legs and soaped his balls, then back and back... Yes, that's where he needed to be clean, he was pretty sure Severus meant just there. Harry was annoyed to find he was blushing again as he cleaned his most intimate parts. "Gods, you really need to get a grip."
Once satisfied he was clean from top to toe Harry climbed out of the tub. He took one of the huge, fluffy black towels and dried himself off before heading over to the basin. There were small bristly brushes and a little pot of home-made tooth powder set out there; Harry had no trouble identifying which brush was his as it stood in a white ceramic tumbler with the name 'Harry' inscribed in fancy black lettering. Harry grabbed it and cleaned his teeth. Severus had everything ready for him. He said he'd been waiting seventeen years; that no one else had lived here with him in all that time. Harry wondered if Severus had had girlfriends or boyfriends, or if he'd visited a brothel or done something else to gain satisfaction. Harry only had the vaguest ideas picked up from rumours – again from the boys in the dorm – that such things went on. The thought that Severus might really have been waiting for him filled his mind and made his heart speed up and his groin tighten. But that couldn't be right, surely. Severus Snape was Lord Voldemort's commander; he could have had virtually anyone in Hangleton. And why would he want Harry... except that he was Lily's child, the payment of an old debt.
Rinsing out his mouth he straightened up. "He doesn't have to keep me, does he? But then, he said we're bonded. How does that work? There was no ceremony. Does he really want me to be with him forever?" Harry shook his head at mirror-Harry.
My friends, our Harry felt so stupid just then; he had no idea about any of this! After all, it was hardly something he'd needed to study to get by in life. By Merlin and his wondrous staff! Yesterday it was something he would never have considered; or even this morning. But now he belonged to Commander Severus Snape, and it was time to go out there and do his duty.
Looking around, Harry saw there was no bathrobe, nothing he could wear except a towel. He took the last dry one and wrapped the thick, black terry cloth around his hips. Bare-chested, he felt exposed and vulnerable, and he was. He took a deep breath. "For the Griffins," he muttered, "and my mum."
Harry opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.
Severus was in the bed, sitting up against the pillows. The sheet was covering his abdomen but his chest was bare. Harry knew Severus would be naked all the way down; he could just feel it by the intensity of the dark gaze that pinned him. Severus' shoulders were well muscled and he was lean, there was not an ounce of spare flesh on him. There was a scattering of dark hair between his nipples and a narrow trail leading down below the sheet. Harry swallowed.
"Come to bed." Severus' voice was soft but insistent; his eyes never left Harry's face.
Harry walked towards the bed and around the other side. How would he get under the sheet wearing the towel? Should he just drop the towel and get in? He wished he could be that casual, but knew he would blush quite ridiculously if he tried. Even as he was thinking about it he felt his face colour, so he sat on the side of the bed instead.
Severus' hand touched his arm then; flesh against flesh. Oh, my friends, that is a powerful feeling, is it not? It made young Harry jump a little, so unexpected was its intensity to the young man.
"It's all right," Severus soothed as if talking to a nervous horse. "There's no hurry. One thing at a time. Just sit there a little if you like."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, thanks."
Severus' hand remained on Harry's arm though, the fingers gently stroking. Harry's consciousness was pinpointed on the movement, the feelings it was evoking. As the seconds passed it got easier for him; it wasn't awful. In fact, Harry discovered, it felt warm, comforting.
"You're mine, Harry. Never fear that I won't value you. I've been waiting for you for years. You're mine."
The fingers stroked on, moving over Harry's arm, feeling the curve of his biceps. Harry's muscles weren't very large, but his chest and arms were strong from practicing archery, which he'd been quite good at, at school.
"You're lovely," Severus said, his voice so warm, so appreciative. "Just nicely muscled, not overdone. I love the look and feel of you."
Now Harry let out a sigh. No one else had ever said such nice things to him.
"Take off your glasses if you can manage without them. I want to kiss you."
Hesitating a little, Harry finally put his hand up and removed his glasses. His fingers trembled and he knew it wasn't fear now, not for this. You see, Harry realised he wanted Severus to kiss him. He hadn't really wanted to kiss Cho at that Midwinter Party; it had been nerve-wracking then, worrying if he could do it properly. But this... this was Severus kissing him, and all Harry had to do was let him.
Severus' hand drew him around, turning him, pulling him close. "So lovely," Severus said, and kissed him.
Did stars explode behind Harry's eyes? No, my friends, they did not, but a revelation of sorts did occur. Harry melted into the man's strong arms, slipping his own around Severus' back and holding him close as Severus kissed him. Severus' lips were soft and warm; they moved against Harry's and Harry returned their pressure. As Severus moved his head, exploring the shape of Harry's mouth, testing those sensations of pressure and closeness, Harry found he liked the feeling. He liked the sensitivity of his lips and the special warmth kissing gave. Harry parted his lips automatically; he didn't have to think, didn't have to worry if it was right, for Severus' tongue slipped in almost magically as if it had always been like this for them, as if everything had always been so easy and natural.
The kiss tasted of coffee, and Harry found he liked coffee very much. And he always would.
When they drew apart, Severus kept his hands on Harry's arms. "All right?" he asked, his dark eyes soft now.
Harry managed a smile in response. "Yes," he said rather shakily, but his voice was shaky in a good way. "Yeah, it was brilliant."
For the first time in years Severus allowed himself a genuine smile of happiness. This was worth it! All those years, all that loneliness and lack of fulfilment, that inability to settle to the idea of anyone else but Lily's child, that obsession, was finally worth it. Harry was his now. "Good," he agreed, and kissed Harry again.
When they paused, Severus gestured to the towel. "Now, come to bed."
And Harry, despite his new-found confidence at the art of kissing, blushed. "Oh, er..."
Severus lifted the corner of the covers. "Slip underneath; you can throw out the towel after. There's no need to be awkward; you'll gain confidence once we've been together."
Harry looked gratefully at his lover. "I will? Okay." He shifted and slid his legs under the covers, shimmying down under the cool sheet. Once the cover reached his chest he fumbled around beneath it and pulled off the towel, hauling it down and shoving it over the edge of the bed. He was naked now. And so was Severus.
Strike while the iron is hot, as they say, so before Harry could over-analyse the situation, Severus pulled him close for another kiss. It should have been familiar to Harry by now, the same as the two kisses they'd shared before, but it wasn't. You see, friends, now there was flesh on flesh from their heads to their feet, and all that body pressed against him felt hot and hard, and Harry couldn't ignore it. He moaned in consternation into Severus' mouth.
Severus pulled back and chuckled. "Yes, it is a bit intense, isn't it?"
Severus was experiencing all these things anew too, but Harry did not know that; Severus was the master spy, and for him control was everything.
Harry nodded, gasping a little. "Blimey," he admitted, shaking his head. "I had no idea."
"So you're truly a virgin?"
Harry blushed earnestly this time. Severus was going to talk about things, about intimate things, and Harry knew he was just going to keep blushing tonight. Grinning a little sheepishly, he nodded.
Severus nodded back. "Good. I don't want to share you; I never wanted to do that, Harry."
Harry gave him a rather watery smile and brushed a lock of his thick, wayward hair from his face where it had fallen forward and was tickling his cheek. "No fear of that. I wasn't very popular."
Severus frowned. "No? Why was that? You're very attractive." The tone of his voice showed his sincerity; Harry could have no doubts that Severus appreciated him.
"I wasn't cool, didn't have the approval of the most popular, most powerful boy in my year. From the first time I entered the Seminary he persecuted me. I don't really know why."
Severus pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "No one will show you anything but respect here, Harry. No one! You are my bonded and people will behave appropriately or feel my anger."
Harry looked into Severus' black eyes which looked, for the first time, hard and threatening, though not towards him. Harry could see a hint of the Dark mage now and understand why this man was feared and respected. He nodded, grateful to have Severus on his side. "Thanks."
All the while they'd been speaking Severus' hands had been exploring the planes of Harry's back, his fingertips tracing lines of muscle and bone. "Mine," he whispered again, never taking his gaze from Harry. "You're mine."
Harry wasn't sure what to say to this, or even if he should speak. It seemed to mean a lot to Severus to say it, because he kept saying it. Harry wished he'd known earlier that he belonged to this man. All this would have seemed easier, but he thought he was coping pretty well, considering. The kissing had been okay, and this touching wasn't too bad.
That was until Severus' hands went lower, my friends, and started tracing the contours of Harry's hips, straying towards his buttocks.
Harry's eyes widened then. "Er..."
"Does that make you uncomfortable?"
"Um, yeah, a bit."
Severus stopped his downward progress regretfully. "The night is young, there's no hurry. You're mine now."
Harry was pretty sure Severus was talking to himself just as much as he was to him every time he said that. He nodded, though. "Yeah, I know. I just... it's all new, you know? Look, I wish I'd known about this, known what to expect. I'd have found out a bit more, I don't know... done something."
Severus smiled sadly. "I wish that too, Harry. It would have been easier for both of us. But I know what to do; I did the research, if you like."
Harry nodded. So Severus had had lovers, then. It was just as well that one of them knew what to do, he supposed, but he couldn't help feeling a stupid pang of jealousy that shot through his chest. That felt just like Cupid's bloody arrow, he thought, and presumed this feeling was what the old stories referred to.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" Severus spoke up to disturb Harry, who'd drifted off into one of his thoughtful moments again, and Severus wanted to keep his attention now.
"Eh? Oh, um, I suppose so. Yes, why not?"
Severus smiled at his young lover. Harry was not the most eloquent young man of his acquaintance, that was for sure. It was just as well Severus had discovered Harry was intelligent enough, because judged on his conversation in bed he'd never have known. Severus got up and strode over to a sideboard where a silver tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses stood.
Harry watched, fascinated, as Severus just got out of bed and walked away from him. The man's back was well muscled and as lean as his chest, but his backside... Harry couldn't take his eyes off the play of muscles as Severus walked away, the movements of his body... and then when Severus turned back, wine glasses in hand, Harry's jaw dropped.
Severus was different, Harry discovered. You see, Severus was in his late thirties by then; he was mature, and yes, he was bigger down there than Harry or the boys in his dorm. Bigger and hairier. Severus strode back just as assuredly as he'd walked away, but his black eyes glittered, coming alive again as he watched Harry's reaction.
"Oh, Merlin," Harry said under his breath. Severus handed him a glass of red wine which Harry suddenly felt very much in need of. What in the seven hells is Severus going to do with that? his mind gabbled at him.
You see, dear listeners, Severus' cock was half-hard and definitely interested. It looked both broad and long, and it was quite alarming to sixteen-year-old Harry.
Severus sat on the bed on top of the covers and took a sip of his wine. He watched Harry through lazily predatory eyes. There was time, but he was going to have Harry. Tonight. His body felt preternaturally aware; his cock tingled with anticipation. His Harry, who was just for him. Never anyone else and there would never be anyone else in Harry's life now. It was such a wonderful rush that he almost couldn't remember why he'd wanted Lily in the first place, especially once she'd been with James. Harry was just for him, and just perfect.
Harry sipped his wine more sedately now Severus was leaning back against the pillows. Severus was unashamedly naked, reclining there above the covers, but he wasn't doing anything; he was just drinking his wine. But the way he looked at Harry... Harry took another sip and fought not to let his nervousness show in the shaking of his hands. He was a Griffin, and that demanded bravery. He'd never felt particularly brave before; he'd always had a kind of stubbornness though. The stubbornness that had refused to let Draco Malfoy's torments get to him; the stubbornness that had made him make friends with Hagrid, much to Malfoy's derision, and, along with Ron and Hermione, to enter school competitions in broom-racing, chess and quizzes, and to win against Malfoy and his cronies. That stubbornness would get him through this.
Severus put his glass on the side table and picked up a small, ornate blown glass vial. It was dark blue, and Harry knew as soon as he saw it what was inside. His stomach dropped like a stone; Harry felt it do it, and his hand trembled now despite his best efforts at control.
Severus looked into Harry's eyes which had brightened with some intense emotion. It was fear, he knew it. But the fear had to be overcome. "I will not hurt you."
"You... um, how? I mean, you have to hurt me, with that." Harry gestured with a flick of his hand towards Severus' cock, but avoided looking at it.
"No. I don't have to. One step at a time, Harry. If I do everything carefully I don't have to hurt you. Believe me."
Severus' voice changed, Harry noticed it. He didn't realise the change denoted the use of a special spell though, of that magic Severus had perfected. A suggestion started to take root in Harry's mind and it swiftly became unassailable.
"No..." Harry said quietly.
"No." Severus agreed, his voice firm. "It doesn't have to hurt. Trust me."
Harry nodded, then he looked up with a smile. "I trust you." His green eyes were clear and untroubled.
Severus smiled back. "Yes." He unstoppered the vial with a little 'pop', and a sweet scent, as of summer's full-blown roses, surrounded them.
Harry's eyes flickered closed a moment as his nostrils flared in appreciation. "Lovely."
Severus nodded again. "Yes. As are you." His fingers were slicked with the fragrant oil. "Lie back, push down the sheet and spread your legs for me, my Harry."
Harry did so without hesitation, and found he was being swept along on a languid river; there was no reason to protest. He looked good, he looked lovely; Severus had said so. Harry looked at Severus, and Severus was looking at his body with appreciation. Yes, it felt good to be looked at like that, to be thought lovely.
Severus touched him, trailing an oily fingertip down the underside of Harry's erect cock. Harry wasn't sure when he'd become so hard, but he was, really hard. He moaned softly at the teasing touch. "Oh, please."
Severus' fingers cupped his balls, the other hand steadied on his hip. The hands felt hot, their touch felt like that wonderful burning, a good burning, a marking. "'S nice."
"I know," Severus agreed. "It is. And soon it will feel even nicer. Part your legs a little more."
Harry's legs flopped wider, his limbs totally relaxed now. The Suggestion Spell made him confident, and the wine he'd drunk heated his insides, but Severus' touch heated his skin far more. It felt hot, and hot was good.
Severus added more oil to his fingertips and traced the circumference of Harry's anus. The young man's body twitched under the attention. It felt wonderful to Severus, it was like a dream, a thing he'd hoped for but never thought he'd obtain. And yet it was real, the body beneath him felt warm and solid. "I've wanted you so long," he told Harry. "I've been alone so long. You've no idea how much I want you."
Harry heard Severus' words, but his eyes had drifted closed now and he felt so distracted he didn't realise Severus was telling him he'd waited for him. But he smiled, and managed, "Mm-hm."
Severus' finger breached Harry, it slid inside. And it was hot too, and it was inside him like nothing else had ever been, but it was still good. Oh yes, it was good, and Harry's smile never faltered.
And as the preparation continued, my friends, as one finger became two, became scissored until Harry's passage loosened enough for three, until Severus' fingers pushed more firmly and became thrusts that mirrored what was to come, Harry never lost his faint smile. He frowned a little too, in concentration as his hips picked up the rhythm, as Severus' thrusts were echoed with his own, but still he smiled.
Severus slid out his fingers and slicked his erection. "Are you ready, my Harry?"
Harry's eyes opened at that. He saw the dark gaze of his lover fixed implacably on him. He held Severus' gaze, not letting his eyes stray down to Severus' cock, because even in his befuddled state he didn't think that was a good idea right now. He knew, even under Severus' Suggestion Spell, that this was it: this was the moment when he'd be Severus' 'wife', when he'd lose his virginity. He'd never expected anything like this, but here he was and it was his duty to do it. And so far it had felt good. He nodded. "Yes."
Severus gave a slight inclination of his head in acknowledgment of Harry's permission. He pulled Harry's hips up then, draping the young man's ankles over his shoulders and positioning himself carefully. And he pushed inside.
Harry's relaxed state helped, made it easier for both of them. Severus paused, waiting for the final acceptance of the younger man's body that would give him the signal to begin in earnest. Harry gasped, panting rapidly for a while until the initial tightness and sharp feeling had faded. It burned, just like Severus' fingers had burned, but this was a much hotter and fiercer burn inside him. "Oh!" Harry gasped, unable to say what he meant, unsure what he meant, except oh.
And Severus began to push in and out, and got a rhythm going in his hips and began to get his muscles into play, his buttocks tightening with each push, abdominal muscles pulling him out, then back in and out again. Harry moaned. He moaned all the time, it was a deep, appreciative moan that filled Severus' mind and spurred him on. It was like a litany of ownership to Severus, of Harry's acceptance of his place. Of Harry, his Harry, his bonded. His.
And beneath him, Harry knew it now, he'd absorbed it and kept it inside himself, all that new knowledge learned in one day. It was intense, and his deep, soul-deep moans were evidence of it.
Severus built up the rhythm; his body taking over from his mind. Planning meant nothing as the blood surged, his heart pounded and he was swept away on the tide of passion that had remained unsatisfied throughout his adult life. He closed his eyes, despite wanting to watch Harry beneath him, he found he couldn't do it. He closed his eyes and went with the feelings that were overwhelming him. Severus' hips danced; he led and Harry followed, and it was perfect, perfect, perfect...
Severus only dimly noticed Harry's orgasm, a flood of warm wetness between them, and the gripping spasms around his cock. He was so close to his own peak it passed him by, except those clenching muscles succeeded in pulling him over the precipice he'd been walking. He gasped as his climax hit him, stealing his breath away as he lost awareness for a moment. When he could open his eyes again Harry was looking up at him, eyes wide and bright like the grass under the summer skies, and full of awareness.
Severus withdrew and pulled him close, rolling them onto their sides. He held Harry tightly, wanting to cling to him, keep him here, safe with Severus. MINE, you're mine, he thought again and again. My Harry, just for me.
Harry, initially dazed, awash with emotions, lay quiet in Severus' arms. As he came back to himself more and more, he found he didn't want to pull away. The man's tight hold was reassuring. Severus wanted to keep him, wanted to be with him. He really meant something to Severus; Severus had made love to him. Was that too fanciful? No, for although those words hadn't been spoken, Harry was sure they'd made love. This wasn't anything like the boys had joked about back in the Seminary; they hadn't 'fucked', they hadn't 'shagged'. What they'd done here was make love. And it had felt good... the best bloody feeling on Earth, in Harry's opinion. He smiled against Severus' shoulder.
Severus felt the movement of Harry's cheek against his shoulder and knew the young man was smiling. He let out a sigh of relief. Seventeen years, and it had seemed as long as a century. But the wait was over now, and it was worth it. "You know it, don't you?" he asked. "You belong to me."
"Yes," Harry answered, and there was acceptance in his voice, my friends.
Severus tightened his arms again, he held Harry close and dropped a kiss on the young man's temple. "Sleep now."
Severus added a hint of Suggestion and Harry's eyes drifted closed. They were both languorous after their love-making, and it was only a hint. He looked down at the young man in his arms. Harry's chest rose and fell evenly. His face was relaxed and he looked happy. "At last I have you, my Harry. I have waited the longest time for you; through cold years with no comfort, dreaming only of her."
If Harry had been awake, my friends, he'd have heard that Severus' voice echoed the sadness of that long wait, the years of doubt that this would ever come to pass, that it could ever be like this.
"She went beyond me when she joined with your father. I tried to get her back, Harry, but it was not to be. So I took what I could: her image, in you."
Severus paused, his lips dropping kiss after soft kiss onto Harry's mop of tousled hair. It felt so good against his skin; Harry felt so good in his arms. Harry was present; truly here, and it felt like some kind of miracle, something he'd almost given up on, had given up on, truth to tell, when his moods were despairing.
"Now I have you, things will be better," he told the sleeping boy. "I will be better, a better person. And you will love me too, in good time." Severus paused again, eyes unfocussed, his mind almost overwhelmed with what had happened here tonight.
"You will never know how much it hurt me to be in your mother's rooms; to break through the wards and be inside the convent," he told the sleeping man.
Remembering the pain he'd suffered only that afternoon, Severus stroked his fingertips through Harry's hair, breathing deeply until he regained control. "And yet you were worth it. Oh yes, you were worth it, my Harry."
Severus summoned his wand from the table. Holding the ebony tip against Harry's earlobe, he whispered, "Signum Proprietum."
Harry jumped a little as the magical tag appeared in his ear. It took the form of a tear-shaped green drop made of metal, like an earring. It was Severus' mark; the same mark all his horses wore, the sign of his ownership and protection. At the sight, Severus sighed and finally relaxed, the contract fulfilled. More than that, his life, so long empty, was finally full.
Harry settled again, the sting of the tagging felt no more than an insect bite in his sleep. Looking into Harry's peaceful features, Severus whispered one final, powerful Suggestion into his ear. "Stay with me, Harry; be mine. And be happy."
Now, my friends, that was an intense thing to tell, you must realise it. We have spent three evenings getting here, and I must rest awhile before I conclude this tale. I might just go and investigate the contents of the supper table, which is sure to give me strength for the ending. I think I can see one of Maisie's excellent egg custard tarts for dessert, which is as good a reason for a break as I can think of.
Ah, I feel nicely revived now! There is nothing quite like a belly full of fresh bread, strong cheese and pickled onions to keep a bard happy. A pint of ale and now this tot of very fine whisky made from the waters of the Highland River do wonders for keeping my voice fresh as well. For how would it be if I were to tell you my voice was cracking and I could not finish my tale tonight?
Ah, I see. But I really don't think you had to hit me with that inflated pig's bladder, Hector. That was a bit much. Especially as I was only teasing.
What? You were teasing too? Oh, very well, I will continue, if only to protect those of you who might be of a nervous disposition and not inclined to see such a shocking sight as the wielding of that bladder again. Dear me, it really was quite fearsome.
Yes, yes, we had got to a point some two years later, where
was standing by the paddock rails admiring Storm. The colt never ceased to take his breath away as he trotted towards him.
"Are you taking him out today?"
Harry looked over his shoulder at Severus who had come up behind him silently. Severus was so good at that, wasn't he? And Harry still wasn't used to the way he'd suddenly appear. "I'd like to, yes. D'you think I'm up to it then?"
"Yes, you've done well." Severus put his hand on Harry's shoulder; he was never more demonstrative than this when there were other people around. He called to Vincent Crabbe to saddle the colt for Harry.
"He's a bit skittish with me, sir," Vince said, eyeing the young horse with some trepidation.
Harry grinned at the boy. "He can be a bit naughty, but he's okay with me; he knows I won't let him get away with it. I'll do it, Vince, don't worry."
Vince dropped the tack onto the ground by Harry, relieved.
Severus squeezed Harry's shoulder, holding him back. "You should let him do it, Harry," he said quietly into Harry's ear. "Vincent needs to gain confidence with the stallions and handling them is the only way."
"Oh, sorry." Harry's shoulders sagged a little; he hated disappointing his husband.
"You do it, Vincent," Severus instructed, and Vince picked up the tack again.
Storm was three years old and he'd been ridden by Severus for about a year. This would be Harry's first ride on the beautiful young horse. Harry couldn't wait; he loved watching Storm prance around his paddock. He was kept with a couple of older geldings who were quiet companions; Storm was the obvious lord of their paddock. He could be wilful and needed a confident handler or he would start playing up, quickly asserting his dominance over a nervous human. He was happy to be ridden however, relishing getting out into the countryside, so he did not behave badly for Vince today as the boy put his bridle on; but he pranced impatiently as the young man saddled him.
"Wait until he blows out before tightening the girth," Severus instructed. "If he holds his breath the saddle will slip once Harry starts riding. It's a trick some horses learn to do to avoid a tight girth so always ensure you watch carefully for it, Vincent."
"Yes, sir," Vince said, watching Storm's ribcage.
Nothing dramatic happened, so Severus called out that he could tighten the girth now. "He's keen to be off."
"I hope I can hold him," Harry said rather nervously.
"You'll be fine, just hold him firmly, and let him know you're the boss. I'm coming out with you on Thunder."
Harry let out a sigh of relief and glared at his husband. "You could have told me! I was getting worried there."
"You think I'd let you ride out on my prize young stallion alone? You both need watching," Severus growled.
Harry just rolled his eyes, but the comment bothered him a bit today. For you see, my friends, something was niggling at the back of his mind, some uncomfortable worm of doubt. Why would Severus worry about letting him ride out on Storm? Was he afraid Harry couldn't ride the colt well enough to keep control? Surely he wouldn't have let him ride at all in that case. Was it something else? Surely Severus didn't think he'd sell Storm, or let the young horse cover some farm mare, like that tale about Alaric? Or...
"Right, master, he's ready," Vince said, leading Storm over to Harry.
"On you go, Harry."
So Harry took the reins, put his foot in the stirrup and swung up onto Storm. The young horse pranced again, eager to be off, but Harry held the reins tight. Greg appeared, leading up the gelding Thunder and Severus mounted too.
Severus was right about horse-riding: Harry had learned to love riding a horse just as he loved riding a broomstick. He'd been surprised to find it was just as exhilarating and now he understood why wizards would ride when they could travel in a magical manner instead. He wasn't off the ground, that was true enough, but he was joined body and soul to the animal beneath him as he sped over the countryside, their hearts pounding, the horse's mane and tail flying just as his own hair was whipped back by the wind. The feeling of both man and beast straining to go faster, their hearts pounding madly just for the joy of it, then tiring, slowing and finally coming back to a walk. Then they would amble quite lazily, and finally Harry would dismount to lie on the ground and appreciate the countryside while the horse grazed a little or drank from a stream. It was like Heaven, Harry believed, and he was so happy here with Severus he couldn't imagine why his mum hadn't told him about it.
Harry had never thought about leaving this place. He remembered that when he was younger he'd had dreams of travel, or of finding a mentor. Well, Severus was a mentor all right, he'd taught Harry so much and there was still much more to learn. In return Harry had only taught Severus how to swim, but he was glad to have given the older man something. Of course, he gave Severus his body every night, and his bonded partner did not seem able to get enough of him.
Between you and me, you know, Harry liked the sex. Quite a lot, if I'm to be honest, which as you know I strive to be. But our Severus... ah, Severus was obsessed with making love to Harry. Or, if Harry was tired, Severus would stroke and kiss him, or just hold him in his arms, but always he would need some contact. Fleetingly, Harry wondered what Severus' reaction would be if he tried to deny him, but there was no reason to do such a thing; that would be cruel.
Harry felt valued simply for being here. It was, he supposed, the sort of relationship most people dreamed of. Severus was no handsome prince, but that didn't really matter. Most people were just ordinary, not beautiful. So, as they set out on their ride, their black horses trotting side by side as they passed between the paddocks heading for the entrance gates, Harry realised he was happy.
So then, why would Severus not let him and Storm go out alone? There was that niggling thought, drifting to the surface of his mind again.
A glint of bright metal caught his eye and Harry looked down at his colt's head. Storm's ear tag was winking in the sunlight, its greenish-silver metal showing Severus' dragon breathing out the double-S monogram on one side. On the other was Storm's name in the centre with his date of birth; his sire and dam's names engraved around the circumference in smaller writing. It was elegant, a sign of breeding and ownership, and both were Severus' own. Severus owned the colt and he'd bred him; Storm owed his existence to the man riding beside them.
Harry already knew all this, my friends, but today it made him feel oddly uncomfortable. He raised his right hand to his ear and felt the small earring that he'd discovered after their first night together. It was quite plain except for Severus' dragon-and-SS motif in the centre. Severus had said it was a mark of his esteem.
Storm's ear tag not only identified him, it interacted with the farm's wards. If the young stallion got loose as his sire had once done he could no longer gallop off through the gates, even if they were open. The tag in his ear activated the wards and the young horse would find himself galloping through suddenly thick air that got thicker still, gradually slowing him until the horse had to stop. There was no way out. The Dragon Stud had never lost a horse since Alaric's jaunt all those years ago.
Harry fingered his earring and wondered. Did it do the same for him? As they passed through the gates which swung open at their approach, Harry was sure his bonded had done some wandless, wordless magic to open them. Now Harry was often awed by Severus' power and the elegance with which he exercised his magic; often he could do it without Harry noticing, though this time Harry was pretty sure Severus had cast spells on the wards. They rode through the gates and Harry wondered if more spells were at work; Severus must do something to release Thunder and Storm's ear tags through the wards and let the horses through. And the awful thought occurred to Harry then, dear listeners; was it the same for him? Did Severus have to release him? Was this how the wards kept Harry on the stud, marked and owned like the horses, as they would not restrain other people? Absently, Harry traced his finger over his earring again, and wondered.
"You're quiet today."
"Hm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking."
"About?"
"How beautiful it is here, how perfect to ride and how glad I am you showed me that. How much there is still to learn, just about everything." Harry laughed. "You know, just thinking."
Severus looked at Harry a little suspiciously. "So, you're happy here?"
"You know I am."
"Good. It's all I wanted, all I ever wanted."
"For me to be happy?"
"Yes. And to have you here."
To own me, Harry thought rather sadly, though he didn't say it aloud. He wondered where these restless thoughts were coming from today. He certainly didn't want to spoil their ride – that would be a crying shame. So many people would envy him his life, living and working in such beautiful countryside, riding such lovely horses, swimming in their own lake. Harry shook himself and concentrated on Storm's quickening gait. "Let's go, Severus," he called, and as he leaned forward he loosened the reins a little. It was all the encouragement the young horse needed and they shot forward, their horses' hooves kicking up dust from the lane.
They took the road through Hangleton, headed for the wide heath on the other side of town where they could let the horses gallop without hindrance. The townsfolk were used to seeing them pass. They admired the horses but were less surprised than outsiders, who always stopped and stared as the elegant black Arabs passed by. Today, someone did watch them from the back of his own horse.
"Commander Snape!"
Severus reined in Thunder. "Draco. You're home at last then?"
"Yes, I've just returned from Italy. I've been away travelling through Europe since the end of school. Improving my mind, you know."
Harry's stomach had dropped at the sight of the blond man he knew only too well. "His mind certainly needs improving," he muttered, hanging back.
Severus overheard, as he always seemed to; he turned and quirked a brow at Harry. "You have a problem with Draco?" he asked behind an undetectable, quickly erected privacy shield.
"He hates me," Harry said quietly. "Bullied me all through the Seminary."
Severus frowned; his own memories of school were not pleasant and he hated bullies. Willing away the spell, he turned to the young Malfoy.
"I believe you know my bonded, Harry Potter."
Draco had been looking at them curiously, wondering what the hell Potter was doing riding one of Severus' finest horses. He'd heard Potter was working at the stud and had assumed he was a hired hand; after all, the boy had to get a job somewhere and couldn't be too picky after his First Level exam results. But bonded? "Yes, I know him. I didn't know you were bonded." The words wanted to stick in Draco's throat, but he'd forced them out.
"Yes. We had an arrangement from the time he was born. You will treat him as you would me, of course." Severus' voice was hard, the statement an order.
Draco looked into dark eyes that were trained unwaveringly on him. "Oh, yes, of course, Commander Snape. Er, good day, Mr Potter. I trust you are well?"
Now Harry was looking at Draco with open dislike, but he managed to answer. "I am." He did not ask if Draco was well however; frankly he didn't care.
No, that's not right, I have admit it to you. I am trying to tell this tale truthfully, so I'll try again. Harry did not ask if Draco was well, really, he would have preferred it if Malfoy was ill, especially if he'd contracted some awful foreign disease on his travels. Galloping prick rot, perhaps.
"Well, I, er..." Draco squirmed under Harry's fierce glare. He was rarely so discomfited. His father was very wealthy and money usually bought him respect, but Snape was Lord Voldemort's right-hand man and a powerful wizard. It was a seriously bad idea to piss him off. "I'd better be getting back to the manor," Draco gabbled. "But both of you must come to dinner soon. I will send you an invitation. I'm sure my father would like to meet Potter, er, your bonded... er."
Harry's eyebrows rose. He doubted that Lucius Malfoy would want to give him houseroom; in fact he might hex him on sight. If his son was to be believed, Harry's father had ruined much of Lucius' life and Lucius had never got over it.
"Of course," Severus replied for both of them. "If it is convenient, we will come." At that he kicked Thunder in the belly; Harry followed on Storm and they were away.
Now, when they stopped after their gallop having reached the far side of Hangleton Heath, the horses' sides were heaving and the riders' were too, and Harry's mind had returned to dwell on the meeting with his arch-enemy.
After musing awhile and when he could speak again without puffing, he quizzed Severus. "Will Lucius Malfoy really want to meet me? Draco always said my father had made Lucius the way he is."
"He did," Severus said, patting Thunder's neck. "But Lucius has improved greatly over time; he does not travel far, but he does socialise at his manor with many of Hangleton's prominent citizens, as well as those from outside. I have attended his parties many times. He will welcome you as my bonded, and I hope he will come to realise, as I have done, that you are not your father. You are a very different man, Harry Potter."
Harry nodded and left it at that. He was glad to hear Severus' words, remembering the bitter words Severus had spoken as they'd left the convent: 'You're just like your father.' Thank the gods Severus had changed his mind, or Harry would have had a difficult time living at the Dragon Stud.
Despite his discomfiture after the unexpected meeting with his old enemy, Harry was happy to realise he'd have no more problems with Draco. His husband outranked the Malfoys in the Dark Sorcerer's service, which meant here in Hangleton and for many miles around. And that felt remarkably fine.
Later that night, dear listeners, Harry went to bed first as usual. Unless they went out for the evening Severus retired late; he read or did paperwork in the evenings, either for the stud or pursuing his own interests. Harry suspected he might be writing a book, but Severus was tight-lipped about it if he was. Harry didn't mind. He would head off to bed with a quiet word to Severus and head for the bathroom as was his routine. He'd never forgotten that first night and Severus' request that he be really clean. And knowing that his husband would want some kind of intimacy later, Harry always made sure he was. Once in bed Harry would read while he waited for Severus to come to him.
On this particular night, Severus came upstairs soon after Harry had got into bed and he headed for the bathroom. When Severus emerged his hair was freshly washed and he was casting a drying spell – he did this nearly every night – and he was wearing one of his long nightshirts. It came down to mid-calf and the only flesh exposed was Severus' long, pale feet – so reminiscent of his elegant hands – and his skinny calves.
Now, my friends, our Severus was not really a hairy man; Harry at sixteen had thought him so at first, but at eighteen Harry was growing his own chest and body hair and thought he might well end up the hairier of the two of them. Severus' body was pale; he wore clothes to cover himself all year round, claiming that his skin was sensitive to sunlight. Harry didn't mind, he thought the contrast of Severus' white skin and his silky dark hair was attractive.
Severus approached the bed. "Harry," he said in what Harry thought of as his bedroom voice, deep and full of desire.
Harry's body responded to it, recognising pleasure to come. And Severus was a thoughtful lover, good people, always ensuring Harry reached climax before he let himself do so. Once in bed Severus' hands reached for Harry, who lay naked under the sheets. Severus loved that, he'd told Harry. Severus liked Harry to undress him, so Harry reached for the hem of Severus' nightshirt and lifted it up, exposing him, kissing the pale flesh as it was uncovered. Once Severus was naked Harry smiled at him as Severus reached in for his first kiss of the night.
That kiss was so familiar and yet Severus could never get enough. Seventeen years... seventeen years of loneliness had still not been purged from his soul, my friends. The feel of Harry's warm, solid body in his arms was reassuring, oh yes it was, but all the while Severus feared its absence like he feared nothing else, not even his lord. He dreaded waking alone, lying isolated in the centre of his large bed, like a shipwrecked sailor on an endless expanse of beach with nothing but the sky above and an empty world surrounding him. That emptiness still dwelt at the edges of Severus' soul, you see, threatening to creep inside. And so he held Harry close and kissed him deeply and well, taking his time to trace Harry's lips, tease Harry's tongue and truly taste his bonded until the young man was moaning his encouragement into Severus' mouth. With this, every night Severus tried to fill himself with the certainty of his possession of Harry, with its permanence, for a wizard was a very different thing to own than a horse.
"Mine, you're mine," he whispered almost desperately as his hands stroked along Harry's back, down his arms, caressing his buttocks, assuring himself through touch that he wasn't alone, that he wouldn't be so again.
Severus did this every night. The poor man couldn't help it, but Harry understood, merely lying there quietly beneath his bonded's agitated touches, smiling up at him reassuringly. And then he always said, "Yes."
But tonight Harry was silent, and oh, how Severus feared it! Had he done this once too often? Was Harry sick of his possessiveness? Severus knew he could not stop it, could not flick his wand and cut out his fear of abandonment. He'd tried, you see, oh, how he'd tried over those seventeen lonely years, and tried again more desperately after Harry had arrived, but it never worked. The only way to be free of Lily's influence would be to cast Forgetfulness on himself, to cut out the memory of her abandonment and all that followed. But that would be a crime. To lose his memories of Lily Potter would be like destroying a beautiful painting, Severus thought, or smashing a classical statue. He just couldn't do it, even though he felt pain as he looked back at those memories. No, all he could do was reassure himself every night that all was finally well in his world.
For his need for Harry, for Lily's child, was bone-deep and permanent. "Harry?"
Harry looked languorous, his eyes were closed. On hearing his name he opened them. "Yes?"
Severus didn't know what to say, how to ask his bonded partner if he was truly happy, with this, their intimacy. He didn't dare ask for fear that Harry might say no, that he was tired of it, though the younger man always reached climax and seemed content enough with what Severus did to him. Floundering, Severus kissed him instead, a hint of desperation obvious in the kiss. After they broke apart he laid his lips softly against the shell of Harry's ear, just breathing for a moment; his warm breaths made Harry shiver.
And then Severus said the words, my friends; words he'd only spoken once before in his life. He needed Harry to know, to understand just how valued he was, how important to Severus. "I love you," he whispered.
Harry stiffened a moment in his arms, and then turned to look at him, eyes searching Severus' face. "You do?"
Severus nodded.
"Show me," Harry said.
Severus did so, wordlessly showing his love with his lips and fingers, with his tenderness and his hardness, and as he pushed that hardness into his bonded, he joined with him as fully as he could. And Harry found release, and he found pleasure, Severus saw it in his green eyes when, sated, they fixed on him again. And Harry smiled.
"You see?"
"Yes, I see. Thank you, Severus."
If Severus' heart cringed that his words weren't returned, and if he feared that his sentiment, as when he'd said it before so many years earlier, was unwanted, well, he would not admit it. He could not be the weaker one here; he was the owner, and in charge.
So we see here, my friends, how Severus' attempt to force love and happiness had been doomed to failure from the start, just as Lily had told him. For here they were now, in a position where most people would be as happy as a couple could be, living in a pleasant place, having an active sex life and being together in many rich ways: as mentor and student, co-workers on the stud, as husband and bonded, and yes, as friends. But still they both lie in bed, their minds turning over their relationship, their true meaning to each other. For Harry now wonders about it just as much as Severus does, for Severus had never renewed the Suggestion Spell he'd cast that first night, hoping his Harry had found true happiness in his life with him. And as the spell wore off Harry's mind, increasingly, wondered about these things.
So Harry lay there staring at the ceiling. Severus had said he loved him. It was more than Harry could have expected when he'd been snatched from home. Back then he'd been dreading violence, rape, perhaps even being treated as a slave. But how could Severus really love him? Severus had loved his mother, how could he then suddenly love Harry? It made no sense to the young man; it couldn't be true love. No, if Severus loved him it was as a possession; he loved him as Lily's son, Lily's first-born child. Severus would have accepted anyone – be it boy or girl, dark or blond, fat or thin. No, it wasn't Harry he loved at all; it was his possession, Lily's child. He couldn't have the mother but he had the son. That was what Severus loved.
Now, as Harry was thinking these ultimately bitter thoughts, Severus noticed Harry was lying beside him, still wakeful. Harry needed sleep; they both did. Severus wasn't sure he'd get any tonight, not without a sleep potion, but he could help Harry. He cleared his throat, leaned close and spoke into the young man's ear: "Sleep, my Harry."
Harry drifted to sleep, his mind tired but still agitated. He dreamed awhile.
Harry was being swept along on a turbulent river, powerless to swim against the current. His mother stood on the bank, crying out, her panicked cries drifting to him on the wind, becoming fainter and fainter. Finally he could not hear or see her anymore; all he could hear was the rush of fierce water, all he could see was alternately the churning water or the sky. He was being swept away, far away from his home and everything he'd known.
Gradually the water slowed, Harry still bobbed along but now he felt less panicky; he let the current take him, no longer sweeping him away, just leading him on to new places, a new life. Finally, the river stopped flowing. Harry was in a warm pool in a woodland glade; a little waterfall emptied over a bank on one side and bright fish darted by him, their colours iridescent beneath the clear water. Harry felt peace then; this place was beautiful, like paradise. The turbulence of the river was behind him, forgotten, the languid warmth of the pool was everything. Harry floated on his back, listening to birds singing, insects chirping and buzzing. He watched the trees swaying in the gentlest breeze. His eyes drifted closed and he slipped under the surface of his mind into deepest, dreamless sleep. Severus' spell had brought him peace.
They had ginger cake for tea next day, and buttered crumpets. They sat and chatted in the late afternoon, winding down from their day's activities before the evening proper began.
"Are we out tonight?" Harry asked.
"No. There is a reception at Hangleton Manor tomorrow night, but tonight's clear."
"Good. I don't feel like making small talk tonight."
"No, I must admit I rarely do." Severus chuckled ruefully. "But it has to be done sometimes. It keeps our lord happy. Apparently we are good ambassadors, you and I. You are Sister Lily's son, so how can you be truly Dark, and I am that fellow who breeds those lovely horses."
Harry snorted. "My mum is not happy with me living here. She doesn't keep on about it, but I feel it every time I visit her."
"This divide is stupid; I have thought so since I was at the Seminary."
"Yeah. Magic isn't one thing or the other. The world is made up of opposing elements: winter and summer, fire and water. Why should the Light and Dark be thought of differently?"
"You know why. There are those, and some of them are our more secretive neighbours, who tread too close to the Darkness. It can take you over, Harry; I recognise that better than I did when I was younger. But treated properly Dark magic is a tool, an element. You and I have learned to treat it with respect, not everyone does. So it is feared, rightly. But once that is accepted, there is a place for those who can manipulate the power safely. We can be of great benefit to our countrymen."
Harry sighed. "I wish Mum could understand."
Severus looked closely at him. "So do I, Harry, so do I."
They sat quietly eating their ginger cake, both thinking. Harry watched Severus lick his sticky fingers, chasing every tiny hint of ginger just as he'd done on that first day, and smiled.
Severus was still thoughtful however and did not respond in kind. Instead, he spoke again. "I have been thinking of contacting the Order. As an ambassador, as our lord implies. I would contact Albus Dumbledore first; he is a wise man and would listen to my words."
"About what?"
"I believe we can find an accommodation if we restrain the more extreme people on both sides of the divide. We can live together, stop this incessant fighting. First we lose Mulciber, then they lose Kingsworthy in reprisal. It is worse if there's open war; the casualties are heavier, no longer single agents or militia men. The last war was the worst in history, and who knows that the next might not be worse still. We cannot not try."
Harry leaned forward, eyes bright. "You are right. I know you're right, but it will be difficult. So many of the powerful families have their own militias now. Does our lord agree?"
Severus had had talks with Voldemort, my friends, closeted alone up in Hangleton Manor for hours at a time. If anyone could be said to understand the mind of the Dark Sorcerer, it was Severus Snape. Severus would not have claimed that for himself, he knew his lord was deep; Voldemort's aims included the expansion of the Darkness and of his own influence. Maybe Dumbledore would be willing to allow some of that in return for peace, but it was a fine line that Severus would have to tread, both to persuade his lord to keep trying negotiation and to convince Dumbledore to give him something for Voldemort's forbearance. "He agrees to an extent."
Harry reached out and put his hand over Severus'. "You're a good man, Severus; you can do it."
Severus felt rather incredulous. He had never been called 'good'. He knew he was many things but would not have used that word.
Seeing Severus' expression, Harry laughed softly. "I think so, anyway."
The season changed; ice crusted the water troughs and the pregnant mares and this year's foals were brought in overnight and turned out next day if the weather was fitting. There was always work on the stud, and plenty of it. Harry liked helping Vince and Greg, and Severus often left them to the practical work while he studied the latest books he'd borrowed from the Dark Sorcerer's library and made his plans.
And so, dear listeners, life for Severus was as good as he'd ever known. So good that he was scared of losing it. At long last he understood how Lily had felt when she'd found love with James. Looking back, he hated her choice just as much as he'd ever done, that it was James Potter and not Severus she'd found love with, but now at least he understood it. Love was the strongest force in the world; he'd read that somewhere and scoffed at it then, but now he felt it for himself.
Yes, I know what I said about Severus, that he had felt love earlier when he'd first set eyes on Lily, but you see that was a mere shadow of how he felt now as the days and weeks passed with Harry. Harry was perfect, wonderful, everything Severus had ever wanted...
Nearly. For you see, my friends, Harry still lay quiet beneath him at night, except when Severus played the instrument of the young man's body to make him produce such beautiful sounds. Severus thought that somehow Harry wasn't quite here with him; he felt it sometimes when he stood by Harry looking out over the paddocks. Harry said he wanted to stay and work on the stud, he showed every sign that he found the work rewarding, but still there was something distant and almost mournful about him at those times.
Now, my friends, Severus had always let Harry visit his mother once a month, for he didn't want to be unreasonable, never that with Harry. Harry didn't deserve to be separated so cruelly from her, and he had always come back, always justified the trust. Admittedly Severus always whispered a Suggestion Spell to him the night before he left, just to be sure that Harry would return. Harry went away overnight and stayed in the convent to have a good visit with his mum. But every moment he was away Severus felt as if a void had opened up beneath his feet; he felt as if he was balanced on nothing but air, just as James Potter had been that day on the cliff top.
And yes, in truth he was poised there, for all that stood between him and the plunge, dear listeners, was those few words of Suggestion. But Harry always came back.
Severus could see Harry now standing by the paddock looking at the maiden and barren mares. They were rugged up warm but Harry was only wearing his indoor work clothes: trousers and a knitted top. Severus had been watching him, as he often watched him from the library window. He wondered what Harry was thinking about to stand there so long in the frosty air. Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and put down his quill.
"Harry?"
"Hm? Oh, Severus."
"Who else?"
"Yeah, who else?"
Harry's voice sounded almost resentful and Severus was immediately on guard. Harry's body language was stiff; it had alerted him even while he'd been in the library. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, no. What could be wrong?" Harry asked, and his voice was as sarcastically biting as ever Severus' could be. "Everything's running like clockwork, isn't it? These mares will be mated in the spring and get pregnant, and if they don't and they've missed three years they'll be sold. Everything is logical here, everything efficient."
"Well, yes, that's how to run a profitable stud," Severus said, bewildered.
"Yeah. Everything marked and performing its task. How to run a stud. And a partner." Harry put his hand to his earring. "Tagged, marked. I'm another possession, aren't I, Severus? Just like your horses and your house. Like your post-hawk and your medals. Tagged and marked so we can't go beyond your wards without your permission. Unless you let us go."
"Go?"
Severus' voice sounded weak and terrified, but Harry didn't notice, my friends. No, he was far too agitated. He'd been burning up inside, this had been bothering him more and more as time passed until finally he just had to say it. He'd wanted to say it better; he'd planned to raise the whole ownership issue one evening when they could have a sensible debate, but it just wouldn't stay inside him any longer. Harry wanted to ask Severus to free him.
"You're not just a possession," Severus croaked. "I love you, Harry. Haven't I told you that?"
"You loved my mother."
"And now I love you. I love you more!" Severus held his hands out, open-palmed, in a gesture of helpless offering.
"No! You forced her into agreeing to the contract, and then you forced me to come here as some kind of substitute for what she wouldn't give you, what she couldn't give you. All of it forced. You love the idea of Lily's child, Severus. Not me, not Harry. I don't know what kind of obsession this is, but it's not love."
And oh, how poor Severus felt sick, my friends. It was like Lily's words were being played back to him, but they felt far more hurtful from Harry's lips. Severus thought he'd probably forgotten to breathe for a while; maybe forgotten how to breathe as his heart stood still. Really, it didn't matter if it never started up again, because that void was there beneath his feet again, Severus could feel it opening up... and this time it was swallowing him.
"But... I've given you everything, Harry. I would give you anything you asked for."
When Harry spoke his voice was soft, but the words were sheer torture to the man standing with him. "So, would you give me my freedom?"
Severus heard nothing more, not the sweet sound of the wind in the pines on the ridge, not the gentle nickers of the horses' greetings or the questions of Gregory as he approached to see if they wanted to ride out on this bright, but freezing winter's day. He didn't hear Harry speaking and he didn't notice when he walked away.
It was Severus who stood there now, standing by the paddock looking out at the maiden and barren mares.
Afternoon tea was quiet; neither man spoke as they ate iced fairy cakes and bread and jam, their only words were to a perplexed Sally in thanks for her care. Harry stood up to leave.
"If you really knew what love was you wouldn't force me to stay with this," he said, pointing to his earring.
Severus' eyes flicked up at the gesture, then down to his plate again. He didn't reply.
Perhaps surprisingly after this, good people, they continued to make love as often as before. Severus' embraces were just as warm and as needy as ever, more so if anything. Harry would kiss back, sometimes quite fiercely, and he reached completion in Severus' arms every night. And they still held each other as they slept.
And Severus mouthed the words against Harry's ear every night, but he no longer said them aloud. Harry didn't believe him, did he? But what he said was true: Severus did love the young man, he loved him with his heart and with his soul, and he wanted nothing but Harry's happiness. You see, my friends, it was true love, as I promised you at the beginning. But oh, it hurt like hell.
When both men came in from the foaling barns Harry was ecstatic. Severus had shown him the spells to use in emergency, but Mistral had foaled without problems. "She's a beautiful little filly."
"She is," Severus agreed.
"Thank you for trusting me to deliver her."
"You were ready. And I trust you with everything," Severus said quietly. And in his mind, he added, even with my heart.
Sally looked after them especially well at foaling time and the tea table was laden with more food than usual; there were little platters of chocolate fancies, tiny sticky buns and a round iced cake with three candles on it. Harry smiled at the sight. "It must be our anniversary."
Severus stood behind him and put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Three years, Harry. You've been here three years and it's been the best three years of my life."
Harry turned and kissed him; it was unusual for Harry to initiate a kiss. Severus held him close, held him safe. He closed his eyes as Harry kissed him, his heart thumping with a heavy rhythm that insisted he take note of the moment. And he did, my friends, he noted it, and then he stepped back.
"I wanted to give you a gift," Severus said. "Something to make you happy."
Harry smiled. "I have everything I need, Severus. You know that."
"I know you don't," Severus said quietly, and he reached up and removed Harry's earring.
Harry gasped, his fingers fluttering to his ear. He had to touch to be sure it was gone. "You... why did you do that?"
"Because I love you," Severus answered.
Harry took Severus' hand then, and this time Harry led Severus to their bed. And once there, Harry made love to his husband. He took his time, showing Severus more pleasure than the man could have imagined possible, even after their three years together. And this time Severus came in Harry's arms before Harry let himself find his own release, thrusting deep and long into the man who had just set him free.
And in the morning, friends, when Severus opened his eyes to the insistent bright light of another spring dawn, Harry was gone.
And Severus was alone again.
Some weeks later Severus looked out over his land, at his beautiful horses and the cheerful boys scurrying around working among them. They'd just taken on another helper; even with Harry there the work had become too much. Now Harry was gone perhaps he'd need another hired hand. Severus sighed, he really couldn't think about finding a suitable, strong lad with a love for horses at the moment; he didn't have the strength to think about any of it.
Although his wealth and power had been built up throughout his life, Severus felt he'd somehow been thrown back to the beginning, to the time when he'd found himself alone after Lily chose James Potter and left him. But this was worse, good people, oh, it was far worse! Severus could never have imagined that anything could be worse than that bitter time in his youth, but this was. Harry's loss, he recognised, was the biggest loss of his life and he wondered if he could survive it. Back then, after Lily, Severus had found a way to go on, something to look forward to. The waiting, those awful seventeen years of loneliness were made bearable because he knew it wouldn't be forever, that there was someone for him, growing up, being taught and shaped to be just for him.
But that had been a lie, hadn't it? Harry hadn't been brought up to be his wife, his consort. Harry had had no idea that was to be his destiny. The fact that they'd had three years together, three perfect, glorious years for Severus, was a testament both to Severus' Suggestion Spell and Harry's inborn sense of honour. But the spell had worn off over time and Harry had become aware of his status as possession. And he'd asked Severus to take that away. Severus hadn't wanted to; he had dreaded what might happen – what had happened. But Severus could deny his Harry no longer; nor could he bring himself to cast the Suggestion Spell on him again; that would have been a hollow victory, and Harry's compliance would have meant nothing. Severus had learned, belatedly perhaps, but he had learned what some never do. That forced behaviour, be it under the influence of spells, or potions, or the lure of money, is worth nothing. It says nothing, my friends, nothing real, and Severus did not want to be in receipt of that nothing any more. He wanted Harry, but only if his Harry genuinely wanted him in return.
Severus stood there, quietly remembering the young man who had done so much for him in those three years. Harry had given himself over into Severus' hands and by doing so he'd given Severus such happiness. But finally he'd asked for his freedom. And Harry deserved it. It had been his only request, for Harry had never asked for anything in return for his compliance, but once that wish had been spoken Severus had realised he could deny Harry nothing. For he loved Harry Potter, and now he knew it was true love: the kind that wants the best for the loved one, even if it brings pain to the lover; the kind of love that lets the loved one go. Lily had spoken of that kind of love and Severus had not understood then, just as she'd said. No wonder she had scorned him and felt sorry for him. For all his studiousness, all his wisdom and book-learning, Severus Snape had been a fool.
Thirty years of knowing Lily, then waiting for and finally living with her son... it felt like a lifetime, and Severus knew he did not have the strength to start over again. So he had nothing left to hope for, did he, dear listeners? Harry had been gone three weeks by this time, and Severus had accepted he wasn't coming back. Lily's parting words had come true: "Harry will do his duty," she had said, "but he will never love you."
By all the gods! Severus cried inside his mind. He was dead, surely this was death! His heart felt numb; he was dead inside even if he hadn't stopped breathing yet. Was life worth living like this? And if he stopped living, if he stopped breathing, who would care for his horses, his precious creatures? Who would care about what happened to Greg and Vince?
Severus had changed, my friends; from living his life he'd returned to enduring it. It was, after all, the way he'd spent most of his adult life, the state he knew best. It was cheerless and its return deepened the frown lines on his face. His sharp laughter no longer rang out; he rode out on Thunder less often, and Storm did not get ridden at all. The young stallion would forget about being ridden in time, but for now he always trotted over to the edge of the paddock overlooking the lane, nickering at Thunder as Severus rode by, expecting to go with them with Harry on his back. He would cry out as they left him, the sound of the horse's whinny cutting fresh wounds inside Severus' heart, and that numb organ would twinge under the onslaught, though Severus had thought it dead.
How sad you look, young Mercy! But do not turn your mouth down nor shed a tear, for I have not quite done with my tale.
Now, painful though it is to consider, while our Severus was at his lowest, there were many who would have called his depressed state retribution, no more than fair dealing for the deaths he'd caused, and surely far less than the Dark bastard deserved. But Vincent and Gregory, the poor boys who owed the man their training and their livelihood, were greatly saddened to see him cast down. They watched him with scared eyes, fearing he might do something desperate. They could see how deeply Severus loved Harry, had watched it for three years. They, alone on this Earth, truly understood his pain. But there was nothing they could do to comfort him, so they worked extra hard and reported to him often, just to make him speak, instinctively trying to keep him in touch with reality.
Now you are no doubt wondering why Harry left Severus and what he was doing now. Had he fulfilled his wish to travel? Did the world beckon to a young man who was now free?
Harry Potter was far to the southwest, sitting in his mother's little kitchen at the kitchen table, tracing the pattern on a pottery vase that held daisies. His mum was chatting away happily. They'd seen each other regularly during the three years of Harry's residence at Dragon Stud, but it hadn't been enough for Lily, who'd hoped for so much more when Harry left school. It was true that Lily was as busy as ever, both with her role at the convent and increasingly beyond it. She travelled the length and breadth of Britannia. She gave talks at village halls; had a stand at the country shows and visited new mothers with the midwives. There was hardly anyone in Britannia who didn't know of Sister Lily's crusade for abused women and the Light. To be honest, quite a few thought her odd, my friends, for she was driven and fiery when she declaimed at public meetings, and many thought her creepy when she turned up to disturb the happiness of new mothers with tales of abuse and the offer of a bolt-hole, should they ever need it.
Still, Lily was happy and fulfilled, and glad to have Harry back. She'd been worried sick that he'd turn into a changed and dangerous wizard living down there in that den of Darkness. Every time her son had visited over the past three years she'd looked into his eyes, but while she saw increased wisdom and power there, Harry only spoke of his work on the stud farm. But now she was relieved – she knew this was still her Harry, and she was happy to know it. Harry was too strong, she told herself, too Light, far too much a Griffin to be lost to the Darkness down there. And here he was to prove it, back home again. Lily smiled at him.
"Mum?"
"Mm?"
"I'm going back."
Lily's eyes sharpened, she sat up straight. "You're doing what?"
"Going back, Mum. I can't just leave him. He loves me."
"He loves you?" Lily sounded frankly disbelieving. "Severus loves you now? He was obsessed with his love for me all those years and now he loves you? Oh, please, Harry, the man doesn't know what love is!"
"I believe he does." Harry spoke quietly, with conviction. "He's learned. He set me free. He didn't have to do that."
"He... set you free. I thought you'd escaped."
"I told you, I asked him. He thought about it, and then on our anniversary he set me free. Weren't you listening when I told you that?"
"I..." Lily had listened, but she hadn't really believed it. She'd thought Harry was telling some tale to cover his culpability at leaving, that Harry had escaped and was breaking the contract by coming here, but didn't want to admit it to her. Lily was happy to shelter him, even though she'd feared Severus coming after him. When Severus hadn't turned up ranting and raging, she'd thought they'd got lucky, for now. But if Harry was right, Severus had set him free and wouldn't be coming here to drag him back to Hangleton. It explained his non-appearance.
It also meant her childhood friend had finally realised what love was. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she took Harry's hands and squeezed them. "You showed him what love really is, Harry. There is no Lighter service you could perform. I'm proud of you."
Harry squeezed back. Yes, it was good to show Severus what love was, but he was pretty sure Severus wasn't very happy about it at the moment. Harry could feel his pain.
One week later Harry approached the gates of the Dragon Stud. The gates were shut and Harry walked over to ring the bell, but as he got close the latch clicked and the gates swung open. Harry smiled; he was still welcome here, the wards still accepted him. He'd seriously wondered if he'd be stuck outside now he wasn't wearing a tag, love locked out beyond Severus' sanctuary walls, but no, he was welcome home.
It was early evening. Vince and Greg were not about; they'd gone down to The Bellwether for a pint and a game of darts with the locals. Harry walked up to the Dragon's Tower and opened the door. The kitchen smelled of cherry cake and tea, the warm smell of Sally's baking was nostalgic, making Harry realise he was finally home. The pretty little elf looked up and smiled at him. "You're home, Master Harry. I will go and tell Master Severus."
"No, I'll go, Sally. It's all right; you carry on with your cooking. Is he in the library?"
"Yes, Master Harry. He's going to have some tea soon, but he is working there for now."
Harry climbed up the spiral stair and as he emerged onto the next storey, then the one above, he felt how quiet the tower was. Sally made very little noise as she moved about cooking and cleaning for the household. Severus was a quiet man, self-contained almost to the point of being reclusive. Harry knew he'd been the one to draw Severus out, to make the man laugh and talk when he'd normally say nothing. Yet this silence felt like a thick blanket, smothering him the further he penetrated the tower.
The library was nearly dark. The sun was still bright, but the shutters had been closed and there were few candles alight, the illumination spelled low. It felt like night in here. The fire's glow was the brightest thing in the room, and it was nearly obscured by the black shape sitting in front of it. Severus had his back to Harry and he was staring into the fire. He might have been sitting there for moments, or for weeks, the quality of his stillness felt eternal.
Harry had come to a halt at the top of the stairs. He didn't want to startle Severus. In the end, he didn't have to.
"You came back." Severus didn't turn.
"Yes, for you. I want to be with you, if you'll let me."
"Let you?" Severus' voice wavered.
Harry wondered how Severus was, what expression he was wearing. He'd never heard Severus sound like this. "Please, Severus."
At the sound of the plea Severus did turn and Harry gasped a little, repressing the sound as he didn't want Severus to realise his shock. His husband's face was gaunt and he'd changed; he'd lost weight in the month Harry had been gone. But worse, infinitely worse, was the dampness of tears on the man's cheeks. Harry's heart went out to him and he stepped forward. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I had to go, just to check out how I felt. I needed to know it was real, Severus, that my feelings were not influenced by that bloody tag. I needed to know it was me, Harry, that felt those things. I couldn't promise you anything until then."
Harry knelt in front of Severus and put his arms around the thin man's shoulders. "And it was. Me. I had to come back. Because I love you."
And so finally, in the land of Britannia, my friends, from that time on, and
the vow that had shaped his destiny, the hero of our story, who finally deserves to be called a hero, the Dark mage Severus Snape, was happy. And so was Harry Potter, his consort and his student, his bonded and, in a way, his promised wife. At last Harry knew he was truly content with his life there in Hangleton, that it was really he who was appreciating the pleasures of assisting and learning from a great wizard whose mind was second to none. A man who deserved his admiration, and had earned it.
I will not tell you that they never had troubles, dearest listeners, for that would not be true. Light mixed with Darkness, Darkness with Light, through good times and bad. Life is a bumpy road, my friends, but the ride is the more interesting for it.
Severus Snape is remembered these days as the man who rehabilitated the Darkness. He allied himself with Arthur Weasley after General Moody died at the Battle of the Stronghold and Arthur had become Dumbledore's right-hand man, just as Severus was Lord Voldemort's. Following much negotiation, long hours of talks, and many trials and errors on both sides, the war sputtered out and finally came to an end. People learned that Dark and Light in balance can lead to a better world, a peaceful world, and that it is infinitely more rational to live and let live.
For everyone amongst us, good people, is made up of both Darkness and Light. Once we start splitting the world into the certainties of black and white it becomes an uncomfortable one for all but the most extreme on each side. That lesson was successfully preached by Severus Snape, who had studied all magic from childhood and managed to remain uncorrupted by it. He had done bad deeds and good, to be sure, like most in those times of unrest, but in the end, after he had lived life and learned as he'd gone along, just as we all do, he was not a cruel man. Just a strong one.
One evening, just as the sun was floating on the horizon, poised to sink beneath the world, Severus stood on the crest of the hill and watched as his bonded returned from a visit to Godricsham. Harry would always return, for Harry was happy now, and he was free; and in the end he had chosen Severus as his life partner. And Severus, who had wanted the mother for so many years with such a burning, obsessive desire, found that he was content with the son in a way that eased his heart and healed the deep wounds of the past. The fierce, manic desperation had faded, to be replaced by warmth and a sense of wholeness. It was a very different love from the kind he'd felt for Lily; in fact, Severus wondered whether it was the same emotion at all.
Now he was the acknowledged deputy to Lord Voldemort – who was never to become wizarding royalty, by the by, although he tried to persuade the magical population to bring back the monarchy from time to time – Severus had position and growing wealth and power. And at last, my friends, he had, and truly understood, love.
"Severus?"
There was a question in Harry's voice as he drew near the tall, dark figure. Hearing it, Severus tried not to look unwelcoming; he knew his natural intensity dragged his face into gaunt lines that often looked forbidding.
"Harry."
Harry smiled, reaching up for a kiss. "I'm home, love."
"Yes. You are home, my Harry." Into Harry's mop of wayward dark hair he mouthed, "Always home, and always mine."
And that, good listeners, is the end.
And so it was, the end of the tale told over three evenings in The Full Net at Swinfield, by a wandering bard.
the end of this story, for there were later retellings of the tale of Severus Snape and Harry Potter, and this is how they came to be told.
You see, over those three nights Maisie Standish offered to take the bard to her house to rest as she had a spare bed, and he gladly accepted. Each evening she gave him egg custard and sweet honey bread for a late, late supper, with a rich cup of coffee to follow. And finally, in the early hours of the next day when they'd finished talking together, she gave him a nightcap of her best whisky that she kept for when she or Mercy had a cold. The bard thanked her kindly, his bright eyes fixed on her.
Maisie thought the man was almost other-worldly, a little scary. Although Maisie was a witch she was not a powerful one, but this man gave off the aura of a strong wizard and Maisie offered him the respect he was due because of it. She wondered why he lived this strange life, travelling around telling tales of other people's lives. If the tales were true, of course, though the man, whose name no one knew, for everyone called him 'the bard', always swore they were.
Yes, it was a strange life he led, and the old man was a strange fellow. But Maisie, who, except for the company of her growing daughter, had been alone since her husband had been drowned at sea three years before, felt drawn to him. On the last morning of his stay, the morning after his tale had been told and after they'd eaten a breakfast of bacon, eggs and fried honey bread, the bard asked Maisie if she would like to visit his home. And Maisie had answered 'yes'.
Later, she thought it was adventure, romance and the lure of the unknown that had called to her and led her from Swinfield for the first time in her life. But she left that home and her hens in the capable hands of her daughter, who was nearing the age where she would run her own household anyway. No, Maisie never knew quite what it was that drew her, but she followed the bard, and eventually she learned all his tales as she sat beside him, travelling from town to town, watching his expressive face and descriptive gestures, listening to his musical voice bringing the stories to life. And so Maisie learned how to convey the emotions she saw reflected in his bright, expressive eyes.
For in the land of Britannia, kind listeners, in the home of magic, women make good story-tellers too.
THE END
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