Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

— Act 2 —

[Part One]

Severus Snape was not in a pleasant mood. Ever since Regulus’s offering, Severus had done nothing except remain locked in his room, even as Roo attempted her best to get him up and about—though even she had stopped nagging after Severus had pulled out his wand on her. The mere memory of his actions sent a sharp spike of guilt through his chest. And with the emotion breaking through the fog in his mind, the singular thought that had been haunting him returned.

Mi-Mi is dead.

Breath catching in his throat, Severus pushed himself up and out of his bed, making his way to the drawer in which his now half empty rack of calming draughts rested. Uncorking a vial, he downed it, relishing the way his emotions dampened until they seemed to fade into the background. Indifference was better than the clawing grief he felt without the blue potion pounding through his veins.

In the back of his mind Severus heard a voice that sounded deceptively like Mr. Jigger’s, admonishing him for his excessive usage of an addictive potion. But the image of Mi-Mi’s dead body, arms sliced open and eyes lifeless silenced it quite adeptly.

Returning to his bed, Severus collapsed down heavily and returned to the fetal position he had found most comforting. Closing his eyes, Severus banished all thoughts of what had occurred and instead urged the fog of calming draught to claim him once again.

But just as his mind relaxed, there was a knocking at the door.

When Severus made no move to reply, Mr. Jigger’s voice drifted into the room. “Severus please let me in.”

Feeling hazy, Severus glanced at the door. His inner debate did not last long as the fog returned, making his limbs feel unnaturally heavy.

“Severus, if you do not open this door I will dismantle the wards myself and come in! This has gone on long enough. I understand you must feel dreadful, but as your mentor I cannot allow you to come to harm because of it.”

Severus did nothing. And, just as he had said, Mr. Jigger began to disassemble to wards. Severus could feel, even through the fog in his mind, as the defenses he had put up were scrapped aside.

A moment later Mr. Jigger walked in, looking worse for wear. It was always difficult to remove wards, and Severus had plenty of practice making them as they had become a necessity in the Slytherin dorms.

Turning to face towards the wall, Severus attempted to hide his dishevelment, not wishing for Mr. Jigger to seem him so defeated. So pathetic.

But then, Severus felt the mattress beneath him dip, as another person joined him. Arsenius sat on the edge of the bed, far enough that Severus did not feel nervous but close enough that he could reach over if need be.

“Oh Severus… ”

Mr. Jigger paused and Severus found himself jerking in suprise as he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder.

“Have you taken another calming draught?”

Severus nodded, keeping his eyes firmly locked on a little crack in the plaster before him. It was a rather interesting one, that was for sure, the divet was shaped almost like a spider—how he had failed to notice it before was an absolute wonder—

“—relinque mento.”

Severus felt his mind clear, his emotions returning full force. He gasped, bringing his hands to his lips to stifle a sound that was almost a sob.

“Severus.” Mr. Jigger repeated. “Come here.”

Turning around, Severus noted that Mr. Jigger had his arms out, as if beckoning him in for a hug. Severus shook his head, trying to force down the sorrow building in his chest. It was as if all the pain he had locked away with the calming draught had returned and brought friends with it.

Mr. Jigger sighed and lowered his arms before scooching closer on the bed. “Mr. Black told me everything. I’m so sorry Severus.”

Unable to staunch the flow any longer, Severus let out a cry, his eyes filling with tears. “It was my fault sir. Mi-Mi shouldn’t have even been there—she shouldn’t have—have— ”

This time Mr. Jigger took the initiative and wrapped his arms around Severus.

Feeling the warmth engulf him, Severus fell silent, weeping into the folds of Mr. Jigger’s robes.

It felt like forever, but eventually the tears stopped, not because Severus felt he had cried enough but because his body protested against loosing any more moisture. Feeling slightly nauseous, Severus pulled back so as to not risk the chance of him soiling Mr. Jigger’s robes further with the contents of his stomach.

“Mr. Jigger—” Severus murmured raggedly, trying to regain himself. “—I am so sorry. I did not mean to—”

“—there will most definitely be none of that Mr. Snape. You need not apologize. I took you on as an apprentice and you are now my responsibility. After all you have gone through it would be remiss of me not to offer you support.”

There was another silence and Severus felt his hands begin to shake yet again.

“Sir? Does it—does it get any easier?”

“I’m afraid not child.” Severus’s hands curled into fists. “But with time you learn to coexist with the pain.”

“But Mi-Mi—she was so young. She didn’t—I should’ve—”

Mr. Jigger sighed, clasping his hands around Severus’s. “You couldn’t have done anything Severus. You must not blame yourself.”

Those words, meant to soothe, instead lit a fire inside Severus’s stomach. “That’s just it sir! It was my fault! I was the one who asked her to join a fight that was never hers! And now she’s—” Severus paused, gasping for breath. “Now she’s dead.”

Still panting, Severus allowed his head to be tilted up by Mr. Jigger’s finger.

He was met with the sight of Arsenius’s eyes, dark with intensity. “No Severus. You may have asked her to join the fight, but she knew what she was getting into by helping you. Your friend was brave, she did what was right—and you owe it to her memory to recognize that bravery.” Mr. Jigger paused, his eyes boring into Severus’s as if through mere intent alone he could convince Severus of this. “It was not your fault. And if you continue to blame yourself the only thing you will be doing is damning yourself. And I’m sure your friend wouldn’t have wanted that.”

The flare of anger Severus felt died with Mr. Jigger’s words, in its place a gaping emptiness made itself home. “It just hurts so much sir.”

“I know.” Mr. Jigger replied. “And it will continue to do so. But the real question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Looking down at the bedsheet under him, Severus closed his eyes. Silently the hand upon his own was drawn away and Mr. Jigger began to leave.

“Oh, and Severus?”

“Yes sir?”

“Don’t forget that you have people that care about you. You are my apprentice. I will stay by you no matter what occurs. My door is open any time.”

Severus did not reply out loud, fearing his voice would fail him. Nodding instead, he soon found himself alone in his room with his thoughts.

What will I do indeed?

———————————————————

I am so fucked. Regulus reflected desolately. So utterly fucked.

What had possesed him to say that he would turn spy, Regulus would never know. Of all the most idiotic things to say I had to go and blurt the first idea on my mind. I must have been concussed.

The thought of a concussion made him wince as the pain that seemed to pulse from every part of his body flared back to life. His eye ached were Severus had punched him, the cartilage in his nose hurt nonstop, and his arms and legs cramped and uncramped without relief. It was dreadful, but even the pain could not distract him from the spiraling thoughts of his ultimate doom that had plagued him for the last week.

It was torture. Sitting in a bare room, tied up, waiting for Severus Snape to determine his fate. Each second felt like an agonizing boon—dragging out, leaving him with both hope of salvation and an all-encompassing desperation. This must be hell.

For it was worse than the cruciatus. The wait that is—it made his nerves tingle and skin burn. I cannot take this any longer!

“Then be grateful you do not have to.”

Regulus’s head snapped up, only for him to moan as the rapid motion caused his body to spasm. His arms and legs had been bound, limiting bloodflow. Now his body cried out against the treatment. Nevertheless, Regulus stared straight ahead, forcing his eyes wide.

Severus Snape stood before him, pale as a ghost.

“Goodness! You’ve been like this the whole time?” He exclaimed. Snape rushed forward, pulling out his wand and severing the bonds that held Regulus’s body. The younger Black fell forward as a painful itching sensation spread towards his fingers and toes. Unable to prevent his fall he fell face first to the ground, only just managing to avoid slamming his already broken nose into the floor.

Severus helped him back up with carful hands. Regulus did not fall for the act. He must have known about what tortures I had been left too. No doubt he took pleasure in my suffering. The Dark Lord would have.

“What are you here to do?” Regulus asked tiredly once he was propped up. “I cannot wait any longer to hear my fate.”

Severus frowned, his eyes tracing over the bruises left by the bonds on Regulus’s wrist. Even so, he began to speak.

“You cannot be a spy.” Snape said roughly. “There’s no way the Dark Lord could fall for it. Instead, I have another job for you.”

Snape paused and Regulus huffed in exasperation. “Get on with it. Nothing can be worse than having to turn traitor to the Dark Lord. He does not take to spies lightly.”

Severus’s lips pursed, his eyes hardened. “Then I suppose I shall remind you that you are in no position to refuse the task I give you, yes? You are still a Death Eater, one who has shown his disloyalty to both sides. I will not hesitate to use that against you.”

Regulus nodded, he had already known that by turning his back on the Dark Lord he’d loose any edge against Snape that he had. Nevertheless Regulus found himself feeling a small ball of hope weasel its way into his chest. It felt warm, curled up as it was. Perhaps I will be able to live through this war after all.

“Well then, I suppose there is no point delaying any longer. I need you to take responsibility for Peter Pettigrew’s capture. I don’t care how you do it but I need a foothold into this war without taking center stage and you are going to be my key to it. You’re going to be my figurehead and I your éminence grise.”

Oh. So I am to take the fall for Snape’s actions and become the focus of the Dark Lord’s ire.

Regulus felt his face drain of color, saliva flooding his mouth. Oh dear. This is not good.

Severus looked down at him. Face devoid of emotion. Regulus felt the hope in his chest fade away to be replaced with a clawing devastation. Severus Snape, you are one twisted bastard.

Regulus lowered his gaze to the floor, fingers curling into his thigh till blood was drawn.

And I am a pathetic fool. I should have seen this coming. If the Dark Lord falls for Snape’s deception and I end up in the mans clutches—

Well. Let’s just say I will be wishing for something as sweet as death.

———————————————————

After meeting with Regulus, Severus prepared to leave the Manor. Even with all that had happened there was work to do and leads to trace. Mi-Mi’s death was not merely an act of revenge, it had also been a threat and a sign that Severus had to participate in this war—for Voldemort would stop at nothing to find the person who had so thoroughly wrecked his plans.

As such, Severus began to dress for a visit to the Three Broomsticks, throwing on a cloak as to combat the chilly gusts of Britain’s winds.

He had to talk to Rosmerta. After the note that had been left for him at Mi-Mi’s house, Severus had to do his own reconnaissance. It was a risk, undoubtably, approaching Madam Rosmerta right away. If the Dark Lord had expected Regulus’s betrayal, then the note was a trap and not merely a line of words meant to disturb his enemy.

You were not the only one Rosmerta had ever taken a liking too.

That’s what the message had said. If what it stated was the truth it explained how Severus’s ruse had been caught. If the Dark Lord, like Severus, had once been introduced to Seong-Min then he would have recognized the wand work in the memory. And since Madam Rosmerta was the only person who could have introduced the Dark Lord to Seong-Min, Severus had to talk with her, no matter the risk.

Even so, that did not mean that he couldn’t take precautions. Examining his face in the mirror, Severus inspected his glamor for flaws. While he would have preferred to rely upon a polyjuice potion, he had already taken far too many calming draughts. And since both potions were made with such volatile ingredients, the possible ramifications of them interacting while inside his body put him off the option.

Buttoning up his cloak with artificially steady fingers, Severus apparated away with a crack.

When he reappeared, it was in front of the Three Broomsticks. Taking a deep breath, Severus rechecked his glamors a final time, taking comfort in the feeling of his magic washing over his body. Then, without hesitation, Severus entered.

The soft tune of wizarding jazz played over the hubbub of the crowd. Severus made his way through the crowd until he found a lone table in the corner, tucked away from everybody else.

Settling down, Severus scanned the room for Rosmerta. After a minute of searching, he found her on the far side of the room, talking with an older man and tapping her foot along to Fredrick’s Journey to the Creek.

From his pack, Severus pulled out a sheet of paper, tapping his wand to it, it folded into a crane and flew off, circling around Rosmerta unobtrusively until she noticed it. Once she did it flew back to Severus, before unfolding and slipping back into his bag. A wonderful piece of charmwork that Severus had developed with Lily for their Ordinary Wizarding Levels.

Turning his attention back to Madam Rosmerta, Severus watched as she expertly extracted herself from her current conversation and made her way over, pausing to correct the posture of a server before finally slipping into the seat across from Severus.

“Hello.” She said sweetly. “How can I help you?”

It was disconcerting hearing her speak to him as if he were a stranger. It had been a while since her customer voice had been directed at him.

“Madam Rosmerta.” Severus started, pulling out a pad from his pocket and wordlessly enlarging it to regular size, an impressive feat of magic that Severus knew would not remain unnoticed by Rosmerta. Much as he had predicted, the restaurant owner straightened, acknowledging the change in atmosphere. Giving her a moment to collect herself, Severus continued.

“I’m here with the Ministry’s Special Response Administration. I’m here to ask you a few questions concerning a suspected Death Eater attack.”

Rosmerta’s eyes widened and Severus felt a sharp pang of guilt. I would not lie to you if I did not have to madame. But I cannot risk my identity coming to light. With what I have asked Regulus to do it would put both our lives in even more danger.

“I see. I will help you in any way I can sir.”

Tapping his stylus to the paper, Severus jotted down a random scribble. After which he flicked his wand and raised a series of protective wards to increase his credibility before proceeding.

“Well then, if you’re so obliged I’d like to ask you about your role in student’s lives. You work in Hogsmead, a village frequented by Hogwarts students. I merely wished to know if you have ever taken a particular liking to any student and if so who.”

Rosmerta’s face shuttered. “I do not believe it is my place to divulge information about minors if that is what you are going for.”

Severus shook his head, changing his tact. “Not at all ma’am. I merely wish to confirm that you have formed relationships with students in the past. I do not mean to pry and I can promise it is of the utmost importance to our investigation.”

Madam Rosmerta looked conflicted, nevertheless she began to speak. “I suppose based on your description I can say I have taken a couple students under my wings over the years. Do you have a specific time period your looking for?”

Severus paused, attempting to place exactly when the Dark Lord himself would have attended Hogwarts. “Around the thirties, I suppose. Though I may be a little off in my estimate.”

Madam Rosmerta nodded. “In fact I did. A young boy by the name Tom Riddle. Brilliant kid—I met him in his first year. The poor boy was being bullied relentlessly. You know how it was with anybody raised muggle. I never did find out what happened to him.”

Severus nodded morosely, writing down the name.

“Did you ever happen to introduce this Tom Riddle to a wand crafter by the name of Seong-Min?” Snape asked curiously, looking back up at Madam Rosmerta.

“I had in fact. Tom’s wand had been broken in a tussle. Seong-Min has been a friend of mine for quite some time so I paid him a visit and he procured a wand. Is there any reason you have brought him up? He disappeared into obscurity quite a while back.”

Severus worried at his lip with his teeth. I should tell her. She deserves to know what has happened.

“I’m afraid that Seong-Min’s residence has been attacked by Death Eaters. We have reason to believe that somebody involved went to Hogwarts and became particularly close to you.”

Madam Rosmerta gasped, her hands clasping tightly together and eyes darkening. “I-Is Seong-Min alright?”

Severus frowned, knowing that Mi-Mi had not been the only one in the cabin during the attack. “I’m afraid not ma’am.”

Rosmerta shuddered, her eyes brimming with tears and a soft sob escaping from her lips. Severus forced himself to watch impartially, utilizing as much occlumency as he dared.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news ma’am. But I must ask if you know any more about Tom Riddle and his whereabouts so that we can resolve this matter.”

Madam Rosmerta pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. When she looked back at Severus again, her expression was fiercely protective. “Tom was a kind boy sir. Whatever you think him to have been involved in—you must be wrong. He wouldn’t have even hurt a fly.”

“Nevertheless I must insist. Do you have anything at all that may facilitate our investigation?”

Rosmerta sighed, shaking her head sadly. “All that I have is a notebook that he forgot here once. But that’s it.” With a wave of her wand a pocket-sized, dog-eared and yellowing notebook appeared. Severus grabbed it smoothly and nodded to Rosmerta in acknowledgement.

“Thank you for your cooperation ma’am.”

Rosmerta stood unsteadily and Severus resisted the urge to reach out to comfort her. Tearfully, she excused herself and retreated to the staff room for some privacy. Severus watched her go sadly, wishing that he could reveal himself to her. But it was too much of a risk.

I’m sorry Madame. Severus thought bitterly. But this was necessary.

Extracting himself from his seat, Severus removed the wards he had put up and made his way outside. As he did so he felt his arms prickle with goosebumps. As expected, somebody had observed the entire exchange. But they would not have been able to hear the discussion Severus had held with Madam Rosmerta, nor would they be able to pinpoint Severus’s identity.

All that the Dark Lord could confirm would be the presence of an unknown entity.

And soon that entity would have a name. That is, if Regulus performed his act to perfection.

Chapter Text

— Act 2 —

[Part Two]

Regulus licked his lips carefully, tracing each new crack on the skin.

Always hated polyjuice. He thought miserably. Makes me feel ill.

And it did not help that Severus had provided him with such a horrid specimen to transform into—a mudblood of all things.

Taking one last look at his reflection, Regulus attempted to wiggle his thickened eyebrows. As he did so he winced at the foreign movement of muscles. Everything about this body was just a little bit off. Severus had attempted to find a muggle that fitted Regulus’s body type and had gotten incredibly close. Still the little things—like the unique muscle plasticity of the face—managed to throw him off.

At least I’m not particularly ugly.

It was true enough. With short-cropped brown hair and charming almond eyes, Regulus looked a treat. His hair was slightly curled and fell to his shoulders in caramel locks, his lips shone radiantly and his smile lit up the room. Whoever this face belonged too was no doubt a handsome man. And as Snape had put it ‘Beauty enraptures people. If people find you pleasing to look at, you’re more likely to get things done. I’ve certainly seen it happen far too often.’

On that, Regulus could agree. The Dark Lord was as handsome as they come. And while he would have no doubt gained just as much control without his stellar good-looks, it gave him an edge on people. Sirius had the same talent, much as Regulus was loath to acknowledge it.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus prepared himself. Time to face the music. And the blood-sucking banshee.

Entering the pre-booked private booth at McGill’s Magic Diner, Regulus winced at the sound of the repeated tapping of acrylic nails. Focusing on the green monstrosities that emerged from the woman’s hands, Regulus put off looking her in the eye a moment longer.

“Oh my! So you’re the one who has kept my readers enthralled!”

Regulus looked up reluctantly to meet the shining eyes of Rita Skeeter herself.

Rita had been two years above him in school, an avid gossiper and run of the mill rumor-spreader, she had been the source of the majority of Slytherin drama during her time at school. Naturally, she became a journalist for the Daily Prophet. Regulus liked to think of her as a duplicitous hag.

“I suppose I am. Though I do assure you it vas not my intention to stir up so much uncertainty.” Regulus said, laying on a thick German accent. “I do apologize to you and your readers.”

Rita positively ruffled in her seat. Pulling out an acid emerald Quick-Quotes Quill, her eyes took on a calculating sheen. Inwardly, Regulus rolled his eyes. What a waste of Slytherin cunning.

“No need to apologize! A little mystery is all a lady like myself needs… and I must say you have provided quite the entertainment with your stunt with Peter Pettigrew. As such I assume that you are allied with Dumbledore and his Order?”

Noticing the undercurrent probing in the question, Regulus side-stepped expertly.

“Ah yes, Peter Pettigrew. I vill say that I did take action on that regard. I detest cowards and that Pettigrew was a specimen. As for allies, vell, let us just say I don’t take sides lightly.”

Rita leaned forward, clasping her hands till her nails dug into the flesh of her opposing palm. “I see, I see. Now that we’ve broached the topic of your own politics, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind explaining who you are and where you come from? I admit my readers are curious as to who the mastermind behind the brilliant plan to capture the Death Eater spy actually is.”

Regulus laughed slightly, feigning a modest blush. “Oh dear, you all seem to have taken it the wrong vay. I am no genius. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time is all.”

“I’m sure.” Rita hummed knowingly. “But what exactly led you to take action? What are your motivations? Where did you come from? These are the questions I am obliged to ask and you to answer.” She looked at him expectantly, grabbing the quill and sucking on its tip. “Do tell.”

“I am from Germany.” Regulus began. “My name is Osvarr. I am half-blood and I have heard of the horrors Grindevald brought to my home country. This Volde-mort you all fear is much alike. So vhen I got vind of his plots I could not stand back.”

“Oh how very noble!” Rita exclaimed. “So your past trauma from Grindewald’s reign haunts you still?”

Regulus winced at her wording. “How could it not? It vas horror after horror. My own mother died in the var.”

At this, Rita’s face twisted in mock pity. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Such a tragedy at a young age must have left its mark.”

“Not really madame. In fact I vould say quite the opposite. Nevertheless I don’t really enjoy discussing my mothers passing. Is there anything else ve can discuss?”

Reluctantly, Skeeter moved on. “I suppose… what about we talk about your brilliant plan on capturing Pettigrew. Could you lay it out for us?”

This, Regulus had prepped with Snape before setting up the interview. “Of course. I started off vith research. Research is very important vhen doing something like vhat I did. You do not vant to break any laws. Once that vas done I got ahold of an illegal portkey and registered it vith the British Ministry. I asked Scrimgeour for a favour and he put the terminal point in Azkaban. Then all I had to do vas get Pettigrew to doubt himself and use the portkey instead of going to his master. Since he vas a spy it vas not very hard. Spies tend to doubt their position. Constantly.”

Rita nodded. “But why did you not tell anybody of your plans? Why keep it such a secret? And why come out now?”

“Vell you see Miss Skeeter, I am a very private man. I had attempted to keep it secret for my own sake at first. But vhen I saw the reaction my plan had caused I decided to step out of my comfort zone. I vant to take a more active approach in this var.” Pausing for a moment, Regulus allowed his magic to flash outward powerfully, just as Severus had taught him. A skill very few wizards could perform. Rita’s eyes widened at the casual display of power. “I vill not let more die. Not vhen I can stop it.”

“How brave.”

“Thank you madame.”

Rita’s quill was now moving so fast that Regulus had to squint to see it. Nevertheless he stood, allowing some weariness to shine through. “Miss Skeeter may ve end this session? I must be going.”

Rita nodded, smiling up at him sweetly. “Why of course. I have enough material for a wonderful article.”

Regulus noted the insidious tone in her voice, knowing she would attempt to twist his words into a piece dripping with falsehoods and mistruths. But just as Severus instructed, he began to leave, only to stop at the doorway.

“Oh, and Miss Skeeter?”

“Yes Mr. Osvarr?”

“Do be sure to write an accurate article. Or else I vill hunt you down and squash you like the beetle you are.”

Rita paled. Worried I know your little secret, eh? “Wha—? How?”

Regulus grinned woolfishly. “I have my vays madame. Good day.”

Regulus swooped out, smiling at a waiter kindly and leaving the threat hanging in the air. Behind him, Rita Skeeter quaked in anger before gathering herself and stalking out.

The article released the very next day talked of a mysterious man who wanted to do right by the world. There was not even a trace of Reeta Skeeter’s trademark exaggerations.

As Regulus read the article, his lips twitched upward in accomplishment. Step one—Completed.

———————————————————

Severus could tell that Regulus was restless as he paged through the notebook Madam Rosmerta had given him. Now that he was back from the Three Broomsticks, Severus could examine it in more depth. In doing so the dark magic that had originally been so innocuous became recognizable as it lapped at his fingertips.

This book was important, that much Severus could tell. Yet even so the pages remained stubbornly blank, no matter what spells he cast. It was irritating, thought not as irritating as Regulus’s incessant pacing. Really, did the man have to keep tapping his foot so incessantly? It made Severus’s skin itch with discomfort.

“Would you stop that?” The words broke free before Severus could swallow them back down and were laced with annoyance. How odd. Usually I handle my temper better.

Regulus sneered. “Stop what? I’m doing nothing wrong.”

Well, in for a penny.

“Your pacing. It is driving me barmy.”

“Oh I’m sorry me being nervous comes at such an expense to your highness.” Regulus snapped back savagely, “Perhaps I should go back to my house. Oh wait! I hardly can do that now.”

“And that’s supposed to be my fault is it?” Severus replied. “I was not the one who decided to become a Death Eater.”

Regulus’s face turned a deep puce. “Oh yes, excuse me for a decision made when I was sixteen! I didn’t even have a choice. It was Death Eater or death itself.”

“Then you should have chosen death.” Severus snarled out. The moment the words had left his mouth, what he said registered with his brain. His hands flew to his lips and clamped down hard. What in the world has possessed me?

Regulus’s expression flattened. His eyes becoming oddly blank. “Yes, perhaps I should have.”

And before Severus had the chance to correct what he had said, Regulus left the room.

Merlin. I haven’t had a lapse in control like that since mother passed away. Severus thought dourly. I definitely should not have said that.

As Severus began to contemplate his out of character rashness, there was a knocking sound on the door Regulus had just left through.

“Come in.” Severus called. Much to his surprise, Mr. Jigger entered the room.

After Severus’s impromptu breakdown, Severus had not had much contact with the Potions Master. Feeling far too embarrassed, Mr. Jigger had kindly offered him some space to breathe after making sure his apprentice was alright.

His appearance now was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Discreetly, Severus tucked the notebook under the folds of his robes for lack of a better hiding spot.

“Mr. Jigger.” Severus began hesitantly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The potion master sighed tiredly, his eyes shooting up to the heavens. Now that Severus took a minute to look at him, he noticed his weary pallor. Concerned, Severus stood. “Are you well Mr. Jigger?”

“I’m fine child.” Mr. Jigger reassured. “A lot has happened in far too little time and I am not as young as I once was. In addition to that I have been receiving howlers for the last two hours and am sporting a rather dreadful headache.”

“Is there any particular reason sir? I don’t see why anybody would wish to send you a howler.”

Mr. Jigger’s sighed, settling down in the seat Severus had vacated. “Ah, well, I suppose it is not often my old friends at the EPSA are stood up. Your takeoff caused quite the ruckus. I do not blame you at all of course. I merely had to smooth over some loose ends before Clément himself flooed to my manor for your hide.” Mr. Jigger rubbed his forehead as his eyes zeroed in on Severus. “And you? How are you holding up after everything?”

Against his will, Severus’s mind flashed back to the scene of Mi-Mi’s dead body. His eyes stung.

“Not as well as I’d like, sir.”

“Understandable.”

With that they sat in silence for a moment. That is, until an owl came careening into the room. In it’s claws, a red envelope glinted maliciously in the light. Mr. Jigger groaned, lowering his head into his palm.

“Oh dear… not this again.”

Severus winced as the screaming began.

“JIGGER! YOUR APPRENTICE CANNOT JUST RUN OFF DURING ONE OF THE MOST MONUMENTAL POINTS IN POTIONEERING HISTORY! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU TOLD CLÉMENT TO GET HIM OFF YOUR BACK, BUT BY MERLIN IF I DON’T HEAR AN EXPLANATION SOON! DO YOU KNOW JUST HOW MANY PEOPLE HAD DROPPED EVERYTHING THEY WERE DOING TO ATTEND!?! MEET WITH ME THIS INSTANT! AND BRING YOUR APPRENTICE WITH YOU! IN All MY DAYS I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH DISRESPECT! Oh. And Severus dear, if your listening, I’m sure everything will work out. I merely wish to hear your side of the story. So do pop by soon. Good day.”

“She’s so nice to you.” Jigger murmured once the yelling had stopped. “But with me, Lisa is an absolute monster. And then she wonders why everybody’s so scared of her.”

“That was Lisa Wu?” Severus asked. “But she seemed so nice when I met her…”

“A front, I assure you.” Mr. Jigger said, head between his hands. “Let’s get going. We mustn’t leave the dragon waiting.”

So Severus and Mr. Jigger prepared themselves to leave and flooed directly to Lisa Wu’s office.

Stepping out of the fireplace, Severus found himself in a luxurious penthouse-like room. With wide, open windows on three of the four walls and a spread of comfortable couches, it looked far too comfortable for an office where Severus was about to be scolded to high hell.

“Ah, Arsenius, Severus. Here at last?”

On the opposite side of the room, behind a mahogany desk, Lisa Wu sat in all her fearful glory. Severus felt a shudder run down his spine at the wicked grin she sent Mr. Jigger’s way. Thankfully, when she noticed Severus, her smile morphed into something softer.

“Well, now that you are here, why don’t you tell me why the most sought-after apprentice in Europe ran off before his potions mastery ceremony without consideration to any of the guests in attendance who had paused their lives to watch your special day?”

Severus felt a hot flash of guilt run through him. He had run off and ruined all the hard work the EPSA had done for him. As the youngest potion’s master in a century, there had no doubt been tons of work done to ensure his ceremony was accepted by the masses who themselves been forced to work for years longer to gain their own mastery.

But before Severus could bring himself to apologize, Mr. Jigger’s hand landed on his shoulder as if to hold him back. Looking upward at his mentor, Severus watched as his face hardened at Lisa’s words.

“Lisa, you know I respect you. But please don’t talk so carelessly about things you know nothing of. My apprentice, as I’m sure you can see, tends to believe everything that happens is his fault. But most of the time, as in this case, none of the blame rests on his shoulders.”

Turning to Severus, Mr. Jigger met his eyes. Severus jerked when he felt another presence in his mind. Waiting patiently outside his shields, Severus knew it was not an attack meant to gain information, but a probing presence asking one question. Are you alright if I tell her the truth of what occurred? Or something close to it?

Severus nodded and Mr. Jigger withdrew and turned back to Lisa.

“Severus left the ceremony because a friend of his had sent a letter asking for urgent assistance. She had been caught up in an accident and had been greviously injured. So your endless pestering of him cannot have less of a basis.”

Severus felt a little ill, hearing Mi-Mi’s death discussed so readily.

Lisa glanced at Severus with a squinted gaze, as if trying to determine Mr. Jigger’s honesty. After a moment she paled, no doubt taking Severus’s grey palor as confirmation. “That would change things.”

“Quite.” Mr. Jigger’s replied, voice was tight and clipped. “Severus has been through quite enough. I take it I can count on you not to add to his burden?”

Lisa sighed, the lines on her face becoming more apparent. “Yes, of course.” Turning towards Severus she continued softly, “I’d like to apologize for my conduct.”

Severus shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. “You did nothing wrong ma’am. I’m sorry to have ruined the ceremony.”

“Oh none of that.” Lisa interrupted. “It’d hardly have been the first disastrous mastery ceremony that’s occurred.”

Mr. Jigger snorted. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Lisa winced. “I was nervous enough as it was, Jigger. And you could hardly blame me for throwing up on that cow. Her robes were yellow—yellow!”

“That may be so, but she was still the Minister of Bulgaria.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I was convinced I’d be banned from ever entering the country.”

Mr. Jigger chuckled. “You almost were. That woman could hold a grudge. I know I shouldn’t say it, but I’m happy she was forced to step down.”

“Oh yeah, same here.”

With that the mood lightened, and Severus felt the weight on his chest disappear.

“Anywho, we must get going. And next time Lisa, just floo over. I detest howlers.”

Once Lisa nodded, Severus and Mr. Jigger flooed away. Feeling relieved that he had left without repercussion, Severus collapsed down on a nearby couch feeling warm inside. Mr. Jigger had said that he would be in his corner, but words were just words. However, after this meeting, by standing with him against one of the foremost powers in the EPSA, he had proven his commitment beyond all doubt. And for the first time since meeting Rosmerta, Severus felt as if he had found an adult he could trust.

———————————————————

Far away, back in Great Britian, Lily Evans made her way through her closet. Running her fingers through a black dress, she shook her head before moving on to the next outfit. Her wardrobe had grown considerably ever since she had started dating James, but that made it all the harder to find the perfect attire for an tonight’s outing.

With the wedding coming up in a mere matter of weeks, neither James nor Lily had managed to snatch a moment of peace. Every moment of their day was either spent picking a venue, arguing over the flowers or choosing who to invite. It was exhausting.

So much so in fact that Lily only put up token resistance when James’s mother stepped in and insisted on her taking a day for herself. Euphemia was an absolute angel, having already booked Lily tickets to a muggle rendition of Hamlet. In all honesty, had her soon-to-be mother-in-law not stepped in, Lily would have most definitely run herself into the ground.

Grabbing a green satin gown, Lily got changed and applied some makeup. It had been a long time since she had gone to a play. The last one her parents had taken her on had been before she started at Hogwarts. It had been a rendition of The Nutcracker. Petunia had fallen so in love with the choreography and dancing that she had begged to take classes for weeks afterward.

Smiling softly, Lily pushed away the grief she still experienced every time she thought of her family. With her parents now having passed in a Death Eater attack and Petunia having cut off contact, her family was not what it had once been.

“Lily?”

Taking one last glance in the mirror, Lily made her way out of her room.

“I’m ready now Mary. Sorry for making you wait.”

Mary smiled and waved her apology off. “Oh, it’s no issue! I just can’t wait to see Hamlet. Shakespeare was an artist. And if muggles are good at one thing, it’s telling a story!”

Lily chuckled. “That they are. Though I can’t say I love Shakespeare nearly as much as you do.”

“Oh Lils, nobody loves Shakespeare the way I do.”

Thinking back on the many rants Lily had been purview to in the Gryffindor common room when it came to Mary’s obsession with Muggle classics, she could not find much fault with that assertion.

“Then let’s get to it, Mary! We wouldn’t want you to miss your big day. Seeing a Shakespeare play in the flesh!”

Lily chuckled at Mary’s excited squeal as she made her way to the floo.

Throwing in some powder and stepping inside the fireplace, Lily hoped that her dress wouldn’t get singed.

Reappearing in a wizarding pub, she checked over her outfit (no burns!) and assisted Mary as she struggled to clean the soot off her blue ball gown.

“Lils, could you imagine if it stained? Thank god for your charm work. You were always best in the class.”

Lily flushed at the compliment. She had worked really hard throughout her time at Hogwarts, and hearing her friends praise her accomplishments always made her day.

Glancing at the time, they made their way down the street to the muggle theatre that was just around the corner. But before they could enter the building, somebody called her name.

“Lily? Lily Evans?”

Motioning for Mary to go inside, Lily looked around. Her eyes settled on a young woman whom Lily vaguely recognized from her time at Hogwarts.

“Hello.” The woman began. “I’m Rita Skeeter and I was wondering if you would have time for a quick interview.”

“An interview?” Lily asked, confused. The only thing she could even think of being interviewed about was her work in the war effort, and Dumbledore had asked her to keep it out of the limelight. “I’m not sure—”

“—Nonsense!” The Skeeter woman cut in, “It will only take but a moment of your time and it pertains mainly to your Hogwarts years! Surely such a successful young lady like yourself would want to reflect on such stellar times!”

My school years? How odd.

But thinking back, her school years had been rather excellent. So much so that James, Mary, Remus, and Sirius mentioned it often, going on and on about all her accomplishments. Surely it can’t hurt for me to talk about the good old days back in school. After how much work I put in, I think I earned my boasting rights.

“So? What do you say?”

Looking up at Rita, Lily nodded. “I would quite enjoy that.”

“Oh, how wonderful. I won’t keep you long. Just let me—” She reached into her purse and pulled out a parchment and dicta-quill, “—there we go! You ready?”

“I am.”

Rita waved her wand and cast a disillusionment charm so none of the muggles nearby noticed her quill moving on its own. Lily appreciated the forethought.

“You went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry correct?”

Lily nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. I was Head Girl, very hardworking. I always tried my hardest in every class and won a variety of awards at graduation including Most Likely to Succee—”

“—Ah! Thank you for that response. Onto my next question. While you were at school, were you friends with Severus Snape?”

Severus? Oh merlin, if she’s asking about him… what has he gotten me mixed into now?

“Yes, I was. But—”

“—oh that is just brilliant. Could you tell me more about him? What was he like as a kid growing up? Was he always a potions prodigy or could you attribute his talent to Hogwarts’s very own Horace Slughorn?”

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that.

“Er—I mean, yeah, I suppose.”

“Yes to he was a potions prodigy or yes to his success was due to Professor Slughorn?”

Unable to hide her confusion at the path the interview had taken, Lily interrupted, “Wait a minute Rita. I thought you were interviewing me, not Severus!” She trailed off with a small laugh, allowing Rita a graceful way out of her little faux pas.

Unfortunately, Rita trundled over the olive branch with all the elegance of a confunded elephant.

“I am interviewing you!” Rita exclaimed, “I’m interviewing you about Mr. Snape!”

“Oh… I see. That’s a rather interesting choice. May I ask why?” Lily paused taking a deep breath. “After all, I was Head Girl at Hogwarts, not Severus. So I do hope you’ll excuse me when I say that I don’t see why you are asking about Severus when I’m right here. Whatever he’s done has no bearing on my accomplishments and honestly, I find it quite rude.”

Rita gaped at her. “I thought he would have told you! You are his friend after all.”

“Told me what!?” Lily exclaimed. “Honestly woman, if you don’t start making sense right now I’m going to go inside!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to ruin the surprise, my dear.” Rita murmured, “But Mr. Snape is now the youngest potions master in a century.”

Lily felt her mind go blank. “W-wow. Good for him I guess.”

“Quite so quite so! Now back to the interview! So, now that you know, what do you think made Mr. Snape so much more successful than anybody could have imagined for someone who came from such humble beginnings?”

Now feeling rather off balance and slightly ill, Lily blinked at the reporter for several long seconds. Severus managed to become a Potion Master? Already? How? There’s no way. He was always so timid and underwhelming. It’s impossible.

“My dear—are you alright? I’m on a tight schedule and I need to get this piece in!”

Lily attempted a smile, but she knew she was close to breaking her composure. It’s time to make a retreat, I believe.

“I’m sorry Ms. Skeeter, but I have to be off! A play to catch you see!”

Turning on her heel she hurried into the theatre and made her way to Mary. Just as she sat down, the lights dimmed and the play began. Perfect timing, this is just what I need—a distraction.

Yet her mind could not focus on the music and acrobats before her. Instead, she kept trying to reconcile the poor, harsh little boy she knew from Spinner’s End to the successful potioneer Rita had talked about.

So as the actors on stage performed, Lily found her thoughts wandering.

Severus was a smart kid, I’ll give him that. But if I’m being completely honest, I never thought he would make anything of it. Without me at his side he was so unsociable. And I was just as smart—my grades were excellent and my OWLs were incredible. I was the one everybody expected things from. I was, to be perfectly candid, better than him.

Turning her eyes down to her lap, Lily found her hands curled into fists.

I did everything right. I was a muggle-born who pushed past prejudice and rose so far beyond anybody's wildest imaginations. I was a once-in-a-era genius. Even the great Albus Dumbledore took me under his wing. Nobody can deny that.

So why is he so successful and I’m not? What makes him so bloody special?

“Lils? Is everything alright?”

Turning towards Mary, Lily unclenched her teeth. “Yeah, everything’s just wonderful.”

Mary beamed at her, naively oblivious to her sarcasm. Then, she turned back to the stage.

Unfortunately, for the remaining time that Lily was in the theatre, she could not once return her attention back to the play. At least Mary enjoyed it.

Chapter Text

— Act 2 —

[Part Three]

It was around midnight, yet Severus still could not manage to fall asleep. Ever since he was a young boy he had battled with insomnia, but recently it had made a resurgence and led to nights with little to no rest. Today, it seemed, would be yet another.

Yawning into a balled fist, Severus gave up on his attempt for sleep and slipped out of his bed. Jamming his feet into a pair of slippers, he made his way towards his desk and pulled out Tom Riddle’s notebook. Propping it open, Severus glared down at the blank pages, hoping that perhaps his stare would awaken some ancient magic and would reveal all its secrets.

When that did not work, Severus threw the book down, accidently knocking over an ink well in the process. Cursing at his clumsiness, Severus tried to smear away the ink that had landed on the book, but as he did so the oddest thing happened. The ink that had fallen onto the parchment began to disappear, splotches melting away into the paper. Severus watched with interest until the last of the black faded away. Fascinating.

Grabbing a quill, Severus refilled his inkwell and dipped the nib of his feather in. Taking a quick minute to think, Severus began to write, purposefully fixing his cramped scrawl into a legible cursive.

Hello, I am Osvarr.

The words sunk into the paper, slowly turning transparent.

A moment passed, then two. And just as Severus was about to give up and call it a night, words began to appear.

Hello Osvarr. I am Tom Marvalo Riddle. How do you do?

Shocked, Severus stared down at the message. It reeked of dark magic.

I should wait for Mr. Jigger. Severus thought, yet his curiosity continued to nag at the back of his mind. As such, he began a message back.

I am well Mr. Riddle. And you?

Quite the same. Though if you do not mind me asking, would you happen to know the date? I have been trapped within this abominable book for ages.

Trapped? Severus wrote. What do you mean trapped?

There was a distinctive pause, as if Tom was thinking. This book seems to possess true sentience and novel thought—how intriguing.

To be honest it’s a rather long story. Perhaps I can tell you another time Osvarr.

I would enjoy hearing about it. Severus replied. As for your question about the date—it is currently November 24, 1979.

The words that returned this time were shaky, quite unlike the strictly mechanical handwriting from before. Oh my. That is rather shocking.

What day did you think it was? Severus asked.

A hesitant pause. To be completely honest with you Osvarr, I believed it to be December 7, 1943. I am—I am at a loss.

Severus felt an oddly emphatic pang in his chest. How must it have felt being trapped in a book for so long, with no contact with the outside world. I would have gone insane. I’m so sorry Tom.

It’s not your fault Osvarr. I apologize for thrusting this upon you. It is an situation that I must acclimate myself to.

Severus began to write out a response, feeling a sharp need to reply. Nevertheless, it must be awful knowing that so much time has passed. It begs the question—how did you get trapped in such a book in the first place? Severus paused, weighing his options. Did it perhaps have anything to do with a man named Lord Voldemort?

This time the reply was quick, the words slashing as if written in such haste that Tom had forgotten all about his previous concern. Where did you learn that name?

I could tell you. Severus wrote back. But I too have questions. Perhaps we can make a deal. You answer one of my questions and I will answer one of yours in return.

That is acceptable. Tom wrote back. Though I trust you will answer your question with the same level of detail as I do mine?

Severus bit at his lower lip, taking note at how quickly Tom had caught onto his plan. This one was definitely a Slytherin.

Even with the caveat, the offer was too tempting for Severus to pass up. In fact it felt as if his very blood ached to converse with this Mr. Riddle a little longer.

Very well. You first.

And so, Tom began. So you wish to know how I became trapped in this diary. It is a rather long story and it is much easier to communicate through visuals instead of words. I would prefer to ‘show’ you exactly what led to my situation instead of attempt to explain. Can I do so Mr. Osvarr?

Before Severus could even think, his hands were moving in curly script. Sure.

The minute his quill finished it’s last stroke, the book began to tremble as if possessed. Severus stood up, backing away with his wand at the ready. Now that he was not directly communicating with Tom, Severus felt his faculties return. Oh merlin, that book must have had some sort of compulsion on it—with all that Dark Magic, it is the most logical conclusion. It must have been charmed to begin covertly, or else I would have noticed it earlier. Such advanced craftsmanship is disturbing in something so inane as a diary.

Feeling an indeterminable amount of dread, Severus felt himself grow faint.

I should have seen this coming.

The book was now vibrating so fast that the pages made a cacophony of noise as they slapped against one another. The binding of the book let out a groan and Severus felt the world go dark.

A moment later, he awoke. But he was no longer at Jigger Manor.

Instead, he found himself in front of a building. Written on a plaque above the entrance, an old wooden sign read: Wool's Orphanage. A home for those in need.

“Mr. Osvarr, you do not look as I expected you too.”

Severus turned around so fast that he would have fallen over, if not for the hands that steadied him. “Woah there. I did not mean to startle you.”

Looking up, Severus took a minute to regain his bearings. Pressing a hands to his eyes, Severus winced. He had not thought to take any polyjuice before dealing with the diary—it had seemed unnecessary. Now he was regretting that decision immensely.

“Are you quite alright?”

Turning his head towards the voice, Severus examined the boy before him.

Tom Riddle was a particularly handsome fellow. With perfectly styled hair and a strong jaw, Severus knew immediately that he had, once upon a time, been a heartbreaker. Now though, Severus could see the beginnings of madness in his eyes—no doubt the result of his incarceration in the pages of a diary. As he watched, Tom’s concern melted away to a playful grin—his lips curling in an almost seductive manner. Even so Severus could feel something ever so off about the man’s character. It was as if he was acting—like the emotions on his face were merely a flesh-deep mask.

Removing himself from Riddle’s grasp, Severus blinked a few times as he felt his body return to equilibrium. “I am fine. Merely unsettled. It is not often one gets sucked into a book.”

Tom snorted. It did not reach his eyes. “Well, it’s not often that one gets trapped in a diary. Yet here I am nonetheless.”

“Mmm… quite.” Severus replied, forgoing Osvarr’s typical accent. Without the polyjuice it would be best to forgo his disguise entirely—leaving room for further excuses down the line in which Severus could claim to have just been replicating Osvarr’s person.

“Well, if you are feeling better now, I suppose I should begin my little presentation.” Tom said. “I may have all the time in the world, but I’m sure that’s not the case for you.”

“That would be most agreeable” Severus replied. It would not do to remain in this diary for too long—who knew the effects it would have on his physical body and mind?

“Wonderful!” Tom exclaimed, and with a snap of his fingers Severus found himself alone, directly in front of the orphanage he had noticed earlier.

From just inside he could hear muffled voices.

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but that boy—something about him is just off.”

“Tom right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know his mother gave birth at the doorstep of the orphanage before dying? Her last words were what his name should be. That in and of itself is weird enough.”

“I know. But it’s more than that. The boy’s a freak. When he gets mad weird things happen. Do you remember when Billy stole his blanket? The poor child came to me with burn marks all over body from where the blanket had touched him. When I asked Tom if he had done it, he had just stared at me with that blank gaze of his. He’s psychotic, take my word for it.”

“I remember that. Now that you mention it—bad things happen around that kid. Things that can’t be explained. It’s like—oh I shouldn’t…”

“Don’t worry. We all think it.”

“...it’s almost like black magic. Like the boy’s been possessed by the devil.”

There was a distinctive pause.

“Maybe we should bring him to the priest. He might know what to do.”

“Yeah… you’re right. Let’s ask sister Abigail. The sooner we do this, the better.”

“Agreed.”

Before the memory ended, the door to the orphanage burst open and a kid ran out. His face was calm, but he moved with a desperation that contradicted his expression. Severus began to chase after him, noting the resemblance between the child and the man he had met earlier.

After a good ten minutes, Tom Riddle stopped running. His face now red, Severus watched as he clutched at his chest, his breathing far more labored than it had any right to be. Curling inwards towards his knees, Tom closed his eyes as if in pain. Through the harsh gasps, Severus heard a heartbreakingly quiet plee. “What’s wrong with me?”

Severus reached out, attempting to place his hands on the boy’s shoulder. But before he could make contact, the memory around him began to fade. The last thing Severus saw was Tom’s magic lashing out, burning a circle in the grass around him.

A moment later, Severus was somewhere entirely different.

Taking a look at his new surroundings, Severus quickly placed it as a cathedral. With glass stained walls depicting scenes from the bible and wooden seats stretching as far as the eye could see, Severus found himself comparing the place to Spinner’s End’s own parish.

Taking a seat on one of the benches, Severus waited for a good ten minutes before two women and a man walked in. In between the huddle, Severus could just make out the curly brown hair of Tom Riddle.

Eventually they stopped at the front of the room. The man, who Severus could now see was dressed in a vestment, turned on a tap. Slowly, the basin at the front of the room filled with water.

The two women held Tom firmly around the wrist, even as the child struggled against their hold. For a minute Severus wondered why the boy’s magic wasn’t interfering in the proceedings. He got his answer a moment later when Tom swung his head around and made eye contact with Snape. Tom’s pupils were blown wide and his eyes were rimmed red as if he had been drugged.

My god. Severus thought to himself. This is an almost perfect situation for the formation of an obscurus.

During his sixth year, Severus had done some research on obscurials for extra credit in Care of Magical Creatures. What he had found made his stomach turn, so much so that he had forgone the assignment and instead retreated to his bed for an early night.

Obscurials were creatures created by an explosion of dark magic. For an obscurial to form, certain criteria had to be met. The first was that the magic had to come from a young wizard whose core was underdeveloped and unstable. The second was that the young wizard must have either been attempting to suppress their own magic or had been forced to do so by some outside factor. The final criterium was a triggering event—much like the one Severus observed before him.

The final result of an obscurial was a creature so dark that a band of ten or more Unspeakables would be needed to contain it. And the young witch or wizard left behind? Well, the less said the better as they would be left nothing more than a mere husk with no capability of intelligent thought.

Turning his attention back to the scene before him, Severus found Tom standing inside the tub of water, shivering and miserable. Behind him, with both hands place on his shoulders, the priest began to chant.

“Let us pray. Oh God of power, behoove us with your holy intention. Set thy disciple free of evil. Called for you by loyal blood, we pray absolution for Tom Marvalo Riddle, who now bows before you. Ultimate redemption: freedom from greed, lust, desire. Banish thy spirits which hold his soul in sin. Let us pray. Amen.”

Severus watched as the priest pushed down on Tom’s shoulders hard enough to send him to his knees. Violently, the priest grabbed ahold of Tom’s hair and yanked it into the water. For a solid minute Tom struggled before the priest let him up. After a wretched gasp, he was shoved back under. Globules of crimson leaked from a jagged cut as Tom's head rebounded against the delicate porcelain. This time, Tom went still, the only sign of continued life the bubbles that floated to the surface of the holy bath. Severus realized what was going to happen moments before disaster struck.

In an awe-inspiring show of power for one so young, a wave of magic blasted from Tom’s prone form, sending both the priest and women flying. Severus winced as he heard the priest’s neck crack at impact. There was no doubt he was dead.

Tom then emerged from the water. As he spent a moment panting for breath, the wounds on his knees leaked blood into the tub. When he looked up, his eyes were glowing red with power.

Stepping out of the water, Tom walked past the bodies around him. Raising his arms, the magic he had sent out returned to his body. Tracking blood with each step, he left the scene of carnage behind.

As the memory faded away, Severus could not help but shudder as he recognized the darkness in Tom Marvalo Riddle’s gaze. At that moment, Severus felt something click in his mind. Tom Marvalo Riddle was not the name Severus knew this boy by. No.

This was Lord Voldemort.

But before he could even begin to process that realization, the next memory began.

———————————————————

Remus Lupin was visiting his friends house. James had invited him and Sirius to hang out in Potter Manor for the day, and Remus had been loath to turn down the offer, even when feeling ill due to the full moon in a day’s time.

Nevertheless he had shown up, smiling wanly. Almost right away James noticed his state and had him sit down, bringing him a mug of cocoa the house elves had made—with whipcream and a dash of cinnamon, just as Remus liked it. He was soon joined by the Maraurders, and squashed between his friends, he almost felt at home.

The only missing piece was Peter, who nobody could seem to get ahold of any longer. The last Remus had heard from him, he was off pursuing a lead about his absent father. Remus hoped that his friend had merely been more successful than expected. Otherwise, the only logical conclusion for his absence was that he had been caught in the most recent Death Eater attack.

Sipping at his hot chocolate, Remus wiggled his way into Sirius’s side with a contented sigh.

“James!”

Next to him, the aforementioned Potter jerked, standing up he disappeared around the corner of the room at his father’s call.

“Huh, wonder what Fleamont wants from him now.” Sirius murmured. “I swear his parents have been on his case recently. You know, the whole, ‘you’re getting married—you’ve gotta start taking on responsibility!’ like honestly, we haven’t had an adventure in months!”

Remus chuckled. “Only you can think marriage is a bad thing.”

“Hey! I love Lily, you know I do. But it sort of feels like he’s trading me for her, ya know?”

Catching on to the vulnerability Sirius was showing (a rare occurrence), Remus provided his two cents. “It’s nothing like that Siri. James is just caught up in the moment. Marrying somebody is a big deal that he doesn’t want to mess up. He loves Lily, yes. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you as well. He’s just stressed, and it’s our job to be there for him.”

Sirius flopped into Remus’s lap dramatically. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

“I guess so. And by the way, if you haven’t caught on by now, I’m always right.”

At that Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. It had the unfortunate effect of making Remus break out coughing.

“Woah, sorry Moony. I completely forgot that it’s almost your time of the month. You okay?”

Wheezing slightly, Remus leaned back. “...yeah. Just winded.”

Before Sirius could continue apologizing, James ran back into the room, his face glowing in a way Remus had only seen once before—the day of his engagement.

“Remus! Sirius! You have to come with me right now!”

Without waiting for a response, James was off again.

Following behind Sirius, Remus jogged after his friends, trying to push away the lethargy that increased with every step. Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived at Fleamont Potter’s office.

Leaning heavily on Sirius, who had wrapped an arm around him in support, Remus followed James inside.

“Ah, hello Remus. Sirius. It’s a pleasure to see you both again.”

Fleamont Potter was an intimidating man on the surface. With his wideset shoulders and large frame, he towered over most people he met. Yet Remus knew from personal experience how kind the man was—and how intelligent.

“How are you feeling Remus?” Fleamont asked with utmost concern. “You don’t look very well.”

“I’m admittedly not at my finest sir, but I honestly don’t feel too bad.”

In the corner of the room, Remus could see how James was practically vibrating with energy.

“Um. Sir, is there any reason I’m here? I don’t mean to sound rude, but we’re not normally allowed in your office. Have I—have I done something wrong?”

“Oh not at all! In fact it’s quite the opposite. I actually have some extraordinary news for you.”

Remus frowned in confusion. It did not last long as James burst into the conversation, unable to hold back any longer.

“Ohmygod Remus, you’re not going to believe it but there’s been a new discovery! There’s this new potion’s master whose made a potion that can cure Lycanthropy!”

Remus’s brain stopped functioning.

“Wha—”

“Woah now!” Sirius exclaimed, supporting Remus as his knees gave out from underneath him.

“C-come again?” Remus asked, hardly believing his ears.

Fleamont approached, speaking with a soft compassion. “Remus, they’ve found a cure for lycanthropy.”

Unable to hold back, a sob emerged from his mouth. Curling inward, Remus reflected on all his transformations. The indescribable pain of bones breaking and reshaping, the hatred and prejudice he found around every corner—it could all end.

At his side, both James and Sirius bent down. Wrapping their arms around him, they squeezed him carefully, even now conscious of his weakened state.

Then everything came crashing down.

“W-wait. I can hardly afford—”

“That’s nothing to worry about.” James interrupted. “I’ve got that covered.”

How did I get so lucky? Remus asked himself. James, Sirius and Peter are the best friends a man could have.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need too Moons. You’re like a brother to me. It’s the least I can do.”

Sniffling, Remus extracted himself from the group hug. Standing up straight, he expressed his gratitude to Fleamont, who proceeded to dismiss the thanks as unnecessary.

“So who can I thank for the cure?” Remus asked. “I’m forever in their debt.”

Fleamont paused, face scrunched up in thought. Then it cleared as he remembered the name. “Oh yes! I saw him at the ceremony. Youngest potion’s master in a century, could you believe it?”

“With what he’s done for me, of course.”

“Ah, what was his name again? Oh, I remember now! Severus Snape I think it was.”

And the world around him exploded into chaos.

“Snape! Snape made the potion!?”

“Like hell—that greasy waste of space? No fucking way!”

“I bet he stole the credit! Slimy Slytherin piece of shi—”

Well. Remus thought. I can’t say I’m surprised by their reaction.

But instead of stepping in to stop the slander, Remus let it continue, instead basking in the idea of being free from the curse that had haunted his every step since he was two years old.

I will no longer be a werewolf. Remus pondered incredulously. I’ll finally be a normal human.

A smile spread over his lips. The first true grin he had ever expressed in his life.

I’ll be free!

———————————————————

Regulus looked around the quarters he had been given. He had been shocked to receive a nicely furnished room instead of a dungeon-like cellar. While he felt grateful for the occurrence, it also put him on edge.

Snape had been so mild. The worst that had happened as of yet was their most recent confrontation—and yet even then the worst that had been sent his way were mere words. Cutting words, yes. Cruel words, yes. But words nonetheless.

Had it been Bellatrix whom he had crossed, Regulus would still be a twitching mess, muscles spasming with the after effects of the cruciatus.

So the lack of retribution had Regulus paranoid. It was positively unslytherin to let sleeping dogs lie, and if anything, Snape was as Slytherin as they come.

Sighing, Regulus lowered himself onto his bed, the mattress far too soft for him to deserve.

As he settled down for the night, his pajama sleeve slid back, revealing his dark mark in all its esteemed glory. Against his sallow skin, it was a dark splotch of ink and evil, marring his arm and soul.

Merlin. I hate this godforbidden tattoo. I hate what it means. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate what it’s forced me to become.

Using his opposite hand, Regulus scratched at the skull, imagining it flaking away underneath his nails like dry skin.

If only I had not been born a Black. If only I had been brave enough to leave my family behind the way Andromeda and Sirius did. If only, if only…

His nails dug deeper, drawing blood.

Severus said that I should have chosen death. Wouldn’t that be nicer than my life right now? At least then I could have had a shot a peace.

Dragging his nails against the ink, Regulus winced as the tattoo suddenly came alive.

Oh shit.

And he had all but a moment to prepare himself before he was engulfed in a searing pain like nothing he had ever felt before.

He knows.

Seizing upward, Regulus whimpered. The muscles in his arm cramped. Fire was poured into his viens. The smell of bubbling flesh met his nostrils. His body jerked, his fingers fisting into the bed sheets unnaturally.

Feeling bile climbing up his throat, Regulus panicked. If he threw up now he would choke, and there was no way he could turn over with his muscles locked up as they were. Letting out a pathetic whine, Regulus lifted his hand, only to drop it as he lost all feeling in the limb.

Lost in a haze of pain, he did not notice when somebody else slipped into the room.

“My god!”

Moaning, Regulus felt as calloused hands turned him over just in time. Vomit splashed over the duvet and blankets around him.

The man retreated, only to return a moment later. Regulus’s arm was grabbed by the interloper and a cool balm was applied where the Dark Mark should have been. And then, finally, blessed numbness spread across Regulus’s body.

Sagging into the mattress, Regulus’s vision cleared as the pain faded.

Above him, a concerned Arsenius Jigger frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he waved his wand, murmuring healing spell after healing spell.

Against his will, Regulus’s eyelids fluttered close, but he remained awake, merely too exhausted to move a muscle.

But before he could descent into the darkness of sleep that beckoned him, he was rudely shaken.

“Mr. Black, I cannot allow you to fall asleep yet. You need to drink this potion.”

A vial was pushed against his lips. Through force of habit, Regulus’s lips pursed, preventing the liquid from entering his body.

“Mr. Black?” There was a pause. “Hm. Then I’m going to spell it into your stomach, alright? This is going to feel rather odd.”

A moment later, Regulus felt his midsection bloat as it was unexpectedly filled.

“There we go—that should help things along quite well. Now, Mr. Black, once the invigoration properties of that potion kick in, you’re going to feel very dizzy.”

And that he did. For a solid minute, Regulus experienced the worst vertigo of his life. Feeling as if he was on a muggle merry-go-round, Regulus found himself on the verge of puking once more.

“There there… it should stop any second now.”

It eventually did, thank merlin. Afterwhich Regulus called on the artificial strength the potion had given him to shakily sit up and catalog his injuries.

Looking downward, he felt the blood leave his face.

His arm was a mess of melted flesh and muscle, glistening in the moonlight let in from the window. It was a tapestry of pinks and reds, with blood and tissue misplaced on the surface of his body as if erupted out. The only good thing about the gruesome sight was the lack of a skull and snake tattoo marring the surface.

“I’m afraid I’ve done all I can. Once your arm heals over, the scarring will remain—no amount of dittany can help heal such a magically charged injury. Your just going to have to wait it out.”

Regulus nodded, eyes unable to leave his arm.

“Other than the obvious, are you feeling pain anywhere else?” Jigger asked.

“...no.” Not anymore, at least.

“That’s good. Great in fact. I’ll leave you with the balm I put on your arm earlier to numb it. But now that your not in any pain, would you mind explaining what the hell just happened?”

Dragging his eyes away from the shitshow that was his wound, Regulus met Jigger’s eyes, his mouth dry and acrid.

“He knows. The Dark Lord knows of my betrayal.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Quite. But before I can rest we have to tell Severus.”

“I’ll do it—”

Regulus cut in. “—No. You have to bring me with you.”

“You’re hardly in any fit state to be up and about.”

Regulus fought the urge to look away from Jigger’s perturbed gaze. “Bring me with you. Please.”

Look at that, the great Regulus Black reduced to begging. I wonder what you’d have to say about that mother?

“Oh, very well. At least let me wrap up your wounds first.”

“Yeah, go ahead. And also…”

“Yes?”

“…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

———————————————————

Severus felt sick.

“I was in the library that night—in the restricted section and I read something rather odd about a bit of rare magic. It’s called, as I understand it, a horcrux.”

In front of him, Tom’s face was carefully blank, like a scholar vaguely curious about some novel research, but not nearly as invested as to pursue the matter in reality. But Severus had seen that very same mask donned before—when Tom had mutilated Billy Stubbs’s pet rabbit, or when he had tortured his fellow orphans in a cave. He had been the same way then—detached on the surface.

But Severus was not a fool. Tom was not even close to detached. He was euphoric.

“What’s wrong with me?” A child had once pleaded. Shaking, sobbing, alone.

“No.” A monster had said, staring down at Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson—two very muggle, very defenseless children. “No! What’s wrong with you?”

Severus closed his eyes. He felt sick.

In the memory, Slughorn paled, eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”

“Horcrux. I came across the term while reading, and I didn’t fully understand it.”

“I’m not sure what your reading Tom, but this is a very dark stuff, very dark stuff indeed.”

“Which is… ” Severus watched as Tom paused, thinking his words over carefully before taking the plunge. “...why I came to you.”

And no matter how much Severus wished against it, Tom’s words worked like a charm. Slughorn had always had a weakness for flattery.

“A horcrux in an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”

“But I don’t understand how that works.” Tom interrupted, coming closer to the professor.

“One splits ones soul and hides part of it in an object. By doing so you should be protected should you be attacked and your body destroyed.”

“Protected?” Tom asked. His eyes were blank. They had been blank when he had carved out Amy Bensons’s tongue.

God. Severus thought. My god.

“The part of your soul that is hidden lives on. In other words you cannot die.”

“And how does one stretch his soul, sir?”

“I think you already know the answer to that Tom.”

“Murder.”

Slughorn flinched at the word. “Yes. Killing rips the soul apart, it is a violation against nature.”

“Can you only split the soul once? What if, for instance, you split it seven times?”

Slughorn replied, aghast. “Seven!? Merlin’s beard Tom! Isn’t it bad enough to consider killing one person? To rip the soul into seven pieces… ” Slughorn paused, sweat beading his brow. “...this is all hypothetical Tom—all academic?”

Tom smiled, as if laughing to an inside joke. Reassuringly he dipped his head. “Of course sir.”

And just as he told Amy Benson, her blood lacing the stone, her voice silenced for good—

“It’ll be our little secret.”

The memory changed before Severus could get a good look at Slughorn’s response.

A moment later he rematerialized in a cave-like chamber. It was dank, with the roof carved from rock and dripping with slick minerals. Up ahead, Severus could hear what sounded like scraping, as if something large was wiggling its way through the hallway.

Tom was sitting nearby, fiddling with a ring on his finger, eyes far away. But as the scraping came closer, he closed his eyes, sighed, and stood up.

“Sessspirssssensss ssstrahsss”

Severus jerked, recognizing the hissing as parseltongue. Since when was Tom a parselmouth?

No doubt he had missed some major developments that the Tom he had met (the one trapped in the diary) had not thought to be relevant. But to speak parseltongue—that means Tom, and hence Voldemort, has founder lineage. He has to be part of the Slytherin line—but how? And how did he end up in a muggle orphanage?

Severus’s contemplations were cut short when the ground beneath his feet rumbled. Stumbling, he fell to his knees, and when he looked back up again…

Somehow, from one moment to the next, the space that Tom had been facing filled completely. Coils of scaly skin, the glint of decaying fangs, and two eyelids the size of dinner plates.

What. The. Fuck.

Am I hallucinating or is that a Basilisk?

Yet Tom did not even seem fazed. Instead, he grinned, his eyes slightly feral.

“Shahaashhhh ssspprisssthasss.”

The basilisk’s nostrils flared; it’s lips curled. Saliva dripped from its mouth.

“I know you're hungry.” Tom cooed up at the beast, switching to english. “Don’t worry, you’ll be satiated soon.”

Riddle turned to a nearby wall, tapping the tip of his wand against it, the complex illusion he had placed fell. Severus watched in horror as a large pipe was revealed. On it was engraved the Hogwarts crest.

Don’t tell me we are underneath the school right now. Severus thought desperately. Please don’t tell me that there has been a starved basilisk living right beneath our very feet all this time.

His hopes were quickly dashed when they climbed up the pipe, only to emerge in a bathroom. And not just any bathroom. It was the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Severus had heard plenty of stories of the infamous ghost. Known for her horrid habit of self pity and proclivity towards gossip, she was almost universally hated. But even Severus knew the sordid affair she had claimed led to her death. Nobody had believed her—after all, since when did somebody die merely due to meeting another’s gaze.

And just as expected, the minute the basilisk emerged from the chamber, a snivelling little girl emerged from a neighboring toilet stall.

“Damn Olive Hornby—complete and utter bitch! My glasses aren’t ugly! But nooooo—”

As Myrtle bemoaned under her breath, Tom removed a familiar notebook from the satchel strapped across his body.

Then, with a hiss from its master, the basilisk shot out of the pipes. Myrtle, suprised by the noise, looked up—her glasses conspicuously missing (no doubt due to the aforementioned Olive Hornby). Severus watched as her face stiffened in surprise. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to understand what was before her, but before she could, she fell to the floor, stiff and very much dead. Her last sight—two ginormous yellow eyes.

Tom watched the girl’s death with a look of utmost concentration. The minute the basilisk lunged forward for its feast, he did the unthinkable.

With a grunt, Riddle doubled over, his hands cupping the area around his heart. He stumbled, face twisted in pain. Nevertheless, he drew his palms away from his chest—dragging along a fractured, glowing shard of his soul. He carefully lowered it into the diary, and for a minute, Severus could only see a blinding light.

There was silence, as if time itself had stopped, and then in a rush the light faded and noise returned. Tom was on his knees, pale as a ghost and panting. But Severus could see the glint in his eyes, the rust-like red that rimmed his irises reminiscent of the exorcism Severus had witnessed earlier.

Moaning Myrtle was no more. And Tom Riddle had become immortal.

Fuck. Severus thought. Fuck.

And he was promptly spat out of the diary.

“Severus? Severus? We need to come in… Regulus isn’t going to be able to stand for much longer—”

Words of ink appeared on the page the diary remained open on. Your turn.

In a panic, Severus levitated the book into a trunk nearby. Locking it away he threw up the strongest wards he knew of before opening the door.

“By merlin! What happened to you!?”

Severus rushed forward to help Mr. Jigger support a swaying Regulus Black. With deliberately slow steps, they led the injured party to Severus’s bed.

“S-severus.” Regulus murmured once he was situated. “H-he knows of my betrayal. He tried calling me through the dark mark, but I was… distracted. When I did not reply he lashed out—my arm… my arm—”

Slowly, the youngest Black unwound the gauze around his injury and Severus inhaled sharply. “That does not look good.”

Jigger snorted at his apprentice’s tame reaction. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I had to use a Class X numbing balm on it.”

“Class X, really?” Severus asked. “Though I suppose it makes sense, dark magic and all.”

“N-not just dark magic.” Regulus added through clenched teeth. “Blood ritual as well.”

Both Severus and Mr. Jigger fell silent.

Then… “Blood ritual! Are you insane!? Why would you ever consent to that?!”

Regulus laughed, a weak, choked sound. “Didn’t have much of choice now did I? Mother insisted that I had to prove my loyalty after Sirius’s betrayal. But I’m not an idiot. I went through the terms—there is nothing that can impact our plans.”

“Our plans!” Severus shook his head, “I wasn’t even thinking of our plans. Blood rituals leave you open to all sorts of issues—blood curses, diseases! Not to mention the fact that if the Dark Lord got access to any more of your blood, he could drain your magical core in its entirety! You’d become a squib overnight!”

“I know that.” Regulus murmured. “Especially now that he knows of my defection.”

Severus swallowed, for the first time truly understanding the risk Regulus had taken by offering his services as a spy. It had not been a move of cowardice as he had first thought it to be—instead, it had been quite the opposite. A show of bravery like none Severus had ever witnessed.

But before Severus could express the thought aloud, there was a rapping on the window.

“Who’s sending you owls in the middle of the night?” Mr. Jigger asked. “It’s hardly considerate.”

Severus shrugged, unsure himself.

Unlatching the hatch, a tawny owl flew inside. Grabbing the letter, Severus skimmed over the contents. Interesting.

“Who’s it from?” Regulus asked, his wound covered once more.

“I’ll be damned…” Severus began. “Huh. Well, it seems Osvarr’s not only caught the Dark Lord’s attention, but Albus Dumbledore’s as well.”

“Dumbledore?” Regulus questioned. “What would Dumbledore want from us?”

“An alliance, apparently.”

Chapter Text

— Act 2 —

[Part Four]

For yet another night, Severus did not sleep. Instead, he returned to his quarters and conjured a wooden box. He then proceeded to cast a wide variety of warding and protection spells that left him sluggish and exhausted. After he finished, he removed Voldemort’s diary from the trunk he had hastily shoved it into and carefully levitated it into his impromptu container.

Once that was done, Severus finally allowed himself to relax as the insidious magic of the horcrux became nearly imperceptible. Slumping into the covers of his bed, Severus lowered his head to his hands with a world-weary sigh.

How did things become so complicated?

All Severus had wanted to do was protect Lily from Pettigrew’s foolishness, but now he was caught up in a war of traps within traps within traps. Now, with Dumbledore’s offer, things had become even more convoluted.

Yes, an alliance with the Order of the Phoenix would be beneficial under certain circumstances. Dumbledore, while powerful, had become accustomed to being the only major power standing against the Dark Lord. The introduction of another such force would no doubt be considered with much suspicion. As such, Severus had doubts as to the integrity of Dumbledore’s offer of alliance. It was far more probable that the Headmaster merely wished for a way to supervise Osvarr’s actions.

It was true, however, that such a relationship would go both ways. If Severus was to ally himself with the Order, he would be able to monitor the actions of the light side. And in doing so, he may be able to find allies among the ranks of Dumbledore’s Order.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he glanced out the window. From beyond the garden, the sun was beginning to rise, sending rays of light across the grassy plain.

There was no time for rest, much to Severus’s dismay. He had to first check on Regulus to ensure his arm was healing before creating a plan to deal with Dumbledore. Then he’d have to give more thought as to how to deal with Voldemort’s horcruxes.

With a soft sigh, Severus stood and made his way down to the dining hall. As the morning was just beginning to dawn, he was met with the sight of hurried house elves, scurrying around the table as they prepared an immaculate breakfast.

Recognizing one from the rest, Severus called out.

“Roo?”

“Yes Master Snape?”

“Do you happen to have any coffee?”

“Master Snape wants coffee!” Roo exclaimed. “Roo has plenty of coffee! With cubes and cubes of sugar, just as Master likes!”

With an exuberance Severus was beginning to envy, Roo summoned a pitcher of brew. With a wave of the house elve’s hand, it was lifted and poured into a floral ceramic mug before being shoved into Severus’s open palms.

“Thank you Roo.” He took a sip. “Exquisite, as always.”

Roo wriggled, ears flapping in joy. “I is glad Master Snape likes it! Master Snape is most appreciative of Roo’s efforts.”

Severus winced at Roo’s gratefulness, remembering how he had treated the elf after Mi-Mi’s death. Severus had been inconsolable, and Roo had just been trying to help when Severus had threatened her at wandpoint. He’d always had a quick temper, a trait he had inherited from his father, and it seemed that he had fallen prey to his grief and anger in a way he had always vowed against.

Setting down his cup on a nearby surface, Severus rubbed at his face tiredly.

“Roo?”

“Yes Master?”

“I’d like to apologize over how I treated you earlier. I had been overcome by guilt and grief, and while it is no excuse, I do hope you will forgive me.”

Roo frowned, beady eyes liquidy as they stared up at Severus. “Roo does not understand what Master Snape refers to.”

With a grimace, Severus expanded, “The way I treated you after Mi-Mi’s death. You were just trying to help me, but I got carried away by my emotions.”

“Master Snape has no need to apologize!” Roo exclaimed, “Roo was just being of service!”

Severus shook his head in disagreement. “It was wrong of me. I’d understand if you’d like to request another position in the Manor. When I came here, Mr. Jigger told me that the Manor’s faculty were to be respected. I broke my promise to him, and to you.”

For a moment, Roo stood there, still as a statue.

Then…

“Master Snape is too kind.”

Severus was horrified to see tears pool in Roo’s eyes.

“Master Snape does not know what it is like.” Roo began, snuffling into a conjured handkerchief. “Before Master Jigger employed Roo, Roo worked for a family of wizards who were not nearly as nice. Roo worked very hard for her masters! Roo worked and worked and worked! Roo was not lazy! Roo was not!”

Roo paused, looking at Severus for confirmation.

“I’m sure you were a very good house elf Roo.” Severus murmured truthfully. Roo nodded, shaking her head so hard Severus worried she’d concuss herself.

“But masters were not happy with Roo. They said Roo was a bad elf. They punished Roo most severely.”

Severus’s stomach dropped as Roo began to shiver.

“Masters would take out their wand and crucio Roo. Roo would scream. Roo was hurt very, very badly.”

“Roo… ” Severus whispered, feeling a horrible wave of crushing guilt. The memories I must’ve dragged up when I raised my wand against her—

“—Roo is not done yet! Master Snape must listen to the entire story first!”

“Of course Roo, carry on.”

“Roo was punished. And then Roo was given—” There was a pause as Roo seemed to choke on her own words, “Roo was given a scarf.”

The words were given with such a comedic horror, Severus almost began to laugh until he remembered exactly what garments symbolized in house elf culture. They were more than a mere method of sacking employees. They were stains on a house elf’s reputation and honor. Had Roo not stumbled upon Mr. Jigger, she would have no doubt been heckled by her own kind—spat upon and spoken of only with spite. A fate considered worse than death by most house elves.

Severus returned his attention to Roo as she continued her story.

“Roo was kicked out onto the streets. No other masters wanted Roo in their keep. Roo was disgraced!” Roo shuddered, eyes and nose streaming. “So Roo was unemployed for months! Roo wandered from shop to shop looking for a job! Every place Roo went too, house elves looked down on Roo. Roo was laughed at! Roo was jinxed! Roo was injured by others!”

This, Severus could relate too. He, like Roo, had been targeted by the cruelty of others. The Marauders had found pleasure in his suffering, merely because he was not one of their lot. Because he was a two-faced Slytherin who needed to be taught his place. It had dehumanized him and almost led him down an incredibly dangerous path. What Roo was describing made an awful pit open in his stomach; it made his skin crawl uncomfortably—and it made him feel far too vulnerable for his liking.

With a tearful sniff, Roo persevere onward. “One day, Roo was in Alfard Alley, looking for work. Roo was quiet and respectful. Roo did not meet the other house elves eyes. But Roo was still cornered. Roo was beaten by other house elves. Roo was cursed most severely. Roo was left bleeding on the pavement.” Roo shuddered, eyes wide. “Roo was on death’s door. But then! Then Master Jigger appeared. Master Jigger helped Roo! Master Jigger gave Roo employment! Roo worked for her Master. And Roo has been here ever since! And then Master Snape arrived.”

Severus nodded, remembering the first time he’d met Roo. Giving Roo a moment to compose herself, Severus took another sip of his coffee, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the milky depths as the sound of a trumpetting nose blow filled the air.

“Master Snape was very kind. Master Snape thanks Roo for her work. Master Snape respects Roo. Roo was, and is, very happy.”

“I’m glad to hear that Roo.”

Roo’s ears flapped as she nodded. “Roo enjoys working for Master Snape. But Roo has also noticed that Master Snape has become… ” There was a pause. “Master Snape has become so sad.”

“Roo… ”

“No!” Roo exclaimed. “Roo wants Master Snape to be happy. Master Snape has changed. Master Snape is always awake now. Master Snape doesn’t sleep, or eat, or laugh. Master Snape needs to be happy! And Roo is not a good elf if Master Snape is not happy or healthy.”

Severus blinked, feeling his eyes grow heavy, and swayed slightly.

“So Roo will make Master Snape rest! Roo will be a good elf.”

Severus yawned, feeling his body grow inordinately heavy. Through the cloying fog in his mind, something clicked. Slurring out his words, Severus asked incredulously, “Roo—did you drug me?”

Roo’s ears flapped. With a wave of her knobby hand, the cup in Severus’s hands disappeared. And not a moment too soon as Severus lost all feeling in his arms. With another wave of her hand, Roo conjured a bed.

“Master Snape shall sleep now! And Master Snape cannot even be mad at Roo.” Roo said, an almost Slytherin glint in her eyes. “After all, Master Snape owes Roo!”

Severus felt Roo’s magic push him backwards. With a stumble, he fell into a heap of conjured blankets. With his last vestiges of clear thought, Severus smirked. “Well played Roo.”

Roo bowed, revealing a wiry neck and protruding spine. “Roo has learnt from the best.”

And without further ado, darkness claimed Severus’s vision.

He slept restfully, a surprising, but welcome development. It was rather unlucky that the peace was not bound to last.

When Severus awoke two hours later, he was met by the sight of Regulus Black, burnt arm cradled to his chest, carrying Tom Riddle’s diary in hand.

Breath caught in his throat, Severus’s gaze locked onto the most horrifying detail of it all: Regulus’s pupils, blown wide, were glowing with a familiar, rusty red.

It is unfortunate. Severus thought, with no little irony. That Roo’s endeavor to help my health may very well result in my death.

 ———————————————————

Albus Dumbledore had first heard of Osvarr through the Ministry grapevine. Even before Rita’s article had been released, rumor of a new party in the war had sprung up. Arthur and Kingsley, both young Order recruits, had reported back to him with similar stories.

Right away, Albus had drawn the connection between Pettegrew’s letter and Osvarr. A suspicion that was confirmed with the release of Rita’s article.

Immediately, he had penned a letter offering an alliance. It had been rash of him, to reveal his plans so readily. His wording had been less than stellar, and would reveal his hidden motivation clearly if Osvarr was half as intelligent as Albus suspected.

But he had not been able to contain himself. The man, Osvarr, had reminded him far too much of another boy Albus had once known. From his German ancestry to the loss of his mother, the parallels between Osvarr and Gellert Grindelwald were startling. So much so that at first, Albus had thought his friend had escaped from Numergard and was playing an elaborate prank. And from Rita’s description of Osvarr’s looks, he seemed to be the very reincarnation of Gellert, back when he was yet young and spry. Dark brown hair, a sharp jawline and dark, brooding eyes.

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Dumbledore turned his head away from the newspaper in his lap.

“Albus?”

At the sound of a voice, Dumbledore looked up. Just within the view of the portrait’s frame, Phineas Nigellus Black wavered. His face was pale, his voice thready.

“Phineas? What ever is the matter?”

“Oh it’s just horrible!” The painting exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth. “Years of traced ancestry, ruined! Years of careful magics wasted! Horrible I say!”

Albus stood, raising himself till Phineas could see him. “What has happened?”

The Black Headmaster shook his head dramatically. “Our sacred family tree! It’s been turned scarlet! The color of crimson! Of blood! O’ woe is thee who doth hath past forgotten! Oh, it’s horrible! Our ancestry! Our history! Gone!”

Immediately, Albus pictured the infamous Black family tree, trademark of the famed Grimmauld Place, home of the Black family for the last three centuries. The tree was a historical monument upkept by the Black family that traced the lineage of their ancestors. It was one of their most prized possessions, and the only documented way to effect what it portrayed was through magical disownment.

“Red you say?” Albus murmured. “How odd, I thought you could only ever change who the tree acknowledged as part of the family.”

Phineas let out a pitiful moan, devolving into a poetic rhyme as he became overwhelmed—an unfortunate side-effect of his painted visage. “And by thy who cannot be seen at all; Bereft by sadness! O’ me! O’ my! Destitute all shall be! Destitute I say! And our blood ought lace the tile, before we bequeath our name!”

Tuning out Phineas, Albus became lost in thought. The Black tree had never been truly understood. After all, any scholar deemed ‘pure enough’ to see it had not been able to identify the magic it possessed. The most accepted explanation was that it used necromancial blood magic—a branch of magics that had been banned from Britain since Grindewald’s campaign. And Albus could hardly ask Gellert for his assistance in matters of necromancy. As such, Albus was forced to resort to educated guesswork as to what could have affected the Black family tree. And every possible idea he came up with pointed to one thing: blood ritual. But the Blacks were a paranoid bunch, and it would take a lot to force one of them to submit to any sort of blood bondage.

Then, inspiration struck.

“Phineas?”

“Yes Headmaster?”

“Has young Regulus Black returned back to Grimmauld Place yet?”

Phineas tensed before replying, tone uncharacteristically snapish, “And how is that any of your concern?”

Well, that is answer enough.

“Oh, just an old man’s curiosity. Forget it.”

“Hmph!” Phineas harrumphed. “I suppose I shall.”

After a moment, the portrait returned to its soliloquy, voice markedly unsteady as Albus fell further into contemplation.

With Osvarr finding his place in the war effort, Albus had expected changes in allegiances on both sides. But he had not been expecting such quick and definitive action.

It seemed to him that somehow, Osvarr had poached Regulus Black from the Dark Lord’s service. And in doing so, he had dabbled in the Dark Arts to ensure Regulus’s loyalty. No doubt Osvarr had meant for his blood magic to go unnoticed, but due to the Black ancestral tree, his actions were not nearly as well guarded as he would like to think.

Though it was mere speculation, Albus reevaluated his opinion of the other man.

Osvarr was young and did not yet understand the depths of depravity that the Dark could bring.

It would not do to have another Gellert Grindelwald: a Dark Lord impassioned for all the wrong reasons. Another lost genius among the grandeur of history.

Albus would not make the same mistake again. Not when he possessed the means to stop it. Even if it meant casting the final blow himself.

 ———————————————————

Regulus was asleep, and quite aware of the fact that he was dreaming.

Perhaps it was a side effect of the Black Family’s so-called magesight—which allowed for sensing others magical prowess, lent their minds to the mastery of mental magics, and, in rare cases, allowed for lucid dreaming and propheticization—because ever since he had reached his majority, he had developed the ability to retain his faculties even while asleep.

As such, as per his habit, he had already manipulated the surroundings around him till they morphed into his room at Grimmauld Place. His quarters had always been a place of solace in a house full of insanity: from Walburga, with her fanatical obsession with the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix’s entertainments, Regulus had only ever been able to let his guard down when inside his own room. Naturally, that feeling of a safe-place translated into his dreamscape and became the backdrop to his night-time escapades.

He was so familiar with the room around him that almost as soon as it had materialized, he had realized something was wrong.

Even though everything was in its correct place, there was something off about the whole layout. It seemed foreign and dangerous in a way Regulus had never before correlated with his dreamscape, and it made the skin on his arms and legs pucker with gooseflesh.

Just as Regulus was about to warp Grimmauld Place away, a voice halted his actions.

“Hello?”

Much to Regulus’s surprise, a young boy, no older than himself, appeared before him.

This isn’t possible. Regulus thought, completely floored. Even legilimency requires its target to be awake—my dreamscape is untouchable, nobody should be able to access it. So what in Merlin's bloody name is this boy doing here?

“Are you quite alright? You’re pale as a ghost!” The boy reached forward, brown eyes concerned and lips twisted in a terribly attractive pout.

“I’m just peachy.” Regulus murmured with a suitable amount of sarcasm. “Now, if you’ll excuse my lack of decorum, who, exactly, are you? And what the hell are you doing in my mind?”

The boy smiled, and Regulus shuddered at how teethy the expression seemed on his perfectly structured face. “So that’s where we are! I haven’t been anywhere outside the diary in so long… Oh! And my name is Tom. Tom Riddle. At your service.”

Tom Riddle. Regulus thought. A mudblood then.

“I see.”

Tom’s smile dipped at Regulus’s less than enthusiastic greeting. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know how I ended up here. Last thing I remember was meeting a man named Osvarr. We made a deal, but he didn’t fulfill his side of the bargain.”

Regulus flinched at the mention of his pseudonym. In his mind’s eye, the image of a strapping young brunette, the disguise he donned when meeting Rita Skeeter, flittered past.

Tom’s eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side. “That is nothing at all like what Osvarr looked like when I met him.”

Regulus paled further, eyes blown wide. Shit. He can see my thoughts.

“Oh dear.” Tom enunciated, his voice a deadpan drawl. “Did I say that aloud?”

As quickly as he was physically capable, Regulus raised his occlumency shields, making his mind as foggy as possible.

“That won’t work against me, I’m afraid.” Tom stated. “I can still see everything going through your mind. For instance, right now, you’re terrified.”

Tom paused, his eyes locking onto Regulus’s own. “I wonder why that is. Only those who have secrets become weary when the truth is soon to emerge. What is your secret… ” Tom paused, face twisted in concentration. Regulus felt a tugging in his brain and a moment later, Tom’s expression cleared as he emerged victorious, “...Regulus Black.”

And even though Regulus tried to avoid it, his mind directly flashed to the tattoo on his arm.

Within an instant, Tom had moved. His hand reaching out, grabbing for Regulus’s wrist. The second his fingers wrapped around the Black’s forearm, Regulus was adrift.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was like being in a vacuum, his senses were numbed, the world around him dark. Even so, vague flashes of emotion and thought emerged from nowhere and faded just as fast. He could feel his heart in his chest, he could see the blood vessels in his veins, he could hear the bubbling of acid in his stomach.

And yet, no matter how much he tried, he could not regain control of his body or mind. It was as if his consciousness had been pushed aside and relegated to backseat.

I do apologize.

Regulus flinched as his very being was shaken. The words that emblazoned themselves into the nothingness were loud and echoed in what felt like his chest, but could have been an empty chamber, without ribs, lungs or a heart.

But you were just in the wrong place at the right time.

Regulus gasped, feeling like there was no longer any air for his not-lungs to expand with.

Your memories paint quite an interesting story. You, my dear Regulus, are a betrayer.

There was fear. It slammed into Regulus’s not-being. It encompassed him for the merest of moments and then drifted off, as if it had never been there at all.

And I don’t take to betrayers kindly. Don’t worry though. I’ll make sure the other version of me learns of your traitorous actions. And then we’ll deal with you ourselves.

But first, there is another I need to deal with.

Regulus felt his brain shudder as Tom Riddle ripped through it in search of one person.

It’s time for Osvarr to drop the act. Severus Snape, I do hope you realize who it is that kills you. After all, Lord Voldemort and I are one in the same. And it will be we who bring about your end.

Regulus felt sick. Then, against his very will, the feeling slipped away and he began to drift.