As You Wish

Chapter Three (In Which We Learn How Silly People in Love Can Be):

The Meaning of Three Little Words

Harry draped his arm around the shoulders of one of the village girls, a somewhat bushy-haired young lady who was a little more sensible than the rest of her peers. He whispered in her ear and she laughed merrily, a small hand coming up to cover her mouth. They had become quite friendly of late, Harry and this particular girl.

Snape, watching them from the window, found that he was clenching his fists so hard that his nails were digging into his palms.

Really, it was inevitable that this would happen. Even if Snape hadn't explained to him about the girls, Harry, loath as he was to admit it, wasn't that stupid. The boy was bound to put things together eventually. No, he told himself, Harry wasn't a boy anymore. He'd grown up to be a fine young man any girl would be pleased to have as a husband.

Husband. A man and his wife.

Now why did that thought send a pang right through his heart?

"This is utterly ridiculous," Snape told himself quite sternly as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's not as if you weren't going to lose him eventually."

Lose him. There was that odd little pang in his heart again. If he didn't know any better, he was prepared to swear that it was almost....painful.

"Utterly preposterous," he told himself again, trying to sort out the strange new feelings that were making his chest hurt and his stomach clench, making him think of the half-formed wishes and old dreams that he'd put away a long time ago. No. Absolutely not. He was well past the age of adolescent longings and angst and stupid mistakes.

He would absolutely refuse to think about what he felt when he remembered the way Harry looked when he was utterly engrossed in whatever book he was reading at the moment, or how impassioned he became whenever they had their "discussions," the way his cheeks would flush and his eyes would flash behind those round glasses, and the way Harry would smile. No.

He didn't feel that way at all. No, of course not. It was just that Snape didn't think he'd ever find an assistant with half as much sense as Harry did. Yes, that was right, that made more sense. Most of the village boys were complete dunderheads and couldn't be trusted with the simplest of tasks. He'd miss having an assistant as competent and trustworthy as Harry was. And if he was honest with himself - oh, all right, he would be - he rather liked Harry's company. It would be a little...lonely now, here in his cottage, all by himself.

That was all, really. He'd gotten used to having someone else about the house. Yes. It would simply be lonely. He had a right to feel lonely, didn't he? Snape was only a human being after all.

But a man must earn his living, especially a man who would one day have a family....

Of course!

Who said that Harry would be out of a job? Snape thought, rebuking himself for being so stupid. He shook his head - perhaps he'd spent too much time breathing in the noxious fumes from some of his more potent potions - it was scrambling his wits. Of course Harry would need a job, a way to earn his daily bread. And he would probably need a dowry too, for the girl and all....

So it was that Harry found his reading interrupted one day by the thump of a heavy leather bag on his lap.

"What is this?" Harry asked him, looking up at Snape, who was, for once, wearing an almost pleasant expression instead of the usual scowl.

"A gift for you, boy," Snape answered. "I think you will be needing it soon."

Harry looked inside the bag and his eyes widened at the amount of money inside. "I don't understand."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "It's for your future, boy! Am I not right to assume that there will be wedding bells in your future? To a certain young lady? Call this an early wedding gift, if you like. And that you will still have a place here, if you wish to continue working for me."

It was impossible to see the young man's expression. He was still looking down at the leather pouch in his hands. Snape was starting to feel more than a little offended. A little gratitude would be appreciated at this point. How hard was it to say "thank you" for Merlin's sake?

"I'm not getting married."

Oh no. Snape felt a rush of pity for the young man right then, ruthlessly ignoring the sense of elation that swept over him at the same time. The loss of first love was never an easy thing to bear.

"I am sorry," Snape said then, gliding closer to the young man and awkwardly patting him on the shoulder in what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of comfort. "Broken hearts are soon mended, Harry, though it won't seem so at first." Dimly, he realized that this was the first time he had actually called Harry by his given name.

"Don't be," Harry answered quite calmly. "Hermione's a friend, nothing more - almost like a sister, in fact." And that was when he finally put book and pouch aside and stood up to face Snape. "My heart is quite whole, as of this moment, though I've long given it away." He smiled ruefully, looking at the Potions Master directly. "I don't know whether he'll end up breaking it though."

He?! Snape could not possibly have heard that aright, did he? But Harry's eyes were speaking volumes, a wealth of meaning that Snape could not mistake and the older man suddenly wanted to sit down. And no, it wasn't because his knees were suddenly weak, no, not at all. He needed to sit down so he could grab the bottle of whisky that always sat at the small table beside his armchair. He suddenly wanted a drink more than anything in the world.

"You are utterly daft," Snape found himself rasping. Where had his voice gone?

"As you wish." And there was no mistaking the undertones of tenderness in both Harry's voice and expression. It was then that Snape finally realized exactly what Harry meant each time he'd said those three little words that had exasperated Snape time and again.

I love you. Harry was telling him. Had told him each day and each night for the better part of two years. That was what it was, all along.

"You are completely mad," Snape told him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"For loving you?" Harry shrugged. "I rather think that all people in love are a little mad. But that's the way it is."

"I am ill-favored and ill-tempered and more than twice your age!" Snape shouted at him. "This is a ridiculous infatuation on your part and nothing more!"

"It is not a 'ridiculous infatuation,'" Harry answered, taking a step closer to him. Snape was mortified to realize that he couldn't help but take a step back.

"You are not as 'ill-favored' as you think," the young man continued. "I love you even when you're being the most impossible, cranky, cantankerous git in the world - which is not all that you are, despite what you think. I love the way you look when you're utterly engrossed in those potions of yours, the sound of your voice even when you're telling me I'm a complete dunderhead, the way you make me laugh with your sarcastic commentary on everyone and everything, the way - " And here Harry managed a small laugh that almost sounded like a sob. "I love the way that you hide all your kindness and all your care under that sharp tongue of yours. I love everything there is about you and everything that you are is beautiful in my eyes. And yes, I also love your nose."

"You are not only completely off your rocker but you are also blind."

"On the contrary," Harry answered. "You were the one who taught me how to see." And he gently trailed a hand down Snape's cheek.

Snape caught that hand, realizing that he was shaking at that first gentle touch of Harry's fingers on his skin. Everything that he had kept all bottled up inside, the secret feelings he'd refused to acknowledge, refused to even give a name to, were set free with that single caress. He knew them for exactly what they were now and he was suddenly, terribly sure that Harry could see them reflected in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide them.

He had to. It wasn't right. Harry didn't deserve to waste the gift of his heart on someone like himself and he opened his mouth to tell the young man exactly that -

But that was when Harry kissed him.

And Snape realized that he was utterly lost.

Everyone knows that there is something very special about true love's first kiss. It has broken spells and conquered the darkest enchantments. It has confounded the most convoluted and terrible curses the strongest and most terrible of wizards have conjured. It has toppled kingdoms and dethroned the mightiest rulers. It has defeated darkness and death time and again.

But it is also an awakening, an acknowledgement of truth finally refusing to be denied. And that was that Severus Snape loved Harry, had loved him ever since he'd turned around and found that the boy he'd once taken under his care had finally grown up into a man.

And he loved Harry enough to let him go.

"One year," he finally said when they parted. "I am giving you one year."

"One year for what?" Harry asked him, still a little dazed from that kiss.

Snape was fighting for control of his wits himself. "I am giving you one year to get out of this house, this village. I am giving you one year to see the world, to think quite carefully on your choices, on what you want."

"I know what I want."

"Listen to me," Snape told him, feeling quite desperate. "I want you to have a chance to think everything over away from this house, this village, away from me. I do not want you to wake up one day and realize that you have made the worst mistake of your life by choosing me!"

"You're not a mistake, Severus. And there are no other choices for me."

"Yes there is!" Snape insisted. "One year. See what the world has to offer you, all that I can not. Do this, please, Harry. For me, if not for yourself." He said this last sentence counting on the hope that Harry would not, could not deny him anything.

He was right.

"As you wish," Harry whispered and Snape could practically hear the young man's heart break, echoing the shattering of his own.

He couldn't bear that. And so, against his better judgement, he offered Harry that one spark of hope. "If you are still quite sure of your choice, then...come home. Come home to me....and I shall never let you go again."

And this time, he was the one who kissed Harry.

It was nearly dawn when Harry left their cottage and he refused to bring the pouch of money that Snape had meant as a wedding gift from before. The young man had some savings of his own and that would be enough for him. He would take ship, he told Snape, sail away to America and seek his fortune there. And then he would come back and not ever leave again.

"I am coming back, you know. I give you my word." Harry told Snape as he stepped outside the door and the Potions Master knew that Harry, stubborn, impossible brat that he was, meant to keep that promise. But he wanted Harry to have his choices, to grow up a little more, to live a life without the sort of regrets Snape had known. Even if it meant losing him to another.

Snape simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Wait for me," Harry said and turned to go.

"As you wish." The blasted phrase slipped out of Snape quite suddenly but he meant every blessed word.

That earned him one last, beautiful smile from Harry and then he was off, going on his way and not looking back.

Katerina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He really shouldn't have let Harry go."

"Well, he thought that Harry could do a lot better than choose him," Daddy explained. "And he loved Harry very much - he wanted Harry to be happy, whoever and whatever he chose in the end."

"But Harry loved him back and he's not going to change his mind!"

"Well, Snape is a rather stubborn fellow," Daddy told her. "And there's still quite a long ways for them to go."

"People in love can be very, very silly," Katerina declared. "Aren't they, Daddy?"

"Very silly, indeed" Daddy agreed, chuckling. "Shall I continue?"

Katerina nodded eagerly.

So months passed and every week an owl made its way to Snape's cottage, bearing a letter from Harry. Harry told him of the things he'd seen and the people he'd met and ended every letter with an "I love you." And Snape finally admitted to himself that the other reason he'd sent Harry away was that he too was afraid of being hurt. That he too needed time to think and sort out his doubts and realize that he had to believe that Harry loved him completely and forever and would never, ever change his mind about him.

He soon found himself counting the days until Harry would return home.

But then, without warning, Harry missed his weekly letter.

And then another week passed without a letter. And another. And fear and doubt slowly found its way into Snape's heart yet again. Had Harry finally realized what a mistake loving Snape was? Had he found another, far worthier person to give his heart to?

It was Harry's friend, that bushy-haired, sensible girl whose name was Hermione, who gave Snape the news.

"Pirates," Hermione said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They got Harry's ship off the Carolina coast."

"Who?" Snape asked her, already thinking of how he could save Harry, what spells he could use, what he needed to pay if ransom was required.

"It was the Dread Pirate Roberts," Hermione told him with a sob. "The one who never leaves survivors. The captain managed to send off an owl but it was too late."

"And it was I who sent him out there," Snape murmured. Why was his vision so blurry all of a sudden? Why did he suddenly feel so cold and empty? "I sent him out there...when he could have stayed here, at home. Safe with me."

He had a vague recollection of thanking Hermione and sending her on her way home. But that single thought - I sent him out there - stayed with him, echoing in his mind. He shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself.

Harry was not coming home.

I sent him out there.

Harry was dead. And Snape wanted to wish that it was a clean, quick, merciful death but his mind kept conjuring up images too horrific to be borne.

I sent him out there.

Snape wanted vengeance. He wanted to find this Dread Pirate Roberts and curse him into perdition, wanting to make him experience every kind of pain and suffering for eternity, to make him beg on his hands and knees for the sweet release of death. He was a wizard and he knew curses and hexes to make even the bravest man quake with terror. He'd never found much cause to use them before but he did now.

I sent him out there.

He felt so utterly, utterly cold. Icy fingers closed around his heart, and it wasn't the kind, numbing sort of coldness. It was a world of pain, of darkness, of utter emptiness.

I sent him out there.

Harry was dead. The man he loved was gone.

Love. Snape found himself staring at an empty bottle of whiskey. Apparently, he'd finished the whole thing already.

He lifted the bottle in a mock salute. "To love." And then, he hurled it against the wall, taking savage satisfaction at the way it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Snape vowed to never love again.

Chapter Four (In Which We Meet the Bad Guys):

Prince Voldemort

When Prince Voldemort was born, the most handsome man in the world was Prince Charming.

Charming was classic "tall, dark and handsome." He'd been known to take on the odd Heroic Quest every now and then and had a reputation for awakening sleeping princesses with true love's first kiss. Actually it was all due to his lovely breath freshener which smelled like the sweetest of the first flowers of spring. What red-blooded (or blue-blooded, for that matter) princess wouldn't wake up to that? However, a first marriage, a divorce and a final, second marriage (Snow White really knew how to keep her man) pretty much removed Prince Charming from the "handsome and eligible" list.

When Prince Voldemort was in the stages of "awkward adolescence," the most handsome man in the world was Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood. The blonde, blue-eyed warrior prince was a well-known and legendary hero. But Legolas was also an Elf and all Elves eventually went to Elvenhome (wherever that was). So he didn't stay on the list of "handsome, eligible and living on the same plane of existence" for long.

So finally, in the prime of his years - neither awkwardly young or old and decrepit, Voldemort, Heir of the great wizard Salazar Slytherin, Lord of Hogwarts Castle, Prince of the great kingdom of Hogsmeade, finally made it to the top of the "most handsome" list. And why not? Voldemort was tall, fair, classically-featured with hair as dark as the proverbial raven's wings. Poems had been composed for the color of his eyes, which weren't so cliché as to be called "emerald green" but yes, they were green and yes, they were a lovely, lovely shade of that particular color. We must beg the reader's indulgence as describing Voldemort's eyes the wrong way (they seemed to glow red at times) might land us in prison or worse.

You see, as handsome and charming as Voldemort was, no one dared to mention that he also dabbled in the darkest arts of magic. Everyone knew (but did not dare to speak aloud) of Voldemort's Zoo of Death wherein he collected and kept the most vicious, dangerous and venomous snakes in the world. Nor did they dare mention that Voldemort could talk to snakes and everyone discreetly looked the other way whenever Voldemort appeared, his favorite pet Nagini wound round his shoulders looking like a very exotic (but frightening) fashion ornament.

No one also dared to complain that his taxes were far too high and that even the Dread Pirate Roberts, long the scourge of the Seven Seas, decided to change tactics and follow his landlocked cousin Robin Hood's example of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He even began leaving survivors to tell the tales among the long-suffering Hogsmeade peasants and give them a little hope. Of course, Voldemort promptly squelched these tales with the help of his very, very clever PR man - Count Lucius Malfoy.

On the list of handsome and eligible men in the world (his wife had died a few years ago, leaving him a very merry widower), Count Malfoy was a very discreet second. It was a mark of his cleverness and cunning that he did so, because he didn't want to make his Royal Master insecure. His most arresting feature was his fine, long white-blonde hair, of which he was rather proud of. He spent two hours a day just attending to his grooming and the rest of the population of Hogsmeade devoutly wished that he'd spend the rest of his life just doing his hair.

They weren't that lucky.

The Count spent the rest of the day "convincing" people of Prince Voldemort's goodness, graciousness and all-around perfection. If smooth words and clever prevarications didn't work, well, he had other means. Most sensible people simply chose to believe him, not wanting to know what he'd do to them if they didn't allow themselves to be "convinced" the first time.

Now maintaining Prince Voldemort's perfection took a lot of work and between the Count and Voldemort himself, they pretty much had it pegged down as an art form. However, Voldemort was only human, with not a drop of Elven blood in his family tree, and he couldn't stay perfect for long.

It started with a wrinkle. A tiny one, just at the edge of his luscious, sensual mouth, which he spotted in his bathroom mirror while shaving. Horrified, Voldemort checked and rechecked his reflection several times before finally admitting to himself that yes, it was an honest-to-Merlin wrinkle, the beginning of what was surely to be more to come.

No. He would not have it. Quickly, Voldemort threw on a dressing gown and ran for his Magic Mirror (which he inherited from his cousin Bellatrix, unfortunately deceased at the hands of that whey-faced snowy bint of a princess). The Mirror was ordered to keep a running tally of all the handsome men in the world, which was fairly useful so Voldemort could keep an eye on his ranking and make sure that there were no others who could challenge it.

So, dark hair in an attractive tumble round his shoulders and jewel-green eyes just barely flashing red, Voldemort stood in front of the Magic Mirror and intoned the classic chant of:

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the most handsome of them all?

The Mirror, instructed to dispense with its own rhymes, simply flashed a list of the World's Most Handsome and Eligible:

1. The Dread Pirate Roberts.
2. Prince Voldemort
3. Count Lucius Malfoy
4. Baron Gilderoy Lockhart

Voldemort didn't have eyes for the remaining men on the list because all his attention was fixed on the name occupying the Number One Spot.

The Dread Pirate Roberts.

The Dread Pirate Roberts?!!!

"But he wears a bloody mask!" Voldemort screeched, pointing his wand at the Mirror, ready to shatter it into a million pieces. "And he is a tacky, unwashed, stinking pirate!"

"He is young, my lord Prince," the Mirror answered mildly, all too used to his royal Master's tantrums. "And I hear he rather keeps good personal hygiene."

"Which means I'm ready for the geriatric ward?"

"And he's a hero! That usually bumps them up on the list. Dashing heroes always have a handle on public opinion." The Mirror continued.

"And I'm not?" Voldemort shot back. "Am I not the good Prince of Hogsmeade, beloved of his people, who are all eagerly looking forward to the day I take the throne once my drunken sot of father has the good grace to finally die?"

"You're starting to believe your own PR?"

Voldemort hissed. "Give me a very good reason not to break you right here and now."

"I know how you can maintain your perfection, Your Royal Highness. That wrinkle will soon be banished and you'll never worry about growing old and losing your looks ever again." The Mirror amended its statement. For all its coolness, it did have a sense of self-preservation after all. "Not that you were about to, but still a little precaution never hurt."

"Go on."

The Mirror flashed an image of a cottage and a tall, thin man with a great beak of a nose was bent over a bubbling cauldron. "Severus Snape, Your Royal Highness, the Potions Master."

"Hm," Voldemort considered. "He has rather interesting features. Especially that nose. He'd actually be quite dashing, if he cleaned himself up. Though luckily for him, he'll never be able to approach me in the looks department. What can he do?"

"Well, he is able to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses, bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." The Mirror paused dramatically. "Brewing a potion to make you look young and beautiful forever, not to mention the wonders of an unlimited lifespan, should be easy for him."

"Immortality, eh? Hmmm..." Voldemort did know of ways to make himself immortal through his own dark arts but most of these involved the selling of one's soul to a demon (Voldemort may not have cared for the state of his soul but he didn't want to spend eternity as a demon's plaything) or complicated vampiric-effect spells that had the nasty possibility of him turning into a decaying corpse if they were ever broken. This looked far more promising.

Count Lucius Malfoy was the cincher. "Severus Snape? Oh, I buy my hair care potions from him. He does fabulous work!" The Count smiled wickedly. "But his poisons are the finest anywhere. Excruciatingly painful, quick with no known antidotes. He understands the meaning of revenge."

"I think I like him already," Prince Voldemort mused. "I do appreciate a man who relishes the finer things in life. Very well, have him brought here."

So it was that Severus Snape was brought before the Prince for a very private audience. (It wouldn't have been good PR to nose any hint of his loss of perfection to the public after all.)

The Prince told him: "I am your prince and I command you to brew me a potion that will make me live forever and keep me young and beautiful while you're at it." He had to be specific after all - one could live forever and grow ever older at the same time.

Snape answered, "I am your loyal servant and I'm telling you to bugger off."

That voice. Delicious shivers ran down Voldemort's body before he finally comprehended exactly what Snape said. He frowned, trying to regain his composure. "I could have you punished in ways that will have you begging for death before I'm done."

Snape crossed his arms, "And you will still be out a Potions Master - I am now the only person in the world who knows the secrets that you so badly want."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, schooling his features to calm indifference. Any other man would have been hexed on the spot but that lovely, lovely honey-like voice...egads, he could listen to that voice forever, regardless of what he was saying. And up close, Snape really did look dashing, with that pale skin, long black robes that billowed gently with his every movement - all he really needed was to clean up a little...maybe wash that hair a little more and an ointment for those stained fingertips (such elegantly long fingers, though) and he'd be fine.

"Bold words, sir. I can force you to my will. I am not without my knowledge of spellcraft, you realize," Voldemort told him.

"In which case we will have a very lively battle wherein I will most likely die but you will be left with permanent scars from my wand." The guards had never seen Snape move but suddenly there Snape was, arm outstretched, pointing his wand right between the Prince's eyes.

Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands. He wanted this man, wanted him in his service and more...perhaps? He discreetly licked his lips and answered, "Name your price, Potions Master. Money, jewels, a noble title? I think my Royal Court can suffer the presence of a few more barons and earls?"

Something flashed in Snape's dark eyes, something Voldemort found quite familiar. "The Dread Pirate Roberts."

Voldemort suddenly wanted to hex Snape's head right off then and there (the Prince should be the only desirable man in the world - not that tacky pirate!) but wait - that wasn't lust or desire in the other man's eyes. It was something else entirely.

Hatred. That was what it was. A dark and terrible hate that burned like dragon fire, that was as cold and as dark as winter night, utterly malevolent in its anger and rage. Voldemort thought he ought to pity the man who was the target of such hatred but as he didn't love the Dread Pirate Roberts very much at the present, he decided not to.

"Vengeance," Voldemort said, understanding the man completely. "That can be arranged, Master Snape. With very great pleasure, as you will be doing me another service."

Snape inclined his head. "So we understand each other, then." It was not a question, merely a statement of fact.

"Oh yes," Voldemort answered, smiling. "We understand each other very, very well."

Snape finally bowed, doing it quite gracefully, the first sign of deference he had showed ever since he was ushered into the Prince's presence. "Then your potion shall be done."

Two Interludes

Intrigues and Machinations

Count Lucius Malfoy was a victor in both the fields of battle and the equally deadly skirmishes that were common at Prince Voldemort's court.

He had to be; his pride would accept nothing less.

One would expect that a man who spent two hours a day doing his hair was nothing but an effete fop. The person who would think that of Lucius Malfoy did not survive very long. Often, their respective ends were very messy and terribly painful. The Count was counted among the greatest swordsmen in the world - a reputation that was earned in the blood and tears of his hapless opponents, their widows and their orphans on both the battlefield and the dueling field.

In the equally vicious battleground that was Voldemort's court, Count Malfoy was also feared for his diabolical plots and machinations. He was the man people quietly pointed to when certain families fell to ruin but of course, pointing was all they could do. The Count left nothing that could be traced to him - if anyone cared to try, why, he was practically a living saint. And no one dared to contest that.

It was in such a manner that the Count won his place as the second most powerful man in the kingdom, next to Prince Voldemort's side. He was quite jealous of his position and would accept no other rival.

Until Severus Snape arrived.

True, Prince Voldemort had ostensibly brought him in for his skill in potions - a simple service, nothing more. But he also proved to be quite clever in other matters, especially the issue of one pesky pirate. Between him and Voldemort himself, they had already given the clever rogue Roberts many near misses. Also, Snape's work in brewing Voldemort's eternal-youth-and-immortality potion was progressing quite nicely. It was a rather complicated matter and it required several exotic ingredients, some of which the Potions Master got himself but it would soon be ready and Prince Voldemort was quite pleased.

This wasn't the only thing the Prince was pleased about.

The Potions Master also played the game of intrigue quite well. Snape recognized the value of keeping an eye on Voldemort's Court and while his acerbic tongue could still flay alive the more witless and powerless courtiers, he'd also cleverly charmed the ones with any true significance in the running of the kingdom. That unmistakable voice must have helped, aside from the fact that the greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, beaky-nosed wizard that they brought in from the rustic country actually cleaned up quite nicely. No, he would never approach Prince Voldemort's kind of beauty (and that was a fortunate thing) but yes, he was dashing indeed. In fact, he now cut a rather romantic figure at court and Malfoy had to admit that his Royal Master had noticed that more than once.

An immortal prince could very well choose whoever he wished his consort to be, regardless of gender, especially since immortality would render the necessity of producing an heir to the throne a moot point. And Prince Voldemort was absolutely fascinated with Severus Snape, however cleverly he tried to hide it. It was interesting to watch, this odd little courtship where Snape treated the Prince with a simple, yet elegant civility. Of course, Voldemort found this refreshing, after the fawning flatteries and simpering from the rest of the court. And in return, the Prince did his utmost to charm the Potions Master, who apparently wasn't unaware of the other man's attraction to him after all. Snape would be weighing all the possibilities of this new development very carefully, especially now, with him rising so high in the royal favor.

A Royal Consort of Snape's obvious abilities would be no mere plaything. He would be a power in the kingdom and who was to say that Count Malfoy's position would be so secure?

Ah, but the Count was a clever man. There were plans to be made, bases to be covered. After all, the point was that Lucius Malfoy would come out of all this as a winner.

Right now, Snape only needed a few more ingredients to complete his Potion. The Potions Master needed to make another one of those trips to secure them and Voldemort ordered the Count to ensure that his "valued friend" (friend, now, not servant, Malfoy noted) would be returned to the kingdom safe and sound.

That meant bodyguards and that also meant good bodyguards. His Royal Master had made it quite clear that he would be most displeased if anything happened to his dearest friend, Severus Snape.

Reluctantly, the Count put away all thoughts of assassination from his mind. At least, not until the Prince's Potion was completed and his desires were sated. As of the moment, Snape had not placed himself in the Count's path as an enemy. And the Count required more information about the enigmatic Potions Master as well before he made his next move.

So Malfoy decided to pay a visit to an old friend - the Sicilian known as Peter the Rat. The Rat had a knack for finding the best people for any job and he was clever, in his own way. And perhaps, he could be trusted for a little spying work...

The Man in Black

Lucius Malfoy was not the only one with spies in Hogsmeade.

He was also not the only one watching the Potions Master's every move.

A messenger slipped out of Hogwarts Castle, bearing a coded message. There was no way one could use an owl - all owls were watched by Prince Voldemort and the Count - so a human being had to take it. It took a little longer but there was time to spare.

The written words were nothing out of the ordinary, a letter to a sweetheart, nothing to bring any anxiety. But the hidden meaning was straight to the point:

The Iuventavitas Potion nears completion. Severus Snape sails from Dragons' Lair with the final ingredients in hand. Three guard him - the Sicilian known as Peter the Rat, an English swordsman and a giant. Be warned!

The message was borne by a simple maidservant out of the Castle, who brought it to one of the more popular inns in Hogsmeade. Out of that inn, a drunken soldier hid the message inside his wine-spattered tunic.

At the port, the message was carried by a young boy, who was quickly taken as a cabin boy on a ship known to be "friendly." They soon came to a certain island that was not on any map and known only to those who were counted among a certain "brethren."

The boy left his service with the captain's blessings.

The island was a pirates' nest - wild, loud, mostly lawless - governed only by the Pirates' Code. And then again, it was considered to be "just a guide and not the bloody Ten Commandments, savvy?" When the boy arrived, the Pirates gave him a raucous hero's welcome.

For the Messenger and the message had arrived safely. The message, in fact, had never changed hands - it had been borne by one person all along. When one was a Metamorphmagus and able to change appearance at will, it was very, very easy indeed.

The Metamorphmagus, whose name was Tonks, was in fact a girl, with a penchant for changing her hair into any color of the rainbow and beyond. She quickly brought that message to the man in black who awaited it.

"Wotcher, Captain!" she greeted him with a sunny grin and a casual salute.

The Man in Black might have smiled back except that he was already reading the message passed on to him.

Severus Snape would soon be able to complete the potion. The Man in Black allowed himself to consider it. An immortal Voldemort, powerful beyond measure, practically unkillable, holding sway over the hapless people of Hogsmeade and perhaps even beyond, if the information brought to him in previous messages was right. The Prince had delusions of empire and had the resources to pull it off.

The Man in Black gave orders to sail at dawn.

It was time for the Dread Pirate Roberts to make his move.

- TBC -