Smoke

Smoke II Monday, June 24, 1996

Severus Snape arrived at the room in the Divination Tower at a little past 8:20. For a moment, he thought a fire must have broken out in the 'smoking room'. Then he realized that the rich smoke was from Havana cigars. "Merlin! How many of those things have you smoked already?" Snape demanded, amazed. Professor Russell, he knew, kept cedar boxes containing two types of cigars, and a third with an assortment. He rarely smoked Havanas, let alone enough to fill the room with this much smoke. It was almost unheard of to even see the smoke hang about in a room this size, even with the windows shut.

"This is the second one," Russell growled around his cigar. Snape saw there was a third cigar in a cedar sheath laying atop the book shelves. It was the longest, thickest cigar Snape had ever seen, yet the cigar Russell was smoking was barely two inches long.

"What the devil is the matter with you? You'll make yourself sick! Open the windows, man!"

"I can stay angrier this way!"

Snape was preparing to undertake some special projects outside of Hogwarts. This would be his last chance to relax, and he did not want to spend it playing games. "And why are you angry?" he demanded.

Russell stopped pacing at glared at Snape. "I have just received the worst dressing down I have ever had, that's why!"

"The Headmaster?"

"Well, since I'm not under arrest for using Unforgivables in retaliation, it must have been!"

Snape winced. He knew himself to be a very powerful wizard. Russell was certainly in his league. Russell had also come out a generation which had taken its dueling seriously, and his name was listed on several of the old dueling cups in the Trophy Room. For a wizard as basically decent as Russell to even be talking about using Unforgivables was more than a definite sign of anger. "May I inquire as to the reason the Headmaster's ire was raised?"

"Because I offered to tutor Potter!"

"In Occlumency?"

"Exactly!"

Snape frowned. "But that is exactly what the whelp needs!"

"That is what I said, although in more polite terms," Russell retorted. "Dumbledore looked at me like . . . like . . . like I was some sort of pervert, who had offered to deflower the First years!"

Snape winced. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"Exactly!" Russell proclaimed. "Imagine he had looked at you like that! 'Russell,' he said after he had finished looking at me like some rotting dragon dung he had stepped in, 'I hardly believe you would be appropriate. Certainly we cannot have you taking up Harry's summer with his family, and I doubt it would be appropriate later on'. Then he turned his back to me!"

Russell threw the remains of the cigar to the stone floor. "How dare he! He knows damn well that I know that Potter is abused at home! How dare he talk to me like I'm some ignorant whelp!" Russell glowered. "I know his bloodline is five hundred years older than mine. I know he's more powerful than I am, I know he knows more about most areas of magic than I do. That is still no reason to treat me like . . . like a Malfoy would a Squib!"

Russell ground his heel onto the poor cigar, poured and tossed back a double shot of Scotch, looked at the remaining Cuban with disgust and then turned his attention back to Snape. "I am going home for a few days."

"Is that wise?" Snape asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Russell snarled.

"There will soon be Death Eaters looking for targets of opportunity. . . ."

"If anyone DARES look at me cross-eyed, I'll rip their balls off and give them to you for potions ingredients!"

Russell was about twenty-five years older than Snape, but although the two men were of a similar height, Russell probably had forty-five pounds on the younger man, nearly two-thirds of it muscle. Snape decided the man could defend himself if anyone could.

When he had left Hogwarts, John Russell had been angrier than he had been since the murders of his family. That did not mean he went to the quiet manor he owned in a temper. The professor had knowledge that few others had, and he had employed it to ward and alarm his property very well.

Therefore, he had apparated to a very secure place on his property in northern England. He first surveyed the scene before him.

The building before him was a double-winged manor, with a smaller, earlier building between the 17^th century wings, which slightly went back in a 'U' shape from the original building. Russell frowned. It looked right, in the long shadows of the long-northern July day, but it did not feel right.

Russell very gently tested a few threads of the wards. All the obvious wards were still present, but his was a sensitive touch -- he could tell that while these were the same wards, they had been put up by someone other than himself.

Testing a few of the more obscure spells protecting his property, Russell was able to piece together what had happened. His eyebrows furled together as he thought:

No one had any cause to have come to this land, unplottable since the mid-1400s.

Whomever had broken his wards had to be a brilliant curse breaker.

Whomever had replaced the wards had been skilled and powerful.

No one had any cause to replace the broken wards, and remain on the property (as one person had, his spells told him), unless they were an enemy.

The only enemies he had were Death Eaters.

Russell smiled as he reached the conclusion on what had happened, and what he should do, in less than five seconds.

William Flint sat quietly at the top of the main staircase. In many ways, he had not been happy to have been recalled by his family. He had been working for Gringotts as a curse breaker for ten years, and had enjoyed the work. He had learned to work with a wide variety of people, both magical and Muggle, and even a wide variety of beings. Still, he had been raised to a belief in his family, and his family had called.

Breaking into this house had been much more taxing than he had imagined possible when he had first been told his assignment. He had studied the wards and other spells for a week, and still worried that he might have missed something. The Master had actually had to come in early June to help take down and restore the wards, right before whatever had happened at the Ministry had happened.

Flint was very happy he had already been watching here for his old professor to make a visit when the disaster at the Ministry had happened.

He was not happy for much longer.

Thursday, June 27, 1996

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked impatiently. "You should be either gathering your materials or at work at Spinner's End."

Snape took a seat in the Headmaster's Office uninvited. "Have you seen Professor Russell since you insulted him Monday?"

Dumbledore glared at his Potions teacher.

"You are the most powerful and knowledgeable wizard I have ever known or am likely to meet," Snape stated calmly, "but your glare is nothing compared to the Dark Lord's."

"Professor Russell came here with a suggestion so out-of-bounds. . . ."

"That he teach the Boy Occlumency?" Snape asked incredulously. "The last I knew, that was hardly out-of-bounds. I cannot teach the Boy. The last I knew, you could not teach the Boy. The last I knew, the Boy. . . ."

"Stop calling him that!" Dumbledore snapped.

"Then the last I knew, Potter," Snape stated, spitting the 'p' out, "needed to learn Occlumency. It comes almost naturally to me. Russell had to work hard on his. I thought he might be a reasonable teacher of the basics. Are my premises incorrect?"

Dumbledore sat heavily into his chair. "Yes, they are." Snape's eyebrows went up at that. He wondered why Dumbledore no longer thought Potter needed Occlumency. "I did not reveal everything that happened at the Ministry. When you or anyone else needs to know, I will tell you." Dumbledore did not want the full prophecy to be revealed yet, especially when Harry himself had not really accepted it nor did he want to tell anyone of Harry's driving Voldemort out of his mind when Voldemort had tried to possess the teen. Therefore, Dumbledore was uncertain as to what he should do in the matter of Occlumency.

Snape frowned, but said nothing to that. "Why did you react like John might be a Death Eater?"

"Is that what he told you?"

"No," Snape answered, twisting the knife, "he said you looked at him as if he were a known child molester who had offered to defile next year's new students."

Dumbledore winced. There had been a scandal in one of the small continental schools over the sexual abuse of students just a few years before. Every teacher in the magical world had felt the horror and shame to some degree. "I may have overreacted."

"Oh, do you think you might have?"

Dumbledore looked away. "Very well, I did. He was angry?"

"I knew the man was brilliant, and that he was powerful, but I felt that power radiating in anger. That means he is at least as powerful as I, which is fairly powerful indeed."

"I hired him for several reasons," Dumbledore said. "His magical power was one of them. And yes, I know he is not a traitor, and I also knew he was not under the Imperius. I would say he has slightly more immunity to the Imperius than you do, although not the natural immunity Harry has."

"I had some minor information for him," Snape said. "He has not been to the castle since he left Monday night. Could he have been attacked in his home?"

"No," Dumbledore stated. "Impossible."

"Why?" Snape asked, puzzled.

"He scored O's in all of his subjects for both the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and he has the Minor Gift in Languages." This was the ability to learn between 60 and 100 languages with ease. Those with the Major Gift, such as Barty Crouch Senior, could sometimes learn over 200. "However, his real talents and interests lie in Old Magic, especially Ritual Magic. He is likely the most knowledgeable practitioner in Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. Until Voldemort's return, he coached hex breakers for the Ministry and curse breakers for Gringotts as well as teaching here. I assure you, while it may be possible to break into his home, he can not be caught there."

"Well, something must have happened to him!"

Dumbledore opened and then shut his mouth. Just then, a Messenger Spell appeared in front of the Headmaster. "That is from John. He asks that you and I come to your private laboratory."

"His Patronus is a puffskein?" Dumbledore shrugged. Then Snape realized other things as well. "How did he even know where my private laboratory is?" Snape growled. Then he thought. "How did he know I was here?"

"He knows a great deal about Hogwarts," was all Dumbledore would say.

They found Professor Russell standing in front of the secret door to Snape's private lab, along with an assortment of pails and luggage.

"Planning on moving in?" Snape asked.

"Not me," was all Russell said. Snape opened the door and went in. Dumbledore followed, as did Russell, along with his baggage.

"What is all this?" Dumbledore asked.

Russell ignored the Headmaster for the moment, and instead looked at Snape. "You were right. My home had been violated. The obvious wards had been tampered with and replaced, after three men entered. Two of them had left. One was waiting in ambush for me."

"And you want us to deal with him?" Snape asked, puzzled.

"I dealt with him."

"Who?" Snape asked, while Dumbledore asked in a worried voice, "What is all this?" gesturing at what Russell had brought with him.

"William Flint," Russell answered.

"I didn't know he had entered the Dark Lord's service," Snape admitted.

"How could you?" Dumbledore shouted.

"How could he what?" Snape answered.

"I answered both your questions," Russell stated. "It was William Flint at my home, my HOME, Albus. And this," he said, "is what's left of William Flint." He opened the two trunks and uncovered the pails.

He had reduced Flint to Potions ingredients.

"His memories are in these six pails," Russell said.

"Those aren't pensieve thoughts," Snape stated. Those were silver, and these were golden.

"They are," Russell answered. "These are the color of memories when they are ALL removed at the same time."

"You . . . you killed him. . . ." Snape said, mostly to himself, in shock.

"He was in my home," Russell said coldly. "He was the spider in a multi-layered trap. Albus and I could have entered that house without being killed and without alerting him, but I doubt many others within several thousand miles could have. They butchered my elves. They desecrated my family shrine. I did not torture him, or even torment him, but yes, I killed him. Such was my right, under the law."

"True," Dumbledore admitted reluctantly.

"I shall be shifting through his memories. Magical human potion ingredients being rare, expensive, and illegal, I thought you might have some use for them," Russell stated.

"True," Snape agreed. He often had to use less effective Muggle potion samples.

"I would like to send his effects, and his face, to his Master," Russell said.

"That might give you a bit of satisfaction, but it would merely raise their desire to get a hold on you," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Not even you could have pulled these memories from him," Russell said. "If we send proof of death, they won't think we learned anything from him. It might also come as a shock to one or two that they won't just be sent to a dementorless Azkaban until they can be rescued. They can be killed, too."

Dumbledore thought about that. When he still said nothing, Snape asked, "Who would you send it to?"

"I'm not certain," Russell admitted.

"Send it to Narcissa Malfoy," Dumbledore suddenly said in a harder voice than either man had ever heard him use, "With no message other than it be turned over to her husband's master."

"Why her?" Snape demanded. Then he remembered why. "Never mind." Narcissa Malfoy had suborned her cousin's house elf, leading to Black's death and Potter's anguish. This was Dumbledore's way of reminding the spoiled Narcissa Malfoy that she would not be forgotten. If Draco was present, it might also scare the boy straight.

Snape was very worried about Draco.

Russell was now addressing his Headmaster and leader. "I have one remaining elf. She will be splitting her time between her usual assignment, my manor, and here, with your permission. I would not like her caught as the others were."

"Agreed."

"If you will excuse me, I have been awake seventy-five hours. I believe the potions allowing me to do so will be giving out soon, and I'd like to shower and eat before they do."

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "See me when you wake up."

"I shall likely sleep around the clock. Until tomorrow, gentlemen." Russell stalked off, the pails of thoughts trailing behind.

"I believe you would have had the hide of almost anyone else in the Order had they done this," Snape said.

"Had he gone out and hunted down a suspected Death Eater, I would have turned him over to the aurors with almost no qualm," Dumbledore asserted. "However, the ancient laws are clear. Flint was a housebreaker and desecrator, and must also be judged guilty of attempted murder and was at least a accomplice in the deaths of another's house elves. Russell had the right to kill him, even if I disagree with that right."

"I see."

"And, we need him. There were two attacks last night, Severus. Two families were massacred. Returning Flint's face will also serve as a barbaric reminder that there are those on our side who are not as merciful as I."

"But a face?"

"Would you care to look upon the souvenirs Voldemort sent me from last night?"

Snape did not shudder, but only because he was inured to horror. "No, sir. The Dark Lord has stopped hiding."

"The war has truly begun," Dumbledore agreed.

"What is this?" Voldemort demanded that evening, just before he sent out an attack party to kill Amelia Bones.

"My sister sent this on, Master," Bellatrix stated. "There is no magic, other than a preserving spell."

Voldemort looked down at the face of what had been a promising young follower.

"May I lead the revenge mission, Master?" Bellatrix begged.

"No," Voldemort answered. "Revenge will come in time."

"But . . . yes, Master," Bella retreated before she was punished. Again.

"Begone," Voldemort commanded. He understood the many messages this represented, from both Russell and the Old Man. Russell would have to wait. There were other targets, but sooner or later, Russell would be in his sights.

Voldemort then decided to go through with his plan for Dumbledore. "Bella!" he called just before she made it through the door. She turned in terror, believing she was about to be hexed. "Bring me your nephew tomorrow. I have a plan for him."

Bellatrix bowed low, and fled.