Squib

"Squib"

by Michele McNally

Prologue:

He tried to clench his left eye shut against the blood that gushed from the cut above his eyebrow. It seemed the more he blinked, the deeper the liquid got, until all he could see out of the left side of his face was red.

He tripped gracelessly on the hems of his heavy black robes. He dare not remove the hood, not until he was safe within the grounds. Dragging himself forward, hunched over and retching, his hands gripping the grass, wet with the summer rain, mud caking under his fingernails, he pulled himself past the towering gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and stopped just inside, the heavy iron gate swinging closed behind him. He pulled the hood back and exposed his sallow, bloodstained face to the rain, coughing up what may have been blood onto the ground where he finally collapsed.

When he awoke, he was flying. He lay on a stretcher, zooming toward the castle, the sopping wet form of Poppy Pomfrey hurrying along beside him. Her white nightgown clung to her in the rain, and he dimly realized that her cloak was covering his aching body. Again he closed his eyes, drifting in and out between a blur of noise and pain, and the peace of unconsciousness.

And then everything was quiet, and he thought that he had died.

But he opened his eyes again, and found that he was in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was beside his bed, though her attention at the moment was focused on the tall man to her right, with a long white beard and sparkling blue eyes.

"--found him just in the nick of time, Albus," Poppy was saying. "He'll have a nasty scar for a day or too, but I should be able to heal it completely--"

"Do not heal the scars," he croaked. His voice sounded foreign, almost unused. He knew that it was worn from screaming.

The wizard with the long white beard came to him then. He seemed to float down as if on air, and he spoke in a voice that was both small and powerful, and the most welcoming sound the injured man had ever known.

"Severus..."

"My return...was not well received," Severus Snape replied with what he supposed was almost a hint of humor, between wheezing breaths, barely suppressing a coughing fit.

Albus Dumbledore looked down at his charge. He remembered the young man who had first come to him for help. At that moment there were a million things he wanted to say. That he was sorry for not seeing earlier that Severus had been in need of guidance. That he was ashamed at letting one of his brightest students fall into the hands of the most dangerous wizard that ever lived. That he wished with all his heart that he could spare Severus this pain.

He said none of these things. Instead he slipped his frail hand into the hand of his former student, and Severus, in a rare moment of vulnerability, held on tightly.

***

"Albus," came a raspy whisper. "Albus!"

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stirred from where he had fallen asleep in his chair, alongside the bed of Severus Snape in the Hospital Wing. Morning had come and Snape was awake, sitting up in his bed and looking as good as new.

"Good morning, Severus," said Dumbledore. "How are you feeling this morning."

"I seem to have recovered," Snape replied.

Dumbledore smiled. Using so many words to say "fine" was a definite sign that Snape was back to his old self.

"Shall I have some food brought, then?"

"Albus," Snape began, pausing. Albus recognized the look on his face as one of complete subjugation. He had seen it before. "I need your help."

"Tell me what I can do," Dumbledore answered.

"The Dark Lord wishes to test my loyalty."

Some of the color drained from Dumbledore's face. "There will be further tests, then."

Snape lifted his eyes to meet those of the headmaster. "I was prepared for this, sir. However, the test is somewhat specific. I must use the three Unforgivable Curses. Imperius. Cruciatus. And--"

"Avada Kedavra," Dumbledore finished.

Even during his years as an active Death Eater, Snape had not often cast the Unforgivables. He dealt in potions and poisons; less obvious means to the same despicable end. But even he had not been able to escape them completely.

"There is more, sir," Snape went on. "The Dark Lord has chosen a particular victim."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. A terrible weight formed in the center of his throat and dropped down to his stomach.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore whispered, fearing that soon he would have to choose between the lives of the two students he felt the most responsibility to protect.

Snape almost laughed. "The Dark Lord would never express that much confidence in my abilities. His chosen target is much easier to achieve, and would hurt me the most." Snape sighed and leaned back in his bed. "He has chosen Adriana."

Dumbledore was silent. The implications of what Snape had just told him were immense. Finally he asked the only thing he could think of.

"Severus," he said softly. "Did you tell them where to find her?"

Snape lowered his eyes. "As much as I knew, Headmaster. They know that she is in America, in New York. And since I was not asked to retrieve her, I will assume that The Dark Lord will be sending some of his more loyal servants to bring her." He shook his head. "You should have Obliviated me, sir. The moment we sent her to America."

Dumbledore. "Oh Severus," he said. "I did. At your request. There was a time when you knew Adriana's exact location. Apartment number and all. However, you found it too difficult to live with that information and not use it. So you were Obliviated of the specifics. So that not even Veritaserum could reveal Adriana's exact location."

Snape shifted. "Yes. The Dark Lord, however, has more...interesting methods of interrogation."

Dumbledore's posture slumped, and it seemed as if something inside him had broken. "Oh Child," he sighed. Snape winced. He hated when Albus called him that. "I promise, Adriana will not be in danger. We will find another way."

"What other way is there, Albus?" Snape asked in a rare moment of vulnerability. "The Dark Lord will have me kill to prove my loyalty. There is nothing short of a corpse that will prove to him that I am still his willing servant."

"That may be so, Severus. But I swear to you, no matter what should happen, I will not ask you to murder your own child."