As The Falcon Hath Her Bells: Taking Flight

Chapter Five

Two days later, Albus Dumbledore eyed the letter on official pale blue Ministry parchment, then lifted his gaze to the three professors standing there before him expectantly."Minerva, Persephone, Athol," he began wearily, "I know that I place a great burden upon you.We are all tried and spread too thin these days--trying to keep our pupils from the darkness, putting in what efforts we can towards the war.But I must ask you to help me."He indicated the parchment, and Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick looked keen with interest."This," he said, "is the Ministry's official act to rescind Severus' research--"

"But that's all he has!" Sprout burst out fiercely."He can't go out there, and now--"

"I know," Dumbledore said wearily, suddenly feeling every one of his one hundred and forty-three years.He indicated the cot where Snape still slept, heavily drugged, while his wounds were finishing healing.If he fidgeted or moved, it would damage the fragile, healing skin and bone.He would wake up soon, though--he had visited this morning and heard Snape restlessly mumbling delusions, in a language he hadn't spoken since he was a child."I just wanted to forewarn you.You four are a kinship; a family of sorts--the embodiment of the four houses that are the cornerstones of Hogwarts.So I ask you to help your brother," this was difficult to say, "by keeping an eye on him.When he finds out, he may become…" he voice failed."Try not to leave him unattended until we know he is--recovered."He didn't refer to physical healing.He knew that the young man, with his purpose taken away, would find no reason to live, and perhaps attempt something drastic.

All three voiced their agreement, turning eyes towards the still form on the cot behind the hospital curtains and silently departing.That was enough for Dumbledore.He had failed Severus Snape before--he would not do it now.He moved to put the letter in his pocket, intending to speak with Snape later about it, forgetting the hole that the Acid Sweets he had confiscated earlier in the day had eaten through the pocket.The letter dropped to the floor as he left.

Madame Pomfrey came in just then with the fresh batch of topical Regenerio Potion for Snape.Her sharp eyes noticed the letter on the floor, addressed to him.She picked it up, thinking, Another thing out of his pockets.She shrugged, and put it with the rest of the items they had found in the ruins of Snape's robes on the table beside his bed.She pulled back the curtain, noting he was still unconscious.The skin and hair had grown back well, and the underlying bones had knit quite nicely.The eyes, ears, nose, and mouth looked quite well after being carefully reconstructed.A few more days for it to finish and he'd be good as new.

* * * * *

Snape wearily opened his eyes.Every part of him was tingling with something not quite pain--more like a persistent itch.His senses and knowledge told him it was Regenerio--to heal the damage from the exploded potion.

He lifted a hand, wincing to feel tender, hypersensitive skin stretched tight as he did so.The skin was pink with the indication of new healing.It would fade in another few days to its natural coloration.Carefully he rolled onto his side, hoping to see someone of whom he could ask the date, the details of what had happened, anything.

Nobody was there.But sitting on the bedside table were a few things he had been carrying in his robes when it had happened, his pockets being largely guarded from the blast by being below the edge of the table. His wand, a few potion-stained notes for a new research project, some spare Knuts and Sickles, and a few of Tosca's cast-off white feathers that could be substituted in a pinch in the Sanguinus Potion for eagle feathers, which he was short of.He had been supposed to teach that potion to the fourth years the day it happened…how long had it been?And had somebody cared for Tosca?

He also noticed a letter written on official Ministry parchment that had certainly not been in his robes.Stretching out carefully, he grasped it, and rolled onto his back, noting his name on it and opening it.

He gave a hoarse cry.They actually did it…"In light of your failure to produce any significant assistance to the Ministry, and your overuse of restricted ingredients to no measurable gain, it has been decreed that your research shall be terminated immediately."

Useless.Now he was completely useless.They had taken away the only thing giving him any meaning.Almost of its own accord, his hand rose to grasp his wand, clenching it tightly in his fist, ignoring the ripple of pain as the fragile new skin over his knuckles tore under the stress.

He studied the wand for a moment, staring.It was ebony with dragon heartstring.Almost of their own accord, memories played through his mind as he felt a hot tear rolling down his cheek for the worthlessness of his life.

He stood in the shop, gazing in wonder.All day long there had been so many new experiences for him.The old man handed him a wand, and he felt a surge through him as though a bolt of lightning had just hit him.He felt powerful for once in his life."That's the one, young man," Ollivander said happily."Ebony and dragon heartstring…unusual.Dragons, you know, embody the best of good and bad.Why, look at our own island!The Welsh have them as their symbol and see them as pure and good, while the English," he shrugged, "have slayers of the evil dragons and all that.They are powerful creatures--make powerful wands. I find those with dragon heartstring wands either create strong magic of the purest good or purest evil."Power…

"I know what you are," Lucius Malfoy hissed in his ear."Don't think I don't see right through you.Be careful, Mudblood, because Slytherin doesn't take kindly to your sort."Fear rising within him, everything he had built about to crash down, as he turned, pulled out his wand, and hexed Lucius.Lucius merely laughed, knowing that Snape had just proved his suspicions right…

The power running through him as he heard the Auror begin babbling all his secrets rather than be subjected to Cruciatus again, as he raised his wand warningly.He was one of the best: Voldemort said so.He killed the enemy, sometimes tortured for valuable information, but this was war.He wasn't a pervert who raped, or killed innocents…

Handing his wand to Albus Dumbledore that night, standing there in his Death Eater robes after having confessed all.Not meeting the old wizard's eyes, not wanting to see the disgust and betrayal in them.He expected him to break the wand to signal his exile from the wizarding world, a symbol of his disgrace, and to call the Aurors to take him to Azkaban.Instead, the wand was handed back to his numb fingers.He looked up, stunned."I think there is better use for this, and for you, Severus..."

All that and more he remembered, thinking with a dry, heaving shudder that he had chosen the dark side of his wand's power, and it had come to nothing.Well, one last act, and there would be no more.He'd slip away quietly, with no fuss, and no ceremony.Nobody would really even notice.They could say he had died of his injuries, of his own foolishness in the laboratory.How the students would laugh at that--menacing Professor Severus Snape felled by his own hand.

He turned the wand around in his hand, raising his arm trembling from weakness.His stiff lips shaped the words, his raw, barely-healed vocal chords managed to rasp the first syllable."Av--"

"Expelliarmus!" came a cry from one, no, two throats across the room.His wand flew from his grasp to Hermione Granger's hand.

Minerva gave him one of the stern, disapproving looks he remembered from his own school days, whileHermione looked on in horror.Haven't you seen a man with no will to live before? he thought sarcastically.

"Miss Granger has informed me," Minerva said pleasantly, taking his wand from Miss Granger's grasp and tucking it into her own robes as though nothing untoward had just occurred, "that she would like to do a research project with you in the fall on Potions."

He laughed bitterly, not caring how it hurt."Minerva," he choked painfully, "I've lost my research."

Minerva leaned down close, giving another of those fierce terrier-of-a-Scotswomanglowers."You can still teach, Severus," she murmured."That's something, isn't it?Give it time and they'll reinstate you…"

Teach a bunch of brats who have no interest or inclination towards my subject? were the words coming to his tongue.He looked past Minerva's set countenance to see Miss Granger standing hopefully in the doorway.She certainly did seem interested.

"I'll consider it," he said.

Minerva stepped tactfully in."Miss Granger, perhaps it's not the best time to ask.Give him time to make a decision and recover…perhaps you should ask again in April?"Miss Granger nodded, and taking the hint, quietly slipped away.

He found himself under Minerva's gaze again.It reminded him of the Transfiguration class his first year when he had come in late and found a cat sitting on his desk, with the same unwavering, unnerving stare.First I had ever heard of Animagi, he thought reminiscently.It seemed ages ago.I was too busy learning the Dark curses from the older boys to recall much.Now stop being maudlin already.

The thought took root and blossomed in his mind.It was risky, of course, but if it succeeded, he would have purpose again.He would be worthy of the trust Dumbledore had placed in him.Unaccountably he smiled, grateful that Minerva had given him an idea."Oh, yes.Miss Granger's project?I think I just might do that."He did owe her for helping save him, after all.

"I think it'd be good for you," Minerva said."She wants to learn.Perhaps she can help you find something. She's quite brilliant you know, and I don't say that only because she's a Gryffindor!Brilliant as you were, I recall."

She looked relieved that suddenly he seemed to give up the idea of self-destruction, though she seemed to look at him a bit oddly, obviously not knowing why.She couldn't know how much she had inadvertently just helped him."Well, you think on it.Poppy says you can leave tomorrow, though she wants you to take another week before resuming classes."She looked at him, adding, "It's been three days, by the way."

"Tomorrow?"Excellent: once he was free, and with a week to himself, apparently, he had quite a bit of research to do.After all, he had to be right in this task.Failure, as he had learned rather painfully, was not an option.

Chapter Six

The day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, Hermione ducked into the library to pick up a book for Charms that Professor Flitwick had recommended for her.The match started in fifteen minutes, but the library would be closed after the match, so she hoped she could get the book in time and get back to the dormitory to bundle up against the raw early March chill.

Madame Pince had just handed her the book when she heard Professor McGonagall said half-jokingly, "Severus, are you coming to see your young ruffians flattened or not?It begins in ten minutes!"

Snape gave her an almost sheepish look, closed the book he had been intent upon, and picked up a sheaf of notes he had taken.He handed the book back to Madame Pince, and said with a bit of a smirk, "Don't be so sure, Minerva.This is Slytherin's year."

"Perhaps we should make you librarian after Madame Pince retires; goodness knows you've lived here the past week!"

"Research," Snape said shortly, stuffing his notes into his pocket."If I have nothing to do until I return to teaching Monday, I might as well try to do something useful."

Hermione turned to leave, but not before she heard Professor McGonagall say quietly, "It's good to see you back on your feet."

She took a look at Professor Snape.His newly grown hair didn't look greasy at all, and his mended teeth were actually fairly white and straight.His crooked nose was straight.Madame Pomfrey had worked her magic quite well to reconstruct the utter ruin of his face.He was actually halfway attractive, if he kept it up.Don't even think like that.That's disgusting!She shuddered, half at the idea, and half at the memory of him pointing his own wand at himself, ready to utter the Killing Curse.What had changed so utterly in a week that he now seemed driven by a quiet determination?

Well, it was none of her business, but if his mood were improving, perhaps he would be amenable to a Potions research project after all.She made it to the dormitory, winding her Gryffindor scarf around her neck and hurrying towards the Quidditch pitch.

* * * * *

Snape found his place in the stands, thinking with a wince that his newly-healed skin was thin still indeed, and that he was feeling the cold quite acutely.He pulled out his wand, and muttered a quiet Warming Charm, immediately relaxing.

His research had indeed been productive.It would take a good deal more work, but all things pointed to success thus far.He smiled a little to himself, as the players flew onto the field.

Malfoy had taken ill today; Snape thought it was rather Draco's version of a tantrum and a refusal to be beaten by Harry Potter yet again.The reserve Seeker, Meridia Aquila, was playing today.She was in all honesty better than Malfoy, but politics had gotten Malfoy on the house team, and politics kept him there.Slytherin had never been a democracy, and never would be.

He gave a faint curl of his lip at the cheers for Harry Potter.The boy had talent at Quidditch, as had his father.But he also had James' arrogance, his disregard for study and rules.Why should a sheer accident of little talent with a broomstick make any man above the law?Indeed, he saw almost nothing of Lily in him except for those green eyes.Why on Earth should one boy be lionized by the wizarding world for the stupid luck to have survived Voldemort's attack through no action of his own, but through his own mother's sacrifice?He was a boy, just an ordinary boy.

He settled into his seat, ready as usual for the spectacle of three-quarters of the school cheering Gryffindor.One would think after years of being soundly beat by Potter they'd be queuing up to finally beat him at Quidditch.

The score wavered back and forth, with first Gryffindor, and then Slytherin pulling ahead.Aquila scanned the sky, green robes billowing in the stiff breeze.Potter was right on her tail, both frantically searching for the flash of gold in the sky.

He began pondering his studies of the past week again, analyzing what he still had to find out before the idea could be reality. One slip, one hasty omission, could be deadly.He was nothing if not a meticulous, thorough man, and even the part of him that compelled him to finish the task as soon as possible to rejoin the fight recognized the need for it to be done well.

There was a sudden roar around him, he wincing as it resounded through his still-sensitive ears."Sir!" Blaise Zabini shouted, an enormous grin on his face."We've won!"The Slytherin stands had erupted into a flurry of cheers, back slaps, and general elation.

And indeed it was Meridia Aquila holding her fist up in triumph, the Snitch firmly grasped within.Potter looked positively aghast at the idea of a team's reserve Seeker beating him when their main Seeker was a bumbling idiot.This was their first victory over Gryffindor in six years.Perhaps he should find some excuse to throw Malfoy off the team: Heaven knew there were enough of them that he could pick and choose.He no longer had to court Lucius Malfoy's favor, after all.He then allowed himself a smile.Minerva now owed him twenty Galleons.

* * * * *

The Gryffindors were filing somewhat dejectedly back towards the Great Hall for dinner.Hermione saw Professor Snape at the back of the crowd exiting and slowed her step.She studied him, noting in amusement that even his scarf was black.You'd think a little color wouldn't kill him."Are you feeling--all right now, sir?" she asked tentatively.She hadn't spoken to him since that day in the hospital wing.

He gave her a brusque, impatient glance."Miss Granger, you needn't have any worry that I shall pull out my wand and turn it on myself.A bit of momentary foolishness: I was not in my right mind.Isn't there an injured rabbit nearby that perhaps needs your tender Gryffindor ministrations?" he asked cuttingly.

She refused to be daunted.She had seen him broken and bleeding, and he wasn't fooling her with his act."The rabbit couldn't need half as much help as you."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek," came the flat reply."Considering that Slytherin has just won the match and the Quidditch Cup, I caution you not to lose too many points if your precious Potter wants the House Cup again this year.Though Heaven knows," he added almost bitterly, "it will find its way to him in any case.It always does."

"That's not fair--" she protested vehemently.They had earned that Cup every year, and worked hard for it.She wasn't about to let him insinuate Gryffindors were favored and catered to.

"Oh, really?What about getting just enough points at the last moment your first year to award it to Gryffindor?" he said in obvious disbelief."I fail to see why everybody worships the ground he walks on.He is an arrogant, lazy little brat, whom everybody adores without him earning one whit of it."

"Maybe if you got to know him, you'd find he was a decent person," she said through gritted teeth.Harry made her want to smack him sometimes, but Snape had no call to insult him.After all, he was her friend, and Snape was overstepping his bounds."Do you know every summer his relatives take away his magical things, lock him in his room, treat him like a prisoner?He deserves some kindness!" she snapped.

"There are others," he said blandly, "who are equally deserving of pity at this school, and I do not see anyone falling over themselves to accommodate them.If you have nothing better to say, Miss Granger, I bid you good day.I thank you for your assistance in my mishap, however, and if you still wish to do a research project this fall, I accept."With that, he turned and stalked off.

"Others deserving pity--does that include you?" she shouted after him, seeing his shoulders stiffen at the words.He didn't turn, though, and she headed to the dormitory, feeling an odd sense of both having lost and won something in the exchange.

* * * * *

Snape sat at the desk in his quarters, staring at Tosca who was noisily eating a mouse she had caught earlier in the day.He'd have to send her with a message to an old friend in regards to his new project.

His plan was perfect, though.Voldemort would never suspect a thing from aimless Severus Snape.That was the Dark Lord's weakness: he underestimated the enemy with regularity, so consumed by his own power that everybody else was dismissed as a weakling.That was why Lily Potter had defeated him.

He shook his head, regretting his words to Hermione Granger.It was a weakness he never should have exposed.But looking at even Potter's own year, the "poor orphan lad" wasn't the only one who had brutally lost his parents.Brian MacKenzie in Hufflepuff was an orphan courtesy of the Dark Lord, as was Titania Viridians of Slytherin.Those and countless others--and even that hopeless prat Longbottom in Potter's own house.The Aurors had botched the Memory Charms of the night his parents had been tortured quite badly.Rather than removing his fear, he was instead nearly a Squib and afraid of his own shadow.

He kept hoping that his constant attentions on Longbottom would toughen the boy up--he wouldn't last one minute against the Death Eaters as was, and every teacher knew that an unspoken part of their duty right now was to be preparing these students--these children--for war.They would need every fighter possible against the dark forces.But even the other professors were growing frustrated with Neville.Frank and Marie Longbottom had been incredibly skilled, and he wondered idly if their son would have acquired the same power if not for the Aurors' mistake.

Sending children to do the job, he thought bitterly.This is what we have come to.Sighing, he turned back to the thick, dusty tome upon his desk, quill at the ready to record anything of interest.He was better served by work, not by sitting around sulking.At least he had a few more days to get as much as possible done before returning to the nitwits in the classroom.It's March now, he thought.I should be ready come summer.Ready to resume his place in the fray.