Be All My Secrets Remembered

Chapter Twenty-Nine: An Ever-Fixèd Mark

July - September 1979

Diagon Alley was far quieter than he remembered, but this did not surprise Severus, altogether. Not only was it the middle of summer, barely a week had passed since the latest altercation between the Death Eaters and the Aurors, this one taking place just round the corner from Ollivander's.

The sound of female laughter echoed from Madame Malkin's, across the street. He glanced toward that window, and his breath caught. A slender young woman pirouetted atop one of the measuring stools, lifting unmistakeably white skirts so they fluttered around her, contrasting perfectly with her long, red hair.

Turning away, even as green eyes fixed themselves in his mind, Severus nearly ran to the small corner entrance to Knockturn Alley.

It was just his luck that, half an hour later, as he was making his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, she stepped out of the robe shop, a garment bag slung over one shoulder.

"Lily!" The name jumped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

She turned, her expression of surprise melting into a smile as she recognised him. "Severus! This is a surprise." Stepping forward, she held out her hand. "How long have you been back?"

"A few...hours, really. Nothing more." The ring glittered on her left hand, and he could have sworn the reflected sunlight seemed fit to blind him. "I hear you're to be congratulated."

"Do you?" Her guard was up now, chin raised ever so slightly. He'd forgotten that particular expression; pushed it wilfully out of his mind during the past year. "On what?"

"Your engagement, of course." Somehow, the response emerged with only the slightest edge of bitterness. He was half-tempted to congratulate himself. "Potter once again walks off with something he has no chance of ever coming to deserve."

Lily sighed. "Are you two never going to let go of that silly grudge?"

"Lily, please." His voice was shaking now, and, try as he might, he could not stop it. "Not him. Anyone but him."

"And what should it matter to you who a filthy Mudblood marries?" she retorted, voice sharp and eyes flinty. "James loves me, and I love--"

"Don't." The word tore itself free. "Just...don't."

"I can't believe you have the nerve, Severus Snape. Who on earth do you think you are?" Fury pushed the pitch of her voice slightly higher. "You forfeited any right to tell me what to do, and you ought to know that by now."

"I'm not telling you what to do, Lily." He forced himself to breathe steadily, let the words flow with some semblance of his usual sangfroid. "Potter loves nobody but himself. Surely you're aware of that by now."

"And what do you know of love, Severus?" She all but spat the question at him. "It's never been about love, where you're concerned. Even now. If it were anyone but you, I might have wondered. But for you, it's always pride. You can't stand the thought that James might have changed, and that I love him for it."

There it was. Severus took a step backward, as if from an invisible blow. "You barely know me at all, then."

"No, Severus." He couldn't bear to look at her face, but the sadness in her voice was evident. "I've seen it, all these years. Even if you did have feelings for me once, you'd never have admitted it. You brewed an illegal potion in the very dungeons of Hogwarts. You risked expulsion so you could rid yourself of it--of me. And then, afterward, I ceased to exist for you, which leads me to believe that your potion worked."

"Lily--"

"This is the first time you've spoken to me of your own accord, Severus, and all you care to tell me is that you don't want me to marry James." The odd intonation on his enemy's name caused Severus to look at her, and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not going to take your advice. You made your choice. Now live with it."

And, turning on her heel, she strode away from him, footsteps echoing on the cobblestones. Against the footfalls, which seemed to thunder in Severus' ears, he could hear Rosier's lazy drawl from somewhere behind him, "Really, Snape, your precious Mudblood might have a point. You do waste a great deal of time and effort on Potter."

"And what," Severus said, between clenched teeth, "do you propose I do about it?"

"I propose," Rosier said, resting one hand on Severus' shoulder, "that you channel your prodigious talents elsewhere."

With a hollow smile, Severus deliberately changed the subject. "Did you get what you wanted from Professor Faust? I only saw you before you spoke to him."

"He asked a great many questions, and had disappointingly few answers."

At that, Severus had to laugh, albeit harshly. "How very like him. And your other business? How did that go?"

"I was hoping," murmured Rosier, "that you might be able to tell me."

***

"What if she changed her mind?" James was pacing back and forth across the thick-fringed rug, fingers tangling helplessly in his already mussed hair. "What if she's already bolted, Padfoot? She might be in Barbados for all I know!"

They were waiting in the parlour of James's grandmother's house in Godric's Hollow. Outside the window, some sixty or so guests were seating themselves on garland-bedecked lawn chairs, laughing and chatting, entirely oblivious to the bridegroom's apparent distress.

"Prongs, Prongs, Prongs. You need to calm down, or do I need to send Wormtail to your mother for a sedative?" Sirius placed both his hands on James's shoulders. "Lily isn't in Barbados. Dorcas said something about a spot on her nose, and that's why she's late."

"But what if the spot's just an excuse?"

"It isn't. Stop being a prat." Sirius glanced over his shoulder to where Remus was doing his best not to burst out laughing at something Peter was whispering to him. "Moony! Bring unto me Firewhisky."

"Firewhisky?" echoed Remus. "You want him pissed?"

"I want him calmer. That will help."

Shrugging, Remus summoned a bottle of Ogden's finest 21-year-old single malt from the liquor cabinet on the far side of the parlour. "What?" he demanded, noting Peter's wide-eyed stare, "You do realise this is the end of an era, don't you? Mr Prongs has succeeded in deflating his head and acquiring a sense of responsibility--"

"Much to our dismay," interjected Sirius, earning himself a punch in the shoulder.

"--and deserves to be toasted as such." Remus summoned four glasses as well, and poured a fairly generous amount of golden liquid into each. "Gentlemen," he intoned, as they raised the glasses high, "to Prongs. May he survive this day, and those to come."

"To Messrs Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot," James added, "the best friends I could ever hope to have."

"Hear, hear," Sirius added, clinking his glass against the other three. "Now, drink up, Prongs. If you shake too much, you'll drop that ring."

James tipped the entire glass back into his mouth with no further encouragement. With his usual smooth aplomb, Remus managed to vanish the bottle and glasses before the door swung open. Instead of James's grandmother voicing strident complaints, however, Dorcas Meadowes entered, hands on burgundy satin-clad hips.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded, brows arched slightly. "Have you lot forgotten that there's a wedding on? It stinks of whisky in here."

James coloured, and lowered his eyes. But before he could speak, Sirius interjected with as innocent a grin as he could manage, "If he were wound any tighter, he'd have exploded. The whisky was necessary."

"Well, his presence outside is just as necessary," the bridesmaid pointed out archly, "as is yours, Mr Black, and those other two ne'er-do-wells'. Lily's beginning to worry that he decided to run off with you instead. Now," she overrode James' horrified protests, "I don't care how little this rascal appeals to you. Get out there, and get yourself married!"

He needed no more encouragement, slipping past her into the crisp autumn air. Remus followed on his heels, as he was slated to accompany Emmeline down the aisle. Even as Sirius took Dorcas' arm to lead her back outside, with no particular rush, she held out her other hand to Peter with a smile.

"It would be the ruin of my reputation not to show up with at least two men on my arm," she said, "and that would never do."

Janet Potter, insistent upon marrying off her only grandson with all due ceremony and merriment, had taken charge of all the preparations, with occasional input from her daughter-in-law as well as the bride-to-be. The trees, glowing in brilliant shades of crimson, gold, and orange, ranged around the company in a half-circle, where they had stood for nearly two centuries now. The bridesmaids wore burgundy to match the roses twined in the bride's red-gold hair. She followed the two bridesmaids (Petunia had not answered her letter or the invitation), her arm linked through Professor Dumbledore's.

As he took his place in front of the altar, Sirius squeezed James's shoulder encouragingly. "Breathe, Prongs," he murmured. But James, his eyes locked on the white-clad vision advancing toward him, could do nothing of the sort.

Peter was the only one to notice the Muggle woman standing beside one of the trees, but even as he opened his mouth to tell Remus, something in her expression stopped him. She was watching Lily, her thin mouth trembling ever so slightly. When he looked for her again as James and Lily retreated from the altar in a flurry of laughter and white satin, however, she was gone.

***

Dorcas had staunchly refused to join the other girls looking to catch Lily's bouquet, in spite of the bride's begging. The black-eyed Susans, carnations, and red roses eventually landed in the arms of one of Edgar Bones' little girls, all of nine years old, who promptly started dancing round the room in glee.

"She might even have the man picked out already," observed Dorcas to Lily as the other girl strolled over to stand beside her. "I saw her dancing with Gideon Prewett earlier."

"Matchmaking, Dorcas?" Lily laughed. "I thought that was for old women."

"Never too young to start, I'd say. Especially considering you're a walking testament to my being right about one match." Then, after a moment, she added, "You look radiant, Lil. Marriage apparently agrees with you. At least two hours of marriage does."

"Don't even say that! You'll jinx me," retorted Lily as she took another sip of champagne. Then, she frowned slightly. "Dorcas?"

"Yes, dear?"

It seemed to take her a second to decide whether or not to ask the question, in spite of how much she obviously wanted to. "What about you?"

Dorcas merely raised her eyebrows. All that drama for something so very vague.

Lily clarified, "You and Sirius--"

"Oh no," she cut her friend off decisively, "you will not start on that again."

"But Dorcas, don't you want this?" Lily gestured round, at the flowers and crystal, and decorations, at the laughing guests. "Surely you do. Everyone does."

"Lil, this isn't for everyone, and you know it." She shook her head with a rueful smile. "We're happy as we are. Truly. Not everyone's built for fairy tales. Some of us would break the glass slipper or..." she thought for a moment, "snore so loudly that no self-respecting prince would ever venture near, let alone offer up a kiss."

"What, he wouldn't kiss you to shut you up?" Lily offered, with as straight a face as she could manage. Dorcas rolled her eyes, but let it slide. "Dorcas, I do mean it--"

"And I mean what I said, Lily Potter." She stopped, tasting the name. "It sounds good. Some people have the most awful names. Thank goodness your James isn't one of them." It occurred to her in passing that Dorcas Black didn't sound half-bad either, but that was neither here nor there. "Thank your parents while you're at it," she added. "Dorcas rarely sounds good with anything, if you ask me."

Lily just smiled, and her face seemed to glow from within. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Dorcas' suspicions as to precisely who Lily's eyes had found. Brighter than the lamps of Heaven, indeed. Sirius had that right. Not that Dorcas was about to get soppy about his best man toast. If she had almost leaked a tear or two, that was her business, and not his.

However, before she could say anything, the sound of repeated chords on a piano drew their attention to the corner. "I should have guessed they'd find that sooner or later," Lily said, rolling her eyes.

"The piano? Oh yes, of course. How could I have forgotten that little serenade beneath your window?" Dorcas grinned, her previous thoughts shunted aside. "Rather an inappropriate song, though, don't you think?" At Lily's puzzled frown, she gestured toward them. "Infidelity, murder...of course, this is Sirius Black choosing the song, presumably. And it is terribly catchy."

The impromptu musicians sailed into the chorus, and the people gathered round them--mostly Muggle-borns, she noted--joined in. Those apparently unfamiliar with Muggle music, old or otherwise, just watched, trying their best not to sway or tap their feet as the rather waltz-ish tempo carried them along. Peter Pettigrew, surprisingly enough, was not there. She would have expected to see him, seeing as he'd almost certainly introduced Sirius to the song in the first place.

As she glanced about the room, though, it was not Peter she found, but James, staring at something as his hands clenched at his sides.

"My, oh, myyyyyy, Delilah!"

The smile melted off James's face, and his jaw tightened. Dorcas, frowning in confusion, followed his gaze to the doorway.

"Why, oh, whyyyyyy, Delilah!"

The Spanish-esque melody wound around the words that Dorcas could no longer make out, as she recognised Laura Hennessey, standing cool as could be, with her arm through that of a grinning young man that Dorcas knew she'd seen somewhere, and suspected Hogwarts.

"Fenwick." James's voice was cold enough to rival Severus Snape's on a particularly bad day.

"Oi, Potter! Congratulations!" The so-identified Fenwick seemed entirely oblivious to the thunderous expression on the new bridegroom's face. "Who'd have thought it? You and Evans, after all those years of quarrelling."

"What is she doing here?" snapped James.

Fenwick's smile faltered a little as he glanced at Laura, and then back to James. "I didn't think you'd mind if I brought my girl. You don't, do you? I mean..."

Dorcas glanced back to where Peter had been standing, near the Prewett twins, at one of the tables. He was no longer there. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Your girl, Fenwick, broke my best mate's heart. She's not welcome here, and she knows it." He pointedly refused to look at Laura, focusing all his attention on Fenwick.

"Now, wait just a moment," Fenwick blustered, his cheeks growing red. "That's not fair. It's been nine months, for God's sake! He should be well over it by now. If he isn't, it's his problem, not ours."

"I stand by my mates, Fenwick. Either she goes, or you both go. I won't take no for an answer."

Applause spiralled upward from the corner, where Sirius was taking a flamboyant bow before dragging Remus up from the piano stool. He hadn't noticed--not yet, at least. Hopefully, thought Dorcas, he would not, and nor would Remus. Hopefully Fenwick would take the hint and leave before they did.

Luckily for all involved, Fenwick apparently knew how to take hints. Shooting a wounded glare at James, he stepped back. Laura's expression fell somewhere between dismay and annoyance as she scanned the room. Then, shrugging, she drew Fenwick toward the door.

"Well," Dorcas remarked to nobody in particular, "I suppose every occasion needs unwanted guests to spice things up a bit."

"What just happened?" Sirius asked breathlessly, as he jogged up beside her. "Prongs looks ready to murder someone."

"He almost did. It was terribly Mafia, if you ask me. Where's Peter?"

Sirius shrugged. "Haven't seen him recently. Not since Moony and I found the piano."

"Inappropriate choice of music, that."

"It was Tom Jones, Dorcas," he protested. "There is no such thing as inappropriate."

"If you insist," Dorcas shrugged. "Are you sure you've not seen Peter? It was Laura Hennessey that showed up." For a second, Sirius' face clouded in confusion, but before Dorcas needed to clarify, he nodded. "Yeah, with Fenwick, no less," she added.

"Fenwick?" echoed Sirius. "Did Wormtail see?"

"One assumes. Which might explain why he's vanished."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "He'll be back sooner or later. He never goes far. And then we'll sit him down, and offer to beat Fenwick with the nearest Beater's bat for being such a great bloody twat. All good fun after a wedding."

But a half-hour, and then an hour, and yet more time passed, and Peter never came back.

***

The shadows wavered at the corners of Severus' vision, indistinct black shapes framed in pale green light from the wall sconces. Somewhere above him was the chamber's ceiling, but he willed himself not to look up, or anywhere save in front of him where the single black-cloaked figure sat. Waiting.

Two others flanked him, hoods thrown back to reveal their faces. Lucius, glowing palely as if carved from marble. Lux. And on the other side, Bellatrix, a smile flickering at her perfect lips, her eyes half-shuttered as she gazed forward. Nox. Light and dark, day and night.

"Perfect symmetry, Severus." The voice broke into his thoughts, smooth and resonant like serpent-scales. "Few people recognise the importance of symmetry. Of order. Of purity."

There was a murmur of agreement from the six or so figures ranged around and behind him, and Severus lowered his head in what might or might not have been a nod.

"It makes things so very simple, does it not? Do you wish the world to be simple, Severus?" After a second's pause, he continued, and Severus could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I can give you that pretty illusion. It's why you're here, after all, and I should hate to disappoint you."

The world is not black-and-white. It never has been, nor will it ever be. But it was, for the Gryffindors. And if illusion was all a Slytherin could have, so be it.

"Kneel, Severus."

He obeyed, lowering his eyes to the stone tiles. A crude carving of a snake stared upward.

"This chamber--this chapel, as it were--once belonged to the House of Gaunt. An ancient and powerful family, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. I," at this, Severus looked up into the hooded face, "Lord Voldemort, am the last of that line."

He could not see the eyes, but he could feel them, could feel those long, thin fingers scrabbling about inside his head, and he willed himself to think of nothing. Not of Rosier, whose fault this was, or of his mother, who had frightened him with stories of ‘gaunts' as a child, gaunts that would come and eat him in his sleep if he didn't behave. He had thought them monsters of some sort, but they were merely people. A family. Something he would never have.

The fingers receded, and Severus exhaled as quietly as he could. "Do you swear, Severus Snape, to serve me loyally and without fail?"

"I do." Lily was probably married by now, to Potter. Potter, who did not deserve her, who could never deserve her. What did it matter now, who he served? He was only doing what was expected of him, after all. What was expected of all Slytherins.

"Do you bind yourself to me, from this day forth, as a Death Eater?"

"I do." Agrippa might guess. He had a habit of doing that. Not as an Occlumens, for he was nothing of the sort, but because he knew Severus far too well.

"Morsmordre." The incantation conjured up a small sigil in the air, a skull and serpent entwined, one that Severus recognised--as anyone in the Wizarding World would have done. "The Dark Mark, this is called. Hold out your arm."

Severus drew back the sleeve of his robe, extending one pale forearm. Beneath the sigil and the light from the sconces, it held a greenish tinge.

"I bind you, Severus Snape, to your oath, and to me." He swung his wand downward, and the Mark fastened itself to Severus' arm, hissing and smoking as it touched his skin, clung, and sank small fiery teeth into his nerves. He bit back the threatening scream, felt tears well unbidden at the corners of his eyes. "By my Mark, you shall hear my call. Rise, Severus, and join your fellows."

He obeyed wordlessly, his entire body shaking from the pain as he staggered back. Someone caught him round the waist, and he could hear Rosier's voice very close to his ear. "That wasn't so terrible now, was it? A few glasses of Circe's Oblivion, and you'll forget it ever happened."

And, as it happened, he very nearly did. The Mark still throbbed, but through the smoky haze of Oblivion, as Rosier called it, the pain had dulled. He couldn't have said how much time had passed, but his next memory was of the crisp September air and a shortish shape barrelling into him, knocking him against Rosier.

"Watch where you're going!" he snarled, baring his teeth at the man who had now turned to face him. A round face, lank light-brown hair, something so very familiar about him...

"Snape?"