When We Were Gone Astray

1981. It wasn't a white Christmas that year, but it was a wet one. Muggle children all over Britain were going to bed with the hope that Father Christmas wouldn't be blown off-course by the harsh wind that had arrived the week before and showed no sign of leaving. And on that Christmas Eve, Severus Snape Apparated directly into Martin Avery's sitting room, dripping rainwater.

Certainly no one would have seen him had he walked straight up to the front door of the secluded house and knocked, but he'd rather not have taken the chance. Instead, he'd left Hogwarts at dusk, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head as he started out for Hogsmeade. For a moment he had hesitated outside the Three Broomsticks, but had decided a shot glass full of whiskey wasn't worth enduring the raucous carols being sung inside the pub. This was the first Christmas in years free from the threat of Voldemort, and the weather was no obstacle for the wizarding community's celebration.

By the time he had reached the stile on the outskirts of the tiny village, Snape was soaked through and suppressing shivers that threatened to shake his entire body. So Severus Snape had concentrated hard on the distant memory of a richly furnished room and disappeared with a pop.

A moment later, Martin Avery looked up from the old, leather-bound book he held in his lap. "Christ, Snape!" he cried, rising from his armchair. "Couldn't you have at least come in at the entry hall? That rug's been in the family for generations."

Severus ignored the fact that he was indeed creating a rather large puddle on a very old wool rug bearing the Avery family crest. "Happy Christmas," he replied shortly, without a trace of holiday cheer.

"Haven't you heard of a Drying Charm, mate?" Avery gave a short, uneasy laugh, his eyes flickering between Snape's feet and his utterly indecipherable facial expression. "Here, allow me," he offered, reaching for his wand to perform the spell himself. Snape raised a hand to stop him, though, and with a whisk of his own wand, both he and the rug were perfectly dry a moment later.

"Is it really coming down that hard? How long were you out there before you popped over, anyway?" Avery asked, trying desperately to make conversation, something at which neither of them had ever been particularly good.

"I wanted a bit of air," Severus said, still clutching his wand as he stared down his host. The look might have been mistaken for hatred or rage, but Snape was on the defensive.

"Severus, I didn't ask you here to hex you!" Avery burst out. "Ah, well. Happy Christmas, mate."

The two young men lapsed into an intensely uncomfortable silence. Snape could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on; he was glad he had decided against taking the Floo. He noticed that Martin's sandy blond hair was the shortest he had seen it since Hogwarts; he must have cut it after his trial. Severus hadn't gone to the sentencing, but he had read an article in the Daily Prophet the next day announcing Avery's acquittal. In the accompanying picture, Martin's hair had been long and matted from the time in Azkaban, and his hazel eyes had shifted from one corner of the photograph to another. Those same eyes were now wandering around the sitting room, avoiding Snape's gaze. Severus cleared his throat.

Jumping ever so slightly, Martin Avery gave his guest a weak smile. "So, well, I suppose you received my card, then?"

Severus pocketed his wand and momentarily extracted a green envelope from within his robes. It held a greeting card decorated with a picture of a dove, and in Avery's untidy scrawl the inside had simply read, How about coming 'round the house on Christmas Eve? I'm on my own this year. -Martin.

"Ah, good."

"But isn't that a Muggle custom, Avery? The bird doesn't move," Snape said, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, well, there were a bunch lying about with the decorations," Martin shrugged. "My sister's, I suppose."

Sarah Avery had left for the continent two years ago, along with their parents. Snape had always suspected it had something to do with Martin's ... political leanings; he was the only Slytherin in a family full of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. It seemed he only stayed at his ancestral home now because he had nowhere else to go.

"Have you heard from anyone?" Severus asked after a moment.

"Like who? My family?" Martin laughed bitterly. "Maybe Alastor Moody'll drop me a note ... 'Congratulations and Happy Christmas, you scum?' Yes, I'm sure he's just about the only person who gives a damn about me right now. We don't exactly have anyone left, Severus."

Alastor Moody was the Auror who had captured Avery earlier that year. It had been only a month or so before Voldemort's mysterious fall at the hands of James Potter's infant son, and Severus himself had only just gone to Albus Dumbledore that summer. Severus was surprised Avery didn't suspect he'd given him away. There hadn't been many of their old gang left by the time Snape went over; Rosier and Wilkes were killed the year before, and he'd quickly learned the Aurors were already searching for the Lestranges, though to no avail. There were others, of course, but Snape couldn't name them for sure. Their masks were not only worn to prevent them from being identified by their victims. And so in Dumbledore's office that July night, when Moody demanded names, there was really only one to give. The true circumstances of his arrest had never even crossed Martin Avery's mind.

"Severus, you all right, mate?" Avery asked, interrupting Snape's train of thought. He motioned to a far corner of the room. "Say, would you like to help decorate the tree?"

Severus turned around and saw an evergreen that nearly reached the ceiling and was half-decorated with tinsel. "I'm bloody sick of green and silver," he muttered.

"Oh, right. So how's teaching, anyway?"

"You know how I feel about children." Really, though, Severus wanted nothing more than to return to the school. For the last six months, he'd been unable to decide whether he should feel guilty for turning in his old friend, but now he could only feel anger towards Avery's blind trust, his amiability. Severus knew he shouldn't have come at all, but then this wasn't the first time he'd allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.

"Well, er, why don't you have a seat then? Shit, I'm a terrible host. Have a drink, Severus," Avery offered, conjuring two cut-glass tumblers and a full decanter.

Snape accepted the glass that was shoved into his hands, but remained standing. "Why did you ask me here, Avery?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Severus, I--There's no one else. Do you have any idea how quiet it is here?" Avery broke off, concentrating hard on the fire that was crackling in the hearth. Severus could barely make out the words he began to mumble distractedly. "We got in too deep ... Too fucking deep...." Avery's voice cracked and he fell silent once more, covering his face with his hands.

Severus Snape felt that if he remained in that room any longer, he wouldn't be able to refrain from hitting Martin Avery across his flushed, boyish face. It took nearly all his power, every single day, to maintain his composure. He could not stand here and witness another man's anguish.

"I must be going," he said, placing his full glass on the nearest table.

"Oh, well, all right then," Avery replied quietly, looking over at Snape with dry but bloodshot eyes. "But hold on. I have something for you."

He bent down, producing a wrapped package from beneath the end table beside his chair. "Sorry about the paper," he said with an apologetic smile. It was silver foil embellished with a green floral motif.

"I can't accept that," Snape said quickly, eyeing the unexpected gift.

"Just take it, Severus. Open it later if you'd like." Avery held out the present with both hands and a pleading look. Severus reached out for it hesitantly, managing a brief but courteous thanks.

Then, suddenly, there was a buzzing accompaniment to Snape's headache; it began softly, but grew louder and clearer and faster. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, it went. If Snape had ever had a doubt about becoming a Death Eater, he knew Martin Avery had had a hundred. Catching himself, he steeled his mind against that softness. He was responsible for no one but himself. He had no room for sympathy.

"Happy Christmas, Martin," he said, and Disapparated.

A short time later, back in his bedchamber at Hogwarts, Severus Snape sat staring at Avery's gift. Sighing, he undid the neat wrapping, revealing a copy of Hogwarts, A History. When they were students, Avery had been the only one in their dormitory to actually read the book, and he had spent many hours in vain arguing its worth to the rest of them. Opening the front cover, Severus read the brief inscription: Sometimes this seems like the one thing that hasn't changed since we were in school. This is a new edition, but they still haven't fixed that "Slitherin" typo on page 374. Well, nothing's perfect, I suppose.

After a long pause, Severus Snape turned the page and began to read.