Metanoia - The Conversion of Severus Snape

Chapter 4: Old Grudges, New Lives
What is more terrifying than witnessing torture? Attending a wedding, of course.

"What do you get for a man who can buy anything?" Snape mused to himself. He was sitting at the small desk in the master bedroom, turning a piece of gilt parchment over and over in his hands - an invitation to Lucius Malfoy's wedding. He might have been flattered to be invited (if he weren't dreading attending, that is), but he was completely stumped on ideas for a wedding gift. What could he possibly buy that Malfoy would not sneer at? He wouldn't reply until he'd thought of something. He sighed, and put down the invitation.

He got up, and went downstairs to his sitting room. He had added a second bookshelf, and the room was beginning to look crowded. It didn't bother him, though; he still had enough room to pace back and forth. He had more important things on his mind than Lucius at the moment. Participating in his first raid had been eye opening, to say the least. It irked him that Regulus had been given the same task after only a week. Did the Dark Lord find him inferior, in need of special training that Regulus didn't need? He had come up with other excuses, but it still made him uneasy. He still didn't know what Regulus and the Lestranges had done, but he would not ask. What bothered him most, though, if he admitted it to himself, was the danger he was exposing himself to. There was no need to be caught by Aurors if you were careful, of course.

But werewolves? In his experience, there was no safe way to associate with such creatures. He had known the Dark Lord used them, of course. It was clever enough. But why did the Death Eaters have to work with them? Malfoy seemed so cavalier about the whole thing, but it was not a risk he was willing to take. If only there were a way to render them harmless!

He glanced over at his bookshelf. He already knew what his Dark Arts books said about dealing with these creatures. But he couldn't very well kill the Dark Lord's servants without permission! He needed some sort of protection against them...did any exist? He doubted it - their bites were notoriously resistant to all treatments, being heavily cursed. Accurséd creatures! But it wouldn't hurt to look; maybe there was something he'd missed before. He settled down and opened a few likely books.

Two hours later, he was no wiser. Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew a lot more about which curses wouldn't work against a werewolf, but that was small comfort. Short of killing them...but that wasn't an option, he reminded himself. The wolf-belt would prevent a transformation, so that was rather clever....but then there was the difficulty of actually putting it on the werewolf, moments before he would transform. Who would want to bell the cat? Besides, he doubted he could find one, even in Knockturn Alley. They were exceedingly rare.

Maybe there was some way to protect yourself, though. After all, werewolves were drawn by the scent of human blood. So maybe, if you could disguise that somehow, you at least wouldn't be a target. Not foolproof, but it would be something. He hadn't seen any charms like that, but there should be a potion that would at least mask the scent of blood. But if so, he wasn't familiar with it. He picked up one of his more arcane potions books and started leafing through it. His hand was arrested when he reached a page that proclaimed: "Rikki Tikki Antidote: Protection from Snake Venom."

Well, there was something useful! After the Dark Lord's performance at the last meeting, it was clear that any Death Eater would prefer to be immune to snake bites. He had had a chance to think about it afterwards, and was shocked to realise that the Dark Lord must be a Parselmouth. He had never heard Parseltongue spoken before, of course, but that was the only explanation for the strange hissing and the obedient snakes. Salazar Slytherin himself, the founder of Slytherin House, was said to have been a Parselmouth...but that was a thousand years ago. He hadn't thought anyone in the present day had the gift of speaking to snakes. He glanced back at the antidote...the ingredients wouldn't be too hard to come by. Nothing too costly, anyway. Luckily, he already owned a tourmaline stone. But the directions...what a complicated potion! It was no wonder Professor Slughorn hadn't taught this one at Hogwarts. He read it over several times, considering. He could at least try it. There was no harm in that.

After work on Tuesday, Snape stopped by Bobbin's apothecary in Diagon Alley. The man had turned him away when he was looking for a job (protesting that he was in no need of another assistant), but his apothecary seemed to be doing decent business. It was well-stocked, as always. Snape idly wondered if people were more or less likely to brew their own potions in difficult times. He needed to replenish his potions kit anyway, so he picked up some basic ingredients - as well as the ingredients he needed for the venom antidote. He had decided it was worth trying. It would be a challenge, and give him a chance to brush up on his potions skills - no point in getting rusty, and he seldom needed it at work. After he left the shop, he had a curious thought - how much would this potion be worth ready-made? He had never even heard of it before, so it must be rather rare. He decided to poke around in Knockturn Alley to see what he could find.

The first shop he entered sold an amalgamation of used goods, but also had a section for potions. A cursory appraisal didn't reveal anything exotic, so he soon left. The next shop he tried was exclusively devoted to potions, but fairly small. The selection at Liquid Libations was eclectic, and not all of the vials were clearly marked. He suspected that some of them were illegal, or at least regulated. A clear potion like Veritaserum was hardly distinguishable from water, except for the tell-tale way it reflected certain lights. He perused the antidotes, and found a few rare elixirs. The man behind the counter was watching him, but had not said anything to him. When Snape looked up, he asked, "Looking for anything in particular today?"

Snape considered for a moment, and then decided to ask. "Yes. I have a problem with adders in the woods behind my house, and I'd like to have an antidote for their venom on hand. Do you have anything like that?"

"Snake venom antidote?" the man asked, scratching his balding head. "I might have something like that, let me check." He came out from behind the counter and came over to where Snape was standing. Pulling his wand out of the front pocket of his work apron, he scanned the rows of vials. A blue mist appeared over two of the bottles. "Ah, yes, here we are," he said, extracting a small green bottle containing a dark, viscous liquid. "Meyerhoff's Remedy, good for adder bites and scorpion stings. It can be used in a pinch for acromantula bites, but of course you should always seek professional help for those." He reached for the other one and lifted it carefully. The clear bottle revealed a liquid that shifted from red to green as it swirled in the light. "This is Rikki Tikki Antidote, good for most snake bites, including your adders. It has a decent shelf life, too - should last for years, which is handy if you don't intend to use it right away."

"Do either of them work in advance, to immunise you before you are bitten?" Snape asked.

"Hmmm, yes, Rikki Tikki would do that, but you'd want the advice of a mediwizard before you tried something like that. Meyerhoff's is too general to give any long-term benefit, but it is fast acting."

"How much are they?" Snape asked.

"Meyerhoff's Remedy is usually 250 galleons a dose, but I carry it for 195. Good supplier, you know. Rikki Tikki will run you 675 galleons a pint, but a single dose is all you need to keep on hand."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why so much?"

"It's devilishly difficult to brew, and most suppliers simply don't carry it. I was lucky to get mine from one of the premier potioneers in England."

"Hmmm. Thank you for your time, but I don't think I'll be purchasing this today." The man looked disappointed, but still hopeful. "Your information has been quite...illuminating." With a smile, Snape turned and left the shop. 675 galleons a pint! The ingredients for four doses didn't cost more than about 20 galleons, not counting what he already had at home. His interest in this challenge was suddenly increased. If he timed it right, he should be able to complete it by working all weekend. Why, even Malfoy would be impressed by that! Now, there was an idea...if the potion came out right, he could give it to Malfoy as a wedding gift. A bit out of the ordinary, perhaps, but at least Malfoy wouldn't sneer. He could throw in something more domestic to appease his wife, perhaps. Maybe a picture frame for their wedding photos, or something like that.

Friday afternoon arrived, and Snape left work as soon as possible. Not wanting to waste time standing in line for the Floos, he Apparated home. In the kitchen, he had already set out everything he would need. He had gone through the ingredients last night, to make sure they were all of the highest quality. This potion depended on precision - the slightest error could botch the whole batch. He knew he might not get it right on his first try, but he wanted to identify the tricky parts, at least. There was also a deadline, now - Malfoy's wedding was in a matter of weeks. He moved his dinner out to the sitting room. He would probably be able to afford a break after he had prepared the ingredients. Once he started brewing, he wanted to keep a close watch on things. He began.

***

Thankful to escape Regulus and his prattle about horizontal lines and negative space, Snape went in search of the drink table. What kind of night was it? Not a firewhisky one...not yet, anyway. Perhaps he would see what sort of wine they were serving. In a corner of the garden overflowing with flowers, he found a table of drinks. At least the garlands were well above his head, and the distance from the fires made it so much easier to melt into the shadows and avoid detection. Thankfully, few others were lurking over here, leaving him in peace for a moment.

Before he had a chance to get restless, Evan materialised at his elbow. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked sardonically.

"What do you think?" retorted Snape.

"Well, at least it's not as bad as my cousin's wedding, where we had to..."

"Spare me," Snape cut him off short. "If you are going to bore me with pointless stories, at least talk about the raid a few weeks ago."

"Have it your way," Rosier continued good-naturedly. After a moment's pause, he continued, "I've been amusing myself trying to figure out how Bella's dress is staying up. It hardly looks like it should."

"You'd do better to determine where she's concealing her wand, especially if she catches you staring," he remarked dryly.

"You don't suppose she got Rodolphus to carry it for her?" Evan asked hopefully.

Snape merely snorted. "Not likely." He looked at the man standing next to him more carefully. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked.

"Too much," Evan agreed amiably. "But can you blame me?"

"No," Snape scowled. "How long does this last, anyway?"

Evan looked surprised. "Until dawn, of course!"

Cursing his own stupidity, Snape rephrased the question. "I meant, when may we leave, without being rude?"

"Dawn," his companion insisted stubbornly. "But there isn't any harm in wandering off for a bit, if you want to get out of this garden."

"No, that's alright, I'll -" Snape began, when a dull rumbling sound interrupted him. The last word died on his lips when he saw what - or rather who - had caused the disturbance.

The knot of guests who had been watching the dancing drew back hastily, and the dancers likewise scattered or froze. A shocked silence descended upon the gathering, broken only by the hum of an engine. Inexorably, Snape was drawn out of the shadows and towards the crowd around the uninvited guest. For there stood Sirius Black, his clothing even more tousled and dishevelled than usual. Over everything, he was wearing a black dragonhide jacket. This alone would have made him conspicuous in this gathering of distinguished members of society, but more incongruous was the motorcycle idling next to him. He had apparently just landed it in the midst of the party.

Sirius bounded forward and caught Narcissa's hand. She looked disgusted, but also a little afraid. "I had to congratulate you on your wedding, little cousin," he said, bending over her hand. "Even if you did have the misfortune to marry the conceited scion of the Malfoys," he continued gravely as he straightened, inclining his head towards Lucius.

"Your presence was not wanted, Black," Lucius said quietly. "I will not allow even you to mar this wedding, but I promise you, I will repay you should our paths cross again." He looked around the crowd, and continued. "Leave now, while you still can."

Sirius bowed low to Narcissa. "Such a charming catch." His eyes swept the crowd with disapproval and scorn, though his gaze was arrested when he saw Snape, his face a mask of contained rage, standing stricken on the edge of the crowd. Then he sprang onto his bike, revved the engine loudly, and took off into the night sky.

An uncertain silence followed his bizarre departure, until Lucius signalled for the music to resume. Snape watched him closely, trying to bring his rising anger under control. Lucius waited until his guests resumed their conversations, then turned to his new wife. Snape saw him bend and whisper something in her ear, which made her jade dangle earrings bob slightly. She seemed calmer now, and her mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. It was odd to watch Lucius with Narcissa. He was so gravely courteous to her. For once, Lucius' attention was fixed in one place, and he was oblivious to his surroundings. Snape looked away.

"I have to get out of here," he growled at Evan, who was still nearby, observing the other guests.

"Should we take Regulus with us?" he asked vaguely. Regulus did look rather lost, like someone had just punched him in the gut.

"If you insist; I'll be outside," Snape said before leaving abruptly.

He opened the gate in the hedge and stepped out into the field beyond. His blood was boiling. The mere sight of Sirius Black had been enough to rekindle his age-old hatred, but to stand there and do nothing while the arrogant fool pulled off that stunt in front of a bunch of Death Eaters...was infuriating. He pulled out his wand and idly slashed at the air. If it had not been a wedding - if it had not been Lucius Malfoy's wedding - he would have gladly hexed Black into oblivion. To pass up such an opportunity, to bite back on the curses that sprang to his tongue, was more than he could bear. When was the last time he had seen him alone and outnumbered - without his pack of friends? He paused in his slashing; several tufts of grass in the vicinity were smoking. Why had Black been alone tonight? Was he too embarrassed to tell his friends that Narcissa had snubbed him? He smirked; he had been invited to the wedding, while Sirius - a pureblood and first cousin of the bride - had not been. Or had Sirius been alone because his friends were not willing to crash the wedding? Perhaps the Golden Duo of Black and Potter had been broken at last. Perhaps Black found his partner less willing to play such childish pranks now that he was a married man. The thought of Sirius Black being abandoned by his closest friends did not comfort him, though. He was still furious.

Evan and Regulus came through the gate shortly thereafter. "Severus?" Evan called uncertainly. There was a flare of wandlight behind him. "Oh, there you are - I couldn't see anything in the dark; no moon tonight." Regulus was looking at the ground, trying to be inconspicuous. Rosier, realising he was in the company of two angry men, tried to diffuse any flare-ups for the time being. "Let's take a walk about the grounds; Regulus will keep us from taking any wrong turns." He started off into the darkness; the other two trailed behind him silently.

They came to a path that went along a copse of cedars. Soon, the path passed through an opening in the trees. As they entered the next field, Snape noticed a fire down in the valley. "What is that?" he asked, breaking the silence.

It was Regulus who answered. "A bonfire for Midsummer's Eve, I'd wager."

"Do you think they'll mind if we join them?" Evan asked politely.

"I don't see how they could object," Regulus said with a scowl. "This is my uncle's land." They continued walking down the hill. But now that the silence was broken, Regulus burst out with, "Damn him! Why can't he leave well enough alone? It isn't enough to leave and renounce us all, he has to disgrace us as well!"

"Well, give it some time, I'm sure he'll disappear for good eventually," Evan tried to console him.

"You don't understand Sirius," Regulus opined. "He'll never give up on something like this."

Evan smiled slowly. "And you don't understand Lucius. He doesn't make idle threats."

"Did you happen to see where dear Bella was keeping her wand, Evan?" Snape asked quietly, ignoring Regulus. "She already had it out by the time I looked. She seemed quite willing to finish him off, should Lucius have given leave...or maybe even if he hadn't." His voice was definitely becoming wistful.

"True." Regulus looked as if he had regained some of his composure. "And Mother has said she'll write him out of the will if he marries a Mudblood. She's already burned him off the family tree. So maybe he'll take after that worthless bloodtraitor friend of his and be as good as dead to us." He paused, and then added, "No offence, Snape."

"None taken. After all, none of my family is alive to disgrace me," he replied icily.

Luckily, they had now come close enough to the bonfire to see the people dancing around it. Evan hailed someone on the edge of the crowd, and requested drinks. He was pointed in the direction of a barrel of mead. They followed Evan around the outskirts of the crowd. He conjured up three mugs with a flourish, and then offered one to Regulus and to Severus. Snape tossed back one drink and refilled the mug. Maybe it was time to follow Evan's lead and drown the rest of this night.

***

He had never been in the Questioning Room before. It was in the cellar of Rosier's house. Strange to think that Evan had grown up here, really. The room was fairly plain. Small enough that it seemed crowded with the five of them there, but not tiny. There was no furniture, save an old wooden chair in the corner. He did not count the ropes and chains hanging from a beam in the ceiling as furniture. The room was lit by three oil lamps, hung from posts on the walls. A man lay on the floor, clearly Stupefied. "Ah, Snape, glad you've come," said an unknown voice from behind a mask. "Macnair was just saying we should start without you."

"I had no intention of missing this," Snape said smoothly, turning his attention to the prone man. "What do you intend to do?"

"Oh, it's fairly straight-forward. We ask him to talk, and if he refuses, we encourage him with a little Cruciatus," the unknown man answered.

Barbaric. Primitive, thought Snape, but he wisely kept these comments to himself. "Is that usually...sufficient?" he inquired instead.

The older man shrugged. "Usually. If not, we just let Macnair threaten them. That almost always works." The two other men, silent until now, chuckled at that. Satisfied for the time being, Snape lapsed into silence, folding his arms in front of him. The older man (Snape felt he should know him, but still had not placed the voice) had his wand out; he pointed and said, "Ennervate!"

The man on the floor groaned, rolling to the side. He didn't seem to know where he was, because as soon as he caught sight of the Death Eaters, he backed towards the wall, scrambling to his feet and reaching for a wand that wasn't there. No one spoke, and in the growing silence, Snape noted the rapid breathing and white eyes of their victim. He could almost smell the fear on him. Finally, the old man spoke, in a cold, mocking voice, "Your name, please."

"You must know that already, or else why..."

"Your name NOW," the man cut him off, his voice threatening and insistent.

"Portzline. Darwin Portzline," he fairly squeaked. "But why am I here?"

"Your occupation, Mr. Portzline?"

"I work at the Ministry, Department of Magical Catastrophes. But why..."

"And in your work, do you routinely modify the memories of Muggles who have witnessed magical events?"

"Yes, of course, everyone knows that, but I don't see..."

"And which spells do you use for that?"

"The Dejavu Charm and a short-term memory loss jinx, mostly. But I want to know why I am here!"

"Mr. Portzline, you must realise one thing," his interrogator said with a touch of impatience. "I will ask questions, and you will answer them. Now, tell me who in your office responded to the situation in Holme Fen last Wednesday."

Mr. Portzline looked nervous. "I don't see why that matters..."

"Tell me," he said, raising his wand threateningly.

"But how should I know? It could have been anyone..."

"Crucio!"

Portzline shrieked and fell to the floor. He writhed and moaned, but the curse was lifted almost immediately.

"Are you familiar with the Cruciatus Curse, Mr. Portzline?"

"Y-yes," he said, rising to his knees.

"If you continue to evade my questions, you will become much more familiar with it. Do I make myself clear?"

His eyes flicked over the faces of the other silent men, but found no hope in their masks. He nodded, and got heavily to his feet.

"And so, who was in Holme Fen last Wednesday?"

He flinched. "Please...why do you want to know?" he begged.

Suddenly, Snape took his wand out. "Muffliato." He turned to the older man. "It wasn't him. He's covering for DeVries," he said abruptly.

"Are you sure?" The voice was laced with doubt.

Snape nodded.

"Okay, then, but I'm going to break him anyway. Can't ruin our reputation, and he may be hiding something."

Snape released the spell, then stepped back to watch.

***

S.S.,
I would be delighted if you would stop by the Manor this Friday evening.
If possible, please bring the book that assisted you in concocting the wedding present you gave me.

L.M.

***

"So, have you made all of these before?" Lucius asked, gesturing towards the book in Snape's hand: Moste Potente Potions.

Snape snorted. "Of course not."

"What, are they too difficult for you?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm certain I could make them," said Snape, "but the ingredients can be difficult to come by." He flipped through and read out at random, "A human spleen... unicorn blood... phoenix ash... medusa hair, finely chopped... six harpy's claws..." He closed the book. "Well, you can see the problem."

Malfoy's brow creased. "I can get some of those. I am not sure about all of them, though. I will admit that it would be easier if they called for dragon's liver." He looked back at Snape, whose mouth was hanging open. He quickly clicked his jaw shut when he realised he was gaping. "So, would you be willing to try out one of those, if I procured the ingredients for you?"

"What is the occasion?" Snape asked.

"Private use," said Lucius, a rather malicious grin fleetingly escaping the mask that was his face.

"Which one do you want?" Snape continued, a bit uncertain about this new request.

"Oh, your choice. My only requests are that it be gruesome, fatal, and have an antidote."

"An antidote? Why?"

"Because I am going to be drinking it along with my intended victim, and I'd prefer not to die painfully."

"You trust me to get this right, even if I've never made it before?" Snape was really worried, now.

"Trust doesn't enter into it - I'll be testing both the potion and the antidote before using them, of course. So, will you do it?"

Snape knew better than to ask for the victim's name. He also knew better than to refuse. But to be perfectly honest, this felt more like a Christmas present than a threat. How often had he dreamed of making something, but knew that the ingredients would never come to him? Now he was being told to pick his own poison. He looked back at the book, and opened it again. Dare he ask which ingredients Malfoy could obtain? Maybe he'd rather not know. Well, gruesome wasn't hard - most of these fit that description. He'd prefer something slow-acting - what was the fun of a poison that killed instantly? The slow-acting potions were also more subtly complex to brew. Ah, this one would work. The victim first developed abdominal pain, which would induce vomiting. The pain would gradually intensify, and then change to sharp spikes. Eventually, the internal organs would begin to burn, until the person would literally burst into flames. The procedure seemed straightforward; nothing he hadn't done before. But the ingredients? Blood from a pregnant woman; unusual, but that shouldn't be too hard. Ah...a phoenix egg. That could pose a problem. He looked up to find Malfoy watching him. "What do you think of the Firebelly Liquor?"

Malfoy glanced at the illustration in the book, and then asked, "How does it taste?"

Snape's mouth twitched in the ghost of a grin. "Unpleasant, but the flavour can be masked. Unfortunately, it requires a phoenix egg. Will that be possible?"

"Hmmm...perhaps." Lucius was stroking his jaw thoughtfully. "But no promises. You may want to select a backup." Snape flipped through the book again, but apparently he knew what he was looking for. "Essence of Insanity might fit the bill, but only if your victim has an audience. He won't understand what is happening, and will eventually take his own life. It ought to be painful, but it's hard to say if the victim will be aware of that."

"Let me see," Lucius asked, reaching out his hand for the book. He quickly read the description. "Yes, that might work, though I preferred the other one." His gaze lingered on the list of ingredients. "At least I'm sure I can get everything for this one." Snape paled. Frog brains, lovage and yew berries were basic, but the Essence of Insanity required a 'beating human heart' - one that had not been cursed by its late owner. Seeing the look on Snape's face, Malfoy murmured, "Well, Muggles are good for something, you know."

***

When he returned to Malfoy Manor, his host led him down a set of stairs he had never seen before. The hallways here were dimly lit and nondescript, unlike the rest of the Manor (where the decorations tended towards the ornate). Malfoy finally stopped just past a portrait (the only one he had seen after descending the steps), and fit a key to the door. Snape looked at the portrait idly, and was surprised to see a laughing woman, with a daisy chain in her hair. She was outside on a bright spring day, and seemed not to have a care in the world. With a start, he recognised the landscape as the grounds of the Manor. But...how incongruous she seemed! Her strawberry blond hair was utterly un-Malfoy. And yet...on closer inspection, he saw that she had Lucius' eyes. It was odd to see those unmistakable pale grey eyes looking out of this guileless feminine face. "Lucius, dear, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asked in a voice bubbling over with mirth. Malfoy turned back from the now open door, and gestured Snape inside, seemingly ignoring the portrait. "My great-great Aunt Matilda," he explained tersely. "There is a reason her portrait is hung down here." She made a face at him behind his back, and winked at Snape. He ignored her. He had stepped into a workroom. His eyes swept the room, cataloguing the available supplies: several large cauldrons, smaller ones made of every metal conceivable, washbasins, a fireplace with chimney (for fumes) and a large cabinet with glass doors filled with supplies. "You are welcome to anything you find in here. If you require something else, just ask. If you make notes or keep records of your work, I ask that you leave them here. Ringing that bell will summon a house-elf, who can take any message to me. Do you have any questions?"

Snape shook his head, and Malfoy turned to leave. "On second thought, I do have one question." He turned his head back, listening. "How did your great aunt die?"

Lucius seemed surprised but said merely, "As she was born - a Malfoy." Then he left; the door clicked shut behind him.

The blue flames heating the cauldron danced cheerfully, reflecting on the shimmering bubble surrounding it. The Bubble Charm trapped the fumes rising from the puce-colored liquid. When the fumes were thick enough to reach a pale blue, Snape carefully angled a gold bar into the bubble, without breaking it. Immediately, the fumes condensed, and little rivulets ran down the bar into the second, empty cauldron. It was cold, with no fire beneath it. After he had collected enough, he formed a new bubble over the cold cauldron, and lit a fire. Adding the last two ingredients, he watched as the potion turned a deep golden, emitting the occasional red spark.

Several of the ingredients had been Nontradable goods, but he was not really surprised that Malfoy had provided them. No, what really impressed him was the phoenix egg. There were only so many of those creatures in the world, and it was rare to find them in captivity. To think that someone had obtained a mating pair strained credulity. But wild phoenix nests were protected by International Wizarding Law. A very brazen thief, then, was the most likely explanation. Oh well, as long as it could not be traced to him. He smiled. Malfoy had probably chosen him to brew this specifically because he wasn't a member of the Potioneers society. There would be no official records of his abilities beyond his NEWT scores. But even a skilled potioneer would have difficulty distinguishing the effect of this potion from a simple Incendio charm, so there was little fear of any of Lucius' actions being traced to him. Of course...Malfoy would know. But since he would be guilty as well, Snape did not think he had much to fear from his partner in crime.

***

"So, Severus, what do you think of Hogwarts?" Lucius asked him one afternoon as the year drew to an end. They were outside, boots crunching in the thin new-fallen snow.

"I try not to," Snape answered, scowling.

"Come now, was it really that bad?" Lucius persisted in his question. His long travelling cape was lined with white fur; Snape wondered how many rabbits it took to line it.

"Yes, it was, and I was more than happy to put that place behind me for the last time." Snape's dark eyes flashed. The thought of a warren of rabbits hiding under Malfoy's cloak was strangely amusing.

"A pity, then, that our Master would like a loyal professor there." Lucius smiled, his face cold and calculating.

"You...you don't think he'd ask me, do you?" Snape nearly choked.

"Of course not! When has he ever asked for anything? He'll send whom he likes, regardless."

"But...I'm rather young to teach, don't you think?" Snape asked, the hope refusing to leave his voice.

"Do you honestly think that old fool Dumbledore would hire an older Death Eater? He's no idiot, and you are young enough to be above suspicion." He paused, reconsidering his companion. "Well, nearly so, anyway."

"But, Lucius, I have no desire to teach! I suffer fools about as well as you do. The thought of dealing with hordes of idiotic children is...nauseating."

Lucius shrugged. "Hard to foresee the consequences when you swear obedience, isn't it?"

"Don't patronise me," Snape snarled. "You took the same oath I did, Lucius. Don't pretend you can foresee all he will require of you, either." On closer inspection, he realised that the fur was too coarse for rabbits; arctic fox pelts, then.

"It would only be for a year. Take heart - you'd be able to teach the Dark Arts. If you're really dead set against it, I can maybe say something in your defence... but I can't promise much. You know how He can be once he's made up his mind."

*** *** ***