Sixteen

Sixteen

by

MMM

Chapter 4

The afternoon wasn't totally wasted though. At least he had one of his questions answered when he finally managed to locate Sutton, who turned out to be sitting at the back of the house, again drinking whisky out of his hip flask. When he was offered some, Snape refused curtly. As much as Snape liked Sutton, he thought he drank rather excessively. Not a drunk of his father's scale but Snape was still amazed he managed to perform any sort of task at all.

'What did you say to them?' Snape demanded. He tried to sound friendly (after all, Sutton quite possibly saved his life) but as he rarely heard a kind word from anyone, his tone sounded sharp to his own ears. Sutton, however, didn't seem offended.

'Do you really want to know?' Sutton chuckled, putting his hip flask back into his pocket, then wiped his mouth with the back of the same hand. The motion struck Snape as odd. 'I think you know already.'

'I have my guesses,' said Snape. 'But they are just guesses.'

Sutton looked amused: 'Let's hear it.'

It was like being trapped by Olsen, his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who loved to give Snape the hardest question just to see him fail. But Sutton seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, and having endured sixteen years of empty promises and hostilities, Snape had an instinctively ability to spot lies.

Snape took a deep breath and said: 'You told them I'm a spy sent by the butler.'

Sutton laughed cheerfully and patted Snape on the shoulder. For a moment, Snape thought he was wrong and was made to look like a fool until Sutton caught his breath again and said: 'You are one of those rare ones, aren't you? Wizards with brains. You should guess more often.'

Before Snape could respond, Sutton had turned around and disappeared back down to the kitchen. Snape had no choice but to follow.

That same night, feeling fatigued as the adrenaline slowly dissipated away but still too excited to sleep, he mulled over Sutton's words. He had long been taught that pure speculations never do any good: you should never ask where a rotten corpse comes from, or why your father could never hold down a job or where your mother has gone to. Things like these just happen and curiosity never does any good.

Yet, as he listened to the sound of soft snoring around him, he couldn't help but tried to piece together all the snippets he had overheard. For example: what on earth is the Order of the Phoenix? Or rather who are the Order of the Phoenix? Snape was sure that it was not an obscure Ministry medal, having memorised the names of every single one of them for his History of Magic exam. It could just be one of those chic little clubs that kept springing up like mushrooms after the rain but Snape didn't think so. Phoenix ... he muttered hazily. Immortal bird, healing power, rebirth ...

Actually, Snape did have an inkling but there was no reason to suppose it true.

So, make a guess, said a voice inside his head, which sounded remarkably like Sutton.

Okay, a wildly impossible one, Snape snapped at the voice. The Order of the Phoenix - an unofficial group of wizards and witches assembled by the great Albus Dumbledore to fight against the Dark Lord. How about that for absurdity?

Except it didn't sound so absurd once he had actually thought it out loud. It explained everything Snape had heard and seen today neatly: the secrecy surrounding the Trenton Estate and Potter's eagerness to be part of it -- Potter was always going on and on about how he's going to curse all Death Eaters into smithereens.

More curiously though, was the Quick Quill in the attic. Was Trenton trying to play double agent, secretly passing information to the Death Eaters? It would be a great scheme, luring all those who are against the Dark Lord into one place, then blow up the house. However, Snape felt this was all too fantastic a supposition, for one, he couldn't see the Trentons destroying their ancestral home.

May be the Trentons just wanted to keep a record out of historical interest, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. It wasn't any of his business.

***

After that totally unnecessary adventure in the house, Snape was determined to stick to his original plan and stay put in the basement. Nothing short of a raging fire would be needed to drive him out. The desire to sneak back in and find out more was almost irrepressible but he drew some comfort from the fact that Potter and Black were shut out of the meeting as well.

From the gossips he heard, the Trenton Estate was overran with the who's who of the magical world. One housekeeper swore that she had seen Gilderoy Lockhart and caused every single girl in the room to giggle, whisper in each other's ears, then sigh. When Snape pointed out how Lockhart's books were riddled with factual errors, the room fell into silence and he was promptly ordered out.

Lockhart's presence or absence asides, there were certainly many people coming and going, judging by the number of meals they were cooking down at the kitchen. At one point, the kitchen was told to prepare luncheons for one hundred and twenty people, which sent Sutton into a screaming match with the butler.

His work though, was degenerating into a farce and Snape found it hard to keep a straight face all the time. Sutton's lie about him being a spy clearly was having an effect on everyone, and it was both amusing and annoying to be surrounded by sycophants. Several times, he was tempted to tell them to get a grip of themselves but stayed mum. He tried to get as much work done as the other boys permitted, for he felt guilty and useless when he did nothing but it still meant he had a lot of free time to himself.

Snape spent most of that time in his room, trying to write to the O.W.L. examiners to request a remark for his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. However, he found himself completely unable to put anything onto the parchment. It didn't help that he snapped his quill in half at one point and spent half an hour repairing it. Half the time, when he was writing the letter, he wanted to rush up to the house and throw a good curse at Potter and Black for the pain they had caused him. As the deadline drew closer, the idea of using the incident last summer as an excuse for his bad results sounded more ludicrous, and it became apparent that he was choosing between the humiliation of revealing himself being weak and unable to defend himself and the humiliation of not getting into the NEWT Defence Against the Dark Arts class. It wasn't clear which was worse and he had only two days left to decide.

Sometimes, he thought he was cursed from birth, by some monstrous deeds his father had done in the distant past and what he had suffered were all due to bad karma, sin of the father, to be repaid by the son. Perhaps it was why the world railed against him from the very beginning, why everyone seemed to hate him, including his own father. May be this great and monstrous deed was the reason Hawick invited his father to serve the Dark Lord. Didn't Hawick mention something about the last war? Yet, Snape sensed that Hawick's heart wasn't in it. Somehow, Hawick had known that his father wouldn't join them, even before he had entered the flat. His father's refusal was purely out of self-interest and cowardice, for Snape knew he had no love for Mudbloods or the Ministry. He wondered where Hawick was now.

***

On the very last day of the meeting, Snape confirmed his theory that the Trentons were trying to blow everyone up. Crates after crates of fireworks were hauled down the cellar and work was abandoned briefly so that everyone could satisfy their curiosity. The thrilling smell of the potent mixtures waiting to be ignited filled the air. A boy tried to ply open one of the crates without any success as the crates were all sealed by wards. For a moment, Snape could almost believe that he was back in the Potions classroom at Hogwarts again: after all, people in his class did seem more interested in causing explosions than to settle down and make their potions properly.

He wondered whether he should go up to Dumbledore and tell him everything he had found out about the Trentons, that they were secretly recording every word of the meeting, that they were planning to blow the place up tonight under the façade of a firework display. He also thought he should get out of the place himself: he didn't want to die alongside Potter and Black.

Of course, in his mind he knew none of these fantastical notions were true, but his hunch told him there was more to the whole proceedings than just a secret meeting between like-minded wizards and witches determined to fight the Dark Lord. It was like being lured into one of Potter's pranks: you have a sense of foreboding as you go in but you have no idea what exactly would happen until the trap is sprung. Part of you wants to withdraw, to run away but another part what to see what lies ahead.

Snape usually went ahead, unwisely enough.

They were just fireworks, he told himself firmly. There was no need for him to make a fool of himself and get into trouble over nothing.

***

The Leaving Feast the Trentons had planned rivalled the ones served at Hogwarts. From early dawn, the kitchen had acquired an almost Christmas-liked atmosphere of anticipation and, for the first time in days, Snape was allowed to work uninterrupted. Everything was planned out perfectly, even though Sutton didn't think a busy day should stop him taking a sip of whisky now and then. The team worked in a steady but increasing pace as the evening approached. They were given a break at around five o'clock and told to come back in time for the first order to come in. Snape spent the time watching the fireworks being hauled out of the cellar again. None of the crates had been tampered with, as far as Snape could tell. There was nothing to worry about, he told himself as Sutton shouted out the orders for four salads and a shrimp cocktail. He was just being paranoid.

As soon as Sutton announced the next batch of orders, everything blurred in the whirlwind of people rushing back and forth and foods were being grilled, baked, boiled, steamed, mixed and stirred. Sutton had put him in charge of the potatoes and he spent the next hour putting boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes and baked potatoes onto plates. The main courses were sent up, and the plates sent down. By the time they had done the desserts, Snape was so exhausted that he felt he had been up on a broomstick, batting Bludgers away for two straight hours.

'Can we go out and watch the fireworks?' asked the burly boy who had attacked Snape earlier in the week. 'We would do the plates later.'

'Aren't you a bit old for fireworks?' Sutton snorted. 'Go anyway. Be back here as soon as you're done.'

The kitchen was empty before Sutton finished his sentence. Curious whether the Trentons really planned to blow everyone up, Snape followed the crowd, leaving an exasperated Sutton behind.

By the time Snape went up, the firework display had already started: a flaming red dragon was just finishing a spectacular charge down the middle of the porch and turned into a waterfall of sparks, falling like summer rain under the soft glow of the sun. The crowd gasped in surprise, then clapped appreciatively.

It was then followed by a group of silver swans, dancing elegantly against the dark black dome of the evening sky. Their wings flapping in rhythm to a melodic pipe and their heads tilting side to side. The idea that the Trentons would use the fireworks as weapon seemed ridiculous now.

Snape scanned the party inside the house, who were all standing on a large balcony. Their faces were illuminated by the lights inside the house and Snape spotted Dumbledore with ease, since he was easily the tallest person on the balcony. Somehow the sight of Dumbledore made Snape felt more assured and he decided he should enjoy himself after all. He gazed back at the swans, which had formed into a circle and morphed into beautiful white lilies.

Specks of silver from the white lily still lingered when the next display was shot up into the night sky. There was no gasp from the crowd this time. The display, unlike the ones before it, was totally immobile. For a long time, it felt as though the very air he breathed in was frozen. Nobody dared to move. The harsh but seductive green glow lit everyone's face with a ghostly pale. The crowd was visibly grateful when a sharp scream finally pierced through the stark silence. People started running, though most had no idea where to run to and ended up running in circles; some were crawling on the ground and ducking, though there was nothing to duck from. Under the green glow, Snape watched Dumbledore calmly giving out instructions. He felt the dryness of his own mouth and supposed it was fear, even though as a pureblood, he had nothing to fear from it.

Snape straggled back down the basement and as he walked past a couple of girls clutching each other, screaming incoherently, he felt the loneliness the sane must feel inside an asylum. He looked up again and saw once again the ugly sign the majority of magical world had come to fear -- a skull with snake protruding out of its mouth.

The Dark Mark.

End of Chapter 4