Sixteen

Sixteen

Chapter 5

by

MMM

Snape almost tripped over the stairs as he turned on his heels and fled from the empty basement, his mind racing even faster than his feet, his sack banging against his shoulder noisily. The full implication of what the Dark Mark meant suddenly became obvious. He was in serious trouble now, even though he had nothing to do with the sudden appearance of the Dark Mark, had not been spying on the Trentons and Dumbledore. Soon, the Ministry would arrive and question everyone in the castle. To run away was merely to delay the inevitable: they would find him, the new boy who had worked here under an alias, who was underage, and worst of all, hailed from Knockturn Alley, the hotbed for pureblood activism and Dark Arts. In his mind, he had already imagined a whole host of people pointing their fingers at him:

I thought his reference was suspicious, said the butler. You know, dodgy scumbag from Knockturn. Who knows what they are up to?

He always had a mean look on his face, said the burly boy. He nearly killed me.

He was creeping around the senior staff quarters, said the cleaner he met outside Sutton's quarter.

Even as he ran, his feet kicking against the finest country gravels, he imagined himself being pushed hard against the floor by the Aurors, his arms being twisted behind his back. A curse would be cast, with a whispered promise of more to come once they got back to the station. His protest of innocence would fall on deaf ears, because no one from his part of the world was ever innocent.

He thought of Dumbledore immediately. Surely Dumbledore would explain to the Aurors that he, Severus Snape, was a student of Hogwarts and not some rascal from Knockturn and certainly no Death Eater. But as he took a few tentative step towards the manor and looked up to the eccentric pile of river stones, trusses and turrets, he gave up the idea. There were over fifty windows on this side alone and Snape had no idea which one was Dumbledore's, and the task of explaining to Dumbledore how he ended up in such incriminating circumstances seemed almost as insurmountable.

There was only one way for him to get out of this quandary: he needed to find the real infiltrator first.

His feet had already taken him to the flagged stone steps of the senior servants' quarters. He pushed open the door gently and wasn't surprised to be greeted by Sutton, who had changed into a set of black robes, his long travelling cloak billowed behind him.

'Mr. Sutton, may I have a word with you?' Snape said.

'Well, you better come in then. I was just going up to the house. Our guests want to thank the chef for a wonderful dinner,' Sutton said, without any trace of fear or irony. Snape tightened his grip on the handle of his wand, his knees kept threatening to buckle as Sutton led him into the tiny sitting room of his quarter.

'Quite a shock, wasn't it?' said Sutton, working in the wet bar, mixing up some drinks. He took up two shot glasses from his pantry and poured in some strong transparent liquor. Snape sat down on an unpolished wooden chair and looked on numbly.

'A drink?' Sutton asked but Snape had not heard. His eyes were fixed on the mantelpiece, which was embellished by mementos from various popular holiday spots but nonetheless felt hastily assembled. Snape noticed for the first time that there were no pictures of Sutton's family. In the midst of those junks, stood the military style silver hip flask Sutton always carried with him.

Snape stood up, taking slow steps like a man hypnotised. He took the hip flask and the truth, which had been lurking behind the thick mist of deception all these times, had finally dawned on him. There was no cry of Eureka and Snape felt no joy because he had so wanted his suspicion to be wrong. He unscrewed the cap with the same slow movement. Sutton made a sudden movement but took no further steps to stop him as Snape tipped the flask and poured out the foul-smelling content.

'Mr. Hawick,' said Snape quietly. 'Polyjuice Potion.'

Sutton or rather, Hawick's smile widened. He seemed genuinely pleased. 'Why would you say that?'

Snape didn't actually know what made him say it. His mind was almost working too quickly, racing ahead to link all the facts that had been nagging him for days. 'The way you keep taking sips from that hip flask and not getting drunk. The amount you're drinking is enough to knock out a hippo. Then, the other day when you were drinking your potion, I caught a whiff of it and it didn't smell like alcohol.' At last, having an alcoholic father had given him an edge in life, thought Snape. 'The Moste Potente Potions in your library, the recipe for Polyjuice Potion is in that book too.'

'Yes, I was perhaps too confident,' mused Hawick. 'You are very good at Potions, aren't you? But that just tells you I'm not Sutton. How did you know who I really am?'

Snape's mind flew back to the day he sneaked up to the main house: after he had drunk from the hip flask, Sutton put it back into his pocket, then wiped his mouth with the back of the same hand. It had been bothering him even at the time: it just seemed such an unnatural movement. Most people would have put the hip flask down with one hand and wiped with the other.

'Your hand. The way you used it. It looks as though you're not used to using your right hand.'

'Well done, Severus,' said Hawick, who had settled on the edge of his bed. His eyes were slowly changing back to their usual greyish blue. His right hand had turned into the same frightful tangle of flesh and sinews Snape had seen last month in the quiet part of Knockturn Alley. If he was nervous, then he didn't betray it. In a way, Snape admired Hawick's sheer gall and guts: to come into enemy territory, work undercover without any supports, then on the very last day, give them a warning they would never forget.

'So what are you going to do now?' asked Hawick.

Snape didn't answer. The truth was he had no idea what he's going to do once he unmasked Hawick/Sutton. He didn't think he can overpower a Death Eater all on his own, even though Hawick had not got his wand out. He didn't even know whether what Hawick had done was illegal. Hawick had only conjured the Dark Mark; he had neither hurt nor killed anyone. It had been a little practical joke and certainly no worse than anything Potter had been up to at Hogwarts.

'I notice there're no guards outside the room. Why didn't you report me to the Ministry?' Hawick asked again, leaning against the circular bedposts. His tone was so casual and confident that Snape had the impression he was the one being cornered, not Hawick.

'I'm underage. They would kick me out of Hogwarts ...' Snape mumbled. Could he have gone to the Aurors first and told them his suspicion? Would they take the word of a sixteen-year-old wizard? Snape somehow didn't think so.

'You know perfectly well that they won't. Not when you have personally caught one of the highest ranking Death Eaters. A minor offence like underage magic is nothing next to it. They may even often you a job.'

'Not for me. They won't,' said Snape sulkily. He knew these things simply don't happen to people like him. For people like James Potter and Sirius Black, rich popular kids from old powerful families, yes; for people like him, he would be lucky to escape with a suspended sentence.

Hawick sat on the edge of his bed. The clothes were getting too big for him, or he too small. Snape didn't know what spell he had used but Hawick had somehow transfigured his robes into the right size again while Snape considered his fast-dwindling options.

Hawick gave him a search look and said: 'Are you coming with me?'

'Where are we going?' Snape asked. He felt he was losing control of the situation. Hawick was like an odd undercurrent that kept tugging him out to the deep sea.

'You're not thinking of finishing the dishes before we leave, are you? There's a limit to cleanliness,' Hawick suggested, flashing a half smile. He looked out the window again. 'Look as though the Hit Wizards have finally arrived.' Indeed, Snape could see the flashlights flickered left and right and hear the urgent footsteps of boots against gravels. The entire estate was going to be sealed off; he had to make a decision now.

'Well, there's no point in waiting for them to catch us, is there?' said Hawick. 'Are you with me?'

'But they will know we're missing,' Snape said, hoping the Hit Wizards would burst in, thus take the decision out of his hand. 'They would come and find us.'

'Don't worry. I've taken care of it,' said Hawick, who had opened his closet with a very complex charm. 'Give me a hand, will you?'

Snape moved closer and saw, curled up next to the broomstick, the unconscious body of the real Sutton, his face as red as Hawick's had been and his red hair matted. There was a bald patch around his left temple. Snape was relieved to see him still breathing.

'You kept him in a closet?' Snape asked incredulously. 'Is that how you've been getting your supply?'

'Yes. He's drugged. Draught of Living Dead,' said Hawick. 'Now I need him on the bed.'

Snape grabbed hold of the man's legs and dragged his large frame to the base of the sleigh bed, then with great effort, he and Hawick had heaved him onto the mattress. Sutton's breathing was very slow and he looked like a hibernating bear.

'Time to go,' said Hawick, his eyes scanned over the real Sutton. 'Have you ever used a Portkey before?'

Snape nodded, even though he had never used a Portkey. As Hawick hitched his bag onto his shoulder, no doubt containing all the transcripts of the meetings recorded by the Quick-Quill hidden in the attic, Snape knew it was the last chance he had to act. He needed to make up his mind.

But what decision was there to make? If he duelled with Hawick, he would most likely end up being knocked out and found unconscious alongside the real Sutton. His story would look ludicrous since Sutton may not even remember being locked up for the last three weeks. If he went along with Hawick, then he may still have a chance to alert the Ministry later.

But would he want to, if the chance presented itself? He had told Dumbledore he wanted to be an Auror but Snape had always felt the War between the Dark Lord and the Ministry had little to do with him. Besides, Hawick had helped him out two times already; to turn him over to the Ministry would be such a disgusting act of disloyalty.

Hawick pulled out a black, rusting kettle from underneath of the bed and held it out, Snape grasped at the pout almost automatically. Then he remembered his OWL results ... he didn't remember putting it in his bag. The parchment had his name on it.

Everything dissolved rapidly around him. Either the ground was leaving his feet or he was disappearing. In the midst of swirling lights and rushing wind, Snape thought he should do what Hawick told him to and report him to the Ministry.

He tried to let go of the kettle but found his hand glued to it. He had already passed the point of no return.

Seconds later, he opened his eyes again and felt the ground hitting his feet hard. He looked around him and frowned. He's in what looked like a Muggle-flat, a huge living room with many strangely shaped appliances. Hawick had evidently made a mistake.

He looked to his left and saw Hawick grinning at him. 'You don't approve?' asked Hawick.

'You live here?' asked Snape, looking out the window and saw the sodium streetlights, illuminating an unmistakably Muggle neighbourhood. He shuddered; he had never been inside a Muggle district before. 'Where are we?' His eyes narrowed to survey Hawick, thinking it might be a prank: who had heard of a Death Eater living like a Muggle before?

'Somewhere in north London. Hackney to be precise,' Hawick had flicked on a switch and the lights came on. Snape had heard about those: Muggle lamps that turned on instantly, no flame, no mess but the lights seemed very unnatural to Snape and he wasn't sure he liked it.

'But all these,' Snape frowned and gestured around him and pointed at a white metallic box. It was cool to touch. 'What the heck is that?'

'A fridge,' said Hawick, pulling open the door. A cold draught breezed across the room. 'Want a beer?'

'Cold Butterbeer?' Snape grimaced.

'No, just regular Muggle beer. It's quite refreshing. Best served cold, like revenge,' said Hawick, taking out two tall cylindrical cans. He pulled open an odd-looking lid and drank. Snape did the same; the can hissed but did no worse. He peeked inside but saw nothing but dark liquid swilling inside. There was a strong metallic smell. He took a small hesitant sip.

It tasted bittersweet, with a hint of hop and like Hawick said, refreshing. He was tired and hungry and the 'beer' was having a strange effect on him; his surrounding was beginning to look less solid. Snape began to relax and joined Hawick on a chaise sofa.

'How come you live here?' said Snape, leaning against the cushion.

Hawick took a gulp from his can and his face shadowed by a dark look; Snape regretted the question already.

'I lost my right hand when I was twenty-eight, my wand hand,' said Hawick in a faraway voice. 'Suddenly I couldn't do magic anymore. Not even a simple Summoning Charm. I had to relearn everything. During that time, I had to live like a Muggle, to live without magic.'

'But you don't have to anymore.'

Hawick smiled. 'Ignorant Muggles are our protection, Severus. Can you imagine how Muggles would react if the Ministry of Magic come in to arrest me, all wands blazing? How are they going to explain the deaths of hundred of Muggles to their government? It would be a nightmare.'

The word nightmare reminded Snape of his O.W.L report. 'I need to go back to the Trenton Estate. I left my O.W.L. results ...' Snape stopped at mid-sentence when Hawick pulled out a piece of parchment from his inner pocket, neatly folded and handed it back to Snape. Did Hawick see his Defence Against the Dark Arts grade? He certainly wouldn't think Snape smart if he did.

'Sorry, I was just curious what you're up to in your room all day,' said Hawick. 'Eleven Outstandings and a special commendation for Potions. I wish I get that kind of grades when I was at Hogwarts.'

A special commendation for Potions? How come he hadn't seen it? Snape took out the parchment again and scanned the results again. It was at the bottom of the page and Snape guessed all that time he was too distressed by his Defence Against the Dark Arts grade to see it.

'Speaking of Trenton Estate,' Hawick continued. 'I should tell you that all the staffs at the Trenton Estate have their memory wiped clean. They could never tell the Ministry you were there for the last two weeks.'

'But if I hadn't come to you?' Snape said slowly. 'If I have remained behind ...'

'Then you deserve to get your ass kicked for stupidity but I would clear things up for you eventually. But I've never doubted one moment you would figure this out.'

'So this is some sort of test?' Snape said, still puzzled. 'Why would you have gone through all that trouble? What if I turned you in instead?'

'Now, kid, not everything is about you,' chuckled Hawick. 'I would have gone to Trenton Estate with or without you. It was too good an occasion to waste. But I was curious about you. You see, I wanted to know how far the potential I saw would go, how you would react in a real life situation. As it turns out, you did wonderfully,' Hawick stopped and his expression darkened. 'And if you have tried to turn me in, then you would find yourself being framed as a spy and an agent of the Dark Lord. It would have been easy. You would find that I don't cry over the dead bodies of my enemies.'

Snape felt his stomach churned and a cold shiver down his spine. Hawick was ruthless alright and he had no idea how close it was: the only reason Snape hadn't snitched was that he didn't think anyone would trust his words.

'Now let's go grab a bite,' said Hawick, clapping his hands. 'I guess you're sick of cooking as well.'

'But it's midnight. All the places are closed.'

'It's London, mate. You just have to find the right place.'

***

They walked through the cold misty dark to the café. Its orange light gleamed fuzzily through the fog and gave it a mysterious aura of an enchanted cavern. Snape didn't expect to see so many people. It's packed with people just got off their late shifts, tired but still full of adrenaline: security guards, cleaners, waiters, bartenders, chefs. There was no deco except for a thin coat of splotchy paint but it's open and it served breakfast at one in the morning: baked beans, toasts, hash brown, scrambled eggs, and the greasiest bacons and sausages in town. Snape had never seen breakfast plate this big, not even at Hogwarts.

There was no menu since the café only served breakfast. The waitress took their orders grumpily and straggled to the kitchen, leaving them free to talk.

'The only way to eat well in England is to have breakfast three times a day,' said Hawick. 'Wise words, aren't they? You don't notice how bad the food is until you've been away for a long time.'

'You said you just got back to England recently,' Snape said tentatively. 'Have you done a lot of travelling?'

'I left the year after the war with Grindelwald was over. Forty-six,' said Hawick. 'I drifted for a while. The first stop was North Africa. I've always wanted to see the desert.' He then went on to recount his journey and Snape was mesmerised. He had never been overseas before. In fact, before he went to Hogwarts, he had never left London.

'I worked as a courier while I was learning to use my left hand,' said Hawick. 'Morocco to Egypt was my route. One round trip took three months. There was no Floo Network between the two countries back then and owls can't cross the Sahara, so it's all done by human couriers. The desert was a remarkable place. Dangerous, too. Magic won't do you any good when you run out of water and food.'

Hawick paused when the waitress arrived with two breakfasts. Snape ate silently while Hawick continued his story. Snape usually fell asleep whenever his classmates felt compelled to tell everyone where they went for holidays: they just went to the same beach everybody went to, sneered at the locals and only ate food cooked by their own house elf. Snape often wondered why they didn't just stay at home and saved themselves the trouble. But Hawick's stories were different. They were exotic and exciting.

'Enough about me,' said Hawick, putting down his knife and fork. 'What about you? Tell me your life story.'

His life story? Why would Hawick be interested in that, a man who had seen sunrise in Sahara on a broomstick? His world was small and uninteresting. Growing up in Knockturn wasn't a story -- it's an embarrassment. Snape shrugged.

'What are you going to do with your life, Severus? What are you good at?' asked Hawick encouragingly. 'Everybody is good at something. I can see you are good at Potions but what else?'

Hawick's questions were unfortunate as these questions had been preoccupying Snape for quite some time. He had no idea what he's good at and suspected he had no purpose in life. Before he came to Hogwarts, he thought he was good at curses but Potter and Black had consistently beaten him in duelling. His Potions grades had been a fluke, the luck of the draw and sooner or later, his Potions mistress, Professor Bannockburn, was going to find out Snape had not been the genius she had purported him to be.

Hawick, however, did not notice Snape's uneasiness. He lit up a pipe and continued: 'Tell you what. You are definitely good at putting twos and twos together. Never miss a trick, do you? And a photographic memory. Must be quite hard to choose, all those possibilities in front of you. Though I must say you would be a rather good fighter.'

'No,' said Snape, remembered the incident last June. He couldn't fight them then and he could never beat them.

'No? You're quick enough,' pondered Hawick. He paused and inhaled but his eyes never left Snape. 'Do you think a lot when you duel?'

Snape nodded; he was quite eager to hear Hawick's tips on duelling.

'Well, sometimes it's best to stop thinking,' Hawick put down his pipe, gesturing. 'Say you are playing Quidditch and a Bludger comes your way, do you swerve left or right?'

'It depends. I have to look ... '

'But you can't stay there right? You can't say to the Bludger I'll think about it. You either swerve left or right or think about it and die,' said Hawick. 'It comes with experience, left or right. But the one thing you always have to remember is you can't think about it, you have to keep moving. You have to be ruthless, too.'

'How?'

'Hurt them so much the situation becomes untenable for them. You'll have to cause them more pain than they are willing to bear,' said Hawick simply. 'The same thing we're trying to do to the Ministry of Magic. Have you ever thought about becoming a Death Eater?'

The question was so out of the blue that it simply left Snape flabbergasted. Why would Hawick want to recruit a sixteen-year-old who got an Acceptable for his O.W.L Defence Against the Dark Arts? Nonetheless, he felt a sense of fulfilment that Hawick should think him good enough to work for the Dark Lord.

But then he had promised Dumbledore he would try his hardest to become an Auror, to fight the Dark Side.

... we live in dark times and there's no telling when all these would end. From what I've heard, you certainly have the sort of mind the Aurors would need, and I assure you that if this is your goal, I would help you in every way I can.

Dumbledore's words: it was the first time anyone had spoken to him about his future. He felt a burning desire not to fail Dumbledore.

The thought of Dumbledore's expectation made him feel uneasy now. There he was, in the company of a high-ranking Death Eater, eating late-night breakfast with him. He felt his face flushed, ashamed of the joy he felt in Hawick's company and finished his breakfast in silence, stared determinedly at his toasts. Hawick said nothing as he sipped coffee and got up as soon as Snape put down his knife and fork.

They parted company outside the café. The fog had thickened while they were inside the café and Snape could barely make out Hawick's face. His expression was certainly unreadable. Hawick had said nothing after Snape's silent refusal and Snape thought about Hawick's remark that he's happy to see his enemy dead. He didn't want to be Hawick's enemy but that wasn't out of fear: Hawick had treated him with respect, like he was an adult. He wanted desperately to be Hawick's friend.

Hawick patted his shoulder briefly. 'One day, Severus, you'll understand,' he muttered as he whirled around. Before Snape could say another word, Hawick had disappeared into the thick blanket of fog, leaving Snape standing alone in the dark.

End of chapter 5

A/N: I know, I know, I know. The oldest of plot twist and I'm not proud of it. Most of you would probably guess it after chapter four already. I do have some plausible and surprising twists but those that are plausible are not surprising and those that are surprising are not plausible. So, I decide to go the plausible and stale way.