Scar Mates

PREPARING FOR IMPACT

Snape rolled over and squinted his eyes in the dimly lit dungeon room Even on a day bright with sunlight., his rooms remained subdued and chilly. What time was it? he thought to himself. Groping on the bed stand for his wand and finding it, he lit the lamp sconces. Seeing the time on the mantel clock, he groaned and threw his feet over the side of the bed. He'd overslept again. Well, he'd have to do without breakfast, but he'd had little appetite recently. He could grab someting in Diagon Alley if need be.

After Apparating from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley, he made visits to several establishments, purchasing class potions supplies at the Apothecary, as well as some personal items at Madam Malkin's. After arranging for everything to be sent ahead to the castle, he took a leisurely stroll along the alley, his goal a lesser known eatery that would be free of students and their parents, as it was located in Knockturn Alley. His face impassive, he deftly avoided the small swarms of students flitting from one show window to another. Some were students whom he recognized, even recalling a name or two. These, he noticed, avoided him as soon as they marked his identity. The first years were most obvious by their attachment to their parents, and their wide-eyed wonder at the wares and mayhem that were Diagon Alley.

The largest congregation was in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, where a gaggle of students, most of them boys, was rhapsodizing over the latest broom model. Quidditch frenzy, he thought, and then felt a small twinge of curiosity. Although he didn't follow the national teams now, he had been on the Slytherin house team as a student. He slowed and moved out of the crush of the crowd, turning to look back across the street to the broom shop. It was surprising, but he felt the most compelling urge to join the boys at the window. He waited for a moment, biting his lower lip. Then taking advantage of a break in the crowd, he made his way over to the window. There were a few murmurs of "Hello, Professor Snape," as children moved to make way for him to approach the window. Gads, it's beautiful. It was sleek and shining, burnished wood with a golden plate at the tip of the handle that flashed in the sunlight: Nimbus 2000.

It was a thing of beauty, and suddenly he could imagine what it would feel like to sit astride it. Last year he'd secretly tried out a Cleansweep that one of the players had left in the Quidditch locker room. It had been a cloudy night, so he had soared undetected about the grounds, venturing even beyond Hogsmeade. He hadn't felt such exhilaration in years, but it had veen a solitary excursion, a single lapse he'd allowed himself. His life since he'd come to Hogwart's to teach had been full of cares and fears, and because of this he'd led a somber and circumscribed existence from which he rarely sought relief.

His dreamy inspection of the broom was interrupted by a familiar voice at his elbow.

"Makes you want to take her out for a test drive, eh Professor?"

Snape turned his head slightly to look down at the gangly red-haired boy at his side.

"No, Weasley, it does not," he replied emphatically, trying to decide which Weasley twin this was.

"That impulse remains relegated to thrill seekers unable to attain to even a mediocre academic success."

As the boy beat a hasty retreat, Snape thought to himself, Not a test drive, Weasley. I'd like to buy it and lock it away for my own personal use on moonless nights.

He turned and threaded his way through the crowd, taking the steps down to Knockturn Alley. The number of shoppers was considerably fewer here, and these patrons kept their eyes mostly downcast as they walked, occasionally shooting furtive glances at the other passersby. Snape finally reached the pub, housed behind a nondescript store front with no windows or sign. He entered and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. For the middle of the afternoon there was a surprising number of drinkers and diners. Spying an empty section of bar towards the back of the room, he made his way to the seat farthest from a couple already seated there. Perched on a stool, he ordered,

then squinted at the room reflected in the mirror behind the bar. He did not expect to see anyone he knew. He had no friends to speak of, and the few remaining acquaintances from his life before the fall of the Dark Lord...well, suffice it to say that they did not seek each other out, fearful that their association might bring unwanted reprisals. Most, if truth be told, did not fraternize because of the shared knowledge that their freedom was evidence of their common betrayals. What could they possibly have to say to each other?

Some of them had indeed mourned the loss of the Dark Lord, but had then prevaricated in order to escape prison, or worse, death. Others had been relieved beyond measure, and had more than willingly provided testimony against their compatriots. And then others, like Snape, had escaped "as one fleeing through fire". These few, working both sides in an attempt to thwart the evil cataclysm that seemed to be inevitable, had known that time was running out for them, and that they would have to commit themselves to perpetrating unspeakable horror, or be exposed. The end had come at the most fortuitous moment. These latter few had heaved a collective sight of relief. Some went on to be instrumental in the wizarding trials that put many others in Azkaban. A few others, like Snape, were quietly cleared, set aside, possibly, for some future purpose. But all of them, regardless of where their true loyalties had lain, had studiously avoided contact with the others...until six months ago.

The first whispers of renewed acquaintances had been hidden, here and there, in the society pages of the "Prophet": invitees at a society ball, co-chairs of a charity event, business partnerships, and even wedding announcements. Then came the chance spotting of faces together in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, in the pubs and stores there. These were people who had avoided each other for the past ten years. Now acquaintances and contacts were being forged anew. Families were getting together socially, and behind it all was an undercurrent of expectation...and a nameless fear.

Snape had felt the fear before he had become aware of the other things.

He became aware, after several days of inexplicable agitation, that he had been unconsciously massaging his left forearm. It did not pain him, or produce any physical sensation that he could localize. But suddenly he realized that he was aware of the Dark Mark again. He'd rolled up his shirt sleeve and eyed the scar suspiciously. There was no visible change. It looked as it had these past nine or so years, puckered white flesh typical of the eschar which any severe burn leaves. Some had tried to have the Mark magically removed or healed, but he had heard that these attempts had been unsuccessful. That had been a disheartening discovery for some. But some scars, Snape had thought at the time, should remain--should remain as a testimony to the disaster that had been Voldemort, and to the folly of those who had followed him. He'd managed to shrug off this new awareness for several months, until the actual physical changes had begun. For several months now, the scar had begun to tingle and itch, at least weekly, and always at night, causing him to startle awake, his heart pounding wildly, his nightshirt drenched in sweat. The scar itself had begun to transform. It was no longer flat, and every day was regaining its former color, at first only faintly pink, now a deep, bruising purple.

Although he had no confirmation of it, Snape was sure that he was not the only one experiencing this alarming transformation. Indeed, seeing former Death Eaters in each other's company again verified his suspicion that their Dark Marks were also awakening. Although this had not prompted him to seek out the others, he had no doubt that it had been behind the reunions. Most men who are afraid seek companionship. Safety appears to lie in numbers. Well, thought Snape as he tossed back his drink as he rose to leave, I am not like most men.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

"It is perplexing, sir," Snape conceded to his Headmaster. It was several hours after the Sorting Ceremony which marked the beginning of another Howart's year. After he'd made a point of scaring the Slytherin first years with a few menacing instructions, he'd flooed the Headmaster requesting to see him that evening. Now they sat together in front of the fire, sipping a fine brandy that Dumbledore shared only with his Potions Master. They had been discussing the recurrence of a phenomenon that had occurred over a month ago when Snape had seen the Potter boy for the first time since that horrific night at Godric's Hollow. When Snape had been sent to Privet Drive to see why Harry had not responded to his Hogwart's letter, just his close proximity to the boy had triggered a simultaneous spasm of pain in Snape's Death Mark and the scar on the boy's forehead. Ever since that night, he had worried over what would happen when the boy arrived for school. He and Dumbledore had determined that the best strategy would be mental guarding, achieved through Occlumency and warding. By self-warding he could shield himself from whatever the boy was unconsciously throwing off. And he could carefully control his own interactions with the boy. Minutes before, he had described what had occurred in the Great Hall that night.

"I was actually relieved, a little prematurely, as it turns out. I saw him in the middle of the group during the Sorting, and began to concentrate on the warding. When he came up to be sorted, there was...nothing. I thought it strange that the hat took so long to sort him. I wouldn't have thought sorting him into Gryffindor should take more than a moment, but then, it's not surprising that the boy would turn out to be somewhat of an enigma, even for the hat. After the feast had begun, I was talking with Quirrell and had quite forgotten about the boy, when there was some rather rowdy behavior at the Gryffindor table. When I glanced over, I caught the boy staring at me, and that is when it happened. I felt a shock in my arm just as the boy winced and put his hand to his forehead. As soon as I realized what was happening, I looked away and mentally shielded myself, as we discussed last week. We both recovered instantly."

Taking a sip of his brandy, Dumbledore mused over Snape's account. Neither spoke for several moments.

"Well," Dumbledore began, "you were able to be in the same room without incident, for most of the evening at least.. Now it seems that what must be guarded against is intentional eye contact and interactions that evoke emotions. I think that we can refine our precautions accordingly. It would be easier, of course, if the boy could cooperate, but that is not an option at this point."

"I wish I understood it, Albus. It can't be a spell. We've ruled that out. The boy is untrained, so it's unlikely that it's something that he's brought about through any action on his part. It comes back to the obvious, The maker of both the Mark and the scar was the Dark Lord. There is perhaps a residual of Dark Magic that lingers, that is stirred when we are near to each other. It's downright creepy, and I detest being at the mercy of it."

"Like it or not, Severus, we must find a way to deal with it. Your problem is that you want the why , when what is imperative now is the how. We don't have the luxury right now of taking things in order. The warding and your Occlumency skills should minimize the physical sensations. You will need to be especially vigilant when you interact with the boy. Classes will be the first challenge, as you will need to speak to him on occasion. I dare say some point-taking will be involved."

He added the last phrase with a sly sideways glance at Snape.

Snape smiled grimly at his Headmaster. "Oh, there'll be no problem there. He is a Gryffindor, so there'll be ample opportunity for point-taking, and he is a Potter," he finished with a menacing purr.

'I do understand you have your reputation to uphold. But Severus, it's Albus you're talking to here. You don't fool me in the least. You should see your face when you're looking at the boy. You have to be more careful."

Their eyes locked for a moment, continuing to speak without words. It was Snape who looked away first.

"Severus, it's logical to assume that Volemort inflicting both of the lesions is a large component of the connection. But I ask you, why does this not happen when you encounter others who bear the same Mark as yourself? You yourself have told me that being near them creates absolutely no sensation or awareness at all."

Snape shrugged.

"The Dark Lord burned the Mark into each of us, and it appears that it responds to him alone, not to the other Marks. The scar on the Potter boy is something altogether different. After all, the creation of it was completely unintentional. And while the bestowal of my Mark was to secure obedience, who can know the consequences of that mark that Potter bears?"

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

Dumbledore studied the man for a moment, then nodded to himself ,as if coming to a decision.

"You're tired. This will keep. We have both of you here for the remainder of the school year, with plenty of time to suss out the answers. Go see to your House, and make sure that your first years are still alive."

Snape snorted and stood, reaching behind to the chair to retrieve his cloak, when Dumbledore stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know that you've been brooding over this connection, Severus, as have I. I think we are in agreement that the connection between the two of you is more complicated than an encounter with Voldemort. We will sit down again...soon... to explore some other possible connections. With a more accurate understanding of the connection, we'll end with a more lasting solution." He hesitated for a moment. "We may need to examine a more personal connection. I have known you for years, my friend, and have always respected your private life. We have never spoken much of your past, and I certainly don't intend to pry into things you do not wish to share with me, but I believe a little of that may be necessary now."

Dumbledore did not remove his hand from Snape's shoulder, compelling the man to stop and turn to face him.

A silence stretched out between them. The Potions Master knew what his Headmaster was waiting for.

He raised his eyes, and nodded at his Headmaster as he admitted softly, "Lily."