Scar Mates

QUIDDITCH AND DARK MAGIC

He had sauntered down to the lake just after dinner. He was truly lonely, in fact he felt almost invisible. It had been days since anyone had even spoken to him outside of class, and his acute sense of isolation in the common room had finally driven him outdoors.

As he circled back around the lake, he saw them sitting together under the tree. He slowed his steps, wanting to preserve this moment as unseen voyeur. James had his arm casually around Lily's shoulder, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He could hear the low murmur of their voices, and a sprinkling of Lily's musical laughter.

His stomach clenched. Determined, he quickened his steps, knowing it was inevitable that they would see him now. Panicked, he was still deciding whether to acknowledge them, when James called out.

"Snape! Over here." When James beckoned to him with a wave, he reluctantly steered in their direction, strolling to a stop a short distance away.

"Potter. Evans. Taking a breather from NEWTs revision, I see." He tried to curl his lip in a sneer, but failed. James laughed.

"No problem there. We're right on schedule. No need to ask about you. I doubt your future employer cares much about how your NEWTs come out. After all, you already have O's in his required subjects."

Snape's face was stone-like. "And those would be, Potter?"

"Well, let's see. Sneaking, Pure-blood Prejudice, Cruelty, Suspension of Intellect, and oh yes, must not forget Sexual Perversion. Did I leave anything out?"

Lily had pulled away from him, sitting with her arms crossed in front of her, eyes downcast.

Snape finally found his voice. "You left out Shagging Each Other Senseless, Potter,

one of the most rewarding enticements of the offer." Giving Lily a nod, he turned and walked away, forcing himself to walk unconcernedly.

He heard James exclaim in a low voice. "What? What did I do? He deserves some ribbing for pulling a stunt like this."

As Snape walked up to the garden door, he realized his fingernails had cut deep into the flesh of his palms.

Snape awoke with a start. He was disoriented at first, trying to remember why he had been sleeping on his couch, fully clothed. He realized it was late evening as he sat up to pull on his boots. He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, but the Headmaster's command to do so had been a serious one. He frowned as he remembered his dream. The visits to the Pensieve were igniting all manner of repressed memories, one of the reasons for his fractured sleep. He considered whether Dumbledore should see this one and decided not. There was nothing to be gained from it. James Potter treating him badly was old news. Perhaps he would mention, however, that James had made a point of doing it in Lily's presence. Snape, at the time, had realized that she must have confessed the secret of their relationship to James. The rest of their seventh year, she had made a point of avoiding him, and when they had been unavoidably thrown together, she appeared distraught while he had felt sad and awkward. They had shared NEWT level potions, but he was rarely partnered with her, at her own choosing.

After eating some of the cold meal that the house-elves had laid out, he took to the castle corridors, this being his assigned night to patrol.

He first made a stop in the Slytherin common room. He found, to his satisfaction, the house team gathered around the large table, diagrams spread out, going over last minute strategies for the game with Gryffindor in the morning.

"I want all of you in bed by eleven. And I want to see all of you in the Great Hall for breakfast. This match with Gryffindor, although it is the first, is a crucial one. Professor McGonagall and I have a friendly wager on the match, and I am confident that I will not have to part with a Galleon of it." He arched an eyebrow at them. "For inspiration, I suggest you picture the Leaving Feast decked out in green and silver." This elicited a round of cheers and applause form the entire common room.

As he continued his patrol, he wondered about the Potter boy, so young to be playing for his house already. The boy's stature and frailty worried him a little. Quidditch could become quite physical, and he hoped the boy could avoid being pulverized by his aggressive team. He supposed Minerva knew what she was doing. She had initially been ecstatic about the boy's ability, but lately, as the match had drawn nearer, she'd become quite close-mouthed about him, although he thought her quietly smug. Considering the amount of the wager she'd agreed on, he ought to be worried. He smiled to himself. For the first time in his life, he was finding it hard not to wish a Gryffindor Seeker well. Slightly horrified by the thought, he took the stair to the third floor .

After checking the warding on the Grid, he started down the stairway again, when he felt a warm trickle down his injured leg. Pulling up his robes a bit, he saw that the bandage was soaked through with blood, and loose enough that it would soon be down around his ankle. It was taking longer than usual to heal, as he hadn't been at liberty to involve Madam Pomfrey. Sighing with disgust, he clomped off to Filch's nearby office.

Knocking sharply on the door, he turned the knob to enter without waiting for an answer. Filch looked up at him in surprise, then stood up from his desk.

"Professor Snape. Is something wrong?"

Closing the door, Snape grimaced and hiked up the side of his robes to display the bandage. "I've injured my leg, and forgot to redress it today. I'm on patrol and cannot return to my chambers. Have you something perhaps...?"

Filch stepped around the desk in a flash, peering down at the Professor's leg.

"Hmm. Looks nasty. Well, let's get it off then. I keep some supplies here, for emergencies." He opened a rusty filing cabinet, rooted around inside, before pulling out an amber glass bottle and some rolls of bandages.

Snape rolled his eyes. Great. Amateur hour. Hiking his robes to above his knees, he waited while Filch, muttering, unwrapped the sodden wrapping from his leg.

"Dumbledore told me, you know."

Snape stiffened slightly before replying. "Told you what, precisely?"

"About the dog up on the third floor. Figured I should know about it, considering all the little brats are to stay clear of it. Not that they'd be able to get to it. Door's charmed shut." Filch stopped as something occurred to him.

"How'd it get to you then, Professor?"

Snape relaxed as he realized that Dumbledore had not told Filch about the Grid, or of their suspicions about Quirrell. "I had reason to check on it, given all the hysteria with the troll."

The bandage off, Snape gingerly poured some of the antiseptic over the wounds. He bit his lip and held his breath for a moment, until the stinging subsided. Reaching for the bandages from Filch, he continued. "Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Filch chortled in commiseration.

Suddenly, without warning, pain surged through Snape's left forearm. Swiveling his head around quickly, he started when he saw the green-eyed boy staring at him from the half-opened door.

"POTTER!" Furious, he dropped his robes to hide his leg. The boy looked terrified, and a hand had already gone to the scarred forehead.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back?"

"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape bellowed.

The boy backed out quickly, slamming the door behind him.

Snape was shaking now, the combined effect of the pain in both his limbs, and rage at having been seen by the boy in such a state.

"Want me to go after him, Professor? You know, for a little punishment? That one's already been in trouble, mind you. Best not to let it slide."

"No, never mind. Let him be. I will take care of it. Let's finish this up so I can get back to the corridors. Curfew approaches."

Filch mumbled. "That one's going to be trouble. Seven year's worth."

Snape did not disagree.

***

Snape awoke on Saturday morning, his leg throbbing as he rolled to get out of bed. Damn Quirrell. Damn Hagrid. Damn Fluffy.

After cleansing the wound, applying several potions, and re-bandaging, it felt much better. Moving about his rooms, he was barely limping now.

After attending breakfast in the Great Hall, making sure his house team was all present, he spent several hours in his office grading papers before heading down to the pitch with McGonagall and Dumbeldore. It was a cold, clear morning, and he was glad he had worn his fur-lined cloak. The wind was brisk as he moved into the staff box. He narrowed his eyes as he turned to see Quirrell sitting several rows behind him. Making eye contact with the man, he sent a curt message. I haven't forgotten about you, Quirrell. The man swallowed noticeably and looked away.

He stood to applaud as the team doors opened and the players flew out into the stadium. He had high expectations for his team. They were appropriately, as Slytherins, very aggressive. He'd watched them practice several times, and had hopes that their Seeker Terence Higgs would best the novice Gryffindor Seeker. Potter, he thought. Let us see if my money was well spent.

He watched as the players warmed up, zooming in close to the stands to wave at their friends. The Potter boy banked in toward the box to flash a grin at McGonagall, who clapped her hands together in glee. He felt a fleeting twinge in his arm. Careful now, he warned himself.

Soon, Madam Hooch was blowing her large, silver whistle and the game began.

Snape sat and stood, cheered and booed, admonished Lee Jordan with McGonagall, all in the right places. But from the beginning of the match, he was distracted by the boy. He was so small that he found it amazing that the speed and wind did not unseat him. He flew with an easy abandon, not quite dangerously, but enough so that Snape put his hand to his chest several times. It was clear that he could easily out-fly Higgs, but it would come down to how skilled he was at catching the Snitch. Snape was aware that Gryffindor had scored, but was watching Potter idle high above the pitch, staying well clear of Bludgers and Slytherins. Why does he have to hover so damn high? he thought irritably.

No sooner had this thought passed, when the boy dove downward, with Higgs curving in from the opposite side of the pitch to settle in behind him. The whole stadium roared as the two of them streaked after the now visible Snitch. Snape watched in horror as Marcus Flint blocked the boy in the lead, almost knocking him from his broom. The Snitch disappeared from sight again as the Gryffindor's were awarded , and succeeded at, a free shot

.

It was after the boy avoided yet another Bludger that Snape realized it was all going horribly wrong. The Nimbus 2000 began to lurch wildly and unpredictably, the boy holding on for dear life. He'd had sense enough to lower his center of gravity, crouching low over the broom. He spiraled lower still, as Snape watched with his mouth hanging open. It wasn't until the broom, along with the clinging boy, began to roll over and over, that Snape closed his eyes and felt the mental tumblers within his mind roll and click into place to provide an answer.

Even as he knew that Dark Magic was at work, he was awash with an uncontrollable and overpowering need to protect the boy. Without even questioning Why, he opened his eyes, and fixing the spinning disaster with a stare, he began to chant soundlessly. The words were that of a countercurse that no one here would likely know, probably not even the Headmaster. Much of Dark Magic is drawn from the earth itself, and as he continued to summon forth the words, he was suddenly aware of the power of it being called forth by the caster. It was almost tangible. It was so thick that he felt that he was being smothered. He knew he dared not be distracted by it, for the boy's life hung literally in the balance.

Minutes passed by as he continued to murmur without sound, and sweat began to trickle down his back despite the cold. He could not even dare to think what Dumbledore or the others might be doing to help the boy. The countercurse required all of his mind and will. He was trembling now with the effort, intent only on continuing until the boy was safe, or his own strength gave out.

Just as he felt that he would collapse from the effort, he sensed the Dark Magic contract, hesitate, and then...disappear. Exhausted, he sensed commotion behind him, but was too dazed to even turn.

Then suddenly, he was aware of heat on his wounded leg, and looked down jerkily to see that the hem of his robes was aflame with blue fire. Still paralyzed from his effort, he reacted slowly. At last he let out a cry, reaching into his robes for his wand. No sooner had he drawn it out, the flames stilled and shrunk backwards, before disappearing altogether.

Cries of dismay were demanding to know if he were injured, but he shook them off, turning slowly around in time to see Quirrell slipping out the back of the box.

A roar from the crowd made him turn to refocus on the pitch, just in time to see Harry Potter cough up the Snitch. Typical Gryffidor theatrics. The Gryffindors, along with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, roared in approval. Snape almost joined them. He was drained, physically and magically, but also giddy with relief. There was confusion and jostling in the box as people prepared to leave. He was vaguely aware of Minerva thumping him on the back and softly chiding, "Pay up when you can, Severus."

When he finally felt able to turn to leave, the only other person still there was standing waiting for him. He met Dumbledore's eyes and shook his head slowly. He walked unsteadily up to join him. The Headmaster's face was grim as he reached out to steady the younger man, then said softly, "Thank you, Severus."

Snape nodded slightly at this affirmation, and accepted the arm offered him to walk out.