Scar Mates

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THE FORBIDDEN FOREST

Severus took the tiny object from his inside pocket. Unwrapping the paper, he eyed the lemon candy that lay there. Taking a quick glance around him, he picked up the sweet with his other hand, feeling the familiar jerk as the portkey was activated.

A disorienting moment later, he staggered against the Headmaster's desk, but managed to remain upright. Dumbledore was beside him in an instant, in his dressing gown and nightcap. "Severus, I wasn't expecting you."

Young Severus, now spy, shook his head, still recovering from the portkey. "Something's happened, Professor. I had to come immediately. I'm sorry, you said if ever I needed to..."

Dumbledore finished for him. "...you could come at anytime without notice. Quite right." His eyes were full of concern as he took in his emotional state. Guiding him toward the fire, he summoned a steaming cup of tea for the man. "What is it, Severus?"

The man was shaking slightly as he took the tea. "I didn't think it could wait. Something's happened, sir, I'm not sure what. He's been in a rage all week at not being able to locate the Potters. Then tonight we were summoned and he was almost jubilant." He forced himself to take a swallow of the tea. "He told us that he would have them soon, and that we would be summoned to share in the victory." He stopped, overcome with misery. He wanted to tell him that he knew about the Fidelius, wanted to demand to know if the Secret- Keeper was trustworthy.

The Headmaster remained silent, his steely blue eyes calculating.

Severus took a chance. "We all thought they'd invoked Fidelius, but if he now knows where they are...." he trailed off. When the other man still remained silent, he added, "Professor, they must be warned that perhaps they have been betrayed."

Severus thought to himself. He doesn't trust me enough to tell me about the Fidelius. And he doesn't know that I know. But he must know who they've chosen as Secret-Keeper.

Cautiously, Severus skirted the topic. "Surely the Potters have taken the most serious of precautions? Whatever they have done, it would be fortunate if they could at least be informed that that there might be some treachery in motion." He dare not say anything further without giving himself away. He tried another tact. "I do not know who may be helping the Dark Lord in this, but it seems that some new source is feeding him information. It would also explain some of the more recent raids he has successfully conducted. I do not think it is one of the Inner Circle, for credit would have been given them were it so." He paused, now uncomfortable with the old man's silence. "It must be someone from outside. A mole, I suspect."

"A mole, Severus? A mole from where? The Ministry?"

Severus scoffed. "I don't blame you for your secrecy, sir. The Dark Lord knows there is a clandestine agency working against him. Perhaps that is where the mole is."

Dumbledore gave nothing away. "I will take the matter under advisement. You've given me no reason, to date, to distrust you. What you've brought me in the past month has proven invaluable." He studied the young man for a moment before adding, "The Potters are well protected. I don't know that there is anything further they can do."

There, thought Severus. He all but admitted they're under Fidelius. He nodded in reply, but was still uneasy. "One would hope that those....closest to them are trustworthy."

"I do believe they are.´

Severus had no choice but to hope that the Headmaster was right. As he was preparing to leave, Dumbledore gave him a gentle rebuke.

"You must trust me, Severus, even if I cannot yet return it in kind. I know what distresses you, as I read very well between the lines." He gave Severus a meaningful stare, reminding the young man that his mind was literally an open book. "And you need not call him the Dark Lord when you are here," he reminded him.

Severus shook his head to disagree. "Oh but I must, Professor. If I ever slipped and used his name in the wrong place, the game would be up."

Snape awoke with a start. Dreams like this one were becoming all too frequent. Between them and the Pensieve, the past he had worked so hard to put behind him was spilling over into his well-ordered life. Week after week of interrupted sleep, coupled with keeping an eye on both Quirrell and the boy, were causing him to fray at the edges. And using Dreamless Sleep Draught left him feeing dull and emotionless, which he could ill afford when he needed all his wits about him.

The Headmaster was quietly concerned, but could do nothing further to help him beyond what had already been set in motion. Flamel still had the amulets, but little progress had been made in revealing the inscriptions. Quirrell had become almost laughably elusive. He missed many of the meals in the Great Hall, and had arrived at the last two staff meetings late, and then had been the first to leave at their conclusions. And the boy....matters were definitely deteriorating on that front, too. Snape had taken to tailing him at random times, some nameless instinct heightening his sense that the boy was in danger. And on more occasions than he cared to admit, the boy had caught him at it. The first few times he'd been unprepared, and the eerie connection had produced the predictable results. He was more careful after that, but more often than not, the boy would uncannily become aware of him and send a glare his way. He was getting cheekier in potions class, too, and Snape had not hesitated to take points when those opportunities presented themselves.

It was not yet dawn as he slipped into his clothes and cloak. He was patrolling more frequently now, due more to sleeplessness than necessity. This particular morning he decided to walk the perimeter of the grounds for a change. After checking the Grid, he made his way to the entrance hall and slipped out the front doors. The sky was just beginning to lighten on the horizon when he started in the direction of Hagrid's hut.

Almost to the man's woodpile, he noticed movement at the edge of the forbidden forest, then what appeared to be a figure moving stealthily towards the lawn. Throwing up his hood, Snape crouched behind the pile to wait while the figure passed him by. Sliding around to the back, he peered over the top at the retreating man. Quirrell. He was unmistakable in his cloaks and turban. He watched as the man reached the castle and disappeared. This was the second time in as many weeks that he'd seen the man coming out of the forest at this hour. What the blazes is the stuttering fool doing in the forbidden forest, and at night? He stood up and picked his way through the odds and ends that littered the gameskeeper's yard, till he came to the edge of the forest. He stopped, not really wanting to enter it while it was still dark. The Headmaster had very sound reasons for calling it the forbidden forest, and he had no desire to encounter any of them at this hour. Gathering his cloaks about him, he started back to the castle. He could perhaps catch a few more hours of sleep.

It was just as he'd settled under the duvet that he remembered, then groaned. He was playing Quidditch referee today. Another of Dumbledore's brilliant ideas. I suppose he is right--the boy had almost been killed the last time. But I protected him quite adequately from the stands, thank you very much. But the old man had insisted. He himself would be in the box with Quirrell, but he wanted Snape out on the pitch with the boy. He hoped that it would be a good, clean game. He didn't relish any glaring contests with the boy with both of them on broomsticks.

***

He was certainly out of practice. Narrowly missed by a Bludger one of the Weasley twits had lobbed his way, he awarded a penalty shot to Hufflepuff. Then just as he was adjusting to the pace of the game, the Potter boy streaked by him in a flash, nearly unseating him, and had leveled off with the Snitch in his hand. Well, he supposed he couldn't remain irritated with the Headmaster, as the match had lasted just five minutes, with no complications other than his own narrow escape. As he touched down to declare the Gryffindor victory, he tried to keep the scowl on his face as the fans carried the little Seeker away on their shoulders. Making his way to the side of the pitch, he had to sidestep to avoid being mobbed by the ecstatic students. He stationed himself beneath the staff box to wait for the Headmaster. One by one the teachers trickled down, Minerva, of course, commenting on what a fine figure he cut on a broom, earning herself his most Slytherin sneer.

Turning back, he found himself face to face with Quirrell. He was almost as stunned as the man himself. It had been literally weeks since he'd been faced with such an opportunity. Recovering quickly, he grabbed the man by the wrist and dragged him around to the rear of the stands. Releasing him, he leaned in to leer. "Quirrell, wherever have you been? I've been starting to think that you're....avoiding me."

?A..avoiding you? No, of c.c.course not. I've b.been busy with the N.NEWT level class. No time f.f.for..."

Snape let him ramble on, taking in the man's changed appearance. He was looking positively ill. His complexion was almost colorless, the skin stretched taut over his cheeks. His turban was somewhat askew, and Snape wasn't sure, but he suspected the man hadn't washed up in days. Interrupting, Snape marked that the man winced at the very sound of his voice. "Quirrell," he pushed an edge of menace into his voice, "the fact of avoiding myself and the Headmaster aside, now I'm telling you that you will grant me the privilege of a private conversation in one hour. As you don't seem to attend dinner in the Great Hall any longer, it won't be terribly inconvenient for us to meet during the meal." He waited as the man nodded nervously. "One hour, Quirrell. Just inside the forbidden forest by Hagrid's paddock. Don't keep me waiting." Without waiting for a reply, he left the man standing there, stammering out a protest.

Returning to his rooms, he had plenty of time to fortify himself with a brandy before venturing out again. Into the bloody forbidden forest, no less, and after dark, to boot. He needed a second brandy.

***

Snape pulled his hood up as he set off toward the forest. The lawn was deserted now, the evening meal under way. He was just a short distance from the forest when he spotted the gameskeeper starting out his front door. Not wanting to become engaged in a conversation with the man just now, he sprinted the rest of the way into the forest. Stopping just inside to catch his breath, he took a moment to adjust to the lower light. Taking a wary look around him, he headed off on the path directly ahead that led to a small clearing not too far in. It was just that moment at dusk when the sun was almost set, and the full moon was on the rise. He was glad for it, as it made it easy for him to find his way without a lamp. Reaching the clearing, he saw the man was waiting for him. The moon at his back, the face of the figure was entirely in shadow. Even though he knew it was Quirrell, he felt himself shiver involuntarily as he approached him. There was an aura of something loathsome, almost sinister, that emanated from the man. Shaking off the sensation, he walked just beyond the man, forcing him to turn so that his face was now bathed in moonlight.

"I see you knew exactly where to come, Quirrell. Been here before? I've noticed you've been spending time in the forest lately."

"...d..d..don't know why you wanted t..to meet here of all p...p...places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," he told the man. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

"The S..S.Stone, Severus? I t..t..told you before. I've d..done nothing but my p..p..part to protect it. That t..troll was not m..m..my..." he was mumbling now.

Snape ignored him. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

Quirrell protested. "B..but Severus, I..."

Snape took a step closer to the man, latching one hand to a lapel of his robe. "You don't want me for an enemy, Quirrell."

"I d..d..don't know what you..."

"You know perfectly well what I mean. You're in over your head here, Quirrell. I suspect you're in too deep to pull yourself out now, but come clean with the Headmaster, and you might squeak out of this alive." He gave the man a gentle push away. "You've left the boy alone. Good decision, Quirrell. Now make another one, and give me who you're working for, who put you up to your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"But, I d..d..don't..."

Suddenly, Snape felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle, then the familiar, pulsing pain in his arm began. Confusion swept over him. He turned around slowly in a circle, scanning the forest. It couldn't be. Not here. He couldn't possibly have followed me here. Seeing nothing, he felt an urgency to get out of the forest.

He cut off the stuttering man. "Very well. We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie." Drawing his cloak about him, he left Quirrell standing in the middle of the clearing.

He'd missed dinner completely, but there were still some stragglers at the student tables, and most of the staff, along with the Headmaster, were dawdling over dessert. Snape went and took the empty place next to Dumbledore, then helped himself to some tea and treacle tart.

The Headmaster leaned over and said to him in a fatherly tone, "I do hope you're going to have something more substantial when you've finished your dessert, Severus. You're still a growing boy."

Snape snorted into his tea. "If we're going to criticize eating habits, Albus, we should begin with yours." Then, lowering his voice he said, "We need to talk." He shot a meaningful glance at the Gryffindor table.

Dumbledore nodded. "Whenever you wish, Severus. I'm free the rest of the evening."

As he left the Great Hall and made his way for the stairs to the dungeons, his eye was caught by some commotion on one of the upward staircases. He stopped and watched the troop of Gryffindors as they climbed. Before he had any thought of shielding himself, the boy at the rear of the group turned slowly, his arm resting on the banister, as if someone had called out to him.

Harry Potter stood there, half-turned, glaring at him with those emerald-green eyes. Snape felt the connection with a jolt, but found himself unable to look away. The hand came up to rub at the scar, then dropped back. Snape stood still for a moment, then inclining his head slightly to the boy, went on his way.

He was there in the forest. I don't know how, or why, but he was there all the same. And the look in those eyes was unmistakable. He hates me.