Scar Mates

NICOLAS FLAMEL

Snape was a master at concealing both his emotions and reactions, but was finding it hard not to stare at Nicolas Flamel. Sitting across from him in the Headmaster's office, he'd been struggling to stuff down his amazement for the past quarter-hour. Perenelle having left with Pomfrey for a tour of the castle, the three men had been chatting idly over the latest news and gossip in the wizarding world. This was probably the old men's attempt to put Snape more at ease. Not that he felt uncomfortable, but he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from Flamel's face. He knew the man's age, of course, but had somehow expected him to appear...better preserved. The wizened old face bore a striking resemblance to a walnut shell: wrinkled and brown, the dark eyes twinkling from deep within. He was almost overwhelmingly frail, with only a few remaining tufts of white hair that sprouted out of his head at odd places. The voice, however, belied any frailty.

After a second pouring of tea, Dumbledore said to the elder man, "So tell us about the binding spell, Nicolas."

Flamel considered Snape shrewdly for a few moments before responding. "So, Severus, I was most curious to finally meet you, the unknowing participant in such a deliciously cunning spell. Oh yes, it was cunning, I can assure you. She took measures to make sure it would not be easily broken. She must have known you very well."

The two men stared at one another, and when Snape did not say anything in response, he continued. "The amulets themselves confer the conventional protective qualities common to all items of this nature, but the binding spell, that was altogether unique."

Snape waited silently, his curiosity piqued.

"The personal markers she chose, the blood and the hair, are not extraordinary in themselves. No, it is the spell itself that is problematic, yet intriguing." He paused to sip at his tea.

Snape now took his chance to jump in. "Do you think she did it alone, Nicolas? The spell? I can't imagine where she would've learned such a thing, let alone been able to cast it without aid."

"Oh, no doubt, she must have consulted someone. I can think of a few she might have sought out. But the composition of the incantation, and the performance of it, were done by herself alone." He stopped and thrust his hand into his robe, drawing out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle which he then unwrapped. Laying it out on the table between them, he separated the two amulets so that they were arranged side by side.

"Entirely identical except for scale...and one other thing. Although the inscriptions are the same, the one inscribed on your amulet, Severus, has a line in addendum, tacked on at the very end. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Forgive an old man. The incantation itself called forth a unique binding. It is unique, because binding of this nature and strength is not usually necessary when, at heart, the individuals involved already love each other.

Snape's head came up at that.

The ancient peered out at him. "You cannot be surprised at this Severus, for the binding would not have occurred had you not loved each other deeply." He added gently, "She worked that into the incantation, Severus, that if that element of love were not truly present, the binding would fail. As it is still in place..." he trailed off.

Snape agreed softly. "The love and commitment remained."

The old man sat back in his chair. "Ah. So, the incantation itself, quite simply, took that love and commitment and used it to bind you to seek out and protect the boy as long as you both still live. Albus has already explained to you that while the boy was in his aunt's keeping, the effects of the spell were somewhat tempered by Lily's sacrifice, and perpetuated in the aunt."

Snape nodded. "And once out of Petunia's keeping, the amulets came into play. Yes, he explained this."

"It took some time for me to discover the code, hidden in the transcription itself, to decipher the spell. It is simple enough, once found, and is in Latin, of course. It calls forth her love for you, your love for her, and her love for the boy, and then, her command that you protect the boy until released."

"Released?" Snape asked.

"Yes. By the death of either you or the boy."

Snape looked puzzled. "I thought Albus said you'd found a way to unspell it? Neither one of us is going to die." He added dryly, "Not is in the foreseeable future, if I have anything to do with it."

Flamel laughed. "No, I hope not, Severus. You see, Lily added a contre-command at the end of your transcription, and all I needed to do, once I knew it was there, was to discover how to actually perform it, to unspell it."

Snape looked at him expectantly.

"You must do this, Severus. That is the requirement. She gave the boy no option for unsaying. That was left entirely to you. You must perform the contre-spell, and must do so willingly. There is no other way."

"Can you tell me exactly what it is that I must do?" Snape asked uncertainly. Leave it to you, Lily, to make sure I'm most intimately involved in this.

"Oh yes. It was very simple to figure that part out. There is a general rule to unspelling that must be observed, by working backwards through the incantation. I have it all written out for you. But..." he paused, and the tone of his voice alerted Snape that something unpleasant was coming. "It's a blood spell, Severus. It will require the blood of both you and the boy." He held the Potions Master's eyes. "You recall that I said your amulet carried an additional transcription?"

Snape nodded warily. "I remember, Nicolas. It was only a moment ago that you told me." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Another infuriating old man.

"You must incant that addendum, word for word, at the end of the unspelling. And like the love and commitment bound up in the spell, you must be wholly sincere in the expression of it. I should add, that the blood you give must be given willingly also. She wove all these elements in to prevent a third party from forcibly trying to break its power."

Snape considered this. "So I must agree to give my blood willingly, and have a sincere intention when I recite this part of the contre-spell." He sat, lost in thought for a moment. "And the boy's blood? How to you propose to go about that, Albus? Surely you don't mean to tell him of this?"

The Headmaster waved dismissively at the question. "No, he has no need to know. And it will be a simple matter to get blood from him without his knowledge, probably with Pomfrey's help. He does not have to do so willingly, fortunately, as do you."

The question suddenly occurred to him. Turning back to Flamel, he asked him slowly, "What is this part of the contre-spell that I must say with such conviction?"

The ancient gazed at him solemnly as he told him.

"Cum amore medicatum dissupobo."

In love, I break this bond.

Snape flailed inwardly for a moment, then looked to the Headmaster. "Albus, you believe this is best?"

The old man nodded, the blue eyes sad. "Unfortunately I do, Severus. It is not the spell itself that is the problem. It is the distortion of it produced by that encounter with Voldemort. Were it not for that, I would let it stand. But alas, now it is wreaking havoc with both of you."

Snape stared back at him, thinking of the memory he had visited in the Pensiève the night before. I trust you.

The old man smiled at him, as if he had heard.

"I will do it then, willingly. With some regret, though, as I know it is not what she intended," he conceded softly.

Dumbledore reminded him gently, "She built in this release for you, Severus, because she knew she could not foresee the future, and that you might have a good reason to break it. She would understand."

Snape inclined his head in agreement, and wondered vaguely why he felt disappointment. "When?" he asked, deciding it was time to move on.

The Headmaster answered so quickly that Snape realized it had already been decided.

"Before the end of term, Severus. We have a month left, and I'll have to work out something in order to have the boy present for the unspelling. That should not prove too difficult." He leaned forward and picked up the larger amulet. "I'll return this to your safekeeping for now. We will need it when the time comes, but after that, it remains her gift to you."

Snape took it, then impulsively placed the chain around his neck, then pushed both it and the amulet out of sight under his shirt. When he looked up he saw the surprise in the other men's eyes.

"I've never worn it, you know. I think I will now, for this short time until it's unspelled." His eyes softened as he added. "Lily would've liked that."

***

Over the years Snape had watched student politics with a rather jaundiced disinterest. He had been on the receiving end of "house justice" more that once during his own student years, and knew that it was often more effective in punishing student misbehavior that detentions, especially if the offender had lost house points.

As May dwindled on, he did not fail to notice that Gryffindor house had meted out this collective form of censure to the three first-years who had lost them such a wealth of points. He watched with amusement as they isolated the three of them. It was actually the four of them, as the Weasley boy had chosen to stand with his friends. There was the usual name calling and intentional jostling in the hallways. The four of them ate together alone at one end of the house table, casting furtive glances rank with insecurity, at their fellow Gryffindors who had so readily passed judgment on the three who had probably cost them the house cup.

As the weeks passed, the animosity gradually subsided, no doubt due to the short attention span inherent to adolescence. For weeks Snape had remarked that Longbottom's regular potions catastrophes drew sniggering contempt, not only from his Slytherins, but from the Gryffindors as well. They were beyond caring about the points the boy had lost, but used the opportunity to reinforce their displeasure over his prior offense.

As for Harry, the Potions Master could not quite put his finger on what was bothering the boy. He found solace in the company of the other offenders, to be sure, but something in his face and overall demeanor did not sit well with Snape. More than once he'd caught the boy wool-gathering in class, and had had to speak to him sharply to pull him back to the present. He had lost weight in his face, and his eyes burned with some emotion that Snape could not identify. The usually pale face was accentuated by the dark hollow circles that rimmed the boy's eyes, and Snape guessed that the child was not sleeping well. But why?

Snape had also been distracted this last week of May by two rather disturbing events. The first had been the near mental and emotional breakdown of a seventh-year Slytherin. Every year there was at least one student, although rarely from his house, who succumbed to the pressure of the NEWT's threatening on the horizon. The girl had finally come to him, babbling and tearful, and when he'd had no success in talking her out of her hysteria, had no other recourse but to take her to Pomfrey, who immediately confined her to the infirmary. Sedation was not going to help her when the time came for testing, but Snape visited her everyday and was hopeful that after some rest and coddling she'd be ready to jump back into the thick of things. He would meet with her each evening to monitor both her revision and emotional state. The last thing he wanted or needed was a pair of angry parents insisting that he'd neglected their daughter, a student in his own house, no less.

And then there was...Quirrell. As a professor, the man was proving himself to be incompetent. He was late for his classes, controlled the students poorly, and of late had notified the Headmaster, on several occasions, that he was too ill to teach. When Pomfrey had been sent to check on the man, he had not even been in his rooms. Some of his older Slytherin students had informed Snape, when he inquired, that the curriculum was haphazard, and in their humble opinion, useless. He took their criticisms seriously, as these had been seventh-years already well-schooled in the Dark Arts from another source, namely their parents.

Quirrell rarely attended meals anymore, so Snape had been driven, by the Headmaster's request, to finally seek the man out in his own rooms. The encounter had left Snape more alarmed than ever over the man's questionable activities and puzzling behavior. And so, he'd called the old man down to his dungeons this evening, for a brief jump into the Pensiève. He wanted Dumbledore to witness first hand the little tête-à-tête he'd had with Quirrell the night before.

"It was rather chilling, Albus. He's not like himself at all." He paused to smirk. "Although that might not be a bad thing. But he is so changed, that I wanted you to see for yourself. It's almost as if he were stripped of...oh, I'm not precisely sure. Perhaps, his inhibitions. I'm wondering if it's altogether safe to allow him to continue to teach, given his irrational conduct of late."

Dumbledore joined him at the Pensiève, and sighed before saying, "Well, in any case, he won't be invited to return next term. I was rather hoping he'd make it to the end of this one. But if, as you say, he may not be safe, that will be another matter." He nodded to Snape, then said, "Let's take a look, shall we?"

Snape was pounding on the door with his fist. "You'd better be in there, Quirrell. It's almost midnight and I've been sent by the Headmaster to check on you. Open at once."

He was about to resume his pounding, when the door was suddenly flung open. Startled, Snape took a step backwards, then regained his composure as he took in the disheveled man.

"Quirrell," he said icily. "So you're alive. The Headmaster was wondering if one of those creatures you keep up here had finally done you in. Unfortunately, you seem to be fully intact."

The man sneered back at him. "So touching, Severus, to see that I was missed. The Headmaster couldn't be bothered to come himself, I see, choosing to send his lackey to do the foot work."

Snape gaped at him, struck full force, not only by the man's brazenness in voicing such a thought, but even more so by its delivery without one, stuttered word.

Snape said dryly, "Will the real Quirrell please step forward. This is the most disturbing development, Albus. He's suddenly, inexplicably, articulate. So it begs the question, which man is he? Given the intrigue we suspect he's involved in, this man here would seem to be the more genuine of the two."

Recovering quickly, he asked, "May I come in, Quirrell? I'd like to have a little talk with you. Now."

Quirrell took a moment to consider, the replied, "No, I don't think so. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here. I'm not prepared to receive guests at the moment." His tone was almost insolent as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed in front of him. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

Snape took the measure of the man, eyeing him from head to foot with disdain, then took a step closer to menace him. "Me, a guest, Quirrell? No, nothing so...benign as that. Perhaps an inquisitor would be more appropriate." He was close enough to the man now that the other took a hasty step backward. "What are you playing at, Quirrell? You've missed the past two days of classes, weren't even here when Pomfrey came to check on you, and then you presume to ignore the Headmaster's request for an interview. That's why I'm here, Quirrell. We're concerned about you." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Rubbish," the man practically spat back at him. "I've been ill, as you said, and I don't need the mediwitch to concern herself in my affairs. I'm quite capable, I can assure you, of taking care of my own physical needs. As for the Headmaster's inquiry, I never received it."

"So foolish to lie, Quirrell, when you're so easily found out. The house elf reported placing it directly into your hand. Now start over, shall we? What exactly is wrong with you, and why did you not at least make a reply? You do not appear so ill as to not have been able to do at least that?"

But even as he was speaking, the man appeared, suddenly, to sicken. Snape watched, his eyes narrowed, as Quirrell lurched sideways, and reached out to the side of the door to steady himself. He gave out a small gasp, as if in pain, and clutched at his neck.

"Quirrell?" Snape growled in question.

"H...h...have to go now. S...Severus. Really, not f..f..feeling too well. Tell the H..Headmaster I'm s..sorry. Will b...b...be back in class t...tomorrow."

With that, the man slipped back into his rooms and slammed the door with a thud.

Snape stood stock still, his eyes still narrowed in thought. After a moment, he turned in a swirl of robes and strode down the corridor.

Back in Snape's sitting room, the younger man brought the brandy for the two of them.

Dumbledore stared into the fire, then looked up to say to his Potions Master, "That was rather disturbing, Severus."

"The picture was worth a thousand words. That's why I wanted you to actually see it. Words would fail to communicate how...absolutely chilling it was."

"He certainly wasn't himself, nor did he appear to be ill at all. Until you called his bluff. Then he seemed...to become himself, and most definitely, ill."

They sat in companionable silence for awhile. "Do you know the Muggle fiction of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Severus?"

Snape snorted into his brandy. "Really, Albus, you don't actually think that the cretin is experimenting on himself, or some such notion?"

"No, not really. It was only brought to mind by the thought of two persona inhabiting the same body."

"As if any persona would want to share a body with Quirrell." Snape snickered.

Dumbledore smiled slightly as his professor proceeded to laugh out loud. "It's not as far-fetched as you think, Severus. There are documented cases of it. More common in the Muggle world, to be sure."

"Oh please, Albus, you can't be serious. We've suspected all along that he's playing at something in order to acquire the Stone."

"What did you see, Severus?"

Snape set down his glass. Damn it, Albus. I was coming to that. Can't you ever let me get around to things in my own good time?

The old man laughed. "Quite right, Severus. In your own good time, then."

Snape glowered at him. "Just at that moment of transition, when he faltered, his defenses went down. I was only in there for a fraction of a minute. I saw the forest, and Quirrell running through the trees. Then I saw...I'm not sure, but I saw Quirrell standing over..." he frowned as he stopped.

"Standing over...?" Dumbledore prompted him.

"Some sort of creature lying on the ground. It wasn't very clear, but it looked like a...unicorn." He looked up at the old man, his eyebrows raised in question.

"A unicorn," the old man said softly.

"Well, it looked like a unicorn. It could have been something else. Knowing Quirrell, he's been indulging in hallucinogens, and what I saw was most likely the product of his over-stimulated..."

"It was a unicorn, Severus," the Headmaster said grimly, rising from his chair.

Turning at the door, he told Snape, "I will make a point of speaking to Quirrell in the morning, even if I have to pound on his door myself."

Snape was regarding his mentor with disgust. Damned secretive...infuriating...cryptic. old...waffling...

The old man interrupted his thoughts with one last stunning announcement. "And Severus, I forgot to mention that your Mister Malfoy and the three Gryffindor dragon keepers will be serving their detention together tomorrow night with Hagrid. He needs their help in the forbidden forest. It appears that something has killed a unicorn recently, and another is wounded."

Snape was speechless as the two men stood there staring at each other for a long moment.

As the door closed softly, Snape heard the Headmaster say in his head, Be vigilant, Severus.