Scar Mates

CONFLUENCE

The N.E.W.T. and O.W.L exams had come and gone, and now there remained the final week of exams for those students outside of the fifth and seventh forms. Snape was relieved that his worrisome seventh-year appeared to have sailed through her N.E.W.T.'s, if her accounting of it was to be trusted. He'd settled himself in for this last round of testing, and although the taking of them did not carry as much weight as the formals, the students were no less anxious over their outcomes. The first-years, especially, were tired and skittish. He'd been reminded of this fact when he'd slammed the door rather loudly on arriving in class, only to observe nearly all of the students jump in their seats.

He was himself suffering through an irrational melancholy. It had been decided the day before, that the unspelling of the amulets would take place that weekend, when all the exams were completed, and the students would be in a celebratory spirit. The boy was to be summoned to Dumbledore's office, on some pretext or another, and would partake of a rather unusual butterbeer. During the ensuing unconsciousness, the unspelling would finally be performed. And since it was to be done in this fashion, the dilemma of how to obtain blood from the boy had been solved.

Although he was resigned to the reasonableness of this course of action, he still wished it could be otherwise. The weight of the amulet that now hung round his neck was a frequent reminder of the woman who had trusted him with something so precious. He knew it was foolish to have regrets about what must be done, but in spite of himself, the regret...remained.

The Headmaster had finally managed an interview with Quirrell, the stuttering version this time, and had been assured that the occasional forays into the forest were purely educational, looking for this creature or that for his classes. He'd minimized his recent behavior, claiming that illness had made him "not himself". The Headmaster had let the man ramble on, allowing the idiot to envelop himself in a false sense of security.

Such is Albus' way, Snape had thought. Not unlike the spider watching a fly dance its way across its web, willing to give it this last carefree moment, knowing that its seconds are numbered.

After Quirrell had talked himself out, the old man had firmly told him that, given his indispositions, the Board of Governors had decided not to renew his contract. This was not entirely true at this point, but would be once Dumbledore informed them of the circumstances. Strangely enough, the man had not protested too much. And both Snape and the Headmaster thought that this lack of objection was not a particularly positive sign. Perhaps the man had been planning, due to some circumstance, to not return in the fall. So in that quarter, at least, they were still watching and waiting, even more vigilantly than before. If the man was going to take a misstep, despite their supervision, he was rapidly running out of time in which to do it.

The afternoon before the very last day of exams, Snape stood behind his desk and watched his second first-year class file in for their exam. They were thankfully subdued, and fell silent without prompting once they'd all taken their seats. Every day should be finals day. He noticed as he passed out the test papers, that even the steady Miss Granger had a slight tremor to her hand. As if you have anything to worry about.

He'd reseated himself and was engrossed in marking a set of third-year exams when something made him look up at the class. He felt it in his forearm, even as he was taking in the scene at the last table on the left. The boy was sitting with both elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. Obviously, he'd not yet begun his exam, his small hand massaging his forehead as he sat there hunched over his paper.

Not wanting to disturb the other students with the inevitable confrontation, Snape skirted the podium to walk down the aisle. If the boy was aware of his approach, he gave no outward sign of it.

"Mister Potter, as fifteen minutes have already passed and you've yet to set quill to paper, I'd suggest you stop whatever it is that you're doing and get down to it." He'd said it softly, so was largely ignored by the rest of the class.

The boy's head came up at that, and Snape was instantly alarmed by what he now saw. The child seemed...distraught. His flushed cheeks made the dark hollows under his eyes stand out in stark relief. And the eyes...Snape recognized what he saw there: the boy was in pain, and barely conscious of his surroundings. Concern welling up in him, Snape took a step closer, and softly commanded, even knowing how the Headmaster would disapprove, "Mister Potter, look at me." The child dutifully redirected his gaze, and Snape caught the eyes with his own and held them there.

Look at me, Harry, until I let you go. Don't be afraid. He stood a mere two feet from the boy, then inclined his head slightly forward as he used Legilimency to bore into the child's mind. The boy's eyes rolled upward as his hand fell away from the scar. He gave a slight jerk as Snape pushed in, then sat totally still, his hands limp at his sides.

The Legilimens frowned in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed together as he pushed further and further in. In less than a minute, he was finished, and slowly closed his eyes.

It's done, Harry. Now close your eyes.

As Snape opened his own eyes and saw the mesmerized child sitting there, the thought came unbidden. Albus is going to have my head.

Glancing over to the boy's right, he ascertained that the Weasley boy had missed it all, furiously scribbling as he bent over his exam. Looking back to the boy, he gave a slow shake of his head before speaking softly once again. "Mister Potter." When the boy only shuddered, he repeated a little more urgently, "Mister Potter." The eyes flew open this time, and peered out at Snape in confusion.

"Professor?" the child was asking, his disorientation evident as he glanced around him.

"I was saying, Mister Potter, that it is fifteen minutes into the exam, and I'd think you'd be able to delay your nap time until you've completed your essay."

The boy was looking decidedly confused, and Snape felt a brief pang of regret. Perhaps this wasn't the best time to do this to him. This is his Potions final, after all. "Potter," his voice this time made the child sit up straight. "Go immediately to the boy's washroom and splash cold water on your face. You have two minutes." When the boy hesitated, he snapped at him irritably, "Potter, go. Now." The boy didn't hesitate this time, but shot his professor an uncertain glance as he fled from the room.

When the boy, looking more alert now, returned to take his seat to start his exam, Snape was already reseated at his desk, leaning his head forward to rest against his steepled hands. What am I going to tell Albus?

***

It was worse that he'd imagined. Instead of the explosion of temper he'd anticipated, he'd encountered...stony silence...and a visual inspection that made his skin crawl. He glanced briefly at the brandy, but the Headmaster wasn't offering. When the silence stretched into minutes, he repeated to the old man, "As I said, it was impulsive, and I regret having done it. There's nothing more I can say." And I'm thirty-two, and you shouldn't treat me like a child who's just kicked the cat.

And you should have more self-control than to Legilimens an eleven-year old.

Albus, if you could've seen what he looked like. I had to know what on earth was affecting him that way.

I'm not sure mesmerizing the boy was the best...

"Albus," Snape said firmly, daring to inject a slight note of irritation despite his recent infraction. "Could we have this conversation out loud? It's intimidating as hell having a conversation with someone whose lips aren't even moving."

"Did you think of how intimidating it might be when you jumped the boy in the same fashion?" the old man snapped back.

Snape heaved an exasperated sigh. "I didn't think about it at all. I admit that. But I'd considered doing it once before, and then didn't. That's probably why I did it this time--I'd thought it all through that time." His voice caught. "If you could have only seen him, Albus. He was in pain. I thought if I could just identify the source of it, we could stop it. I just couldn't let it go on."

The blue eyes softened as Dumbledore watched his Potions Master. His voice had nearly returned to its fatherly tone when he said, "I understand, Severus. But just because he's a child does not give you the right to intrude into his mind this way, whatever your motives."

"And drugging and subjecting him to a counter-spell isn't an intrusion?" Snape bit back.

The Headmaster gave him a knowing look, then replied with mild disgust, "It's not the same thing, and you know it, Severus. The unspelling is imperative, for reasons that you well know. Breaking into his mind was an option you exercised quite on your own."

Snape sat still in his chair, looking glumly at his hands. Glancing up at the old man, he gave him a wry smile in concession. "You're right, Albus. I didn't think. I should have."

"And that's unusual for you, Severus. But given the circumstances, understandable."

Ah. You've forgiven me fairly quickly this time.

But of course. I had to, so we could move on to what you saw inside the boy's mind.

Manipulating, duplicitous, devious...

Dumbledore smiled at him, the tension between the two friends gone. "Yes, I agree. But what did you see? I trust it was worth it?"

Snape gave him a slight nod. "It's no wonder he's distracted. I was immediately struck by the chaos of his thoughts. I saw the scene from the forbidden forest, and Hagrid's beast in the Grid, and then I saw..." he fell silent for a moment, "...something from his Muggle family. It must have been Petunia's husband, shaking him and boxing his ears." He paused again, then added quietly, "And I saw myself and Quirrell, that night that I met him in the forest. The view was from above, Albus, so he must have been on the damn broom." His face darkened. "And something else is torturing him. I saw a flash of...Lily...and she was screaming."

The Headmaster was silent, then commented, "As far as I know, Severus, he's never even seen a picture of his parents. Although I suspect he got of likeness of them from the mirror. How would such a thing come to be inside his mind? He can't have any recall of that night. At least not from his own mind." He shook his head. "This is indeed bothersome. It's possible that this has all been locked somewhere deep in the boy's subconscious, and that somehow the nascence of his magical ability is bringing it to the surface."

Snape pursed his lips as he considered. Then he sighed, as he too shook his head. "It would be fortunate if that were the explanation, but with the other disturbing events of this year, I don't think that's the likely answer."

The old man agreed, rather sadly. "Neither do I. And I don't think the unspelling will prove to be the answer either. For now, all we can do is what we've done all along--wait, and be vigilant. I have the strangest premonition..." he stopped mid-sentence.

***

The next afternoon, Snape had just returned to his office, carrying the last stack of completed exams for the year. No sooner had he settled in at his desk, when Dumbledore stepped in through the Floo.

He sat straight up in his chair in surprise. Damn you, Albus. Can't you even announce yourself?

"Severus," the man said, stepping out as he brushed himself off. "I've just received a summons from the Ministry--urgent Wizengamot business."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual, isn't it? I can't recall the last time they called an emergency meeting." Actually he could. There had been many of those in the months just after the fall of Voldemort. He himself had been the guest of honor at one such gathering.

The old man nodded solemnly. "It is a bit unusual. And given the circumstances here, I wanted you to be on the highest alert. Minerva will stand in for me, but I have not kept her informed of our mutual concerns." He gave the Potions Master a meaningful look before turning back to the Floo.

Snape stood behind his desk, and reassured him, "I'm here, Albus. I'll keep a careful look-out. Now, go."

***

Toward the end of the afternoon, Snape decided he'd best check the Grid and the castle. Finding everything in order in the third-floor corridor, he was on his way to the staff room, when his heart suddenly sank. At the far end of the passageway were the three mischievous Gryffindors, their heads together, oblivious to his presence. Whatever they're up to, this isn't the time for it. I'd best put a stop to it now.

Gliding soundlessly down the corridor toward them, the Granger girl noticed him only at the last moment.

"Good afternoon," he said flatly.

The two boys whirled around, then the three of them stood there just gaping at him.

Well, it appears I haven't lost my ability to strike terror into the heart of a first-year.

"You shouldn't be indoors on a day like this," he said as he felt the faint stirring of sensation in his forearm.

The boy was still staring at him, his eyes narrowed as he protested, "We were..."

Snape cut him off. "You must be more careful. Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something." The three of them exchanged a hasty look. The boy flushed, and muttered something under his breath as they turned to go outside.

Snape felt chagrined. Whatever they were up to, he had to do more to dissuade them.

"I didn't tell you to go," he said icily, doing his best to intimidate them. As they reluctantly turned back, he briefly closed his eyes to throw up the shield. Then giving them his most practiced stare, he directed the comment to the boy. "Be warned, Potter--anymore nighttime wandering and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you." He turned deftly, and walked on to the staff room. As if Albus would ever allow such a thing, no matter what the infraction.

During dinner, Snape visually took roll. One...two...three. Ah, yes. All troublesome Gryffindors present and accounted for. He fixed them with a stare, until one-by-one they looked over at him. Holding all three pairs of eyes with his own, he gave a slight nod, then waited until each looked away. He was not surprised, and sighed inwardly, when the green eyes were the last to give in. Harry, if you only knew the truth of things, you wouldn't look at me that way, with such suspicion and loathing. I mean you no harm.

***

A watch had been set on the Grid for the remainder of the year. Although an alarm would sound in both Snape's and Dumbledore's quarters were an outer ward breached, the makers of the Grid, less the old man, Hagrid, and of course, Quirrell, made a physical check of its integrity every two hours.

Snape made his assigned check at ten o'clock, and finding all in order, returned to his rooms for a few hours of sleep. Although his next assigned round was not until six, he planned to be out and about in the castle during the night, prompted not only by the Headmaster's absence, but also by a growing chill of foreboding that something was going to happen, and soon.

When he lay down to sleep, his dreams were troubled and, he would later recall, prophetic.

He stood in the clearing in the forbidden forest on a moonlit night, the mist hovering just above the treetops. He waited patiently, watching as the centaur stepped out of the trees and moved toward him, remarking that centaurs walked as they did everything else: deliberately and slowly. Finally the beast was before him, and Snape bowed low.

"Firenze" he greeted the creature. "I heard you call me."

Firenze stared at him for the long centaur-moment, then nodded solemnly. "It was a call made through the dream world, Severus. We are not bound by the waking world as humans are."

Snape wisely waited in silence until the centaur spoke again.

"The planets have foretold that he will rise again."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment, and waited once more.

"The planets are in alignment tonight. The time that was foretold is upon us. He will arise tonight."

Strangely, Snape felt no fear, no desperate need to act. Instead, he told Firenze, "The planets have been read wrongly before. Perhaps this is one of those times."

The centaur looked at him for the usual long moment. "Perhaps so, Severus Snape. But if there were a time to act swiftly, it would be tonight." Then nodding once again in farewell, he turned and walked back toward the trees.

Now, Snape felt the rush of panic as the spell-like calm of the centaur deserted him. Pivoting, he sprinted for the opposite edge of the clearing and blundered into the trees. There was no longer moonlight to help him find his way, so he ran blindly, branches pulling at his robes and whipping into his face. He ran as a man possessed, his heart pounding, his breath ragged, as on and on he made his way through the dense trees and thick underbrush. It seemed like he'd been running for hours, when he broke through to the final clearing, just before the copse of trees that stood between it and the castle.

As he stumbled toward the line of them, he drew back in fright, as a figure stepped out just ahead of him. It glimmered and flickered, reflecting the light of the moon. He stood stock still, unable to move as the specter halved the distance between them. When it finally halted, just ten paces away, he gasped as he recognized her standing there in front of him.

"Lily," he moaned out in shock and exertion.

She was a breathless vision, just as he remembered her from their last meeting...beautiful...yet sad. "Severus, "she spoke his name softly and tenderly. "I knew you would come if I called."

"How could I not? Oh Lily, I've tried to protect him, I have."

She smiled at him gratefully. "I know, Severus. I knew that you would from that day when I stood watching you rock him. I knew even then, that the amulets were not necessary." The smile faded, as if she were remembering something. "But Severus, he needs you now. He's in danger again." Her eyes seemed to pierce his very soul. "The same danger, Severus. Will you save him again?"

He stood peacefully now, drinking in the sight of her, then replied dreamily, "Of course, Lily. Always. I promise. I did promise."

Smiling sweetly one last time, she raised a hand in farewell, then turned to fade into the trees.

Snape awoke suddenly to the pounding on his door.

"Professor! Professor Snape! Are you in there?! There's trouble afoot," he heard Filch's insistent shout.

Throwing the door open, he took in the rest of the man's tale. "That door in the third-floor corridor's wide open, and the beast in there's making a terrible racket. I thought you should know."

Pushing past the man, Snape ran. He ran as if his life depended on it, for he knew that someone else's did. Rounding a corner suddenly, he nearly collided with the Headmaster.

"Severus," the man cried, "the boy's gone after him into the Grid." Pulling the Potions Master along with him, they ran the length of the next corridor, and the next, until they finally stood outside the lower Grid entrance door, within which the Mirror of Erised stood.

They glanced at each other, the plan and intent communicated without words. Then each man raised his wand to cast simultaneously.

"Percutio Lignum!"

The huge wooden door groaned, then shattered suddenly inwards, sending shards of sharp wood flying everywhere. Rushing into the room, they stopped, stunned by the scenario before them.

Quirrell was screaming in agony, lurching sideways, as the boy hung on to him with one hand, the other one pressed to his forehead as he screamed out in agony, too.

Raising their wands once again, both men darted toward the struggling pair, crying out his name as they ran, "Harry! Harry!"

***

Inexplicably, Quirrell was dead before they even managed to pull him off the boy. As Dumbldore knelt beside him, Snape gathered the child into his arms, murmuring softly, "It's all right, Harry, I'm here. I've got you." The boy was unconscious, but alive, and Snape felt the relief flood through him.

As the Potions Master cradled the boy, Dumbldore stepped back and watched them, a smile on his face as he remembered a similar scene from a night long ago. The bearers of the amulets, forged by the love of a mother, reunited at last.