The New Ministry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all it's associated characters are not mine. Sev and everyone else belong to JKR, Warner Bros and Bloomsbury, etc. The only characters in this fic that I lay any claim to are Cerise, Viridis and co and Glorificus Fimus.

A/N: If you haven't read Slytherin Pride, I suggest you do so in order to get some background info. As you may have guessed, this is the sequel to Slytherin Pride, done entirely from Sev's point of view. You'll have to read on to see what's truly happening. So sit back, read and enjoy.

~~~

Chapter One: Five Years Later

By Slytherin's Silver Snake

~~~

As soon as returning home from the meeting with Voldemort, Severus was sneaking his way through the poorly lit corridors of Devia Anima, hoping to catch a certain person by surprise. Namely Cerise. He had contemplated upon waiting for her to appear and say how glad she was to see him but knew he'd have better luck trying to turn the tide like King Knut. Still, if the truth were to be told, he was doing it just to see the look on her face once he finally made his appearance.

As he walked down the green-lit corridor the emerald torchlight shone off the white serpent mask that covered his face. Carved from the finest granite the walls seemed to permeate the manor with the essence of all those who had dwelt here before him. A navy blue carpet with silver swirls ran down the centre of the corridor, leading away from his study and off towards a bathroom and a spare room. There were no portraits or anything silly like that. All there was were a few randomly-hung tapestries, each one inscribed with a favourite motto of his ancestors. Yet his was nowhere to be seen.

I don't need one; and I never will. I'm not even a proper member of the family, he thought bitterly, thanking the fact that the meeting with Voldemort had gone off without a hitch. The Dark Lord believed that Fudge had escaped by chance and incompetence on the part of his servants, but he didn't suspect him. That was a good thing. If Voldemort did suspect him and was sure of his beliefs, then he would most certainly know about it.

Black would have a field day if he knew my secrets, he added, coming to a stop when he leant against the stone wall for a quick rest. Sirius Black, his erstwhile enemy and reluctant ally in the war against Voldemort had been fooled by himself and Dumbledore into thinking that he had turned traitor. This was upon his own suggestion; if Black and himself were to meet up in the streets, and they were being watched, what would look more convincing? Reluctant acknowledgement or absolute hatred, as it had been all those years ago back at Hogwarts?

He tipped his head and removed his mask, shoving it inside his robes before rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Looking to his left he lazily watched the green torchlight splutter against the wall, before sighing in trepidation as a loud juvenile whine echoed down from further ahead. Who'd have though the brat would become this annoying?

In his state of fatigue and semi-consciousness, he only just managed to half-register the little horror's whine, even less the tired-sounding female voice that followed, "Come on, give me that."

His face contorted into a mask of irritation as he cursed his misfortune. Unfortunately, his only means of escape had vanished. His lab was off-limits for the rest of the week, all because of Viridis, an unhealthy dose of curiosity and a vial of Runespoor Venom. Mixed with Sulpher it proved to be efficient at causing nausea. It would take a week to air out the room itself and to remove all traces. Blast it. He would have to go in there after all; and how on earth had a five-year old gotten their hands on his keys?

In a final burst of stout resolution he separated himself from the wall and hastened down the corridor, mask safely tucked away. However, he was still dressed in his Death Eater robes, which were sinisterly fluttering out behind him and absorbing the torchlight. His long fingers came to rest on the silver handle as the young male voice popped up yet again. When he eventually submitted to the side of him that liked intrigue, he paused to listen before turning the door handle:

"It was such a tragedy. All those people."

As he entered the room, he found himself being confronted with a scene totally in keeping with what he had heard earlier. His cloak, his, was fully draped over a young boy. This juvenile delinquent was obviously several sizes too small, judging by the way that he was thrashing around. Seconds later the boy settled down, the black mass of fabric coming to a standstill.

Suddenly, there was a burst of movement; a pair of mischievous jet black eyes were studying him from beneath the hood, ensconced in ashen skin and framed by equally black hair, though it was of a feathery nature, "Hi dad!"

All of this was being overlooked with some amusement by an older woman, early forties, whose tired eyes seemed relieved that he was finally there. She could finally go to bed and let him deal with the boy. Meanwhile, the young boy's black eyes darted from side to side as he swayed precariously, eventually toppling backwards over the cloak's folds and landing in a dishevelled heap on the floor.

He emitted a small laugh, hearing the woman laugh also, and strode over to the pile of black. The boy was in need of a surprise, just in order to keep him on his toes. No one could call him a bad father because of that. Not even Serious Wretch… oops, he meant Black. Kneeling down in front of Viridis, he swept his robes behind him and placed one hand on the floor for balance.

"You obviously get that from your mother; you're such a drama queen," he sneered benignly, casting a glance at the woman sitting on the edge of the chair. She noticed this but failed to turn around as he had hoped.

"I am not," Cerise complained, still facing the desk.

That was such an obvious lie. He could hear his wife laughing to herself as he looked back down at his quiet son hidden underneath the folds of his infamous black cloak. Cerise said he was looking more and more like his father. Flattery would get her everywhere - Imber and Ymber being prime examples. Oh yes, just where were they? In bed, probably. He could check on them later.

He prodded the material with a long finger, "What was he doing?"

"Playing politics," Cerise called from over by the desk, her voice accompanied by the scribbling of a quill. "Lucius Malfoy, I believe. How highly appropriate."

He pinched at the cloak, happy that the boy was having fun. All things considered, he had finally done something right. Cerise was braver than he gave her credit for; most women wouldn't have tied themselves down with marriage and children, especially to a man whose depths were murkier than the lake at Hogwarts.

"Are you going to kneel down there all day? What did the carpet ever do to you?" Cerise called, her voice underlined with his tone of sarcasm.

Rising from the floor, he walked over towards the desk, ignoring the rustling of fabric coming from behind. Evidently, living with someone meant that you acquired some of their habits. Thankfully for him, this was mostly one-way. Quietly, he sneaked up to the woman sitting at the desk, elegantly wrapping his arms around her shoulders and butting her head with his own.

"Bad day?" he asked, carefully circumventing the matter of where he had been for the last few hours.

Cerise's shoulders tensed beneath his grip as she placed her quill in a nearby clay pot. Evidently, she wasn't in the mood for this time, "One could say that for you; you're late. And those clothes… I suppose it was Him, again. Severus, I thought that we agreed you would never wear them in front of the children."

He immediately removed his hands, which came to rest by his sides. This was just great. Was it too much to expect to come home to a warm welcome? That was probably his mistake; he had expected one in the first place. Or perhaps she was entering her middle life crisis, or the menopause. God help him if she was.

Hmph. Perhaps I should have accepted Avery's offer to go crawling, instead of staying here with you; it might have been more fun, he thought, remembering the offer he had previously been made. Brushing the edges of his robes, he ignored the slight rustling of fabric from behind him as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"It's not my fault; why do you always have to slate me over the most trivial of things?" he asked touchily, Cerise looking disinterested with every word as she turned to face him. Yes, he was fully aware of how he seemed, but why should he care? He knew he was right, and it would be so much fun when she would have to apologise. "Is it too much to expect a pleasant night in once I return home, and to spend time with my family?"

"It is… I suppose that it's not too much to… Look, I'm sorry; can we just leave it at that?" Cerise stuttered as she rose from the chair, finding it hard to eventually apologise as she brushed off her robes before setting off for the door. "Someone had better go and check on him."

As Cerise walked past him and left, the small near-argument that they had engaged in weighed briefly on his mind. At least there had been that look on her face. With him, what people saw was what they got. Expect for the traitorous, double-dealing spy. It was quite ironic, really, with him being a Slytherin and all.

Ignoring Cerise's failure to apologise, he rolled his eyes as he turned around. What he saw was an empty space of carpet; evidently, the boy had silently withdrawn to his room at the first sign of trouble, and taken his cloak along with him. He made up his mind to go and check on Cerise, and then the twins. Yet he couldn't resist a smile. Viridis was turning out to be a real gem. Perhaps he had inherited some of his father's intellect after all. He reminded him of himself at that age…

~~~

Black and white flowers were scattered everywhere, covering the surface of the entire table. A sickly sweet aroma filled the air, and it was in keeping with the small chamber located at the far end of the old house, well away from his quarters and where his mother was, in her study. One look outside at the barren landscape and inherent rainy weather, and even an idiot could tell that the house was as isolated as a Slytherin in a room full of Gryffindors.

Severus Snape, the boy whose eyes only just managed to peek over the wooden top was studying their pattern rigorously, waiting for the time when the white would fade to black, indicating that they were ready to be stored for later use.

The Black Lotus, also known as the Death Blossom, is the main ingredient of the Mortis Potion. Said potion has recently been made illegal after a spate of tit-for-tat assassinations in the Middle East. Just one of these rare and valuable flowers are enough to generate a potion infamous for its connection with the Dark Arts, he recalled from memory, after seeing the passage in a book in the library (mother had been out). So where did she get them all from?

Of course, anything in that black vein fascinated him, it was just so mysterious. If there was one thing he liked, it was the process of solving problems. Having spent what to him seemed like an eternity waiting in the small chamber, he was still engrossed in the art of making Potions, having watched on curiously as his mother sorted out what went in, how much of it went in, and what type of flame should be used before it went in.

He cast a glance out of the window and watched the rain batter against the glass. He didn't know why, but he had this feeling in his stomach that something was wrong. Perhaps he had disturbed the process in some way? Everything had gone perfectly after his mother had left him here, telling him to be quiet and not to cause a mess.

No. No, that's not it, he contemplated, shaking his head. He nibbled on the side of his nail. That couldn't be it. Absolutely not. He may have been small for his age, but he wasn't stupid. Something else was going on, he could sense it.

Conceivably, he believed that it could have something to do with that man he had bumped into in Diagon Alley. Even though he had only been asked a question or two - are you lost? - his mother had arrived several minutes later. Had she thanked the man for keeping him safe? No. She had reacted unusually, grabbing his arm and pulling him away as fast as she possibly could, yelling at Thomas to keep his distance. He could have sworn on the cat he had strung up last week that the man's eyes briefly flashed red before he had turned on his heel and walked away. Odd behaviour indeed, for one who was usually so dispassionate.

~~~

Several days later, he found himself at work inside the kitchen, sometime late in the morning. He sucked in air, before he had a more vigorous attempt at angrily chopping the Fennel Root with a knife. The memory he had experienced the other day was really starting to get to him, even though he was trying to block it out. The blade sliced numerous times through the tough-wearing plant with a crunch, slicing with a speed and ferocity that would make even a cartoon animal called Wile E. Coyote jealous.

The agitated man brushed the root cuttings into a waiting bowl to the side, taking another intact root from the sack in front of him, casting the bag the evil eye as he slapped the vegetable onto the wooden board. The agitated man… more like the penitent man. He knew he was doing it more times than he cared to mention, and that he had better things to do, but as his hand brushed the shredded roots into a waiting bowl to the side he knew exactly who to blame.

"Cerise; it's all your blasted fault," he muttered angrily, not caring who happened to be around to listen as the knife went down for another round. It was not as if his wife was totally innocent. Oh no, far from it. By his estimates, she was defiantly cunning enough in drafting him into this debacle.

But I did no such thing, and I'm sick of ordering Chinese take-out, he pitched in a woman's voice, eerily similar to Cerise's, before taking on his own. Yes you did; you left my keys where Viridis could find them. He destroyed my laboratory, so now there's nothing for me to do except the family cooking or plotting the Order's downfall, which contrary to popular belief isn't on my agenda.

Peering at the half-empty bowl to his left, he wondered just how long it would take to finish the task in front of him. He was most defiantly not pleased with having to be the breadwinner, the intellect and the cook of the whole family; it just wasn't fair - if he had known Cerise couldn't cook… Forget it, he had known, over twenty years ago, in fact. He brushed the shredded root on top of the others in the bowl, stabbing his knife into the wooden kitchen unit with great venom.

Brushing his hands together, he thanked the fact that he had finally finished for the moment. He turned around with a grateful sigh, only to find himself suddenly coming face-to-face with the source of his current predicament.

"Cerise, what do you want this time," he groaned whilst backing up against the table, at the same time being careful enough not to grab the knife and stab himself - or Cerise. He then narrowed his eyes. He wasn't in the correct mood, not today, "If you have another of those blasted bags for me then I'm afraid that you'll have to wait until after my break."

"Severus, you've been looking pretty out of it for the last several days, annoyed and exhausted," she began, her gaze directed at the floor before she looked up at him with her searching amber eyes. "And I know that you don't like to talk about things, with me or anyone else…"

He felt her take her right hand grip his, squeezing it softly, "… But you know, I do love you. Even if you act like a stubborn fool."

"I know you do," he replied soothingly, squeezing down on her hand. Sometimes he felt almost regretful that she had to be kept in the dark, but it was better that way. Albus may have disagreed with him, but this was his life, no one else's. That was a lesson he had learned the hard way, and he wasn't going to be anyone's slave.

Slithering up against the wooden unit, he looked down at Cerise as she left his hand slip back to his side, thankful that he was taller and more imposing than she was. Perhaps that would give her the clue that no matter all the promises she might make, he was not being roped into another hour of pointless labour through those three little words. He illustrated this by taking her hands in his, raising them to his chest before maneuvering her around so that she faced away from him. He then pushed her away.

"Your slave is tired of working," he said dryly, the earlier memory shunted aside as Cerise stumbled over momentarily. "Now go and find someone else. Oh, I forgot; you can't. What a shame." Turning back to face the work surface, he paused for a second before gliding out of the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving Cerise behind, out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

~~~

Nice and early next Monday morning, Severus found himself doing something more preferable than just simple cooking. He was stooped over a cauldron, the contents of which were happily boiling away as he stirred the aqueous purple liquid with a silver ladle clasped in his right hand. Of course, not many would find working in the basement of the Riddle Manor a pleasant experience. Neither did he, but thanks to 'specialist' training he was able to put up with old scaly-face and his black-robed men poking their noses (or lack of) where they didn't belong.

At least I'm on my own, he thought, thanking the fact that everyone who knew him also knew the fact that he hated any sort of company. The nearest person was at least several doors away, in the room directly above his own. So what if he was a loner at heart? Loners had rights too. Still, at least they knew when to leave him alone, though it was only usually when he was working on something and did not desire to be disturbed, or when they wanted something. How else it helped him is that it aided him in keeping up an air of solidarity amongst the others, some of whom had been suspicious of him, at least in the past.

Snorting through his nose, he slowly rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, allowing ground pepper to fall into the bubbling cauldron from his clenched left hand. Of course, the only time anyone spoke to him was when they wanted something… apart from Cerise, and Dumbledore. If the old man wanted something, he usually charmed him into giving the Headmaster what he wanted, usually through changing the subject onto something ludicrous, like sweets for instance. Foolish, yet strangely effective.

He turned away from the cauldron for only a moment, meandering around a discarded bag, flowing towards an old shelf that had gathered cobwebs. Scanning the shelves that were full of strange and illegal ingredients, he picked out a sachet of golden Feng feathers and laughed quietly to himself as he inspected them, just as a cold cough come from behind him.

"Laughing, Severus? That isn't like you."

What's not like me? He cursed angrily inside his head, with expletives that would have made even Voldemort blush; how had those two got in here? Lucius was the new Minister for Magic, and Colin Avery was… well, he was a twat. Having taught twats for the last twenty years he recognized one when he saw it. Twirling around to face the two unwelcome intruders, he visibly stiffened, right hand clenching down over the sachet.

"Go away, I'm busy," he said simply, cutting off the chance for any further conversation. How wrong he was.

"Now that's more like it."

"I think, Lucius, that our dear friend got lucky yesterday night," he saw Colin wink, elbowing the blond man in the ribs in what the poor deluded fool thought of as an appreciated gesture amongst his two friends. "Haven't you noticed that he always seems more miserable when he's gotten what he wants."

Pleasingly, even Lucius hadn't been so appreciative of Colin's elbow-jerk and had silently and promptly stepped away from the man whose very reputation for consuming vast amounts of alcohol surpassed that even that of the Dark Lord. Yet again, he was beginning to regret the decision to leave bed that morning, as he so often did. What made it worse was the present company, which he was expected to keep - or tolerate.

"Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah. Some call me the gangster of love. Some people call me Maurice - woo woo - because I speak of the pompatous of love," Colin hummed.

"Singing Muggle songs, Colin?" Lucius drawled, totally unimpressed with his acquaintance's teasing. "Perhaps you were sorted into the wrong House."

The next few seconds passed by in silence as he walked forwards, his black eyes glowering into those of chocolate that belonged to the brown-haired man. Lucius, meanwhile, had moved away from the two men he was with and was inspecting the contents of the cauldron behind him with an interested but haughty nose.

"Go away; like I said before, I'm busy," he snapped back, heading away from Colin and dashing over to his cauldron. He ignored Lucius and threw in the feathers that he had removed from the packet, causing the mixture to turn golden, a jet of matching smoke rising into the air.

"If this isn't finished on schedule I'll… no, we'll all be in for it because you two wouldn't shift your backsides out of here and leave me alone," he seethed, resting on the edge of the table. "Now get lost and let me finish my work. And Colin? If you don't stop singing that stupid song I'll be sending you up to the Spirit in the Sky. Understood?"

"Ooh, someone is in a mood," Colin crooned, baiting his erstwhile friend even more. "What's the matter; got P.M.S?"

That does it; Strike Two, he thought, his neck stiffening as the corners of Lucius mouth turned up in a sly smile. Some would have prescribed peace therapy to other people, but not to Severus, who was becoming more annoyed than a plucked Fwooper.

"Will you please LEAVE?!" he shouted loud enough for the whole Manor to hear, Colin's teasing face evaporating as he carefully edged towards the door. Several seconds later, after Colin had disappeared through the door and went back to wherever he had crawled out of, he turned to Lucius, everything now pleasingly somewhat quieter apart from the bubbling of the cauldron.

~~~

Looking to his left to make sure that he hadn't been followed, Severus drew his cloak about himself and hurried down the sodden alley in the back streets of York. Hearing a noise, he gazed into the darkness to his left, only to discover that it was generated by a pair of overly amorous muggles. They may not have noticed him, but they barely looked over twenty years old. If he had been their parent and was aware of what was going on, then he would have locked them indoors… locked being the emphasized word.

Idiots, he thought simply, philosophising over the couple as he went on his way. To be hanging around a spot well-known for dark activity in the past and not to have any form of protection, physical or otherwise. It looked as if he was now well and firmly seeped in the old adage that things were always better in your days. Except in his case it was true, for some reasons more than others.

He shook his head as he came to a stop, withdrawing a trim silver key from inside his robes. The top was a three-leaf clover, with a small green jewel in the center. Only him and Dumbledore knew of its existence, seeing as the two of them had collaborated on its creation. It was to allow access to one of the Order's most sheltered safehouses to a certain person; him. The best thing was that the key would only work if he held it, and only if he wanted entrance. Even if someone forced him to open the door or chopped off his hand it wouldn't work, though the though of the latter raised a slight quiver in his stomach.

Inserting the magical key in the lock, he waited for his identity to be confirmed as he mused that there was no point looking back at the past, though it held valuable lessons. Since he didn't have access to a time turner, and probably never would, it was best to look forwards.

"Ah, it's finally nice of you to visit Severus, I've been wondering how you're getting along."

Taking a step back, he found himself looking into the blue eyes of the man he knew would be there. A man he hadn't seen in about five years. Dumbledore.

~~~

Several minutes or so later, Severus had reluctantly accepted an embrace from his 'foster-father', along with all the sentimentality that followed and had reclined back in the chair. He noticed that Dumbledore was studying him with a watchful eye. He didn't like anyone staring at him, but he also knew that he had to afford the old man this luxury; after all, if it hadn't been for Dumbledore he would be rotting away in Azkaban. Rotting away without a second chance, without Cerise and without a family. He really did owe this man his life.

I'm indebted a second time. Marvelous, as if one wasn't enough already, he thought grimly, metaphorically shaking off the feeling that he was being callous. However, Albus knew that he was naturally like this and more often than not would let it slip.

Watching the Headmaster as he settled his cup of tea onto it's dish, he listened to what the old wizard was saying, "… And yes, the Slytherins left at Hogwarts are fine and managing well, all things considered. As is Draco Malfoy, from what I've heard. (Here, he smiled and nodded). He didn't turn out the way many of those in Gryffindor suspected he would. I guess most of us were wrong all along."

Albus looked at him again, his gaze firming in support, "So you see, your work is just as important as everyone else's who is fighting Voldemort. You've managed to direct the children and show them that there is more to life then bonding themselves to old traditions. Just because your other side of work is considered 'dirty' doesn't make it any less valuable in the long run. It still saves lives. I hate having to ask you to go back to him, yet we both know - "

" - Everyone has to make sacrifices in times of war, Headmaster," he interrupted. "And I am someone who should be making them more than others, considering my past. It's the least that I can do after being offered a second chance. Though the first time the ministry told me to go back to… I was disconcerted to say the least."

"As was I," Dumbledore agreed, blowing cold air over his cup. "Both myself and Minerva were against it from the start. Yet as you said, it was necessary."

"It was." He never had been one for long-winded sentences. Why waste time that you didn't have? "Now, it may be fun talking about what's happened to the both of us over the last several years, but I believe you wanted to see me about the matter of information…"

"Yes, information. I trust you have some we could use?"

"Of course, or I wouldn't have requested you to meet me, would I?" he scathingly replied. "Now, Voldemort's next target is the Hannigan's, the ones in Cheshire. He also plans on taking Azkaban sometime around the start of spring, though he hasn't announced a date. However, I am sure that he plans to infiltrate, as he usually does, then to knock via the front door." He smiled smugly, appreciating the irony of the situation, "I guess he's worried about possible traitors."

Albus nodded in agreement, smiling slightly, "I see. Are you sure of this?"

"Yes. For the last several weeks he -Voldemort- has made me work on formulas for potions that would be powerful enough to blast through several of Azkaban's walls. Luckily, it is proving hard to find one that would inflict maximum damage with little risk of casualties. The fact that I have to work on it from scratch is also eating into the amount of time I have."

He paused for breath, just as Albus added to his sentence, "That is good news, very good news. The longer that we can delay an attempted invasion of Azkaban, the longer we can bolster our defenses. I've never liked that place, or the beings that have made their home there."

"Neither have I," he added.

"I can understand. It must have been a traumatic experience for you. I tried to get you out as early as possible, but the Ministry was dragging it's heels. Much like they do over everything else."

He snorted in derision, staring past Albus, looking at the worn out brick wall. Yes, had never liked to be mollycoddled, and it had been a traumatic experience. At least he knew how Black had suffered, and it served the would-be murderer right, even if he had been innocent, as Albus was so fond of reminding him. As for the Ministry… well, their lax attitude and all its failings was common fodder for jokes from the Hogwarts Staff.

He looked down at the floor, closing his eyes as Albus spoke. He always did have a knack of getting out the true feelings of people, even if they were closely guarded. "Severus. You know that I can help you. If you ever need to talk, about Azkaban or anything at all, you know how to reach me."

"Through the toaster, right?" he replied sarcastically, the usual amount of venom seeping into his voice. He smirked as he stood and offered Albus his hand, knowing that he couldn't help being so vicious, it came naturally. "You know, you haven't yet truly apologized for sacking me from Hogwarts."

"I see you still have your abrasive sense of humour. As for Hogwarts… No, I never did apologise. So far I haven't had the chance to do so. So, Severus, do you accept my apology?" Albus asked, a mischevious twinkle in his blue eyes as he shook his hand.

"Yes."

"Right then, now that that's settled I believe we should go before any questions are raised. And tell Cerise I send her my regards. Her and the children. From what you have told me, they sound like they will be sorted into Slytherin."

"Of course they will be," he snorted as the two of them rose to leave, Albus traveling over to the fireplace. As if his children would be sorted into another House. How preposterous! Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. If it was Hufflepuff he'd run for the hills. If it was Gryffindor… well, his house still had an old fashioned dungeon down in the basement. No, it definitely had to be Slytherin. He wouldn't stand for anything else.

Albus had thrown some Floo Powder into the fireplace, and was getting ready to leave, "Severus, this is the first proper time I've seen you in around five years. I would hate for it to be the last time. Please, watch your back."

"Likewise, Headmaster. I'll be seeing you soon."