Go With the Tide

Voldemort inspected the select few of the dark-clad figures with the eerie, white masks. He nodded to Wormtail who shivering, went to shut the door and put up all the wards his master required before the gathering was to start. Voldemort gazed at Nagini with his crimson, emotionless eyes and when the snake slithered to him, he started to speak while petting her.

"A rather... interesting turn of events has been drawn to my attention...," he said softly, the 's's in his speech standing out a little bit, "... would anyone care to guess as to what I am referring to?"

Silence fell among the standing Death Eaters that did not dare look to each other, in each one's mind a million possibilities racing. In all of them, except one. Snape's hesitation lasted only fractions of a second before he took a step forward, keeping his head bent and his hands folded, waiting for permission to speak from the Dark Lord.

"Remove your mask," came the usual order, and kneeling down, Snape complied, making sure his eyes were kept lowered. Voldemort smiled, as if to himself.

"Ah, Ssseverusss...," he drew out the name on purpose, "inform us, my loyal Potionss Massster."

As Snape took a deep breath, the idea that Voldemort had a hedonistic way of pronouncing the word 'master' raced through his mind. He banished the thought, his body tense and tougher than concrete. He needed all his wits about him for this.

"Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts, my Lord, for the rest of the summer. He is close to dying as we speak."

Murmur started to sound before it was abruptly stopped. No doubt by one cold glance from Tom Riddle, thought Snape. He always forced himself to think of Voldemort as Tom while being interrogated. It was an anchor that helped Snape not to lose it. The nasal voice snapped him back to attention.

"And in what way has he reached this state, Severuss?"

Snape's backbone tensed, making him rigid in the kneeling position he was in. This was the crucial question. Like when he had been in the Dursley house and his instinct had persisted that Potter was inside it, the same instinct now told him that his life depended on how he answered this seemingly normal, clear question about happenings. How much of the truth should he reveal and in what way? What did Tom Riddle think had happened, and how much of an alternate version of the events could he accept and believe?

Blasted Potter boy. Snape's loathing rose like a black tidal wave at the predicament he was in and that Potter had rendered him in. Cautiously, carefully, he started on his answer like a trapeze artist starting his walk across a stretched rope.

"My Lord, Dumbledore sent me to retrieve Potter from his home on some allegations by Sybil Trelawney that he was in mortal danger. Trelawney of course never makes a true prediction--"

"I KNOW about that bat! It's Potter I want to know about!" Voldemort erupted and Snape cowered back, biting his tongue so hard that blood oozed out in his mouth. He swallowed it and continued on, bending even lower in front of Voldemort's feet.

"Yes, my Lord. I therefore went to Potter's muggle home. Of course the boy was not near death. He was slightly beaten up over the head by his relatives. He was already unconscious when I got there. I beg your forgiveness my Lord, but the temptation was far too great; Dumbledore was expecting a near-death boy back. Although I could not bring him to you because of the wards, I was well aware the headmaster would not suspect me if I... toyed with the boy somewhat. I... got carried away when his relatives returned to their house," Snape finished and shut his eyes, as his head was bent, hoping beyond hopes, begging to whatever deity there existed that Voldemort would buy this tale and accept it as evidence of Snape's loyalty to him.

There was a longer pause, in which Snape could only hear his heart beating irregularly. Cursing in his mind, he hoped that his blood forever rested on Potter's hands and the guilt slowly kill him. But the thoughts were instantly dispersed when he heard Voldemort get up from his throne, Nagini slithering quietly away. Abnormally long, bony fingers touched his shoulders and he was made to look up in the distorted, half human face of Tom Riddle.

"That was nicely done, my loyal friend... you set the standard for your comrades...," he started in his low, once-alluring voice. Snape braced himself. Now he would see if his moment of death had arrived.

"... you shall be rewarded greately... for you can keep your life and continue serving me, and in addition I shall give you a reminder..."

The bony hands detached themselves from Snape and he lowered his eyes again as the Dark Lord stepped backwards.

"Harry Potter is mine to toy with or kill. None of you have the right to assault him, even in your zeal to serve me. You should have remembered that, Severus. Crucio."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Snape returned to his chambers, his body was considerably weaker but his foul mood was considerably stronger. He was looking forward for a bit of a night's sleep away from it all, not a one-on-one meeting with Dumbledore, who was waiting for him in his chambers.

Snape looked at him warily.

"How did you get in here... I thought my rooms were properly warded," he scowled weakly. He was too tired to growl, and he had a distasteful feeling that that was precicely why Dumbledore did not want to wait until the morning. The old wizard was looking at him with concern, even worry, the twinkle in his eyes faded somewhat.

"Hogwarts castle's chambers never obstruct the headmaster's passage, Severus. Are you alright?"

"Of course I am not alright! I got back from an interrogation with Voldemort and nearly lost my LIFE because you sent me to get that goddamn accident prone boy around which your world revolves. Of course I am not alright and I wish the tyke had never been born!" Snape said exasperated, finally the tension he had had to harness at the gathering finding a let out.

Dumbledore did not speak until Snape had crossed to his storeroom and drank the usual series of potions he needed to somewhat restore homeostasis to his body after a gathering had ended. He did not speak when Snape stared at him with the 'why are you still here?' look on his face. Or when even later he used the 'speak or get out' look.

Snape finally gave in.

"What do you want to tell me, Albus?" he said in a voice that had no venom or malice, but a lot of tiredness and resignation. He sank into an armchair and looked as Dumbledore swallowed and prepared to speak. He knew that look. He hated it.

"Not about Potter, Albus. Not tonight."

"He's blind, Severus."

Snape blinked, and his eyebrow went almost to his hairline. The Golden Boy, blind?

"How on earth did he manage that?" he managed to ask.

Dumbledore looked to the side, his fingers knitting through his long white beard. Snape shivered. Not even Voldemort was as scary a sight as Albus looking old and tired against hardship.

"Poppy says it is the hit or hits he must have received in the head. There were some shards from a mirror in the boy's forehead and eyes."

"Does he still have them?" Snape asked, interested. He felt grimly satisfied about giving Vernon exactly what he deserved.

"If you mean his eyes, yes, he does, but they are far too damaged for sight. Poppy healed them up so there is no scarring visible and no alteration of his eyeballs, but she can't restore his sight."

Silence ensued as Snape took some time for the new information to sink in, and Dumbledore did not continue, as if the words he was uttering were tiring him immensely. Finally, Snape broke the heavyness by asking:

"Any chance of recuperation?"

The older wizard gently shook his head. Snape took in a breath.

"Voldemort doesn't have to know. Not immediately. But definately before Malfoy's son arrives in September."

Dumbledore nodded grimly and then looked at Snape.

"Suddenly time is very pressing on us both, Severus."

Snape decidedly did not like that. But it was not anything he did not anticipate. Dejectedly, he pushed himself out of the armchair, virtually hearing his joints squeak in protest.

"Let's go see the damn Golden Boy then, Albus."

For all the times that Snape thought of how much he hated Dumbledore, he ended up hating not the headmaster, but the idea of not providing support for the one person that dared trust and believe in him after all he had done in his past. After all, Dumbledore was the reason the Potions Master was still alive.

The walked out of the dungeons and towards the infirmary. Dumbledore was walking rather slowly, yet Snape had a growing suspicion that the older man was doing so because he did not want to tire Snape more than he already was after his ordeal earlier in the night. He did not confront him with it though, because Snape felt he actually did need the slower pace.

"I hope the Dursleys didn't give you any trouble." Dumbledore asked in an odd tone that compelled Snape to glance at the headmaster. There was a small smile playing under the white beard, and Snape wondered if Dumbledore hadn't sent his most vindictive of the staff members to get a boy from his abusers for a good reason. He looked ahead and smirked to himself.

"Not at all. They were... rather amusing."

"I hope not too much?"

"They are alive, Albus... they are undeserving death... they will suffer for longer than that."

With that statement, Severus Snape entered the infurmary, where only one bed was occupied. He approached it and looked down on the sleeping boy mutely. His eyes were covered by a bandage around his head. His hand was also bandaged to the elbow. At his bedside were several potions that made Snape clench his teeth again. He did not need Poppy to tell him what the boy had suffered, when he could recognise in a heartbeat what each potion was for.

The boy had had internal bleeding, severe concussion and heart irregularity from shock.

"Has he woken up yet?" Snape asked Dumbledore softly.

"Not yet. He does not know, Severus."

Snape clicked his tongue in irritation at the sight.

"He is far too weak to serve his purpose."

"Severus. He is not a soldier. He is a fifteen year old undernourished boy."

Snape did not let the words mollify him in the least.

"Don't fool yourself Albus. A soldier is all he is to the wizarding world, and he has to be able to fit the role when the time comes, or everything will have been in vain."

"What are you saying?"

Snape paused. What -was- he saying? He looked down at the prone figure. The boy looked serene and sad, sleeping in the sterile bed. Weak. Very weak but in the same time Snape couldn't deny detecting something other than weakness radiating from the boy. Determination. Stubborness. Patience. Loyalty.

All good ingredients for strength. And he had to admit that if for fifteen years the boy had survived his guardians and not become a twisted, bitter subhuman version of himself, he had demonstrated strength of profound enormity despite his weak appearance.

Yes. He felt that there might be some potential in the boy.

"What potential do you mean Severus?"

Snape realised that he had spoken the last thought out loud. He answered truthfully, as he did whenever he saw even the slightest hope for leverage against Voldemort.

"I think the boy's blindness can be turned into a strength, a weapon rather than a drawback."

"But who would teach him to convert an impediment into a strength?"

Snape saw the renewed twinkle in the headmaster's eyes a fraction of a second too late.

"I could," he said and instantly regretted doing so, for he knew that he had at the very second he admitted that, accepted the responsibility of Potter's training.

Dumbledore hugged the younger man in a fatherly gesture of pride that succeeded in mollifying Snape enough not to try to even attempt waiving his new, yet unspoken, responsibility. It was rare that Snape saw pride in anyone's eyes that he had put there, and that downpayment was enough to cement his decision to educate Harry Potter, the bane of his existence and epitome of anything Gryffindor.

"I knew I could count on you, my boy," Dumbledore said and left quickly. Snape felt slightly slack jawed. The old coot had manipulated him into thinking up what Dumbledore had wanted him to do in the first place.

Oh, how he hated Harry bloody Potter.

__________________

Ha ha! Don't expect me to be graphic from the start, OR to reveal what happened to the Dursleys from the start, OR wake Harry up in the second chapter. I had to set standards for Snape's and Harry's working relationship first! he he!