Blood Lines

Six o'clock came around and after sleeping off the day's second dose of Plasti-juice Snape headed over to check on Lupin. Passing the door to his classroom he took the hidden right and finding the wall panel that marked Lupin's new quarters he activated the chime that announced visitors. 'I can't believe the Headmaster insisted on a door chime.' Snape rolled his eyes in disgust.

Lupin groggily answered the unfamiliar chime and prying his eyes open a little more identified the disturber of his slumber. "What do you want at this hour?" Lupin asked gruffly.

With a slight twitch of his lips that was not quite a smile Snape informed him that it was six-thirty.

The unrelenting call of the waxing moon combined with the early hour to rob him of speech. Lupin stared dumbly at him for a moment before blinking and turning to consult his wall clock. It was in fact six-thirty.

"You did not have time last night to get your material ready for today. As you usually do a good deal of class prep I thought you might like to start the day earlier than you normally do," Snape calmly explained.

This courtesy earned him a shocked stare from the now wide-awake DADA instructor. Snape's robe billowed as he turned and left Lupin to wonder about his motives. He entered his own classroom and, sitting behind his desk, continued to write terse diatribes on each scroll that had been turned in late. First-Years learned quickly that deadlines were strictly observed in potions. Snape paused to listen as Lupin hurriedly made his way up the main stair. 'Must have forgotten that there aren't any nice sunrises to wake him up down here,' he almost grinned at the thought. 'Werewolves are too influenced by their surroundings. It was a bad idea to put him down here. And then to add Black?! But there is no point in second guessing him.' Snape sighed and went back to work.

*You learned that one the hard way, * he reminded himself.

The rest of the day continued in a slow parade of thoughtless children who insisted on acting as though it were his fault they didn't measure properly or stir in the right direction. As usual he skipped lunch and instead locking his door slept in his office. He was suddenly woken from his drug-induced sleep by a searing pain in his left arm. As the pain cleared the fog from his brain Snape recognized the summons from the Dark Lord. 'Damn, he has to pick now to call me?' he thought still feeling the Plasti-juice strong in his system. With no classes until late afternoon he decided that it would be better to answer than not. 'He probably knows my work schedule anyway,' he reasoned. Heading down the corridor toward his living quarters Snape stumbled slightly and put a steadying hand on the wall. Finally in his sitting room he paused to unclench his aching fist. The mark felt like a hot coal on his skin.

Flexing the muscles of his arm helped some, if he kept it up. The sheer intensity of the pain however made it hard to focus on keeping his fist moving. Gathering his Death Eater mask and a silk cloak he prepared his mind as best he could for the coming trial. 'He knows I was tested,' Snape thought. 'He'll want to know the results. I can't tell the Dark Lord that the tests were inconclusive. But I also can't tell him about Starch.' Silently he passed by the door to the Great Hall. The meal was not quite over and a few late owls were still arriving. As he moved past the open double doors he caught a brief glimpse of children eating, talking, and acting somewhat rowdier than they would have if the Headmaster had been present. He also saw a few owls circling in the air above them.

One particular grey owl also noticed him. It shot through into the main hall and caught up with him as he reached the outside doors. Darting forward it landed on the Potion Master's outstretched arm as he reached for the door handle.

A rather startled Snape took the letter from the courier owl's beak and, opening the door watched as it flew off into the lead colored sky. 'Its going to rain,' he noticed. ' It'll be my luck that the meeting is held outside. Maybe I'll be able to get pneumonia,' he thought with a mild note of sarcasm. 'If I don't treat it, theoretically I could die of it instead.' Still clutching the unexpected letter he passed through the gates and entered the "free zone". Preparing to Apparate he stuffed the letter into his robe, threw on the cloak and drawing his wand Disapparated as the air was rent by a deafening crash of thunder.

The dark sky and poor lighting combined to make it very difficult indeed to see exactly what was going on. Basically this was the desired effect. There were very few people who were twisted enough to want to see what was going on around them at a 'Dark Revel'.

'But then healthily minded people don't attend them,' he reminded himself. 'Or, if they do,' he amended as a feeble cry broke a momentary lull, 'they're the floor show.'

Before joining the others he slipped on the Dark Mask. He now looked like everyone else in attendance. Black being the dominant color, and every face hidden by the smoky colored, shifting pattern of the masks. It was easy to feel anonymous, too easy. He knew that many eyes were drawn to him because of his cape. Having a dampening effect on magic made silk an unusual choice. It not only gave away his identity it advertised that he was very powerful.

"Still the only one with such bad taste that he comes late to hide it." Lucius Malfoy's voice was unmistakable as he laughed with the few others who dared.

"Have a care Lucius," Snape murmured just loud enough to be heard by the attentive ears of those who were following the exchange. Then with an air of bored indifference he added, "One could get the impression that you felt that I tolerated insolence."

This veiled threat drained the color from Malfoy's face and started several people whispering. Snape turned and began mingling with the few of high enough rank to warrant his notice. Because of his unusually strong 'core magic' he had been promoted swiftly through the ranks and was, at the time of his fall, a member of the inner circle.

Known as The Fates, they were an elite group. Only the most powerful of The Master's most loyal followers were even considered for the honor. It was generally assumed that none of The Fates had fallen from favor since his return.

A black shrouded figure nervously skittered up to Snape.

"Wormtail," he nodded to the Master's new 'right hand'.

"Master would speak with you, now," the 'Voice of Darkness' rasped.

'How can such a shallow person have so many titles in an organization so riddled with back stabbers and traitors?' Snape thought, not for the first time, as he made his way through the throng.

Keeping the required number of steps behind his superior, he followed Wormtail to a private chamber. The door swung open at a touch from the silver hand and Snape found himself mask to face with Voldemort. "My Lord," he murmured and knelt at the feet of the most feared man in the world. All he could think about though was how he would tell said man that his favorite pet was dying, and the amount of time left until his appointment with Starch. 'I need to tell him. If he brings it up I'll be on the defensive trying to explain why I was hiding it. But then I don't have enough information to make a satisfactory report.'

*At least the meeting is indoors, * that nasty little inner voice laughed.

Feeling a hand rest momentarily on his head Snape waited for the command to rise.

"Leave us Wormtail."

"Yes my Master."

The door opened and shut. They were alone.

'Probably not a good thing,' the kneeling figure thought.

"Rise Severus, and remove your mask. You have many things to tell me of." It was not a question.

Pushing back his hood and taking off the mask slowly, Snape tried to buy time to think.

"You have been observed," the Dark Lord spoke suddenly.

"Master?" was all he could think to say. The conversation was not starting well.

"There was a small party of Aurors watching as you left the gates of the school," Voldemort wheezed.

His reconstructed body had blended a little too freely with the snake. He not only hissed and wheezed when speaking, he also had a tendency to flick his tongue when being lied to. It didn't happen often.

"I was not followed." The certainty with which the words were spoken was largely owed to long years of acting sure even when in doubt. It never paid to show doubt to a death eater. Or fear.

"No, you were not." Voldemort was still standing very close. His rubicund eyes slowly passed over every centimeter of Snape's body. His attentions taking in even the slight crackle of Snape's breath. "I have been able to determine the reason why they were waiting for you." He paused to watch the effect of his words. Seeing that Snape had no idea what to make of this he continued. "You were tested at Saint Mungo's..."

Snape's eyes opened slightly wider at this confirmation of his earlier fear. "I have inconclusively tested positive for Potion Master's Rue." At the raising of an eye-ridge (Voldemort no longer had eyebrows) he explained as best he could. "The Headmaster," Voldemort's eyes slitted at the use of the title but he did not interrupt, "arranged for me to see a medi-wizard he knows. I think that the Ministry was alerted when he applied for permission to perform a second round of tests." Gathering his nerve Snape finished, "I have no idea why they took an interest in it, or me, though."

"What did this 'second round of tests' involve? Ex-sss-actly."

"It was just a rather extensive round of blood work, Master."

The gleam of triumph in the ruby eyes was eloquent. Snape was beginning to feel that something very wrong had already happened.

"Then my information was accurate." The Dark Lord sounded pleased.

Voldemort motioned to a chair and it obediently drew its self across the stone floor and came to rest behind him. He had naturally chosen the most ornate chair, but when he was seated he allowed Snape to summon himself a chair. Imperceptibly shifting a hand Snape called one of the chairs to him. It moved to stand before the empty fireplace and turned to face, a little on the diagonal, Lord Voldemort.

These private meetings had been routine before the fall, but to have them resumed so casually was not exactly in line with Snape's Ideal Scenario Number One.

(Ideal Scenario Number One involved a long dead Voldemort, disbanded Death Eaters and a clean soul. Ideal scenario number two, a somewhat less than perfect version of number one, involved minimally organized Death Eaters and a weakened Voldemort, who would be easily defeated, plus some sort of personal atonement.)

'It looks like Worst Case Scenario Number One,' Snape thought darkly.

'Just because he didn't use his wand to summon the chair doesn't mean he's at full strength again.' It was a pitiful attempt at self-delusion.

"I once told you of the deception that Muggle loving fool Dumbledore was guilty of." Voldemort had managed to find another opening line that sent Snape reeling.

"Yes Master," he replied his tone automatically void of emotion. 'Like I'm supposed to have forgotten why I turned against him in the first place?'

*He's obviously not just reminiscing*

"The two are related," Snape stated. A question could be a suicidal move, but a carefully worded statement could get information.

Voldemort's Mouth twisted into a sadistic version of a smile of approval. "Ss-everu-ss," he purred, "I am pleased to find that time has not taken your loyalty or your, boldness. You will need both for the task I have set for you."

The use of his first name was an old device designed to work two ways. It was a constant reminder of the past, as well as a gesture of intimacy meant to strengthen bonds. (It had never truly stopped working.)

So desperate to belong, as a child Severus had accepted a twisted form of codependence in place of nothing, 'and nothing ever came... The strange thing is, they both need me to get to each other.' "I will serve you without fail, as always Master-" His aloof tone was choked off as black sludge blocked his airway. 'Sitting by the hearth just in case a catastrophe like this happened was a good idea.' Snape almost laughed, 'At least I'm sure of not throwing-up on his shoes.'

There was a look close to actual concern on the Dark Lord's face as he watched Snape, coughing, fall to the floor and crawl toward the fireplace. Voldemort remained seated as long as he could, trying to hold his composure. 'I can't loose you now Severus!' the sudden, intensity of his panic drove him to act before he thought.

As Snape continued to cough and spit Voldemort rose, took a few steps closer and kneeling next to him, brushed the hair back from Snape's eyes and tucked it behind his ear. "Severus," he whispered, "why did you not tell me it had progressed so far?"

Not comfortable having anyone so close, but too weak to push away, Snape focused on breathing between the heaves that had replaced the coughing.

The physical contact it's self was not new. Over the years they had developed a sort of unhealthy closeness based on desperation and deception. Snape needed a father figure after Dumbledore had fallen from his pedestal. Voldemort carefully positioned himself to fill that void (the void he himself had created.) At some point though, Voldemort had become ensnared in his own illusion, growing to care for him almost like a father would his son.

Leaning into the fireplace to spit a final time Snape caught his breath before answering, "I have an appointment to see a specialist tonight-" Snape suddenly collapsed as waves of fatigue dizziness and finally oblivion swept over him. Looking into Severus' eyes to make sure that he was coming-to unharmed Voldemort released a hiss of relief as his black eyes flickered open. 'Red?' was Snape's first thought on waking. As he continued to surface from the formless dark that had surrounded him he found himself completely helpless and lying on the floor with his head in the Dark Lord's lap. It was not something Snape expected to awaken to. Calmly he sat up and Voldemort resumed his seat.

Being calm in the presence of unexpected evil, had been one of the first things he mastered as a new recruit, at the age of fifteen. (The fact that, thanks to the Plasti-juice, he was also twelve had been one of the first things he'd confessed to his new Master.) Slowly Snape rose and sat back down in his own chair.

After a long silence Voldemort spoke. "Ss-everu-ss you are sure this 'specialist' can be trusted? The ministry is already watching you."

"Master," Snape's voice faltered taking a few breaths he tried again, "I will carry out your orders, you have only to give a command."

Voldemort blinked his eyes in shock. 'He just ignored a direct question. Now he is trying to act like he did not just faint. Could he have progressed so far that It is strong enough to reject the graft?'

@--'---,------------

As Albus entered the house he ignored the usual polite conventions. "Alastor, this is a thing best kept in the closet."

Alastor Moody merely closed the front door and led the way to 'The Closet'. (A smallish room that he had personally spy-proofed The Closet was warded with secrecy and concealment charms, some of which he had created himself.) Seated in the private room and sipping tea Alastor, with uncharacteristic tact, waited for his friend to start the conversation.

"We need to reactivate the Alicorn Warriors," Albus announced suddenly.

Moody set down his cup and took a moment to really look at Albus, 'His hands are shaking!' He also noticed, with alarm, that the usually merry Headmaster was looking drawn and tired.

"So," he paused for a moment, "you have decided to fight again?"

"We have no choice. Fudge is ignoring the recent Death Eater attacks claiming that they are just a sign of the degeneration of society. Meanwhile he is turning a blind eye to the evidence of Voldemort's return. Severus was right, he is a fool." Albus nearly spat the last word. "Now he is trying to shut down the school!" Calming himself, he continued, "That is what brought me into London last night." Wearily he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Speaking of Severus," Alastor said shifting the conversation back to the issues that needed to be discussed, and leaving Fudge for another less hurried conversation. 'Preferably one with a few shots of whisky,' he thought. "I have heard rumors that Snape is not doing well."

"Then," Albus perked up a bit, "you still have contacts within the ministry?"

"Of course I do," Moody snorted, "and they have been whispering rumors of PMR. Is it true? Has he been diagnosed with it?" His voice had risen slightly with a note of urgency. He watched as Albus' expression became filled with pain. He needed no other answer. "Is he getting a second opinion?" Alastor asked.

"Yes, tonight in fact." Finally picking up on Alastor's mood Albus followed with a question of his own. "You sound rather concerned. Do you think it's the same thing that Severa is going through?"

"She was able to get an appointment last week, the results aren't back yet. We won't know what it is for another three weeks. That's all I know." Moody ended with a frustrated sigh. Seeing the incredulous look Albus sent him though, he grumbled, "This mysterious specialist she saw takes only night appointments and seems to choose whom he will treat. She wouldn't tell me anything else about him."

Albus nodded in understanding, with a slight laugh he added, "I think they are seeing the same doctor, Severus has a similarly mysterious appointment." Setting aside his cold tea Dumbledore began on a slightly less painful topic. "I received a letter from the ministry, it was very late arriving. Basically it stated that the school would be shut down unless I came into compliance with some new regulation that I haven't heard of. I think we may be able to use it to solve several of our problems."

"This conversation is getting too convoluted for me. What problems could closing the school solve?!"

"The regulation that I spoke of concerns the hiring of co-ed co-Heads of House. From the meetings that I have managed to get this morning I have been able to arrange for a grace period of one month. That's one month in which I must find four people to co-head the houses of Hogwarts, They must not only sort into the appropriate house they also need to be the opposite sex of the heads of house that I already have."

Hope began to creep across Moody's face at Albus' words.

"I will obviously need someone who is a Slytherin, and female."

Alastor challenged, "And you think that getting those two together again would work?"

"I hadn't thought of it in quite that way," Albus hesitated. "Do you think there could be trouble?"

"Yes. But, we face more trouble with them apart, and the ministry looking into things."

"Agreed." Albus reluctantly got to his feet. "I must return to the ministry, I have a meeting with the Secretary of Education at two o'clock."

"You should think about sending an owl to warn Severus that we are going to call the senior members of The Order to meet soon. I don't think it's the kind of thing he would appreciate being surprised by," Moody offered by way of parting.

"You're right, of course, I will send him a note on the way to my meeting," Albus said checking his pocket watch, "he should be just about over the harsher effects of the Plasti-juice by now."