The Worm That Turned

Chapter 2 - Visions in Auburn

The alarm shattered the peace. Severus groped around, almost knocking the clock to the floor in his efforts to turn it off. With it silenced, he slumped back against the pillows, eyes shut tightly. A moment later, his mattress began to pummel him. 'Get up, you lazy so-and-so!' it wheezed.

Groaning, he rolled out and knelt resentfully on the floor, duvet still over him. 'One of these days I'm going to trade you in for a Muggle bed,' he grumbled. Cursing Malfoy's expensive charmed furniture, he threw the duvet back onto the mattress and picked up his wand before dragging himself into the kitchen. The kettle began to boil with a tap of his wand. In the bathroom, he pulled a face at his reflection, used the toilet and had a perfunctory shower. He hated getting cold and wet, and in under a minute was towelling himself down. He set the tea brewing from the bathroom with a few practised flicks of his wand.

Naked, he walked back through the flat to his bedroom. His work robes lay in a heap on the lush pile of the carpet. He picked them up and pulled them on. Lime green, with the crossed wand-and-bone logo of St Mungo's on the breast, they wouldn't be anyone's first choice for fashion. But from Severus' point of view they gave him something far better - status.

He made his way back to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. The flat seemed impossibly tidy. It wasn't too hard to keep a place in good shape with minimal effort if you used magic. It had been a different story when Lucius lived there. Having never lived without a house elf, Malfoy would leave things lying around all over the place and greet them the next day with a puzzled frown as though he simply couldn't understand why they weren't in the proper place. Not to mention the long blond hairs that clogged the drains, the endless puddles of scented potions he left all over the bathroom, the piles of robes waiting to be ironed...

Severus sighed deeply. Thinking of Lucius made him realise how much he missed him. Although he'd not particularly enjoying cleaning up after him, at that moment Severus would have exchanged any amount of ironing in order to have Lucius' company. Malfoy had moved out several weeks ago, but it was only now that it was sinking in that Lucius was never coming back there to live. It would never be the same again.

He'd enjoyed the last year, sharing the flat with Lucius, going off in their hoods on clandestine operations. They'd had fun. Lucius was great company, at least when he was in a good mood; witty, generous, and oozing effortless sophistication. When he wasn't around, Severus studied with just as much intensity as he had in his school days. Lucius referred to Severus' 'book habit' as though it was a dangerous drug, and tried to redress the balance in his friend's life by taking him out drinking with a crowd of other wealthy young purebloods. Severus wasn't much of a socialite, but he often enjoyed those evenings despite himself. Lucius' friends had it all, and the miasma of success that surrounded them drew Severus like a moth to a candle.

But all good things had to come to an end; that was one thing Severus had learned from bitter experience in his short life. He was still only nineteen years old, though he was often mistaken for older. He was better read than most people twice his age, and formidably clever. He had no gold, other than his meagre wages as an apprentice healer, and no family to speak of. Since the age of fifteen he'd been completely reliant on his own resourcefulness and Lucius' patronage. Nevertheless, Severus remained determined that he would eventually achieve the status in life that he felt he deserved.

In the kitchen he poured the tea and surveyed the contents of his cupboards. As usual, there was nothing to eat. Shopping was just one of the many basics of life that Severus neglected. He wished he had a house-elf like Lucius, even though to listen to Lucius go on you'd think it was harder work managing an elf than doing it yourself. He drank his tea, wincing as it scalded his mouth.

Thus prepared for the day ahead, he left the flat and exited the building, closing the door on one of wizard London's most exclusive addresses. The street outside was quiet, illuminated by weak early morning sun. On the old-fashioned wrought-iron lampposts, wanted posters entreated passers-by to be on the lookout for Death Eaters. Severus looked away quickly from one bearing the face of his old schoolfriend, Evan Rosier.

Rosier's exposure as a Death Eater had sent a shockwave around the young pureblood elite. Rosier had been a key member of Lucius' gang, from a well-respected old family. Nice looking and bright, he could have been a threat to Lucius' place as the de facto head of the group. It was only his relative youth that left him playing second fiddle to Malfoy. Who knew what might have transpired in years to come if things had remained as they were. But things had changed suddenly and completely, and Rosier's prospects went overnight from rosy to bleak.

Evan had been careless, although no more so than any of the rest of them, and he had the bad luck to get caught out. Now he was placed incontrovertibly at the scene of a Death Eater atrocity and not even his father's money and influence could get him out of it. Bartemius Crouch, the implacable Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had set his sights on Rosier, and now every Auror in Britain was hunting him.

His name was no longer mentioned by the gang, a taboo that they painfully skirted. Everyone had scrambled to disassociate themselves from him, to find reasons that he had brought his fate upon himself. No one wanted to face up to the truth; that it could just as easily have been any of them. It was no more than simple chance that it was Rosier's name they were hastily expunging every link to. But they all thought it, deep down, and it had added a current of unease to the group dynamic.

So Severus avoided looking at the wanted posters, and tried to block thoughts of Rosier from his mind. He stopped at the corner shop to buy a paper. As always the shopkeeper treated him with great deference, thanks to the St Mungo's robes. Severus responded with little more than grunts and left the shop hurriedly, but slowed in the street to read the headline.

Pillar of Storge will be safe says Crouch, he read. There was a picture of the man himself, wearing a bowler hat and ridiculous little moustache, posing in front of the Pillar. The angle made it look as though the distant monument was growing out of Crouch's head. It rather undermined the valiant attempts of the picture to look stern and threatening.

Severus couldn't be bothered to read the story, and folded the paper away. He disapparated and moments later he was striding up to the apparition point outside St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The security troll checked his ID and allowed him through. The foyer as usual was full of witches and wizards milling about in various states of distress or injury. Severus disliked patients greatly - something of a downside to being a Healer - and began to make his way through with his head down.

A wailing child careered across his path, almost causing him to trip. As he glanced round, his heart seized. He had a glimpse of red hair, of a female form, and for a moment he felt quite dizzy. He knew that all the colour would have drained from his face. Then he realised that the woman was too old, that she looked completely different. Her voice was different too, as she scolded the child. 'I am sorry, Mr Healer, sir,' she added to him, then peered more closely. 'Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'I'm fine,' he snapped. 'Out of my way. I have lives to save.' He swept past her, feeling cold beads of sweat trickling from his brow. It wasn't significant, he told himself. Mistaken identity could happen at any time, to anyone. A minor, meaningless thing. But all the same, as he headed down to the potion makers' domain of the lower floors, he felt distinctly rattled.

*****

'...shameful, foolish, idiotic! Could have ended up in Azkaban and taken us all down with you...'

Severus barely heard a word that Lucius was saying. His friend had been ranting in a similar vein ever since he'd arrived. Malfoy was second only to Voldemort in his ability to find out about things. Somehow the incident with the amulet hawker had already got back to him.

'I didn't actually do anything,' he interrupted. 'I never even used magic. And he's not going to go the authorities - everyone knows those peddlers aren't Ministry sanctioned.'

'So what? There were other witnesses, Severus - including two members of Dumbledore's damn Order!'

Severus scowled more deeply at the memory of Lily's face. 'All they witnessed was me pushing him over. If anyone asks I'll say that I was angry he was peddling such rubbish - Merlin knows I've seen enough corpses at the hospital with those stupid things on.'

'For Merlin's sake, man, use your head! How can someone so bloody brilliant be so bloody stupid? You've heard of Hildebrand Moncrief? Well?' There were pink spots on Lucius' cheeks, a rare sign of anger on his normally languid countenance.

'The name rings a bell,' Severus replied sulkily.

'He's one hundred and fourteen years old, soft in the head, and has spent his retirement cheerfully failing at getting Muggle-baiting made legal. Not that it will benefit him - his arthritis is so bad he can barely hold a wand.' Lucius paused for effect to allow this to sink in, before continuing. 'He was arrested yesterday for the murders of those mudbloods in Penzance.'

True bafflement crossed Severus' face. 'What? But that was... they can't possibly think it was him.'

'Of course they don't, that's the point I'm making. If you think the Ministry are bothered about truth and justice, you're living in a fool's paradise. The Ministry want scapegoats, Severus. You'd better not make yourself one. You already have powerful enemies in Dumbledore's camp - Potter and Black and that mudblood from Slug Club. If you go round threatening people and making a scene - right in front of them, of Merlin's sake! - you are playing right into their hands.'

'Lucius? What's going on? I could hear you from upstairs.' Narcissa was in the doorway, looking from one to the other. 'He hasn't lost the rings, has he?'

'They're here,' said Severus, pulling out the package and holding it out to Lucius, who was still glaring at him.

Narcissa came forward to take the parcel herself. 'If you boys have had a falling out, perhaps Roddy should be best man after all,' she suggested. 'I don't want a bad atmosphere at the wedding.'

Severus bit back a retort, looking at Narcissa with mingled dislike and admiration. Cissy was never slow to make the most of an opportunity. To his alarm, for a moment Lucius hesitated, and Severus thought Malfoy might actually change his mind. But then he scowled and turned away. 'No. Severus and I understand each other now, don't we Severus?'

'Yes,' muttered Snape, in the tone of a chastened schoolboy.

Lucius was all bonhomie again, his anger apparently gone. 'Well, come on then, let's all have a drink!'

But Severus had worse things to worry about than the consequences of his behaviour on Vertic Alley. Ever since his encounter with Lily Evans, he had been tormented by visions of her. All day at work he'd jumped at shadows, seen her face on every witch that passed him. Several times he'd done a double take, convinced it was her, only to realise it was someone much taller, or older, or on one occasion, male.

Her face floated in his mind later that evening, as he attempted to do push ups. It was very hot inside the Death Eater hood, but removing it was not allowed. Cells were supposed to operate in the greatest secrecy, although in reality he knew or strongly suspected the identity of most of the others in his. The tall hooded figure at front of course was Lucius, bellowing commands and enjoying himself enormously.

Lucius was born to give orders. He'd moved on from the Quidditch team at Hogwarts to his own cell of Death Eaters with barely a change to his leadership style. Sweltering and stumbling, Severus privately cursed his friend. He hated physical exercise, and found Malfoy's regime of military style marching and posturing particularly pointless. But he knew better than to question Lucius' judgement.

Ironically, D-cell saw very little action. Instead they specialised in what Lucius grandly called Structural and Complex Magic, and was in reality booby-trapping and sabotage. Lucius had cleverly found a way to turn one of his favourite pastimes into a way of serving Voldemort without having to get involved in any fighting. He had always had a fascination for magical artefacts, a hobby that he could afford to cultivate with his huge fortune and houseful of priceless magical antiques. For him, Death Eating was just another way to indulge this passion.

Severus' arrival had been an important factor in the success of the unit. His knowledge of Muggle things, something sorely lacking amongst Death Eaters, opened up a whole new raft of possibilities for turning Muggle inventions against their owners. The skills of D-cell were now so valued that they hadn't been asked to do any 'front-line' duelling in months.

Nevertheless, Lucius considered exercising together to be good for morale, as well as reminding everyone who was in charge. Therefore they were all subjected to a good fifteen minutes or so every time they met. 'Come on, number seven, put some effort into it!' he barked, undoubtedly smirking behind his mask. Lucius knew full well that 'number seven' was Severus, and that the younger man loathed this sort of thing. Severus was sorely tempted to let Roddy and Macnair do their worst on the stag night in revenge. But when you lived rent-free in someone's flat and knew a single word from them could see you homeless and jobless, you had to put up with their foibles.

None of these thoughts had done anything to shift Lily's face from his mind, still wearing the expression of horror and contempt it had when he glimpsed it in the shop window. Her memory hung at the back of his mind, stubbornly refusing his efforts to ignore or forget it, touching and colouring every thought.

Of course, Lucius would be horrified if he realised that Severus was entertaining amorous thoughts about a muggleborn. Severus shuddered slightly to think of his friend's reaction if he ever found out. Fortunately, Lucius had no talent for mind magic, and even if he did have, Severus had long ago mastered the art of Occlumency to keep his mind impregnable. Which was all well and good, but it didn't protect Severus from his own thoughts. He had yet to discover a way of performing Occlumency against himself.

Later on, he sat at his kitchen table, alone. His head was propped up on one arm, and he stared down at the grainy wood of the tabletop as though he might eventually see an answer to his problems there. It was two thirty in the morning, but Severus was a notoriously bad sleeper. He was replaying his encounter with Lily once again in his head. He was trying to remember every last inch of her. What she was wearing, every tiny movement, every glance and word. Already the memory was blurring, the details becoming less precise.

In between, he daydreamed about different versions of events, ones that had ended more satisfactorily for him. The thing that bothered him most had been Lily's response to his saying he was a Healer. Surely that was something that would impress her? It seemed to work on most people. But no, even that had to be twisted by Potter and her into another shortcoming on Severus' part. In one short year he had achieved two impressive goals - he was both a powerful dark wizard and a successful Healer. If that wasn't enough for her, nothing would be.

So logically, he told himself, he should stop trying. Put every thought of her out of his mind, give up and forget her. Focus on the things he had achieved and enjoy them for their own sakes. But logic, usually his faithful ally, didn't seem to work when it came to Lily Evans. He knew what the right thing to do was, but no matter how hard he told himself to do it, his stupid feelings got in the way.

Thoughts of Lily continued to play on a continuous loop in his tired mind throughout the next day. Lucius assumed Severus' scowl and bad temper were no more than his normal reaction to a day spent trying on robes and having his hair styled. At the end of it all, Lucius examined him critically. 'You don't scrub up too badly,' he said eventually. 'You'll do, anyway.'

'Do what?' asked Severus, who'd been distracted by a woman walking on the other side of the street. The sun had glinted off her hair and for a moment his heart had seized until he realised she was blonde.

Lucius glowered with irritation as he realised Severus hadn't been listening properly. 'What? Nothing. Do pay attention when I'm speaking.'

The stag party was a lively affair, held in the deserted pubs around Diagon. The fact they were the only revellers didn't bother Lucius' pureblood friends. They lived in their own little world anyway, untroubled by anything happening outside of their closed circle. Severus stayed close to Lucius, firmly repelling all the efforts of Roddy and Macnair to cause anything other than mild embarrassment to the bridegroom.

That night Lucius slept at the flat to avoid seeing Narcissa on the morning of the wedding. Severus spent a very bad night. He dreamed of Lucius exchanging vows with a veiled bride, but when the veil was lifted, it was Lily and not Narcissa who leaned forwards to kiss his friend. Severus flung himself forwards, desperate to stop them sealing their vows, and woke soaked in sweat. A sudden dread filled him that he might become so deluded that he would make the same mistake during the ceremony itself. Shuddering, he got up and went to the kitchen, set a fire beneath his cauldron and began brewing a tricky potion.

Lucius greeted him in the morning with a groan. 'You look dreadful! Surely you haven't been making potions? Do you ever stop?'

'I couldn't sleep,' said Severus sullenly. 'Anyway, I don't know why it matters what I look like, as long as you look OK. Now, I'm making breakfast and you'd better start getting dressed.'

The wedding itself was torture. He stood at the front, very uncomfortable in his formal dress robes. Narcissa looked with disgust at his sweaty fingerprints on the rings when he handed them over. All Severus could see was Lily, standing in the same place, gazing into Potter's eyes and saying 'I do'. He was aware of the sound of his own breathing, which seemed impossibly loud. He gripped his wand and tried to force all thoughts of Lily out of his mind, but the more he told himself not to think of her, the worse it became.

He stuttered through his best man's speech, not helped by Bellatrix sniggering loudly throughout, and was heartily glad when it was all over and Lucius and Narcissa flew off to Atlantis on a broom trailing gold and silver sparks that spelled out 'Just Married' across the sky. At least he'd managed to do that much right.

With Lucius away, he had even less to distract him from his thoughts of Lily. He worked long and late, churning out vats of perfect potions and volunteering for night duty. His colleagues remarked on his dedication, but it just made him feel worse. What was the point, when Lily saw even his heroic role of Healer as something contemptible?

It was during that time that he received an invitation from Horace Slughorn, his old Potions master, suggesting they meet up. Slughorn had been at the wedding, although he'd been too busy sucking up to more important people to pay much heed to Severus. He agreed to see him out of curiosity. Slughorn and he had not parted on good terms, with Severus refusing to attend Slug Club for most of his final year, and he wasn't sure where they stood.

If Slughorn bore any grudge, there was no sign of it. He greeted Severus with great enthusiasm. 'Severus, my boy! How's my finest student? I'm hearing great things about you! Qualified as a full Healer in just a year!'

'Well, there are unusual circumstances... the war,' said Severus, in a poor show of modesty. His meteoric rise had certainly been precipitated by the war, but his own prodigious talent had made it possible.

'Come now, I had you marked down as a man to watch from your very first year. I'm always right, you know! Always able to see potential... I'll never forget that Quidditch game... a first year, stopping a falling body using a spell he made up himself! Such talent... such talent! Quite outstanding.'

Sluggy had always been an old windbag, but now his eulogising had a slightly hysterical edge to it. He leant forwards eagerly across the table in the hospital canteen, a sheen of sweat on his brow. 'So, tell me, Severus, this war... terrible business... terrible business. Don't you think?'

'Of course,' he replied, wondering what Sluggy was getting at.

'Terrible,' said Slughorn again. 'One hears such awful things.' He gave a furtive glance around. 'Things one doesn't want to believe, one almost can't believe... and the names. The whispers, of who is involved... such promising young people.'

'Why don't you drink your tea, Professor?' asked Severus, pushing a cardboard cup gently towards the fat teacher.

'Oh, oh yes, thank you. Thank you, my boy. You're a good boy. A kind boy. When I hear such awful things about my Sluggers... it wounds me. Hurt my Sluggers, hurt me. That's how it is.' He took a sip from his tea with a hand that shook.

'Professor, there are many rumours... the things I hear every day... Barely any are true. In my limited experience the veracity of a rumour is in inverse proportion to its propensity to spread. One could spend one's whole day listening to all the wild stories flying around, and not hear half - and not a single one true.'

Slughorn looked him dead in the eye, his big moustache quivering. A lesser man may have flinched away, but Severus had made his mind impenetrable. He held the Professor's gaze as he calmly said, 'I don't know what rumours you've heard, Professor, but none of the Sluggers I know would ever get involved in any of this war.'

A smile crept over Slughorn's many chins. 'Well, that is good! That is good,' he repeated, more confidently. 'I knew you'd be able to set my mind at rest. Yes, that's what I needed. There's nothing wrong with my judgement, with my Sluggers. Just look at you! Saving lives every day. Devoted to helping others! And dare I say, you wouldn't be here now if it weren't for my help.'

'Of course, Professor, you made me the man I am today,' said Severus slickly.

They spent another fifteen minutes together, Slughorn rambling on about the latest successes of his protégés, dropping names left right and centre. Severus mostly listened, trying to affect a facial expression that suggested the caring Healer. But despite his old teacher's apparent reassurance, he could see that beneath the surface, Sluggy remained troubled. Slughorn was no fool, no matter how much he sounded like one. He knew, deep down, that most of his carefully selected group of students were now terrorising the country as Death Eaters.

As he was leaving, Slughorn suddenly said, 'I don't suppose you see much of Miss Evans, these days?'

The name alone made his stomach clench, although he managed to keep his face impassive. 'No, we've rather lost touch,' he replied, trying to sound unconcerned. 'I never got on with Potter.'

'Oh, no, of course not. Such a shame... I suppose you know they're getting married? 12^th September - in your old home town, I understand. Are you invited?'

'No,' replied Severus shortly.

'No? Oh well, perhaps that's for the best... I suppose it might be rather awkward.'

Rather awkward. That was one way of putting it, Severus thought, as he made his way back down to the basement. He gave his cauldron a resentful kick, and returned scowling to his work.