Chapter Text
“What if this will kill you right away?”
“What then? We’re fucked anyway, aren’t we?”
“Language!”
“How much longer do you think I could do this?”
“Long enough, maybe.”
He tried to be quiet when he returned home later that night, but he wouldn’t have needed to be. Jean was still sitting in the living room, her hair pinned up with her wand and the journal open on the table in front of her. Biro clasped in her hand, she looked up at him. “Had a good night?”
“Mh.” He slipped off his shoes, trying to keep both in check, the bubbling anger in his chest and the stinging dread in his eyes.
“So, will you move to Malfoy Manor, then?”
His back turned to her, Severus closed his eyes, wishing she would just shut up. “No.”
“Oh. What happened?”
You! You happened! It’s all your fucking fault! I’d have never pissed off Lucius if you hadn’t turned up with this bloody alternative I never asked for! Everything would be bloody perfect if it weren’t for you!
He gulped those words down, though, clamped his lips shut before they could escape him, because he knew that wasn’t what happened. He had festered in the lingering panic of his rash decision for long enough to sort through it, and just like losing Lily, this disaster was a consequence of his own inability to keep his mouth shut and pride in check.
Once again, he had nobody else to blame but himself. Fully resistant to learning, as it seems.
So, when he turned back to face Jean, he shrouded himself in an invisible cloak of indifference and said, “Changed my mind. Or do you want me to leave now?”
“No.” She shook her head, the softest hint of a smile curving her lips. “You’re always welcome to stay.”
Thank bloody fuck. But he only nodded, once, and said, “I’m off to bed.”
Arriving in his room, he leaned against the closed door, allowing the tremble he’d pushed down ever since he’d refused Lucius’s offer to rise and conquer him fully. It was so bad he sank to the floor and buried his head between his arms, trying to muffle his sobs, although Jean couldn’t hear him anyway, while his tired mind was whirling with only one question: What have I done?
He spent the night mostly sleepless. It had been late when he’d returned to begin with, so sunrise hadn’t been far away anyway, but even those few hours, he couldn’t convince his brain to shut down or the recurrent pangs of regret to stop. They jolted through him every time he thought about that situation again, about Lucius’s gaze and the eeriness of being surrounded by so many people, yet nobody had been aware of what had just happened.
Why didn’t he just take that stupid potion? Might have spared him all of this.
Ah, right. Because Avery had been an arse again. Stupid blighter. Why am I even friends with him?
Around five in the morning, he gave up and began brewing. Not the Felicis; he still had time until that needed his attention again. But some other potions; brewing always helped calm his nerves. And he still had enough ingredients for some basics, maybe he could even sell some of them to get some money, so—
He balled his hands into fists when another pang of regret sizzled through his body. What have I done, what have I done …
Stop this!
He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. Nothing but grovel to Lucius’s feet and beg him for forgiveness, but chances were that wouldn’t change anything either. Hadn’t changed anything about Lily ending their friendship, right?
No, he had to accept the fact that he’d sacrificed his whole future with one rash decision borne from pure pettiness, because his pride hadn’t been able to swallow the fact that Lucius didn’t respect him as an equal, but only as a protégée he expected to do what he wanted. There would be no apprenticeship paid by the Malfoys, no Potions Master who would help him excel, probably not even the chance to speak to Lord Voldemort and become one of his official followers.
Severus scrubbed his face and his stinging eyes, sniffling softly before he focused on his potion again. There wasn’t much he was really good at, and even less society didn’t want to see him in Azkaban for, but potions … He could maybe make a living out of that. And he had a place to stay for another half year or so. It could be worse, right?
Could be a damn lot better as well, though!
It was almost eight when there was a knock on his door. “Severus?” Jean’s muffled voice sounded from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”
But although his stomach was grumbling, he didn’t answer the door. Didn’t feel like having company at the moment. Plus, he was still wearing his old nightshirt and nothing else. He would just go and grab a bite when Jean had left.
Jean, however, didn’t seem willing to accept his plan. A few minutes later, she knocked again. “Severus? Are you all right?”
“’m great,” he muttered under his breath; the Imperturbable shielding his room made every attempt at answering her question without opening the door futile.
“Severus?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“I’ll come in, Severus!”
“Ugh.” He tilted his head back until all he saw was the white ceiling, but didn’t do anything to stop her.
“Why aren’t you answering?” she asked when she spotted him at the cauldron.
“Don’t want to talk.”
She sighed, but instead of leaving him the fuck alone as it would have been right and proper, she stepped closer until she was standing beside him. “We’ll figure this out,” she said levelly.
Severus glanced at her from the corner of his eye before he looked down again. “Oh, so you’re telling me there’s a way I’ll get a stipend for an apprenticeship with a first-class Potions Master without the Malfoys?”
She had the gall to smile lopsidedly. “I’m afraid no.”
He scoffed.
“But stipends for first-class Potions Masters aren’t the only way to reach your goals. There are a lot of magical apothecaries scattered all over Great Britain, hospitals, and even the Ministry. All of them offer apprenticeships and pay a decent salary. That might not be as glamorous as having a Malfoy in your back to step in every time something doesn’t go as planned, but I promise you, you’ll come off cheaper if you do it that way. And you’ll have the bonus of being rightfully proud of yourself for achieving that on your own.”
Severus clenched his teeth while she was speaking, mainly because his eyes began stinging again and a lump grew in his throat, and the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Jean. “You can talk,” he murmured nevertheless and cast her an angry glance. “I bet life’s always been gracious to you.”
Something broke in her eyes, yet she smiled. “Maybe. But I’m trying to make good on at least some of the instances life has not been gracious to you, so … Why don’t you come and have breakfast with me while we think about where you could apply as soon as your N.E.W.T. results come in?”
“No,” he said at once and whipped his head around to look at his potion again. “I’m not hungry, and I’m busy here.”
Jean nodded, uttering another soft sigh. “Very well. I’ll leave you some scrambled eggs and toast in the kitchen.” She put her hand on his shoulder. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, intense enough that he stiffened from the swooping sensation in his stomach. Then she left him alone, and Severus held his breath until the door clicked closed.
To his surprise, Jean didn’t pester him again after that. Not even the fact that he didn’t leave his room for four days straight when she was around made her address him again. She just went about her day and left him to go about his.
Not that he was doing anything in those four days apart from simmering in his own self-pity and contemplating writing Lucius a letter apologising profoundly after all. But for one thing, he was still sure it wouldn’t change anything, for another thing, he more and more felt that he didn’t want to do that. A bit of his pride began showing through his regret and self-pity again, and although that bugger had got him into that jam in the first place, he wasn’t exactly inclined to ignore it to grovel to Lucius either.
However, it didn’t stop him from hoping that Lucius would invite him again. That the whole thing hadn’t been as serious as Severus thought it had been. That Lucius …
But after those four days, he couldn’t stand his own smell or the confinement of this room any longer and sneaked into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower when Jean had left for whatever she was spending her days with. Maybe another visit to the dentist, she still had some teeth to spare, right?
Then he returned to helping her with the chores and cooking as if nothing had happened. He could hope and pray for another invitation while showing at least a bit of appreciation for being allowed to stay here, right? Plus, he enjoyed her company. It was nice to be welcomed as just himself for a change. No need to tone down his working-class upbringing, no need to deny his interest in the dark arts, no need to duck his head to not get an empty bottle thrown after him.
Unfortunately, the ‘as if nothing had happened’ part also applied to his feeling attracted to her. At this point, he probably had to admit that it was more than just his treacherous body reacting to a beautiful woman. At this point, he probably had to admit—at least to himself—that he had a crush on her.
Because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t catch himself admiring her eating her meals, worrying her lip when she was writing in that journal, or smiling at him when he lent her a hand, right? If he didn’t have a crush, he wouldn’t sometimes “accidentally” touch her hand when they were cooking and get excited about her reaction. About her wincing and clenching her teeth, pretending like nothing—had—happened!
“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” she’d said. What she hadn’t said was why. It wasn’t as if they’d done anything inappropriate, right? He’d comforted her when she’d been distressed. Most people would do that, right? And less awkwardly and hesitantly than he had. So why that fuss?
What is going on in your mind that that night unsettled you so much?
And how delusional is it to think it might be the same that’s going on in mine?
Well, if it was, he found when he scrutinised his almost naked body in the mirror, she had an abysmal taste. There was nothing remotely attractive about him. Okay, his eyes, maybe. But how long could you stare into someone’s eyes and cut out the rest? If “I shouldn’t have let that happen” was the résumé, his eyes probably hadn’t been the initial problem, right?
It was alarming how excitedly his mind was toying with that thought and all its possibilities. Until he remembered that every other thought fit to toy with contained his ruined future. Then everything made some kind of sense.
Anyway! Thoughts were free, right? She’d never know what he was entertaining himself with!
She might assume, though. He wasn’t the most subtle person on earth, to be honest. Like, leaving his door standing open as a non-verbal invitation for her to keep him company was pretty obvious. He, his inner critic, and the demons he hadn’t summoned but still had to deal with could agree on that.
Yet she followed his invitation.
That wasn’t his imagination, right? Right?
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, after a while of them working together, redirecting his attention from her hands back to the situation as a whole so unexpectedly he winced.
“Um …” Words! I need words! But if his brain had had shoulders, it would have shrugged.
That was why he missed his cue to add the next ingredient.
“Mind out!” she said and grabbed his hand to pull it over the cauldron, where he instinctively released the three dried rowan berries.
He stared at Jean, watching her face light up with relief when she noticed the potion had not been ruined. Then she realised she was still grasping his hand, and her eyes, circled by shadows as dark as her breakfast tea, widened before she withdrew as if she’d burned herself. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Thank you. Excuse me,” he mumbled and all but fled the scene when his stupid prick was acting up again. He’d probably die from mortification if she ever noticed that.
Yet he couldn’t forget the tiredness that seemed to always be edged into her face. When he shuffled to the loo one night a couple of days later, he even spotted her sitting in the dark living room looking out the window again, covertly brushing her cheeks when she got aware of him.
He opened his mouth, planning to ask her if she wanted company. His whole body was buzzing to comfort her! But the way she turned her head away was answer enough. She obviously didn’t want to risk a repeat of that other night. So Severus nodded to himself and disappeared into his room again after doing what he’d left it for in the first place.
He didn’t mention that encounter the next day, but he did brew a batch of Dreamless-Sleep and casually placed a vial at her spot at the kitchen table when he was done.
“For me?” she asked when she sat down, a look of genuine surprise in her hazel eyes.
Severus harrumphed.
“Thank you!” She smiled warmly, even cocked her head, and her tone of voice shot straight into his groin.
Fucking hell. He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat while he raised the Prophet to hide behind the newspaper. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered and scrunched up his face, trying to will his half-boner back down. How utterly humiliating …
But if Jean noticed anything about his predicament, she didn’t let on.
When the tock-tock of an owl against his window rose Severus from his slumber in the first week of August, he scrambled out of bed so hastily that he almost toppled to the floor because his feet were tangled in the bedsheet. “Let—go—goddammit!” he muttered and, when he finally tore the window open, the stupid thing lay in a heap on the ground.
The bedsheet, not the window.
And neither the owl, which hooted at him disparagingly, sheathing itself in an aura of nobility. It was the exact kind of owl Lucius would use, and Severus’s fingers trembled a bit from how heavily his heart was thumping when he tried to untie the knot holding the letter.
Finally, he succeeded (albeit by almost ripping the letter in two), and the owl apparently expected him to write an answer letter, because it sat down on the windowsill and glared at him.
His heart thumping even heavier now, Severus unrolled the letter and didn’t even read it. His eyes instantly jumped to the signature.
-Mulc
He exhaled so deeply that he felt as if he were literally deflating and shrinking a centimetre or two. His disappointment rumbled through his stomach and brought back an echo of the other night, of the uproar of emotions that he’d just wrestled down somewhat. Sniffing, he began reading the short letter.
Mulciber wanted to meet with him in Diagon Alley today, Avery would come, too.
Severus curled his lip. Should he go? After how the two blighters had treated him at the summer ball? He cast a glance at the closed door.
But maybe they’d been sent by Lucius. Maybe he wanted them to check how rueful Severus was. Maybe they would tell him to give Severus a second chance if he went and behaved as he was expected to.
Bloody upper-class charade …
Yet he sat down to write his agreement, a dull sensation sitting in the pit of his stomach.
Jean was gone again when Severus set off for Diagon Alley. He hadn’t bothered taking his cloak, it was a hot day in central London, so he had to be careful to hide his wand from curious Muggle eyes until he Disapparated.
Diagon Alley was crowded, loud, and even hotter than the tiny alley he’d used to get there. Sweat was blossoming on his face and his back; luckily, he’d chosen a black t-shirt, at least it wouldn’t show his sweat stains.
And it would hopefully be the right amount of defiance to serve his purpose. Lucius would doubtlessly have expected him to wear a shirt, maybe even a bloody cloak, to make the upper-class look complete. But he wasn’t meeting with Lucius, he was meeting with his minions. A t-shirt would have to do!
He found them at Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream parlour, and of course, they were wearing exactly that kind of attire Severus had just thought about, probably made bearable by a myriad of cooling charms. He scoffed to himself and was about to head to them when he noticed something.
They seemed suspiciously withdrawn and self-engrossed. Severus stopped to watch them for a moment before they became aware of his presence. Usually, Mulciber and Avery were talking all the time; he and Theodore, the fourth man in their dorm, had often joked (or groused) that even sleep had a hard time making them shut up. But now Mulciber was staring at the tabletop and whatever beverage he’d ordered, while Avery was bobbing his leg, watching the people passing by.
Suspicious.
And even more suspicious was the fact that both their faces lit up when Severus came closer. Not like usually when they got aware of him, but falsely, like plastered on. “Hey,” Severus muttered warily and sat down. “What’s wrong with you?”
They exchanged a glance. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with us.”
“We were just worried you might be stuck with your relative and leave us high and dry,” Avery added, smirking smugly. He’d fallen back to his old spirit quickly.
Mulciber, however, was still struggling. He swallowed uneasily.
They’re in. The thought crossed his mind all of a sudden. Lord Voldemort had welcomed them into his circle. That was the only explanation for it. Or they’d just had a quickie in the loo, but Avery was as straight as one could be, so that couldn’t be it. They had to be in.
But pressing the matter would bring him nowhere, not with Avery. Avery had always been a harder nut to crack, and he’d always enjoyed leading Severus on. “If you say so,” he, therefore, decided to let it go. He probably had a better chance to get something out of Mulciber when they were alone for a second. “Well, what are you having?” He nodded at the two cups.
“Coffee,” they replied in unison, but Avery huffed mockingly at Mulciber. “You have milk with a side of coffee, wimp!”
“Oh, shut it!” He punched his friend in the side and aimed at Severus, he said, “Take tea! The coffee’s awful!”
With that, everything was back to normal.
And it stayed normal the whole time they joked around in the parlour, obnoxious enough to have Florean Fortescue himself throwing them out at last. Avery—being the cocky idiot he was—gave the angry man a laughably high tip while Severus tried to hide the fact that he didn’t possess more money than he had to pay. The few potions he succeeded in selling had only sufficed to buy new ingredients, mostly the ones he needed to complete the Felicis.
So he followed his friends with his head lowered, hiding behind his curtain of hair, and contemplated how he might get a second alone with Mulc.
It was only when they came across Flourish and Blotts and their brash display of some newly released book that he acted. “Look at that!” he said and poked his elbow into Mulciber’s ribs to make him aware of a less brash display showing a book about the Dark Arts that did look promising.
“Ugh,” Avery groaned when he noticed them making their way towards the shop, “you’re such insufferable swots!”
“Stop nagging,” Mulciber shot back. “Don’t you have to be headed home for something anyway? Don’t be late, Jonathan!” he mimicked what was probably meant to be his mother’s voice.
“Wanker,” Avery muttered. “But fine! Do nothing I wouldn’t do!” Then—as Severus had hoped—he trotted off to the Apparition points.
Perfect. “Let’s go inside,” Severus suggested, and Mulciber followed him.
“Do you even have enough money for a book?”
“Don’t need money to see if it’s worth it, do I?”
Mulciber smirked.
They meandered their way through the crowded shop, heading for the section about the Dark Arts that was located in the far back, as always.
“That’s why I prefer Knockturn Alley,” Mulciber muttered when he stepped aside for a group of children to pass by.
“Want to go there instead?”
“Nah. We’re here now, aren’t we?”
Severus shrugged his eyebrows and went on. And when they’d finally reached the right section, he whipped out his wand and cast both a Muffliato and a Notice-Me-Not.
Mulciber looked at Severus smugly. “Having plans?” he asked and approached him, effectively backing Severus up against a shelf to get back to what they’d been doing frequently in Hogwarts’s library—snogging and groping, noses filled with dust, the smell of centuries old books, and their mutual arousal, muffling their moans with hands pressed against mouths until they spilled their highs into each others’ hands.
But despite an interested twitch of his cock, Severus put his hands on the other boy’s chest to stop him. “No. You said we had to stop because of your arranged marriage stuff, now deal with it.”
“I’m not married yet …”
“So? You had your chance.”
“Ugh, fine! What’s this about then?”
“I want to know what happened.”
Mulciber’s face fell and—“Dunno what you mean.”—he turned to a shelf as if he were really interested in the bloody book.
“Don’t play dumb! Something changed since the summer ball, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you vomited at my feet.”
He flicked him a glance. “I didn’t mean to, ‘kay?”
“What is it?” Severus pressed and stepped closer, forcing his friend to look at him. “You’re in, aren’t you? In Lord Voldemort’s circle?”
Mulciber tried to look unaffected, but he swallowed compulsively. “I cannot talk about that.”
“But you are, right? Mr Malfoy introduced you?” Severus was short of climbing the bookshelf just to get Mulciber to finally spill his secrets, his heart jittering in his chest.
And eventually, Mulc nodded jerkily, casting around nervous glances.
“Wicked,” Severus breathed. “How was it?”
Mulciber gulped again. “Fine?” It sounded like a question.
“Yeah, that’s convincing!” he hissed. “Don’t let me worm everything out of you, muppet! Tell me!”
“I can’t!” he repeated, his face paler than only seconds before. “The Lord made that explicitly clear! We’re not to tell anybody!”
Sinking back on his feet, Severus stared at him, his eyes probably as huge as saucers and in his stomach, a sinking feeling. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” he murmured. “By rejecting Lucius’s offer. I ruined everything.”
“Well, it wasn’t a clever decision, that’s for sure! What were you thinking?”
Backing up, Severus flung his hands in the air. “He was a git, as usual! Wanted me to play house-elf for you and clean up after you that night.”
Mulciber groaned. “That’s it? Some stupid charms you couldn’t be bothered to cast? Who’s that relative that makes you go all stupid?”
“She’s nobody!” Severus hissed.
Probably a second too quickly, because Mulciber faltered and arched his eyebrows at him. “Is she now?”
“Oh, stuff it! D’you think you can get me back into the game? Or your father? I’m still brewing that Felicis! I can really be useful! I just need a chance to show him!”
“My father’s not nearly as important as Mr Malfoy, Sev!”
Fuck. He dug his hands in his hair. “And Lucius? Do you think you can put in a word for me? Maybe he’ll …”
“I don’t know. He’s cross with me, too, since the ball. You’re not the only one who fucked up. I’m sure it was the Lord himself who wanted to see me.”
His breath snagged in Severus’s throat. The Lord himself … “I need to get a second chance!”
“I hope you do! This is huge, Severus!”
“I know!” he all but whined.
Pursing his lips, Mulciber looked around again to check they were alone. “I really shouldn’t show you this, but …”
“What?”
He huffed and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve, then shoved it up. A black image, like a tattoo, became visible. A skull and a snake crawling out of its mouth. It looked so real Severus thought it was moving for a second.
“What is that?” he murmured and reached out to touch it, unable to suppress that impulse.
But Mulc withdrew. “It’s his sign. He calls us with it.”
Severus gulped, struggling to tear his gaze away from it and look his friend back in the eyes. Mulciber had gone pale again, even paler than before. He actually looked as if he were short of throwing up while he balled his hand into a fist. “That’s … great, isn’t it?” Severus probed carefully.
“Yeah! I mean … look at it!” Mulciber smiled falsely. Then he quickly pulled down his sleeve again. “Well, I’ve got to go. Don’t tell anybody I showed you this, understood?”
Severus nodded.
“D’you want that book? I could get it for you.”
“No.”
“Fine.” He swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do for you with Lucius, all right? But don’t get your hopes up, he’s an absolute prick with that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Mulciber nodded, more to himself, and he was already turning to leave when he stopped again, mumbled a breathy, “’m sorry,” and grasped Severus’s face to kiss him after all. It was a hard, desperate, almost painful kiss that ended too quickly and left them both panting. “Needed that,” he murmured and smiled again. “Just one last time. See you!” Then he was gone.
Severus slumped against the front door after shoving it closed, his t-shirt sticking to his back. The scent of brand-new books still seemed to cling to him, at least, he still could smell it, as he could smell Mulciber’s aftershave.
He flinched from his reverie when Jean poked her head into the outer room. “Hey!” she said.
Ugh.
“Fancy joining me in the kitchen? I’m cooking.”
“No,” he muttered and pushed off the door. “I’m not hungry.”
“Okay … Did you eat already?”
He scowled at her. “That’s none of your business, now is it?”
She raised her hands placatingly. “Didn’t mean to stick my nose into your business. I just wanted to know if I should cook only for myself or if you want something later.”
Fuck. “I’m fine,” he murmured, “need nothing.” He wanted to turn and leave, slink back into his room to tend to the Felicis and get his uproar of hormones back in check, but Jean grasped his shoulder.
Severus flinched, at once turning out of her touch and pointing his wand at her before he knew what he was doing. Her eyes widened while his world felt like it was tilting, dipping his head into some murky waters that made it impossible for him to breathe.
“I’m sorry!”
He sucked in a greedy breath and forced himself to lower his wand. “Don’t do that,” he whispered.
She swallowed thickly. “Won’t ever again.”
Brushing his hand down his face, Severus tried to will his pulse into obedience, to clear his mind and get it back out of that suffocating water that was seeping down his back. “What do you want?”
She cocked her head. “I … just wanted to ask if you’re all right. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Really? He huffed. “Not a ghost,” he mumbled before he could think better of it.
“But?”
“Nothing,” he said in a clipped voice. “I just met with some classmates, I’m fine.”
Jean knitted her brows and narrowed her eyes. “They showed you their Dark Mark, didn’t they?” Her voice sounded different when she asked that, as if her world had tilted as well to dip her head into some murky waters that made it impossible for her to breathe. The colour was draining from her face, just as it had drained from Mulciber’s when he’d shown him that sign.
“What?” Severus whispered.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” Now she attempted to turn and leave, now he grasped her shoulder.
Well, he tried to, but she was too quick, and so he only got hold of her wrist. Soft warm skin pressed against his fingers, he could reach around it fully, his thumb and middle finger met.
Jean whipped her head around, her eyes wide. “Let me go,” she said, trying to sound calm, but her troubled gaze betrayed her. He knew that look, that display of outer calmness while on the inside, a storm was roaring.
He pulled back, clenching his teeth. There was an apology pressing against them, demanding to be let out, but he took those words and rearranged their meaning until he could ask, “How do you know about that?”
She rubbed her wrist as if it were hurting. But it couldn’t be, not because of him. Then she smiled, only with half her mouth and in her eyes shimmered a trace of disdain, maybe sadness, when she said, “That’s none of your business, now is it?” And just like Mulciber, she left, leaving him standing there like an utter idiot.
Severus found himself observing Jean even more closely after that, wondering once again who she was and where she’d come from. How did she know about that tattoo? Because that was what she’d meant with the Dark Mark, right? How many more marks could there be? And he had to admit that it hadn’t looked exactly cheerful …
But no matter how closely he observed her, he could conclude absolutely nothing about her. Two days later, he even checked her door, investigating the wards she’d used to protect it, but there weren’t any. Only the same simple Imperturbable he’d used, and for a moment, he seriously considered taking advantage of her trust and looking through her room; maybe he’d even find that journal she kept writing, or at least something else that gave him a clue about what the hell she was hiding.
In the end, he didn’t do it, though. It felt too … cheap and undeserved.
And she’d more or less presented him with the prospect of answers when she was sure she could trust him, right? He just had to earn that trust. And that wouldn’t happen by snooping around her room, that much was for sure. But maybe by … showing her he wasn’t hiding anything?
It was the best he could come up with, given the circumstances, so he began leaving his door standing open again while he was brewing potions. And he topped up her Dreamless-Sleep stash.
It was a cheap potion to brew, no fancy ingredients needed, most of which he could harvest himself. So he was confused when, one morning he’d refused to get up early and stumbled into the kitchen when Jean had already left, he found some coins lying on his spot at the table, along with a slip of paper saying, Thank you!
Swallowing thickly, Severus stared at her dainty script, grateful for the fact that he was alone, because his body did some strange things being confronted with that. Some hot shivers and another swooping sensation in his stomach, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he becoming sick? Or hungry? Or horny? Or everything at once?
He didn’t know, but he took it all, the money and the note, and put the latter in one of his books so he wouldn't lose it. He wanted to keep at least this one after he’d just disregarded her first one, telling him to enjoy his meal. He’d never got something like a thank-you note and didn’t expect to ever get one again, so he’d better not lose it, right?
But he couldn’t deny that the whole situation still frustrated him. Not only because he didn’t know anything about Jean (and still had a bloody crush on her, as if there weren’t enough going on in his life at the moment), but also because Lucius was a resentful bitch and every passing day made it more obvious that he would have to make the decision to apply for another job.
His N.E.W.T. results came about a week after meeting with Mulc and Avery, and as Severus had expected, he had Os all over. Principally, all doors should have been open to him. Practically, none was.
At least none he really wanted to pass through, and so he kept delaying searching for another job.
Making one bloody decision against what Lucius fucking Malfoy expected him to do just couldn’t be enough to ruin his whole future, okay?! He had to be worth more than blind obedience for Lucius! For fuck’s sake!
The only good thing happening within the following two weeks was that he finished the Felicis, and it was perfect. Absolutely pristine, sporting a rich gold colour, a masterpiece.
Jean was with him when he finished it, handing him whatever he needed before he said a single word, and when he met her eyes after admiring the golden liquid in his cauldron for at least a minute straight, she beamed at him. “You don’t need an overpaid Master to teach you, you already are one yourself. Somebody just has to attest to that.” Then her hand jerked, almost as if she were yearning to touch him, but stopped herself last second. What she couldn’t stop, though, was her eyes twitching to his mouth. It was only a split second, but Severus had seen Mulc doing that too often not to recognise it.
She wanted to kiss him.
His mouth ran dry, completely robbing him of the ability to speak. Instead, he just stared at her like an imbecile and prayed that his jeans would hide the swelling of his member. Tension grew between them, thick enough that Severus held his breath and the hairs on his arms stood on end, and he quarrelled with his desire to lean closer, to try his luck and push her boundaries.
But then Jean blinked and averted her eyes. “Gosh, it’s getting late. I’ll go and make dinner.” Whirling around, she fled from his room, and with her, the tension disappeared.
He exhaled in a huff. She really wouldn’t let that happen again …
Severus’s fingers were trembling when he got two vials to bottle the potion, and when he was finished, he looked at them lying on his desk, shimmering in the sunlight filtering in. Two doses. One he would take to present to Lord Voldemort, the other he would take himself before he went in to meet him. Maybe. If he ever invited him, that was. And if he decided to go.
Which he would!
Absolutely!
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to stop his brain from repeating what Jean had just said. You don’t need an overpaid Master to teach you …
Maybe having his brain not work would have been better.
The next owl picking at his window pane, however, did carry a letter coming from Malfoy Manor. Not from Lucius, mind, but his father.
Of course, it was written in fucking French! An oh-so-subtle reference to the Malfoys’ ancestry. Aristocratic ponces. But he’d taught himself enough French to understand the letter. As long as nobody asked him to speak, he was halfway fine.
Anyway, it was an invitation to a soiree next week, so formal clothing was required, and ended with an elegantly curved “RSVP”. Severus read through the invitation again, and his heart skipped a beat. It was not a private thing, as it seemed, it was an invitation as you got made in larger quantities.
Lips taut, he contemplated what would be the best way to deal with this. Respond as soon as possible to appreciate the second chance and show that he would do better this time? Wait for another day or two to not seem needy? He was worrying his lip so badly he eventually tasted blood and huffed.
Tomorrow. He would wait until tomorrow, then he would write his response. Just twenty-four hours. He could do that …
But in the end, he did something else entirely the following day.
Before Severus even got to sit down and write his reply to Mr Malfoy’s invitation, there was a knock on the front door that trickled through his body like ice.
During the almost eight weeks he was living here with Jean now, nobody had ever knocked on the front door. Not even a neighbour to complain about something because they were both quiet and knew how to behave around Muggles.
So he went to stare at the door, puzzled about what to do.
Before he’d come to a conclusion, Jean passed him by and opened the door a crack to peek outside, wand in her hand so whoever it was couldn’t see it.
Severus’s hand twitched to draw his wand, too, but then she relaxed.
“Professor Dumbledore …”
Severus sucked in a breath. Dumbledore?! What the hell did the headmaster want? Was he here because of him? His fingers itched to grasp his wand after all, eyes wide and head spinning.
But Jean didn’t seem to be worried at all. She stepped aside and let the man in. “Miss Cavanagh,” he said and hearing his dark, level voice made Severus tense up even harder.
“I demand your silence, Mr Snape. Not a single word to anybody. Did I make myself clear?”
Dumbledore stepped into the flat, not wearing one of his extravagant robes for once but a rather bland Muggle outfit that made him look like a librarian, and at spotting Severus, a moment of surprise flitted over his face. “Mr Snape. I didn’t expect to see you here.” His blue eyes wandered to Jean.
“He needed a place to stay,” she said in a clipped voice and shoved the door shut. “What can I do for you? I thought we’d discussed everything.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flicked Severus another glance. “I’d rather talk about that under four eyes.”
I bet you do! Severus’s hands balled into fists at his sides. And when Jean looked his way, he clenched his teeth as well.
She scrutinised him, so intensely that he felt like being exposed to roentgen rays and had to fight the urge to cross his arms defiantly. “That won’t be necessary,” she finally decided, and while Severus exhaled in a silent huff, she directed Dumbledore into the living room.
The headmaster looked at Severus again contemplatively. Severus had never seen him like that before, displaying an array of emotions on his usually composed and cheerful to all but Slytherins face.
And of course, Severus couldn’t stop himself from shrugging his eyebrows. First time you don’t know what’s going on, eh? That he himself didn’t know what was going on either, didn’t dampen his glee.
“Very well,” Dumbledore conceded at last and preceded them into the living room.
“Keep quiet,” Jean instructed Severus in a whisper, and Severus curled his lips.
Keep quiet … Sure! What else?! “What is he even doing here?” he whispered back.
“We’ll find out, I guess.” She arched her eyebrows and followed the headmaster.
Severus glowered at her back. But he wouldn’t risk his chance at getting to know something, so he followed them and chose a spot near the door to lean against the wall, his arms crossed.
“Tea?” Jean offered the headmaster.
“No, thank you. I won’t keep you for long, I hope.”
She nodded and sat down opposite him. “So, how can I help you?” She didn’t sound exactly friendly either, probably the only reason Severus succeeded in keeping his feelings of betrayal at bay.
She was working with fucking Dumbledore? How dare she?! With him of all people!
Was that the reason she’d been at Hogwarts? To meet with Dumbledore? Had he been missing at breakfast because of her? And why hadn’t he thought about that earlier? He’d have never come here when—
Dumbledore cast Severus another wary glance, effectively cutting off his every thought. Maybe he was still trying to figure out what Severus’s presence meant.
Me too, old man, me too …
“You can speak openly,” Jean assured him.
Dumbledore’s eyes fastened on her. “Are you sure he can be … trusted?”
Her hazel eyes burned on Severus’s face. “Yes, I am.”
You … what? … oh. Swallowing thickly, he nodded at her once. He wouldn’t disappoint her, not her, too.
The headmaster didn’t seem convinced, but whatever had brought him here seemed to be more pressing than his need to talk in privacy. “Well, I’m afraid the Wizengamot refuses to believe me,” he began reluctantly, “I need more evidence.”
Jean huffed. “I gave you all I had. More evidence would be the memories of the victims.”
Victims?
“They won’t make a case from what you gave me.”
“Well, then you have to stop him in another way!” she exclaimed. “I told you choosing the official way might not work, he has his people everywhere. But you also know what will happen if you don’t stop him. Now!” She was breathing heavily, upset in a way Severus hadn’t seen her so far. She scrubbed her face, mumbling, “I’d do it if I could but …”
Do what? What are you talking about?
Dumbledore took a deep breath. “Even if I wanted to pursue that way, I didn’t manage to get them all yet. The diary …”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, “we knew that’d be difficult to get.”
“It is, indeed. So, the official way is the only one we have at the moment, and I need more to make it work.”
“I don’t have more! I told you all the people he murdered—“
Murder? Who murdered whom?
“—told you how he did it, told you when he did it … I very well couldn’t bring the evidence, right? You need to get that on your own, Dumbledore!”
“Who murdered whom?” Severus broke his promise to stay quiet within the first two minutes of giving it. Jean and Dumbledore looked at him.
The headmaster’s face was composed and cool as always, but Jean swallowed as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Voldemort,” she eventually said and made him suck in a breath.
“Miss Cavanagh …”
She ignored Dumbledore. “Voldemort killed five people to create powerful magical objects that would keep him alive even if he were to die. And he intends to kill more people. I know, you probably won’t believe me, but I can give you all the names, all the places, all the dates. You can look it up yourself.” Her eyes swayed back to Dumbledore, totally ignoring the fact that Severus felt like falling.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at him before he focused back on Jean. “I don’t think you should have told him.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Headmaster.”
Severus blocked out their conversation while he tried to fit what Jean had just told him into what he knew about Lord Voldemort. Killed? He’d killed people to … what?!
Staring at the floor that seemed to sway before his eyes, he tried to keep his breakfast down while everything he’d heard and witnessed whirled through his mind. Lord Voldemort’s appearance, his calculated smile, the Dark Mark on Mulciber’s arm, his reluctance to tell him more, the way he’d paled thinking about his initiation into Voldemort’s circle, the fact that Barty couldn’t attend the summer ball because his father … his father was working for the Ministry and …
Severus gulped and looked back at Jean. Watched her argue with Dumbledore, who stayed infuriatingly calm while she was so obviously short of losing her composure and burst into tears that Severus’s fingers itched with the need to touch her. She’d gone pale, unbridled desperation mirroring on her face, her hair a mess from how often she carded her fingers through it.
The official way … the Wizengamot refuses to believe me …
Dumbledore was trying to get Lord Voldemort sentenced. Was trying to get the Aurors to arrest him and send him to Azkaban, but the Wizengamot wouldn’t have it because … because about a third of them were associated with Lord Voldemort and following his lead. Severus had seen them at Malfoy Manor, had heard them speculate how long it might still take them to sway enough people to make Lord Voldemort the next Minister of Magic.
And he intends to kill more people.
Oh god …
Jean brushed her cheeks. He only saw it from the corner of his eyes, but it snapped him back into the here and now. The same motion as that night Severus had caught her crying in the living room. The sight jolted through his body.
I cannot talk about that. We’re not to tell anybody.
His scalp prickled when all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. … fuck.
That was why Jean tried so adamantly to dissuade him from following Lord Voldemort! That was why she’d offered him an alternative. That was why … He swallowed again.
Fuck!
“Tell me what else I am supposed to do,” Dumbledore said then, “and I will do it. I know what will happen, knew it even before you showed me, and I want to prevent that just as much as you do, Miss Cavanagh. I just need to know how.”
“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “Get the Order and storm Malfoy Manor to get that diary and kill him if you must!”
Storm Malfoy Manor to get the diary? “You can’t do that,” Severus mumbled, even surprising himself. Both heads whipped around to him again. “The Manor is warded, heavily. You can’t get in without an invite.”
“I know,” Dumbledore said and looked back at Jean. “I did try to get someone into the Manor, even disguised as personnel. There are wards keeping everybody in line, no chance to get to the diary without a major fight the Order won’t be able to win.”
“Perfect,” she murmured, half laughing, half crying, and hid her face behind her hands. “So it’ll just happen again …”
Again? Severus pinched his eyes closed, trying to make sense of that, but he found he couldn’t. It made absolutely no sense. But considering that Dumbledore didn’t seem confused, he just seemed to be still missing some information.
“There’s nothing else I could do?” Dumbledore asked gently.
Jean shook her head. “No. I gave you everything I had, every piece of knowledge. When we can’t get into Malfoy Manor—” She stopped and looked at Severus. “And don’t you even think about it!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered. He wasn’t suicidal, after all!
She nodded. “No. Besides getting the diary to destroy it and make him mortal again, there is no other way. I mean … you could ambush him and keep him captive somewhere nobody will find him, but …”
“He hasn’t shown himself in public for months,” Dumbledore demurred.
“And you think he would if he were persecuted by Aurors?” Severus sneered.
Dumbledore’s eyes fastened on him. “If we had a whole department to keep an eye on him, yes, I think we would find him. Not even Abraxas Malfoy will keep him hidden if we freeze his assets.”
“Then the Aurors are the only chance, and they will only do something—”
“—if the Wizengamot agrees, yes.”
She groaned softly. “I don’t know how we could convince them.”
Severus frowned. Because that wasn’t true, was it? There was something they certainly hadn’t tried. And Jean knew about that. She’d helped him brew it, the Felix Felicis. The only potion that might be able to show Dumbledore a way to convince the Wizengamot and pull enough people onto his side.
Why didn’t she address that? Had she forgotten?
No way.
Then why …
He gulped when the realisation trickled into his brain. She wouldn’t demand that of him. Whoever Jean Cavanagh was, wherever she came from, whatever her motives were … She’d only ever offered him options, she’d never told him he needed her, never ordered him around, never forbade him anything, never demanded anything.
(Something he couldn’t say about Lucius …)
She left it up to him whether he wanted to … Yeah, what? Switch sides? Change his loyalty? Was it really that dire? Were they choosing sides?
(Had they ever not?)
Grimacing, Severus averted his eyes. It seemed as if he indeed had to choose a side. Again. And he didn’t like the fact that switching meant choosing Dumbledore’s side. That man was a self-righteous prick who constantly favoured his bloody Gryffindors and gave a damn about Slytherin. Severus could think of at least half a dozen people who wouldn’t have followed Lord Voldemort so readily, if Dumbledore had given only one damn about them, off the top of his head!
But if Jean was right, Lord Voldemort maybe wasn’t the saviour they all hoped he was, either. Or if he was for the other people following him, he at least wasn’t for Severus. He didn’t want anything to do with killing people, he just wanted …
He just wanted a fucking chance! For once in his bloody life, he wanted a chance to not come last. A chance to make something out of his life. He hadn’t studied like a madman for years to …
Scrubbing his face furiously, he ducked out of the living room, leaving the oppressive silence behind. Fuck! Why was everything made so hard for him? Why couldn’t he have something good for himself for once? Why were strings attached to every fucking friendship he built? Why did he always have to pay one way or another for every favour given to him?
He was halfway down the hall when he had to admit that wasn’t true. Jean had never demanded he pay for anything, on the contrary. She’d paid him for providing her with that Dreamless-Sleep, and Merlin knew she wouldn’t have needed to do that, not after she’d been feeding him for almost two months!
Jean had also told him there were options for him that excluded any Malfoy. Options to become a Potions Master that might be less glamorous but accessible in his own right.
She’d shown him an alternative, in more than one way.
But what if she was wrong? What if Lord Voldemort wasn’t … wasn’t a murderer? What if she was trying to sabotage and hoodwink them all? What if she wanted to manipulate Severus into betraying Lord Voldemort?
Well, then … then even the official way would lead nowhere, right? The Ministry, even if Dumbledore succeeded in making them investigate, wouldn’t sentence an innocent man, right?
And after another moment or two of contemplation, his hot forehead pressed against the smooth surface of his closed door, he made a decision.
Dumbledore looked at him incredulously when he returned seconds later and gave him one of the vials of Felix Felicis. “Try this,” he said, meeting the blue eyes of the man who’d dismissed and wronged him for years. It was one of the bitterest pills he’d ever had to swallow, aligning himself with him of all people! But deep down—and it was a very deep down, one Severus could only reach by sneering at Dumbledore as he’d never sneered at someone ever before—he knew it was the right thing to do. Doing the right thing fucking sucks! But who knew, maybe in the end, he would gain some kind of satisfaction and moral high ground from the fact that he, of all people, was the one helping the headmaster now. I'd better fucking do!
“Felix Felicis,” Dumbledore murmured, carefully taking the vial. “Where did you get this?”
“I brewed it,” Severus snarled and raised his chin, looking down the length of his nose at the sitting man.
The blue eyes twitched. “You wanted to get Voldemort’s attention.”
A muscle in Severus’s cheek ticked. “Yes. Now you might get the Wizengamot’s attention.”
Dumbledore’s gaze ghosted over Severus’s face as if he were seeing him for the first time, and Severus’s features hardened. Be careful what you say, old man, or I might change my mind!
Eventually, the mistrust—something that had always been edged into Dumbledore’s face whenever he’d had to deal with Severus—vanished almost completely, and he huffed softly. “Maybe we Sort too soon,” he murmured and rose to his feet.
Fuck’s sake?
“I’ll keep you updated,” Dumbledore promised and nodded Jean and him goodbye before he left as unexpectedly as he’d come.
“Headmaster,” she mumbled, baffled, and didn’t even get up to see him to the door.
“Bloody idiot,” Severus muttered after the door had clicked shut behind the old man.
“Severus,” Jean chided him, but there was no noteworthy emphasis in her word.
“What? You know I’m right! What the hell was that supposed to mean, Maybe we Sort too soon? Does he think just because I’m a Slytherin I have no morals?”
She huffed a tiny laugh, but quelled it by pressing a hand to her mouth. She was still pale, still desperate, still short of falling apart, and he assumed she still wouldn’t like being held together by him, so he didn’t even offer it.
But eventually, she looked at him again. “That was very generous of you.”
He shrugged.
“Why did you give him the Felicis?”
Because I’m a stupid idiot. Because ruining the best for me is what I always do. Because I wanted you to stop crying. “I do have morals,” he said in the end. “If Lord Voldemort really killed people …”
“He did. Moaning Myrtle was his first victim, actually.”
“Myrtle?” he echoed incredulously.
She nodded.
“How the …” He didn’t bother completing his question. Chances were she wouldn’t answer them anyway.
But to his surprise, Jean said, “I guess you deserve some answers …”