Phoenix Song, Chapter Eighteen : Reversal of Fortune

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Where dialogue from the original Harry Potter books is quoted by me, the relevant text is marked with an asterisk.

This is the point where I thank my thoroughly brilliant betas: LAxo and WriterMerrin, without them, this story would bear witness to far too many errors.

Severus had nothing in his personal library at Spinner’s End that would illuminate his premonition, so he returned to Hogwarts the very next day. Jocelyn, for one, was delighted. She was perfectly content to share his table in the library, unperturbed by the imperative to hold her tongue or by his scowling face. And scowl he did. Even with the resources of the Hogwarts’ library at his disposal, the research wasn’t going well. Divination was such a vague and imprecise science that Severus found much of what he read intensely frustrating. There were numerous studies of the pre- or near-death experience of one’s life flashing before one’s eyes and countless explorations of déjà vu, but nothing that specifically applied to his experience of re-living the foundational moments of his late adolescence in reverse.

Albus Dumbledore was also pleased at the early return of his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He insisted on several late-night planning sessions, fuelled by a steady stream of firewhiskey, seemingly oblivious to Severus’ distraction. The night of the thirtieth turned out to be the worst of the lot. Dumbledore had consumed a significant quantity of alcohol, although he remained in complete control of his speech and demeanour. He was wandering around the perimeter of the office talking while Severus sat in his regular chair absently staring at the swirling amber liquid in his glass.

“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”* Dumbledore’s final words pierced the self-pitying fog that occupied Severus’ mind.

Potter? Up until a moment ago Dumbledore had been fully occupied with the need for Severus to protect the students once he himself was dead. “But what must he do?”* Severus coughed and cleared his throat. It must have been at least thirty minutes since he’d last spoken.

“That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.”*

“For Nagini?”* Was this further evidence of Dumbledore’s impending senility? He really did seem to be losing it. Severus felt a pang of pity for the man before him.

“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.”*

“Tell him what?”* Severus knew his irritation was showing in his voice. Dumbledore still wasn’t making much sense, and the way he was standing now, with one hand covering his eyes, he looked more forlorn and vulnerable than ever.

“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield,”—Severus felt his stomach clench at the casual invocation of her sacrifice—“the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”*

Severus felt as if he’d been plunged into ice water. The boy is a Horcrux. Dumbledore had finally started to make sense, and Severus belatedly wished that he had in fact been rambling, for all-too-readily he grasped the implications of this information. “So the boy . . . the boy must die?”* he asked, his voice entirely devoid of the conflicting waves of emotion roiling within.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”*

Severus felt a surge of anger at his mentor and struggled to get his voice back under his control. The past and his present tumbled over themselves in his mind. “I thought . . . all these years . . . that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”* For Lily . . . and for Hermione. It’s her job, too, to keep him alive.

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength. Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth.”* Severus stared at Dumbledore with disbelief, willing the old man to open his eyes; the horror of the situation was somehow intensified by his inability to look at Severus while he spoke. “Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”*

Severus attempted to order the facts coherently. Potter is a Horcrux, and once the Dark Lord protects Nagini, I have to tell him—this isn’t a plan, it’s a complete travesty! Once Albus is dead, I’m unlikely to get close enough to the Boy Wonder to say hello, let alone convince him that he needs to sacrifice his own life . . . What reason would Potter have to believe me? Another thought followed: Hermione might. The “might” was a sharp blow: if he told her now, she would believe him without hesitation, but once he murdered Albus, she would fear him along with everybody else—and that was an idea he couldn’t bear. And Hermione would care about Potter’s death, a lot. Her probable reaction hit him like a slap in the face: she would be devastated. Lily would be devastated. Would have been devastated. When he spoke to Albus, his own voice seemed to come from a long way off. “You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”*

Abruptly, Dumbledore uncovered his face and looked Severus in the eye. “Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”*

Ah, Albus. You always did have a special way with guilt. “Lately, only those whom I could not save.” Severus rose to his feet. “You have used me.”* And Hermione.

“Meaning?”*

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—”* Odd, he mused after the words had left his mouth, have I ever thought of her as Lily Potter before? She was always Lily Evans to me.

“But this is touching, Severus,” interpolated Dumbledore, curiosity quirking the corners of his eyes. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”*

“For him?”* No. For her. For Lily, for Hermione. Despite his best efforts, the two were becoming progressively more confused in his mind. “Expecto Patronum!”* he cried.

Severus watched his Patronus leap from his wand in a blaze of silver light. Heartbreakingly graceful, she sprung across the office before leaping though the window and off into the Forbidden Forrest. He lowered his arm, his anger evaporating into sorrow. He turned towards Dumbledore, who was staring at him, his eyes brimming with tears.

“After all this time?”* Albus asked gently, his voice cracking slightly.

“Always,”* replied Severus, though his eyes skidded sideways towards Fawkes as he spoke. He was no longer sure which of the two Gryffindor women he intended to reference in his response, nor even if the two could ever be separated.

Predictably, the Dark Lord summoned Severus on New Year’s Eve. It was an odd gathering. With almost half of the Death Eaters still held in Azkaban, including the nominal “host” of the party, Lucius Malfoy, the festivities were rather subdued. Narcissa still seemed miserable, no surprises there, and Draco looked awkward in his attempt to play man of the house to a dozen older Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. The only good thing about the evening, from Severus’ perspective, was the public nature of his arrival: he was able to give his report on Viktor Krum to the group as a whole and was spared the indignity of the Dark Lord’s Legilimency. Utilising Krum’s hair and some Polyjuice potion, he and Dumbledore had constructed some psuedo-memories in case of such an eventuality, but Severus was relieved not to have to put them to the test. In his current state of mind he didn’t want to push his luck.

Thorfinn Rowle had found two drunken Muggle women somewhere and convinced them to come along to a “fancy dress” party. One of them looked as if she were having the time of her life; the other was eyeing Nagini apprehensively. Severus swallowed the pity she inspired and turned his attention elsewhere. Draco was lurking near Bellatrix looking grumpy. When Severus caught his eye, Draco gave him a particularly sulky glare. So, he thinks he needs Bellatrix to protect him—from me. The irony was not lost on Severus.

He was contemplating the tricky question of who would be the least irritating to talk with when Pettigrew sidled up and informed him that the Dark Lord desired to speak with him. Severus turned at once. Voldemort occupied a winged arm chair that sat alone by the fire, positioned to give him an unimpeded view of the entire room. Nagini was draped up one arm and over his shoulders, her head tucked under his chin in a disturbingly intimate gesture of animal affection. Severus crossed the room quickly and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

“Severuss, my dear boy.”

“My Lord.”

Voldemort twirled his wand and conjured a small cushion that he lowered beside his feet. He gestured towards it magnanimously. “Have a sssseat, Severuss.”

Without a word of complaint, Severus turned and folded his lanky form obligingly, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his forearms resting on his knees. It was an awkward and infantilising position; simultaneously an indication of Voldemort’s current regard and a warning to Severus of the need to behave. From where he sat, facing the room, he could see the reaction of his fellow Death Eaters. Bellatrix looked apoplectic.

“You know, Severus, there are whispers among my Death Eaters.”

“It is my role to listen to the whispers of the members of the Order of Phoenix, my Lord. Those of my fellow Death Eaters I am at liberty to ignore.”

The Dark Lord chuckled. “I’ve missed you, Severus.” Reaching out with one finger, he tucked Severus’ hair behind his ear. The finger was cold where it brushed against his flesh. The gesture was a possessive one, but also calculated to expose Severus’ face to Voldemort’s gaze. “These whispers”—Voldemort was back on topic—“concern Harry Potter and the prophecy.” Severus kept his mind blank. “It seems that some of my Death Eaters, some of my dearest friends, believe that Potter is destined to defeat me. I find myself curious to hear your opinion on the topic, Severus.”

An honest answer was always the best policy, and this one was bolstered by the intensity of the previous evening’s conversation with Dumbledore. “I truly believe that once Dumbledore is removed you shall find it surprisingly easy to kill the brat, my Lord. Indeed, I can only hope that no-one else kills him by accident. Only by your hand will he meet a fitting end.”

“Ah, yes, Dumbledore. So you approve of my current plan?”

“The plan has merit, my Lord, but Draco seems unlikely to carry it through. His last attempt was deplorable.”

“I agree, it was clumsy.” The Dark Lord sighed. “I had given him a year; perhaps I should reconsider?”

Severus let his gaze dwell on Draco before responding, the wrong words now might condemn the boy. “He claims to have a plan.” Severus shrugged. “It would be . . . sporting to let him make the attempt.”

“Such a stickler for the rules, Severus.” Severus wasn’t sure whether the tone in Voldemort’s voice conveyed approval or not. “And since you have Vowed to help . . .” The Dark Lord trailed off as he laid his hand on the back of Severus’ neck. His thumb and middle finger gripped a little too tightly for comfort and Severus knew that if he chose, Voldemort could strangle him there and then. “Since you, Severus, have Vowed to help,” he reiterated, “I have nothing to lose by waiting for Draco a little longer.”

In his more rational moments, Severus had no difficulty parsing the current situation: he had developed inappropriate feelings for Miss Granger, and the stress of his double life was taking its toll. It was entirely possible that the first issue was merely symptomatic of the second. He also managed to develop several strategies in order to contain the problem. Firstly, he returned to Spinner’s End after reporting on his New Year’s Eve party to Dumbledore, and spent several days doing as little as possible—no long talks with Dumbledore nor with Voldemort; no grading papers, no lesson plans, no interaction with students or with the other teachers; no private research, nothing. Secondly, he resolved to call Miss Granger by nothing but her more formal appellation. No more casual usage of “Granger,” and certainly no more “Hermione,” not even within the safety of his own head. Thirdly, he would discourage her from further friendly advances: he would enforce a policy of meeting but once a week, and he would take every opportunity to belittle her. Severus Snape had a talent for cutting remarks and he would exercise it to the full.

His time at Spinner’s End gave him ample opportunity to reflect on his “premonition.” While late at night, tired, drunk or both—the evening in Dumbledore’s office standing as a prime example of the latter—it assumed a distressingly convincing sense of the inevitable, the logical light of day permitted a welcome critical distance. The similarity between Hermione and Lily held true, but was, for the most part, predicated on a fairly superficial analogy. Their personalities, for example, were almost diametrically opposed. Where Lily was amenable and easygoing, effortlessly popular, Hermione was bossy and prickly. Aside from Potter and Weasley, she had few real friends. Physically, too, they were vastly different. Lily, if anything, bore a far stronger resemblance to Ginevra Weasley than to Hermione Granger. And the fact that both Lily and Hermione happened to be extraordinarily intelligent was but a small observation about Severus Snape’s taste in women, not an indication that the two women were one and the same person.

Furthermore, he rationalised, he’d believed for a long time in his imminent death. Sooner or later, one side of this war was going to believe him a traitor. He never expected to witness the fall of Voldemort. So what if his life was winding towards his end? It wasn’t a surprise to him. The important thing was to keep it together—and thus to stay alive as long as possible.

During those few days of solitude, he faced up to the realisation that Miss Granger’s regard and respect meant more to him than it should. And the brief interlude under the mistletoe had prompted hours of ruminating on what exactly she might have meant by it. All the more reason to dispel any positive notions she might have on the subject of him and his personality immediately on his return to school. That way, his ridiculous feelings would have no opportunity to intervene between him and his duty. Killing Albus was going to be difficult enough without having to worry about the effect it might have on his relationship to a certain Gryffindor prefect. The success of Dumbledore’s plan hinged on no-one knowing where his true loyalties lay, and since he was going to have to live the awful, lonely existence necessary to that charade, he’d better harden his heart and begin his preparations. Miss Granger would be but a practice run for the future.

Severus returned to Hogwarts with a clear sense of purpose, Apparating to the school gates in just enough time to drop his luggage in his rooms and make his way to the beginning of term staff meeting. He was one of the last to arrive, though neither Dumbledore nor Flitwick was there yet. Keen to avoid inconsequential conversation, Severus slipped into his favourite chair and plastered an intimidating scowl on his face. It wouldn’t keep Minerva or Hooch away if they decided to talk to him, but most of the others could be relied on to keep their distance. Unfortunately, a scowl was not enough to drown out the inane chattering of those around him. Slughorn was the worst. Apparently he’d left England for the entire two-week vacation and was regaling Pomona with details of a beach holiday in Barbados. The mental image of Slughorn lounging around in a bathing suit was far from pleasant.

“. . . and such delightful drinks, served in a coconut! You would have loved it! Why,” his tone changed slightly, “hello Minerva! How was Christmas? I was sorry not to have seen you at my little party!” Severus began reciting the ingredients in a common calming drought in an attempt to ignore the conversation behind him, but Slughorn’s voice was singularly grating. “Your Hermione was there, of course—she’s a regular member of my Slug Club gatherings!” Severus gritted his teeth at the mention of Miss Granger. That other teachers might make liberal use of her first name, and even throw around personal pronouns, was no concern of his. “She and the McLaggen boy make quite a handsome couple!”

“McLaggen?” asked Poppy. “Not that idiot who ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet?”

“Nonsense, Horace,” Minerva replied complacently, “Hermione Granger has far more important things on her mind than taking a boyfriend!” Minerva persisted in the ridiculous belief that all of the smartest girls were lesbians, and Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh ho, I can assure you it’s true! They indulged in the most enthusiastic display under the mistletoe that I’ve seen in a good few years!”

Jealousy and rage flared in an instant. Only the kind of control honed by years of spying prevented Severus from leaping from his chair and hexing Slughorn into oblivion. Of course, it wasn’t exactly Slughorn’s fault, but Severus had never liked him anyway.

Dumbledore’s arrival prevented Minerva from any reply beyond an indignant huff, and the other staff members began to settle into their seats. Severus was left with the very clear realisation that his emotions regarding Miss Granger were not as controlled as he had hoped.

Severus had some moderate success ignoring Miss Granger in her DADA classes—there she was but one face among a sea of students—but when she came down to his office on Monday night for her first lesson of the term, it was a completely different matter.

“Enter,” he called when she knocked on his door precisely at eight. He didn’t look up from the paper he was marking.

“Good evening, Professor.” Miss Granger greeted him cheerfully and walked to her customary seat in front of his desk. There was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there at the end of the previous term. “I hope that you enjoyed your holidays.”

“You certainly seemed poised to enjoy yours.” He pronounced the word “enjoy” such that the sexual implications of the comment were evident.

Her brows shot together in surprise, but she kept her face open and the tone of her reply remained light, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I wonder,” he pondered, affecting an air of deep contemplation, “did you lurk under the mistletoe and molest every male of your acquaintance?” Severus felt the surge of his anger like an old friend. After the emotional and psychological turmoil of the last week, the normality of vicious anger was a relief. Part jealous rage, part sorrow at Dumbledore’s manipulations, part sheer terror inspired both by the prospect of his impending death and that of a continuing life as Dumbledore’s murderer, the whole mess of his feelings coalesced in the figure of the young woman before him. How dare she smile when he was so miserable? How dare she kiss McLaggen and then try to kiss him? He sneered at her.

Her face shuttered immediately. The smiling welcome of her greeting evaporated, to be replaced by a blank expression. “Professor, I find this line of questioning inappropriate. Assuming that you do have a lesson planned for this evening, now would be a good time to begin.”

“Miss Granger,” he snarled, noting the slight twitch it invoked, “this is my office, and you trespass on my time. There are a number of lessons that you”—he gave individual emphasis to each of the next few words, sweeping a disparaging gaze up and down her body as he did so—“need to learn, I will decide when and where. Do I make myself clear?”

Miss Granger had clenched her hands into fists; her face was very pale and her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I am not here as your student, Professor Snape, but as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. And I deserve to be treated with respect.” The pitch of her voice was notably higher than normal.

“Indeed,” he sneered, “I have never noticed much respect at Order meetings.”

“I have always treated—”

“Silence!” Severus rose out of his chair and leant forward, both hands pressed flat against the wooden surface of his desk. “If it’s respect you’re after, I wouldn’t advise sleeping your way to the top.”

“How dare you?” Miss Granger leant forward in her own chair, her chin raised at an aggressive angle.

“Did you feel more respected? or less?” he pressed onward nastily, “after a pity fuck from Viktor Krum?”

Miss Granger gasped. Her right hand trembled where she held it over her wand pocket. For a moment she stared at him, speechless, then she swept up her satchel and rose to her feet. “I don’t have to listen to this,” she commented, only a slight shake in her voice. Her chin was held high, and she struggled to keep her face impassive. Severus caught a glimpse of the precarious balance of her tears across her lower eyelids. Without another word, without looking back, she exited the room.

The door closed behind her with a decisive thud. With a snarl worthy of a wounded animal, Severus swept the contents of his desk onto the floor. He strode from his office into his sitting room and wordlessly summoned the firewhiskey bottle. Getting angry at Miss Granger hadn’t improved his mood in the slightest.

A / N : There! Look! Another chapter! It's not sooooo long, either, but in combination with the previous one, it's like one huge chapter!

Thank you to everyone who left a review or sent good wishes. xo grangerous.