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Severus Snape felt the burning start on the inner aspect of his left forearm and repressed a sigh. He finished the potion he’d been working on – three more stirs counter-clockwise followed by a quickly muttered finite incantum – and then moved the cauldron to a safe place so the dark green liquid could cool and settle before pulling back the sleeve of his robe so that he could see the mark.
A line of runes beside the snowy white owl glowed blue against his pale skin, and this time he did sigh. He went to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of green powder. “Minerva,” he called out, and waited until the elder witch’s head appeared before holding out his arm. “I’m being summoned.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, and he nodded. This time it was Minerva who sighed. “Very well. Let me know when you get back. I’ll come to you.”
“As you like,” was his dry reply, but he smiled ever-so-slightly to show his appreciation; he always felt rather…raw, emotionally speaking, when he returned from the Forest, and although there were few people left at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays he still preferred to minimize his chances of meeting anyone when he re-entered the castle. “I’ll be going momentarily. You might tell Poppy that her new batch of Skelegrow is finished and should be ready for bottling by tonight.”
“I’ll tell her this very minute,” the elder witch promised, and then pulled back, taking the green glow with her. Severus contemplated the empty hearth for a rare sentimental moment. After Harry Potter had first disappeared – more to the point, after Albus Dumbledore in his incompetent idiocy had attempted to use the spells placed on the boy’s owl to summon the creature back from the Forest – Minerva McGonagall was the one who had found Severus collapsed on the floor of his office with the reproving snowy owl etched on his arm in place of the Dark Mark. She had theorized at the time that the Fey had somehow known that Severus had refused to activate the spells when the headmaster had asked him to, and that the new mark symbolized a penalty of service owed for his part in putting the spells on Hedwig in the first place.
At first they’d feared that he may have simply exchanged one enslaver for another, but time and continued translation had proved that notion false. The burn of the Fey mark was one of ice, not fire, as it wrote its line of commanding runes across his skin, but the runes remained only until he had completed whatever task his mistress had set for him and then faded away with a prickling of sharp talons when she judged the task completed to her satisfaction. His mistress the Lady of Owls, that was. The debt he’d been deemed to owe was not owed to her, but she had taken charge of it until such time as her queen’s ward was of age to take up his position and responsibilities and determine how he wanted the blood-debt discharged. That wouldn’t be for some years to come, however, and until then it was the Lady whose will Severus bowed to. He’d found he didn’t mind – much, anyway. The line of runes on his arm allowed him through the barrier that now kept any other wizard from entering the Forest. And the Fey mark, that disapproving snowy owl which did not fade as the runes did, kept him safe from…well, from just about everyone: the Ministry, the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and even from Albus Dumbledore, who had in the beginning been determined to use the situation if he could.
He’d tried, and he continued to try, but he couldn’t. Severus and Minerva both found that terribly amusing. There hadn’t been enough evidence to see Dumbledore evicted from Hogwarts or sentenced to Azkaban for his part in the gross mishandling of the Potter situation – the Order had seen to that, albeit somewhat unwillingly – but what there had been was plenty to see him stripped of any authority which might allow him to repeat past mistakes. Dumbledore was still a powerful and cunning wizard, but he’d been reduced to little more than a figurehead and his political clout was nearly nonexistent. Which most people agreed was a good thing.
Severus exchanged his indoor shoes for heavier boots and his stained brewing robes for a thicker set of winter layers, and then he utilized a back passage out of the dungeons to leave the castle and began making his way to the Forest. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground, and more threatening in the clouds massing on the horizon, but for the moment the skies overhead were reasonably clear and he only had to contend with what was already underfoot. He mused as he trudged through the snow-frosted grounds that in spite of the cold it was a nice enough afternoon for a walk, and that he was rather glad the summons had come when it had. If it hadn’t, he would have most likely spent the rest of that day in the dungeons brewing and would probably have retired late that night with a headache brought on by fumes and artificial light. The semi-regular outings demanded by his new servitude had, he was forced to admit, been good for him.
That any part of the situation was allowed to be beneficial to him was surprising, considering the circumstances. For the Fey as well as the Wizards, it was a grave crime to cause the death of a magical familiar, even indirectly. The Lady of Owls had refused to so much as lay eyes on Severus, in fact, for the first six months of his service, sending servants to command his actions in her stead. Apparently Hedwig had died in her arms, and she had been far too angry to trust herself with him. “She’s afraid you’d say something stupid and she’d just kill you where you stand,” the one-eyed Muggle who sometimes accompanied the servants had explained. “And what would be the point of that?”
No point at all, apparently, which Severus had taken as partial confirmation of Minerva’s theory that he was being held accountable only for placing the spells which had been used to cause the owl’s death, not for actually causing the death himself. And he was perplexed by the Muggle – or rather, by the one-eyed man, because “Muggle” wasn’t really the appropriate word to describe him. The man obviously had position and rank within the Winter Court, as the Lady’s servants respectfully addressed him as Knight. And he could look right past Severus’ best attempt at Occlumency much the way someone might look past a wrought iron gate to see the garden it guarded; it appeared to take no effort on his part at all. Severus didn’t want to find out what other unheard-of natural abilities the man might have, most especially not by provoking him into using them.
He also tried very hard not to wonder if there were any more like the man wandering about in the Muggle world, casually breeding up more of their kind and thumbing their noses at the cloistered and consequently steadily shrinking Wizarding world. There was a certain dark irony in the derision some other purebloods heaped on prolific clans like the Weasleys, as what seemed to be a general lack of ‘drive’ in the procreation department was slowly erasing many other pureblood lines from their society. Severus own line had long since been winnowed down to himself and a few distant cousins, none of whom had managed to produce any offspring. And even the much more noble and viable Potter family had been reduced to one final opportunity to avoid extinction…an opportunity that was currently beyond the Wizarding world’s reach.
It had been nearly two years since Harold James Potter had gone missing. The boy’s mysterious disappearance from the grounds of Britain’s premier magical academy, Hogwarts, had been disturbing enough; but the resulting furor stirred up by the boy’s disappearance had uncovered an ugly web of plots and intrigues which had stayed splashed all over the pages of every wizarding newspaper and periodical for months. At least a dozen people had either had charges brought against them or had gotten sacked within the first two weeks of the investigations, in fact – four of them from the Department of Wizarding Child Protective Services alone. Albus Dumbledore had hung onto his position as headmaster of Hogwarts by the skin of his teeth, mainly because he couldn’t be proved to be guilty of anything except for bad judgment and having his hands tied by the Ministry’s continued interference with the school; Dolores Umbridge had been forced to confess to as much under the influence of Veratiserum. Cornelius Fudge might have confessed to more, but he was currently inhabiting the same asylum as Gilderoy Lockhart after what had appeared to be a bungled attempt to wipe his own memory had left the then-Minister of Magic irreparably brain damaged.
And then just as all of the political scandals had begun to slide off the front pages, a curious report had appeared in the Quibbler detailing the disappearance, presumably under Fidelius or something similar, of several large properties in and around wizarding Britain – properties which, when traced, all turned out to have been owned by the House of Potter. Which had reminded many people of the fact that the missing boy had been the sole surviving heir of that House, and that it had been a very old and wealthy one. Yet more rumors and accusations – this time economic – had immediately erupted, but nothing could be proved. The goblins at Gringotts had refused to discuss the matter, citing policy and privacy and need-to-know; an attempt by the new head of the Ministry to demand information about the Potter holdings had resulted in a harsh reminder from the goblin-controlled bank that the services they provided to the wizarding community could be withdrawn at any time as per the provisions of their thousand year-old charter and contract. The new Minister of Magic had publically apologized for his presumption, sending yet another shockwave through the wizarding world. Centuries of snobbishly cultivated prejudice toward the magical non-human races had caused the wizards to forget, it seemed, that certain of those races were far more powerful than they….not to mention that some of them occupied critical positions within modern wizarding society.
The papers had panicked over the very possibility of losing Gringotts, and Severus had laughed for weeks over the plethora of increasingly desperate and ridiculous ‘solutions’ that were proposed for keeping or replacing the goblin-run bank. Only in the privacy of his chambers, of course, or in Minerva McGonagall’s office, because he did have an image to maintain. Even moreso now than before, as now all the Death Eaters’ children in his classes knew that he had been torn from Voldemort’s service just after The Boy Who Lived had disappeared. Lucius had informed him that the Dark Lord had been knocked to the floor by the backlash of Severus’ Mark being removed, and that Voldemort’s immediate attempt to order several nearby Death Eaters to find and kill Severus had resulted in their own Marks bursting into blue flames – flames which had consumed them completely, although not quickly. As a result, the current standing orders regarding Severus were that no one in Voldemort’s camp was to even attempt to harm him on pain of death. Probably meaning death at the hands of the Fey, because Voldemort didn’t seem to be able to Mark any more followers and as such wasn’t nearly as cavalier about killing them off over petty indiscretions as he had been in the past.
Voldemort’s problems, however, were no longer any of Severus’ concern. His musings had taken him to the end of his walk, to the edge of the lake and the magical barriers that separated Hogwarts’ grounds from the Forbidden Forest. Severus crossed the wizard-created line of alarm-wards first, amused by the knowledge – passed onto him by Minerva, as any breach of the wards registered in the castle as well as in the Order’s headquarters and the Ministry – that his passage would register in the wards as the flight of a wild owl, thus exciting no attention whatsoever. And a step beyond that had him penetrating the otherwise wizard-impassable barrier maintained by the Fey, which poured over and around him like the curtains of an icy waterfall as he stepped through it into the Forest.
There was a series of small pops and his heavy winter robe abruptly sagged open, letting the cold air rush in. Severus swore under his breath, knowing before he even looked down that there would be multiple buttons missing and only smoking little holes left in their places. It wasn’t the first time his clothing had been…compromised by magic not his own. Damn Dumbledore, anyway.
“No need, he’s already damned himself. You’d just be gilding the lily, trust me.”
Severus jumped, startled, even though the voice was familiar; he hadn’t seen the Knight when he’d crossed through the barrier, and being surprised in such a manner was doubly unnerving for a man whose life had oftimes depended on his being acutely aware of his environment. He also hadn’t realized that he’d spoken his frustration aloud. Severus pulled the unfastened edges of the winter robe – and it had been his best one, dammit! – closed with one hand, making a perfunctory bow to the smirking Knight. The Lady wasn’t present, thank Merlin, and only one servant stood by. Still… “I didn’t realize I’d said that aloud. My apologies.”
The Knight waved it off. “Not a problem. Fourth robe this winter, isn’t it?”
Severus nodded, scowling. “I still don’t know how he’s getting at them. I have wards up…”
“I think the castle may be helping him,” was the surprising response. “The place is riddled with secret passageways, right? And it’s semi-sentient? I bet if you check, you’ll find out he’s exploiting a case of masonic enamorata.”
The potions master’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t considered that possibility, mainly because… “That would be sheer insanity!”
The Knight shrugged. “That would be your boy Dumbles – he seems to think consequences are things that happen to other people. He won’t be able to get away from this one, though.”
“No, if that is what he’s done, he most certainly won’t.” Severus shook his head. The horrific consequences of masonic enamorata could only be escaped if the recipient of the stone structure’s affections left and never returned as soon as they became aware of the situation. Dumbledore had indeed damned himself if he’d been actively making use of the castle’s infatuation with him – and now that he thought about it, Severus was convinced that that was exactly what the old lunatic had been doing, quite probably for decades. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at the Knight. “Would this be why the Court didn’t lay their own punishment on him?”
The Knight smiled grimly. “Pretty much, yeah. Gilding the lily, like I said.”
“Yes, quite.” Severus made a mental note to share this new information with Minerva the next time they were away from Hogwarts, and returned his attention to the reason he was in the Forest in the first place. He bowed again. “I was summoned, what task have you for me today?”
“We don’t, actually – that wasn’t why you were summoned.” The Knight drew himself up formally, all amusement leaving his face. “The Queen’s ward has learned of the debt that you owe to his House.”
Severus blanched. He’d been very much less than kind to Harry Potter over the years, and his reasons had for the most part been petty, even childish, and definitely indefensible. “So he will be taking over the disposition of my debt?”
“No. The Lady of Owls will continue to oversee the discharge of your duty to the House of Potter until he’s of age.” The man cleared his throat. “However, in learning of the debt, Master Potter also learned of his responsibilities. He takes those very seriously, and after putting some thought into it he decided on an acceptable token with which to acknowledge the connection between you.”
A gesture, and the servant with him stepped forward, offering Severus a thick bundle. Shocked, Severus took it, letting the thick woolen fabric spill out of its neat folds into the shape of a heavy winter robe colored the dark green of winter-forest shadows, accented with buttons of plain polished ebony wood. A spiderweb tracery of silver glittered faintly in the winter light, and closer examination revealed a narrow decorative border woven in black and silver thread along the robe’s hem, placket and cuffs. Severus gaped at it, dumbfounded. He knew there were Fey runes woven into the design, he could feel their power. He looked up at the Knight, who nodded in answer to the unasked question. “Runes of protection – this robe can’t be tampered with. It’s heavy enough for the coldest weather.” The man smiled, just slightly. “And he thought you’d like the color.”
“I…I do.” Severus was stunned. He’d expected…well, what he’d expected to receive from Harry Potter when the day of reckoning finally came had definitely not been a rich, thoughtful gift highlighting the young man’s understanding of his responsibilities to one in his noble service. And of course, to accept the gift would be, for Severus, tantamount to making a pledge of fealty to the House of Potter; by accepting the subtle offer of protection and succor, he was acknowledging his acceptance of the authority under which said protection was extended. He looked at the robe again. Green and silver, Slytherin colors. Which his future lord had ‘thought he would like’. Severus shook his head. The little brat always had managed to surprise him.
He shrugged out of his Dumbledore-desecrated winter robe, letting it drop into a crumpled black heap in the snow, and slid the green wool on in its place. A tingle of magic shimmered through his body as he began fastening up the ebon buttons – buttons which were suddenly each inlaid with a small silver crest. His fealty had been acknowledged and accepted, then. Severus couldn’t help but smile. “Please convey my thanks to Master Potter, if you would,” he requested. “And tell him that I do indeed appreciate the color.”
The Knight nodded. “I’ll tell him. And you should tell Minerva about the castle as soon as possible – today, if you can.” He winked roguishly, something a one-eyed man shouldn’t have been able to pull off. “It’s a perfect day for a walk down to Hogsmeade. Offer to buy her a hot buttered rum.”
Severus started. Was the man actually suggesting that he…and Minerva McGonagall…no, certainly not. But he had already observed that in spite of the cold it was a nice afternoon for a walk, and Minerva could doubtless do with some fresh air. And if the Knight thought she needed to know about Dumbledore’s idiocy immediately, Severus most likely shouldn’t delay telling her.
Not to mention, Minerva did have a fondness for hot buttered rum…but that was neither here nor there. Severus bowed to the Knight. “I will let her know today. If there is nothing else…”
“Nope, that was it.” The Knight gestured back toward the barrier, toward Hogwarts. “Enjoy the clear weather while it lasts, there’ll be another storm moving in tonight.”
Severus bowed again, then strode back through the barrier and trudged away through the snow. The Fey servant currently standing as squire to the White Knight, and who had remained silent through the entire exchange, cocked a finely arched eyebrow at the smirking mortal he was charged with attending. “You didn’t tell him, why?”
The Knight shrugged. “Things like that work out better if they occur naturally,” he said. “I know this Minerva woman likes him, he’s just too dense to pick up on it. This should be all the encouragement she needs to make a more overt move, get the ball rolling.”
“And then they will both be safe, correct?”
“Got it in one. The castle won’t fixate on someone who’s already happily attached. And that means they’ll have the time they need this summer to fix their enamorata problem before the kids come back, keep Hogwarts from picking out the next addition to her collection.”
The servant shuddered. Even among his people, masonic enamorata, was considered gravely dangerous and was carefully guarded against. “I cannot believe none of them noticed before now.”
The Knight snorted. “They wouldn’t have noticed this time if we hadn’t told them. I’m amazed their little secret society has lasted this long – I understand needing to keep their magic hidden from the rest of the world, but they’ve been so isolationist that they’ve inbred themselves all the way to stupid.” He went to Severus’ discarded robe and picked it up with a black-gloved hand, shaking his head over the little burned holes and then handing the robe to the servant, who was also wearing leather gloves. “Have it tested thoroughly before burning it, we don’t know what else that crazy old wizard may have stuck on there. Last time could have just been an accident, considering what Severus does for a living, but if you find poison soaked into the fabric again we’ll need to summon him back to the Forest and warn him.”
“And we may need to strengthen the barrier against non-magical threats as well,” the servant agreed. He rolled up the robe and stuffed it into a sack he’d had tucked into his belt under his cloak, shaking his head. “The castle’s claiming of her chosen beloved cannot happen too soon for my taste. Within this moon, you said?”
“It won’t be more than a few weeks now, I’m sure of it.” The Knight looked through the shimmer of the barrier and across the snow-shrouded landscape to the place where stone turrets were poking into the winter sky, and he shook his own head. “Ol’ Dumbledore is going to be all kinds of surprised when she reels him in – bet he’s got something up his sleeve that he thinks will stop it from happening, but he doesn’t have a chance.”
“It is no more than he deserves, for doing what he did to Master Potter.”
“Nope, it’s not.” The Knight looked a moment more, and then turned away. He didn’t like what he saw when he looked at Hogwarts, especially when she was looking back at him the way she was now. But he also knew that her nature simply was what it was; she might be disturbing and dangerous, but she wasn’t evil. The real predator within her walls was the crazy old wizard she was getting ready to devour…which was why he hadn’t let Severus know about the enamorata until now, when it was too late for anyone to stop it. He sighed and gestured to his squire to fall into step with him. “Come on. There’s nothing more for us to do here, and plenty for us to do back home.” He found a smile. “And Harry’s definitely going to want to hear all about those exploding buttons…”