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As far as Snape knew, Dumbledore was telling him about His Lord's past affairs. He was married once which was terrifying. He didn't know who or why anyone would like to marry a barely human man, but he was devoted to that monster, so it wasn’t his place to judge.
Harry Peverell was the name of the man. Snape had heard of him, whispering in the corridors, like the boogeyman under the bed. The Peverell were just a tale told to wizard children. He was the last descendant of that family alive, he probably held the pureblood pride of his family close to his chest. “It was a long time ago, obviously, but Harry was a student of mine. He was perfect in Transfiguration. He still sends me letters from far away, and sometimes he visits here, but I was busy, so I couldn’t invite him to have tea with me.”
Snape couldn’t care less about it. Yes, he could imagine a perceptive young man in his teenage years, admiring Dumbledore. He was a perfect student once. It seemed that perfect students were doomed from the start by serving a madman. “Did he fall in love with him?” That was the part he couldn’t understand. Also, if the boy was a Hogwarts student. Was he underage when he started his odd relationship? It was revolting from his perspective, but not from the pureblood side.
Dumbledore glanced at him briefly and nodded tiredly like he was exhausted with the topic. “He could be our saviour because he knows him more than anyone.” The wizard expressed, convinced in his assumptions. Snape wasn’t so sure about that. Peverell could be a spy too, which was the worst scenario for them. Also, he didn't believe in saviours. They were just tragic.
It turned out that Harry Peverell was sassy and hurtful in every single way. There wasn’t a strand of his hair that was innocent at all. He didn’t know how Dumbledore believed the man to be so pure, so perfect. As usual, he was the dog sent to those missions with Hermione leading, because yes, to Gryffindor's standards, the girl was suspiciously book-smart and endearing in her standard. He thought that Albus was joking with them because he sent the worst pair to meet the stranger. A pair who weren’t charming at all. Maybe because Harry was his student.
The door to the Mansion opened automatically, they couldn’t even be cunning. The man didn’t leave space for them. Hermione sneaked a glance at him, while he irked an eyebrow. Lord Peverell was sitting on a red couch with little black details along the furniture. His house screamed luxurious and elegant. For two little mudbloods, it was too much richness.
“Albus told me that two mudbloods were going to visit me. I didn’t know when you were going to arrive. I was just preparing myself.” Peverell fluttered his eyelashes and drank the glass of champagne one of the elves poured him. It was almost comical, he heard his intake of breath from Hermione when those words were uttered by the stranger. He was used to being called that, but she was still a teenager and didn’t deserve those snide remarks.
“Hello Lord Peverell, I am Hermione Granger and he is Severus Snape. We are going to ask you some questions.” His student said politely and he could feel proud of her. She was composed, and untroubled. Harry got up suddenly and gestured for them to follow him through a large corridor full of boring paintings, he recognised some as his ancestors. Hermione was walking diligently next to him, and Snape tried to do the same thing. He was tired of the pureblood stupidity.
They reached a glorious living room, the tables and chairs were gold, but usually, his house had darker tones and everything was imbued with magic. He could feel the powerful aura the man carried with him, he had a sense of confidence he only felt in his Lord which was certainly fitting in a sense. “You can ask now.” The man claimed, fixing his long green robe.
The most terrific part of it was that Peverell didn’t seem old. He had the face and energy of a teenager, his eyes were old, but they conveyed an eerie brightness. His face was pale, and smooth, with a rough texture on it and fortunately, he wasn’t the only one who noticed it, because Hermione was eyeing the man carefully and tightened her hold on a parchment she had with her.
“Lord Voldemort is the subject.” She explained gently, Snape wasn’t gentle. He just wanted to threaten the man, knowing that he could lose. Peverell were excellent duelists or so they said. Also, they manipulated death.
“Yes, I know.” Harry rolled his eyes in response. “Albus told me. What do you want to know about him? If I could, I would have killed him when I had the chance, but I lost my opportunity, so I am here now, giving an interview to a little girl and…” He gestured to him. “A Potions Professor.”
Hermione was getting a bit nervous, it was obvious. They weren’t prepared for a condescending demeanour at their ages. He had the urge to correct him, but if Harry was a student from Hogwarts, he was older than the two of them combined. “Weakness. That is what we want to know or any vital information about him that could help us. That is what we are looking for, Lord Peverell.” The teenager expressed with trembling hands and Harry’s gaze wandered over her with eyes so sharp that Snape felt out of place.
He remembered feeling out of place when he was a teenager, a scrawny poor boy with an abusive father and a submissive mother. “I am not judging you because you are mudbloods. I am one too. I love to use that word, out of spite!” Harry chirped lightly as his personality changed completely and Snape felt more dread at knowing that the man read him like an open book. He wasn’t used to that. Usually, it was the other way around.
They were invited to sit in front of him, and they did it quickly. Both were needed to get out of the place. Hermione began with the questions and Snape made more specific ones because he was the one working under the man’s thumb. The man was holding something, secrets, or a little reminiscing over his past.
“How did you meet, He-who-shall-not-be-named, Mr Peverell?” Snape dared to ask and the snake-ish eyes of Harry focused on him. He was sipping a beverage cautiously and his lips were pink, tempting and annoying like every beautiful person on the planet.
He thought for an instant and then, approached the carefully crafted answer. “I met him at Hogwarts.” He said at last, and with that question, they bid goodbye to the Peverell who only left them a bitter taste.
“He was very logical.” Hermione's futile attempt to construct a conversation with her professor turned right. Snape nodded, he was expecting someone like that. It seemed petty little immortal elves were Voldemort’s type.
“Yes, he was.” They didn’t talk about the elephant in the room. The man had said he was a “mudblood” too in his own words, and it could be. Snape didn’t study Peverell’s tales or genealogical trees. Dumbledore informed his ex-student very well, almost annoyingly secretive.
As a result, it could have been a better experience. Peverell never said anything substantial, he had a lot of knowledge of magic, on Hogwarts, but he hid a lot of information from them. Unconsciously or not, the man was a suspect.
“Professor Snape, I investigated him. Someone anonymously bought the house where he is living. It’s odd because he didn’t need it. He is richer than most pureblood families combined and he has a little shop at Diagon Alley of Potions.” Hermione told him, irritated and Snape only hummed. It was obvious that Peverell had at least a friendly relationship with his Lord. He didn’t think the man would let anyone go far away from him.
However, at the Death Eater meeting he attended, Lord Voldemort was suspiciously calm. All his sentiments were correct when the man called him personally. “I got notified that you visited someone from my past, Severus.” His voice was grave, deep.
“It was at Dumbledore's request, my Lord.” He tried to explain because he didn’t want to be crucified during the night hours. His body didn’t shake anymore, but the turmoils caused in the past never left him.
“What do you think about him? Don’t lie, because I will know.” Voldemort pressed with a thoughtful expression. His eyes were gleaming, unnaturally and the wand was mockingly placed under his chin.
“Well, I don’t know what to say, my Lord. He is certainly peculiar. I didn’t know him. I thought all Peverell were dead.” Threading the words was exhausting, but necessary for Voldemort's gentleness.
When his Lord gestured to him to get close, he knew he was going to revisit his memories. It was awful and violated his privacy. He closed his eyes, briefly recalling Harry’s figure, house, and the events that passed through him like water. Then, Voldemort distanced himself and regarded him from his throne. “I forbid you Severus to visit him again. Dumbledore will have to search for another explorer.”
It was fine for him. There was something macabre in Harry, but it could also be his supposed necromancy abilities. After the meeting, he went to Hogwarts and Dumbledore was waiting for him in the Headquarters. Changing a dog owner for another was a poor decision made by a younger Severus. However, Hermione was there too with the parchment clutched to her chest. She looked like a journalist.
“He isn’t charming at all.” The student said, and she was precise. It was probably a wound in her ego, the same as him. Maybe that was why Harry was a threat to the two of them.
Dumbledore snickered like they were telling a good joke and Snape raised an eyebrow, offended. “No, he is not, Miss Granger. He doesn’t need to. However, I know how he may offend you, but rest assured, Harry doesn’t have ill intentions against anyone.”
How was he so confident about it? Both of them didn’t know.
At Peverell's Mansion
“What do you want here, Tom?” Harry was trying to sleep in his bed, but he was aware of Tom’s presence. His magic was unmistakable.
He heard some ruffling of robes, and the bed dipped down when the man sat on it. His fingers were casually playing with his hair like they were long-time friends and his relationship wasn’t marked by betrayal and resentment. It was soft, it was everything Harry loved once of him.
“I only wished to know if you were fine, Harry.” Riddle’s voice was the same, a higher-pitch tone than when they were younger. He rolled his eyes and his body to face the monster everyone was frightened of.
“Do you know how divorces work, Tom? I don’t want you stalking me here! I don’t want you appearing at night in my bed.” His voice was going higher. He was tired, people at the shop were completely useless sometimes or completely stubborn.
The man’s face was still blank as ever, a carefully constructed mask by the years, wrinkle by wrinkle. “This is my house too.” He said, almost in a whisper, Harry got up quickly from the bed, tied his robe over his chest and decided to regard Lord Voldemort from his side.
“This is our house, maybe you wanted to say, Tom, and also you told me that you weren’t going to live here anymore. You promised me this was mine!” Tom was facing him, a fleeting feeling of hurt passed through him, but it left quickly. He knew he was responsible for messing up. “We are not married anymore, so just leave.” Harry sensed a turmoil in his voice. It was impossible to think that Tom Riddle turned into that. A shell of a person.
However, Voldemort decided to grab him by his waist and placed his head on his chest. His robes had the smell of fire, of ashes and blood. It was certainly disgusting. Harry just positioned himself better and sighed after admitting defeat. It was too easy to fall into the same patterns as before. It was his fault that Voldemort kept coming back to their place. He had to set fire to the house, buy something else in another country and disappear from the man’s life.
Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how many weeks, or months, he spent in another country. Tom always found him. A letter always found its way. He was acting more as a teenager than when he was one. Like a lovesick person. “I don’t want to discuss it with you,” Tom grumbled, and Harry felt the vibration in his head. His cheek was plastered against the man’s chest.
He snorted at his comment. Always so placative, when in fact he was the opposite. He had seen his sadic side, had seen the murderers, had seen some of his followers falling dead mysteriously and his friends disappearing one by one. “That is what you always say, Tom. But you never fulfilled any of your promises. I know that you are behaving like this because Miss Granger and Mr Snape came here last week.”
His ex-husband tensed after hearing that, and Harry giggled. “He won’t come back.” Venom laced his words, the possessive streak which Harry pained every minute. He remembered his teenage self, the countless punishments against the people who got close to him. However, with him, he was always so lovely, and so patient, but Harry felt suffocation. He felt like the leash was too tight against his neck.
Tom kissed his head, and Harry felt shivers running down his spine. He hated how he was blatantly keeping him in check while using his words and kisses, used purely as a distraction. “You are beautiful as always.”
He winced after hearing it. “You don’t need to keep lying, Tom.”
The bedroom turned silent after the whispering ceased and Harry was frozen on the spot. It seemed that in fact, Tom wasn’t lying at all.