Chapter Text
Arthur Weasley, Minister for Magic, was on this hearth. And Arthur was a busy wizard who didn't have time for housecalls.
Oh, this was something he would not like.
"What with all that business with Gilderoy Lockhart, I —that is the Ministry— had to come with a new way to assign awards."
"No coven of dewy-eyed witches panting over a celebrity?" Severus' smile was little more than a dark twitch. "Whatever will Mr Potter do now?"
Arthur's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Come now, Severus, you know he doesn't court his fame."
The Headmaster snorted and waved at his comfy seat before the fire. "Sit. Tea?"
A hogwart's elf popped in with a full tea tray and popped out again..
Severus sipped his tea...and waited. "What are you here for, Arthur?"
The other wizard's cheeks topped with a mottled pink and he stared into his cup. "A spell was adapted. It's much like the one which allows the Sorting Hat to decide upon a house."
Severus pinched at the bridge of his nose. "It went wrong."
"Oh no. No. It's fine. Brilliant, in fact. It's a flashy little ball that sits in my cupboard. Sometimes it sings…"
Severus didn't know whether the look on the Minister's face was joy or pain. If this little ball were a…relation to the Sorting Hat, he'd believe the latter. "What then—?"
"It decided there should be a new award. A new medal." Arthur drew in a long breath, readying himself for something, and Severus' well-honed sense of catastrophe started to burn in his gut. A false grin cut across Arthur's face. "The Order of Severus Snape."
Severus stared at him. His mouth almost fell open. One word did escape him. "Fuck." And then. "No." He stared at the older wizard. "Fuck, no." He put his cup down. 'Arthur—"
"The first medal has already been struck."
Severus sank back into his chair and closed his eyes. "Please tell me its plain. Not some gaudy…"
"It's black." There was a smile in Arthur's voice. "A beautiful polished, obsidian circle hanging from a black silk ribbon. Both plain. Unadorned. The edges are milled, with the title of the medal and the recipient's name etched there."
Severus huffed out a soured laugh. "Well, if I have to have a medal named after me…" He opened his eyes, pushed out a long breath and caught his fingers in his hair. "What does it mark? Most hated professor? Wizard with the most distinctive nose?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Best billow?"
Arthur snorted with laughter and shook his head. "None of the above."
"Most interesting hair?"
"Severus…"
"Of course, I would then be in receipt of a host of my own medals."
Arthur put down his cup. His shoulders straightened, and Severus almost groaned. A speech was on the horizon. "The Order of Severus Snape will be the most difficult award to gain—"
"And yet you said, one's already been struck. I assume it isn't me?"
Arthur inflicted his, 'I'm the Minister' look and Severus gave a nonchalant wave of his hand for the man to continue. "The award will mark a great service –previously unrecognised— to the wizarding world. Spanning years. Under great sacrifice and pain. And with no thought of oneself. No seeking of fame or aggrandisement. Just the simple fact that the sacrifice is made because it is the right thing to do."
Severus Snape blinked. And blinked again. "Arthur…" Fuck, the wizard's name was almost a strangled mess when it left his mouth. "This…"
"You've been treated poorly in the fall out, after the war ended." The older wizard looked to his hands, which had formed a tight, bloodless knot. "As have others."
That statement brought Severus mind back to some order. He frowned, no name leaping to his thoughts. "Who?"
"Hermione Granger."
Severus gut twisted with a months' old guilt, a fresh one on top of how he'd treated her throughout her school career. "She's to get this new award?"
Arthur gave a short nod.
"Well…she does also win most interesting hair."
The other wizard didn't smile and shook his head. "Albus used her. Without her, Harry…" He scrubbed his hand across his face. "She came to our world, fresh, excited, brimming with power and intelligence…and Albus leapt on her like a wolf."
"Arthur…?"
The Minister pushed his fingers together, straining them white. "With this new medal, we uncovered a buried thread of magic. Minerva confirmed it this afternoon." He winced. "Albus forced her sorting."
Severus' stomach was hollow. "She wasn't meant for Gryffindor?"
Arthur drew in a breath. "Minerva talked to the Sorting Hat. I know, that should've been your role. But she was in the school, and gods, Severus, I had to know." He unclenched his fingers. "From what it remembers –and it remembers every head its sat on— she would've been a hatstall. It was torn between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. If pushed, which it would have been, it says it would've leant towards Ravenclaw."
Severus pressed his fingers to his eyelids and held down a groan. "Who else?"
"Who…?"
"This is Albus Dumbledore. The idea of forcing the Hat to work for his 'greater good' wouldn't have been plucked from thin air. The thread he forced into the hat would've been old. Used before."
He stood, the sure twist in his belly forcing him to acknowledge something he wanted to put far behind him. Tom Riddle was dead. Albus was dead. The war was won. He was alive.
He flung floo powder into the large hearth of the sitting room's fireplace and green flames flared. "Follow me." He turned to the fire. "Headmaster's rooms, Hogwarts."
He turned and twisted through the network and habit had him striding out, and towards the Headmaster's office. He flicked out a patronus to Minerva, asking her to meet him there. Another roar of flame and Arthur lurched behind him.
Moments later, and he was in his office. The blasted Hat sat on its shelf. He'd always found the tattered…object repellent. Was that his natural reaction to the magic twisting it? If so, he was right. His gut was right. And bloody Albus Dumbledore had been at this for a long time.
He glared at the black curtain that covered the former-Headmaster's portrait. Albus had tried to influence him. Sly, seemingly innocuous words, to worm his agenda back into the world. Severus was certain Phineas Black had snorted when the thick black curtain wrapped around Albus' indignantly shrieking frame.
"Severus?"
Minerva brought his mind back to focus. She closed the door and the wards snapped into place.
"The Hat." He willed his face concerned, pushing back a wince. His guilt pulled at him. His first post-war regret. And because of that it was fierce, shining. "Did you only ask it about…Miss Granger?"
The witch looked from him to Arthur and something fell in her. Her eyes dulled. Another piece of her admiration for Albus Dumbledore was crumbling away. "You believe this was a regular thing?"
Severus summoned the Hat and placed it on his desk. It roused itself, the tip straightening. Folded eyes scrunched up at him. "Headmaster."
"Who else?"
The wide mouth of the Hat pulled down.
"I've no time for games. Who else did Albus force a sorting on?"
The brown material of the Hat sagged and the tip drooped. "Many."
Severus lifted his shoulders. "Me?" He ignored Minerva's gasp. "Well?"
"You were meant for Ravenclaw. Your mind, Severus Snape. It's brilliance, would've been fostered there. Supported." It's voice hollowed. "Loved."
Severus closed his eyes. How different his life would've been sequestered in the fiercely academic tower of Ravenclaw. His looks, his poverty would've meant nothing, been ignored. His mind would've been his saving grace. Gods, how many odd little Ravenclaw boys had he taught down the years? "Why?" He wanted to tear the cloth from the portrait and demand an answer. But the mad old bastard could fluster and deceive as he always had. Gryffindor? The dead wizard was Slytherin through and through. "Why did he do it?"
"Once, he said something about a prophecy."
Severus groaned. "Who else?"
"Sirius Black, Slytherin. Peter Pettigrew, Slytherin. Remus Lupin, Hufflepuff."
"He put the fucking Marauders together." Severus turned away, before he lashed magic at the Hat or at Albus' portrait. Or both. "And put me in their path."
"Lily Evans, Ravenclaw."
Severus froze. They would've shared a house. And with Potter and Black separated almost immediately… Fuck, he didn't think Dumbledore could stab him again, could get to him again. Bastard. Fucking bastard.
"More recent pupils?" Minerva took up the questioning.
"Percy Weasley, Slytherin. Hermione Granger, Ravenclaw – though as we discussed, she was a stall. Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw."
Oh, he was taking turpentine to that bloody painting. Draco would've thrived away from his Snakes. Though they wouldn't have been his House. Would he be a Professor? Would he have had Filius' job? Been the Head of bloody Ravenclaw?
"And were these a part of the prophecy?" Arthur's voice was strained. Was he shocked to have a Slytherin in the family?
Had the Hat been under a geas, never to speak of this betrayal? Or had the new magic broken Albus' hold? It didn't matter. It was academic, something to mull over later.
The hat lifted and drooped. "Once, just once, he said, 'This will break the prophecy. I am the rod that stirs the pot. There shall be no greater power than mine.'"
Severus scrubbed a hand over his face. "There's a prophecy attached to one or more of the people with whom the old bastard played god. Pettigrew and Lily are dead." He looked to Arthur. "We need to convene at the Department of Mysteries with everyone else."
He waved his wand and a length of parchment stretched out across his desk. "List everyone affected. Everyone."
"I will do as you say, Headmaster. I am glad to be free of this influence at last." And the Hat started to mutter, filling up the parchment with names.
Too many bloody names.