Current mood:	accomplished
Current music:	Robin (The Hooded Man) by Legend
Entry tags:	fic, fic: series: a surreal tale

Fic: Turning the Corner

And here it is, the result of some creative outlining. Yes, the tags on this post probably don't make sense; I will be outlining what I now mean when I tag something fic-verse:ast. Otherwise, if you want a sharpish draught of unedited, nineteen-year-old Severus on a mission, read on.

A/N: Warning for adult themes and language. Also, here be dubious consent, graphic sexual descriptions, swearing and general adult theme. Please pretend that Aberforth Dumbledore has the same sort of Scottish accent as Craig Ferguson; trust me, it makes it all better. Pairing is kind of a spoiler: Aberforth/Severus.

Summary: The year is 1979. Severus Snape is 19, and has been commanded to be desperate. He obeys…with disconcerting results.

Turning the Corner

There was nothing Severus enjoyed more nowadays than walking into the Hog’s Head and having people make way. It was a cold night, and the wind had bit him hard through his shabby blue cloak as he walked up Hogsmeade’s high street, so Severus took what enjoyment he could get from the parting of the evening crowd before him. He didn’t think he would enjoy much else tonight.

“Ah, young Snape,” Aberforth Dumbledore said, his smile the wrong sort of friendly. “Stiff night out there, isn’t it?”

On any other night, Severus would have sneered at him, or kept his order short, and moved on and away from the man’s creeping interest. Tonight, though… “Is indeed.” He felt colder than ever as he slid up to the bar and put an arm on it, trying to make it look accidental. “Gillywater, please.”

“Oh, indeed,” Aberforth said, drifting closer. “Meeting someone?”

Severus, against all instinct, looked him straight in the eye. “Might be.” He looked down again, quickly, at his hands. I’m playing it too strong. Got to be. Aberforth had moved away by now, and his rough voice could be heard dealing with another customer. Whoever it was, they kept their elbows and their robes to themselves.

On any other night, that would have made Severus smile.

Strong is good, he tried to tell himself, as he felt Aberforth’s eyes rove over him. Too strong is better.

“Now, then,” Aberforth said, his voice closer than Severus would have liked. “Gillywater?”

Severus didn’t dare look up; as if the old bastard ever forgot an order. More likely he just wanted to see Severus squirm. “Yeah. And a word.”

Aberforth snorted. “I’m busy.” A glass thumped down before Severus, and he forced himself to look up a little; this would have to be well done.

“Busy,” he said, derisively. “Here I am, draped all over your counter, asking to talk to you.” Severus tapped his gillywater with a finger, but didn’t take an eye off Aberforth as it rose at his command. “You’re not busy enough to ignore that, are you?”

It had been a mistake to look up again, however much it emphasised his words. For now, Severus could see their effect, could watch something flash in Aberforth’s cold blue eyes, and watch him smile.

“No, Snape,” he said, still smiling. “Just busy enough that I can’t be out from behind here, not for long.” He sighed briefly in thought, looking to his left and right, measuring the continued flow of customers in and out of the pub. Making Severus squirm. Again. “Come— come along behind here and sit down. There’s some booths near the kitchen, for private conversations.” His smile reappeared, taking on a slightly savage edge. “That suit?”

Severus shrugged, and hoped it looked unconcerned. His face stayed blessed calm as he made his way behind the bar, trying to look as if he did this sort of thing every day. Right now, that was the only legacy of meetings with the Dark Lord that he could feel thankful for. Those had held him up in the Inner Circle, sooner than someone his age might reach in a short time, but they had also borne him here, into Aberforth Dumbledore’s hands.

The thoughts that surfaced at that made Severus blanch despite himself. He made his expression of distaste disappear by main force as he looked back at Aberforth, holding court at the bar, and was waved through the door to the kitchens. The harried-looking house elves within pointed him on again without comment, so that he quickly found the set of private booths Aberforth had referred to. They were truly private, with only the buzz of conversation and the deeper shadows that hung about most of them to signify that they were occupied.

Severus, squashing another unhelpful thought, chose one less thickly shadowed and sat down. Thick, spell-made silence surrounded him almost immediately.

It didn’t help the thoughts. The booth table was smaller than the ones outside, and the seat much more comfortable. Only one edge of the table did not have plush seating to supplement it, and there was a smell, something familiar and heavy that Severus did not quite want to recognise.

Fool, he thought, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, you’re desperate, remember? You will do anything he wants for what you ask. Anything. The Dark Lord hadn’t suggested anything in particular, but the look in his eyes as he’d spoken of Severus’ new task had hinted at it. The casual-seeming pat on the shoulder at the end of that meeting took on a new significance; Merlin knew Severus’ memories and fears were open to the Dark Lord. He would surely have rifled through them, honing in on the ones most likely significant, predicting the methods most likely to be used tonight—

It was a bracing thought. Severus’ shoulder itched, and a terrifying suspicion took hold of him. He wouldn’t ask that of me, he thought, his face now feeling like stone. He wouldn’t want— has never wanted—

But it was already too late to reconsider his method for tonight. Aberforth’s hand pierced the silence of the booth, followed by his slim frame. He sat heavily, most likely on purpose, and Severus found himself forced to look down so he could safely let some panic show on his face. Was tonight just another elaborate test? Might the Dark Lord infer…certain conclusions from the test?

Severus stamped on his panic with a single thought. I won’t, he thought viciously, decisively. Not with him.

Aberforth’s smile widened a little as he finally looked up. “So. The word?”

Severus nodded and shifted in his seat, preparing the first sentence he would say. Something thumped and splashed just in front of him, making him start; the gillywater. It took a lot not to glare at Aberforth, who was still smiling, and still more to take up the drink and take a sip.

That calmed him; a good idea. Severus cleared his throat, and spoke. “I hear you’re still in contact with your brother.”

Aberforth nodded slowly, his smile fading somewhat. “And?”

“I need to speak to him,” Severus said, simply. “I thought—”

“Floo him, lad,” Aberforth said, his smile turning derisive. “I hear he still works at Hogwarts. Your headmaster, wasn’t he?” Severus nodded, reluctantly, and decided he hated Aberforth’s chuckle. It sounded eerily like Dumbledore’s. “He’s a soft one. Surely he won’t mind hearing from an old student. Lives for that sort of thing.”

“Not from me,” Severus said, keeping his tone as even as possible. Aberforth leaned forward, intent. “You know why.”

“Do I?” Aberforth’s hand was on top of his, now. When had that happened? “You’re too young to be much with them, aren’t you?” His smile was now almost…approving. “You just carry it very, very well.”

Severus fought the urge to settle back into his seat and take his hand away. “I’m marked,” he forced out, bitterly amused that he did not need to feign that. “And I’ve tried to Floo him. Doesn’t work.”

“You, marked?” Aberforth said, not seeming to have heard the rest. His eyes were hooded now, and far too close for Severus’ comfort. “Show me.”

Severus gritted his teeth. “Just take my word for it,” he found himself saying sharply, not needing to fake this reluctance at all. “If you can set up a meeting—”

Aberforth laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t be daft,” he said, and his hand suddenly became a vicelike grip around Severus’ left wrist, steadily pulling him closer. A breeze ruffled his robe sleeve up and out of the way, and it was suddenly a lot brighter within the booth.

All the better to show off the Mark, and Severus’ pale arm beneath it. Aberforth’s laughter rang out again, and somehow, that stung more than everything else had, making Severus’ hands shake as he wrested his arm back.

“God’s teeth, lad,” Aberforth said, amusement clear on his face. “That fresh?”

“Half a year old,” Severus said, despite himself. “Fresh to you, maybe.”

“Half a year old,” Aberforth repeated, his eyes faraway. “Nineteen and as deep as anyone can be. Your birthday’s in January, isn’t it?”

Severus glared at him, but nodded anyway. Maybe this would be it; annoying jibes about him being too young for everything, and a cavalier disregard for his dignity. Mum had had that last one down pat; “Nineteen,” she’d said, “and suddenly you’ve got dignity.”

Aberforth cleared his throat, amusement still lurking in his eyes. “Come upstairs in ten— no, twenty minutes,” he said, standing up. “It’ll be through the door, down the corridor, and up the first stairs you see. Then you’ll turn into another corridor, and it’ll be in the room on the first left.” His hand casually stroked Severus’ neck. “Got it?”

Cavalier disregard for my dignity, Severus thought, and forced a nod. And then he was alone in the godforsaken booth, slumping a little in relief. There had actually been nothing to it— suspicious, yes, but at this point, Severus was hardly in the mood to complain. Especially not when he would likely be relating every last detail of this night to the Dark Lord. If— and he dared to hope— if Aberforth called the Headmaster, and at least let Severus talk to him, Severus could leave out some of the more shameful moments of this night. That hand on his; that hand on his neck.

Severus realised he was gritting his teeth, and shook his head, trying to make himself relax. No point in being actually wound up when he went upstairs. None at all. He seized his drink and began to sip at it, calming his mind as best as he could, checking the time and hoping he wouldn’t be too long waiting down here.

It turned out that he’d not needed to bother; at just about the time when Severus had begun to debate going up early just in case, a house elf appeared in his booth.

“Master will see you now,” it said, unusually brusque. Its large eyes looked him over as he got to his feet, setting the glass down on the table. Severus glared at it, and it looked down as he left the thick, skin-crawling silence.

Now for it. Finding his way upstairs took no time at all. It was even almost pleasant— certainly interesting to see the furnishings become less shabby as he climbed the stairs. That fit with something he’d thought from the moment he’d had his first drink here; everything was dirty, yes. Too dirty. A front, just like the silent, insolent front Aberforth Dumbledore put up for those that didn’t interest him.

Severus still didn’t know why he’d caught the horrible man’s eye. Well, he knew why, or could guess why, from how he’d always been treated here, but that wasn’t enough reason for it. He’d always thought he’d be the last person to have that kind of attention directed at him, especially while he’d still been in school.

The first door on the left was slightly ajar, and Severus could feel the spelled silence part around him as he entered, then solidify as he shut the door behind him.

“Boy,” Aberforth said, his tone low and sharp. “Turn the corner.”

Severus did as he was told, then came to an unwilling stop as the narrow corridor he’d entered opened out before him. There was a bed, and Aberforth sat on it, stroking himself. Something bent in Severus as he watched the old man part his robes and pull out his hardened cock. He stepped forward anyway, distantly hoping it didn’t show.

Aberforth smiled, and this time, it seared him. “On your knees.”

Severus hesitated for a moment. For his pride. The wooden floor creaked softly as he settled down and shuffled awkwardly forward, careful to keep his eyes down. But Aberforth would have none of that; his other hand snaked into Severus’ hair and tilted his face up.

That smile, from this position—

“Excellent,” was all Aberforth said, and yet that also cut deep. He let go of Severus’ hair, and his smile faded. “Put that mouth to some use, boy; open it.”

The cock— Severus would not let himself think of its owner— was as hard and familiar as any he’d ever been faced with. Grey hair at the base. Warm in his hands. Severus thought of closing his eyes, and did not. He had a strong inkling that he would be made to keep them open.

Hatred gathered in Severus’ throat as he took his first, generous lick. Aberforth chuckled above him, sending a shiver down his back. “Seasoned, are you?” he said, his tone thick with suggestion. “I thought so.” Severus slid his mouth down and sucked, hoping that would stop the words.

It didn’t. “Merlin,” Aberforth said. “Those lips were made for this. Very— very good.” Severus, his mouth full, could only glare down and try to blink his watering eyes into submission. “How many ways,” Aberforth asked, quietly, “are you a virgin?”

His hand found Severus’ hair again, pulling him up; it seemed that he wanted an answer. Severus very badly wanted a number of things, but could only try to wipe away the saliva on his chin. “None,” he said, trying to make his tone neutral, but his voice was cracking, and Aberforth was laughing again.

“I’m torn, you see,” Aberforth said, tilting Severus’ head up again. “I’d love to find out who, but at the same time…” His cock twitched, and Severus wanted to rip it off. There were spells for that; he’d seen one, once. But the hard blue eyes held his, and dared him on, and he knew he would not. Could not, unless he wanted to die; the cock was hot and firm in his mouth, and he could feel the restless power surge around his face, aroused by what he was doing.

After then, Aberforth interrupted him only once. And then, he did not speak, simply forcing Severus’ eyes to his, then forcing him back down. I own you, was the message, clear as day. I own you, tonight. And there was nothing Severus could do; he’d come into this fucking room by the Dark Lord’s design, and leaving it without achieving his purpose was as good as sentencing himself to death.

And, god, it could have been anyone else, but for the raw power that sat on what there was of Severus’ bare skin, and the command in the hands that were still in his hair. Severus did everything he could think of, and thanked Merlin that this had never done much for him. Whatever he could use to insult Aberforth tonight without compromising everything, he would use. It was what was desired of him; he saw that now.

Aberforth gasped once, soft and harsh all at once, and Severus knew what it was to be held completely against his will. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking, despite how useless he knew it to be. Will the Dark Lord want this? Will he want it just like this?

Come hit the back of his throat, and Aberforth withdrew almost immediately, leaving Severus heaving and sputtering and pathetically glad that one step of this all was over.

That is, until he heard the knocking, and saw that Aberforth’s cock was being tidily put out of sight, and that there was come on Severus’ hands. Aberforth waved a hand, and the next smile on his face was not for Severus at all.

“Bertie, I’ve an interview tonight,” Albus Dumbledore said, sounding cross. “What on earth are you doing in here? The door was…” Severus heard the moment he was seen in the Headmaster’s shocked intake of breath.

“Finishing a chat, I was,” Aberforth said, putting a hand to Severus’ reddened face. “Young Snape, here. Former student of yours, I believe?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, tonelessly. “I see.”

Severus, gulping down the last of Aberforth’s come, tried to tell himself his nonverbal Evanesco had been in time. The sheer…brightness of Aberforth’s eyes told him otherwise as he stumbled to his feet, trying to gather up some semblance of dignity.

The pity in Dumbledore’s eyes nearly undid him. Severus, trying desperately to put himself together, looked down. Words escaped him, and were still far from his tongue, for the Headmaster was moving forward, such a calm expression on his face that Severus would have sworn they were meeting normally if not for the taste in his mouth.

“Apparently, your anti-Dark magic charm web is working,” Aberforth said, shifting loudly behind Severus. “Wouldn’t let him through the Floo, not to Hogwarts.”

Severus flushed, more violently than he felt he’d ever done in his life. A glare back in the old bastard’s direction would only give him satisfaction, so Severus looked at his brother instead, trying desperately to think of something to say.

Aberforth cleared his throat. “I offered some help,” he said, suggestively. “Does this suit, Snape?”

“Be quiet,” Dumbledore snapped, making Severus go still. “You’ve had your fun; let him alone.”

“Fun?” Severus could almost see the vicious smile. “I should think so.”

“So,” Dumbledore said, looking straight at Severus, eyes hard, “you are marked.” Severus nodded. “And desperate, I assume.”

Aberforth laughed, but just this once, it did not steal the words from Severus’ mouth. “Yes,” he said. “And— well—”

Dumbledore sighed. “What would you have me do?” he asked, pointedly. “I can’t trust you.”

“If you don’t, he’ll kill me,” Severus said, believing it, and wishing that he did not. Lucius would laugh if he ever heard of any of this. Anyone— everyone would laugh. His eyes burned; he did not know which would be worse. Then he looked at Dumbledore again, and saw he was rapt. “He sent me to…spy on you.”

Dumbledore’s eyes left him, then, moving around the room. They eventually landed on something behind Severus. Or, rather, someone. Then, without warning, Dumbledore’s blue eyes pinned Severus down again, scoring him with Legilimency so deep he barely felt its touch. “Will you spy on me?”

When Severus spoke, he knew it was the truth. “No.” He could still taste Aberforth in his mouth, could almost feel the man’s eyes raking him from behind. And there was no forgetting the pleasure the bastard had taken in forcing him; that was most likely how it would be, with anyone else.

With the Dark Lord, even. “No,” Severus said again, quietly. “I won’t.”

Dumbledore nodded, slowly. Then looked around the room, his eyes travelling to a clock Severus had not seen. “Floo me tomorrow evening,” he said, turning away. “You— and only you— will be allowed through.”

“Oh, but Albus,” Aberforth asked, merrily, “won’t that be a tad unsafe? Couldn’t he just have an Imperius slapped on him before hand, and—”

“If he can’t keep free of an Imperius for a day, then there is really no hope for him,” Dumbledore said, matter-of-factly. He glanced at Severus. “You do understand that I will require a vow…?”

“Of course.”

Aberforth snorted. “And that’ll be all?” he said, mockingly. “Just a vow? Hah. At least I was straight with him.” Dumbledore shot him a look that was sharp and utterly devoid of expression. “Well, it’s not like he’s not amenable to what you’d want. Is it?”

Dumbledore set his jaw. “Tomorrow evening, Severus?” was all he said, though he shot a look of disgust in his brother’s direction. “Good night.”

Aberforth snorted again. A moment later, Dumbledore was gone, and Severus could hear his footsteps through the thin walls as he made his way downstairs.

“It isn’t, by the way.” Severus tried hard to keep his face straight as he turned to look at Aberforth, but he obviously had not succeeded, from the way the man smiled. “You’re not exactly his type, but—”

“He’s never like you,” Severus said, unable to help himself, following the simple statement with a dismissive look up and down. “Not on your level.”

Aberforth laughed silently, shaking his head. “Oh, lad,” he said, rising slowly to his feet, “you’ll see. He hides it very well. And, like I said,” he put a hand on Severus’ arm, “you’re not his type.”

It suddenly broke through to Severus that they weren’t talking about the Headmaster’s bent for manipulation. Aberforth’s chuckle cut him almost as deeply as the realisation of the Headmaster’s…preferences did. Manipulation, Severus could excuse; the man ran a boarding school, for goodness’ sake, and needed to keep the peace, however ham-handedly he did so. But— and great god, Sirius Black was known to be amenable to everyone and everything. And Potter. Potter had always been handsome, as had Black—

Aberforth was still chuckling, still stroking his arm. “You see it now, don’t you?” He put a hand to Severus’ cheek. “You’ll need to know everything you can about him. It always comes in handy.”

Severus turned away his face. “Shouldn’t you be encouraging me not to let him down?”

“Fool,” Aberforth said, forcing his face back. “I know my brother.” He stepped back, and sat down on the bed again, one hand moving easily to his cock. “Stay?”

Severus stared at him. “You’d have to kill me first.” Aberforth didn’t laugh; he only looked and smiled as Severus flushed again.

“Then why are you still here?” he asked, parting his robes again to reveal his stiffening cock. “If you’re so…eager to be away.”

Severus did not dare swallow, did not dare think. He only moved, and tried not to feel the least bit gratified at the catch in the other man’s breath as he leaned down and kissed him. It was, by every standard imaginable, an indecent kiss; Aberforth supplied all the indecency necessary, forcing his tongue into Severus’ mouth and reaching down and around and squeezing here and there. Severus had to back away to end it, and even then— “That all?”

Severus did not let himself freeze. If he did— no, no more thoughts, no more thinking. He stumbled backwards, hating himself for having responded at all. “That,” he said, putting all the venom and frustration that had built up today into his tone, “was extra. I don’t owe you a minute more, now.”

Aberforth sighed. “Tease.”

Severus wiped his mouth, and called up an image of Aberforth bound, naked, bloody. Screaming. It did nothing but make him redden more. “You ever touch me again—”

“I quite understand,” was the laconic answer. “Get on with you.”

Severus made sure to slam the door behind him, though it didn’t make him feel much better. Used, used and filthy; that was how he felt. When he got home tonight, he was going to scrub himself, scrub his mouth, scrub out that taste—

He was soon out into the Pub, and had to press through the crowd. It was more packed in here now, so even his glare did nothing to make things faster. The night air stung him as he finally plunged through the door, bringing unbidden tears to his eyes.

“You weren’t even fucked,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t you dare.” He scrubbed at his eyes, turned round, and went back in. I’m going to have a fucking drink before I go. I fucking deserve it.

Naturally, with that attitude, he had more than just one drink. Firewhiskeys, warm in the glass and scorching on the way down, each one shoving him far enough away from sobriety that he didn’t care who served them. Someone jostled him, and he snarled, and moments later, they were screaming and flapping about. No blood; pathetic.

The hands that gripped him made no sense. His own hands felt like they could hold nothing, not even his wand— was it in his pocket? Never good to go without—

“Not under my roof,” the barkeeper growled in his ear. And Severus could have sworn that someone was groping his arse. Bizarre, really; as drunk as he was, he could just about parse the fact that he was being thrown out. But not outside— inside, somehow, somewhere dark. “Sit here,” someone said, and they made him sit, and their footsteps went away and didn’t come back.

Two people came back, however. Severus was in some kind of cage, or cocoon— cocoon, what a word— was that blood in his mouth?

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,” someone said, sounding far away. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”

Severus listened to them with only half an ear, still turning over the silly word in his mind. Cocoon. The cocoon will die, he told himself, eyes closed, curled up inside it. Vanquishing.

---

There was a pensieve in the room in which the Dark Lord sat. Severus heard the door close behind him, and could not remember stepping forward so it could close. The Dark Lord hadn’t exactly specified how he would relate his findings, but Severus had assumed that he would simply talk. That he could at least try to gloss over some moments—

“Have you ever used a pensieve before?” His Lord’s tone was bored, brisk, even. When Severus nodded, he sighed in relief, not looking up from the book he was looking through. “Put your memory in. Leave nothing out.”

Severus moved mechanically, forcing himself through the steps to get the first memory out; two nights ago, he had sucked Aberforth Dumbledore off for no reason beside the fact that the man had ordered him to. Severus, thinking of the fury he now felt after his belated realisation that Dumbledore might have come to the Hog’s Head that evening for separate business, felt absurdly grateful that feelings did not go into the pensieve along with facts. He thought back to when he’d last used one, and had so desperately wished his feelings could go in as well, and might have laughed if the Dark Lord weren’t eyeing him coolly.

The next memory splashed in, receding from Severus’ mind in a way the first one had not. He stepped back, wondering if extracting that one a second time might help.

A moment later, the Dark Lord was shifting in his soft chair, head moving slightly to one side. Severus couldn’t stop his eyes from searching down that lean body in a way that would have felt sacrilegious to him once. I have to know, he told himself, to combat the guilt and fear.

And then, with another shift of the Dark Lord just so, Severus did. Severus stared at the visible lump between the other man’s legs with a mixture of fear and searing realisation. Robes never lied; the Dark Lord was hard. From watching— from watching Severus humiliated on his knees.

Bile and anger collected together in the back of Severus throat. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking feverishly, setting up a mental shield he knew would be suspicious, but could not help it. Then his mum’s voice, unusually dry and stern, came to him: work with your instincts, he could hear her say. They make the largest lies seem true.

So, then, Severus worked. He moved back the shield, making it smaller and more specific, and making way for what would hide it. Fear; that was easy to dredge up. But the associations it needed— yes, that memory would do, that awful one he could never quite stop taking out, the one of Lily. Take away the slap, add the useless hard-on that had sprung up once she was on the scene, add in the shame. Arranged like that, they would suggest something of interest to the Dark Lord, something hidden. Lastly, the thought of another cock in his mouth, and the deep fear of his fears being seen, being known, and it was done; a most distracting masterpiece for someone who had just seen him bring another man off.

Severus, opening his eyes, let the fear rise up to obscure all else. No time to think of the implications of all this, no time at all. And just like that, the Dark Lord shifted again, and opened his eyes.

The small smile he gave Severus was far less…intimate than he’d expected. “Well done,” he said, quietly, his voice seeming to fill the small room. “I suppose I did ask for…desperation. Do you think you were believed?”

Severus smiled, not minding that it wavered a little. “Yes.”

The Dark Lord shook his head, and the smile sat uneasily on his face. “The first memory,” he said, making Severus’ heart rise into his throat, “near the end—”

“Yes?”

“You were drunk,” the Dark Lord said, no longer smiling.

Severus could not breathe for fear. “Forgive me, but— I needed—”

“I heard what you heard,” the Dark Lord said, ignoring him. Surprising him. “I saw…the Headmaster, and a woman, who was speaking. Do you know who she was?”

Severus wracked his brains, turning over the question in his mind, wondering why it was being asked. “I…think it was an interviewee. For one of the open teaching posts at Hogwarts.”

“Divination, by any chance?” The smile that rose to the Dark Lord’s face was hard and flat. “That was a prophecy you heard, you know.”

“Ah.” Severus was now quite at a loss. “What was it about?”

The Dark Lord now stared into the distance, with narrowed eyes. Severus’ eyes darted down him, and saw that no telltale lump remained. “It was about me, Severus.”

Severus nodded automatically, then suddenly understood the words. “Did you hear—”

“I heard enough.” His Lord snorted, but there was no amusement in it. “‘Thrice defied him’,” he muttered. “No one’s done that,” he went on, “save the Headmaster, and he’s past it. And not likely to get anyone pregnant very soon, from what I saw.” Severus bit his lip, wishing that Aberforth had been less— “Perhaps his vaunted parents taught him that sex was sin.”

“How do you know the prophecy is real?” Severus asked, tentatively. “As far as I know, Dumbledore didn’t hire that woman, so perhaps—”

“I’ve heard one before,” the Dark Lord said, turning to look at the pensieve. “I even watched it noted down, according to the custom of where I was at the time. The way it was spoken…distinctive.”

Severus nodded. “Has that one come to pass?”

The Dark Lord smiled then, suddenly, brilliantly, and his green eyes were like daggers, roving briefly over Severus where he stood. “No,” was the only answer. “Not at all.”

Severus nodded, and hoped he would be let go; prophecies were few and far between, these days. Half like myths that everyone repeated so fervently and feared so well that they did come to pass. Severus needed no prophecy to know he did not want to be in this room much longer, not with the Dark Lord eyeing him like that.

“You’ve done well, Severus,” he said, nodding slightly. “Ask…ask for a position at Hogwarts.”

“Which one?” There were three openings, all of them well known, only one of them for which Severus could even begin to think he was suited. “Potions?”

A snakelike smile flitted across the Dark Lord’s face. “Just the one.” He waved at Severus. “Take your memories; go.”

“Yes, my Lord.” And Severus, glad beyond the telling for the reprieve, took them and went, as fast as he could.

---

A/N: I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know where the idea for this pairing came from. AFY 2, folks; AFY 2.