The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 2

By Pigwidgeon37

Severus stayed on his chair by the open window for a very long time. The sky was already changing from inky black to dark blue when he finally went to bed, but there were too many thoughts racing through his head to make him even think of sleep, let alone seek it.

Was it stupid or reasonable to take stock of one’s life when one was barely eighteen years old? Severus was not quite sure—he felt that it was maybe a little pathetic. But then, he had just closed one book and taken but a glimpse of what was written between the covers of the other, and before he fully opened this second tome of his life, he just wanted, no, he felt compelled, to understand the contents of the first.

Was it already time to ask himself whether he had achieved everything he had wanted to? The outward signs being seventeen N.E.W.T.s—not quite his dream score, because he had wanted to equal his father’s success, but not bad either. The next best, a girl from Ravenclaw, had only reaped fifteen. So, unless he judged himself too severely he could be content with his academic successes. He had created a yet unheard of potion—sadly, it was going to remain thus and could never be written down on his list of honours, at least not on the official one. What about his life then? If he owned the truth to himself, and that was his sincere intention, the results were not as splendid there. Not by commonly applied standards, at least. He was completely alone. Mrs. Snape was withering away at the Inverness Institute where he had not gone to visit her a single time since she had been taken there. Not that he regretted it, but it was a fact that had to be mentioned. He was a nobody and would remain a nobody for the next years, until he had finished his training and become a Potions Master. Voldemort had promised him that he would be summoned to the most important Death Eater meetings, although the summons was going to arrive by owl. And he had been right about Severus feeling more than humiliated at the thought that Nott the idiot was to receive his Dark Mark in the near future whereas he, brilliant Severus Snape, sported an untouched forearm, not much better than that of a girl.

It was less the loneliness than the feeling of an almost total lack of orientation that was troubling him. He had spent eighteen years in complete seclusion from the real world and did not have a clue how to move there. How was he supposed to get himself a flat? When did Voldemort want him to contact McLachlan? How much money was there in his vault? Well, that question at least was easily answered—he would visit Gringott’s first thing in the morning to have a look. But for the rest, much as he hated bothering his guardian with mere trivialities, he would have to write to Lestrange. Severus supposed that it would be better to have an idea where he wanted to live before seeing whoever it was he had to see for renting a flat. Or a small house. The idea quite appealed to him. A small house with a garden where he could grow his own magical herbs and where Esmeralda would have her hunting grounds. Yes, he thought, one thing was for sure: he sorely missed his cat. And he definitely did not like to stay in hotel rooms. So he would have to look for something of his own tomorrow, which meant that he had to write to Lestrange right away.

Severus checked his watch; it was half past eleven. Tom the innkeeper would probably not be overjoyed if he wanted to borrow one of the Leaky Cauldron’s post owls at so late an hour, but that could not be helped. First things first, and damn Tom’s slumber. He fished in his trunk for parchment and quill—not without fondly stroking his shrunk books, which had been occupying the bottom for quite a long time now—and wrote:

Dear St. John,

Contrary to what people might believe, seventeen N.E.W.T.s are not all a young man needs for his first outing into the world. Maybe it would be better if I had only sixteen but knew how to procure myself a place to live.

I am sure that you have many important things to do, but do you think you could dedicate a little of your time to me, playing guide-dog? I have realized that staying at inns is not on top of my list of favourite things to do, and thus would be immensely grateful if we could get done with the housing business as soon as possible.

And I think I would like to ask you some more questions about McLachlan—I am feeling a little at loss as far as he is concerned.

Hoping to hear from you soon, I remain

Yours sincerely

Severus Snape

As he had foreseen, Tom was not exactly delighted to have to fulfil his guest’s demand for an owl shortly before midnight. But fortunately, the name of Snape still rang a bell with those of his generation, and so he was friendlier than Severus had expected.

Feeling much relieved and a lot better than before, Severus returned to his room and his ponderings, wishing he had Esmeralda to be ensconced in his lap, purring and playing with his fingers while he sat and thought. He tried to imagine himself seven years ago, just about to enter Hogwarts, and attempted to put those two Severus Snapes next to each other, in order to see the difference. He was taller now, that much was obvious. He had been tall for his age when he started school, and had grown to be a very tall young man, six feet two, and at his age, an additional inch or so might still be reasonably expected. Compared to the gawky little fellow he had been as a first-year, he had certainly come to terms with his own body. His hands and feet were long and slim, but not overlarge anymore. His nose… well, his face had changed a bit, and as a change for the worse had not been possible, it had to have been for the better. Unlike many others of his peers—he snorted when he remembered Pettigrew looking like one of Florian Fortescue’s more exotic ice cream compositions—he had never had problems with acne. His skin was still sallow, but at least he had not grown spots. The prediction he had made to himself on behalf of his looks, almost exactly four years ago, had turned out to be right, although in this particular case he would not have objected to being proven wrong. He was less ugly now than he had been at age fourteen, but would never be more than interesting. Not that he minded. The thought of not having girls clustering at his doorstep in shrieking hormonal rage did not overly trouble him. Even Lucius, Hogwarts’s heartthrob extraordinaire, had grown rather tired of being hunted whenever his toes touched the floor outside the boys’ dormitory, left alone outside the Slytherin quarters.

What else was there to distinguish his nowadays self from Severus the first-year, besides the obvious physical changes? Knowledge, above all. He had learned a lot during those years; to say that he had read the whole Hogwarts library would have been only a very slight exaggeration. Experience, but mostly of the unpleasant variety. In a way, he thought, Hogwarts was a microcosm that taught you the ways of the world if only you were willing to learn. Apart from a certain practical experience—like for instance the necessary steps towards a flat of his own, he thought with a wry grin—you had everything there, especially if you were a Slytherin. Hierarchies, ever-changing alliances, conflicts, jealousies, injustice, love both mutual and unrequited, gossip—the whole vanity fair was the same within the walls of the ancient castle as outside. From that point of view, Hogwarts had been a school of life. Non scholae, sed vitae… indeed. And, narrowing down this point of view by taking another step back into objectivity, he had to admit that he had been better off as Severus Snape the nobody. The stars like Lucius, or Potter, or the McKinnon girls, had learned nothing in terms of life—they were always touched with velvet gloves and spared any hardships. It was for the losers, the underdogs like himself, that Hogwarts became a training camp for real life. Not that this was greatly to the school’s credit, for it could yield some very gruesome results, as had been the case with Patty Cropdon, a Ravenclaw, who had flung herself from the Astronomy tower after obtaining a conspicuously less brilliant O.W.L. score than her classmates. But concerning himself, the continuous struggle had led to a rather satisfying outcome. That and what his mother and uncle had done to him.

He had stayed true to the promise he had made to himself on the last day of his summer holidays three years ago: no one had been capable of breaking through the barrier he had erected for his own protection, nobody had come close enough to have the slightest chance of hurting him. Even if Lestrange let him down or betrayed him, he could shake it off.

Only Voldemort had—well, not broken through the walls, he had simply walked through them as if they were nonexistent, but that was altogether another story. So there he was again thinking of Voldemort. And he knew exactly why. Even if he did not dare to look at it directly—sideways glances were already enough to profoundly unsettle him. But experience had taught him that the more he shied away from a problem, the more important it was, and that it was of absolutely no use trying to stuff it into one of the drawers of his mind. It would be out of sight for some time, true, but those drawers had the uncanny habit of opening by their own whim and spill out their contents when he really did not need them to. Another thing he had learned, and learned the hard way. It was better to get over with it now. Voldemort’s touch had deeply aroused him.

Severus felt his mouth go dry and got up to pour himself a glass of water. He was still absolutely sure that he was not gay. On the contrary, the thought of a man touching him made him cringe. Only Voldemort’s hands… That brief, almost unreal contact between their lips when he had greeted him… The only sensation he could vaguely compare it to was the effect of Yelena Malfoy’s smiles. Which, in his opinion, was a logical proof that he was not homosexual. Not that he would have minded, but he felt that that was not the point. Was it the feeling of total safety and security that allowed him to relax and admit that he had a body? Then he should put an ad into the Daily Prophet “Insecure young wizard searches dominant female Law Enforcement Officer for guidance and eventual shagging. Codeword: Death Eater.” No, he thought, with a snort, definitely not. And if it was the feeling of safety, how did Mrs. Malfoy fit into the picture? And why not Lestrange? He decided that he was not going to find out anyway, at least not tonight; for now he would have to be content with at least having admitted the fact to himself. The night sky was already lighting up above the horizon, and so he finally got up and went to bed.

~~~~*~~~~

Tea was not the right thing after only four hours of sleep. But at least he could drink it in bed. Severus had completely forgotten that, the other night, he had instructed old Tom to wake him up at eight o’clock, an order the reason of which he was unable to figure out right now. His brain was fully occupied with keeping his eyelids from drooping and steering his hand, holding the cup, towards his lips. When he put it down again, he saw that there was a piece of  parchment lying on the tray. Hoping that reading it would not cause serious dysfunctions of other parts of his body, he opened it.

Dear Severus,

It is not only no problem, but a pleasure to help you get settled in the world outside Hogwarts. As I imagine that you got little sleep after what you certainly perceived as a very eventful day, I would advise you to take a little stroll round Diagon Alley first, to meet me at Houdini’s for lunch at 12. Afterwards, we can go to Mr. Toddlington, to see whether the house our common friend has chosen for you will suit you. You are, of course, free to decide otherwise. If it is to your liking, however, you may move in today—just so you can notify Tom about the room.

Yours

St. John Lestrange

A house! Of course, they had talked about where Severus would like to live or rather, he had told Lord Voldemort how much he had hated the house in West Hounslow, and that he had grown so used to living in the country that the thought of having to stay in urban surroundings was rather unnerving. Only it seemed quite improbable that his Master might have gone to such lengths, only to ensure his well-being. Severus was feeling irrationally gratified and elated. Should he risk writing to Clarissa about his cat right now? Somehow he did not want to move in without her. And even if his stay at the Leaky Cauldron lasted some more days he could go get her—after all, she had not been temporarily entrusted to the Rosiers because he could not keep her here with him, but because he had had no clue as to what he was going to do during the next days. He decided to write to Clarissa now and post the letter at the Owl Post Office after breakfast.

Dear Clarissa,

Do you think I might intrude upon you tonight? There is a lot of things I have to tell you, and I will probably also abduct Esmeralda. Send me a message to the Leaky Cauldron.

Yours

Severus

Feeling a lot better after a thorough shower—he had not abandoned his habit of enchanting the sponge—he descended towards the pub. Although he never ate much, yesterday had been a day of almost total fasting, and he was very much looking forward to a copious breakfast.

He had not noticed it the other day, for the tension had been too great, but it was the strangest sensation to sit in a room, together with other people but on his own, alone at a table, without the usual chatter of his housemates. You did not notice how much you had grown into a habit, he mused, until you had to abandon it. Not a profound thought, but certainly a valid one. How many times had he complained, silently or aloud, about the constant buzz of voices that prevented him from thinking clearly? How many times had he withdrawn into stubborn silence, refusing to be dragged into meaningless gossiping? But there was that difference between retiring into his own thoughts, with the possibility of re-entering conversation whenever he chose to, and not having company, if only to rebuff it. Severus cursed himself for not having brought a book—although it was not the best of behaviours to read while eating, it would have provided a minimum of distraction.

So he watched the clients of the Leaky Cauldron instead. There were not many customers at this time of day and year, as it was too late for breakfast, at least for those who had to work, and too early for lunch. At a table in the far corner, he spotted four wizards in Ministry uniforms, talking in hushed voices and evidently not feeling very much at their ease. No wonder, he thought, Ministry staff were having a difficult time, regardless of the side they were on. They were either spies or loyal to the Minister, there was nothing in between. If they were spies, they had to be constantly afraid of Aurors, Law Enforcement and plainclothesmen of the Department of Mysteries, whereas those who still observed their loyalties to the Minister were always anxious to be attacked or at least contacted by Voldemort’s followers. Which only served them right. It was the just payback for years, no, for decennials of oppression, bigotry and prejudice.

As if drawn by a magnet, his thoughts returned to yesterday once again. To Voldemort and his plans and goals. Of course, he craved purity of blood but more than that, he desired purity of thought.

“You know that my father was a Muggle,” he had half-asked, half stated, and Severus had nodded. “So why would I be against wizards of so-called impure blood? I would be directing my efforts against myself. No, Severus. My ideas are far greater than those petty considerations about whose pedigree is nobler. Of course, birth is an issue, but not the principal one—leave that to the Malfoys. They cannot see beyond their childish concepts, but you certainly can. What I want, what I really desire, is to restore the old, elemental magic, which is by no means forgotten, but has been thoroughly buried by generations of law-making and law-abiding Ministers of Magic and their obedient lapdogs. They did not understand it, hence were frightened by it, and consequently declared it illegal. Unforgivable Curses, Illicit Potions, Illegal Charms, restrictions, rules and guidelines… Of course, those of feeble intellect and vacillating spirit need those restrictions to cling to, because all they want is certainties. They would like everything to have clear outlines, without edges, everything should be simple and understandable and foreseeable. But life, Severus, life is not like that. Magic is not like that. Magic, real magic, is so profound that your mind reels when you as much as glimpse at it. You have to be strong to endure it. But people do not want to be strong. They wish for guidance, so that they can lead their own stupid, insipid little lives in peace and calm. And I will wake them up. Most of them will be afraid, and refuse to be woken. We do not need them, Severus. During this first period, we have to separate the wheat from the chaff, in order to create a new generation of wizards, strong-minded and ready for resurrecting what has been declared dead for centuries. And this is where Muggle-borns and half-bloods become important. Think of your fellow students! Did you not notice that those with Muggle blood strove harder to be recognized? That is the crucial point. They are twice as law-abiding and obsequious and servile, because they desperately want to prove that they belong into our world more than among the Muggles. Where a pureblood wizard closes an eye, a Mudblood has nothing better to do than run and denounce. That is why we have to be so wary of them and, unless they see the truth of our aims, eliminate them. They would stand in our way—the Ministry’s most faithful followers, ready to defend what is not really theirs with their last drop of blood. We cannot afford to have too many of them among us—yes, we can put them under the Imperius Curse or feed them your potion, but in the end, it is better to eliminate than to control. And—” he had given Severus a conspiratorial smile “—getting rid of them is a valid incentive for my oh-so-pure-blooded Death Eaters. If you are a leader, you have to offer your followers a little more than just spiritual satisfaction. There is nothing to make them stick together like strong emotion they experience as a group.”

And this, Severus thought, showed all the more how highly Voldemort thought of him: not only had he shared those ideas with him, he did not even deem it necessary to include Severus into that bonding process, for he simply knew that his loyalty would never falter. Well, he would certainly have no reason to be disappointed, or to regret having treated Severus Snape differently from the others. With a last, disdainful look at the huddled group of Ministry wizards, Severus left his table and stepped out into the bright summer light, to have a look at his worldly possessions.

~~~~*~~~~

“No, Severus, for the umpteenth time, it was no mistake and you don’t have to pay it back.”

“But whose is it? You haven’t answered that question yet. Yours? Our common friend’s? I can’t just take it and stop thinking about it, don’t you understand?”

“Always investigating, aren’t you?” Lestrange said teasingly. “But seriously, I understand you. Let’s just order, and then I’ll tell you. I haven’t eaten yet and am in desperate need of food.”

They placed their orders with the blonde witch who had been ogling Lestrange since they had arrived—to Severus’s amusement, her neckline had dropped by two inches when she returned to their table to bring their drinks. When she had written down their wishes, with considerable difficulties, as Severus noticed, and reluctantly left them, he saw that the hem of her robes now revealed a pair of rather plump ankles.

“To your health,” said Lestrange rising his glass of white wine.

“To yours, St. John, and thank you for everything.”

They drank and, putting down his glass, Lestrange picked up the thread of their conversation. “The money, then. It comes from the funds of …uh, our brotherhood. And consequently from the vaults of those who don’t need their money anymore. It is not meant to acquit our common friend of his duties towards you, by paying you for all you have done, but to give you a serene outlook on life, without having to bother with money or turn every sickle round ten times before you spend it. You are young, Severus, and you need to live.”

Severus was glad he had eaten enough for breakfast, otherwise the wine in combination with the summer heat would immediately have gone to his head.

“Okay,” he said, “I suppose I can accept it then. Will you tell me about the house?”

“Well, I suppose it’s best you have a look—Ah, lunch!” Lestrange exclaimed, giving the waitress a dazzling smile, which was merely directed at the food. That did not prevent her from taking it personally and swaying her hips so much that Severus feared her spine was going to snap.

For a short while, they were busy with their food, but then Severus ventured “The…uh, house?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry. I got quite carried away with delight. As I said, it will be best if you have a look at it for yourself, but I suppose you’ll like it. Toddlington is one of us, he owns quite a lot of apartments and houses all over England. The one we thought might suit you, given your predilection for rural idyll, is not far from here in Nature Alley. A really nice area, which you would never think you might find in London. It’s the preferred haunt of well-to-do families with large incomes and one or two children. Thatched cottages, gardens, air-cleaning spells, really comfortable.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I lived in a non-wizarding area?”

Lestrange who had just put a forkful of Lasagne into his mouth, shook his head and swallowed. “No, of course not. Why would a wizard choose to settle down in a non-magical district? Probably because he doesn’t want to be seen by his fellow wizards. No, no,” he said, draining his glass and gesturing to the waitress for another one, “it is much less suspicious if you stay among our kind.”

Severus pondered this and found that he had to agree. “There’s something else,” he said, “Do you think the Ministry might give me a special permission to Apparate before I turn eighteen? I passed all the exams, it’s merely a formality now. The thought of having to go down to McLachlan’s house in Kent every day by Floo doesn’t make me too happy, to say the truth.”

“Severus, the Ministry chains and gags you nowadays if you hold your broomstick with the wrong hand. They are so jumpy and nervous that I don’t think you would stand a chance. And it would draw attention to you, very unwanted attention if I may say so, which is something to be absolutely avoided. It will only be for three months, after all. And don’t forget that McLachlan, eccentric as he is, doesn’t tolerate the preferential treatment of others too well. A premature Aparition license would doubtlessly qualify as such.”

“Which brings us—”

“Indeed,” Lestrange said with a smile, “Which brings us to the interesting subject of McLachlan himself. The last time I saw him was eight or nine years ago, but I don’t think he will have changed that much at his age. Well, what can I tell you about him?—Thank you, Miss, that was truly excellent.” Severus thought the girl was going to faint. “Coffee, Severus?—Two coffees then, please.”

Severus was feeling pleasantly dizzy from the warmth, wine and food, and thus not overly displeased at Lestrange’s rather barren description of his future instructor.

“You know,” Lestrange said, leaning back and stretching out his legs, “it is difficult to describe the old man. He isn’t very coherent as a character—ask ten people who know him, and each will tell you a different story. I got on quite well with him, probably because he did not take in his apprentices to live in his house anymore even in my times. To have him around twenty-four hours a day would probably have produced very different feelings. He is a great teacher, though, never overbearing, but unyielding when it comes to his pupils’ weaknesses. Not that you have many,” he added with a grin. “And now I suggest that we see Toddlington.”

Which turned out to be rather easy, for Mr. Toddlington was so thin that, when he opened the door only a fraction of an inch to peer outside, the visitor at the other side of the door saw him—all of him. This reed of a man was bald, his hairless skull polished into blinding brilliance, and he had a very hooked nose he would not have had any difficulties reaching with the tip of his tongue without effort. The moment Severus saw him, he was almost blown off his feet with dislike, but carefully dissimulated it. After all, he only wanted the man to let a house to him, not to follow him to the altar.

The reed-man was very pleased to see young Mr. Snape, very happy to have such a promising young man as his client, to which Severus responded dryly that he would prefer to see the house before he accepted this epithet.

“Of course, of course, that is exactly what I wanted to suggest. Would you prefer to Apparate or—”

“No,” Severus interrupted him, “We have to go by Floo, as I have not yet got my license.”

“Yes, certainly, gentlemen, if you would kindly follow me…” He scuttled into the adjacent room where he lit the fireplace. “The house is at no. 8, Nature Alley,” he continued among many bows, while offering the tin with Floo powder to the two wizards, “So if you please—”

“No—” this time it was Lestrange who cut him off “—you go first, Mr. Toddlington. After all, you know the way,” he added with a broad smile that barely hid the hint of steel in his voice. With a rueful sideways glance, the thin wizard stepped into the flames and was gone. “What a creep!” Lestrange said with feeling, “Severus, criticize whatever you can, or that old bastard is going to pluck you alive.” With these words of wisdom, he went after Mr. Toddlington and Severus followed a few seconds later.

It was difficult to criticize when all he could do was hold back exclamations of sheer enthusiasm. The house was breathtaking. Above all because its walls seemed to consist mainly of windows. They had alighted in the living room, which occupied the whole rear part of the house and was very large, about twenty feet by fifteen, with three French doors opening to a terrace, from which a few steps led down into the garden. The other walls of the room were windowless, and Severus quickly calculated how many books he would be able to keep there. The Reed preceded them to one of two doors, opened it and, with a dramatic flourish of his hand, announced “The kitchen!”

To Severus, it looked fine, but then his experience with kitchens was rather limited. Or rather, there were two extremes he could compare it to, and nothing in between: West Hounslow and Hogwarts. This one seemed to be somewhere in the middle, a little nearer to the Hogwarts paragon, though. He must have looked rather doubtful, because Toddlington started immediately to show him the miracles of this cage of wonders. He had set his money on the wrong horse, though, because Severus was not really interested in kitchens. He did not have any inclination towards cooking. Lestrange took advantage of this immediately and drawled, all the while looking around idly as if to detect all kinds of possible flaws, “I suppose there is a House Elf here, isn’t there?”

Toddlington cringed. “Well… I really don’t know—”

Lestrange turned round and pounced. “You are not going to insinuate that a young scholar and dear friend of our Master does have to cook and do his own laundry? You might want to listen a little more carefully the next time you receive orders.”

“I… I,” The Reed croaked, “What I wanted to say, Sir, was that there is of course a House Elf if Mr. Snape desires so.”

Severus, who began to find this game rather amusing, winked at Lestrange behind the other wizard’s back and said, stifling a yawn, “An elf? Yes, of course, I did not even think it worth mentioning.”

Having thus lost the first round, Toddlington slouched towards the other kitchen door, which was on the left side when entering from the living room. It led into the entrance hall, on the opposite side of which there was another door, leading into a small room that could be used as a study or guest room, and the staircase. They went up to the first floor in Mr. Toddlington’s wake. Upstairs, there were two bedchambers with a bath each, another study or guest chamber and, directly above the kitchen, a room that could serve as laboratory. For one person and a cat, there was certainly more than enough space.

Not only was there plenty of light and air—an enormous relief after seven years of life in the dungeons—but the atmosphere was pleasant and cosy. Severus felt immediately at home. Floors, stairs and ceilings were of birch wood, the silvery gleam of which reflected the light coming from outside, the kitchen had tiles of terracotta, and both bathrooms held immensely large tubs. The house had a nearly Mediterranean flair and—Severus became aware of it with a pang—it somehow seemed like a more elaborated version of Voldemort’s quarters in Albania. Had he still harboured any doubts whether to take it, they would have been wiped away by this realization. To subdue his enthusiasm instead of bouncing up and down the stairs became more and more difficult. So he voiced the only question he had.

“What about the furniture?” he asked, more sharply than he had intended, but he barely controlled his voice.

To judge from the grin and nod Lestrange gave him, it had been just the right tone.

“Well, uh, we… er, I, well, meant to show you the house unfurnished because you, uh, get a better impression…” Toddlington stuttered.

“How very thoughtful of you,” Lestrange said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “But I suppose you are aware that this will influence the price, aren’t you?”

“The price, yes, well,” The Reed responded, nodding so vehemently that, for the second time this day, Severus was afraid human anatomy might yield to exaggerated movement, “I… we could discuss that right now, if that sits well with you. How does a thousand galleons sound to you?”

“What!” exclaimed Severus, mistaking the price for a month’s rent, “A thousand galleons! Now really—”

He immediately realized the misunderstanding when he saw that Lestrange was barely able to bite back a grin. “Really, Mr. Toddlington,” he said, his voice slightly quivering with suppressed mirth, but the withering wizard obviously mistook it for anger.

“Well… nine hundred then, but that’s my last offer, or I am ruined.”

“Fine,” Lestrange said quickly, offering his hand which Toddlington shook grudgingly. “Nine hundred it is, then. Let’s go and sign the contract.”

Ten minutes later, Severus owned a house, complete with House Elf answering to the name of Peggy. She was immediately dispatched to Severus’s new home to do some basic cleaning.

“I suggest,” said Lestrange, raising his glass of champagne, “That during the first days you simply conjure up the furniture you need and secure it with a Stabilizing spell. Just so your bed won’t dissolve while you sleep in it. Then you go and choose whatever you want, taking your time.”

They were sitting under an umbrella at Fortescue’s, celebrating their success and idly watching the passers-by. Or rather being watched by them, as far as Lestrange and the female part of the passers-by were concerned. Severus wondered how Tabitha put up with this phenomenon, even if Lestrange did not seem interested in the least. But her outbursts of jealous rage whenever one of the female students got near her lover were still fresh in Severus’s memory.

“You know,” Severus said pensively, “it will probably take quite a lot of time until I’ll be accustomed to the thought of actually having a house. Not to mention that there’s still enough gold in that vault to buy another five.”

“I can imagine,” replied Lestrange, “Unless you grow up rich, being rich all of a sudden must be quite dizzying.” He put his empty glass on the table. “Do you think I might safely leave you now? My brother-cum-family will arrive tonight, so I’d better return home. I hope you’ll come to see us one of these days, I suppose Narcissa would be glad to have somebody of her own age to talk to. She’ll be quite excited about the upcoming wedding.”

“As long as she doesn’t expect me to discuss bridal fashion with her…” Severus said, getting up.

“Only a woman with a death wish would attempt to mention that subject in your presence, my dear boy. I’ll send you an owl when everybody is settled in properly. Maybe,” he added with a grimace, “I’ll come to seek the solace of peace at your bachelor’s home from time to time.” And with a last wave, he Disapparated.

Severus decided he could just as well walk to his new home—the entrance to Nature Alley was about fifty yards down the street, behind an innocent-looking bright green door—have a look at Peggy’s progress and treat himself to another tour of the house. Then he remembered that his luggage was still at the Leaky Cauldron, and decided that he would get it right now, and then use the Floo network to no. 8, Nature Alley.

~~~~*~~~~

As far as Clarissa’s stories of horror, abuse and humiliation were concerned, Severus had never had any doubts as to their veracity. He had seen the bruises on the girl’s arms and legs often enough after her return from the holidays, and mostly it had been he who healed them. Madam Pomfrey had given him the recipe for a healing oil which he had mixed at Lestrange’s laboratory, under the questioning gaze of the teacher, who knew better than to ask him what he needed the concoction for. Given its properties, there was no way one could possibly use it for mischief-making, and if the injured student in question chose not to turn to their Head of House or go to the infirmary, asking questions was as good as useless. A Slytherin had to lose an arm before he would declare himself injured and turn to a teacher for help.

The only member of the Rosier family of whom Severus had ever seen a picture was Evan, her older brother, now twenty-eight, tall and gangly like his sister, with the same curly black hair they had, as Clarissa told him, inherited from their mother, but with grey eyes. She had never shown him a photo of her parents, and somehow, Severus imagined Mr. Rosier to be the epitome of the pervert, even if he should have known best that such inclinations did not necessarily leave their traces on a human face. His uncle certainly looked nothing like a drooling, cruel abuser of underage boys, but was every inch a jovial, slightly overweight Italian gentleman. You could see it in the eyes if you looked closer, there was that glint of greed… Only he had not noticed it in time.

Nor did he see it when he shook the hand of the brown-haired, grey-eyed wizard, who was not as tall as Severus had imagined him to be, and looked so ordinary that it was difficult to believe it was he who had raped his own daughter countless times and force-fed her Termination Potion after having got her pregnant twice. Mr. Rosier was one of the owners of the Cleansweep Company, Great Britain’s foremost producers of broomsticks, and the technical brain of the trio of owners—the other two being Salomon Kent, in charge of the economic side of the business, and Virginia Beckinsale, who had shouldered the responsibility of the company’s public relations. Rosier and Kent were friends of old, they had been in the same year at Hogwarts, the former a Slytherin and the latter a Ravenclaw like his daughter Edna.

It all sounded so incredibly… well, bourgeois, so ordinate and clichéd, Severus thought, and nonetheless there were dreadful things going on behind that perfectly respectable façade. Friendly small talk between him and Clarissa’s father, polite inquiries about his future, smiling compliments for his spectacular N.E.W.T.s, well-bred introductions to wife and elder son… normalcy, in one word. Except for Clarissa, who was edgy and subdued at the same time, did not look into Severus’s eyes, and tried to stay as far as possible from her father. When she went to fetch Esmeralda and returned to the living room with the cat in her arms and, bending down to put her into Severus’s lap, offered Mr. Rosier an obviously quite tempting sight of her posterior, Severus caught a glimpse of the expression on her father’s face. He believed himself to be unobserved, for the other two family members had left the room, and thus did not deem it necessary to conceal the look of sheer lust encompassing his daughter’s body. Severus was glad to have Esmeralda greeting him with exuberant purrs and nudges, so he could hide his own embarrassment at the scene.

With the knowledge he had, dinner was a somewhat exhausting affair for him, considering that Clarissa remained mute throughout the whole repast, that speaking politely to Mr. Rosier required his whole self-restraint, that Mrs. Rosier was apparently elsewhere with her thoughts, and that Evan was constantly shooting him meaningful looks—whether with regard to his alleged relationship with Clarissa or alluding to their ‘common friend’ Lord Voldemort, he did not know. He excused himself shortly after they had all risen from the table with the credible pretext that there were lots of things to do concerning his new home, and was accompanied to the door by Clarissa.

“It’s no. 8, Nature Alley, come over one of these days,” he muttered to her as soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of her family. “There’s a lot of things I must tell you, and you got to see the house as well. And you can tell your parents that I asked you to help me select the furniture—which wouldn’t be a bad idea anyway.”

“My mother won’t be home tomorrow morning,” she whispered back, “call me by Floo and ask me to come over, so I won’t have to stay alone in the house with him.”

Severus nodded, scooped up Esmeralda, and set out for his walk homewards—the Rosiers did not live far from him, and his cat would have strongly objected to a travel by Floo.