The Agreement

Phoenix Song, Chapter four : The Agreement

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Where dialogue from the original Harry Potter books is quoted by me, the relevant text is marked with an asterisk.

I'd like to thank my betas: LAxo, for her time, her mad skills and her love of verb-subject agreements, and WriterMerrin, who is quick at the draw and straight to the point.

Finally, Severus straightened, surveying the neat shelves of carefully placed potions ingredients with a sense of achievement. His back protested against the sudden movement, and he stretched languorously, loosening his tight muscles. In the thirty-six hours since the Hogwarts Express had departed for the summer, emptying the school of students, he had tidied his office, packed up his clothes and a selection of books, reorganised his filing system and meticulously inventoried the supply cupboards. He'd missed dinner and even sent Hooch away when she'd dropped by with the intention of luring him out to Hogsmeade for an end of semester drink. His stomach rumbled, and for a moment he paused indecisively: dinner and bed, or should he move back to Spinner's End tonight? Indubitably, breakfast courtesy of the house-elves was going to be better than anything Wormtail might cook up, and that thought alone decided him.

Stalking back into his office, he seized a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace, intending to Floo to the kitchens. As he did so, not only did the flames turn green, but a loud bang echoed through the space accompanied by a blinding flash of light. Instinctively, Severus drew his wand; although, when his eyes readjusted only seconds later, he realised that there was no need: Fawkes hovered before him. Assailed by a different form of panic, Severus paused only long enough to summon a nondescript black leather satchel that hung from the back of his office door, then he took a firm hold of the phoenix's proffered tail feathers. Before Fawkes transported him elsewhere with another loud bang, Severus had time for only one thought: Let Albus be alright.

Severus absorbed the scene in Dumbledore's office within seconds: the sword, the ring, Dumbledore slumped in his chair, green flames licking at his wand hand, the wand itself discarded on the floor. Green flames first. Severus cast several elaborate diagnostic charms with one hand, rummaging in his black satchel with the other. Pulling out a small bottle of viscous gold liquid, he uncorked it one-handed and placed it open on the desk.

"Fawkes," he ordered, pointing at the bottle. "Tears." Obediently, the phoenix fluttered down to the surface of the table and lowered his head so that he could weep directly into the mouth of the small phial.

Stepping around the table, Severus began to chant a modified freezing charm, translating the Latinate sounds of the traditional spells into their Parseltounge equivalents. Relief flooded his system as the flames flickered briefly, then died. He closed his eyes for a long second, then turned towards Fawkes.

"Thank you," he whispered, his throat dry. Taking the bottle, Severus placed his thumb over the opening and shook it thoroughly, transferring it to an empty goblet that stood on the desk. With his wand hand, he took hold of the front of Dumbledore's robes, pulling him upright. Severus poured the potion slowly into Dumbledore's mouth as he began to sing incantations over his injured hand. With a little luck (and the potion should provide that much) he could contain the curse, but with such powerful dark magic, there was little chance that he could cure it entirely.

"Severusss . . ." the slurred syllables of Dumbledore's return to consciousness reminded Snape sickeningly of Voldemort and the all-too-real possibility of Dumbledore's death. For another long moment, Dumbledore was silent, then his eyelids fluttered open and his eyes focussed.

"Why, why did you put on that ring?"* All of Snape's concern coagulated into anger. "It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?"*

"I . . . was a fool. Sorely tempted . . ."*

The weakness of Dumbledore's voice did nothing to cool Snape's temper. "Tempted by what?"* His peremptory question got no response. "It is a miracle that you managed to return here!"* he continued. "That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being..."*

"You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?"* Dumbledore sounded stronger. A tone of mild curiosity coloured his voice, and he looked at his damaged hand with an interested expression.

"I cannot tell."* Snape let out a sigh of defeat. "Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time."*

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."*

Goddamn the man. Must he always sound so noble? "If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time! Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?"*

"Something like that . . . I was delirious, no doubt . . . Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward."* Dumbledore settled himself upright in his chair and straightened his cuff around his blackened wrist. "I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me."*

The "poor Malfoy boy" has a name, you could use it. Snape scowled at Dumbledore and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. "The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price."* And slow torture for me as I watch him suffer and contemplate my own eventual death.

"In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have."* No, as surely as I have. "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"*

"That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan."* At which point, I will die, too...unless, of course, it becomes apparent earlier that I have betrayed him: in that case I'll die first.

"Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?"*

"He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes."*

"And if it does fall into his grasp, I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?"*

Does he honestly believe that I might be alive to see it? The other night's post-Pensieve discussion had been shorter than was typical. Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't grasped the full consequences of the trap into which Snape had been led. Snape stared blankly at the older man, who, for his part, was looking back at Snape enquiringly. Belatedly, Snape realised that his answer was required and nodded mechanically.

"Good."* Dumbledore beamed at him. "Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you..."*

"...much less since his father has lost favour. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius's position."*

"All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath."*

Snape had every intention of trying. The only productive conclusions he'd come to over the last few days regarded the fierce necessity to save Draco and to teach Granger as much as possible. The second task would be fairly straightforward, but he'd spent hours already attempting to solve the first, and Dumbledore's casual commentary needled him sharply.

"Are you intending to let him kill you?"* he bit out.

"Certainly not. You must kill me."*

For a long moment, Severus couldn't reply. His blood pounded so loudly in his ears that he wondered whether he would ever hear anything ever again. Several beats later, he regained his composure, even his heavy sense of irony, "Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"*

"Oh, not quite yet,"* Dumbledore affected a tone of breezy unconcern. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight, we can be sure that it will happen within a year."*

"If you don't mind dying, why not let Draco do it?"* Though he tried hard, Severus couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. He glared at the desk in front of him, furious at the hot prickle of tears that threatened to spill over.

"That boy's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it ripped apart on my account."*

"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"* It was barely a whisper, and it hung in the air between them as Snape continued to stare down at the table top.

"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation."* Dumbledore leant forward and reached out to take a gentle hold of Severus' elbow. "I ask this one great favour of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved...I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it."*

Snape's head was spinning. One great favour. As if I haven't given him everything...everything...for the last seventeen years. And as if I can refuse him now, even if it meant the end of my own life . . . certainly it will mean the end of every part of my life that makes it worth living. He might have put off his response a little longer if he hadn't looked up and met Dumbledore's intensely blue eyes. Hating himself, hating Dumbledore for asking such a thing of him, he nodded.

"Thank you, Severus . . ."*

Dumbledore wanted to hash out the details of several possible post-homicide scenarios, but Severus couldn't bear the idea. Instead he threatened to Floo-call Poppy Pomfrey until Dumbledore capitulated and retired to bed, first having swallowed various different healing potions pressed on him from Severus' satchel and then promising to visit the nurse first thing in the morning.

For a couple of seconds after Dumbledore left, Snape considered the Floo, but decided that the walk to the dungeons might do him good. At the base of the stairs leading from Dumbledore's office, Snape paused and glanced at his watch. It was only ten thirty. And to think, a mere hour and a half ago I was avoiding the thought of my impending death through the time-honoured practice of physical-labour-cum-procrastination . . . and now, the continuation of my miserable existence is all-but-guaranteed by a promise to murder the one man who sees me, and likes me, for who I truly am. Severus looked at his watch a second time: only ten thirty. As surely as the Chudley Cannons would finish bottom of this year's league, this early hour of the night would find Hooch down the pub...if not Poppy and Minerva as well. If ever Severus Snape had need of a drink, this was the moment. Without bothering to fetch his cloak, he strode off to Hogsmeade and the promise of company.

A/N : I know, I know! This chapter is a) short and b) mostly written by J.K. Rowling. I want to take this opportunity to reassure you, dear reader, that while this story parallels the events of HP6, the year was experienced very differently by Hermione and Severus than it was by Mr Potter. In general, I only repeat scenes where absolutely necessary (though I will try to make mention of enough of the original plot that my story makes sense)...thus, this story will probably seem like complete nonsense unless you've read HP6 (and HP7, given that this scene only appears there in Snape's memories). I thought it crucial to present this scene in its correct place and to have Severus' POV.

On a more cheerful note, Ch5 is already written, and you can read it here as soon as it makes it through the queue . . .