Passing Information

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Fifteen : Passing Information

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.

As always, LAxo and WriterMerrin contributed immensely to the finished product.

Severus was on his way to the Owlery, an information-rich letter to Anastasia Vector-cum-Sedenova coded, warded and safely tucked into one of his many inside pockets. He'd timed his walk through the hallways for the break between classes, which gave him the opportunity to cast an eye over many of his charges as it deflected suspicion from his own activity.

Compared to previous years, the corridors were subdued. The exclusion of Muggle-born students had cut enrolments by almost a fifth, and the small number of formerly-home-schooled students had done little to make up the numbers. Even more pointed was the general sentiment: the children were no longer having fun. Students made their way between classes in tight knots. Prefects supervised chains of younger year-levels, shepherding them from one point to another. Everyone had their eyes out for the Carrows or other dangers; as Severus passed, they ducked their heads, unwilling to meet his gaze.

There were, of course, exceptions...bullies from each of the four houses had added a new swagger to their walk under the tutelage of the Carrows' keen instruction. Mostly, disappointingly, these new tyrants sprang from among his Slytherins, although there, at least, there was some excuse: students who had been shunned and mocked for years had found a new sense of authority. Severus had refused to concede his position as Head of House, but he hadn't had the opportunity to spend as much time attending to his Slytherins as he would have liked. His refusal had, however, prevented one of the Carrows from taking up the job. As it was, they gave those students with green ties automatic privileges and inflated grades. Just the previous day, that fact had set Minerva complaining loudly.

Rounding a corner of the third-floor corridor with his customary billow, Severus came within a hairsbreadth of running Tracey Davis over. She pulled up, startled, and stepped aside.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," she intoned politely, ducking her head deferentially.

"Miss Davis," he replied. Vector's letter felt suddenly heavy in his pocket as he noticed the fear that radiated from Davis' body. The sentiment was so strong that he could read her emotions even without eye contact. "It must be odd for you," he added abruptly, "to take NEWTs without Arithmancy."

Since Arithmancy had been banned...as any seventh-year Slytherin would know...by the Dark Lord himself, it was a loaded statement, and Severus could sense her panicked attempt to decide on the right thing to say. To his surprise, she went for an uncharacteristically frontal approach, though cleverly, and in characteristic Slytherin fashion, she stuck to the truth.

"I hope you weren't offended, sir," she stuttered, "by my attempt to lift the curse last year. I had only your best interests in mind."

"I know that," replied Severus. She's been concerned this whole time that I would reveal her as unsympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause? How wrong she was. "Slytherins look out for their own."

She relaxed slightly at the familiar words and even dared, for a second, to raise her eyes to his face. It was just long enough for Severus to notice the graze on her cheek, and he shot out a hand to jerk her face back up again.

"What happened?" he asked in a voice that brooked no disobedience.

"I"...swallow..."I tripped."

"Somebody tripped you," he corrected. His anger, which simmered perpetually these days, rose to a boil.

Only Dumbledore's Army would trip a seventh-year Slytherin. No doubt the arrogant berks had waited until they caught someone alone and, by that process, had ambushed the young woman who now stood before him. Her unwillingness to dob them in even now was all the proof he needed to be certain that her own sympathies lay with the rebels and not the Death Eaters. Once again Gryffindors were too blinded by house prejudice to recognise their potential allies.

"Go to the Hospital Wing," he ordered; Davis looked relieved at her reprieve from further questions and made haste to do as she was bid.

Once Davis disappeared around the far corner, Severus conjured a piece of parchment and, tapping it with his wand, transfigured it into Neville Longbottom's timetable. Transfiguration, he noted savagely and stalked off, his letter momentarily forgotten.

The class was in session by the time he had crossed the castle to appear at Minerva's door. He threw it open with a bang.

The noise and his unexpected arrival caught the attention of everyone present.

"Severus Snape!" exclaimed Minerva. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Longbottom," he snarled, ignoring her, "a word in the corridor, now!"

"Absolutely not!" shouted Minerva in outrage, her hands on her hips. "Sit back down, Neville. This is my classroom, Snape, and my students have work to do. You can talk to Mr Longbottom in your own time."

"I'm afraid, Minerva," sneered Severus, "that even here, my authority outweighs yours." Drawing his wand, he forced Longbottom from his seat and propelled him out of the room. He spun on his heel, letting his robes spin out behind him, and strode away, leaving Minerva spluttering in his wake.

Longbottom had been pressed up against the windows on the far side of the corridor by the force of Severus' Propulsion Jinx. Severus took the opportunity to loom towards him.

"Mr Longbottom," he began, but anything further was interrupted by Minerva's reappearance.

"Headmaster Snape," she hissed in righteous anger. "I will not have you threatening my students during class time!"

"Professor McGonagall," he replied, investing her name with as much venom as he could muster, "I suggest you attend to the students that remain; you wouldn't want to neglect your duties. Longbottom," he continued, turning back, "my office, now!"

Once there, he set Longbottom writing lines...with a thoroughly ordinary mundane pen: "My juvenile attempts at heroics do nothing but endanger my friends and fellow students."

Unfortunately, if Longbottom's previous record was anything to go on, it seemed unlikely that the idiot boy would get the point, even with such blatantly unsubtle tactics.

Having safely delivered the sword of Gryffindor to Harry Potter, Severus knew that the destruction of Voldemort's Horcruxes must...finally...be under way. As a consequence, Severus had begun to consider how to complete the onerous task of convincing Harry to lay down his own life.

If he got a chance to confront the boy directly, he imagined that the chore would prove fairly simple: he had always been too easy to engage in an argument, and a few choice taunts should do the trick.

What if he didn't get that chance, though? Finding the boy at the right moment would be difficult enough...though not impossible now that he had secured a sample of Granger's hair...but passing on a specific and complicated message would be more difficult still.

In such a situation, he decided, Granger would be key. She, he knew, would trust him. She would believe him. The trick would be to provide enough corroborating evidence that Harry, in turn, would believe her...and believe that she hadn't been fooled.

A Patronus was a distinct possibility. He could dictate the message and send it on its way. His Patronus could find Potter at any moment, and since the strange, ethereal creatures could not lie, Lily's arrogant and infuriating child would have no reason to doubt it. Plus, the doe had already demonstrated her worth by delivering the sword.

Yet the one time Severus had discussed the issue with Dumbledore, the portrait had been irritatingly insistent that he go in person, vetoing the Patronus idea.

Why? wondered Severus. Does he mistakenly imagine that Potter and I will reconcile? That knowledge of his impending and necessary sacrifice will cause him to see through my own deceptions? He snorted at the thought. Not bloody likely.

Of course, he could always cast a Patronus with Potter present. That might catch at his attention enough that the boy would listen to him...though, to do so would take as long as a confrontation anyway, and in that case he'd be better to trust in cruel jibes. Potter would be more likely to believe his words if he didn't have to totally readjust the impression he carried of one Severus Snape, evil Death Eater.

Legilimency, Severus decided at last. If he didn't get the opportunity to taunt Potter with the spectre of his inevitable failure, and the horrible fate to which his continued survival would consign the world, he would share the memories of the pertinent information with Granger. If he prepared the memories in advance, delivering them would be the work of mere seconds of eye contact; in the worst case scenario, he could just exude them. Without question, Severus could rely on Granger to lower her shields at his request or to gather the memory strands; he could also rest assured that she would know what to do with the information once she got it. There still remained the question, however, of how much background detail she would need to convince Potter.

With that in mind, Severus spent several long sessions hunched over Albus' Pensieve, crafting a highly-edited narrative of memories that would, in his opinion, best persuade Potter. He also took especial care that no hint of his more-than-teacherly feelings for Granger were evident. Who could predict how disgusted the idea might make her? Who could guarantee it wouldn't be enough to have her disregard the vital point of his information? Besides, better, in the end, if she thought him the noble lover or the dedicated friend...far better than creepy old man.

One evening, with only a few weeks remaining of the Easter term, Severus sat in his office, conversing with Dumbledore. He had his copy of Rita's book out, but it lay open on his lap, untouched.

"They have no idea of the risks they're taking!" he exclaimed. Severus restrained the urge to get up again and stride around the room, but Dumbledore had already told him to sit down.

"They know what they're doing Severus; they have a right to participate," replied Dumbledore calmly.

Severus growled in frustration and slammed The Life and Lies down on his desk with a rather violent thump. Dumbledore winced. "The right?" he demanded. "They are children! And they think that if they call themselves an 'army' and act like a gang of inner-city miscreants they can win a war against the most dangerous dark wizard of this century! The whole situation is patently ridiculous."

"Calm down, Severus. You just need to use this situation to your advantage."

"Calm down?" he spluttered.

"Come now, you have to admit that Dumbledore's Army is a handy distraction. Every time they call the Carrows' attention to their actions, some other student walks more safely."

"Nonsense, Albus! Your logic is spurious. You act as if the Carrows have a carefully controlled quota of aggression that they deal out each day. In actuality, those idiot students incite their wrath to ever-more unmanageable levels!"

"I still hold that you're overreacting, Severus!" Dumbledore paused and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "You're doing an excellent job, you know. You should be proud of yourself."

"I beg your pardon? You didn't see the state Michael Corner was in after the Carrows were done with him! They beat him! They knocked him unconscious and flung his body repeatedly against the stones of the corridor! When I took him to the hospital wing, I thought Poppy was going to slice me up into little pieces and leave the bits to be mauled by wild beasts in the Forbidden..."

Severus broke off suddenly. Keyed into his wards, he felt someone move past the gargoyle and up the moving staircase of his office. Moving quickly, he tucked the copy of Rita's book into the top drawer of his desk and pulled the nearest pile of administrative paperwork towards him. By the time a knock came on his door, he had a quill in hand and a sneer plastered on his face.

"Come in," he called.

"Good evening," commented Hooch as she opened the door. Shutting it behind herself, she wandered over to the seat opposite his desk. There she made herself comfortable, lacing her fingers over her stomach and propping her feet up on the desk.

The utter familiarity of her behaviour sliced through Severus like a hot knife through flesh. Clearly the novelty value of punching him and ignoring him had worn off; now she had decided to rub the memory of their earlier friendship in his face.

"Get your filthy feet off my desk," he snarled, his lips curling back from his yellowed teeth with barely-restrained anger.

"My, my, Snape, for someone whose door is supposedly always open, you're doing a remarkably poor job of welcoming your only guest." She didn't move her feet.

Severus stabbed his quill rather viciously back into the looped holder of his iron inkpot and crossed his arms. "What do you want, Hooch?" he demanded. "Be quick, and then get out."

"It seems to me," she replied conversationally, "that you expend an awful lot of energy protecting people."

It took all of Severus' training to keep his face impassive. His guts felt like ice. After a long moment, he managed to respond, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Hooch raised her eyebrows...she never had mastered the art of raising just one. "As a Quidditch player," she continued unfazed, "you learn to look past the superficial distractions of your opponents' behaviour and focus on their movements. You learn to think tactically, or you lose."

"Such wisdom!" exclaimed Severus sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure there are students who would hang on every word; don't you think you'd better go and find them rather than wasting my time?" He desperately wanted a drink. In fact, he desperately wanted to share a drink with Hooch. He cursed himself for such weakness.

"You're a right tricky, nasty bastard, Severus Snape, and you always have been. I just wanted you to know that I, for one, have been paying attention." He went to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him, and he bit his tongue. "I don't know what happened on the tower that night, but I do know Albus was dying."

By that point, Severus couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

"Oh, he might have been able to fool me, and even Minerva, but Poppy is over-qualified for the position she holds here! You know as well as I do that the only reasons she stays are the constant stream of children who make up somewhat for never having had any of her own and the promise she made Albus long ago that she would stay until You-Know-Who was gone for good. Point being, Poppy knew he was little more than a few weeks from permanent incapacitation.

"Basically," she continued, "I can see three possibilities. Either I'm completely wrong, and you're a thoroughly committed Death Eater. Were that the case, I imagine you clever enough to send me on my way without punishment, storing up the knowledge that I might prove well-disposed towards you at a later date, should you ever need it. Or, at the opposite extreme, you and Albus cooked this whole plan up between yourselves. Knowing the two of you as I once did, the possibility is not completely outrageous."

Severus forced himself to winch his sneer a notch higher, but said nothing. Hooch, he noticed, hadn't even glanced up at Albus' portrait; her eyes were fixed on his face.

"In that situation, I imagine it might mean something to know that such a gesture was not completely unappreciated. The third, and admittedly, most likely possibility, is that Severus Snape, the consummate Slytherin, is just looking out for his own hide." Finally, she paused.

"No cutting analysis of that scenario, then?" Severus was relieved to hear that his voice sounded as sarcastic as ever.

"Oh," breezed Hooch, waving one hand to emphasise her lack of concern, "I imagine that you'd encourage me in my belief, as it could only help you in the long run."

"Hooch, the only encouragement you need is to leave off the hallucinatory agents that you have so clearly imbibed and to consume a Wit-Sharpening Potion instead. I don't mind warning you that any attempt to convince my legion of fans that there's a heart of gold hidden under this bat-like exterior would have you confined to the Janus Thickey ward before the words had left your mouth!"

"Don't worry, Snape, your secret is safe with me." Hooch tapped her chest just over her own heart. "I haven't even discussed this with Poppy."

"That much is evident!" retorted Severus. "Had you tried, she would have treated you immediately for signs of insanity and pointed out the gaping holes in your argument!"

Hooch grinned at his vehemence. She lifted her ankles off the desk and leant forward, one hand on her knee. With the other she mimed zipping her mouth closed, locking it and throwing the key over her shoulder. "As I said, Snape, your secret is safe with me. I just wanted you to know that I know." With that, she rose to her feet. "I'll be seeing you, Headmaster," she called back over her shoulder as she walked to the door. She shut it with a flourish and then was gone.

From behind his back, Severus heard Albus' portrait clear his throat. Severus threw up a hand.

"Not a word!" he commanded. Summoning the Firewhisky bottle, he rose to his feet and strode out the door opposite that which Hooch had taken, entering the headmaster's private quarters. He was deeply shaken by the encounter and couldn't bear to listen to Dumbledore's inevitable urgings to be more careful in future...they would have to wait for another day.

As term came to an end, Severus made a decision. No sooner had the students trundled away on the Hogwarts Express than he pressed his finger to his Dark Mark, summoning the Dark Lord to his side.

Taking his time, he wandered from his office, down through the school and out onto the grounds. There Amycus Carrow caught up with him.

"Did you find 'im then?" he wheezed, short of breath from having run.

"No," Severus replied without pausing. Amycus was left several steps behind.

"Are you crazy? If you don't have Potter, he's gonna kill you!"

"Then I would advise you to keep your distance."

Amycus took him at his word, wheeling away to seek out his sister. No doubt they would spend hours speculating on Severus' sanity and chances of survival.

At the Apparation point, Severus sat down on a fallen trunk to wait; it took Voldemort some time to arrive at Hogwarts from wherever he had been in the far reaches of Eastern Europe. When the Dark Lord materialised before him, Severus stood and then sunk down onto one knee, bowing his head.

"Severus!" exclaimed Voldemort eagerly. "You have found him!"

"No, my Lord." Severus remained in his subservient position.

There was a brief pause before Voldemort spoke again. "What, then, is the meaning behind your summons, Severus?" he inquired, his voice threateningly neutral.

"I found this," he replied, pulling his copy of The Life and Lies from an internal pocket of his robe. He held it out face up, so that Voldemort could read the title.

"I am disappointed in you, Severusss," hissed Voldemort, his red eyes blazing with anger. He drew his wand, lashing it angrily as he did so, slicing through the foliage near to where Severus knelt.

Calmly, Severus opened the book to the picture of Grindelwald and Dumbledore and extended his offering towards Voldemort once again. He dropped his eyes. The silence was deafening. Only after a long moment did Severus dare to look up.

Voldemort had been brought up short by the unexpected image. One hand hovered in midair, visibly trembling.

"My Lord?" asked Severus solicitously.

Voldemort met his eyes for a brief second, dropping them immediately back to the book. Almost hesitantly, he lifted it out of Severus' grasp. "Gellert Grindelwald," he breathed.

"I'm afraid," commented Severus apologetically, "that I've had the book for some time. Initially, I had no intention of reading it; I only began to do so in the hope of irritating Dumbledore's portrait." The truth can be a useful tool.

"You have done well, Severus!" exclaimed Voldemort. A feverish excitement had replaced his earlier shock. "Once again you have proven yourself as my most loyal servant. You shall be rewarded!"

"I seek no reward but your approval, my Lord."

"Knowledge, Severus," replied Voldemort unexpectedly. Severus looked up at him, startled, to find the Dark Lord looking down at him with an odd smile tugging at the flattened cheeks of his serpentine face. "You may not wish for physical rewards, but you have always wanted knowledge."

"My Lord," stuttered Severus, "you know me too well."

"Have you ever wanted to fly, Severus? Not with a broom, but just yourself against the elements? Come, I shall teach you!"

Voldemort held out a hand imperiously, and repressing all physical manifestations of his distaste, Severus took it. Hand in hand with the Dark Lord, he rose to his feet. With a high, awful laugh, Voldemort leapt skyward, pulling Severus up with him. Severus felt weightless, oddly buoyant, yet he knew that were he to let go, he would fall at once.

"Magister aerum is the phrase," commented Voldemort, steering them ever higher, "but it does nothing if you merely say the words. You have to believe them. You have to master the element: only then can you fly."

Voldemort was pushing them higher and higher, and Hogwarts soon lay far below, a toy castle tucked into a carpet forest. They were far higher than any sensible wizard would take a broomstick, and it was getting difficult for Severus to breathe.

"If I were to let go of your hand now, you would fall to your death," remarked Voldemort, his grin stretching to an ever-more-grotesque degree. "Unless, of course, you managed to master the spell before you hit the ground."

Or I could Apparate away. That thought was enough to stifle the worst of Severus' panic, and he managed to meet the Dark Lord's eye and return his manic grin with a small smirk. And when, seconds later, Voldemort released his hand, Severus was not surprised.

He began to fall at once. Spread-eagled across the sky, the wind of his downward trajectory whipped at his hair and his robes, pulling them back and up into his wake. It was terrifying, but also exhilarating. While the ground, far below, rushed towards him with a violent and ferocious speed, the lack of objects in his immediate vicinity gave an odd sensation of stasis, as if he hung unmoving, buffeted by a terrible wind.

Magister aerum, he thought to himself. He felt nothing. Concentrate, Severus. Reaching into himself and out of himself, he felt the force of the wind against his face. He felt it pull and tug at his clothing. He felt the pressure of the air against his body. Magister aerum, he thought again, and this time, it vibrated with his awareness of the element around him. Opening his mouth, he sucked oxygen into his lungs, though it was tight and difficult to do. Magister aerum! he shouted silently, and he knew he could fly. Twisting upwards, his freefall turned to flight and he soared in an arc, exulting in the incredible feeling of his body moving through the air.

Above him, he spied Voldemort, and he swooped towards him. The Dark Lord laughed with delight. Like larks, like dragons, the two of them flew a double helix at great height, their bodies curving around each other and through the sky.

"I knew you could do it, Severus!" cried Voldemort.

Severus made a mental note to brew more antivenom.

Sometimes being in the Dark Lord's good books is as terrifying as his displeasure.