Till Death I Depart

Albus Dumbledore was feeling old. The past few years had truly stretched him to his limits, and he had hoped that all of his trials were over. Not that he rested on his laurels, not by any means. He was still as observant and alert as he had ever been, but within the normal parameters of his role. This he could manage, despite his advancing years. He had even allowed himself to hope for a positive future for those who had also fought against Voldemort, those he had come to think of as family.

With a heavy heart, he removed his spectacles and dropped them haphazardly on his desk. He pinched the thin skin between his eyebrows and sighed before raising his gaze to one he loved as much as he would have done his own son. Severus Snape looked lost and dejected, as he had done on another day many years ago.

‘You have a plan, Severus?’ he asked him softly.

Severus curled his lip and barked out a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, indeed. I intend to marry and produce offspring within the next twelve months,’ he said blandly, ‘and if I do not, I will die.’

‘Oh, Severus,’ Dumbledore said wearily. ‘Could we perhaps have a conversation without the bitterness?’

‘I apologise, Albus, but what in the name of Merlin do you expect?’ Snape spat out. He stood and started to pace, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

‘I take it there is no one who…?’ At Snape’s angry glare, Dumbledore drifted off. No, of course Severus was not in a relationship. He rejected anyone who tried to gain his friendship, so woe betide any woman who might have the foolishness to set her heart on him.

Severus stopped pacing and sat back down, slumping in his seat like a disgruntled teenager. With a click of his fingers, he Summoned two glasses and a bottle of brandy, poured two large measures and shoved a glass towards Albus, who lifted it gratefully.

After a moment’s silence, Snape began to speak again, this time in more measured tones.

‘I blame myself,’ he murmured, talking more to the brandy in his glass than to Dumbledore. ‘I had the opportunity to marry some years ago, in accordance with my family tradition. There was an arrangement and a suitable match. Damn it, I even completed the compatibility forms myself and sent them back to Nikolai.’

‘What stopped you from completing the arrangement?’ Albus asked gently. Snape so rarely shared information with him voluntarily; he didn’t want to push him too hard now.

Snape flashed his eyes up to Dumbledore briefly. ‘My duties to my Masters.’

Dumbledore closed his eyes tightly and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had long ago acknowledged his own part in the corruption of Severus Snape. He had used him as a pawn, was willing to sacrifice him should the need arise. The guilt he felt was immense and Severus knew this. He used it as a sharp stick to poke him with whenever he needed to feel better. Albus sighed deeply. Now it would seem he would still have a hand in his death, but in a way neither had them would ever have imagined.

Albus took a long sip of brandy and pondered Snape’s words while the younger man brooded in his chair. A slight hint of an idea drifted at the edge of Albus’s thoughts, and he grabbed at it before he lost it again. How he hated having the mind of an old man when so much was at stake.

‘Tell me about the matching. How does that work, exactly?’ He polished his spectacles on his sleeve before putting them back on, and then grabbed a quill and some parchment.

‘It is a formula that goes back over hundreds of years,’ Severus began, his voice automatically slipping into the lilt he used with his students. ‘Suitable candidates are sourced or may apply of their own volition. Both potential partners complete a compatibility questionnaire, and those that are the best match then meet. They discuss their own desires for a successful union, and on most occasions they then marry. It is vital that the bride is in agreement, naturally.’ He paused, lifting his glass and draining it.

‘Why is that, Severus?’ Albus frowned and stopped writing.

Severus levelled an ironic gaze at Dumbledore. ‘For the Turning, Albus.’

‘Ah, yes. Of course,’ he replied faintly.

Severus laughed a harsh sound that made Albus wince. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten, Albus?’ he said smoothly. ‘Or did you think that I murdered my father for no good reason?’

‘Enough, Severus. That is one aspect of your past I had forgiven and forgotten, and I had hoped that I had convinced you to do the same. You would not repeat your father’s mistakes. I believe that, even if you do not.’ Dumbledore felt his ire rising and he fixed Snape with a steely glare that gave no room for argument. Snape bowed his head, abashed.

‘Forgive me, Albus. This whole situation is trying me somewhat,’ he whispered.

‘And I, Severus,’ Albus murmured. ‘How is your uncle?’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Sick. We do not know how long we have, a month or two at most.’ Severus reached for the brandy.

‘Then the clock is not ticking yet.’ Albus relaxed into his chair and tapped at his bearded chin with the end of his quill. ‘We can resolve this, Severus.’

Snape looked at Dumbledore and lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘Perhaps.’

***

The great hall was abuzz with excitement as the remaining students and staff of Hogwarts gathered for the post-selection feast. There were only a limited number of apprenticeships available, and for many, this would be the last time they would join in such a happy occasion at the school. The reality of leaving Hogwarts was too much for some, and in the midst of all of the laughter, one student sat staring at her empty plate, ignoring the chatter around her.

Severus Snape sat at the far end of the large table around which everyone was sat. He didn’t mind sitting with the students. Draco Malfoy was to his left, Blaise Zabini to his right, and they were making conversation across him as he sat back in his chair and watched. From this position, he could look directly at Hermione Granger without her noticing him, yet he was not so close that she would distract him. For distract him she most certainly did.

The worst thing about Snape’s heritage, in his opinion, was his heightened sense of smell. Ordinarily, this could be seen to be an advantage for someone who may utilise all of his senses in potion making. It had certainly helped him to sense potions that were not at full strength, or were starting to deteriorate in their vials. It also meant that Snape knew when a woman was at her most fertile. It was a pleasant, light, flowery scent that he could tolerate well enough. It also helped him to allow for certain mood swings or tearful outbursts, and as Head of Slytherin, he had gained quite a reputation for anticipating when his female students may need a little more leeway.

More recently, however, Snape had become aware of another scent. It was sultry and alluring, a mix of musk and vanilla. It had taken him a while to find the source, and how ironic that this intoxicating aroma that was driving him wild was that of Hermione Granger. It was not just her perfume or the hair products she had taken to using. This was more, so much more. Hermione Granger was turning into a woman, and Severus Snape could smell it.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. It was warm against his palm, and he paused, feeling the throb from within. With a quick flick of his wrist, he emptied the thick liquid into his red wine and then lifted the glass and swirled it until both were mixed. Raising the glass to his lips, his eye caught that of Granger, who was leaning slightly forward and watching him intently. He raised his glass at her in acknowledgement, and then smirked as the witch gasped and quickly looked away, a tell-tale blush flooding her cheeks. He drank slowly, careful not to waste a drop, and anticipated what tomorrow would bring.

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Albus Dumbledore observing him with a slight frown.