“Slytherin in possession… Chaser Augustin Tench crashing through towards the goal-posts, but here comes Gryffindor Chaser Johnson — she’s going to tackle — oh, but Pucey has moved in for a really aggressive blocking play, and Madam Hooch is turning a blind eye — OUCH — Slytherin still in possession after that open foul—”
Even the blatantly biased commentary from Gryffindor student Lee Jordan couldn’t change the facts of what was happening on the Quidditch pitch. After the humiliations of the previous year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin was always going to be a grudge match, and the Slytherin team had a lot to prove. Thanks to a complete set of new brooms, and a new and doubtless talented Seeker, they were engaged in wiping the ground with the Gryffindor team in no mean style.
“And Tench scores! Gryffindor Keeper Wood is looking pretty sick, and no wonder — Gryffindor have yet to make their mark on the game, and Slytherin are in the lead fifty points to zero—”
Despite everything, Snape allowed himself a smile. Quidditch, in his view, hardly ranked high on a list of productive pastimes; but the inter-house rivalry was intense, and Slytherin had traditionally excelled. If he had to sit out here as Head of House in incipient rain — a particularly cold and heavy drop went down the back of his neck at that moment, and he sketched out an impatient Shielding Charm — then it was a considerable satisfaction to be able to anticipate the triumphant looks Slytherin would be bestowing on the less-favoured Houses tomorrow.
“— and finally, gallant Gryffindor get possession!” A roar went up from the crowd, from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well as from the Gryffindor supporters, and Snape’s lip tightened. The Slytherins around him burst into angry boos and jeers in response as the Gryffindor Chaser Katie Bell swerved out from under the Slytherin team captain, Flint, and streaked off down the pitch with a Bludger in hot pursuit.
“Tench tries to tackle — Flint coming up fast from behind — but they’re no match for talented Katie. Slytherin Keeper moving out now to protect the hoops — they’ve got her walled in — she can’t score — YES! — what a pass, what a pass…. As fellow Chaser Angelina Johnson now has a clear run at goal — look out, Johnson — oh no…. Excellent swerve there to dodge the Bludger, but she’s lost her chance at goal, and Slytherin Augustin Tench has fumbled the Quaffle — some brutal work by the Slytherin Beaters on that Bludger, Chaser Bell can’t get through — where are the Weasley brothers for Gryffindor?”
Behind Snape, a tidal wave of shuffling announced itself. He turned, sharply. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was making his way along the stand through the ever-increasing drizzle towards him.
“Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero,” Jordan was announcing glumly in the distance, as Tench scored again and Dumbledore slid into the vacant place at Snape’s left-hand side.
“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore said in mild greeting as the referee’s whistle blew. He wiped droplets of rain from his half-moon glasses.
Snape, scowling, dutifully extended his Shielding Charm outwards to cover his neighbour. “And to what do we owe this honour, Headmaster?”
Dumbledore never deigned to watch the game from the Slytherin stands. If he was here now, it could only be because he wanted something from Snape…in full view of the rest of the school…. Snape wondered, sharply, if it was about the business with that cat of Filch’s. The whole disgraceful affair had been a nine-days’-wonder, and the school was still talking of nothing else; and it had been clear as crystal, to Snape at least, that a certain cocky young Gryffindor had told them far less than he knew. Maybe the Headmaster had finally come to his senses—
“Ah yes.” Dumbledore had taken his glasses off, and was polishing them. He looked up, bright eyes suddenly very intense without their bespectacled shield, and fixed a piercing gaze on Snape. “I was wondering if you recalled the outcome of a certain discussion among the governors at the beginning of term, Severus. About the potential return of Voldemort, and the possibility of a Free-will Potion….”
Snape kept his face schooled to a rigid mask with an effort as an icy shock of betrayal shot through him. If McGonagall had talked…even she wouldn’t have been such a self-righteous fool…would she? He’d kept an eagle eye on the Ravenclaw Lovell in the weeks that had followed that botched night in the dungeons, but to all intents and purposes the boy appeared to remember little or nothing — less than surprising, given that the damned each uisge had to have been working on the young oaf almost from the moment it had given up on Snape himself. If anything, Lovell had looked even quieter than usual, studying harder than ever.
No, it must have been McGonagall and that stiff-necked conscience of hers. She’d have been quick enough to claim the credit, he made no doubt, if between them they’d managed to pull off the coup of the century. With proper facilities — with proper safeguards — he was still convinced he would have been able to do it…. But instead Professor Prim-and-Proper had let something slip in Dumbledore’s hearing, and an abyss he’d thought safely past was yawning again before his feet.
The Headmaster had refused permission for the research. He’d specifically forbidden the experiments on the grounds of risk — risks Snape had deliberately chosen to dismiss as mere scaremongering. That had almost cost a student his life. It had nearly cost Hogwarts the lives of its Potions master and Deputy Headmistress. If, afterwards, the water-horse, bloated with power, had run loose among the upper corridors of the school, hundreds of children could have died, horribly.
And the governors wouldn’t care that it had been the weak-willed soft touch of a boy, Lovell, who’d been criminally stupid enough to let the mind-predator into his head, despite all warnings — to think he knew best. Oh no. It would be Snape, who’d had to pull the whole sorry mess together as usual, who’d had to risk his own skin to undo what Lovell had done, who would get the chop. And Dumbledore, who’d promised him a place at Hogwarts for as long as he needed it, who’d been the only one to offer him sanctuary from the jackals on both sides baying for his blood, would preside over the meeting with that saintly, faintly-pained look in his eyes, and toss his subordinate to the waiting jaws….
The rain was sheeting down harder now, enclosing them with slanting silver bars, and Dumbledore, beside him, had him pinned with that bright expectant stare that could draw a response out of the most stubborn silence. Snape could feel the cage drawing in around him. One slip — one admission— A muscle in his jaw twitched, his control threatening to crack, and he took a deep breath, forced his features into a mask of mild interest, and nodded.
“The possibility of a Free-will Potion? Yes, I looked into that. My field of interest, as I’m sure you’ll understand….”
Dumbledore was nodding in return, eyes still locked with Snape’s own in a twinkle that gave nothing away. But Snape could have sworn they had sharpened. “Go on, Severus.”
“I was over-optimistic,” Snape said smoothly, evading that gaze. Out on the pitch, the players were barely visible through the rain. All around them Slytherins were starting to fidget and complain. “I did the preliminary research, to see what would be involved. But the complications were enormous. I don’t think any living wizard could do it, Headmaster. Back in the days of old Erasmus Montague, perhaps….”
Dumbledore was giving him a somewhat puzzled look, tinged with amusement. “Come, Severus, I thought you rated yourself higher than that. Only last winter you were telling me how hide-bound those old philtrists were, compared to modern scholarship—”
“Oh yes, their legend outranked their learning — and that’s what you’d need to pull this off, a living legend,” Snape snapped bitterly, deliberately burying his own reputation with every word. Whatever you’ve heard, Dumbledore, it must have been mistaken. Nothing of that sort could have been going on at Hogwarts, you see; your humble Potions master never would have had the ability….
Resentment had him by the throat, thickening his words until they almost choked him. But reluctance itself could only serve to carry more conviction. He knew how to play a part. He’d learned it in Dumbledore’s own service, when his very life had hung upon dissimulation.
Despite himself, his face twisted as he set the last nail in the coffin. “A Free-will Potion is beyond my powers, Headmaster — now or ever.”
“Are you sure?” Mild disappointment, baited to draw him oh-so-delicately into what had to be a trap. “After all, if you’ve already done—” admitted, Snape thought, seething— “the preliminary work….”
“Quite enough work to tell me what I can and can’t achieve!” And every ragged edge of fury in that was real.
Dumbledore sighed, looking suddenly weary. “A pity. Things have changed, and faster than I’d ever dreamed. Petrification is Dark Magic of the most advanced level, and with something — or someone — of that nature loose in the school…next time, it may be more than just a cat….”
As if to punctuate his words, a yell of dismay rose from the rain-soaked Quidditch stands beyond. Snape glanced round to see a blurred figure heading for the ground, a Gryffindor player obviously out of control in the distant haze of rain. It barely registered. The implications of Dumbledore’s words were breaking over him in an icy wave, rewriting everything he’d thought he understood. The world gave a sickening lurch.
“You mean — you want—”
Dumbledore was settling his glasses back on his nose. He didn’t look up. “I’ve changed my mind, Severus. Minerva McGonagall was right. Resisting the Imperius Curse is going to be more important than ever.” The old wizard sighed again. “I was hoping to discuss—”
And then he was drowned out by the great tide of whistles and shouts rising all round the pitch, as first Gryffindor and then Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw rose to their feet. The Golden Snitch glinted from the mud.
Dumbledore himself had made a motion to rise, only to check himself in a perfunctory gesture towards the ominous silence spreading around him in the Slytherin stands, as the House that had dominated the entire match saw victory snatched suddenly from their rightful grasp. But the impulse of consideration was short-lived. The Gryffindor Seeker was still on the ground, and figures were starting to run out onto the pitch towards him.
Dumbledore got up hastily. “If you’ll excuse me, Severus — I think—”
“Headmaster, the Free-will Potion—” Snape hardly knew what he was saying. The chasm had opened up, not in front of him but under what he’d thought was firm ground, and he was falling….
“Oh yes. I was going to give you permission to do that practical research you wanted, of course. But it’s all academic now. A pity. I’d been rather counting on your talents….” And with that he was gone, thrusting his way through the stands down towards the Quidditch pitch with barely more than a brief distracted smile to spare for Snape as he tried in vain to detain him.
“Damn you,” Snape whispered, watching the crowd beginning to form around the prone scarlet figure below. He was shaking. All around him, Slytherin supporters were ebbing away. “Damn you, Harry Potter….”