Secrets in the Dark

Chapter 7: Occlumency, an Order, and an Oath

It was almost dark outside when Severus awoke. No wonder he was hungry again. There was nobody in the room, but he could hear voices in Dumbledore's office. Should he call? Before he could make up his mind, however, the door opened and Madame Pomfrey entered the sickroom.

"Ah, you are awake, Severus. Good. Time for your medication, then. And a thorough checkup." When the Mediwitch saw the disappointment on the young wizard's face, she added with a smile, "and for Dinner. But not before I'm through with you."

The potions tasted abysmal, but as an expert in the field, Severus knew that the worse the taste the more potent the potion and the better the effect. He swallowed obediently, hoping to get finally rid of his annoying cough. The Headmaster joined them when Madame Pomfrey started her examination.

"So, Poppy, how is the young man?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling encouragingly.

"Much improved, I'd say. The fever is down to 101.3, and the lungs are almost free, hardly any rattling anymore. Another few days of bed rest and he should be as good as new," the Mediwitch answered with a smile of compassion. "Now, let me see your arm, please."

Severus winced. He had totally forgotten about the Mark. Under the sleeve of the white Hospital night-shirt his forearm was still bandaged. What would he find under the white covers? Had the Mark grown back?

"It has grown back, indeed, my lad," the Headmaster said as if reading his thoughts. "And that's not altogether a bad thing if you consider my earlier proposition." True. The Mark had to be intact and unblemished if he was to return to the Dark Lord as a spy. A mutilated Mark would raise serious suspicion.

Madame Pomfrey removed the bandages with a flick of her wand. And there, it was leering at him, the skull and the serpent, the mark of Cain that would never come off. Ever. A few thin and pinkish scars running criss-cross over the ugly Mark were the only reminders of his desperate attempt to remove it.

"You have to apply this salve once a day and the scars will fade completely in no time at all," advised the Mediwitch. "Do you want me to replace the bandages, Severus? Though, it's not really necessary."

"No," came the reluctant answer. "I'd probably better get used to the sight again, anyway."

"That's the spirit, my boy," Dumbledore chimed in, eyes twinkling. "So, you'll do it?" Severus nodded. "Then we have a lot to discuss, I suppose - after Dinner ..."

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The delicious chicken broth had helped a lot to lighten Severus's spirits. The Headmaster hadn't returned yet, so he reached for the Yearbook that still sat on the bedside table. Probably there were more pictures of his mother? He leafed through the pages. Lots of Quidditch pictures. And there she was riding high in the air on her broom, the Quaffle secured firmly under one arm, red locks dancing in the wind. A Chaser. Probably, her name was on one of the trophies in the trophy room? Now, she waved at him, then grabbed the Quaffle with her right hand and sent it flying through the center-loop with ease.

"Ah, you found some more pictures," observed the pleasant voice of the Headmaster. Being thoroughly immersed in the moving image of his mother, Severus hadn't heard him knock on the door. "Don't let me disturb you, my boy, we have plenty of time."

"She was so beautiful and happy ..."

"Yes, indeed, Severus. And bright. One of the most talented students I've ever had in Transfiguration. And a great Chaser. It was a shock to all of us when we heard about the murder."

"I don't look much like her." There was a note of regret in his voice.

"No, not really. Except for those curls of yours," the Headmaster said smiling at Severus conspiratorially. A look of confusion appeared on the young wizard's face.

"Curls? But - Merlin, how long have I been sick, Professor?" Couldn't have been for more than a few days, could it? But then the effect of the hair-straightening potion certainly shouldn't have worn off, yet. It was supposed to last for ten days, and he had applied it only the morning before his return to Knockturn Alley. Scelestus Snape had always hated his unruly curls and had made him use hair-straightener from early childhood on. He was so used to his hair being lank and greasy, he could hardly picture himself with curls anymore. And what would the Dark Lord say if he apparated to the next meeting looking like a dark version of a tinsel angel?

"Two weeks to the day. You've been very sick, Severus, delirious for many days. You won't remember much of it, I suppose, but you gave us quite some sleepless nights..."

"I - I had no idea. Thought it was only a few ...," he stuttered, his hands starting to tremble.

"Severus, you were sick and we took care of you, Minerva, Poppy, and I. That's perfectly all right. Nothing to fret about."

"No, it's - the Dark Lord. I was expected to report to him days ago. He'll be livid."

"He will punish you for your tardiness?" Dumbledore's eyes darkened with concern.

"You can bet. Cruciatus, most probably. It's his favorite." Severus swallowed hard.

"Severus, listen, you don't have to go back if you aren't ready. You could leave the country, start a new life in America..."

"You would let me go?" There was genuine surprise in the young wizard's voice. "I'm a murderer, after all."

"I could arrange the papers to be ready within two, three days," Dumbledore continued unperturbed.

A moment of absolute silence.

"No, Headmaster. I'll do what you asked of me," Severus finally said, pointing at the picture in the Yearbook. "For her."

"Your mother would be proud of you, Severus - as am I." He looked the young wizard deep in the eyes. Another moment of silence.

"What do you know about Occlumency, Severus?" the Headmaster suddenly asked.

"It's the magic defense of the mind against external penetration. I read about it."

"But you never tried it yourself?"

"No, not consciously at least."

"Then we should give it a try," Dumbledore proposed. "It's a skill that might come in handy in your future dealings with Voldemort." Severus winced at the mention of the dreaded name. Then he nodded.

"What do I have to do?"

"You have to concentrate hard and empty your mind of all thoughts and emotions. On the count of three I'll cast Legilimens," Dumbledore explained. "Do you think you are up to it, yet?"

"I'll try." He shut his eyes for a few seconds, an expression of deep concentration on his face. At 'three,' he opened his eyes again, and the Headmaster cast the mind-reading spell. Images began to rush through Severus's mind in quick succession. Sylvia Snape in her nightgown staring blankly at a wall, a gloomy room, rather a coop, with nothing in it but an old brass bed and a wooden trunk, a drunken Scelestus Snape pinning a little, scrawny, dark-haired boy to the wall with one hand, hitting him heavily in the face with the other. Blood splattered as the boy sank to the floor holding his broken nose, eyes wide open in terror. - No, he didn't want to see this. He had closed those chapters of his life for good when the house in Knockturn Alley burnt down two weeks ago. Concentrate. Empty your mind, your emotions. The flow of images slowed down, becoming distant and hazy. Some intruding force pulled and sucked at his mind, but as he fought back the memories the tugging ceased, too. Now his mind was all empty and calm, a totally new and pleasantly peaceful experience. Like floating high above the troubles and toils, the perils and pains of this world. He could do this forever ...

"Severus?" Dumbledore's voice snapped him out of his trance-like state and brought him back to reality.

"Headmaster."

"I'm impressed. You are a natural Occlumens, Severus. With a little practice you should soon be able to control this skill and use it to your advantage. And ours." Then a look of concern crossed the old wizard's face. "You are exhausted, child. I should better let you sleep some more, or Poppy will give me a harsh lecture about not overexerting you."

It was true. He was exhausted. The exercise seemed to have drained all his strength and a leaden sleepiness seeped through his body into his very bones. He sank back into the softness of his pillows, closed his heavy eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

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"Where are you going to live, Severus? Do you have any plans, yet?" Dumbledore asked while sipping his hot chocolate. They were having a late breakfast together in Severus's room after another straining Occlumency lesson. But today he wasn't half as exhausted from the practice as the day before, and he definitely was getting better. At third try he had managed to block the Legilimens almost instantly. Images from the Headmaster's memory then had appeared before his mind's eye. Dumbledore at the age of five ... They both had had a good laugh at little Albus trying to get to the cookie jar on top of the kitchen cupboard. The little sugartooth had ended up stuck on the cupboard after his 'ladder,' a precariously swaying construction of chairs and stools, had collapsed under his feet. But he had conquered the cookies ...

Severus strongly suspected that Dumbledore had shown him this particular memory on purpose. The Headmaster surely was an expert of both Legilimency and Occlumency and would hardly allow a mere beginner to pry into his mind at random. And seeing the old wizard without beard and spectacles and with chocolate-smeared cheeks instead had certainly eased any remaining tension. A veritable breakfast with ham and eggs had helped a lot, too.

"No, not really," he answered, "since I was thoroughly convinced the question would never arise anyway ..." A wry smile.

"Sometimes things turn out better than expected." Blue eyes twinkling. "Even a bad pneumonia might have its merits." Severus nodded pensively. His malady had indeed given him time to get a grip on his emotions, to come to terms with his new loyalties. It had bought both him and the Headmaster precious time to reconsider. If it hadn't been for his illness, he would most probably serve a life sentence in Azkaban right now. Left the question of his future whereabouts. To see the matter straight in the eye, he was completely broke. He owned nothing but the one set of robes he wore when he fled from the burning house. No home, no money, no job, not even a wand. And the heritage of the late Scelestus Snape most probably consisted of nothing but debts. Not exactly much to begin with.

"I guess I'll have to find a job, first of all. And stay at - some friends in the meantime." Only that he didn't have any friends he would have asked for asylum. The Slytherins he had hung about with while still in school were all from old and disgustingly rich pure-blood families. The Malfoys, Lestranges, Averys, just to mention a few from the top of the 'Who is Who' of wizard society. The Snapes were somewhere at the bottom. They had only accepted him because what he lacked in money he had in brains. And it was much easier to copy of his homework than do the tedious task oneself. Plus, they were slightly afraid of him and his vast knowledge of hexes and dark curses. No, he couldn't ask any of them for asylum, though they were all fellow Death Eaters by now. It would be too humiliating. And he couldn't ask Dumbledore, either. He owed the man more than enough already, much more than he could possibly pay back any time soon. He'd manage somehow. But he needed a wand. A wizard without a wand was as useless as a Golden Snitch without wings. Or a Potions master without cauldron. He would miss his lab in Knockturn Alley, he suddenly realized, in spite of all the painful memories. After graduating from Hogwarts, he had had the lab almost for himself most of the times while old Snape was drinking and gambling with his cronies. And since he had taken the Dark Mark on his 18^th birthday and killed for the first time - a Muggle woman caught for his initiation - Snape had not dared touch him anymore. The hours on end spent solely in the company of shining cauldrons and clean glassware probably had been the happiest in his life, so far ...

"A Gallon for your thoughts, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted his silent musings, eyes twinkling humorously.

"Don't think they are worth that much ... though I could need the money. I have no wand."

"Oh yes, a wand." Another twinkle of blue. "I already started to wonder whether you would bring up the subject at all, Severus." Dumbledore poured himself another cup of steaming cocoa. "Actually, I have given some thought to the matter already. How about Ebony, 12.5 inches, Dragon-heartstring?" To Severus's utter surprise the Headmaster produced a slender dark wand from one of his pockets. A wand identical to his lost one. How did the old wizard know?"

"I thought it might raise suspicion if you used a different wand all of a sudden. So, best to stick to the old measures. Give it a try."

The wand was perfect. Smooth and pleasantly cool in his hand, ideal diameter and length, exactly like his old wand. But the surge of magic as he swung it smoothly through the air was stronger, exploding in a burst of beautiful green and silver sparks that rained down on his bed and the smiling Dumbledore. Must be the Dragon-heartstring ...

"I see my informant was not mistaken. A very Slytherin display of colors ... It's yours, my boy."

"But ..."

"No 'buts' allowed. And no questions. Just take it. And use it well." Severus nodded, thoroughly perplexed by the unexpected gift. Suddenly, he gasped, grabbing his left forearm.

"What is it, Severus?" There was a note of alarm in the Headmaster's voice.

"The Mark. He's calling. I have to apparate at his side instantly," Severus panted through clenched teeth, then relaxed somewhat as the initial slowly diminished. But he knew it would be back soon and with increasing intensity if he didn't answer the call.

"Severus, I cannot let you go yet. I trust you, but the others don't."

"What others?" Severus interrupted hastily. He couldn't wait much longer.

"The members of the Order of the Phoenix. I'm their head. You have to join the Order and take the oath before I can let you go."

An oath. Great. Exactly what he needed now. Not that he wasn't willing to join the Order. But oath-taking was definitely not something you could do within the minute. Often it involved long-winded formulas and ceremonies, and time was running short. Dumbledore could not mean to keep him from answering the summons that long. The pain would become devastating. And the Dark Lord would certainly kill him if he apparated that late.

"We will make it quick. Just the basics," Dumbledore said as if answering his thoughts. "Accio Goblet of the Secret Order!"

A beautifully crafted goblet came floating through the door and settled on the nightstand. There were all kinds of ancient runes carved into the onyx stone, and the handles were formed in the shape of a phoenix. It was filled with an iridescent substance, the color constantly changing from gold to scarlet.

"Here, Severus, write down your name - your true name - on this piece of parchment with the Phoenix-feather quill, add a few drops of blood to the liquid, and then throw the parchment into the goblet." Dumbledore handed Severus the specified paraphernalia he had retrieved from another pocket of his robes plus a tiny golden knife decorated with a Phoenix head. Severus hesitated only a second before writing 'Perseus Evans' on the parchment, then quickly cut his finger and let some drops of blood fall into the goblet. The liquid began to swirl with increasing velocity, now as red as his blood. The moment the piece of parchment was swallowed in the swirls golden bubbles formed on the turbulent surface. Suddenly the substance swelled over and burst into flames.

"Professor!" Severus gasped. This couldn't be right. Had he made a mistake? What if the goblet rejected him? Didn't want him in the Order? But Dumbledore only smiled. After a few seconds, the goblet stilled again, and on the table lay a shining Phoenix-feather.

"It's yours," Dumbledore explained, "the token of the Order of the Phoenix. Keep it always with you and hide it well. Best you transfigure it into something inconspicuous. When you need to contact me, conjure a fire and throw the feather into the flames. Now you better get ready. I'll be back in a minute."

Severus got up, fought the dizziness caused by the sudden movement, and started to dress. His robes had been cleaned and mended, and his Death Eater mask was still in place inside a secret pocket. He added the feather. No time to transfigure it yet. His entire arm was throbbing with pain by now, and he had difficulties to button up his pants and shirt. If he only could disapparate from the spot, but there was no way to apparate or disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. Left the long walk to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. More precious minutes to be lost ...

Dumbledore rushed back into the room, carrying a racing-broom in one hand, a little glass phial in the other.

"Here, my son, this will take care of your hair. And the broom will take you outside the Hogwarts anti-Apparition wards quickly and unseen. You must not return to Hogwarts, mind. Contact me after the meeting as soon as possible, but only if you are sure nobody can overhear our conversation. And one more thing before you take off. Do you know pickled Murtlap flower, Severus?"

"The curious growth on the Murtlap? It promotes resistance to curses and jinxes, but it's quite rare and expensive."

With a graceful wave of his wand Dumbledore accioed a tiny glass jar containing something pink and flowerlike floating in a milky liquid. He held it out to the young wizard.

"Here, Severus, you might find it helpful for the task ahead of you. Take only a tiny bit at a time, you don't want to grow purple ear hair, do you?"

"Surely not, Professor." In spite of the increasing pain in his arm Severus managed a weak smile while sinking the precious jar into one of the spacious pockets of his travelling cloak. "And thank you - for everything." He opened the large window and mounted the broom.

"Good luck, Severus." There was genuine concern in Dumbledore's eyes and voice. "And keep safe."

But he had already left.