Harry Potter and the Price (Patreon)

Where did this come from? I have no idea.  But anyway, here ya go…

- - - - 

Severus watched as the small child pulled at a weed. The roots yielded and he fell onto his backside with an “oomph.” He was much smaller than Severus had expected. Potter had been a tall man, and given the boy’s unkempt hair and round face, he took after his cursed father. Perhaps his clothing only made him appear small. It was clearly meant for a larger child.

The boy moved to the next weed, and Severus indulged in a bit of schadenfreude. Potter had thought himself better than anyone. With his money and his connections and his unfounded arrogance about being sorted into the house of courageous fools, he had embodied Pureblood contempt even as he had turned it against Slytherin house rather than Muggleborns and half bloods. But now his son grubbed in the dirt.

“Are you done, boy?” Petunia asked as she came out the kitchen door, her hands on her hips. Time had not been kind to Tuney. She looked old and tired. He remembered when she would curl her hair and paint her nails and now her most prominent feature was her scowl.

“Not yet, Aunt Petunia,” the boy said.

“It’s time for you to start dinner. And do wash. I don’t want that filth touching the food. I swear, I don’t know why we have to be burdened with your presence.”

The boy ducked his head submissively and darted around Tuney to get into the house. For the first time since he’d arrived, Severus felt a frisson of discomfort at the boy’s situation. The child was too short to reach a counter. He should not be preparing food. And his body language spoke not of the humility Albus assumed he would learn but of fear and despair.

Severus could not stay long. Albus watched him too closely for him to tarry somewhere that he had no business visiting. While Albus had kept him from Azkaban, the headmaster did not fully trust Severus. Lily’s death meant that Severus had not gotten what he wanted out of their deal, which was the main reason he had made Severus swear an oath to protect the blighted child now standing at Tuney’s kitchen window. His head bobbed up and down, clearly climbing and leaving a chair as he went about his task.

On the one hand, Severus felt pity for the boy. No Wizarding child should be left in the care of such a magic-hating Muggle. On the other, Severus could not smother the resentments he counted as sins against justice. Lily had chosen Potter, even after Potter had shown his true nature over and over. Lily had died for Potter, died for that wretched child. The Dark Lord and Albus had both promised to spare her and yet she was dead. She perished and that scruffy creature who looked like James Potter lived. The unfairness was bitter on Severus’ tongue.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Have you checked on Potter recently?” Severus asked.

Albus did not bother looking up. Severus did not rate the headmaster’s full attention. Severus bridled under the blatant disrespect, but he understood what was required to gain the ear of a man of power. He had done so with the Dark Lord and he would eventually do the same with Dumbledore. However, until that time came, Severus had to atone for his mistakes—at least around Albus.

In private, Severus was more likely to blame his house mates in Slytherin for pressuring him to join the Dark Lord. He was more likely to blame the Purebloods and their prejudices, which had made him an outcast in his own house and he definitely blamed Dumbledore’s unforgivable blindness which had left him feeling unsafe when he had attended Hogwarts as a student. Had others not made unforgivable mistakes first, Severus would not have a mark upon his arm.

“Really, Severus, I am concerned at your interest in Harry.” Albus glanced up from his scroll.

“You required me to swear an oath to protect him. Not knowing his current condition makes me uncomfortable. This is my magic that is on the line.” That much was true, even if Albus’s assumption that Severus couldn’t find the boy was foolish. Perhaps Albus didn’t know how to use a Muggle directory, but Severus certainly did.

Albus set his scroll to one side. “Lily’s family and the blood wards anchored to Harry’s aunt provide all the protection required to ensure no Death Eaters find him.” Albus’s eyes twinkled with legilimency and Severus gazed back, carefully placing all his hatred and resentments at the front of his mind. After a second, Albus shook his head sadly. “I had hoped you would get over some of those childish resentments, Severus.”

“If the children who behaved so poorly had been punished, I might have.” Severus refused to apologize for hating James Potter. He was just uncomfortable with how often the pitiful image of young Harry Potter crept into his medications and dreams.

Albus didn’t deign to answer. “When did you last visit the Malfoys?”

“Two days ago.”

“Is there any sign Lucius is encouraging the boy to seek out Dark magic?” Albus unrolled another scroll and scanned the text.

“None,” Severus said firmly. “My godson is far too spoiled and impulsive to be trusted with Dark magic.”

Albus looked up. “Really?”

Severus tilted his head, tacitly admitting that Lucius was not following Pureblood tradition when it came to Draco. “I suspect his mother hopes to make him an unsuitable follower if the Dark Lord returns.”

“Voldemort will return,” Albus said, and a flare of pain ran through Severus’s arm. Curse the man. Severus hated feeling that magical leash tighten.

“Unless Lord and Lady Malfoy change their parenting significantly, the Dark Lord would find Draco unacceptable.” In truth, the Dark Lord would find Draco contemptible, but Draco’s joy at life was a balm to Severus’s soul, even when the little monster was quite tiring.

“I do wish you would stop using that epithet. In the classroom, you must convince the children of those Death Eaters clever enough to remain free that you are on their side, but in here, your word choice disturbs me.” Albus let his power fill the room, and Severus clung to his occlumency shields as his mind spiraled back to another great power who had cowed him with raw magic. It was everything he could do to stay on his feet.

“Enough,” Severus said between clenched teeth. “Your point is made.”

“Is it?” Albus allowed his aura to dim.

“I shall refer to him as He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

Albus sighed, his displeasure clear.

“You know why his name not an option,” Severus said firmly.

Albus’s gaze fell to Severus’s covered arm. “Pain is the consequence of poor choices. One cannot escape that, my boy.”

Severus clenched his teeth. It was amusing how that proverb was true only for Slytherins, not for Gryffindors.

“Have you had any contact with the Greengrass family?”

Severus sighed as he returned to his task. He must give Albus enough information to prevent the Dark Lord’s return without stripping the world of the ancient magics that those Light families found objectionable. “They invited me to their Ostara celebration next month.”

“Any sign that they plan to cast Dark magic? Any Dark artifacts?”

“None that they have revealed to me, but I am a half-blood and not in their confidence the way others are.”

“Voldemort trusted you,” Albus said, and Severus worked to control the wince as his mark once again lashed him, reminding him of all his failures.

“He Who Must Not Be Named valued me for my abilities with spellcraft and potions. These old families need me for little more than tutoring if their children prove inadequate at potions, spellcrafting, or defense against the Dark arts,” Severus said, pushing again to have his teaching assignment shifted.

Watching imbeciles risk their lives and Severus’s with their utter incompetence over a caldron was grating. At least in the defense class, Severus could have the cretins stand to one side and learn from observing the more competent students. One could improve from watching the wand movements of a competent peer. Potions required one to brew and observe, learning from one’s own mistakes. And Severus had precious little time for the mistakes of some of these callow youth. Even the youngest student was old enough to remember the war, and yet they refused to take his warnings seriously.

“Surely you do not want to fall prey to the curse.” Albus had the audacity to sound amused.

“Gringotts employs curse-breakers competent enough to render that excuse invalid.”

Albus’s smile grew. “Yes. However, when one has but one hole in the defenses, one can be assured of knowing the direction from which an enemy will appear.”

While strategically valid, Severus did resent the fact that Albus moved him about like a chess piece. Unfortunately that was unlikely to end any time in the near future. The Dark Lord was forced out of his body, and that sort of damage would take decades to overcome, luckily for both Albus and the entire Wizarding world. Currently no one was preparing the great champion of Light—the boy who lived.

Severus contained a snort. More like the boy most likely to be Albus’s sacrificial lamb. Albus and Albus alone had the power to challenge the Dark Lord, no matter what story he told others. And when the day came that Albus sent Harry Potter to his death, Severus would go with him. The vow Albus had demanded ensured that. Either Severus’s life or his magic would be forfeit on that day. Harry Potter was, like the Dark Mark, one more leash.

“Is there anything else?”

Albus gestured toward the door. “No, no, my boy. You’ve been quite helpful. Thank you.”

Severus bowed and retreated without pushing his agenda. He was not Albus’s boy. Even when he had been a boy, Albus had not shown him enough care to claim any loyalty, and the one boon Severus had begged for had not been granted to him. He knew that Albus wouldn’t check on the Potter boy. He knew he would not grant Severus’s wish to teach advanced spellcrafting or defense. He knew he had no power at all.

Serving the Light felt distressingly similar to serving the Dark.

Severus knew that was unfair. Albus had never tortured, he had never terrorized a community in order to prove his own power. He had never cast unforgivables until the victim writhed in pain and lost his or her mind. That was Voldemort’s forte.

Albus was simply the master of stripping others of their power. He hoarded information and influence until no one else had any hope of defending themselves. Lucius despaired at the state of politics as long as Albus sat like a spider in the center of his web. However, this was the side Severus had chosen, and he would not change again. The Dark Lord had twisted magic until it was as if all those who followed him had slipped into the Black family madness. Severus would rather endure Albus’s manipulative benevolence than return to serving the Dark Lord.

No. He Who Must Not Be Named. Severus could not slip again. The Greengrasses and Lestranges and Malfoys, the Carrows and the Crabbes and the Notts would all forgive him for not showing proper respect for the Dark Lord because Severus had to play the part of a spy. However, Albus would be far less forgiving. Far less indeed. The Death Eaters might have Dark magic, but Albus had Azkaban, and Severus feared one far more than the other.

- - - - - - - - - -

Severus was collecting frost-touched henbane under a full moon when his curiosity gnawed at him. He had proved fortunate to find a cluster of henbane with its spiky leaves and pungent odor within an hour, and that left him with time to move unmonitored. He quickly apparated before moving toward Privet Drive.

His curiosity was likely to get him killed—or worse—condemned to Azkaban. However, Severus had never been able to control the flaw. Whether experimenting with spells and potions or attending a Death Eater meeting to understand why his housemates were so taken with He Who Must Not Be Named, Severus wanted to understand how the world worked.

He hoped to identify the bedroom of young Potter and see the boy, even if only for a short time. To that end, he walked behind the houses, staying to the shadows cast by poplar trees. However, he stopped when he approached number 4.

The child sat outside in the dark, his arms wrapped around his knees and his body shaking violently. Ignoring the very real danger to himself and his freedom, Severus closed the distance. He was a few feet away before a wary head popped up and the boy considered him with bright green eyes. “Child, what are you doing out here?” Severus asked. He tried to gentle his tone, but the boy flinched from him. Clearly he had failed.

“I can’t go in,” Harry said.

“Can’t? Have you locked yourself out?” Sometimes Muggle children did such foolish things. Of course, Wizarding children were equally doltish.

Harry shook his head, but he said nothing else. Not sure how to handle this, and certain that any call to Albus would end badly for Severus if not the boy, Severus sat down on the step next to him. “Why are you out here?” The child was five or six, but his frame was small for his age and he didn’t have the physical reserves to handle the cold.

“My aunt and uncle are late. They’re coming, sir.” His teeth chattered as he answered. Snape reached into the robes he had transfigured to resemble a jacket and pulled out a square of fabric. Hiding his actions from the boy, he quickly changed it into a blanket and settled it across Harry’s shoulders, adding a warming charm.

“You should not be out so late. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

Harry clutched the blanket before shaking his head. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. No school.”

“And where are your aunt and uncle?”

“They’re visiting family. They really will be back soon, sir. Aunt Petunia just doesn’t want me making a mess in the house so she asked me to sit out here. Thank you for the blanket, sir.” James Potter’s son was pathetically grateful for a blanket. Lily’s child—the son she died for—had thanking him for a blanket when Severus was the one who had taken his family from him by giving the Dark Lord that prophesy. Severus took a deep breath and organized his mind to minimize that guilt.

“Your family has no right to leave you out here. Have you spoken to a teacher?”

Harry nodded, his mop of unruly hair going every direction and casting odd shadows on his face due to the lights. “I tell them, and they promise to make things better, but it never gets better. After a day or two they always blame me for causing trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Severus said. He could sympathize with Harry’s situation given that he had endured the same. Adults often made promises to children, but they were nearly as quick to break those promises.

Harry shrugged. “It’s okay, sir. It’s just best if I don’t tell people.”

“That is a rather pessimistic outlook.”

For the first time, something other than misery filled Harry’s expression. “What does pessimistic mean?”

“It means that you don’t expect good things to happen. It means you see the world as bad.”

“But what if good things don’t happen, sir? Am I pessimistic if I don’t expect good things because I won’t get good things?”

“That was a rather articulate question,” Severus had to admit. “I suspect you might call yourself a realist, one who sees the world realistically.”

“Is there another way to see the world?”

“Some people prefer to live in a world of pretend. They think that if they ignore reality, reality will reshape itself to their wishes.” Severus was not surprised when Harry’s expression showed nothing but confusion. He was, after all, a child. Something brushed across Severus’s awareness. As a spy, he had learned to cast wards quite broadly—wards that would warn him if someone’s attention turned in his direction. Severus had no more power to help Harry than Harry had to help himself. So he bowed to the invitable.

He stood. “I’m afraid I must go.”

“Would you like your blanket back?” Harry asked even though his small hands clutched the fabric.

“Keep it,” Severus said. And because he had no platitudes to offer, he walked away.

What game was Albus playing? Adults would not consistently deny reports of a child’s suffering unless some magic urged it. Severus’s own father had attracted the attention of the authorities more than once, and only his mother’s spells had kept the bastard out of prison. So someone had cast a similar spell to isolate Harry from any form of assistance, and Severus had a good idea about who had that sort of power.

Did Albus intend for the boy to be damaged? Such suffering could leave a mark on a child’s magical core. But Albus was not one to dull a weapon that he intended to wield. So what did he hope for? Did he hope to ensure that Harry Potter did not grow up as arrogant as James Potter? More than once Albus had bemoaned the fact that Potter had refused Albus’s protection. He had insisted that he could ensure the security of his family himself.

And that was one more reason why Severus hated him.

However, a child raised in these conditions would not learn humility as much as shame. Albus had some Machiavellian goal in placing the child in this situation. Did he plan to swoop in and set himself up as the grand savior? Another thought occurred to Severus. Perhaps he suspected that Petunia was an unfit guardian and hoped to circumvent any Muggle assistance that could remove Harry from the one home with blood wards. The entire situation was unpalatable, but Severus was not wise enough to untie this Gordian knot.

- - - - - - - - -

Severus stepped out of the floo and bowed at the woman standing before him. “Lady Nott.”

“Please, you must call me Aradia,” she said as she offered her hand as though Severus were a lord himself.

He kissed her knuckles before stepping back to a proper distance. “Of course, Lady Aradia.”

“Oh, you.” She turned in a swirl of skirts and strode into the corridor. Severus followed as she led them to the sun room. In the back yard, young Heir Nott played under the gaze of his governess. He was the same age as Harry, yet he was much taller and more solidly built. Severus could not help but compare them. “How have you been?”

Severus did not answer. He was better than many, including Lord Nott who was now in Azkaban. Aradia settled into a chair where she could look out onto the lawn where her son played. “Has that fool sent you?”

“He has,” Severus admitted. “He watches the children who are of an age to attend Hogwarts with the Potter brat. I suspect he knows that the greatest danger will come when Potter has not yet learned to control his magic. Once he is fully trained—likely with additional tutoring to ameliorate the weaknesses in Hogwart’s curriculum—he will be more difficult to kill. He looks to our children to see if any are potential assassins in training.” Crabbe’s and Goyle’s sons were the most likely to fill that role. Severus wished he could hide that from Albus, but their families were too vocal and the boys too willing to embrace the indiscretions of their families.

Her hand clenched before she relaxed her fingers and brushed a spot of dust from her skirt. “And what do you tell him?”

“The truth,” Severus said. “Young Theo is a serious child with no sign of Dark magic about him. I tell Dumbledore that you mourn your husband and would not lose your son to the same horrors.”

“I dishonor our Lord to say so, but your words are more truth than fiction.”

“The lot of a good spy is to twist truth and fiction together until the recipient cannot tell the difference.”

She offered him a small smile. “You are a good friend.”

“A good friend would have gone to Azkaban with the others. I am not a good friend.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Those of us who could escape that fate had an obligation to do so. You more than others. None of the others have as much chance to track the movements of that old fool. Is he still trying to uncover our books and artifacts?”

“He is,” Severus said. “He asked if I had seen Dark artifacts at the Malfoy manner.”

“One must step carefully or trip over them at the manner,” she said with a laugh. Severus agreed. Lucius had so many Dark artifacts and books that the wild magic infected the bones of the home, speeding around the grounds like a storm wind. However, unlike the Black family, the Malfoys knew how to contain the wild power. “What excuse did you offer the fool for this visit?”

“I told him that I sought a potion in your library—a variation on Angel’s Trumpet Draught that would allow me to brew the potion without some of the more difficult to obtain ingredients.”

“And he, no doubt, hopes to catch us with books of Dark magic.”

“If there are any books you would be willing to sacrifice, I could smuggle them out and tell Dumbledore that they represent the entirety of your Dark library, or at least the extent of the Dark materials in your publicly accessible library.”

She closed her eyes in pain before nodding. “Of course. I will choose a few I can yield to his obsession with destroying our magic. Surely I have a few ancestors who had only skill to copy others and so I can give you those to secure your place at Hogwarts.”

Severus nodded.

“Oh Severus.” Aradia looked out over the lawn where her son laughed as his governess chased him in play. “How am I to raise him? He has stopped asking for his father, but how do I teach him how to be an heir and lord? Lucius has offered his assistance, but I am afraid. I fear that Lord Nott’s conviction will stain Lord Malfoy beyond his ability to politically recover. I would not have him compromised when he has work to complete before our Lord can return. But I am equally afraid that others will decide that Theo is a threat. Lucius is the most vocal of our membership to escape Azkaban, and to send Theo to him to study would be to place a target on my son’s back.” Her lip quivered. She did not care if the Death Eaters murdered the children of others, but she would cry over her own.

Severus was no different. When he developed spells for He Who Must Not Be Named, he had known how the spells would be used. He had simply not cared. The pride of developing a new spell or potion, and the glory of having someone recognize his greatness was more important than the lives lost on the other side. He was a hypocrite. And so was Lady Aradia Nott.

“Ask Fedor Abbott for his help. He can train Theo and Dumbledore is too much a fool to suspect a former Hufflepuff of being aligned with us.”

“So only the Light knows loyalty?” Her disdain was thick.

Severus titled his head toward her. “I do have a true favor to ask you.”

She immediately focused on him, leaning forward in her seat. “A favor?”

“Ostara celebrations are in six days.”

She tilted her head toward him.

“Our Lord once mentioned that you possessed one of the last copies of the Fae Vocate.”

She gasped, her hand coming up to rest against her chest. “Severus, what do you mean to do with that text? Not even our Lord dared touch it.”

Severus nodded. “The cost is sometimes far too high, especially because the ritual I hope to find in the Vocate will not allow me to negotiate. I hope to ask the Fae for a boon.”

“A boon? Severus? What are you thinking?” She paled at the thought, and Severus understood her horror. If he asked the Fae for a favor without negotiation, he would be at their mercy. However, he had no other path forward. Every night he meditated to tend his occlumency shields, and each night his guilt and fears crept closer. Potter would not survive Albus’s plots, and then Severus would lose his magic. He would be left a squib at the mercy of a world that wanted him dead, and he would have no way to defend himself. And when the Dark Lord returned, he would be caught between two powerful wizards, neither of whom saw Severus as anything other than a tool. He would not bow to a mortal again, and if that required him to bow to the Fae, he would pay that price.

“I think I am tired. I think our Lord is without a body.” Although never would Severus hope for the Lord’s return. The Fae had to offer a boon that the victim at least wanted on the surface. If they gave him something that he abhorred, it would not trigger the magic that would give them control over him. However, misdirection was necessary if he hoped to gain access to such a powerful piece of Dark magic.

Once again, he was trading his life away for access to another’s power. This time, he only hoped that death would follow.

“Severus.” She leaned forward and reached out so her fingertips brushed the back of his hand.

“I am tired, Lady Nott. I do not see an escape and if my death or my life is enough to purchase an end to the facade, then my life is a small price to pay.”

She smiled at him. “You are the greatest of our Lord’s following.”

Severus shook his head.

“You are,” she insisted. “And I will give you the text you want only because I know the Fae will see it too. They will see what you are willing to sacrifice to save Dark magic, and I know that whatever boon they offer—whether it is the return of our Lord in his rightful body or some other great magic—they will reward you as you deserve to be rewarded.”

That is exactly what Severus feared because he knew his true value. He had become everything Tobias Snape had ever accused him of being. He was petty, vindictive, angry. He hated Dumbledore and the Dark Lord equally. He felt powerless and he snapped at students because he had no other victims. He allowed a child to sit in the cold and dark and all he could think about was how he would lose his magic and with it the last of his protections. If he began drinking, he could call himself a perfect replica of his father.

“Thank you, Lady Nott.”

“Of course, Severus. You know I would do anything for you, and when our Lord returns, you will sit at his left hand with Lucius at his right. Then we will fix everything that has gone wrong.”

Severus wished he could believe that. However, like young Potter, life had taught him to be a pessimist.