Fate Set Right

Chapter 35

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October 8, 1995

It was well past curfew, and while Severus had never allowed himself to mark essays this late, he was falling behind. Not that curfew meant all that much to him, but it was always amusing (and good for one's vile image) to stalk the corridors shortly after curfew to catch students hurrying back to their common rooms. But not tonight. He'd been called to report three separate times to one master, thankfully with just enough intel to only receive a quick blast of the Cruciatus Curse. Nothing compared to the others punished for failing to retrieve the prophecy or plotting to release the Death Eaters in Azkaban.

This, of course, meant that when he returned to Hogwarts to speak with his other, no less cruel master, he lost time doing his professorial duties. Hogsmeade weekends and detentions, plus visits from his wife and son, had caused Severus to put off marking more and more. And so, he sat in his office, a tumbler of firewhisky to his right, and a near-empty pot of red ink to his left, allowing easy access to re-dip his quill.

He nearly knocked over what little remained with the knock at the door.

He groaned quietly. Please don't be Umbridge. Please, please don't be Umbridge.

"Enter," he called, focusing on the essay in front of him.

He was surprised to find Harry Potter crossing his threshold.

"Ten points for being out past curfew, Mr. Potter," he recited automatically, though it had absolutely none of the bite he would have used in the corridors. He set his quill down and looked the boy over. He looked a bit windswept and bedraggled, and he wasn't in his school uniform. Severus wasn't sure what to make of the sight, especially when it seemed Potter himself looked unsure. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure who else to talk to," the boy admitted quietly. "I've told Sirius, and he was... he wasn't sure what to do. Said if it happened again, I should talk to Dumbledore. But even if I wanted to tell him, I can't because Umbridge watches everything, and I don't need her getting anything back to the Ministry."

Severus hummed in agreement, not even admonishing Potter's lack of respect towards the toad.

"I told Dumbledore, but he didn't seem... concerned? I guess?"

"I'm afraid I'm not kept informed of your every discussion. What is it that you'd like to talk to me about?"

"My scar," Potter said, gesturing to it, "it's been hurting, and when it does, I get feelings of what Vol—er, what Riddle is feeling."

Severus' control allowed his face to remain impassive while he screamed inside in frustration, because Dumbledore should have shared this with him. Also in fear, because this was Lily's son, Sirius' godchild, Hermione's godchild, and feeling another person's emotions like that was. Not. Normal.

"What do you mean?" he whispered tensely, and Severus realized a moment later that that was normally the tone he adopted when issuing threats. Potter, for his part, didn't seem to know whether he should be pissed or scared. "Sit, Potter," Severus said more gently, "and help me understand what you mean by 'how he's feeling.' How do you know?"

"Dumbledore said, after Riddle returned, that my scar would hurt whenever he was nearby, whenever he felt hate."

"And is that all you've been feeling? His hatred?"

"No. Not... not hatred. More like... anger. Tonight was something ... it was... it was like he was angry, but impatient, too. I dunno, but it was different last month. Last month, when I felt it... I didn't realize until tonight that it was joy."