Chapter Text
"Harry? I realize you're dreadfully tired, but there is another matter we must discuss. May I surmise that your opinion of our friend, Severus Snape, has changed? Even in the least?"
Harry Potter turned his thoughts away from his desire for a sandwich and bed, and stared back at Albus Dumbledore's portrait.
"Well, yes. After all, he - why do you ask?"
"Because he had some unfinished personal business that very much needs tending to. Miss Granger, have you learned how to conjure chairs? I think you had all best sit down," the portrait requested.
"Actually, a fourth one as well if you please. Professor McGonogall, it is so good to see you!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to find Professor McGonogall had arrived in the Headmasters office with a plateful of sandwiches in hand. She nodded at the portrait as she and the trio sat.
"I guessed this might be where you'd drifted off to, Potter. You were saying, Albus?"
The grayed wizard paused, and an owl flew in one of the windows. Ron retrieved a letter from its leg.
"It's for you, Professor," Ron handed the envelope to McGonogall.
"I trust you will find, Minerva," Dumbledore explained as she read it, "That it is from Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hopefully he confirms that he has been named interim Minister for Magic, and asks that you resume Headmistress duties."
"It does Albus. He also says to tell you he won't be making it a habit to obey the requests of a portrait. And why does this say he's sending two Aurors to Professor Snape's house?"
"He is dead, isn't he?" Ron interjected. "Snape, I mean. We watched him die. There's no way he's...?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"He is assuredly dead, Mr. Weasley. What remains now is looking after a matter of personal importance in his stead. I think it's the least we can do." The portrait turned to Harry directly.
"Harry, on the night Voldemort regained his physical body three years ago, and summoned his Death Eaters back to his side, you had the opportunity to listen to his first words to them. You've told me he swore punishment for those who had not returned at his summons. Others had arrived but failed him in other ways, and would be given another chance. And a few, very few, had proven loyal during his thirteen year absence, and Voldemort spoke of them being honored, presumably even rewarded."
Harry nodded.
"That's right," he agreed. "And after I made it back to Hogwarts and told you about it, you sent Professor Snape back to Voldemort. To start spying again."
"Yes, I did. And he did so without argument, even though it was at least two hours after the summons. Voldemort was most displeased with his tardiness. But over the next months and years, Severus proved himself singularly useful to the Dark Lord, pretending to spy on me at Hogwarts. And his place as Voldemort's true 'right hand man' was secured the night he killed me, which you now know was by my own arrangement.
"On the next night after the successful 'murder' of me, the Death Eaters regrouped at Malfoy Manor to celebrate. Voldemort announced Severus Snape had earned a reward, an honor. There are elements of what you need to know I cannot tell you; you will have to see them."
Harry glanced over at the Pensieve. "More memories? But why can't you just tell us what happened?"
"Alas, my recounting would be hearsay. Being that I am only a painting of Albus Dumbledore, I can not plunge myself into the Pensieve. Therefore, I to this day only know that which Professor Snape was willing to tell me."
"But you know something important. Something that can't wait?" Harry asked.
"Professor," Dumbledore addressed McGonagall, "If you would be so kind, swing open my frame. You will find a secret compartment that can only be opened by the Headmaster or Headmistress. Please remove its contents."
She did so, and placed three items on the desk. There was a simple wooden box, a journal, and a sealed envelope. Harry opened the box and found a collection of stoppered vials.
"The one on my furthest right first," Dumbledore instructed, and McGonogall took it to the Pensieve, and poured its contents in.
"Before you all embark, I think it best I share with you what his 'great honor' was," Dumbledore's portrait continued. "But perhaps you can surmise a guess, Harry? After all, Severus Snape lived simply. He did not squander his Professor salary; he would not have desired riches, and Voldemort knew this."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in, "what do you give the guy who only likes black?"
Dumbledore's portrait paused, waiting for Harry's response.
"He did ask Voldemort for something, once," Harry said quietly.
Dumbledore nodded. "And to do so would have normally been a fool's errand. But he did ask that your mother be spared during the plan to kill you and your parents. And for whatever reason, Voldemort agreed to try to spare her. His dedication to his promise was negligible, as you know. Voldemort killed Lily Potter after she refused to step aside from her infant's crib."
Harry finished the narrative: "Voldemort figured it wasn't that big of a deal. There were other, 'more worthy' women Severus Snape could choose from, that's how he put it..." Harry glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait, realization coming to him.
"The evening after my death," Dumbledore said, "Voldemort presented Professor Snape with a selection of witches to find a wife from. They were, as you just quoted, 'more worthy' in the Dark Lord's opinion. They were all pure blooded, which would have seemed a high honor to bestow."
"Pure blooded," Hermione repeated. "But Professor Snape was half blooded. Voldemort wanted pure bloods to only marry other pure bloods."
"Yeah, I reckon Voldemort thought he was giving away one heck of a prize," Ron added.
"That's awful," Hermione said. "What Voldemort must have been threatening those witches with if they didn't comply..."
"From what Severus ascertained in conversations with them and later his selected bride, they were all there by invitation and not requirement. They knew it was Voldemort's wish to assist an unmarried follower find a wife, but they did not know who until that evening. When his identity was revealed, they had the option to decline being considered, and several did."
"Several? More like all, I should think," Ron snickered, elbowing Harry. Harry snorted a little.
"Stop it!" Hermione hissed at them. "Clearly he got someone!"
"He did choose someone from those who remained," Dumbledore said, "and she chose him. It was a dubious selection to have to make for both bride and groom, but not terribly unlike the arranged marriages of pureblood tradition. Voldemort performed the nuptials himself, brief as they were, that evening. He also requested of the bride an Unbreakable Vow, and she swore to...well, to never refuse her husband, shall we say."
Harry's brow furrowed.
"Unbreakable Vow? But why would she agree to make one if she didn't have to? That's life or death!"
Dumbledore sighed. "It was an ill-advised decision made with only a moment's notice. I think it had less to do with her new husband, and more to do with a previous disagreement with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Avery. You may recall Mr. Avery has been a Death Eater since the early days of the group, and was among those Voldemort had been so displeased with upon his return three years ago. But I think I'll leave more of her story to be explained by her own memory, as she and Professor Snape returned to his home at Spinner's End that evening."
McGonagall spoke up at this.
"Albus, you can't really expect us to view someone's wedding night. Not unless you're certain there's only conversation in this memory?"
The portrait raised his eyebrows.
"Conversation only, Minerva. He told me so himself," came the reply.
"It still doesn't seem right," Harry said. "I'm the last person he'd want seeing this."
"Harry, what have I said before?" asked Dumbledore. "Do not pity the dead. Pity the living. Mrs. Snape will be arriving soon with the Aurors. We have no idea what her reaction will be to her husband's death; extreme grief? Relief? Fear? She may wish to flee; it is my hope that by providing Professor McGonogall and you as much of their story as I can, you will better know how to proceed when talking to her. It is a delicate situation, I think."
"But why us too, Professor?" Hermione spoke up. "Shouldn't Ron and I stay behind?"
"If time is important, I reckon it's so Harry won't need to retell it before we help him sort it out," Ron answered her. "I mean, he always tells us everything anyway. This saves a step."
"Precisely, Mr. Weasley. Now, if you're ready..." replied Dumbledore, and he nodded toward the Pensieve.
The trio stood and joined McGonogall at the basin.
~~~~~
A moment later they were in the narrow entranceway of an old, shabby house. The front door swung open, and the bat like Professor swished to one side, holding the door while a red haired woman walked in. Severus Snape closed the door and with a flick of his wand he locked it. He was staring at her, his face impassive, as she trepidatiously made her way down the hall. She was taking in the grayed wallpaper when at last he remarked:
"Unfortunate, isn't it, that I don't come with a lovely estate such as you're accustomed to. Tea, or something stronger?"
She turned, but before she spoke a crunch came from under her feet. There were shattered pieces of brown pottery on the wooden floor. The wall above it had a small nook display the piece must have normally sat in, and the floor was littered with a gray substance that had spilled.
"What is that stuff?" Ron whispered. "Soot from the fireplace?"
"Don't know," Harry replied. "But you don't have to whisper. They can't hear or see us."
"Right," said Ron, staring at the woman as she stepped back in bewilderment. "It is like how you described it, watching memories. The whole thing is boggled."
"Shhh!" McGonogall waved at them. Snape took a large step over the mess and continuing into the drawing room. He only stopped when his new wife spoke up from behind.
"Shouldn't we leave? Or check the house? It would seem someone's been here," she said.
Snape followed her gaze down at the mess.
"Ah, you've met my father, I see. You'll have to watch out for him, Freya; sometimes I'll just leave him on the floor for a while. And you still haven't answered my question; tea, or elf wine? Or, I have muggle whiskey as well."
"These are your father's ashes?!" Freya asked, sounding aghast. "And you've knocked his urn over and left him here on the floor?!"
"Oh my," whispered McGonogall, placing her hand over her heart.
Snape raised his eyebrows at Freya.
"Not 'knocked over', my dear. Thrown and intentionally shattered. I've found it's a useful coping tool when I need one." He extended his wand over his father's remains and the urn reassembled itself, its contents returning inside it. He picked it up and placed it back in the display nook.
"Well, at least you've put it back together, I suppose," Freya commented in relief.
"Of course I put it back together," Snape sighed. "I can't break it again if it's not mended first, now can I?"
The two met eyes, and after a moment she whispered,
"I hate to guess what's become of your mother."
Snape's face seemed to soften slightly.
"I've done for her in death that which she was too cowardly to do in life. I've separated them."
After another pause Freya told him, "The muggle whiskey, I think."
"At last we agree on something," Snape said. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and McGonogall followed Freya into the drawing room, where she sat on the threadbare couch. It was a very unwelcoming place, Harry thought. Snape returned with two small glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Harry recognized the same labelled variety from his uncle Vernon's liquor cabinet; apparently Vernon didn't think it very good, as he never offered it up when guests came over.
Snape poured and handed one glass to Freya, and held up his own in a toast.
"To the Dark Lord," he said.
"To the Dark Lord," she repeated, and they drank.
"Oh!" Freya winced.
"Dreadful stuff, yes," Snape said. "I didn't purchase it. But, much like a real potion, the flavor matters not; the effectiveness is what is important." He refilled his own glass, but she held up her hand, not wanting another.
Snape took a small sip this time, and then asked:
"How long have you known about this arrangement? I wasn't expecting it at all."
She straightened a little, seemingly glad for some conversation,
"Seven weeks. My father told me the Dark Lord required a bride for one of his followers, and would speak to any unmarried witches who would like to meet him," she told him.
"I see. And did he not reveal who the husband was to be?" Snape asked.
"No," she replied. "The Dark Lord only said it was a surprise."
"It certainly was," Snape said. "And your father seemed most unimpressed by your decision tonight. Did you notice his face when we announced our engagement?"
Freya frowned, and Snape continued.
"No, I expect you hadn't noticed. You had so many other matters on your mind."
He poured himself a third drink, but before sipping it he asked in a more reserved tone,
"How many years my junior are you?"
"Six, I believe," she said, and Snape lowered his drink.
"We had one year overlapping as students then?" he asked.
"Yes. But it was my first year; I'm sorry to say I don't remember you much from then. However, I believe you were friends with my brother?"
"Luther? Yes, we were in the same year, he and Magnus Mulciber and I ... we joined the Death Eaters together," he replied. "But six years between you and I ... I started teaching..."
"During my 5th year, yes. I had you for Potions my final three years," she confirmed.
Snape sighed heavily.
"You were one of my students," he muttered unhappily.
She raised her eyebrows, allowing for a long pause. Her cheeks drew in slightly, and Harry thought at that moment she looked very much like a young Mrs. Malfoy.
"Well, yes," Freya said finally. "Surely that's not a problem is it?"
"I suppose at this point, it'll have to not be."
"Good. I was hoping we'd be agreeable to using given names immediately. Unless you'd prefer I call you 'Professor?"
"Oi," whispered Ron. "She may be able to handle him. Look at her, she knows he's squirming," and Harry nodded back at him quietly.
"Certainly not," Snape answered her. "It's sordid, for one thing," he continued. "And for another, I'm not a Professor anymore. Not after tonight."
Freya glanced back at the urn.
"You do realize," she told him, "You have a rather skewed idea of that which is sordid, and that which is not?"
"All in one's perspective, I suppose," Snape replied.
They both glanced up at an old Grandfather clock in the corner of the room, as it chimed the third quarter hour. Freya turned back to Snape, a new look crossing her face.
"Eleven forty-five," her voice droned with dread.
"So it is. What of it?"
"Midnight," she replied, visibly exasperated when he shrugged as if not realizing what it meant. "'Every day, will you Freya, agree to give yourself to your husband," she quoted.
"At midnight it's the next day. We only have fifteen minutes left, or my Vow will be broken!"
"An ample amount of time, my dear," Snape told her soothingly. "Sit back down; I have another matter to ask about."
Harry glanced at Hermione who was chewing one of her nails nervously. McGonogall had taken to tapping her foot. Harry reminded himself this was a memory; Dumbledore had made it clear Mrs. Snape was still alive. But what was Snape playing at?
"Who is he?" Snape asked calmly.
"Sorry? Who is who?" Freya said, her frown deepening.
"Who indeed," Snape snorted. "Your previous boyfriend. Love. Fiancé. Whatever he was; the young man in your thoughts following our nuptials."
Freya seemed to visibly sink several inches. She began wringing her hands in her lap anxiously.
"You...you're able to..." she stammered.
"I am a capable enough Legilimens, yes," Snape said, tapping one finger against his lips.
"How long have you been broken up?"
She hesitated, but answered, "Three months."
"I see. What happened?"
She hesitated again. "My parents disapproved of our union when I told them we were engaged. Father said he and mother would begin searching for acceptable candidates for me to choose from, but I couldn't marry him." She looked up at Snape.
"They did find several, but I couldn't agree to any of them. So I came tonight to the Dark Lord's matchup."
Snape studied her.
"Perhaps you didn't love him as much as you think," he suggested. "Otherwise you'd have run off with him."
"It's not as simple as you think," she replied, visibly sad. "He's far safer without me."
The clock's ticking was more audible in the silence, and she looked at it again.
"Ten minutes..." she realized, her hand quivering against her forehead.
"The matter will take very, very little time, believe you me," Snape told her, smirking. She glared as he sipped his drink a little more.
"What is his name?" he asked.
She stared back at him, a look of deeper fear settling in.
"His...what?"
"I want to know his name."
"I don't see that that's necessary, Severus. I..."
Snape leaned forward in his chair, his face darkening.
"His name, Freya!" he barked. When she didn't answer, he stood and glowered over her.
"You may think you have protected him, but I promise you he is not. Tell me now who he is, or do you really think I can't find out by other means?!"
Freya slipped off the couch to her knees, her glass falling with a thud onto the grimy rug.
"Now listen Severus...," she began. "There's...there's no need for you to do anything to him. Please! I'll do as you wish, he's... I can't have him now, don't you see? My Vow is to you, if I tried to leave you I'd..."
"If you tried to leave you would DIE, Freya. And you're right, you absolutely can NOT have him, not now that you've given yourself in marriage to me," Snape told her bitterly. "You do realize the gravity of the Unbreakable Vow you've taken tonight? That your life is now forever bound to it?"
"Yes," she told him, regaining herself a little. "I am well aware of that."
Snape studied her quietly, and then said, "You must remove him from your thoughts as much as you can. You must detach yourself from your feelings for him. It is the only way you'll be able to carry on."
Freya gazed at the clock again, tears preparing in her eyes. "But I won't be carrying on. You've seen to it. There's just four minutes left."
Hermione began to cry softly for her; Ron cursed; and McGonogall grabbed Harry's shoulder as if steadying herself. "It's going to be alright," he told them. "It has to be."
"Nonsense. I'm just finishing my drink," Snape said coolly. And he painstakingly sipped the last drops from his glass, as if savoring its awful flavor. He put the glass down and stood over her, watching as she wept quietly.
"That will do, Freya," he murmured. "There's already been too many women who have cried on that rug. Stand up."
She did so, every inch of her trembling, and he took her right hand in his. Harry glanced at the clock; one minute to go.
"Freya," Snape spoke as if reciting, "my...wife. Would you give yourself to me tonight?"
Hermione gasped and pointed; a soft glow was emerging around their joined hands. The clock began chiming midnight.
"Yes," Freya replied resolutely.
Her tears had stopped, but her face was still very pink. As the tolls counted down, she became even more crestfallen.
"Eye contact is key, Freya," Snape urged her, tightening his grip because hers had slackened. "Look at me, and mean what you've said!" And she immediately stared back at him again.
The clock finished its sounding, and the glow around their hands brightened for just a moment, then dissipated completely. Shock and disbelief overtook Freya as she began crying into her free hand.
"There, there," Snape said patronizingly, "You didn't turn into a pumpkin after all." He released her hand and turned to a bookshelf.
He waved his wand, and a section pulled out to reveal a small room. He made a disapproving noise when he saw its disgusting state; Harry thought it looked like a rat's nest.
"A...pumpkin?! I should have died!" Freya exclaimed.
"No, no. It's all in the wording, my dear. I don't know that it was his intention, but the Dark Lord only made you promise to agree to give yourself to me daily. And you did that."
"So...we don't have to consummate?" she asked.
Their eyes met again.
"No," he told her, and she broke the gaze. He inhaled deeply. "I'm tired. It's exhausting work, you understand, killing a great wizard. I prefer my rest."
He nodded to the newly revealed quarters.
"You can use Wormtail's old room," he continued. "You'll find better linens in the hall closet. And you can gut the room tomorrow, he never did understand the prospect of tidying up. It's just as well that he's off to assist the Malfoys instead."
He paused, but since she said nothing, he walked past her towards the hall.
"Come on, then!" Ron bellowed at Freya. "Aren't you gonna tell him off?!" and Ron threw his arms up in frustration.
Freya turned, as if in response to the unheard challenge, and strode back into the drawing room.
"I very nearly died, Severus! You didn't have to wait until midnight!" she called after the billowing black robes. "You're terrible, and mean-spirited!"
"I think it very much needed to wait until midnight," Snape responded, smirking. "Wouldn't have wanted to rob you of a lesson to be learned, now would we?"
"Ugh!! You wretched cad!!!" She screamed at him, and stomped back into the hidden room.
"I'll take that as a 'no' to a good night kiss. Until morning then," they heard him call after her.
Freya stood red faced and fuming as Snape's footsteps grew further away. Then there was a loud crash that made them all jump.
"Good night, father," came Snape's voice from the entryway, and the staircase began creaking under his ascension.
As the memory faded, Harry's last sight of Freya was of her with her arms crossed and shaking her head miserably, in the filthy little room.