Perfect Circle
by Arachne
SUMMARY: Snape finds memory can play you false
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest (Response to scene challenge 152 - Snape temporarily loses his memory) Warning harsh characterisation ahead - remember things and people change. Thanks to Mandragora for the beta.
"There is no room for emotion in potions."
Professor Snape, with no hint of humour at the internal rhyme of the sentence, which even his deadpan delivery cannot quite suppress. It says something about the force of his personality that not one single shuffle or giggle greets this announcement. Rapt faces are tilted slightly upwards and the room is silent save for the frantic scratch of a quill on parchment as Hermione Granger struggles to take down every word. She has learned muggle shorthand over the holidays and now takes more notes than ever. Empty cauldrons are lined up in neat rows waiting to be filled with unguents and powders.
Year Six Advanced Potions class is working on memory elixirs - refining and combining mixtures that can be used to sort out individual strands of thought and time. The potential is enormous - elixirs being cheaper and more accurate than a remembrall - and the substances something the Ministry thinks may come in useful.
Snape's lying, of course, but the twenty or so sixteen year olds who make up this class have no way of telling. Potions are all about feelings - creating them, refining them, controlling them.
Emotions are such unpredictable things.
Enough happiness in the stirring and even the strongest mixture of mandrake and willowherb will lose its potency. Dislike can curdle the finest blend of heartsease and rosewater. Lust can be stimulated with the grated hair of Andian spider but it becomes a hundred times more potent with the addition of unrequited longings. Love...What does Severus Snape know of love?
The final ingredient is blood.
"And try not make a mess on the floor when you make the incision. One or two drops from the palm of your hand is all you need to activate the memory spell." Snape hands a knife to Neville Longbottom - handle first, as a precaution. Meaningless, as it turns out, since the idiot boy promptly makes a lunge and a grab forcing Snape's fingers to tighten around the metal edge. The blades have been purified and must not touch the floor.
"Fool!" Snape doesn't trouble to hide his irritation. He loosens his fingers, but the damage is done. Blood wells from a long gash along the centre of his palm.
Longbottom draws a deep breath and shuffles backwards looking scared
"Here."
It is Malfoy, scornful and practical, holding a white cloth. Potter, Weasley and Granger are not far behind each waving handkerchiefs like a vaudeville act. Snape banishes the trio with a glare as he takes the cloth from Malfoy. Blood spots the white cotton, quickly soaking through it. He will heal it in a minute but wants Longbottom to suffer a little longer at the thought of the inevitable retribution. He stands by Malfoy's cauldron, back to the miscreant, and inspects the purplish contents within, breathing in the lilac scented steam that rises steadily. Malfoy stands next to him, blood from his own hand, dripping into the cauldron.
"Not too much," Snape cautions, reaching out and tipping the boy's palm upward. As he does so, the cloth drops. Their hands meet, blood mixing, mingling, falling...
And the memories begin.
Pretty face in the mirror. Draco Malfoy lifted his arms up and pressed his hands to his cheeks tracing the sharp bones and staring as if he was seeing himself for the first time. His skin was warm, unusually flushed. Otherwise he looked the same as always. He lifted his lips in a half smile watching as his reflection smiled back. It looked as false at it was, but then he'd never been good at dissembling. The smile turned into a sneer and this time it was real. He dropped his hands and wrapped them around himself in a sudden need for comfort as he was overtaken by a fit of shaking. Stop it, he told himself. Stop it. After all, it's not as if this wasn't what you wanted.
"It's what you are on the inside that counts and inside you belong to the darkness. Come, it is time for you to receive the black mark." His father, speaking earlier, with a proud smile. Black, yes. And also blue from pinching hands and the rough gag of ropes. But these will heal - the worst hurts are the ones that don't show.
"You've proved yourself as a Malfoy." Lucius watched him with a proprietary air as he donned his robes again, their dark colour hiding the blood that speckled his chest and thighs. Draco had no idea who the other Death Eaters were at this ceremony. He was glad. He didn't want to know. Next time, he would be one of them and entitled to help in the initiation of new novices. This was what he wanted. Yes. And he was happy. Really, he was.
"I serve the Dark Lord." He spoke the words to the mirror, saying them again and again as the image dissolved, blurring in front of him as he sank to the floor crying.
It isn't supposed to be like this.
Severus Snape is a dirty ape,
Needs to buy an invisibility cape,
Snotty nose, greasy hair,
Should crawl back to his Slytherin lair.
They were singing that song again. Severus pretended not to hear it.
"Ulceratus!" Lucius Malfoy stepped out from behind a pillar and waved his wand. The chanting stopped abruptly as the singers dealt with a sudden attack of tropical ulcers. "Bloody muggle lovers." He spoke with the easy confidence of someone who knows that while they might not be liked they are wanted.
"Do me a favour?" asked Lucius now, adding, "You owe me, you know."
Severus' nod was cautious. Lucius laughed. "Relax. It's not flinging a Cruciatus curse at anyone. I want you to pretend to be me and meet someone."
Severus stopped dead. Lucius laughed again, although he had never really stopped chuckling the first time. The sound rose and ebbed like the tide.
"Who?" Severus tried to be nonchalant and it almost worked. Refusal, after all, was hardly an option. Not with Lucius Malfoy.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"Oh." Pettigrew is part of the Gryffindor gang of four. He is smaller, scrawnier than the others are, and also nastier. Black, Potter and Lupin might insult you to your face. Pettigrew - as he knows only too well - worked behind your back. "Do I have to arrange a meeting?" He couldn't see himself doing that.
Lucius shot him an oblique glance as they walked, footsteps echoing over the flagstones. "No, Snape, you don't have to do that. All you have to do is drink the polyjuice and meet the bugger where I tell you."
"Then what?"
Amusement lit the pale eyes, "No questions. It's a surprise. But, don't worry, it will be easy. Think of it as payback. You might even enjoy it."
Pettigrew's face almost glowed when Severus appeared wearing Lucius' body. He stood with his back against a silver birch, peeling away bits of bark with his fingers. Lucius was right - it was easy.
And also unexpected.
Pettigrew was all over him. Begging almost. No. No. Don't cry. Yes, then. Yes. Let me hold you, let me kiss you, let me suck you. Yes. And yes. And yes, again. Over-eager fingers pulled at his clothes. Ah. A hot tongue touched his neck, his shoulder, the tight nub of a nipple and then down past his waist, reaching for the fastenings on his trousers. Yes. It felt good. His fingers tightened on the shoulders in front of him, watching as the open mouth slid up and down his flesh, taking all of him and asking for more. Take then. He thrust deep, coming into the willing mouth.
Pettigrew looked up at him, with worshipful eyes and glistening mouth. "I'd do anything for you, Lucius. You know that."
Severus said nothing. He knew it all too well.
Fingers close around his hand. The grip is tight, panicked. Lucius. Father. He sees his face. Tears in the mirror. No. No. That is not him. These are not his memories.
Draco is there, half sprawled across the cauldron. He looks sick, white even against his usual palor, face totally dominated by his eyes. He is breathing as if he has been running.
"Professor Snape! Professor Snape!" It is Granger, naturally. "What happened? Did it work? Did the steam make you remember? What did you see?" She's holding her quill and parchment at the ready.
"Nothing." Snape dismisses her without turning.
Grey eyes are still fixed on his face, fingers laced tight with his. He puts out his other hand to gently untwine them. How can you remember what you can never forget? There is no place for emotions in potions. Still, hidden from view, he allows himself to cling on to the hand in his for just a few seconds more.
ends.