xc. promises made

Severus knew something was wrong before the pain even began.

He put no credence in Divination; he thought it a vacuous discipline perpetrated by charlatans and conmen, by morons like Sybil Trelawney who sucked down too many hallucinogenics and made a living screwing up everyone else's lives. Prophecies weren't anything until madmen decided they were; the centaurs claimed the fate of the world was written in the stars, but that was shite, too. There was no greater destiny, no fate. Decisions and the lack thereof drove the universe, the chaos of freewill being far more terrifying than anything Trelawney could summon in her crystal ball. Even so, for all his disdain of Divination and its practitioners, a chilling portent of doom settled in Severus far before Minerva called for the students to return to their dormitories. It didn't surprise him.

What now? He snarled in his thoughts, flicking his wand to Vanish the contents of his students' cauldrons. "Pack your things," he told the group of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first-years. "Quickly."

They moved to comply, muttering and whispering among one another, wondering what was going on. For a moment, Severus' eyes snapped to the empty seat in the middle of the room where Lovegood usually sat, and again that inexplicable sensation of being wrong-footed came over him. Sneering, he flexed his right hand to ease the stiffness in his fingers and rubbed his knuckles.

He swept from the lower dungeons with the nattering students behind him trailing like nervous, irritating ducklings. Severus saw the Hufflepuffs off first, their common room not terribly far from the potions class, then embarked for Ravenclaw Tower, chiding the first-years to keep up. Flitwick waited outside the Tower's door, and he checked off names from a scroll of parchment as the children passed him one-by-one into the common room before.

Severus crossed his arms. "Miss Lovegood neglected to attend class," Severus informed the shorter wizard. "Miss Wilde stated Lovegood told her she wasn't feeling well and would be reporting to the hospital wing."

Filius waited for the last student to enter the Tower, then tapped his wand against the enchanted knocker, flaring the castle's wards. Severus felt them shift like he felt the cool, prickling numbness in his fingertips. "Miss Lovegood has gone missing, Severus," Flitwick said, expression grim. "We believe there's been another attack. There's writing on the wall in the sixth-floor corridor, and the perpetrator claims to have taken the poor girl. Minerva is meeting with her father, Xenophilius, in Albus' office as we speak."

Severus didn't envy McGonagall having to comfort the distraught man; he knew Lovegood by reputation, which painted him as a wizard one step above Trelawney in lucidity. Again, that prodding sense of doom had the audacity to knee him in the gut and Severus stirred, restless. "Fine. I need to count the Slytherins," he said, leaving without further comment. He didn't bother to mention Professor Slytherin's absence, given Severus would have been forced to act as Head of House with or without the wizard's presence. He held no illusions for his role; he acted as Slytherin's servant, putting in the bloody legwork so the bastard could go right on being a conniving monster. He took the stairs at a quick pace, robes billowing, and arrived back in the dungeons in record time.

The Slytherin common room remained at its usual demure decibel despite the students gathered with their heads bent in whispered speculation. That soft murmuring cut off as soon as Severus stepped through the entrance, all attention swiveling to the approaching Potions Master. "Prefects Derrick and Muldoon," he said. "Gather anyone in their rooms and bring them here."

The respective boy and girl broke off from the group and disappeared through the opposing corridors, inciting a slow dribble of latecomers until the pair returned and informed him that the dorms were empty. Severus counted heads, rattling down the Slytherin roster in his head—only to come to a screeching halt when he missed the whole second-year of the House.

"Where are the second-years?" he asked aloud. Gemma Farley replied, "Defense!" and Severus scowled.

Of course.

"You will remain here until I say otherwise," he told the students, spinning on his heels to march back into the castle proper. Whoever had the idea of employing Lockhart as a substitute this late in the term needed to be cursed—though he understood Minerva's reasoning for authorizing the decision. Defense Masters were hardly thick on the ground. Understanding didn't mean he accepted the outcome of the farce, however. The bumbling shouldn't be in charge of himself, let alone a group of teenagers armed with their wands.

He needed only approach the Defense lecture room to know the students had already moved on, the hall free of Lockhart's loud, aggravating vamping. Severus headed toward Gryffindor Tower in search of his wayward charges and heard the voices echo down the stairwell, the shouting and wailing, too many sounds mixed together for him to recognize any person in particular. The Potions Master palmed his wand as he came out into the upper thoroughfare and found the Slytherins in the middle of a red-faced Gryffindor mob, the macabre writing on the wall a garish and horrid addition to the unfolding confrontation. Sprout and Babbling were caught in the middle of it, trying to soothe the panic and chivvy everyone on their way, but neither had the temperament for dealing with a gang of scared morons.

Naturally, Lockhart's effete presence did nothing to help.

"For fuck's sake," Severus hissed, voice lost to the noise. He jabbed his wand against his throat and threw an Amplify Charm on himself. "Silence!" he boomed, and anyone who didn't have the sense to shut their mouth quickly did so after meeting his furious glower. "Return to your dormitories. Now. Anyone still standing here in the next thirty seconds will be having an exceedingly unpleasant conversation with our acting Headmistress."

Feet hurried and scampered away, though a few of the older and more obstinate Gryffindors lingered to glare at Severus. They, too, wandered off quickly enough, following their younger dormmates toward the rising stairs. Pomona and Babbling shepherded them along, though they did shoot grateful looks in his direction. Their gratitude rubbed the Potions Master the wrong way, and he refused to acknowledge them, turning his attention to the group of frightened Slytherins—and bloody Lockhart.

"Ah, well—there was no need to intervene, Severus, old chap! I had everything under control!"

"Did you?" Severus asked, his tone frigid. He didn't have time for this sodding ponce. "Do you have that under control as well, Gilderoy?" He jabbed a finger at the gruesome writing. "You are the resident Defense expert with Professor Slytherin's inquiry still pending, after all."

"I, uh, yes, of course, I…."

Severus' eyes flicked over the second-years, counting—and coming up two short. "Where are Potter and Black?" The children looked at one another, and he knew they hadn't yet realized the two brats had disappeared. When did they leave? What in the hell did they think they were doing? "You eleven are to go to the common room directly. No detours. Stay together. And you—." Severus had half the urge to curse Lockhart into compliance simply so he wouldn't bollocks anything else up. "I assume you can escort a group of children to the entrance hall without further difficulty."

"Yes, yes, I can do that, no problem—!"

"Then do so, and try not to lose any other students."

Severus headed off to a higher floor still, his mind whirling, the whole of his attention centered upon his right wrist and the white scar wrapped about it like spider silk. The stiffness there took on a new meaning. Merlin help Black and Potter if he found out they'd been overlooked in the dorms or if they'd felt peckish and gone to the kitchens unannounced. Flitwick specified that Lovegood had gone missing or had been abducted, not Potter, not Black. Where had the stupid girls gone?

The pervading numbness in his hand intensified as he passed through the entrance hidden by the snarling gargoyle, and when he at least reached the Headmaster's office, the first sparks of static began to eat at his flesh.

"Severus," Minerva said as he barged into the room unannounced, the door bashing against the inner wall. Xenophilius sat at one of the guest chairs, twisting a handkerchief round and round in his pale hands, his hair thin as corn silk and his red-rimmed eyes slightly crossed. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Potter and Black aren't accounted for," he reported, fisting his aching hand in the wide sleeve of his robes. "And your Gryffindors were in an unruly state last I saw of them."

"Unruly?"

"As unruly as they ever are—completely disrespectful and close-minded. It doesn't matter. Did you not hear what I said? Potter and Black are missing."

Minerva sighed, rubbing at the lines of exhaustion drawn across her furrowed brow. "Merlin preserve us. Where could they be?"

"That's what I would like to know."

"And what about my Luna?" Lovegood demanded, voice breaking as it rose. "What is being done to find this—Chamber? Why hasn't the Ministry sent anyone?!"

Severus and Minerva glanced at one another. Both Slytherin and Albus had postulated that Gaunt wouldn't step in to "assist" until someone died. If that death was pure-blood child, then all the better; those simpering sycophants with seats on the Wizengamot would sing Gaunt's praises if the Minister strolled into Hogwarts and felled the monstrous creature killing "magical" children. A few Petrifactions of boys and girls from mundane households meant nothing—as if Muggle-borns were any less deserving of their magic, as if they were less sympathetic in the eyes of the staid, insular council.

The Wizarding world would be looking at another ten years of the Gaunt administration come next election if Luna Lovegood died.

A yelp echoed behind Severus, rising up through the yet open door—and the youngest male Weasley found himself staring down the Potions Master's wand when he came careening into the office without invitation.

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall sputtered, torn between being aghast or simply outraged. "What on earth are you doing outside of your common room?!"

The boy paled. "Professors! He—you have to come! Neville, he, you know, he's been following Potter around, 'cos she's been acting suspicious, and then there was this mirror and Neville thought it might be the Chamber, but then he went and pushed her and, blimey, I don't know why he did that—and then Black hit him and they both fell through and I didn't know what else to do, because it closed up right after them—."

"Weasley, are we supposed to understand any of this drivel? Take a breath and spare us the melodrama."

The boy didn't have the wherewithal—or the wits—to scowl, and he kept rambling, his attention centered on McGonagall as the witch came around Albus' desk.

"Please, Professor, they might be trapped there! Luna and Neville and Potter and Black!"

"Trapped where, boy?"

"In the Chamber! Inside the mirror!"

The words sent a bolt of fear and fury down Severus' spine for all that he knew them to be a misled lie. According to Slytherin, the Chamber hadn't been touched since the Basilisk's release, and whoever was masquerading as the Heir wouldn't use it now as Slytherin was only one Floo call away and keen to subvert Gaunt's plans. Where were Potter, Black—and Longbottom—trapped, then? In the actual, empty Chamber? Slytherin would have their heads.

Severus' right hand quaked. Them being in the Chamber wouldn't explain the Vow's reaction.

"Show us where, Mr. Weasley."

The boy whipped about and ran down the stairs again with Severus right behind him. Minerva's stern voice followed as she tried to get Lovegood to stay behind, but the man cried, "She's my only daughter! My little girl! I won't sit by and do nothing!" and the witch knew she'd lost.

Clear of the gargoyle and already across the hall, Weasley bolted for the stairwell. He would have tripped over his own feet and tumbled onto his head if Severus hadn't caught him by the arm. Minerva and Lovegood kept pace, their footsteps echoing, joined by Lovegood's anxious muttering and Weasley's terrified panting. The boy led them down through the castle to the second-floor…and came to an abrupt halt in front of the library's locked doors. He backtracked and they came around the other way, again coming to the library's empty corridor.

"Mr. Weasley, if this some kind of prank—."

"I—I swear, Professors, it was here!" He spun in all directions, looking at the walls, the floor, and when he failed to spot whatever it was he sought, the boy launched into another jumbled explanation. "It was a corridor I've never seen before! I don't think Neville had come across it before either, but I don't know, we didn't stop to chat about it! We followed Potter here and she—well, there was this ugly statue there, and it asked her a riddle or something, and then it disappeared and there was a mirror and they went through it—."

"Where is it, Weasley?" Severus demanded, gritting his teeth. He flicked his wrist to drop his wand into his grasp—and had to transfer it to the other hand when his fingers seized and cramped, curling in upon his palm. The pain intensified like burning copper coils winding tighter and tighter, cutting into the skin, the tissues, the muscles, the bones. It made the whole of his arm ache.

Minerva spared him a curious glance, then looked away.

"I don't know! It was here! But…not here. Blimey, I know that sounds mental, but it's true!"

Severus swore aloud and the boy gawked. He attributed McGonagall's lack of reaction to her own worry, and Xenophilius slumped against the nearest wall, a man defeated.

Where is Albus when the old codger is actually needed?! Dumbledore wasn't there, and they didn't have time to bring him in. Severus didn't have time; the girl was in danger, mortal danger, given the Vow's growing alarm. It blotted out rational thought, a crushing lodestone seeming to pulverize and reconstitute the atoms of his digits only to repeat the process over and over again. In some distant depth of his mind, the Potions Master understood he might die today—that his death may, in fact, be imminent, as he'd never been one for optimism and their situation did not lend him any foolish hope.

He felt the ghost of Lily's hand over his own. The pain set in and dragged like a witch's nails clawing his flesh.

"If the worst should come to pass, will you keep her from danger?"

"I will."

Severus pushed himself into motion. McGonagall started. "Where are you going?" she called at his retreating back.

"Potter's dormitory."

"Severus, wait—."

She hurried after him with surprising speed and wrapped a hand about his forearm. "Get off of me—!"

The pressure of Apparition enfolded them, stealing Severus' breath, and they landed again with a heavy, awkward thump. Severus smacked his head against a four poster's rail while McGonagall slumped back on a closed trunk. "Och," she grunted, winded. "Albus warned me that wouldn't be pleasant with all the wards active if I needed to use it."

"Ah. I'd forgotten you could Apparate within the castle as acting Headmistress." Severus straightened and pushed his hair from his eyes, ignoring the throbbing knot forming on his skull. The second-year girls Slytherin dorms looked just as all the rest did, if tidier than he knew the section dedicated to their male counterparts of the House would be. Severus didn't know which bed belonged to which student and didn't bother to check; he twitched his wand with his left hand and said, "Accio Potter's hairbrush."

It was ironic, Severus decided, that he would have to use the same Locator Effigy he'd utilized earlier in the summer to find the girl yet again. Albus wouldn't like the use of such a dubious incantation on school grounds, but if Severus didn't do something, it wouldn't bloody matter what Albus liked to didn't like. Several students would be dead or injured or Petrified, the Board would confirm Dumbledore's dismissal, and Severus would be six feet under.

A thud sounded from one of the trunks and he strode over to it, pulling harder on the magic until the lid popped open with a clatter and the summoned brush smacked into his waiting palm. Severus ripped a chunk of hair from the bristles, tossed the brush aside, and turned to Minerva. Severus recognized the displeased gleam in her eyes; though not as versed in Dark magic as he, McGonagall was a master in her field and had enough experience with magic to recognize what spell he meant to use. Like Albus, she didn't like it—didn't like being associated with something that might tarnish her gleaming Gryffindor morals—but she gave no protest.

It always fell to him to do the dirty work.

"To my storeroom," Severus said, voice cold, hand extended. "Quickly."

She did as requested, the second spiraling journey through the castle more pressing and crippling than the first, and Severus felt his private wards crackle and tear at the edges as McGonagall used her temporary authority to gain entry into his locked office. Something shattered when they reappeared—a thrown arm or an elbow or a leg connecting with a jar—and Severus didn't bother to look for the mess, staggering upright instead and lurching like a drunkard to his shelves. He scattered vials and loose cartons, hunting for the tied bundle of evergreen he kept here—when, from one moment to the next, he started screaming.

It rose up like a terrible inferno, a swelling plume billowing, expanding, skin tearing from bone, veins filled with acid dripping and sizzling, and Severus would have done anything to be parted from it, would have chewed his arm off at the elbow if only to lose the flaming, crackling appendage being incinerated at the end of it—but no. No, nothing had changed but for Severus landing on his knees in a puddle of broken glass and potion debris, his hand raised up over his bowed head with his fist clenched tight. Minerva grabbed him by the shoulders, demanding to know what was wrong, what she could do—until she went silent as the grave.

Severus lifted his head. Minerva had her eyes fixed to his quaking hand, and in the low, diffused light of the storeroom, the pearlescent lines of the Vow's scarring stood out stark on his clammy skin.

"What have you done?" she whispered, both a question and a demand—and a quiet, despairing platitude. "Oh, Severus…."

She made as if to touch it, and Severus jerked away, snarling, bracing his other hand on a shelf to bring himself upright and to tower over the woman. "Either assist or get out!"

"Yer aff yer heid, Severus Snape, taking that tone with me!" McGonagall's square spectacles caught and burned in the weak light. Her accent thickened, and color blazed in her furious face. "You stubborn, eejit boy! What have you done—?!"

Severus couldn't take it. "I made a promise!" he yelled, and the words seemed to bounce and shatter upon the stone walls in the resulting silence, Severus' breathing hoarse, his nerves frayed by pain and the unspeakable fear of fucking dying at any given moment, though he'd never admit to it. He felt as raw and flayed open as he had the night he found that bloodied, squalling infant in her crib, her mother's body cooling on the bedroom floor. He made a promise. He would die for the privilege of seeing it fulfilled.

Severus shut his eyes and shoved the emotion down, Occluding until the cold, frozen waters consumed him and gave clarity to the spiraling madness. He needed to act. This wasn't a conversation to be had now. It wasn't one he meant to ever have. He needed to find the students.

"Move," he said, the word soft, dangerous. Minerva shifted, alarmed, and Severus went to the shelf behind her, shoving the jars aside to reveal the wrapped bundle of evergreen branches. With practiced efficiency, he stripped off a sprig and tied Potter's hair about it, threading it through the preserved needles, focusing on his intent. A slash to the outside of his palm and a generous smear of blood against the sprig finished the Effigy. "Take us back to the library. Now."

A third and final Apparition nearly turned Severus' stomach. The resulting crack! startled both Lovegood and Weasley, the latter pointing his snapped wand at Severus as if he could actually do anything with it. Sneering, Severus turned his back and spelled the Effigy into the air. It hung for several seconds without motion, and each of those seconds beat in his chest, hollow and static. The pain wended upward from his wrist again and Severus willed the Effigy to move, to find the way. It might not work. It might go nowhere at all—or it may fly toward the dungeons, or anywhere else the girl frequented in the castle. It might—.

The sprig twitched, and magic brushed Severus' thoughts, his gaze flicking to an angle in the wall he'd failed to notice before. It made for an odd flaw, a glimmer or sheen against the darker blocks, a thin skein projecting forward just enough to catch his attention. Given neither Minerva nor Lovegood appeared to see it, Severus guessed it was the Charm in his left eye detecting a chink in an otherwise perfect glamour.

The Effigy floated into the wall and disappeared.

Severus surged forward and whatever ancient magic shielded the branching passage from view splintered, two corridors overlaying one another for the briefest of instances—until he found himself standing by a portrait of a woman and several geese, a wall at his back, and a new hall opened before him.

Minerva and the others had vanished.

The Effigy warbled and shook, continuing until it dropped without warning, the spell broken, the tied bundle hitting the floor by Severus' boot. He paid it not mind, the bristle snapping under his tread, the smell of pine pungent in his nose. A bust sat upon a plinth midway down the passage, and as his shadow crossed the stone head, Severus swore it turned to look at him.

"Name me, and I shall disappear."

A riddle. Simple enough. "Silence."

Stone grated against stone, and Severus held himself ready, a curse on the tip of his tongue as the plinth receded and a mirror—the same Weasley had mentioned in his blathering—came forward. His reflection was paler than usual, gaunt and severe, a red flush creeping upward from his collar, caused by the steady, angry pulsing that knifed through his hand and the cold sweat sticking to his skin. He placed his hand on the glass and it remained stubbornly in place.

"Aberto."

He pushed, and nothing happened.

"Aparecium!"

Yet again, the mirror remained as it was, and Severus' arm shook under his weight, his knuckles stark. A ragged breath fogged the surface.

"Revelio! Speculum Aperio! Open, goddammit!" His fist collided with the glass, and the open slash on his palm that had been steadily leaking since the dungeons left a red smear. He struck it again—harder, splitting the skin upon his knuckles—and gave a wordless, ineffectual snarl as his Occlusion flickered and warped under the strain of his rage and self-hatred. "What in the fuck is the point of you?!" Severus screamed. He met his own stare in his reflection and didn't know to whom he spoke—himself, the mirror, Dumbledore, the castle, or the whole wretched society that used its people like pawns on a chessboard. "What is the point of it all when children are fucking dying in a miserable political gamble and you do nothing?! Tell me."

Blood ran and dripped on the floor, over his wrist, the wall, staining the white of Severus' cuff, leaving rusty trails on the glass.

"Open!"

He shouted and pressed and reached with everything in his being, a thousand years of magic opening its eyes to look back and—.

"OPEN!"

Suddenly, Severus' hand passed through the mirror.

A/N: Kind of a slow chapter, but the stuff that happens here is really important later on in the series.

Anyway, a couple of readers asked about creating a discord server for this story. Is that something people are interested in? I have to admit, I don't know how to go about doing something like that, aha.

Aerie Guardian: "Name me, and I shall disappear."

Snape: "Is it Potter whenever I do a Slytherin head-count?"

Guardian: "….."

Snape: "….."

Guardian: "Okay, I'll allow it."