He was enjoying the peace and quiet of his first real vacation in life—his previous position as an assistant hadn't involved a serious workload, so this summer's rest was incomparable to the previous one. Back then, there hadn't been much reason for positivity, to put it mildly. Compared to this crazy year though... And, as it turned out, there was still room in his soul for one living and completely unique personality. Little Professor Char had always commanded his respect, but now it was mixed with a strange warmth—Severus was surprised that he was still capable of such feelings.
He sat in the hard armchair and looked at the fireplace. Light it? Not light it? A cold snap in June wasn't uncommon for England, of course, he could get by without it. The main thing was that the old house on Spinner's End was dry. Books appreciate that... He had already turned toward the shelves to choose something for today when a barely perceptible sound reached his ears. He flew up the stairs, threw open the door to his bedroom, and rushed to the table.
A small mirror in an ornate frame completely foreign to the potioneer's image chimed quietly. He ran his finger across the glass.
"Greetings, Severus," the Teacher smiled at him from the mirror. "I see you're pleased."
He nodded, smiling in return. When he wanted to be, Professor Flitwick could be absolutely irresistible.
"Now I'll make you even happier: we're returning to school."
Severus remained silent, his right eyebrow twitching slightly.
"Aren't you going to ask anything?"
"You'll tell me yourself, Filius."
"Dumbledore has departed for the continent, Minerva to her relatives in Scotland, both for a long time. Yes, even Filch has gone somewhere, apparently to get treatment, so Hogwarts is empty, except for dear Pomona's greenhouses. They asked this old, tired me to watch over the castle. Will you keep me company?"
"Of course. I would have kept you company regardless, and under such conditions—with the greatest pleasure. But how long will this last?"
"No less than a month and a half, by my most modest calculations."
"And if?..."
"Are you coming or not? Meet me in my tower."
***
They sat by the burning fireplace—the cold snap wasn't planning to retreat yet, and in the north it felt much stronger. The Teacher, friend, and amazing being, Filius Flitwick had already given him so much... despite the fact that after that main conversation, they both left Hogwarts within two weeks. Severus decided to show his gratitude by brewing Felix Felicis for him—he'd have time before classes started. And a supply for himself wouldn't hurt either.
They had already made a couple of trips to the Forbidden Forest for ingredients, visited Madam Sprout's greenhouses with the same purpose, had delicious tea with amazing cakes with her... Severus couldn't help himself then and broke the unspoken rule about not discussing food:
"Wonderful tea, what do you put in it?"
To which the gracious hostess replied with a straight face:
"Manure, of course. Dragon manure!"
Flitwick had to pat Severus's back for a long time—he wasn't used to such jokes—until Madam Sprout looked at them reproachfully and pronounced "Anapneo." And then, laughing, she explained that for tea bushes there was nothing better than aged dragon manure: a year in shade and one summer in the sun... And on her smooth round face without a single wrinkle (is she really almost ninety?!) it was clearly written: "It's not my fault." But this couldn't spoil Severus's appetite anymore.
In the evening, left in each other's company, they politely and respectfully gossiped about her, sitting by the same fireplace, after which Snape stopped shying away from the kind woman who just wanted to care for "such a sad and unkempt boy." He listened to her reasoning with pleasure, visiting her for tea ("My doors are open to you any day, Severus"), and even fulfilled her few requests—being friends with her turned out to be easy, pleasant, and unburdensome. Quite the opposite: as a supplier of plant materials, madam had no equal... Actually, madam knew this, unlike Severus... But what did he care about his age.
In a couple of years he would come to sort out their relationship, having learned that she "through connections" had given him some things absolutely free, others at half the market price... And he would shame himself, causing her quiet and sincere tears. She simply... loved him. Her children had long grown up, moved to the continent twenty years ago, and he was here... nearby... And her life was empty without care. Then he would allow his mask to slip briefly—embrace this wonderful woman, wipe her tear-stained eyes and become simply a friend, more reliable than whom Madam Sprout never had and never would have. But that was all later, later...
***
Flitwick wasn't just teaching him. He was returning life to him. He was returning his taste for it, and though it still often tasted bitter, quite a few bright moments had already left warmth inside, like the very first sip of good brandy. The Master, by the way, had also gotten him addicted to elite alcohol. Neither of them was threatened by alcoholism: both knew too well that little could compare to the first sip...
"Severus, over this month you and I need to completely rework your mask. And of course, you must do this yourself. Unfortunately, I don't see that you're ready for this yet: you're building elements that are convenient for you, that correspond to your gloomy state. They will eventually just happily grow onto you, but that's precisely what's not needed. And very harmful. Believe me, these aren't the parts that will help your true self worthily cope with everything predetermined. A mask that's grown on makes pawns of us. You need a pawn's mask now, which you'll shed when you reach the end of the board to become a rook. Or better yet—a queen. And that will also be a mask, but a different one."
"And what do you consider yourself, Filius?"
"I'm a workhorse," he smirked, moving a pawn.
Severus just clicked his tongue at the richness of associations and... understanding. A knight, then. A light piece. Blockade of pawns... The center of the board is the best place. Oh yes, it's clear why Hogwarts! Although...
"Why not the Ministry?"
Flitwick coughed.
"How do you imagine that? With the xenophobia and snobbery of wizards that are now flourishing magnificently in our country?! I thought you had a head for thinking..."
"What about leaving?" Severus wasn't even going to be offended. "There must be more democratic countries..."
"My friend, I've been unable to travel since the very moment I was allowed to study and take exams alongside wizards. As for studying... Seven years in the role of a house pet—useful, intelligent, but... not human. I didn't object: a Hogwarts diploma was worth such humiliations and more, and I remembered too well how my mother was treated. The children were cruel, but these were Ravenclaws. I... played the cub, and the girls gladly took care of me. I became a local attraction.
But when we got to exams, everything turned upside down: the house pet outscored everyone. And the last two years became a survival race for me.
I passed the exams, of course... And during those glorious two weeks I fought twenty-five duels, after which seventeen people went to Hogwarts's Hospital Wing and another eight to St. Mungo's. Not everyone, you know, learns from their own experience the first time.
Severus looked at the Teacher with surprise.
"Yes, that wasn't punished at all then—why would it be? Everyone was alive... and the healers earned their pay. I just had to prove my right to exist. And the headmaster, quickly getting his bearings, sent me to the European tournament, though I didn't qualify by age. Yes, they credited me with exactly five years. In all documents. With my consent, of course—do you think I could or wanted to protest? However, I'm only grateful—Armando Dippet saved me, removing me from England then and giving me the opportunity to stand on my feet and make a name for myself on the continent.
When I returned, I intended to share my winnings with him. But he refused, admitting that he had earned quite well on the newcomer... Of course, no one bet on me except him. So it wasn't the exams, but precisely the tournament that became my launching pad. That's when I got the opportunity to become something other than a pawn.
When I returned..." Flitwick sighed and closed his eyes. "I wore the victor's fibula—smart and competent wizards no longer messed with me. And my reputation after the exams was appropriate. They still tried to provoke me, but usually these weren't opponents worth taking seriously. True, at first a group of young men hung around me, wanting to gain recognition at my expense, but it," Filius smirked and shyly fluffed his mustache, "quickly dried up. I was even a bit disappointed then.
But these are all trifles—I had to somehow earn my living. No, I had no family. I am, you see, the result of a genetic experiment... I grew up in the house of a wizard whose name I'd prefer not to mention. My education, my magic were also an experiment for him.
My mother... managed to leave me something and teach me something, very little, but thanks to this I could avoid betraying myself and her people. Yes, the experimenting wizard wanted to get to the fundamentals of goblin magic through a 'properly raised' child. That's why I last saw my mother when I was five years old. He just didn't account for the fact that goblin children develop much faster, and my five corresponded to approximately your fifteen. Quite a conscious age, especially considering my conditions then.
"And you... can you?..." Severus became one big question.
"I command both goblin and human magic, but as a half-blood, unfortunately, I'm somewhat limited in both. Yes, I intend to give you something useful too, something not connected to, eh, physical peculiarities. Now an oath of non-disclosure, my friend..."
"But how did you... decide on work?" After giving the teacher the oath, Severus felt freer and was ready to bombard him with questions.
"I removed the fibula, began traveling around the country and taking contract duels. Quite a profitable business, especially if you know who takes bets... After a year I returned to London and opened an account at Gringotts. There they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Actually, I couldn't even leave there. Despite all my scandalous combat experience—there were too many of them.
"Relatives?"
Flitwick winced.
"You could say yes."
He was quiet for a bit: it was clear he didn't really want to stir up those memories.
"The goblins recognized me after... You shouldn't know anything about this except that I rotted in dungeons for a year and seven months. But innocence before the race was proven, both mine and my unwilling mother's. They conducted seven rituals with me that I'd happily forget, but I survived, which meant I had the right to a place among them. Nevertheless, no one was going to just give it to me, I had to fight for it. And yet I, a half-blood, proved tougher than many of them. Some appreciated this, and I became a stepson, but not of a family, but... humans don't have such a concept, but the closest thing is a clan. Not quite accurate, but conveys the meaning. They took an oath from me and began teaching.
This continued for another three years, but at least I wasn't a prisoner. I came to the surface after four years, eight months, and four days. I had an assignment: determine the degree of loyalty to Gringotts of three members of Hogwarts' Board of Governors. Without thinking long, I turned to Dippet. He invited me to the position of assistant in Arithmancy—and I agreed, because I still considered myself his debtor. Only when I started working did I realize that he had covered for me again. The workload turned out to be minimal—just checking papers and preparing the classroom, and there wasn't much to prepare there: a couple of spells so the desks would be whole and the board clean. And soon Professor Galatea Wilkost offered me cooperation.
"You assisted in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"With my dueling past, that was quite a successful decision, Madam Wilkost was right. Ah, Severus, what a woman she was! She saw right through me. And led me to Dippet. True, by that time I had managed to complete and report on my first assignment—and I did it so that no shadow would fall on the headmaster. He appreciated it, as you see—I'm still here. And he also placed certain obligations on me, or rather, I took them on myself, being sure this would reduce my debt. There are no bonds stronger than those debts we entangle ourselves with, my friend... That's how I became what I remain to this day—a double spy. Like you, exclusively through my own stupidity."
"You... why do you think that?! What do you know about me? How?!" Snape clenched his fists so that his knuckles went white.
"Severus, now really," Flitwick leaned back casually in his chair. "Decades of espionage, plus the fact that I taught—both you and Evans, and that bad company of Marauders. And Dumbledore came when I was already here... Some secrets under seven seals. I even know what the headmaster threatened you with so you wouldn't make claims against the Potter and Black heirs. True, I couldn't help, though I wanted to. But you wouldn't have accepted money then, right?"
Severus shook his head and again became all ears.
"And a proper lawyer and licensed potioneer who would brew Veritaserum for you cost dear. Licensed, understand? Your potion wouldn't have passed, even if it were of better quality.
And—no, anticipating the question already spinning on your tongue, I didn't watch you specifically when you finished school, but I did watch Dumbledore—that was my direct duty. So everything: from the Prophecy you were so 'caringly' allowed to overhear, to the death of the Potters, for which you blame yourself completely in vain—all this was, you could say, before my eyes. Almost before mine. And again—no, I can't give you the technique of remote observation: you don't have goblin blood, and that's precisely what it's based on."
Severus gasped for air... The Teacher gave him time to recover somewhat and, apparently deliberately, addressed him more confidentially.
"When you're ready, we'll talk, if you want, of course. It wasn't your will that put you in a very bad position: you were played and trapped like that pawn on the board. Like me, when I offered my services and loyalty to Dippet, sincerely believing I had no right to act otherwise. To avoid remaining in this position, there's only one way out: you must learn to be necessary to yourself. And now, with your permission, I'll continue my story—you should know who you're learning from."
He paused and looked questioningly at Severus, waiting for him to deal with his inner storm. "I'm already proud of him," he thought, watching the tense high forehead smooth out. "Excellent analytical abilities, adaptability, strength... Without this he, like me, wouldn't have survived in Slytherin. And acting abilities can be acquired."
"Are you alright, student?"
Severus lowered his eyelids in agreement, interlaced his fingers, and looked expectantly at Flitwick.
"All of Armando Dippet's actions were paid for by the wizard who raised me—I had sense enough to observe a bit and find out they were old friends. If only I'd been concerned with this question earlier—perhaps I wouldn't have become a cup passed from one headmaster to another, permanent and indispensable. True, I flatter myself with the hope that over these years I've grown up a bit.
"So who do you work for? The goblins? Dumbledore? The Ministry?"
"That's an important question, my friend. Very important. To survive, being between two forces capable of sweeping away not only you but half the country besides, there's only one answer. Think."
"...For... myself."
"Bravo," Flitwick exhaled, and only now did Severus realize what tension had held his interlocutor in its grip until this moment. "I wasn't wrong to bet on your mind.
And the more assignments I completed, whether for the Goblin Council or the headmaster, the less inclined I was to consider them my masters. But to inform them of this... you understand. Therefore, first of all, we'll deal with the most necessary thing—protection of the mind."
Severus smirked and snorted proudly, but Flitwick winked slyly:
"The Dark Lord himself placed protection on you. And this honor—five lessons in mental magic with him—was granted to you... for what, I didn't look. I think that's your personal business..."
Severus flushed crimson:
"Impossible... No one has ever managed to work with my mind like that! Even if the Lord did it, I felt the intrusion. How?!"
"Have I convinced you or does it just seem so to me?"
"Is this... goblin?"
"Once again I'm glad to note that you reason quite well even in a state of extreme amazement. That's an excellent trump card, my friend. Yes, this is goblin technique, thanks to which no one can deceive a goblin or even think of breaking their word to him. Do you think controlling all the monetary flows of magical Britain is so simple?"
"I'm flattered and impressed, oh Teacher!"
"And still capable of joking. Bravo, Severus, you have a very flexible and strong psyche... Another trump card. Now an assignment: try to describe my mask. You already think you know me well enough?"
Severus, thinking, leaned back against the comfortable chair.
"I know the mask," he emphasized the first word, at which Flitwick smiled and nodded in agreement. "I think I know it. I'd choose 'Eccentric' as the basis."
"Good. Definitions?"
"Eccentric, friendly... open. Enthusiastic about science... Enthusiastic and emotional. Your height works in your favor—it's hard to consider someone half your size a serious opponent. I suppose that's what those several dozen duelists miscalculated on..."
"Hundreds. Continue..."
"Gray hair speaks of life experience, and your smile inspires trust, almost unconditional. Mannerisms... 'A small dog is a puppy until old age'—forgive me, but..." he sharply changed tone, "Merlin, Filius, how cunning you are!"
They laughed together.
"Flattered, extremely flattered... A dog... A small dog! Brilliant, Severus. You've listed almost better than I could myself. I'm lucky with my student," the half-goblin rubbed his hands. "And what would you take from my list for yourself?"
Severus folded his fingers into a pyramid and lightly tapped his lower lip with them.
"Almost everything opposite. My appearance doesn't contribute to establishing trust, so let them fear me instead."
"Not the best option. Soften it."
"I don't want to."
"You must."
"Be wary of me. I won't agree to less."
Flitwick nodded, inviting him to continue.
"From your 'gentleman's set' I'll take enthusiasm for science."
"Why?"
"I won't have to act it—it's mine, just like yours. It's an outlet that will contribute to ease of wearing and the foundation of the mask's naturalness."
"Do I understand correctly that the image is primarily intended for your students?"
"They'll be the first to pass the picture along, to my... former colleagues. They should consider me at least loyal to... our former organization. I practically go nowhere except Hogwarts and a couple of shops in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, and I don't intend to expand my circle of acquaintances—except for suppliers, of course. I should tell you that Dumbledore is certain of the Dark Lord's return. But he doesn't say why. Well, and... an oath, Teacher?"
"Why not. This will protect both you and myself."
"Why is Dumbledore so certain?"
"I can't even guess."
"What methods exist for restoration from the state Riddle found himself in? Spells, rituals?"
"First you need to know at least what state he's in. But there are only two options: either a spirit as an unformed entity, or a ghost. But the Dark Lord as a ghost... doubtful. We need an old family library, preferably more than one. I'll... try to get to the Malfoys'. Lucius needs a resurrected Milord like a dog needs a fifth leg, and my relationship with him remains not the worst."
"Prevent the restoration? Is that in your plans?"
"That would be nice. Toward the end, the Lord bore little resemblance to the one I swore allegiance to."
Flitwick nodded.
"And that's why you're alive. Interesting to know what his changes were connected to and when your oaths fell away... You went to Dumbledore even before his... disembodiment. You should have been smeared at the first thought of it. Does the Mark work?"
"Now it seems dead."
"Seems? How long?"
"Exactly. Since that very Samhain, not before."
"Let's return to the mask, since its purpose is now clear. How will you inspire wariness in others?"
"Strictness. Nitpicking. Sarcasm. It's not hard for me to bring many down to floor level with one phrase. I shouldn't evoke any emotions except negative ones, especially in Gryffindors. That's easy," Severus paused. "Yes, and being well-informed. But Dumbledore, unfortunately, prefers to keep his knowledge to himself."
"And you're still offended about your little snakes. How lucky they are with you! I'll add that in our case, being well-informed is a guarantee of survival."
"To some extent. And a show of strength... We're alike, teacher. After the first goblin ritual, did you feel the same thing wizards feel after a three-minute Cruciatus?"
Now Flitwick flushed crimson:
"Boy! Idiot! Why did you go there?"
"I only assessed the condition at the moment the p-p-process ended."
"How quickly did you reach the right point?"
"A minute, considering I was answering your question."
"Talent, what a talent you are! And I didn't even notice... You're a genius!"
"Flattered. Can we work with this now?"
"We haven't discussed your appearance yet. Although..."
Flitwick gave him a searching look and sighed again.
"Do you really like walking around as a mannequin from a funeral home?"
"Convenient. Besides, black perfectly emphasizes all the traits I listed—doesn't it?"
"Yes... But black with red is better associated with danger."
"I'd prefer Hogwarts students to associate me with danger. In any wrapping."
"Why do you need unkempt hair?"
Snape hissed through his teeth:
"Older female students..."
"What?" Flitwick wondered merrily. "Ah yes, of course!"
"Whatever I do to make them finally stay away, there's minimal effect. But I can't not wash! A potioneer's sense of smell, you know, is quite developed—I can't stand foreign odors."
"Really? And I thought old cognac evokes a positive reaction in you..."
"You understand, don't twist things. I try not to wash my head thoroughly, part of the product remains..."
"And sticks the hair together, which makes it look that way. At the same time, you just need to rinse well—a couple of seconds for Aguamenti, the same for drying—and you're already hard to recognize: you don't match the usual image. Not bad."
Flitwick closed his eyes and continued:
"Hair, robe color, no, even changing cuffs... or a scarf! Severus, as Dean of Slytherin, you're a fan of green, of course?"
"Absolutely."
"Wise. You'll be able to change your image surprisingly easily and quickly. And dissolve into the crowd if necessary. Train everyone to your appearance, always identical—and at the right time they won't recognize you even face to face. And the female students... We'll talk about them a bit later. And don't think I wouldn't have brought up this topic soon!"