Chapter 82: An Invitation from Severus Snape
Perhaps it was the collective longing for the Christmas break, or maybe Dolores Umbridge was simply too busy planning her next wave of decrees to cause fresh trouble. For whatever reason, the final days of the Hogwarts term slipped by with surprising speed.
Tomorrow, the Hogwarts Express would carry students home for the holidays. While some would stay in the castle, a palpable sense of impending departure filled the air. Even Harry Potter, who usually dreaded returning to Privet Drive, felt a flicker of anticipation this year. He had a godfather now, a connection to a world that felt like his own.
The Great Hall during breakfast on the last full day was noisy with plans and packing lists.
"Hey, Elian," Ron said around a mouthful of sausage, looking across the table. "Where are you off to for the holidays, then?"
"Back to my house in London," Elian replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
Ron and Harry exchanged a quick, hesitant look. They'd briefly discussed inviting him to the Burrow, but with Mr. Weasley still recovering at St. Mungo's, it hadn't felt right to offer. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Right, of course… your own place…" Ron trailed off.
"But you're going to the Lovegoods' for Christmas day, aren't you?" Harry interjected, remembering the article in The Quibbler.
Ron's face lit up with relief. "Oh, brilliant! I'd completely forgotten that! Well, that's alright then. Would've been a bit grim, Christmas on your own."
Elian fought the urge to roll his eyes. Their concern was genuine but clumsily delivered, landing like an anvil. Thanks for the reminder about my solitary orphan status, he thought wryly. He glanced quickly at Hermione, who was studiously buttering a piece of toast, her expression carefully neutral. Good. She wasn't reacting to the mention of Luna's.
"Home first," Elian said, steering the conversation firmly away. "Anyway, Harry, how are the Occlumency lessons going?" It was a subject he was genuinely curious about.
Harry's face clouded slightly. "Once a week. It's… happening. I think I'm getting somewhere with it, but it's tricky." He frowned, pushing his eggs around his plate.
Occlumency was a subtle, demanding art, requiring a control Harry had never needed to exert. A month of weekly sessions with Snape was barely enough to scratch the surface. Elian suspected Harry's feeling of progress was less about mastery and more about the simple discipline of trying, or perhaps a temporary lull in the storm within his scar.
Elian looked at the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead but said nothing. There was no point in voicing his doubts. The truth was far more likely that Voldemort, aware of the connection and its potential as a vulnerability, was deliberately quiet, lulling Harry into a false sense of security. The Dark Lord was a master planner, as the meticulously orchestrated trauma of the Triwizard Tournament had proven. He played the long game.
"Well, keep at it," Elian said simply. "These things take time."
The day's lessons, perfunctory and distracted, passed in a blur. The castle hummed with a festive, restless energy. As dusk fell, Elian was making his way towards the Gryffindor common room when he saw Harry hurrying down the corridor towards him, looking oddly purposeful.
"Elian! There you are!" Harry said, slightly out of breath. "I've been looking for you. Snape wants to see us. Tonight. He says since we're leaving tomorrow, I should have an extra Occlumency session, and that if I saw you, I should bring you along too."
Elian stopped, his mind immediately switching to analysis mode. Snape wanted to see him? The night before holidays? This was not a social call. It could be a message from Dumbledore, who had been conspicuously absent lately. Or, more troublingly, it could be a summons related to Snape's other master. A cold trickle of caution ran down his spine.
"Why would Professor Snape want me?" Elian asked, keeping his voice casual.
Harry shrugged, his expression a mix of resentment and confusion. "No idea. Maybe Dumbledore told him to give you a message or something. He's been away again."
That was the most likely scenario, Elian decided. But with Snape, one could never be entirely sure. "Alright," he said. "Lead the way."
As they walked through the dimly lit, increasingly deserted corridors towards the dungeons, Harry muttered, "Bet it's something unpleasant. Everything with him is."
"He's not exactly warm," Elian agreed neutrally. He was reserving judgment, acutely aware of the razor's edge Snape walked.
Soon, they stood before the familiar, heavy door of the Potions Master's office. The air here was cooler, tinged with the faint, complex odours of preserved ingredients and damp stone. Harry took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, then knocked.
From within, a silky, cold voice answered. "Enter."
Harry pushed the door open, and Elian followed him into Snape's domain. The office was as shadowy and austere as its owner, shelves lined with jars of bizarre, floating things, the fireplace emitting a low, greenish light. Severus Snape sat behind his desk, his black eyes lifting from a parchment to survey them with an unreadable expression.
"Potter. Throne," he greeted, his voice devoid of warmth. "Sit."
Two hard-backed chairs stood before the desk. Harry took one, his posture rigid. Elian took the other, his own demeanour calm and watchful. He met Snape's gaze evenly, feeling the faint, probing pressure of a Legilimens testing his periphery. Elian's mental shields, honed by the Supreme Mage System's disciplines, didn't so much as ripple.
Snape's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He leaned back, steepling his long, pale fingers.
"You have a holiday destination, Throne?" Snape asked abruptly, his gaze piercing.
"Yes, Professor. My family's home in London," Elian replied smoothly.
"A Muggle dwelling. Unprotected. Predictable." Snape stated each word as a cold fact. He paused, letting the vulnerability of that statement hang in the air. "The Headmaster has… concerns. As do others who are aware of your… profile."
So it was about security. But from which angle?
"Professor Dumbledore suggested Grimmauld Place," Elian offered, watching Snape's reaction closely.
"He would." Snape's lip curled slightly. "A fortress, of a sort. Cramped, miserable, and infested with idiots and sentimental clutter. But safe." He paused again, his obsidian eyes locked on Elian. "However, there is another… consideration. One that requires a more… direct conversation."
He shifted his gaze to Harry, who was listening with a perplexed frown. "Potter, clear your mind. We will begin. Try not to be more of a disappointment than usual."
This was clearly a dismissal for Harry's part of the meeting. The 'direct conversation' was for Elian alone. Harry shot Elian a confused, slightly worried look, then turned resentfully to face Snape, bracing himself for the psychic assault.
Snape raised his wand. "Legilimens!"
As Harry grunted, his face contorting with effort, Snape's other hand, hidden beneath the desk, moved. He slid a single, folded square of parchment across the polished wood towards Elian. His eyes never left Harry's struggling form.
Elian picked up the parchment. It was cool and heavy. He unfolded it under the desk, out of Harry's sight.
The message inside was brief, written in a precise, spidery hand that was unmistakably Snape's.
The serpent seeks the rook's perch. The wind blows from the north at midnight. A meeting is desired. Discretion is paramount.
Elian's blood ran cold. It was a warning, and an invitation. The serpent was Voldemort. The rook's perch… his home? 35 Carnaby Street? 'The wind from the north' – a time? Midnight? And 'a meeting is desired'. By whom? Snape? Or was Snape conveying a desire from the Dark Lord himself?
He looked up. Snape had broken the Legilimency connection, and Harry was panting, rubbing his temples. Snape's face was a mask of contemptuous impatience. "Pathetic. Again, Potter."
But as he said it, his eyes flickered to Elian for the briefest second. In that glance, Elian saw no malice, no triumph. Only a cold, urgent warning, and a question.
The game had just become infinitely more complicated.
(End of Chapter)
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