Dreamscape
— Act 2 —
[Part Four]
For yet another night, Severus did not sleep. Instead, he returned to his quarters and conjured a wooden box. He then proceeded to cast a wide variety of warding and protection spells that left him sluggish and exhausted. After he finished, he removed Voldemort’s diary from the trunk he had hastily shoved it into and carefully levitated it into his impromptu container.
Once that was done, Severus finally allowed himself to relax as the insidious magic of the horcrux became nearly imperceptible. Slumping into the covers of his bed, Severus lowered his head to his hands with a world-weary sigh.
How did things become so complicated?
All Severus had wanted to do was protect Lily from Pettigrew’s foolishness, but now he was caught up in a war of traps within traps within traps. Now, with Dumbledore’s offer, things had become even more convoluted.
Yes, an alliance with the Order of the Phoenix would be beneficial under certain circumstances. Dumbledore, while powerful, had become accustomed to being the only major power standing against the Dark Lord. The introduction of another such force would no doubt be considered with much suspicion. As such, Severus had doubts as to the integrity of Dumbledore’s offer of alliance. It was far more probable that the Headmaster merely wished for a way to supervise Osvarr’s actions.
It was true, however, that such a relationship would go both ways. If Severus was to ally himself with the Order, he would be able to monitor the actions of the light side. And in doing so, he may be able to find allies among the ranks of Dumbledore’s Order.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he glanced out the window. From beyond the garden, the sun was beginning to rise, sending rays of light across the grassy plain.
There was no time for rest, much to Severus’s dismay. He had to first check on Regulus to ensure his arm was healing before creating a plan to deal with Dumbledore. Then he’d have to give more thought as to how to deal with Voldemort’s horcruxes.
With a soft sigh, Severus stood and made his way down to the dining hall. As the morning was just beginning to dawn, he was met with the sight of hurried house elves, scurrying around the table as they prepared an immaculate breakfast.
Recognizing one from the rest, Severus called out.
“Roo?”
“Yes Master Snape?”
“Do you happen to have any coffee?”
“Master Snape wants coffee!” Roo exclaimed. “Roo has plenty of coffee! With cubes and cubes of sugar, just as Master likes!”
With an exuberance Severus was beginning to envy, Roo summoned a pitcher of brew. With a wave of the house elve’s hand, it was lifted and poured into a floral ceramic mug before being shoved into Severus’s open palms.
“Thank you Roo.” He took a sip. “Exquisite, as always.”
Roo wriggled, ears flapping in joy. “I is glad Master Snape likes it! Master Snape is most appreciative of Roo’s efforts.”
Severus winced at Roo’s gratefulness, remembering how he had treated the elf after Mi-Mi’s death. Severus had been inconsolable, and Roo had just been trying to help when Severus had threatened her at wandpoint. He’d always had a quick temper, a trait he had inherited from his father, and it seemed that he had fallen prey to his grief and anger in a way he had always vowed against.
Setting down his cup on a nearby surface, Severus rubbed at his face tiredly.
“Roo?”
“Yes Master?”
“I’d like to apologize over how I treated you earlier. I had been overcome by guilt and grief, and while it is no excuse, I do hope you will forgive me.”
Roo frowned, beady eyes liquidy as they stared up at Severus. “Roo does not understand what Master Snape refers to.”
With a grimace, Severus expanded, “The way I treated you after Mi-Mi’s death. You were just trying to help me, but I got carried away by my emotions.”
“Master Snape has no need to apologize!” Roo exclaimed, “Roo was just being of service!”
Severus shook his head in disagreement. “It was wrong of me. I’d understand if you’d like to request another position in the Manor. When I came here, Mr. Jigger told me that the Manor’s faculty were to be respected. I broke my promise to him, and to you.”
For a moment, Roo stood there, still as a statue.
Then…
“Master Snape is too kind.”
Severus was horrified to see tears pool in Roo’s eyes.
“Master Snape does not know what it is like.” Roo began, snuffling into a conjured handkerchief. “Before Master Jigger employed Roo, Roo worked for a family of wizards who were not nearly as nice. Roo worked very hard for her masters! Roo worked and worked and worked! Roo was not lazy! Roo was not!”
Roo paused, looking at Severus for confirmation.
“I’m sure you were a very good house elf Roo.” Severus murmured truthfully. Roo nodded, shaking her head so hard Severus worried she’d concuss herself.
“But masters were not happy with Roo. They said Roo was a bad elf. They punished Roo most severely.”
Severus’s stomach dropped as Roo began to shiver.
“Masters would take out their wand and crucio Roo. Roo would scream. Roo was hurt very, very badly.”
“Roo… ” Severus whispered, feeling a horrible wave of crushing guilt. The memories I must’ve dragged up when I raised my wand against her—
“—Roo is not done yet! Master Snape must listen to the entire story first!”
“Of course Roo, carry on.”
“Roo was punished. And then Roo was given—” There was a pause as Roo seemed to choke on her own words, “Roo was given a scarf.”
The words were given with such a comedic horror, Severus almost began to laugh until he remembered exactly what garments symbolized in house elf culture. They were more than a mere method of sacking employees. They were stains on a house elf’s reputation and honor. Had Roo not stumbled upon Mr. Jigger, she would have no doubt been heckled by her own kind—spat upon and spoken of only with spite. A fate considered worse than death by most house elves.
Severus returned his attention to Roo as she continued her story.
“Roo was kicked out onto the streets. No other masters wanted Roo in their keep. Roo was disgraced!” Roo shuddered, eyes and nose streaming. “So Roo was unemployed for months! Roo wandered from shop to shop looking for a job! Every place Roo went too, house elves looked down on Roo. Roo was laughed at! Roo was jinxed! Roo was injured by others!”
This, Severus could relate too. He, like Roo, had been targeted by the cruelty of others. The Marauders had found pleasure in his suffering, merely because he was not one of their lot. Because he was a two-faced Slytherin who needed to be taught his place. It had dehumanized him and almost led him down an incredibly dangerous path. What Roo was describing made an awful pit open in his stomach; it made his skin crawl uncomfortably—and it made him feel far too vulnerable for his liking.
With a tearful sniff, Roo persevere onward. “One day, Roo was in Alfard Alley, looking for work. Roo was quiet and respectful. Roo did not meet the other house elves eyes. But Roo was still cornered. Roo was beaten by other house elves. Roo was cursed most severely. Roo was left bleeding on the pavement.” Roo shuddered, eyes wide. “Roo was on death’s door. But then! Then Master Jigger appeared. Master Jigger helped Roo! Master Jigger gave Roo employment! Roo worked for her Master. And Roo has been here ever since! And then Master Snape arrived.”
Severus nodded, remembering the first time he’d met Roo. Giving Roo a moment to compose herself, Severus took another sip of his coffee, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the milky depths as the sound of a trumpetting nose blow filled the air.
“Master Snape was very kind. Master Snape thanks Roo for her work. Master Snape respects Roo. Roo was, and is, very happy.”
“I’m glad to hear that Roo.”
Roo’s ears flapped as she nodded. “Roo enjoys working for Master Snape. But Roo has also noticed that Master Snape has become… ” There was a pause. “Master Snape has become so sad.”
“Roo… ”
“No!” Roo exclaimed. “Roo wants Master Snape to be happy. Master Snape has changed. Master Snape is always awake now. Master Snape doesn’t sleep, or eat, or laugh. Master Snape needs to be happy! And Roo is not a good elf if Master Snape is not happy or healthy.”
Severus blinked, feeling his eyes grow heavy, and swayed slightly.
“So Roo will make Master Snape rest! Roo will be a good elf.”
Severus yawned, feeling his body grow inordinately heavy. Through the cloying fog in his mind, something clicked. Slurring out his words, Severus asked incredulously, “Roo—did you drug me?”
Roo’s ears flapped. With a wave of her knobby hand, the cup in Severus’s hands disappeared. And not a moment too soon as Severus lost all feeling in his arms. With another wave of her hand, Roo conjured a bed.
“Master Snape shall sleep now! And Master Snape cannot even be mad at Roo.” Roo said, an almost Slytherin glint in her eyes. “After all, Master Snape owes Roo!”
Severus felt Roo’s magic push him backwards. With a stumble, he fell into a heap of conjured blankets. With his last vestiges of clear thought, Severus smirked. “Well played Roo.”
Roo bowed, revealing a wiry neck and protruding spine. “Roo has learnt from the best.”
And without further ado, darkness claimed Severus’s vision.
He slept restfully, a surprising, but welcome development. It was rather unlucky that the peace was not bound to last.
When Severus awoke two hours later, he was met by the sight of Regulus Black, burnt arm cradled to his chest, carrying Tom Riddle’s diary in hand.
Breath caught in his throat, Severus’s gaze locked onto the most horrifying detail of it all: Regulus’s pupils, blown wide, were glowing with a familiar, rusty red.
It is unfortunate. Severus thought, with no little irony. That Roo’s endeavor to help my health may very well result in my death.
———————————————————
Albus Dumbledore had first heard of Osvarr through the Ministry grapevine. Even before Rita’s article had been released, rumor of a new party in the war had sprung up. Arthur and Kingsley, both young Order recruits, had reported back to him with similar stories.
Right away, Albus had drawn the connection between Pettegrew’s letter and Osvarr. A suspicion that was confirmed with the release of Rita’s article.
Immediately, he had penned a letter offering an alliance. It had been rash of him, to reveal his plans so readily. His wording had been less than stellar, and would reveal his hidden motivation clearly if Osvarr was half as intelligent as Albus suspected.
But he had not been able to contain himself. The man, Osvarr, had reminded him far too much of another boy Albus had once known. From his German ancestry to the loss of his mother, the parallels between Osvarr and Gellert Grindelwald were startling. So much so that at first, Albus had thought his friend had escaped from Numergard and was playing an elaborate prank. And from Rita’s description of Osvarr’s looks, he seemed to be the very reincarnation of Gellert, back when he was yet young and spry. Dark brown hair, a sharp jawline and dark, brooding eyes.
Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Dumbledore turned his head away from the newspaper in his lap.
“Albus?”
At the sound of a voice, Dumbledore looked up. Just within the view of the portrait’s frame, Phineas Nigellus Black wavered. His face was pale, his voice thready.
“Phineas? What ever is the matter?”
“Oh it’s just horrible!” The painting exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth. “Years of traced ancestry, ruined! Years of careful magics wasted! Horrible I say!”
Albus stood, raising himself till Phineas could see him. “What has happened?”
The Black Headmaster shook his head dramatically. “Our sacred family tree! It’s been turned scarlet! The color of crimson! Of blood! O’ woe is thee who doth hath past forgotten! Oh, it’s horrible! Our ancestry! Our history! Gone!”
Immediately, Albus pictured the infamous Black family tree, trademark of the famed Grimmauld Place, home of the Black family for the last three centuries. The tree was a historical monument upkept by the Black family that traced the lineage of their ancestors. It was one of their most prized possessions, and the only documented way to effect what it portrayed was through magical disownment.
“Red you say?” Albus murmured. “How odd, I thought you could only ever change who the tree acknowledged as part of the family.”
Phineas let out a pitiful moan, devolving into a poetic rhyme as he became overwhelmed—an unfortunate side-effect of his painted visage. “And by thy who cannot be seen at all; Bereft by sadness! O’ me! O’ my! Destitute all shall be! Destitute I say! And our blood ought lace the tile, before we bequeath our name!”
Tuning out Phineas, Albus became lost in thought. The Black tree had never been truly understood. After all, any scholar deemed ‘pure enough’ to see it had not been able to identify the magic it possessed. The most accepted explanation was that it used necromancial blood magic—a branch of magics that had been banned from Britain since Grindewald’s campaign. And Albus could hardly ask Gellert for his assistance in matters of necromancy. As such, Albus was forced to resort to educated guesswork as to what could have affected the Black family tree. And every possible idea he came up with pointed to one thing: blood ritual. But the Blacks were a paranoid bunch, and it would take a lot to force one of them to submit to any sort of blood bondage.
Then, inspiration struck.
“Phineas?”
“Yes Headmaster?”
“Has young Regulus Black returned back to Grimmauld Place yet?”
Phineas tensed before replying, tone uncharacteristically snapish, “And how is that any of your concern?”
Well, that is answer enough.
“Oh, just an old man’s curiosity. Forget it.”
“Hmph!” Phineas harrumphed. “I suppose I shall.”
After a moment, the portrait returned to its soliloquy, voice markedly unsteady as Albus fell further into contemplation.
With Osvarr finding his place in the war effort, Albus had expected changes in allegiances on both sides. But he had not been expecting such quick and definitive action.
It seemed to him that somehow, Osvarr had poached Regulus Black from the Dark Lord’s service. And in doing so, he had dabbled in the Dark Arts to ensure Regulus’s loyalty. No doubt Osvarr had meant for his blood magic to go unnoticed, but due to the Black ancestral tree, his actions were not nearly as well guarded as he would like to think.
Though it was mere speculation, Albus reevaluated his opinion of the other man.
Osvarr was young and did not yet understand the depths of depravity that the Dark could bring.
It would not do to have another Gellert Grindelwald: a Dark Lord impassioned for all the wrong reasons. Another lost genius among the grandeur of history.
Albus would not make the same mistake again. Not when he possessed the means to stop it. Even if it meant casting the final blow himself.
———————————————————
Regulus was asleep, and quite aware of the fact that he was dreaming.
Perhaps it was a side effect of the Black Family’s so-called magesight—which allowed for sensing others magical prowess, lent their minds to the mastery of mental magics, and, in rare cases, allowed for lucid dreaming and propheticization—because ever since he had reached his majority, he had developed the ability to retain his faculties even while asleep.
As such, as per his habit, he had already manipulated the surroundings around him till they morphed into his room at Grimmauld Place. His quarters had always been a place of solace in a house full of insanity: from Walburga, with her fanatical obsession with the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix’s entertainments, Regulus had only ever been able to let his guard down when inside his own room. Naturally, that feeling of a safe-place translated into his dreamscape and became the backdrop to his night-time escapades.
He was so familiar with the room around him that almost as soon as it had materialized, he had realized something was wrong.
Even though everything was in its correct place, there was something off about the whole layout. It seemed foreign and dangerous in a way Regulus had never before correlated with his dreamscape, and it made the skin on his arms and legs pucker with gooseflesh.
Just as Regulus was about to warp Grimmauld Place away, a voice halted his actions.
“Hello?”
Much to Regulus’s surprise, a young boy, no older than himself, appeared before him.
This isn’t possible. Regulus thought, completely floored. Even legilimency requires its target to be awake—my dreamscape is untouchable, nobody should be able to access it. So what in Merlin's bloody name is this boy doing here?
“Are you quite alright? You’re pale as a ghost!” The boy reached forward, brown eyes concerned and lips twisted in a terribly attractive pout.
“I’m just peachy.” Regulus murmured with a suitable amount of sarcasm. “Now, if you’ll excuse my lack of decorum, who, exactly, are you?And what the hell are you doing in my mind?”
The boy smiled, and Regulus shuddered at how teethy the expression seemed on his perfectly structured face. “So that’s where we are! I haven’t been anywhere outside the diary in so long… Oh! And my name is Tom. Tom Riddle. At your service.”
Tom Riddle. Regulus thought. A mudblood then.
“I see.”
Tom’s smile dipped at Regulus’s less than enthusiastic greeting. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know how I ended up here. Last thing I remember was meeting a man named Osvarr. We made a deal, but he didn’t fulfill his side of the bargain.”
Regulus flinched at the mention of his pseudonym. In his mind’s eye, the image of a strapping young brunette, the disguise he donned when meeting Rita Skeeter, flittered past.
Tom’s eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side. “That is nothing at all like what Osvarr looked like when I met him.”
Regulus paled further, eyes blown wide. Shit. He can see my thoughts.
“Oh dear.” Tom enunciated, his voice a deadpan drawl. “Did I say that aloud?”
As quickly as he was physically capable, Regulus raised his occlumency shields, making his mind as foggy as possible.
“That won’t work against me, I’m afraid.” Tom stated. “I can still see everything going through your mind. For instance, right now, you’re terrified.”
Tom paused, his eyes locking onto Regulus’s own. “I wonder why that is. Only those who have secrets become weary when the truth is soon to emerge. What is your secret… ” Tom paused, face twisted in concentration. Regulus felt a tugging in his brain and a moment later, Tom’s expression cleared as he emerged victorious, “...Regulus Black.”
And even though Regulus tried to avoid it, his mind directly flashed to the tattoo on his arm.
Within an instant, Tom had moved. His hand reaching out, grabbing for Regulus’s wrist. The second his fingers wrapped around the Black’s forearm, Regulus was adrift.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was like being in a vacuum, his senses were numbed, the world around him dark. Even so, vague flashes of emotion and thought emerged from nowhere and faded just as fast. He could feel his heart in his chest, he could see the blood vessels in his veins, he could hear the bubbling of acid in his stomach.
And yet, no matter how much he tried, he could not regain control of his body or mind. It was as if his consciousness had been pushed aside and relegated to backseat.
I do apologize.
Regulus flinched as his very being was shaken. The words that emblazoned themselves into the nothingness were loud and echoed in what felt like his chest, but could have been an empty chamber, without ribs, lungs or a heart.
But you were just in the wrong place at the right time.
Regulus gasped, feeling like there was no longer any air for his not-lungs to expand with.
Your memories paint quite an interesting story. You, my dear Regulus, are a betrayer.
There was fear. It slammed into Regulus’s not-being. It encompassed him for the merest of moments and then drifted off, as if it had never been there at all.
And I don’t take to betrayers kindly. Don’t worry though. I’ll make sure the other version of me learns of your traitorous actions. And then we’ll deal with you ourselves.
But first, there is another I need to deal with.
Regulus felt his brain shudder as Tom Riddle ripped through it in search of one person.
It’s time for Osvarr to drop the act. Severus Snape, I do hope you realize who it is that kills you. After all, Lord Voldemort and I are one in the same. And it will be we who bring about your end.
Regulus felt sick. Then, against his very will, the feeling slipped away and he began to drift.