There had always been something comforting about nightfall.
Perhaps it was the way expectations fell away when the sun set - tasks and to-do lists were shelved until the new day, trivial matters demanded by others were put aside. As if everyone had pressed a pause button and simply let the world stop. Perhaps there was comfort in knowing that no matter how hard, or how long, his day was, it would eventually come to an end.
Like a reset button.
Or, more accurately, like a moment to catch his breath.
He understood how some people could be wary of the coming darkness; hurrying home before they were caught out in it, like it was some sort of impending rain. There were monsters hidden in the shadows and those shadows weren’t visible in the dark - not until it was too late and they devoured you whole. Not that it mattered to Severus.
He had long become one of those shadows.
Now, nightfall held a different comfort outside of being able to put his quill down and leaving ungraded essays aside for another time. Now it was a cover; a safety blanket. Darkness fell over everything like his favorite woolen cloak, draping over his shoulders and hiding him away from prying eyes.
Most of them anyway.
“Will you stop brooding?”
“I’m not brooding.”
Yaxley snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. “You are most definitely brooding, Severus.”
“Why are you even looking at me.” he scowled at the other Death Eater and turned his own attention to their surroundings. They were both airborne, nondescript brooms holding them up somewhere to the south of Little Whinging. It was hard to see anything happening in the dimly-lit streets below them, but it was clear they remained empty.
As they had been for the past three hours.
“Nothing is happening.” Yaxley complained, stating the obvious.
If he were to ever write a book that detailed his life as a Death Eater spy, Severus would be sure to include how executing an ambush wasn’t as exciting as the fiction books made it out to be.
Of course, he hadn’t been expecting excitement.
He wasn’t that horrible.
If anything, the stomach-twisting anxiety he was feeling revealed his true feelings behind the current situation. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want any of them to be here - but this was, quite literally, war, and the inane desire to pretend none of this was real was nothing more than a pipe dream he’s sure every sane member of the Wizarding World desired.
Still, he hadn’t expected so much waiting around - a dangerous breeding ground for his wandering thoughts. Night had long since arrived, and with it, their orders to strategically place themselves around Privet Drive, waiting for the moment the Order would leave the safety of the blood wards that protected the Potter boy’s house and reveal themselves.
Their last Death Eater meeting had made it seem simpler; quicker. The Dark Lord had been almost giddy with anticipation for tonight. He considered their ambush an easy win and that confidence was doing a number at Severus’ ability to remain calm.
“You’re still brooding.”
Resisting the urge to send a hex his way, Severus pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and refused to look at the other man. He was right, in a way - he was getting lost in his own head instead of paying attention.
“Right, because that’s any better.” Yaxley muttered.
“Keep speaking and you’ll find yourself coming home without a tongue.”
Nothing further was said as the pair caught sight of hazy golden sparks in the distance. The signal was wholly unnecessary because even in the dark, it was hard to miss the group of fourteen that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
It didn't take long to catch up with the fleeing Order members - seconds, at most, thanks to a bit of cheeky spellcasting that allowed their brooms to supercede their legal limit - and when they did, chaos had ensued.
They had converged on the Order members like ghosts in the snow, the very shadows that hid in the night, and the group were clearly panic-stricken as they realized their predicament despite the hard determination still deep set on all their faces. There were at least twice as many Death Eaters, easily falling into formation as they all flew across the rolling hills of Surrey. Despite the other Death Eater’s palpable confusion at seeing seven Potters to their expected one, they changed tactics easily and wordlessly, to focus on individual targets.
“Don’t let any get away!”
Spells were being thrown left and right, harmless stunning spells and juvenile curses intermingling with harsh and forbidden hexes. Their corner of the sky was a light show as colored sparks were cast hurriedly and without mercy. Briefly, as a well-aimed Stunning Spell hit one of his - he shuddered - compatriots in the chest, causing his limbs to seize up and his grip on the broom handle to drop, he wondered if the caster had really considered the consequences of their chosen spell.
On one hand, a stunning spell was harmless enough in the right context - no wounds, no permanent damage, no guilt - but right here. . . surely a fall from this height would kill someone.
There was shouting all around him, terrified yelps and stern instructions, code words he didn’t quite understand getting tossed around and lost in the bracing wind. Severus kept a secure grip on his broom as he focused on the spells the Death Eaters closest to him were throwing, Albus’ words ringing in his head now.
If the Dark Lord makes you participate, make it believable.
No matter how much he wanted, he couldn’t deflect any of the spells, couldn’t protect the group of - thankfully - Polyjuiced Order members flying ahead of them. He pulled his hood down a little more, willing himself to disappear behind the black fabric and, consequently, into the night sky itself. The rest of his cloak flared behind him.
For a second, he wondered if he looked a bit like a Dementor, his robes obscuring most of his broom. He shook his head, felt his hood slip the tiniest bit, and refocused on the chase happening in front of him. Not even the safety of the darkened sky would be enough to protect him from the Dark Lord’s watchful eye.
He cast wordless spells that did nothing but shoot colored sparks in the right direction. He was flying a few feet behind Yaxley now, and they were quickly closing in on Remus Lupin and one of the many Harry Potter’s present.
The Dark Lord had immediately gone after Alastor Moody, likely assuming Potter would be paired with the ex-Auror above anyone else. He doubted the logic, simply because it was too logical. He sincerely hoped the Order of the Phoenix was smarter than that.
The wind was blowing harder now. It was getting harder to make out the voices surrounding him, but he immediately recognized the pattern Yaxley was waving his wand in, could practically hear the Avada Kedavra being whispered on his tongue, his wand a straight shot to Lupin’s back.
He didn’t hesitate.
A quick and angry Sectumsempra was fired at Yaxley’s hand, a half-hearted apology for his pitiful aim already being formulated. Severus held back a wince as the other Death Eater lowered his wand hand far lower than he expected him too and watched as the curse missed Yaxley altogether, whizzing just past Potter’s head.
Merlin, he hoped it wasn’t the real Potter.
He managed to be faster than Yaxley and as his spell hit and the blood started gushing, Lupin immediately swerved to the side and away from the unsuspecting Killing Curse, turning his head to take stock of the situation behind him. Severus could feel the wind lifting his hood off then, could feel the weight of his cloak slipping away entirely.
He couldn’t grab it - not with one hand on his broom handle and the other on his wand. His focus was on Lupin and the bleeding boy’s head; his ear had been sliced clean off and as he made eye contact with Remus Lupin for the briefest second, the other’s eyes widening with realization and disappointed horror, something in his stomach twisted.
He didn’t dare look apologetic.
–-
The Dark Lord was furious.
They had returned to Malfoy Manor when it was all over and had taken their seats at the long banquet table. The silence felt heavy with their failure, with their anticipation of what was to come. It was a far cry from the overconfidence of earlier, when wine goblets and dripping candelabras had decorated the white linen.
Lucius Malfoy had stayed behind for this mission, was still in the Dark Lord’s ill graces for his repeated failures and shortcomings, and now he looked positively sick. He wondered if the Dark Lord would blame Lucius for the malfunctioning wand he had taken from him - and ultimately, broken - or if Ollivander would meet his untimely end tonight instead.
Severus sat at his usual chair and tugged on his robes.
His cloak was gone.
It felt like a foolish thing to be upset over, all things considered, but tensions were high right now and the room was drowning in despair. He couldn’t help but feed off of it and all he wanted was to wrap his bloody cloak tighter around himself.
He preferred to think about his cloak rather than the bleeding boy’s ear. He couldn’t allow himself to feel guilt over that. He shouldn’t have intervened in the first place. He only hoped no one had noticed; Yaxley himself had scowled at him in the foyer, telling him off for nearly taking his hand off with that pitiful near-miss.
He hoped visibly harming one of the Potter’s - no matter his intentions - would be enough to soothe some of the Dark Lord’s anger that would be surely directed at him.
Severus knew he would get blamed for this, at least a little bit.
He wished the wine goblets from earlier would make a return. Not that he would drink any; he couldn’t afford to imbibe on anything that would lower his defenses or the sharpness of his senses. He just needed something to distract himself with, something for his hands to hold.
He wanted his cloak.
“Severus.” the Dark Lord spoke, as he returned from the holding cells downstairs, his voice low and strained. “Did you know the Order would be planning on Polyjuicing Harry Potter?”
“No, my Lord.” Severus tried to sound sincere, bowing his head down in feigned remorse.
The Dark Lord hummed and paced the length of the table; Severus kept his gaze down and waited, letting his pointless thoughts wash over him, a distraction from the heavy uneasiness that filled the room.
The cloak had been a gift from Minerva, some years back. He wondered if it was symbolic, then. He lost Minerva - her friendship, her trust, her respect - so ergo, he lost her cloak. More accurately, the opportunity to grab the cloak before it was lost forever was right there and, instead, he let it fall into the Thames while he prioritized something else.
Perhaps there was a metaphor to this, some sort of literary prose to be found, in losing his cloak at just the right moment for Lupin to see him for who he really was. There used to be comfort in nightfall, in hiding amongst the shadows, but perhaps, perhaps there was no comfort at all. Perhaps he had always been exposed.
The pacing had stopped.
The Dark Lord had reached an end to his musings and Severus could only hope that whatever happened next wouldn’t be too gruesome to exclude from this chapter.
He huffed the barest hint of a laugh; an exhale, really. Perhaps this was his new coping mechanism - viewing his actions through the lens of his autobiography. He wondered if anyone would read it.
“Severus.”
He wondered if he would survive long enough to write it.