Fickle Rivers
Severus knows a lot of things, but he has made it a habit to not interfere more than needs must in the activities of his Slytherin students. There was no need to stilt the growth that came with experience, and after all, it was their life to make or mar.
However…
Severus couldn’t find it in himself to sit still and let Rigel ruin his life. He cared for him, as alarming as such a thought had first felt. Severus has cared for few in his life. Add in the extent of it, and he could count them off one hand.
He should have known then, how it would end. No relationship that mattered to him ever turned out well.
Perhaps he had even known it, deep down. Perhaps that was why he'd averted eyes from Rigel's secrets when he could. It shouldn’t have been that hard to move on. He should move on.
But… He didn't want to let go.
At his silence, Rigel began to babble again, dusting off his hands carelessly. "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me this term. You tried really hard to prepare me for the tasks, and I didn't make it easy on you."
Severus snorted. Rigel grimaced and said, "I was a brat, all right? And thank you for teaching me free brewing. I mean, I know this isn't close to equal value for your lessons, but…thanks. Happy Yule, sir."
Severus stared down at the child. Rigel looked back at him earnestly, chalk smudged across his cheek and nervous anticipation in his gaze. "Thank you," he said slowly. "This was very thoughtful."
He'd never, ever wanted to let go. Not when the boy hid the fact of Draco succumbing to the sickness, not when the boy refused to remove the suppressor, not when the boy became a political nightmare, and not when the boy stood up for the marauders and Lily. Severus had still been fond of him. Like a father would of his child.
So was Rigel still his to find, after it turned out he was never Rigel at all? Of course. For even if the name was not his, the eyes and the face were not his, the boy who beamed at Severus every time potions was mentioned, the boy who grew to knew him as well as anyone could, was still alive, out there somewhere— probably brewing unlicensed potions even while being on the run from the Britain Aurors and Tom Riddle.
And Severus would find him. He would find him, and give him the scolding of his life. The boy sure deserved it after the number of heart attacks he'd given Severus.
Albus was going to hold his third 'official' order meeting that Wednesday. The first two had been mostly introductory, and they'd barely discussed the matter of the wannabe terrorist Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Severus was not one for expecting productivity from large groups that mostly didn’t comprehend the depths of the waters they waded in, but he was still somewhat surprised at the lack of efficiency the first two meetings had. It was a lot like their Hogwarts Head of House meetings, actually.
He was going to hope for better this time, and just resign himself to pointless small talk if it didn't work out.
That was, if he was allowed to come in the first place.
"Peace, Severus." Albus said, smiling softly, "I'm afraid I'd rather have you check on the other project."
Severus couldn’t say he was surprised. Albus had a knack for assigning things that, even to Severus, often had no reasonable explanation at all. 'The man has lost himself to his eccentricities,' did not count.
Regardless, Severus found himself missing out on the order meeting. No matter. He had no doubt Albus would host countless of them.
But when Severus was given a strange task for the sixth time instead of attending an order meeting, he could quiet himself no longer. Something was definitely wrong. He was pretty sure that for the most part, Albus trusted him. So why?
He was going to find out.