Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy

Author’s Notes: My beta, melusin, has done some wonderful things with this story.

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Chapter Eleven - Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate (Part 1)

Severus Snape stepped back, pushing himself further into the dark alley while he waited for the signal that would tell him the coast was clear.

“Fucking pigs,” he muttered under his breath.

It was almost impossible to freely move about Knockturn Alley, regardless of the typical black cloaks that almost everyone seemed to wear come midnight. The Ministry of Magic was now on full alert, oblivious of the fact that the wizarding world remained clueless as to the true threat lying before their very eyes.

Severus was honestly surprised at the number of raids the Ministry was able to keep out of the papers; he himself had attended at least one a week since the beginning of the summer.

Scrimgeour was doing things very differently indeed. During the previous war, panic was everywhere. One could smell it in every restaurant and café; be it in the Muggle or Magical world. It was apparent in the hollow stares of every grief stricken mother walking aimlessly down the street, burdened with burial plans for their lost sons or daughters. But this time around, everyone appeared afraid to speak the name of evil. To speak of it would acknowledge it; and somehow make the pain seem much more realistic.

Before the Dark Lord’s… demise, Severus did not have to scurry about Knockturn Alley in fear of crossing an Auror on patrol.

Bloody patrols! Like they make a shite of difference.

If the Ministry wanted to observe true Death Eater activity, they would be better off guarding the homes of prominent Muggle-born families rather than trudging through the filth of these streets. Severus could not say for sure if the Dark Lord’s agenda would actually make any difference in the numbers of the Muggle-born population. No one could discover for certain how or why Muggles gave birth to magical children each and every year, nor why half-bloods and purebloods did not produce similar high numbers of offspring. But whatever the rationale was, it only seemed to make perfect sense in the Dark Lord’s mind.

According to Severus’ master, the Death Eaters were not to waste their time trying to rid the magical community of each and every Muggle-born.

Attack the problem at its source! the Dark Lord would rasp repeatedly.

Instead, all of Severus’ efforts were spent hunting down the Muggle families they came from; completely eradicating their family line, down to every third cousin twice removed.

“Is it a quick fuck you fancy?”

Instantly snapping out of his musings, Snape whirled around, turning towards the obscurity that was offered by the dim alleys. A frail, wrinkled wizard huddled behind him, shifting his legs from side to side in agitation. The small man turned away from Severus, whistling a command to the shadowed outline of a feminine body behind him.

“She’s not very bright,” the old man rambled. His voice whistled through the odd gaps in his teeth. “Not much to look at, either. But she was born dumb -- doesn’t fight, so you can pretty much get what you want out of her.”

A surge of pure loathing coursed through Snape as he eyed the aged man’s toothless grin. His daughter couldn’t be more than thirteen years old.

“No,” Snape said, voice heavy with disgust. Ignoring the both of them, he turned back toward the main street. Tightening the collar of his thick black cloak around his neck, Severus’ back straightened in attention.

The signal.

He watched attentively as a stumpy wizard in too small navy blue robes loitered in front of a dingy pub. He raised a fag to his lips, lighting it with the tip of his wand. Taking a smooth, long drag, the overweight wizard exhaled deeply, face pointing into the air. The dark smoke of bitter cloves floated bizarrely in the wind, seeming to form the twisted spine of a large snake.

Severus knew that this man was an Auror. As fat and grotesque as this Ministry official was, Severus did not understand how that was possible, but then again he wasn’t a very good Auror, regardless. Setting the Knockturn Alley patrols, this wizard would be on ‘guard’ for the next three hours, giving Death Eaters, and all shifty people alike, time to go about their business free from harassment from Ministry officials.

Snape immediately stepped out of the stinking alley into the dim-lighted streets of this unsavory part of town. Quickly dodging the number of other dubious individuals that gradually appeared in front of his path, Severus sped toward Borgin and Burkes.

It was late; well after normal shopping hours. For, even in such a sinister area, these shops still had standard hours of business. Snape knew this, but he did not care. He was on a mission for his master. Passing right by the front door of Borgin and Burkes, Snape rounded the corner of the street and approached the shop from the rear. If any door had to be excessively warded, it would be this one, due to the vast amount of valuable possessions inside.

Severus repeatedly flicked his raised wand at the door, removing each and every ward he knew would be cast upon it. Mere minutes after his first attempts, the battered wood finally gave a loud click and pushed open with a faint creak. Not wasting any time, Snape smoothly pulled his mask out from within his robes as he quickly entered the dusty shop. Mindful of the lock, Snape turned the handle of the door before slowly closing it behind him.

Turning towards the narrow set of stairs to his left, Snape silently ascended them, wand raised with his back pressed against the wall. Once on the first-floor landing, Severus paused for a few seconds to listen for the rhythmic sounds of sleeping bodies.

There were none.

Senses on full alert, he immediately stormed towards the only door that was not completely closed, kicking it open with his foot. A frightened gasp on the other side caught his attention. Firmly gripping his wand, Snape thundered into the room, seizing the bedroom door and slamming it shut behind him.

Mr. Borgin lay hunched on the filthy floor against the wall by the door, fumbling to get a steady grasp on his wand.

“Accio wand!” Snape barked.

Additional wand in his hand, Severus stalked toward the crouched man.

The older man raised his hand in protection of his face, but otherwise seemed unafraid.

“What is this?” Mr. Borgin snarled. “If you wanted to buy something -- I would have answered the fucking door if you'd knocked!”

Snape paused. Looming over the agitated man, he stared at him for some lingering moments to throw him off guard.

“Who said I am here to make a purchase?” Snape sneered, his deep voice echoing dangerously.

“Well, I know fer’ a fact that you ain’t here to kill me….”

“Don’t sound so assured,” Snape interrupted.

“Bullshit.”

“Give me what I came for, and there will be no need to harm you.” Severus spoke emotionlessly.

“Eh! Just as I thought! Wanting to make a purchase. Couldn't knock, could you? Wanted to make a dramatic entrance.”

Snarling in frustration, Snape lunged toward Mr. Borgin, yanking him off the floor by a firm grip about the neck. He slammed the frail shop-owner against the wall, tightening his hand against his windpipe.

Mr. Borgin stared back at the Death Eater, bulging eyes silently begging for breath.

“Let me make myself very clear,” Snape said in quiet anger. “I am not here for my health. You have something that my master believes belongs to him, and I have no intention of paying for it. You can give it to me, and I will leave you moderately unharmed, or we can continue to… discuss matters difficultly. Do I make myself clear?”

Gagging on his own saliva, Mr. Borgin gurgled in an attempt to show agreement. Finally released, he fell back to the floor in a huddle, holding his throat and gasping for breath. “What?” he wheezed. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want the book.”

“What book?”

“Are you fucking blind? Can you not see what is standing before you? Obviously, I am here at the request of the Dark Lord. So give me the book that only he would want; that only he knows you have!”

Despite his dumb anger and pain, Mr. Borgin’s head snapped up in alarm.

“How does the Dark Lord know I have…?”

Snape lunged back to the floor, gripping the older man by the pitiful amount of hair on his head, yanking it back and forcing him to stare into his piercing black eyes glaring behind his Death Eater mask. Placing his wand beneath his throat, Snape guided him to start moving towards the door.

“That information is inconsequential. Where do you keep it?”

Clenching his eyes shut, Mr. Borgin moaned in agony, loathe to hand over such a rare and very dangerous possession.

“Very well,” Snape said slowly.

Kicking his leg out, Snape swept his foot behind the old man, kicking both feet from underneath him. Mr. Borgin quickly slammed to the floor, landing solidly on his knees. At the sound of a hollow pop, Mr. Borgin screamed in pain, erratically flailing his arms and begging to remove his body weight off of his legs.

Hand still gripping his wiry grey hair, Snape yanked his head back and met his eyes.

Legilimens! Snape said silently.

The first thought Severus distinguished in the old man’s mind was a maze of endless brick walls surrounded by a steady fog. Obviously, Mr. Borgin had some knowledge of adequate methods to shield his mind.

Still completely entrenched within the shop-owner's psyche, Snape effortlessly issued a non-verbal warning.

“The harder you fight, the more damage I will do.”

A hair-line fracture split down the center of the brick wall. A surge of fear replaced the fog.

Smiling to himself, Severus focused on the crack, battering the older man’s mind with his superior skill.

Bricks crumbling, Snape instantly entered a sizeable glass room crammed with bizarre trinkets and grotesque figurines. The old man possessed many secrets he did not want to reveal.

Snape hungrily followed the trail of trepidation in the maze of objects. This element of the hunt was intoxicating; better than any whisky he had every tasted. There was something very addictive about the art of Legilimency. The energy, the power, that flooded through him each and every time he dismantled the armor of minds watered his mouth with satiated saliva.

He relished this part of his job.

Mr. Borgin’s frantic and hysterical thoughts finally rested on the floor of the glass room. Narrowing his eyes, Snape attempted to see what was not there. The only thing visible was an odd patch of paneled wooden floor.

He would have thought this useless if Mr. Borgin hadn't been shrieking in frustrated failure.

Pulling himself out of the shop-owner's reflections, Snape immediately released his grip on the older man’s hair.

Gasping in agony, Mr. Borgin braced his hands on the floor and slowly attempted to push his useless legs out from under him.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Snape hissed.

The kneeling man’s face contorted in horror before he was rendered completely immobile.

“Painful?” Snape asked smugly.

Tapping the tip of his wand on his chin, Snape rounded the shop-owner, reveling at the sight of him kneeling on damaged knees.

“This might give you some time to think how you could have avoided all of this tonight,” Snape said over his shoulder as he finally walked out of the bedroom and dashed down the narrow staircase.

The moment his boot hit the last step, Snape sped through the shadowy corridor that led into the main shop.

Raising his wand toward the front door and windows, Snape sent Silencing and Strengthening Charms against the front of the building.

As he moved to stand behind the counter, Snape pointed his wand at the panel floorboards in the middle of the shop, blasting the wood into fine sawdust. Calmly approaching the open hole in the floor, Snape knelt down, reaching for the heavy, locked case that he knew he would find there.

Tucking the valuable object into his generous black cloak, Snape turned on the spot and vanished from the destroyed shop.

*** *** ***

“Ah, Severus,” a raspy voiced hissed the moment Snape Apparated into the abandoned house.

“My Lord,” Snape answered immediately, at once kneeling before the Dark Lord. Severus' robes billowed about his legs, sending a cloud of ash and dust into the air.

“I trust everything went well?” the dark creature asked importantly.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“And the book?”

“Here, my Lord.” Snape made to reach into his pocket to retrieve it.

“I do not need it at the moment. I trust you are able enough to keep it safe?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus replied, instantaneously tucking the locked case back into the hidden pockets of his voluminous Death Eater cloak.

“Very good.”

The usual long, deafening moments of silence passed as the dark creature treaded the floorboards of the parlor room, humming oddly to himself. Spotting patches of cleared dust on the battered floorboards, Snape vaguely wondered who else had knelt in this parlor room tonight.

Absorbing particular details of his surroundings adequately served to divert Snape from wondering how long this madness would last. He would not be surprised if his master overlooked his continued reverent kneeling.

All Snape could envision was going back to his dungeon chambers and reading the abysmal text that now lay in his possession. He knew what was in this book. Everyone amidst political circles discussed this text as a myth; no one believed that a human would be brave or malevolent enough to inscribe the words on the ancient pages.

Pages that the Dark Lord had studied himself in depth when he was a young wizard.

Horcruxes, Severus’ mind whispered in morose curiosity.

“Yes, Severus, Horcruxes.” The Dark Lord cackled madly. He sped across the room and grasped the Potions master’s severe face.

Looking up into the smooth, pale features of his master, Snape followed the long fingered grasp on his jaw, rising off the cold floor.

“You are gifted aren’t you?” the Dark Lord questioned. “I’ve never heard you think before…” his scarlet eyes flashed in excitement.

The back of Severus’ mind screamed, cried even, at his slip. But it was in the back of his mind that he was able to display these emotions, so they lay hidden, locked away from his master’s fixed gaze.

“You have no idea how pleased I am of your curiosity.”

Severus swallowed, intentionally appearing to be ill at ease.

“Yes, go home. Read it. Then come back and report to me the likelihood of Black’s interest in the text. He must follow suit if I am to remain immortal.”

Severus gazed back at the Dark Lord intently. “As you wish, my Lord."

*** *** ***

The Chosen One, Harry thought to himself, snorting in disgust.

It appeared that the ethereal rumors were true.

Ripping the spare parchment in his hands, Harry scrunched the rubbish into a sloppy ball and threw it into the dwindling fire.

Face growing warm as the fire fed, Harry narrowed his eyes, fighting back tears that threatened to surface.

It’s not fair, he thought.

Clenching his eyes, Harry shamefully cringed at his self-pitying thoughts.

He wished he felt as confident of himself as he had last year. But, regardless of all of the new information he had just learned, Harry still would gladly kill Voldemort if given the chance.

But now….

What’s the point? So I kill Voldemort and the wizarding world rejoices at the demise of evil… but for how long? How long until the next Dark Lord rises and wreaks his own havoc? Will I be another Dumbledore? Will I grow old and watch helplessly as another wizard follows in the same footsteps as Voldemort? Will I spend my days watching over the next ‘Chosen One?’

There just had to be some way to stop this celestial cycle.

Harry’s heart rapidly raced at that last thought. If he was thinking this, then obviously Dumbledore had contemplated it as well. Yes, there had to be a way to halt the cycle of… power to those with evil intent. Dumbledore seemed very interested in finding out the identity of the next potential Dark Lord. Maybe the end to this cycle had something to do with him?

“I’m not too surprised she likes you,” said a dreamy voice, suddenly.

Harry’s head snapped up from his hypnotic stare at the common room fire. Glancing to his right, he took notice of Luna Lovegood’s abrupt entrance through the Portrait Hole.

“Who?” he asked immediately. One thing Harry had learned from his constant interactions with the odd Ravenclaw was that almost everything she said possessed a very real, yet uncomfortable, ignored truth.

“Lavender,” she breathed dismissively, sitting beside Harry on the settee.

Harry never really knew how Luna easily entered Gryffindor Tower. True, all you needed to know was the password, but Luna seemed to know it the very moment it had been changed.

Harry leaned back on the settee, adjusting his body so he was comfortable enough for another one of the late night discussions that they had indulged in since the beginning of term.

Luna reached into the pocket of her night robes. After pulling out a ball of twine and a blue Pygmy Puff, she finally found the elastic band she had been searching for. Gathering her scraggy blonde hair, she started plaiting it over the side of her shoulder.

“She may be a tart, Harry, but you really shouldn’t have thrown it in her face like that. I bet she cried herself to sleep.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. He'd never told Luna of the exchange he had shared with Lavender by the lake, and he knew for a fact that Lavender would never disclose such a thing to old 'Loony' Lovegood.

All the same, he wasn’t surprised that Luna knew. Her odd and accurate observations had ceased to catch him off guard.

“You’re attracted to her,” Luna announced emotionlessly, turning toward Harry.

Harry grinned to himself, feeling comfortable enough with Luna for her to see it.

“Please, don’t hurt Ginny, Harry,” Luna said knowingly.

Harry’s head snapped up, regarding the sixth-year Ravenclaw through narrowed eyes. “You know that is the last thing I want to do.”

“Then stop thinking about Lavender before this ends horribly.”

“I have to apologize, at least,” Harry countered immediately.

Luna sighed dramatically as if she knew he would say that.

“Luna?” Harry questioned, steeling himself to ask a question that had been haunting him.

Luna leaned back into the settee. Raising her legs, she tightened her night robe against her bended knees. “Yes?” she asked slowly, bracing herself for his inquiry.

“Your mother was a Seer, wasn’t she?”

Luna tore her eyes away from the charred embers of the dead fire, closing them with a miserable defeat Harry had never seen her express before.

“Yes.”

“What happened when she died?” Harry asked, awe heavy in his voice.

Lowering her forehead onto her knees, Luna spoke in her usually calm manner.

“Mummy was… disappointed that I wasn’t a Seer. If I had been, I would have shown signs by the time I was five. But I didn’t.” Luna couldn’t help but laugh uncomfortably.

“Mummy was an amazing witch,” Luna said wide-eyed with the faintest hint of a smile. “She was so smart; she helped so many people. Wizards and witches would come from all over the world, just for the chance that she might announce a prophecy in their presence. She loved to read all sorts of foreign books. Everybody adored her; yet honored her wish to remain unrecognized.”

“She home schooled me herself: wanting to spend as much time with me as she could; waiting for any sign that I would have the sight that she possessed. Not very long after my ninth birthday, Mummy placed a square, locked case on my writing desk. There was a very… dangerous book inside that she had been reading obsessively for almost three weeks.” Raising her pale fist, Luna wiped her nostrils, sniffling as her eyes welled.

“I remember Mummy and Daddy fighting constantly when she first brought it home. Daddy never forbade her to read the odd magical books she experimented with, but this one really scared him.”

Luna paused from her story, making eye contact with Harry. Harry’s eyes were rimmed with unshed tears. Luna knew that hearing her speak painfully of the loss of her mother would strike a cord within him, and ignite his own memories. Even though he was very young, his gifted magic enabled him to remember his own mother’s death.

Dragging her eyes away, Luna returned her gaze to the fire so she would be able to finish her tale.

“There were many… blood rituals and ancient, forbidden magic in that book. Mummy knew this, but she was so desperate to have a daughter who could See like her. After speaking an unusual incantation that I could not understand, she cut the inside of her forearm with a knife. The blood flowed freely. She quickly wiped at the fluid with her undamaged hand, smearing it across my forehead. Then she…."

Vividly remembering that day, Luna could not stop the painful tears that began to stream down her face. Her voice started to faintly hitch and gasp as she continued talking, but knowing that Harry would perfectly understand the sentiments she freely expressed, she kept speaking.

“The moment her blood touched my face… I-I screamed! I screamed loud and hard, screaming for Daddy to come inside. Mummy was so scared, but she didn’t know why. She couldn’t know why because in that moment she could no longer See. The next few moments are a peculiar blur, but I remember hugging my Mummy, telling her I loved her and squeezing her arm with all my might.”

“Daddy…” Luna gasped, tears and mucus mixing together as she wiped her nose, “Daddy raced into the room and grabbed Mummy. He didn’t understand why such a tiny wound would not stop bleeding. By then, Mummy was laying on the floor of the kitchen, gasping as the pool of blood around her grew bigger.”

Luna stopped speaking to silently sob to herself, placing her forehead back on her hugged knees.

“‘Mummy!’ I screamed. ‘Mummy, no!’ I kept wailing over and over. She wasn’t dead yet, but I knew she soon would be. Because I knew she was dying; I knew she was giving her life so I could have a fraction of the power she possessed. I didn’t want it; I didn’t want to have such… awareness. I just wanted her to stop bleeding.” Luna paused in her story, turning her face toward the Portrait Hole so she could wipe her runny nose across her knees.

“Sometimes,” she spoke hollowly, “I wonder if Daddy would blame me if he knew why she did it.”

“NO!” Harry barked. He pushed himself across the settee, extending his arm to wrap Luna into an awkward, but heartfelt, embrace. “Don’t you dare think that for a second. Your mum made that choice, and if she doesn’t blame you, then no one should.”

“I know she doesn’t,” Luna said, lifting her head from her hugged knees. Her tear-stained face looked up at Harry, smiling softly. “She told me she doesn’t,” Luna said with a sad laugh.

Harry slightly pushed himself away from her so he could look at the truth behind her grey eyes. Almost fearfully, he asked, “Behind the veil, you mean?”

“Of course,” Luna answered dreamily, flashing him a smile.

“What is behind the veil, Luna?”

Luna tilted her head, eyebrows pinching together, telling Harry that he of all people should know the answer.

“You ask that as if the veil possesses only one explanation. What the veil is, is entirely dependent on the person entering it. It can be paradise if one knows oneself, or it can be hell to those who refuse to acknowledge their past sins.”

Harry swallowed.

I wonder what it was for Sirius?

*** *** ***

Down in the damp dungeons of Hogwarts, Snape reclined further into his lush settee, eyeing the unlocked case on his coffee table. The tattered leather surface and rusted lock seemed out of place in his exceptionally clean and organized living space.

Raising his tired legs onto his ottoman, Snape extended his hand toward the end table on his right side. Turning over his favored crystal tumbler, Snape hesitated in reaching for his bottle of firewhisky.

How Severus wanted to read the book. He was desperate to learn the secrets etched on the wrinkled pages. But he knew he shouldn’t. If merely following the orders of both of his masters caused such an internal battle within his mind, he could only imagine the visions that would haunt his thoughts if he read about Horcruxes from the source.

No, he didn’t even want to imagine it.

As morbid as it was, Snape somehow found relief that this apprehension distracted him from worries of another sort. Raising an agile hand, Severus traced the edges of his lips while his thoughts drifted towards a certain curly-haired Gryffindor.

Granger.

“No, Hermione,” his mind corrected him in very much the same fashion and tone that she had.

Shite… Merlin help him. He desired the girl.

Well, she’s not a girl any longer, now, is she?

Snape grinned devilishly at the thought.

Yet, he still couldn’t fathom what had come over him; stimulating him enough to kiss the girl -- twice! After both instances, he swore to himself that he would take it back; that he would tell the girl that this was reckless and not worth taking the chance.

But, just after he had convinced himself, just when his mind was made up, he was forced to observe that mangy mutt drool all over Hermione. It would not have surprised him if Black had attempted to mount her leg and hump it until completion.

Snape snorted as that visual breezed through his mind.

“Granger,” Snape murmured to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He slid his hand through his oily hair, his head falling back against the cushion.

Since their… discussion in his personal Potions lab a few days ago, Snape had avoided the haughty Gryffindor at every turn. He knew she wanted to speak to him, to keep seeing him, but he was confident that he was making the more sensible decision by evading her and pretending that he didn’t start all of this.

No, technically the insufferable know-it-all started this.

Due to her extremely unusual behavior at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Snape had found himself giving the seventh-year more than a flimsy second thought. The blasted girl had even had the gall to kiss him.

She’s gone mad, Snape had first thought. What eighteen-year-old girl would want to kiss her Potions master on the bloody cheek?

Yet, she had kept showing signs of interest and intrigue since that incident, which made it very clear that she did not regret her move.

Whatever her motivations, Snape finally decided to cast his worries aside. He would stop ignoring the girl and indulge her attempts to linger behind after class.

He would not deny what was freely offered.

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Author’s Notes: I did not intend for Chapter Ten to be over 8,000 words. It seemed way too long. But this chapter ended up being over 10,000 words, so there you go. Part 2 coming up.

-Story beta'ed by the talented melusin.

-Chapter title taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book ii. Line 555.