Masters' Call

A/N Sorry, this isn't as long as I hoped it would be, but I'm having troubles with the next scene, and it's been long enough for an update. I'll have the next up within the week before classes start, I promise.


Severus rubbed the dried blood smear off the smooth, white porcelain of his bathtub. The nights that Severus was used were horrifying, humiliating, and awoke an anger in him at not being in control of his life, but during the time he was “accompanied” by someone else, he could not show such turmoil. When he was finally allowed to return to his rooms, he was ready to explode. He would strip, jump into the tub, and scrub his skin until the pain from his blade felt universal. Though the cuts were isolated to his arms and ankle or leg, the pain swarmed his entire body. He never cared where the blood ended up until morning, when he awoke with three layers of clothes and an emotional hangover. All that was left was to wash away the blood from the walls, porcelain, and, after particularly bad nights, the ceiling. A couple healing potions and spells, and the night was gone, erased as if it never happened, and he could move on with his life, until the next time.

Severus stood, pink-stained rag in hand, and stretched his arms above his head. His body was always tight after the bad nights. His arms were healed, but every now and then an abnormal step twinged the naturally healing slice halfway up his right leg. Thankfully, he was in no rush today. Dumbledore had him and Minerva come a week early to the castle to help fortify the Hogwarts grounds and Hogwarts itself, inside and out, to make sure the students were as safe as possible. He was going to pace the border of the grounds and make sure there were no holes in the protective enchantments and fix the holes he did find. There was no time designated for him to do that, so this morning he was going to take his time, maybe read a pointless book.

He did, or course, have his lesson plans in order already. They rarely changed from years to year. He spent more time wondering about the new professors Dumbledore was hiring. Madam Hooch was leaving for at least a year and, of course, they needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Lucky for Dumbledore DADA teachers needed no special qualifications, unlike potions masters. As far as he knew, Dumbledore had not found a replacement for either.

His mild ignorance did not last long. Well after supper, the Albus Dumbledore’s head appeared in the fire and ordered him up to the circular office. Severus knew two bad nights in a row was probably not going to happen. The man was almost 150 years old after all, but the jolt in his stomach came anyway. He squashed down his anxiety and dressed in robes and shoes.

Albus waited patiently behind his cluttered desk for Severus to come to him. When the man knocked on the door, Dumbledore closed his book and called for Snape to enter. Severus did his very best to appear unconcerned and uninterested as he took his usual chair before Albus.

“As you know,” the old man started, his hands folded and eyes locked on Snape, “We have two vacancies here, and I believe I have filled them.”

“With whom?” Severus asked, wondering if it was anyone he knew.

“Casey Belken will hopefully cover Madam Hooch’s duties. He refereed a few professional quidditch matches, but more importantly he has valuable connections to people the Order had been unable to reach.”

“What kind of people?” asked Snape with a frown.

“Minor convicts,” Dumbledore answered, but before he could continue, Snape cut in, “A criminal? You’re going to put a criminal in charge of the students? If the parents--”

“You have no right to be protesting such a thing, Severus,” said Dumbledore, leaning towards him. The old man’s voice was dangerous and calm now. “Ex-Death Eaters are far more worrying to parents than a thief with one offense.”

“But you know I’m not going to tell the students it’s okay to be a Death Eater, and you know I won’t ever be that again.”

The anger and mild desperation in Snape’s voice was passed over as Dumbledore continued his original line of conversation.

“The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be a woman named Aryia Kozner,” Albus told him, sitting back in his chair, “She is young, but she has fight and is looked-up to by the underground population.”

“Underground?” asked Snape through gritted teeth.

“The outcasts,” Dumbledore clarified, “Those with troubled pasts, like abuse or death, homosexuals, transexuals, squibs, muggleborns, anyone who feels different. They have a tendency to find one another.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, sitting up straighter, “As you know, typically teachers arrive at Hogwarts the evening before the train, but Casey Belken will be here two days earlier, so he will arrive tomorrow.”

Dumbledore paused as though waiting for Snape to ask why, but Severus was silent, his eyes sliding to the empty space over the headmaster’s shoulder.

“Casey is about as Slytherin as it gets,” Albus said, “He asked what he would get in return for recruiting, and I offered him you. I told him you were not particularly attractive, but you were willing, so you will obey everything he tells you. If he is satisfied with your performance, he will stay for the term. Also, if he stays he will probably request you at other times throughout the year.”

For a minute Snape forgot how to breathe. The bile rising in his throat denied oxygen entrance. His fingers were numb from the white-knuckled grips on the arms of the chair.

“Aryia Kozner’s place underground is far more valuable than Casey’s with the minor offenders, but I have little to no faith in your abilities to persuade a woman to do anything, but a man can do as he pleases with my payment, so you will go to Casey tomorrow evening. I am placing his office on the fourth floor. It will be the door beside Gilded Gyson, though I urge you not to speak with him. He is quite pompous.”

Albus lapsed into silence, watching his teacher’s reaction. Snape did not possess enough willpower to pull his eyes back down and look Dumbledore in the face. What an idiot he must look, staring into thin air and repeatedly trying to swallow his panic. No, he would not do this, not with another teacher.

Finally he choked in a breath and said, “And if Casey Belken decides not to stay?”

Expecting the question, Dumbledore answered, “Then I will inform the Ministry my Ex-Death Eater professor is acting suspicious and has been for a while. Without my defending testimony, you will live your life in Azkaban.”

“Some of the Order--the Weasleys, Lupin--they won’t believe I turned back after what I’ve risked. They’ll ask more questions then you can fabricate evidence for.”

“And then I will tell of your pitiful love for Lily Potter and the role you played in her death, and they will stop asking, be glad you are imprisoned, and forget you.”

Swallowing no longer helped. Severus felt the tremble of his muscles sway his body and knew the only thing keeping him in place was his grip on the chair.

“Albus, don’t do this,” Snape said quietly. He hadn’t begged for years. “He is a teacher. I will have to see him everyday, look at him and know what he did to me, what he had me do for him--everyday…. What if he tells someone? How could you put a rapist in a position of power over the students?”

Albus spat back, “How can I put a rapist in power over the students? The same way I put a murderer in power over the students.”

Snape hung his head and closed his eyes.

“Don’t act like you are better than he is. Besides, he will not be a rapist. You will be completely willing, won’t you?”

Unable to process anything rationally with the room squeezing tighter and tighter in on him, he stood--more quickly than he meant to--and rushed to the door. He didn’t bother to close it behind him. Hand stretched out, bracing against the wall for support, he lunged down the spiral staircase and broke free into the hall, but it didn’t cross his mind to stop, to relax. He swiftly marched down stairs and across halls until he reached the marble staircase. He pounded down it, across the entrance hall, and out the castle doors.

The sun was nearly set, but the increasing lack of viability didn’t faze him. He was running now, full out towards the forest. The air he gasped into his lungs was warm, but that only served to churn his stomach further. He hit the tree line and kept going. Several layers of woods later, he tripped and crashed into the ground, scraping his palms and imprinting lief bits and tiny twigs into his skin. He looked behind him, half expecting to see someone coming, but when he realized he could no longer see the castle, he sat back, breath ragged. Even in a stationary position, his lungs held less and less air, and finally he retched on the forest floor.

~

It was nighttime, but that’s all Severus really knew. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but looking back on the last however many hours. they were completely empty, empty of thought and emotion--just empty. Even now as he approached the double doors to the castle, the previous step was gone from memory. Nothing in front of him was registering with his brain. He was in sock--shouldn’t have been, was the first comprehensive thought to cross his mind. He really shouldn’t have been.

By the time his steps were numbly scraping across the dungeon floor, he was driven by one goal--the sleeper tucked into his nightstands were so highly addictive, the only other time he drank it, it gave him cravings for almost a month. He'd have liked to swear it off and never take it again, but he knew there were worse things than addiction to a potion he would create at will.

His need for its relief was consuming. He very nearly forgot to shut the door to his private chambers, but he slammed it and rushed across his living room to the door to his bedroom, shoved it open, and entered. This time he didn't bother to close the door, mounted one side of his bed, rushed over it, and touched down to the rug on the other side in front of his bedside table.

The sleeper would relax his body, every muscle and every joint--and for a few minutes before unconsciousness his mind would clear, and the sleeper would leave nothing but a floating, blissfully unaware oasis. It would make all of this go away.

He dug for it in the back of the bottom cupboard, knocking things aside and out of the stand all together until he wrapped his long fingers around the tall, thin bottle glinting sinisterly in his hand, not thinking about the problems this posed for the future, or that when he woke up he would have to find Casey Belken, no, he was thinking of peace, quiet, calm, not knowing or caring about his life, about how he was paying for his crimes.

After placing the bottle carefully on hi comforter, he stood and kicked off his shoes and tossed away his traveling cloak. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his belt and let them fall to the floor. He scooped the bottle back up to him and crawled under his thick covers. With one last look at the purple shimmer, he unstoppered the bottle and downed it all. In a few seconds it took for the potion to affect him mind and body, the glass fell from his fingers, and he laid back. A wave of cool relief flooded him, head to toe, and his mind melted to nothing but empty space. Suddenly all was well. His eyes lazily closed, and he took one last deep breath. For the next 14 hours he would do nothing but sleep peacefully.

~

The next thing he knew , a beating on the door to his quarters was reverberating around in his head. It took several minutes for his brain to sluff off the groggy coat smothering it. Where was he? Who was he? And what the hell was that noise?

Slowly and with excessive blinking, he rose from his comfortable position. A clink from the other side of the bed made him frown and turn. The long glass bottle rolled across the gritty stone. The sleeper was gone, and so were its effects. It must be close to time to leave, but leave where?

Casey Belken. A lump appeared at the thought of his name that would not swallow. Suddenly jittery, he stumbled out of the room and through the living room, nearly tripping over the end of his sofa. Practically slamming into the door, he grabbed the knob and threw the door open.

Dumbledore stood in his doorway, anger creasing his face, fist still up as if to hit the door again. And there stood Severus Snape before him, shirtless and shoeless, his hair tangled. Sleeping for so long left him red-rimmed puffy eyes. A patched layer of dead skin marred his thin lips. standing half naked in dumbledore’s sight was something he swore he’d never do willingly, but the panic was rising so swiftly even his old vices were giving way.

The old man’s face turned into a scowl.

“You were not there almost an hour ago when Casey arrived,” he said harshly, “You are due to see him in forty-five minutes when he is done unpacking, and now I see you look even worse than usual.”

All Severus’ for-once thick tongue could muster was, “Sorry.”

Ignoring it, Dumbledore continued venomously, “Need I remind you that should you fail to please casey, the punishment will be even worse than you imagine. Take care to better your appearance. Forty-five minutes.”

Without a second’s hesitation, Dumbledore turned and marched away. Snape numbly shut the door and braced his hands on it. he let his eyelids flutter closed and bit his bottom lip.

Alright, he mentally told himself, you had your time of weakness. Now get ready. It will be over soon. You have done this before. It always ends.

He pushed back from the door and took a deep breath.

The next half hour was a flurry of showering, grooming, doping himself with potions that calmed his nerves, drew the redness from around his eyes, and one diluted anesthetic potion. It didn’t make him numb, just took the edge off the worst pain. He never spoke of it and drank it discretely, even alone in his own bathroom, because something about it seemed illegal, as if he could be punished for taking it. Passing over his best clothes to avoid ruining them with various bodily fluids, he donned his typical white shirt, black trousers, and black robe. He brushed his hair and even lotioned his calloused and stained fingers. Looking at himself in the mirror, there was nothing left for him to do, so he tied up his shoes and quickly left his room so he could not dwell on his destination any longer.