Title: The Best of Intentions
Author: Kate’s Brain
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: SS/AF (SS/AD implied)
Disclaimer: The following story is classified as fan fiction. It is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: After Voldemort had been defeated, Severus Snape’s innocence had been vouched for by none other than Dobby. Now, he is still having trouble coming to terms with his involvement in Albus Dumbledore’s death, and this is not helped by the well-meaning intentions of Argus Filch.
Notes: Written for merry_smutmas on LJ. Many thanks to my beloved beta, Sue!
**
A stillness permeated throughout Snape’s personal rooms. Dust, that had collected throughout the day and had been disturbed in the early evening, now began to settle once more, whirling into silent eddies in front of one of the chimneys where a draft leaked into the dark room. Secure in the silence, a mouse pattered across a rug, leisurely taking its time. Then it stopped, lifted its head and sniffed at the air. It took only a split second for the mouse to turn tail and dash off to its hole under the water pipes.
The peace was broken as a door banged open, followed by the clack, clack, clack of Snape’s boots as he strode across to the cauldron sitting innocently in the corner. With a swish and a soft thunk, he deposited his cloak on a chair as he passed, and then he towered over the cauldron as he seethed and glared sourly at the cloudy potion. It had just started to bubble, and the gentle sound of popping was anything but soothing.
Three months. Three bloody months he had been preparing the mixture, and now it was ruined. All because of a simple verbal spell. No, all because of one incompetent house elf: Dobby.
Snape’s hand curled around the parchment he was carrying, as if it were Dobby’s throat, squeezing tightly with nails puncturing the surface. If he could curse, then all of Hogwarts would be sure to hear him, but if he could utter a curse, then there would not be a problem with the final incantation for his potion.
How he had grown to despise the sound of silence over the past few days.
It had all began with an innocent comment, a sarcastic wish for the students and staff to stop bloody well gossiping about him, twittering over what he had done. He did not need to have the constant reminder that the absence of the greatest headmaster that Hogwarts had ever seen was his fault. Part of him felt he deserved it and even relished the pain of Albus’ persistent memory. What he really could not stomach was to have the pity of a house elf. There was nothing more sickening than that. Snape quickly corrected himself, to have the dubious ‘attentions’ of the pathologically-insane caretaker was a far more disturbing prospect.
The word ‘Judas’ had been used by others rather scathingly, but Dobby seemed to have a rather different interpretation than the one Snape had previously learnt. As far as Dobby was concerned, Judas should have been a hero. Dobby’s pathetically bulbous eyes had welled up when he explained to Snape that Judas only did what he had been asked to do by his closest friend, and he had not let that friend down.
"Dobby does not know if he would be able to do the same if Harry Potter should ever ask," Dobby had squeaked, turning Snape’s stomach. "Mr Snape must be very courageous to take the life of a beloved mentor."
Absolutely sickening, and far too close to the truth for Snape’s liking. So then the fatal words had been uttered, "I just want a week's peace!"
The following day the whole school was mute, and to make matters even more irritating, Dobby had decided to take a fortnight’s holiday. Perhaps the damned elf did have an ounce of sense, after all--or, at the very least, some inbuilt sense of survival.
Now there was the potion with which he had to contend.
His only comfort was the fact that last time he had brewed enough of the Neuroleptilosa potion to keep him hallucination-free until Christmas--providing, of course, that those inane house elves in the kitchens did not spoil that as well. God knows he needed the potion right now.
Another unwelcome sound invaded Snape’s thoughts. This time a tick from his wall clock. Glancing up, he allowed a smirk to escape from his taut lips. The single hand pointed to "Time to stop doing something inherently useful. Students are out of bed, out of bounds and needing suitable punishment." It was time for his rounds.
*
Argus Filch reached out with a shaky hand, glancing left and right to double check that there were no house elves present in that part of the kitchen. Treacherous little demons, they were, all in league with McGonagall, all plotting the Professor’s demise.
Argus was no idiot; he knew what Professor Snape was doing, why he was choosing to bide his time so carefully. It could not be long now, though. Soon enough, the others would look back--if any of them were allowed to survive--and realise that it had all been a game for Professor Snape as he insinuated himself back into Hogwarts. They would see what a mistake it had been to trust him once more, that they had only been paving the way for their downfall: Snape had never been playing for their team. No, the Professor knew what it meant to be evil, never mind who you were--pureblood, halfblood or Squib. As long as you could induce fear in your victims, Snape would approve, Argus was sure of it.
To Argus’ immense pleasure, the key turned easily in the lock. A smirk wound its way across Argus’ face as he clicked open the cupboard door and his thoughts turned to the last bout of chaos that had descended upon the school. There was no doubt in Argus’ mind that Snape had been responsible, and he was only disappointed that the Professor had not kept the school mute for longer.
The liquid in the flask was slimy and reeked of mint. Argus tutted in disgust at this. Everyone knew that Snape’s favourite tipple was mint tea--how easy that must have made it for them to slip the poison into his drinks without his knowing. But that would be happening no longer. Argus cackled to himself as he poured the last of the offending substance down the nearest sink. His replacement draft of coloured and thickened water would never be noticed by the incompetent staff of this school.
McGonagall would not realise that her plans had been scuppered until it was too late. Argus could not wait to get his revenge on her. Santa Claus indeed. Trying to ridicule him. At least he had persuaded her to let him dress up like the original wizard, Sinterklaus, rather than that offensive Muggle creation. He supposed that she could tell where his loyalties lay, and making him dress up as part of the Christmas festivities was simply her way of having one last dig before her reign was over. Well, he would show her a side to Sinterklaus that she had never seen before.
*
It was a werewolf, Severus was sure of it--skulking around in the shadows of Hogsmeade, pattering footsteps that stopped abruptly whenever he turned to look.
But, was that a knife? Since when did werewolves need to carry knives? Perhaps it was a rogue goblin, hired by those who still refused to accept his motivations for… for what he had done. He laughed bitterly at the idea. Well, let them take me, he thought. It would stop <i>him</i> from coming back to haunt me. With one more nervous glance into the darkness that lay over the village, Snape continued on his way back up to the castle.
There had been far too many teasing glimpses lately: the familiar figure at the end of a hallway, that irritating chuckle of amusement coming from the back of his classroom. If Severus had not personally brewed the Neuroleptilosa himself, he would swear that he was starting to hallucinate again. Perhaps the bog-eyed adoring sap had not listened to his explicit instructions? But no, Severus had insisted that Dobby let him cast a Memory-recall Charm so that the elf would not forget to add it to his tea.
A sharp crack to the right made Severus’ heart leap up into his throat. His hand dived automatically into his pocket for a sixth time that evening, clutching at this wand, only now he pulled it out ready and cast the Lumos spell to check there was no one within striking range.
Nothing could be seen, apart from one lone tree whose branches swayed menacingly in the breeze. Shaking himself to try and get rid of the sense of unease, Severus climbed the stile into the field. The way would be clearer if he took the main path, but he wanted to get back to the safety of his rooms as quickly as possible, and with this route, he could be certain of avoiding all students and staff. Thank goodness he had had the sense to avoid the Christmas celebrations and spend the evening in the Hog’s Head instead. Feeling as unbalanced as he did, Severus knew that he would have made an easy target for the students.
Another sound in the distance made him jump one more and then quicken his pace. Not long now and he could rest with the help of a much needed sleeping draught.
Relief flooded through him as he pushed open the side entrance to the corridor leading to his rooms. No more strange noises, no more sudden gusts of wind, no more inexplicable feeling of being followed, no more--. Severus’ hand halted in mid air, inches away from his door handle. He felt giddy. It could not be…
A figure had emerged at the end of the corridor. Severus could clearly make out the long, white beard, the distressingly gaudy, flowing robes and an excessively exhuberant hat. There was only one person it could be.
Falling to his knees, he tried to gasp out the name, but his voice failed him. The gentle swish of cloak against floor as Albus stepped closer both soothed and unnerved him. He could not bring himself look up into that face.
Then two firm hands were grasping him by the shoulders, heaving him upwards, as a voice from the past asked him, "What have they done to you?"
Severus let out a croak, and then Albus was pulling him closer, until the familiar feel of beard was brushing against him and lips were crushed against lips.
*
As Argus turned the corner and saw the lone figure, the look of fear on the Professor’s face was unmistakable. For a moment, Severus stood frozen to the spot before collapsing onto his knees, shaking violently.
It was that witch, McGonagall, Argus was certain. She had got to him, found him out before he was ready to carry out his plans. That was why he had been missing for the celebrations, not for the pathetic excuse she had given Argus earlier.
Argus reached out and grabbed hold of Severus’ shoulders, in an effort to pull him upright.
"What have they done to you?" he asked, and nearly flinched backwards at the contorted face that looked up at him. Severus appeared to be in pain and his eyes were unfocused and glazed with tears.
"I," Severus croaked. "I need you, needed you…."
This was more than Argus had ever hoped to hear from the mouth of this great man. With not a moment to lose, Argus leaned in, pulling at Snape for a long-awaited kiss, only realising too late that he was still wearing the Sinterklaus beard. Severus did not seem to mind, though, as he clutched at Argus’ clothes, drawing him in closer and filling Argus with a heady sense of satisfaction.
A soft rubbing sensation against Argus’ ankles made him break the kiss and look down. Mrs Norris miaowed at him in warning, as if to say that, although she approved, this was not the place.
"Inside," Argus rasped, motioning with his hand towards the locked door, and he stood back to let Severus fumble with the key in the lock.
Secure in the knowledge that Mrs Norris was keeping a look out for them, Argus did not have the patience to move any further than the other side of the door. He shoved Severus up against the wall and pressed the length of their bodies together, rubbing firmly with his groin against the hardness that mirrored his own. Then he plunged his hands into the tempting folds of Severus’ robes and warm skin greeted his fingertips.
Severus reached up and threaded fingers through the beard. Then he buried his nose into the hairs, inhaling deeply, and Argus made a mental note not to return that part of the outfit to the fancy-dress shop. Argus let out a guttural groan as Severus’ hands unbuttoned the front of his trousers, freeing Argus’ cock from the confines of the material. Then it was a mad rush for Argus to get his hands on Severus’ cock so he could rub it across his own before he was coming in a breathless whirl of satisfaction.
The sounds of their heavy panting hung in the air as they held on to each other, Argus not wanting to leave this perfect embrace that he had dreamed about for so long.
"I need to sleep," Severus finally said. "Don’t leave me again. Stay."
Argus followed him through to the bedroom and began to undress. By the time he had slid under the covers, Severus was already fast asleep. Slipping a hand around his new companion, Argus smiled and settled down for a good night’s rest, but it was not long before he could hear Mrs Norris miaowing from the corridor.
Damn, that meant students were lurking around the school instead of being locked up in their towers for the night. Argus could not leave an infraction of that sort unchecked.
Reluctantly, he rose from the bed and dressed, laying a kiss on the Professor’s cheek and whispering a promise that he would return another night.
**
There was no Albus present when Severus awoke. He was naked and he felt a strange feeling of peace, but the dip on the other side of his bed was empty.
Foolish man, Snape chided himself. As if Albus had ever been there. There had to be something wrong with the potion, there was no other explanation for such a physical hallucination. He was going to have to swallow his pride and order some from the Apothecary in Diagon Alley.
Fortunately, it took all of three hours for order to be made the potion to arrive. Severus took some immediately and he settled down into an armchair, feeling relief wash through him as the Neuroleptic began to take its effect and put his unsteady mind at ease.
It was a Sunday, and Severus had no responsibilities for the day, it was somebody else’s turn to check the corridors after curfew and he had no reason to speak to anyone. Even his meals he took in the privacy of his rooms. He was very grateful for this, as he needed the space to reflect on why his own potion had stopped working so dramatically. So, it came as a surprise when there was an insistent knocking on his door later that evening.
Preparing his deadliest scowl for the intruder of his peace, Severus strode to the door and opened it with a bang. Nothing could have prepared him for what lay in wait for him.
It was Argus Flich, the delusional caretaker, not showing a trace of apprehension at Severus’ demeanour. But what really took the biscuit was the beard. The long, white and very obviously fake beard that the cretin was wearing.
"I told you I’d come back," Argus said with a lurid grin.
Severus ripped the beard off in one swift movement and slammed the door in Argus’ face. Then he stormed over to the floo. Tonight, a certain house elf was going to learn a valuable lesson—a lesson that would involve pain, humiliation and the insertion of a highly disturbing fluffy object.
***
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