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cordeliadelayne for giving me the heads up about this community.)
Title: In From the Cold (Part I: The Choices You Make)
Pairing: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Severus Snape
Words: 2180
A/N: Part one of a KS/SS series, but can be read as a stand-alone gen story.
Thanks: toluthien for audiencing.
Warning: Spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
In From the Cold (Part I: The Choices You Make)
by Beth H.
(c) July 25, 2005
***
He'd much rather be sleeping peacefully, held tightly in a lover's arms . . . or if that was too improbable a wish, then maybe eating some of the wine-rich steak and kidney pie that was the specialty of the White Hart on Leadenhall Street. Even catching up on the endless paperwork that was always waiting for him at one or the other of his two official jobs would be preferable.
There were a great many things that Kingsley Shacklebolt would rather be doing than standing in the shadows of a rat-infested alley in Muggle London, waiting to receive information from a man who was unlikely ever to arrive.
It was a fool's errand. There was no way Snape was going to appear; he would have to have a death wish to approach a Ministry Auror less than 48 hours after committing an act of such unspeakable evil that even his few supporters had washed their hands of him utterly and completely.
But Kingsley's presence here was in answer to the final request Albus Dumbledore had made of him when they spoke a fortnight earlier, and - fool though he might be - Kingsley was incapable of disregarding Albus's last wish.
* * * * *
* * * * *
There was a rustling of wind, stirring the empty crisps packets and discarded newspapers that littered the alleyway. A street lamp at the far end of the alley flickered once, and Kingsley touched the tip of his wand to his chest, reinforcing the Disillusionment Charm he'd cast earlier and shivering slightly as the cold trickles from the Charm ran down his body.
Why had Dumbledore asked him to come here . . . on his own?
One of the first things he'd learned as a young Auror was that you never went on an assignment without backup, and that had always been one of the fundamental rules of the Order, as well. For over two decades, he had never once ignored this basic precaution, and yet here he was, completely alone, with no better reason for his actions than that an old and obviously weakening Wizard had asked him to do it.
Too many years of suspecting Albus Dumbledore of omniscience had clearly addled his brain.
Kingsley shook his head, then dropped the Disillusionment Charm. Before he did anything else, he'd better Apparate directly to number 12, Grimmauld Place and contact Alastor. He knew the old man was sure to be furious when he told him what he'd done tonight, but -
- the street lamp flickered again, then went out completely.
Kingsley spun around, his wand still in his outstretched hand, and there was Severus Snape, looking like he'd lost a fight with an angry Kneazle
He bit back the greeting that had become automatic over the past three years, but neither did he cast an Imprisonment Spell. No, Kingsley owed Albus that much, at least; he'd let Snape talk before taking him in, although not without disarming and immobilizing him first.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
He and Snape had both cast the disarming spell at the same moment, and both had simultaneously blocked the other's spell.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Again, two simultaneously cast spells, and both binding spells were instantly blocked by identical shielding charms.
He stood facing Snape, all his senses fully alert and fixed on the other man, looking for the smallest lapse in Snape's concentration, hoping to discover some vulnerability in that harsh countenance that would give Kingsley an opening . . . but there was none.
A stand-off, then.
And yet . . . not precisely, because while Kingsley knew he was a match for Snape in a duel - perhaps even the slightest bit faster on a good day - he also knew that Snape possessed knowledge of Dark Spells and Curses, the likes of which Kingsley had only read about in books.
At first Kingsley had thought the rumours about Snape were unfounded, but after being present for more than one angry confrontation between Mad-Eye and Albus on the subject of Snape's expertise in the Dark Arts, he realized those rumours didn't even come close to the truth.
Without special preparation - and without stronger shielding charms than any Wizard was ordinarily able to summon - there was little chance of protecting himself against the worst of the curses that could be directed at him.
Snape knew this - and yet he had not used any of them, limiting himself to only those spells that Kingsley was most likely to use.
He frowned, wishing - and not for the first time - that there was a way to know what was going on in Snape's head. Kingsley had learned years ago how to protect his own mind from invasive attacks, but his skill as an Occlumens had never helped him learn the far more difficult skill of Legilimency, and even if he had managed to become a Legilimens, he doubted he would be powerful enough to look into Snape's mind. Even Voldemort had been unable to -
Ah, but that was the question, wasn't it? Had there ever been any need for Snape to shield his thoughts from Voldemort?
Harry Potter's report to Alastor of the events in the Astronomy Tower two nights ago was damning, but Snape hadn't killed the boy - had barely hurt him at all, in fact. Nor was Snape making any further attempt to disarm Kingsley or cast any other spell against him. He was just . . . standing there.
This was Snape.
He was a murderer.
Kingsley had made a promise to Albus, but . . . no.
He had been asking himself the wrong question. Yes, Albus had asked him to go alone, but the real question was why had he asked him to go at all? Kingsley and Snape had never met privately on Order business; the only person Snape spoke with privately about Death Eater activities was Albus himself. And yet less than a fortnight before Albus's death, he'd asked Kingsley to promise that he'd meet in secret with Snape, the very person who would soon be responsible for Albus's murder. Why would Albus do that, unless -
Unless, somehow, Albus had known what was about to happen . . . and still trusted Snape.
Kingsley searched the other man's pale and scratched face, trying to find some indication that his analysis was correct, but apart from a single twitch in Snape's eye - something which might well have been a trick of the barely visible light - he could read nothing.
His magic was not as strong as Snape's. He was unable to employ Legilimency. The only real options he had were either to break his word to Dumbledore and Disapparate out of this alley . . . or to lower his hand.
He could not break his word.
The moment Kingsley's wand was no longer aimed directly at the other wizard, Snape waved his wand, and instantly a sharp pain slashed across Kingsley's chest, as if he'd been struck by a whip.
"A fool like all the rest!" Snape hissed angrily. "Have none of you learned a thing about where to place your trust!"
"An interesting question," said Kingsley, fighting against the urge to look down and see if the spell Snape cast had drawn blood. "How did you know I wouldn't arrive with a team of Aurors?"
Snape smiled coldly. "One of the advantages of dealing with the hopelessly naive."
Kingsley looked pointedly from one end of the empty alley to the other. "And where are your confederates? Just gone 'round the pub for a quick pint?"
For a moment Snape was silent, then he too, lowered his wand.
"I don't have time for this, Shacklebolt. I need to return to . . . my friends before they discover I'm gone, and you need to make a choice."
"A choice?"
"There's always a choice to make, or haven't you discovered that yet?" Snape said flatly. "Your choices at the moment are simple: a Ministry-sanctioned function or a Muggle block of flats."
Kingsley frowned. "What are you talking . . . "
"There are . . . disruptions planned in the coming weeks. One will involve an undisclosed number of Ministry officials - and you will forgive me if I don't share their names at the moment - and the other . . . "
"Are we talking about deaths?"
Snape gave Kingsley a look of sheer disgust. "No, we're talking about tea parties, you pathetic excuse for a Ravenclaw. Of course we're talking about deaths! The only question is how many. In raw numbers, of course, the incident planned at the Muggle housing complex will involve many more lives, but perhaps you have a formula you use to determine the relative values of Muggles to Wizards."
"Snape."
"I can give you information about one or the other of these two events."
"You know about both of them! Surely you can . . . "
"No!" he snapped. "I cannot. Now choose."
A chill came over Kingsley that had nothing to do with the unseasonably cold night. Of course Snape couldn't give details about both planned attacks. The presence of Order members at either one would put Snape's life at risk, and their presence at both would be as good as signing Snape's death warrant.
And no matter what Kingsley chose, he would be consigning innocent people to death.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. "How many of Vol. . . how many people know about each of these plans?"
Snape scowled. "I told you to choose, Shacklebolt. I'm not saying another word before you do."
"And I'm not choosing until I know which plan is known by more of your . . . associates," Kingsley said.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because the greater the number of people on whom suspicion falls, the safer it is for you."
"How touching," Snape said mockingly. "I didn't know you cared so deeply."
"What I care about is keeping our spy alive," Kingsley said angrily. "Seeing as we paid such a high price to keep you."
A look of venomous hatred, the likes of which Kingsley had never seen came across Snape's face, and Kingsley tensed, ready to raise his wand, but in the next moment that look was gone, replaced by a flash of something that looked like pain before settling back into its usual harsh lines.
"Perhaps you're not such a fool after all," Snape said.
The information Kingsley received was quickly committed to memory: A block of flats in Congleton Grove at 2:00 a.m. the following Wednesday. Four Death Eaters had been assigned to ensure that there were no survivors, but they would fail in their duty - just as Kingsley, by making his choice, would soon bear the burden of knowing he had failed in his vow to ensure the safety of the Wizarding community.
He wished he knew whether he had made the right choice - or if there had ever even been a right choice to be made.
"We have to plan another meeting, and we should do it now," Kingsley said finally. "Under the circumstances, owls won't be secure enough, and using our Patronuses to communicate isn't advisable."
"Agreed, since Moody would probably hex mine on sight."
Try as he might, Kingsley couldn't stop a small smile from escaping his lips.
"We'll need to meet somewhere in Muggle London in a fortnight's time, with a back-up of three days after that, in case one or the other of us is unable to make the first meeting. There's a place called the Royal Scot Hotel, on Kings . . ."
"I'll find it," Snape said impatiently. "Book the room under the name . . . Prince."
Kingsley frowned, then nodded.
"Is there anything else before I take my leave, Shacklebolt? Perhaps you'd like some heart-felt reassurance that I'm not leading you and the other Order members into a trap?"
"What reassurance could you give, Snape?" Kingsley asked sharply, ignoring the glare that immediately crossed the other man's face. "What reassurance could either of us possibly give? I'll take whatever precautions I need to, and I'm sure you'll do the same, but at the moment, all I really have to go on are the last words of a man who's no longer available to turn to for advice."
"Shacklebolt," Snape said, his voice sounding suddenly raw. "I . . . "
Kingsley waited, but if Snape had planned to say anything more, the words were drowned out by the wail of an approaching ambulance.
"A fortnight's time, then," Snape said finally.
"A fortnight's time," Kingsley replied, but Snape had already Disapparated, leaving Kingsley's words to fall unheard in the cold, dark alley.
cordeliadelayne for giving me the heads up about this community.)Title: In From the Cold (Part I: The Choices You Make)
Pairing: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Severus Snape
Words: 2180
A/N: Part one of a KS/SS series, but can be read as a stand-alone gen story.
Thanks: to
luthien for audiencing. Warning: Spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
In From the Cold (Part I: The Choices You Make)
by Beth H.
(c) July 25, 2005
***
He'd much rather be sleeping peacefully, held tightly in a lover's arms . . . or if that was too improbable a wish, then maybe eating some of the wine-rich steak and kidney pie that was the specialty of the White Hart on Leadenhall Street. Even catching up on the endless paperwork that was always waiting for him at one or the other of his two official jobs would be preferable.
There were a great many things that Kingsley Shacklebolt would rather be doing than standing in the shadows of a rat-infested alley in Muggle London, waiting to receive information from a man who was unlikely ever to arrive.
It was a fool's errand. There was no way Snape was going to appear; he would have to have a death wish to approach a Ministry Auror less than 48 hours after committing an act of such unspeakable evil that even his few supporters had washed their hands of him utterly and completely.
But Kingsley's presence here was in answer to the final request Albus Dumbledore had made of him when they spoke a fortnight earlier, and - fool though he might be - Kingsley was incapable of disregarding Albus's last wish.
"It is imperative that you be there at the precise time we have arranged," the headmaster said, "and even more imperative that you go alone."
"What's going on, Albus?"
But the old man only gave him that maddening half-smile of his.
"Alone, and without sharing the knowledge of where you're going or with whom you're meeting with any of our friends. Will you promise to do this for me, Kingsley?" Albus asked. "For all our sakes?"
Kingsley paused the briefest of moments, then smiled. "Do you want me to make an Unbreakable Vow?" he said, attempting to lighten the mood.
Albus did not smile in return. "I believe your word will be sufficient."
There was a rustling of wind, stirring the empty crisps packets and discarded newspapers that littered the alleyway. A street lamp at the far end of the alley flickered once, and Kingsley touched the tip of his wand to his chest, reinforcing the Disillusionment Charm he'd cast earlier and shivering slightly as the cold trickles from the Charm ran down his body.
Why had Dumbledore asked him to come here . . . on his own?
One of the first things he'd learned as a young Auror was that you never went on an assignment without backup, and that had always been one of the fundamental rules of the Order, as well. For over two decades, he had never once ignored this basic precaution, and yet here he was, completely alone, with no better reason for his actions than that an old and obviously weakening Wizard had asked him to do it.
Too many years of suspecting Albus Dumbledore of omniscience had clearly addled his brain.
Kingsley shook his head, then dropped the Disillusionment Charm. Before he did anything else, he'd better Apparate directly to number 12, Grimmauld Place and contact Alastor. He knew the old man was sure to be furious when he told him what he'd done tonight, but -
- the street lamp flickered again, then went out completely.
Kingsley spun around, his wand still in his outstretched hand, and there was Severus Snape, looking like he'd lost a fight with an angry Kneazle
He bit back the greeting that had become automatic over the past three years, but neither did he cast an Imprisonment Spell. No, Kingsley owed Albus that much, at least; he'd let Snape talk before taking him in, although not without disarming and immobilizing him first.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
He and Snape had both cast the disarming spell at the same moment, and both had simultaneously blocked the other's spell.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Again, two simultaneously cast spells, and both binding spells were instantly blocked by identical shielding charms.
He stood facing Snape, all his senses fully alert and fixed on the other man, looking for the smallest lapse in Snape's concentration, hoping to discover some vulnerability in that harsh countenance that would give Kingsley an opening . . . but there was none.
A stand-off, then.
And yet . . . not precisely, because while Kingsley knew he was a match for Snape in a duel - perhaps even the slightest bit faster on a good day - he also knew that Snape possessed knowledge of Dark Spells and Curses, the likes of which Kingsley had only read about in books.
At first Kingsley had thought the rumours about Snape were unfounded, but after being present for more than one angry confrontation between Mad-Eye and Albus on the subject of Snape's expertise in the Dark Arts, he realized those rumours didn't even come close to the truth.
Without special preparation - and without stronger shielding charms than any Wizard was ordinarily able to summon - there was little chance of protecting himself against the worst of the curses that could be directed at him.
Snape knew this - and yet he had not used any of them, limiting himself to only those spells that Kingsley was most likely to use.
He frowned, wishing - and not for the first time - that there was a way to know what was going on in Snape's head. Kingsley had learned years ago how to protect his own mind from invasive attacks, but his skill as an Occlumens had never helped him learn the far more difficult skill of Legilimency, and even if he had managed to become a Legilimens, he doubted he would be powerful enough to look into Snape's mind. Even Voldemort had been unable to -
Ah, but that was the question, wasn't it? Had there ever been any need for Snape to shield his thoughts from Voldemort?
Harry Potter's report to Alastor of the events in the Astronomy Tower two nights ago was damning, but Snape hadn't killed the boy - had barely hurt him at all, in fact. Nor was Snape making any further attempt to disarm Kingsley or cast any other spell against him. He was just . . . standing there.
This was Snape.
He was a murderer.
Kingsley had made a promise to Albus, but . . . no.
He had been asking himself the wrong question. Yes, Albus had asked him to go alone, but the real question was why had he asked him to go at all? Kingsley and Snape had never met privately on Order business; the only person Snape spoke with privately about Death Eater activities was Albus himself. And yet less than a fortnight before Albus's death, he'd asked Kingsley to promise that he'd meet in secret with Snape, the very person who would soon be responsible for Albus's murder. Why would Albus do that, unless -
Unless, somehow, Albus had known what was about to happen . . . and still trusted Snape.
Kingsley searched the other man's pale and scratched face, trying to find some indication that his analysis was correct, but apart from a single twitch in Snape's eye - something which might well have been a trick of the barely visible light - he could read nothing.
His magic was not as strong as Snape's. He was unable to employ Legilimency. The only real options he had were either to break his word to Dumbledore and Disapparate out of this alley . . . or to lower his hand.
He could not break his word.
The moment Kingsley's wand was no longer aimed directly at the other wizard, Snape waved his wand, and instantly a sharp pain slashed across Kingsley's chest, as if he'd been struck by a whip.
"A fool like all the rest!" Snape hissed angrily. "Have none of you learned a thing about where to place your trust!"
"An interesting question," said Kingsley, fighting against the urge to look down and see if the spell Snape cast had drawn blood. "How did you know I wouldn't arrive with a team of Aurors?"
Snape smiled coldly. "One of the advantages of dealing with the hopelessly naive."
Kingsley looked pointedly from one end of the empty alley to the other. "And where are your confederates? Just gone 'round the pub for a quick pint?"
For a moment Snape was silent, then he too, lowered his wand.
"I don't have time for this, Shacklebolt. I need to return to . . . my friends before they discover I'm gone, and you need to make a choice."
"A choice?"
"There's always a choice to make, or haven't you discovered that yet?" Snape said flatly. "Your choices at the moment are simple: a Ministry-sanctioned function or a Muggle block of flats."
Kingsley frowned. "What are you talking . . . "
"There are . . . disruptions planned in the coming weeks. One will involve an undisclosed number of Ministry officials - and you will forgive me if I don't share their names at the moment - and the other . . . "
"Are we talking about deaths?"
Snape gave Kingsley a look of sheer disgust. "No, we're talking about tea parties, you pathetic excuse for a Ravenclaw. Of course we're talking about deaths! The only question is how many. In raw numbers, of course, the incident planned at the Muggle housing complex will involve many more lives, but perhaps you have a formula you use to determine the relative values of Muggles to Wizards."
"Snape."
"I can give you information about one or the other of these two events."
"You know about both of them! Surely you can . . . "
"No!" he snapped. "I cannot. Now choose."
A chill came over Kingsley that had nothing to do with the unseasonably cold night. Of course Snape couldn't give details about both planned attacks. The presence of Order members at either one would put Snape's life at risk, and their presence at both would be as good as signing Snape's death warrant.
And no matter what Kingsley chose, he would be consigning innocent people to death.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. "How many of Vol. . . how many people know about each of these plans?"
Snape scowled. "I told you to choose, Shacklebolt. I'm not saying another word before you do."
"And I'm not choosing until I know which plan is known by more of your . . . associates," Kingsley said.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because the greater the number of people on whom suspicion falls, the safer it is for you."
"How touching," Snape said mockingly. "I didn't know you cared so deeply."
"What I care about is keeping our spy alive," Kingsley said angrily. "Seeing as we paid such a high price to keep you."
A look of venomous hatred, the likes of which Kingsley had never seen came across Snape's face, and Kingsley tensed, ready to raise his wand, but in the next moment that look was gone, replaced by a flash of something that looked like pain before settling back into its usual harsh lines.
"Perhaps you're not such a fool after all," Snape said.
The information Kingsley received was quickly committed to memory: A block of flats in Congleton Grove at 2:00 a.m. the following Wednesday. Four Death Eaters had been assigned to ensure that there were no survivors, but they would fail in their duty - just as Kingsley, by making his choice, would soon bear the burden of knowing he had failed in his vow to ensure the safety of the Wizarding community.
He wished he knew whether he had made the right choice - or if there had ever even been a right choice to be made.
"We have to plan another meeting, and we should do it now," Kingsley said finally. "Under the circumstances, owls won't be secure enough, and using our Patronuses to communicate isn't advisable."
"Agreed, since Moody would probably hex mine on sight."
Try as he might, Kingsley couldn't stop a small smile from escaping his lips.
"We'll need to meet somewhere in Muggle London in a fortnight's time, with a back-up of three days after that, in case one or the other of us is unable to make the first meeting. There's a place called the Royal Scot Hotel, on Kings . . ."
"I'll find it," Snape said impatiently. "Book the room under the name . . . Prince."
Kingsley frowned, then nodded.
"Is there anything else before I take my leave, Shacklebolt? Perhaps you'd like some heart-felt reassurance that I'm not leading you and the other Order members into a trap?"
"What reassurance could you give, Snape?" Kingsley asked sharply, ignoring the glare that immediately crossed the other man's face. "What reassurance could either of us possibly give? I'll take whatever precautions I need to, and I'm sure you'll do the same, but at the moment, all I really have to go on are the last words of a man who's no longer available to turn to for advice."
"Shacklebolt," Snape said, his voice sounding suddenly raw. "I . . . "
Kingsley waited, but if Snape had planned to say anything more, the words were drowned out by the wail of an approaching ambulance.
"A fortnight's time, then," Snape said finally.
"A fortnight's time," Kingsley replied, but Snape had already Disapparated, leaving Kingsley's words to fall unheard in the cold, dark alley.
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