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Winter Kept Us Warm	By : atdelphi Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2420 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Winter Kept Us Warm
- 1
Winter Kept Us Warm

"Harry looked into Dumbledore's light-blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before
he could stop it. 'What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?'

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, 'That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and
myself.'"

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

~*~

December 23, 1994:

He dreams things that are not his to know.

There are spells, and there is screaming. And a long and constant thunder that never reaches the sky. There are orders
issued in calm, and orders cried in panic. It is always cold. There is anger, and there is sorrow, and a relentless,
choking fear.

And there is blood. Always, it ends in blood.

Albus Dumbledore dreams these things every night and believes, sometimes, that this winter will never end.

~*~

Eleven o'clock finds him in his chair at the window, a grey old man in the day's aging hours. A cup of tea, long since
cooled, rests at his elbow. A quilt is draped over his shoulders, with the hope that the nights of restful sleep sewn into
its patchwork might bring him some small comfort. He shivers beneath it.

Through tired eyes, he has watched the dull sky bruise and bleed before fading to black. He has gazed out toward familiar
hills, and named the first stars as they appeared: the Northern Hope, and the Great Dragon, and the Witch's Wheel above
them both, endlessly turning in the firmament. He had found himself blinking away sudden tears at their brilliance, the
slow trickle of warmth tracking down his cheeks and into his beard. He's often wept, on sleepless nights such as
these. Tired tears that come with neither his bidding nor his consent.

He draws the quilt tighter around his old bones, and ventures out a hand in search of his tea. A murmured warming charm
kills the chill of the china, and he breathes in fragrant steam before taking a near-scalding mouthful of the strong chai
blend. Despite the burn, he finds himself shivering again, and the tea quivers in sympathy. Something glimmers across its
surface.

He frowns, tipping the teacup toward the starlight and gazing into its murky depths. There it is again, a faint shimmer of
light where none should be.

"Ah," he says, and opens his eyes. And opens them again.

Torchlight flickers inside the teacup. Sconces on a castle wall, wavering in the winter draught. The stone looks to be as
black and wet as the tea - it is the dungeons, then, where sunlight has never bleached the bricks.

A finger's width of muted colour bobs along the lower rim of the cup, and he tips it toward himself to re-centre the
frame. The scene becomes a bedchamber, dim, and sparely decorated with a handful of mismatched furniture. The bed is
massive, hung with heavy velvet curtains as if there were any light to be kept out. Crisp white sheets lie beneath a
rumpled green duvet.

He sighs. It is Severus's bed. He has only seen it once, a handful of winters past - Severus is mindful of privacy, and
can be ferocious as a fox when it comes to protecting a den of hoarded books and chemicals - but he has cause to remember it
well enough. The bed-frame creaks in the middle, and the blankets smell like laundry soap and Severus.

The latter can be glimpsed in the distance, out of focus in the dregs of the cup. Severus is clad in trousers and s,
s,
facing the wall, yet unmistakable for his bare pale back and the ragged ends of his black hair. Severus's motions are a
mystery at first, but a tipping of the teacup reveals that he is standing at a washstand, rinsing his face and hands.

Severus turns suddenly toward the teacup-window, wiping his hands on his trousers and making his way to the bed. growgrows
clearer with each step until, seated at the edge of the mattress, he appears sharp as a razorblade. His eyes are lambent,
his body a study in subtle shades. Hints of rose and cream in his skin, a patina of blue in his hair. Severus cannot be
defined in black and white.

At least, not until the not-white of his inner arm slopes into a black so deep that it seems to swallow up all the light
around it. A black so absolute that it appears to go clear through Severus's arm, the skull and serpent carved right out
from his flesh. A black that has not been seen in fourteen years.

There is no noise in the tower room where the old man sits. Not a breath.

Severus's mouth is a wound, red and thin, and then it opens. And Severus stills, as though seized by a chill. He looks to
his left, and to his right, and finally he looks up until his ashen face is all that fills the teacup, eyes black as chai
and lemon. He smirks with a bitterness that cannot touch the raw terror in his eyes, and when his mouth finally quavers,
it silently shapes one word only:

"Albus."

And Albus feels the first, damp stirrings inside his mind. Mine, he thinks. Never his. You are mine.

His eyes drift close with the effort of the sending, and he shivers in the cold. He takes another drink, and
waits. Remembering another winter.

~*~

December 12, 1980

It was a bitter night, and colder still when Severus Snape swept through the door at nine o'clock sharp dragging a piece
of the winter in with him. Albus half-rose from his chair in greeting, and shivered just to look at the boy. Severus'
skin was painfully flushed, his hair damp, and his worn black cloak frosted with the new snowfall. There was something
different about him, but Albus did not see it just yet, because he liked to pretend he did not watch the boy as closely as
he did.

"He wants me to kill you," Severus announced, hanging his cloak in the corner and kicking the snow from his boots.

This was the manner in which Severus began each of their meetings. Abrupt. Muted. Eyes anywhere but on Albus. There
was little question of just who "He" was as Severus began making his cautious circle of the headmaster's suite,
reacquainting himself with the room and its rules. Snow melted from his boots, leaving wet footprints on the stone
floor. There was a certain courtyard that was never shovelled - a convenient shortcut between the dungeons where the
apprentices' quarters were kept, and the western tower where Albus made his home.

His gaze followed Severus's wind-chapped fingers as they skittered over various artefacts - those that didn't bite
- touching everything just lightly enough to convince himself they were real. He watched the boy nod respectfully to the
statuary, and it was then that it quietly dawned on him - the small incongruity that he hadn't realised had been
niggling at him since Severus's arrival.

Severus's robes were clean.

Albus smiled, faintly, finding himself nearly as intrigued by this development as he'd been by Severus's proclamation,
though perhaps unduly. After all, it wasn't as though Severus was actually dirty as a rule, merely untidy, and most often
fresh from one Potions experiment or another. It had been a while since Albus had had the pleasure of seeing him
smartly dressed. A crisp white collar peeked out of Severus's robes and, now that Albus looked closer, he noticed a new
polish on his boots.

Had it been anyone else under his scrutiny, Albus might have suspected himself to be nothing but a brief stopover on the
way to a lon won with some young lady or gentleman. Severus certainly seemed impatient enough. Twice, he'd glanced over
his shoulder, waiting for Albus to respond. The third time, he licked his lips and filled the silence himself: "He's been
asking if we see much of each other, you and I. I've told him I believe you're courting me for a position here. That
Professor Phial has been hinting she might be retiring once my apprenticeship is complete."

"Mmm," Albus hemmed, hiding his smile until Severus's back was turned. He'd not long ago decided that it was charming,
the way in which the boy attempted to manipulate him. Severus planned and he plotted, and was ever dropping small landmines
into his conversation, subtle suggestions intended to lie unnoticed for days, or months, or even years. Harmless,
for the most part. As far as Albus could tell, Severus's agenda seemed to extend no further than ensuring his future
usefulness. it it happened, Philomena Phial was indeed considering retirement.

The kettle began to whistle, and Severus took it off the fire. The tea service was where it always was, and Severus
busied himself without further comment, leaving Albus to chew over his first statement.

So. Riddle wanted him dealt with.

He decided that this pleased him, in the pragmatic way by which recent years had taught him to be pleased. He turned the
situation over in his mind, finding no further divination required to see the machinations of it - Riddle was feeling the
knife at his throat, and so had decided to set one at Albus's as well.

Good. It was just the sort of rash offence that Riddle would use to cover a weakening defence.

And yet...when he thought longer upon it, Albus could not help but feel some small stirring of disappointment. It
was...well...rather tactless, wasn't it?

He glanced at the boy, who was busy sneaking a biscuit from the tin.

Such a naked blade. Severus Snape was an admittedly impressive young man, but the most admir of of his traits - his
thirst and his logic paramount among these - were the results of his very Slytherin nature. His candidacy as Albus's
assassin was thus tantamount to a slap in the face. Did Albus truly appear to be such a trusting fool? Or did Riddle
merely overestimate his own skill as a Legilimens? Albus found himself hoping for the latter. Such a show of pride
could well be the Dark Lord's downfall.

"Has Voldemort spoken to you of legilimency?" he asked, and watched Severus shudder at the name.

"No," Severus said shortly, shrugging awkwardly as if hoping to cover his lapse. "Nor of occlumency. That would spoil
the illusion of our omniscient Lord, wouldn't it? He tells the others only that I have a strong will, and that I am
faithful."

"He is fond of you," Albus remarked, and saw Severus go still as a statue.

"He trusts me," Severus replied quietly, before turning his attention to filling the sugar bowl.

Albus sighed quietly to himself. This was the madness of it all, because he trusted Severus as well, and could only hope
hubris was not blinding him into believing he had the better reason. Riddle trusted Severus because he believed him to be
faithful. Albus trusted him because he knew him to be a traitor. And, he reminded himself, Severus had no cause to trust
anyone.

"He suspects nothing, then?" Albus phrased it as a question, though he did not strictly intend it as one.

Severus rolled his eyes, as he was meant to, and poured the tea. "Yes, Headmaster. Why, I mentioned over tea with
him just yesterday that I'd be meeting with you today to let you traipse about in my mind. He told me to say hello."

Albus chuckled, and humbled himself by watching Severus'le hle hands setting out the tea. Teapot, two cups, cream, lemon,
honey, and a plate of biscuits, each laid out with artistic function. He saw that Severus's hands were dry, nails bitten
down nearly to the quick; and as they stirred the honey into Albus's cup, they trembled, clinking the china.

Poor soul, Albus thought, not for the first time. Between his apprenticeship, and his work for both Voldemort and the
Order of the Phoenix, Severus was being run ragged as a rug. He looked a little older each time they met, and Albus had
recently promised himself that, should they both survive this, he would buy Severus's passage to somewhere far away. A
tropical beach perhaps, or a Mediterranean city. Someplace where the boy could sleep deeply and walk the streets unknown.

For now, however, all Albus could do was let his fingers brush softly against Severus's as he took the proffered cup from
him. Severus barely started at his touch, though his skin felt as frigid as the cup was hot. The rising steam was
bittersweet against his lips as he took his first sip. It was perfect, as it always was when Severus prepared it. Albus
supposed it was the potion-maker in him.

He waited until Severus had served himself and taken a seat across from him, before asking: "For curiosity's sake, just how
does our Mr. Riddle propose you help me to meet my end?"

The question seemed to take Severus aback. He pursed his lips, considering. "He didn't say. I suppose he expects me to
get you alone, and...well, I do have my wand, you know."

Albus smiled. "You are not quite that quick, my boy."

Severus frowned for a moment, pride wounded, before grudgingly nodding. Albus could envisage wheels turning
spastically in the boy's head, a jury of awkward social graces squabbling over whether he was being teased with good nature
or with malice.

They finally appeared to come to some consensus, and Severus gestured uncertainly towards a letter opener on the
desk. "There's always a good stabbing," he chanced, his low voice just missing the mark of levity.

Albus beamed in encouragement nonetheless. "Ah, yes. And choking, of course."

"Garrotting," Severus declared, making a neat hand motion.

"Shooting!" Albus retorted.

Severus laughed at that, a harsh, nervous sound that nonetheless warmed Albus's heart.

"Do you really think I could hide a bow and quiver on my person?"

"I was thinking something more along the lines of pistols at dawn," Albus replied, and relished the glimpse of Severus'
shy smile.

An odd creature, Severus Snape, he reflected. Albus was often put in mind of the stray cats that had hung about the
alleyways of his childhood home. His mother would put out milk for them and for the piskies, for good luck, and though
there were always a half-dozen tame moggies around the house to cuddle, there was never anything quite as satisfying as
entreating one of those aloof strays to eat some meat from his palm and curl up in his lap. Even if, Albus thought with
some chagrin, he'd sometimes been scratched.

"And there is poison, of course," Albus said softly, raising his cup in salute before taking another drink.

"Of course," Severus echoed, and did the same. His throat was impossibly long when halloallowed, and he licked his lips
afterwards.

His tongue was very pink, Albus noted, before clapping his hands together, calling a pre-emptive strike to all wayward
thoughts. There was never enough time for entertaining, though he did his best. "Now then," he said brightly. "Are we
ready to begin?"

Severus nodded curtly, his face betraying nothing as he settled back in his chair and waited for Albus to take up his place
behind him. When Albus had laid his hands on his shoulders, Severus drew his cup to his mouth, breathed in deeply, and
closed his eyes.

"Good," Albus said, almost by rote, now. "Concentrate on the tea. On the warmth of the cup in your hands, and the steam
against your face."

He watched closely as Severus obeyed, pulling a trance over himself as easily as another would a blanket. The boy sighed
softly as his head lolled forward.

"That's it," Albus murmured. "That's it...Legilimens."

There was no more resistance than he'd meet biting through a strawberry, and it was just as sweet and tart when he sidled
into Severus's mind.

Shhhh.

This was Severus's thought. A susurrus of silent sound that fluttered Albus about like a leaf. Severus's mind lay out
before him, curled around itself la sla sleeping flower. It was sealed seamlessly - Albus had often wondered just when
that had come to pass, and had glimpsed enough memories to warrant a guess - but he knew that there was no battering
through Severus's defences, no matter how flimsy they might appear. There was only a polite request...

"Will you let me in?"

...and entreating Severus to lay down his shield of his own accord.

"Where are you, Mr. Snape?" he coaxed. "Show me."

He smiled when the first tentative flutter came, like butterfly wings against his own thoughts. The flower slowly became a
series of overlapping petals, and then the petals blossomed for him, ls ofs of delicate membrane peeling back until Albus
was drifting into a vast cavern.

"Very good. Now give us a light."

There was a moment's pause, and he could feel Severus's concentration sharpening - Severus imagined it like the tip of a
quill, and so it appeared in Albus's thoughts as well. The darkness seemed to gather in upon itself, and then it was if a
fog were clearing, slowly revealing the silver metropolis of Severus's mind.

Albus let himself quest deeper and was pleased to find, for the first time, no unwanted memory drifting forward to meet
him. Severus had obviously been practicing - his mind was utterly tranquil, the pathways of his thoughts and memories
frozen from rivers to roads. The most recent memories, those as yet devoid of any context, were strung up between the
highways, huge and nearly transparent, like enormous soapbubbles.

Those were the harmless ones. A trip to the apothecary. A night spent with a good book. An old family friend met by
chance at Diagon Alley.

There were other new memories, Albus knew, deep down in the dark. And still others, even deeper below thburiburied in the
dirt.

So far, so good.

"Now, where is he?" Albus asked gently.

There was half a heartbeat's pause, and then he felt Severus begin to draw him downward. He marvelled to himself for the
hundredth time, that there were directions in Severus's mind, an up and a down, and everything just where he left it. It
was a refreshing change from the clutter of his own thoughts, which at times seemed to him nothing but a tangled skein of
yarn with neither one end nor another.

Oy, brother Snape...

The voice drifted into both their consciousnesses, neither his own nor Severus's. It was the sort of voice that took far
too many liberties. The stale purr of Michaelmas Nott.

Brother Snape...

Severus looks up, startled. His hands are cold.

"Why startled?" Albus asked. "Where are you?"

He didn't hear him coming. He's in his usual chair at Lucius's. A le wae ways away from the central circle, his back to
the wall. He'd been staring into a glass of wine he'd been told was spectacular, when Nott snuck up on him.

Nott leans down, close enough that Severus can smell his sickly-sweet cologne and the wine on his breath.

"Our Lord has need of a fresh dose of that valedixit draught. Says you're to ask Lestrange if you're having trouble laying
hands on some medea root."

Hands.

The image wavered.

Severus is in the woods, in the dark, looking at Nott's hands. The smudges on them might have been dirt, might have
been anything but blood, but they aren't, and Severus' stomach is twisting because it isn't newt's blood, or dragon's
blood, but -

"Severus!" Albus said sharply, and then softened his voice when the boy twitched. "Severus, my boy, you don't have to
think about that just now. You're at Lucius's house, in the red chair in the corner."

In the red chair. Nott's hands on the arm of the red chair.

"Who's it for?" Severus asks, prepared for Nott's suspicion.

"Think that's any of your business, Snape?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "You have to make valedixit to propor, wh, which I'm sure you would know had you not failed
Potions. If made too weak, the draught is ineffectual. Too strong, and things may get...unduly messy."

It's not a lie, thank goodness. Nott is rather stupid, but he knows that he's stupid, and thus can be difficult to mislead.

"Oh. A man, then. Mid-fifties. About my size."

Thank you, Nott. Not bloody much to go on. Severus's neck is itching badly, but he doesn't dare scratch. He is
terrified.

"Background?"

Nott seems to draw a blank, his big blunt face screwing up in the irritation he always uses to mask confusion.

"Bloodlines, man, bloodlines," Severus hisses, as loudly as he dares.

Nott shifts, impatient. Already eager to be away, which suits Severus fine. "Mudblood. From County Cork-ways, I
think. Married to one of the Bones sisters."

Severus sighs inwardly. Thank you, Nott.

"That'll do," he says shortly. "I should be able to slip some medea root from the Hogwarts stores."
tt gtt grins, suddenly, his duty done. He gives Severus a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Knew our Lord kept you around for
a reason."

Severus's bitterness was an acrid yellow shadow over all that Albus surveyed. "Thank you, Severus," he said, and followed
the thread of the evening further.

Lucius saunters over. "Acting the wallflower again? Really, Severus..."

Talk of taking over the Dupont's printing business...

Hunting muggles in Loch Dhu...

Julian's wife is pregnant again...

They moved through the meeting together, frame by frame. From time to time, Severus twitched, and Albus rubbed his
shoulders.

"You are doing excellently," he said. "Now, Mr. Snape, where am I?"

In Severus's mind, relief was the colour of the winter wind, and Albus felt something cool and damp parting for him as he
was drawn down even deeper. Below street-level. Something likeundeunderground river, where tiny shrunken seeds of memory
laid buried beneath the water.

He dimly heard himself sigh. It was always lovely in here, dark and warm as the womb, and delving deeper into it was like
sliding into the blood-warm waters of some tropical beach. The rhythm of the waves called to the tides of his bodyd
hd
he faintly realised that he was pressing closer to the back of Severus's chair.

Severus guided him down beneath the water, through a certain thickness that Albus could best imagine as the
riverbed. Beneath it were the seeds. A hundred of them, so small and so tight that forcing any of them open would
destroy the contents. And of thundhundred, Severus unerringly singled one out, and drew it to the front of his mind
until all Albus could see was its impenetrable shell.

A slim crack appeared in the seed, the colour of new grass in springtime. He could feel the memories pulsing eagerly
insidet Set Severus kept them on a short lead, drawing them slowly out, one by one. Every evening spent in the tower
room was tucked inside that tiny shell. Every note left in Severus's quarters, every careful nod in the hallway - Severus
even kept the sound of Albus's voice in there, where no one, not even Lord Voldemort, could ever pry it loose.

"That's fine," Albus meant to say, but heard no sound leave his mouth.

He became suddenly very much aware of the...pulsing...of Severus's mind. Around him. Inside of him. Ses was was usually
eager to have Albus depart from him, but now he was allowing him to linger inside. Down where it was warm and wet. Miles
away from the winter storm.

He felt his mouth drop open, and a tug in his belly where Severus's memory was suddenly his own - no, not a memory, but an
imagining that attacked from all sides.

They are in the tower together, Severus in his chair and Albus standing stooped and shaking behind him. Albus's hands
are on Severus' shoulders, hard and possessive. He won't let him go, not ever.

"I need you."

Which one of them says it?

"Please."

His fingers creep inward like spiders, over Severus' starched collar. He feels Severus's tight swallow. Skin as soft and
damp as the inside of his mind. He tilts Severus's head back, to see those eyes flutter cd and and that mouth part for
him.

And when he kisses him, it is...

He's rubbing against the back of the back of the chair. Severus's mouth is salty and soft, and the brass tacks on the
upholstery are catching on Albus's robes. He can hear the sound they make.

He could hear the sound...

No!

Albus snapped out of Severus's mind so quickly that it nearly blinded him, his fingers scrabbling to find the tender hollow
of Severus's throat of their own accord. He tightened his grasp, and heard the boy choke.

"Mr. Snape," he said, finding his voice breathless and trembling with the effort of keeping calm. "I don't suppose I have
to tell you that was terribly rude."

He licked his lips, and found them still wet from Severus's mouth.

Severus was shaking from the shock of the separation, his mouth twitching. He tried to struggle to his feet, but Albus's
hands held him fast.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" Albus asked, his belly still dangerously thrilled.

Severus's eyes shuttered. His mouth moved silently, gasping. He turned his face away, and finally forced three dead
words past his lips:

"He wants me."

Albus's hands nearly faltered. His mind was fresh from Severus's, and he could taste the fear that was not his own.

"I see," he said, numbly.

And, after an instant, he did see. All too well. He saw Severus's clean clothes, and his spit-and-polish attempts at
gussying up for Albus' sake. He saw the red of his mouth, and the pink of his cheeks. He saw the shame in the boy's
eyes, and found himself caught between anger and pity. It was not the first time that Severus had torn him so.

"He says I'm the only one he can trust," Severus whispered. His voice sounded broken, and far away. And very young.

And the sound of it toppled Albus to mercy. He sighed. Removed his hands from Severus's neck. Rubbed his tired eyes.

"And so you meant to...what, Mr. Snape?" he asked quietly. "Sell your body in exchange for my protection?"

Severus pushed himself to his feet, choleric colour rising in his cheeks. His face twisted up like he'd swallowed a lemon,
and the words that came from him were sour. "You don't understand! He...he'll..."

"He'll what?"

"He - He's courting me," Severus spat. "Pretending I have a choice." His face was anguished for a moment,
and then the fire seemed to go out of him and he crumpled forward against the chair like a rag doll. There were no tears
in his eyes, no anger. Only a sick wonder.

Severus stared down at the floor, his face still and ashen, and whispered: "He'll be my first."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Albus had to step back from the misery that Severus was radiating to let the
implications follow.

First. Severus's first. He had never...Riddle would be his First, and First was important. First was special. First was
power, and between two wizards of such ability, First was often forever. Albus didn't dare give himself leave to wonder
what sort of spells Riddle could fuel with a virgin's sacrifice. There was no answer he would have liked.

"Oh...my dear boy." He cautiously made his way around the chair, and stood as close to Severus' side as he dared.

He saw the corner of Severus's mouth twitch, just a little, and heard the bitter humour in the boy's voice as he softly
proclaimed: "For want of a buggering, the battle was lost."

Albus felt the first chuckle bubble up in his chest before he could stop it, and the second dashed out close behind. It was
a painful laugh, one that bordered on hysteria as the absurdity of the situation hit him fully. He laughed until tears
came to his eyes, until he had to clutch at the chair to stand, until he saw Severus glance toward the door.

He sobered immediately, and straightened. "I'm sorry," he said. "I am sorry. This is no small matter."

"No. It isn't."

"All right." Albus idly rubbed his mouth, trying not to wonder if his lips were as swollen Severus's. "All right, here
hat hat we are going to do."

Severus arched an eyebrow, appearing understandably wary.

"I am going to sit down and finish my tea. You are to do the same. I am going to have a bit of a think, and then we are
going to talk. Agreed?"

He did not know what was passing behind Severus's eyes, and that frightened him. It was suddenly very cold in the room,
and inside his own head.

He sat. Severus sat. He took a sip of tea, and Severus did the same. wat watched Severus watching him.

"You say that Voldemort is courting you," he ventured, after a moment.

"Yes." Defensive.

"As a consort."

"Yes." A touch frightened, now.

"How do you know this?"
Sev Severus frowned, making a vague gesture. "He is...free with his resources, and with his compliments. He's bought me
things. I know."

"And you have kept this a secret from me."

Severus examined the floor. "I thought...I thought he might lose interest, in time. He is fickle with his favour."

"But he hasn't."

"No."

"All right, never mind that for now. I need you to think carefully - has he told you of his intentions outright?"

"No, he's been careful not to. Bellatrix was...teasing me. Said she'd heard the Dark Lord asking Avery if I'd ever..."
Severus faltered now, a never before seen blush creeping across his cheeks.

"And what did our Mister Avery tell him?"

"That he was fairly certain I hadn't."

"And Voldemort?"

Severus's mouth twisted up. "He said he'd find out for himself. The next new moon."

"A fine time for bindings," Albus mused. "But he didn't know for certain that you were untouched, and so you decided to
rectify that."

"Mm."

He saw the bobbing of Severus's Adam's apple, and remembered what it had felt like under his hands. "Why me?"

He thought he already knew the answer. He could almost hear the insidious slither of Severus's plan...if Albus was there
first. If Albus was there first, then whatever Riddle claimed would be no further than the surface. Skin-deep. No more
powerful a binding than the tattoo already etched into Severus's arm. But only if another Legilimens was there first.

But Severus only shrugged. "You might not have noticed, but most everyone of my acquaintance are Death Eaters."

Albus smiled at the lie. "Why you?" he asked, though he again suspected he knew the answer.

Severus shrugged. "Because he can," he said bitterly.

"Oh no, my boy," Albus corrected, and smiled without humour. "I believe it's because he cannot. You resist him, Mr.
Snape. You are strong, and he cannot bear it."

Severus laid his teacup down so hard that it chipped, and he stared at the broken piece of china with undue fascination,
his thoughts his own. "Not strong enough," he muttefierfiercely. "He would be inside of me forever. He could make me do
anything. He could make me kill you."

Clever boy. In that moment, Albus was frightened to understand perfectly why Riddle wanted him so very badly. When
unfurled, Severus's mind was a hungry, grasping thing. Always wanting to know, always wanting to understand. It seemed,
at times, very nearly infinite - as though anyone who could make a place for himself inside of it would have grasped a
little piece of immortality.

The warm place - Albus realised in a quiet epiphany. That warm wet place deep inside Severus's mind was where Riddle
wanted to force himself. And Albus was the one who had been there first.

"My dear boy," he said, feeling his cheeks warm. "You must know I will help you in whatever way that I can."

Severus seemed startled for a moment, but he quickly nodded and his voice became brisk as he drew a handful of slim vials
from pocket. "Very well, then. I have an aphrodisiac, dragonhorn, standard. And some polyjuice, as well as a few source
links - nobody you'd know, but if you have any particular preferences..."

"Now, wait just a moment," Albus cut in.

"...blonde or brunette..."

"Mr. Snape..."

"I have a woman as well..."

"Mr. Snape, please do shut up!" He winced as Severus fumbled half the vials he was cradling, clinking them together and
dropping two to the carpet.

Albus rose quickly from his chair, and gently took each stoppered vial from Severus's unresisting hands before the boy
could do further damage. He picked up the others, and laid them on the table. He put his hand to Severus's cheek, and
peered at him closely.

It took a moment, SeveSeverus's gaze eventually rose to meet him.

At so close a distance Albus could see the true colour of Severus's eyes, the shade of warmth that painted the irises a
rich brown. His eyelashes. The broken veins that left purple smudges on his eyelids.

"If this is to be done,e bee began, letting his fingertips flutter against Severus' skin. "
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Winter Kept Us Warm