Harry Evans Chapter 139: The necessities of history

AN: This is the Snape interlude that was voted on a while ago, I hope you enjoy ;)

-/-

Contrary to common belief, Nurmengard Castle, or rather, Nurmengard prison, did indeed accept visitors.

It just so happened that one needed a certain amount of political capital to ask for visitation rights.

In other words, certain hands needed to be greased, certain pockets filled.

Severus looked up at the pointed tower, feeling the cold mountain air dissipate the heat of August that still clung to his body from where it had been a second ago, in Munich.

He showed his letter of visitation to the dour guard captain at the entrance to the tower, who thoroughly scanned it.

An old, grizzled man, a veteran of the last continental war.

“He’s been quite popular lately,” the man grunted after deciding that the letter was real.

“I couldn’t possibly imagine why…” Severus drawled disdainfully.

The guard captain already hated him, so there was no point in trying to make a positive impression.

The guards hated that Grindelwald occasionally received visitors and often tried to sabotage the event.

Regardless of the mutual dislike, the letter disappeared into the guard captain’s pocket, alongside the small potion vial hidden in the furl of the parchment.

The guard captain gave an ugly grin. “We’ve already told his lordship that he is being relegated further into the annals of history. One of yours was it?”

Snape sighed. “Hogwarts, whenever you think the reputation of their education standard couldn’t get any worse, they just get lucky and a genius enrols.”

“Tell that to the other visitor,” the guard captain said, stepping aside and nodding towards one of his subordinates who would stick to Severus like a fly on shit during each aspect of the visit.

Severus and his attendee entered the tower and started the dull walk up the stairs.

It was in the middle, however, when they were interrupted by an old man dressed in bright lime green robes and sporting an impressive beard.

No escort.

This was, in fact, the only person qualified to visit Grindelwald without oversight.

After all, he was the one who’d put him behind bars in the first place.

“Headmaster,” Severus greeted, slightly inclining his head and trying not to let the distaste read from his face.

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore exclaimed in faux-surprise. “An unexpected encounter. What a place to meet, truly, what a place to meet. Is our little interview not supposed to occur at the three broomsticks in an hour or so?” he asked.

The guard started fidgeting behind the potions master.

His rank was too low to tell the two men to stop loitering, but Severus himself did not want to waste the few minutes he had painstakingly bought.

“Truly, a coincidence of the highest order,” he drawled. “As for our later interview, I am sure that we will have a fruitful discussion about how Defence against the Dark Arts has been one of my greatest passions for a very long time. My intentions are as benign as they can be, something you are very well aware of, and how I am much superior in competency and predictability to any of the other insane fools still willing to take the post.”

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled merrily. “You do have a way with words, my boy, you do have a way with words. Although describing yourself as benign and predictable simply because I already know which student you wish to influence is a tad presumptuous,” he scolded.

“Comparably,” Severus admitted, not seeking to hide anything.

For all that the headmaster was powerful, he was uninterested in continuing to participate in the game of the continent. The man would be content if he managed to guide Britain to recover from the civil war that had occurred there.

“He’s playing you, you know,” Dumbledore said idly as they passed each other.

Severus continued walking up, ignoring the man.

“He is allowing you to court him, shower him with promises, but in the end, you shall receive nothing for your efforts. He’s even seeking the same from me so as to counterbalance other influences, yours amongst them,” Dumbledore finished.

Severus almost didn’t reply, but the headmaster had a way of always making others reveal their hand, for one reason or another. “If he had no guile, he would be useless regardless,” he said eventually. Then the moment passed, and the two men were now officially too far apart to talk anymore.

Another dozen seconds, another bribe, and Snape stood before the iron bars holding a dark lord who had accomplished much, much more than that sociopathic fool from London could have ever dreamed of.

Severus repressed a sneer.

One dark lord behind bars, another defeated by a baby. A dangerous profession indeed. 

“An auspicious time, two visits in one day. Three, if you count the guard captain coming to gloat,” Grindelwald said, seated at his rickety little cot. His pale eyes were staring up at the ceiling, fixated on something only he could see.

“The wheel is always churning,” Severus replied, careful not to step too close to the bars. The prison was enchanted, or rather, cursed. Nothing to trifle with. “Those little dominos you left behind keep failing to create a spark. Perhaps it is time to think of other alternatives?” 

“You think I don’t know that the pure-bloods are idiots of the highest order?” Grindelwald asked sarcastically. “Everyone with the belief that they were born superior inevitably loses in a battle of competency against someone who has to prove themselves every day. Unfortunately, the world is not a battle of competency, but also a battle of resources. This is why you struggle, despite all the achievements and skills of your faction, to maintain a consistent upper hand over those you deem inferior.”

“Perhaps an endorsement could finally break that rather dreary deadlock?”

“A good word here or there might not go against the agreement I made with Albus on the eve of our fateful duel,” Grindelwald scoffed, revealing his yellowing teeth. “But just because your enemies blundered, once again, does not mean that your faction has gained. It simply means you are competing with a bunch of idiots with deep pockets, which has always been the case. They will create another figure. This time it won’t be a Habsburg, but a Rosier, if not a Rosier, it will be a Klichkovnik, if it won’t be a Klichkovnik, it will be a Petraskura.”

“What if there was someone who had potential?” Severus proposed.

“Unrealised potential is simply wind. Irrelevant.”

“What if they had more potential than you? And your endorsement would help create the space for that potential to unfold?” Severus asked.

Grindelwald finally turned his head to look at Severus directly, revealing his cloudy eyes. “There were many peers with potential equal to mine back in the day. Drugs, gambling, stupidity. They all feel like chaff in front of their own failures. A genius is someone who overcomes, not someone who has the potential. A carefully pruned flower will not withstand the storm. If you cared for the cause, you would let the seeds grow on their own.”

A pause.

“But you don’t, do you. If you cared, you wouldn’t let your fear stop you. You would take the reins yourself. You’re powerful enough, perhaps not on the level of Albus or me, but just a step below. Unfortunately, you’re a coward at heart. What’s the point of being the power behind the throne if there is no throne?”

“Some would say you don’t care either, that you’re afraid of breaking an outdated promise. Sentimental,” Severus proposed instead with a blank face.

“You play and you lose. If every player who’s been kicked off the board kept trying to sneak back on, the game would be impossible to play.” His eyes flickered to the iron bars separating him from freedom. “And, well, let’s just say that once one person refuses to stay down, the stakes become much, much higher. My ethics are the reason I’m rotting in a jail cell, instead of a shallow grave.”

Severus couldn’t repress a sneer. “Do you take solace in the fact that you’ve been imprisoned for 40 years. Is it some sort of badge of honour?”

“Die Gedanken sind Frei, my dear boy,” Grindelwald replied. “You seem to have a lot of worries and anxieties for such a young and insignificant man. Your thoughts, are they free? Mine are. What does it matter that you’re not in a cell when you’ve made the world your prison?”

Severus glowered, decided that he’d talked long enough to get to the point. 

“Regardless of your opinions on protecting potential, I think we at least agree that we need to be in its presence to guide it into, ah, the correct conclusions. Similarly, considering your dislike for me, I think that you will have a few words of wisdom to say to the next generation so as to counteract my own disgusting influence.”

“You know,” Grindelwald started. “There’s this thing about people with potential. They get quite good at recognising attempts of influence. Experience, I’d say. I went through something similar.” He spread out his arms. “And look at me in the end. Look at Albus. Has either one of us done anything that wasn’t the result of our principles? Only weak men compromise. If the boy you speak of is talented, all your work will come to nothing. If he is not, your influence will be wasted on a wastrel.”

“Some of us don’t have the privilege of not caring about the state of the world, so we must press our finger on the scales in whichever way we can,” Severus replied, before smiling. “But I see you’ve agreed. Perhaps we don’t have anything to speak of anymore.”

“It’s all entertainment to me,” Grindelwald replied with a shrug. “If you want me to pat someone on the head and tell them my opinion on the greater good, quite frankly, I have no reason to reject the proposal.”

“Good,” Severus said. “A pleasure as always.” He inclined his head.

He turned to leave.

“The thing the boy did in the finals,” Grindelwald’s voice finally spoke from behind him.

“Yes?”

“I couldn’t have done it at his age. Not magically, not emotionally. Such anger and ability to act on it are unprecedented in a 14-year-old. Try not to hand my legacy, as tainted as it may be, into the hands of someone who will taint it further,” the man said.

“You’ll be able to form your own opinion fairly soon if it all goes well,” Severus replied before leaving.

He had another difficult conversation in front of him.

Grindelwald was wrong to accuse him of not caring.

In fact, he cared almost too much.

It would have been easy to fight for control, to lead. But there had been one commonality that Severus had found in all failed dark lords.

They’d acted alone, without confidants, without equals. 

In a perfect world, he never would have been thinking about these things, living in a cottage somewhere with Lily.

But now there was nothing for him in this world, only the attempt to fix it into a state where the tragedies of the past wouldn’t keep repeating themselves.

And if he needed to raise a collaborator for this project from the ground up, he would do so.

Anything else, history taught, meant failure.

-/-

Harry, or rather, Charon, happily swam in the seaside in his blue swimming shorts covered in yellow rubber ducks.

Occasionally, while turning or resurfacing from his many dives, he would send a mental attack at Draco, who was trying and failing to not drown in the more shallow part of the sea.

It turned out that it was quite difficult to swim while magically defending your mind.

“Is it really necessary to do this in the open sea?” Draco asked once they took one of their allotted breaks. The boy was shivering, despite the August heat.

Well, the north of France wasn’t as warm as the south.

“Draco, it’s important to defend your mind even while distracted,” Charon replied, bringing up a glass of lemonade to the hole in the mask he was wearing today, pushing the straw through the hole in the mouth area, and taking a loud slurp.

“Also,” Charon continued. “If you didn’t want to have your lessons by the sea, you shouldn’t have been spending your time at your seaside residence.” He looked to the left, towards the rather large manor taking up space on a small cliff overlooking the sandy beach.

“I know, just,” Draco said, before coughing. “I think I swallowed some seawater,” he muttered.

“No one ever died from a little bit of salt,” Charon said dismissively before waving the whole conversation off.

Swimming while getting paid to hone his own legilimency skills. This really was the best job ever.

“Are you looking forward to Beauxbatons?” he asked while Draco took a sip from his own lemonade.

The Malfoy house elves sure knew how to make them. Charon would know.

“Well, it's new, I guess. Students don’t transfer so often,” Draco replied a bit anxiously. “My mom says it will be fine.”

Charon shrugged. “Listen to your mom, smart woman,” he said. Back when he’d been a muggle in his last life, he’d switched schools so many times he’d lost count. Wizards and witches were spoiled. Only seven years of school, only one school? Muggles would kill for that. Their school systems often consisted of at least four different schools for 12-20 years, depending on university ambitions.

“I wanted to ask about something,” Draco suddenly said, looking worried.

“Yeah?” 

The platinum-haired boy looked at the sea. “Last school year. This summer. When I look people in the eyes… Sometimes I get flashes. Feelings, thoughts.”

Charon paused, put down his lemonade.

He thought back to how confused he’d been that Draco had known about the dragon smuggling operation at Hogwarts last school year despite not having spied on the trio.

Was this maybe the answer?

“That’s good,” he eventually said.

Good for him, he’d likely keep teaching the boy. Legilimency next.

The issue was, of course, that legilimency was a more morally grey magic than occlumency. Draco was growing up to be more empathic under Charon’s guidance, but was he good enough to justify learning the skill?

He was aware of the situation the boy was experiencing.

Assuming a talent in the mind arts, familiarity with being attacked and developing occlumency might naturally generate the bare bones of the mirrored skillset.

Draco didn’t seem particularly talented in any other branch of magic to Harry, so mind magic was likely where he would excel in the future.

“You pick on thoughts and emotions that are highly emotionally laden, right?” Charon asked, receiving a nod in return.

“You have likely concluded yourself that since occlumency is a discipline very preoccupied with controlling the mind, highly emotional states are inconducive to maintaining the proper focus. We can put thoughts in general into three basic categories. Silent, neutral, loud. Silent is when the thought is so irrelevant that a legilimens will find it troublesome to find it even if the defendant knows no occlumency. Neutral is something of minor emotional significance. Loud is a thought, or memory, laden with emotion. Even someone with good occlumency skills might have issues hiding the thought. Those with no skills are essentially screaming it out into the world for anyone to pick up on. Through practising occlumency and becoming familiar with the way I cast legilimency, you seem to have started tapping into this, well, radio frequency, right?” Charon struggled to explain for a second. “I’ll burst your bubble now and tell you that the first step will unfortunately be to close this ability, before we can learn to control it.”

Draco furrowed his brows. “Why?” he asked petulantly. 

“Well, imagine you’re meeting the French minister of finance with your mother. The man has had a bad day, can’t control his emotions, and is not on guard. Something bad happened at home, his wife discovered he’s been frequenting a mistress. She agrees to keep it a secret for the sake of his political career, but a divorce is on the way. A brewing scandal. You look into his eyes and pick up on the things swimming right beneath the surface. But, the man has enough occlumency skills to notice that you noticed,” Charon paused. “That might be a bit awkward. Remember, a skill you don’t control is like a sword without a hilt. As liable to hurt yourself as the enemy.”

Draco had paled at the explanation. “What do we do then?” he asked.

“Your occlumency is reaching an acceptable level. Only skilled legilimens would be able to break into your mind, and not even that without you noticing. Practising the other side of the coin might help, actually. But… We would first need to talk to your mother. It might be better to help you control your frequency of reading and start next year. You’ll have enough problems with the new school anyway,” Charon eventually decided, making the whole issue next year Charon’s problem. He didn’t mind; he trusted that guy to work hard.

Now, he was on the seaside and wanted to relax in anonymity after the mess in Finland.

“Teacher,” Draco eventually asked.

“Yeah?” 

“What’s underneath your mask?” the boy asked. “We’ve known each other for two years now.”

Charon chuckled. “You could have asked at any time,” he said, putting a hand to his face. “Underneath my mask is…” He pulled the blank white mask off!

“Another mask!”

Draco sighed and looked up at the sky, seemingly questioning his existence.