severedprince

"your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing" // venom & ashes rp

[severedprince-blog]

lucinda-talkalot‌:

⁕  severus;

“Severus.” Lucinda stepped away, smoothing the fabric of her dress as he dusted off his robes. “I should’ve expected to see you here.” She felt relieved to see it was only him. At the very least she wouldn’t be held hostage by needless conversation. Lucinda could sense his impatience though. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. In her opinion, it had been an annoyingly melodramatic funeral. Lucinda couldn’t blame Severus for wanting to disappear and avoid everyone in the room. She had been attempting to do the same thing but an idea started to form in her mind. She now had a question she wanted to ask him.

Lucinda had been wondering for a long time about Snape’s fidelity to the cause. The events of the meeting had made wonder if Severus could be someone she could rely upon…or use. Lucius seemed to think that he was useful and she found that a good sign. They had known each other during school but she was sure Snape wouldn’t count her as a friend. There had been the time she had sent James Potter to the hospital wing with a nasty case of boils after hearing him and his band of lackeys chanting Snivellus. She had told herself it was not out of kindness but rather house pride…plus she had always found Potter and his friends detestable. 

“You seem anxious.” Her face was impassive, her voice nonchalant. It was hard to tell if she really cared or if she was only curious about what he was up to. “Perhaps some company would ease your mind?” Lucinda glanced over her shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest before continuing, “I’m actually glad I ran into you, I wanted to speak to you about something.”

He looked anxious, Lucinda said. "Do I?” Severus mocked acerbically. It wasn’t as though there weren’t at least three people in attendance at the funeral (though possibly more, who could really tell?) who detested him with the power of a burning sun and would gladly curse him from here to next week if they caught sight of him there. He was regretting coming to the event at all with every minute that passed, in fact. 

Severus shook his head. He’d never been able to get a good read on Lucinda. She’d always been ambitious, obviously, and intimidating towards anyone who dared to get in her way - but she was difficult for him to pin down, for whatever reason. Sometimes he got the feeling that he was nothing more to her than dirt on the bottom of her shoes, but there had still been occasions where she’d... well, not stood up for him, exactly, but proven herself to be on his side. For whatever reason. So while he didn’t trust her... he didn’t distrust her either, and that was at least something. 

“I’m not looking for company,” he immediately replied, shutting down her offer. “But you can follow me while I walk far enough away to apparate off without being noticed. If you want to speak to me that badly.” He very much doubted she was glad to run into him - but nonetheless, he was curious as to what she wanted to talk to him about. 

[severedprince-blog]

Attempting to moderate his unsteady breathing, Severus knocked hastily on the front door of Malfoy Manor, where he’d apparated directly from the Rookwood mansion. 

An undelivered potion weighed down the pocket of his robes. 

He was no longer a stranger to corpses, but this one had been... well, it was Augustus Rookwood. Severus had known him. Seen him, every week. His eyes had still been open when Severus stumbled across his body. He had frozen motionless as soon as he realized that Rookwood wasn’t just stunned - he was dead, his skin still warm. And if his murderers, or attackers, were still there, Severus could have walked right into a trap. He’d whipped out his wand and held his breath, but the only sound was the house creaking, deadly quiet. He began moving through the mansion - if there was someone still there he would have to fight them. Or try. Or at the very least get a name, or a face. 

He had crept from room to room, eyes wide and vigilant, before realizing that whoever had done it was long gone. He finally returned to the body in the newly-killed corpse in the front of the house. Externally, he would have appeared calm, but internally, his mind flickered tumultuously in a million directions. Who had killed Rookwood? Why? Had someone known he was part of the Death Eaters, or was it unrelated? An even worse supposition suddenly struck him - what if it was a Death Eater who’d killed him? So many possibilities... but with no information, nothing could be ruled out. Severus suppressed a shiver. He certainly couldn’t be found here, at the scene of the crime, not with Rookwood staring dead-eyed at him. Rashly stuffing his delivery back in his pocket, he’d apparated to the first place that had come to mind. 

Now, he glanced around and he anxiously shifted from foot to foot. The adrenaline-based sense of calm that had earlier propelled him through the Rookwood house was rapidly disintegrating into a desperate dread. “Lucius,” he called out as he knocked again. He ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair. “Lucius.” He had to be here. He was the only one who would knew what to do. 

@lucius-abraxas-malfoy

[lucinda-talkalot]

⁕  WHERE: Dumbledore’s Funeral ⁕  WHO: Open ⁕  WHEN: October 8th, 1979

Dumbledore was not someone whose life had a profound effect on Lucinda. In fact, she could probably count on one hand the times she had even spoken to the man face to face. She would always appreciate the fact that she had gotten her Hogwarts letter while he had been headmaster. She wasn’t certain if that was more because she was born in England or if Dumbledore had somehow known of her bad home situation. The Fujiwaras were wealthy, she had never been destitute, but they were ugly people. Despite the fact that she had initially been dying to attend Mahoutokoro, ending up at Hogwarts hadn’t been so terrible. In fact, she had seemingly broken the control her mother’s family had over her life. They had been thrilled to get Lucinda out of their hair once and for all. The menial job, trying to scrape by with the small allowance the Fujiwaras allotted her, was a fair trade for not having to see them ever again.

The outpouring of emotions around her seemed so strange. Lucinda couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, out of place. It had been strongly recommended to her that she attend the funeral by the other death eaters. It made some sense, why would active death eaters attend the funeral of one of their known enemies? Though, Lucinda had wondered, why wouldn’t they want to see their handiwork in the flesh? She had attempted to appear forlorn but it hadn’t seemed to work. Lucinda wore the same impassive expression she usually did while in public through most of the service. She had meandered around for a little while, a few familiar faces catching her eye but she had passed on engaging with anyone. It was only when Lucinda was headed towards the exit that she suddenly collided with another person. Annoyance surged through her body. “Pardon me.” she said through gritted teeth, “I suppose you didn’t see me there.”

[severedprince-blog]

Severus had needed to attend the funeral. He had to see that Dumbledore really was... well, dead. Or reassurance that everyone thought he was, at least. He had never dealt well with unknowns, preferring clear cut answers. Maybe he felt such a strong urge to go to the funeral because there was at least the chance of resolving.... something. Once there, he realized how idiotic that hope was, as he slipped through the crowd with his head down. The funeral hadn’t solved any questions, or clarified any position. It was only a gathering of tear-filled faces, mourning a man whom they revered, who may or may not have deserved that reverence but was nevertheless gone. Severus didn’t bother to stay longer than a quarter of an hour before taking off, more dissatisfied than he’d been before. 

He couldn’t risk staying too long anyway, since he might draw undue attention to himself. After all, while a number of the other death eaters in attendance were still under the radar, their allegiances not publicly known, Severus didn’t have that luxury. He’d promptly ended all ambivalence about what side he was on after with his run-in with Potter a few weeks earlier, and he could imagine that he wouldn’t be well received if he was spotted by certain individuals. 

Swiftly, he made his way out of the throng of attendees, to get far enough away that he could apparate back home without being noticed. Focused on a quick escape, he didn’t see when a body stepped in his way. A sharp collision. Severus glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else had heard them crash, that no one was looking over - he was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t register who he’d run into until she spoke. “I’m a little busy at the moment, Lucinda,” he whispered brusquely, brushing off his robes and inching away from her as he replied. “But clearly you didn’t see me, either.” 

[moiramontague-blog]

♥ Location : Diagon Alley, London ♥ Date : 09 October 1979 ♥ Availability: open to all

Moira stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, which was surprisingly empty, though she wasn’t surprised, she could feel that there had been a change of how things felt in her world. Albus Dumbledore funeral had been yesterday and she still couldn’t believe that had happened. Moira had never minded the former Headmaster too much, well she respected him and she knew he was a very powerful wizard, no one could deny that honestly. But on her years at Hogwarts she just saw him as the Headmaster whom she barely spoke to and sometimes would say the oddest things. At least that had been her impression of him for the most part until she had grown and then she was vaguely aware of everything that was happening, yet Moira had never  fully been immersed on what was happening outside her nice, comfortable bubble. 

Even now, the news didn’t do anything to shaken her too much. It was sad he has dead as death was always sad, but she just naively supposed all was done now and things would calm down, all would be fine, And she had more pressing matters to think about, her wedding being the most important but at the moment she had to actually focus on why she was here for. She started to walk to Twilfitt and Tattings to pick up a dress when she heard a faint noise coming from a corner, deciding to investigate she found a small black kitten, smiling she softly picked the animal up noticing it had a collar she looked around “Excuse me.” She said to the nearest person, “Is this you cat?”

[severedprince-blog]

Severus headed down an alley behind one of the Diagon Alley shops, on his way towards one of the passages that led to Knockturn Alley. It was another day of scouring for ingredients and tracking down clients, so nothing terribly interesting, but the sooner he finished his business, the sooner he could meet up with... well, anyone who could fill him in on the goings-on at the funeral yesterday, as he’d had to duck out sooner than he would have wanted to. Before he could get too far down the alley, a voice from the corner stopped him. At the woman’s comment, he looked up and squinted - first at the mewling cat, and then at the vaguely familiar witch. 

“I don’t own a cat,” he told her. He paused, then added after a moment, his voice filled with even stronger annoyance. "It’s an animal with claws, it’s not like its helpless. It’s fine on its own.” He waved his hand to dismiss her concern about the tiny creature. 

[severedprince-blog]

gordonavery‌:

( @severedprince )

Gordon’s destination was the drawing room – the windows were angled so that even with the curtains fully opened, the room never got too bright, and with the curtains closed, it could get nearly pitch black even in the middle of a summer’s day. There was a large sofa – Gordon, Mother had this imported from ITALY, his older brother had once scolded him when he was very little and Gordon’d put his dirty feet up on the cushions. Thankfully, Gordon had the house almost exclusively to himself now that his mother and brother had vacated for a more lavish, expensive manor, to accommodate for his sister-in-law’s taste in opulence. He swung open the door to the room with significant effort and then collapsed onto the couch, squeezing his eyes shut and taking long, deep breaths as he tried to white-knuckle his way through the pain and the dizziness. A faint voice in the back of his brain gently reminded him that Severus was here. Severus would make it all go away.

“It’s all bad,” he said vaguely, the overwhelming nature of it all making his tongue looser than it should have been. But he trusted Severus – how could he not? The other man had seen him in more vulnerable, compromising positions than either of them could count. “I can’t– see anything. It doesn’t make sense. There’s just…nothing.” Even as he tried to conjure up Tom’s face behind his lids, he couldn’t. It had been a week or so since Tom had disappeared, and yet, the sharpness and clarity with which Gordon could always remember him had started to fade, leaving a pit in his stomach, and the fact that he couldn’t even latch onto Tom in this vision had left him feeling disoriented and very confused. “Severus,” he said as he opened his eyes, reaching out for the other and clutching his forearm tightly. “I need to remember, but I don’t know how.” Naively, Gordon hoped there was some spell, some potion the other knew that could just bring back what he was missing, that could wipe away the fog of his memory and give some clarity to what he’d said on Monday. His words were going to inspire people to do something, he could feel it, and it terrified him. His visions were meant for Tom and Tom alone – everyone else would see what they liked in the future, not what was true, and Gordon refused to be responsible for the chaos that was sure to ensue.

“Did you hear anything?” he asked quietly, scouring Severus’ face for answers. “Anything at all?”

Severus followed the other man down the hall. The drawing room would be the lab tonight, it would seem. As Gordon inched towards the couch, Severus ducked out of the room and to the pantry where he’d stashed away his equipment from last time, though he was back in the drawing room by the time Gordon began talking. It seemed he was unable to answer specifically what would help him most this time. If it was all bad... well, Severus would try, anyway. 

He nodded, still half-listening to Gordon as he took inventory. Setting his cauldron on the coffee table -- staining the furniture was the least of his concerns -- he settled down on the opposite side, facing the couch. As he shrugged off his shoulder bag, he began laying out ingredients. Standard herbs, lavender, a vial of flobberworm mucus. He was out of powdered moonstone, and hellebore syrup, so he pulled out one of the books in his bag and ripped off a piece, jotting down the two ingredients and handing out the slip of paper impatiently for the house elf to take. Hopefully she would be back sooner rather than later. 

He was reaching out over the coffee table to grab the herbs and begin when a desperate hand clutched his forearm. “Prophecies, seers - they’re out of my depth,” he told Gordon, not unkindly. “I know there’s no potion that will do what you want.” Spells... maybe. But he wouldn’t risk suggesting it. Severus was decent at coming up with new offensive charms, or curses - nothing as complicated as getting into someone’s mind and pulling out information that was inaccessible to even the mind itself. 

He carefully extracted himself from Gordon’s grip so he could begin measuring out the ingredients. “I heard that there had been a prophecy, but nothing about what was in it. Do you remember who was there to hear it firsthand?” If they could just have another meeting, or at least talk Lucius into calling one, so everyone would have the same information. 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

All of her worry morphed into irritation almost instantly. Why did he have to be so difficult about every little thing? Charity could almost kick herself for expecting a decent answer. Something non-evasive or anything that made sense. Oh, I enjoy your company Charity and thought we should be friends! You’re a nice person and I enjoy spending time with you! Her eye twitched. 

The haughty way he spoke about being “acquaintances” made her want to strangle him. How can you be so insufferable when you just admitted to being the bad guy? She didn’t think it was so far-fetched to question why a death eater all of sudden decided he wanted to be “acquaintances” with a muggleborn (who, not to mention, is very vocal about being so). They were friendly in school of course, she flat out admitted that she fancied him, but it was puzzling. If he was was so fine without her why did he tell her the truth?

“You’re not wrong.“ she said irritably, “If you’re going to be so short about it all then perhaps say, hey I am a death eater but taking no questions on it at the moment. Let’s talk about the weather or dogs or any other stupid thing…”

Charity stood still on the footpath, watching him walk on. She stuck her hands back in the pockets of her sweater, rocking back and forth anxiously on her feet. Should she let him go? No, she wasn’t, she was going to be a complete and utter idiot. Charity heaved a sigh before moving to catch up with him. She gently touched the back of his arm, attempting to get his attention, “I never said that I didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.” 

Charity sounded irritated when she replied, but at least she admitted that he wasn’t wrong. Severus couldn’t help but find her recommendation slightly amusing, settling some of the discomfort that had begun to tighten its grip on him. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he told her dryly, before repeating her own suggestion back to her with a straight face. “Let’s talk about the weather or dogs or any other stupid thing, then.” 

He’d never had to tell anyone about his allegiances before. Either they already knew, or that piece of information was completely irrelevant to his interaction with them. Those were the only two alternatives, until now. So there was really no gage or sample to measure up against - although he had to admit that Charity was taking it more calmly than he would have anticipated. But just because she was throwing a fit didn’t mean that she approved, or that she didn’t absolutely detest him now. 

So what if she did hate him? It wasn’t like she mattered at all, he thought testily as he stalked away from her. Keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of him, he didn’t break stride - until he heard footsteps clattering on the path behind him and felt a light touch on his arm. He immediately wrenched himself out of her grasp but paused in his steps. “Oh.” His brow wrinkled as he searched for the words to reply. “Well then,” he settled on muttering. “Why not?” 

[gordonavery]

( @severedprince​ )

Location: The Avery Estate Date: October 12, 1979

Gordon sat on the bathroom floor, curled around the toilet, breathing heavily as the nausea passed. His migraines were horrendous, but they were somehow the least of his problems. He felt strangely cut off from the world, from the future, from the source of his powers. Normally, Gordon could pull flashes of his visions from the recesses of his mind, even if he couldn’t pull the whole thing, the whole terrible truth, but this time, there was just blank numbness occupying the space of Monday night in his memory. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost so much time, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling.

Perhaps, if he could find a way to sleep, find a way to dive into the deep-end of his subconscious, he could find some answers. Perhaps, this was merely him justifying his dependence on a cocktail of different potions to keep himself functional. It had been years since he’d been able to get through the day without some sort of assistance – potions for his migraines, potions for sleep, potions for clarity, potions for numbness, all meant to give him some semblance of a normal life. All meant to hide his deterioration from Tom. Well, he thought, a pang of grief twisting in his chest, that’s no longer necessary.

As if from far away, he heard footsteps in the hall, the squeaky voice of Greta, his House Elf, murmuring, “Master Avery has been expecting you, Sir.” Gordon barely registered the words until the bathroom door swung open and he was squinting up at the wiry frame of Severus Snape. Gordon instantly felt something inside of him relax, the heady feeling of relief spreading through him. Vaguely, he remembered sending Severus a hasty owl in the middle of the night – come as soon as you can. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this. It wasn’t the first time that he’d asked for Severus in the wake of a prophecy, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Gordon staggered upright, leaning heavily on the sink. “Severus,” he said breathlessly, voice full of gratitude. He was glad, in a distant, removed sort of way, that it was Severus he relied on, not someone else. Severus was smart, direct, and astute, and while others (read, Bellatrix) in their fold mistrusted and disliked him, Gordon found him to be oddly charming. “If you need anything, tell Greta,” he said, indicating his Elf. “She’ll fetch whatever you ask, just give her a list.” He unhitched himself from the sink, using the wall to guide himself out of the bathroom. He stopped in front of Severus, clapping a hand on his shoulder and speaking earnestly as he said, “Thank you for coming. It’s been– a rough few days, to say the least.”

[severedprince-blog]

Having been recently and rudely awakened by a screeching hoot outside his flat, Severus palmed the note - in Gordon Avery’s familiar scrawl - before sending the offending owl back out the window into the dark, hazy sky. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes blearily as he read the message. It was the middle of the night, for Merlin’s sake. He ran a hand through his messy hair, with a sigh, unable to ignore the tangible desperation evident in the note.  Shuffling across the room in the moonlight, he began rummaging through his ingredient cupboards to grab whatever might be useful and shove it in his bag. After pulling on a rumpled sweatshirt and swapping his nightclothes for a real pair of trousers, he glanced around the single room of his flat once more before apparating over to Gordon’s. 

He was still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep when the tiny house elf ushered him inside the house and down the hall towards the bathroom. There lay Gordon against the porcelain, looking like the aftermath of a disaster - much like he usually did whenever he contacted Severus for assistance. Which had been happening at a distinctly more accelerated rate than one might consider healthy. Severus frowned. “You look a mess,” he noted candidly as Gordon attempted to stagger upright. “More than usual.”

When Gordon clasped him on the shoulder and thanked him - his voice was so earnest, how did he manage to sound like that? - Severus nodded shortly, visibly uncomfortable with the thanks. It was his job, after all, to serve the others in this capacity. Though he had to admit that even if it wasn’t, he would have come at Gordon’s request anyway. He had seen firsthand what the older man was forced to suffer through almost constantly at no choice of his own. “Seemed prudent to come now rather than in the morning.” It’d been a rough few days, he’d said. Severus had known that Gordon had revealed a prophecy, on the night of Dumbledore’s memorial - he’d seen the frenzied aftermath of it as well, though Severus still hadn’t managed to piece together what it had actually been about. But ‘rough few days’ was probably an understatement, especially if Gordon hadn’t called him until now. Maybe he’d been working through potions he’d stored up - Severus could only hope so, rather than imagining him in this sort of state for the past few days. 

He stepped aside from the doorway to allow Gordon out of the bathroom, intending to follow the man wherever he was headed. He could set up his equipment anywhere in the house, but it would be more helpful if he could do so next to Gordon so he could answer any particulars that might arise. In fact, he’d already left one of his better cauldrons here, in the closet near the kitchen, so he wouldn’t have to keep relying on his obnoxiously unreliable collapsible one (he doubted anyone even noticed it was there, other than perhaps the house elf). “What is it this time? Sleep? Something for your migraines?” he listed off the usual options.

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

Charity froze in the middle of the footpath, shocked but not afraid. She knew she should be horrified, in a panic. Any normal, sane person would be. A muggleborn alone in the woods with a death eater. She bristled at the thought. If Severus had wanted her gone, he had been given a wealth of opportunities.. She had even invited him to her home, near her family. No, she didn’t believe he hated muggles as much as some of the purebloods she’d encountered during her years at school had.

She opened her mouth a few times to respond but nothing intelligible came out. Charity was just so cross at him for being so very stupid. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” she snapped, shaking her head in disbelief. Charity ran an aggravated hand through her hair as she looked up to meet his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what she wanted to ask or what she should say.

So many questions. Do you hate muggles? Has Voldemort really disappeared? Have you had to kill anyone? She wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to know the answer to that last one. If she could look him in the eye and feel the same about him as he admits to murder, what did that make her? Just as much a monster…or perhaps a hypocrite. Her most burning question would probably be why. Why throw away your life like this? 

None of these questions could ease her worried mind. She couldn’t help Severus as she assumed that there was no leaving the death eaters. Severus might not even consider it a problem. Another question that she was terrified to ask. Perhaps he was satisfied with where he was but it begged the question, what was he doing with her? “If this is true…” she said miserably, “Why are you writing me?”

Charity didn’t respond right away. Severus waited, unblinking. She hadn’t run away, or pulled out her wand - not that he couldn’t easily defeat her if it did come down to a duel, but he really didn’t think it would. When she snapped at him that he was going to get himself killed, he only shrugged indifferently. The world was dangerous, even for those who hadn’t chosen a side - more so for them, he would argue. He had allies who, granted, might not stick their own necks out for his, but would certainly make sure that his wasn’t threatened unnecessarily. Was their occasional misplaced suspicion of his devotion alarming? Yes, but he knew (or hoped) they couldn’t afford to cut their numbers now. (In fact, Charity was far more likely to get killed than he was, though Severus refrained from pointing that out.)

He could see Charity struggling with his admission, until she finally settled on a singular question. If this is true, why are you writing me? “It’s completely unrelated,” he said slowly, making each word distinct as if she was in primary school and wasn’t grasping the lesson. “I don’t hate muggleborns on principle.” Not that he particularly liked Muggles, but someone’s blood status was of no consequence. “I wrote to you because I thought we could be acquaintances again.” Just acquaintances. Best not to try to bother with friendship. That’s where it’d all gone wrong in the first place. “But since our former state of acquaintance was tainted by miscommunication,” he said as he raised an eyebrow intently, “we should probably be on the same page. I assumed you might not take it well if you found out later. Am I wrong?” 

With that, he began walking again, picking up from where Charity had frozen motionless on the sidewalk. His next words were scathingly sharp. “If you’d rather have nothing to do with me, that’s fine. I’m just as happy going back to ignoring each other for years. But you’ve got to decide.” 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

Severus seemed a bit tense. It was something about his body language that didn’t seem quite right. His attitude was definitely better than at the bookshop the other day though. Something to be grateful for, she supposed. Charity didn’t want to cry in front of him again, that was a worse case scenario. She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. For a moment she even forgot why they were there, smiling fondly at him in amusement, “I must’ve forgotten how many people demanded your time. I’m honored you found the time for little old me.” 

At his suggestion that they walk and talk, she nodded and began to follow him down the footpath. When he pulled out his wand and performed a muffling spell, worry weaseled its way back into her mind. What did he think was so bad that they couldn’t be overheard? She felt the spell settle around her as she shoved her hands in the pockets of her sweater, absentmindedly wishing that she had taken the time to grab a thicker jacket this morning before heading off to work.

I enjoyed your letters yesterday. That was pleasing. It was the same sense of satisfaction that she had whenever he gave her a compliment, whether it be on her intelligence or ability. This conversation didn’t seem to be going the way that she had feared it would though he hadn’t told her what was going on yet. It could get worse. Charity tried not to grimace at the thought.

She gave the women with their dogs passing by a quick smile before looking back at over at Severus, trying not to let her face betray how she was feeling. He spoke of honesty and transparency and she couldn’t seem to pin down in her mind what it is he might need to tell her.  “Whatever it is…” she said gently, “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Severus could see the worry begin to appear in Charity’s face as she recognized the muffling charm taking effect. It was a dead giveaway that the following exchange would hold substantial weight. I’m sure it’s not that bad, she said. He couldn’t help but laugh bleakly at Charity’s ignorant optimism. “Oh, it’s bad,” he didn’t hesitate to reassure her. Or at least, he was sure that it would seem so, at least in her eyes. 

The passing dogs nipped happily at each others’ heels as they rounded the corner. Wouldn’t it be nice to be a dog - a much simpler life. He tore his gaze away from the tiny animals and looked over at Charity keeping pace beside him. “I would appreciate if you could keep confidential what I’m about to say, though I can’t force you to.” (He probably could force her to keep it secret, in fact. It wouldn’t even take an unbreakable vow, just some vaguely persuasive charms. But that would be a last resort, and one he doubted he’d have to turn to.) 

A gust of wind blew his hair in his face and he was forced to jerked his neck to toss it back. Would she really want to know? He almost asked her, almost gave her the opportunity to avoid the catastrophic conversation, but the ball had been set in motion already. Severus pressed his lips together grimly. “You’ve heard of the Death Eaters?” It was more of a rhetorical question than anything. She worked at the Ministry, and she had to read the Prophet. Just say it. All at once. “Well, I am one. That’s it. That’s all I had to tell you.” That bomb dropped, he waited for the inevitable fallout. 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

Charity spent the majority of the morning feeling anxious after receiving Severus’s last owl. Not exactly a nervous woman by nature, she did have the tendency to become hyper-focused on something, unable to push it from her mind. It’s what made her an exceptional student during her years at school but it was a quality that usually handicapped her in regards to personal relationships. She was never able to calm down and just let things go. The tone of the owl had bothered her and she couldn’t help but expect that, whatever Severus needed to tell her, wasn’t going to be good. 

Maybe she was getting dumped? They weren’t in a relationship obviously but perhaps she had pushed his boundaries just a little too far for her own selfish satisfaction. Perhaps even writing each other back and forth was too much for him to deal with. Merlin, she was childish. She resolved herself to focus on work for the rest of the day. For a point in time, she was able to forget her worry but as soon as the clock struck 4:00, she was scrambling to get her things together. She should’ve left fifteen minutes ago, the witch was notorious for being late.

Charity assumed they had both meant Hyde Park. It wasn’t too far from the ministry and made the most sense. They hadn’t really spoken about how they would find one another and for a moment she felt a bit dumb, wondering if it might be necessary to use some magic. Luckily, Charity spotted him not too far off, in front of her. A sense of dread overcame her but she tried to ignore it. Best to rip off the bandage and deal with whatever came later.

“Severus!” she called, speeding up to catch him. When he finally stopped and turned around to look at her, she gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry I’m late when I picked the time…I’m always late.” Charity sighed, nervously brushing a few strands of her hair out of her face. “So ah…is everything alright?”

He turned when he heard his name called out from behind him, only to see Charity was nearly jogging his way. He shrugged - he hadn’t noticed that it was much past four at all - then returned her weak smile with a slight one of his own. “Oh, well done. This is going to push my five o’clock appointment way back.” 

As she reached up to brush strands of hair away from her face, he gestured down the footpath before shoving his hands in his deep jacket pockets. “It’s probably best if we... walk and talk.” He began to stride down the sidewalk, slowing down significantly from his usual pace so that she could keep up with him. “If you don’t mind...” In his pocket, he took hold of his wand, then muttered, “Muffliato sequitas.” The buzzing of the muffling charm settled on his shoulders. This one would follow them like a bubble, so they didn’t have to worry about moving beyond stationary boundaries. 

That done, he sighed. “It’s not as though anything’s... different than usual. But I...” he paused, searching for the right word. He really should have planned this confession out a little better. “I enjoyed your letters yesterday. So I began to think about honesty, and the fact that our problem the other day arose from a lack of honest communication. Something which has never been my strong suit. Surprising, I’m sure,” he added dryly. 

He kept his gaze on the horizon, where the concrete sidewalk met the line of trees in the distance, with their leaves that were just beginning to turn orange and yellow. “Anyway. In the interest of... honesty, I have something I feel I should tell you that will color your opinion of me. Negatively.” A pair of women walking their respective dogs waved as they walked past, although Severus was far too tense to even nod in response. “I didn’t want to keep writing to you without you knowing the whole... picture, as it were. You’ll be upset when you hear, but you’ll also be upset if you don’t hear, so...” He trailed off. 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

Severus’s response was jarring. It felt like their easy (or easier) correspondence had come to a screeching halt. What was that all about? If she had been more naive she would think Severus was desperate to see her. The thought of it almost made her laugh. That was something that would never happen, she had no illusions about him. She knew he was a difficult person and if Charity had less patience, she wouldn’t have bothered after the scene they had made in Flourish and Blotts.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she had accepted his apology anyway. Their acquaintance often felt one-sided, even when they were attending school together. A part of her was certain that if she had disappeared completely, he wouldn’t be bothered. It had crossed her mind on multiple occasions that maybe she should ask someone else their opinion on the whole situation. 

Would anyone really understand? She would usually run to her parents but that seemed childish and embarrassing. Her father would probably ask if he dressed like Dumbledore (he still assumed wizards always dressed like they walked straight out of a children’s film). Her mother would attempt to invite him to dinner. She cringed. That would not do at all. Doris might understand but that didn’t exactly feel right either. 

She sighed, beginning to scribble down a short response. Charity resolved that she would keep this to herself, at least until she figured out what this was.

  You needn’t worry about poor taste when writing me. The park will do fine, let’s say 4? I should be done for the day then. I hope everything is alright.

                                                                             Charity

The little owl had waited patiently on her desk while she wrote her response. Charity stroked his head gently before handing him the letter and watching him make his way out the window.

He felt a bit hollow as he headed to Hyde Park, opting to apparate into an alley a few streets down and walk the rest of the way. He supposed that neither of them had specified which park they’d be meeting in, although as Charity knew Severus lived in London, and she worked there - he assumed she would guess right. The only problem he could foresee was that it was, in fact, a large park, but she was a witch. She could figure it out with magic if she really had to.  

Four o’clock, and the corner just past the Marble Arch was still bustling with joggers in their running gear, with old men reading the newspaper on the shady benches lining the paths, with monochromatic businesspeople just getting off work and cutting through to the nearest tube station, with little yipping dogs on leashes skipping gleefully through small piles of fallen leaves. 

It was a safe, neutral Muggle location. 

The rational part of his brain screamed at him to just go home and keep lying to Charity. Lying by omission wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t any worse than some of the other things he’d done. Really, she’d be much happier if he kept her in the dark. Ignorance was bliss, and all the rest. In truth, he didn’t understand his compulsion to tell her. To try to prove that he could be honest, at least about some things? To make her regret ever admitting she’d liked him in the first place? Whatever the incomprehensible logic, it seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe not morally, but circumstantially, at least. 

He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears as a particularly chilly blast of wind hit while he stood on the edge of the path leading into the heart of the park, glancing around for any sight of Charity. 

[severedprince-blog]

goodgeon‌:

A SUCCESSFUL MORNING, ALBEIT A FRUSTRATING ONE.  There’s a reason Davey doesn’t spend much time in KNOCKTURN ALLEY without the promise of a payoff worth the trouble of navigating the specific brand of LOW - LIFE that seems to flourish down that way.  ( Although there IS still a bit of an undeniable thrill to INFLICTING their very loud, very FLORAL - PATTERNED PRESENCE on the locals, as it were ––––––– so long as they’re bright enough not to try and screw them over, that is.  Which is to say : rarely. )

The late - summer sun beats down on Diagon Alley’s cobblestones — — a brilliant excuse to leave their flat in THE LEAST AMOUNT OF CLOTHING still considered decent, sure, but not good for much else — —  its persistent presence enough of an irritation to inspire them to hurry simply to get out of the bloody heat.

–––––––––––––– That is until their trajectory is intercepted by the ( allegedly ) HUMAN EQUIVALENT of dropping one’s ice cream onto the hot sidewalk.

Oy.

❝ ‘AFTERNOON T’ YOU TOO, bossy — — I see all those SKULKING LESSONS ‘been payin’ off. ❞  A sigh as they resign themselves to this particular INTERRUPTION.  Arms come to cross across their chest, with MINIMAL EFFORT being made to obscure how they feel about it.  ❝ I think y’ know I can, Mister Snape, which presents the usual question of WHAT’S MY EFFORT WORTH ? ❞    

SOMETIMES, they wonder why they bother with Severus Snape, oh he of the PARTICULARLY VILE CONSTITUTION.  — — Davey likes to imagine that relieving him of his Galleons on a somewhat - regular basis contributes, somehow, to restoring the natural order of things. ❝ Heat’s MURDER on Ignus moss, darling, I daresay that would put it at a PREMIUM. ❞

Severus forced himself to breathe in and out slowly through his nose at Davey’s greeting, reminding himself that this was a bridge he couldn’t afford to burn, no matter how much he desperately wanted to. “Can’t say the same for your comedy lessons,” he couldn’t help but mutter. It was a childish retort, he knew, but sometimes petulance was a necessary comfort. 

What was their effort worth? Far less than Severus would end up paying, he was sure. It seemed like every time he needed something this particular, it was magically at a premium. Funny how that worked. He’d done research a few times, and there was no doubt that Gudgeon was upselling him - not that he could do anything about it but complain. 

He gritted his teeth. “I have fifteen galleons.” The words physically pained him to say. Fifteen galleons, for a few spores of moss. “And don’t try to talk me up from that,” he aded hotly. “Is that enough to cover your ridiculous premium?” 

[finestrahq]

Date: October 6th Location: Carolina’s favorite restaurant Who: @severedprince

Carolina had invited Severus to lunch, her treat. The meeting had not gone like she thought it would and for a few tense moments she was concerned she’d have to betray her word and back Rodolphus. But after some truly petty infighting, and what seemed more like family drama, they had worked it out. She was relieved but desperate to talk to one specific person. As they were unavailable she sought other company. 

Though she couldn’t be sure about his loyalties or even how much he really cared she thought it best to at least ask Severus those questions. She hated to assume, she thought it rude and she wasn’t going to shy away from all of this because it was only going to get harder. 

She sipped a mimosa, delightful mix if you asked her, one very specific and small part of muggle culture she could swallow. When he arrived she realized how out of place he was here, in a five star establishment meant for the upper echelon of society. She reminded herself that her own status as a halfblood was secret, while his was not and this was one of the many consequences of that.

“Ah, Severus. Please, sit.” She would ignore the dirty looks and whispers from other patrons, she was above all of that.

[severedprince-blog]

A invitation to lunch, from Carolina Crabbe. Severus could refuse, obviously, but after the various tensions held at the Death Eaters’ gathering, it seemed wise not to risk angering anyone. Give it a few days, perhaps. Best to duck his head and lay low, at least until action settled back down into a relatively sense of organization - which, knowing Lucius, would be sooner rather than later, but knowing the others meant that it would never be that simple. 

Though why Carolina wanted to speak to him, he wasn’t sure - which immediately made him suspicious. Compressing his wariness for the time being, he hastily brushed some residual bicorn horn powder from his sleeves (smudging the dust down his front in the process) and apparated to just outside of Carolina’s designated meeting place. Given its bright and gleaming appearance through the front window, it seemed to be a restaurant where he would have been able to afford half of a single hors d'oeuvre, were he here on his own. 

At least the food should be decent, he thought, regardless of the company. He entered the restaurant, avoiding the judgmental glances from already-seated customers as he approached Carolina’s table, where she seemed perfectly at ease while she sipped some form of mildly bubbly beverage. “Carolina,” he greeted lowly with a nod as he sunk into the chair across from her. “Pleased to see your modest tastes in action. Is it too soon to ask why I’m here?”

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

When the little owl made its return once more, Charity couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He looked so tired. Charity shooed him away after accepting the letter. “Go home love, I’ll send it out tomorrow.” she said sweetly, stroking his head. The owl didn’t look at her twice before leaving once more. She considered asking Severus if he could just give her a ring some time but that seemed comparable to asking him to meet face to face. Plus, not many wizards actually owned phones. Charity’s parents had posed the question before, the owls coming in and out tended to startle her mother more than the woman would like to admit.

  I chatted with him whenever possible but I wouldn’t say close. It’s a little complicated. For a long time I thought there was something wrong with me. Dumbledore was the one who came and explained who I really am. I’m sure you could imagine why I might’ve had a soft spot for the man?

  I left right after you. I threw some books around first and the shop girl was pretty cross about it. I’m actually not sure if I would be welcome there after that anyway…

  Your brutal honesty is refreshing as usual. Still makes me laugh. I could imagine the look on your face when you were writing that. 

                                                                                                 Charity

Charity had written her response quickly, planning to drag herself out of bed early to send it off before work. Stopping at the owlpost she spotted - what she thought - was the same tawny owl from yesterday. She squinted her eyes to get a better look but the owl turned away as if to avoid her gaze. Charity sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. Fine, be that way then. Perhaps she needed to invest in an owl, her dog certainly wouldn’t be able to deliver letters any time soon.

As Severus had shuttled the owl out his window for the last time that day, he considered how their exchange had gone so far. After sending a few messages in the same day, he could firmly say that he... enjoyed writing to Charity. Yes, part of it was that he much preferred writing to face-to-face communication, but the other part of it was Charity herself. There was comfort in the knowledge that she would respond, and an ease of communication not overshadowed by their mishap in the bookshop. 

An ease which Severus was sure would shatter to pieces the moment she found out that he was a Death Eater. And especially if she found out through someone else. He spent the rest of the day forcibly buried in his potions, turning in to bed only when he was too tired to lay awake in the silent darkness, thinking. 

It wasn’t until the next day that Severus received Charity’s reply, dropped off by a different owl this time. He read about the nature of her fondness for Dumbledore - a man who had opened the door to her entrance to the magical world. Understandable that she would hold him in sentimental regard. He read about the disapproval from the shop girl after Charity had thrown some books around as well. And then: Your brutal honesty is refreshing as usual, she’d written. 

Severus wasn’t sure just how much brutal honesty she would think was refreshing rather than, say, horrifying. But it was now or never, really. If they were truly starting over, a clean slate, it didn’t do to keep her in the dark. What was the worst she could do? Haul him to the ministry? The Death Eaters who worked there would be certain he wouldn’t get taken in for long. She might stop talking to him, of course. Severus frowned, realizing that he didn’t actually wish for that outcome. But if she did cut him off, then at least there would be a finality to it - a black-and-white conclusion founded on the truth rather than on miscommunication, or obscured secrets, or feelings. 

He picked up his pen to jot down a response - but immediately froze. He couldn’t tell her in a letter. And not least because it wasn’t safe to put that sort of thing in writing. Instead, he wrote, grimacing all the while: 

             This is in poor taste especially since you already offered to meet me for tea and I turned you down -- I have something to say and I think it’ll be better if I tell you in person -- though it’s not a tea-and-biscuits sort of conversation. Can we meet? In the park, perhaps? Or, never mind, you pick the time and place. 

             Although if you’re busy (whether it be the truth or a lie), forget I said anything. No need to respond. 

             Severus

He sent the note off with the owl before he could regret doing so. 

[severedprince-blog]

Location: Diagon Alley

Date: August 1979

with @goodgeon

It was a toss up as to which consumer-driven alley Severus would find Davey Gudgeon in, Diagon or Knockturn. They were bound to be in one or the other, and unfortunately, Severus had need of their services. If there were anyone else he could go to, he would - literally, anyone - but Gudgeon, only a year younger than Severus, was often the only access point to some of the more particular herbological specimens Severus needed to find to fill his orders. 

So he resorted to slipping through the shadows up the main drag of the street and then down the thin alleyways running between the strip of shops, first in Knockturn Alley and then in the other. Having made the rounds once already, he doubled back as the damp August air gathered in a mist near the cobblestones at sunset, with still no sign of Gudgeon.  

If he didn’t find them today, he’d just have to try again tomorrow, as he did have a time-sensitive reason for needing the ingredient. He felt a twitch of anxiety at the thought. The orders (well, demands) were piling up faster than he could fill them, but those ordering them were not exactly the people who took kindly to excuses, especially not from a halfblood who didn’t deserve to belong with them in the first place. He could almost hear the complaints now. Pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking off his unease with a long-suffering sigh, Severus turned the corner of the next alleyway, and - there, he spotted a familiar long-haired face. 

He strode up to his former housemate with purpose. “Ignus moss spores. Do you have some, or could you procure some?” Severus demanded impatiently. 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

Charity’s eyes were fluttering shut when she heard tapping on her bedroom window. Her owl friend had returned. She walked over, letting the little guy in as he dropped another letter into her hands. She felt a surge of excitement but she quickly chided herself over it. Stop being an idiot. If Charity had been a logical woman, she would’ve told Severus where he could put his damn apology. She sighed loudly in frustration (mostly with herself) knowing she was going to read the letter either way.

She found herself frowning a bit as she read his reply. Why had she been stupid enough to invite him to tea? It was a tiny bit disappointing but she realized that she may have been asking too much of him. Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, she scribbled her response. Attempting to not seem so…needy?

   I was a bit surprised to see that you had written me at all. I do appreciate you trying to make amends with me. I didn’t mean to push your boundaries. If I’m being honest, that was a particularly bad day for me. Dumbledore’s passing had left me a bit distraught as well as things going on at work. I’m not usually the type to weep in the middle of a bookshop. 

   I’m not mad about you declining my invitation either, I understand. Perhaps that was a bit presumptuous of me. The other day was just very confusing. 

   I hope you’re doing well. Did you figure out the answer to your potions conundrum?

                                                                                           C.B.

“Could you take this back to him?” she asked the owl. The little guy stared at her for a few moments as if to say I don’t get paid enough for this before taking the letter from her hands and being on its way.

The same owl appeared a bit later at his window, accompanied by new correspondence. Severus brought it into his flat again - though this time it was, for some reason, much more disgruntled, its feathers puffed up and its beady eyes giving Severus a pointed glare. “Fine,” he replied, reluctantly pouring a small amount of water in a flat dish for it and rummaging through his cupboards for something for it to eat as he read Charity’s newest letter. 

He wouldn’t have replied again, but she’d asked a question at the end. So he was compelled to reply. Otherwise, she might think he was purposefully ignoring her again, and then they’d be back to square one. He tossed some dried oats into the dish for the bird and ripped out the end page of one of the books spread out on his bed, on which he composed a new response. 

            Given my track record of writing to you - or not writing to you - I am not surprised that you were surprised. 

             Your weeping was, in fact, off-putting. But I can see how circumstantially it may have been warranted. I assume you were close with our former headmaster, then? 

            The other day was equally confusing for me, as I’m sure was evident. 

             As I abandoned the books, no, I did not solve my conundrum. I almost went back for them but wasn’t sure if you would still be there. I decided to test the potion out anyway. The fact that I am able to write to you is evidence that my flat did not explode, at least this time. I did appreciate your offer to help, back in the shop. It’s a shame I squandered it. I would say we could meet at the bookshop again later this week but I’m afraid the residual tension will make it insufferably embarrassing.  

            Severus

He held out the letter for the owl as he placed a few knuts in the small sack tied to its leg. “This will be the last one for today,” he promised it, though the owl’s returning glance did not indicate its belief in his words. 

[severedprince-blog]

burbagecr‌:

The gentle tapping of a tawny owl at her window drew Charity’s attention away from her breakfast. As soon as she opened the window, the little creature placed the letter into her hands proudly. She smiled, patting him gently on the head in acknowledgement as he watched her tear into the letter. Charity had assumed it must be something from Doris but the penmanship wasn’t quite right. 

Why would Severus have penned her an apology? It’s not like Charity didn’t believe she deserved one. She deserved all of the apologies. She found herself confused, still angry…perhaps slightly intrigued that he might even have cared an iota about her to apologize. No matter how weak that apology was. It took about thirty minutes of back and forth for her to decide to write him back.

I appreciate your apology. I’m sorry for calling you a dimwit.

If you’re free some time this week, you should come ‘round for tea.

C.B.

Charity thought it best to keep it short, too many words would’ve betrayed her feelings once again.

A small tawny owl, with a letter clutched within its talons, sat perched on the outer windowsill of his window as he opened the door of his flat later that morning after his trip downtown. He let his bag of newly-acquired Knockturn Alley ingredients drop to the floor, and he headed towards the bird. Unlocking the rusted window with a creak, he impatiently brushed the owl inside. “Get in, you,” he told it, sticking his own head out into the alley to glance either direction before slamming the window shut. It wouldn’t do for his muggle neighbors to start asking questions about why owls kept showing up, and his rental agreement certainly didn’t allow for pets. 

The creature hopped around on his bed from foot to foot and hooted quietly while Severus read its delivered message. So Charity had responded - he hadn’t been sure if she would. He wasn’t even sure why he’d wanted her to - although her invitation to tea sent a sharp twinge of apprehension down the back of his neck. Flipping her message over, he scrawled his response on the back of it. He wrote faster this time, his words less overly formal this time. 

              No need to be sorry. That’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called. I appreciate your offer to come for tea, but unfortunately I am busy for the duration of the week. All right, that was a lie & I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending it’s not. Not a lie: I don’t think it would be a good idea if I came. Correspondence by owl seems to be a better alternative at least for now, since I can more carefully consider my words instead of instantly reacting. As you may have realized or remembered, that’s not one of my strong suits. 

             S.S.

He gave the note to the owl again. “Take this back to Charity,” he told it before opening the window and sweeping it back outside.