NEW STORY

Title: THE VILLAGE, CLARIFIED
Author: Josan
Date: December 29, 2005
Pairing: Well, you know if you’ve read THE VILLAGE.
Rating: Gen
Feedback: Either leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com
Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I just invite them over to play with me.
Betas: lmondegreen, sylvadin
Still dedicated to gmth who, I hope, gets a kick out of this one as well. Thanks again for all the work you do for us with merry_smutmas.



[:]:]:]

One hand clasped firmly on his wand, which was still in his pocket – he was very aware of the eyes from across the street – Severus Snape knocked on the door and waited.

It didn’t take all that long, probably less than a minute, but it was long enough for the woman watching to leave her porch and walk quickly to the row of plants that grew along the short fence facing the roadway. He knew that she could probably describe him down to his boots in that short a time. He remembered what small communities were like. Just because this one was rural and in Canada didn’t make it all that different from Spinner’s End.

The door opened and he found himself staring into a face he had been so certain no longer existed. Well, it didn’t. Not quite. The nose was thinner, the cheekbones higher, the chin sharper. Not much change, but just enough that one could pass Tom Riddle on the street and not recognise him.

“Severus.”

Accompanied by, of all things, a smile.

“Do come in.”

Riddle was dressed in Muggle clothing. A thin shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of lightweight linen trousers. In black, but then it was a good colour for him. Matched the dark, almost black, sunglasses that he wore.

Snape didn’t move at the invitation and Riddle leaned against the door, a wider smile on his face. “You really have nothing to fear, Severus, unless you’re here to try and kill me.”

Snape still said nothing. Frankly, Riddle’s attitude had taken him more than a little by surprise.

With a sigh, Riddle straightened and gave a slight formal bow. “Enter under the rules of hospitality, Severus Snape.”

Truce. Neutrality. Talk, no wand-waving. On both sides.

“Thank you,” said Snape. “I enter under the rules of hospitality.”

Riddle stepped back and Snape entered the foyer, his heart giving a little extra beat when the door closed behind him.

“The parlour is this way.”

Snape restrained the urge to shake his head in disbelief. Riddle in Muggle clothing, living in a Muggle house.

He quickly scanned the room, sensing no great magic. Just the household kind that one sensed whenever entering the residence of a wizard.

Riddle allowed him time to look around the room, seeing the filled bookshelves on two walls, the computer set-up in a corner, the comfortable leather armchairs and couch, the Persian rug that covered the deep gold wooden floor, the drawn curtains heavy Damask.

“Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got about an hour before Mme Tremblay succumbs to her urge to call her sister’s nephew by marriage and he arrives to check you out.”

Snape paused in the act of sitting in an armchair. He looked up. “The woman across the street.”

Riddle nodded. “My own private watchdog. I can offer you tea or coffee. I usually have a cup at this time of the day.”

Snape had noticed, on entering the house, how much cooler it was than outside. But then the trees that surrounded the property were large and must keep it in the shade all day long.

“Whatever you’re having will do.”

There was that smile again. “So accommodating, Severus.”

He shrugged in response, waiting to see if Riddle’s acceptance of all things Muggle extended to serving himself.

It didn’t. With a subtle demonstration of his powers, Riddle gestured lightly with a hand towards what Snape assumed was the kitchen and merely said, “Accio elevenses.”

In the time it took for Riddle to hitch his trousers, sit in the other armchair, cross one knee elegantly over the other, a tray floated out of the kitchen, humming softly to itself, and settled on the table that stood between the two men.

“Thank you,” said Riddle and the service giggled.

Snape felt his eyebrows rise.

“Black, if I remember correctly.”

Snape nodded.

The teapot rose and poured itself into a cup of delicate, almost transparent china. The saucer rose and floated over to the arm of his chair where it balanced perfectly on the end.

The teapot served another cup, the sugar tongs dropped in two cubes and a slice of lemon floated on the top for a second or two before removing itself. While Riddle stirred the cup himself, a small plate of biscuits offered itself to Snape, whimpering slightly when he refused.

“How did you find me?”

Snape could detect only the slightest of curiosity in Riddle’s voice. He gave himself some time to consider whether he should tell the truth by sipping at the tea.

“I saw you in Montreal. At the Jean-Talon Market, coming out of the building with the SSQ logo.”

La Société de la Sorcellerie du Québec. Portal to the wizard market and the local offices of wizard administration.

Riddle sipped. “And what were you doing in Montreal, Severus? Not very like you, if I may point out. After all, you have never been known for your great desire to travel abroad.”

Snape looked down into his cup. Riddle settled back a little more comfortably in his chair.

“Let me guess. Travelling for your health. Things not so accommodating back in jolly old Britain?”

Snape sipped at his tea.

“Not quite the hero you thought you’d be, eh?”

Snape leaned over and placed his now empty cup on the table. The cosy flew off the teapot, which hummed as it served him again.

“I thought I would be dead.”

“Ah. Well, Fate has a way of dealing us surprises. I thought I’d be ruler of all things magical in Great Britain by now. Instead, here we are.”

Snape was beginning to find the jolly host routine a little irritating. “And how is it that you’re here? When last I saw you, you were a line of burnt ash on the field of battle.”

Riddle shrugged. “Once it became obvious how the battle was going, I cast a glamour and an Imperio on Avery, who was closest to me. Made him look and act like me. I, on the other hand, made myself look like one of the younger combatants and used the confusion of Potter’s confrontation with ‘myself’ to slip away.”

He shook his head as though disappointed with Snape. “What? You didn’t think I had an escape route plotted out should my plans collapse on me? Really, Severus. You, of all people, should have known better. And you did, didn’t you,” he sounded pleased, “else you would not be here.”

Riddle allowed the tea service to prepare him a second cup. “You still haven’t explained how you knew to find me here in Cookshire.”

Snape frowned a little. “I followed you that day. You went to a Muggle Post Office and placed a small parcel in a mailbox, which disappeared as soon as it touched the bottom.”

“Ah. Yes. It was the beginning of this heat wave. The mandrake seeds. Very important that they be kept cool. They have air-conditioning here in the local Post Office, and I still have some errands to run. May I wonder why it was that I didn’t see you?”

“You’re not the only expert in glamours, you know.”

Riddle nodded at the hit.

“I assumed that any mail being placed in the box would move on to another,” continued Snape. Well, why not? “I posted a letter addressed to the occupant and set a tracer spell on it. It led me here. Though I must admit that at one point I wondered if I had set it wrong.”

“Well done. I assume that was the letter with the advert for the Jazz Festival in Montreal.”

Snape shrugged. “I supposed that your forwarding was set for any item placed in the box. That you would not query finding such an advert coming from Montreal.”

“As I said, Severus, well done.”

Snape refused to acknowledge the small warmth Riddle’s approval could still light in him. He’d been caught this way once. He shored up his defenses, though he did give in to his curiosity. “Why here?”

Riddle smiled again. “Would you believe I stuck a pin into a spinning globe?” He laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. “It stuck in this part of the province. This particular location was more serendipity than choice. The house was for sale and its location suited me.”

“Nosey neighbours suit you?”

Riddle shrugged. “There are nosey neighbours anywhere, you know that, Severus. But they exist only on two sides. Mme Tremblay across the way and les Vincent to one side. Behind and to the other side are the fields of a local farmer, M. Brisebois. He uses them for growing hay. Not to mention the overgrowth on the property which works in its own way to keep my life private.”

Snape couldn’t help mocking, “A great life for a man with ambitions to rule the world.”

“Now, now, Severus. Not the world. Just my little bit of it. And for the betterment of it. Well, too bad. Now they will be stuck with Fudge-like Ministers who have so little vision beyond their own aggrandisement.”

“And how does that make them different from you?”

Riddle lost the amused host visage. “My plans would have allowed Britain to take its proper place in the world of Magic. An influential player instead of the laughing stock of the European ministries. Not, of course, that British wizardry ever considered itself part of Europe. That scope was too large for them.”

Snape scoffed. “Let me guess. You saw yourself as a benevolent dictator?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“All those deaths.”

Riddle’s eyebrow rose above his glasses. “Really? Whose deaths?”

“All the ones...”

“The ones reported in the Daily Prophet? Reported by the Order of the Phoenix? Really, Severus. Do consider those sources.”

“Are you trying to tell me that no one died because of you? What a delusion...”

Riddle waved his objections away. “No. They did. But the numbers... well, if the numbers reported were in any way remotely correct, there would be no wizards or witches left in Britain. We’re not all that numerous, if you will remember. You being at Hogwarts have to know that. I mean, there were many years before Dumbledore when the intake for first year was less than twenty. Just because suddenly Muggle-borns and half-bloods were invited in... And don’t forget those who left the Island because they found the Ministry antiquated. Who married off-isle. Or, in this situation, refused to take part on either side and just went away.”

Snape couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Those deaths had had repercussions far beyond what Riddle was indicating. “You killed, Riddle.”

Riddle shrugged as though that were nothing important. “Yes. I killed. And all things considered, I probably killed fewer people than you did, what with your potions and your counter-plotting. When I killed, I did so selectively.”

Snape shook his head in disbelief. “Selectively? What about the wizards and witches who died on your orders?”

Riddle brushed that off with a wave of his hand. “My assumed orders. Come now, Severus. You know the kind of people who were attracted to me. Oafs who were looking for an excuse to let loose their inner dog. Pure-bloods who were nostalgic for the good old days when they held life in hand, when they could torture and maim to their hearts’ content. I spent more time holding them back than letting them loose.”

“Such a hero,” sneered Snape.

“Yes, I was. Just think what would have happened had I let Bellatrix loose, or Malfoy for that matter. No, I held them back, Severus. And I admit that had I known how all this was going to turn out, I wouldn’t have. Being labelled a psychotic killer with delusions of grandeur...well, maybe I should have shown them just what a psychotic killer was really capable of doing.”

Snape noticed that his defense had left Riddle flushed. A show of emotion he had not often seen in the Dark Lord.

“What about the Muggles?”

Riddle actually laughed. “Severus.” He sounded disappointed. “You’re not going to tell me that you didn’t enjoy killing your father? I know I certainly enjoyed killing mine. And you had more cause to do so than I did. At least mine disowned me from the start. I never felt his fist or his belt against my skin.”

Snape refused to respond to Riddle’s taunts. “Most of the ones who died because of you...”

“Died because of us, Severus. You can’t exclude yourself. You hated Muggles as much as I did.”

Snape continued, “Who died, had nothing to do with family vengeance.”

“Of course not. But when one keeps a pack of hunting dogs, one must allow them to hunt, with a kill now and then. Otherwise they grow disgruntled and become a problem.”

“That’s all wizards were to you, a pack of hunting dogs?”

“Well, you can’t tell me that they were intellectually superior. Oh, I give you one or two had something between their ears. You, for one.”

“Flattery, Riddle?”

“No.” His voice had dropped the derision. “Plain fact. I accepted you in the first place because of your skills and intelligence. And because you were just like me.”

Snape felt the heat in his cheeks and knew he was reddening with anger. He had to control that or he might not get out of here alive. Mme Tremblay or not, he didn’t doubt that should Riddle decide to kill him, no one would be any the wiser. Still, he couldn’t let the slur go by.

“I am not like you.”

Riddle shook his head sadly. “Severus. You’re deluding yourself. We were both ambitious for recognition. Both willing to do anything to attain it. I aimed higher than you, but ambition is still ambition.

He leaned forward, his elbows propped up on the arms of his chair, hands steepled together. “I will grant you that you have a conscience whereas I have not. One that Dumbledore certainly used to his advantage. You went running to him – I never quite understood why – and he manipulated you for his pleasure for twenty years. He used your precious conscience and turned you into a shadow of what you could have been. And even with all that, Severus, he could not stifle your skills and your intellect. Mind, his legacy to you has destroyed any chance of your taking your proper place among your fellow brewers. I notice that there have been no contributions to the potions journal in your name, even with your vindication. He is still manipulating your life from beyond the grave.”

Snape’s hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his fingers were white. “You should have remained in your grave after killing the Potters,” he snarled.

Riddle shook his head. “I would have, had I been dead. The myth of the Boy Who Lived covered up the fact that I walked out of the Potter house alive. Maybe not in one piece, but, to paraphrase a Muggle writer, the reports of my death were vastly exaggerated.”

“You hit Harry Potter with an Avada and it rebounded on you. You were dead.”

Riddle shook his head. “Vastly over-exaggerated. Listen to me, Severus, and I shall recount to you a little story.”

Snape purposefully released his grip on the arms of his chair. He sat back and waited.

“Once upon a time.” Riddle seemed to be enjoying himself. It was hard to tell with the glasses on. “You are Muggle enough to remember that, aren’t you? The beginning to a Muggle fairy tale. Well, once upon a time, there was a wizard with ambition. He felt his people had become far too insulated on their little patch of land and aspired to bring them into a modern age.”

Snape rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop grimacing, Severus. It’s my story and I’ll tell it as I want it.”

Snape gestured to him to continue. Riddle did, enjoying himself all the more. Merlin! Give the man an audience... Even if it was only of one.

“So, once upon a time, this wizard decided to see if others felt as he did. He discovered that most didn’t, but that if he phrased matters in a certain manner, there were many who would follow him. Those who didn’t, who went out of their way to put barriers to his plans, well, eventually he realised that they had to be dealt with. After all, what are a few when compared to the whole?”

“You brush off death so easily,” challenged Snape.

“I’m a psychopath, Severus. Death is easy to brush off for us. Now stop interrupting or I won’t have told my tale before our visitor arrives.”

Riddle made himself comfortable again. “The Potters were particularly irksome. Supported by Dumbledore, who had visions of an integrated wizardry/Muggle world – rather than our hero’s vision of...of a European Magical Union, the Potters were young enough, charismatic enough, to cause our hero to worry about their gathering their own followers. So he decided to eliminate them. Himself. You need not bother to chastise me, Severus. I fully accept the blame of their deaths. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Lily Potter had powerful magic of her own, but what saved the Boy Who Lived was not her magic, but a mirror.”

“What?”

Riddle grinned at Snape’s stupefaction. “Yes, a small mirror on a Muggle toy that hung above the boy’s crib. He hit it with his fist as our hero cursed him and the Avada split, to rebound around the room. That diminished its power. He ended up with a scar and our hero with some burns. And while the house was burning, he walked out, on his own two feet, under his own power, knowing that he needed time to recover from his injuries.”

“You’re saying that this hero of yours could not approach his people for medical aid?” Snape mocked.

Riddle shrugged. “Well, along with the fairly extensive burns, there was a dramatic diminishing of Magical power. My hero knew his people well enough to pretend to have died rather than to give himself over into their hands.”

“Such loyalty,” Snape sneered.

Riddle shrugged. “Such is the way of ambition.

“Our hero went underground and, despite rumours to the contrary, did not inhabit the bodies of small animals. He did get medical help for the burns and bided his time until his magic regenerated.”

“You’re going to tell me next that you didn’t inhabit Quirrell’s body?”

Riddle moaned slightly. “Severus! I can’t believe that you of all people fell for Potter’s hallucination!”

Snape raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“I met Quirrell in Albania. They have excellent burn clinics there, if you can pay for them. And they don’t ask questions. I took enough samples of his hair over the summer to polyjuice myself into him for any number of years. What? You think you’re the only one who got good marks in Potions. Good grief man, if what I’ve read in the Daily Prophet is correct, the Granger girl did it in her second year. It requires exactness, not particular skill.”

Snape was incredulous. “You were Quirrell? You taught at Hogwarts?”

Riddle’s laughter was sincere. “Oh, Severus. You are such a grouch in the morning. And it was such a delight to see you haunt the halls and hand out detention. Pure punishment, if I may say so, for having betrayed me.”

“But Potter said that...”

“Yes, that I inhabited Quirrell’s body...which I did to a certain extent. And that the body disintegrated and I departed as a spirit. That boy does have an active imagination. Mind, the fires I set did have a touch of hallucinogenics in them. Of course, after my failed attempt to get my hands on the philosopher’s stone, I thought it best to depart Hogwarts.”

“So where is Quirrell? Dead, I suppose.”

Riddle grimaced. “Tsk, Severus, don’t let the fact that I am an avowed psychopath presuppose that I kill constantly. Last I heard he was still in Albania. He fell in love with a local witch and I was supposed to bring Dumbledore his letter of resignation. He’s probably produced a dozen replicas of himself by now.”

Snape ignored the possibility of that. “Potter said he saw yourself at sixteen in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Riddle shrugged. “Probably did. I had experimented with hologramic reproductions of myself back then. I assume that Lucius Malfoy found the diary I had used among his father’s things. His father was one of my first mentors, did you know? He would have been so disappointed in his grandson. Not a killing bone in him. All that inbreeding, I suppose.”

“The year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Potter reported that he saw you reborn.”

Riddle sighed deeply. “My magic had finally completely regenerated and I wanted to restart my bid for power. Actually, it was Pettigrew’s idea that I should reappear in a manner most mysterious and terrifying. One of the few good ones he ever had. A lot of smoke and mirrors, with a Confundo here and there.”

“Not real?”

“All illusion. Come now, Severus, think a moment. The boy and I were connected, I admit that. Still are for all I know. Though distance seems to have weakened the link. Thank Merlin for that, the boy has an abundance of imagination in some areas, but in others... He spends far too much time worrying about his sexuality. The witches of Britain are destined to be greatly disappointed in their plans for their daughters.”

Snape wanted Riddle to focus on what was important. “You did order Diggory killed.”

Riddle shrugged. “Peter got away from himself. I told you that I spent more time restraining them. I meant it. Psychopath though I am, Severus, I am a neat one. I kill only when there is a reason. Diggory died for none. Worse, it gave Potter the impetus to stand up to me. That bloody wand of his...”

There was a knock on the door. Snape jumped to his feet, wand out. Riddle rose more slowly.

“Mme Tremblay’s sister’s nephew by marriage. The local constabulary. I’m going to invite him in. It annoys everyone that he and Thomas James are the only ones, other than you now, ever to have crossed my threshold. Do something about your robe, will you?”

By the time Riddle returned to the parlour, Snape had transfigured his clothing into duplicates Riddle’s own. Which Riddle noted immediately and he acknowledged with a grin.

“Officer Gallagher, may I present an old colleague, Professor Snape. Snape, this is Jean-François Gallagher, our very efficient local presence of the Sûreté du Québec. And, of course, Mme Tremblay’s sister’s nephew by marriage.”

The officer laughed, offering a hand in greeting. “Monsieur le professeur. Welcome to Cookshire. I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation, but Mme Tremblay is certain that you’re an IRA assassin come to kill M. Riddle.”

Snape smiled. “I have been accused of many things, Officer Gallagher, but I can assure you that being a member of the IRA is a new one for me.”

The men laughed.

“Will you be staying long, Professeur?”

“Ah, we haven’t decided on that, yet, Jean-François. Snape here is trying to get me to come round to some project he has in mind and I’m not certain I’ll oblige him. Besides, I have a project of my own I’d like him to co-operate on with me. If he does stay, I’m certain you’ll know about it very quickly.”

The officer smiled knowingly. “Thank you for being so understanding. I know it can be difficult for people who come from an urban area to accept that so much of their life is not so private anymore.”

Riddle escorted the policeman to the door, discussing something local that had both men chuckling.

“Projects?” Snape challenged when Riddle rejoined him.

“Well, I’m certain you’re trying to think of a way to get me back to Britain. Even should you succeed, Severus, do you truly believe that would change anyone’s opinion about you? Or that they would thank you for bringing the whole sorry mess back to their attention?”

Snape walked over to the curtains and pulled one slightly to a side. He could see Gallagher talking to the woman across the way. Is that what he’d thought when he’d knocked on the door? Maybe. But the problem was that Riddle was right. Even if he brought Albus Dumbledore back to life, there would be those who would still spit at him when he passed by.

“What’s this project of yours, and why would I want to involve myself?”

“Follow me.”

Snape slipped his wand into his hand before turning around. Riddle said nothing about his actions. He led the way through the large kitchen, out to the back porch. He stood at the top of the stairs going down into the garden. Snape stopped next to him.

The back garden was completely different than the front one. Other than some mowing and pruning, that one had been allowed to remain as it had been during the time of les demoiselles Rose. But this garden revealed that its proprietor had magical powers.

Under the canopy of leaves from the trees that edged the property was a lush garden filled with herbs and plants with which Snape was all too familiar. A wizard’s garden, flush with ingredients that a potion brewer like himself would love having at hand.

“The greenhouse in the corner,” pointed out Riddle, “houses the mandrakes and other plants that really should not fall into Muggle hands. There’s a series of special spells on it that refuse admittance to one who has no powers. If someone tries to force his way in, the contents disintegrate and the greenhouse collapses in on itself.”

“I had no idea that you liked pottering around in the garden, Riddle.”

Riddle smiled. “There is much about me that you don’t really know, Severus. Which is why I am offering you this opportunity.”

“Opportunity?”

“Hmmm. The basement contains a decent wine cellar and there is still lots of room left over for a potions laboratory. Should that interest you.”

“And why ever do you think it might?”

Riddle shrugged and leaned against one of the supports for the veranda roof. “Let us assume that you do set yourself up somewhere in a lab. We’ll also assume that you won’t be told to move on as a favour to the Minister. Who will be willing to buy your potions, Severus? You are very much out of favour and the only potions you’d be able to sell, and probably not at the kind of money they should command, will be poisons, or love potions or other idiotic crap that is far below your ability.”

“And should I set myself up here, with you, how would any of that be different?”

Riddle turned to face Snape. “How long have you been over here?”

“Three weeks.”

“Ah. Yes, well, allow me to fill you in on a few of the delightful facts of life here in la belle province. Whether Muggle or Wizard, there is no loyalty here to the old sod. The political powers could care less about Britain. About anything anglais. The Muggles are mainly concerned with dressing well, eating out, taking their annual winter vacation in warmer climates and maintaining their suntan the rest of the year. On a political level, they are very involved in their language and their point of view which admittedly does differ from the rest of the country.

“The big debate right now in this wizarding world is the inclusion of modern French in spells. The Traditionalists, les pures-laines, are battling that point out with the Modernists. And I do mean the battling in the literal sense, Severus. We were ready to die for power, here they do so for the use of a le in the place of a lis.

Neither they nor the Muggles give much of a damn about sociopaths or psychopaths, as long as they do nothing to attract local attention.

Now, if I had settled in Ontario, it would be very different. They have strong ties to Britain, and its wizarding community is probably very up-to-date on both our stati. But, as I said, this is Québec. Vive la différence!”

Riddle turned to go back inside. Snape took a last look around the garden and followed him in.

“Give me one good reason why I should want to join you, Riddle, other than the promise of a lab.”

Riddle hitched a hip on the edge of the kitchen table, a long, narrow, golden thing, looking every inch its age and value.

“Well, you could probably convince yourself that you’re doing the world a favour by keeping an eye on me. One never knows when my homicidal tendencies might resurface.”

Snape leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why would you want me to join you?”

Riddle shrugged. “You say you don’t want flattery, but, frankly, Severus, you were one of the few of my followers who didn’t bore me. You were continually on your toes and blocked me whenever you could. You made a fine competitor. I am here due in a large part because of your actions.”

“Then I would think that you’d want revenge.”

Riddle waved that notion away. “I’m a psychopath, Severus. A pragmatic one. I should have paid you a bit more attention. But I didn’t and that’s why...I...lost. And that’s why you betrayed me, isn’t it, the first time? I stopped paying attention to you. I took your support for granted.”

Snape pretended it wasn’t a direct hit.

Riddle saw through that. He stood up. His snort was self-mocking. “And to think I said you were just like me. Yes, I, too, would betray me for such a reason. See, we are much of a like, Severus. In need of confirmation of our worth. Well, should you remain here, I can promise to be suitably impressed with your work. Not that it will take much imagination on my part. You are a superb potions brewer.”

Snape cocked his head to a side. “And your welcoming me into your life would have nothing to do with the fact that you are alone out here, the only wizard around, bound to a place which doesn’t know the real you, in a wizarding society that would ignore you anyway even if it did?”

Riddle shrugged. “Are you saying that you also wouldn’t like taking time to discuss at length the foibles of our world. Over a game of chess and a fine wine.”

“As you say, we are alike. Loneliness is a high price to pay for a peaceful life.” And Riddle always did need an audience.

“Yes, it is.”

Snape looked around the room, seeing it for the warm place it was. Co-habiting with the wizard who had tried to destroy a world, even if it was an imperfect one. Conversation where he wouldn’t have to watch every word he said in fear that it be reported back to the Ministry. Chess and fine wine. A laboratory of his own, to do with as he pleased. Riddle would be the last person on earth to tell him he couldn’t experiment. And that garden at hand, with its fresh ingredients.

Snape pointed to the glasses that Riddle had not yet taken off. “Why them?”

“Ah. Yes, well, you see in some matters, Harry Potter did not allow his imagination loose. This happened the night in Godric’s Hollow. One of the few things neither Magic nor Muggle skills could deal with. One of the few non-illusions about me. Consider it the punishment for my misdeeds.”

Riddle removed his glasses.

Snape caught himself from smirking openly at the rabbity-redness of those eyes.

[:]:]:] La fin [:]:]:]