His Masterpiece

Chapter 7

Severus stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time with his shrunken trunk tucked into a satchel, and a slip of paper Avery had given him. Scrawled across it was an address. Severus had no intention of ever returning to Cokeworth; let it burn to the ground for all he cared. He was free. Free of his father, of Hogwarts, of James Potter.

Even now, he could still feel the prickle of hands and eyes, and he was never too sure if it was Potter or his own paranoia. He could see Potter on the platform with Lily and his friends, a little ways down from where he stood. Severus couldn't even muster the energy to feel that familiar sting of jealousy; he could only feel relief, because if he could see Potter then he wouldn't, he didn't-

Severus hurried through the barrier, the slip of paper clutched tight in his hand.

The address led him to a boarding house in Knockturn. "You should talk to Herman. He lives there. He's a friend," Avery said. "He'll set you up with a job."

The boarding house was in fairly decent condition compared to the derelict shacks that squatted on either side of it. It was run by an old hag. "Rent's to be paid in full and on time," she said as she led him upstairs to a small room with an iron bedstead, a wash tub, and a coal-burning stove. "Or I'll eat your liver. Toilet's in the closet down the hall. You'll be sharing with everyone on this floor, so mind you don't take too long. Laundry and supper is included. Pump for water is out back if you can't summon your own."

She left him standing there. "What a dump," he said and tossed his cheap, imitation leather satchel on the bed.

He met Herman later that day on the stairwell. He was a thick-jawed, thick-armed half-blood; never even sat for his NEWTs, he'd dropped out of Hogwarts in his sixth year. "What sort of work can you do?" He'd asked.

"Anything," Severus answered. "I'll do anything so long as it pays well."

"There's a butcher here in Knockturn looking for someone who knows how to keep their trap shut."

"I am the very soul of discretion."

Severus found himself delivering wrapped cuts of meat too illegal to risk sending by owl - hippogriff, dragon, and he was fairly certain some of it came from sentient beings, possibly even human - for 12 sickles an hour. In the evenings he went to the pub with Herman and the rowdy group of wizards and witches he ran with, nursed his single beer, and listened to politics. They were, after all, friends.

"Have you ever actually met him?" Severus quietly asked one evening at their usual table as he flipped through The Daily Prophet.

"Of course not," Herman scoffed. "Only a select few ever get to meet him. I get my orders through Avery, same as you."

"You've gotten orders?" Severus asked. "Avery hasn't told me anything since he installed me here."

"He'll let you know what he wants from you. Just be patient."

"What sort of things does he have you doing?"

Herman, who was well on his way to being drunk, grinned a little goofily and glanced around, making sure no one was listening in. "Sometimes, people need a little... incentivizing. Nosy reporters, loud-mouthed mudbloods- I listen, I report, and sometimes I do a little roughing up."

Roughing up. Severus couldn't help but think back to Alison Hayes. "You ever kill anyone?"

"Of course not. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the paper. We're a political party, that's it."

"Who do you think is doing all the killings then?"

"Think about it, Severus," Herman said, leaning in close enough that Severus could smell the whiskey on his breath. "This 'Dark Mark' that shows up every time there's a murder? Who came up with that? I've certainly never seen it before the papers started plastering it across the front page."