Drarry One Shots

A Complex Game of Chess (Part One)

A/N I'm a bit obsessed with Severus Snape at the moment and always undecided about him. I want to forgive him as a character but also know this is purely because of the fabulous Alan Rickman. I'm sure that if another less formidable and remarkable actor had played him in the movies; my view might be very different especially as 'book-Snape' is far less forgivable. Anyway, with the great Alan Rickman in mind, I've played with canon (I know it's not something I usually do) while trying not to change the main events drastically. There's a mix of film and book canon, particularly during the battle and because I like the assembly scene and the exchange between Harry and Snape before McGonagall duels with Snape.

The story starts between year six and seven (also not normally something I do), four weeks after Dumbledore has died and two days before Harry's seventeen birthday. I've pushed back Bill and Fleur's wedding to the end of the summer '97 and just before the start of the school year.

WARNING: Harry is severely abused by the Dursleys and this story contains a violent attack as well as historical references. Please don't read if you'll find this triggering.

***

Severus Snape covered the urge to wince when he felt a sharp, nearly painful, tug in his magical core. The feeling was horribly familiar, not too dissimilar to when the Dark Lord summoned his followers using the Dark Mark. Only it was different too. Sharper, and more urgent. He quashed the feeling down and ignored it.

He always ignored it.

Shifting slightly in his armchair, he continued his evening reading; an article on the benefits of using Madagascar Periwinkle in medicinal potions. It was a most fascinating piece of research and far more important, he tried to convince himself, than the growing call that seemed to centre at his solar plexus and radiate outwards.

A dull ache remained suggesting his presence was still required though the imminent threat had passed.

At the second sharp tug of urgency, he twitched imperceptibly; it was strong. Stronger than before. The magazine in his hands rattled slightly and berated himself for reacting. He was better than that. He was better at supressing his emotions than that. He was better at hiding the truth than anyone.

Severus almost wished the late-July evening was colder, enough to warrant a fire in the empty hearth to chase away the encroaching darkness outside. As it was, he felt a fearful chill in his bones, as if this time was different from the previous calls that he'd left unanswered. He glanced across the room at his godson who remained blissfully ignorant of what was occurring and for that he was grateful.

He breathed heavily through his nose and went back to reading the piece written by Simmond Siaceae-Chinensis, a renowned potioneer in academic circles.

However, the pull on his core was now strengthening in waves and the words no longer ran coherently in front of his eyes despite his careful scanning of the sentence he was attempting to absorb.

He hated the feeling. He hated it with a passion. Though his face would never show what he was experiencing.

At least when the Dark Lord called there was a sense of purpose. He may detest the man, if he could still be called a man, but he had a reason for answering the call. A purpose beyond prostrating himself and swearing false allegiance and taking whatever punishment or otherwise bullshit Voldemort decided he needed to enact. And although he didn't particularly like the fact that he was doing all this for Albus Dumbledore, it was a means to an end.

Only he wasn't doing it for Albus Dumbledore, not really, not in the depths of his heart; he was doing this for Lily. His Lily. His Lily Evans. Lily Potter.