Chapters 111-120

The Muggle-borns Protection Act

(A few days later, in the office of the Headmistress)

‘They are going to force us to do WHAT?’ Hermione’s eyes blazed. Her curls were literally standing on end with fury. ‘That’s disgusting. Muggle-borns aren’t cattle that can be branded for their own good!’

Minerva McGonagall’s lips tightened with disapproval. Behind her, the painted form of Albus Dumbledore was stooping in an attempt to look over Snape’s shoulder and read the parchment the potions master was holding.

Severus ignored the former headmaster. Instead he lowered his head again to peruse the draft of the new law that Potter had handed over to him.

THE MUGGLE-BORNS PROTECTION ACT

sprawled in garish Gothic letters at the top of a sheaf that was filled with the cramped writing of an unknown scribe of the Wizengamot.

The gist of the proposed law was quite simple.

All witches and wizards with one or two Muggle-parents had to present themselves to the Muggle-born Registration Commission to receive a tattoo infused with a special version of the Protean Charm. The charm would link the tattoos with a device at the Aurors’ Office. If a tattooed Muggle-born was in danger of death, the tattoo would activate and instantly summon one of the Aurors currently on duty at the office.

‘Do you truly believe that this foolishness will work?’

Harry wearily rubbed his scar. ‘I don’t, Professor. But—’

Severus frowned. As he looked at Potter, he suddenly grew aware of the fact that his perception of the wizard had altered. Unobtrusively he studied the young man while Potter proceeded to explain the motivations and expectations of the Wizengamot.

A young wizard was standing before Severus, with a shock of untidy black hair and an unfortunate tendency to slouch. Brilliant green eyes that were still far too expressive for the line of work he had chosen. His glasses were no longer round, but formed fashionable, imperious rectangles. Only when Severus put his mind to it, he recognised the family likeness in the nonchalant posture and messy hair, in those clear eyes. With faint surprise, Snape realised that when he looked at Potter, he was no longer seeing Lily Evans’ and James Potter’s son or The-Boy-Who-Lived.

He merely saw Harry Potter. Auror-in-training, youngest member of the Wizengamot. Best friend of his wife. And a man who had done his level best to save his life.

Severus scowled at the young man.

‘Severus,’ he said curtly.

Potter jerked his head up, eyes suddenly alert and quite shocked. Severus’ nostrils flared with faint amusement. ‘Call me Severus.’

The room was absolutely silent all of a sudden.

Severus’ scowl deepened. Everyone was staring at him, with varying expressions of shock evident in their faces. Then the faint, thudding sound of clapping hands broke the silence. Severus glared at Dumbledore. As a painting the man was only marginally less annoying than in life.

And whom did he think he was he fooling? In spite of it all, in spite of the old man’s Machiavellian schemes and his ruthlessness, in spite of his sometimes callous cruelty, his stubborn pride, in spite of it all, he— Severus pressed his lips tightly together. He still missed the man, most of all in the presence of his portrait. Hermione caught his gaze, and the warm understanding in her eyes was a shock all over again.

He turned back to more immediate concerns. Potter was still gaping at him like a mooncalf.

‘You—may—call—me—Severus, Potter.’

The young wizard swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. He blinked. Then he grinned. ‘Harry,’ he said. ‘Only if you call me Harry.’

Severus looked down his nose at the young wizard, irritation rising inside him. It didn’t help that he was well aware of the fact that the lips of his wife were quivering with mirth.

He sniffed, affecting his best supercilious Potions Master’s manner. ‘Very well.—Harry.’

Harry grinned. Surprisingly, he didn’t insist on having the last word in the banter, but returned to the topic at hand.

‘The law will be passed this week. People are frightened, the Wizengamot is scared, and the International Confederation of Wizards endorses the plan. Though Draco thinks that they are simply happy that the British wizards are going to play Guinea pigs. Err…Murtlaps.’ Harry looked disgusted. ‘I’m getting a tattoo, as well.’

‘You?’ Hermione asked. ‘But you’re not Muggle-born at all.’

‘But he is the perfect poster-boy of the wizarding world.’ Severus smirked at Harry’s scowl. ‘You still need to work on that expression, Pot—Harry.’

Harry snorted. ‘Maybe you can give me lessons, Severus? But yes, you’re right. They need a face for the campaign. Someone people…fancy. And I’m it.’

‘So you don’t think this plan will work, Severus?’ Minerva eyed the parchment as if it was a particularly slimy flobberworm.

He shook his head. ‘Those killers are experts. They pick their victims carefully. Remote camping places, detached houses. Their timing is perfect. They Apparate in, cast “Avada Kedavra” and Disapparate again. Those tattoos will accomplish exactly three things: they will afford the Wizengamot the comfortable illusion of having done something, although they haven’t done anything at all, create a false sense of security that will make Muggle-born witches and wizards less careful than is currently advisable…and it will assure that the bodies of future victims will be warm when the Aurors find them.’

‘Then you do believe there will be more killings?’ Hermione asked in a small voice.

He looked at his wife where she stood next to the Headmistress. Those silly curls. Chewing on her lower lip again. Beautiful, he thought. Brave. And Muggle-born.

Cold fear flooded him. He had to force himself to meet her eyes and reply with an honest answer. ‘Yes, I do. Why should they stop now? Their pattern is established and successful. They will continue as long as it fits their agenda. Or until they slip up and make a mistake. I sincerely doubt that the ministerial branding of Muggle-borns will accomplish that.’

‘Shit,’ Harry said succinctly.

‘Indeed,’ Severus agreed.