Interviewer
"Wait. What was that last bit?" I felt my pulse accelerate. Vows? Malfoys?
He quirked one eyebrow, and rather crassly drawled, "What? About her tits?"
"No, no," I responded, briefly looking at my watch. It'd been hours already since I'd been here. I couldn't believe how much information I was getting. Wasn't expecting the smut, but I certainly wasn't complaining…
"The vow bit. You mentioned the Malfoys?" I pressed. He blinked but made no motion to continue.
"Are you aware that Draco Malfoy was also deemed missing during the Final Battle?"
"Draco Malfoy is dead."
I paused, startled. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, after the former's probation had expired, had spent a great deal of effort in trying to find their son. I had even interviewed Narcissa in a piece on war widows and orphans, as she offered the unusual perspective of a bereaved mother; even then, she had insisted her son must still be alive.
"Please elaborate on the vows you mentioned in conjunction with the Malfoys," I said, hoping my suggestion played easier than a "yes" or "no" question.
He seemed reluctant. Interesting -- he'd essentially just detailed the nipple circumference of a 17 year old witch but couldn't share this?
"Can you confirm how Draco Malfoy is dead?" I pressed.
"How is that relevant to your story?" he sneered.
Touchy ground. Was he getting tired from our interview already? It was barely 10 in the morning.
"His parents would receive some closure, I imagine. Do you know they still take out a Prophet ad every week with a reward for any information on their son?"
He pursed his lips. He closed his eyes slowly -- purposefully. His posture relaxed, he asked stoically, "There was no mention of a vow in the Pensieved memories?"
"No, sir," I said, jotting down notes while not taking my eyes off of him. What was all this about? Merlin, I could almost taste the bonus I'd get from publishing this story.
He turned to the side, avoiding my eyes. "It was an Unbreakable Vow. I was to protect Draco to a certain point. I did. He still died in the end."
"What were the details of the vow? Wouldn't you have been affected with his death?"
"Not beyond the point of the vow's requirement. But I could determine his death from its thrall nonetheless."
He seemed more remorseful over bedding Granger as a 16 year old than he did over the death of his legal godson. One he took a vow for? So Dumbledore knew?
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I'll have to let his parents know."
The look I received left me a little breathless. I faltered, but was desperate not to lose the traction I had.
"Please continue where you were."
He paused, scrutinizing my face a moment. Then he continued.
Snape
December of that year actually brought me into a great deal of contact with young Malfoy, incidentally. As I'm sure you were made aware through Lucius' trial, Draco had been initiated as a Death Eater and tasked with things far too difficult for a boy. The Dark Lord knew this; I knew this; his parents knew this. Draco, ever impertinent, ever confident, thought he was given such momentous tasks because of merit.
As a result, when the child's parents asked me to help him, his aunt pressured me into making a vow. As a professor, I made to protect all my students, so it was a non-issue. I must stress -- the vow was very inconsequential.
However, it is somewhat relevant to more of my dealings with Granger.
Do you know of Horace Slughorn? I believe he still teaches at the school?
Ah, yes. Well, he had a… delightful… organization he hosted during his tenure. I had been a member of his so-called "Slug Club" as a student; he was a pompous, toadying professor with a desire to foster the same brown nosing in his students.
Naturally, as friendless and angry as I was, I jumped at the invitation. Particularly as there were certain other members I… had a passing interest in.
He reinstated it the year before Dumbledore's death when he took over his old position as Potions' professor. I, of course, had taken the Defense Against the Dark Arts position as we've established.
Granger, of course, became a fixture of Slughorn's fascination and was an instant Slug Club initiate. Draco, on the other hand, failed to impress Slughorn in the ways his godfather and own father had done before him.
Shortly before the holiday, Slughorn hosted a Christmas soiree for his members, alumni and otherwise. I tried rather insistently to get out of the invite, but knowing Granger would inevitably be there, I deigned to go.
We had barely spoken, let alone touched, since that night in the Room of Requirement. I felt a sense of anxious energy at seeing her outside of the classroom for some reason. The party being rife with alcohol and mistletoe didn't help my unease. She wouldn't foolishly trap me under the mistletoe, would she? Her many "Severuses" panted the last time we fucked had left me conflicted as to her intentions.
What I didn't expect was how my instincts were right to make me nervous -- however, my energy would be split not between the legs of Granger but between two boys: Draco and Cormac McLaggen.
The latter was the first of my issues that night. I saw Granger arrive on his arm and felt my stomach drop in an all too familiar way. I hadn't thought she'd arrive with a date; she had confided her frustration to me with the Weasley boy after asking him to go with her as a friend and their subsequent falling out. I hadn't thought she'd pursue further interests in the matter.
McLaggen was arguably attractive. Tall, athletic; the golden Gryffindor. It was like seeing a young James Potter and Sirius Black entangled around the woman I had been fucking. I took less joy from the knowledge that I had been making her scream than I thought I would -- I realized I had no idea if she was only bedding me.
I avoided her eyes. I suddenly wished to distance myself as much as possible. I had the feelings of a spurned lover; was I not? Could she not have come to the party alone?
I patrolled the party, avoiding her as much as I could until Slughorn inevitably pulled me to Potter of all people to compare our potion skills. An absurd conversation, though let the record show he only succeeded on my coattails -- he had come into ownership of my own old, heavily-edited potions text.
After taking the boy down a peg, I began meandering again until I found myself behind a curtained portion of the room. I spotted mistletoe ahead of me… and saw, below it, Granger and McLaggen. His hand was around her ass; her lips warring with his very visible tongue.
I fled the room.
The old rage filled me. The anger I hadn't been able to shake since I was 16, watching Lily and James Potter snog in every corner of the castle, was coursing through my veins.
That fire was further stoked by reentering the main room of the party only to see Filch holding Draco by the ear. The damned boy had been ignoring me so much that I had nearly forgotten what his voice sounded like when he pleaded with Filch. Slughorn, visibly awkward, allowed the boy to stay.
I, on the other hand, was not able to bottle up my already peaked irritation.
So it was with no great surprise that when Draco's first words to me once I dragged him from the party were, "Bugger off, Snape," I nearly killed him -- vows be damned.
"What do you think you're doing?" I spat.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Trying to get into the party."
"Bullocks," I sneered. The expletive caught him off guard; his pale eyebrows shot up to his even paler hairline.
"I am trying to help you, Draco," I said, dragging him further from the room. "I cannot help you if you do not talk to me."
He kept looking at the wall we had stopped in front of. The Room of Requirement. A bit of a chill settled in my stomach as I realized how recently Granger and I had been fucking on the other side. Thinking of Granger only made me angrier, realizing she would likely be in this room shortly with yet another Gryffindor prat.
"You need to tell me what you're trying to do," I hissed. "I have made an Unbreakable Vow to protect you."
The wheels visibly turned in young Malfoy's head as his wan expression grew ghostlike.
"... Vow? No. That's ridiculous. I'd owe you a life de-"
"Your mother and aunt felt it was the best thing to do to protect you, while ensuring my loyalty to the Dark Lord."
He was shaking his head, almost defensively. "No. No, you're trying to take the glory from-"
Granger. Draco. Potter. All of these children playing at war. I felt venomous.
"What glory? The glory of your father being imprisoned for failing the Dark Lord again where I have succeeded?"
His face fell. He turned and stormed off.
For one, blissful night, I would have paid Galleons to skirt my duty. My rage over Granger; my frustration with Draco.
I let him leave.
I was surprised when, later that night, the wards outside of my office prickled. I opened the door, expecting a contrite -- or even desperate -- Draco.
Empty space hung in front of me, but I smelled her right away.
The cloak brushed me as she made her way inside. I closed and silenced the door.
She slipped off the cloak, looking at me with a relieved smile. I took a moment to study her -- I had been so gripped by my jealousy earlier that I'd failed to appreciate how she looked.
Beautiful. It wasn't something I'd really acknowledged of her. Her body stoked my desire; her attractiveness was an objective fact. But something about her soft hair, the slim cut magenta robes that brought attention to that sweet line of cleavage… she looked…
Adult.
"I was hoping you'd still be up," she said, guileless. Her grin faltered at my silence.
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" she said, lip immediately between her teeth.
"I thought you'd have had more… pressing… plans with Mr. McLaggen," I snarled.
She looked completely surprised. Did she expect me to be a happy suitor, pleased with the leftovers of another man's meal?
"Excuse me?" She gasped, hurt coloring her face.
"As Mr. McLaggen had all but penetrated you under that mistletoe, I expected the finishing act would have been happening soon after. Your usual spot, perhaps, in the Room of Requirement? But you've never seemed limited by propriety. Why not use an open hallway?"
I felt, though I certainly did not listen, to the part of me screaming to stop. My envy was poisonous; it was filling the back of my mouth with the hurt I wanted to lash out like an unspoken spell. I had been here before; there was no going back from certain things said. Bitterly -- stupidly -- I felt "Mudblood" roiling on my tongue.
She looked at me fully. Her already large eyes went perfectly round as her moue of distaste turned to an impossibly thin line.
"You…"
Was she about to cry?
"You saw me? At the party?"
The tears in her voice egged me on.
"It was difficult to miss such a sordid display. I was unaware that you required an endless supply of cock."
She recoiled as if slapped, her head shaking. "Why didn't you help me?"
Her voice seemed small; her shoulders curled in on themselves. I don't think I'd see her display such insecurity since the year her teeth were cursed.
"Help?" I said, the syllable popping from my lips. "Help you… fuck another man?"
She looked at me as if I was insane. "I was trying to fight him off. He wasn't taking, 'No' for an answer." She laughed, joylessly. "I was even thinking how badly I wished you were there! I was-"
She cut herself off. Cheeks pink. "I was scared."
I stared at her, disbelieving. Scared? Wanted me there?
She didn't look at me, but rather introspectively noted, "With duels and battle and evil, it's all spells and logic and instinct from so much practice. But this was… I asked him to go the party with me, but I didn't ask for this. He wasn't evil, or a Death Eater. But I felt just as scared of him in that moment as I did the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries."
She looked a little surprised at her own admission and turned to me, her eyes clearly wet in the dim light of the room. "I can cast a Patronus and have disarmed convicted criminals, but I felt weak the moment his hand reached under my dress."
I felt the rage flicker again. All at once, I realized the rage stemmed from possessiveness. Those were my thighs to caress; my body to plunder.
I remained silent through her monologue. She had begun crying silently at the last admission, and I was struck by my earlier thought, that she was adult. She was still a teenaged girl.
A teenage girl who had just been molested, and who had come to me.
The nausea quickly hit me. I was acting as if I was a 17 year old boy again, catching her with my barbs like a thicket of Devil's Snare. All over my jealousy. She had been legitimately harmed, and I was harming her further. What was separating me from the Dark Lord's followers?
Her shoulders pulled up and she gave a rather undignified sniffle before slightly blubbering, "I am so sorry to have bothered you tonight. I'll leave."
"Don't," I said immediately. We looked at each other in shared surprise.
"No?" She sniffed.
"I... " I cleared my throat. "I made an error in my assessment of the situation tonight. Had I know you were in trouble, I would have stepped in and given McLaggen detentions for the rest of his academic career."
I added, "I still might."
She laughed. A wet, choked laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
"You don't have to do anything, Granger," I said, belatedly. "You may stay until you feel more composed."
She nodded. Surprisingly, she still came to me, her hand finding mine in the low light and bringing me to the chair behind my desk. She lightly pressed me into sitting, curling onto my lap.
She tucked her head below my neck and whispered, "Thank you."
It was with a twisted sense of irony that I realized lashing out at Granger in jealousy meant I had been stagnating in the decades since I had done the same to Lily.
It was with a twisted sense of excitement and dread that I also realized that I was now compartmentalizing Granger alongside Lily.
Author's Note: Well, surprised?! Five years is a bit of an unnecessary hiatus, but here I am! Real life, as with every fanfic author (and some real ones... GRRM, I'm looking at you), took precedence. Marriage, motherhood and a professional writing career. However, my writing has been exclusively nonfiction for several years, so I've a bit of pent up creative writing to unleash.
Additionally, ever since Ashwinder went down for several months, my fanfic reading was piqued, and so I've been blowing through several fanfics I've meant to read for years. The issue with that, however, is that years as a professional editor have made me picky beyond belief (including with my own works -- expect the earlier chapters of this fic to be edited at some point). Getting a bit fed up with fics disappointing me after investing so much time in them, I decided to get back to the one fic I still had running through my head -- this one! The plot for this fic has never gone away from me; I swear I had more of it written on a laptop, but of course said computer has been obsolete for nearly half a decade and is so banged up, I literally can't open it.
So I'm starting a bit anew here, though with the existing outline in tact. I do have the last chapter written for this work, as well as some other snippets written during my intial "return to writing" verve. I won't be able to make any promises here; reading my earlier author's notes makes me feel like a real ass for calling out other authors on their unfinished works while this fic has sat here for years.
But I hope I WILL finally finish this one, once and for all! Let's just hope my writing stands up to the years of journalism that has altered my wording ;)
So, as always -- please, please, please review! Thank you for reading (and that includes reading this note!), and thank you for taking the time to comment, if you do!
