All gratitude to JK Rowling for the universe and the characters.
All gratitude to Leigh-anne and GinnyW, for patience divine and beta-work extraordinaire.
37. LIES
She carried an advanced Transfiguration book she'd uncovered in the back of Professor Snape's bookshelf into the Great Hall, displaying it quite blatantly.
It was heavy and the weight of it kept her hands from trembling.
It was far beyond NEWT level and, she could tell by the pursing of Professor McGonagall's lips, made its point immediately. If her professor refused to give her challenging assignments she would find them on her own.
As she passed Professor Dumbledore he arched his eyebrows at her in query.
"Professor Snape was called out," she said crisply without slowing.
She took her seat, all too aware of the empty one beside her, and buried her face in her book.
She was careful not to get any soup on it. She hadn't asked for permission to read it, much less haul it into public, and even though it wasn't Dark, it was his, after all. It was fascinating material. She'd reread the first page twice before she was able to discern that fact, because her insides were quivering with the awareness of where he was and what might be happening, no matter how blasé he was about his meetings with the Dark Lord.
She'd read the first paragraph on the second page three times before she gave up and just stared at the page to avoid whatever sets of eyes might be staring at her.
"So," Hooch's voice came from the other side of his empty chair, "what did you do with the body?"
She looked up to see Madam Hooch's sly grin. "I figured you'd do him in sooner or later. You held out longer than I would have."
She forced a weak smile, and then realized she'd never thanked the older witch. "That thing you told me—about breaking something? It worked. Brilliantly."
Hooch nodded, satisfied. "It was only a temporary release, of course. You need more—" Her glance flickered down the table where none of the other faculty appeared to be paying any attention to their conversation. "You need more," she repeated, without elaborating.
"Perhaps we can work out a schedule," Hermione said.
Hooch nodded again, then turned to respond to a remark from Professor Flitwick.
Hermione stared at her plate. Everything tasted like ashes.
She'd done her duty, reported in to Professor Dumbledore and put in an appearance.
She couldn't sit here any longer.
She picked up her book and headed for a certain fourth floor window with the view she desperately needed.
XX
Fuck!
Instead of the comfort of the Malfoy ancestral home, he'd been summoned to the crest of a jagged outcropping of rocks, somewhere in Yorkshire if he didn't miss his guess. The wind whipped and howled, cutting through him like a ruddy knife.
He dropped immediately to his knees, took the hem with his fingertips and raised it to his lips—
And a flash of white—with a drop of dried blood—flashed through his mind, unbidden.
The Dark Lord's hand graced the top of his head, the fingers stroking his hair with affection. "Rise."
He rose and met the red eyes, unflinching.
They were alone on the hill, a thin layer of clouds softening the dark sky overhead with only a faint glow indicating where the moon struggled to break through.
"Take me to Spinner's End," the Dark Lord said.
"It's not fit for your presence," he replied.
"I want to be alone with you."
Severus raised the skeletal hand to his lips and, taking the Dark Lord with him, Disapparated.
XX
The stone ledge under the window was almost deep enough for a window seat. Hermione Transfigured a handkerchief into a cushion and climbed up onto the sill.
The view of the front lawn spilled before her, sloping down to the gate and if it had been daylight, the Apparition point beyond.
"A watched pot never boils," she told herself.
Such admonitions had never stopped her from watching pots, however, and now she couldn't leave this window, this view, lest the gnawing in her stomach drive her mad.
She opened the book in her lap, determined to at least attempt to distract herself with it. When she found the text difficult to read, she used her wand to light the page. Immediately, the view from the window vanished, replaced with her own reflection.
She "Noxed" the wand and after a few quick blinks, was able to study the landscape below again.
He hadn't even been gone an hour. She truly would go mad if she kept this up.
She lit her wand again and bent over the book, determined not to look again until she'd read and understood an entire page.
Five minutes later the book was closed in her lap and her face pressed against the icy glass as she stared down at the gate, willing a figure in billowing black to appear.
XX
"Welcome to my humble abode." He swept a pile of books off a chair with a wave of his hand and stepped back, allowing the Dark Lord to take the seat. The books landed neatly on the floor by the grate.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"No, thank you. But do get yourself something."
Severus pondered that a moment, deciding to accept it as advice and not just pleasantry. As he poured the firewhisky into a small tumbler, he arched a brow.
"You have me alone, my Lord. Is there a private task you wish to assign me?"
"I hope you don't mind being torn away from the company of your bride?"
"Merlin, no. I'm grateful for the break." He shoved some papers aside and slouched onto the dusty settee.
"Elaborate…."
Severus grimaced. "I'm a solitary man with simple needs and desires, including a strong need for solitude, something that is never granted me with a bloody teenaged witch living in my quarters."
"But there are benefits."
He shrugged. "Indeed."
"Ah, Severusss, to be a man with simple needs you are very complicated."
"Not so very complicated, my Lord."
"Then tell me, what do you want? The time is growing near when the rewards will be given, and I don't even know why you're with me, Severusss. I don't know what you want, what you need…."
Ah, was this the game they were playing?
"And what if I told you all I want when it's over is to walk away?"
"I'll need you."
"And as long as you need me, you have me."
"But… if you were to walk away, would it be alone?"
"My Lord, you know—" He swallowed, and tried again. "You know that the only woman I ever wanted is dead."
A loud hiss, a flare of red eyes, and the Dark Lord rose and towered over him. "You dare remind me of that night? The night that almost cost me everything?"
Severus dropped before him, his head bowed and arms outstretched, opening himself up for retribution.
"Speak to me!"
"My Lord, that night brought about a disaster of unforeseen proportions and the torment you suffered alone because of it overwhelms any pain inflicted on me. I dare not compare our pains and losses."
"No. You dare not."
The silence stretched; his shoulders began to ache but he didn't relax or change position. He continued to offer up his body in penance and he attempted to relax, the better to receive the Cruciatus.
"But—that doesn't mean you had no pain, no loss."
Again, the fingers stroked his head, so tender, so gentle.
"And what of the Mudblood, Severusss? Isn't she a worthy substitute?"
He stiffened. "There is no such thing as a worthy substitute."
"You are making this very difficult. It shouldn't be. All I want to know is how to reward you when we have won, and you block me. What has the old man promised you? Tell me that!"
Finally, he rested his hands on the floor and looked up at the looming figure and laughed. "Nothing, my Lord. I am to serve as spy and risk death and betray my Lord simply for the glory of the Light."
"And what does he promise Potter?"
He allowed his lips to curl in disdain. "Peace."
The Dark Lord tossed his head back and cackled, a sound that would be pleasant to those who resided in the bowels of hell, perhaps, but grating in the dismal decay of Spinner's End. "Then we both offer him the same thing. It is my wish to grant him eternal peace.
"You force me to be direct, Severusss. I resent that, but I will humor you," the Dark Lord said from high above him. "Am I to surmise that you want to walk away from the rewards you have earned because you want to take your bride to safety, a bride that will have no place in the future we have dreamed of and worked for and sacrificed for?"
He raised his face and looked up at the cadaverous visage, the boiling red eyes, and tasted fear. "Are you asking if I've betrayed everything you represent, my Lord?"
"Yesss."
XX
"Come along, girl. You're doing yourself no good out here freezing, and I have the same view from my quarters."
Hermione jerked upright, dragging her eyes away from the night and stared at Madam Hooch.
"You heard me. Same view, only warmer."
Hermione glanced back down at the still empty lawn and then stood, her muscles aching.
If it was the same view and warmer, it seemed silly to resist. She followed Madam Hooch to a painting of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, complete with players flying. Madam Hooch waited a few minutes, then spotted the snitch and scratched it with one long fingernail.
A door appeared, and Hermione followed her through into her quarters.
They were unexpectedly welcoming. Since Madam Hooch apparently used her bedchambers for an actual bed, there was plenty of room for two squishy chairs and a long sofa arranged around the fireplace.
But it was the window that drew Hermione. She walked straight to it, and yes, it was the same view. In fact, from this angle she had an even better view of the gate. "Thank you," she said, as she placed her book on a nearby table and took up her place to watch.
"You're bloody serious?"
Hermione turned and looked at her, surprised.
"You're going to stand at the window and watch for him?"
Hermione felt her face flush. How much did Madam Hooch know? Or more importantly, what did she not know? Hermione's obsession with watching for Professor Snape's safe return must look bizarre.
The older witch's expression softened. "He's been at this since you were in nappies, girl. He's survived without you; I imagine he'll survive with you."
"So… you know."
Hooch let out a harsh sigh. "I'm not a Death Eater. I'm not a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I am unaligned. I don't intend to get dragged into this mess. My only desire is to survive it intact, is that clear?"
Hermione nodded, somehow relieved.
Madam Hooch whipped out her wand and moved the chairs to the window. "If you insist on watching, we can at least be comfortable." She cut Hermione a measuring look and then said, "Accio, firewhisky!"
Hermione's mouth fell open. "I don't drink—"
"Tonight you do, girl." Hooch tipped the bottle and filled two tumblers. "You're a big girl, now." She handed one of them to Hermione and clicked it with the edge of her own. "Absent friends."
Hermione nodded, then took a delicate sip—
And spewed it out. "Water!" she gasped. "Please, water!"
Madam Hooch gave her a dismissive look. "Take another sip and this time swallow the damn thing."
Eyes watering, Hermione tried again, and this time the liquid seared all the way down her throat. She bent double, coughing, feeling as if steam was coming out of her bloody eyes!
Then she fell back against the soft chair and took in a deep breath.
"Better?"
Hermione glared at the older witch.
"Tell the truth, now."
"Well, I'm not cold any more."
"And?"
"And… the aftertaste is actually rather … lovely."
Madam Hooch grinned and raised her own glass. "I knew you had it in you."
Hermione held the smoking tumbler in both hands and let her eyes drift back to the window.
"We need to talk, girl."
"Yes," Hermione agreed absently. "I definitely need to know more about wandless magic."
"That's not the least of it," Madam Hooch said abruptly. "Look at me, girl. I want you to hear what I say."
Hermione sat up straighter and looked at her.
"Severus wanted a report of our session together. Specifically, he wanted to know what tactics I used to upset you. And Hermione, it's none of his fucking business."
Hermione drew back, startled.
"Yes, he needs to know that you are safe, and that you can master your new power. But the specifics are not his to know, especially when they are specifics about how vulnerable you are to him."
Again, Hermione felt herself blushing, which seemed ludicrous since she would have assumed the heat of the alcohol had already flushed her beyond redemption.
"You aren't helpless, and you aren't dependent upon a man, any man, and that includes the wizard in your bed. Don't offer up your strength and your power as some sort of gift to him, because he bloody well doesn't need it, and you do. From this point forward if you want me to train you, you will understand that. You'll understand that secrets are power, and the fewer people who know your secrets, the more power you have."
Hermione was stunned at the bitter words, yet they seemed to have no bitterness behind them.
"Who knows about your wandless magic?"
"Professor Snape, of course…"
Madam Hooch's eyebrows shot up at that.
"… and Harry and Ron and Ginny. And you. That's all."
"Too fucking many."
"They won't tell anybody. They promised."
Madam Hooch gave her a frustrated look. "Well, it can't be helped, but you need to stress to them how important it is that they keep this information to themselves."
"I will, but I don't understand why it's so important."
"Because, girl, you are in the middle of a bloody war, and you have a new power that nobody knows about. Use your bloody brain!"
"A secret power." The words sounded silly even as she spoke them, like some Muggle superhero in a comic book. But she realized what Madam Hooch was saying.
"A secret that could end up saving your life."
"I see."
"Your weaknesses should also be your secrets. You've got to stop making it so obvious that you worship the ground that bloody wizard walks on."
Hermione stared back out the window. She had no retort to that.
"And when in hell are you going to stop calling him 'Professor?', and insist that he stop calling you Miss Granger?"
Hermione snapped her attention back to the older witch. "That," she said crisply, "is none of your concern." She took another drink of the firewhisky, this one deeper, and this one going down more smoothly.
"It sustains an imbalance of power in your relationship—"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Hermione snapped. And as she gazed out at the dark lawn, she added dreamily, "And you don't know how he whispers Miss Granger in my ear …." Just the memory sent a delicious shiver down her spine. "Or how the wordprofessor tastes on my lips…."
Madam Hooch cleared her throat loudly.
Hermione closed her eyes, and the words spun through her head, words whispered in the dark of night, and she didn't care how it sounded to others, she knew terms of affection when she heard them in his dark, silky voice….
"Well, then." Madam Hooch poured herself another hefty portion of firewhisky and tossed back half of it before she was able to continue. "About your training."
XX
The Dark Lord's entry into his mind was swift and violent, and had he not already crouched on the floor he would have staggered. The images flew by so quickly he couldn't catalog them, much less control them.
He was at the Dark Lord's mercy.
And then his mind emptied, and he collapsed, panting on the dusty carpet, his mouth filling with the filth that had collected there for decades.
Time passed. Minutes. Hours. He couldn't say.
He was dimly aware that the Dark Lord was seated again, watching him.
He struggled to push upright—felt the bony fingers close over his shoulder—heard the breathy voice beckon him.
And so, once again, he took up his place at his Master's knee, leaning against it, as he felt those fingers stroking his hair, waiting for his confessions….
"Tell me about her…."
"She's not beautiful."
"Not like the other one."
"Nothing like—like Lily. But she's clever. Some say, the brightest witch of her age…." He closed his eyes and sighed as the fingers found his temple. "She's brilliant."
"And yet you would kill her for me?"
"Her very existence is a threat to you, my Lord."
The hand stiffened; he felt anger pulsate. "You dare think she is powerful enough to—"
He draped his hand around the bony calf and nestled in closer, turning his face into the clenched hand. "She is everything only a pureblood should be."
"Tell me more, Severusss…."
Tell me more, Severusss…. Give me what no one else shares. Give me slivers of your heart...
"I lied to her about Lucius, you know. I told her that he and Draco would torture her…."
"Lucius has never hurt a woman he took to his bed, Severusss. He prefers pleasure to pain, both in the giving and the receiving. Could his son be so different?"
"Draco is his father's son," he admitted.
The fingers stroked through his hair so gently, the voice toying with a puzzle…. "You wanted her for yourself?"
"No. I didn't want her. I loathed the thought of her."
"Yet you lied."
"She chose me. She chose me over all the others. She had selfish reasons, of course. But…"
"Ah, so she is a clever witch."
"Not so clever," he laughed mirthlessly. "She believes herself in love with me."
"Perhaps she is."
"She's enthralled with the first cock she's known, with the hands that bring her pleasure, and calls that love," he sneered into the darkness.
The Dark Lord's soft laughter was a rustle of dry leaves scraping on pavement, not unlovely in its own way. "Ah, Severusss…. You say that as if it's a bad thing."
"It's a torment. Especially with Ministry spies evidently using my sex life as a source of titillation."
"Poor Severusss, a private man with no privacy."
Severus stiffened. "Yes, well, I do find myself annoyed to be the focus of so much interest."
"Lucius finds it fascinating."
"As he has informed me," he sneered.
"And of course, his source at the Ministry also seems to be quite fixated on how often you have sexual congress with your bride."
"And that would be?" he said sharply, wondering what new enemy he'd spawned.
"As always where she is concerned… a Weasley."
"Arthur?" He almost barked the name, he was so shocked, and then quickly, on a hiss, corrected himself… "Percy."
"That family does have a fixation with Mudbloods." The Dark Lord rested his hand on Severus's shoulder and continued, "Although I can't imagine why you'd care, Severusss. The witch is in your bed and you've wed her. Why wouldn't you take advantage of that situation?"
Severus shifted uncomfortably. "It's unseemly."
The Dark Lord barked a laugh. "Ah, Severusss, as always, you entertain me. I don't think you know how to be happy."
"I've little experience at it. And my current situation doesn't lend itself to happiness unless one is shallow enough to assume that all it takes to be happy is to have a place to stick one's cock."
"Severusss, I don't care if or when or where you stick it. Lucius likes to know things. He pays well for information. Percy Weasley likes money, and is eager to keep all his options open. His loyalty is to his job in the Ministry, and he doesn't seem to care who ends up controlling it. These are petty things, Severusss. I hope you don't want me to get involved." The raspy voice that had begun amused ended with warning.
"No, my Lord."
"However, it is true that Percy indicated a particular interest in the Granger girl to Lucius, once it was clear that Lucius hadn't won her for Draco. The Weasley idiot thought they suddenly had a connection between them, a similar longing for Mudblood flesh and a joint reason to care what happened between you."
"And you wonder why I resent being the focus of so much speculation?"
"And your clever witch? Does she care?"
He closed himself against the memories that assaulted him, memories of her scent and her sighs and her eager flesh.
"I've seen her in your memories, Severusss. She looks at you the way other women look at Lucius."
He flinched away from that idea, from all that it might represent. "I told her that if she married Draco, Lucius would kill her before Christmas."
The silence was dark and heavy, and then the Dark Lord broke it. "She will die."
"Before Christmas?" he asked, hardly daring to breathe.
"By Christmas, this will all be memory. I will defeat Potter on the night when he first attempted to defeat me, only this time, I will be the victor. I will take my rightful place, and you… Severusss, you will be my right hand."
He buried his face in the Dark Lord's palm, then turned it and kissed the back of his hand, as jubilation coursed through his body.
"You are too gracious, my Lord."
"You have earned it, again and again. If I'd had a son…."
"He would've been as handsome as the very devil, if such a being existed."
"The Mudblood isn't the only one who will see beneath the surface. Pureblood witches will beg for your attentions. You won't want to walk away."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "If she's to be killed, I must be the one to do it."
"How?"
"Poison, of course."
"Granted, my boy. I will make it clear. She will be safe from all but you."
XX
He took the hill to the castle blindly; if ever he would be vulnerable to attack it would be on a night like this, a night where he'd stripped his soul open and spilled his secrets to feed the Dark Lord's need to feel human.
So simple, in reality, to gain the Dark Lord's trust.
So simple, yet nobody else had stumbled across the truth.
Feed him pieces of your humanity, deliver him those truths you dare only whisper in confession, and he'll absolve you for it.
He'll love you for it.
Love.
The Dark Lord loved him.
The front doors burst open before him and a figure was silhouetted in black against the blinding light.
His gut clenched.
She ran toward him—flung herself at him—smelling of liquor. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
And instinct—blind instinct, that's all it was—caused his arms to wrap around her and his face to bury in her hair.
She turned her face up to his, her lips, her sweet, sweet lips—
And he stopped himself short of kissing her. Wrenched himself away from it, from pressing his disgusting lips—lips that had kissed the Dark Lord's hand in supplication—and pushed her away. "I told you," he said harshly, "he never hurts me."
And the stupid girl didn't even show pain or anger at being rejected, just relief.
"Go," he commanded. "I have to see Albus."
"All right." She rushed ahead of him, held open the door for him, her eyes large and luminous and filled with the sight of him. Of him.
"I'll fix tea," she said softly.
XX
Albus rose, his visage sharp lines and deeply etched wrinkles. "You have news?"
"Hallowe'en. He expects to defeat Potter at Hallowe'en."
"So little time," the old wizard said, frowning. "If only we'd had this information sooner—"
"You're welcome," Severus replied icily, and whirled to leave him alone with his schemes.
She was waiting for him.
The girl who looked at him with her heart in her eyes.
The woman who thought he had honour.
The wife he had vowed to kill.
She waited for him.
With tea.