It was nearing the end of another long shift, and Miranda's feet were killing her. As she and Aaron walked their beat one final time, she was looking forward to being done with this hellhole. Tonight's assignment had brought them to one of those soulless suburban neighborhoods where every house looked exactly the same. Even the tulips and daffodils dotting the chemically green lawns were identical. It was the stuff of nightmares.
"There's Fisher and Hart," Aaron said as they approached the corner of Privet and Seltey.
"Thank the Lord. This place will suck out our souls faster than the Dementors," Miranda replied.
Mismatched in every way, Amanda Fisher and Gabriel Hart were the sort of people you wanted at your back. Fisher's keen eyes and lightening reflexes had gotten them out of more than one scrape. Hart's round face and unobtrusive manner made him all but invisible—until he got his hands on you.
"What's the word?" Fisher asked, her eyes darting along the street, probing every shadow that twitched.
"Chased off a couple of Dementors about an hour ago. Wouldn't surprise me if they found there way back here. The raggedy shits have the memory of goldfish," Aaron said. "Other than that, nothing."
"Good. It'll give me time to finish my Austen," Hart said.
"Which one are you on?" Miranda asked.
"Emma. She's a brat, but I love her," he replied.
"We ain't getting paid for you two to talk Lit. 101 all night. Come on, Hart," Fisher said, starting up the sidewalk without waiting for her partner.
"Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does," he quoted. Then he gave Miranda a jaunty wave and followed his partner up the street.
"I would much rather have been merry than wise," Miranda replied, returning his wave.
"Oughta be your motto," Aaron said with a grin.
Miranda grinned back. "It is."
"You're off the next two weeks, right?"
"Right. Two weeks at Cadfael's to get the smell of non-werewolves off me, and then the big Circle."
"Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. I'm sorry I have to miss Maggie's birthday, though. I'll come by as soon as I get back."
"Don't worry about that. Just watch yourself. I know this is supposed to be a peace meeting, but thats an awful lotta teeth and claws you'll be in the middle of."
"I will. I promise. Give Rachel and Maggie my love, will you?"
"Will do."
He gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. When they reached the place where the hedgerows grew thickest, they Disapperated with a pair of quiet pops. Miranda reappeared outside of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The rainbow-colored curtains were pulled down tight over the wide windows. The street lamps were burning low this close to the witching hour. It was a moonless night, and the brighter constellations were peeking through the glow from the rest of the city. But she hadn't come to Diagon Alley for stargazing.
Almost every night since Isahak's attack, she had found her way here. Something inside her refused rest until she had paced under his window for the length of a smoke. She knew it was silly, and bordering on paranoid. But she kept on coming, checking that the Lal family was safe for another night.
She lit a cigarette as she wound her way up to Dosas. If things had been normal, people would still be out and about at this hour. But as the Death Eater attacks and the rumors grew more numerous, the denizens of the Alleys were keeping their heads down. It irked her that people had to hide like this. Voldemort was one wizard. One. His followers were few—and many of those were still trapped in Azkaban. It should've taken one, maybe two good fights to sweep the rest of them away. Instead, they were all jumping at their own shadows, wondering when the Death Eaters would strike next.
Isahak's window was dark tonight. Good. That boy's sleeping habits were almost as bad as hers. She sent a set of smoke rings drifting into the darkness as she paced the cobblestone sidewalk, hoping the Aurors on duty wouldn't catch her. She wasn't in the mood for Auror Moody's thinly veiled insults tonight.
Cigarette spent, she flicked the butt to vanish it. As the final sparks died, a scuffling movement behind the dustbin caught her eye. Her wand slid from her sleeve even as a flash of blue sparks headed her direction. She barely got her Shield Charm in place in time to deflect the curse. As she slashed a hex in retaliation, she charged headlong into the shadows after it.
Her attacker sent another curse at her. The spells collided in midair, hissing and skittering over the cobblestones. She followed this with a silent Incarcerous. Her attacker dodged the twisting white ropes awkwardly, hampered by his uneven gait. While he was struggling to regain his balance, she flicked one of the dustbins at him. He grunted as it clipped his shoulder, knocking him into the circle of lamplight. The sickly yellow glow glinted off his etched silver mask.
"Don't you boys have anything better to do?" she said as he scrambled to his feet. "Drop your wand. Hands up where I can see them."
If she'd been expecting some sort of speech, she was disappointed. The air between them thinned and distorted, her split-second warning of his next move.
"Oh, no you don't," she shouted as she leapt towards him, grabbing his arm as he Disapperated.
There was a harsh tug behind her navel, and then the horrible feeling of being stuffed through a straw. She focused all her attention on keeping hold of the Death Eater as they hurtled through the abyss, praying he wouldn't Splinch her. They came up in another dimly lit alley. He wrenched his arm out of her grip, and vanished with a violent crack.
"Fuck," she swore as she fell to her knees.
The back of her neck was disturbingly wet. The hand she laid on it came away bloody.
"Episkey," she muttered, aiming her wand in the general direction of the wound.
It was a sloppy healing job, much like her sloppy attempt at capturing the Death Eater who'd given it to her.
"Some Auror you are," she said, pushing herself up off the street.
She kept her wand in hand as she crept out of the alley. There was a slow, but steady stream of cars cruising up and down the main street. She sniffed the air, catching a whiff of magic underneath the gasoline fumes and the rotting garbage. White buildings rose up on either side of her as she followed the elusive thrum.
"The Ministry," she murmured as the familiar red phone booth came into view. "Curiouser and curiouser, cried Alice."
The thrum of magic pulsed and she tighten her grip on her wand. As she stepped back into the shadows, the inside of the phone booth blurred momentarily. When the distortion cleared, Robert Walker appeared, dressed in a decent approximation of No-Maj business casual. He was whistling carelessly as he emerged from the booth, but he paused just outside of it, his eyes scanning the darkness for trouble.
"Late night at the Ministry, Robert?" Miranda asked, stepping into the light.
A broad smile replaced the suspicion on his face. "Miranda! Is this your beat tonight?"
"Not exactly. I ran into some trouble in Diagon Alley. Of the masked and robed kind."
"I don't like that."
"I didn't either." She grimaced. It irked her to have to admit failure to a boss. "He escaped. I was able to hold onto him through the first Apparition. I lost my grip on him after that."
"Forced Side-Along is well-nigh impossible. I'm impressed you held onto him at all." Robert glanced at the back of her neck. "Looks like he winged you pretty good for your trouble."
"It's nothing. I'll be fine in the morning."
He put an arm around her shoulder as he pulled a black wallet out of his pocket. "You sure will. The good people of St Mungo's will see to that."
She tried to step away from him, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. She must have lost more blood than she'd realized.
"I don't need St Mungo's."
He was flipping through the wallet with one hand while he scolded her. "Now, Miranda, I've got to insist on this. I'm not taking any chances with you. You're too damn expensive to replace."
"Robert—"
"I'm not taking no for an answer. How could I face Rachel if she found out I let you bleed to death."
By then, Miranda was starting to feel genuinely awful. "Fine. You win. This time."
"Thank you." He flipped a large brass button out of the wallet. "Here it is. One Port-key to triage. Ready?"
"Ready and unwilling."
He laughed appreciatively, and they touched the Port-key together. The world spun out from under their feet, until it reformed as the overly polished floor of St Mungo's triage center. Miranda's knees buckled as the Port-key stopped spinning, and Robert tightened his hold on her to keep her from falling.
"Fuck I hate Port-keys," she muttered.
"Just turn your head the other way if you're going to be sick, would you?" Robert said cheerfully.
Healers were bustling back and forth through the room. After being passed several times, Robert helped Miranda to one of the creaky chairs. Then he went to talk someone into letting them skip the queue. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. The room still felt like it was spinning. She needed a Blood Replenisher, a hamburger, and a shower in that order. Maybe a fuck if Severus was up for it.
Her hands were shaking by the time Robert returned, Healer in tow. Miranda leaned heavily on him as the Healer led them to a tiny, curtain-lined cubicle. She half-climbed, half-fell onto the narrow examination table. There was a buzzing in her ears, and the Healer had to repeat herself several times before Miranda could make out the words.
"Can you tell me what happened?" the Healer asked.
The voice was vaguely familiar. Miranda blinked her eyes back into focus and turned over her shoulder to find herself once again face-to-face with Severus's mother.
"Hello, Healer Prince. Fancy meeting you here," Miranda said wryly.
Healer Prince's frown deepened. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm Auror Rose. You probably don't remember me. We met a couple of months ago over an Imperiused boy."
"Ah. Yes, I do remember."
Miranda flinched as Healer Prince drew her wand across the wound, clearing away dried blood and shoddy spell-work. Her disapproving silence was deafening.
"A Death Eater Splinched me," Miranda explained, getting back to the business at hand.
"I see. Please hold still. I can't close the wound properly until I clear away this unfortunately placed Episkey."
Miranda's jaw set in annoyance. "I couldn't really see what I was doing."
"Don't Aurors carry triage Port-keys?"
"Of course they do," Robert put in. "They're kept spelled up for emergencies too."
"Hmmm."
"I just don't see the need go running to the hospital for every nick and scrape," Miranda said.
Healer Prince ran her dark eyes over the scars that peeked above the neckline of Miranda's tunic. The deliberate motion, along with the sardonic expression, was so much like Severus it was uncanny.
"So I see," Healer Prince said.
Miranda's temper flared so hot she almost jumped off the examination table and stalked out of the hospital. Robert seemed to catch her mood.
"Hospitals are the worst. No office, Healer Prince," he said. "I know I do my best to avoid them. Feel free to hate me for dragging you here tonight."
"You're too charming to hate, Robert, and you know it," Miranda said.
"I but try, Miranda, I but try."
"This is going to hurt," Healer Prince said.
"Do your worst," Miranda replied.
A sharp, cold pain lanced through Miranda's neck, making her suck in a harsh breath through her teeth. Her eyes started to water, and she balled her hands into fists as her skin knit itself back together.
"I've almost got it," Healer Prince murmured in surprisingly soothing tone. "There. Good as new."
Miranda ran her hand gingerly over the back of her neck. "Thanks."
"Of course. I will come back to check on you in fifteen minutes. If you could take this Blood Replenisher, and drink some water in the meantime, you should be all set to leave when I get back," Healer Prince said, handing Miranda a vial.
"Yes, Ma'am."
St Mungo's Blood Replenisher tasted sour and harsh, unlike Severus's smoother brews. Miranda pinched her nose, gagging as she choked down the contents of the vial. When she'd finished, Robert handed her a glass of cool water. She was horribly thirsty, but she knew better than to gulp. Drinking water too quickly after Blood Replenisher never ended well.
"You don't have to wait with me," she said as Robert settled himself into a chair next to the examination table. "I promise to stay until the Healer clears me."
"Hey, I made you come in. I'll see you through to the end," Robert said. "I'd like to hear a little more about this Death Eater that got his hands on you."
Miranda took another drink of water as she leaned back against the wall. "He was outside the Lals flat. The Lals are the same family that got attacked before. Some jackass Death Eater Imperiused an eleven-year-old boy and forced him to attack his own grandparents."
"When you're in a cult, everything and everyone outside of it is expendable," Robert said.
"I just wish I understood why they're attacking this particular family. There's nothing terribly out of the ordinary about them, as far as I can tell. They own a restaurant in the Alley. The boy's parents are deceased, but both from apparently natural causes."
"Apparently natural? Tell me more about that."
"Meera Lal, the mother, suffered from lupus for her entire life. In the end, that's what got her. Yakov, the father, died in his sleep earlier this year."
"Before the attack, or after?"
"Before." Miranda frowned into her glass of water. "He was an Unspeakable. His father thinks that there may have been some sort of foul play, but there's no proof of it. We've requested information from the Department of Mysteries about his contacts and his research, but they're dragging their feet about giving it to us."
"That Department likes to think everything that goes on inside it is classified. I'll see if I can do anything to speed up their cooperation."
"Thanks. I'd appreciate it."
Healer Prince returned, giving Miranda a stern look until she grudgingly finished her glass of water. The Healer took her time checking Miranda's vitals and her wound, to the point that Miranda wondered if she was dragging it out on purpose.
"You are cleared to leave. You may have some twinges and aches. If they last longer than two days, or if they impede your daily tasks, please come back," Healer Prince said.
"I will," Miranda said, lying through her teeth. "And thank you."
Healer Prince handed Miranda a scroll of discharge parchment, and Miranda and Robert were on their way. They parted in the lobby of St Mungo's, each Disapperating with a quiet pop. As Miranda headed through the shadows to Severus's private entrance to Hogwarts' dungeons, she replayed her fight with the mystery Death Eater. By the time she reached Severus's rooms, she was nearly growling with frustration.
The rooms were dark and silent when she slipped into them. Severus's desk, armchair, and bed all seemed untouched.
"The Dark Lord had better leave you in one piece tonight," she muttered.
She went to the charmed slate by the door to scribble an order for a hamburger and a beer to the house elves. Then she sat down on the sofa to begin the process of tugging off her boots and emptying her pockets. A tray with a hamburger on brioche and a tall glass of frosty beer appeared on the side table. Miranda dug into it eagerly, ravenous after the long night.
When she'd finished her midnight meal, she went to the bathroom and started the shower running. She hoped the water pounding on her skin would take some of the frustration away. She stripped off her clothes, bundled them into the laundry bin, and sighed as she stepped under the hot water.
She'd just started scrubbing the night's troubles off of her skin when she heard the door open. The final kink of worry sitting between her shoulders unknotted with the knowledge that Severus had made it home one more time.
"May I join you?" he asked.
"Be my guest," she replied, stepping back to make room for him.
He hissed as the hot water hit him, then crowded her against the tiled wall for a demanding kiss. His body was freezing, and she wrapped herself around him, willing some of her warmth into him.
"How was tea with the Dark Lord?" she asked when their lips parted.
"I…wasn't with the Dark Lord," he replied, his eyes shifting away from hers.
"Well, good. You're so cold, I assumed he'd been using you for target practice again."
"No. I was in the forest."
He turned her so that her back was towards him, and began massaging some of his homemade shampoo into her hair. His fingers were heavenly as they worked her scalp. She purred and let her eyes drift closed.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Wretched," he replied.
"Regular wretched, or exceptionally wretched?"
"Exceptionally. Potter attempted to murder Draco. He would've succeeded if I hadn't been passing through the hallway at the time."
"Oh, God. What did he do?"
He rinsed the soap from her hair, and moved his hands down to massage her shoulders. "He decided it was an appropriate time to try the Sectumsempra. What is this on the back of your neck? It looks new."
"It's nothing. One of your Death Eater friends was sneaking around the Lals again. I caught him as he Apparated. He Splinched me and got away."
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. "I see."
"Funny thing is, the asshole dumped me off outside the Ministry of Magic."
"That is not terribly surprising. There are several Death Eaters who work there."
She braced one of her hands on the wall. "I wish we had any idea what they were after."
He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck, and she let her head drift to the side to give him better access.
"I've done what searching I can. Unfortunately, I've not been privy to whatever this scheme is."
"I know. I'm not blaming you." She turned and ran her hands up over his chest. "Enough about me. How the fuck did Harry Potter learn your spell?"
He grimaced. "I have a theory."
"And? Are you going to share this theory?"
"I suspect my old potions textbook has fallen into his hands."
"How would that have happened?"
"I did not…have the funds to purchase many school books as a student. When there was a text available in the library or from a teacher, I borrowed them. But they had to be returned at the end of each year."
"And you took notes in the margins?" Something about the way he glossed all his books was so adorable to her.
"What else are margins for? I had meant to reclaim the ones I'd used most someday, but I suppose it slipped my mind."
"You've been a little busy for the last decade or so. Did you get it back?"
"No. The brat hid it somewhere."
"I'm sorry. That must be infuriating."
His eyes were dark brown tonight, rather than the cold black they became when he'd been using too much Occlumency. But even as their natural color, they pierced her with an intensity that made her shiver.
"It is the least infuriating thing that has happened to me today."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He paced towards her slowly, backing her into the far wall of the shower. "No."
Her heart started hammering like a bird's and she wet her lips in anticipation. "Alright. What would you like to do instead?"
His predatory gaze dropped slowly to the side of her neck. "Tell me you love me."
He hadn't even touched her and already every nerve was sparking. "You know I do."
Finally—finally—he threaded the fingers of one hand into her hair, coaxing her to tilt her head, to expose her tender neck to him.
"I want to hear it."
"I love you." Was that her voice, so breathless? "I love your brilliance. I love your courage."
"And?" Fuck his voice was dark as sin.
"I love how you fuck me."
Everything happened at once. His lips came down on that perfect spot where her neck met her shoulder, his free hand rolled and plucked at a nipple, his thigh pressed between her legs, grinding against her. She wrapped her arms around him, her nails already biting into his shoulders. He sucked hard on her neck, biting and soothing the bites with his tongue, marking her as surely as Dante had ever done.
"What's gotten into you?" she tried to tease, but her breathless voice was more needy than joking. "I thought you didn't like leaving marks where people can see them."
He didn't answer her right away, preferring to continue his work on her neck. By the time he did, she'd almost forgotten the question in a haze of lust.
"I want the werewolves to see," he said fiercely, turning her to face the tile. "I want them to know you've been claimed, even if they can't know it was I who did the claiming."
He pulled her to him until her back was flush with his front. His cock was grinding against her ass, hard and hot. One of his hands still teased her nipples, tweaking each in turn. The other released her hair and descended to stroke her clit with practiced fingers.
"Shit that's…that's fucking perfect," she panted, her body imploding as she attempted to rut against his hand and press back against his cock at the same time.
He laughed darkly. "Res miranda. Bend over. I want you now."
The heat growing between her legs throbbed at his feral tone. She widened her stance, and bent forward, bracing her hands on the wall. He ran his hands over her hips, then her ass, his touch hard and possessive. Then he teased her folds with the velvet head of his cock, running it slowly between them until she was aching with need.
"Stop teasing me, you ass," she growled. "Get on with it."
"Ma belle sauvage, your wish is my command," he purred, and thrust into her aching cunt.
He took her hard, thrusting into her as she cursed and moaned. As the pressure built, he wrapped one arm around her, stroking her clit again with his insistent fingers. The heat from the water, the heat of his body, the heat building inside her broke her apart. Her magic sizzled out of every nerve, dancing across her skin, skittering up the wall, and hissing as it collided with his skin. She came with a sharp cry, fisting her hands against the green and silver tile.
"Yes," he hissed, the rhythm of his hips becoming more desperate. "Meus ocellus, mea rosa, mi anime, mea uoluptas, mea—"
His honeyed voice became a long, rumbling groan. He clutched her hips, holding her against him with bruising force. The red sparks of his magic shot across her skin, and she rode the echo of his orgasm in them.
When he finally withdrew from her, she sank to her knees, leaning hard against his body. He stroked her hair as he held her up. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she glanced up to take him in. His skin was flushed, his softening cock still half-hard, and he was panting like he'd run a race.
She turned over her shoulder and buried her face against his inner thigh, sinking her teeth into the tender flesh there. He yelped, than moaned as she soothed the bite with her lips and tongue. His fingers wound into her hair again as she marked him.
They sat together on his bed afterwards. She was dressed in his nightshirt, and he was running his wand over her hair, patiently drying the locks. The earlier wildness had mellowed into something deep and calm.
"Do you know what the werewolves say about mating marks?" she asked.
"No. Have I unwittingly trapped you into marriage?" he replied.
She laughed. "Not quite."
"Pity."
The word was spoken so quietly she wasn't sure she'd heard it. "What was that?"
"I said, tell me."
She arched an eyebrow, but let it pass for now. "They say that you can use the marks to call your lover to your side, no matter how lost they are. Even from beyond the grave."
"I see. Calling up an undead version of your loved one. Werewolves are true romantics."
"Stop that," she said, swatting him playfully. "It is romantic. I'm sure the dead come back as ethereal, sexy ghosts and not as rotting corpses."
"And now I am being forced to contemplate the mechanics of sexual congress with a ghost. I shall never be able to look the Bloody Baron in the eye again."
"Oh, you," she said, swatting him again. "The point is that now we don't have to worry. Whatever happens, we'll be able to find each other."
He looked down at her, his deep brown eyes shining. "You can be sure, whatever happens, I will always find you."
End Notes:
Miranda and Gabriel are quoting Emma by Jane Austen at each other.
Miranda later quotes from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Severus's Latin translated to English runs: apple of my eye, my rose, my soul, my joy