Author's Warning: Some mention of potion-induced abortion.





The air was breathless at night, nothing stirred. The surface of the bond was an unrippled as a mirror, the moon leering down upon me. I waited impatiently for the clock on my vanity to ease its hands towards midnight, knowing that Lucius was too sullen to visit me.


At long last, the awaited hour came, and with bated breath, I slipped into a black velvet cape and silent shoes. My lantern was small, but enchanted to give only the user light. I believe that Lucius had purchased it for me at one of his less reputably frequented dealers.


The house was still alight and alive, though the dining hall was silent and vast. I crept past the tables, ignoring the elves who gave me quizzical, yet indifferent glances. I put too much trust in my servants, I see that now.


The walk to the stables was fraught with tiny sounds and movements that sent my whole nervous system skittering. I longed for nothing more than to be in the comfort of my Hogwarts bed, oddly enough.


The trees curved round the house, drowning whomever happened to be walking in a deafening and engulfing roar of silence. My breath shot out in whispy clouds from my mouth and nose, and I stumbled several times, too distracted by the macabre shapes the branches made in the darkness.


Midnight, as it was often told to me as a child, is the witching hour. When all things fearsome and dark come out to frolic and toy with those innocents haplessly wandering onto their playground. I used to sit at my window at night, chin in hand, waiting for the giant grandfather clock to strike midnight in the monotonous and somber chimes that would ring about the hallways, sound waves bouncing furiously around the stairs and tumbling happily into my rooms.


There were no lights in the stables, to my relief and to my concern. Surely the Professor would have left some trace that he was awaiting me?


I pushed open the gate silently, gloved fingers twitching above my wand, a terrible feeling in my stomach that this could have been one of Lucius' ruses. There was a dark movement to the left of me, and Almost shrieked in surprise.


The Professor's sallow face appeared inches above my own, moonlight giving him an odd, shimmering look. His pale skin was exaggerated, and his eyes were more cloaked than usual. He smirked at my reaction.


Amusing, how rarely students ever change, he remarked. His nervousness didn't escape me, however, for his voice was much lower than his usual baritone.


Why? Do you not expect everyone to be frightened of large bat swooping down on them?, I asked teasingly. He gave an invisible shrug.


I've been called worse, he replied cryptically. I gave a hiss of exasperation.


Why am I down here? It's cold, I was sick to my stomach, and I fear that Lucius has probably sent some vile little wretch to spy on me, I snapped, rubbing my abdomen, which I had noticed had become slightly swollen. A thought, no, a dread had been lingering in my mind for a few weeks. I also noticed that I wasn't bleeding regularly. The Professor must have noticed my concern.


You look even more distraught than usual. How often have you been sick?, he asked. It was his way of cajoling me. I swallowed, mouth drained, and the darkness seeming so much more appealing than beneath the black beacons of his gaze.


Six weeks. Perhaps more. It's nothing, most likely nerves, Professor, I tried to laugh, but it caused such friction in my throat, my hand went to my neck. The Professor smirked, golden teeth flickering in the wan light.


It is very simple to discern a hormonally charged woman. Particularly a pregnant one, his voice was resolute, all point of argument disbanded, his own conviction in his correctness was steadfast.


But I still could not believe the truth.


Professor, you jump to conclusions, just as you did in my childhood. I assure you, this is no pregnancy, my voice held its own bristled warning.


, he had come behind me, whispering into my ear, placing his hand over my lower stomach and splaying his fingers. I felt an odd, soothing tingle, almost as if the sun's warmth had somehow trickled into my belly and nestled there. I could feel the rigid form of the Professor behind me, steadily gripping onto my arm, his chin almost in the hollow of my collarbones. He removed his fingers, prying them off my stomach.


Thoroughly pregnant, he pronounced clinically.


Next time you insist on testing me, warn me that you're about to grope my womb first, I said coldly.


Now, now, Bavarde. You almost sound.....disappointed, he was taunting me, but with hardly the bite he had before.


So. I am with child?, I felt as if I were going to be sick once more. Lucius had always expressed a baleful wish to replace his vampiric and disappeared heir, Draco, with another biological child of his own. Although I had the suspicion that he had sired several illegitimate children with other women, he would never be disgraced by bringing forth a whore's spawn and proclaiming it his own.


His demeanor became serious. Quite, actually. I'm surprised a woman as perceptive as yourself hadn't noticed earlier. How keen is your husband to your health?.


I held up a mangled wrist, Not keen enough, Professor.


And is this situation good or bad for the lady?, his tone lilted, sounding like some bawdy lyric. I shrugged, mulling over the thought myself.


I don't know. Lucius had confessed that he wanted a child, but I had always assumed that Draco would..., I didn't finish, not knowing myself what I was to say.


Draco would automatically inherit his father's manor and power after his death, correct? Despite whatever lowly position he had sunk to?, he demanded, sounding bitter. I knew he was referring to the constant rumors of Draco's vampirism.


Tell me, what do you know of Draco?, he asked, suddenly seizing my hands, and clasping them together in frenzied prayer. I backed away, upset and bewildered by the Professor's lapse of composure. He gripped my hands more tightly, I could feel the bones gnashing into the skin on the opposite hand.


I....I haven't seen him for several years. There are rumors of his running to Romania, and the occasional whisper that he is a spy against Voldemort, working at Hogwarts for Dumbledore and his army, I whispered the last bit, secretly hoping it was true, hoping that Draco had finally gained some ground against his father.


The Professor's face contorted as I mentioned Dumbledore, and I could only imagine the constant suffering of one who is forced to work as a traitor in his own community.


I need my wand, Lourdes. My life and well being, even if you don't care, depend on this. Your husband has taken my wand, and although he has not the power to destroy it, he is able to keep it from me. You're a silly, foolish girl, easily swayed by privilege and riches, but I can see at once that you inherently know the difference between good and evil. You must find my wand for me, otherwise, I can't save you or your child, his eyes were frantic now, darting at every particle of noise that he happened to catch.


I withdrew my hands. I'll find you your wand, Professor, but I require something as well.


, he growled, not expecting more strenuous demands.


A potion, I said simply, desiring provocation.


Don't toy with me. I'll not be wrapped around your finger as your husband is, he said, using the mortally wounding voice of velvet.


A potion to rid me of this burden, I gestured at my stomach. He gave me a very hard stare, trying to determine what clockwork ran about my head.


You know what this would mean? You're killing an innocent, he spoke very slowly. I laughed harshly.

I would hardly call any child of Lucius Malfoy's innocent.


Why don't you want this child?, he asked, not trying to feign concern. It sounded like he was trying to interrogate me.


My husband's one concern in this life is that the legacy of the Malfoy heirs be continued for generations. My purpose for Lucius is to bear him a boy. Afterwards, he can abuse or dispose of me any way he wishes. It was not my intention to serve solely as some imprisoned birth mother, I said wearily.


I can't make the potion, he said finally.


Why? Don't you understand that this is pertinent? That I need this potion? This isn't for some silly, irresponsible girl made pregnant by an unwitting boy, this is an aide that I truly require, I sank to my knees, ignoring the mud that clung to my cape and seeped into my shoes.


I understand this, he was hissing in impatience, and what sounded like regret, but there are other loyalties at stake. You concern yourself only with the matters that lay in your hands. If I make this, I risk being branded a traitor of the worst breed.


I shoved a corner of my cape into my mouth, releasing a cry of agony and despair. The end of the rope was approaching, and I could feel the distant tugs of the noose around my neck.


If there were any other way, I would be able to assist. But as it is, I'm staying in the snake pit now. Your husband is already overly suspicious of me, and I am sure that I'm being watched at all hours of the day, he said, coming over to me, taking my hands and pulling me up.


Not even a student of your own house? Not even a girl that you've known since childhood? You leave me with this child, and you leave me to die. One would think that you already have enough blood on your hands, I said, steel emerging in my voice from beneath the sobs.


He stiffened at this, the memory of his days as my husband's cohort obviously still fresh.


I killed because I had to. Out of survival. This is different; you were hardly a helpless child, Bavarde, he said dryly, his ironic and misplaced humor reentering his voice.


If I found the wand and gave it back, would you help me then?, I knew it was futile, and it felt uncomfortably like begging my father for some coveted house pet.


No. Not even then, he said, too firmly to be called gentle.


But you said you would, in the clearing, I was scrambling.


I said I would if I was able. And I never promised, foolish girl.


He kissed my hand, not raising his eyes to meet my own.


He straightened out, nearly a head and half taller than I. In some show of agitated affection, he leaned down and kissed my cheek, nose rubbing into my face. I inclined my head in surprise, and I found his mouth met mine in a line of equally tormented symmetry.


This kiss was different. It wasn't piteous, nor awkward. He reached out to my elbows, holding me in place. He never opened his mouth, nor did I attempt to do so with mine. I reached around absently, my hands meeting his shoulders.


He pulled away.

.

And suddenly the world was bleak again.








A/N: Argh. Snape being really frusturating, huh? But, in his position, he's a double edged sword, so he can't go about giving aid to Lucius Malfoy. Anyways, thanks for reviews, and hope I get some more.