The month of January passed quickly for Hermione and Snape. The nursery was
completed far ahead of schedule, so - as Hermione put it - she could
decorate it before she got "huge and miserable." The students returned and
classes began once again. Once again, Snape found himself frustratingly
surrounded by idiots that could not seem to make a potion correctly or
prevent the regular melting of cauldrons. Hermione had returned to classes
at Oxford, set to complete her degree in Advanced Transfiguration in June.
Her robes had begun to tighten and the small roundness of her pregnancy was
becoming obvious. And the work continued on Snape's Dark Mark almost every
evening in the potions classroom.
Twice, Snape's Dark Mark had burned, calling him. And twice, the quick response of Hermione had prevented his apparition and dulled the pain. Shortly after the renewal of their vows, she had developed both a screening spell that allowed her to assist with the brewing - without inhaling the noxious fumes; and she had discovered a new pain-relieving potion to help him survive the calls, which were becoming more brutal each time.
So, tonight, when their dinner at the Head Table was interrupted by Snape's latest call, they were prepared. Quickly moving to their quarters, Harry and Ron in tow in case the potions failed and he needed restrained, potions were administered in haste. The four unlikely friends and allies then settled in around the Snape's fireplace, on edge, watching the flames and attempting to make conversation while they waited to see if the potions would work yet again.
"You know, Hermione, I'll be very glad when you figure out how to remove that Mark," began Ron, as he headed to their kitchen to rustle up cookies and milk for all. "This 'Snape-sitting' is starting to cut into my social life."
Ron poked his head out of the kitchen and looked at Snape; waiting for the glare and sharp rebuttal he knew would come. It didn't, instead, Snape replied seriously.
"Perhaps, Ron, my Mark has been a positive thing in your life," Snape said, carefully, staring into the fire. "You are spending more time in research, less time chasing girls and reading Quidditch magazines - and you are developing your mind and your skills as a wizard. Maybe there is a part of me that should be thankful it returned."
The three young people turned to stare at Snape and his contemplative comments. In the course of the last month and a half, they had developed a strange friendship. Harry and Ron had actually become comfortable with their potions master. They began to recognize that many of his biting comments and jibes were a result of his sharp wit and dark sense of humor. In the classroom while they were working on his cure together, insults, jibes and jokes flew between Ron and Snape - most likely as a mask for the serious task at hand.
In the classroom during potions, however, their closeness made things a bit awkward. Snape was doing his best to remain the hated and feared evil Professor Snape, although, as Ron had so eloquently put it one evening, it was hard to stay so evil when you were regularly "getting shagged." Ron had received a smack on the back of his head from the potions master for that lovely comment, and a promise that he would give Ron more details than he could handle if he didn't cut it out. As the relationship had changed between Ron, Harry and Snape, the teacher found he had to occasionally bite back an acerbic jibe in class - usually aimed at Ron and his manhood; while the boys found themselves struggling not to laugh when their teacher's dark wit was turned on another classmate. The snickers that escaped had lost Gryffindor points on a regular basis. 'Who would have ever guessed,' thought Harry, 'that *Snape* was funny.'
"Of course," Snape finished, living up to their new expectations. "I suppose I should just be grateful that I may never again have to walk in on your clumsy attempts at seduction in a darkened classroom after curfew. It is rather comforting to know your mind is occupied with something besides what resides in your trousers and Quidditch."
Ron laughed, blushing, Harry hooted and Hermione moved to sit on Snape's lap, swatting his arm in the process. The group settled in, chatting over their cookies and milk, as Snape gradually began to relax as a result of the potions and Hermione's soft hand in his hair. After a few minutes, the fire before them turned green - a signal that someone was wishing to talk to Hermione or Snape.
"Albus," sighed Snape. "He's in London, how did he realize I had been called? I swear there is nothing that man doesn't know. It's downright creepy sometimes."
"That's rich, the bat thinks something is creepy," jabbed Ron, earning a glare from Hermione and Snape. "Oooh, unison evil eye from the potions master and his mistress."
Snape smirked and turned to the fire, calling "Apperio." A face slowly came into focus in the flames, and it wasn't the twinkling, kind countenance of their Headmaster and friend.
It was Lucius Malfoy.
"Snape, old man!" he began with a feral grin, looking at Snape and Hermione curled up in the armchair. His nose wrinkled in disgust as his gaze traveled over Hermione's curves and then back to Snape's face. "I see you are still playing with your mudblood child-bride. Good fuck, is she? Well, she must be for you to take her back after she deserted you for so many years."
Snape lifted Hermione from his lap and, standing, moved to a position in front of the fire.
"You don't have to protect her; I'm not coming through with my wand blazing. I don't kill mudbloods any longer; I find they just aren't worth the energy I expend. That's what the Death Eaters are for," he said, still grinning. "Which is why I am talking to you, my dear brother of the dark: Why haven't you answered the summons? We've had a few interesting meetings without your witty and joyful presence lately."
Malfoy pouted. "We miss you. Besides, you are the big hero, nowadays. So you should come and revel in your newfound glory, old man."
Hermione shuddered and moved to stand behind Snape, placing her hand gently on his back for reassurance. He leaned back into her touch slightly in thanks.
"What are you talking about Malfoy? Voldemort is gone, if you recall, I was one of the people that killed him," spat Snape. "I don't believe I am welcome at any Death Eater meetings."
"Besides," Snape continued, with a speech he had rehearsed just for a conversation like this. "I thought the Mark was burning with some sort of random magic or phantom pains. Only Voldemort was able to activate the Mark to call us. With him gone, why would I suspect that there was a legitimate 'summons?' I've been taking a powerful sleeping draught and just going to bed each time. Why would I answer a call from a dead man?"
Malfoy looked at Snape for a moment before answering. The silence was filled with --- evil and was threatening.
"A dead man? Why, Snape, I consider that a right insult. I am alive and well." Malfoy paused to let the knowledge sink in. "*I* summoned you, Snape. With Voldemort gone, I have assumed leadership of the Death Eaters - and I plan to see their rise to power through, unlike Voldemort. I should thank you for getting rid of him for me. He was distracted from our task by Potter and by vengeance. He forgot about the mudbloods, he forgot about our need for change in the Ministry, he forgot about the poor education our pureblood children are receiving at Hogwarts and he forgot that the most important thing is to bring the pureblood families back into power - the power that is their right by birth."
Malfoy stopped and fixed Snape with an icy glare.
"I suppose we can let you keep your mudblood plaything, Snape," he hissed. "Just don't let that mongrel, half-breed she's carrying in my sight."
At that comment, Snape was brought out of his stunned silence.
"Malfoy, if you ever lay a hand on my wife or daughter, I will make you wish your pureblood ass had never been born," he spat. "I want nothing to do with your new regime and I want nothing to do with you."
Malfoy smiled and his voice dropped to an icy trickle of sound.
"You have no choice, old man. You took the Mark willingly. The Mark is now mine," he whispered. "*You* are now mine, Severus."
TBC
Author's note: I have been given so many great prompts, ideas and suggestions in the course of writing this fic that I decided to take an idea for the Dark Mark I had planned to use for another story - and just incorporate it into this one. I think that adds at least another 10 chapters (according to my current outline) to the piece. Less lemons, more angst and action.
And again, thanks for the reviews - especially the ones where you've called to my attention any consistency errors or questions you might have, or you have been specific in comments about dialogue, plot development, etc. It's my first attempt at fiction and I feel a bit lost and the comments are appreciated.
Twice, Snape's Dark Mark had burned, calling him. And twice, the quick response of Hermione had prevented his apparition and dulled the pain. Shortly after the renewal of their vows, she had developed both a screening spell that allowed her to assist with the brewing - without inhaling the noxious fumes; and she had discovered a new pain-relieving potion to help him survive the calls, which were becoming more brutal each time.
So, tonight, when their dinner at the Head Table was interrupted by Snape's latest call, they were prepared. Quickly moving to their quarters, Harry and Ron in tow in case the potions failed and he needed restrained, potions were administered in haste. The four unlikely friends and allies then settled in around the Snape's fireplace, on edge, watching the flames and attempting to make conversation while they waited to see if the potions would work yet again.
"You know, Hermione, I'll be very glad when you figure out how to remove that Mark," began Ron, as he headed to their kitchen to rustle up cookies and milk for all. "This 'Snape-sitting' is starting to cut into my social life."
Ron poked his head out of the kitchen and looked at Snape; waiting for the glare and sharp rebuttal he knew would come. It didn't, instead, Snape replied seriously.
"Perhaps, Ron, my Mark has been a positive thing in your life," Snape said, carefully, staring into the fire. "You are spending more time in research, less time chasing girls and reading Quidditch magazines - and you are developing your mind and your skills as a wizard. Maybe there is a part of me that should be thankful it returned."
The three young people turned to stare at Snape and his contemplative comments. In the course of the last month and a half, they had developed a strange friendship. Harry and Ron had actually become comfortable with their potions master. They began to recognize that many of his biting comments and jibes were a result of his sharp wit and dark sense of humor. In the classroom while they were working on his cure together, insults, jibes and jokes flew between Ron and Snape - most likely as a mask for the serious task at hand.
In the classroom during potions, however, their closeness made things a bit awkward. Snape was doing his best to remain the hated and feared evil Professor Snape, although, as Ron had so eloquently put it one evening, it was hard to stay so evil when you were regularly "getting shagged." Ron had received a smack on the back of his head from the potions master for that lovely comment, and a promise that he would give Ron more details than he could handle if he didn't cut it out. As the relationship had changed between Ron, Harry and Snape, the teacher found he had to occasionally bite back an acerbic jibe in class - usually aimed at Ron and his manhood; while the boys found themselves struggling not to laugh when their teacher's dark wit was turned on another classmate. The snickers that escaped had lost Gryffindor points on a regular basis. 'Who would have ever guessed,' thought Harry, 'that *Snape* was funny.'
"Of course," Snape finished, living up to their new expectations. "I suppose I should just be grateful that I may never again have to walk in on your clumsy attempts at seduction in a darkened classroom after curfew. It is rather comforting to know your mind is occupied with something besides what resides in your trousers and Quidditch."
Ron laughed, blushing, Harry hooted and Hermione moved to sit on Snape's lap, swatting his arm in the process. The group settled in, chatting over their cookies and milk, as Snape gradually began to relax as a result of the potions and Hermione's soft hand in his hair. After a few minutes, the fire before them turned green - a signal that someone was wishing to talk to Hermione or Snape.
"Albus," sighed Snape. "He's in London, how did he realize I had been called? I swear there is nothing that man doesn't know. It's downright creepy sometimes."
"That's rich, the bat thinks something is creepy," jabbed Ron, earning a glare from Hermione and Snape. "Oooh, unison evil eye from the potions master and his mistress."
Snape smirked and turned to the fire, calling "Apperio." A face slowly came into focus in the flames, and it wasn't the twinkling, kind countenance of their Headmaster and friend.
It was Lucius Malfoy.
"Snape, old man!" he began with a feral grin, looking at Snape and Hermione curled up in the armchair. His nose wrinkled in disgust as his gaze traveled over Hermione's curves and then back to Snape's face. "I see you are still playing with your mudblood child-bride. Good fuck, is she? Well, she must be for you to take her back after she deserted you for so many years."
Snape lifted Hermione from his lap and, standing, moved to a position in front of the fire.
"You don't have to protect her; I'm not coming through with my wand blazing. I don't kill mudbloods any longer; I find they just aren't worth the energy I expend. That's what the Death Eaters are for," he said, still grinning. "Which is why I am talking to you, my dear brother of the dark: Why haven't you answered the summons? We've had a few interesting meetings without your witty and joyful presence lately."
Malfoy pouted. "We miss you. Besides, you are the big hero, nowadays. So you should come and revel in your newfound glory, old man."
Hermione shuddered and moved to stand behind Snape, placing her hand gently on his back for reassurance. He leaned back into her touch slightly in thanks.
"What are you talking about Malfoy? Voldemort is gone, if you recall, I was one of the people that killed him," spat Snape. "I don't believe I am welcome at any Death Eater meetings."
"Besides," Snape continued, with a speech he had rehearsed just for a conversation like this. "I thought the Mark was burning with some sort of random magic or phantom pains. Only Voldemort was able to activate the Mark to call us. With him gone, why would I suspect that there was a legitimate 'summons?' I've been taking a powerful sleeping draught and just going to bed each time. Why would I answer a call from a dead man?"
Malfoy looked at Snape for a moment before answering. The silence was filled with --- evil and was threatening.
"A dead man? Why, Snape, I consider that a right insult. I am alive and well." Malfoy paused to let the knowledge sink in. "*I* summoned you, Snape. With Voldemort gone, I have assumed leadership of the Death Eaters - and I plan to see their rise to power through, unlike Voldemort. I should thank you for getting rid of him for me. He was distracted from our task by Potter and by vengeance. He forgot about the mudbloods, he forgot about our need for change in the Ministry, he forgot about the poor education our pureblood children are receiving at Hogwarts and he forgot that the most important thing is to bring the pureblood families back into power - the power that is their right by birth."
Malfoy stopped and fixed Snape with an icy glare.
"I suppose we can let you keep your mudblood plaything, Snape," he hissed. "Just don't let that mongrel, half-breed she's carrying in my sight."
At that comment, Snape was brought out of his stunned silence.
"Malfoy, if you ever lay a hand on my wife or daughter, I will make you wish your pureblood ass had never been born," he spat. "I want nothing to do with your new regime and I want nothing to do with you."
Malfoy smiled and his voice dropped to an icy trickle of sound.
"You have no choice, old man. You took the Mark willingly. The Mark is now mine," he whispered. "*You* are now mine, Severus."
TBC
Author's note: I have been given so many great prompts, ideas and suggestions in the course of writing this fic that I decided to take an idea for the Dark Mark I had planned to use for another story - and just incorporate it into this one. I think that adds at least another 10 chapters (according to my current outline) to the piece. Less lemons, more angst and action.
And again, thanks for the reviews - especially the ones where you've called to my attention any consistency errors or questions you might have, or you have been specific in comments about dialogue, plot development, etc. It's my first attempt at fiction and I feel a bit lost and the comments are appreciated.