A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the slight delay, FF.Net has been giving me
large amounts of grief lately. A bit of a warning: I know, I'm terribly,
horribly slow with romances, and your probably all wishing right now you
could reach through the screen and throttle me. So since there's a
definite lack of physical Snape/Hermione interaction this next chapter, I'm
going to give you all something to look forward to: Chapter Nine has 'the
kiss' in it. Now, go read!
Snape suppressed a growl of displeasure as he stomped back to his quarters. That idiot Fitsgibbons! How on earth had he cornered a seventh year in the boy's own dormitory? And why? His eyes narrowed darkly. Well, that could be explained during his detention. Maybe he could take away the boy's prefect badge as well. Give it to a more worthy candidate...
With a shrug Snape turned to enter his quarters. He raised his hand to his doorknob, only to pause. The potions magazine he had been using for his late-night reading was gone. Snape cursed darkly. Left in that den of serpents it would be gone by morning, unless, of course, he went back for it now. With a swish of dark robes and a menacing look Snape began to head back for the seventh year boys' dormitory. As he walked the thought occurred to him that perhaps Fitsgibbons had originally intended to attack Mr. Septimus. He'd heard of the pair's one-sided fight in the hallways from Professor Granger, who had thankfully distributed the last of their 'project' to every sentient thing in the school, and had no further reason to trouble his presence.
Still, the idea that a seventh year Slytherin boy would stand up for his young colleague was decidedly unnatural. The sound of voices halted the rest of Snape's thoughts. He scowled. Students out of bed? This was too chronologically close to be a coincidence. He quickened his pace. Something definitely did not feel right. His eyes were as dark and as cold as steel as he rounded the corner, to find... Nothing. Snape blinked. No trace of students rustling down the halls, and once again, the corridors were as silent as stone. Not a breath, not a footstep in the distance.
He stood there for several moments, puzzling. An invisibility cloak perhaps? Potter had caused havoc for years with one of those. But, such things were rare, and as far as he knew no Slytherin students had one. Not that they would exactly brag about such a possession. Taking a step forward, Snape reached out a hand, which glided through nothing but air. He scowled darkly. This mystery would not be solved tonight, he realised. With a snarl he continued on the rest of the way to the Slytherin Common Room.
It wasn't until he reached the seventh year boys' dormitory that the unusual feeling of foreboding at his core began to grow. The beds were empty. A thought came to him then, one he didn't at all like, and he found himself storming down towards the fifth year dormitories. His magazine was now completely forgotten. He pulled open the door to the boys' rooms, and stared. One bed was empty. Snape cursed, ignoring the few groggy heads which looked up in surprise, and darted away, not even bothering to close the door in his wake. In order to confirm his suspicions he had to get to the infirmary.
Snape's mind was working a mile and minute as he stalked down the corridors, as quickly as his long legs would let him. This time around, every seventh year in Slytherin was the child of a Death-Eater, a fact which had not concerned him when he placed Mr. Septimus in their dormitory. Of course, the simple truth that the boy exuded self-confidence probably had something to do with that. But now he thought of it, he wondered how he could have been so stupid. It was, of course, possible that Demitrius had simply accompanied the seventh years on some wild prank. But for some reason Snape was certain that wasn't in the boy's nature. Of course, a quick glance in the infirmary would either confirm or deny his suspicions.
It seemed like mere seconds before he reached the familiar room, lorded over by the iron fist of Madam Pomfrey. One glance inside and he felt something similar to ice settle over him. The room was cold, empty, and completely devoid of an unfortunately cursed seventh year. He let loose a stream of words which would have all earned him detentions in his school days.
This could not turn into anything positive.
~
'What, don't know the secret passageways?' Demitrius wondered at his kidnappers as he lurched along the grounds, headed for the gate. Of course, in his time they'd all been bordered up, ways out were ways in as well. Er, okay, so maybe that rule wasn't entirely concrete in Hogwarts, but they'd still taken the precaution. In this time though they were as open and free to be used as they were when Hogwarts was first built. He knew that, because he'd helped with the boarding-up bit.
Of course, no one answered him. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit again. Really, if they had any brains at all he should be floating along quietly, not blundering clumsily beneath the pull of the mobilicorpus spell. Which they kept having to renew, along with the petrifying curse. 'Getting tired? Well, if this thing wears off before we get to Hogsmeade, I'm going to make you all wish you'd been born squibs.' He thought darkly. This little escapade was interfering with his schedule. He should be sleeping now! Of course, in his own slightly twisted curiosity, he also wanted to see who it was that had him kidnapped. Maybe it was You-Know-Who himself. Demitrius snarled inwardly. Well, the work was sloppy enough for it, but at this point in time the Voldemort should still be piss-in-his-pants terrified of Dumbledore. As they approached Hogsmeade, the seventh-year who was controlling him from beneath the same cloak shirked it off of them. 'Ah, won't be needing it within the hallowed halls of Death-Eater central?' He thought.
As their unique little group went past the gates to Hogsmeade, Demi found himself looking around in wonderment, instantly forgetting his earlier blithe mental comment. He'd had the place described to him before. But, this town, even while looking so sleepy, was absolutely impressive. Demi found himself wishing for freedom of movement to go and explore things. He'd forgotten what places outside of Hogwarts were like. Understandable, considering how long it had been since he'd seen one. A collection of smaller buildings, each one for a different thing, with cobbled streets and tons of people. Of course, late at night there were only a few shady characters about. But still, it was amazing! The idea of living in a place that was it's own separate, outside unit, instead of part of one large building. Now he understood why so many of the older people had spoken of it so fondly.
His impressed thoughts turned back to the matter at hand as he was promptly walked into a building wall. "Hey, watch it with that, he's not to be damaged!" He heard Fitsgibbons hiss. Had Demitrius been able to use his mouth, he would have cursed. That was painful! But as it was he settled on thinking thoughts of revenge. If he wasn't back at Hogwarts by Monday the professors would notice he was gone, if not before then even. Of course they would still have no idea where he went or how to look for him. So, the odds of a rescue being close at hand were slim to none. He'd made no friends in or out of his house since his arrival. And, since he disappeared into the Meeting Room on weekends, his absence would be far from conspicuous.
Which meant that he was stuck in this situation on his own. But, still, there were things he knew about himself that his captors were likely not to. Spoils of war, one might say. Like virtually every student in his time the Imperius curse was a no-brainer. It had been almost useless by the time the final battle came around, as all but the weakest minds had been honed to resist it. Veritaserum, too, had no effect on him, although that gift was a little more Demitrius-specific than the other. When he was a child his father used to give him small draughts of the potion in his pumpkin juice. At first Demi assumed it was to keep him from lying, he was only young after all. But a year of that and he found that the potion had no effect on him whatsoever. His father had made certain this happened when Demi was young, and had the ability to develop such immunities.
'Hmm, they've stopped paying attention again.' Demitrius thought with amusement as he lumbered off the sidewalk and across the street. A brief curse, some wand-waving, and he was back on track. 'You know, you guys really should be more on-your-guard.' He mused. For some reason his sleepy brain was in a very whimsical mood.
Then, suddenly, he was turning in towards a very run-down looking building. "This is the place." Fitsgibbons said. Demi watched in amusement as his captors all promptly dropped to their knees and began looking for something. 'Ah! A portkey. Well, that's boringly predictable.' He thought. Of course, there was the slim chance they were all looking for a trap-door, but Demitrius some how doubted that. Especially when Kevin asked "What's it look like?". As far as he could tell, Kevin was the only one with a single brain-cell to go off of, so his asking what a trap door looked like didn't really sing of likelihood for Option B.
The portkey theory began to look very concrete when suddenly one of the other seventh years kicked an empty box of Berty Blotts Every Flavour Beans out from behind a bush. "Found it!" He declared rather smugly.
"Good work." Fitsgibbons said. Then, suddenly, Demi felt himself moving forward again. Oh damn. A portkey could take him anywhere. Against his will he felt himself lean forward. As his hand touched the seemingly innocuous box, there was a lurch. The feeling of something pulling him from behind his navel yanked him forward. As the space between he and his captors lengthened greatly, he felt the curses on his body snap away.
Demi stumbled into a dank, cold room, and before he even caught his own feet he had his wand out and pointing at the offending figure across from him. He was beyond disconcerted, but tried very valiantly not to show that. And succeeded. Demi stood, after stumbling only a little on his landing, wand held tightly before him and eyes fixed into the darkness. Or at least looking fixed. He was actually a bit on the dizzy side, to be honest.
"Expelliarmus!" A voice from his left called out. Damn. So, there was more than one. His wand flew from his grasp over to the other figure. Demitrius titled his head slightly to try and take in both at the same time. Unlike the individual before him, the second man was not hidden in shadow. He was big and beefy, going a bit grey, and had a distinctly 'Fitsgibbons-ish' look to him. Probably a relative of that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect's.
"Imperio!" The shadowy figure across from him said. And suddenly, there was a little voice in Demitrius' mind, telling him to go and sit in the chair to his right. Telling him he wanted to go and sit in that chair. Feeling game, Demi walked over to the chair and sat down. It had restraints built in. As soon as he was sitting, he felt the straps wind themselves around his arms, legs, and waist. It was almost too funny. He fought hard to suppress his smirk, and sit there, looking blank and unthreatening. "Ethan, leave." The shadowy figure said.
Hmm, use of first names. So whoever had him didn't plan on letting him go any time soon. Demitrius carefully observed his location. Judging by the lack of windows in the room, he was underground, either a basement or a dungeon. The lighting was purposefully dim. However, it was beginning to look more like a small dungeon, judging by the stone walls. And floor. He heard the footsteps before he even saw the man, approaching from behind. The effects of the Imperius had ebbed away. He could have ignored the earlier commands, and made a wild run for his captor, but that would have been a very idiotic thing to do. Better to let this person grow complacent before making a move.
"So, you're Demitrius Septimus. But then I've seen you before." The man said. A person from the future? No, not likely. Demi felt his teeth grit together. That voice was a mockery of the familiar silk-on-steel tones he and his father could use. Less silk, and the steel was a bit rusted. He knew who this was. Logically, emotionally, he could tell who had 'captured' him and it made his blood run cold with anger.
Draco Malfoy stepped into view, and Demitrius made no effort to keep the expression of loathing off his face. Suddenly outright assaulting the man didn't seem like such a bad idea. Malfoy's expression was cold and dark as he regarded Demitrius carefully. "So, you're the little boy from the future?" He stated more than asked, and Demi could hear the inquiry beneath Malfoy's tones. The man wasn't sure what to make of him.
"So, you're the bastard who had me brought here?" Demitrius asked in a mockingly similar tone. Anger flashed briefly in Malfoy's eyes, before he made a sound similar to 'tsk, tsk'.
"My, you sound positively parched. Drink this." The older man instructed him, and before Demitrius could think up a witty response, Draco-the- Unoriginal had cast the Imperius curse upon him again. 'Drink the liquid, go on, you must drink the liquid.' A very weak and unconvincing voice in his mind sort of half-suggested. Malfoy held the glass up to his lips. Again, Demi had to fight a smile. Far be it for him to miss a golden opportunity to mess with Draco Malfoy's head. He drank what was undoubtedly Veritaserum. Malfoy stepped back, a smug look on his face, and Demi had the sense to display a somewhat shattered expression as the Imperius wore off.
"What is your name?" Malfoy asked. Demitrius thought quickly. The way Malfoy said it, this wasn't your customary 'test' question, like 'what colour is the sky?' or 'what year is it?' but something he actually wanted to know. The only thing he could think of popped out, and it was the most revolting declaration he had ever made in his lifetime. Ever. His father would have him skinned alive for it.
"Demitrius Potter." 'And may I never, ever, in eight thousand lifetimes have to imply *that* again.' Demi thought darkly. He would have to wash out his mouth with the most effective mouth-wash he could put together when he got back to Hogwarts. But, at least Malfoy had the sense to look equally shell-shocked. 'What? Not expecting that?' Demi thought. Well, it wasn't as if he strutted around like a Gryffindor god, was it? Nope, all strutting was definitely of a Slytherin prince nature.
Draco Malfoy was slow on the uptake, the wheels in his mind obviously working around quickly as he thought. Probably wondering how someone as sophisticated, skilled, intelligent, and elegant as Demi could ever possibly share in the Potter bloodline. 'Maybe it was too far-fetched. Hope he doesn't delve a little too deeply, or he might figure me out.' Demitrius thought as he waited for Malfoy to finally move past question one. Despite the awful nature of his first answer, this could be fun.
Snapping out of his brooding, Malfoy seemed to come back to reality. "Are you Harry Potter's then?" He asked.
"Yes." Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon. He didn't even know if there were any other Potters! However, his answer seemed to agree with Malfoy's train of thought, and the man continued with more gracefulness than previously shown.
"And who is your mother?" He asked. Really, these biased pureblood Death- Eater types put far too much emphasis on genetic heritage. Ah well, might as well remove both parents from the line of fire then, Malfoy apparently already hated his mother. No reason to encourage that sentiment even further.
"Evelyn Potter." Ha! Made up person! Malfoy would have to take a while to figure out that one, and the git knew it, judging by the way he paused.
"You are from the future?"
"Yes." Demitrius had a natural flare for keeping emotion out of his voice when he wanted to. And, because Veritaserum was very different from the Imperius, he could glower at Malfoy all he liked while he did it.
"Why did you come back through time?"
"To assassinate Cornelius Fudge." This was fun! If he didn't despise his interrogator so much, he might have actually had to work to hide his enjoyment. Of course, the fact that it was Draco Malfoy's mind he was messing with made it all the more sweet a game.
Malfoy looked decidedly confused. "Why?" He asked. Demitrius fought back a smile as his mind worked very fast. Ooh, the possibilities!
"After Fudge unlocks the Key of Pureblood Power and defeats the Dark Lord his arrogance overtakes him, and the world falls to ruin." He explained. And naturally had to swallow back a laugh at the thought of that idiot Fudge becoming a force to reckon with. In actuality to dunderhead would be booted out of office a few years from now, replaced by Lucius Malfoy, and given Dumbledore's position as headmaster. And a pathetic headmaster he would be, too. Little more than a cringing, fearful servant underneath Voldemort's whip.
Malfoy seemed to roll this information over in his head, and Demi had to remind himself firmly to keep things relatively realistic. Of course he had blown that boundary away with his first answer, but still, Malfoy wasn't as thick as his lackeys. He managed to live for quite some time by scheming around in dark corners. Finally the man seemed to decide on his next question. "The Key of Pureblood Power. What is that?" He asked.
"Locked away in the frozen regions of northern Canada is a tomb to a pureblood wizard named Igor Ibbens, who created a pendant that granted absolute magical power when worn by a pureblooded wizard." Demitrius lied. His false story was beginning to sound eerily familiar to a fantasy story Lucy had been working on in her second year, only with the word 'pureblood' thrown in a few more times than in the original. 'Believe it, buy it, come on Malfoy you blonde prat.' Demitrius thought. He would love nothing more than to have Draco Malfoy rooting around in northern Canada for the next little while, finding absolutely nothing for his efforts... Demi's thoughts of glee halted. He was such a moron! What if what he was doing interfered with Marcus' birth?
Malfoy had the gleam of avarice in his eyes, and Demitrius felt something hard lodge itself in his throat. Oh shit. What to do now? "Where in northern Canada is this tomb?" Malfoy asked. Demi began to formulate a new plan in his mind.
"I don't know." He said. Then, he purposefully made himself look greatly relieved, as though Malfoy had followed a train of thought he had wanted him to. Like a good little Slytherin Draco took the bait. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"But the pendant isn't in the tomb, is it? You never said it was." He more mused than asked. "So, where is the Key of Pureblood Power?" Malfoy demanded, a bit heatedly. Alright, here was Demi's chance to try and undo some damage.
"In the halls of a pureblood home. No one knows which, only that Fudge found the pendant while visiting a formal meeting in a wealthy estate." Demitrius said. He plastered on a look of frustration and resignation. There, now. That should keep Malfoy safely at home rummaging through every nook and cranny, going over family heirlooms, and hopefully getting him to interact with his wife in the process. The bait was set, and Draco took it.
"So it could be here?" He said, with that gleam back in his eyes.
"Yes." Demitrius answered in that same automatic voice. It never hurt to keep up appearances. Suddenly Malfoy snapped his gaze over to him.
"Where do I fit into this future?" He asked curiously.
"You ally yourself with Fudge after Voldemort's death, and kill Harry Potter." Demitrius said. Then, because it never hurt to add a bit of drama to a good performance, he stole himself and spat on Malfoy's cheek. Oh by the gods did that feel good. While the line about Potter was most definitely a lie, Malfoy had taken a parent from him, and Demitrius didn't have to act to display that particular hatred. Not one bit of the malice in his gaze was insincere.
"How?" Malfoy asked with a dark gleam. 'You dirty bastard! Want to play your hand early, do you?' Demitrius thought angrily. Well, he wouldn't be orchestrating anything for quite sometime if Demitrius could place the right cards on the table.
"You poison him." Demitrius said. Uncreative, but it didn't give Malfoy a lot to work with. The Slytherin seemed to notice that as well. He looked almost like he wanted to pout, and the words 'spoiled brat' sprung up in Demi's mind.
After that, Malfoy asked a few more questions, and Demitrius fought to keep his answers reasonable. By the time the older man had finished his interrogation for the night, he had a very colourful, and very incorrect portrait of the future in his mind. When they were done he smirked as though in triumph. "Well, we shall have to continue our conversation tomorrow, Mr. Potter." Malfoy sneered. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit. He had a nasty taste in his mouth now. And with that, Malfoy strutted from the room, leaving him strapped to the chair. Unable to leave.
Well, at least that's what Malfoy thought.
~
Hermione woke with a start. It was late, no sunlight streamed into her quarters, and for the life of her she couldn't place what had roused her consciousness. Foggy memories, like a nightmare were drifting away from her. Well, nightmares weren't that uncommon to her. Once she'd had a particularly nasty one where she watched Harry being eaten alive by a Dementor. Reaching over to her bedside table, she took a sip of water to calm her nerves, and tried to remember what this one had been about. Something to do with spiders...
A knock on her outside door drew her mind away, and she blinked in surprise. Someone knocking on her door so late? She stood from her bed and gathered a robe around her shoulders. A block of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. This could not be good. Had something gone wrong with some of the students? Did the potion she and Snape brew have an unpleasant side-effect neither had foreseen? She herself felt fine. Worry crowding her, she went over to the door to her quarters and pulled it open.
Argus Filch stood there, in all his unpleasant and ill-kempt glory. "Emergency staff meeting in the headmaster's office." Filch said with distaste, and before Hermione could inquire further, moved off. An emergency meeting. So, it was bad, wasn't it? Not wanting to waste any time, she tied her robe tightly around herself, slipped on a pair of fuzzy blue slippers, and made her way towards the gargoyle that stood sentry for Dumbledore's domain.
When she got there, she found the way in had already been opened, and there were voices coming from inside. Hermione recognised one instantly as being Snape's. Though he was in a far viler mood, from how it sounded, than even she was used to.
"...Don't see why everyone needs to be here, Albus!" Snape said heatedly, obviously part-way through a rant of some sort. Hermione moved inside the room, and took in the scene. Dumbledore was sitting as serenely as usual behind his desk, though there was decidedly worried look to his face. Snape was on his feet and pacing. McGonagall was there, looking just as dumb-founded as Hermione felt, as were Professors Flitwick and Sprout.
"Ah, Hermione, good, good." Dumbledore said, and suddenly Snape whirled to stare at her. The look in his eyes was indeed very dark and angry. So much so that Hermione had to fight the urge to cringe away. She would later reflect that on that night, he seemed a dark beast, not completely in control of the mask that hid his true feelings away. But then, it was late, and the circumstances were certainly straining. At a wave from the headmaster Hermione took a seat. One comfortably close to McGonagall. "I believe we can begin explanations now." Dumbledore said. "Severus? If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, please? You pacing is detrimental to the atmosphere."
Snape looked like he wanted to say something about Dumbledore being detrimental to that atmosphere, but bit his tongue and sat down with a scowl. And then suddenly Albus Dumbledore was all serious and no twinkle. "Tonight, not an hour ago, a student was abducted from Hogwarts by several of his fellows." Dumbledore said. There were a few startled gasps and exclamations.
"How, Albus?" McGonagall asked, regrouping herself quite quickly.
"And who?" Flitwick added. Hermione couldn't fight off the rising feeling of foreboding in her stomach. It was like when she heard people talking about Harry without saying his name, but she knew who they meant all the same. Only this time it wasn't Harry who sprung to mind. One look at Snape was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.
And suddenly, she felt very, very angry at Severus Snape. Before she even knew what she was doing Hermione had sprung to her feet, glaring at Snape with all the anger and intimidation she could muster. "Right from under your nose?!?" She half-yelled, and everyone looked at her in surprise. Including Snape. Hermione didn't notice, however, nor did she see the keen observation she was now receiving from both Dumbledore and McGonagall. "I don't believe this! You and your stupid favouritism, always playing games with your precious Slytherins egos, but now you've let it go too far." Hermione said darkly. "Kidnapping, in Hogwarts! If you didn't walk around with blinders on wherever your House was concerned..."
It was fair to say that Snape had gone from shocked to fuming. "Like you would do any better, the way you followed Potter and his little fanclub around, blind to all the havoc that boy caused! You have no idea what it takes to control the cunning minds of Slytherin students, blustering around with false bravado, never without your nose in a book. Well I'm sorry to disappoint, Granger, but life isn't always black and white!" Snape retorted darkly. Hermione glared at him. For all the boy's somewhat insufferable nature, she liked him. She liked Demitrius. He was bright, and cocky, and there was something... familiar. Something home-like to him. And for some reason, the idea of his being in the hands of Death Eaters was causing an explosion of nerves in her, making her want to retch and scream.
It seemed to be having a similar effect on Snape. Which wasn't as odd as it should have been. Before the fight could get bloody, Dumbledore intervened. "Well, Severus, Hermione, I can see no point in laying blame at anyone's feet right now." The headmaster said, using just the right tones to make them both feel somewhat abashed. Was there anyone that man couldn't manipulate? She suddenly wondered if he wouldn't have made a very impressive Slytherin. But then, that thought was a little frightening as well.
"The student taken was our intrepid traveller, Demitrius Septimus." Dumbeldore continued, for the benefit of those who didn't have Hermione's keen insight on the matter. There were a few startled looks. "As I'm sure you all must realise, having someone with knowledge of the future placed in Voldemort's hands is a most unpleasant prospect." He continued, ignoring the few winces all around at his use of the Dark Lord's name.
"He was taken by other students?" McGonagall asked. Snape sneered, but more at himself than anyone else.
"Fitsgibbons in his grade and all the Slytherin seventh-year boys, as far as I can tell." He said darkly. "And before you ask, Minerva, we're fairly certain he didn't go willingly." Snape added. Hermione sank back into her seat. This was awful. A fifteen-year-old kid in the clutches of several ruthless Death Eaters. Demitrius was intelligent and skilled, but he was still young. Surely there would be no way for him to escape?
"I imagine we'll find the seventh years have looser tongues that young Mr. Fitsgibbons, though I doubt they intended for you to figure out their plan so swiftly, Severus." Dumbledore said with a note of approval. To Hermione's surprise, Snape seemed to take no pleasure in the modest compliment. He seemed more frayed and worried than anything else. "Severus, I shall put you and Hermione in charge of recovering our lost student." Dumbledore said. Both professors seemed momentarily caught off their guards. Snape recovered first.
"Why?" He snapped, seeming to forget his usual grace. Hermione looked at him sharply.
"Because I'm the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which means I have precedence over student safety, and you're his Head of House." She said in her best Know-It-All voice. Then her eyes glanced quickly over at Dumbledore, and she added mentally: 'Plus the headmaster has a really nasty sense of humour sometimes.'
As though he had read her thoughts, Albus Dumbledore smiled.
A/N: And that's that. Ordinarily, there would now be shout-outs, but I've had enough troubles logging in to upload this sucker, I don't want to chance trying to get at my reviews. Which I'll try and read tomorrow when I have the patience to sit down and click 'Refresh' nine million times again. Thanks for reading, assuming of course that you actually manage to get to the this chapter!
Snape suppressed a growl of displeasure as he stomped back to his quarters. That idiot Fitsgibbons! How on earth had he cornered a seventh year in the boy's own dormitory? And why? His eyes narrowed darkly. Well, that could be explained during his detention. Maybe he could take away the boy's prefect badge as well. Give it to a more worthy candidate...
With a shrug Snape turned to enter his quarters. He raised his hand to his doorknob, only to pause. The potions magazine he had been using for his late-night reading was gone. Snape cursed darkly. Left in that den of serpents it would be gone by morning, unless, of course, he went back for it now. With a swish of dark robes and a menacing look Snape began to head back for the seventh year boys' dormitory. As he walked the thought occurred to him that perhaps Fitsgibbons had originally intended to attack Mr. Septimus. He'd heard of the pair's one-sided fight in the hallways from Professor Granger, who had thankfully distributed the last of their 'project' to every sentient thing in the school, and had no further reason to trouble his presence.
Still, the idea that a seventh year Slytherin boy would stand up for his young colleague was decidedly unnatural. The sound of voices halted the rest of Snape's thoughts. He scowled. Students out of bed? This was too chronologically close to be a coincidence. He quickened his pace. Something definitely did not feel right. His eyes were as dark and as cold as steel as he rounded the corner, to find... Nothing. Snape blinked. No trace of students rustling down the halls, and once again, the corridors were as silent as stone. Not a breath, not a footstep in the distance.
He stood there for several moments, puzzling. An invisibility cloak perhaps? Potter had caused havoc for years with one of those. But, such things were rare, and as far as he knew no Slytherin students had one. Not that they would exactly brag about such a possession. Taking a step forward, Snape reached out a hand, which glided through nothing but air. He scowled darkly. This mystery would not be solved tonight, he realised. With a snarl he continued on the rest of the way to the Slytherin Common Room.
It wasn't until he reached the seventh year boys' dormitory that the unusual feeling of foreboding at his core began to grow. The beds were empty. A thought came to him then, one he didn't at all like, and he found himself storming down towards the fifth year dormitories. His magazine was now completely forgotten. He pulled open the door to the boys' rooms, and stared. One bed was empty. Snape cursed, ignoring the few groggy heads which looked up in surprise, and darted away, not even bothering to close the door in his wake. In order to confirm his suspicions he had to get to the infirmary.
Snape's mind was working a mile and minute as he stalked down the corridors, as quickly as his long legs would let him. This time around, every seventh year in Slytherin was the child of a Death-Eater, a fact which had not concerned him when he placed Mr. Septimus in their dormitory. Of course, the simple truth that the boy exuded self-confidence probably had something to do with that. But now he thought of it, he wondered how he could have been so stupid. It was, of course, possible that Demitrius had simply accompanied the seventh years on some wild prank. But for some reason Snape was certain that wasn't in the boy's nature. Of course, a quick glance in the infirmary would either confirm or deny his suspicions.
It seemed like mere seconds before he reached the familiar room, lorded over by the iron fist of Madam Pomfrey. One glance inside and he felt something similar to ice settle over him. The room was cold, empty, and completely devoid of an unfortunately cursed seventh year. He let loose a stream of words which would have all earned him detentions in his school days.
This could not turn into anything positive.
~
'What, don't know the secret passageways?' Demitrius wondered at his kidnappers as he lurched along the grounds, headed for the gate. Of course, in his time they'd all been bordered up, ways out were ways in as well. Er, okay, so maybe that rule wasn't entirely concrete in Hogwarts, but they'd still taken the precaution. In this time though they were as open and free to be used as they were when Hogwarts was first built. He knew that, because he'd helped with the boarding-up bit.
Of course, no one answered him. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit again. Really, if they had any brains at all he should be floating along quietly, not blundering clumsily beneath the pull of the mobilicorpus spell. Which they kept having to renew, along with the petrifying curse. 'Getting tired? Well, if this thing wears off before we get to Hogsmeade, I'm going to make you all wish you'd been born squibs.' He thought darkly. This little escapade was interfering with his schedule. He should be sleeping now! Of course, in his own slightly twisted curiosity, he also wanted to see who it was that had him kidnapped. Maybe it was You-Know-Who himself. Demitrius snarled inwardly. Well, the work was sloppy enough for it, but at this point in time the Voldemort should still be piss-in-his-pants terrified of Dumbledore. As they approached Hogsmeade, the seventh-year who was controlling him from beneath the same cloak shirked it off of them. 'Ah, won't be needing it within the hallowed halls of Death-Eater central?' He thought.
As their unique little group went past the gates to Hogsmeade, Demi found himself looking around in wonderment, instantly forgetting his earlier blithe mental comment. He'd had the place described to him before. But, this town, even while looking so sleepy, was absolutely impressive. Demi found himself wishing for freedom of movement to go and explore things. He'd forgotten what places outside of Hogwarts were like. Understandable, considering how long it had been since he'd seen one. A collection of smaller buildings, each one for a different thing, with cobbled streets and tons of people. Of course, late at night there were only a few shady characters about. But still, it was amazing! The idea of living in a place that was it's own separate, outside unit, instead of part of one large building. Now he understood why so many of the older people had spoken of it so fondly.
His impressed thoughts turned back to the matter at hand as he was promptly walked into a building wall. "Hey, watch it with that, he's not to be damaged!" He heard Fitsgibbons hiss. Had Demitrius been able to use his mouth, he would have cursed. That was painful! But as it was he settled on thinking thoughts of revenge. If he wasn't back at Hogwarts by Monday the professors would notice he was gone, if not before then even. Of course they would still have no idea where he went or how to look for him. So, the odds of a rescue being close at hand were slim to none. He'd made no friends in or out of his house since his arrival. And, since he disappeared into the Meeting Room on weekends, his absence would be far from conspicuous.
Which meant that he was stuck in this situation on his own. But, still, there were things he knew about himself that his captors were likely not to. Spoils of war, one might say. Like virtually every student in his time the Imperius curse was a no-brainer. It had been almost useless by the time the final battle came around, as all but the weakest minds had been honed to resist it. Veritaserum, too, had no effect on him, although that gift was a little more Demitrius-specific than the other. When he was a child his father used to give him small draughts of the potion in his pumpkin juice. At first Demi assumed it was to keep him from lying, he was only young after all. But a year of that and he found that the potion had no effect on him whatsoever. His father had made certain this happened when Demi was young, and had the ability to develop such immunities.
'Hmm, they've stopped paying attention again.' Demitrius thought with amusement as he lumbered off the sidewalk and across the street. A brief curse, some wand-waving, and he was back on track. 'You know, you guys really should be more on-your-guard.' He mused. For some reason his sleepy brain was in a very whimsical mood.
Then, suddenly, he was turning in towards a very run-down looking building. "This is the place." Fitsgibbons said. Demi watched in amusement as his captors all promptly dropped to their knees and began looking for something. 'Ah! A portkey. Well, that's boringly predictable.' He thought. Of course, there was the slim chance they were all looking for a trap-door, but Demitrius some how doubted that. Especially when Kevin asked "What's it look like?". As far as he could tell, Kevin was the only one with a single brain-cell to go off of, so his asking what a trap door looked like didn't really sing of likelihood for Option B.
The portkey theory began to look very concrete when suddenly one of the other seventh years kicked an empty box of Berty Blotts Every Flavour Beans out from behind a bush. "Found it!" He declared rather smugly.
"Good work." Fitsgibbons said. Then, suddenly, Demi felt himself moving forward again. Oh damn. A portkey could take him anywhere. Against his will he felt himself lean forward. As his hand touched the seemingly innocuous box, there was a lurch. The feeling of something pulling him from behind his navel yanked him forward. As the space between he and his captors lengthened greatly, he felt the curses on his body snap away.
Demi stumbled into a dank, cold room, and before he even caught his own feet he had his wand out and pointing at the offending figure across from him. He was beyond disconcerted, but tried very valiantly not to show that. And succeeded. Demi stood, after stumbling only a little on his landing, wand held tightly before him and eyes fixed into the darkness. Or at least looking fixed. He was actually a bit on the dizzy side, to be honest.
"Expelliarmus!" A voice from his left called out. Damn. So, there was more than one. His wand flew from his grasp over to the other figure. Demitrius titled his head slightly to try and take in both at the same time. Unlike the individual before him, the second man was not hidden in shadow. He was big and beefy, going a bit grey, and had a distinctly 'Fitsgibbons-ish' look to him. Probably a relative of that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect's.
"Imperio!" The shadowy figure across from him said. And suddenly, there was a little voice in Demitrius' mind, telling him to go and sit in the chair to his right. Telling him he wanted to go and sit in that chair. Feeling game, Demi walked over to the chair and sat down. It had restraints built in. As soon as he was sitting, he felt the straps wind themselves around his arms, legs, and waist. It was almost too funny. He fought hard to suppress his smirk, and sit there, looking blank and unthreatening. "Ethan, leave." The shadowy figure said.
Hmm, use of first names. So whoever had him didn't plan on letting him go any time soon. Demitrius carefully observed his location. Judging by the lack of windows in the room, he was underground, either a basement or a dungeon. The lighting was purposefully dim. However, it was beginning to look more like a small dungeon, judging by the stone walls. And floor. He heard the footsteps before he even saw the man, approaching from behind. The effects of the Imperius had ebbed away. He could have ignored the earlier commands, and made a wild run for his captor, but that would have been a very idiotic thing to do. Better to let this person grow complacent before making a move.
"So, you're Demitrius Septimus. But then I've seen you before." The man said. A person from the future? No, not likely. Demi felt his teeth grit together. That voice was a mockery of the familiar silk-on-steel tones he and his father could use. Less silk, and the steel was a bit rusted. He knew who this was. Logically, emotionally, he could tell who had 'captured' him and it made his blood run cold with anger.
Draco Malfoy stepped into view, and Demitrius made no effort to keep the expression of loathing off his face. Suddenly outright assaulting the man didn't seem like such a bad idea. Malfoy's expression was cold and dark as he regarded Demitrius carefully. "So, you're the little boy from the future?" He stated more than asked, and Demi could hear the inquiry beneath Malfoy's tones. The man wasn't sure what to make of him.
"So, you're the bastard who had me brought here?" Demitrius asked in a mockingly similar tone. Anger flashed briefly in Malfoy's eyes, before he made a sound similar to 'tsk, tsk'.
"My, you sound positively parched. Drink this." The older man instructed him, and before Demitrius could think up a witty response, Draco-the- Unoriginal had cast the Imperius curse upon him again. 'Drink the liquid, go on, you must drink the liquid.' A very weak and unconvincing voice in his mind sort of half-suggested. Malfoy held the glass up to his lips. Again, Demi had to fight a smile. Far be it for him to miss a golden opportunity to mess with Draco Malfoy's head. He drank what was undoubtedly Veritaserum. Malfoy stepped back, a smug look on his face, and Demi had the sense to display a somewhat shattered expression as the Imperius wore off.
"What is your name?" Malfoy asked. Demitrius thought quickly. The way Malfoy said it, this wasn't your customary 'test' question, like 'what colour is the sky?' or 'what year is it?' but something he actually wanted to know. The only thing he could think of popped out, and it was the most revolting declaration he had ever made in his lifetime. Ever. His father would have him skinned alive for it.
"Demitrius Potter." 'And may I never, ever, in eight thousand lifetimes have to imply *that* again.' Demi thought darkly. He would have to wash out his mouth with the most effective mouth-wash he could put together when he got back to Hogwarts. But, at least Malfoy had the sense to look equally shell-shocked. 'What? Not expecting that?' Demi thought. Well, it wasn't as if he strutted around like a Gryffindor god, was it? Nope, all strutting was definitely of a Slytherin prince nature.
Draco Malfoy was slow on the uptake, the wheels in his mind obviously working around quickly as he thought. Probably wondering how someone as sophisticated, skilled, intelligent, and elegant as Demi could ever possibly share in the Potter bloodline. 'Maybe it was too far-fetched. Hope he doesn't delve a little too deeply, or he might figure me out.' Demitrius thought as he waited for Malfoy to finally move past question one. Despite the awful nature of his first answer, this could be fun.
Snapping out of his brooding, Malfoy seemed to come back to reality. "Are you Harry Potter's then?" He asked.
"Yes." Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon. He didn't even know if there were any other Potters! However, his answer seemed to agree with Malfoy's train of thought, and the man continued with more gracefulness than previously shown.
"And who is your mother?" He asked. Really, these biased pureblood Death- Eater types put far too much emphasis on genetic heritage. Ah well, might as well remove both parents from the line of fire then, Malfoy apparently already hated his mother. No reason to encourage that sentiment even further.
"Evelyn Potter." Ha! Made up person! Malfoy would have to take a while to figure out that one, and the git knew it, judging by the way he paused.
"You are from the future?"
"Yes." Demitrius had a natural flare for keeping emotion out of his voice when he wanted to. And, because Veritaserum was very different from the Imperius, he could glower at Malfoy all he liked while he did it.
"Why did you come back through time?"
"To assassinate Cornelius Fudge." This was fun! If he didn't despise his interrogator so much, he might have actually had to work to hide his enjoyment. Of course, the fact that it was Draco Malfoy's mind he was messing with made it all the more sweet a game.
Malfoy looked decidedly confused. "Why?" He asked. Demitrius fought back a smile as his mind worked very fast. Ooh, the possibilities!
"After Fudge unlocks the Key of Pureblood Power and defeats the Dark Lord his arrogance overtakes him, and the world falls to ruin." He explained. And naturally had to swallow back a laugh at the thought of that idiot Fudge becoming a force to reckon with. In actuality to dunderhead would be booted out of office a few years from now, replaced by Lucius Malfoy, and given Dumbledore's position as headmaster. And a pathetic headmaster he would be, too. Little more than a cringing, fearful servant underneath Voldemort's whip.
Malfoy seemed to roll this information over in his head, and Demi had to remind himself firmly to keep things relatively realistic. Of course he had blown that boundary away with his first answer, but still, Malfoy wasn't as thick as his lackeys. He managed to live for quite some time by scheming around in dark corners. Finally the man seemed to decide on his next question. "The Key of Pureblood Power. What is that?" He asked.
"Locked away in the frozen regions of northern Canada is a tomb to a pureblood wizard named Igor Ibbens, who created a pendant that granted absolute magical power when worn by a pureblooded wizard." Demitrius lied. His false story was beginning to sound eerily familiar to a fantasy story Lucy had been working on in her second year, only with the word 'pureblood' thrown in a few more times than in the original. 'Believe it, buy it, come on Malfoy you blonde prat.' Demitrius thought. He would love nothing more than to have Draco Malfoy rooting around in northern Canada for the next little while, finding absolutely nothing for his efforts... Demi's thoughts of glee halted. He was such a moron! What if what he was doing interfered with Marcus' birth?
Malfoy had the gleam of avarice in his eyes, and Demitrius felt something hard lodge itself in his throat. Oh shit. What to do now? "Where in northern Canada is this tomb?" Malfoy asked. Demi began to formulate a new plan in his mind.
"I don't know." He said. Then, he purposefully made himself look greatly relieved, as though Malfoy had followed a train of thought he had wanted him to. Like a good little Slytherin Draco took the bait. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"But the pendant isn't in the tomb, is it? You never said it was." He more mused than asked. "So, where is the Key of Pureblood Power?" Malfoy demanded, a bit heatedly. Alright, here was Demi's chance to try and undo some damage.
"In the halls of a pureblood home. No one knows which, only that Fudge found the pendant while visiting a formal meeting in a wealthy estate." Demitrius said. He plastered on a look of frustration and resignation. There, now. That should keep Malfoy safely at home rummaging through every nook and cranny, going over family heirlooms, and hopefully getting him to interact with his wife in the process. The bait was set, and Draco took it.
"So it could be here?" He said, with that gleam back in his eyes.
"Yes." Demitrius answered in that same automatic voice. It never hurt to keep up appearances. Suddenly Malfoy snapped his gaze over to him.
"Where do I fit into this future?" He asked curiously.
"You ally yourself with Fudge after Voldemort's death, and kill Harry Potter." Demitrius said. Then, because it never hurt to add a bit of drama to a good performance, he stole himself and spat on Malfoy's cheek. Oh by the gods did that feel good. While the line about Potter was most definitely a lie, Malfoy had taken a parent from him, and Demitrius didn't have to act to display that particular hatred. Not one bit of the malice in his gaze was insincere.
"How?" Malfoy asked with a dark gleam. 'You dirty bastard! Want to play your hand early, do you?' Demitrius thought angrily. Well, he wouldn't be orchestrating anything for quite sometime if Demitrius could place the right cards on the table.
"You poison him." Demitrius said. Uncreative, but it didn't give Malfoy a lot to work with. The Slytherin seemed to notice that as well. He looked almost like he wanted to pout, and the words 'spoiled brat' sprung up in Demi's mind.
After that, Malfoy asked a few more questions, and Demitrius fought to keep his answers reasonable. By the time the older man had finished his interrogation for the night, he had a very colourful, and very incorrect portrait of the future in his mind. When they were done he smirked as though in triumph. "Well, we shall have to continue our conversation tomorrow, Mr. Potter." Malfoy sneered. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit. He had a nasty taste in his mouth now. And with that, Malfoy strutted from the room, leaving him strapped to the chair. Unable to leave.
Well, at least that's what Malfoy thought.
~
Hermione woke with a start. It was late, no sunlight streamed into her quarters, and for the life of her she couldn't place what had roused her consciousness. Foggy memories, like a nightmare were drifting away from her. Well, nightmares weren't that uncommon to her. Once she'd had a particularly nasty one where she watched Harry being eaten alive by a Dementor. Reaching over to her bedside table, she took a sip of water to calm her nerves, and tried to remember what this one had been about. Something to do with spiders...
A knock on her outside door drew her mind away, and she blinked in surprise. Someone knocking on her door so late? She stood from her bed and gathered a robe around her shoulders. A block of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. This could not be good. Had something gone wrong with some of the students? Did the potion she and Snape brew have an unpleasant side-effect neither had foreseen? She herself felt fine. Worry crowding her, she went over to the door to her quarters and pulled it open.
Argus Filch stood there, in all his unpleasant and ill-kempt glory. "Emergency staff meeting in the headmaster's office." Filch said with distaste, and before Hermione could inquire further, moved off. An emergency meeting. So, it was bad, wasn't it? Not wanting to waste any time, she tied her robe tightly around herself, slipped on a pair of fuzzy blue slippers, and made her way towards the gargoyle that stood sentry for Dumbledore's domain.
When she got there, she found the way in had already been opened, and there were voices coming from inside. Hermione recognised one instantly as being Snape's. Though he was in a far viler mood, from how it sounded, than even she was used to.
"...Don't see why everyone needs to be here, Albus!" Snape said heatedly, obviously part-way through a rant of some sort. Hermione moved inside the room, and took in the scene. Dumbledore was sitting as serenely as usual behind his desk, though there was decidedly worried look to his face. Snape was on his feet and pacing. McGonagall was there, looking just as dumb-founded as Hermione felt, as were Professors Flitwick and Sprout.
"Ah, Hermione, good, good." Dumbledore said, and suddenly Snape whirled to stare at her. The look in his eyes was indeed very dark and angry. So much so that Hermione had to fight the urge to cringe away. She would later reflect that on that night, he seemed a dark beast, not completely in control of the mask that hid his true feelings away. But then, it was late, and the circumstances were certainly straining. At a wave from the headmaster Hermione took a seat. One comfortably close to McGonagall. "I believe we can begin explanations now." Dumbledore said. "Severus? If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, please? You pacing is detrimental to the atmosphere."
Snape looked like he wanted to say something about Dumbledore being detrimental to that atmosphere, but bit his tongue and sat down with a scowl. And then suddenly Albus Dumbledore was all serious and no twinkle. "Tonight, not an hour ago, a student was abducted from Hogwarts by several of his fellows." Dumbledore said. There were a few startled gasps and exclamations.
"How, Albus?" McGonagall asked, regrouping herself quite quickly.
"And who?" Flitwick added. Hermione couldn't fight off the rising feeling of foreboding in her stomach. It was like when she heard people talking about Harry without saying his name, but she knew who they meant all the same. Only this time it wasn't Harry who sprung to mind. One look at Snape was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.
And suddenly, she felt very, very angry at Severus Snape. Before she even knew what she was doing Hermione had sprung to her feet, glaring at Snape with all the anger and intimidation she could muster. "Right from under your nose?!?" She half-yelled, and everyone looked at her in surprise. Including Snape. Hermione didn't notice, however, nor did she see the keen observation she was now receiving from both Dumbledore and McGonagall. "I don't believe this! You and your stupid favouritism, always playing games with your precious Slytherins egos, but now you've let it go too far." Hermione said darkly. "Kidnapping, in Hogwarts! If you didn't walk around with blinders on wherever your House was concerned..."
It was fair to say that Snape had gone from shocked to fuming. "Like you would do any better, the way you followed Potter and his little fanclub around, blind to all the havoc that boy caused! You have no idea what it takes to control the cunning minds of Slytherin students, blustering around with false bravado, never without your nose in a book. Well I'm sorry to disappoint, Granger, but life isn't always black and white!" Snape retorted darkly. Hermione glared at him. For all the boy's somewhat insufferable nature, she liked him. She liked Demitrius. He was bright, and cocky, and there was something... familiar. Something home-like to him. And for some reason, the idea of his being in the hands of Death Eaters was causing an explosion of nerves in her, making her want to retch and scream.
It seemed to be having a similar effect on Snape. Which wasn't as odd as it should have been. Before the fight could get bloody, Dumbledore intervened. "Well, Severus, Hermione, I can see no point in laying blame at anyone's feet right now." The headmaster said, using just the right tones to make them both feel somewhat abashed. Was there anyone that man couldn't manipulate? She suddenly wondered if he wouldn't have made a very impressive Slytherin. But then, that thought was a little frightening as well.
"The student taken was our intrepid traveller, Demitrius Septimus." Dumbeldore continued, for the benefit of those who didn't have Hermione's keen insight on the matter. There were a few startled looks. "As I'm sure you all must realise, having someone with knowledge of the future placed in Voldemort's hands is a most unpleasant prospect." He continued, ignoring the few winces all around at his use of the Dark Lord's name.
"He was taken by other students?" McGonagall asked. Snape sneered, but more at himself than anyone else.
"Fitsgibbons in his grade and all the Slytherin seventh-year boys, as far as I can tell." He said darkly. "And before you ask, Minerva, we're fairly certain he didn't go willingly." Snape added. Hermione sank back into her seat. This was awful. A fifteen-year-old kid in the clutches of several ruthless Death Eaters. Demitrius was intelligent and skilled, but he was still young. Surely there would be no way for him to escape?
"I imagine we'll find the seventh years have looser tongues that young Mr. Fitsgibbons, though I doubt they intended for you to figure out their plan so swiftly, Severus." Dumbledore said with a note of approval. To Hermione's surprise, Snape seemed to take no pleasure in the modest compliment. He seemed more frayed and worried than anything else. "Severus, I shall put you and Hermione in charge of recovering our lost student." Dumbledore said. Both professors seemed momentarily caught off their guards. Snape recovered first.
"Why?" He snapped, seeming to forget his usual grace. Hermione looked at him sharply.
"Because I'm the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which means I have precedence over student safety, and you're his Head of House." She said in her best Know-It-All voice. Then her eyes glanced quickly over at Dumbledore, and she added mentally: 'Plus the headmaster has a really nasty sense of humour sometimes.'
As though he had read her thoughts, Albus Dumbledore smiled.
A/N: And that's that. Ordinarily, there would now be shout-outs, but I've had enough troubles logging in to upload this sucker, I don't want to chance trying to get at my reviews. Which I'll try and read tomorrow when I have the patience to sit down and click 'Refresh' nine million times again. Thanks for reading, assuming of course that you actually manage to get to the this chapter!