I had forgotten what it is like to be in the midst of a muggle slaughter, with grinning death eaters on all sides, laughing derisively as they twist their victims into grotesque shapes. My heart pounds in my throat as they push me to the front of the group, obviously expecting me to find the same pleasure out of it as they do.
I cannot bring myself to torture them anymore. A wave of my wand and a burst of green light; a quick death. Yet more to be added to my personal list of victims. Around me they groan in annoyance. It is over now, and they must go; they can't capture any more muggles now, it would be too dangerous.
They disapparate, and for a while my ears play the sound of the loud pops again and again. I am left alone now, left to stare at the dead muggles. My body threatens to let me taste my dinner again, but I swallow hard, and force myself to go on for a little longer.
My wand is still clutched in my hand, and I point it at the muggles again, but this time they go up in flames, soon leaving piles of ashes. I stay rooted to the spot for a moment that seems like eternity, before disapparating to just outside Hogwarts.
My mask fell off what seems like an age ago, and there is blood plastering my face, and soaking my cloak, and my muscles ache as I stumble as fast as I can towards the castle. Madam Pomfrey is waiting for me in the door as usual, her face twisted in worry. I brush past her, ignoring her incessant fussing.
I know Dumbledore will be waiting for me in my dungeon. Why do I live down there? In the cold, and the dark. He is sitting on my chair, but he stands up when I come in.
"How was it?" Is the first question he asks. His voice sounds so different from the sneers of the death eaters – quiet, with no awful laughter threatening to escape after every sentence.
I cannot answer, as the words have become caught in my throat. I am forced to my hands and knees as I am sick. Unwelcome tears leak out, but I cannot brush them away and I will not hide them. My pride stops me from doing that.
I hate this, I hate it. Why did I ever force myself into it in the first place? To prove I could do anything they could. I could stand the cruciatus for as long as them, I could kill. I soon realized that killing is neither big nor clever. But by that time it was too late.
I pull myself up off the floor. I will not let Albus help me. It was me that got myself into these problems, and therefore me that will deal with the consequences. My robe slips up my arm as I get up, and shows the dark mark – a deep, vivid red; not black as it was when he called me. It leaves a constant feeling of dread wherever I go. Will I be making an excuse to go again tonight? Albus will not fall for the potions excuse for much longer. I do not think he knows how many times I go.
"Severus. What happened?"
I am silent again. How can I answer that question? Well, I arrived, Voldemort tortured me for the third time this month, I watched the death eaters playing with some muggles for an hour, and then I killed them. No, somehow I don't think that is the answer he would like to hear.
"Severus. Answer me. What happened?"
I fight not to scream in frustration at the tone of his voice. "It's getting harder each time, Albus. They are becoming more and more open with their kidnappings. Five children were taken tonight, out of twelve people. They are getting careless. Adults, well, they will investigate, but after a while they will be given up for dead and that'll be the end of it. People will forget them quickly. But children. They are different. No one forgets child kidnappings – I've seen their news. 'Sarah White still not found after six months.' They don't give up with children."
Dumbledore sighed heavily, "I know, I know."
"It's getting easier for the ministry to find us. It's all over the Daily Prophet about how they keep finding piles of ash around. Dead muggles."
"Well, at least they aren't finding bodies, thanks to you."
"That's the problem. I don't think I'm going to have time soon. The ministry is arriving at the sites quicker and quicker. They'll see me one day Albus, and then were will I be? A prison cell in Azkaban. Nothing you will say will make any difference this time. They are already suspicious of me from when they held my trial seventeen years ago. Everyone who can remember will see me as a death eater for the rest of my life, whatever I do. I'll never be anything else to them." I say bitterly. Dumbledore sighs, and walks over to the mantelpiece, leaning on it and watching the only picture I have in my room. A small image of my family, blinking and scowling. "It would probably be better if I were dead. At least the Fudge wouldn't have to put himself out to avoid me whenever he comes for a routine check on the school."
He looks up at this. It is plain that he is shocked. "Do you not think some people would miss you if you died, Severus?"
I chuckle slightly at this. "I doubt it. Well, I suppose Voldemort would miss my skills, and Black would miss being able to pick on someone, but otherwise no, I do not believe anyone would miss me."
"Then I have failed you even more than I know." He says it in a quiet voice, as if he doesn't want me to hear it, but it would be better if he was telling me straight to my face.
"I'm tired, Albus. I'll get the house elves to bring me some food." I only say this last bit to reassure him. He will worry himself to death if he thinks I am not eating again. He nods, and then makes to leave, but just before he reaches the door he turns.
"Severus, can I persuade you not to go to another meeting? We will manage without your information."
I shake my head, and he sighs, and then goes. He did that to make me feel guilty, and it's worked. Insufferable man.
*
Hermione stared at her mother in dumb shock. It took her a while to get a sentence out. "Re-Remus Lupin?" Her mother nodded, and looked at the floor. She couldn't meet her daughter's eye.
As much as Hermione tried, it wouldn't sink in. Her father was Remus Lupin. And then it hit her. Her father was a werewolf. The silence between mother and daughter was so acute; you could almost hear Hermione's mouth hit the floor.
"I think I'm going to go to my room now." Her mother nodded, understanding her daughter needed time. She watched her daughter leave the room, and sighed. There was so much more that she needed to tell her – the night he had told her about his…his, she couldn't even bring herself to think it. She had never wanted to inflict that upon her daughter, never, but in doing so without any conscious memory of it, well, she didn't know how she stayed sane.
It had been hard telling her all that, watching her reactions, gauging how much to say. However, as much as she wanted Hermione to know everything about her father, there were some things you just didn't say. She remembered all the times she had to participate in conversations she knew nothing about, nodding occasionally, and laughing when everyone else did. She remembered having to hold onto his wand every time she went into the Hogshead, where someone might know him. She remembered the strangeness of it all, and the confusion. No, these were the things that you just didn't say.
*
Hermione raked through her large collection of wizard books feverishly, finally finding the book she was looking for: Werewolves: A general guide. Thank God for Severus Snape. He had pushed her into doing an essay on a subject she knew next to nothing about. Granted, she could tell the difference between a werewolf and a true wolf, and she knew how to kill one, but their history, the science of it all – no, that she had known nothing about.
She flipped the book open, and flicked to the page she wanted. Chapter 9: Siblings. She hadn't studied this bit in great detail. It didn't seem relevant. The script entranced her as her eyes expertly scanned the pages for useful information. Finding it, she proceeded to read thus:
It is a commonly known problem that the breed of werewolves (or canine sapiens) is beginning to die out, due to large amounts of cross-breeding with mortals. The effect of a werewolf and a mortal producing an offspring creates a different breed known as feline sapiens or catar. The result of a werewolf and a mortal having a child causes the wolf gene to become a cat gene, and the offspring only becomes sensitive to blue moons. The reasons for this mutantising of these genes are unknown.
Hermione almost dropped the book in shock. She stared at the pages as if they might hurt her in some way. She was dimly aware that her mother was moving around downstairs and this brought her back to the problem at hand. Had her mother known about Re-her father being a werewolf? Deciding she would ask her mother in the morning, she put the book down and lay on her back staring at the ceiling. That was the end of the excitement for tonight, she told herself. Go to sleep.
That was when her father crashed through the door, roaring drunkenly.
*
Disclaimer: Just a question. If I owned Harry Potter, would I be: a. broke
b. eating rotten cheese or
c. writing this? No, I thought not.
I have 77 reviews. I am absolutely stunned. I would love to put a long list of everyone who has reviewed, however, it would take too long, and it would stop me from writing the next chapter. If you reviewed, you know who you are and you now know that I love you very much. Thank-you!
Redstrawberry900
P.S. To anyone who has asked me to e-mail them when I update: I'm so sorry, but I'm in-between e-mails at the mo. My Dad's away for another month and he's the only one that understands how to get the stupid address working. Our old one has been taken away, so I am without e-mail. Annoying really.
PP.S. Catar = cat + lunar
PPP.S. Canine sapiens = Canine (dog) + sapiens (homo sapiens = humans)
Feline sapiens = Feline (cat) + sapiens (I think you get the picture)