The owls swooped in, carrying the day's mail. A bustle of noise came as various parcels were dropped to students: treats and gifts from home, letters, and the sort. She smiled to hear some of the owls groaning, Too heavy…ugh! Icarus Haverstaff? Is that an "L" there in the middle? and the like. She was surprised to receive a package herself. She opened it to find a letter in a sharp hand from the Library of the Ministry informing her that Professor Severus Snape had asked for copies of articles from various potions journals concerning Forgetfulness Potions for a Miss Hermione Granger's research, and the requested articles were enclosed.
She looked down the table at Snape and gave him a smile. She hadn't been able to read those before, as the journals were off-limits to students without proper authorization. Snape knew her idea had faltered a bit, and in the spirit of his being determined not to hold her hand and do her work, had obviously sent these as a possible assistance. He met her eyes for a moment and gave her a brief half-smile, then turned back to his meal.
There was a collective gasp from the Slytherin table as a Great Horned Owl headed for them at the end of the mail carriers, bearing a distinctly black envelope. The Slytherins seemed frozen in fear, everybody at Hogwarts knowing what that envelope meant. An official Ministry death notice: somebody had just lost family to Lord Voldemort and was being notified. Hermione froze as she faintly heard the owl muttering a name, interspersed with, Oh dear, oh dear. I hate this job…
All eyes were fixed, and the hall was silent, as the owl scanned the table, cruising in slowly. It finally dropped the letter in the lap of Florence Lowell, a young second year. The girl's eyes went wide and she let out a cry, clutching the envelope. She leapt to her feet and ran from the Great Hall. One of her young friends made as if to rise and follow, but Arabella Vickerson, a Slytherin prefect, gently put a hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to sit. It was better to let Florence have her initial tears in private--the comfort of friends would be in use later. The owl gave a sympathetic hoot of, I'm so sorry, Miss Lowell, and quickly flew off, as if to remove itself from what it had delivered.
She saw Draco Malfoy turn back to his meal with a smirk as though nothing had happened. A frisson of rage flared within her--of course he wouldn't care, even if the girl were of his own house. His father was one of Voldemort's followers. Almost of its own accord, her gaze turned to Professor Snape. His face looked ashen as he stared at Florence's empty chair: a man staring straight into Hell. Conversation didn't resume in the Great Hall for fifteen minutes, and even then it was hushed and grave.
The moment he had heard the owl mumbling the girl's name, his mind had been racing furiously with accusatory questions. What had he missed? This was the second one this year. True, there had been seven by Christmas last year, but still…two. Was Voldemort not summoning him to some meetings, too bored to toy with him every time after two years? Was he missing some names reported in his haze of pain? Were there random victims that weren't even mentioned? He hadn't been able to save them all even when he spied in human form, but each death, each notice, was burned into his mind forever, the names accusing him of failure.
Menard and Janet Lowell, he wearily added to the list. He a Hufflepuff and she a Ravenclaw; they had somehow produced a Slytherin daughter. Lowell was one of the Slytherins he was sure of never to join the Dark side, at least. As for probably half his house, he was trying to covertly guide them away from the Dark Mark they might have taken if left unchecked. He drew them in with his favoritism, got them to confide, and tried to guide their paths, subtle as a serpent.
It didn't matter that the other three houses thought he was a blatant and unfair git: even if he hadn't acted as one, it had been Slytherin against the other three houses for years. He was the only one who seemed to give a damn about the Slytherins and think they were more than evil junior Death Eaters, so naturally they came to him with troubles, never guessing his plan. He remembered bitterly when he had heard Dumbledore effectively agree with Minerva McGonagall years ago that his life had been worth less than Sirius Black's good name.
The worth of a Slytherin, he thought sadly. And then those same self-righteous Gryffindors wonder why Slytherins turn to those who say that they will appreciate us and give us power for once. He had produced decent success with most of the house, though. Crabbe and Goyle were such idiots it was no use, and Malfoy--Malfoy was likely a loss as well. But if he lost only those three, plus whatever Dark wizards slipped through the cracks in the other houses, he was doing well. Not good enough, but not terribly, at least. He was veteran enough to know that he could never save them all, but failure cut him no less deeply. His failures in his house would produce more innocent victims.
He would have to talk to Florence later, being her Head of House. But he didn't know if he could meet her eyes knowing that he had failed to save her parents. Carefully he excused himself, heading for his dungeons for a little solitude.
It was a week later when Tosca swooped directly into her bedroom one evening while Hermione was eagerly writing down an idea the potions articles had given her, applied with a little Muggle science. "What is it?" she asked the falcon, who landed beside her. Tosca looked at her sharply.
Well, if you're going to do it, tonight is the night.
"All right," she said hesitantly. "Do you think I'm ready?"
You can fly, you can act like any wild falcon. Now come on already, or are you backing down? I thought you Gryffindors were brave. Hermione smiled a little at the obvious Slytherin-style baiting, reassured. Within a minute she was stretching her wings and adjusting her mind to her falcon form.
Good luck! Crookshanks yowled after her, as she flew down to Snape's window. She wasn't quite sure how an above ground window put her into the underground dungeons, but she wasn't at a point to scruple much.
"Tosca!" Severus nearly bellowed. "Blast it, we need to leave!"
Hi, Chief, she said insouciantly, landing on a table. I'm feeling a little down tonight--not up to flying long distances. I do it often enough it's getting to me.
"Damn it, Tosca, this is not the time for you to get sulky!"
I brought my replacement. This is my friend-- Tosca hesitated.
Hermione thought quickly, and blurted in falcon-tongue the first name coming to mind, naturally a heroine of another Muggle opera. Musetta! She almost started laughing at that: her personality was as far away from that of Musetta as night from day.
Musetta, Tosca nodded. Hermione gave thanks that Snape didn't hear her words in her own voice; else she'd have been done for. She'll fly with you and come back to Dumbledore if you're caught, and I admit she's a good deal more keen on the idea than me.
"Well, Musetta," Snape said, turning to her with a frown, "you're ready to leave?"
Absolutely.
"You do what I tell you to. The last thing I need is for some overly keen idiot to get both of us killed. The world might not miss one falcon less, but they'd miss a spy."
Understood. Now, hadn't we better get going before the meeting's over? she said with a Slytherin's arrogant impatience.
Snape nodded, holding out an arm for her to climb on, which she did. Carefully he made his way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Apparated.
When she looked around, she saw a large manor house a little ways up the road. Malfoy Manor? she asked.
"Yes." He set her down, and within thirty seconds, a black gyrfalcon stood in his place. Tosca had told her that was his form, but she was still a bit surprised to see him in it. Now, follow me, he ordered, spreading his wings and heading for the house. She was momentarily startled to hear his words without the usual silken tone, but obeyed, trailing him.
He flew around the house, remarking, Meeting in the gardens. Excellent; no Charms to perform on windows and such, and we can hide better. He was well-hidden already, black feathers almost blending into the night sky. Her off-white and slate-grey stood out a little more, but probably not as visibly as Tosca's dazzling white.
They perched on a branch overhanging the garden, and she heard a faint hissing, serpent-like voice. "…the Drachenfeuers…" She gagged slightly to see the figure that spoke--tall, skeletally lean, without a trace of hair. Corpse-pale, a snake's nostrils, and red eyes glowing like coals. He's not even human! she gasped.
He hasn't been human for years, Musetta, Snape observed dryly, but his resurrection two years ago didn't help. I assume Tosca has informed you of the pertinent events of the past years, as falcons generally would not make such a thing their business?
Yes, for the most part. They watched in silence while the hooded and masked Death Eaters plotted and planned, discussing tomorrow evening's "entertainment" of killing the Muggle-born Drachenfeuers. Their son, Gawain, was a fourth-year Hufflepuff, and their daughter, Margaise, would begin at Hogwarts next year.
This had been his life years ago…these dark and secret meetings. Plans to torture and kill: after seeing them up close and realizing what they were, it only reinforced her opinion of his character that he had come to his senses before it was too late. She was faintly aware of Snape shifting uncomfortably now and again. Pr--Severus, she barely caught herself with an icy rush of horror at nearly giving herself away, his given name odd on her tongue, will you be all right? He nodded curtly, and she recalled Tosca mentioning him sometimes missing things at meetings due to distraction from the pain of his Mark. She just listened all the more intently at that.
Two hours of some of the darkest plots she had ever heard, and the Death Eaters Disapparated. Voldemort was last to leave. When all was silent in the garden after Lucius Malfoy went back into the manor, Snape abruptly took wing and called for her to leave as well.
Within fifteen minutes, they were back at Hogwarts, she reminding him of the things said so that he could report to Dumbledore. He gave her a smile and thanked her, idly caressing her back for a moment, and then turned to make his report. She flew up to her own window, and reverted back into her human form, collapsing on the bed, exhausted but thrilled. She had done it--she had successfully entered the war. And Professor Snape had even thanked her for it. Now, if he knew it was me--five hundred points from Gryffindor! she thought, laughing.
Crookshanks hopped onto the bed, asking, How was it?
"I think it went well," she said thoughtfully. "I can do it--do something of use for once." She fell asleep with a satisfied smile on her face.
