A Battle of Wills
The thunder shook the manor with such force that Severus Snape was certain that the earth would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Not that he cared, of course. It actually might have been a nice change, dying. He had escaped it quite a few times already, it was bound to catch up with him eventually. Bring on the earth quakes, the lightning, the floods and the rampaging dunderheads, he would welcome them with open arms. As long as disaster allowed him to finish his crossword puzzle, first.
"Here's your tea, Master," Beatrice said sweetly, pushing it on to the table while he ignored her. He could smell the honey drifting up on the steam. He almost asked her what she had done this time, but thought better of it. It was better just to let it go, and hope to Merlin that she hadn't used the tea strainer.
He made an indistinct noise and waved her away, chewing on the eraser of his pencil as he mulled over a three-letter slang word synonymous to "unkind, callous person".
"Does the Master require Beatrice for any more work?" the house elf asked anxiously. "Would the Master like biscuits? Crumpets? Chocolate? The library dusted? A worker decapitated? Or would he like Beatrice to go straight to his bed and wait for him?"
"Get away from me, foul creature," Snape replied, refusing to even glance up at her from his puzzle. His inattention obviously flustered her greatly. "Before I lock you up again."
She bowed low to the ground and made her huffy exit, complaining loudly about how no one appreciated her anymore. Truth be told, there wasn't much to appreciate.
The word had him stumped. He moved on to the next one, planning to go back to it later.
The manor was quiet, too quiet. He was quite aware that today was his fortieth birthday, and knew that if no one (human) proclaimed her love for him by midnight, he would remain a piteous object with greasy hair and a crooked nose forever, and his manor would be permanently lost in shadow. He could see two paths in his mind: he could shut himself up in his room, quit his job, and remain there until he died from old age and perpetual ugliness, clinging on to the psychopath house elf as his only company. Or he could continue on with his life as he had been, only completely sucked of any hope for happiness. He'd probably be teaching miniature Remus Lupins - buck-toothed werewolves - or perhaps bushy-haired Weasleys in little over a decade. He would be prone to hold biases against them worse than the one he had held over Potter. They would never know what hit them.
His door was open, just so he could hear the rumble of thunder echo through the cavernous entrance hall. It was the only noise besides his own breathing, his own cold heart beating. It was almost as if the walls were holding their breaths, waiting, and the clocks had stopped ticking though their hands still moved toward the dreaded twelfth hour. Even the usually boisterous portraits were silent.
"Git," a voice said from the doorway.
"Ah, that's it," Snape scribbled the letters g-i-t into the three blank boxes on his black and white grid. He wasn't surprised by Ronald Weasley's appearance, even though he hadn't been expecting him nor had he heard him enter. If Cornelius Fudge himself appeared in front of him and proposed marriage, that would also fail to phase him. He had shut his mind off, warding himself into a dull state where he could feel neither pain nor pleasure. A few shots of particularly nasty vodka didn't mind helping it along.
Meticulously, Snape set the crossword aside and posed coldly, "May I help you, Weasley?"
Weasley actually looked rather surprised, himself. Though his reddened face was set in a grim expression, his eyes betrayed a state of confusion (not uncommon to the boy). Fat droplets of water glistened in his fiery hair, and his robes were soaked through and dripping on his floor.
"I want to know what you did to Hermione," Weasley demanded. His hand was at his side, fingers curving around the wood of his wand.
"Try to make sense, boy," Snape replied with a bored sigh. "I did nothing to Miss Granger other than prepare her for her NEWT. Now why don't you leave? I have a particularly caring house elf that can show you the way out."
"You did something to Hermione." Weasley's voice was shaking, as if he was uncertain of himself. Hopefully he wouldn't make Severus get up from his chair. He had just gotten quite comfortable.
"I have no idea what you're babbling about."
"You put a spell on her, slipped her a potion, something!"
"You are speaking." Snape rolled his eyes at the wall. "And yet I hear nothing. Do try to make sense."
Ron's voice was an unstable growl now. "You made her think that she's in love with you."
Well, that was news. It was almost enough to push Severus from his chair and corner the boy, demanding that he tell him where he had heard this information. Almost.
"Unfortunate girl," Snape answered in disbelief. "Weasley, I'd prefer that you run to your mummy with your nightmares rather than me. I suspect that she's much more tolerant."
Weasley ignored his comment. "I heard her talking to Professor Lupin…Remus, and she turned him down because she said that she was in love with you." This was enough to elicit a raised eyebrow. Weasley looked plainly disgusted. "I want to know what you did to her, and why, you perverted old bastard."
She loved him. That couldn't be. Not after how she reacted when he had kissed her. Not after when she danced with the coveted werewolf who loved her. Not when she left.
"What does it matter?" Snape replied with a sneer. "She's gone now."
"And she still wants you." Ron's wand was drawn now, held steadily at Snape's chest. He was threatening his former Professor.
"I doubt that you're doing this because you feel for Remus," Snape replied. "Your actions are…what's the motive, would you say? Unrequited love? Jealousy? Am I somewhere within range?" Snape was out of his seat quickly, wand drawn, watching a frightened Weasley back uneasily out of his room and into the entrance room balcony.
"Don't be a fool boy," Snape spat out as Ron tried determinedly to keep his wand hand steady. "Rash decisions won't do you any good."
"I want you to fix her," Ron demanded, realizing that he was getting too close to the railing and maneuvered to press against the wall. "I want you to undo everything that you did to her."
Merlin, the kid was annoying. Snape half-wondered whether blood would stain white marble.
"For one final time, Weasley, I did nothing. Anything that Miss Granger feels or does not feel for me is by her own will, not mine."
The over-zealous redhead did not drop his wand. If he didn't begin to learn when he was facing his betters, he would get himself killed. Though if the boy had been in his right mind, he might know what an idiot he was being. But that was an awfully big "might".
"I don't understand," he finally said.
"Must I speak in words with only one syllable?"
"How do I know that you're not lying?" Ron cornered. "Why should I believe you?"
"Because I have nothing to gain by lying." Enough of this foolishness. Snape pocketed his wand, frowning when Ron didn't follow suit. "You know, Mr. Weasley, it's considered bad manners to threaten an unarmed wizard."
Ron's face was frozen in an expression of grim determination, almost as if he'd been born and raised that way to embody the spirit of Gryffindor house. His façade screamed, "I will win, suffer, and enjoy it!" while his knees shook and his addled brain ached for rest. It was tiresome to watch.
Suddenly, Ron struck him with Snape's first true surprise all evening; not a spell, but words connected with little magical meaning and a lot of power.
"You love her, don't you?"
Snape examined him carefully with an arched eyebrow, trying not to show how the l-word had ruffled his senses and put him on guard. "If I say yes, will you put the wand down?"
"What, scared?"
"No, just annoyed."
"Bastard," spat Ron through gritted teeth.
"Well," replied Snape dryly. "I don't believe that I did anything to warrant that title."
"You drew a breath."
"Ah." He was becoming quite bored. Perhaps the Weasley could settle down enough for some tea. "How poetic."
He turned back to enter his room when a small shape standing in his doorway stopped him. It was Beatrice, her head lowered defensively, wearing what looked like a piece of very lacy tablecloth and meat thermometers pierced through her weighted-down ears. A drop of blood dropped to the floor from the fresh holes.
"Did the Weazey just threaten Beatrice's master?"
"You're losing your touch, Beatrice," Snape said, trying to get past her. She didn't budge and just looked past him, as though he didn't exist. "He's been threatening me for several minutes. Perhaps you should go and punish yourself for inattentiveness. Sticking your head in the oven could do a world of good."
She further ignored him, making him quite agitated. She pushed his legs apart and squeezed through them, which felt disconcertingly odd to poor Snape, and held out her hand to Weasley, almost as if she was beckoning him to take it.
Then Weasley fell to the ground, almost as if he had slipped, but he hadn't taken a step. It was then that Snape saw that the bottoms of Ron's trousers were shredded and he had blood seeping through the already wet fabric, it was almost as if he had been attacked by a particularly enthusiastic cat. His teeth were gritted as he exclaimed with all the class a Weasley could have, "What the hell was that?"
Beatrice was grinning wildly, and Snape noticed that she had blood underneath her fingernails.
This was becoming somewhat creepy.
"Beatrice," Snape warned as the elf fixed her eyes on Ron, he irises glinting with evil rage. "I can handle this. Go. Away."
"Nonsense, Master," Beatrice answered, her voice disturbingly chipper. Weasley began to thrash on the floor in pain as though someone had just hit him with the Cruciatus curse. Snape felt a knot tie in his stomach as he observed the boy who was still convulsing on the ground. Ron had dropped his wand and it had rolled away from him, coming precariously close to the edge. "Master may go sit down. This is Beatrice's work. Beatrice will take care of the Weazey."
"Beatrice," Snape said again, cautiously, almost dangerously. It was like seeing how long he could wrestle with a dog without her biting him. Except this was a bit more dangerous. If he rubbed her the wrong way, there's no telling what she would do to him. "Beatrice said that the Master can go…sit…down."
Ron had stopped shuddering now and was laying in a heap, breathing raggedly, on Snape's formerly clean floor.
"Look, you're making a mess," Snape coaxed as Ron shot him a very frightened look. Beatrice's eyes were fixed on him, unmoving, and it was no wonder he was scared. The elf looked positively feral. "Let me take care of him, I'm much neater when it comes to torture and the like."
"Snape…" Ron managed to breathe in a raspy voice. "I-I can't move."
"Beatrice will clean up when she's finished," the elf replied sweetly. Another scratch, longer this time, tore across Ron's upper thigh. Weasley groaned in pain.
"Beatrice…" Snape's wand was drawn now; he would use force if he had to. Weasley was not going to die, especially not in his house. "I'm not suggesting. Get out now, or I'm sending you to the laundry room."
She was unfazed by his threat, surprisingly. When he had threatened her with socks before, she had bellowed and hollered and slammed her head in the door until he said that he forgave her. He missed those days.
"Beatrice was not suggesting either, Mr. Snape," she answered, her voice suddenly cold.
"Help me," Weasley muttered pathetically from the floor. Snape was almost going to until he felt his wand fly out of his hand and land near the boy's crumpled form.
"Beatrice said…" The elf turned around slowly, her eyes narrowed and the meat thermometers wobbling on either side of her head. Red blood stains were smeared across her formerly white attire, but Snape couldn't tell if it was Ron's or her own. "Go. Sit. Down."
The wind was knocked out of him as he was hurled backward, off of his feet, and cried out in pain as he felt the back of his head collide with the railing. It felt as though he had split his head in half, and he could feel the blood trickling down his neck. It was a pain worse than he had ever felt before.
The world teetered before him, spinning and swinging dangerously to an off-beat, off-key tune.
So this…is what dying…feels likes…
The last things he saw were Weasley's shock of red hair and his pleading eyes before succumbing to blackness.
The carriage was gone when she arrived at the Reynold house; the caretaker was fast asleep in his chair and even a slap across the face couldn't wake him up. Hermione could hear thunder in the distance, though she was quite sure that it was much closer than it sounded.
So she ran. Night had fallen quickly, and it was later than Hermione had thought. Her watch read 11:30. Had she really stayed at Remus's that long? No wonder Ron had fallen asleep.
She had to keep focused; on what was happening now. She was running out of time, and it was coming to her attention that she wasn't in very good shape. She had an incredibly painful stitch in her side and was having trouble breathing as she ran, tripped and grumbled down the road. She was now drenched, too, from walking into a waterfall of rainwater as soon as she passed through the gate. It was storming. How perfect.
She almost had to laugh out loud. She had always been paranoid about thunder storms, staying away from high buildings, windows, and trees. Now the thunder and lightning were directly over her and she was running through ancient woods, practically inviting the white light to come and strike her or the trees that towered over her head. And who she was running after, and why, was laugh-worthy enough.
This summer was turning out to be decidedly odd.
She was shivering in the cold, her teeth chattering as water dripped from her matted-down hair and she struggled to see through the torrents of rain. She slipped a few times but kept her balance, and her shoes and trousers were splattered with mud. The damn rain was slowing her down.
She had one little hope left as the second hand spun in her watch, flying through the minutes quicker than she could see. Her Time-Turner. She could still have time, if he had brought it back with him…she could save him.
She prayed wistfully, her lungs aching for breath. "Please let him have brought the Time-Turner home."
11:40. She couldn't breathe and the pain in her side made it difficult to move. She wanted to curl up in a ball on the side of the road to relieve the cramp. But she pushed on.
At 11:52, she arrived in the gardens. Forgetting the ache, forgetting everything but her goal, Hermione sprinted up the path, past the deserted carriage, and pushed the door open with all the strength she could muster.
The entrance room was dark, its white marble dull and refusing to reflect any light. Numerous objects had been tossed to the ground and laid in ruins. Cabinets, bottles, vases, all laid in splinters and shards as if the furniture had fought a war. She could hear muffled yells and shouts from up the stairs and saw flickering candlelight dance on the edges of the walls above.
"Master will have nothing left to love…no more Potions! No more books! No more puzzles! He will only have Beatrice. And he will love Beatrice…"
Her voice was interlaced with a groan that sounded like Ron's.
Hermione still stood in the doorway, afraid to step inside, frightened that as soon as she set foot on the marble something would come crashing down on her head. She pressed herself against the wall, edging over to the stairway, just in time for a small wooden cabinet to crash down where she had been standing just seconds before.
Then the oddest thing happened. Instead of completely sacrificing itself to the polished stone, the cabinet cracked at the contact, splintered, reassembled itself, and flew right back from where Beatrice had thrown it as if it had bounced off the floor. As soon as it reached its first destination it hurled itself down once again and went back, almost like a videotape being rewound.
Hermione swore under her breath. The Time-Turner had been destroyed, hurled down in the cabinet and shattering its magic so that the cabinet was stuck in a time-loop, forever to commit suicide from the landing over and over again and never losing a splinter.
11:55. Time seemed to be speeding up, racing her to the finish. And her Plan B had been destroyed.
Her next conscious moment, she found herself on the landing in front of Snape's bedroom, standing dangerously close to the edge of the stairs. Beatrice still hadn't noticed her arrival; she was too busy levitating Snape's possessions, what looked to be everything from his bedroom except for his nightstand and his bed, and sending them hurtling to the floor far below. Ron was laying there, whimpering, eyes widening at her arrival. Fortunately, he still had enough of his wits about him to know when not to say anything. He was injured, but not too badly. She could heal him quickly. Later. She had more important matters to tend to.
The elf still hadn't noticed her, but Hermione could see a shadow, a man-shaped darkness, slumped against the railing with his head nodded off to the side. Even in the shadows, she could see that a small puddle of blood had formed beneath his skull, dripping hesitantly from his lank hair.
She was too late.
Her voice cut off inside of her, she growled, "Beatrice." Her voice was choked, unnatural, filled with rage.
"Hermione, no!" Ron protested. Hermione should have listened to him. She was hit by a wave of magic so strong that she almost fell down the stairs. Dizzily, she regained her balance and fell forward onto her knees, seeing Beatrice walk toward her with meat thermometers swinging in her ears.
"Beatrice," the elf hissed in a low voice. "told the Mudblood to never come back."
Something told Hermione that perhaps she had noticed her arrival after all. Hermione groped for her wand and panicked, noticing that it was gone.
Horror-struck, she realized that Beatrice was spinning it deftly between her fingers.
"Mudblood is nothing without its wand," she said in a slithering tone that could be likened to that of Voldemort himself. "Poweful wand. Very good tool to kill owner with…"
"Hermione," Ron pleaded, struggling against his invisible bonds. Glancing to the side, she noticed that Snape's wand was just inches away from his fingertips, but he couldn't reach as long as he was bound. Hope was always just out of reach, always close enough to mock you and watch you fail. "Hermione, just leave!"
She was on her knees, in mock submission, it seemed, to the house elf's wishes. Her world was spiraling out from underneath her. Her head bowed down, knowing that there was nothing she could do lest the elf kill her. She wondered if living without Severus would really be worth it.
Beatrice was so near…she could hear each raspy breath, smell the blood that had been dribbled on her clothing…
Snape's body was still slumped behind the elf. It was too late. There was nothing she could do.
"Hermione!" Ron yelled again. His voice sounded distant, far away, muffled by the seconds as they quickly approached midnight.
The clock struck twelve, its fateful tones ringing out strongly, disastrously, through the cavernous hall.
Her voice was barely more than a mutter, a bitter, hasty wish. "Kill me."
A grim smile stretched across Beatrice's face; Hermione could hear the delight in her voice.
"Beatrice would love to."
Hermione felt the smooth point of wood of her own wand press against the flesh of her forehead, directly between her eyes, the pressure, like Beatrice was trying to leave her mark.
"Stupefy!"
Hermione saw a flash of light and then darkness; not of death, but from hiding behind closed eyelids. Her eyes snapped open just in time to see Beatrice's small form flip limply over the railing of the balcony and careen to the floor below. The sickening thud of her landing was mixed with the cracks and tinkles of broken glass.
Ron had broken free from Beatrice's bonds and was slumped against the wall, Snape's wand in his hand, looking embarrassed and surprised even with himself. He was breathing heavily, staring at Hermione without blinking.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, turned away from Ron, and rushed toward Snape, kneeling on the floor beside him and moving her hand underneath his head, into the hair matted with blood. His closed eyes were lost in shadows, his lips parted slightly as if he had been caught in surprise.
With tears swimming in her eyes and threatening to cascade over her cheeks, Hermione brushed the fingertips of her other hand across his cheeks, on the bridge of his nose, over his still eyelids. All she could hear was the splintering crash of the cabinet caught in the time-loop, reassembling and sacrificing itself to the marble floor over and over again.
"Severus…" she murmured, hunching over to place a gentle, tear-stained kiss on his cold lips. Ron made a noise, which sounded like an emotional mix of jealousy, disgust, and pity as she pulled away, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead. Her words wouldn't rise above a whisper. "I love you."
As she let go of him, his head nodded to the side, too heavy for the loose, unclenched muscles in his neck. And there his face remained, cheek pressed to the cold marble floor, tip of his nose brushing the dust, his eyes shut fast to the world that passed around him as he laid in silence.
They couldn't hear a breath escape from his lips, still slick from Hermione's tears.
Thanks to: HunnySnowBunny, Kaliae (Yeah...I felt bad for Remus. I do love him, really), babydoll125, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Snapegirl51606, Anarane Anwamane, Kaaera (oops...sorry, another cliffhanger. Though...is it considered a cliffhanger if everyone is already dead?), c[R]ud[E]dly (yeah...I wasn't a big fan of the 'stache. I liked Thewlis, just not the mustache), Bronwyn, Blatant Discontent (I don't know what I was going for, really, but it made me laugh, too.), Greenleaf, Captain Oblivious, Tikina, pickles87 (I'm too shy to write steamy scenes, really. And inexperienced. I think I'll stick to writing about things. Thanks for the suggestion, though. I'm a prude!), Cow as White as Milk, CassandraTheEvil, Zephyre (double post! Clicked twice, eh? Thanks for your reassurance. The chapter before this one made me want to throw a fit; I had such a hard time writing it), EvieBlack, Imhilien, Satern Mya, jewlzthejujubean, Nymphadora Tonks the 2nd, Gold-Emerald fairy, magictwinkle, LuthienSunStar, moviebuff101, lupinite23 (I won't...I didn't? Hmm...), Aindel S. Druida (Thanks so much for referring friends. Oddly, that's one of the things that makes me the most happy, when my fans recruit other people to read.), Luna Writer (Don't worry about rambling, I am the Queen of Rambling Posts. I think I annoy more than praise in my reviews (at least in the few ones I do leave...I'm so bad about writing them), and charmed piper. Phew, that's a lot of reviews.
Again, this chapter went un-betaed since Laia is on vacation. All mistakes are mine.
Only an epilogue left! It will probably be posted either Thursday or Friday. In the mean time, reviews (death threats, rants, etc.) are very much appreciated.