0123456789012345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890123456789
Stahl Nacht
by CrimsonNoble
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.
WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male
relationships, and definite female/female. Ye hast been warned. Should
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users
there.
Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Chapter 12:
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0859, January 5.
Dumbledore nodded as the sallow individual in his fireplace finished
speaking, considering the new information. This was certainly
interesting. Subtly ironic too, he had asked the woman if she knew Low
Key Lyesmith. She was Low Key Lyesmith.
He bowed his head, considering whether or not it would be worth it to
attempt to kill the woman.
"Have you attempted to use your Legilmency on her yet?" He demanded in
a 'if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to have to hurt you'
tone of voice.
The response was slightly greasy, very liquid, and altogether much too
defiant for Dumbledore's taste. "No."
The man's eyes narrowed angrily. "Do so. And Severus. Nine thirty.
Leave the door unlocked."
He was gratified to see the trepidation flash across the Potions Master's
face before the man disappeared.
"We shall see what secrets you hold, woman..." his voice echoed
throughout the chamber before all sound vanished.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0904, January 5.
-------
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0904, January 5.
Severus stood, dusting his robes off with great care, glad as always
that Tom had seperate rooms for fire-calling. It would just be
embarassing to be kneeling in front of the entire patronage of the pub,
and he had enough of that already. Kneeling, that is.
There was a long moment in which he remained still, considering what
he was going to do. Yes, he wanted something to use against the woman
who had thrown him around like a rag doll...
But then again, he had seen the look in her eyes when she had warned
against the use of Legilmency on her. It hadn't been a look of fear...
It had been a look of pleading anticipation. She looked like she was
begging someone to ignore her warning.
And then there was the need of eye contact for Legilmency. She had to
see that he was there before it would work. And that was something
else he didn't want to do, attracting her attention was just beneath
'inform Voldemort that you are a spy' on his list of things he wanted
to do.
Aside from that, he would have to find her. And that would be rather
difficult, seeing as he had absolutely no idea where she could be.
Well, he knew very well where she was, but he was reluctant to enter
that particular place. Especially considering what he suspected would
be going on there.
Not something he wanted to walk in on.
He considered other options. Not obey Dumbledore, and try to fool the
skilled Legilmencer. Putting up Occlumency barriers would not help,
the old man would know that meant the younger wizard had something to
hide. Disobedience would anger the man.
And angering Dumbledore ranked at the same level as angering the woman
he had been sent to spy on in the aforementioned list.
Suicide. Now there was an idea. It might actually be the best option
of all. Indeed, upon further introspection, Severus resolved that,
should he find no time to break into the woman's mind, that would be
his course of action.
At last he moaned, and decided that today must be a thursday. He had
never really gotten the hang of thursdays.
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0934, January 5.
-------
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1158, January 5.
Raye cringed as she looked around the damaged room. Shredded clothes
lay discarded around the room, in places she didn't remember putting
them. For instance, what looked like part of a pair of panties was
lying on top of a bookshelf. Her pantsuit was, of course, undamaged,
though it was also scattered about, her shirt dangling from a corner
of the bed, and her pants hanging over the doorknob. Her undergarments,
on the other hand, had not fared better than her lover's, and she was
having trouble identifying them.
Tonks, she observed brilliantly as she surveyed the rather annihilated
headboard, is going to kill me. The handcuffs around her wrists still
had the eyerings attached, and were still buried in chunks of wood.
And not cleanly, she continued as she noted the way that anything
glass in the room had been broken. The carpet had long furrows dug in
it, and the bed was a good two feet further away from the door than it
had been.
She looked at the holes in the walls, where in the brief tussle for it
her magnum had discharged several times. Dead as a doornail, she
thought. Several gashes lined the sheets, where nails, claws, and her
boot-knife had been brought into play in a struggle for dominance.
Speaking of her boots, one of them was halfway through the door, and
the other one was on the couch.
Almost before she thought to wonder where it was, she noted the six
inch knife sticking out of the fan, where it had evidentally stuck
when she had knocked it out of Tonks' hand. The fan wasn't working
anymore, which was evidentally what had roused her out of sleep, well
it was that or fact that the air conditioning wasn't working so well.
She considered what had happened to her gun, wondering at the
possibility of it having been thrown out the window, which was broken,
and been stolen. No, she decided. It had not been flung out the window,
that had been her hairpin. Possibly it was under the bed? Possibly,
she didn't know whether or not to check. Checking would involve
standing, and she wasn't sure whether or not she could actually get
off the floor yet, especially with Tonks lying across her back the way
she was.
And then she felt the muzzle of the weapon press against the base of
her skull. A low, husky voice in her ear drew a shiver from her, and
an involuntary moan of desire escaped her lips at the words. "You've
been a bad girl... You know what bad girls get, don't you?"
Shortly thereafter, several screams echoed throughout the apartment.
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1229, January 5.
-------
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1702, January 5.
Raye sat on the wooden stool, gazing curiously across the table over a
ceramic mug of coffee. She tilted her head as she attempted to come to
terms with what the woman across from her had said.
"What?" She demanded, surprised.
Tonks' malicious grin spoke a thousand words. "I said, your clothing
privileges have been revoked. You are going to wander around naked all
week in penance for my room. And you're going to pay for the repairs."
Raye's forehead smacked into the table as she shifted uncomfortably, the
wood chafing her bare ass as much as anything chafed her. That was an...
interesting form of revenge.
A thought crossed her mind and she grinned broadly. "Well, I am sure
my students will appreciate that."
Tonks nodded sagely. "I imagine they will. Now, you know I can't let
you just give anyone a free show... I have a list of what you're
allowed to wear outside the house. But that's all you get to wear,
understand?"
Raye nodded approvingly. "Yes, your Divine Omnipotence. I bow before
your infinite wisdom."
Tonks smirked at the slam-honorific. "Good. Always remember that."
Well, it seemed that Tonks had picked up some of Raye's superiority
complex. Worth a laugh or two, and a congradulations from her 'tutor'
in that particular subject.
Raye sniggered. It was a fairly disturbing sight, mostly because even
though her face contorted, no lines of folded flesh appeared. It
looked less like she had twisted her face, and more like her face had
restructured itself.
That, of course, was impossible. She wasn't a metamorphamagus, after
all.
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1712, January 5.
-------
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1821, January 5.
Snape cringed as both Raye and her woman walked in the door. It wasn't
so much that he was scared of them, as he had really been looking
forward to suicide. He was getting tired. And he really didn't want
to attempt to keep up his charades any longer.
And there was the small fact that Raye was wearing nothing but a white
two-piece string bikini. That was a slight problem. If she were to
abruptly fall over, like most people did when Legilmency was brought
into play, people would notice. Incidentally, the particular choice of
armor against the world revealed that she shaved in some rather unusual
places.
He glared at the back of her head. She seemed to notice this, and
turned to look at him through the smoky air of the tavern. Without his
mind's consent, he whispered, "Legilmens..."
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1824, January 5.
-------
UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!
Snape found himself standing in the center of a dome-like room,
looking around curiously. Before he had completed his inspection,
however, his head stopped moving against his will. He tried to force
the insuboordinate body to obey him, to find that, to his horror, he
was more helpless than a baby before his own wand.
When a voice spoke in a cool tenor accompanied by a sharp British
accent, he tried to turn to find the source of the voice. His body
disobeyed again.
He stopped, however, as he felt the vibration coming from his own
throat. "So, who are you?"
What? He wondered as he glanced downward. Though the gaze swept over
it and turned away, for the instant it passed over the back of the
right hand, Snape's vision caught on the marks there.
Several scars, and one half-healed one.
I will not tell lies.
Regina Lucifer--Snape is going to get owned. Bad.
Relle--O_o... that's a little... twisted. o_O Anyway, with one Charlie
Weasley. For about two months. Thus the nickname 'Cha'.
panuru4u--Harry's still here. Closer than you might think perhaps.
Hiding in plain sight, as it were.
annoying reviewer--just die.
yuck--nice to know I can be flamed by someone who has not only not
written anything, but can't be bothered to come up with anything more
interesting or intelligent than, "story sucks, big time" after the
second chapter. Indeed, when one considers that large warning at the
top of each chapter it's almost like you... can't read!
by CrimsonNoble
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.
WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male
relationships, and definite female/female. Ye hast been warned. Should
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users
there.
Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Chapter 12:
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0859, January 5.
Dumbledore nodded as the sallow individual in his fireplace finished
speaking, considering the new information. This was certainly
interesting. Subtly ironic too, he had asked the woman if she knew Low
Key Lyesmith. She was Low Key Lyesmith.
He bowed his head, considering whether or not it would be worth it to
attempt to kill the woman.
"Have you attempted to use your Legilmency on her yet?" He demanded in
a 'if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to have to hurt you'
tone of voice.
The response was slightly greasy, very liquid, and altogether much too
defiant for Dumbledore's taste. "No."
The man's eyes narrowed angrily. "Do so. And Severus. Nine thirty.
Leave the door unlocked."
He was gratified to see the trepidation flash across the Potions Master's
face before the man disappeared.
"We shall see what secrets you hold, woman..." his voice echoed
throughout the chamber before all sound vanished.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0904, January 5.
-------
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0904, January 5.
Severus stood, dusting his robes off with great care, glad as always
that Tom had seperate rooms for fire-calling. It would just be
embarassing to be kneeling in front of the entire patronage of the pub,
and he had enough of that already. Kneeling, that is.
There was a long moment in which he remained still, considering what
he was going to do. Yes, he wanted something to use against the woman
who had thrown him around like a rag doll...
But then again, he had seen the look in her eyes when she had warned
against the use of Legilmency on her. It hadn't been a look of fear...
It had been a look of pleading anticipation. She looked like she was
begging someone to ignore her warning.
And then there was the need of eye contact for Legilmency. She had to
see that he was there before it would work. And that was something
else he didn't want to do, attracting her attention was just beneath
'inform Voldemort that you are a spy' on his list of things he wanted
to do.
Aside from that, he would have to find her. And that would be rather
difficult, seeing as he had absolutely no idea where she could be.
Well, he knew very well where she was, but he was reluctant to enter
that particular place. Especially considering what he suspected would
be going on there.
Not something he wanted to walk in on.
He considered other options. Not obey Dumbledore, and try to fool the
skilled Legilmencer. Putting up Occlumency barriers would not help,
the old man would know that meant the younger wizard had something to
hide. Disobedience would anger the man.
And angering Dumbledore ranked at the same level as angering the woman
he had been sent to spy on in the aforementioned list.
Suicide. Now there was an idea. It might actually be the best option
of all. Indeed, upon further introspection, Severus resolved that,
should he find no time to break into the woman's mind, that would be
his course of action.
At last he moaned, and decided that today must be a thursday. He had
never really gotten the hang of thursdays.
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0934, January 5.
-------
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1158, January 5.
Raye cringed as she looked around the damaged room. Shredded clothes
lay discarded around the room, in places she didn't remember putting
them. For instance, what looked like part of a pair of panties was
lying on top of a bookshelf. Her pantsuit was, of course, undamaged,
though it was also scattered about, her shirt dangling from a corner
of the bed, and her pants hanging over the doorknob. Her undergarments,
on the other hand, had not fared better than her lover's, and she was
having trouble identifying them.
Tonks, she observed brilliantly as she surveyed the rather annihilated
headboard, is going to kill me. The handcuffs around her wrists still
had the eyerings attached, and were still buried in chunks of wood.
And not cleanly, she continued as she noted the way that anything
glass in the room had been broken. The carpet had long furrows dug in
it, and the bed was a good two feet further away from the door than it
had been.
She looked at the holes in the walls, where in the brief tussle for it
her magnum had discharged several times. Dead as a doornail, she
thought. Several gashes lined the sheets, where nails, claws, and her
boot-knife had been brought into play in a struggle for dominance.
Speaking of her boots, one of them was halfway through the door, and
the other one was on the couch.
Almost before she thought to wonder where it was, she noted the six
inch knife sticking out of the fan, where it had evidentally stuck
when she had knocked it out of Tonks' hand. The fan wasn't working
anymore, which was evidentally what had roused her out of sleep, well
it was that or fact that the air conditioning wasn't working so well.
She considered what had happened to her gun, wondering at the
possibility of it having been thrown out the window, which was broken,
and been stolen. No, she decided. It had not been flung out the window,
that had been her hairpin. Possibly it was under the bed? Possibly,
she didn't know whether or not to check. Checking would involve
standing, and she wasn't sure whether or not she could actually get
off the floor yet, especially with Tonks lying across her back the way
she was.
And then she felt the muzzle of the weapon press against the base of
her skull. A low, husky voice in her ear drew a shiver from her, and
an involuntary moan of desire escaped her lips at the words. "You've
been a bad girl... You know what bad girls get, don't you?"
Shortly thereafter, several screams echoed throughout the apartment.
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1229, January 5.
-------
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1702, January 5.
Raye sat on the wooden stool, gazing curiously across the table over a
ceramic mug of coffee. She tilted her head as she attempted to come to
terms with what the woman across from her had said.
"What?" She demanded, surprised.
Tonks' malicious grin spoke a thousand words. "I said, your clothing
privileges have been revoked. You are going to wander around naked all
week in penance for my room. And you're going to pay for the repairs."
Raye's forehead smacked into the table as she shifted uncomfortably, the
wood chafing her bare ass as much as anything chafed her. That was an...
interesting form of revenge.
A thought crossed her mind and she grinned broadly. "Well, I am sure
my students will appreciate that."
Tonks nodded sagely. "I imagine they will. Now, you know I can't let
you just give anyone a free show... I have a list of what you're
allowed to wear outside the house. But that's all you get to wear,
understand?"
Raye nodded approvingly. "Yes, your Divine Omnipotence. I bow before
your infinite wisdom."
Tonks smirked at the slam-honorific. "Good. Always remember that."
Well, it seemed that Tonks had picked up some of Raye's superiority
complex. Worth a laugh or two, and a congradulations from her 'tutor'
in that particular subject.
Raye sniggered. It was a fairly disturbing sight, mostly because even
though her face contorted, no lines of folded flesh appeared. It
looked less like she had twisted her face, and more like her face had
restructured itself.
That, of course, was impossible. She wasn't a metamorphamagus, after
all.
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1712, January 5.
-------
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1821, January 5.
Snape cringed as both Raye and her woman walked in the door. It wasn't
so much that he was scared of them, as he had really been looking
forward to suicide. He was getting tired. And he really didn't want
to attempt to keep up his charades any longer.
And there was the small fact that Raye was wearing nothing but a white
two-piece string bikini. That was a slight problem. If she were to
abruptly fall over, like most people did when Legilmency was brought
into play, people would notice. Incidentally, the particular choice of
armor against the world revealed that she shaved in some rather unusual
places.
He glared at the back of her head. She seemed to notice this, and
turned to look at him through the smoky air of the tavern. Without his
mind's consent, he whispered, "Legilmens..."
The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1824, January 5.
-------
UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!
Snape found himself standing in the center of a dome-like room,
looking around curiously. Before he had completed his inspection,
however, his head stopped moving against his will. He tried to force
the insuboordinate body to obey him, to find that, to his horror, he
was more helpless than a baby before his own wand.
When a voice spoke in a cool tenor accompanied by a sharp British
accent, he tried to turn to find the source of the voice. His body
disobeyed again.
He stopped, however, as he felt the vibration coming from his own
throat. "So, who are you?"
What? He wondered as he glanced downward. Though the gaze swept over
it and turned away, for the instant it passed over the back of the
right hand, Snape's vision caught on the marks there.
Several scars, and one half-healed one.
I will not tell lies.
Regina Lucifer--Snape is going to get owned. Bad.
Relle--O_o... that's a little... twisted. o_O Anyway, with one Charlie
Weasley. For about two months. Thus the nickname 'Cha'.
panuru4u--Harry's still here. Closer than you might think perhaps.
Hiding in plain sight, as it were.
annoying reviewer--just die.
yuck--nice to know I can be flamed by someone who has not only not
written anything, but can't be bothered to come up with anything more
interesting or intelligent than, "story sucks, big time" after the
second chapter. Indeed, when one considers that large warning at the
top of each chapter it's almost like you... can't read!