Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the HP universe.
A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews! And a great hug to April and Gyre Falcon for the excellent beta-ing.
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Once they were back in their small apartment, Severus flopped down into the nearest armchair. Hermione, on the other hand, took off her shoes and went into the kitchen. When she emerged again, she had a tray in her hands.
Severus sighed when the smell of fresh tea reached his nose. He sat up as Hermione put down the tray on the coffee table.
"Take off your coat, Severus. It's damping the chair," she clucked disapprovingly.
"I'm tired," was his short reply as he helped himself to a cup of tea.
Hermione rolled her eyes but did not say anything more. She sat down and poured some tea for herself as well.
"Amazing what tea can do for your nerves," Severus sighed again in content.
"It has been quite a stressful night," agreed Hermione.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, letting each other's presence and the soothingly hot beverage relieve their minds.
Finally, the sound of Severus' cup clinking on its saucer broke the stillness. Hermione looked up.
"Listen, Hermione..."
"Do we need to come up with a decision?" she asked eagerly.
"No." He shook his head." I have to come up with a solution. You... I want you to return to the Order."
"What?"
"It's for your own good."
"What?" she cried again, still incredulous. "How so? I'm not going back to that old ass!"
"Don't act like a child, Hermione!" He raised his voice as well. "The Dark Lord is a very volatile man--he may be welcoming us today, but he might decide to torture you tomorrow. Having you around him... it's almost like tying you to a bomb. And that I will not do. Dumbledore, at least, would treat you well."
"He ridicules my choice of mate and my choice of life. Does that count as treating me well? He made you into a spy, and he would force me to become a strategist if I were to return. He has plans for everyone, and he won't hesitate to utilize my brain. Is that treating me well? Most of the members in the Order see me as a resource, an object, a thing to be used. Is that--"
"And do you know what the Dark Lord wants you for?" Severus snarled. "Do you think he is looking for an amicable, intellectually-stimulating friendship? He, too, is merely after your power and blood--tainted as it is, it's magical--can you see now? He craves pureblood followers and minions. How do you like sitting around doing nothing, only to breed like rabbits?"
"I don't mind if it's for you," she replied, and wished she hadn't almost immediately. She could feel the heat her cheeks were giving off. Severus was equally put out by her quick response, and was looking at her speechlessly. Grabbing the opportunity, she pressed on, "I'll do anything to stay with you. I've forfeited my Hogwarts' certificate, and I thought studying was my sole purpose in life."
"Don't be unreasonable," he started, his voice noticeably softer now. "You do not really want to turn to the Dark."
"It is not a matter of choice, remember?" She held his gaze, her voice hard. "I just want to be on the side that you're on."
Severus caught himself before blurting out something she wouldn't understand. How could she see the precarious line he treaded everyday, the murky area where no innocent men should, or could, wade through? He looked at her resolute expression, and heaved a mental sigh. Damnable Gryffindor obstinacy. If she had made up her mind, then the less she knew the better.
"You don't know what it means to be on my side," he said simply.
"And I want to find out." She leaned forward and rubbed her hands. "Oh, don't scowl, Severus. It can't be that bad. He didn't hex me the moment we met, did he? I'll survive. I'll be very careful. I promise."
He snorted, expressing his disbelief at her statement.
"Besides, he said he would not brand me." She ignored him and continued in a hopeful tone, "I won't have the Dark Mark. It's not like I'm going to be a Death Eater and strike terror into the wizarding world or something, Severus. I won't be doing anything against my beliefs."
He snorted again, but he did not tell her that the same reason worried him all the more. By not giving Hermione the Mark, the Dark Lord was denying her a status. She was to stay home like a housewife, and if she could not bear a child soon, she could be squashed easily, like an insect, and he would be powerless to save her.
When he was thinking, she moved to sit on the arm of his chair. She loved to watch him from this angle--his dank black hair hanging above his face, his protruding nose, the deep lines between his eyebrows--she touched them, trying to ease them. What was he thinking? she wondered. Sometimes her lover was like a code, one that even she could not interpret, and she would lose him momentarily. He always came back, but how she wished to be able to read his mind!
He did not say anything, deep in thought, just allowing her fingers to wander across her features. She was the best thing that had happened to him in years, decades, even. An intelligent, strong, yet sensitive creature; she had her ways to alleviate his anger, to teach him joy, to distract him. She was his equal. Severus caught her hand, and turned slightly to look at her. She was wearing a rare bemused look. He tightened his grip. He would not want, allow, anything bad to happen to her.
"Severus," she whispered. "It'll be okay."
Just as the time when she first found him half-dead in his office, or the time when he berated himself for kissing a student, or the time when the Order blamed him for not preventing a particular raid... she was there, saying the same words. And for once, Severus found himself wanting to believe.
"We've lost everything," she said. "It's time to start over."
Severus wondered what it would be like, to be loyal to only one side again. He would have to deceive again, to torture, to murder. The nightmares twenty years ago would haunt him once more. But this time, Hermione would be sleeping next to him, holding him; and for her, he was willing to try.
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"Stand up, you filthy rat."
His head was throbbing, but the throb was no where as acute as the pain on his side. He scrambled to his feet quickly, not wanting to earn another kick. When his capturer glared at him, he lowered his head and suppressed the urge to shiver. Displays of weakness would only get him into more trouble now.
"Where... are we?" he croaked. His last memory was that he had just finished an errand for his Master; but even that was fuzzy. He recalled someone grabbing his collar from the back when he stepped out of the shop, then the grey walls of Knockturn Alley started to spin around him, until everything went black.
"Surely you must recognize this place, Peter," the man taunted. "Haven't we spent much quality time here?"
"The Shrieking Shack," he said slowly. His mind was starting to clear up, and he remembered the smell of that dank, frosty air. He turned to face his old friend. "Of course I recognize it, Remus. It's your favorite hole, after all."
"Don't get cheeky with me, Peter," Remus warned with a growl. "A defiant hostage is often a dead one."
"What do you want?" he demanded in reply, his eyes darting around the room, looking for escape routes. He knew this place; he could...
"Don't even think about it," Remus said, not missing the other man's shifty gaze. "You'll be a pile of rodent pulp before you can say 'transform.'"
"What do you want?" Peter asked again, fear perceptible in his voice this time.
"I want information."
"About the Dark Lord? No bloody way."
Remus took a menacing step closer. "What gives you the idea that you have a choice?"
"I-if the Dark Lord ever f-finds out that I-" Peter shuddered. "He'll kill me. Or worse."
"As will I, old pal. Either you agree to this, or you die today. You would rot in here, you shriveled, stinking body the home of maggots--"
"Shut up!" Peter shouted, rattling the panes in the room.
"Or I can trap you here, deprived of nourishment, only to become one in two weeks, for me," Remus continued with a vicious grin. "Oh, Peter, your Master wouldn't even know, or care, for that matter..."
"I d-do not want to die." Peter looked up into the werewolf's eyes. They were steely and unforgiving. "B-but if I give you a-as much as a h-hint of His plans, He'll k-know. Remus, I hate to break this to you, but malicious as you are, your death threats a-are not even c-close to the terrifying consequences of defying H-Him."
Remus scrutinized the small, half-bald man before him that he once called a friend. Why was he ever sorted into Gryffindor? Maybe this was why. "Alright then," he said nonchalantly. "It seems like you're prepared to meet your demise, Peter. I applaud that final display of courage." He twirled his wand in front of Peter's beady eyes, apparently deciding on which spell to use.
"Wasn't I your friend, Remus?" Peter scooted toward Remus, his eyes wide with fear and plea. "For my whole life I've never been in control: pushed here, pulled there, like a puppet. You think I want to be a slave to the Dark Lord? He's not an easy master to please, Remus. Surely you, of all people, can relate to this? Of having no choice in your life?"
"You've a choice now. It's up to you. Make the right decision."
"Have mercy!" Peter cried, his spit flying. "Why get me into a dilemma? I'd die either way."
"Then I suppose it doesn't make a difference for you to die now." Remus raised his wand.
"No!" Peter lurched forward suddenly, attempting to grab the other man, but Remus jumped out of his way.
"Goodbye, Wormtail."
"W-wait!" squeaked Peter desperately. "I'll do it!"
"And here I was, thinking you actually possess a backbone," jeered Remus as he lowered his weapon. Peter's face turned into a revolting shade of beet-red, as a sheen of perspiration formed on his forehead. His discomfort was ignored, however. Remus started to circle the shaking man, much like a vulture would its prey. "Correct answer, Peter, consider it a good first step... a step further from imminent death."
"I'm still going to die if He finds out," Peter muttered grimly, "and a deceased spy will not aid you, Moony."
At his words, his companion barked a crude laugh. "Unless revealed by your own carelessness or... disloyalty"--Remus narrowed his eyes--"I assure you that your spying activities will go undiscovered. Every week we meet here, and you empty your memories into a Pensieve for us to sort through. The memory of our meeting will be stored as well, so you may return to your Master with a clear conscience, or rather, a clear mind."
Peter regarded him with doubts in his eyes. He shrank back as Remus grunted at his unspoken question.
"You'd better hope it'll work, Peter, unless being tortured to death by your associates appeals to you. That's the best option we can offer; how you manage to collect information, and how you keep up the secrecy, will be entirely your own work. Don't be deluded for a moment that we'll save you if you fail, for we won't. You fail, you die."
"That's a happy thought," Peter replied shakily. "But what do I get out of all this?"
"What do you get?" Remus whirled on him sharply. "You mean, besides not being killed now? Besides not having to look behind your shoulder everyday?" He stalked over to Peter, and despite the latter's effort to stand straight and still, he began to shake like a leaf in an autumn gust when Remus placed a hand on his chest. "Besides not having to dread the full moon, when a revengeful werewolf is out for your heart?" Remus grabbed the front of his robe. "Is that what you mean, Wormtail? What do you get besides all those?"
Peter struggled to wrench the werewolf's hand off. As his right hand touched him, Remus let out a deafening howl. Terrified, Peter stumbled backward and screamed. Their shrieks pierced through the empty hallways, rattling the doors on their hinges. Above them, mice scurried from the disturbance.
"Adstringo!" Once he could talk--albeit in a very pained voice--again, Remus threw a hex in Peter's direction. Peter's screams were silenced immediately, and he started to gag for breath as his midriff appeared to be squeezed by an invisible, tightening rope. Remus stared at his twitching form on the floor.
"Much as I want to give you this for all that you're worth," he spat, "it's an opportunity that I'm presenting you. By having a leg on both sides, you survive no matter who wins this war. How does that sound to your gutless little brain? Finite Incantatem."
As Peter slowly curled up on the floor, catching his breath, Remus dropped his wand onto the floor, just out of his reach. He looked at him coldly. "Remember how readily you agreed to betray You-Know-Who, Peter. One word, one wrong word to your Master, and you're a goner. See you next week." With that he staggered out of the room, away from Peter's hopeless eyes.
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Dumbledore looked up when the door to his office was opened, and rose when he saw the ghastly man that fell in.
"Remus!"
The younger man did not reply, but only walked over to one of the overstuffed armchairs and sat down.
"How did it go? What happened?" demanded Dumbledore, his voice laced with concern. When the expected answers did not come, he strode over to Remus, whose face was tired but unreadable otherwise. "Are you hurt?" he asked sharply when he saw the other man clutching his right arm. He bent over and pried Remus' fingers away. There on his right sleeve was a scorched patch. Both men winced at the horrible sight.
"I was careless," said Remus. "It's the silver hand Harry's told us about, but in the heat of things, I forgot."
"Shh, we'll have to treat this first," Dumbledore replied. "This might hurt a little." He peeled the burnt cloth from the marred flesh carefully as he spoke, and Remus tried his best to hold still and not whimper. When the last bit of fabric was torn away, Dumbledore motioned for Fawkes, which flew over from his perch and started shedding tears on Remus' wound.
"How are you feeling?" asked Dumbledore, sitting behind the desk again.
"Rotten."
The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. It was most unusual for the generally calm man to say something like that.
"Albus, I tortured a person." Remus turned his eyes to meet Dumbledore's blue ones. "I inflicted terror onto another being intentionally. I interrogated him, threatened him, kicked him, hexed him, and used his worst fear against him. The pain I'm capable of evoking... it's not in me, Albus. Or maybe it is, and maybe that's what frightened me."
"Surely you must understand that under the current circumstances, this is a strategy that we'll have to employ."
"I try to be as much a man of reason as I can when I'm not in my other form, Albus. I do not manipulate logic to suit my own needs. When I was persuading Peter just now, I-I felt something inside me relishing in the adrenaline." Remus put his face into his palms. "I'm disgusted with myself. Please don't ever ask me to do it again."
"I'm sorry, Remus. I truly, truly am." Dumbledore's tone was grave, and the look he was sending to Remus was sympathetic. He longed to hold the young man, but there were more important things at hand--and he could not afford to have his emotions mess up the plans again. "You won't have to do something like this again; you have my promise. From now on, it'll just be gathering the spy's memories once a week. Easy enough."
Remus grumbled into his hands in response, and then stood up unsteadily. "Anything for you, Albus, anything for the Light. I'll leave now. You know where to find me when I'm needed."
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Thank you, Remus. Have a good rest." The young man looked as if he doubted that he could get any rest at all, but exited without another word, leaving the Headmaster alone with his troubled thoughts. But before long, another intrusion arrived.
"Albus," greeted Moody upon entering. "I got your note. What do you need me for?"
"Ah, Alastor. Our plan has been successful. The spy's now secured."
"Is it wise to keep this from the Order?"
"The fewer people know, the safer our spy."
"How long do you think he will fool the Dark Lord?"
"I'm hoping for a year."
"Too optimistic," said Moody promptly, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "He won't hold out for more than eight months."
"Eight months is long enough for us to win over the better spy," answered Albus with a gleam in his eyes. "Now that we have our new spy, the old spy has to be taken care of."
"Do you really want to do this, Albus?" Moody sighed deeply.
"Yes, you know we have to. They must be confined to the Headquarters in twenty-four hours, lest Voldemort should get them. Alastor, I'm counting on you."
Nodding grimly, Moody stood up and hurried out of the door. It was not a task that he had willingly undertaken, but an order remained an order; it was also safer to hold those two in custody than to have them wander around with their heads full of secrets. As he Apparated to the neighborhood in which Severus and Hermione resided, he contemplated whether he should take them by sweet-talk or by force.
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