Disclaimer: The characters and the universe of Harry Potter belong to J.K Rowling. No disrespect is intended. This story is written for sheer enjoyment. No profit is being made from it. The story itself is mine.

The Puppet's Master

Chapter 1

The Great Hall was always a noisy place, be it breakfast, lunch or dinner. The carefree laughter of the younger years. The cautious, yet still confident tones of the upper classmen. The hushed whispers and asides of the teachers, just slightly more concerned than usual. All in all, there was not one silent person in the cavernous room. There were four.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his spot in the middle of the Head Table. His benevolent gaze twinkling madly as he surveyed his domain. His domain, for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry truly was his. And maybe Mr. Potter's.

Albus had known for some time that Harry's skill was fast approaching his own. Who would have thought that this mere slip of a boy, whose mother had defeated the Dark Lord first, would actually be able to grow into his reputation? His mother, Lily Evans, muggle-born. Now there was power, but also restraint. The calm and the storm all rolled into one. Sort of like another Gryffindor he knew.

Following the direction of his thoughts, the Headmaster's gaze swept the Hall until it alighted upon Hermione Granger. Now there it is again. The calm and the storm, all rolled into one. Welcome, welcome, Lilly Jr. What use shall we find for you, I wonder.

Moving on to the wizard at her right, the Headmaster's eyes captured Harry Potter's visage. Albus silently pondered his own machinations and how Mr. Potter undoubtedly would fit in them. It was clear the Wizarding world would need a ruler at the conclusion of so many years lived in terror. Now it just remained to be seen which wizard would be that ruler, and which would be dead.

Harry Potter sighed as he sat poking his uneaten breakfast with the fork held limply in his hand. His scar had hurt more than normal last night. Although that is not what currently troubled him.

Since the Dark Lord's revival in Harry's fourth year, he had become rather used to the searing pain that sporadically afflicted him. It had actually gotten to the point where he couldn't imagine going longer than a few days at a time without feeling as if a brand were being pressed against his temple.

No, what bothered him about this pain was the surge of emotion that accompanied it. Voldemort was always so careful about shielding the strongest of his emotions through the link. True, the link to Harry was quite useful to Voldemort, but it caused more trouble than it was worth when Harry was able to see the Dark Lord's plans. Consequently, only extremely strong emotion would leak through as of late.

This was an emotion Harry had never associated with Voldemort. At least, not an emotion that the Dark Lord himself felt. Fear. Horrible, debilitating fear; and despair.

Fear and despair. Okay, okay. I get it, fear and despair. But why? What could possibly be so dreadful that Terror Itself would fear it? Harry's thoughts ran circles in his brain. Try as he might, he couldn't figure this puzzle out.

Heaving another sigh, Harry glanced at the Head Table and caught the gleam in Dumbledore's eyes. Yet another manipulation in the works. Harry lowered his eyes back to his plate and continued to push his now cold food around.

So lost in thought was he that it never occurred to him to question the mood, or lack thereof, of the witch to his left.

Hermione Granger felt like the walking dead this morning. Such strange dreams. Twice now she had had to pinch herself to bring enough attention to the fore to keep from landing face-first in her porridge.

Her mind continued to dart back to the strange marking that had appeared last night on her stomach. She had made plans, shortly after gathering her wits about her to head to the Library during lunch to learn exactly what was written upon her skin. She felt an urgency for the knowledge itself, but curiously felt no unease about the actual marking. It was almost as if she knew it was no danger to her.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione returned to her breakfast. So curious that her normal routine, eat porridge, lecture Ron on table manners, inquire after Harry's well-being, then proceed to affectionately tune out both boys' endless talk of Quidditch; had suddenly disappeared. As if over night. Which, of course, led her back to her dreams and her new body art.

She pushed her untouched porridge away from her and instead grabbed a handful of grapes and a pear. Fruit will keep me awake. It will sharpen my wits, and give me a temporary rush of energy, at least enough to get me through the first half of the day. Although, I could really, really go with some coffee.

As she nibbled upon her chosen repast, she felt a burning gaze bearing down upon her bent head. Raising her eyes from the pear she was dissecting, she caught her Potions Master's eyes. A jolt of awareness streaked through her, as she became trapped in his obsidian orbs.

The blood sped through her veins in an almost audible rush as she spied the flame dancing deep within his eyes. She could feel herself being inexorably drawn in, faster and faster. Just as she was sure she would lose herself in another moment, she heard the silken tones of Severus Snape within her mind.

"Beloved. It is time."

With a startled cry, she jumped up from the table, eyes still locked on Snape's. Ignoring the indignant cries of Ron Weasley, the questioning glances of her housemates, and Harry's half-concerned inquiry, she sped from the room to her sanctuary. The Library will help. It has to!

At the Head Table, Severus Snape sat silently, a wide smirk playing across his lips. As he watched the door to the Great Hall slowly swing shut, the smirk turned into a feral grin. Were it not for the Disillusionment Charm he had cast upon himself this morning after foreseeing just this situation, half of the student body would have fainted dead away.

But, most importantly, Albus Dumbledore would have become suspicious had such unfamiliar emotion graced his countenance. As it was, the old fool was too wrapped up in his own plotting to concern himself with his lowly, effectively cowed and hopelessly contrite Potions Master. This was just fine with Severus Snape.

The time is at hand. No longer will I need to subject myself to those unworthy to even gaze upon my shadow. My Beloved is of age. Within the fortnight, she shall be bound to me, and then the world for her pleasure. And her for mine.

Smirking triumphantly, Severus Snape rose gracefully from his place and glided from the room. As he was about to exit the Hall, he cancelled the Disillusionment Charm. He had no need to look behind him to know that both Dumbledore's and Potter's heads had snapped up once the charm had been cancelled.

That's right, you wolves. Learn the scent of your master. I have bided my time, and now the wait is over. And woe befall any who stand in my way.

In the Library, Hermione Granger was safely ensconced in a comfortable wingback chair by one of the numerous windows in the back. Surrounding her were books. Many, many books on all subjects imaginable.

However, despite the scene of efficiency that was displayed to the naked eye, Hermione was perilously close to ripping her hair out by the root out of sheer frustration. Nothing. All of these books, and nothing at all. The Library had finally failed her.

As she stood up to pace while she mulled over her problem, her footsteps were led to the Restricted Section. She was drawn to a thin volume, one she had never seen before. Vampyr read the title. Following the same instinct that had guided her steps and hand to the book, she picked up the volume and headed back to her chair.

Suddenly, a wave of dark power the likes of which she had never before felt rolled through her. It felt like a velvet-lined freight train as it slammed into her soul and she knew, she knew that Severus Snape was outside the Library doors.

Unbidden, words as ancient as time itself sprang from her lips and heart in one accord. "Lover. I am Beloved. I Call Thee."

With that utterance, the power sensuously stroked her spirit as it returned to its owner. Severus crossed the Library in the space of a breath and caught her, just as her knees buckled.

Gazing on the face of the young witch in his arms, Severus Snape completed the incantation. "Beloved. I am Lover. I Answer Thee." Mine. Mine. Mine. Then, he was sweeping down to the dungeons with his precious burden cradled in his arms.

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AN: Please Review. Comments? Questions? Suggestions?