Severus Snape's Journal, Wednesday morning
"Why are you this way?"
It feels like people have been asking me just that for most of my life. 'This way' , in case you are wondering, means sarcastic, tactless, and bitter. (I do not consider myself bitter, but this is what I've heard from other people. I know for a fact that I can be tactless and sarcastic!)
So. Why am I this way?
Let's see. I grew up in a nice home. I had a mother and a father. I don't remember my mother very well, though--she died when I was four years old. My father was--and still is--a respected doctor. I have already ranted extensively on the subject in previous journal entries, so I won't waste the ink.
We had a few servants, and I even had a few friends--Mariela Santiago and Gabriel Chavez. I have pictures to prove it, in case you doubt my word.
So why am I this way?
I honestly don't know. I don't believe in destiny or fate. There is no such thing as either. There is only life, and what we make of it. I've made a mess of mine, I believe! If I tried to explain why I am the way I am, it would sound too much like an excuse. I have no tolerance whatsoever for any kind of excuses, especially not from myself. Excuses seem weak, and I would rather be dead than weak!
I know Dumbledore does not agree with me here. His ideas of weakness and my own are quite different.
There is nothing to be done for the past now. All I can do is look to the future. And at the moment, it does not look particularly bright.
Severus put the quill back in the inkwell just as a knock sounded on the door of his quarters.
"Who is it?" he asked irritably. Not that he had many visitors--it was either Filch, McGonagall or Dumbledore on the other side of the door. Still, given his line of work, he could never be too careful.
"It's me, Severus. For God's sake, open the door," came the irritated voice of Minerva McGonagall.
Snape fought the impulse to roll his eyes. Instead, he simply turned in his chair and pointed his wand at the door. "It's open," he called.
McGonagall entered a second later. "Can't you even open the door for a lady?" she asked in mild disgust.
Severus shrugged. "Check my resume again, Minerva. Potions expert, double agent....did you happen to see 'gentleman' anywhere on that list?"
"Hmph. I suppose not," his former Transfiguration professor remarked. "A vain hope on my part. Well, at any rate, I didn't come down here to lecture you on your manners, though someone certainly should."
Severus sighed. "And why exactly did you come down here, McGonagall?"
"Dumbledore wants to see you," McGonagall replied. "He's just finished grading the tests for his Defense Against the Dark Arts class." Her thin mouth was pinched with disapproval. "I don't know where someone with as many demands on his time as Dumbledore gets off teaching a class on top of it--but he says he wishes to speak with you."
"All right. Tell him I'll be there."
"Now, Severus," she snapped, her green eyes narrowing. For a moment, Snape felt as though he were a sixth year again, on the receiving end of a patented Minerva McGonagall Verbal Dressing Down.
Snape rose to his feet and followed McGonagall out of his quarters like an obedient schoolboy.
"Do you know what he wants to discuss with me?" Snape asked, falling into step beside her.
"If I did, I'd have said so straight off," McGonagall replied tartly. Snape bit back a smirk. There were many times when Professor McGonagall reminded him of Pira. Well, a Scottish version of Pira, anyway. Clever, sharp-tongued and most of all, not someone you wanted to cross.
Snape couldn't imagine that Dumbledore wanted to see him simply as a social call. No, it was definitely something to do with the mission.
Finally, they stopped in front of the gargoyle. "Jelly baby," McGonagall said promptly, and then made a disgusted face. "I don't know where Dumbledore gets these passwords! Off you go, then."
Snape glanced after Professor McGonagall, and entered Dumbledore's office.
He stopped short. Dumbledore sat at his desk as usual, but there was already someone in a hooded cloak sitting in a chair in front of the desk.
The Headmaster looked up, and smiled at the Potions Master. "There you are, Severus!"
The other person removed his hood and turned to look at Severus as well. He looked a bit thinner than he had the last time Severus had seen him, but there was no mistaking that graying brown hair or tired gray eyes.
"Lupin," Snape barely glanced at the other man as he took a seat beside him. He simply looked straight ahead, at Dumbledore. "You wished to speak to me?"
Why didn't you tell me Lupin was going to be here? Snape thought, trying in vain to control his anger, his black eyes boring into Dumbledore's pale blue ones. Would it have killed you to give me a little warning?
Dumbledore simply nodded. "Mr. Lupin, at my request, has decided to move to Hogsmeade."
Snape blinked. Do I care? The words almost slipped out of his mouth, but he caught himself just in time. "Er--what about Black?"
"He'll be in the area," Lupin spoke up. "In his Animagus form, naturally."
"I still fail to see how this concerns me." Though Snape's words lacked their usual force, the resentment was still present in his voice.
Why did you return, Lupin? To make me feel guilty for what I did? That night in the Shrieking Shack, or forcing you to resign? I have enough guilt in my life as it is. I don't need more! I would give you all the gold in Gringotts if you'd just go anywhere else but where I am.
"I'm going to be here for awhile," Lupin said, turning to Severus. "I would like to ask you to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me. It would be very much appreciated."
If I would?! Snape wanted to scream. With Dumbledore sitting here, you know I can't very well refuse. Damn you, Lupin!
"Very well," he choked out. Damn it all, he couldn't even look Lupin in the eye. And somehow, he sensed that Lupin wasn't very comfortable around him, either. Oddly enough, the thought didn't make him feel much better.
He suddenly had the urge to leap out of his chair and bolt from the room. Anything to be rid of this shame and guilt that was gnawing at him.
Miraculously, he remained seated.
"Professor Dumbledore tells me you're working with an apprentice this year," Lupin said out of the blue. "How's that going?"
"Yes, Severus, I wondered that myself," Dumbledore said, leaning forward in his chair. "I asked Fleur Delacour how it was going earlier, but she just shook her head and walked away." His eyes twinkled behind his glasses, and he looked vaguely amused.
"Fine," Severus managed to say. "Miss Delacour is competent enough."
The silence that followed was about as awkward as Neville Longbottom's last attempt at potion-making. Even Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words--a rarity, to be sure.
"She gets on very well indeed with the students," Snape continued.
"That's wonderful," Lupin remarked, at the same time that Dumbledore said, "Excellent."
This is ridiculous, Snape thought, leaping to his feet. "If that's all you need me for, Headmaster, then I will take my leave now."
"Yes, of course." Dumbledore replied. "I will speak further with you later."
That probably meant a lecture, if Snape was reading Dumbledore's tone of voice correctly. "Yes, sir," he said, heading out the door as fast as his feet would carry him.
*********************************
Anthony McKinnon stepped off the carriage in front of the Hogsmeade Inn. It looked to be a typical day--witches and wizards running about and doing their shopping.
He hadn't been to Hogsmeade in many years. The last time, in fact, had been with his mother. How old had he been? Four, maybe? Young and innocent as he was then, he never thought he'd be returning to commit murder.
No. Not murder. Justice. This is justice.
According to the file, Snape had been interviewed at the scene of the crime, but they'd been unable to detain him. There hadn't been enough evidence.
Except that he had been present at more than one crime scene afterward. Each time, it had been the work of Death Eaters. Each time, he'd been released. Lack of evidence again, and--the truly puzzling part--he'd been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore. Why would Dumbledore do such a thing for a Death Eater? Anthony had never met Dumbledore, but he had heard that the man was very eccentric. Still, it was more than a little odd.
He could always ask Malfoy, he supposed. Or Lestrange. Both had said that they would help in any way they could. Anthony wondered if Snape had wronged either of them in the past. It seemed likely.
He'd heard that Malfoy had been accused of being a Death Eater once. And Lestrange's parents had been sent to Azkaban for torturing an Auror and his wife to insanity.
So why trust them? he mused, as he entered the inn. He was barely even aware of being handed his room key.
Malfoy was willing to tell him what he wanted to know, which was more than he could say for anyone else. Besides, he couldn't be a Death Eater. He wasn't one of those savage animals. He couldn't be. Hell, if he was, Anthony would probably have already been dead.
Right?
But...to actually kill another person....was he really ready for that? Would the feeling after Snape was dead be worse than this burning heat within him at present?
Snape is the enemy, Anthony thought defiantly, making his way up the stairwell. Remember that. He murdered my parents. He should die. Someone has to.
Snape would pay for his crimes...and dearly. Anthony would see to that. First, though, he would have to do his research. Blend in with the locals, try to get as much information from them as he could.
He should die.
Anthony paused briefly on the stairs, amending his thought.
He will die.
***************************************
The sound of Chopin's "Winterwind" flowed through the corridors of the Snape manor. The night was cool, and the window of the music room was open. Maybe it was too cold for most people's liking, but Septimus Snape liked the cool air. It had a way of slicing through a person, of making them feel alert and awake.
He sat at the piano-forte, his long fingers flying over the keys in patterns memorized long ago. His eyes were closed as he concentrated only on the sound, letting it pour from his hands onto the keys. Livia Snape had loved Chopin, and he played the song now for her.
She had been gone more than twenty years--and yet, had it really been that long ago that she was walking these corridors? That she had been chatting gaily with Pira, playing with Severus, and entertaining both father and son with stories of her childhood in Romania? Both of the Snape men had worshipped her.
Septimus knew that his late wife had been no saint. She'd had a temper that could blast the roof off the house (and had, on many occasions). Her sarcastic sense of humor had a fierce reputation. Just like....but no, he wouldn't think of that now.
As the last notes of the song died away, Septimus jumped as he heard applause behind him. He looked up, and standing in the doorway was a tall, graceful older woman with olive skin, amber eyes, and graying brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes flashed disapprovingly as she observed the chill in the air and the open window.
"How do you stand it in here?" Pira Santiago demanded by way of greeting. She strode over and shut the window.
"Good evening to you too, Pira," Septimus replied with a smile. Tact wasn't Pira's strong point, nor had it ever been.
"Esta frio!" Pira remarked. "You're a doctor, you know better than that, Septimus!" Her English was excellent, though she still maintained a slight accent as proof of her Spanish heritage.
Septimus eyed her with amusement. "It isn't cold." He knew full well that it was, but there was nothing he loved more than driving Pira insane.
"You really are crazy. You do know that, don't you?"
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're referring to," Septimus said, breezing past the maidservant.
Pira threw up her hands in frustration. "Ay! Why do you have to torment me like this?"
"Because it's fun," Septimus replied, a truly mischievous grin highlighting his features. "Besides, why do you always rise to the occasion?"
From the way she was looking daggers at him, Septimus decided that he'd thoroughly annoyed her enough for one night. One more remark like that and he'd find himself flying through the closed window. Pira Santiago was not a good person to cross, no more than Livia had been.
"Dinner's ready, by the way," she informed him.
"All right. I'll be there shortly."
Pira left the room, and Septimus stood alone in the doorway.
Livia...
The name itself brought back a flood of memories, both happy and painful. She had died when Severus was four, of cancer complicated by pneumonia. Despite all the advantages and advances in healing spells and potions, even the wizarding world had yet to find a cure for cancer.
After Livia had passed away, he had suddenly found himself lost. His wife was dead. His son had no mother. Septimus had never been so alone in his life.
Severus looked like him. They shared most of the same facial features--the hooked nose and angular cheekbones, for instance. They also shared dark hair--though Septimus' had long been streaked with silver. But Severus had his mother's eyes, and her temper. He acted so much like her at times that Septimus would find himself trying to get away. Just being around Severus had made him miss her all the more.
What you did was wrong.
I know, Septimus told the voice. Of course it had been wrong. To ignore a child who had lost his mother was the worst possible thing he could have done--though he had not set out to do so. Septimus had always had what others viewed as strange ideas of raising children--he wanted Severus to be self-sufficient. He'd raised his child to make his own decisions. Which the boy had, though not exactly in the way that Septimus would have liked. So of course his manner of raising children had affected Severus--what had he expected?
Whatever it was, it certainly hadn't been Severus seeking friendship with the Death Eaters. Livia Snape's clan had nearly been exterminated by the Nazis, and her son had entered the service of the Hitler of wizards! The thought made Septimus' blood boil. As far as he was concerned, the boy had gotten off lucky. Septimus had told him to leave the house. Lord only knew what Livia would have done.
You know it was your fault. You were never there for him. And then when you found out what he was, you couldn't even bring yourself to turn him in. He'd heard that Severus was working as a teacher at Hogwarts now, though he had not gone to see if there was truth to the rumor. His business with Severus had been over long ago.
Septimus sighed and walked back over to the piano-forte. He gently closed the lid over the piano keys.
Either way, he thought as he swept out of the room, it's too late now.
****************************************
Fleur Delacour had grown accustomed to being watched.
When she had attended Beauxbatons, she'd stood out because of her looks. Actually, going anywhere she'd stood out because of her looks. Most of the time she didn't mind--she'd always liked attention, especially from the male population. There was, however, a fine line between being watched and being stalked.
And the young man with the reddish hair had just crossed it. How long had he been following her, anyway? Since she'd made the stop at Dervish and Banges, perhaps. Every time she'd checked behind her, the boy had moved before she could get a good look at his face.
She sneaked a glance into the window of Gladrags Wizardwear. In the midst of the crowded street on this Friday afternoon, there he was.
Her heart momentarily skipped a beat.
She looked again. He was gone.
What---?
Suddenly a hand came down on her shoulder. Fleur jumped, and spun around, barely registering that she had drawn her wand--
"Whoa!" The young man backed up about three feet. "Is that how you normally greet old classmates, Fleur?"
Fleur's blue eyes widened in surprise. "Anthony McKinnon?! I don't believe it! I have not seen you in--"
"Two years," Anthony finished with a smile. "I didn't think you'd remember me."
Remember him? How could she forget? Anthony McKinnon had acted as her tutor in Defense Against the Dark Arts before he graduated. He'd been the one boy Fleur had ever liked that she had not managed to snare completely. She lowered her wand carefully. Since the Triwizard Tournament, she had not been prone to letting her guard down again, even for an instant.
"I do," Fleur said finally, calming slightly. "I...eet is wonderful to see you again! But...what are you doing in 'Ogsmeade?"
Was it her imagination, or did Anthony look uncomfortable? "Oh...I'm here on a bit of a holiday," he said at last.
"Zat sounds nice," Fleur said. When she looked up, Anthony was smiling once more. Had she simply imagined his discomfort?
"I heard about you being in the Triwizard Tournament," Anthony commented. "You did well, from what I read."
Fleur smothered a derisive snort. If only he knew. "It was...interesting experience," she replied. "I would rather not speak of it, though."
"That's not the Fleur Delacour I knew," Anthony teased.
Fleur chuckled. No, Anthony, it certainly isn't. But then, she was hardly the same Fleur Delcour.
"And 'ow long are you planning to stay in Eengland?" she asked.
"I....I'm not quite sure," Anthony replied, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right.
"Oh." Fleur wasn't sure what to make of this boy at all. He was like two people--one warm and friendly, and the other anxious and --and frankly, it made her nervous.
"Because you could visit me," she said, finding her voice at last. "If you 'ave never seen 'Ogwarts, then I could show you. Eet is not as nice as Beauxbatons, but it 'as...a rustic kind of charm."
Anthony smiled suddenly, and Fleur noted that the warm and friendly side was back. "Hogwarts?"
"I work zere now," she explained. "I am an apprentice to one of zee teachers."
"Oh?" Anthony sounded interested.
"Yes...Professor Snape." She looked at Anthony expectantly. "What do you think?"
Anthony's expression changed to one Fleur could not quite read. " You know, I think I would like that," he said at last. Almost to himself, he added. "Very much indeed..."
Fleur glanced over to the window of the shop on the opposite side, and then back to Anthony. "Would you like to go now? Most of the teachers and students are not zere."
"What about yours?"
"I do not think 'e is zere," Fleur said after a moment's thought. "Professor Snape 'ad to run an errand for ze 'eadmaster, I believe. Zat is good for us, however. I do not think 'e would react well to a guest."
"I see. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble," Anthony replied.
Fleur smiled again, showing all of her teeth. "I am glad you understand. Shall we go, zen?"
An odd smile crossed Anthony's lips. "Sounds good to me."
**************************************
"Ow. Bloody hell," Lupin swore,as he drew his hand back from the offending needle.
Quickly, he stuck his finger into his mouth. It wouldn't do at all to bleed on the shirt he'd just finished darning.
And damning, he thought, a sardonic smile appearing on his mouth.
That was when he heard the barking and scratching at the front door of the small cottage he was renting. He folded the newly patched shirt, and set it down on the bed.
"All right, I'm coming--Snuffles," he called, making his way to the door.
One of these days, Lupin thought, I really have to get around to asking Sirius where he got the name 'Snuffles'.
When he opened the door, the large black dog pounced on him, knocking him backward.
"Yeeeowch! Sir--uh, Snuffles! Down!"
The dog released him obediently, looking up at the werewolf with innocent eyes.
Lupin laughed. "Nice try." He turned to shut the door.
When he turned around again, a tall, dark-haired man stood in the dog's place.
"Hello, Sirius," Lupin said. "Where have you been?"
"Around town as a lovable stray," Sirius replied with a wry smile. "Buckbeak's very happily installed in the mountain cave we used last time." He sighed, and his stomach made a sound normally heard only from predatory animals.
Lupin stared. "Uh, Sirius? Would you like something to eat, by any chance?"
Sirius had the grace to blush."Heh...well, I had a couple of rats earlier, but I haven't eaten since...so yes, please."
Lupin shook his head, his grey eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well, I don't know if I have any rats, though you're welcome to check under the floorboards--"
"Moony!"
"All right, all right. Will a sandwich suffice?"
"Yes, Professor." Sirius said obediently.
Lupin shot Sirius a dry look, and headed into the kitchen.
"Did you meet with Dumbledore?" Sirius called, as Lupin removed a plate from the cabinet, and took bread from the box.
"Yes. And Snape, too. He will be making the Wolfsbane Potion for me while I'm here."
"Good," Sirius replied, entering the kitchen. "Did he give you much trouble?"
"He wasn't exactly inclined to give me a hug, but no, he didn't. I suspect he couldn't, since Dumbledore was right there." Lupin removed a plate from the cabinet, and set to work making the sandwich.
Sirius paused, uncharacteristically hesitant. Finally he spoke. "I saw Fleur Delacour in town today."
"Are you sure?"
"Not many girls look like that, do they?" Sirius asked. "Besides, I saw her picture in the paper last year."
Lupin smirked. "I don't need to remind you that she's only eighteen, do I?"
"What? I'm recognizing a pretty girl when I see one, that's all," Sirius replied innocently. "Besides, she was chatting it up with some boy more her age. Reminded me of someone...I can't think who at the moment, but it'll come to me."
Lupin grinned. "Losing your memory already, Sirius?"
"Oh, shut up. Don't you have a sandwich to make?"
"Do I look like a house-elf to you?" Lupin demanded. He stopped short, remembering his patched and frayed clothes. "Don't answer that."
Sirius smiled innocently. "Answer what?"
"Oh, that reminds me, Snape's supposed to come by today," Lupin said as he slid the sandwich plate to Sirius.
Sirius, who had just taken a bite, promptly began to choke. "Wharght?" he demanded, his words garbled. He swallowed, then glared at Lupin. "Excuse me?"
"Snape is supposed to come by today," Lupin repeated in a louder tone. "Is your hearing suffering as well?"
"No."
Lupin hesitated, then gave Sirius a hard look. "Behave."
"Yes, Da," Sirius replied sarcastically.
"I mean it, Sirius, though I didn't quite mean for it to come out that way. He's coming to discuss the Wolfsbane Potion, that's all," Lupin replied in a gentler tone. He smiled a bit. "This house a rental--I can't very well have you two kill each other. God knows what you'll do to the carpet."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Very amusing, Professor. All right, I promise I'll be good."
"Good," Lupin replied, turning to leave the room. Sirius waited until Lupin was out of earshot to speak again.
"For as long as Snape is."
************************************
Severus Snape was not in a good mood.
That was not as common an occurrence as some believed. The morning had started off well. Fleur Delacour had been less irritating than usual, and the students were even starting to grasp the concepts he attempted to shove down their throats year after year.
Then Dumbledore asked him to run an errand. He'd had to go into London after class let out, and then he had to pay a visit to Remus Lupin...and, as likely as not, Sirius Black.
And as far as he was concerned, that was when the day had gone to hell.
Having to tolerate Lupin's presence was one thing. Snape did not trust him; he saw no reason to. Lupin, like everyone else in Snape's life, had betrayed him. His situation with Lupin was considerably more complicated than with Sirius Black. If anything, Sirius Black was probably the most honest of all the Marauders. At least with him, Snape had no doubt as to where he stood.
Hatred.....it may not be pleasant, but it is simple. Severus shook himself, looking around at the dirt road leading up to Lupin's shabby cottage.
Best not to think that. It was that mentality that had gotten him into the whole mess to begin with. It was not a road he cared to revisit.
In fact, he thought, eyeing the cottage, neither was this.
Snape walked up the path, and made his way to the door. He hesitated, just briefly--
Walk away, walk away----
He raised his fist and knocked.
He heard the sound of a dog barking, and someone scuffling to the door. It opened, and he found himself face to face with Remus Lupin.
Oh, joy, Snape thought.
"Hello, Severus," Lupin greeted him cordially. "Come inside."
Lupin held the door, allowing Snape inside.
It wasn't as bad as it looked from the outside. The furniture, at least, was fairly new, though the rugs were nearly threadbare. He noted that all of the curtains were drawn, and the room was lit only by a few candles.
"He's here," Lupin called into the kitchen. A moment later, Sirius Black appeared in the doorway. He didn't look any happier to see Snape than Snape was to see him as he passed Snape, crossing the room to take a seat on a nearby sofa.
"Please, sit down," Lupin offered, but Snape shook his head.
"I do not want to be here any more than you want me here." Snape said acidly. "Let's just get this over with as little suffering as possible, all right?"
Lupin merely crossed his arms over his chest, looking...Snape paused, attempting to study the werewolf's expression in the dim light. He couldn't tell. Remus Lupin had the ultimate poker face.
"As you like," he said at last. "Did you have trouble finding the ingredients for the potion?"
"I'm a professional, Lupin," Snape replied, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice, as he ignored the derisive snort that issued from Black's direction. "No, I did not. The Apothecary was, however, out of the aconite, so I have it on special order. It will arrive in time for me to make the potion."
Lupin nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. So there won't be any problems?"
"No. Not if you have the Hungarian Silverweed--that's the last ingredient that I do not have."
"I do," Lupin replied.
"Very well."
An awkward silence fell.
How Mariela and Pira would laugh if they could see me now, Snape thought. The situation was so bloody awkward, it wasn't even--
Wait. Why was he even thinking of Pira and Mariela? He hadn't seen them in years. The last he'd heard of them was that Pira was still working for his father, and Mariela had married and returned to Spain. He had not heard from her since.
Pira, however, had tried to maintain contact after he had left his father's home. She had sent him letters at first--but they had petered out to nearly nothing by now, as he never answered any of them. She would have wanted an explanation, and that was one thing that Severus could not--would not--give her.
At last, Sirius broke the silence, along with Snape's train of thought. "I think someone's out there."
Black had lifted the corner of the curtain slightly, and was now peering out intently.
Lupin rushed over. "Sirius, get down. It won't do for someone to see you."
Sirius backed away from the window, and Snape and Lupin both scanned the view from the window.
"I don't see anyone," Lupin said at last. "Are you sure it was a person, Sirius?"
"It certainly wasn't an animal," Sirius replied. "I can tell the difference."
"I believe whatever it was is gone now," Lupin replied. "I'd best go have a look, though."
"I will go with you," Snape said reluctantly. It was, at least, better than remaining in the same room with Sirius Black.
******************************************
Loki Lestrange ducked behind the largest of the seven bushes on the lawn of the cottage. He was nearly to the gate by now. With any luck, he'd get there before--
Damn!
"Snuffles saw whatever it was in the bushes to the left," Snape was saying. "We should check those first, Lupin."
The other man--Lupin--nodded.
Snape and Lupin were exiting the house. Their wands were drawn as they began to prod the bush farthest from Lestrange.
Idiots. How could they hope to uncover him? He was Loki, the son of Adele and Lysander Lestrange. Two of the most revered Death Eaters.
Loki smirked inwardly. His parentage hardly mattered anymore, did it? Malfoy--the man who had practically raised him after his parents' incarceration--always spoke of the day when Azkaban would be broken open, and his parents freed, as something Loki should relish.
What Malfoy never mentioned was that they were probably insane by now, and most likely useless. It wasn't as though he had many fond memories of his mother or father, at any rate. When one's parents promised the service of their firstborn to the Dark Lord before he was old enough to walk, it did not exactly leave one with the desire to lead the crusade for their freedom.
Serve Dumbledore, serve Malfoy, serve the Dark Lord, Loki thought in disgust. Everyone is a servant in their own right, aren't they? Loki himself looked forward to the day when he would no longer be anyone's servant. And if he had to take someone else's life to do it--well, what of it?
Lestrange shifted, crouching like panther. He crept soundlessly toward the gate as Snape and Lupin drew closer--
Almost made it--
YES!
Loki slipped out of the garden, and dashed into the nearby grove of trees. He had escaped--barely.
And not a moment too soon. The small handmirror in the pocket of his robes was humming softly.
Once he was safely behind a tree, Lestrange withdrew the mirror from his pocket, and held it up to his face.
The face reflected back to him was not his own, however, but instead that of Lucius Malfoy.
"Well?" Malfoy demanded.
"I've been tailing Snape all day," Lestrange replied. "McKinnon hasn't gotten anywhere near him yet. He's in Hogsmeade, though, I checked with the Hog's Head Inn. I followed Snape into London--he went to Diagon Alley for potions ingredients--and then back to this cottage. Someone named Lupin apparently lives here."
Lucius Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That werewolf? I'm not surprised that Snape is associating with him. But very well, go on."
"I also searched McKinnon's room earlier today--the files you gave him are there." Loki smiled. "As well as some...notes, very well hidden. Looks as though Snape isn't going to go peacefully."
Malfoy chuckled. "Dear, dear. I believe I've inspired an artist."
"That depends on McKinnon's ability to pull it off. He's not a professional assassin, as I might point out--"
"--and have, several times," Malfoy snapped. "I have explained it to you before, Loki. McKinnon is not an assassin. You, however, have experience in this area. Give him a...nudge, in the right direction, if you honestly feel it is needed. But do not interfere directly. The action must be McKinnon's, and McKinnon's alone."
"Sir--"
"Lestrange, if this plan fails because of your impatience, you will envy Severus Snape in your final moments," Malfoy replied coldly. "Am I clear?"
Loki hesitated for just a moment. He had no doubt that Malfoy would follow his word to the letter.
"Yes, sir."
Malfoy's face faded from the mirror's surface, and Loki jammed the mirror roughly into his pocket.
Let Malfoy have his games, Lestrange thought darkly. I will play along.....for now.