The meeting was packed, which was ominous; usually they were restricted to the Inner Circle for high-powered planning, with nibbles at Malfoy Manor afterwards. A larger audience meant raiding, and some poor sod was going to be in trouble tonight.
Severus devoutly hoped it wouldn't be him.
He tugged awkwardly at his mask. The damned thing was uncomfortable and bloody silly. As far as he was concerned, their identities could be kept secret by a concealing charm or even polyjuice at a pinch, rather than a silver mask that cut off peripheral vision and kept slipping down his nose.
It didn't even work as a disguise, for god's sake; they'd all joined at the same time. He was sure that His Lordship – he didn't call him anything more polite in the privacy of his own head – fondly imagined that they'd all stood round in a circle at their initiation and wondered who the others were, feeling sure that they couldn't betray each other in case the person they spoke to at the Ministry was One of Them.
Instead, he'd simply looked round the Circle on that first evening and mentally ticked off the boys from his year and the years above. Malfoy, in particular, stood out like a sore thumb. His robes weren't basic Death Eater black but had little skulls embroidered on the hems and cuffs, and his hair was white-blond and even then was long enough to hang him with.
Nearly twenty years later the daft sod was still wearing them – or ones very much like them – which provided The Lads with hours of post-raid entertainment. Smudger's impression of Lucius at his most haughty was legendary. At least the mask did hide your face when you were wearing a wholly inappropriate smirk, because otherwise Lucius was likely to take offence, and would offer to wipe it off.
Severus composed his features into a more suitable remote expression – no point getting sloppy just because you were wearing your mask – as Lucius approached him with the evening's orders.
"Severus." Lucius's voice was clipped; he was clearly annoyed about something.
"Lucius," he acknowledged, equally curtly. "What's the plan of action then?"
"His Lordship wants us to go and teach these Muggles a lesson or two. He wants something big, something dramatic, something that will be on the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning." Of late, there had been an increasing undertone of contempt to that title – His Lordship – Lucius wasn't happy with what he called the strategic approach to the War. Much as he hated Muggles, even Lucius was beginning to think that they should be concentrating their energies on the elimination of Potter rather than the torturing of innocent people.
It was fun, he would say at the cocktail parties, but what is it achieving?
Not a lot, was the answer. An answer that was becoming increasingly clear to even the meanest intelligence – Crabbe and Goyle Senior – and was even being discussed openly.
"You don't seem very pleased," Severus commented.
"Indeed not. I had plans for this evening involving a certain young lady, some flimsy scraps of silk, fine wine and good food. I just hope we can get this all finished before midnight, so I can rescue something from this debacle."
"You've told Narcissa you'll be out all night then?" asked Severus.
Lucius nodded. "It's so hard to find time away from her; she's so suspicious. These little outings provide me with my only chance for a bit of fun."
Severus could sympathise with that. "Tell you what. Why don't you slip off to see the young lady in question, and I'll look after this little lot for you?" ventured Severus, after checking that there were no young and keen Death Eaters within earshot who would probably be only too happy to tell tales in the hope of securing a better position in the pecking order.
Lucius did a similar check before replying, "Would you? That's damned decent of you."
"Any particular instructions, you know, about targets?"
"No. It's entirely up to you, Severus, and thank you again. I don't know what I'd do without you." Lucius shook his hand fervently, and then apparated away with a pop.
"I hope he remembers to take the mask off before he goes to see his young lady," said a voice from behind him.
Severus spun round with his wand out. "For god's sake, Smudger, don't go creeping up on people like that. You know I get twitchy when the rest of the Inner Circle's around."
"Hex first and ask questions later, that's their motto." Smudger nodded. "Where we off to then?"
"The usual place," Severus replied. "Tell The Lads. Then we've got some thinking to do."
"Right-o." Sumdger turned and began tapping people on the shoulder and attempting to whisper in their ear, which is tricky when you're wearing a silver mask; there was a very audible clink as Smudger's mask clipped another and very nearly jostled it off.
Severus watched as his team apparated away one by one, then cast one last look round the clearing to make sure no one had been left behind, before heading off himself.
Barely ten minutes later he and The Lads were lined up along the bar in their usual pub, looking into their beers and searching for inspiration. Smudger smoothed the Evening Standard on the bar, and scanned the paper for bad news. "There's been a Tube crash," he offered.
"Nah," said Bloodnok. "Look it happened this afternoon, he'll never buy that."
"Not to mention no one was killed," added Severus.
Smudger grunted and carried on reading. "It's a bit of a slow day for disasters, lads. We may actually have to do something."
"Let's not do anything rash," said Bloodnok. "We haven't looked at the early editions yet. Maybe something happened later today we can use. Whose turn is it to go?"
The Lads all looked shifty. "Come on," said Severus wearily. "It's either a quick apparate to the printing presses and half-inching tomorrow's paper, or one of you having to explain to Lucius and then His Lordship why we didn't manage to kill a single muggle tonight."
The Lads still looked shifty, but some complicated process of running through the calendar to see who went last time, and the time before that, was taking place, coupled with the trading of favours to get out of doing it until the answer was reached – Seagoon.
"Oh, bugger," said Bloodnok. "We can't send him; he always gets The Times."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Seagoon replied frostily. "At least it has a little news in it, unlike your chosen periodical which seems to be composed entirely of breasts."
The Lads murmured amongst themselves, clearly torn. Whilst they needed a paper with news in it, they couldn't help but remember with fondness the day that Smudger brought back a News of the World. There had been scandal enough to satisfy their most biased views about the ways Muggles conducted their lives, and pictures of half-naked ladies.
The pictures didn't move but, as Smudger said, you couldn't have everything.
"Why not see if you can pick up one of those Peerreally Calendays as well then," suggested Severus. "As well as a proper paper: that way we can divvy it up between us, and still find some disaster to pass off as our own handiwork."
Even Seagoon had to admit that was a reasonable compromise - provided he got first pick of the months – and apparated away on his errand.
While he was away The Lads ordered another round and put it on his tab.
Seagoon popped back into existence barely fifteen minutes later, clutching two papers and a Calendar.
A round of sniggering broke out in response to his anguished cry. "You bastards."
"What's your problem?" asked Smudger. "We got you a pint in."
"But Bloodnok is drinking bloody brandy again. You know we agreed that he wasn't allowed to," Seagoon complained. "It's not fair."
"Nothing in life is," said Severus, heavily.
They all nodded; that's true.
"Anyway," he continued, "show us what you got."
Seagoon spread out The Times on a table, and The Lads gathered round and cast an expert eye over the litany of gloom, doom and despondency.
"There!" said Severus, stabbing down with a long finger. "That's perfect."
8 people killed in a mystery gas explosion, the paper stated. Blah blah blah at 9.30 pm tonight blah blah causes unknown. The timescale fitted, the devastation caused was sufficient to satisfy His Lordship for an evening's mayhem; all that was needed was for someone to nip out and cast the Dark Mark over the building in question.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," said Severus, watching The Lads attempt to select a candidate. "We are not playing scissors, paper, stone to decide who goes. Can we at least try to look like dangerous Death Eaters instead of bloody schoolchildren?"
"Well, what do you suggest: spin the bottle?" sneered Bloodnok.
"No. You just volunteered," Severus smirked. "That's what comes of asking stupid questions and really getting on my wick. I get enough of that at school, and you really ought to know better by now. Now off you go."
Bloodnok left muttering under his breath, and was still grumbling about the unfairness of it all by the time he returned five minutes later. He at least didn't return to a round of drinks on his tab – they were still finishing the first round - but they had begun dividing the calendar amongst themselves, and he was in danger of receiving Miss March who was generally reckoned to be a bit past it at 30.
"Oh, come off it lads," he whined. "Don't be bastards about this….."
"I thought being a bastard was part of the job description," Smudger said with a wide grin.
"We weren't supposed to be bastards to each other," Bloodnok replied, "just to the rest of the world."
"No one told Malfoy that then," put in Severus.
"Or His Lordship," added Smudger.
There was a certain nervous sniggering, and then they budged up so Bloodnok could get a better look at the Calendar.
There was a respectful hush as the pages were turned, punctuated only by occasional soft murmurs of appreciation, and a long sigh when the Calendar was closed.
"I wish," said Seagoon slowly, "I wish we got to meet girls like that."
"Or, in fact, any girls at all," added Bloodnok.
"They say that Lucius Malfoy has a Pet Mudblood of his own," said Smudger, with a strong air of grievance. "And you know what they say about Mudbloods."
Severus looked faintly surprised; as far as he knew the only thing they said about Mudbloods was that they were inferior and clearly should be erased from the face of the earth. He didn't remember anyone saying anything about them making good Pets. "What do they say about Mudbloods?" he asked.
The Lads all sniggered.
"You mean you don't know?" Smudger asked incredulously. "They're supposed to be … you know… friskier."
"Mind you, we wouldn't expect you to know about that," sneered Grytpype-Thynne. "You've never had a girlfriend have you?"
Severus eyed The Lads, and The Lads eyed Severus with either pity or sympathy. He looked down his long nose at them all and said grandly, "Not only have I had a girlfriend, but I have one at the moment, and a Mudblood to boot." He nearly added 'so there' but remembered just in time that he was over 40, supposed to be a heartless killer, and the buggers would never let him hear the end of it.
"I don't believe you," said Grytpype-Thynne. He'd always been an irritating little shit, even when they'd been younger.
Severus shrugged elegantly, conveying in that gesture his complete indifference to the opinion of a mere Minion, and that he was so confident of the truth of what he was saying that he had no need to discuss it further. It was a very eloquent shrug.
The shrug was apparently wasted on Grytpype-Thynne, who continued triumphantly, "Why haven't you told us about her before then?"
"Oh yes, I can see that going down well," butted in Smudger. "What's he going to do, introduce her to His Lordship or maybe start boasting of his conquests round the Inner Circle. It'd go down like a cup of cold sick; even Malfoy doesn't boast about his Mudblood and he can pretty much do what he wants."
"Well, he can't take her to an Inner Circle meeting, that's for sure, but I don't see why he couldn't introduce her to us. We're harmless, well as long as Smudger doesn't pick up the darts we are," said Bloodnok. "I want to meet her."
"True," said Smudger. "We need to make sure that she's good enough for Severus. I mean, we're men of the world, we can tell whether she's a conniving little golddigger just after him for his money."
Severus snorted at the idea of anyone being interested in him for his money.
"I don't believe he's got a girlfriend," sneered Grytpype-Thynne. "How on earth did you get her to agree to go out with you?"
"I didn't," said Severus smugly. "I played hard to get and she asked me out."
The rest of The Lads exchanged impressed glances; that sounded like Advanced Seduction to them, rather than Romance for Beginners as applied by them. Grytpype-Thynne, however remained unconvinced. "I don't believe you," he said. "I don't believe you, and nothing you can say is going to make me believe you."
"All right, all right, I'll bring her along to meet you after the next meeting," Severus snapped, and then realised with a sinking feeling just how far up the proverbial creek he was. He had to ask Hermione out, which was going to be difficult enough, and that was before mentioning to her that he wanted their first date to be with all his Death Eater mates.
It wasn't going to go well, was it?
Bugger.
Sheverus wash pished again. He'd only intended to have a couple, but The Lads had been insistent, and when he thought about asking Hermione out he took another drink for Dutch Courage. He'd intended to stop before he got completely arseholed but had overshot by about four pints. And a couple of Firewhiskies.
He did, however, remember not to put the darts in his back pocket this time.
That would lead the detached observer to think that things were going Sheverus' way, an impression that was reinforced by the fact that Hermione was waiting for him on the Quidditch Pitch in order to make sure that he didn't fall flat on his face.
And if she was also trying to put herself in a situation where she would be treated to a view of more naked Severus, well then, that would be perfectly acceptable from his point of view. More than perfectly acceptable.
Somehow in his drunken mind this assessment was transformed from 'I wouldn't mind if she did want to look at my bottom again' to 'I bet she does want to see my arse'. This was unfortunate. Because no matter if there were an element of truth in this, in fact, especially if there were an element of truth in this, it was still unwise to announce that he knew what she was after, the naughty minx, and if she played her cards right she could have it.
The God of Drunks was watching over him that night and fortunately what Hermione heard was 'iewwaurafer…inx… ifew…ayurcahsrite…hsyucnavit'. She didn't speak Drunk, so she had no idea what he actually said, and merely levitated him off to his rooms.
So far so good. The God of Drunks was so busy patting himself on the back at having successfully averted another disaster that he took his eye off the ball, and tragedy occurred.
Hermione successfully wrestled Severus into bed, a process he would have enjoyed much more if he had been sober, and given him his hangover potion. Then he opened his mouth and said something that would rank in the annals of lovers everywhere as the most tactless and least romantic thing to say ever. It topped 'By Jove, Helen, you've aged badly in twenty years', and that was saying something.
"Hermione," he said, now that his tongue had shrunk back to its normal size and was working properly again, "I was wondering if you would do me a favour."
At last, she thought. She'd soothed the fevered brow of the wounded warrior, and now she was going to reap her reward. "Yes, Severus," she said, a little breathless.
"I was wondering whether you were free next Thursday…"
"….yes….yes…yes…." she thought.
"…because I need someone to accompany me to a party with some old friends."
"…yes….er…wait a minute….old friends…." Her brain screeched to a halt. He couldn't mean taking her out to meet his Death Eater friends, could he? Could he?
"I… er…I may have dropped myself in it by saying that I had a Mudblood of my own, and I really need someone to go with me so I don't look a total idiot."
There was the kind of silence that usually greets someone had admitted to supporting The Toon whilst standing on the banks of the Weir (sound of a fart in a lift, for our American friends, sorry elevator.)
At this point the God of Drunks took one look at the situation and decided to bugger off and help someone who wasn't so determined to commit relationship suicide. Or, indeed, just suicide, because Hermione was Not Pleased. Not Pleased At All.
"I beg your pardon," Hermione began, in tones that would freeze a desert, but she was interrupted by Severus before she had a chance to build up into her peroration.
"We'll talk about it in the morning," he said, smiled sweetly, and laid back on the bed. "I'm ve' tired."
"Bastard," Hermione said bitterly.
She made sure he was tucked in properly, that there was a convenient cauldron by the side of the bed in case of Urgent Need, and turned out the lights.
Sheverus had become Severus by the time he woke the next morning. His head wasn't pounding, his mouth didn't feel like a small, furry animal had taken up residence there, and he felt a bit peckish. All in all, he felt better than he had any right to do. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something terribly wrong.
A quick mental survey of the night before, conducted whilst performing his ablutions, brought nothing ominous to mind. He'd survived the meeting, which was always a positive. He'd managed to wriggle his way out of actually getting his hands dirty, whilst making Malfoy think he was doing him a favour. He hadn't bought a round of drinks all night and he'd nicely stuck one over on that bastard Grytpype-Thynne…
Ah.
Yes, well.
There was something nagging at the back of his mind now. He'd been worried about asking Hermione out, but he wasn't any more because he had and … oh shit.
Severus looked at the rubber duck and the rubber duck looked at Severus.
He was history.
Severus nearly shied off from breakfast, but in the end couldn't come up with a sufficiently reasonable excuse to get out of it. He also thought that, whilst he was in many ways lucky to have escaped the full Wrath of Hermione last night, the longer she was left to stew over the issues, the longer she would have to think up really nasty things to say to him.
Prudence therefore dictated that steps were taken to make the necessary apologies as soon as possible, in the hope of lancing the boil of anger before it had a chance to fester.
Judging by her mutinous face and icy greeting over the kippers, it was already too late. The least he could hope to get away with was a face-slapping after several weeks of the Cold Shoulder. Which would mean that he would be dateless come the next meeting, and have to put up with the gloating of Grytpype-Thynne.
So, whilst an apology was called for, a back-up plan was called for……………
Hermione, for her part, was bristling with indignation when the lousy bastard merely nodded at her and took his usual seat by her side and commenced battle on the kippers. Kippers are indeed tricky bastards to eat, but she felt that some recognition of the egregious wrong he had done her was called for.
And she didn't like the way he was smiling. No man who was so firmly In The Wrong, deserved to be smiling like that at all, let alone a bastard as miserable as Snape. She was suddenly struck by a wave of misery. Maybe he didn't like her at all. Maybe that funny look in his eye hadn't been appreciation at all; maybe it was disapproval. Perhaps she should be simply grateful that he hadn't told Dumbledore and tried to get her dismissed. Well actually that would be doing her a favour, so something else, something evil.
Like taking her to a Death Eaters' meeting.
There was a furious five minute interval during which Hermione's brain was racing with thoughts of intricate plots, double-dealing and her coming to a Very Sticky End indeed. Harry had always had his doubts about Snape's reliability, and her argument that Dumbledore trusted him so they should too, was rather undermined by the fact that she no longer thought that his opinion on anything was worth a farthing.
Then she caught sight of Severus' hands, slightly shaking, as he reached for the coffee pot, and her sensible side pointed out very firmly that Severus Snape may be a bit of a prat, but he wasn't a dyed in the wool villain. Harry was an idiot, who couldn't tie his shoelaces without instructions, and whose judgement on things was pretty reliable, if you reversed it 180 degrees.
Which didn't mean that he could be allowed to get away with using the M-word, but once proper apologies had been offered and penance suffered, he could be forgiven.
And then shagged senseless.
Repeatedly.
And in as many positions as possible.
So, given that she was rather keen on moving to that stage as quickly as possible, it seemed to her that a simple apology and five minutes grovelling would be sufficient. If he was really bright he might give her an opening along the lines of 'however can I make it up to you' and she could make some fairly advanced suggestions. Not that she'd been planning ahead, with diagrams and lists; no, not at all.
Severus, fortified by kipper, toast and coffee, felt that he was now in a position to be able to offer an apology. It was also the sensible course to do so at the breakfast table where, presumably, Hermione would feel inhibited from face-slapping and hexing in front of an audience.
"Erm," he offered, by way of opening.
"Yes," she said coolly.
"I …erm…gather that I may have …said something …inappropriate, wholly inappropriate, last night, and I wanted to apologise to you for saying it."
Hermione was pondering what response she should make, when fate, in the form of Dumbledore, pre-empted her. "Ah, Severus, I would be grateful if we could have a little discussion this morning. I believe your first class isn't until ten?"
"Indeed, Headmaster." Severus dabbed his lips with the napkin, and then followed the Irritating Old Sod out of the Hall.
"Bugger," she said. "Bugger. Bugger. Bugger."
From Severus' point of view the meeting with the Headmaster went well. He dropped the little snippet of gossip that Lucius had a mistress into the conversation quite early, and allowed him to draw his own conclusions about the need for Severus also to have his own Status Symbol.
"I don't know who we can find to act the part," Albus said in a worried tone of voice. "I mean, there's always Nymphadora Tonks. We could get her to scrub up…."
Severus shook his head. "I'm sorry Headmaster. Whilst I can see that it would be useful to have a fellow Order member involved – " take the hint when it's dropped on you from a great height you bearded twit - "I do think that most of my confreres will have met Tonks in her professional capacity at some time or another." Some of them were even related to her, though they wouldn't admit to it in public.
Albus looked wise, and nodded his agreement. "I can see your point, Severus." There were several minutes of prolonged beard stroking and cogitation before he added, "I have a suggestion to make, Severus. And I want you to hear me out, before you jump down my throat and start criticising me. How about Hermione Granger?"
Severus pursed his lips in apparent dissatisfaction, and gave the matter serious consideration. "If you insist, Headmaster," he said, with evident reluctance. "But I must insist that it is made clear to her, that she is to follow my instructions to the letter. I don't want her going off on a frolic of her own, and putting her, and my, life in danger."
"Fair enough." Albus' self-congratulatory smile faded when he realised that, whilst he may have won over Severus with little or no argument, the matter still had to be broached with Miss Granger. "I don't suppose you'd care to ask her yourself…"
Albus' faint hope of getting away with it faded in the face of Severus' regretful, "I think it would come better from you Headmaster. After all, she respects your judgement."
Albus interrupted his preening to summon a house elf and despatch it with a request for Miss Granger to join them. It was barely ten minutes later, which Severus occupied with wondering what the latest Pet Mudblood wore on these occasions, and shifting uncomfortably in his chair, before they were joined by Hermione.
She was feeling relatively cross. Her chance at propositioning Severus had been snatched away from her, and now the Old Goat was going to ask her to do Something Annoying. She felt fairly sure that it would be Annoying, on the basis that everything else he had ever asked her to do had been Annoying, and Inconvenient, if not damned Uncomfortable. And if he was looking for someone to stick with the arrangements for the Hallowe'en Ball, he could damned well shove them.
"Hermione," began the Headmaster portentously.
Bugger, she thought. This time it's something really serious, like overseeing the Hogsmeade weekend. She still had nightmares about the last trip, even though Young Pemberton's nose had been successfully re-attached; she felt the little Incident was a reflection on her abilities as a teacher. Largely because her colleagues had been very quick to assure her that this was the case.
"Hermione," Albus said. "I have to ask you to undertake a dangerous and onerous task…"
Bugger. It is the Hogsmeade weekend. I can't. I've got a note from my Mum excusing me. The dog ate my permission slip and I can't leave the castle.
"It appears that Severus needs a Girlfriend."
"Whilst it may be true that getting Professor Snape shagged on a regular basis might be good for him," she said frostily. "I fail to see what this has to do with me." The sneaky little sod had gone behind her back to make sure she had to go out with him. It was sweet in a deranged, underhanded, sneaky sort of way.
"For his spying work," continued Dumbledore, as if she hadn't said anything.
"Me? You must be daft," she scoffed. No point making it easy for him.
"Of course, if you're not brave enough," sneered Severus. "I can always find someone else."
And there he'd got her; she had a choice of looking like a coward or spending the evening down the pub with his mates.
"Very well," she sighed. "What do you want me to do?"