Faith For The Faithless

Chapter Two, of Dissent

The sound of a nasal whining woke Hermione up. The comfortable warmth of the bed had been replaced with a chilly breeze from flung back furs and her breath was freezing in front of her face. The door to the little room was partially opened, and the rodent face of Peter Pettigrew was peering through and talking to Snape. Snape was wrapped in a pair of black furs, back to the room, hissing at the errant servant in disdain.

"Snape, I know what I saw!" Wormtail's voice rose desperately.

"And what you saw is blasphemy;" Snape replied in a low tone, "forget you even glimpsed it."

"And what of the Dark Lord? We are all lost without him!"

"The Dark Lord is not going anywhere, Pettigrew, but you will be if you persist in bandying these rumours about. You are not a fish-wife, you are a Deatheater. Try to summon that famous Gryffindor courage and remember it."

"I ought to have known not to come to you, Snape! What do you care of the Dark Lord's ailment? You are still caught up in your petty childhood!"

Snape leant closer to the door, blocking out all shards of light and casting the room into a dim grey.

"But I am not being hunted by my childhood friends. You would do well to remember your superiors, Pettigrew. Do not question the Dark Lord or myself again!"

"You are being a fool, Snape, and you will rue the day you did not heed me!"

Hermione heard Snape's derisive laughter as he shut the door, but the laugh was stopped as soon as the door was slammed wand warded. The room was plunged into blackness once more, and the girl held her breath with bated apprehension. Seconds later a dim flame flickered into life, as if it had been at a great distance and travelling forward rapidly, until it grew and bathed the room in a yellow-grey pallor. Snape was standing over a cauldron, under which the flame had been lit, and examining it closely. He picked up jars and vials in his long fingers and read the labels with the contents swirling and bubbling before his eyes. Finally he stacked them up again and turned the flame down until dark shadows formed everywhere except on the bright gleam of the cauldron edges. The heavy furs landed back on the bed, and Hermione turned to study the wall as Snape slid in next to her.

Peter Pettigrew slunk down the corridor from Snape's room muttering and cursing under his breath. As his feet scrabbled across the hay covered floor he drew ever closer to the main dormitories of the Daetheaters; not all were so lucky as Snape. The dormitory he first entered was lit by a series of tallow candles and a large fire that cast very little warmth into the freezing room. Ice had gathered along the windowsills and in the occasional water glasses. Huddled around the fire were four Deatheaters in thick furs and robes, conversing roughly.

"Pettigrew," one greeted, shuffling up along the bench a little and pushing his companions along, "bring us any news?"

"Snape's brought a girl into his rooms," Pettigrew answered moodily, holding his hands out to the tiny bit of warmth offered.

Over by one of the bunks, Draco Malfoy stopped gathering his belongings together and looked up with interest. Pettigrew was welcome in the dormitories as a bringer of news, but he was always given the coldest seat or th4e smallest portion. He was not a popular man; no one could forget he had betrayed his friends out, or that Voldemort had chosen him as the faithful servant. The other Deatheater looked interested.

"A girl? What kind of girl?" he questioned.

"She says she's his apprentice," whined Wormtail, "said she came seeking knowledge or something. I don't believe a word of it."

"You ought to," Malfoy had moved over to where they were talking and stood in front of the brazier, "believe what you're told, because Snape won't give you anymore information."

"You mean Snape won't give you any more information," the older Deatheater corrected smugly, "I was at his chambers this morning."

"Yes, yes?" Malfoy gave the clambering masses a disdainful look.

"She was in his bed!"

Wormtail leant in closer to the fire as he gave this tit-bit of information, assured of a good reception. The larger Deatheater with the thick forehead leapt to his feet and cursed loudly as he slammed his fist against the bench his companions sat on.

"So this is it! We slave and freeze for the Dark Lord and Snape sits there like a pretty boy and is rewarded with a girl!"

"Calm down McIver," Malfoy drawled, propping himself with one elbow on the edge of the stove.

"Why should I?" McIver roared fiercely, prowling along the narrow space between bench and blaze, "I gave the Dark Lord the best years of my life, and now I give him my full strength, and see how he rewards us! Snape was a boy when he joined us, he is younger than us! It is against the old ways to elevate such youth!"

"You have been badly treated," Malfoy assured him, "perhaps the Dark Lord has forgotten the way the purebloods do these things?"

"Do not speak against the Dark Lord!" the man next to McIver stirred and glared at Malfoy, "If you believed the things you spoke, you would dismiss your rooms and remain here with us! Begone foul tongued youth!"

Malfoy growled under his breath, but as McIver lunged towards him, the younger Deatheater returned to his temporary bedding. Once again Wormtail leant forward with information, and Malfoy strained his ears.

"There is more, comrades," Wormtail spoke in a hush, "this morning when everyone but I was asleep – even Nagini – the Dark Lord convulsed."

"Convulsed? You mean He had a fit?" the thinner, older Deatheater looked earnestly at Peter in worry.

"Exactly! His whole body shook violently several times and then shuddered a little. He has not yet woken up!"

"But it is nearly noon!"

"Indeed. But it did no affect Nagini at all, that is what was so odd. But you must let me get back to the Lord; He will want me there when Snape arrives with his tricky potions."

"The Lord is taking potions?" McIver asked, eyes narrowed.

"To restore his strength! There is nothing untoward with that, and they are made from unicorn blood. Now I must leave."

As Wormtail scurried from the room, the four Deatheaters moved together tightly and began discussing this information. Presently a smaller man left the group and hurried into the corridor, checking to make sure no one was there. As Malfoy followed out of curiosity, the man entered a larger dorm further along the corridor and began retelling Wormtail's news and what they thought. Voices rose angrily, and then in concern and doubt as Malfoy passed the doors towards his rooms.

As he passed the door to Voldemort's room, Snape hurtled out of them. His face was completely white and he was carrying four vials of large dimensions. As the door shut behind him, Malfoy could hear Wormtail shrieking loudly.

"Snape!" he called suddenly, "Professor!"

Snape stopped momentarily and looked behind him.

"What do you want?" he barked.

"There are rumours flying, Professor, about the Dark Lord."

"What kind of rumours?"

"That he had a fit this morning," Malfoy's voice dropped, "and still isn't receiving audiences?"

"Do not think on such things, Malfoy. Concern yourself with your work."

"We have no work Professor. Apart from sitting in the freezing wind on guard duty, we are doing nothing here except hide from the aurors. The ranks are getting restless."

"That is no concern of yours, Malfoy."

"There are complaints about your female as well."

"The apprentice?"

"I know who she is Snape. Do you think I'm blind or stupid? I've only attended six years of school with her, and it's a miracle Crabbe and Goyle haven't seen her and blown your cover."

"You shut your mouth boy."

Snape seized Malfoy by his upper arm and opened the wards to his rooms. There was an illumination of a kind from the large window, but most of the daylight was blocked by squares of velvet patching. The light gleamed off dusty and shining bottles and copper. On an upended cauldron by the window sat Snape's apprentice, with papers spread over her knees and a quill in her mouth. She barely looked up when Snape entered, but shuffled the papers around a little.

"Malfoy knows your little secret, Granger."

She looked up, perfectly calm, and remarked;

"He would have to be remarkably stupid not to have noticed me after he leapt on me in the snow."

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy asked her harshly.

"Keeping Professor Snape's bed warm," she answered coolly, not looking up from her work.

Malfoy looked at the neatly made bed, heaped with double furs, and shivered. Professor Snape was standing with his arms folded across his body, watching her with interest in his ebony eyes. As Malfoy caught his eye, he lifted an eyebrow as if to remark on Malfoy's shock.

"Why did you come?"

"Because I need knowledge. It didn't help that you caught me."

"You were spying then? We did catch a spy!"

"Indeed. Congratulations Malfoy, you managed to catch me a pleasant enough bed warmer and a tidy little housemaid as well."

As Snape spoke he caressed the top of her head in a gesture of ownership, and she jotted something down on a piece of parchment. Malfoy stepped up close to her, so close that her outer furs brushed his. Her eyes met his levelly, shining brown in the dim daylight.

"Nobody gets out, you know," he said softly, so that Snape leant forward, "you aren't any use to anyone any more."

"Incorrect Malfoy," Snape interrupted smoothly, "she is most useful to me."

"Did you believe he was a spy for Dumbeldore?"

As Malfoy inclined his head towards Snape seriously, she met his eyes again briefly.

"Perhaps," was the level answer, "didn't you at one point?"

"Not all of us are as desperate for information as you are, Granger. Some of us have more than enough."

"How fortunate. You would need it with your lack of brains."

Malfoy sneered as Snape turned away to a low cauldron belching forth yellow fog. He leant in closer to the girl, face to face with her. Her hair tickled his smooth skin slightly, rubbing back and forth against his own stubble, catching in the blonde grains of beard. He was so close that every individual eyelash seemed to sway against his own, and so that when they spoke, their lips flickered briefly over each other.

"Be careful, Granger," he breathed, "there is no escape from the Dark Lord."

"I do not intend to escape," she replied, and suddenly his lips were too dry and he wanted to lick them, "I will walk out when this place lies in ruins of chaos."

He pulled his face back suddenly, shocked at her confidence. Without a second glance she returned to her parchment, which he saw were made out with a detailed account of the proceedings of three days ago, when she had been captured. Next to them was a crude pen and ink drawing or herself crouching in the snow, with a prediction sight line drawn from a pair of eyes. He realised they must have been his – she was working out what had gone wrong.

He left the room with Snape looking indifferently at him, and opened the door next in the drafty corridor. The room was the same as Snape's; old store cupboards long forgotten. In one corner was a straw pallet covered loosely with a linen sheet, which he tossed his three pairs of furs onto. Tired after sentry duty, he piled his belongings into a small heap and eased his aching body into bed. It was cold; the sheet was slightly damp, the straw musty, the furs had gathered a layer of frost on top of them. Next door he could hear the low murmur of conversation, and a sharp barking command. From the other side, there was silence, only interjected with brief bursts of movement from either Snape or Hermione.

He noticed the ceiling was mouldy as he fell asleep.

Snape paused in his duties and added three drops of digitalis to the cauldron, with Hermione watching him with sharp eyes.

DISCLAIMER: Sleeping Dragons Die would like to remind all reading that the characters used in Faith For The Faithless belong to J.K. Rowling and not to the author. The situations are purely hypothetical.