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A/N: Enjoy! And please review!
Unpleasant Revelations
Kassandra turned over in her bed miserably, ignoring the soft tapping at the door that told her Klytemnestra was on the other side. There would be questions regarding her sudden departure and continued isolation, but she felt like her humiliation had been branded on her forehead for all to see…she had been right before, she was just a conquest…and through her mind, repeating in a maddening mantra, ran her single, embittered question:
How can I have been so stupid?
"Kass?" her twin's voice was soft, and Kassandra's stomach clenched as she lay on her side, facing away from her sister, hoping that Kly would believe her asleep.
She was not to be so lucky.
"Kass, Mum and Dad are worried about you. The house-elves are being interrogated right now about how they cooked the food."
Kassandra snorted. The food was fine, which ought to be clear since dozens of other people had eaten it.
"This is about Malfoy, isn't it?"
Kassandra tensed, and Klytemnestra watched her spine straighten even as she lay curled in a fetal position.
"What about Malfoy?"
"He had the saxophone in Diagon Alley, the letter said so," Klytemnestra replied, and Kassandra could tell that she was trying to be gentle. But disgust leaked into her voice nevertheless, and shame twisted more hotly, consuming Kassandra's insides, making her skin itch with impurity.
Suddenly, the black eyes flew open, and Kassandra sat up, flipping her long legs around. "Who sent that letter?"
Klytemnestra's mouth twitched. She could guess, both from her cousin's reaction and the subject, that the sender was one rufous-maned Gryffindor witch. But their playing had been kept private – in part because Klytemnestra knew her sister wouldn't approve, and she was especially reluctant now to reveal the information.
"I don't know," she lied blandly. "You should ask Severus."
Kassandra stared at her twin sharply, irritation rising. "You do know! Who?"
"If you're not going to tell me why you slept with Lucius Malfoy, I see no reason to enlighten you as to who sent our cousin a letter with such critical information." Klytemnestra's voice was cold, and she plunged on after a moment's hesitation – it wouldn't save Kass' feelings not to say it all right now. "We have to tell Dad about Malfoy, too, Kass…Father can't not know that at least some of the stolen shipment of instruments is being moved through Knockturn Alley."
Kassandra winced, and Klytemnestra's eyes grew wintry. "So…sister…why did you sleep with Lucius Malfoy? Knowing, after all, that he is no more than a womanizer and a snake." She had prayed she was wrong, that Kassandra was merely in lust, that the boy had left her so far untouched…but the time that Kassandra took to answer betrayed the reality, and Klytemnestra clenched her teeth, bile rising in her throat.
"How did you know?" Kass sighed, picking at a string on her bedspread.
"You just told me," Klytemnestra replied.
Kassandra glowered at her. "It was a shot in the dark," her twin expanded. "You've been head over heels for him since our third year. I didn't think he'd – you'd-" the thought was so distasteful that Klytemnestra couldn't finish it.
"Just because you won't touch anyone doesn't mean I have to be a puritan," Kassandra spat furiously.
"Just because I have standards doesn't mean you have to be a whore!" Klytemnestra fired, stung. "LUCIUS MALFOY? What about him seemed like a good idea to you?"
Kassandra folded her arms mutinously, mouth opening again as their younger cousin walked through the door.
"A locked door doesn't indicate to you that you should stay out?" Klytemnestra turned her fury on Severus.
"No. Locks are there to be Alohomora'd. Not that it matters. Your voice is carrying three floors. They can hear you in the drawing room. That's what I came to tell you."
Kassandra's face skipped pale in favor of going to stark white. "What?"
"Not specific words, but yelling, yes."
Kassandra reddened in embarrassment and anger, but quickly returned, "Who sent you the letter?"
"Someone who wouldn't want Lucius Malfoy to know that I got it," he responded, and though his tone was neutral, his black eyes expressively said what he thought of her – or of anyone who thought the Malfoy heir was worth giving the time of day, much less worth having sex with. Kassandra's lungs failed to work for a moment, struck by the pronouncement of silence from her young cousin, scorn practically radiating visibly from him.
"I will be upstairs," he told Klytemnestra quietly, and left the room without another glance at the second twin.
Kassandra lifted her gaze to her sister's, and the disappointment there hammered her harshly, flatness taking the place of Klytemnestra's usual liveliness in her black eyes.
"You cannot split your loyalties, Kass," she said as she shuffled toward the door. "If you don't tell Father tomorrow, I will. About Malfoy. And you."
888
Fresh snow had fallen in Hogsmeade the night before their return from Christmas, and the thousand students that attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were a solid mass of black wool rumbling across the landscape, carriages manned by teachers coming out to meet them, Magical Law Enforcement standing by. For more than a year, Lord Voldemort had been mounting attacks by terror, and witches in Britain feared a strike on their children at this, their most vulnerable juncture.
But for all the official-looking wizards wearing dark green robes and expressions so grim they rivaled Trewlaney predicting the end of Harry's life, the transfer from train to carriage to Great Hall was accomplished with little fuss and no danger.
Hermione spied Snape through the crowd, together with one of his two cousins. Though she still had difficulty telling them apart, Hermione thought that it was the girl who played viola. She toyed with the idea of catching up to them, but getting to Snape in the crowd would be difficult-
"-you didn't respond to them."
A voice that she hadn't missed at all sounded behind her, and Hermione winced. Malfoy. She'd just gotten off the train. Beside her, Lily slotted her eyes, hearing and recognizing the wealthy, dangerous boy.
"I didn't want to. Shove off!" a semi-familiar voice hissed in return. Hermione hesitated, the bodies pushing past her were pulling her forward, away from Malfoy and his reluctant conversant.
Under the cover of looking for James, Sirius and Remus, Hermione turned full around, craning over the crowd, seeking faces under their black pointed hats.
Malfoy was perhaps five feet away, his low voice mostly covered by other chatter, and he was talking to…the other Zabini twin. Likely the one who had spent much of her time this past term glaring at Hermione.
The Gryffindor's interest sharpened, and she nudged Lily's ribs, jerking her chin in the direction of the furiously whispering pair, bright blond and night-dark locks almost tangling with their closeness. His hand was closed around her upper arm, and as Hermione watched, her body jerked in the tell-tale sign of attempted escape.
Recalling Macnair's and Malfoy's ambush of her in the village that fall, her stomach roiled. She started forward, against the tide of heavy cloaks that buffeted her shoulders and wrenched her back and forth. Behind her, she heard Lily mutter an expletive as the younger, red-haired witch followed in her wake.
"After what I gave you…?" Malfoy's voice sounded wounded now.
"Stolen merchandise does not qualify as a gift, Malfoy!" the Zabini girl snarled.
"More unwanted attentions, Malfoy?" Hermione's voice froze the struggling couple, the snow raised by their twisting cloaks settling slowly. Hermione's wand was out, pointing directly at Malfoy's heart. "You seem to have this problem often. Charms wearing thin? Or is it that your lies simply shine through them?"
Lily sucked in her breath in a low hiss at Hermione's back, but the older girl kept her gaze on the black crowned head of the Zabini as she turned slowly to stare at the Gryffindor witch who had so unexpectedly come to her aid. Kassandra suddenly recalled not only Lucius' interest in this girl, but also moments when she had seen her young cousin eyes locked on the transfer student and her own curiosity sharpened. Hermione arched an eyebrow as recognition sparked in the Italian witch's eyes and gratitude warred with the envy from the previous term.
Charm had vanished from the slate-grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, and his well-shaped hands released the Zabini girl, twitching as if he desired to place them around Hermione's throat and throttle her. Gone was the beguiling, mannered son of the Malfoy fortune who had paid such delicate attention to her before, and in his place stood a predator, teeth bared in a feral gesture, fury gathering in his storm-colored gaze.
Hermione coolly held her place, meeting his glare with brown eyes that promised confidence beyond her supposed years, six years of magical and survival training hidden in their depths. She did not fear the boy – he still had much to learn before he would be the man whom she had last seen in the Department of Mysteries and was currently resigned to sitting in Azkaban, having been caught squarely at the site where Voldemort had materialized within the Ministry itself. Here and now, he was only a seventh-year student, surrounded by other students and in the midst of the entire Hogwarts staff.
"Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?" he sneered. "I don't believe I asked you to grace us with your presence."
"Oddly enough, as human beings aren't house elves, I don't need your invitation to be anywhere, Malfoy." Hermione jerked her head at the Zabini girl. "I think she wanted you to leave her alone. So bugger off."
Malfoy's wand was hidden in his sleeve, and it was loose enough to use quickly…but he merely took a step forward. Hermione raised her wand, and felt it press into the hard flesh of his abdomen as he bent his head, allowing his lips to graze her ear, making her shiver – not with pleasure, but with disgust.
"Stay out of that which does not concern you, Mudblood. You're already on the menu – don't make yourself the main course." He straightened, smirked at Hermione and the Zabini girl, and strode ahead of them, vanishing into the crowd in his black cloak and hood.
You're already on the menu. Malfoy-the-son made empty threats and promises, many of them beginning with the scathing, or petulant, or smug words, "My father…". But Malfoy-the-father was not given to statements uttered without the considerable calculation of his formidable mind. Suddenly, she remembered the Rite of Spring, which she had so carefully left at Lily's parents' house, buried within another innocuous pile of music in their sitting room, and her gut iced. Malfoy had been chasing her for a full term. She had assumed the son's love of taunting and cruelty had come from the father, and she simply had to endure his innuendos and intimations of desire because she was a curiosity. But perhaps there was a more sinister reason-
The Zabini girl was still staring at her warily, and she finally asked, "Why did you do that?" Her pointed chin jerked in the direction of the moving students where Malfoy had vanished, all but the last few stragglers having flowed past them and into the carriages. Brought up in a world of constantly shifting alliances, the girl could not imagine what would bring the Gryffindor to her side without some kind of balancing payment to be returned.
Hermione appraised her quietly, but if Professor Snape had taught her anything with his years of spying for the Order, it was that most information should be released strictly on a need-to-know basis. Unless Hermione very much missed her guess, this twin had some investment in Lucius Malfoy, and she had just sent a letter warning Snape about his connection to the instrument trade in Knockturn Alley.
"I don't like Malfoy. And you told him to stop," was all the explanation she tendered before deliberately turning away, ignoring Lily's shocked and admiring green gaze, and hurrying towards the carriages. Magical Law Enforcement wizards glared at them as they fell in at the back of the throng for stopping to do something so trivial as talk in the potentially unsafe, snow-covered ground between the train station and the road to Hogwarts.
888
Severus could not keep his gaze from scraping the Great Hall that night at the return feast. Klytemnestra and Kassandra were keeping their distance from one another – he had gathered that at her sister's insistence, Kassandra had told his uncle about the saxophone in Knockturn Alley, and its deliverer. He was, however, dead certain by the jovial way his aunt and uncle had hugged both twins and set them on the train, that Kassandra had omitted her own relationship with the accused.
Tonight, only Kly sat next to him, while Kassandra sat with their other friends, quiet and pale, ignoring Lucius Malfoy. The blond's storm-grey eyes flickered in her direction as she studiously kept her gaze on her plate and within her immediate circle of conversation. An ugly look brewed under the wealthy boy's eyebrows, accustomed neither to the cold shoulder nor to the abrupt loss of his prizes. As he glanced around, he caught the diamond-hard black eyes of his suddenly-ex-lover's cousin. Severus met his look without fear, and Lucius saw a glimmer of contempt reflected there. He glowered at the third year, but the boy's face merely twisted with an amusement born of disdain, and they remained locked in a staring contest until the seventh year turned his head.
Tapping his lower lip with his fork, Severus considered the all-too-smooth Slytherin seated down the table before moving on with his perusal of the hall, looking for one pair of eyes that he had yet to find-
-his mouth torqued unconsciously in his displeasure as he found the object of his search, seated, as usual, with the four boys who were the bane of his existence. Her copper-and-earth curls tumbled down her back, rippling as she shook her head at something Potter said, five different faces looking at the same spot intently, excitement betrayed by the tense lines of their bodies as they bent inwards to examine something the girl held in her lap.
She had not written to him again, not even to tell him whether she liked the present he had given her. His mouth set into a thin line as he deliberately turned away from where she sat surrounded by the Marauders, black eyes darkening. With two flashy Gryffindors as friends, was it any surprise that she barely gave him a second thought? Between them, Potter and Black largely held the best grades and the most teachers' favor – and if they were outstripped by anyone, it was their new friend.
He was surprised by a stab of jealousy coupled with a renewed sense of loneliness as he savagely speared a limp piece of broccoli and shoved it into his mouth. He had thought that after she received his gift, she would come to him with the invitation that they continue their practice.
But she seemed thoroughly consumed by her housemates, her chocolate eyes never once lifting to meet his, and Severus reflected moodily that she had never chosen to tell him about what had happened the night that they had been caught, and that his older cousin might be right – she might have paid too high a price to have any inclination to continue.
888
Hermione lifted the small, navy blue wrapped package from her trunk, sighing as she sank onto her mattress, stroking the silky texture of the surface as she debated what to do about the tiny book's soon-to-be-owner.
"The clarinet. Listen for it. When you find that, seek the Echo." She had found both, as much as one could discover that which had always existed imbedded in the entirety of all life. But now that she had found it, she was puzzling through the next logical step.
The wheel of war gradually spun faster, gaining momentum with every turn round, both within and without the walls of the school. And what had to be done with or for the Echo was a task that fell to her alone, for she was the only one capable of controlling it, of fixing the delicate balance that it had thrown out of whack by being re-introduced to the world of magic.
But Snape had some part to play. A vital part. And she knew he was waiting, that the harp was no trinket or simple thought, and that, having aligned his pieces, he was practicing the patience that would seem so thin and run so deep in his adult life.
But the so-called inspectors who had tracked them down in the forest were part of, if not the same people as, those who had attacked Diagon Alley that autumn. If she enlarged and played her harp, which the tips of her fingers ached to do, in spite of her rapidly-fading calluses, she was inviting their wrath, at the very least, and possibly courting her own destruction.
And now she had Lily to consider, as the red-head was all eagerness to hear Hermione, and Snape by extension, practice.
Shaking her head to clear it of her muddied thoughts, Hermione shoved the thin book into a robe pocket. She wasn't sure how much of the Echo she should try to explain to Snape, but at least she could give him his gift, and thank him.
888
"Oh, just do it!" Sirius muttered, throwing his book aside and pinning Remus Lupin with an intense stare. "Better than moping around about it. Ask her. What's it going to cost you just to ask? Six words, Remus, and you can stop torturing yourself. Six little words."
Remus squirmed uncomfortably on his bed, trying to focus on his Ancient Runes text and failing miserably. After their meeting in Diagon Alley, he had not met with Hermione again, and he could not forget the care she had taken in selecting the tiny, charm-bound volume that was to be a present for Severus Snape. He could recall in perfect detail the way her slim fingers ran along each spine she considered, caressing the books as she cocked her head and chewed on the inside of her lower lip as she considered each tome prior to finding the one she wanted. Watching her spend so much time carefully selecting the right thing for another boy had wounded the young werewolf deeply, and he had been wrestling with his private green-eyed monster ever since that day in Flourish and Blotts.
"Snape gave her something. For Christmas," he finally blurted to the dormitory. As they were the only four in there, he wasn't worried about private information traveling too fast. But he had not counted on how silent and still the normally noisy room would go, nor for how long it would remain so.
James spoke first, and his voice was deadly quiet. "What did he give her?"
"How should I know?" Remus responded, his voice shrilling as it cracked in response to his distress. "But he did. And I warned her not to open it-"
"Maybe she hasn't," Sirius offered hopefully, even as his black eyes promised some retribution on the Slytherin boy for his presumption.
"I'm sure she has," Remus waved his friend's reassurance aside, his throat filling with nerves and fear.
"Well, she hasn't mentioned it, so it can't have been that spectacular," James attempted. Remus' response was a withering glare.
"She's really going to talk about it in front of us when our first thought every time we see him is to hex him. And he doesn't have to have given her heaven and earth – I didn't get her anything at all."
Peter shrugged. "Neither did I. And neither did they." His pudgy hand indicated their two friends.
"Erm…I sent her some Chocolate Frogs. They arrived a day late, but she said she liked them," Sirius volunteered from his mattress, having the grace to look slightly abashed as Remus rounded on him.
"What I want to know," James had returned to the topic at hand, and his voice had likewise faded from comforting to sinister, "is why he thought to give her a gift in the first place. They're not exactly close."
"As Snivellus doesn't seem the type to be overly demonstrative of anything except his loathing for every Gryffindor that breathes, I think we can probably assume that it was not a nice present," Sirius added darkly, and as his eyebrows drew together, he rose, all playfulness vanishing to leave him looking remarkably like the father he disliked so dearly. "That and no Slytherin simply gives someone something with no strings attached." Remus started to roll his eyes, but the hardness in Sirius' voice stopped him. "Remus, you don't know. My parents were both Slytherins, and two of my cousins are in that house. It's always about power. Always. Power, money, influence. That's all that matters to any Slytherin – it's usually what they're born to and certainly all they see in their own common room. If Snivelly gave Hermione so much as a shoelace, there would be some reason for it. We need to find out what."
888
"Snape? Is that an actual package?" Severus found the tiny book that the Gryffindor witch had handed to him in the library plucked deftly from his fingers as he entered his common room, the wrapping tearing as the group of boys surrounding him carelessly examined it, flipping it over.
Michael Avery found a sharp, unpleasant poke in his side when the shiny paper came under his smudged fingers.
"My book, if you please," Severus said coldly, wandpoint digging in between Avery's ribs. "Or I try a new curse I invented over break."
He hadn't actually devoted any time over the holiday to fashioning new spells, but as creating hexes had been a specialty for the past two and a half years there, none of the boys were tempted to challenge him. Avery grudgingly turned the gift back to its rightful owner, and Severus met Lestrange's eyes coldly. The other boy, three months his senior, had the popularity, and his parents had the influence, to make Severus' life difficult at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, Severus smiled a thin smile, his black eyes untouched by the movement of his mouth. He had all the brains. Les wouldn't oppose him, because Snape was necessary.
"Keep your mutts in check, Les," he said casually, flipping his black hair out of his eyes with a careless sweep of his head. "I'm afraid that Wilkes and Avery have just cost you a Potions essay."
He smirked at the boy's suddenly furious face as he swept out of the common room and up the stairs, tucking the book back into his robes. He had long ago grown accustomed to warding his bed, and anyone who so much as brushed the corner of the post found themselves dangling in the air close to the ceiling of the dormitory, often for several hours, until Severus decided to pull them down. Avery and Rosier had attempted assaults on his space once apiece in their first year. Severus had left Avery upside down for nearly eight hours to make his point. Unlike many outcasts from all four houses, Severus Snape did not endure taunts from his housemates because he didn't have to. No one had ever approached his bed again, and most students, both older and younger, hesitated before approaching him for any reason.
As he settled on the thick, black duvet, feeling it sink away under his weight, his fingers were pulling the wrapping from what he had already surmised was a book. A thin book, but a book all the same, and one that she had given to him. He was mildly surprised at his own genuine excitement, untainted by wariness and expectations, and did not examine the cause too closely, knowing that it drifted too close to emotions he had no desire to name or even admit having.
She had sought him out in the library to present him with it, and pressing it into his startled hands, she had thanked him for the harp. With the slim volume, he had felt the rough edges of torn parchment tuck under his palm, and she had smiled and vanished back out the doors. He had looked at the scrap first, only to find her slanted writing. Greenhouse Three. Eight.
They had been at school for a scarce twenty-four hours, and his fears at the return feast had been rapidly rejected by the expanding bubble of elation that seemed to balloon within him at the sight of those three words printed out for him to read. For an instant, he wondered if he might leave Klytemnestra out this time, but logic and caution recalled him. His cousin would want to be there if they played, despite her firm words on the subject prior to Christmas, and given the result the only time they had tried so far, she seemed to be an essential asset.
One glance at the ornate, silver-worked clock hanging over the fireplace in his dormitory told him that he had an hour and a half before he had to be in the greenhouse. Eyes flickering up every five minutes or so to check the steady movement of the pointed hands, he set about undoing the charm that locked his present from Hermione Granger.
888
Lily lifted the music gently out of her trunk, smoothing the white sheets as if they were a precious mirror. A twinge of guilt assailed her conscience as she thought of what Hermione was likely to say if she ever discovered that Lily had picked up The Rite of Spring from the stack of loose music and music books that her friend had gone to such lengths to imbed it in.
But Lily felt that she simply couldn't leave it behind, not when she had never played it. Not when it was so easy to pack into her trunk and bring with her.
888
Klytemnestra craned her head about the conservatory cautiously, peering around the greenery that draped from the ceiling, spilling over tables, planters and earth to make standing room nearly impossible to find.
"Zabini." Strolling towards her, dancing out of the reach of the Venomous Tentacula, came the Gryffindor witch, long hair bound in a thick plaint that fell nearly to her waist.
"Granger." Her cousin's deeper voice sounded with hers as they stepped fully inside, the glass door closing behind them.
The three teens stood awkwardly for a moment, each waiting for the others to speak, to break the ice that came of not knowing one another well enough to gauge trust. Hermione spoke first, addressing Klytemnestra.
"I don't think I ever thanked you for attempting to save me from trouble," she told the other girl. "I'm grateful that you tried."
Klytemnestra tilted her head in acknowledgement, lowering her sharp chin. "You're welcome."
"What did they do to you?" Snape asked quietly.
Hermione's mouth twitched. "Nothing," she replied honestly. "We just…talked."
"What about?" the younger Slytherin pressed. Klytemnestra's hand found his arm and squeezed lightly. It was undignified to beg, and his tone was just shy of pleading for an answer.
But the virtuosic witch only shook her head, tendrils of hair escaping to sway in front of her face. "I cannot tell you. I wanted to thank you for the-" her eyes flicked to Snape's cousin, wondering briefly whether or not the girl knew what he had given her, and she quickly modified what she had been about to say, "-gift. And tell you that in spite of it, I must not play again."
Snape's eyes narrowed, gaze sharpening with displeasure as she said the last. "I see," he bit out slowly. "Why?"
Hermione pinned him with an even look. "It is unsafe. The power is too uncontrolled-"
She stopped, and neither of the Slytherins had to ask her why, for they all turned as one to stare out the fogged glass panes of the greenhouse.
From not-so-far away came the swift, piping notes of a flute. Hermione paused for another, awful moment before sprinting for the clear door. Without permission or question, Klytemnestra and Snape followed her whipping braid.
"Damn her!" Hermione growled as she pelted towards the ever-in-bloom rose garden tended by Albus Dumbledore, Professor Sprout and caretaker Apyllon Pringle.
The now-violent shrills coming from the bushes told the story of the flute in The Rite of Spring.