NOTE
Warning for sexual moments and offensive language.
One month has passed since the events of the last chapter.
60. Pansy's Threat
I rolled onto my back with a contented sigh, the sounds of the misty morning coming cool and thin through the open window. My skin was still warm, my heart thudding against my ribs. On the bedside table sat some fresh heather from the hills which we'd collected on a walk yesterday.
Severus turned onto his side and ran his hand in a slow and appreciative caress from my collarbone to my navel. My arm draped softly over his side, our knees nudging one another, and I gave his mouth a gentle kiss.
"Good morning," I said. We hadn't spoken a word until now, though we'd exchanged much since waking in the heat of each other's arms.
After our conversation in the churchyard in Godric's Hollow, our marriage had grown strangely more easeful. The hovering reality that neither of us belonged completely to the other made it easier to love gently, patiently, and moderately. What had often been full of fire and passionate pain had reluctantly cooled into the mould of an old-fashioned marriage. We respected one another, and the love remained, but there was a certain distance which was held between our hearts. I could have found aching and tension in that distance, had I looked for it. But I didn't. When it was necessary, I pretended I didn't notice Severus's subtle attempts to push forward, though the space which separated us. When he took one step forward, I took one step back. I allowed the guilt I felt for my honesty that day, and the waywardness of my emotions, to fade. I focused instead on my upcoming responsibilities and my new role as a Hogwarts professor.
Severus touched my lips with his again. "What time do you go?"
It was the twenty-seventh of August, the day of the full moon, and four days before the start of term. I had an appointment in Diagon Alley later that morning, a fitting for teacher's robes at Madam Malkin's.
"Eleven o'clock."
His breath sighed against the sheets as he drew me closer to him, and in my heart I felt that telltale needle-prick of disquiet which had become so familiar over the past month.
"I need to go earlier, though," I found myself saying. "So I can go to Gringotts and visit George. And I've got to go to Poppy now."
His arms eased, allowing me to shift away. I breathed in the coolness of the misty sunlight as I put on the clothes I'd tossed aside in my haste earlier.
"I'll see you at breakfast?" he asked, as I finished my buttons. His hand rested near me on the bedcovers: an offer.
"You will," I said.
I placed my hand over his, quickly kissed his cheek, and went.
The London air was finally gaining an autumn crispness, and a cool wind flew over the heads and hats of the shoppers crowding Diagon Alley. After the darkness of the caverns beneath Gringotts, the air was a tonic.
I'd gone down to the Weasley family vault and taken out enough galleons for a set of good robes, and as the gold weighed down my pocket, I felt the familiar sense of guilt which had always been tied to money matters in the family. My gut instinct was to return into the cold marble stillness of the bank and replace the money in the vault at once. I could do with my regular muggle clothes, couldn't I? But Molly had insisted, and I knew that I would pay her back as soon as I was able. My starting salary at Hogwarts would be five thousand galleons. It was a massive figure in my mind, enough to sustain myself and begin saving. The security it would bring was ever so close, but until my first payslip I still had to scrape by.
Guarding the pocket of gold, highly aware of each brush of cloak or arm as I shouldered my way through the crowd, I made my way up the street to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. High young voices could be heard through the orange-trimmed windows. The shop was positively packed with Hogwarts students and younger children. I stood behind a group of girls with their faces pressed to the windows, craning my neck to try and make out George in the madness.
I finally spotted him in the centre of the vibrant room, talking to a young boy, who was holding one of the classic Skiving Snackboxes. For the first time in more than a year now, George seemed to be happy.
I waved at him through the window, knowing it would be ridiculous to try and speak with him when he was thus drowned in customers. His face brightened when he saw me, and he waved back as I gave him a thumbs-up. I had his attention for only a moment before two adolescent girls approached him, asking about a vial of what looked to me like Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher. I watched him for a moment longer, and then went on my way.
My heart was so light from seeing the joy George took in his work, that I didn't think it could get any lighter. I was proven wrong however, when, walking past Quality Quidditch Supplies, I spotted Hagrid's wild black hair over the heads of the crowd, and Phoebe Elson at his side.
Hagrid was already carrying a cauldron full of schoolbooks, which I figured was thanks to some financial help from the school. Hogwarts had been able to help our family a bit when we'd struggled to pay for books. Not much, given how many we all needed, but the galleons had not gone unappreciated.
Phoebe spotted me moments after I saw them, and waved vigorously, her face completely unmasked and beaming with the ecstatic excitement which came to all first-years shopping for their school supplies.
Hagrid saw me also, and I pressed through the crowd towards them. "Wilma!" Hagrid cried. "S'pose you've met Phoebe here. She's just headed into Ollivander's."
"Would you come in with me?" Phoebe asked me.
"I won't fit through the door, o'course," Hagrid explained. "Not anymore."
"Yes," I said to Phoebe. "Absolutely!"
Ollivander was high up on a ladder in the back of the shop when the bell tinkled, but promptly hurried to greet his customers.
"Wilma Weasley," he said to me, as Phoebe's sharp blue eyes eagerly took in the sights of the dusty shop. Ollivander seemed to grow older each time I saw him, but his eyes never lost that distinct sparkle. I appreciated that he still called me by the name I'd had when I first stepped into his shop as an eleven-year-old. "How's the new wand treating you?"
"Very well," I said, though I couldn't help remembering the few times it had acted of its own accord–particularly, when it had disarmed Severus without my permission.
"Indeed," he said, with a knowing twist of his mouth. "I'm sure it will prove most loyal." I felt the wand in question warm with pride in my back pocket. Ollivander certainly knew how to speak around the intelligent objects to which he'd devoted his life.
He turned his kindly and keen gaze downward. "And who do we have here?"
I smiled as Phoebe put out her hand to be shaken. "Phoebe Elson," she enunciated. I recalled how she'd been reading from Shakespare at the orphanage. That hint, combined with her present assertiveness, made me guess to myself that she might become a Ravenclaw.
Ollivander chuckled as he shook her hand. "This will be a good one," he said as he headed into the many shelves of wands, seeming to have an idea already.
Phoebe was matched to a 'promising' wand of thirteen inches, with Ivy wood and dragon heartstring. She handed over her galleons to Ollivander, who winked and nodded at us as we left the shop. Hagrid had been watching from the window, and examined the long green box with nostalgia.
The loud chimes of the clock could be heard over the babel of voices, telling me I was now late for my appointment. "I'm so sorry," I said to them both. "I have to excuse myself, I've got an appointment to make." I looked at Phoebe, still full of excitement on her behalf. "I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts."
"Wait!" She drew something out of the pocket of her trousers.
My heart gave an abrupt twist of emotion to see that it was the little note I'd left her in the orphanage back in June. The paper had been worn from much worrying, and folded many times. But the words I'd written were still strong. It is real.
"You can have this back," she said, holding it out to me. "I don't need it anymore."
Overwhelmed, I took the slip of paper. Which, as I bid them goodbye and walked away, felt far more precious in my pocket than the galleons.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was empty but for two old witches who were browsing the fine dress robes in the corner. Their heads turned in near unison at the sound of the bell, and their eyes became beady as they took in the sight of me. I kept my head high as I entered the shop, despite their strange looks and ensuing whispers.
"My eleven o'clock?" Madam Malkin asked as she came into view, the tape measure around her neck tapping against the sea-blue fabric of her perfectly cut blouse. She was a cat-like woman, very thin and small, with a professional air about her, but eyes that watched in order to empathise.
"Yes," I answered. "I'm sorry I'm late."
"Only by a minute," Madam Malkin said. "Right this way, dear."
I followed her around the corner into the main room of the shop, which was bright in the sunlight coming through the large windows. The two older witches walked quickly past, and I caught a frantic whisper of "werewolf!" as they went out the door.
"So," Madam Malkin said, rescuing me from my rage. "You're teaching at Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
Her eyes assessed my body briefly. "I think I have just the design. Professional and tasteful. But first, we should discuss the cost."
I felt my heart drop. Could she somehow tell from my clothes that I wasn't able to spend as much money as her other customers? I was about to open my mouth to assure her I was only in search of one simple set of robes, but she spoke before I could.
"Your account with us holds enough for two sets of high quality robes. I assume you'll be wanting–"
"My account?"
"Yes," she said, apparently confused. "You are Wilma Snape, aren't you?"
I silently cursed Severus's name as I realised it could only have been him who put down the money. I was willing to bet that his black robes were the very same he'd purchased for his own first year of teaching, only magnificently maintained. He would have no reason to make an account with Madam Malkin's for himself. He'd done it in my name.
"How much?" I asked warily.
"Forty galleons."
"Forty galleons?" I repeated, mortified. I'd only withdrawn fifteen from the vault, planning to purchase one plain set of robes.
Damn you, Severus!
"Yes," said Madam Malkin, "but of course you don't have to spend all of it today." She was looking at me with the slightest hint of suspicion. I thought quickly, and decided I did like the idea of putting Molly and Arthur's money back into the vault today. I would be in debt to someone either way, and would rather be in debt to Severus than my adoptive parents. I realised that that was probably strange, but didn't linger on it.
"Alright," I said.
There was a clatter and flurry of movement in the shop as the magical tape measure began to wrap around my body, and Madam Malkin wordlessly summoned multiple samples of fabric from a drawer in the broad oak sewing table, each square corresponding to a bolt of material on the shelves which covered the far wall.
The tape continued to take my measurements, squeaking out the numbers as it went, and the fabric samples hovered over my shoulder one by one while Madam Malkin watched carefully, dismissing each in turn with a quiet mutter or a furrowing of her eyebrows.
Then, just as the tape measure had curled up on the corner of the table, Madam Malkin gave a gasp and reached out to pluck the current sample from the air. She held it carefully over my cheek, testing its colour against my skin and my eyes. I could see in her face the same excitement and love of her work which I'd seen in George's.
"What do you think of it?" she asked.
A small hand mirror hovered over and I looked into it, seeing the beautiful dark plum colour. It really did bring out my eyes, and I liked the texture of the matte silk.
"It's beautiful," I confirmed.
Madam Malkin nodded with satisfaction. "This is the one," she said, and the samples obediently went back to their drawer as a bolt of the same purple fabric descended regally from the top shelf. "A very rare and lovely colour," she said, as it landed on top of the table.
Anticipation bloomed unexpectedly in my body. Only now did I think of how my old teachers' robes had made an impression, and echoed their personalities. Minerva's bold but restrained emerald; Severus's forbidding black. I had never given much thought to the image I wanted to project as a professor. But Madam Malkin seemed to have taken one look at me and known, from her years of experience, what would prove best. My trust in her judgement only grew as a miniature mannequin on the sewing table hovered towards me and expanded to my exact proportions, and Madam Malkin began magically drawing a translucent image of the robes she envisioned for me. A shimmering imitation of the dark purple fabric draped itself over the mannequin's shoulders, and I watched in awe as Madam Malkin shaped and manipulated it into a gorgeous set of robes. The fabric crossed itself over the chest almost like a dressing gown, was fitted around the waist, and flowed down gracefully to the skirt. The sleeves were long and wide. I blinked, impressed at the speed of her work, and able to tell at once how well the robes would suit my shape.
Madam Malkin made a small thoughtful sound.
"What do you teach?" she asked.
"Potions," I told her.
She added a thin row of buttons above the elbows of the long sleeves, so they could be buttoned up and away from my forearms and hands during demonstrations. Then she experimented with further adornments, buttons and embroidery along the hems of the robes. The stitching was gorgeous, and I watched as tiny vines and flowers spread across the fabric, in thread of the same plum hue.
The robes were beautiful, but sensible as well. I had never been the type to place much importance in clothes or appearance. My socks in school had never failed to be mismatched, and my hair went more often than not unbrushed. I was one of the few girls in my year for whom the Yule Ball had been a nightmare. So it was to my surprise that I realised I very much wanted to wear the robes before me. Madam Malkin had created exactly what I wanted, without my knowing what I wanted to begin with.
Satisfied with her work, she flicked her wand and the mannequin spun around very slowly, showing me the buttons and embroidery in the back, as well as how the sleeves would look when buttoned up.
"These would be twenty-seven galleons," Madam Malkin informed me.
Merlin. I'd never spent that much on any one thing in my life. The closest I'd come was the twelve galleons I'd spent on my new wand in January. The number twenty-seven made me feel mildly ill. However, I knew these robes would last me years–forever, if I properly cared for them, as Severus had done with his. I decided to agree to the price without remorse. I would be paying him back anyway, as soon as I was able.
"They're absolutely perfect," I said. "I wouldn't change a stitch."
"Glad to hear it, dear," said Madam Malkin, with the air of one who has been confident in their abilities for decades, but does not mind a bit of praise once in a while. "I'll do them up right away. Step over here."
The robes on the mannequin disappeared before my eyes. I had forgotten for a moment that they were only an illusion, a magical designer's sketch. I went closer to the window facing the street and, as prompted, stood on top of a low footstool so Madam Malkin could begin to pin the real fabric over my body. The bolt of fabric hovered over and unrolled slowly in the air, Madam Malkin using her floating tape measure and her wand to cut out the shapes she needed. She did most of the pinning by hand, but once the fabric had begun to hold itself up properly, she directed some of her sharp pins by very precise and careful magic. After a minute or two she drew back to examine the basic drape of the robes, nodding as she returned silently to her work, perfecting the fold of the collar.
I stood as still as I could as Madam Malkin started on the sewing, a second needle directed by magic working its way around the skirt.
I was only just becoming aware of the growing stiffness in my legs when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar shock of pale white-blond hair in the window, and my head turned sharply.
A tall young man and a young woman who came up to his shoulder had stopped in front of the shop window. They were stood facing the street and I couldn't see their faces, but I knew them well enough from behind. Draco and Astoria.
My heart had briefly stopped at the sight of Draco's hair, which was precisely the same shade as his father's. But no sooner had it begun to beat again in resentful relief than Pansy Parkinson walked into the frame of the window, trailing behind Draco and Astoria with her arms crossed. Astoria seemed to say something to her, to which she retorted bitterly.
My sudden understanding came from intuition rather than reasoning. I realised, with a sink of disgust and inexplicable guilt, that Pansy had been forced by the Ministry to marry Draco in the absence of Lucius Malfoy. The bitterness between her and Astoria was too harsh to mean anything else.
My mouth had fallen open slightly–it could only have been a few seconds since I'd noticed Draco's hair, but it felt as though time had drastically slowed. Even more so when Pansy's face turned towards the shop window, and her eyes met mine through the glass.
Her arms uncrossed and her face morphed into an expression of complete rage.
Fear turned my stomach to ice. I had the instinct to draw my wand, but I'd set it down for the fitting. My hand clenched into a fist instead.
Pansy stormed into the shop not a moment later, the bell ringing wildly as the door slammed open. Madam Malkin turned around abruptly, this being the first hint to her that the previously calm and focused environment had changed into something quite different.
"You fucking WHORE!" Pansy roared, as she tore across the room, her wand raised.
"Oh, my!" Madam Malkin exclaimed, putting her hand up. She let the two needles fall softly, leaving them to hang from the robes by their thread, and held her wand in front of her in a shielding position.
"Pansy!" Astoria hissed, having followed directly after her. I recalled how she'd seemed to be under Pansy's thumb when they'd been together at Hogwarts in November. The tables had certainly turned, but Pansy paid no mind to the warning in Astoria's voice. Draco merely stood outside the window looking alarmed.
Pansy stopped just short of Madam Malkin, her wand still raised, her eyes shining with hatred. Her heavy breathing was that of a dangerous animal. My body was stiff with fear, but I managed to speak.
"I'm sorry," were the ridiculous words that came out of my mouth.
Pansy made a snorting sound, and the next second she spat on the beautiful fabric Madam Malkin had been sewing. The thick pale glob of her mucus clung to the skirt of the robes. A sound of shocked dismay came out of my mouth.
"Excuse me–" Madam Malkin began, but Pansy seemed not to hear her.
"You're sorry? You fucking mudblood whore! Who do you think you are, seducing my husband and telling lies to the Ministry!"
"I do not tolerate that language!" Madam Malkin shrieked.
"I DID NOT!" I shouted, my voice coming free of me like a lion. "It was the law!"
"Young lady!" Madam Malkin interrupted, addressing Pansy. Her voice was not so loud as mine had been, but cut through the shouting by merit of extreme sharpness. "I must insist that you exit my shop this instant, and not return again!"
Seizing her chance, Astoria lunged forward and grabbed Pansy by the elbows, pulling her away. A terrifying laugh slithered from Pansy's throat then. A laugh which sent chills down my spine. Hoarse and full of pain and spite and secrets. The same laughter was in her cold grey eyes. "You have no idea!" she called, as Astoria dragged her to the door. "You have no idea what you've done! When he gets out, he's going to kill you!"
The two of them disappeared from view, and Draco hurried after them out of sight as the door closed with a violent jingle.
There was a moment of awful silence.
I leaned down, my body miraculously steady, and looked at the spot where Pansy had spit on me.
"I'm so sorry," I said to Madam Malkin.
The words made me remember what my instinctive response to Pansy had been, and the shock and adrenaline of the interaction threatened to make me crumble as the reality of it set in. Why had I felt the need to apologise to that bitch? I knew why. I had been subconsciously pitying her since my encounter with Lucius Malfoy's true nature. But I maintained my composure, keeping the tears from my eyes. Later. Go over it later.
Madam Malkin waved her wand over the spit, vanishing it. "It's nothing to worry about dear," she said. "You've got no idea how long I've waited to tell one of them that."
My body and heart never quite returned to normal. For the remainder of the fitting, I was floating halfway in and halfway out of myself. Madam Malkin's silence took on a certain depth it hadn't had before, and I knew she must have been worried about what Pansy had said. So was I, but I knew not to let it fully enter and affect me until I was in a safe place.
After half an hour the robes were finished, and I stood in front of a full-length mirror with Madam Malkin looking on. They were even more wonderful than they had been on the mannequin. Despite the shock I'd been through, they made me feel capable; and, in an unfamiliar way, powerfully feminine.
I smoothed the fabric from the waist over my hips, turning to see my profile.
"Exquisite," Madam Malkin said.
With a wave of her wand she folded them into a box, and I carried it out of the shop without having handed over a single one of Molly's galleons. I returned all fifteen of them to the vault in Gringotts and then, exhausted, went down to the Leaky Cauldron to take the floo network back to Hogwarts.
Pansy's threat resurfaced as I walked from Hogsmeade to the castle, carrying the box against my side. I could feel the feral anger which had radiated from her body as though it had infected my blood. And the triumph with which she'd promised, When he gets out, he's going to kill you!
I forgot to keep my thoughts from my face as I entered the great hall.
All of the professors had now taken up residence at the castle for the coming term. There were all of those who'd been present at the parent tour, as well as two new teachers: one wizened witch, a teacher of American magical rituals form Ilvermorny, whose robes were adorned with blue beads and feathers; and a young wizard from Switzerland, who would assist McGonagall in transfiguration as she stretched herself between her teaching position and her new role as headmaster. Luna would be staying at the castle in order to remain near Neville, and had jumped (or, rather, smiled dreamily) at the opportunity to assist Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures.
I had asked McGonagall that I be known officially as "Professor Weasley" in order to avoid being confused with Severus. Over the past weeks I'd frequently whispered the title to myself, wondering how it would feel to hear it in the mouths of young students.
Flitwick addressed me as such as he left the hall, and I replied nonsensically under a whisper, my eyes searching instinctively for Severus. He had already noticed my arrival, and had a quietly mysterious look on his face when my gaze found him. This expression dropped away, however, after he'd looked at me a moment longer.
Realising that my face still held all of my pale fear from thoughts of Pansy's words, I attempted to correct my mistake. But of course it was too late. Severus stood to receive me as I arrived at the table, and I could tell from his searching eyes that he knew my pallor wasn't a result of my lateness to lunch.
"You look shaken," he stated, his voice full of suspicion but his hands gentle and concerned as he helped me to sit.
"Of course I am," I said, in a miserable attempt at levity. "After how bloody expensive these robes were."
He paused before responding. "I hope you can see them as a gift."
"Thank you, but I'm still going to repay you once I can."
Maintain the distance.
He gave me that guarded flinch of a smile.
I managed to eat enough. I really was quite hungry. But the energy the meal should have provided didn't seem to make it into my body. I kept helplessly running over and over Pansy's words.
He's going to kill you. Fucking mudblood whore. He's going to kill you.
After lunch, Severus pursued me down the tapestry corridor. I heard his singular footsteps and slowed, turning reluctantly.
"It wasn't the money," he said.
"No," I admitted. "I don't need to talk about it. It was really nothing."
The lying itself was what triggered the tears. Severus's hand wrapped around my forearm, just above the red zone of my wrist, and he pulled me softly with him as he unlocked the door of the potions storeroom and ushered me inside. It was very small but at least it was private.
"Were you harmed?" he said, the moment the door closed, his voice containing all of the hardness and sharpness which his touch did not.
"No," I gasped.
"Did you see him?"
His eyes were black as pitch, and his tone as bitter. I shook my head wildly. "No!"
"Are you safe?"
I covered my face with my hands, ashamed by the hot tears flooding down it. On the surface it was nothing but a challenging encounter with an old school enemy. But even as the thought raced through my mind, I knew it was untrue. Anyone who had heard Pansy's words would have been concerned, and Severus's question left me feeling even more afraid.
"Are you safe?" he repeated insistently.
I shook my head and whispered, "I don't know."
"Tell me. Now."
His voice was as demanding as ever, and his eyes were overwhelmingly intense, so I obeyed, addressing my halting words to the vials of Confusing Concoction in the corner. I told him everything. From the appearance of Draco, Astoria and Pansy together outside of the window, to what Pansy had said. He's going to kill you.
Severus's arms enfolded me tightly, and I let my body reciprocate, holding onto him as I sobbed harder, relieved to have gotten it all out.
He didn't speak for a long time, but when he finally did, his low voice cut through my cries.
"He is not going to kill you."
My lingering panic was making me hysterical, and I was ashamed, but there was nothing I could do to help it. I shook my head against his chest, leaving snot on his robes and sobbing harder at the sight. "But how can you be sure?"
"Because if he tries, I'm going to kill him."
The force in his voice shocked me into momentary silence. My body froze. "No, you're not!" I said, in a terrified whisper. "Severus! You're not!"
I drew back to look into his eyes but found no consolation there. They were dark and frigid, and at the sight I sank further into tears. His threat and its evident sincerity made the whole situation a hundred times worse. I imagined myself recovering my senses, making up some excuse about polishing my lesson plans for the first week, and ghosting away from him down the narrow tapestry corridor. But I was unable to speak, or even to move. I clung to him, shaking and full of dread.