Prompt: Trick or Treat! Choose one, choose all, but choose wisely.

This isn't really a treat kind of fic, so only trick here.

Chapter 4: Subterfuge

Rain was a constant presence. As if it was responding to the mood of the Dark Lord. If he was miserable everyone and everything around him was required to be at least as equally miserable. Snape didn't bother to shield himself from the downpour, accepting the state of affairs. The iron gate loomed in front of him. He didn't slow, passing through it, iron transmuted to smoke as it recognized the Headmaster. The determined stride stopped short. In the darkness of the cloud cover, the blond hair of Draco Malfoy stood out like a full moon. "Mister Malfoy, I'm late. We can catch up later," Snape dismissed him and tried to talk around him.

Draco wasn't meant to be deterred. He stepped into Snape's path again. "Things aren't going well."

It was extremely dangerous to have such a conversation in the open. Snape leaned closer to whisper as quietly as possible while still being heard. "The Dark Lord is more qualified than you to make that assessment. Have you even left the manor this month?" Alluding to the lockdown the Malfoys were subjected to since Potter escaped was meant to shut Draco up until they could talk securely and to appease anyone who might overhear the interaction.

The hint was finally accepted, Draco snapped his mouth shut, stepped aside to let Snape into the manor. The pair made their way up the stairs and found an unusually crowded room. Typically a summons from Voldemort was limited to his top lieutenants. Many of the Death Eaters standing in the back of the large space were considerably lower in the chain of command. The crowd parted for them, revealing a more familiar sight. Voldemort at the head of a long table, seasoned Death Eaters seated quietly around trying to blend into their surroundings. Even Bellatrix was subdued.

No one was talking. There weren't even the quiet murmurings from the crowd as they waited in the uncomfortable silence. Draco moved to a corner, leaned against the wall as Snape slid into an empty chair. It wasn't clear if the meeting had started and Voldemort was deliberating or if the Dark Lord hadn't shed light yet on what they were summoned to discuss. Snape had learned early on in his role as double agent that it was always best to remain silent until staying silent would be suspicious. He followed the lead of those around him and held his tongue.

"Severus," Voldemort welcomed him with an edge to his voice.

"My lord, I apologize for my tardiness. There was a disciplinary issue that needed my attention."

Voldemort tapped his fingers on the marble table in an oddly calm rhythm. "It seems there are discipline problems everywhere."

The comment was too cryptic to know if anyone specific was being called out. The silence remained.

"Can someone explain to me how we've lost so many from your ranks this month?" he continued, making specific eye contact with Goyle.

The Death Eater in charge of the snatchers cleared his throat and sat up in his seat. "We've been tricked, my lord. A handful of resistors have used the taboo to ambush us."

"Tricked," Voldemort repeated, looking around the room, he seemed to be assessing whether or not the room believed such a notion. "Are you suggesting twenty snatchers and five of your fellow Death Eaters have been tricked by a handful of misguided heroes?"

"Potter," a person standing in the crowd let out. The room turned toward the snatcher. He appeared as if he was even surprised by the outburst. "It's Harry Potter. He's breaking the taboo to purposefully lure us into a trap. I barely got away last night. I saw though. It was Potter. He got the lot I was with. Every one of them."

The room waited for Voldemort to lash out at the suggestion. "I thought he'd offer himself up for the mudblood," he said to no one in particular. He appeared befuddled by the choice the boy-who-lived had made.

"He's punishing us," the snatcher observed, feeling emboldened after he wasn't cursed over his previous observation.

"No one is responding to the jinx. For now," Voldemort decided, seething with anger. "Everyone get out of here. The council stays."

There was relief for many. Not just that they were dismissed without punishment, but that they no longer were required to risk their lives tracking those that dare to speak Voldemort's name. The room cleared out quickly. Snape glanced at the exit and noted Draco attempting to slip out with the crowd.

"Draco. Bring me the girl," Voldemort said. It wasn't clear if he saw Draco trying to leave or if he assumed Malfoy was still in the room. In response to the request, Draco paused and turned toward the dungeons.

Those around the table remained in their seats, shifting uncomfortably. Most assumed they were about to witness another death like Charity Burbage. Bellatrix finally dropped her contrite demeanor and looked toward the door expectantly. Snape understood the weeks after Potter's escape had been miserable for everyone who had been in the manor at the time. Not even the Dark Lord's favorite was excused from the punishment. Snape assumed Bellatrix's subdued behavior was more about her hurt feelings that Voldemort wouldn't make an exception for her than the consequences of their choices.

A scuffling stopped Snape's contemplation. His job in that moment was to look at the prisoner and not react. Cold dispassion. He had no real attachment to Hermione Granger. She was talented, he'd begrudgingly admit as much if anyone asked. She wasn't his task. He had no responsibility to keep her alive. In fact, his task of convincing Harry to die when the opportunity arose would likely be easier if she wasn't a factor in his life. Sensing movement from the stairs, Snape turned.

Hermione was walking on her own, a privilege that hadn't been given to Charity. Her right eye was swollen shut. Her hair matted on one side with blood. Either from a head injury or transfer from another wound, he couldn't tell. Her arms were bound in front of her. Clothes were ripped and torn. Her shoes and socks were gone. Despite the overall injured and disheveled appearance she held herself with an air of confidence. Not confidence that she would survive what was about to happen, but that she would face it on her feet and without fear.

Gryffindors , Snape scoffed in his head. Foolish bravado.

Uncertain where to go with the prisoner, Draco waited for instruction. Voldemort summoned a chair to her side and pointed to it. Hermione sat slowly and stiffly. Evidence of unseen injuries. Still no one spoke. Draco stepped back, but didn't go far.

"Hermione Jean Granger. Muggleborn," Voldemort said to no one in particular. "No one has come for you."

The young witch didn't react. It seemed she had the same philosophy as Snape did. Don't talk until there was something to say.

Voldemort stood, and walked the length of the table to stand in front of her. The elder wand in his right hand. "Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care about what happens to you."

The characterization had Hermione stiffening. Snape filed it away. Teenage romance wasn't something he cared to dwell on. If there was something there, more than friendship, Voldemort would use that against the couple. If he was paying as much attention to her body language as Snape was, she'd already given her tormentor the information he was seeking.

"Do you know what he's doing instead?" the dark wizard pressed on. "Fighting snatchers and death eaters. He's so unconcerned about you, he just went back to his life."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it. Snape suspected he knew what she was thinking. Voldemort didn't know the trio had been hunting for something in secret. Didn't know that they weren't openly fighting. Voldemort had revealed to her that Harry hadn't abandoned her at all. He was risking his life and their mission.

"I don't have much use for mudblood no one cares about."

Her chin went up. Snape pointed his wand at her under the table. He needed to risk a peek into her mind.

Let him kill you. If you're dead Harry will stop.

As the words came, her arms twitched in her lap as if to protect her midsection. An anticipation for the killing blow?

But the baby…I have to live long enough for the baby to have a chance.

Stupid teenage hormones , Snape sneered. "My lord, if I may," he spoke up. The room collectively turned their attention toward him in shock. "It's possible Potter is deluded enough to think his ambushes would thin our numbers sufficiently to safely attack the manor. He might still try to return."

Voldemort turned on his heel to divide his attention between Hermione and Severus. He nodded. "He underestimates our numbers. Draco, make her look like she needs urgent rescue. Your aunt can assist. Send a picture to our friends at the Daily Prophet."

Bellatrix was already standing. Snape cast a skeptical glance. "If Bellatrix is involved, there should be nothing left to rescue."

Finally, Voldemort laughed. It was an eerie sound. "You might be right. Severus. Help Draco," he ordered as Snape had hoped. If he volunteered it would have been suspicious.

His chair scrapped across the stone floor. He joined Voldemort to stand in front of the prisoner. "Up," Severus said coldly.

A visible fear passed over Hermione. Snape didn't question it. He was grateful for her reaction. It gave even less reason for Voldemort to second guess his order. She had no reason to believe he wouldn't hurt her. As stiffly as she sat, she stood. A small groan escaped her lips. Nodding at Voldemort, Snape brought up the rear, allowing Draco to lead the way to her prison. As they walked, he thought about the ways to inflict believable injury without leaving lasting damage. Her face was already in a state. Fresh blood would be enough to emphasize her existing injuries. She'd need to scream to convince the audience above them that they were taking their job seriously.

Snape raised his wand and released the bindings around her wrists. She took a small step back but also recognized she had nowhere to run. A spell left the tip of Snape's wand, hitting her below her right eye, opening a fresh gash and sending her falling backward. She let out a cry of surprise and pain. "Do get a camera," he told Draco. The younger wizard didn't need to be told twice, he was anxious to get away from the situation. When they were alone, Snape crouched down. "I need you to scream. When I use this next spell, scream like your life depends on it." With a quick flick of his wand, fresh rips appeared in her shirt across her chest and arms. She did her part and let out a believable scream. Blood quickly soaked the tears. "It's superficial but will take several days to heal," he explained quietly. "Act like it hurts. Scream again."

She obeyed. If she wanted to know why he was helping her, she didn't ask. The less she knew the better it would be for both of them. Removing Draco from the subterfuge would also protect the boy from suspicion if there was ever a question of his loyalty to the dark lord. Looking down at Hermione, he was satisfied she'd look in dire need of help. Whatever happened next would need to be dealt with as it developed.