Chapter 19

Squarely putting an end to his staff address upon appearance, her Patronus wildly bursts through the open door, stopping only to stand on its hind legs and search for him. Visually finding him at the back of the room, it first seems to breathe out in relief (if that is indeed possible), and then only swiftly swerves around the other teachers' forms between them, garnering all of their stunned attention as it does, to at last get to him and deliver a frantically breathless, 'Gates!' before dissolving into air. Much too delayed in response, his arm darts up to grasp the messenger in his hand and demand it to confirm her current state, but his fingers only touch air.

'What's that?' the male Carrow demands derisively.

Fitting, he spares a moment to think, barely shifting his eyes in that direction, Carrow would be contemptuous to something that he does not understand. What does he know of being desperate yet whole enough to recall a happy memory for the purpose of calling forth a Patronus?

'The meeting is postponed to a later date,' he coolly announces to him, doing them the small courtesy of looking at each of them for effective communication.

Of all his teachers, Minerva's reaction catches his attention the most, sending a strong, resounding thump through his heart, as unlike the others, her eyes narrow him as though daring him to do anything unusual. In part because he's seen her morph into a vicious cat before his eyes, he holds his breath, though not in fear of an attack from her, no. Rather quickly and from her eyes alone, he's remembering that she, out of everyone here, would recognise the Patronus that just disappeared. Although he isn't certain that Minerva ever got to see her Patronus, it wouldn't be such a foreign thing if she has.

'Minerva...' he begins, deliberately singling her out for his purpose, to which she responds with rising to her feet at once.

It's interesting, that reaction from her. Just what does she have going on inside her mind concerning him and that Patronus? No matter what it is, though, his priority is to meet the one calling him, not to stand back here and have a silent battle of wills with Minerva.

'See to it that no students linger about in the corridors,' he tells her. 'The weekend does not offer them room to roam around as they please.'

'It doesn't?' she challenges with a clipped tone and a dangerously raised eyebrow. 'I was under the impression that it did, seeing as Mr. Malfoy was permitted to go home for the weekend.'

'Malfoy can do what he bloody wants!' Carrow shoots at her, laughing right after with the support of his sister.

Thankfully, Minerva too astute to entertain buffoons who are incapable of reading the room, ignores them, as he does her. For Miss' sake, he's choosing not to get into that with her right at this moment. Who knows, perhaps her goal is to keep him from attending to the message while she concocts her own plan to intercept it. If only for a show before the Carrows, perhaps he should say something to her. Perhaps something about respecting the authority that governs over her, but knowing that another opportunity will arise when she will confront him about the school's administration, he only spares her a long look before swiftly making his way out of the staff room.

Following his exit, he rushes to the gates in leaping strides, just about fighting the urge to make use of the flying technique that the Dark Lord taught him during the summer. One of the Carrows might have chosen to follow him, he considers, but in his haste to get there, he's rather more concerned with arriving than taking any precaution to protect himself against a spy - that, he can deal with once he's made it to the gates. It would be a simple matter of disappearing from sight to lose the nosy fool. He does just that upon reaching the gates and instead of calling out to for her, he waits where he disappeared, counting on her to find her way to him.

'It's me,' she whispers, sounding to be in front of him. 'I need something from you.'

Getting to her would be harder than allowing her to come to him, and because of that, he invites, 'Hold onto my shoulder. I will lead you inside the castle.'

In no time at all, she's touching him, grasping his shoulder hard, that way giving him the assurance to immediately Apparate them to the closest to inside the castle that he can get. Landing, he wastes no time in leading her along the way to his office, not saying any warning to her. By now, from the countless experiences that they've had together, he knows that he needn't tell her to be careful in a position like this. They meet no one along the way, something that he is glad for, because he doesn't know what he would have done to the person who would've dared to stop him for a word. The only word that he speaks is his office's password to allow them entry.

'Bellatrix cursed me,' she breathlessly lets him know as soon as they are inside, pulling away from him and making herself visible to him, but what she doesn't see is his heart drop at the news. 'It won't come off. I tried, but it won't heal either. Please, I don't want it. Is there anything you can do?'

'What curse?' he asks as his eyes begin to scan her form for any trace of a dark curse, while she begins to roll her jacket sleeve back.

It's the left sleeve, meaning that the scar is on her left arm. The left arm is the Dark Lord's preferred arm to brand his Mark onto, and Bellatrix always too eager to please the Dark Lord...

'Show me,' he pushes her, feeling too anxious with how slowly she's unravelling and whipping out his wand to perform long overdue diagnostics.

Dark curses vary, so does the waiting time between each different curse. And then there's Bellatrix. Bellatrix is nothing but extremely predicable in her use of the Cruciatus curse, however, she wouldn't be above attempting to replicate the Dark Lord's Mark for fun's sake. Oh, he hopes to dark magic that she didn't damage pure skin with evil imagery.

Just as he is completing his first basic diagnostic spell, she finishes pushing her clothing away, and whispers, 'See?' thrusting her arm up to his eyes.

Hellish demented evil to the ends of the earth!

His heart clenches.

So tightly, it squeezes with pain at seeing such impurity marked, red and glistening, on her pure skin that he nearly sways forwards into her, unable to take it.

The evil!

'It won't go away,' she softly cries, bringing her free fingers to touch it, but he catches them before they reach her skin, forbidding her to touch such a thing. 'She used the Cruciatus curse on me as well. I don't know if that will have any effect on my body later on and I didn't want to take any chances. That's why I came to you.'

He tries, he really tries, once and then a second time, to get his eyes to focus on her face, to see how she's taking all of this, but there's such a mesmerising darkness to the mark, pulling him to keep looking at it, that he simply doesn't do it.

'I have the knife,' she lets him know, and still, he doesn't look away from the marking. 'She threw it and it killed Dobby.'

Hell, how could this have happened to her?

Looking at it, especially with the information that she's given him, he then releases her fingers to touch it, closing his eyes as he traces the letters for a feel of what he may be dealing with. Like that, his mind goes over a few possible curses, all of which he can counter, but to be certain of what he's dealing with, he wandlessly mutters the right diagnostic with just his fingers atop the curse's result. Getting his answer and feeling his soul drop out of place with the confirmation, he opens his eyes, following it up with closing his hand around her wrist, to begin pulling her through to his chambers. Still, he's unable to say anything proper to her, so pained he is that the simple notion of even offering her any comfort seems impossible. In any event, he feels it rather detractive to offer her comfort and assurances knowing what he will have to do to her.

When they reach his bedroom, he pulls her right along into the bathroom, letting go of her hand before carrying on to the bathtub and busying himself with the right magic. With his mouth still shut and his soul still pained, he commands his magic to draw up a bath. While the tub fills up with water, he summons the right potion, taking it into his hand and uncorking it with his own hands to tip half of the phial into the water. As it pours out, softly hitting and mixing with the water, a vile smell of algae and rotten wood fills the air. It's horrid, he acknowledges, but the relief provided by the potions is incomparable – it'll help. He draws in a breath, trying to determine from his own memory just how much of it he should use for her. He needs it enough to soothe her tremors from the Cruciatus as well as dulling enough to the pain that he's to cause her.

'You need to get in here,' he forces himself to say at last, pushing through his own pain to tend to her. 'I should not wait any longer to remove that,' he blindly gestures behind him to where he believes she's standing. 'It will forever be engraved into your skin if I allow it to settle much longer.'

Ever so quietly, she comes to where he is, taking a place next to him and though he's only looking at the rising water, notes how she fully turns to face him.

'Will you stay?' she asks, her small voice effectively forcing him away from the water to her.

It strikes him then, that if not for her small voice and her branded arm, no one would look at her and claim that she is affected by anything of the dark arts variety. It's not the right time to wonder this, but seeing her so, did she even cry during the cursing? So brave and strong she appears before him, not in the least needy, and yet her tone gave her vulnerability away; she needs him, it said.

She's never needed him before, which is why he replies, 'I will,' to at least assure her that he will not fail her during the one time that she truly needs him.

She nods to that, facing the tub afterwards as her hands begin to remove her bag from across her shoulder, moving onto her jacket. Next to her, he keeps absolutely still, waiting for her to undress without really coming to the full understanding of what it means that she is undressing beside him. After carefully bending to set her bag down at her feet, she lets her jacket fall off her as well, soon followed by the dark top and leaving her only in her supporting undergarment. Once he gets a glimpse of that from the corner of his eyes, then only does it dawn on him that ultimately, she will be bare and exposed to him.

'Will you...?' she whispers, apparently gesturing to her back from what he can tell from the corner of his eyes.

To be sure that he understands her, to know that he isn't misinterpreting anything, he looks at her face, meeting hers as it also faces him, and again, there's nothing on it to suggest that she's vulnerable.

'I can't...' she softly says, gesturing to her back again where his eyes duly follow.

Oh.

Swallowing, he swiftly moves to stand behind her, and with his hands just shy of trembling, he slightly struggles to open the hooks of the garment, the experience being completely new to him. Just barely, he has kissed this girl. His imagination never led him down the path of undressing her, and for that reason, this circumstance is heartbreaking to him. It feels too much like a robbery of something precious between them, something that he supposes he would've cherished and savoured when the moment came, but now...

'Thank you,' she tells him, her own hands coming around to ease his away to pull the garment off her and let it fall down like all the other items.

He swallows again, this time to try to do away with the thick lump stuck in his throat for all of this, especially knowing what is to come next. He would like that she maintains her propriety, but he cannot leave - he needs to stay. He does turn his back to her, though, waiting until he hears her climb into the tub, and even then, waits some more to be sure that he will not intrude on her privacy. While he waits, he evenly calls for Winky, who instantly appears before him.

'Gather up these clothes for cleaning,' he instructs, waving his hand to the place where she left her clothes.

Agreeing with a nod, Winky magical pulls the clothes into her small hands, to then disappear from sight. He didn't take a proper look at her clothes enough to determine if they are filthy or not, he only feels it right to wash away any trace of curse from them before she puts them on again. He doesn't want even a single drop of her cursed blood touching her once she's free of that mark and soothed of the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Having sent Winky away, he pulls in a long breath and then spins around to take one long crossing step to the tub. Determined not to be improper, he keeps his eyes on her face. He will not look at her body submerged in the clear water, because absolutely not, he refuses for the circumstances to dictate his reactions.

'This feels very nice,' she tells him through half-closed eyes and a small smile, her tone lazy as though she was feeling the effects of a sedating potion.

Heaviness naturally settles on his heart for it. He's partly in awe of her easy surrender, her delicacy in that water and that smile of hers. It's though she never felt the pain of a thousand stings all over her body, and as though pain and darkness didn't bring her to him.

It pains him so, that she's experienced the barest extent to which a dark witch can go to without any qualm, that all he can get from his mouth a saddened, 'Miss,' for no other reason than to formally apologise for what she's gone through.

For her part, hearing him, she lolls her head his way, showing him another smile, returning a soft, 'Severus,' to him.

She doesn't say his name often, but when she does, it always touches him. Now is no different, despite the terrible thing that's happened to her. There's always just something about his name from her lips that is quite enthralling. Just then, she moves her arms to fully join her body in the water, the simple innocent action snapping him to action. He needs to get to work, he remembers, and with that in mind, he conjures himself stool to sit on at the edge of the tub, readying his wand in tandem.

'Your arm,' he instructs, keeping his voice clear of everything that he feels.

Without hesitating, she removes her affected arm from the water and brings it up into his open hand, though her voice does break when she asks, 'Will it hurt?'

Oh, will it ever.

Nodding, because he cannot bring himself to say it to her, he shifts his eyes to the disturbing scar. He concentrates hard as he waves his wand over her wound, steadily preparing himself for the pain that he will bring to her. The piece of magic required to cleanse her is nothing complicated, but the things that it will do to her body will not be pleasant. To begin, he mutters the single required incantation to sink into each carved letter.

'Mghm,' she groans as the spell makes contact with her skin.

Though no words of comfort come from him, he does understand her pain, and so to calm her soft flinching, presses his hold much harder than before. Holding her like that, he waits for the magic to settle into the letters, one by one until it penetrates to the last of where the curse reaches. Sadly, of everything that he is to do to help her, this first part with the incantation is the most painless, because after that, he will have to trace his wand over each letter to siphon the curse out. Siphoning it out will require him to firstly carve into each letter with his wand, magically sinking deeper than Bellatrix did, secondly slice off all the affected flesh beneath, and thirdly draw out all of that blood to make sure that no trace of the curse remains around that part of her. Doing all that, her skin will then repair itself as it should, but it will not be lovely to feel her flesh sew back together.

No part will be bearable, unfortunately.

Magic ground him, and that soothing potion in the water keep her, but this is going to kill both of them.

'I will begin now,' he gruffly announces before getting right into it.

She, of course whimpers at the first letter, attempting to twist her arm away from his hold, which charges him to grace her a look. With the tears in her eyes that meet his, he quickly remembers to ward his bathroom in order to contain the due screaming that is soon to follow that quivering face.

'I am very sorry, my darling,' he quietly soothes before sternly returning to his task, where without fail, her first scream fills the air.

This thing that he's doing is agony. He is helping her, yes, but he is also hurting her while he does. He wants, oh-so-much, to stop with what he's doing, but he can't ignore the urgency to proceed and see it through to the end, even with her screams leading him along healing her. Before this, he would've claimed to have known agony through walking in to the dead body of his love, and through learning that his mother had died, but all those things are but pricks of pain in comparison to this.

To be the one to cause his Miss this much pain, and to draw from her such raw screaming, that she might have a sore throat afterwards, is agonising beyond any torture that dark magic could ever conjure up. Agony is relative, he understands, to how one perceives it, and that there is no such thing as universal agony, however, no one will ever convince him that there exists a pain deeper than inflicting harm on a loved one, and even worse, doing so as though deaf to their cries. He must carry on this way, however, there is no other choice in the matter. To clear the mark away and to quieten her screams, he must concentrate on working as efficiently as possible, in spite of his own unease and her tripled pain. He swears on his life, though, that as soon as he is finished, he will gather her into his arms and keep her there until the last of her tears have been shed; should the Dark Lord summon him during that time, he will not go.

Upon reaching the third letter, her screams just as loud as when he began, he forcefully reminds himself that he is doing the right thing. It would otherwise be a disservice to offer her a little bit of reprieve only to continue with hurting her, he tells himself, adding that most importantly, if he doesn't help her exactly as she needs him to, he would be failing her when she needs him the most. If there was ever any form of compulsion to drive him to deliver anyone, it's the knowledge that she only came to him after failing at everything that she tried.

And deliver her, he shall, no matter what.

He would have thought, had hoped rather, that by now, even after the second O etched into her skin, she might have grown weary enough to lose most of her vigour. She has not, unfortunately, for she is still trying to pry her arm away from him, never leaving him a moment's rest in holding her down, neither are her screams dying down. He can imagine that this is how terribly she carried on in front of Bellatrix, that deranged witch, while she no doubt laughed it all away, believing it fun and enjoyable. Only one letter remains now, and though his heart is bleeding, he cannot falter. But oh, if he could take her pain in her stead, he would – with that, he wouldn't falter.

Falter.

Albus had once claimed that his feelings would make him falter where he ought not to, but he was wrong. With her, during this time especially, he understands the need to never to falter unless he wants a repeat of what happened in the past. Albus may not be in this room with them, but the memory of him being certain about something that had nothing to do with him is very clear in his mind, lightly trying to whisper doubt to him. As if he would succumb, and that so close to the end of helping her! To silence the man in his memory, he concentrates, deeply carving into it until finished at long last, he lifts his wand from her flesh and springs onto his feet, refusing even to see the smooth plane of skin that he's restored to her.

'Sink your arms into the water and stay in there a little longer,' he instructs, his even tone surprising him greatly.

For all that's happening inside of him, having kept silent all of this time, he thought that he'd be unable to say anything to her. What's even more surprising, gut-wrenching really, is her easy compliance to his instruction. How, despite her persistent snivelling cries from the residual pain, does she do as she is told, her movements disturbing the water's stillness and attracting his attention to her face at last?

And oh, it's too much.

For his own resolve, knowing how penetrative her crying face is, he made sure never to look at her face while he attended to her. He did well to avoid it, he's seeing now. From what he can tell, tears dried on her face only to be replaced with new ones – he did that to her. Together with her tears, clear mucus running from her nose continues to trickle into her open mouth, but she doesn't appear to notice it. How confused and hurt she must be at the fact that he did this to her and is only standing there looking at her now; he would think the same in her position.

He is a coward - that he will admit to for the first time ever.

Instead of removing his own clothes to join her in the tub, where he could safely wrap her around him, to ease her pain, to console her, to silently ask for her forgiveness for putting her through that ordeal, he is on his feet, too weak to do anything else. In truth, if he is anything close to a decent human being, he would not remain here and watch her suffer. Was he in her position, he would prefer a moment alone. She needs to soak in that water for a little bit more in any event, he tells himself, he will have to wait before disrupting her healing process.

'Stay in the water,' he quietly tells her and when she doesn't respond, he takes it as the final sign to leave her in peace for a while.

It would be better, he believes, since her cries are dying out completely to give way to deep breathing. He too pulls in a deep and long breath, relaxing only a tad and letting in what he believes is fresh air into his suffocated lungs, and then without warning her, strides out of the bathroom, only consciously careful enough to leave the door open. As soon as he steps into his bedroom, his feet falter from the deafening sounds of her screams inside his head - the loud screams that he drew out of her. His mind cannot comprehend his own necessary cruelty, and so violently pushes him to sink to his knees in unabashed surrender.

Endless curses to the fate of dark magic.

It was necessary to be cruel, but the cost, who has paid for it?

This is pathetic of him, being unable to contain himself and breaking down to this extent. What more will he do in this position, cry his soul out for her? Or will he curl up into himself? He cannot, though, he well understands that, because she didn't come to him to see a display of weakness. To be the man that she deserves to have at every stage of this time for her, the same man that she was impressed by just the other day, he must gather himself. Besides that, he also has no right to be this way, when she is the one who's been through possibly the most painful thing in her life yet braved through it. Who is he to break down considering that?

But magic, his heart aches.

How much will she be forced to experience before her due time?

And why can he not just take her away and live far away from all this?

The Dark Lord must be defeated, that is why. What's more, being who she is, she will never allow him to take her away when Potter is out there determined to end the Dark Lord. Vividly remembering that, he breathes in, preparing himself to go back inside the bathroom and face her as he should. Quickly, he rises from his knees, runs a cleaning hand over his face to fix whatever forlorn expression is painted on there and with that done, begins out through the connecting door. From the entrance, he sees her in the same position, but when he gets closer, he realises that she has in fact moved, having drenched not only her face but hair as well.

'It's time,' he announces to her, causing her closed eyes to open his way.

The expression with which she looks at him is so effective that without further delay, he completes his way to the tub to swoop down and scoop her out from the water. He realises that the decent thing to do in this case, would be to allow her to tend to her own naked body, but what is decency against reparation? This is not about desire and sensuality in the least - he is much too concerned about her wellbeing to even consider anything else. And by sacred magic, the desperate way in which she clings onto him, very nearly pulling him into the water as she scrambles to get a proper hold of him, he'd be equivalent to the Dark Lord not to notice how deeply she needs comforting affection from him.

'It's all right, my darling,' he gently soothes as he carefully cradles her in his arms, but instead of comforting her, his words provoke her to begin crying without reserve, pouring out the emotion that had been in her eyes before he lifted her.

Oh, what has he done?

Swallowing hard, he utters the very painful words, 'I won't hurt you again,' in the hope that she would believe him and know that he won't abuse her from this point onwards.

He will only – and he does it instantly – hold her tightly and attempt to rock her cries away.

May she forgive him.

26Chapters

As he continued to stand in the middle of his bathroom with her in his arms, he said no other word. After she completely quietened down, her breathing turning light and indicating her slumber, he said nothing then either. When he laid her under his sheets, needing oh-so-much to whisper comforting words to keep her dreams pleasant and not horrific, he still held his tongue. And even now, looking at her dressed and seated at the stool and table, eating the last of her meal in silence, his mouth is failing him.

The actual words, he still hasn't been able to ask of her, the coward that he is. He wants to, needs to, more aptly, but more than that, he's deadly afraid. His fear is that at the mention of anything related to that vile place of pain, she'll return to it and begin to cry all over again, or worse, decide that she hates him for putting her through that. And so, he's been quiet; sitting here on his bed, tapping his forearm with his forefinger, quite anxious. He's been taking long breaths, feeling right on the verge of opening his mouth to say something, but losing nerve at the last possible moment. If he tried to say something that isn't an apology first, perhaps... Something that will eventually lead to him asking for her forgiveness...

In preparation, he clears his throat, lightly so as he tries to discreet about it, but finds that he fails when she turns to him with question in her eyes.

'Yes?' he asks to afford himself a little bit of time before she asks him what he wants.

'I was thinking, do you think Winky could bring me some food to take along?' she faces him fully. 'Ron and Harry, oh and Luna will be terribly disappointed if I don't bring them something nice from here.'

'You told them that you were coming here?' he asks even knowing that she wouldn't have told them.

If nothing else, the question's at least a clever distraction away from allowing her a moment to focus on the elf who brought back her clothes, conjured up a small table and stool for her in his bedroom and then served her food. It's a wonder that she hasn't mentioned Winky through all of that up to now, but he is not complaining about it. It's an advantage that he has, thankfully, and he will do what he can to keep her far from thinking about Lefa. Considering everything that happened today, Lefa's death shouldn't be brought up.

'I didn't,' she answers. 'I told Ron that I had to collect some books.'

'And he expects you to risk your safety to bring them food to his taste?' he roughly asks, as disbelieving as he is upset by it.

Why, that inconsiderate idiot!

That he would require such luxuries at a time when he shouldn't feel entitled to anything - the thought alone makes his patience boil over into impatience! Wasn't he the one to apparently abandon them, the one who went home to enjoy proper food while they fed on tins?

'It's not like that,' her head shakes. 'They know that I can take care of myself anyway. I just want to take them something nice since I'm here.'

Yes, he looks at her from head to neck, she is able to take care of herself and still keeps her wits about her, however, she just recently suffered torture; where were they while she suffered that they would easily let her leave by herself?

'Do they know about Bellatrix?' he has to know; his soul insists on the response.

When she nods in response, it's as though someone punches him in the face, dazing him for a moment. She was humiliated in front of her friends on top of being tortured? No matter the pain in the moment, he knows from experience how being made an example in front of a crowd can feel like afterwards – it's never a pleasant thing to bear.

'And?' he dares to wonder about their comments on her ordeal without directly asking her. She, however, only looks at him, waiting, which forces him to ask, 'Are the books meant to explain the disappearance of Bellatrix's mark?'

And there, to the irregular beating of his heart, he's crossed over to that topic. Magic keep him steady, please, because soon, he will have to ask for her forgiveness and his hope is that he won't trigger her to hate him once he does.

'They don't know about it. We were separated when it happened,' she calmly explains. 'I would have told them only if you couldn't have done something for me.'

No, she shouldn't say that, he feels guilty enough as it is. While they are on the subject, though, he clears his throat in preparation again. The time to apologise has come and he shouldn't draw it out any further. It's with that in that mind that he gets up from the bed, taking the necessary three steps to her, then gently takes her face by the chin into his hand, directing her full attention to him.

But magic, if she decides to hate him, he wouldn't take it well. It wouldn't be far-fetched to expect someone her age (and as vindictive as to fool Umbridge and steal from Albus) to not be receptive to his apology.

'I am sorry for putting you through that pain, Miss,' he begins, briefly wondering if he should use her proper name for once. 'I wish that I hadn't, but it couldn't have been avoided.'

She must please understand that he is not making any excuse for what he did, only telling her like it was, according to her need. He will apologise many more times over if he has to, if only she would understand his position.

'I know,' she says, smiling only a little bit. 'I didn't expect it to be painless, not really. I only knew that you would help me.'

She really is everything wonderful in his life. If he has never admitted it, he is doing so now, and led by his heart, which is so very vulnerable to her, he carefully pulls her onto her feet and into a proper embrace. He cherishes her deeply; he wishes to communicate with his firm hold around her body. He is so very thankful that she always excuses him; his deep breathing should tell her. He will forever be available to help her; the kiss on her hair should make that clear to her.

As if understanding the thoughts in his mind, she says, 'Thank you, Severus. I don't know what I would have done without you. I didn't want to keep it,' while still in his hold, only to pull away from him and give him a quick peck of a kiss on the lips.

'Mmm,' he agrees as he rolls his lips into his mouth for the briefest of seconds to then tell her, 'Finish eating,' tipping his head to her food. 'You cannot stay here for much longer.'

According to how he is summoned, he will have to leave, he means to communicate to her. More than that, however, there's something else that he needs to do now that she's all right and has forgiven him. Apparently understanding him, she nods even without that in-depth explanation, moving back into her seat to shove the very last of her food into her mouth. Not more than a moment later, her plate is clean and she's jumping onto her feet, hastily swallowing the last of her juice as her feet lead her to his bed to retrieve her bag. As he turns, thinking of telling her to slow down, she turns back with her bag already slung across her body, surprisingly pushing into him with her hands landing flat on his chest to brace herself as she leans in to give him a kiss, another peck, on his cheek.

Completely stepping away from him, she smiles innocently smiles at him to then explain, 'My mum always does that to my dad when she leaves, and he can't go with her. It seems a bit silly, but it's nice, isn't it?'

'I don't mind it,' he admits, seeing no other option to it if she's obviously going to make it habit.

But yes, it's also nice, if that's the only word that she can think to give it. Even if it wasn't a small yet pleasant detail of affection, what does she suppose he'd do about it, tell her to never do it again?

'I'm glad,' she confesses, beginning to look around. 'So, are you going to smuggle me out now? What about my food?'

'Why, yes, I dream only of feeding your friends. I'll never be able to sleep knowing that they are eating tinned food,' he drawls.

More so that she's recently taught him to rather like the small and simple things about having her with him, than needing to show her his humour concerning her friends, he steps close and presses a soft kiss on her lips. Unsurprisingly, she smiles against his lips, something that still touches his heart to lightness, but she doesn't bring her arms around his neck like a small portion of him had expected her to.

'You care about me,' she says as she pulls back, 'and I care about them.'

Ergo, he cares about her friends - apparently. What inedible, indigestible fodder, clearly born from truly rubbish bargaining expertise. Does she even put effort into her excuses?

'Winky,' he calls nonetheless, strategically moving past her.

He means to keep her away from anything that could lead her to ask about her elf, and so when the elf appears, he ushers it out to his office, where he hopes that following him, she might get distracted with looking around while he instructs Winky. It happens nearly like that, with her diligently following them, except, she doesn't leave his side to look around, she only waits for him to finish, making no comments throughout.

In the short interlude between Winky's return, while she quietly waits, he considers how best to separate from her. Of course, it'll have to be short and sudden, just as he prefers it, but should he take her back to the gates or should he floo with her to Hogsmeade? Either instance wouldn't disturb his plans, it's only that he doesn't want her to know about him from the point that they part.

'Can you floo to Grimmauld Place?' he asks.

Her eyes wide with question, she returns, 'Yeah, why?'

'Go there,' he answers a little dismissively. 'No one bothers with it these days. You should be fine to Apparate from there. Only be extremely careful.'

'I won't be seen,' she promises. 'We only got caught because Harry said his name – It was the Snatchers.'

Damn it! Snatchers?! Damn everything!

He can't allow her to go to Grimmauld Place alone now!

Just damn it!

Sharply, he turns away from her, looking to catch himself to composure, because looking at her while knowing that Snatchers had brought her to Bellatrix will surely make him explode. Though those idiots had enough sense to reach Bellatrix before going to the Dark Lord directly, if they'd been greedy enough for immediate glory and reward, he'd –

'Winky!' he gruffly calls, pushing out a hot and long breath, because damn it, he'd been this close to being summoned to witness her dead body.

Where is that elf?

'Winky!' he calls again, very aggressive in his delivery, because damn it, the Dark Lord wouldn't have tortured her more than putting her on display like he did Charity to then kill her.

'Severus,' she softly calls, but damn it, doesn't she know that he nearly lost her as well?

After losing every one of the two people who were significant to him, she came close to joining them just so, and this is how he's finding out? What if he'd never told her to be careful?

'Are you angry?' she asks, quite tentative, even as she comes up to him and touches his back – it's as though she wants to touch him without making any contact.

Not at all to do with her soft hesitance, he flinches at her touch, which she senses enough to understand and pull her hand back.

'Go now!' he hoarsely begs, not wanting to upset her with his anger, only, to his ears, the words come out a harsh command, which is why he hastily adds, 'Wait for me at Grimmauld Place, but go now!'

In what seems like a single beat, she makes it into the fireplace, immediately speaking her destination so as not to wait much longer around him. In his right and sober mind, he would care tremendously that his reaction is frightening her, but truthfully, he is not entirely all there together, neither does he think it the time to be so. He'd be shamelessly unloving to hear that she'd been a person away from the Dark Lord's presence and still seek to keep his composure.

Unforgiving anger is precisely the reaction to have, and more so now that she's left. To make sure that she's really left, however, he gives a quick glance to the fireplace and then he's aiming his wand like a weapon in that direction and firing his first destructive spell right above the fireplace. All at once, Albus' little ornaments and trinkets come apart in shattering blasts, the fragments tumbling down. Not caring to catch their fall with his eyes, he violently spins to the next available place to attack.

He carries on in that specific manner, facing one side of the office and then turning to the other as the need comes over him, his wand continuously sending items and objects flying from their respective places onto the floor. Some items clash, some clang, others make dull thudding sounds, but the more annoying of them all make no sounds, being too light for gravity to heavily weigh them down. With angry eyes, he looks at the pieces of parchment and parchment from his desk floating about in the room, not following the pattern of the other items, wanting nothing more than to make them explode into a loud bang.

Even as Fawkes peacefully flies from place to place to escape the chaos that comes over where he is, his deep desire is that the bird catches fire and incinerate everything in big flames. It would please him so to see everything consumed, but when he whips around, looking for a new untouched place to destroy in the office and an afraid Winky meets him, his mind changes only for a fraction, making his raised and armed hand lower a fraction too.

'Winky's sorry, Headmaster!' the elf shakingly begins, pushing the big basket of food as a buffer between them. 'Winky's not finish when Headmaster call. Winky's finish now.'

How long has she been standing there waiting for him to see her?

'Leave the basket and leave me,' he grunts, flicking his wand upwards a little.

'Yes, Headmaster. Winky's sorry!' she says before disappearing from his sight, and only then does the thought come to him that she's probably going to punish herself, thinking that she did something wrong.

Damn it, he doesn't have the space to care for assuring an elf!

What's telling an elf to refrain from harming itself compared to what he's doing?

Still, his anger flares more and confronted by nothing else to destroy in the office, he heads off to his bathroom, deliberately knocking everything out of place and the way, both seeing their destruction and enjoying the resounding crashes behind him. It doesn't make him less angry to see everything around him crumbling and falling apart, he only likes being able to see his fury exploding in front of him – the image to what he feels. When he enters the bathroom, his wand points towards the potions' cabinet, flinging it open from where he is. Only as he moves deeper into the room, do his eyes roam around, the scene physically jarring him.

Slightly murky water in the tub - some of it splashed on the tiles, the fading smell of the potion that he poured in the water...

He closes his eyes, trying to catch the last of that nostalgic smell before it wafts away completely. He does get a faint whiff of it, the effect slowly settling into him through his nose, making his lips twitch upwards, turning into a crooked smile. It's a joyless smile, born of disbelief and nurtured by fury at what was and what could've been, which shortly turns into a harsh, deeply disbelieving laugh as his eyes snap open. Seeing the water once again, his laugh becomes sardonic and for a few seconds, that all he does until he suddenly stops, roughly whipping his wand hand upwards to then fill the bathroom with the rushing sound of cascading water.

Despite the water splashing all over him, he walks over to the cabinet to handpick the potion that he needs, and turning to leave just that commotion that he made begins to die down. He leaves quickly as though nothing, diligently ignoring his wet robes and hair as he picks up her basket of food and passes into the fireplace for Grimmauld Place. Upon arriving, before he can step out of the fireplace, his eyes settle on her right in front of him and his heart feels to move out of place.

Bellatrix harmed her!? And if that wasn't enough, she did it in a way that forced him to harm her as well? He swears that when he sees her...

'Are you angry with me for getting caught by the Snatchers?' she asks, still sounding tentative.

'No,' he answers and then steps out of the fireplace, causing her to step back to make room for him.

Whether his tone doesn't convince her, or she just isn't prepared to let silence settle between them, she again asks, 'Are you angry with Harry for getting us caught?'

'No.'

Potter will never change in his habits, that he's made peace with, which is he hasn't spared any thought to him endangering her.

'But you're angry?'

'Yes,' he answers, setting the basket down in favour of bringing out his wand and adding, 'Take this,' to her silent expression.

He can only assume that she's waiting for him to give her a better explanation for his anger, but that's no matter to concern her. As connected to and involved in his anger as she is, it truly has nothing to do with her and he would rather that she's knows nothing more about it.

'Dolohov cursed you,' he states instead, the words leaving a tangy taste in his mouth that he has to lift his tongue to clear it away.

Twice now, he'd been too distracted to remember to check her protection and look in which she returned to him.

'I didn't know,' she denies with a minimal amount of fright, taking another step back from him. 'I only heard from Ron, but I'm fine, I promise. You can look.'

As if he would let her leave without looking. He says nothing like that to her, though, he only directs his wand to diagnose her as thoroughly as he knows how to, leaving no branch of the dark arts untouched by his diagnosis. It doesn't take too long to see how vulnerable she is, neither does he take any time to quietly repeat his shield, fortifying it with a small detail that should last beyond him dying.

He's curious, which curse was it that broke through his shield?

No matter, however, knowing what curse hit her wouldn't change the contrast between his first shield and his current one. Where the first one was only an obligatory precaution after the Ministry fiasco, this one is an act of his feelings for her and that way much more significant to work in tune with magic – just as she once concluded about Lily's protection on Potter, the same principle applies here. She might not remember that conversation of theirs now, but he does. As he finishes up to look at her, he nearly tells her how very different this protection is for him, only, he doesn't – he rather steps back to ascertain his shield than assure her of something that he hasn't tested.

'Am I fine?' she asks, apparently unsettled by him retreating.

'I will confirm,' is all that he gives her and then fires a mild curse at her.

She doesn't react to his curse, which, of course is why she never felt Dolohov attack her, and though assured that his protection has held, his eyes still roam over her body to confirm it; there should be no risk in sending her off this time.

'You're wet,' she quietly observes.

'Hmm,' he absently hums, his eyes still not finished with her and his hand digging into his pocket for the phial that he brought her, urging her with, 'Take it.'

Doing so, only not completely removing it from his hand, she asks, 'What is it?'

He casts his eyes down to her with the intention of looking at her only for a second to see her face and appreciate her for never changing even in the horrible things, but unsurprisingly he doesn't immediately return to inspecting her.

What is that potion, she asks?

It's what she came to him for - his purposefulness in her life. She came to him to be rescued and as much as he's done that according to her need, that potion is simply an extra protection in the event that she finds herself cursed with dark magic again.

'Do you remember how I feel about you?' he asks at last, skirting around telling her about the potion, releases it into her hand and then resumes his inspection of her.

He is not simply asking, no. There is an element of need on his part, to assure her that whatever else of the dark arts sort that she comes across, he will always be available to protect her. Also, more importantly, while he's muffling his anger in her presence, only waiting until she leaves to explode, when that happens he might not have the opportunity to properly see or talk to her again.

'You care about me.'

'Very much…' he nods, beginning to circle her and with his wand, press here and there to see how much he could penetrate with his basic magic. 'And should I be fortunate enough to live further than this, I will do so for the rest of my life. This, I promise you, Miss…' he throws another mild curse, which rebounds and satisfies him. 'I will spend the rest of my life loving you.'

Right then, she gasps. Being quite concentrated on making sure that the smallest of curses won't break through his shield, along with the bigger ones, he believes himself to have stepped on her foot while moving around her, and so squeezes her shoulder, heartily saying, 'Sorry,' before making his final check on her shield and then finally stepping back to admire his handiwork for a moment.

'Keep that potion safe,' he softly instructing, bringing his eyes back to her face at last. 'It is to hinder the progression of dark curses until you can find me again. You are all right to go now, Miss.'

'But you just –' she starts only to abruptly end without finishing.

'What?'

Yes, he also realises that he is sending her back into the cruel world, but he cannot keep her with him. Whatever part in defeating the Dark Lord she is playing, they both have their respective roles to play and ultimately that is the reality of their lives for now. Perhaps one day, when everything has settled and he is still alive, they will get the time to spend infinite time together without needing to leave each other.

'You said…' she tries again but still doesn't complete her thoughts.

'You will be fine, yes,' he agrees. 'You must go now.'

'I'll go,' she nods, tearing up as she tucks the potion into her bag and reaches down to pull up the basket from the floor.

He waits for her to straighten up, look at him with her teary eyes to step close, bringing his thumb to lightly brush across her left in an act of comforting affection before dropping his hand. Fortunately, she comprehends his message very well, breathing a small, 'Bye,' just as she cracks away from him. With her gone, he prepares himself to depart, his destination being Malfoy Manor. He never asked where Bellatrix tortured her, but with the Dark Lord prone to spend some time there every now and then, that witch does her best to always be there.

Before Apparating away, he summons the rage that he suppressed for Miss' sake, bringing it to its most vicious that if it were a flame, it would be an ill-performed Fiendfyre. Arriving, he allows his fury to lead him in angry strides towards the gates, heavily waving his wand for the gates to allow him entry. Once inside the gates, he flies to the door of the house, not at all bothering to knock, where he finds no sign of life in the immediate reception foyer. The seemingly long walk to the main receiving room fuels his fury more, each step reminding why he's here in the first place.

'Lucius?' he tactfully calls out to announce his presence.

'Severus, is that you?' comes Narcissa's voice from the drawing room coming up on the left.

Bellatrix's bound to be here if Narcissa is greeting him without coming to meet him. For that reason, he increases his steps to reach the drawing room faster.

'It is,' he replies just shy of the door, looking in just as he rounds to it.

'In here,' she calls upon seeing him. 'Come in.'

For the sake of politeness, he meets Narcissa's eyes first, even when he sees Bellatrix and Carrow from the corners of his eyes. He is tempted, oh, is he tempted to look at that witch, but he restrains himself – in measured time, he will look at her and then they shall all see.

'Good afternoon, Narcissa,' he evenly greets, keeping careful control of his tone and posture.

'Good afternoon, Severus,' she returns politely, although her following, 'What brings you? Don't say - Has the Dark Lord heard?' strays towards fear than composure.

'Heard?'

This is also news to him, what is she on about?

'Well...' she begins, turning to her sister who shakes her head as though forbidding her something, except she doesn't pay it any mind, for she still returns to him to say, 'The capture. Has he heard about Harry Potter and his friends brought here by the Snatchers?'

It was here, in this house?

Oh, he could laugh again, just like he did in the bathroom.

He doesn't, though, he only tightens his jaw, keeping his mind focused to only glare at Narcissa, not at anyone else.

'Snape didn't know anything, I told you,' Bellatrix screeches, her voice grating to both his heart and ears, making him decide right there and then that he will not give her any attention.

It's that if he does see her face in its entirety, especially in light of this new information, he'll do something unpleasing to the Dark Lord. While deep in his anger, it appears that he rather underestimated just how much of an effect she would have on him, even only hearing her voice. Was he to see her face and those evil eyes of her, he gathers that one of them would surely die by the other's hand, only for the remaining one to suffer at the Dark Lord's hand for what they did. Bellatrix can die for all he wants and cares, and that by his own hand, however, he will not risk the Dark Lord rendering him immobile in order to expose the reason behind his attack on Bellatrix. The mere possibility of Miss being exposed to the Dark Lord is reason enough to halt.

'I've told the Dark Lord nothing. I wished to see Lucius,' he says to Narcissa, that way cleverly affording himself an avenue to leave and properly prepare himself for Bellatrix.

'He is due to return,' she supplies, visibly relaxing now.

'Then I shall return when he is available,' he excuses, already turning. 'If you would excuse me, I have a school to attend to.'

'Yes, of course,' Bellatrix screeches again, 'you have other matters to attend to, and are never where it matters to be.'

Bellatrix Lestrange.

He pulls in a breath to tame himself, being that much on the verge of spinning around and hit her with a debilitating curse. He manages to compose him, forcefully ignoring her for now. She must make no mistake, though, he passionately hates her. When they were younger, he hated her for being an entitle snob, and then he hated her for being a crazy witch after Azkaban, but now he hates her for a significant reason.

Bellatrix Lestrange must wait, her time will come.

He will make sure of that, but for now he bids, 'Excuse me,' to them all, still incensed, though beginning to put his mind to work.

26Chapters

For the most part, Minerva doesn't do anything as outlandish as to disrespect him or his authority. Usually, though sharp in her reproach when required, she is rather tame in her approach, and it's for that reason that he keeps quiet in the place of telling her to refrain from playing headmistress without his express instruction – the portion of that role where she sits in his chair particularly.

'Minerva,' he barely acknowledges her with a look as he continues to walk along to his chambers.

At the moment, she is but a woman in a place where she doesn't belong, although fortunately for her, he is in no spirit to fight with her.

'A moment please, Severus,' she asks, her voice commanding enough to stop his steps and direct his face her way to catch the determination in her eyes when she adds, 'Have a seat.'

He will not, he thinks flatly, but to her he poses, 'What is it?' for better clarity.

He is tired, and underneath that coat of tiredness is a mixture of negative emotions, the most worrying of which could get him killed, which will no doubt leave Miss in a vulnerable position and – He is simply tired and so does not appreciate any attempts to engage him in trivial matters.

'That message from earlier, who was it from?'

Eyes focused to see and ears evidently itching to hear, that's what has her in his office? By any chance, did Albus mention who had been in here, who he ushered out through the floo? He suspiciously turns his eyes to the possible culprit, his thoughts jumping to the sort of people who have access to his office password, because if his personal matters are going to be intruded on willy-nilly, he'll spitefully change it.

'Who do you suspect it was from, Minerva?' he drawls as uninterested to hear her answer as piqued to irritate her with his responses.

Really, does she really believe that he would divulge such information to her?

'I never said that I suspected anything,' she replies, her annoyance slipping into her tone only a little bit. 'I am simply asking you a question.'

'Oh?' he returns with soft yet mocking surprise.

'Yes. Do me the courtesy of an answer,' she maintains, choosing then to rise from his chair and begin taking measured steps to him.

'Was I to say that it came from someone that I know?' he asks, keeping everything about him controlled enough to continue irking her.

'Who precisely?'

Here, he could do one of two things, either go around in a circle to nowhere by continuously answering her questions with questions of his own, or tease her with lacking yet provoking information. The last of the two options is better, he decides, letting out a small sigh as well; he really needs her to see how unappreciative he is of her presence and interrogation.

'My sweetheart,' he replies in a long drawn out tone.

He instantly detests the word, of course, wishing that he could take it back and remove it from his vocabulary altogether, but for this purpose with Minerva, no other word would have done. It works, he notes from the deep way that she eyes him, and he can't help it wonder what her face would have looked like had he used the words lady friend or girlfriend, both being equally terrible to utter. She seems to grunt her disapproval, but whether with his overall answer or the word itself, he can't confirm. He can confirm, however, that she isn't pleased with him in the slightest.

'Let me find out anything...' she delivers at last, her tight words swallowing the silence that had settled between them, 'Anything at all, Severus and you will regret it.'

From her threat especially, it's clear that she doesn't fear him, far from it. In fact, were they to duel, she would not leave him unharmed. With dark magic, he would easily win, but without it, he would have a true challenge. As much as he knows that, however, he's warned her never to interfere in his private matters, so no, her threat is not impressive. Touching, even a little assuring that she cares enough to worry about his Miss, but not impressive. There's nothing tying her to the school, he is aware and her entire reason for being here is the students, but still, she shouldn't try him. What little remains of his patience, he would rather not use on her.

'I've had a trying day, Minerva,' he says, pulling in a long breath to prove it. 'Would you leave me be?'

'Anything at all, Severus…' she warns one last time and then turns, promptly leaving him.

Watching her disappear, he scans the office, confirming indeed that the elves have taken care of repairing everything and putting it back in place, and when he settles back on Albus, he waits.

'It appears that I was wrong,' the man says. 'I see now that nothing has changed with you because of her. Truthfully, I am rather surprised that you didn't vow to avenge her.'

'Do not mistake my silence for inaction, Albus,' he huffs, deliberately ignoring that sly apology. 'I am well aware of what I am doing.'

Just a while ago, he'd been led by anger to seek out Bellatrix and attack her, although fortunately, hearing her voice grounded him enough to retreat and formulate a plan of attack. He has no idea what he will do to her yet, neither does he know how much time he has left alive, but what is for certain is that he will make her pay for what she has done.

'Be cautious, at least,' the man advises.

Hmpf!

Cautious for who?

Albus is a nut if he believes that he will spare any caution for Bellatrix, whether the Dark Lord is involved or not. He will, however, be methodical in his way of dealing with that witch.

26Chapters

He doesn't want to bear it anymore.

For exactly two days now, his mind has been filled with images of her screaming. No matter which female student he looked at during meals, or if his eyes somehow landed on Draco, the screams always came unbidden, flooding his mind to the brim and crippling his body to stillness. Her screams have given him no rest since he made them come from her.

The worst, however, came at night when he would snap his eyes open straight from the same nightmare. For two nights as well, in those nightmares, he always knelt before her, silently pleading with her to forgive him, while she struggled between accepting his apology and listening to Bellatrix's sly advice to join her in hating him for what he did to her.

Truly, he'll bear the nightmares no more, and for that reason, he is stepping into the Dark Lord's empty lounging room, quietly announcing himself to the vigilant stare waiting for him.

'Excuse me, my lord.'

'What brings you, Severus?' the Dark Lord watches him carefully. 'News about Harry Potter?'

Considering who is directly linked to Potter, who is bound to be by his side if he is ever caught again, never again will he report on Potter to him, and so deceitfully answers, 'No, my lord. I have come with a request.'

'Ah, yes?'

'I have a case against Bellatrix, my lord,' he clarifies, taking only a single step to be a little closer to the other wizard. 'May I have your permission to settle it before you?'

Bellatrix is, for all intents and purposes, the most eager to please the Dark Lord, thus a prized member in their circle to the Dark Lord specifically. Touching her wouldn't simply be a thing of little importance, which is why he has come.

'Nothing too serious, I gather,' the Dark Lord warns more than states, Bellatrix being who she is, after all.

'No, my lord,' he casually lies into the Dark Lord's eyes. 'Only mere squabbles between us.'

'Hmm,' the other wizard nods thoughtfully. 'I wonder, would a dinner tonight at the Malfoys' do?'

Is he truly asking or is he dictating? That bored he is, that he would easily orchestrate a form of entertainment?

'As you deem it fit, my lord,' he accepts nonetheless, his blood beginning to rush before its time – though quite soon for him to give Bellatrix a taste of his wrath, tonight cannot come soon enough.

26Chapters

Patience is something that he possesses.

Because of it, he can now congratulate himself for making it here at last. He can also inwardly rejoice in carefully pulling out his chair at the table, assured that he is only a dinner away from touching Bellatrix over there, who is quietly conversing with the Dark Lord beside her.

Soon, she will feel his eyes on her.

He shall wait.

26Chapters

Very soon now, elf magic will clear the table, taking with it everything that had been used for the dinner. Well versed in obligatory dinners, he knows how these things go, and for that reason, he's kept his glass filled with drink, never once taking a sip from it. No trained elf would dare touch an untouched glass without permission, but still, he lifts his glass into his hand to protect his plan from failure. In his right hand, he slips the blunt eating knife, also to retain it.

Up to now, he stares at Bellatrix, who is saying something to her sister across her this time.

It's all right, he is in no immediate hurry for her attention.

He shall keep waiting.

26Chapters

Be ready, Severus.

Bellatrix is soon to follow the Dark Lord's rise from the table, so he must prepare himself properly. Now that the table is clear, he can set his glass and knife down – no one will think anything of it.

'Severus, you have been awfully quiet all evening,' the Dark Lord looks his way just like that. 'Is something the matter?'

The Dark Lord, as inhumane as he is, is the best thing for him in this room right now. He, in all his power, will direct the planned attack even without knowing that he is playing a role in the laid-out plan.

'My lord?' he feigns incomprehension, just then raising his glass to his lips and taking a small sip.

In response, the Dark Lord attempts a smile, and it's an ugly thing to see, but his clarifying, 'I have not failed to notice your continued appreciation of Bella. Is there perhaps something?' at least moves things along nicely.

'Something, my lord?' he pretends to be lost again, this time carefully setting his glass down and rising as his eyes stray to Bellatrix.

For now, the glass and the knife can remain on the table.

He only wants to look at Bellatrix for a moment.

'Didn't you hear the Dark Lord?' she frowns at him, her disgust very evident on her face.

Hmpf!

'Severus?' the Dark Lord probes, going right along with the plan as though he was briefed beforehand.

How easy it is to control people with silence, he's realising. That he is saying nothing, and not making any immediate moves is evidently enough to interest everyone to the point of proper curiosity. Knowing that, he chooses to remain silent, although more than that, he's revelling in Bellatrix's intrigue, over there wondering while watching and waiting for him.

Silence is excellent, he celebrates internally, it's really anticipation amplified.

His silence is thickening the air as she so desperately looks at him to give them any piece of information – possibly even a mere sound or a breath, but he will maintain his position as per his plan.

'Bellatrix?' the Dark Lord looks at he once again, making her jump to give him her full attention.

'My lord?'

Excellent, he observes, she's nervous.

Knowing that the Dark Lord favours him, she must be dying with curiosity, having no idea if this is a plot between the two of them against her. How she must be aching to be told even a morsel of what is going on, but unless he shows his hand, no one will truly know what he is playing at.

'Have you considered why Severus has not taken his eyes off you all evening?' the dark wizard presents to her, sounding as curious as he can without being too desperate in his search for an answer.

'No, my lord,' she answers, quickly hanging her head in supposed shame.

Oh, this is wonderful.

The Dark Lord is doing wonderfully to set her up for his attack – he's brought her right to where she needed to be in order for him to strike.

'Then Severus…' the man turns to him, 'Would you be done with it, your case against Bellatrix? Or have you had a change of mind?'

'Bellatrix,' he calls purely for her eyes to meet his for, and then meticulously takes the glass and knife into either hand before beginning to make his way to her with everyone's waiting silence leading him to stand directly before her.

'Snape,' she acknowledges disdainfully, but makes no other move.

'Did you not, at one point in the previous days have Harry Potter and his friends here in your captivity?' he challenges, making certain that it sounds precisely as he needs her to interpret it.

Just as he wanted, to his partial vindication, her eyes go wide, no doubt convinced that he is only bringing up her failure in the presence of the Dark Lord for his own glory. She's visibly frantic about it, glowering at him first and then turning to the Dark Lord, her whole body positioned in a way that is begging for his forgiveness.

She should be begging for his forgiveness, not the Dark Lord's.

'The boy was hexed, my lord,' she begins to explain. 'I couldn't have wasted your time without being certain that it was him. Even Draco couldn't recognise him, my lord. Had I been certain that it was him, I would have brought him to you myself, my lord.'

The Dark Lord waves her apology away, clearly not interested in her explanation, and she must take that to mean that she won't be reprimanded again for that failure. What she doesn't know, though, is that she will be punished for that mistake, not reprimanded; if only she knew that the Dark Lord is the least of her worries.

'You have said,' he reminds her, seemingly not interested in any of that, which makes her turn to him, livid.

'You, Snape!' she shrieks. 'How long have you had Harry Potter within your grasp's reach and still failed to present him to the Dark Lord? You dare forget your own failures?'

Timing it perfectly, he pours the drink in his glass right into her face, making that his primary response to her questions. Behind him, he hears Narcissa gasp, proving just how by surprise he caught them all. If the feet that shuffle behind him belong to the ever-silent Lucius, then he's doing well to distance himself from the scream of outrage that comes from Bellatrix as her eyes lift from the wet mess on the front of her robes to him.

'You!' her voice shrieks while her hands try to wipe the mess away from her face.

What?

Instead of arrogantly voicing that, he hits the knife against the glass, shattering it and garnering another shocked reaction from Narcissa behind her and a look of wonder from Bellatrix. During the moment where she wonders, using all of his might, he drives the knife, as blunt as it is, into her chest and the shattered glass into the side of her neck, producing the shrillest sound ever made to his ears.

This, his heart sings… Yes, this…

With his own bare hands, not relying on magic, he had planned to hurt her, make her bleed and hear her scream. Dark magic was never his intention in dealing with her, it was and is very important that with his own hands, bare and unaided by magic, he is able to cause her seven times the pain that she inflicted on Miss. Still, though, hearing her scream is not enough, so he twists both of his hands, driving his weapons deeper into her skin, eliciting more pained shrill screaming.

Oh, yes, he could listen to this all night.

And so for the second time, twists the knife and glass, digging them deeper and when she starts to choke, falling backwards, he releases his hold to watch her arms shake in an attempt to free herself from this thing.

'Narcissa, assist her,' he commands over his shoulder, really not caring to relieve the witch with his magic.

It takes no longer than a single moment to heal Bellatrix and get her on her feet, but to him, it's all too fast. That witch should be crippled and dependant on others for basic things. If there was any true justice in the world, she'd spend the rest of her life begging for air to breathe. But as it is, Narcissa's helped her and is now standing between them, protectively shielding her from him.

'What have I done to you?' Bellatrix outrages, pointlessly trying to get around Narcissa to him.

Hmpf!

Interesting that that would be the first question to come from her mouth. He rather expected that she threw herself at him, attacking him with magic, not asking about the harms that she's caused him like she didn't kill Lefa right in his face!

'If you feel that I have been amiss is repaying you your due,' he calmly delivers, opening his arms in offering, 'you may attempt to kill me, if you so wish.'

'Avada Kedavra!' she instantly shrieks, her wand pointing at him, but he silently throws up a shield to deflect the curse the other way.

His easy save clearly upsets her, making her push her sister to the side for a perfect aim at him, but before she can achieve anything, both Narcissa and the Dark Lord halt her intention. Lucius, wherever he is standing, remains quiet, unsurprisingly.

'Bella, no,' Narcissa urges, 'you cannot kill him, please.'

'Enough, Bellatrix!' the Dark Lord says his share as well. 'I would not intervene in a matter that has nothing to do with me, but I have use of Severus yet. I caution you to make amends with him, for he surely would not have attacked you for nothing.'

He knew, of course, that this would happen. He wouldn't have dared to do anything to Bellatrix without the Dark Lord present, otherwise he would have been forced to kill her. Or that, or she would have recovered later and snuck up on him to kill him.

'I understand, my lord,' she meekly agrees, 'but I've done nothing to him. He has abused me for nothing.'

Ha! For nothing, she says.

'I have my reason, my lord,' he turns to the Dark Lord. 'I wouldn't have sought an audience otherwise.'

Of course, he won't say what his reason is, because yes, he'd like to keep her tormented without the knowledge of why it truly happened. To forever, she will always question what he did to her and why, and for now, atop bruising her as he did, it's sufficient for him. The Dark Lord quietly considers him for a moment, looking between him and Bellatrix, finally seeming to accept the weak explanation.

'I can understand the need for repayment,' he darkly agrees as though putting himself in a place where he still hasn't repaid a wrong committed against him. 'Are you satisfied?'

'Satisfied,' he states, looking directly into Bellatrix's eyes.

He is satisfied that his plan worked as he had intended it to, however, he is not finished with Bellatrix yet. At a later time, when the time is right, he will magically cause her distress and then those screams will be the memory enough to wipe out the ones that currently follow him.

'Excellent. All is forgotten,' the Dark Lord says, clearly dismissing everything.

And that is that. Now Bellatrix knows not to attack or kill him if they ever find themselves alone. He, on the other hand, hasn't forgotten anything - he never will for as long as she's alive. One day, he will stand back and listen to shrieks in perfect absolution.

She must only wait.