Severus moved swiftly down the moving staircase and out from behind the gargoyle and into the corridor.
Walk. That's what he would do. Walk.
For so many years now, he had walked those corridors as the hours grew later and later.
It helped him think and stopped him thinking at the same time.
There was freedom in movement and there was freedom in the emptiness of the castle.
He doubted he would come across any of the staff – most likely they were huddled up somewhere plotting against him, and there were no students yet to stumble across.
The summer holidays had been his favourite time of the school year when he had started teaching. The only time when he could walk the corridors peacefully - unmolested by the sight of rule breakers. All that would end tomorrow, he thought glumly, then they would all return… Well, not all of them. Where was Potter now? What was he up to? What hideously impossible task had the old man left him? Expecting the boy just to get on with it as he expected Severus to do – whatever the sacrifice required.
As if on cue, the image of Minerva's disgusted expression swam up before him in the darkening corridors. That was another reason to walk - to keep out of the bedroom for as long as possible to let his nervous bride fall asleep.
He'd debated going back to his old rooms and spending the night there, but that might raise questions from her and from the Carrows… And now, he supposed, such behaviour would raise suspicions with Minerva and whomever else she had informed of the marriage.
No, he'd have to sleep in that bed, the girl had to know enough to expect that.
That bed! He'd never held much respect for Dumbledore's fashion choices but he hadn't ever imagined he'd have curtains like that!
He'd have to change them - What if Cassandra thought he had chosen them? And they were dangerous, they might give her ideas about things she was innocent of. No, first thing tomorrow he'd-
Severus' thoughts on interior design were broken by the sound of raised voices from the corridor to his left. Turning, he moved slowly into it, taking in the scene before him.
It was a highly unpleasant scene.
Argus Filch was hopping from one foot to the other. Performing what, at first glance, could be mistaken for a jig, while he held a hissing Mrs Norris above his head.
The reason for the caretaker's strange performance was evident from the sharp snaps of explosion at his feet that emanated from the wand that his tormentor was wielding.
Severus watched, shock giving way to outrage.
"Enough!"
Amycus' head turned sharply towards him, the sneer he wore fading to surprise. Obviously, he'd been expecting one of his new colleagues not his Death Eater boss, Severus thought, pulling his features into a blank expression.
"He's a squib, Severus."
"I'm aware of that," Severus replied coolly, as Filch lowered his arms and protectively hid the cat amongst his robes.
Severus felt a stab of pity at the pathetic act – as if fabric could protect against the foul curses that Amycus Carrow knew!
"Squib baiting is a fine past time. You should try it, Severus. It's better than Muggle baiting – You know why? Because they know what a wand can do. Muggles just stare in confusion – thick as shit, not realising death is a word away…" Amycus grinned, "But defects like him," he continued jabbing his wand toward Filch who couldn't help but flinch, "Oh they know exactly what this can do, and they know they can't do anything to prevent it."
"As much as I do enjoy your expositions, Amycus" Severus replied drily, "The hour is late and Mr Filch is required for the smooth running of my school. So, unless you would like to take on his duties - leave him be."
"Never took you for a squib lover, Severus!" Amycus spat back, his skin mottled at being thwarted and castigated in front of an audience he considered beneath him.
Severus looked back at him evenly. He could deny it. He could deliver some cutting remark about the caretaker and his unfortunate condition, but at that moment he'd seen the flicker of gratitude from Filch's wary gaze, and he couldn't. He was too tired, too emotionally exhausted. Let Carrow go muttering to the others, he'd make amends for it later.
"The hour is late, isn't it?" Amycus continued jeeringly. "Shouldn't you be attending to your new wife, or are you unable to get it-"
"Careful, Amycus," Severus interrupted, his tone glacial.
Turning his head, Amycus spat at the floor, narrowly missing Filch's toe and then stalked away.
"Thank you, Professor" Filch muttered as the sound of Amycus footsteps faded to silence.
"You're welcome, Mr Filch… As I said, you are necessary for the smooth running of this school."
"My position's safe?" Filch asked. "Even with me being a… Even with what that man implied?"
"Indeed," Severus replied curtly. "This school needs to run as it did before. We cannot allow disturbances. I will inform the rest of the staff and the students on their return. You are safe… here."
That last word was tinged with meaning, embroiled with the knowledge that being a Squib anywhere else in their world was anything but safe, and Severus knew that the caretaker understood.
"Thank you, Professor," Filch muttered again, then holding tightly to the now purring feline he still held, he turned and shuffled away in the opposite direction to which his tormentor had departed.
With a sigh, Severus reflected that there was now at least one person at Hogwarts not wishing him complete annihilation, and then, choosing a destination that risked only Peeves or one of the ghosts as an intruder upon his wanderings, he set off again.
The gold clock on the desk chimed eleven, as he finally returned to the office.
The bird was still on its stolen perch, though now it was mercifully asleep. Severus hoped its mistress would prove to be as well - exhausted by the day. He could then quickly slip in beside her, and hopefully awake before she stirred, getting the hell out of there but leaving an in-print of his body on the feather mattress – a tale-tell sign that he had played the role of husband in as much as duty insisted.
No doubt she was used to the long lay-ins of the idle class, he thought with a sneer, as he crossed the office and carefully opened the panel.
Stepping into the bedroom he found it in darkness and with a silent exhale of relief he waved his hand to bring up the sconces - just enough so that he wouldn't stub his toe and awake her with an involuntary cry.
His relief turned to a moment of startled panic and then to disbelief as the truncated lights revealed that not only was Cassandra not asleep, she was in fact standing there staring back at him.
"What on Earth are you doing?" he exclaimed when he had recovered himself enough to speak.
"Waiting for you."
"In the dark?!" he demanded.
"I wasn't sure how the lights here worked."
"Lumos would have sufficed, surely?"
"I wasn't sure."
"And you didn't think to try? Instead, you decided to stand there like some moorland banshee in an attempt to frighten me out of my wits?!"
Her eyes turned down to the floor, a slow blush of embarrassment seeping up her pale cheeks. "I didn't mean to startle you."
He glowered back at her. The same as he would at a student who had failed to produce a satisfactory answer to his question, and then he found his eyes roving downwards to what she wore and his resolve to be furious melted.
She reminded him of a China doll he had once seen.
It had belonged to Sally Blore who had a rich auntie down South who sent her gifts – toys that caused a sensation on the streets of Cokeworth. The doll had been one of them.
She'd brought it into school to show her friends, and as it was delicate it had been left in the classroom during the mid-morning break.
A seven year old Severus had snuck back in to gaze at it.
He'd only wanted to look, something that Sally would never have allowed.
He'd been standing there, gazing at it, taking in how it had been created when he had suddenly been shoved forward.
There had been a jeering laugh from his assailant and then a sharp gasp followed by the splintering of porcelain as the doll was knocked to the floor by Severus in his feeble attempt to keep upright.
It had been at that moment that the rest of the class had returned, and a scream of desolation came from the doll's owner.
Severus had scrambled to his feet, picking up the doll with him. Desperate to avoid punishment and fix something he'd only wanted to admire.
He'd held it aloft, the dolls blonde silky ringlets brushing against his small hand.
"It's fine! See, it's fine!" he'd cried, and indeed it had been. Despite the sound of shattering porcelain, despite the witnesses of the class to its destruction, the doll was as she had been before, not even a chip.
The children had stared back at him, their silence oppressive and the fear in their eyes palpable.
Miss Brockle, the teacher, had returned at that point, her sharp eyes scanning the classroom and then without needing explanation she had sent Severus to the headmaster for caning.
It had been a painful experience, made more painful still by his father's reaction to hearing the story that night in The Crow and Dove. And yet, Severus didn't regret fixing the doll. He'd not done it for Sally – snobby, prissy cow that she had been, but he had wanted to fix it for its own sake – because it was beautiful and someone had set out to create such beauty, and Cokeworth had been so devoid of beauty… until that day in the playground, until that fateful day he'd seen beauty again on those swings.
In the bedroom at Hogwarts, Severus continued to gaze at Cassandra. He thought his new wife like that doll - the same porcelain loveliness… and about the same amount of brains, he thought drily.
He felt, something else as well. Expectation was radiating off her, and unlike the blank gaze of a doll the look in her eye spoke of resolution and fear.
He needed to do something; she was expecting something.
"You did not need to wait for me… but as you have..." He trailed off, and then hesitantly stepped towards her. She seemed to breathe in, as if steeling herself. He forced himself closer, and jerked his face downwards - planting a dry kiss on her forehead.
Pulling back, he briefly made eye contact with her - but instead of the relief he had expected there was clear confusion. What did she want? What did she expect? Choosing not to ponder these questions, he turned sharply away and crossed the room to the writing desk's chair.
Sitting down, he picked up the nearest book, and then turned slightly so she would see he was reading and thus take that as her cue to go to sleep.
From her spot across the room, Cassie watched him with apprehension.
The title of the lesson coming back to her… 'Learning her duty'.
That image - the bride between the groom's thighs. The bobbing head – it would have been almost comical if the act hadn't been so obscene to her.
And yet… he wasn't looking at her expectantly. He hadn't beckoned her over. Was he just going to read a book while she tried to do that thing from the picture?
It would have been some how much easier if he had given her encouragement instead of acting like she wasn't there, as if she was beneath his notice - the way her brother did to Heliotrope - as if she was a house elf... Merlin, how she missed Chokey!
If he had been allowed to come with her then it would have been so much easier. For one, she wouldn't have had to sit in the dark for the last few hours and she wouldn't have felt she was moments away from discovery... Moments away from destruction.
The sound of a book page turning broke her from her thoughts, and she briefly made eye contact as Severus Snape looked at her over the edge of the large tome with a frown before his face disappeared behind it again.
She mistook his confusion for annoyance that she was not performing 'her duty', that she was hesitating in her role as his wife.
Silently, she moved forward, wondering at what point she should drop to her knees.
Deciding sooner was better than later, she slipped down and shuffled the last few yards to stop in front of him, her chin ghosting his knees, while the page of the book above her turned again.
Severus' eyes traced over the words of 'Death and Life in a bottle' with relief.
He'd heard the shuffle of fabric which he took for the sheets.
Give it another half hour and she'd be asleep, and he could settle himself on top of the covers so as not to wake her.
In the morning he'd get to work on the bed - make it wider for a start and change the hangings. He couldn't believe that Dumbledore would have chosen them - those scenes of half-naked pursuit. No, a plain green, velvet if he must - but something simple. The girl would like that, Malfoy manor was practically a temple to the verdant shades.
At first, he was so busy thinking of what changes he'd make that he was not fully conscious of the pale hand that was tentatively creeping forward up his thigh.
Then slowly, he became aware of the sensation, a caress like the trembling wings of a hummingbird.
His eyes shot down to the seemingly disembodied hand that peeped from beneath the book, and he found himself frozen.
It was as if immobulus had been cast, as the tips of the slender fingers grazed his crotch… and then the book fell from his hand to crash on the floor as he gawped down in confusion at Cassandra's now fully revealed form.
"I'm sorry, I- I don't know how to," she stuttered, a furious blush tinting her complexion. "If you could perhaps… release yourself. I could try..." She trailed off as he continued to gape at her.
What did he expect? she thought as embarrassment gave way to irritation as he still sat there frozen. She was obviously a complete virgin to this as to everything else. He must know that! Couldn't he at least lend a hand, so to speak?
"What are you doing?" Severus finally managed to intone.
"Trying to please you!" she replied, her pitch rising.
A painfully long pause followed, and she watched him in confusion - trying to make out what he was thinking. What he wanted.
"I suggest," he began, his voice an inscrutable monotone, "that you go to sleep. It has been a long day for both of us."
She gazed back at him... Was he really dismissing her? Did he really not want to be intimate with her despite her aunt's belief that part of his desire to marry her was because he desired her?... Did this mean he now knew? Had he worked it out in his absence? Was he going to quietly return her to her parents before informing the Dark Lord?!
She hesitated, wondering if she should cry and beg him for mercy, but then she thought better of it – she obviously disgusted him, and it would do her no good to test his patience.
He watched her warily, as she hesitated, before taking his advice.
Retrieving the book from the floor he opened it again - saving her the embarrassment of a witness to her scrambling to her feet, but he was consciously aware, even in his shock, of the sounds of the bed as she finally made her way to rest between the sheets.
She had tried to give him a hand job, perhaps even fellate him.
There was no other explanation he could think of, despite how the idea was so confusing to him - What was she about? Was this some sort of trap? There was no possible way that Narcissa had instructed her in this, but who then and why?
He almost wanted to call her back, to have her turn those soft grey eyes to him and see if he could skim the surface of her conscious with legilimency. To see what had possessed her to try, and how she had learnt of such acts... Bellatrix? That was one explanation. Mistrustful Bella with her desire to see him fall. Was she really willing to use her niece as a spy and reluctant seductress...? Did she really think he was so easily fooled?
Severus darkly considered all this while trying to ignore the way his traitorous body had twitched as Casandra's tresses had grazed his knees. How he could feel a slight stirring every time he thought of what the girl had attempted to do to him. How there was an involuntary stiffening - that if his new wife had attempted the act again, she would have discovered for herself.
With swift movement he got to his feet, and marched furiously from the room, leaving poor Cassie to gaze after him in dismay as she clutched the fine cotton sheets to her.
The panel door snapped shut behind him, and Severus turned to glare at the portrait he sort.
"I said to you yesterday, that a wife was not in the plan, Severus," the painting of Dumbledore intoned mildly.
"I'm aware of that!" Severus hissed in reply. "Believe me it was not in my plans either!
"If she should come to suspect..."
"She will not!"
The painted blue eyes looked searchingly back at the obsidian glare. "What has happened?"
"Why should anything have happened?" Severus snapped, his anger giving him some relief to the tension he felt.
"You stormed from the bedroom to confront me - leaving your bride alone."
"Shall I go back in there then, Dumbledore?" Severus retorted sarcastically. "Should I go and take advantage of the situation?"
"When we spoke yesterday and you informed me of the development... I did suggest you behave as naturally as possible."
"Naturally? What is natural about it? About any of it? To have the girl forced from her home and manacled to me!"
"It is unfortunate," the portrait replied, his tone measured, "but you cannot risk raising suspicions."
"I will not sleep with her!"
"I should think not!" A new voice exclaimed from high on the neighbouring wall. "The very idea of a daughter of a Black being married so low... shocking!"
"Phineas, this is not helpful," the portrait of Dumbledore softly censured.
But Phineas Nigellus Black was not to be silence by half-bloods. "A bloom," he continued, warming to his theme. "An innocent flower of the Black tree."
"Not so innocent!" Severus retorted, and he allowed himself the hit of satisfaction he felt as Phineas' eyes grew wide with shock on the canvas above.
"What do you mean?!" the long dead former professor demanded.
Severus did not elaborate though, being as he was now acutely aware that the other portraits of those who had once stood in his place in that office were listening to the exchange - despite their attempts to appear otherwise.
"And those curtains, Dumbledore!" he said instead, turning back to the focus of his anger.
"What curtains?"
"Those 18th century Benny Hill inspired monstrosities – Carry On Headmaster!"
"Your references are lost on me, Severus, you will need to be clearer."
"The bed curtains! Those scandalous figures parading about across them!"
"I'm still at a loss, Severus. The curtains of my former bed, as I recall, are a rather vibrant shade of mauve- Oh!" The portrait came to a halt and then chuckled.
"What?" Severus snapped.
"The bed," the painting of Dumbledore smiled. "It likes to have its little jokes."
"What do you mean?"
"It changes, like so many things here. That night you slowed the curse on me, I went to the chamber and found it had transformed itself into a coffin – I changed it back, of course, but it is inclined to be mischievous if you do not treat it with a firm hand."
Severus looked back at the portrait incredulously, watching as it laughed again. There was nothing amusing about any of this – especially not a bed which was choosing to mock him! Tomorrow the students would return and join ranks with the staff to thwart him at every turn – he didn't need the furniture joining in as well.
With a sigh, he turned back to the panel.
It was his only option. He'd didn't want to be caught walking about by the Carrows and have them question why he still wasn't in bed, and he couldn't sit all night with the portraits.
Cautiously, he re-entered the bedroom.
The outline beneath the sheets was still, too still – she was feigning sleep.
With a wave of his hands, the light faded to barely more than a match strike, and he gingerly crossed the room to where his own meagre wardrobe was stored in a lone drawer.
He worked quickly, keen – if she was watching him - to change before her eyes adjusted and she made out his form.
Pulling the grey nightshirt over his head, his fingers brushed against the rough cotton and he felt a pinch of regret. Perhaps he should have invested in something newer to wear in bed, something more like what she was accustomed to… the idea of her judging him was painful.
He turned back to the bed, and found her form unmoved.
Moving slowly towards it, he gently lifted the sheets and slipped in between them.
Laying as still as her, he waited… Was she about to straddle him, and how would he react if she did? What had she been taught exactly? The bed of course might do it for her… He imagined the mattress suddenly lurching - propelling her across so that she fell on top of him… His mind, with all its intrusive thoughts that he found so hard to silence - ran with the idea… The weight of her on him; her thighs gripping his own; that elaborate night dress she wore riding upwards as she ground down on top of him; how it would feel to be inside- Stop! For the love of Merlin, stop! He demanded of his brain as his body once again reacted with enthusiasm to the sensations being imagined.
Cassie lay awake, she knew he was beside her. She'd felt the dip of the mattress as he had climbed in… and she felt something else – not exactly his heat, but his presence.
Confusion clouded her troubled mind. If he knew, why was he sleeping next to her? If he was so disgusted by what he had uncovered that he could not touch her, how could he choose to lay beside her? But then… perhaps he hadn't realised, perhaps he did just think her spoilt. Perhaps he was just tired. Oh, the agony of not knowing, the pain of wondering, the dread of waiting for the sword of Damocles to drop.
A shiver went through her, a soft vibration that echoed across the bed.
Severus turned on the pillow, taking in her huddled form beside him.
He was used to the cold that the beautiful but brutal highlands could bestow on its inhabitants - even in summer, and the kiss of autumn was already on the winds with the coming turn of the seasons. But he knew that she was not - a southern climate, that tame if lovely Wiltshire, was all that she had known.
He freed his hand from the sheets, moving it slowly, and with his summons the temperature of the bed crept up.
"You can adjust the heat to what is comfortable for you," he offered in the darkness.
"Thank you," she murmured, starting slightly at his unexpected voice.
"You're welcome… You don't have to seek my permission to make this room more suited to your needs, and…"
"Yes?"
"And… I do not expect you to please me."
Silence met this statement, and he felt a stab of annoyance. Wasn't she pleased? Surely that was what she wanted? "Look at me!" he demanded.
He immediately regretted it, as she turned obediently on the pillow and he was reminded of how narrow the bed truly was.
She was too close now. Too intimate in her position, and her shallow warm breath mingled with his as their eyes stayed locked.
He felt her searching gaze, and for a moment he almost expected to feel the gentle prod of an attempt at legilimency. He almost countered with his own, and then thought better of it, no doubt her aunt had taught her occlumency like she had his now brother-in-law.
Neither moved, and Severus felt his heart soften, she looked so innocent, so anxious.
"I will find a house elf for you tomorrow, as I promised."
The effect was instant, her eyes lighting up with relief and he felt what suspiciously seemed like pleasure at being the cause of such a reaction.
"Thank you," she intoned, a hesitant smile playing across her lips.
He nodded, and then turned away, suddenly keen to break the atmosphere – it was too heady, too confusing – he couldn't allow himself to be distracted.
With a quick wave of his hand the light extinguished.
"You will see your brother tomorrow as well… It's the first day of term."
With his back to her, Severus imagined that the pretty smile had grown wider and part of him almost wanted to see it again – ridiculous thoughts! It was the pressure getting to him! His nerves too taught!
He didn't know that in his proclamation all happiness had left Cassie, and that now she was lying awake - Her eyes fixed on the canopy above and fresh fears rearing at the many hostile eyes that would soon be discerning her every move, and putting herself and those she loved most in perilous danger…