Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Spy vs. Spy	By : Sakuracelt Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 15746 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, or any of JK Rowling's characters. This is just fanfiction, and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
This is stupid... This is stupid… This is stupid.
            Snape repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra. Gritting his teeth against the cold, he scowled up into the starless black sky from atop the astronomy tower and wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. Ever since the night Freya had fallen, the place had held a dark sense of foreboding for Severus. Dread gnawed at him like a rodent deep within in the pit of his stomach every time he so much as looked at the tower, haunting him with the memory of her body, eerily suspended in midair, then falling to the ground. To make matters worse, he somehow felt that the place was not yet done with him, as if the threads of his fate were interwoven with its stone foundation. This is stupid.
            Getting rid of Filch had been fairly simple. A whisper to the Bloody Baron, and the poltergeist Peeves would do anything he’d say. If the matter were ever in question, surely a student would be to blame. The last he’d heard, the mischievous spirit had managed to vomit something with the consistency of bubotuber pus all over the portrait wall at the far end of the castle. Filch would be spending the rest of the night scrubbing bits of unpleasantness from the wig of Sturgis Warbeck III with a toothbrush. Dolores Umbridge and her little nest of student spies had proven a touch more difficult. He’d made certain to switch the names for the night’s watch, so that Millicent Bulstrode, Cassius Warrington, and Graham Montague would be the ones stalking the corridors, so eager to prove themselves to their new headmistress. He hardly blamed them. Slytherins were notoriously ambitious types after all. With any luck they’d be too preoccupied looking for Gryffindors, who so often snuck out for a midnight snog, and he would be left alone. If they were caught, he was certain he’d be able to use a simple confundus charm to his advantage.
The plan was far too simple for his liking. Freya would arrive by broomstick, slipping through the invisible wards surrounding the castle, assuming they had not been changed since Dumbledore’s disappearance. Snape would make certain the other side was safe for her landing, and use his status to sneak her into his office, where he had already placed the necessary components of Malignum Praesidium. It was not the trickiest potion Severus Snape had researched, but if not brewed properly the results could be disasterous. Hogwarts was undoubtedly the safest place to create such a thing, assuming they were not interrupted. There were far too many variables for his liking, and his feelings of doubt were doubled with the delivery of The Daily Prophet earlier that morning.
Freya had been correct. As soon as he’d returned to Hogwarts, an official memo had already been released, and was widely circulated across the school. Any student or faculty member with knowledge of her whereabouts was ordered to report directly to the headmistress. Several students had already been questioned, including Harry Potter, who had re-emerged from Umbridge’s office with a freshly bleeding hand and a determined expression that reminded Snape so much of Lilly that it made him feel ill.
He sensed the influence of Mr. Wode, the enigmatic stranger who had been present at his absurd excuse for an interrogation. If he did not have a direct hand in the Minisrty’s affairs, the headmistress seemed eager to be the one to turn Freya in, clearly longing to be in the handsome wizard’s good graces. When Snape had gone to his office, the newspaper was waiting for him on his desk, and there she was, gazing up seductively from the front page. The image caused Severus to feel a guilty pang of arousal, for the photo they’d chosen had been the same one he’d seen on the cover of a muggle magazine at Grimmauld Place, only this time, it was a black and white wizarding photo, and therefore enchanted to move. Freya Lupin, eighteen years old and quite nude, was sprawled across a white background with an enormous black snake winding around her body to hide her more enticing parts. There were white flowers in her hair, and her eyes smoldered up at him in a way that he felt quite certain should have remained behind closed doors, and not on the printed page. “DUMBLEDORE HIRES MURDERING TEMPTRESS,” read the headline. Snape almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He had to give them credit. They certainly knew how to get the reaction they wanted. Digging up this bit of fluff would have hardly been difficult. He could only imagine the mountain of angry letters that must have been accumulating inside Dumbledore’s locked office.
            Sighing heavily, he flicked the paper open and began to read.
            The Wizarding community is in uproar after Ministry officials declared that Freya Lupin, the last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher employed by Albus Dumbledore, has a warrant out for her immediate arrest. Once apprehended, the deranged culprit will await extradition to Iceland for trial. Parents are completely outraged by how easily she slipped through Dumbledore’s administration without so much as a background check. Was Dumbledore simply too old or feeble to see the cracks in his own system? Will he ever return to answer for this lapse in judgment?
Perhaps the decrepit ex-headmaster is not completely to blame. Freya Lupin, who has in the past used the false name “Cerise” to disguise her identity, remains something of a mystery. It would seem that her past is full of all sort of unsavoriness, not to mention a record that completely lacks credentials for a Hogwarts educator. Whatever means she used to secure her position must have required some powerful magic. If spotted, officials urge the public not to approach the criminal but to contact the head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour as quickly as possible.
Headmistress Dolores Umbridge has stated that very little digging was required to justify the immediate dismissal of Freya Lupin. Words such as “scandalous” and “pornographic” have been used to describe her previous work. The more eccentric members of the artistic community have been quick to defend her, lifting her up as some sort of anarchist heroine, but perhaps they will change their minds when they learn that Freya Lupin was seen on the night of the infamous “Locke Massacre,” where four people were brutally slaughtered.
Sources say that Dumbledore immediately hired her after she mysteriously reappeared after a lengthy absence from the country, during which she allegedly committed murder, theft, and high treason. It is extremely disconcerting that such a bloodthirsty, promiscuous woman would be allowed anywhere near Hogwarts, though perhaps not surprising, given her closest relatives.
If readers recognize her surname, it will be because her brother is none other than the infamous werewolf Remus Lupin, whom Albus Dumbledore hired two years ago for the same position, and as the muggles say, “blood is thicker than water.” This writer cannot help but wonder who else Albus Dumbledore would have had teaching at Hogwarts? Did he ever really care about the safety of our young people? What on earth was that old coot thinking? Thank Merlin for Prime Minister Fudge’s latest educational reform program.
            Severus crumpled up the offensive article and tossed it in the bin with a snort of disgust. For a writer who was so quick to revile her as “deranged” and “promiscuous,” he’d clearly had no trouble displaying that particular photograph for the entire wizarding community to ogle at. The Daily Prophet seemed intent to paint her as some sort of femme fatale, an image that would be burned into the minds of every witch, wizard, and randy teenager in England. It would now be impossible for Freya to show her face without recognition. The whispers and double takes he’d received that day from students were proof of that. More than once he’d caught his own Slytherins giggling over the newspaper, and his fingers had itched to destroy every single copy, but it would look suspicious if he were to dispose of every paper could lay his hands on. The fact that her body was now on display for everyone to criticize and sneer at made his blood boil.
            Unfortunately, the rumor mill had already been churning out gossip, long before the article had been published, and the possible affair between Severus Snape and a criminal was simply too good for many to pass up. Not everyone was able to exercise discretion in his presence. At one point he’d caught Ginny Weasley glaring at him over her homework, and he’d been unable to keep from snapping at her.
            “And WHAT are you looking at, Miss. Weasley?”
            “I’m looking at you, sir.” She’d replied, far too boldly for his liking. “Miss. Lupin was my favorite teacher. You sold her out, didn’t you?”
            He had been so furious he’d taken fifty points from Gryffindor, and given her a week of detention. So that’s what all the goody-two-shoes thought. That he’d betrayed Freya to the ministry, somehow. That it had been he who had tipped off the Daily Prophet. Perhaps they even thought he’d been to one to send them that photograph. So be it. Severus Snape was used to playing the villain. Let them whisper. Let them glare as many daggers at him as they wished. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone.
            Now he was shivering on top of the tower, staring up at the sky like some bloody centaur reading the heavens. He was furious with Freya, and furious with himself. If he’d just been able to keep his desires in check, he never would have been dragged into this mess. Didn’t he have enough on his plate, spying for the Order? Feeding information directly into the Dark Lord’s ears? The logical part of his brain knew that his affair with Freya was a glaring weakness, and it could end up getting them both arrested, or worse. He shuddered to think what would happen if the Dark Lord found out that not only had he failed to retrieve her, but that they were secretly husband and wife. His position was compromised, and to make matters worse, Freya was playing a game he did not fully understand. The fear gnawed at him at all hours of the night. He recalled the sad smile that had once graced her lips, as she’d recovered in his bedchamber. “I do not think that I will survive this war.” Severus felt ill, knowing that there was only one option left to him. Somehow, he had to end this, for both of them. He just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do it.
There was a noise behind him, of soft shoes touching on stone. He whirled around just in time to see Freya falling rather clumsily to her knees, her green hood barely obscuring her face as her broom hovered a foot off the ground. He rushed over and hauled her to her feet, alarmed by how cold she was. Snape could not help himself. His hand gripped the back of her head and he pulled her in for a desperate kiss, hoping to massage some warmth back into her frozen lips. Her gloved fingers curled around his face, but when they drew apart, she looked incredibly pale and shaken.
            “Freya, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He asked, feeling his stomach clench as he imagined Mr. Wode hurtling after her in the dark sky. She shook her head, looking as if she were going to be sick.
            “I’m a shit flyer.” She mumbled, blushing furiously. He might have laughed had she not looked so awful. “Almost didn’t make it through the wards. They tried to shake me off.” She shuddered.
            “It’s alright. You’re here now. Quickly.” He tapped the top of her head with his wand, and a disillusionment charm broke over her body, causing it to ripple and almost disappear. He pressed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and walked to the door, cautiously easing it open.
            To his dismay, Draco Malfoy was waiting for him. The young wizard jumped, and stared at him in bewilderment. “Sir! What are you doing on this side of the castle?” Snape stiffened, and gave his pupil a reproachful glower.
            “It is best to avoid patterns when you take as many night’s watches as I do, Mr. Malfoy. That way no one will be able to memorize your nightly routine. Where is Montague?” Draco seemed skeptical of this explanation, but appeared distracted by the question.
            “Hospital wing. Accidentally tried one of those puking pastille things the Weasleys have been leaving around. Professor Umbridge told me to take over.” Draco puffed out his chest to show the shiny silver “I” pinned to his school robes. Severus did his best to look pleased with him, though at that moment he could have strangled him.
            “Very good, Mr. Malfoy. As you can see, I have secured this location, and you may be on your way.” He inched past Draco down the narrow stairwell, and sensed Freya moving swiftly alongside him.
            “Sir…” Draco gave his favorite teacher a strange, perplexed look. “Is it true what they’re saying? About Miss Lupin, I mean.”
            Snape scowled darkly. “I hope you haven’t been reading any gossip columns, Draco. I doubt your father would approve.”
            “Is it true she killed someone?” Draco blurted out. “They’re saying she’s a murderer and that…” He faltered, seeing the steely glint in Snape’s eyes. “They’re offering a reward for information. Father told me so.”
            “You think I traded information about your DA professor for a handful of galleons?” Severus drawled, raising an eyebrow.
            “No, sir. I don’t.” Malfoy admitted. “But sir, everyone saw…the rumors…”
            “It would be wise to keep that thought to yourself, Mr. Malfoy.”
            “Professor Snape. I think you should know that I saw Professor Umbridge trying to break into your chambers.” Snape twitched, feeling the cold fury slither through his bones. Of course she had. Umbridge had taken to keeping an annoyingly close eye on Severus since his interrogation, although she still seemed to favor him over his colleagues.
            “Will that be all, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape murmured dangerously. Draco stared up at him with a glimmer of something that almost resembled alarmingly Gryffindor-esque defiance.
            “If you are in contact with her…tell her I don’t believe them. Tell her I don’t care what anyone says about her. Not even my father.”
            Snape stared into Draco’s silvery grey eyes for several long moments before he replied. “On your way, Draco.” He waited until the sound of footsteps disappeared down the echoing stairwell, then began the descent himself, feeling Freya’s touch on his hand for a fleeting moment. A scowl darkened his features. His job was at risk. Their lives were in danger. And for what? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
            His office door closed behind them with a dull clang, and he allowed himself a small breath of relief. When he turned, Freya disillusioned herself and removed her cloak, her wild hair escaping from the clip she’d used to pin it back. That’s what it’s for, he thought with a pang of despair. She looked at him with wide-eyed concern, and he shook his head.
            “Let’s get this over with.” He muttered darkly, moving to the middle of the floor, where he’d placed a cauldron to simmer over a low flame, surrounded by eerily glowing candles. The nettles and bat spleens had been bubbling ominously for an hour. The jar, which contained the putrid heart of Lucas Frend, sat next to it, along with a wooden cutting board and a slender silver knife. Freya nodded solemnly and knelt on the floor cushion he’d prepared for her. She would need to do the actual brewing, but Severus was fully prepared to give her instructions.
            “Lower the heat. Let the flame barely lick the cauldron. Then add a pinch of the wolfsbane.” He watched as she pulled her gloves off with her teeth, and her graceful fingers carried out both tasks. He felt an urge to press them to his lips, but he was resolved to move forward. “Do not stir. When the wolfsbane had been absorbed, add a single drop of hemlock tincture. Only one. Careful now, or it will poison us both…” He held his breath, but Freya calmly held the vial over the potion, and tapped it with a forefinger. A tiny drop sizzled as it landed, and the potion turned as clear as water. “I’ve already measured out the appropriate amount of moonstone. Add it slowly as soon as the ripples stop, and stir thirteen times, clockwise.” She was a dutiful student, focused and apparently unafraid. He watched her face as the steam from the cauldron rose, causing her hair to become slightly frizzy. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, and he felt a traitorous throbbing in his groin when she bit her lip in concentration.
He instructed her in a low, commanding voice, to remove the heart from its glass prison, noting as she did so that her fingers did not so much as tremble as she plucked it from the sharp smelling liquid, and awaited his next order. “Cut it up into cubes, half an inch wide. Be careful not to crush any of it. We need what little blood it still contains.” He studied her face, and was surprised by how calm she seemed. In fact, she was smiling just a little as she placed her morbid trophy onto the cutting board and sliced it down the middle in one confident stroke. “Are you actually enjoying this?” He snapped incredulously.
            “Sort of. It reminds me of when I was your student.”
            “A pity you didn’t take up potions instead of espionage.” He muttered bitterly. She looked up, startled by the harshness of his tone, and he snapped, “Keep going, quickly now. You need to add it just as the contents begin to foam up.” Snape watched her fingers as they worked deftly over the lump of flesh.
            “I don’t regret killing him, you know.” She mused thoughtfully, piercing a particularly tough bit of vena cava.
            “Nor should you.” He replied monotonously. “Pay attention.” She glared sharply up at him, but said nothing. The cauldron began to spew large frothy bubbles over the top, shivering at if it were filled with live mice. Freya used her hand to swipe the meat from the cutting board into it, and it immediately settled, turning pitch black as it swirled. “Add the lacewing flies and stir thrice counterclockwise with the porcupine quill.” He commanded softly. She took to instruction easily, but he saw her mouth twitch in annoyance. Snape sighed. “We must get this right. If we don’t, the fumes will drive us mad.”
            “I’m aware of that.” She replied softly. “Now we wait for it to turn scarlet, yes?” He nodded grimly, keenly aware that she was avoiding his eyes. “You’re upset with me.” It was not a question.
            “Yes.” He admitted sourly. “I’m tired of seeing you place yourself in danger.”
            “Reasonable.” She conceded, still watching the potion.
            “And I’m growing weary of secrets.”
            “Also reasonable.”
            “I offered you a place in my home, at Spinner’s End. Why didn’t you take it?” Snape found himself asking, feeling somewhat childish. The refusal had hurt him more than he cared to admit. Was the idea of living with him really so terrible that she could not at least consider it? Her brow furrowed in thought.
            “The same reason you wouldn’t run away with me when I asked you to.” She replied with a small shrug. “We both have dangerous jobs to do, and I’m afraid I’ll only make it worse for you.” She gave him a sad look. “I’ve asked too much of you already.”
“We can’t keep doing this, Freya.” Snape said softly.
            Her face paled noticeably, but she did not look up. “What do you mean?”
            “You know what I mean.” He muttered, gesturing at the empty space between them. The cauldron’s cauldron began to turn an ominous shade of red. “Add the asphodel. Careful, now.” He held his breath as she held out a hand, and sprinkled the dried flower over the bubbling liquid. They watched intently, then to their great relief, the potion stopped boiling, and turned a deep plum color. Now they had to wait until it began to foam again. “As soon as we’re done here, we’re through.” He said, trying to make his voice cold and stern. “What we had was pleasant, but it cannot continue. The risks are far too great. I must continue my work, and you must leave the country as soon as possible. Go to America if you must. Get as far away from this war as you can.” Freya sighed and closed her eyes for a moment.
            “I will take your advice under consideration.” Her voice was strained, and the way it cracked made his chest ache with guilt.
            “You will do as I say if you want to live.” He snapped, exasperated.
            “Clichés are beneath you. Don’t be so boring.” She snorted, trying to tease him. Her hopeful grin faltered when he gazed at her stonily.
            “I can’t have some…witch...interfering in my affairs any longer. I want you gone.” It was difficult not to wince at the dismissiveness in his own voice, but it had the desired effect. Freya looked startled and hurt.
            “You don’t mean that.” She whispered. “You said you…” He cut her off, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence.
            “I would have said anything to get back between your legs.” He leered. “And you were eager enough to spread them for me, even after the way I’ve treated you.” Severus felt sickened by his own words, but he had to push her away. Hurt her, he thought. Hurt her and she’ll run away from you. Then maybe she’ll have a chance. “I have a man’s needs, and I got what I wanted. You’re used goods now.”
            “Lies.” She whispered, her eyes now glistening with tears. He clenched his fists so hard the knuckles turned white.
            “It was easy. All it took was a few gifts and some nice words and I had you wrapped around my finger again. Pathetic.” He gave a nasty chuckle, but was alarmed when she only gave him a penetrating stare.
“Who’s the blonde on the bedside table?” She asked quietly.
            “What are you on about?” Snape frowned at the expression.
            “You’re stiff. You’ve been staring at me, and not the work we’re doing. Your hands are clenched, but your skin is flushed. You might be able to fool the dark lord, but I know when you’re lying, husband.” She spat the word as if it were an insult. “You’re afraid. You’re doing an excellent job of hiding it, but unfortunately for you, I know when I’ve gotten under a man’s skin.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Or a woman’s for that matter.” Her grin was mirthless. “You’re afraid for me, and for yourself, but that’s not the fear I’m talking about. It’s something else, or you wouldn’t have even allowed me to come here tonight, because in spite of your words, which sound as if you’ve been rehearsing them in your head, you at least respect the work that I do, if nothing else.” She tilted her head as she considered him.
Frustration welled up inside of him. “I respect more than that, damn you.” He sighed, running his fingers back through his hair, knowing the game was up. There was no point in trying to fool her anymore.
“I can smell whiskey on your breath. You haven’t had much, just enough to get your courage up, I presume for this little charade.” There was pain in her expression. “You were whispering in your sleep last night. Who is she?”
Snape stared at her, disconcerted. It was true. Lately he’d been watching a memory inside his own head, over and over again, as though it was being projected on the inside of his skull. Last night he had dreamed of it, only instead, it was Freya’s body he was clutching as he knelt on the floor of the Potter’s nursery. Snape gritted his teeth. He would not go through that again. Better to push her away, to send her running as far away from him as she possibly could. He longed to touch her, but the thought that he had unwittingly dragged her into his darkest reality stayed his hand. She was right, and she knew it. There was no escaping it now. He owed her the truth. “Her name was Lilly.” Freya finally looked up into his black eyes, and he hated himself for bringing her this pain. “She was murdered by the dark lord.” The silence was heavy between them. “It’s time to add the murtlap.” He murmured. She uncorked a vial and poured a large dollop of thick yellow goo into the potion where it gurgled lazily.
            “What we’re doing…it isn’t wise, Freya.” Snape continued, feeling as if the very earth were falling from underneath him. “We’ve been very foolish. I’ve been foolish.” He said with a pained sigh. “You’re right. I care about you, and I respect you, but the truth is we’ve never even had a proper…”he struggled to find the right word “…courtship. I married you to save your life, but everything else…” His chest tightened. Freya’s expression was stony, as if it hurt her to even look at him. “I’ve heard that war will do that to people. It makes them rush into things they would never consider otherwise. Perhaps what we’re feeling is only adrenaline.”
            “Don’t give me that bollocks. War is hell.” She snarled, her lips twitching into a sneer that he had never seen on her face before. “If you don’t want me anymore, just say it outright. Don’t hide behind some newfound sense of morality. I refuse to be heartbroken.” She prodded him hard in the chest with a finger. “If you’re determined to be rid of me, or if you’re just trying to push me away out of cowardice…YES, cowardice,” she snapped, seeing the look of outrage on his face. “Then that’s your mistake. But know this, Severus Snape…if I make it through this alive, I will find you, and I will hex your bloody balls off.” She glared at the cauldron as though wishing she could throw it into his face.
            “Don’t be absurd. Of course I want you. Gods, woman I can’t even think straight for wanting you!” Severus snapped, alarmed by the sudden shininess of her blue eyes. “Freya, I’m terrified that the next time I open the Daily Prophet, I’ll see your name in that list of witches and wizards who have disappeared. I can’t handle that.” His voice actually broke. “I’m...I’m not strong enough.”
            “I. Never. Asked for this.” She said darkly through gritted teeth. “Do you understand? I’ve been running for so long I can’t remember what it’s like not to be afraid. Now it’s all catching up with me, and so help me, I’m tired.” Several tears rolled down her face, but her expression was strange. “I’ve even thought about turning myself in, just to get it over with.”
            “You can’t do that.” He growled, grasping her by the shoulders, terror gripping his heart. “I won’t let you, Freya. You hear me? I will kill any wizard that lays a hand on you.” He heard the hypocrisy in his own words, but terror was crawling across his very skin.
            Freya glanced down at the simmering potion. “It’s time.” She lifted the silver knife, and made a long thin slice into the palm of her hand, then made a fist over the bubbling cauldron, clenching and unclenching until exactly seven drops of blood fell into the liquid, sending unnaturally luminescent ripples across the surface. She handed the knife to Snape, and he did the same, scowling across the cauldron at Freya who looked furiously determined not to look at him, as if one glance would make her whip out her wand. He sighed. This was pointless.
            “You know damn well this relationship is a weakness. If the wrong people knew about it…”
            “They already know about it.” She seethed. “You’re not like them. So don’t think like them.” Her eyes flickered upward. “We will use this to our advantage, if we can.”
            “I don’t see how…”
            “You’re not used to having a partner. Neither am I. You know who is? Lucius Malfoy.” She tossed her hair back from her eyes and fixed him with a calculating look. “No matter what happens, Narcissa and Lucius have a shot at survival, because they have each other. Now shut up and drink this.” Freya whipped out her wand, and gave it a flick. Two empty glass jars flew from his shelves into her hands and she quickly dipped each of them into the cauldron, filling them with steaming black liquid before she thrust one into Severus’ hands. He wanted to shout. He wanted to argue. Instead, he drank.
            Snow again. So much snow. It blinds him with its whiteness. Mr. Wode is standing in front of him, but he is different. Gone is the immaculate black suit, and in its place, leather and furs. His smile is a shard of ice, sharp enough to slice through bone, and as he turns, Severus follows. The snow does not make a sound beneath his feet, and the silence is thick with dread. Time moves slowly, jerkily, until they reach the forest glen. A raven flutters downward from the trees and lands on Mr. Wode’s shoulder, inky black and staring at him with wide beady eyes. There is a tiny hut, hewn from wood and stone, built around the ancient oak, its roots gnarled and tangled through the very foundation. Even through the frost, he can see the runes carved into its walls. Freya sits, shivering in the snow, her lashes tipped with frost, her lips turning blue.
            Mr. Wode sits on the ground across from her, and lights a pipe, sucking the smoke into his lungs with an indifferent glance at the young woman before him. Freya stares at the tiny embers, so desperate for warmth. “Why are you here, girl?” His voice is strange. Suddenly it is not Mr. Wode. Severus blinks. Somehow he is looking at a man with long red hair, and also he is looking at an old warlock with tattoos etched onto his wrinkled face, and also, inexplicably, a lean and hungry wolf with piercing yellow eyes and dripping fangs. “You have magic. Why not make a fire?” He takes a long draw of his pipe and bares his teeth into something like a grin. Freya shakes her head, and he laughs. “I have nothing for you. Go home, girl.” Suddenly he looks right at Severus, penetrating him with an all too knowing stare. “Go home to your husband.”
            “I have no husband.” She whispers uncertainly, confused by the statement. Mr. Wode laughs again.
            “No?” He leers at her lasciviously, and spits on the ground. “Well I have no need for some fresh young whore. Go home before you freeze to death.”
            When Freya looks up, the whites of her eyes are black, and the creature inside her speaks, chilling Severus far deeper than the cold. “Let her freeze then,” it says, twisting Freya’s cracked lips into an insane smile. Mr. Wode reaches out, and in one swift movement, smacks her in the face with the back of his hand. Freya blinks, and her eyes are once again a clear blue.
            “You are tainted.” He says in a hard voice.
            “Yes.”
            “You’ve brought this foulness onto my doorstep. I should kill you for the insult. What do you want from me?”
            “I want to be free. Then I will leave you alone.”
            “Liar. I can smell the desire on you. ”
            Freya sneers, rising unsteadily to her feet. ”If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else. ” Wode rolls his eyes, and snaps his fingers. A fire appears, filling the glen with flickering orange light.
            “Sit. Warm your bones, girl.” Freya looks wary as she does what he says, and he cackles. “You are right to be nervous, cursed one.” Freya winces.
            “I’m not the only one who’s cursed. Where are your people?”
            “They cast me out years ago. You know why.” He whispers, and once more Severus can see the shadow of an animal, huge and hulking.
            “You’re a werewolf.”
            He takes a long draw from his pipe, and blows the billowing smoke in her face, making her cough, but he gazes at her with interest, and Severus can see the hunger behind his eyes. “I am more than that, girl, but I think you know this. Only someone truly desperate for power can find my home. You seek vengeance on those who have hurt you. I seek the same. Give me your allegiance and I can teach you how to bind the spirit. I can teach you how to move between worlds. I can teach you to see the very threads of fate. You wish to learn?”
            “Yes.” Freya whispers.
            “And what do I get in return?” He lifts an eyebrow. Freya frowns, then begins to unclasp her cloak. Wode howls with mocking laughter.
            “I don’t want what’s between your legs, stupid girl!” The smile dies on his face. “When I teach you, you will become Volva. Do you know what this is? When we are done, you will be able to wreak havoc with a song. You will blight crops if you wish. Bring pestilence. Speak with the dead. You will kill with a thought.”
            “I will also be able to heal.” She says indignantly.
            “Yes yes and give pleasure and call wild game and all such nonsense.” He waves a hand dismissively. “When you learn these things, you will help me destroy them. I am the wolf, but you my dear, are a fox. You have cunning. I can see it. They will take you in. They will feed you and clothe you. Then you will open the doors for me, and together we will taste their blood.” When he smiles, he bares his teeth savagely. Freya stares at him coldly, then slowly nods.

            The vision faded, and Severus found himself lying on the cold stone floor. Freya was at his side, staring up at the ceiling. He bolted upright and whirled on her, feeling a sense of wonder, in spite of the horror that made him draw back from her.
            “I saw you. I saw you with Mr. Wode, in the forest.” He whispered. She closed her eyes and two fat tears rolled down her temples.
            “He was my mentor for a time. He…he saved me.” The words seemed to catch in her throat.
            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Severus gaped at her, seeing himself in her, not for the first time. He thought he already knew the answer.
            “I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see how weak I was. I was so stupid, Severus. I had no idea what I was toying with. I thought he was just some powerful wizard who could teach me things, and I was so desperate to be rid of the succubus that I didn’t see what he was. The magic he spoke of wasn’t his to teach. He’d stolen it. A ‘Volva’ is a witch who wanders from town to town. They’re powerful and respected. He murdered one of them, and ate her flesh, thinking he would absorb her magic. They cursed him for what he did. They’ve probably cursed me as well.” Her voice was bitter. He shuddered. “He has followers, too. A small gang, but vicious. I think they were the ones who attacked The Locke.”
            “Then the Dark Lord will be trying to win them to his side.” Severus muttered darkly. Freya had unwittingly drawn vampires and now werewolves into this conflict. No wonder Voldemort was so interested in meeting her.
She nodded, and then as if reading his mind, said “Vidarr hates vampires almost as much as he hates muggles. He’s the one who prompted me to get close to them. To draw them out. I was the bait.”
“You were working for him?” Snape recoiled from her, in spite of himself, then immediately regretted it. She looked as if she wanted to cry.
“Yes.” She admitted miserably. “I helped to reintroduce him to society. He came off as a charming diplomat. That’s why Barty Crouch came back to me, I think. I must have looked like some weak little girl with powerful friends.” Her eyes narrowed with hatred, and her fingers twitched the way they always did when she was fantasizing about throttling someone.
“And the village he spoke of?”
“I never fulfilled my end of the bargain, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She snapped. “It was just some little muggle fishing community. Families trying to make a living. Sheep farmers and whatnot.”
“So what happened?”
“He taught me things, but I ran away before I could learn most of it, and then Lucas Frend happened…Vidarr made me do things. Dark magic. I got scared. Now he’s going to kill me. Or turn me. I’m not sure which.” She frowned. “At least he can’t poison my dreams any more.” Her eyes slid to him. “Thanks to you.” He shuddered.
“Any more dark and terrible secrets, Freya?”
“Nothing comes to mind.” She sat up and gave him an appraising look that made him feel naked. “I had a vision too. I saw you giving a prophecy to Voldemort.”
Snape flinched as if she’d flicked boiling water at him, and bolted to his feet. “Don’t speak his name.” He growled angrily.
“You gave him the information he needed, and he killed her.” She whispered.
“Don’t...” Snape hissed, hating the way the words sounded coming from her.
“You think you still love her. That’s why you’re having second thoughts about me. You love her ghost, but you torment her son whenever you get the chance. I might not know much, Severus but I know what love isn’t. Merlin, what are you?” She muttered. He whirled on her, furious to hear her speak this way. The truth in her words was cold and harsh in his ears.
“At least I didn’t spread my legs for power.” He spat nastily. It did not have the effect he’d hoped. Instead of looking hurt, she lifted an eyebrow and chuckled scornfully.
“Yes you did.”
His anger withered and he looked at her with dismay. She was right, in a way. He’d sold himself to a madman, and let him brand his mark into his flesh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. I forgive you though. You saw something dark from my past, and I saw something from yours. It’s alright to be angry.”
“You don’t seem angry.”
“I’m sort of relieved, to be honest. It was hard, keeping all that from you. I thought…I thought maybe… ” She drew closer, and slipped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. He warmed instantly, and buried his nose in her hair. It felt good, but his heart was hammering against his ribcage.
“Freya, he’s in Hogsmead.” Severus felt a pang of alarm. “He’s too close. You have to leave. Go far away. Hide yourself.”
“And leave you behind to face that monster by yourself?” She said softly. “I’d rather die.”
“Don’t say that.” Snape breathed. “Don’t you dare.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips urgently to hers, feeling the warmth kindle in his belly as she moaned sweetly. The contents in the cauldron had ceased bubbling, but the steam sill billowed, filling the room with a heavy perfume, making him feel strange. He was dizzy all of a sudden as the blood rushed from his head. When he tried to pull away, Freya seized him by the lapels, and drew him in even closer, until she was pressed completely against him. Suddenly her robes seemed far too flimsy for the freezing journey she’d taken, and he thought he could feel every curve of her warm flesh. She shivered, and he wrapped his cloak around her, enveloping them both in its heavy black cocoon. He inhaled sharply when he felt a chilly hand smoothing up his spine, and found himself losing his inhibitions with her touch.
When Freya nipped his lower lip with her teeth, he felt his entire body tingle. A low throb began to pulsate deep in his nether regions, and all logic was siphoned from his thoughts. He pressed deeper, wrapping an arm around her neck and kissing her hard, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he tasted her. Was this a side effect of the potion? He thought it very likely, but that didn’t seem to bother him as he seized her hips, and the tiny muffled sound she made was enough to make him let go of his beloved control. The potion was filling the room with white smoke, obscuring the office in a warm haze.
Severus felt drugged, every sensation heightened. The smell of her skin intoxicated him. She tasted wanton. Desperate. Their tongues battled feverishly, slipping over each other as their hands wandered. Her nipples were hardening beneath her dress. He could feel them against his chest, even through his woolen coat. They were wearing far too many clothes. Growling, he broke the kiss, and began attacking her neck, bruising her flesh with kisses, his ferocity growing wild and difficult to tame. She fumbled with his belt, tossing it to the floor. A voice in the back of his mind whispered, ‘Be quiet. She’s not supposed to be here. You might be heard.” The whisper was frivolous, unimportant compared to the heat of her flesh, so deliciously alive beneath his hands. He tore the cloak from her, and ravaged her skin, sucking and nipping hard, feeling her squirm as he hunched over her, biting into her shoulder. He spun her around, and pulled her body firmly against his, his cock lengthening, hardening against her. His lips continued to ravage her, his hand wrapping around her throat with surprising tenderness as he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue, feeling her wriggle excitedly against him.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard.” He growled, his desire burning wildly in the pit of his stomach. His muscles were tensely coiled, eager to dominate. She shuddered, her head lolling back to rest on his shoulder, exposing her pale throat and clavicle. He cupped her breasts with both hands and squeezed pinching her nipples hard, his nostrils pricking with the scent of her. He reached up and sank his long fingers into her hair, making a hard fist as his other hand found the hem of her skirt, and nudged the panties aside. They both groaned in unison when he dipped his fingertips lower, and found her wetness. He found the nub of her clit, and began to rub it gently, swirling over the slick flesh in smooth circles. Her breathing became heavy. She gazed up at him drunkenly.
“I need you.” She sighed. The tattoos on her shoulders and arms began to glow. He stared at them, but did not stop. Pleasure washed over him in long, pulsating strokes, and he felt the pull of a thousand eager tongues, lapping trails of fire across his flesh. He had felt this magic before. Freya gasped as his fingers sped up, bringing her closer with every touch. Her hips rolled and undulated against him, massaging his aching cock through his trousers. The air became sharp with the scent of dark magic. The symbols on her skin glowed white hot, and she seemed to purr with longing. Pleasure thrummed along every sinew of his body, and the very air seemed to flicker around them. He felt powerful as he worshipped her with his mouth. With a growl of lust rumbling deep inside his chest, he twisted the fabric of her silken dress with both hands and tore it down the middle, exposing her back. Freya hummed silkily, and smoothed the ruined fabric from her shoulders, letting it puddle around her ankles. Then he lowered her bodily onto the floor, commanding her to kneel before him.
She gasped sharply when she felt his lips and tongue swirling between her shoulder blades, rippling down her spine, his hands teasing the sensitive flesh of her backside, stroking between her thighs, never stopping their dance across her clit. His teeth bit sharply into the back of her neck, and she moaned at the pain. Her body trembled. Her knees shook. When the first tremors of orgasm began to wash over her, he surprised her by sinking the entire length of his quivering member deep inside of her slick cunt. Freya cried out in ecstasy, and another vision washed over them. The office disappeared into the fog.
They are in the same forest. Every surface is blanketed in snow, but they do not feel its cold sting. They are warmed by each other. The fire burns brightly, creating strange shadows on their naked flesh. Freya is on her knees, her head tossed back as he rides her, plunging into her writhing body, feeling more alive and more savage than he ever has before. They are drugged with pleasure. Time has no meaning here. They are one. She falls forward, opening herself up to him as he takes her from behind. The words that spill from her lips are strange to him, until he realizes that he has been speaking them as well. He hunches over her spine, driving into her so hard it takes her breath away. It feels as though he is being caressed by unseen hands, urging him toward bliss. Heat pricks at their flesh and they know that they are being watched, but they do not care. The air ripples with old magic. Long pale fingers smooth up her spine until he is gripping her shoulders as she rolls her hips, bucking beneath him, so desperate for more of him. When he fills her he feels complete, and he knows then that he will never be whole as long as they are apart.
There is movement beyond the trees. A great hulking shadow unfurls, and pale yellow eyes glower hungrily, but the beast does not dare draw nearer. They feel no fear as they take their pleasure from one another. Freya begins to laugh, and the wolf snaps its teeth. Lips pulled back in a ferocious grin, Severus watches as the symbols tattooed on her skin seem to pull away, swirling up his hands and forearms like flickering shadows. Old magic indeed. He locks eyes with the wolf and whispers,
“She is mine, and you will not touch her.”
The wolf says nothing, but a deep growl, terrible and old, rumbles in the very earth.
Throwing back his head, Severus laughs maniacally into the darkness.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Somewhere in Hosgmead, Mr. Wode awoke from his slumber in a cold sweat, his chest heaving with adrenaline. He’d dreamt of his little fox again, only this time as he’d unsheathed his bone knife to slit her throat, an enormous black serpent reared its smooth head, and wound its way around her, shielding her with powerful black coils that glinted silver in the moonlight. The fox barked with laughter, and the serpent spat venom into his eyes, blinding him. The message was clear. This path is closed to you. They were mocking him.
His sheets were in tatters as he rose in a fury, and stalked to the washbasin, muttering an incantation as he stared into the cold, rippling water. As he did, the image of a filthy man with small watery eyes floated to the surface and gazed fearfully up at him. He could see the rat, as well as the man, and he smiled contemptuously.
“Tell your master,” He intoned softly “I am ready to discuss terms.”
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Spy vs. Spy