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
- 15
- 16
- 17
When Severus woke, he was lying on his back, fully clothed on the floor of his office, where he noticed two things. The first was that he was lying beneath a plush blanket, and a lovely feather pillow had been slipped beneath his head. The second was that Freya was gone. There was no trace of her, save for a warm musky scent on his clothes that was indescribably her. He inhaled the scent greedily, and felt an unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach, then immediately stopped, feeling like a foolish schoolboy. The remnants of the potion they had brewed together were gone, the cauldron scourgified, and everything back in its place.
Severus was not completely sure whether or not that had all just been a dream. He dimly recalled kissing Freya, but supposed he must have passed out, for the things he remembered were not possible. There was no way they could have apparated from Hogwarts. Am I going mad? His muscles ached pleasantly, and he knew that he and Freya had indeed copulated, hallucinations or not. Apart from the dull pain in his legs, he felt surprisingly virile. Snape leapt to his feet with a surprising alertness.
His lips still tingled from kissing Freya., and he eyed the blanket and pillow warily. Had they fallen asleep together on the floor? The thought of her waking up and sneaking out of the castle without him left a dull ache in his chest. He pulled on his swirling black cloak, and gazed down at the little black sketchbook on his desk. Without really knowing why, he swept it up and tucked it safely into the pocket of his robes, thinking it might be best to have it on his person from now on. As he did, he noticed a tiny symbol was tattooed into his left hand, almost like a snowflake, and hardly larger than a pinprick. It should have alarmed him to see it, but the sight warmed him. Well, Freya if we weren’t bound to each other before, it seems we certainly are now.
Snape went through the motions of a normal day with ease. His morning classes were uneventful, apart from a chance meeting in the corridor with Professor Trelawney, who stared at him through her enormous glasses and looked as if she wanted to say something. He scowled at her, and she clearly thought better of it, but he caught the tiny flicker of interest that crossed her features, and the way her eyes lingered on his hand. Trelawney was the least of his concerns, however.
That evening, Draco Malfoy was sent to fetch him, and he felt as though a lead weight was sliding into the pit of his stomach as the young wizard led him up the stairs.
“We caught Potter and his friends in Umbridge’s office!” Draco whispered excitedly. “She sent me to find you...”
He did not like the sound of that, but he nodded approvingly just the same. When he opened the door of her office, his eyes watered from the garishly pink décor. All around him, an army of kittens stared down at him from their delicate china plates.
“You wished to see me, headmistress?” Severus drawled, gazing indifferently at the chaotic scene. Umbridge whirled upon him, a hysterical grin on her swarthy features. Behind her, Harry Potter fidgeted in his seat, staring desperately into Severus’ eyes. Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced over at the inquisitorial squad, who all looked very pleased with themselves as they restrained their captives. Neville Longbottom’s face was beginning to turn red from lack of oxygen, as Crabbe was holding him in a rather severe chokehold, and blood was slowly dripping onto the carpet from Ron Weasley’s bleeding lip. In the corner, Luna Lovegood was gazing out of the window as if nothing was happening. Hermione Granger let out a sob, but Ginny only glared at him.
“Ah professor Snape! Yes. I would like another bottle of veritaserum. As quick as you can, please.” Umbridge commanded in a sweet voice, though her expression was feverish and her eyes bulged impressively from their sockets.
“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter...Surely you did not use it all? I told you three drops would be sufficient.” He kept his face passive, but smirked inwardly as Umbridge’s face turned an ugly shade of purple.
“You can make more, can’t you?” She simpered, clearly struggling to remain professional, although the black bow in her hair wobbled furiously.
“Certainly. It takes a full moon’s cycle to mature so I should have it for you in a month” He replied calmly, watching her sputter with outrage.
“A month! But I need it this evening Snape! I have just found Potter trying to use my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!” Her voice was shrill and piercing, but he did not wince. Instead his eyes flickered once more to Harry, who was staring at him with wild desperation, his chest rising and falling.
“Really? Well it doesn’t surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.” He drawled, watching the blood drain from the young wizard’s face.
“I wish to interrogate him! I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell the truth!”
“I already told you I have no further stocks of veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter, and I would have the greatest sympathy for you if you did, I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victims much time to say anything of use.” It took much control not to openly laugh at the look of shock and outrage on Dolores Umbridge’s face.
“You are on probation! You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better. Lucius Malfoy always spoke most highly of you! Now get out of my office!” She shrieked. He gave her a little, mocking bow, and turned to leave, barely managing to keep his loathing in check.
“HE’S GOT PADFOOT! HE’S GOT PADFOOT AT THE PLACE WHERE IT’S HIDDEN!” Harry cried out.
Snape’s eyes narrowed at he looked back over his shoulder. Potter’s expression was fearful, his green eyes wide and pleading.
“PADFOOT?” Umbridge shrieked. “What is padfoot? Where what is hidden? What is he talking about, Snape?”
Severus considered her for a moment. “I assure you, I have no idea. Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me, I shall give you a babbling beverage. And Crabbe…” He looked over at the hulking teenager who still had Neville in his vice like grip. “Loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paper work, and I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.”
He kept his expression neutral as he gently closed the door behind him, but as soon as he heard it click behind him, he flew down the spiral staircases, his cloak billowing behind him. Snape was out of breath when he finally reached his chambers. He slammed the doors shut, locked them, and cast a muffliato charm for good measure before stalking to the silver mirror that hung on the far side of his laboratory next to an immense bookcase. “Grimmauld Place.” He stated clearly. His reflection melted into a swirl of color, and when the image righted itself again, he found himself gazing into the large brown eyes of Nymphadora Tonks. She leaned closer, her elfish features twisted with worry, and as she did, he saw that she was holding a cardboard box full of clothes. He scowled, recognizing some of them.
“Severus, what’s the matter?”
He ignored the question. “Is Black there with you?”
“Well of course he is. Where else would he be?” Tonks frowned at him. Snape was about to snap at her, when he was interrupted by Sirius’ lilting voice, echoing from another room.
“Is that Snivellus? Tell him he’s an arse.”
“Sirius, he sounds urgent...” Tonks said loudly over her shoulder. Severus heard the man curse, and then it was Sirius’ scowl he was looking at. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a week.
“What do you want, Snape?”
“I just found Potter being interrogated in Umbridge’s office. She caught him trying to use her fireplace. Something has given him the impression that you are being tortured by the dark lord.” He sneered, “…Unfortunately, it appears he was mistaken.”
Sirius gaped at him for a moment, then roared at Tonks, who jumped. “We have to go. We have to go NOW!”
“Calm yourself, Black. Let me return to make sure Umbridge has left him in one piece.”
Sirius gave a snarl of fury, and looked as though he would have liked nothing more than to sock him right in the jaw. “This is YOUR fault, Snape! If YOU hadn’t stopped teaching him occlumency…”
“Come now, Sirius, let’s not be too quick to assign blame.” Lupin appeared, and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Remus gave Severus a strange, hard sort of look, which made him feel a small sense of foreboding.
“Is Freya there with you?” He asked uncertainly. Snape frowned.
“No of course not. Why would she be?”
“She didn’t come home last night.”
“Obviously. She did say she was going into hiding.”
“I know that.” The werewolf looked haggard and worried. “She really didn’t tell you where she was going?”
“She was gone when I woke up.” Severus growled. Remus shook his head, and fixed Severus with another hard look. In the background, he could see Tonks looking uncomfortable.
“I don’t suppose I’ll ever convince you to stop seeing her? My sister is not your plaything, Severus.” He said quietly. Snape stared at them for a moment, and then he understood. They thought he’d betrayed her to the ministry, as Ginny Weasley had. Everyone looked at each other when he let out a sharp bark of laughter.
“Freya still hasn’t told you?” He actually wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “No Lupin, she’s not a plaything. She’s my wife.”
There was silence as they all stared at him like startled deer. Behind him, he heard Tonks drop the box of clothing she’d been holding.
“How…?” Lupin gaped at him in horror. Severus shrugged.
“If your own sister didn’t see fit to tell you, I don’t see why I should.” He snorted. “Black, your godson thinks you’re being tortured at the ministry. I’m going to try and clear up this mess. If I don’t contact you within the hour, we must assume he’s gone to rescue you. I suggest you stay behind to tell Dumbledore what happened.” He smirked nastily at Sirius’s look of outrage.
“If you think I’m just going to sit here-“ He began.
“Suit yourself.” Snape interrupted with a shrug, then waved his wand across the mirror, turning it once again to it’s normal state.
They were gone. Severus searched the school grounds. He searched the forbidden forest. Gone. No sign of Umbridge, or the rule breakers who called themselves “Dumbledore’s Army.” He sent his vomiting slytherins to the hospital wing, and found himself pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He did not bother cleaning up the mess in the headmistress’s office, and he instructed the house elves not to touch it. That horrible old toad had made her bed. Let her lie in it. He stared gloomily across the sea of trees as darkness fell. There was that fear again, writhing like a nest of serpents in his stomach. When he returned to his chambers and contacted headquarters again to report, Sirius roared every curse he could think of before the mirror went blank.
Snape drew the sketchbook from his pocket and began to scribble furiously.
“Freya, where are you? Your brother and the others have gone to the Department of Mysteries to intercept Potter.” He waited. Then he waited some more. His mind raced. Surely if her own brother did not know where she was, that meant she was safe? His attempt to convince himself failed miserably. Finally, Freya’s messy cursive appeared, hastily written and flecked with ink.
“I’m going after them. Don’t follow me. Take care of yourself. I love you.”
The dread that festered in the pit of his stomach blossomed into despair. Her words read like a goodbye.
“Freya please be careful.” He wrote, knowing that there was nothing he could say to convince her to stay hidden, not when her loved ones were in danger. Scowling furiously, he paced the room like a caged panther, fraught with worry. He did not know what was worse, being unable to help, or the way his mind conjured up the most horrific scenarios for want of the truth. The despair did not release its hold on him, and he soon found himself tugging on his travelling cloak with every intention of going after the others, Freya’s wishes be damned, but as soon as he had, there was a scratching noise, and a letter slid beneath the door.
“Stay at your post, Severus.”
He recognized Dumbledore’s handwriting, and crumpled the letter furiously in one hand. It was as if the old man knew exactly what he had intended. Damn him.
Hours passed. Not a word from Freya or the others. He spent the time drinking forlornly in front of the fireplace, still pacing restlessly, knowing that sleep would not come easily for him that night.
Suddenly his pupils dilated. Cold blue pinpricks of light stabbed like needles behind his irises. He staggered for a moment, catching himself and leaning heavily upon the mantle for support, gasping as his vision was flooded by images. His surroundings shimmered and melted away.
She is running. Her footsteps echo upon the marble floor, even as she wills herself to be silent. Fear claws at her breast, closing her throat, threatening to suffocate her, but still she runs. Her leg is bleeding. She knows that he will follow the scent. It is hopeless to flee, but her instincts are too strong to ignore. The wound screams in protest, but adrenaline makes it easier to ignore the pain. She runs past countless doors, but has no way of knowing where they will lead. Lost. Lost. Lost. She picks one at random. Another corridor. His voice is so calm as it mocks her. She can almost feel his breath stirring the hairs on the back of her neck.
“I can smell you, little fox.” He giggles, and the sound sends a wave of despair through her. “Why do you run from your fate? Come to me, child.” Her wide eyes search feebly for an escape, but there is none. She looks up at the ceiling, resting her head against the wall, feeling the terror wash over her in spasmodic waves, and then…calm. She clenches her fists, and raises her wand, kissing it for good luck. An image floats to the surface of her mind. Dark, brooding eyes the color of onyx. Shining black hair. A rare grin, just for her. She seizes the memory, holding it close to her heart for warmth.
“Severus…” She whispers. “I can feel you. I have known your love, and I will not be afraid.” With a gentle sigh, she steps out into the corridor and greets her old master with a smile. “I am here. Do your worst.”
Snape sat upright, his chest heaving, and his skin damp with sweat. For a moment he was bewildered, and reached for his wand in a panic, thinking that he was about to be attacked. He was in his own bed, his sheets twisted around him as if he’d been thrashing all through the night. He had no memory of returning to his bed. Terror seized him by the throat as he leapt up and threw on his robes, not caring about his disheveled appearance. There was a soft scratching at the door. His hair whipped his face as he swung his head around to stare at his chamber door. Sure enough, a newspaper slid beneath it. Fingers trembling, he picked it up, and saw his fears confirmed.
“HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS,” read the headline. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to slow its terrible pounding. His eyes scanned the article greedily. There was so much to take in. His heart leaped into his throat when he saw the word “dead,” but he slowed down and read the sentence a second time. “Sirius Black found dead.” The words did not make sense. He read the sentence several more times, finding it difficult to process the fact that his long time enemy would taunt him no more. It did not bring the gratification he’d always imagined. Instead, he felt ill as he thought, not of the man, but of the handsome boy Sirius had been, cruel, but only a boy just the same. He read on. “11 known deatheaters arrested after battle in the department of mysteries. Freya Lupin apprehended. Trial pending.”
His heart stopped. He stared at the page of mugshots, feeling their eyes boring into him. He looked at every face, recognizing each of them and listing them in his mind until he found hers. Freya’s photograph did not jeer at him or bare her teeth mockingly the way the others did. She did not belong amidst this mob of treachery. Her expression was defiant, but her eyes were full of unspeakable sadness. Her lip was split, and bleeding. Without really thinking, he brushed his thumb across the picture, as if he could heal the injury with a caress. A dark patch of swollen tissue bloomed beneath her left eye, and he hoped that whoever was responsible for it would die screaming.
Snape wondered feebly what could possibly have gone wrong. Hadn’t Dumbledore tried to speak up on her behalf? He was responsible for the capture of the others. It had been he, after all, who had recruited Freya into service for the order in the first place. Surely he would change their minds, as he had once done for him so many years ago. He read the tiny lettering beneath her picture. “Lupin awaits extradition in Azkaban.” It felt as though an invisible hand had clenched a fist around his stomach. He sat back in his chair, his mind racing. No trial for her, then. The ministry planned on shipping her away as quickly as possible. Let someone else deal with her. They had enough trouble on their hands cleaning up the mess they’d made.
Snape let his head fall upon his hands, his fingers sinking into his long black hair. A harsh sob threatened to overwhelm him as he imagined Freya being led to Azkaban in chains. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break things. He did neither. Instead he took a long, slow breath, and took control of his emotions. Freya was alive. She’d been battered, yes, but she had not been killed. Sirius Black was gone, and Freya was in prison, but for now at least, she was safe.
He thought of the dream he’d had with a frown. Mr. Wode had won. Freya had been in his clutches. Why had he not killed her, or taken her with him? Why send her to Azkaban? More puzzles. More mysteries. He was so very tired.
Snape sighed, and rubbed at his bleary eyes, cursing the day he’d first laid eyes on Freya, then immediately regretting it. His thoughts lingered on the memory of their first kiss in Nocturne Alley, how elicit and exciting it had been. She made him feel so breathtakingly alive. It was painful to imagine such vibrancy surrounded by dementors and high, stone walls, trapped and surrounded by enemies for the second time in her life. Emotions were exhausting things. If only he could be rid of them.
            There was a polite knock on the door. He recognized the cadence immediately, and was not surprised to find Albus Dumbledore on the other side. He looked far more careworn than he’d ever seen him. “Headmaster.” Snape knew he should have inquired after the old man’s journey, or expressed relief that he had returned, but found that he simply did not care at the moment.
            “Severus. I hope I’m not interrupting.” The old man intoned carefully. Snape scowled and stepped aside, gesturing toward an empty seat by the fireplace. Dumbledore looked down sadly at the Daily Prophet in Severus’ hands. “Ahh. Yes. I’m afraid the loss of Sirius is a blow to us all.”
            Fury welled up inside of him, but he swallowed it. “I couldn’t care less about Black. Let him rot.”
            Dumbledore eyed him furiously. “How can you be so cold hearted? Have you held onto your grudge for so long you cannot spare the slightest sympathy for our fallen comrade? He died a hero. He deserves better.”
            “’Cold hearted?’” Snape breathed, giving the headmaster a poisonous grimace. “My heart is clearly no concern of yours. Perhaps it has escaped your notice that my wife is imprisoned? Or perhaps you merely came here to dazzle me with your astute observations? Forgive me if I don’t trouble myself over the dead when the living are still unaccounted for.”
            Dumbledore looked at him with a sad sort of understanding that made him want to strike the old man across the face. “I am sorry, Severus.”
            His control wavered for a moment, and he clenched his fists, breathing through his nose for a moment before fixing his dark eyes on the man who so loved to tug at his strings and make him dance like a puppet. “Don’t you dare pity me, Albus. What happened at the ministry?”
            “A great many things happened.” The headmaster sighed, and took a seat. “Sirius Black was murdered by Bellatrix LeStrange. The prophecy has been destroyed. Harry Potter now sits in my office, blaming himself, no doubt.” He regarded Severus morosely.
            “I don’t care about your precious prodigy!” Snape spat. “Where was Freya, Albus?”
            “Freya was caught up in the heat of battle. I captured most of the death eaters myself, but she was not with the others. They did not even know she had come to their aid. Remus is in shambles. He blames himself, of course, but it was no one’s fault. Mr. Wode was already waiting for her. I am certain that she was the object of his desires, and that he had no interest in the prophecy. He found her before I could.”Albus frowned. “There is nothing we can do, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore said quietly.
            “Lies.”
            “I’m sorry, Severus. I truly am.”
            “No. You must save her…”
            “I cannot, Severus. I’ve spoken with Fudge, but it is out of his hands. I know you don’t wish to hear this, but perhaps…it is for the best.” Severus stared at the old wizard, unable to find the words to express his fury. Bile rose to the back of his throat. He felt suddenly dizzy, and sat down, cradling his head in his hands, wanting to scream. “Freya has gotten herself tangled in far too many webs. Surely you must see that. I wanted to keep her safe, but the attraction between you…” He shook his head wearily. “When Freya came here, she was tainted by dark magic, but she would not let me help her. I asked you to save her, thinking that you would be able to lure that…creature out without emotional attachment. It did not occur to me that you might harbor feelings for her as well. I have been happy for you, my friend. No one deserves to find love more than you, but now is not the time. What’s done is done. Put her out of your mind. Tear your feelings out by the roots. You will need a clear head.”
            Against his will, a burst of hysterical laughter bubbled from Snape’s lips, but it broke into a harsh sob. “You’ve over reached, Albus. Was it always your intention to separate us?”
            “We are at WAR, Severus. Now is not the time for you to indulge your desires.”
            “You ordered us to brew Malignum Praesidium.” He held up his left hand and showed Albus the tiny blue symbol tattooed there. “I drank it too. Her soul is bound to mine by old magic, now. Not just our bodies. Our souls.”
            “That was…incredibly foolish, Severus.” Dumbledore’s face was pale.
            “It is done, Albus. I drank it, knowing the risks, and do you know why?” His stare was wide and penetrating, and he had the satisfaction of making the older wizard look uncomfortable. “Because she asked me to. You may order me to my death if you wish, but this I cannot do, even if I wanted to.”
            Albus looked at him for a long time, considering him in silence, then gave a great sigh. “There is one option we might consider.” He hesitated, seeing the hard, determined expression on Severus’ face. “The man who calls himself Mr. Wode has designs for her. That much is clear. We have no way of knowing precisely what those are, so for now we must assume the worst. The Dark Lord himself once saw her as a bargaining chip, should he wish to make alliances, but that might have changed now that she’s been apprehended. You must reason with him if you can. Convince him that you have bent her to your will, that she will do anything for you, and that when the time comes…”
“You would sentence her to my fate? Have her become a deatheater?” The words caught in his throat. The thought of Freya being “branded as a slave,” as she had once described it make him sick to his stomach.
“If you do not do this, she will be lost. This way, at least, you might have each other.” Albus lifted an eyebrow at him, and Severus chuckled darkly.
“This is what you intended all along, isn’t it?”
“To have my two best spies infiltrate the enemy? Obviously I considered the possibility.”
“That’s why you hired her.”
The look the elderly wizard gave him was inscrutable. “I wanted to anchor her. Without purpose she would have fled from the school the moment she was well enough. Freya has a desire for vengeance, yes, but she needed a reason, a real reason to fight. I gave her one. I gave her Hogwarts. She proved her loyalty tonight, when she learned her students were in danger.”
“Merlin, the webs you weave.” Severus sneered. “Is anyone safe from you?”
Albus tactfully ignored this. “Freya will remain in Azkaban, for the time being. The ministry has agreed to postpone extradition until the Icelandic ministry is able to build a case against her. As it is, they have very little evidence, and no living witnesses. All is not lost. She still has some time.” Severus stood at once, and stalked to the door in an impulsive fury. “I forbid you to interfere, Severus.” Albus’ voice was hard, and it froze him in his tracks. “Freya is safe. It is not my desire to keep you from finding happiness, but right now, the school needs you.” Snape turned to glare icy shards at the headmaster, but he only looked sad. “Concentrate on Voldemort. Convince him that Freya is worthy of his time.”
“Please get out of my room, Albus.”
Dumbledore gazed at him for a long moment. “As you wish. Get some sleep, Severus. You look like death itself.”
            As soon as the headmaster was gone, he removed the sketchbook from his robes, and flipped through it furiously, searching for…he did not know what. He tossed it onto the bed and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey, yanking the cork out with his teeth, and spitting it into the fire.
Don’t follow me. Take care of yourself. I love you.
He scowled furiously as he recited the words in his mind as if they were burned into his very skull. If you love me, why give yourself up to that monster? You could have stayed behind. Kept yourself safe. You could have told me what you were planning so that I could help you, but no…you had to fly off after Black and your stupid brother. He thought viciously. It was easier to be angry with her than it was to let the confusion of his other emotions well up around him. Better to hate her if he could. Otherwise he could very well drown in his own bitter regrets. Why wouldn’t you let me protect you?
He awoke with a start as something soft brushed his face, grabbing the arms of his leather chair convulsively, his wand flying into his hand. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Before he could cast a hex, a small furry head bumped the underside of his chin, and he found himself looking into a very large pair of green eyes.
“Trejgul. How in the hell did you get here?” He stared at the creature, who blinked at him slowly and began to purr. Absentmindedly, he began scratching him behind the ears. “Where is your mistress?” He asked without thinking, until reality came crashing down once again. Freya was gone. His chest heaved with renewed emotion. Despair. Fear. A healthy dose of rage. He sipped at them bitterly like brandy, until he was glaring down at the creature. “And what, I suppose you found your way into my chambers all by yourself?” He snorted, then reconsidered. Stranger things had happened at Hogwarts, and for all the spellwork that prevented such things, cats never seemed too bothered by things like anti-apparition charms. “Did Freya send you here?” There was iron in his voice, but the kitten did not seem to mind. “Is that it? Bloody witch gets herself captured, but by all means, lets make sure the little furball is taken care of?” He scowled, feeling incredibly resentful. “Seems you’re the favorite after all. At least she cares about your well being.” Trejgul yawned, then stared up at him condescendingly. “Don’t give me that look. It’s not my fault she’s gone.” He snapped, not caring how foolish it was to argue with a feline. “We’ve been abandoned. Might as well get used to it.”

            A month passed. By daylight, Severus delved into his work with a fury, intent on distracting himself, never letting her name so much as linger on the tip of his tongue. For the first week, he had pestered the headmaster daily for news on Freya’s welfare, but the headmaster had become increasingly tight lipped and soon, he was shutting down all conversation as soon as she was mentioned. He was resigned to scanning the Daily Prophet, hoping desperately to read her name. Prime Minister Fudge had resigned. Rufus Scrimgeour was rumored to be taking his place. The reporters were chalking up Freya’s arrest as some sort of victory, proof that the wizard government was making some sort of progress. They did not mention whether she was still in Azkaban, or whether she had been shipped off to Merlin knew where.
By night his dreams were tormented with visions of Freya, emaciated, filthy, her red hair in impossible tangles. Soft cries echoed in his skull, and he would awaken, his sheets drenched with sweat. He had no way of knowing whether the images were real or whether they were his own tormented imaginings. One night, he dreamed of a massive ship, it’s sails crisp with frost in the gloomy fog, and when he awoke, he shivered and for a moment thought he could taste the salt air on his lips. When sleep would not come, he occupied the time by brewing potions to replenish his stores, and when those were filled to capacity, he replenished the medicinal potions in the hospital wing. One such evening, as he busied himself by taking inventory, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
            “Thank you Severus. I think we have enough pepper up potion to last us all of next term.” Poppy said softly. Snape flinched away from her, and the mediwitch gave him a small, sad smile. “Have…have you had word from Miss Lupin? I know you two were close.”
            “No.” Snape replied bitterly. If Freya was allowed correspondence, which he knew was unlikely, he had not receiving a single scrap of parchment from her. Not so much as a solitary blot of ink had appeared in his notebook. He knew that even if she still had the thing on her person, she would not be given a quill to write with, lest she do herself harm. Even knowing this did not make him any less resentful. He rifled through the pages angrily, his eyes burning. For the first few nights, he’d filled their pages with words, pleading for some scrap of news, begging her to tell him whether or not she was safe. He knew it was futile. She had said her goodbyes. She was gone.
            When term ended, it was a relief. The empty halls reflected the loneliness he felt. As before, it felt as though he had lost a limb. A vital part of him was missing. He reconsidered the words of Albus Dumbledore. Tear your feeling out by the roots. Easier said than done. He found himself reading last month’s Potable Potions magazine, lingering on the effects of cardamom in a Wide-Eye potion.
            When used sparingly alongside of, or in some cases, in replacement of ground ginger, the seeds can be used to alleviate the anti-gravity effects of dried Billywig stings. The pods themselves however, have very little use in potion making, but make a lovely addition to a nice strong pot of black tea.
            “See, Trejgul? I was right about cardamom.” He said to the creature, who appeared to have doubled in size since he’d first appeared in his chambers. Treijgul hardly resembled that sad little kitten he’d found in Hogsmeade. Now he was long and lean, with an impressive set of whiskers, and an impossible mane of black fur. Snape had quickly learned that it was best to charm all of his clothes if he wanted them to remain free of cat hairs, although that didn’t seem to stop them from occasionally finding themselves in his morning coffee. Treijgul glanced up at him, and Snape winced. “Fine. She was right.” He scowled at the memory of Freya pressing the little green pods into his hand, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to shove them right up his nose. He shook the memory away. Put her from your mind, Dumbledore’s voice echoed in his brain.
            Severus hissed in pain, clutching his arm instinctively. He did not need to look at his dark mark. He already knew that it was writhing beneath his skin. Breathing steadily, he rose to his feet, and made his way silently from the castle. When he reached the edge of the forbidden forest, he apparated.
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Spy vs. Spy