Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Spy vs. Spy	By : Sakuracelt Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 15750 -:- 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
- 16
- 17
- 18
  “Crucio.”
Bellatrix writhes upon the cold black marble, her eyes rolling into the back of her head until only the whites show. Her skull vibrates upon the hard surface as her body lurches and contorts into unnatural positions, but no one dares to help her, not even her own sister who watches, terrified, praying that the dark lord will not turn his attentions on her. It was after all, her husband who has failed so abysmally to retrieve the prophecy. Bellatrix manages to roll onto all fours, her head bowed low in supplication. She will take this punishment without complaint. Such is the nature of her devotion. Snape watches, silently, his face carved into an expression of stoic indifference, although every sinew of his body is tense with anticipation. Blood begins to bubble forth from Bellatrix’ lips. She has bitten her tongue. Mercifully, she passes out cold, but no one budges for fear of attracting their master’s ire. Severus stares at the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was beautiful once, before Azkaban. He thinks of Freya, shivering in her cell, and wonders how long it will take before she too is driven mad. These are dangerous thoughts. He takes control of his mind.
            “Fools. All of you. Worthless.” The Dark lord hisses through bared teeth, so softly, like the final breath of a dying man. His eyes glint scarlet as he weilds his wand like a scepter, passing it over every bowed head before him. “Crucio,” he whispers, almost lovingly, rolling the syllables across his tongue. The curse is magnified. No one escapes its kiss.
            Pain. No words can truly describe it. There is no poetry, or turn of phrase to give it justice as it wreaks havoc upon the body. He tries to send his mind away to a better place, and is meekly surprised to find that it works, as it never has before.
            His vision returns swiftly, but finds he is no longer in Malfoy Manor.
            It is cold. Far too cold for summer. A heavy fog blankets the forest floor. The trees are huge and twisted, and they whisper woodenly with every breeze. She has no cloak to keep her warm, and she dares not light a fire until she is certain that no one has followed. She does not remember how she got here. Tired. So very, very tired. Her eyelids are heavy. Her body screams at her to rest, but there are eyes in the forest. They watch her every step, but if they are predators, they make no move to devour her flesh. They know that she has been invited. Her presence is no mistake. A voice whispers in her mind. “Not far now, child.”
            She stumbles. The ground flies up to meet her. She barely manages to roll onto her back. The stars are so bright. They swirl above her in a kaleidoscopic vortex, and then…

            Severus cried out, and sat up in bed as a post cruciatic tremor rippled through his skeleton, making him cry out in hoarse, throat cracking agony. His bed sheets were soaked with sweat. Voldemort’s fury had been a terrible thing to behold that night. All of his followers were punished for their failure. None were spared his wrath. Not even Severus, who had dutifully remained at his post as both of his masters had commanded. With a heavy sigh, he uncorked a vial of deep purple potion, and swallowed it down. The phantom pains ebbed away, and for the thousandth time, he was reminded of Freya. When will you stop haunting me? He thought. You left me here to rot. The least you can do is let me sleep. Severus knew of course that his absent lover was not to blame for his nightmares, but somehow he had taken to arguing with her in his thoughts. It was often easier to blame her than it was to accept that the fates had been so cruel as to tear them apart.
He turned the empty vial in his hands. Once, he had presented her with a similar brew, to ease her own tremors, and he remembered the way her hands had trembled as she’d warily accepted the gift. The pain was something he was intimately familiar with, the result of trauma to the mind, rather than the body, and he had recognized the signs immediately. He rubbed at his temples, furious with himself for lingering on her. You let yourself be captured, leaving me alone. Did I mean so little to you? Freya’s name had not been mentioned in the Daily Prophet for a solid month now. Snape had long stopped pestering Dumbledore for information, although recently the old wizard had taken to disappearing for lengthy periods of time, making it difficult to meet with him in private. No one knew where he went.
Snape had not touched the enchanted notebook in weeks. It sat temptingly on his bedside table. Poring over their last conversations did not help him, but the memories would still arise, unbidden when he least expected them. Would he never be free of this? Being apart from her was torment. Not knowing whether she was alive or dead was even worse. He mentally smacked himself. She’s gone. You have a job to do. You must let her go. He sighed wearily. She let you go, easily enough.
              Very few staff members had chosen to linger at Hogwarts after the students had been sent home for the summer holiday. Those that did were careful never to mention Freya in his presence, as he was quick to snap at those that did, biting their heads off with scathing remarks. His temper was incredibly short these days. The fact that her name had not popped up in the news was not lost on them. The rumor mill ticked away as steadily as ever, producing fresh gossip with every scrap of news. It was painfully clear that the Ministry was influencing the Daily Prophet, but even they had ceased parading Freya’s arrest as some sort of victory.
“I think we must consider the possibility…I’m so sorry…but I think Freya might be dead, Severus.” Mcgonagall had reached out to him with such genuine grief that he’d exploded, startling the witch so badly that she spilled her tea all over the front of her tartan robes.
“Do NOT say those words to me, Miverva. Do not even speak her name.” He’d growled, wrenching his hand away from her. The subject had not been broached again. His heart ached. As angry with her as he was, he refused to believe that Freya Lupin had withered away in prison before the ministry could ship her off. He dreamed of her almost every night. They had taken the malgnum praesidium together. He was certain that if she had died, he would have felt it somehow.
Most of his time was spent preparing for his own journey home, to Spinner’s end, carefully wrapping his more delicate laboratory equipment and deciding which books could stay, and which would go home with him. The thought of leaving Hogwarts put him in a foul mood, but there was nothing else for it. Term was over. Nothing to do now but bury himself in his research and try not to let the old walls taunt him with memories of his own unfortunate childhood.
He pondered over the sketchbook, wondering whether or not to take it with him, then feeling strange about the fact that he’d even consider leaving it. He knew that he had no right to feel so bitter. He and Freya were bound by magic, yes, but they had made no vows. Her battles were her own. They both knew better than to make promises they could not keep, and yet…Severus had come so very, very close to calling it off with Freya. It was too dangerous. A war was starting. This was no time for attachment, and he knew that loving him when he was so close to the enemy would only bring her pain, or worse. Pushing her away was a mercy to both of them. Better to make a clean break now, before the war could intervene. Then, almost predictably, he had broken his resolve, because in the end, most warm-blooded humans cannot simply turn off their feelings. Not even a cold hearted bastard like him. He cursed his weakness. He cursed Freya for leaving him alone. He cursed the fates.
The dark lord had promised that he would have an assistant. Peter Pettigrew would be staying with him, a prospect that gave him no joy. Doubtless, the filthy rat was going to spy on him, or perhaps the Dark Lord was simply sick of the coward always getting underfoot, and thought Snape was well suited for the job of keeping an eye on him.
Before he could dwell too deeply on this, there was a soft, hesitant knock on his door. Snape frowned at it for a moment, debating whether or not to pretend he wasn’t there. He was in no mood for company, but curiosity won out. “Enter.”
The door opened softly, and Remus Lupin shuffled in. Snape stared at him uncertainly. The man looked pale, and far more haggard than he’d ever seen him, as if he had aged ten years. His robes were as patched and threadbare as ever, and he was thinner, gaunt and hunched with grief, as if the world was simply too much for him to carry on those thin shoulders. He looked so terrible, in fact, that Severus pulled up a chair, and beckoned for him to sit. Remus looked wary at the gesture for a moment before having a seat.
“Thank you.”
Snape said nothing, but instead poured the man a large snifter of brandy. Lupin nodded gratefully, then downed the liquor in a single gulp. Severus lifted an eyebrow, thinking back on Lupin’s reaction when Freya had finished a drink in a similar fashion. Hypocritical git, he thought. Wisely, he said nothing.
            “We have more in common than you think, you and I.” Lupin said wistfully.
            “I can barely stand you.” Severus grumbled, pouring another brandy and handing it to the forlorn man before him.
            “We have that in common as well.” Remus said with the ghost of a bitter smile touching his lips. Snape regarded him wryly, and then asked a question he already knew the answer to.
            “Why are you here, Lupin?” He asked.
            “My sister. Your…wife. “ He choked. Severus paused, feeling his heart flutter arrhythmically at the sentiment. Hearing Lupin state this out loud felt very strange.
            “I have not heard from her, if that’s what you came here for.”
            “Nothing? You’re sure?” Lupin frowned.
            “Not a drop of ink. Why?” He asked suspiciously. Lupin’s eyes shifted rapidly about the room as though searching for extendable ears. The man was paranoid.
            “Seems strange, doesn’t it?” He asked quietly, licking his lips.
            “Not really.” Snape replied.
            Lupin stood at once, and for a moment Severus thought he was going to storm out of his chambers, but instead he began pacing restlessly about his rooms, looking for all the world like a beast trapped in a cage.
            “Sirius was never supposed to be at the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore told him to stay hidden. Freya too. They were supposed to stay put. I tried to hold him back. I TRIED. He threatened to hex me if I stood in his way…Sirius was reckless. He always has been. Freya wasn’t even there when you called us on the mirror. She’d already left. I don’t even know how she knew…She wasn’t with us, Severus. You must believe me. We didn’t know she was there!” He looked at Snape with a furious sort of desperation.
            “I don’t blame you, Lupin.” Severus was surprised to hear himself say. “Freya and Sirius had more in common than you think.” A strange, unwarranted feeling of jealously twisted in his gut. Sirius had loved flirting with Freya in front of him.
            “I must have written her a hundred times by now…nothing. Still nothing.”
            Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes. “This is the woman who neglected to write to you for two years, Remus. She didn’t care then, and she doesn’t care now. We cannot be too surprised by her utter disregard for those who love her.” He muttered sardonically. To his surprise, Remus growled dangerously, and began to stalk toward Severus in a predatory manner.
            “That’s not…” Lupin began, then faltered, seeing the man’s withering glare.
            “Not fair?” Severus finished for him. “Was it fair of her to go running off to the Department of Mysteries, compromising her position? Was it fair for her to get herself captured or worse? Her actions have placed the entire order at risk. Dumbledore’s said so himself. It’s one thing for Black to go and get himself killed. At least he can’t have information tortured out of him.” The words came spilling out before he could stop them. He had struggled to keep these thoughts at bay, but once spoken aloud, they hung in the air like the sword of Damocles.
            “You don’t understand.” Remus spat angrily, running his fingers through his brown hair, mussing it up. Severus scowled darkly at the gesture, for it reminded him of another marauder who used to tousle his hair intentionally.
            “What don’t I understand?”
            “I WENT TO SEE HER…” Remus barked, then shook his head violently as if shaking off a fly. “The gate was closed. They wouldn’t permit me inside… I couldn’t even get close…” He went through several more paces, then paused to look at Severus with wide, terrified eyes. “I couldn’t smell her, Severus.”
            “ That’s hardly surprising.” Severus said with a frown. “Azkaban is surrounded by ocean and salt spray, not to mention the stink of its wretched inhabitants. Any beast would be confused by the scent of the place.”
            “But why wouldn’t they let me see her? She’s my own flesh and blood.”
            “You’re a werewolf.” He replied with a shrug. “Surely you are used to such mistreatment by now? What did you expect?” He watched as Lupin buried his head in his hands, and for a moment he felt a surprising twinge of empathy. The man looked almost as helpless as he felt. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve heard that visitation rights are very difficult to come by. I doubt even I could procure the proper paperwork, and I’m bound to the bloody witch…” He grimaced bitterly. “…though life would be far pleasanter if I wasn’t.”
            “How can you stand it?” Remus asked hoarsely, his voice cracking with suppressed emotion.
            “Stand what?” He snapped, once again annoyed by the man’s presence. He was not used to having such an intimate conversation with anyone, let alone his childhood enemy.
            “Being in love with my sister.” He responded morosely, then glanced up at him through misty grey eyes. For the second time ever, Severus saw a resemblance between the careworn man and Freya. He scowled, and his lip twitched contemptuously.
            “Get your head out of your arse, Lupin.”
            “Deny it all you want. Makes no difference now.” He hung his head and Severus was appalled to see two fat tears rolling down the man’s face. Then he sighed, and poured himself another very large brandy.
            “Drink up, werewolf. Black is dead. Freya is gone. Time to get shitfaced.”
            The night ebbed on. Between the two of them, they managed to polish off the brandy as well as half a bottle of firewhiskey. The burning sensation of the harsh liquor as it went down his throat felt right, somehow. Inevitably, as is the prerogative of some drunks, Remus began to reminisce, slurring his words horribly.
            “D’you think….” He blinked, and shook his head drowsily. “D’ya think we could ‘ave been mates, you and I? If we weren’t in different houses?”
            “I doubt it.” Severus said instantly, and then re-considered the question thoughtfully. “I suppose…possibly. We both had a thirst for knowledge.”
            “Nah, I don’t think I could’ve stood those bastards you carried on with. Malfoy and the like.” Lupin waved his hand lazily to indicate the other Slytherins who would eventually become deatheaters.
            “I could say the same.” Severus countered bitterly. Lupin winced terribly, and an almost comically guilty expression twisted his features.
            “I…I’m sorry ‘bout all that, Severus. I’ve often…regretted not stepping in to put a stop to it all.”
            “Spare me.” He spat. Some old wounds never did heal properly.
            “We have my sister in common, though.” Lupin mumbled softly.
            “Please stop bringing her up.” Severus rubbed at his throbbing temples wearily. Couldn’t the man see he was already emotionally exhausted? Lupin did not seem to hear him, or else couldn’t help himself.
            “You know, she ran away from home alot…She and dad never really got on.” His eyes became misty at the memory. “He seemed to think she was the one who ought to have been bitten. Couldn’t seem to stand the fact that his only son was tainted. Maybe…maybe if I had tried to reach out to her…She never really belonged… Always a misfit.”
            “What a surprise.” Severus drawled sarcastically.
            “I never belonged either…my condition, you know. But then I had my friends. Freya had Tonks and a few others. We were close at one time, but then we just…grew apart. Then mum and dad separated, and mum took Freya off to Ireland and well…that was that. We never became close again, really.”
            “Naturally.” Snape muttered.
            “I think…I think I failed her.”
            “What are you rambling about, Lupin?”
            “She was my baby sister…I should have…should have protected her. From Dad. From Crouch. From all of them. That’s what older brothers are supposed to do.” He hiccupped.
            “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Severus spat, not liking the way he was talking about Freya in a past tense. “So you were a shit brother. That doesn’t make you responsible for her actions. You’ve got flaws. Congratulations, turns out you’re human after all.”
            Remus stared at him, then chuckled mirthlessly. “Who’d have thought…Severus Snape giving me halfway decent advice? I think hell just froze over.”
            “Oh shut up.”
            “I suppose…this means I’m your brother too now, eh?”
            He gaped at him in alarm. Before now, he had not truly considered that.
            “Merlin…I am so fucked.” He whispered. The two men regarded each other, and then inexplicably, began to laugh.

            Restless sleep. Restless dreams. The images make no sense. Dying embers in a fireplace. A shivering lump of flesh, pierced by long thin needle upon a cutting board. Whispered words in a strange language. A small red fox lays helpless in the jaws of an immense beast, the life ebbing away in its wide, terrified eyes. A voice cries out, but it is not his own. The screams belong to a woman. Something cold and damp touches his forehead. A nasty jolt of fear seizes his heart, making it impossible to breath and for a moment, his body is frozen. There is someone in the room with him. A shadow unfurls from the far corner and inches closer with terrible, lurching steps. It reaches for him. There is no escape.
            Severus’ eyes snapped open, and he shook his head feverishly, sitting up straight. A spare bit of parchment had stuck to his face, and he peeled it off gingerly, discovering as he did that he had accidentally smudged his notes on the properties of belladonna. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. Bad dreams, he thought miserably. Infuriated by the persistence of these night terrors, which were now a nightly occurrence, he rose from the chair and resigned himself to creeping back to his chambers, not even bothering to smooth down his mussed up hair.
            Along the way, he passed the library, and alongside it, the enormous portrait of Gallahad that had once guarded Freya’s chambers. Severus gritted his teeth and pushed those memories aside.
            “Sickle for your thoughts?” The painting drawled in a tired, bored voice as he swept by.
            “Piss off.” He snarled. His head was pounding and he had no desire to exchange words with a snarky bit of canvas.
            “Oh, very nice.” The painting sniffed haughtily. He stopped for a moment, clenching his fists, and briefly considered hexing the portrait into a thousand fluttering pieces, but ultimately decided against it. He was going home. Tonight.
            Carrying two satchels of clothing and books, Severus trudged outside into the darkness. The night was hot and muggy. A light was on in Hagrid’s hut, and he briefly considered rapping on the gamekeeper’s door, but thought better of it. The half giant was usually friendly, but they were not close. Severus Snape did not have many friends, preferring his own solitude. Or rather, he had preferred solitude, until…he flinched at the thoughts that creeped along the edges of his mind. Without so much as leaving a note to the others to explain that he had gone, he turned and apparated with a swish of his cloak, doubting that anyone would care, regardless.
            A faint popping noise echoed in the dark alley, but it was muffled by the rain that falling in buckets. The cobblestones were so saturated that they shimmered and reflected the streetlights like a thousand black mirrors. His boots were immediately drenched, as he was now standing in a very deep puddle, and he could feel the cold water soaking into his socks. He cursed his foul luck as fat droplets dripped from his hair. In moments, he was a wet as though he’d jumped in a lake. His robes clung to his bones as the water trickled off the end of his large, aquiline nose. He wanted to scream, but instead he plodded along, dragging himself through the murky night. The door of his childhood home swung open with a heavy creak, but this did not alarm him, as it should have. All he wanted was a bath, a roaring fire, and a book to keep the demons in his head at bay.
A hand reached out and made a fist in his sodden cloak, pulling him roughly inside. The door slammed behind him as he was viciously thrust up against the wall, and for one wild, desperate moment, he thought it was his lost paramour. His heart leaped into his throat, and his eyes stung blearily.
            “Freya…?” The name died upon his lips, for the eyes he found himself staring into were brown, and not the icy blue that so often haunted his dreams. I am going mad. Tonks pressed the tip of her wand into the flesh beneath his chin. He hissed his displeasure, and reached for his own wand, but Tonks snapped at him.
            “Don’t even think about it.” Her breath stank of rum.
            “Bugger all. Not you too.” Snape leered. The young woman had dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair was a mousey brown instead of its usual shade of pink.
            “Where is she, Snape?” She demanded sharply.
            “You’re mad. You’re all mad. Get that thing out of my face.” He slapped her hand away, and she stepped back, but her wand arm did not waver.
            “I could arrest you.” Tonks warned. “Moody would love an excuse to lock you up.” For one, brief moment of insanity, Severus almost considered it. Then perhaps, I would see her again. He shook the foolish thought away and scowled blackly.
            “For what? Entering my own home? You’re the one breaking the law.”
            “I know she’s here. Where are you hiding her?” Her voice cracked. Severus stared at her. “Answer me!”
            “Who are you talking about?” Snape was genuinely confused. She smacked him hard across the face, and he grunted in pain.
            “You know bloody well who I’m talking about!”
            He gaped at her. She couldn’t possibly have meant Freya. Tonks suddenly jumped and cursed loudly as something small sank its sharp little claws into her, and began climbing her leg. Snape stared at Trejgul who blinked at him, then leaped from Tonks’ shoulder, to his, and began nuzzling him affectionately.
            “How in the hell did he get here?” Tonks said incredulously, momentarily forgetting her interrogation of Severus.
            “I have no idea.” He replied truthfully. “I left him at Hogwarts. I thought he would be content there.” The house elves of Hogwarts had taken a strong liking to Trejgul, as the kitten was an exemplary mouser. He could often be seen curled up in front of the kitchen fires, or begging the cooks for bits of fried kipper.
            “Ha! So you do have Freya hidden away somewhere! That’s her cat, right?” Tonks prodded him in the chest with her wand, then hissed and recoiled when Trejgul lashed out at her unprotected hand. “Bugger!” She cursed.
“I told the werewolf already. Your friend has not written to me since the night she was arrested.” He scowled blackly at her, furious that he was having this conversation a second time. Why did they think he had all the answers? He was the one who’d been dumped. “They’ve probably shipped her arse off to some Nordic wasteland by now…” Snape added bitterly, feeling sick at the thought. “…good riddance.” He muttered under his breath, thinking that perhaps he could learn to hate Freya instead of…whatever this feeling was. The whole ordeal was upsetting to him. Why couldn’t they all leave well enough alone? “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like my house back.”
            Tonks stared at him icily for several moments before lowering her wand. She bit her lip uncertainly, studying his face. “…Nordic wasteland?” She asked with no small amount of trepidation.
            “Yes you foolish woman! Don’t you read the Prophet? She’s been gone for months. The ministry never intended on giving her a trial. They were only holding her until they could extradite her to Iceland. She’s probably freezing her tits off in the middle of the Baltic Sea or something.” He had a mental image of Freya’s corpse, frozen and blue, floating eerily beneath a sheet of clear ice. The thought sickened him to his core, and he felt a sob rise into his throat, but he swallowed it, and glared fiercely instead.
            “Norwegian Sea.” Tonks corrected absentmindedly. “The Baltic Sea is next to Sweden, not Iceland.”
            “Oh yes, thank you for the geography lesson.” He snapped irately. Tonks winced and fidgeted uncomfortably.
            “…Sorry.” She mumbled. Severus sighed, and ran his fingers through his wet hair, sending tiny droplets flying onto the wooden floor. “So…” Tonks eyed him warily. “You really don’t know where she is?”
            “No.” He replied, hating the sulkiness in his own voice. “Like I said, I haven’t heard anything from her since that night. Even Dumbledore won’t tell me whether she’s alive or dead.”
            “Well, no he wouldn’t, would he? I mean, how is he supposed to know?” She said, as if it were obvious.
            “What are you talking about, witch?” He sighed wearily.
            “You mean, he didn’t tell you?” She frowned, and a tiny line appeared between her brows.
            “Tell me WHAT?” Snape growled, stalking to the fireplace and pointing his wand at the ashen log. He was annoyed, but still sighed with relief as the golden warmth lulled the chill from his bones. Trejgul immediately leaped onto the carpet, and flopped down to bask in the glow.
            “Freya never made it to Azkaban.” Tonks said gently. Snape whirled around, his wet black hair whipping him in the face so hard it stung. He stared at her but couldn’t speak. Relief flooded him, warming him more thoroughly than any fire could have. It was as if that invisible fist in his chest had finally released him. Wode doesn’t have her. She’s alive. He swayed on his feet, feeling suddenly dizzy. Tonks didn’t seem to notice, as she had begun pacing, much as Lupin had the night before. “I mean it’s all very hushed up. They don’t want anyone to know she gave them the slip. We aurors aren’t suppose to talk about it of course, but I thought…I mean, once I found out where you lived, I was so certain I’d find her here.” A large tear threatened to roll down her cheek but she wiped it away angrily. Oh Merlin, he thought. He pulled out a handkerchief, noticed it was soaking wet, then cast a quick drying charm on it before handing it to the young woman who appeared to be trying very hard not lose her head. She was an auror after all, and usually she was tough as nails. “It’s just…she loves you so much. If she’d managed to get word to anyone, it would be you.”
            “Do shut up, Nymphadora.” He growled hoarsely as he began casting the same drying charm on himself. If he was going to put up with yet another order member expressing their bloody feelings, at least he could be comfortable while it happened. “Sit down. Dry your tears.” Begrudgingly, he went to his kitchen, and poured them each a glass of burgundy elf made wine. Tonks sniffed it apprehensively, then took a grateful sip.
            “You mean it? You’re not lying? Or rather, she’s not making you lie to cover her tracks?” Her voice was so hopeful that he bit back a spiteful retort.
            “No.”
            “You’re angry with her.” She observed flatly.
            “Yes. Aren’t you?”
            “Of course I am.” She tittered nervously. “But I suppose when she comes back I’ll be so happy to see her that I’ll forget all about being angry. “ He pressed his lips together, and looked away. Tonks noticed the expression and faltered. “You don’t think she’s coming back?”
            “Why would she?” His tone dripped with venom. “She’s evaded prison, and death all by herself. What does she need us for? She’s probably off in some tavern, laughing at all of us for worrying.” Tonks pursed her lips.
            “Freya wouldn’t do that. This is her home. Her brother’s here. We’re her family!”
            “Didn’t stop her the first time, did it?” He snapped. “According to Lupin, she has a bit of a habit of running off and getting into trouble. Think she’ll show up again after two years so that we can clean her up again?” He felt guilty for being so bitter, but the guilt hadn’t stopped him from having dreams about holding Freya’s lifeless body night after night. Why couldn’t she just write to let me know she’s alive? Tonks’ expression softened
            “Don’t be like that, Severus. I know she cares about you.”
            “She left.” Snape fired back, furious once more. “She chased after you and Black, nearly got herself killed again…and then she…she…” His chest was tight. When he looked up, he saw that Tonks was fighting back tears again.
            “Her students were in danger, Severus. She only wanted to help. After what happened to Sirius…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can see that you’re worried, and…I’m sorry she broke your heart, Sev.” She reached out and patted him on the arm. He flinched away from her, wanting to snap at her, but bit his tongue.“I understand how that feels.” She mumbled. Her heart shaped face, usually so alight with laughter, now seemed incredibly wan and colorless. Snape studied her carefully.
            “It’s the werewolf, isn’t it?” He asked sourly. Severus had observed the way the young witch hung upon Lupin’s every word, always wanting to be seated next to him at meetings. Tonks gave a great shudder, and buried her head in her hands. She began to sob. Snape fidgeted uncomfortably, uncertain what to do. He had never been very good at comforting people. Feeling a strong sensation of déjà vu,
he leaned across to pour some more wine, then pressed the goblet into her shaking hands. “Drink up.” She nodded her thanks, and took a large gulp. Some of the color returned to her cheeks. “Better?” She nodded again, casting her eyes downward, watching their shadows flicker and dance upon the floorboards. Trejgul was purring happily, rolling onto his back and stretching out his legs with a contented yawn.
Snape winced, then asked carefully, “Do you…want to tell me what happened?” The words felt strange in his mouth, but he recalled that Tonks had once been a student, and he did feel a strange sense of responsibility toward her well being. Anything to keep his mind off of Freya. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, You’re growing soft, Severus.
            “I just…I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.” She sniffled, and dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “It just sort of happened.” Snape grimaced in agreement.
            “And he does not return your affections?”
            “That’s the worst bit. He does. He confessed to it, but he says we can’t be together because...because of what he is. Because he thinks he’s too dangerous.”
            “He’s not wrong.” Snape replied solemnly, recalling the first time he’d seen Lupin in his werewolf form, lean and ferocious and desperate to sink his jaws into living flesh.
            “I don’t CARE about that! I care about him! He thinks he knows what’s best for me, but I can make my own choices!” She spat. “I’m just so…so angry with him for making me feel this way, and then keeping me at arm’s length. It feels like…like…”
            “Losing a limb?” Severus suggested knowingly.
            “Yes.” She breathed. “Like I can’t even function properly. Like I can’t breathe because I want him so much, and gods, I miss him.” Her brown eyes widened, and she looked aghast at Severus, as though seeing him for the first time. “Merlin, I would kill him if he disappeared like Freya did.” Severus flinched, and looked away, not used to being under this kind of scrutiny. “Remus wants me to move on, but I just know we’d be stronger together.”
            “Freya said something similar to me, the last time I saw her. She wanted us to be partners. I wanted her to leave England. I begged her to run as far away as she could…” He glared at Tonks. “I know how it sounds. I’m a bloody hypocrite. I wanted her to stay away from me, but now that she’s gone…”
            “You wanted her to hide somewhere safe and sound so you could…what, fall back in bed with her once the war’s over?” Tonks snorted with amusement, but he did not think it was at his expense. “That’s not how she works, mate.”
            “Clearly.” He drawled, then through back his head, draining his wine glass. Tonks shook her head in amazement.
            “These Lupins…what the hell have they done to us?” Severus was about to respond, when he felt a familiar burning in his forearm. He clutched at it, gasping in pain. “Severus? What’s the matter?”
            “Leave…leave now. Please.” He hissed, rising to his feet. Not waiting to see if Tonks had obeyed, he turned on the spot, and apparated.

            As soon as he crossed the threshold into Malfoy Manor, the pain in his arm ebbed away, sensing that he was close to his master. The enormous wrought iron doors opened for him, and he made his way down the impressive corridor. The mansion had a sort of cold, ferocious elegance to it. Tapestries and ornate suits of armor flanked him on either side, and the ceiling was high and arched, giving one the impression of being inside the rib cage of an enormous adder. Portraits of long dead ancestors stared haughtily down at him. His footsteps echoed on the black marble floor. At the end of the hallway stood Narcissa Malfoy, tall and slender, and as elegant as ever, but he caught the haunted look in her eyes, even as she smiled at him demurely, and extended a hand for him to kiss. She was terrified. “This way.” She whispered, and turned to lead him into the great hall.
            There were fewer witches and wizards gathered this time. The dark lord sat upon a richly carved white marble throne before a crackling blue fire. His lesser minions were not present. Severus fought the urge to sigh with relief. He would be spared the sight of Fenrir Greyback, for whom he had begun to harbor a special kind of disgust. Only the Dark Lord’s closest, most loyal servants had been summoned, with the exception of one. Draco Malfoy stood next to his mother, his thin face pale and luminescent in the fire’s cold glow. Then, Severus understood. His favorite pupil had been chosen.
            “Come forth, Draco, and receive my blessing.” The dark lord’s voice was soft, almost listless, a terrible, sweet whisper that curled about the ears like a lover’s sigh. Such was the Dark Lord’s charms. He was ever seductive, radiating with a power that many had killed for. The very air tasted of dark magic when one was in his presence, like a touch of copper upon the tongue. He did not smile down upon the young man, but inclined his head ever so slightly with an inscrutable expression as Draco approached with an air of enormous pride. He glanced over at his mother with a confident grin, and Narcissa smiled encouragingly, but her face was bloodless as she watched. Draco then locked eyes with his favorite professor, and Severus forced himself to nod approvingly. Fool, Severus thought. He has no idea what this means.
            Draco hesitated for a moment, then looked up into the Dark Lord’s face. He lowered himself onto one knee, and bowed his head like a man about to be knighted.
            “I am…ready to receive this honor, my lord.” Draco murmured softly.
            “Present your arm.”
The young wizard rolled up his sleeve, then gasped in surprise and pain when his pale flesh began to sizzle and burn, as if a white hot brand had been pressed against it. He began to hiss in short intakes of breath between his clenched teeth, struggling not to show how much it hurt. Smoke rose up from his skin, and Draco clenched a fist, trying to alleviate the pain as it smoldered, bubbling up like thick black tar. The veins on Draco’s forehead popped out as he struggled to remain silent and fearless through this agony. “You belong to me now, Draco Malfoy. You will serve me until your death. Your father and mother shall be nothing to you from this moment, until your last. I am your father. I am your mother. Serve me well, and you shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. Serve me well, and your enemies will tremble before you. Disobey, and you will suffer. Your fate belongs to me. Now stand up, Draco Malfoy. I name you Death Eater.” The ink bubbled and popped like acid on his flesh, and then began to dissipate, leaving only skin behind. Draco gasped in relief, then held up his arm for all to see. The hall erupted with applause, and the others closed in to congratulate him.
Severus remembered when his own dark mark had been granted in a similar ritual. It still burned with the memory. He recalled how proud he had been, so pleased to be granted this highest of honors. The sight of Draco looking so happy to be branded like cattle filled him with dread. Just a boy. Only a boy. Did I look so young when I was marked? Suddenly he felt very old and weary, although he was still a wizard in his prime.
“Ahhh Mr. Wode. Yes, please join us.” The Dark Lord’s soft voice was heard by all, and they turned to stare at the man who had slipped in unnoticed.
            “Please, call me ‘Vidarr’.”
            Snape felt as if a bucket of ice water had been upended over him. No. Not you. Anyone, but you. He stared at the man who ripped Freya away from him, feeling an intense hatred burn through his veins. For a moment, Wode’s eyes flickered toward him, as though sensing his animosity. Severus did not look away.
The Dark Lord considered the tall, handsome foreigner with a cool expression. Mr. Wode bowed politely, but did not simper, or offer any courtesies beyond that of a casual acquaintance, a detail that did not go unnoticed. Several of the death eaters began to murmur apprehensively. His ash blonde hair was longer, and more roguish than it had been the last time he’d seen him, though his black suit was just as finely tailored. The only real difference was that Mr. Wode now sported a leather patch over his left eye. Snape’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it. He wished he could send roses to whoever was responsible. The energy in the room was strange and unnerving. It was as if he and the others were watching two master chess players, only there were greater things than pawns at stake. Bellatrix’s eyes were wide and suspicious as she appraised them. Severus watched as she leaned over to her sister and whispered something. Narcissa’s lips tightened into a hard line, and she grasped Draco’s upper arm, pulling him close. The Dark Lord’s slit nostrils flared, but he smiled coldly.
            “I take it you have finally retrieved your apprentice?”
            Severus tensed, and cast his eyes to the floor while the cogs of his mind whirled. He kept his face impeccably indifferent when he looked back up to study Mr. Wode’s reaction. The tall wizard smiled, reminding Severus of something that might lurk menacingly behind tall grasses in the Savannah.
            “I’m afraid your ministry apprehended her before I could.”
            Lies, Severus thought, recalling his vision of Freya, running through the Department of Mysteries as Wode pursued her.
            “And it suits you to let her linger in captivity?” The Dark Lord asked, with a flicker of surprise.
            “It seems she escaped some time after the arrest.” Wode replied tactfully. “I intend to track her down myself.”
            “I wonder…was it imprisonment she feared, or you, my friend?”
            Wode’s smile became icy. “She did not know I was coming for her.”
            Lies, and more lies, Thought Severus.
            “Is her loyalty to you in question? Some of my deatheaters have become quite…” Voldemort’s eyes flickered, not to Severus as he had expected, but rather to Narcissa, who kept her gaze averted. “familiar.”
            “This remains to be seen.” Mr. Wode stroked his moustache thoughtfully, but Severus caught the murderous glint in his eye. “An hour alone with her, and I will know.”
            “And the payment?”
            “Once she is apprehended, you will have what was promised.”
            “My lord, what is the purpose of this allegiance?” Bellatrix piped up, then cowered immediately beneath Voldemort’s piercing stare. She was still not completely forgiven.
            “Perhaps it has escaped your notice that our numbers have thinned, Bellatrix. I require more wands at my disposal, and Vidarr has made a very attractive proposition.” The Dark Lord replied languidly.
            “All I ask is that my apprentice is returned to me…preferably in one piece.” The handsome wizard gave Bellatrix a dashing smile that would have made any witch blush, but his voice held a kiss of contempt.
            “My lord…” Severus spoke up carefully, attracting the attention of the room. He had been waiting for this chance. “If I may…I would like to volunteer myself for this task.” He intoned this as calmly and politely as possible, but he could feel Wode’s penetrating stare. Voldemort considered him coolly.
            “You, Severus?”
            He gazed stoically back at Mr. Wode, fighting the eels that squirmed in his belly as black eyes locked with cold grey ones. He reclined his head with deliberate courtesy. This man has killed and eaten a woman to absorb her powers. He would torture Freya to death if given the chance, he thought callously. “With all respect, Mr. Wode, your apprentice and I developed some rapport when she lived at Hogwarts.”
            Bellatrix sniggered. “Showed her your wand, didn’t you?” Snape regarded her coolly. It was already understood that he and the young DA teacher had engaged in some sort of affair. It would be fruitless to keep such information hidden. Bellatrix had taken to cutting others down to make herself seem more important, ever since she had returned from the Department of Mysteries alone, and without the prophecy.
            “It was convenient. Dumbledore wanted me to gain her trust, and so I did.”
            “I take it you now have insight as to the nature of this witch?” The Dark Lord sounded mildly amused. Severus nodded.
            “Freya Lupin is no fool. It would be unwise to underestimate her.” He took a moment, choosing his words carefully. If he played his cards right, he would be able to sabotage the pursuit from the inside. “However I found her to be…” Here he gave Mr. Wode a knowing look. “…easily seduced. She is attracted to power, but she is no stranger to caution. If she believes her life to be at risk she will disappear. With all due respect to Mr. Wode, I believe a subtle approach is required. Offer her a place in this hall. Allow her to bask in your presence, and show her no harm. I believe she could be a valuable asset. If you will allow me, I will travel wherever necessary, and bring her to you.”
            Severus felt several pairs of eyes on him, appraising him. He could sense the gears of their minds whirring. Of course he had no intention of chasing after Freya. If she was so eager to be far from him, that was her prerogative, but the tall wizard had an aura of savagery that turned his stomach, and he would be damned if he let him anywhere near her.
            “I would be grateful for your assistance, Professor Snape.” Mr. Wode nodded chivalrously. Voldemort chuckled softly, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
            “All this fuss over some half-blood witch. No, I think not, Severus. You are far too useful to me. I won’t have you gallivanting about over some woman you fucked.” Bellatrix tittered at this. “We’ll send someone more expendable. Wormtail…” His mirthless red eyes flickered to his petrified servant, who winced. “Fetch Barty, will you?”
            Soft whispers broke out among the deatheaters. Mr. Wode stiffened noticeably, his nostrils flaring as if he smelled something dead and rotting. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, and suppressed a shudder. Barty Crouch Junior had once been sent to Belgium to form an alliance with Lucas Frend’s nest of undead cohorts, selling Freya to them as a sign of goodwill. She had jeopardized that alliance by murdering Frend, and escaping. Barty Crouch had come back as well, and he was changed. They all knew that Crouch had been sent to collect her before.
            The door creaked open. The thing wearing Barty Crouch’s skin slithered in with an unnatural grace. His eyes were black as sin, and his lips stretched wide into a terrible smile. Severus could feel the blood leeching from his face at the sight of him, and he was not the only one. A collective shudder ran through the other deatheaters. Crouch’s suit was dark and pinstriped, making his limbs appear even longer and thinner. Voldemort had taken to sending this particular follower on special errands. There were whispers of the man taking a special interest in the stalking and terrorizing of Muggle children. His exploits could be seen regularly in the Daily Prophet obituaries. Snape felt a hot stab of hatred at the sight of him.
            “Barty…I have a job for you, and if I am not mistaken, you will particularly enjoy this one.” The dark lord crooned almost as lovingly as if he were speaking to his beloved serpent. “The rest of you may leave. We are done.”
            The small crowd dispersed. Narcissa wrapped an arm around her son and tried to steer him away. Draco jerked away from her, annoyed by this display of motherly attention. Bellatrix glared haughtily at Snape, but followed reluctantly, knowing that her master would not welcome her fawning over him when he was giving orders to his terrible servant. Severus turned to leave as well, but a strong, warm hand grasped his shoulder.
            “I wished to thank you, Professor Snape, for being so helpful.”
            Snape turned, and found himself gazing into light grey eyes, as sharp as steel. This was the first time he had seen the man up close since his shared visions with Freya the night he’d taken Malignum Praesidium. He could not see the shadow of the wolf, nor a trace of the man’s true age, but he looked at Severus the way a mountain lion might look at a lost child.
            “No need to thank me, Mr. Wode. I only wish to serve.”
            “Ahh please call me ‘Vidarr.’ There is no need for formality between friends.” He reached out his left hand for Severus to shake, but when he grasped it, the taller man clenched his wrist and drew him in close with a sharp tug. Severus flinched, and fought the urge to draw his wand as Vidarr stared deeply into his eyes as though searching for something. He kept his mind closed, using the full range of his occlumency to keep the dark wizard from prying into his thoughts. Clearly not finding what he was looking for, Vidarr relaxed somewhat, though his eyes narrowed sharply.
Snape’s stomach lurched unpleasantly when the man’s gazed flickered downward, and he knew that he had seen the tiny tattoo between his thumb and forefinger, hardly larger than a knut. Before he could pull away, Vidarr leaned in even closer, and inhaled slowly through his nose. Snape’s eyes widened, alarmed by this animalistic behavior. “You have a taste for bourbon. My little fox liked it too…” Severus found himself gazing around the hall, searching for assistance, but they were alone. He suddenly realized that Vidarr was much taller, and broader than himself. “You have sampled her flesh, no?” He smiled his predator’s smile. “I intend to dine on her myself. I hope you will not object?” Vidarr’s voice was a velvet purr.
Severus stared, unable to look away, unable to speak as the wizard lifted his other hand, and deftly traced Severus’ cheekbone with his fingers. Snape had no idea that such danger could emanate from such a gentle caress. “Have you ever been penetrated yourself?” Vidarr asked in a soft, mocking voice. He found himself frozen. Every cell in his body screamed at him to flee, but he could not move. Vidarr leaned in so close, and for one terrible moment he thought the man intended to kiss him against his will, but suddenly Severus felt a sharp sting. Vidarr pulled away. He had sliced the back of his hand, right across the tattoo, with the point of his fingernail. “Apologies. So very clumsy of me.” Severus was still unable to speak, but nodded politely, not knowing what else to do, even as he watched Vidarr lift his finger to his mouth, and taste the tiny droplet of Severus’ blood. For a moment the light captured those steely grey eyes, making them appear like flat golden discs, the way a predator’s often will when you shine a light in the darkness. “We will be good friends, I think.” He whispered, then without another word, left Severus alone in the empty hall.
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Spy vs. Spy