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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
As soon as Severus had apparated safely into his home at Spinner’s end, he took an hour to fortify the protective charms, thinking with a shudder on how Tonks had managed to break in with apparent ease. Of course, she was no ordinary witch, with her auror training, but he would not make the same mistake twice. When he had finished, he rushed into the bathroom and promptly vomited, knowing that his dreams were about to become haunted by a pair of cold grey eyes. His hands trembled terribly, but he did not think his stomach would tolerate a calming draught. A part of him wanted to scream as he knelt, coughing up bile. Vidarr had done nothing except scratch him and say a few words, and yet he’d made Severus feel powerless, and strangely unclean. Severus had been threatened with death and torture a hundred times, yet nothing made his skin crawl more than the memory of Vidarr’s soft, almost loving whisper. The threat had been clear.
He took a scalding hot bath in the immense, silver clawed tub, scrubbing ferociously at his skin and scalp with a boar bristle brush until he was pink and raw. Eventually it did help to make him feel somewhat human again, but he was still horribly unsettled. More than once, he thought he might gag upon the memory of Vidarr’s unwanted touch upon his face. He’d just been given a taste of something personal, and deeply treacherous, and it filled him with loathing. Freya would have scratched out your other eye, you stinking dog, he thought blackly. Sinking into the steaming water, he held up his hand, and inspected the tattoo more closely, wondering if Freya now had one to match. He grimaced at the familiar sensation of bitter longing that filled his soul.
For the first time in months, he allowed himself to truly think about her, not allowing anger to cloud his thoughts. He tried to imagine how desperate she must have been to ask a man like that for help, how she had waited for three days in the snow, only to be mocked and terrorized. It was far easier now to imagine what it must have felt like to have such a wicked mind manipulate you into subservience. He wondered how close they had become, as master and pupil before she had found the courage to finally flee. Severus felt a stab of self-loathing when he considered how selfish his thoughts had been. The logical part of his brain was surprised she’d stayed as long as she did. He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, and he did not fight them. There was no one around to see.
He thought about the night she had swallowed poison, how he had stayed up all night as she’d thrashed in her sleep, crying out for her mother in every language she knew. Snape remembered her expression when Dumbledore had presented the heart of the man she’d killed, along with the threat from her old master. “Death to the she-bitch.” So scared, yet so resolved. She had stayed, and he knew why. She’d stayed for her students, and for her friends. She’d stayed for him. When Freya had been arrested, she must have felt so alone. Snape felt a sob rising from his chest, and he gritted his teeth as the tears came freely. Why hadn’t he gone to the Department of Mysteries? Why had he listened to Dumbledore? She would have known, then that there was someone in her corner, someone who would fight for her. Why should he be so surprised that, upon escaping, she had not flown back into his arms? A thought rose, unbidden in his mind, and as soon as he’d thought it, he knew it to be true. She would never have risked leading him back to me. But it hadn’t worked. Vidarr had stayed behind to haunt his nightmares. He knows about us. He tasted it. He will use me to lure you back.
He sank deeper into the water until his entire head was submerged, releasing a long stream of bubbles through his nostrils. It felt good to let the hot water coil through his hair, soothing his scalp. Wherever she was, she was surely safer there than at home. That should have been enough, but merlin, he missed her. The bath seemed to clear his thoughts, massaging renewed determination into his tired brain. Freya’s enemy was close. He would keep a sharp eye on him, and do what he could to sabotage his efforts. Barty Crouch Jr. was another matter entirely. He was no longer completely human, having accepted whatever dark spirit had chosen him as a vessel. All he could do was try to warn her that he was coming.
When Severus re-emerged from the water, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Trejgul was neatly perched upon the edge of the tub, washing his paw, completely indifferent to the fright he’d given him. He blinked down at him with enormous green eyes. Scowling, Severus rose from the tub and dried himself off as best he could, wrapping a towel loosely around his narrow hips. Water dripped from his long black hair, rolling down his chest and shoulders in tiny rivulets. He shook it out, sending droplets flying everywhere and Trejgul hissed his displeasure
Retiring to his bedchambers, he gave the room a distasteful glance. His childhood house was not nearly as comfortable as his living quarters in Hogwarts, but then again, this place had never truly felt like home for him, more like a place to keep his books. A firm, yet comfortable wrought iron bed took up most of the floor space, and the fireplace was small, but still crackled pleasantly. Any and all wallspace was filled with bookshelves, and where their wooden frames were unable to contain his impressive collection, stacks of books grew like saplings. Wincing at the layer of dust, he tried to imagine Freya painting by the small window that overlooked a rather wretched block of sooty brick tenement buildings, but could not quite manage it. Trejgul leaped onto the small roll top bureau, and curled up on top of the black dragonhide sketchbook. Snape lifted an eyebrow at the cat. “I certainly don’t recall putting that there.” Trejgul blinked smugly.
After shooing the precocious feline from the book, he cracked it open for the first time in a month. His heart sank like a lead weight when he saw that nothing had changed. No new entries. He knew it was likely that Freya had left her book in Grimmauld place, and that it had been foolish to ever suppose she’d have it with her. Black eyes considered the dusty inkwell for several moments. Severus wanted to desperately to warn her about Barty Crouch. He wanted to plead with her to come home, to let him try and keep her safe from such dark forces, but he knew he could not. She thought she was leading her enemies off on a deadly chase, but if he let it slip that he’d seen them both, it might lead her back into what could easily be a trap. No. She can’t know that I’ve spoken to her old master. I will not be the bait on that monster’s hook.

Severus sighed, and closed the book, feeling sick He recalled the words of advice Dumbledore had tried to give him. “Tear your feelings out by the roots.” He snorted. “Not bloody likely.” After pouring himself one final nightcap of firewhiskey, he cracked open a copy of Astrid’s Essential Guide to Asafoetida and flopped down onto his old bed, not even bothering to remove the towel that still clung to his naked waist. Sleep came for him on swift wings, though he could not recall the moment it took him.
When he awoke, it was to the sound of birds, of all things, and when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself looking up, inexplicably, into a clear blue sky. He was lying on his back, and a large tree root was digging uncomfortably into his spine. The scent of cool, wet earth pricked his nostrils. “Not this again,” He muttered to himself, thinking for a moment that he was having another vision in his sleep, but the crisp air raised goose pimples on his flesh, and he knew that this was not a dream. He sat up in alarm, and looked down at himself. He was still naked, except for the bath towel, which he frantically clutched to himself as he rose to his feet and glanced around, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw only trees, and no people.
A woman’s voice chuckled, and he jumped in alarm. “Freya?” He whispered, hardly daring to hope. His voice cracked with emotion.
“Come here.” The voice whispered in his mind. His heart pounded rhythmically against his ribcage as he inched his way closer to the voice, until he found himself standing at the edge of a gorgeous, crystal clear lake. Soft morning mist drifted lazily around his bare ankles. In the distance, snowcapped mountains pierced the skyline and for a moment, the immaculate beauty of the landscape took his breath away. “I had wondered when you would turn up.” This time the voice was not in his head. He stared down in amazement. A witch with long, shimmering black hair was sitting on a large bit of driftwood, tending to a small fire. A long spindly distaff laden with unspun wool rested nearby. She was wrapped in layers of long knitted shawls, and Snape saw that she was incredibly beautiful with smooth olive skin and piercing green eyes. When she looked up at him, he felt a blush creep across his cheeks. He tightened his grip on the bath towel.
“How…how am I here?” He whispered in alarm.
She smiled, and pointed to a pile of folded blankets, clearly meaning for him to cover himself more thoroughly, but when she did, he choked, and rushed forward, his heart leaping. He stumbled clumsily to the ground, and barely managed to keep his towel secure, but he did not care.
Freya was lying unconscious by the fire, beneath a heavy rough spun blanket. In a moment, every emotion Snape had struggled to contain welled up to the surface. He sobbed over her, so hard it hurt his chest. “Freya. Freya.” She did not stir. It was such a relief to see her alive that he hardly noticed how white and bloodless her skin was. She had a new tattoo, as he had expected. A simple, thin blue line now ran vertically through the center of her chin and lower lip, as if someone had placed a finger there to shush her. He stared at it, thinking back to when Freya was his student, and had drawn a similar line down her chin in charcoal. Her once coppery red hair had grown longer, darker and wilder. It splayed out across the pillow like tiny rivers of blood. He reached to brush it from her forehead, but leapt back in alarm when white sparks crackled and shocked him where their skin made contact. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s been happening a lot lately.” The woman said with a sigh. He stared at up her, aghast, but could not find the words to reply. “The body will sometimes weave a few defensive spells to protect itself while the mind is elsewhere. A useful condition, if I may be so bold. I can leave her to hunt without too much concern, although it does make bathing her a bit tricky…” She gave him a wry grin. “I knew she would bring you here, eventually, Mr. Snape. She cries for you, in here.” She reached out and tapped Freya on the forehead with a long fingernail. This time there were no sparks. Freya stirred, mumbling incoherently like a frightened child, but she did not wake.
“I was asleep in my home. Did I apparate?” He stammered. The thought unnerved him.
“For want of a better term. You are her husband. She is bound to you. She called for you, and you came.”
Snape frowned down at Freya, studying the way her lashes formed little half moons against her cheeks. She seemed thin, and sickly. His heart felt as if it would burst at any moment. He desperately wanted to kiss her, wanted to shake her until she awoke, but the strange woman was watching him carefully. “How long has she been like this?” Snape asked
“Two moon cycles.” She replied bitterly.
“Two months?!” Terror seized his chest. “Is she…” He cleared his throat. His voice was shaky. “Will she ever come back?”
“She has poison here.” She tapped Freya’s forehead again. “I am drawing it out, little by little. Then maybe she will wake. Not before.”
“Somnium Tenebris.” He murmured softly, remembering bleakly what Charlie Weasley had said. There’s a wing at St. Mungos for people who cannot wake, he thought, suddenly numb with fear. The witch nodded sagely, but gave him a sad little smile.
“She is trapped by her own nightmares. I can help her to fight her way out, but it takes time. Freya will need to face her own demons, and claw her way back to this reality. If she recovers, she will never be the same.” Her words were soft, but they fell heavily on his ears.
“Who are you?” He demanded abruptly, then immediately regretted his tone. The strength that radiated from this woman was intoxicating and warm, but unsettling like a whiff of perfume that recalls the ghost of a long lost memory.
She gave him a chilly, appraising look. “Here, names have power. I will not give you mine. I am wand-wed. That is all you need to know.”
“You’re one of the women Freya talked about.” Snape said, unnerved by the woman’s piercing green eyes. “You’re a volva.”
“I’m a friend. Your wife has a talent for trouble.” She said fondly, looking down at Freya with motherly affection. “We call her ‘little fox.’” Snape stiffened at the phrase.
“You’re not the only one who calls her that.”
“Yes…” The woman’s brow darkened at the mention of Vidarr. “He will get what is coming to him, soon enough.”
“Please…It’s been so long. Tell me what happened?” There was a thin, pleading quality to his voice, but he did not care. The woman shrugged and gestured to Freya.
“By all means, take a look. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“I…I don’t have my wand.” He stammered.
“You won’t need it.” She assured him with a gently smile. Hesitantly, he reached out, and hovered his hand over Freya’s forehead.
“Legillimens.”
Darkness. Pain. Freya staggers slowly in front of her captors, her wrists tightly manacled. Blood drips from her injured brow, blinding her for a moment, but when she reaches up to wipe it away, an auror prods her in the ribs with his wand, sending a sharp electric current through her skeleton. She hisses in pain and jerks away, but keeps moving forward. They are taking her through deep winding corridors to a ministry approved floo network, where they will then move her to Azkaban. Vidarr is behind her, placing his large warm hand on her shoulders, pressing her onward. His voice caresses her mind like a lover’s. “Do not worry, my little fox. It is only temporary. Then you and I will have all the time in the world.” She grits her teeth, and jerks her head back viciously, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose as it collides with the back of her skull. Vidarr curses in deep, guttural Icelandic. Before the aurors arrived, Vidarr was about to torture her, even getting so far as to force a vial of Somnium Tenebris down her throat. He wishes to encourage her addiction to the potion so that he will have constant access to her mind whenever he wishes. “I must not fall asleep tonight,” she thinks.
Three aurors press their wands into her flesh, creating sparks as they electrocute her so fiercely she falls to her knees in supplication. They have taken her wand, but they have no idea… Two of the men haul her to her feet and begin to drag her to a dimly lit platform. She closes her eyes, and begins to whisper. The tattoos that decorate her flesh begin to glow.
“What the hell?” One of the aurors jerks away from her as if disgusted. Freya sighs and shudders. The light grows brighter, and begins to hum and pulsate like a shimmering halo around her body.
“No…keep a hold of her, you fucking idiots,” Vidarr hisses, blood still pouring from his broken nose. Freya opens her eyes. They are white, clouded with old magic. “You…?’” He whispers, aghast at what he is seeing. “’How?’” Freya reaches up, and makes a sign with her left hand, pressing her thumb and forefinger together, then without a word, she slashes the air before her horizontally. Vidarr screams as his left eye is ripped from its socket. He falls to his knees, clutching his ruined face, screaming all the terrible things he will do to her once he is whole again. The aurors stagger back, terrified, but eventually they remember their duty, and rush to secure their prisoner. Freya casts a sort of banishing spell with her hands, and they fly back against the wall, unconscious. They will have no memory of this night.
She runs for it. Vidarr hears her footsteps and lunges for her ankles, tripping her heavily, but she kicks him in the face, and is on her feet again. She hears the sickening crack and rearranging of bones, but does not look back until she has reached the platform, her wrists still bound by iron chains. Vidarr is changing. His spine undulates unnaturally, the joints popping out of their sockets one by one. He glares at her with one wide, furious eye, but as it slowly shifts to yellow, Freya turns and apparates.
When she opens her eyes, she is standing in a forest she does not recognize. She does not know how she came to be here, but she is so relieved that she does not care. A new voice whispers in her mind. “Come to me, child.” She staggers forward until her feet cannot carry her anymore, and when she finally lets sleep take her, she does not awaken.
Snape jerked away, and when he did, his towel slipped just a little from his slender hips. The volva giggled as he struggled to cover himself, then nodded gratefully when she tossed him a blanket to ward off the chill of the mountain air. His mind raced. “Vidarr…he was turning. It was only a waxing crescent moon that night. I remember…Was that memory accurate? Can he become a werewolf at will?”
“He has been perfecting the change for decades. The spells one must cast to control such a thing…” She shook her head in disgust.
“That’s what Voldemort wants.” He whispered, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. He reached up and rubbed his temples. The witch frowned at the name, but did not wince or shudder the way others did. “He wants to him to teach other werewolves how it’s done.”
“A chess master with such beasts for pawns would be…formidable.” She agreed. Snape looked down at Freya, and felt his heart ache fiercely.
“You brought her here? Why?”
“I had hoped to complete her training, but alas…” She held out a hand, and made a come hither motion. Reluctantly, Snape held out his own hand, and let her examine the tattoo. She tsked at the tiny scratch Vidarr had made there, and swiped her thumb over it. He winced with pain for a moment, but once it had subsided the scratch was gone completely. His eyes widened at this small, but impressive piece of wandless magic. “Volvas do not wed. We do not bear children. These are the sacrifices we make. We are bound to serve. None of this should have happened…” Her eyes flickered upwards, and Severus had the distinct impression that although this woman was not young, she was far older than her appearance suggested. “Then again, the fox does not often lie with the serpent. Yet here we are.” She released his hand, and he felt his stomach flip at her words. “I do not see murder in your heart, Severus Snape, but there is death behind your eyes. The next time we see each other, you will know what it is to take a life.”
“You’re a seer?” He asked nervously, his stomach lurching with her words. Snape had a particular distaste for prophecies.
“Hmm…sometimes.” She quirked her head, gazing at him thoughtfully. “Sometimes I am a shaman, though I prefer not to flicker in and out of the spirit world if I can help it.” There was a soft mewing sound, and Severus was shocked to see Trejgul winding stealthily around the witch’s knees. “This little fellow has been most helpful.” She said fondly, reaching down to scratch the cat between his large tufted ears. “He visits us often. I think he must comfort her. If only all familiars were so sweet.” She jerked her head toward Freya. The word “spirit” brought Severus back to his own reality in a jarring way.
“I must warn you. Something is coming for her. A dark servant of…” He trailed off before saying the words “my master” realizing this woman did not know about his service to Voldemort.
“Ah yes. The foul one.” She pursed her lips disdainfully. “I’ve caught his stench before. He will not find us here. Such creatures are not welcome in this part of the forest, and if he does…we will be ready, I think.” She frowned down at Freya. “This one has a talent for attracting dark men.”
At this, a trace of Snape’s familiar sneer touched his lips. “So I’ve noticed.” The volva stared at him, then began to giggle girlishly.
“Not you, silly. You have a lover’s heart. If you had evil intent, you would have disintegrated the moment you entered my circle.” Her eyes travelled up and down Severus’ lean frame. “I knew who you were at once, but I had no idea you were such a marvelous specimen.” She quirked her head with an impish grin. “You are welcome to join me in my tent, tonight.” Severus looked away, feeling the heat rising to his face again as she laughed. “I do not think she will mind.”
“I…I don’t…” He found himself stammering. “You are incredibly lovely, but…” She laughed again, then held up a hand to indicate that he need not say any more. Severus quickly looked away, thinking that touching this woman would be more dangerous than stroking a wild panther. He studied Freya’s still form, instead. “I’m so sorry I tried to push you away. I should have held you so close, but I’m afraid I’m not the man you deserve.” She was so still, but color bloomed healthfully across her cheekbones. “Your brother and Tonks are terrified for you. They’ll be relieved to hear that you’re safe.”
“No.” The witch shook her head sharply. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“A lot of people are looking for her.” Snape replied just as firmly.
“A lot of people who would take her to one of your hospitals to rot. Your healers don’t know how to bring her back. Only my skills can do that now.” She said, not unkindly. “And you must not return, Severus Snape. I think you know this.”
He stared at her, feeling that leaden weight slide into the pit of his stomach yet again, but he nodded miserably. Freya had her own battle to fight now, and he would only get in the way. “Sev…” The softest of whispers escaped from Freya, and Severus knelt at her side at once. In her sleep, her brow furrowed with distress. He placed a soft kiss on her cold lips, and this time there was no spark of magic.
“You will defeat this. You’re stronger than I ever gave you credit for. When you come back, I promise never to underestimate you again. When you come back…” His words faltered, and he felt fresh tears sting his eyes. “Send me a sign, my love. I will come for you. I promise.” He glanced up once more at the black haired witch, and she gave him a sad, but approving smile. Then, without another word, she made a sign with her left hand, and twisted it in one smooth motion.
Severus awoke with a start in his own bed, and blinked down at Trejgul, who was now curled up on top of his chest, purring contently. His room was pitch black, as the fire had died out hours ago, leaving nothing but ash and cinder. He thought he could still smell the traces of wet earth on his skin.
“Bugger it all.” He grumbled, and closed his eyes, letting himself drift into a dreamless sleep.
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Spy vs. Spy