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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
In the following month, a cold numbness crept through his veins, hardening him like marble. He felt very little when Voldemort ordered the destruction of the Brockdale bridge in London. Severus knew he should have been sick, ashamed even, but attacks on muggle families were occurring with increasing regularity. Such atrocities should never become normalized, he often reminded himself, gazing discretely at his false master. He is not normal. I must not accept him. Still, the crimes committed by his fellow deatheaters seemed to echo around his conscious, never truly touching him. It was amazing how the human mind could adapt to such horror. I must remain strong.
These days, Fenrir Greyback and his snatchers were being released upon the world with alarming regularity, bullying the errant criminal into service and the like, terrorizing shopkeepers. The pawns required a taste of blood to keep them satiated, and the Dark Lord was nothing if not generous where torture was concerned. Severus himself was not commanded to lead such excursions, much to his relief. It would not do for Voldemort’s favorite spy to be recognized. Not yet. Still, he felt nothing when Bellatrix would return victorious, drunk from the violence, and giddy with power. She frequently leered at Severus, exposing her rotting teeth, thinking to make him envious that she was once more held in the Dark Lord’s esteem. What a foolish sycophant she was. Severus had already been given his own mission from Dumbledore, who had summoned him after returning from some mysterious adventure, clutching a blackened hand. Snape tried very hard not to think about it.
The dark mark burned more frequently these days, and Severus often found himself dutifully apparating to Malfoy Manor, where Narcissa never failed to greet him with large, desperate eyes. Many things were discussed. Tasks were dolled out according to status, but a sword of Damocles hung over their heads. Barty Crouch Jr. had not returned. As far as they knew, he had failed in his mission to retrieve Freya, as per the agreement between Voldemort and the foreign wizard who had indeed haunted Severus’ dreams. As the time stretched, Severus did not know whether to feel fear, or relief, so he hardened himself to both. Mr. Wode, or ‘Vidarr’ as he had finally come to call him, was becoming slowly more feral the longer he was forced to wait. His calm, patient exterior was masterfully crafted, but Severus could almost see the wolf beneath his skin growing leaner and more savage. Vidarr, as it so happened, had followers as well. Cruel men in sleek black suits who eyed the British deatheaters with immense disdain. One of them, a ginger haired youth who easily stood a foot above the rest, had filed sharp, horizontal lines into his teeth, and had dyed the cuts with indigo. The effect was highly disturbing, and repulsed even Bellatrix, who stared at him with open dislike. These were the men who had attacked The Locke, Severus was certain.
The conversations between Vidarr and Voldemort were becoming less and less diplomatic as the time stretched. Every deatheater held their breath whenever he approached the Dark Lord’s throne. The tension could be cut with a knife.
“You have a promise to uphold, my friend.” The way Voldemort said the word “friend” made Snape think of a dagger slipped between the ribs. Vidarr’s smile was ice, and it seemed that he was fighting the urge to growl. An unspoken challenge hung in the air.
“When my payment is received. Not before.” He replied softly, his cold grey eyes sliding toward Severus, who felt his innards clench with the appraisal. The man sickened him with his sly looks and his veiled threats. He was careful never to allow himself to be caught alone with him, for he often felt those cold grey eyes lingering on his body. Severus had never before experienced feeling threatened this way by someone more powerful than himself. He shuddered, and wished he could send a rose to every woman he had ever met, for he knew this was something that the opposite sex encountered with alarming regularity.
“I grow weary of this impertinence, werewolf.” The dark lord’s eyes glinted scarlet. “I offer you a place at my side, and in return you make demands like a petulant child.” Severus could almost see the foreigner’s hackles rise at the insult, but to his credit, he responded with a chilly smile, showing seemingly every tooth in his mouth. It would not have surprised him to see blood or bits of flesh in those teeth.
“Forgive me. I am still learning your English customs. In my mother country, it is considered unmanly to break one’s word.”
Severus held his breath, and picked a spot on the marble floor to look at, carefully masking his expression as the two vile men considered each other. Had he, or any of the others spoken to the Dark Lord this way, he had no doubt they would be killed. When Voldemort responded with a high, mirthless chuckle, he winced, as though someone had touched him with icy hands.
“Don’t worry, Vidarr. We will find your little whore.” He appraised his servants slowly, and Severus felt his deep red eyes fall upon his person. “Leave me.” There was the sound of rustling fabric as the deatheaters hurried to obey their master’s word. Severus turned to leave as well. “Not you, Severus.” He stopped in his tracks, and turned just in time to see Voldemort hiss something to Lucius Malfoy, whose pale face turned ashen before he slunk off to perform whatever duty had been commanded of him.
Vidarr stepped in front of him, blocking his path for a moment. He stiffened in alarm, but glared coldly at the tall werewolf. There was no way in hell he would allow this monster to intimidate him again. A terrible smile curled at the man’s lips, and his eyes glittered with amusement, but before he could say anything to Severus, he was spared by Voldemort’s soft voice. “That will be all, Vidarr. Severus, attend me.”
Snape swept past Vidarr, whose smile melted into a leer before he too left the chamber. “My lord…” He intoned gratefully, dipping into a low bow before his master.
“There is something I wish for you to see, Severus.” The Dark Lord whispered. At that moment, Lucius returned, looking even more shaken. The once proud man looked terrible. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, which were constantly averted in fear. This was not the same man that Snape had grown up with. Gone were the haughty expression and the snide remarks. Here stood a skeleton in fine robes. Azkaban had changed him. “Place it on the floor, Lucius. Then get out of my sight.” Voldemort hissed quietly. Snape stared as the blonde shell of a wizard stooped, and placed a round bundle at his feet. He did not even look at him as he left. Severus considered the parcel for a moment, then gave Voldemort a politely inquisitive look. “Open it.”
He drew his wand, and pointed it at the bundle. The delicate twine twisted apart, and the brown paper peeled away from the grisly package. Snape recoiled in disgust, wrinkling his nose as dark blood began to seep onto the black marble floor. The sightless eyes of Barty Crouch Junior stared up at him, the face twisted in a strange, almost amused expression. Oddly enough, a crown of wilting yellowish flowers had been placed at a jaunty angle on top of the severed head. He felt an absurd desire to laugh.
“Narcissa found the head this morning. She did not see what delivered it…” Voldemort sighed, more out of annoyance than anything else. “I do not wish for the others to know that he is dead. You will hold your tongue.”
“A wise decision, my lord.” Severus drawled, studying the grotesque thing without a trace of remorse. You got what was coming to you, filth, he thought with satisfaction. “Any clue as to who sent it?” Severus asked, feigning curiosity.
“This was attached.” Voldemort drew a slip of paper from his robes and held it out lazily, between two long white fingers. Snape took it, and felt his heart begin to pound. It was a small drawing of a fox, lovingly entangled with a serpent, surrounded by roses. “You know what it means?” The Dark Lord was studying his reaction carefully, and he knew that he had no choice but to give him a bit of truth.
“I believe this to be Freya Lupin’s work, my Lord.”
“I thought as much.” Voldemort sounded annoyed, but vaguely amused. “It matters little to me. Barty was outgrowing his usefulness…however it is rather vexing to lose such a loyal subject.”
“As I recall, the woman had particular venom toward this particular subject, and Bartemius was anything but tactful. I am certain my Lord understands such things better than I.” Severus chose his words with caution, hoping to secrete some small amount of empathy on Freya’s behalf.
“Ahh…yes the incident in Belgium. That was…poorly handled.”
“Then his death is perhaps a worthy punishment for his failure.” He replied carefully.
“Indeed. This does present us with a small problem, however. You saw how Vidarr has been acting. I would kill him in an instant, but he has something I desire for the war effort. I could give him power and glory well beyond his means, and yet he wants some woman…” Voldemort said quietly. “Your witch has become more trouble than she is worth, Severus.” Snape felt a tremor of fear as the Dark Lord considered him in silence. “I should have listened to you, my friend.” Severus stared down at Crouch’s decapitated head, then reached down and gingerly plucked one of the yellow flowers, which was a bit like a dandelion. Voldemort continued in a soft voice. “Find her. Bring her to me. I wish to meet her before Vidarr sinks his claws into her.” Dread coiled deeply within Severus’ soul. Freya was safe. The last thing he wanted to do was bring her to Voldemort, yet how could he refuse a direct order? He bowed deeply, saying nothing as he pocketed the flower discretely. “Do not fail me, Severus.” In his mind, the image of Lucius’ dead expression swam before him. He knew what would happen to him if he did not obey.
Severus bowed deeply. “As you wish.”

The flower rested upon an open book, next to a detailed print of the same botanical specimen. Hieracium Islandica. Colloquially known as “Icelandic Hawkweed.” He picked it up, and twirled it absentmindedly in his long fingers. So she was shivering away in some Scandinavian village. Severus knew it without really knowing how he knew it. He had been right, after all.
That night, Severus fell asleep hoping that once again he might apparate to Freya’s side, in the strange woods. Worry often kept sleep at bay. The witch who had refused to give him her name had safely guarded Freya’s body, but she had been trapped inside of her own head, battling nightmares induced by an overdose of Somnium Tenebris draught. He bit his lip, thinking blackly that perhaps it would be kinder if she were to never wake up. Her real life was about to become every bit as nightmarish as her dreams, and Severus wasn’t sure he’d be able to protect her. He screamed into his pillow that night.
The heat of summer, which had plagued him incessantly, finally began to give way to the sweet, chilly mist of the approaching September. The pain in his heart finally ebbed into a dull sort of ache, but he was more or less able to distract himself by revising his new lesson plan. An owl had arrived from the Headmaster. Severus Snape had finally been offered the Defense Against the Dark Arts position; something, which would have once pleased him immensely, but now, filled him with guilt. It felt like a betrayal to be taking Freya’s job. Doubtless, many of the students would not be pleased by the change. Surely Lupin would be outraged as well. To his relief, he had received no further correspondence from the werewolf, or from Tonks. Severus had no desire to engage in any more drunken nights with either of them, though he did feel a pinprick of empathy for Nymphadora’s plight. To love someone so deeply, and to not have those affections returned was a pain that Severus was keenly familiar with. The werewolf was very stupid, he thought, to have the prospect of love so very close and not to seize it with both hands. He missed Freya so much it burned him.
Snape longed to be touched, but suddenly found the idea of approaching other women for companionship strange and exhausting. So, he began to pleasure himself, almost every night, finding that one brief moment of release helped him to sleep more easily. He was surprised by how innocent his thoughts were when he did this. A coy smile. The tendrils of red hair at the base of her neck. Her breath billowing white from her lips in the chilly night air. He could remember the smell of her as he wrapped his hand around his girth and slowly pumped himself to completion. Snape longed to feel the warmth of her lips on his. I should have told you how much I love you. I should have told you a thousand times before you left me.
He might have found some small comfort in these summer months, were he able to indulge in solitude, but much to his chagrin, Severus Snape found himself with an unwanted house guest. Peter Pettigrew had been sent to “assist” him in his studies, though they both knew perfectly well that the man was almost as useless as he was repulsive. Snape hated the way he was always lurking around corners, ready to catch him in some suspicious behavior so that he might report back to his master. Therefore it was often his prerogative to give Wormtail the nastiest chores he could think of. It brought him a bitter sort of pleasure to see his boyhood enemy reduced to the sniveling coward he had become.
One rainy morning, he heard a soft mew from Treijgul. He could hardly be called a kitten anymore, as the beast had grown to an impressive size, and now sported a lush cowl of black and white fur like a lion’s mane. His tail, which had once been just a pitiful brush, was now approximately the size and length of Severus’ forearm, and it flicked impressively back and forth as he watched him dress. He mewed again, and Snape glared at him. “What do you want?” Snape had taken to speaking to the feline like a person, which comforted him, even though it made him sound like a madman. When Treijgul finally moved, he saw that he had been sitting on the sketchbook, which Severus had not cracked open in weeks, though he still carried it with him always. With a heavy sigh, he walked over to it, and hesitantly opened it up to the last page, fully expecting it to be blank, as it had always been. His heart began to race wildly, like a hummingbird’s, as he stared at the parchment, for there, in small, messy cursive, was one word. “Severus.” He choked, and touched the word with trembling fingers. “She’s awake, Treijgul.” He whispered.
“Who’s awake, Severus?” A thin reedy voice made him jump in alarm. When he whirled around, Wormtail was eyeing him suspiciously from the doorway.
“No one that concerns you, rat.” He drawled viciously, sneering with disgust.
“You say that word as if it offends me…” Pettigrew stared insolently through beady little eyes, and his lips twisted into a smile that he did not like. “You forget that we rats have a knack for survival…” His gaze flickered to the sketchbook in Severus’s hand. He snapped it shut and gave him his most ferocious glower.
“Only until they meet a serpent, wormtail. Speaking of which, have you finished harvesting those adder’s tongues for me yet?” He watched as Pettigrew licked his lips nervously. “Or shall I inform the Dark Lord that you are no longer of use to me?” The balding man paled noticeably, then squeaked.
“Of…of course, Severus. I shall finish for you straightaway.” He turned to leave.
“Oh and Wormtail, while you’re at it, there’s a box of live Malagasy dung beetles in my laboratory. I’ll need you to separate the males from the females.” He gave Pettigrew a very nasty look, and felt some fleeting pleasure at the man’s disgusted expression.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud feverish knock on the door. When he opened it cautiously, a frown twisted his features.
“Narcissa…and Bellatrix. How charming.” He drawled. Narcissa looked up at him from beneath her hood with huge, pleading eyes. Snape grimaced, and stepped aside to allow them entry, not missing the way Bellatrix glared haughtily at him, then sneered at the simplistic dourness of his childhood home. He fought back a sigh. He thought he knew why they were here. Damn Voldemort to hell. Damn Dumbledore as well.
The interrogation annoyed him, but he answered every single one of Bellatrix’s questions with grace, and confidence. The lies spilled from his lips so very easily, and as they did, he could see Narcissa relaxing a little bit at a time, even through her tears, which did not stop. She tried to speak to him about her son, but Severus already knew. The Dark Lord had taken great pleasure in telling him, and he thought it very likely that he himself would be forced to carry out the task. He was careful not to dwell on the unpleasant meeting with the headmaster earlier that summer, in case Bellatrix unwisely decided to attempt legillimency. Peter Pettigrew had brought them wine, and had tried to listen at the door, but Severus lazily chased him up the stairs with swift jinx that had him squeaking in terror.
Words were said, and then…a vow. It was all he could do to keep his face impassive as he grasped hands with Narcissa and said the promise that would stop his heart, should he break it. When all was said and done, the ladies left, clearly stunned by his conviction. He ran his fingers through his lank hair, and nearly collapsed, but decided a hot bath was in order.
There was a shuffling sound coming from the top of the stairs, which he might not have noticed until it stopped the moment his foot caused the bottom stair to creak ever so slightly. He paused, his black eyes narrowing when the shuffling continued. Snape had grown up in this house. He knew all of its sounds and smells. Pettigrew was in his room. In a surge of fury, Severus pounded up the stairs, his wand at the ready, and in a flash, the door of his bedchamber was flung open. Pettigrew gave a sharp yell of alarm as he found himself staring, cross eyed at the wand tip that was now directed at his forehead. The dragonhide sketchbook fell to the floor with a dull thud, and Severus stared at it for a moment, heat rising to his face. He knew that the book could not be opened by anyone save himself, but the knowledge that Pettigrew had pried at it with his grubby fingers enraged him.
“I ought to slit your ugly throat, Wormtail.” He growled.
“You…you can’t do that Severus. The Dark Lord would be angry.” Pettigrew whimpered pathetically.
“The Dark Lord doesn’t give two shits about you. You are a fool to think otherwise.” He hissed, pressing the wand tip hard into the quivering mass beneath the wizard’s chin. “Tell me…what were you hoping to find, Pettigrew?”
“I…nothing. Nothing at all.” He quibbled pathetically.
“You’re a terrible liar, rat.”
“You…You know about the Lupin woman. You’ve been hiding her, haven’t you? I’m going to tell the master, Severus. I’m going to tell him that you know where she is.” Severus stared at the man, catching a rare glimpse of something that almost resembled that Gryffindor courage he’d heard so much about. A manic burst of laughter erupted from him unexpectedly, and Pettigrew’s already round eyes widened further.
“Go ahead. He’ll be delighted to hear it.” Snape said with a cruel chuckle. “The Dark Lord asked me personally to bring Freya Lupin home.”
Pettigrew’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips nervously, the gears of his brain clearly whirring as he selected his next words. “That…that book. You carry it with you wherever you go. It’s enchanted, but I’ve caught glimpses…Everyone knows about your affair. I saw the drawings. You shouldn’t lie to me, Severus.”
Snape’s face contorted into an expression of deepest loathing and disgust. As far as he was concerned, the rat may as well have confessed to regularly spying on Severus while he bathed. “It is the prerogative of every Potions Master to keep a journal on his person. A smart wizard would know that, you repulsive cretin. I keep my notes on me at all times, because one never knows when inspiration will strike, and yes Pettigrew, I do often study my specimens by drawing them.” His lip curled as he was forced to lie to this pathetic rat. He studied Pettigrew, and could tell that he was becoming less certain, but he still did not seem to believe him.
“Then why is it enchanted? Why the secrecy?”
Snape rolled his eyes and thrust the book at Pettigrew, who jumped in surprise. “Here, you stupid rodent. Look for yourself.” He grinned sourly as the wizard smoothed his trembling fingers along the spine with an air of suspicion. There was sweat beading on his upper lip as he flicked it open.
The sketchbook burst into crackling blue flames.
Pettigrew gave an ear-piercing shriek, and dropped it, sucking on the burnt fingers of his left hand. The right hand, which was made of solid silver, smoked ominously, the very tips glowing red where they had held the book aloft.
“You knew that would happen!” He wailed piteously. “You tricked me!”
Severus scowled, but said nothing. His onyx gaze was fixed upon the smoldering book, his very last means of communication with Freya. The despair he felt was palpable, but he swallowed it down. It had to be done. Although the book had been charmed, Pettigrew would have insisted on taking it to Voldemort, who surely would have known better than to open it himself.
            “That will teach you not to pry into my things. Get out of my room, wormtail.” He said softly.
            Hearing the malice in Snape’s low voice, Peter scurried from his sight, slamming the door rudely behind him. Severus sank to his knees, his black hair hanging over his face, masking his sorrow. He scooped up the hunk of charred dragon skin, which was all that was left, and crumbled it sullenly between his fingers. The fingers curled into a fist, the ash staining the skin and swirling around him, landing on his robes and in his hair. He gritted his teeth into something like a grin, feral and determined. I’m going to find you, Freya. I must.

            Summer ended. The hawkweed flower had become a dried, shriveled thing, but it remained nested in Severus’ pocket, curled up like a delicate silkworm. Pettigrew had taken to hiding himself from Severus’ hateful scrutiny. All the better for him. He was glad to be leaving the decaying house and the pitiful wizard behind.
The castle was wreathed in fog. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney of Hagrid’s hut, and it was a relief to take great lungfulls of clean, chilly air. He was finally home. Severus nodded curtly to several of the paintings as he passed them, but pointedly ignored the portrait of Gallahad, who now sported a distinctive five o clock shadow, and appeared to be very drunk indeed.
As soon as he had unlocked his trunk and laid it on his four poster bed, which the Hogwarts house elves had kept dutifully neat and free of dust, Treijgul climbed inside, and curled up lazily among Severus’ folded clothes. He gave the cat a disapproving frown, but gave him a fond scratch beneath the chin in spite of himself.
“I just cleaned those, you know.” He muttered. Treijgul purred.
There was a hesitant knock on the chamber door. Expecting Dumbledore, he opened it at once, but recoiled in surprise at the sight of a shivering Sybil Trelawney. She blinked up at him owlishly, the beads on her thickly wrapped shawls quivering lightly as she winced beneath his scrutiny.
“Severus…” She chittered nervously. It was very cold in the depths of the castle. Her words became white mist that hovered around her lips. “Join me for tea?”
“I think not.” He said curtly, and tried to shit the door, but to his surprise, she thrust out an arm, and blocked it with a small squeak. A couple of beads broke free from her sleeve and went rolling on the stone floor. Treijgul darted after them. Severus sighed wearily. “What do you want?”
Trelawney’s fingers did a sort of flick, and instantly a card appeared, so close he nearly went cross-eyed. He relaxed his hold on the door, and Trelawney moved closer. He could smell sherry on her breath. She waggled the card in front of him, and he rolled his eyes before taking it. It was yellowed, and clearly very old, but had the pleasant feel and patina of a card that has been well used by human hands. The image showed a beautiful woman with long hair sitting on a carved silver throne. “The high priestess.” Sybil breathed. Severus gave her a patronizing sort of grimace.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Unattainability. Sensuality. A higher power.”
“You’re drunk.” He sneered. She frowned at him, somewhat haughtily, but did not deny it.
“I have been reading your cards, Severus Snape. Ever since I saw that…” She pointed at his left hand, which bore the mark.
“What do you know of it?” He snapped, feeling strangely defensive.
“I know that it’s the Arhain rune.” She mumbled feebly. Trelawney often dropped the ethereal theatricality that she usually spoke with when she was with Severus, possibly because she knew he would never listen if she used it. He stared at her.
“Arhain rune?”
“Darkness, and shadow. I also know that it has a sister. It must, or else it cannot exist. Lecai, the light rune. We both know who bears that mark, Severus. I can help you find her.”
Severus continued to stare at her with growing uncertainty. Trelawney was not particularly well known for her accuracy, but she did seem awfully confident. Reluctantly, he stepped aside, and she swept in, her shawls trailing listlessly behind her. She glanced around his chambers with some interest, mumbled something incoherently, then finally sat on one of the large armchairs before the fire, gesturing for him to come closer.
“A spot of hot water, if you don’t mind, Severus.”
He pursed his lips in annoyance, but bit back a snarky reply. Flourishing his wand, he started a small fire, and levitated an iron kettle to hover over the glowing embers. Trelawney thrust a deck of cards beneath his nose, and told him to shuffle.
“Think of Miss. Lupin. Picture her in your mind’s eye.” She whispered, a hint of dreaminess entering her voice once again.
He thought about the night they’d met, how wide and terrified her eyes had been. He thought about their first kiss, and the webs they’d woven around each other from that moment on. He recalled the long hours they’d spent writing to one another. It was difficult to remember how it had felt to crush her body against his, and he realized with some remorse that it was nearly impossible to remember what she smelled like.
The kettle began to whistle. Trelawney lazily conjured a teacup, and drew a tiny mortar and pestle from somewhere in her robes, muttering to herself as she began to sprinkle bits of this and that, crushing them as she went. “China black, yes. Mugwort as well. Eyebright. Lemon balm and…rosehip, I think. Yes that should do nicely. Severus, I’ll take the hawkweed in your pocket, if you don’t mind.” She added abruptly. Severus stopped shuffling to gape at her. She snapped her fingers impatiently until he snorted in disbelief, and drew the tiny dried flower from his pocket. Clearly she was hoping he would ask how she knew about it, but he pointedly refused. Wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, she sprinkled it over the dried tea leaves, then dumped the entire contents into the cup. “I’ll take those, if you would be so kind as to pour.”
He watched as she cut the deck, and began to place the cards, one by one. She studied them for a minute, frowning. “The lightning struck tower, again.” Trelawney blinked at him owlishly. “I dreamt of a woman last night. She asked me to assist you. She said it was time.”
“Time for what?” He asked warily, thinking of the nomadic witch woman. Trelawney sighed and held up one of her cards, which showed a man and a woman sharing a goblet of wine. “The two of cups.”
Snape frowned. “So?”
“When upright, it means unity between two forces. A powerful relationship. Perhaps a business partnership, or more likely…” She gazed at him coolly. “A great love. When reversed, it means the connection has been broken. I have cast for you many times, Severus Snape, and the two of cups appears every time, but it is always changing between upright, and reversed.”
“I see.” Snape considered her, as he poured the steaming liquid into his mug of tealeaves. “Perhaps I have underestimated you, Sybil.”
“No matter.” She sniffed. “I am used to such disdain from those without the sight.” Sybil ignored the way Severus rolled his eyes at this, then pointed to a card depicting a very old man with a snowy beard and crown. “The emperor, reversed. Someone is abusing their power. Someone with great authority over others.”Severus snorted, thinking that this was terribly obvious, now that Voldemort was on the move. “The high priestess. You are infatuated.”
“No shit.” He muttered under his breath. Trelawney did not seem to hear him.
“Trust your instincts. Fate has set you on a path. Now is not the time for hesitation. The two of cups must be upright, or I fear…” Here she pointed to another card, depicting a castle turret in flames. “Disaster.”
Severus lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that the fate of the wizarding world might depend on my love life?”
“I’m telling you to get a move on, because according to the cards, both you and your absentee lover have larger roles to play. You will be stronger together. Now drink up.”
His frown twisted into a grimace as he sipped at his tea, which made him sigh with relief. Drinking it felt as natural as sinking into a hot bath. To his surprise, he felt his thoughts grow somewhat fuzzy, and the awful feeling of dread, which he had grown so very used to these past summer months, quite suddenly vanished. He looked up at Trelawney, who smiled mysteriously.
“Just a simple brew. For clarity of purpose, my dear. I would not tarry, if I were you.” She rose to her feet, and swept out of his chambers, taking her deck of cards with her. “Hop to it, Severus.”
Snape watched her go through narrowed eyes, but strangely enough, he did feel an odd swelling of confidence. Without really knowing what he was doing, he put his coat back on, and went into his laboratory where he grabbed a bottle of Polyjuice potion. He had no idea what he needed it for, but he thought that wherever he was going, he would need an ace up his sleeve.
When he reemerged, he locked eyes with Treijgul, and a startling thought occurred to him.
“You know where she is.”
Treijgul yawned.
Feeling slightly stupid, he scooped up the furry menace and proceeded to carry him outside, muttering under his breath. “If you’re wasting my time, I swear I’ll turn you into a pair of mittens.”
He closed his eyes, and turned on the spot.
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