Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
Lupin’s face was white with terror, and not for the first time, Snape thought he could see the wolf lingering beneath his features. For a moment, it seemed the man was going to charge at him, and clearly Tonks thought so too, for she placed a strong hand on his shoulder, but he jerked violently away from her touch as if it burned him. Tonks’ eyes cast downward, and she was clearly hurt for a moment, but she lifted her gaze and fixed her large brown eyes on Severus with the cool demeanor of an auror. He flinched beneath her scrutiny, knowing that he looked terrible. Shadows had formed beneath his eyes, and in the hollows of his cheeks, where the beginnings of a beard had begun to grow. His normally precise appearance had taken a turn for the worse in lieu of recent events, and he was in need of a hot bath.
“Is she dead?” She asked sharply, as though she wanted to get the question out quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
There it was again, that sick, feverish guilt gnawing on the edge of his psyche. He pushed it away with a tiny jerk of his head, like a nervous tick, then frowned soberly at Tonks. “I do not believe so. There are those within the Dark Lord’s circle who would relish in giving me such news. As of now, your friend is very much alive.” Snape replied carefully. Dumbledore was watching him with that penetrating gaze, his fingers drumming the desktop ever so softly. He could hear the soft percussion echoing in his skull, and he wished he would stop. Every dull thud conjured memories of hexes fired, and of Freya collapsing into his arms. He nearly snapped at him. Wasn’t it enough that every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, and the horrified expression of betrayal written there?
Lupin seemed to deflate for a moment with relief, but soon he was mussing up his hair, and pacing the headmaster’s office like a penned up animal. “And I suppose there was nothing you could do?” He growled in a mocking, bitter sort of way that implied this was an excuse he’d heard far too often. Snape stiffened at the hidden accusation, but did not retaliate in his customary way. The man’s sister was being held prisoner by deatheaters, and it was entirely his fault. Everyone in the room knew it. He could feel their judgment boring into his skull.
“Severus had no choice in the matter, I assure you.” Dumbledore said in a tone that did not invite argument. Lupin snorted in angry disbelief. Tonks’ gaze was unwavering. He could not quite manage to meet it.
“Where was she hiding?” She asked succinctly.
“Somewhere in Iceland. I never did find out the name of the place.” Snape chose his words cautiously. “I wouldn’t call it hiding. She was on the run yes, but hardly keeping what you might call a ‘low profile.’ I think she was training. When I found her, she was extremely paranoid, but determined to keep her skills sharp. I think…” He cleared his throat and fought the urge to fidget uncomfortably, “I think she knew that she would be found. Eventually.”
Lupin actually snarled at this, and in a manner most unlike the usually cool headed wizard, kicked over a small end table, sending it, and the whirling instruments it held crashing to the floor. In an instant, Dumbledore’s wand was out, and the table had righted itself. Lupin flushed, still angry, but not at all embarrassed by his small outburst. He took several large, shaky breaths to calm himself, then pointed an accusatory finger. “Found by you. Where did you take my sister, Snape?”
Severus’ lip twitched angrily as all eyes slid back to him. He made it sound as if he’d simply tossed her in a sack and carried her off. How could he possibly know how difficult it had been to tear out his own heart and crush it beneath his boots? Part of him knew, though. If someone else had done this, he would have wanted to tear the man responsible limb from limb. “There are any number of holding cells that the Dark Lord-,” He began.
“DON’T slither around the question, Snape.” Lupin growled through gritted teeth. Anger flared up inside of him again, and for a brief moment, he considered jinxing the werewolf with the same tongue-locking jinx he’d seen Freya use on her brother, once upon a time.
“When Freya was taken, we apparated directly to Malfoy Manor. As far as I know, she was made reasonably comfortable there.” He felt a mad urge to prove himself, to somehow justify his actions. Snape had told himself a thousand times that had he not sought Freya himself, she would have been found by far more vicious wizards. She could have been hurt, or worse. At least he had softened the blow. These thoughts helped to chase away that other voice in his head. The one that said, ‘You betrayed her, just as you betrayed Lilly. She hates you. You’re a snake, and she knows it now.’ That hardly mattered now, Snape reasoned darkly. His precious logic felt hollow, especially at night when his mind conjured terrible images, projecting Freya’s wide, horrified eyes on the inner walls of his very skull.
“’As far as you know.’” Lupin repeated hoarsely. “There seem to be quite a few gaps in your story, Snivellus.”
Snape whirled on Lupin, his ears ringing with the old nickname. He had never once heard Remus use that insult, not even when they were boys. It had always been Sirius’ favorite, and hearing it now was like salt in his wounds. Sirius Black. Another failure. Another reminder of just how helpless he could be.
“That’s enough out of you, werewolf. If you think you’re the only one here who-”
“Oh that’s right,” Lupin interjected with terrible sarcasm. “Snape here thinks that just because he’s fucked my sister, that gives him special privileges. Well, she left you, didn’t she? And that just burns you up, doesn’t it?”
“Shut. Up.” Snape seethed through gritted teeth.
“I’ll bet she saw right through you. Probably caught a glimpse of the foul, cowardly little sneak you really are.” Lupin growled. “Is that why you chased after her? Is that why you sold her out?”
Something snapped inside of him. Fury leapt inside of him, white hot, taking control of his limbs like a sadistic puppeteer. He lunged at Remus, wrapping his arms around his middle and throwing him bodily to the floor, his wand forgotten. Knuckles made sharp contact with flesh, and he felt the wizard’s jaw crack. Lupin grunted in surprise and pain, but seized Snape’s lapels, and brought him down in a ferocious headbutt. Snape felt the bones of his nose shatter against the werewolf’s forehead. Soon they were lost in a flurry of fists, but neither cast a single hex. It felt better, somehow to take out their aggression in this primitive way. There was something pure about the surge of adrenaline. It was the most alive he’d felt in days. Tonks shrieked something at them, and he felt her try to wrench him off as blood poured down his chin, but he thrust her away. Lupin’s balled fist caught him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Both men staggered to their feet, breathing heavily. They were about to rush at each other again, when Tonks shouted, “Protego!” The force of her shield spell was enough to make each of them take a step backwards. Then to his alarm, she pointed her wand in his face and muttered, “Episkey.” There was a sickening crunch as his broken nose snapped back into place, and he hissed in pain.
“Well now. I do hope you’ve gotten that out of your systems.” Dumbledore mused, though he was clearly annoyed.
“This isn’t over, you filthy mutt.” Snape growled.
“You’re right. It isn’t.” Remus was now inches away, so close that he could see the flecks of gold in his furious brown eyes. There was a chilling quality to his voice he had never heard before, and Snape was suddenly very grateful for Tonks’ shield charm. “If you don’t keep her safe, I will hunt you down, and if she dies, I will kill you myself.”
“Enough, Remus. You will do no such thing.” Dumbledore said firmly. Normally, the soft- spoken werewolf would have shrunk at this reproach from the powerful headmaster, but when his flesh and blood was concerned, the wizard had no reservations. Snape knew that he meant every word. This was, after all, the same man who had once been perfectly willing to turn his best friend over to Dementors, when he thought he’d betrayed The Order.
“So she’s still there? At Malfoy Manor?” Tonks asked firmly, finally breaking the tension.
Snape shook his head. “I don’t know. The moment she entered the house, she was ushered away, and,” He grimaced at the memory of Lucius closing the doors in his face, while Vidarr watched with that terrible, handsome grin. “I have not been permitted to see her.”
“I think it is safe to assume that Freya has not been moved, and is well and alive. We may deduce, therefore that Voldemort has taken an interest in our witch?” Dumbledore asked quietly. Snape stiffened, his lip twitching ever so slightly. Typical Dumbledore. Always ready to turn a foul situation to his advantage.
“He has.”
“And is it safe to say that Freya has since been interrogated about her association with The Order?”
“It is.”
“Well then we’ll just have to bloody well save her, won’t we?” Remus fumed, his face reddening with passion.
Snape closed his eyes for a moment, bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When he took the fingers away, he realized his chin was still covered in blood. Retrieving a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped as much as he could away, then he gave the werewolf a poisonous look. “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”
“Like hell.” Tonks snapped, furiously. The three men looked at her in surprise. All of them were used to the warm, funny Tonks who changed her nose at will to amuse children. Now she glared imperiously at Snape with a cold determination, and for the first time ever, he saw a vague resemblance to her Aunt Bellatrix.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one who cares for Freya’s safety, Nymphadora.” Snape intoned quietly, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed angrily at the use of her first name. “There is nothing to be done. Not on your part, at any rate.” Snape noticed Dumbledore’s brows rise with interest. At the same moment, Tonks’ eyes narrowed warily. “Freya Lupin has survived imprisonment before. She might be impulsive, and reckless but she is no amateur, and even I will admit that her skills are…formidable.” Awkward silence greeted this, which fanned a tiny spark of annoyance within Severus. “I trust her.” He hesitated, and looked at Dumbledore. “She would sooner die than betray the Order.”
The headmaster gazed up at him with those penetrating blue eyes. “You are certain?”
“I am.”
“You would stake your life upon it?”
“I would.”
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, sizing each other up until Dumbledore nodded curtly. “Remus, Tonks, if you would be so kind as to leave us, I would like a word with Severus in private.”
Tonks scowled faintly, but turned to the fireplace at one. Remus made as if to follow her, but Snape called him back. Lupin scowled, and looked as if he would have liked nothing more than to wrap his hands around his throat, but nevertheless, Severus leaned in to mutter a few words. “As her brother, you should know,” He grimaced bitterly. “She did not flee out of cowardice. She stayed away, because she knew that wherever she went, they would follow. It was not an easy decision on her part. It was very…brave.”
Lupin stared at Snape in astonishment, and he knew that he was thinking back to the evening they’d spent together, getting highly inebriated. It was no small thing to hear Severus Snape admit that he had been wrong. The werewolf narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but nodded and stepped into the fireplace in a whoosh of green flames.
“You’ve done well, my friend.” Dumbledore said softly. Snape whirled on him furiously. Now he was the one who wanted to throw things.
“Have I, now?” He hissed venomously.
“Oh yes.” Albus said softly. “You have sacrificed something precious to you, and in return you have won Voldemort’s trust and solidified your position. Likewise, you seem to have earned the favor of this foreign wizard you’ve mentioned.” There was the faintest trace of an accusation there.
“Vidarr is a savage.”
“And what else?”
“I don’t know. Everything about him feels wrong.”
“Oh?” Dumbledore leaned forward, clearly interested. “In what way?”
“It is difficult to explain. The Dark Lord is formidable, naturally. He has already pushed the limits of his power, seeking new realms of dark magic to explore, and yet…” Again, he hesitated, uncertain how to explain the way the man’s smile made his insides writhe. “Vidarr’s power feels…old. It lingers on the air like the ghost of a lady’s perfume after she’s already left the room.”
“Very poetic.” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “And our Freya managed to curse out his eye?”
“Yes. She feels almost similar now. The air around her practically pulsates with dark magic.”
“And has she shared this power with you?”
Snape stared. “I don’t catch your meaning.”
“Ah. I suppose not then. Tell me, has she received a blessing yet? From an elder, I mean?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled infuriatingly.
“How…?” Snape started, then rolled his eyes. “Yes. I saw him place his hands on her, and then I…”
“Fainted?”
“Yes.” He stared at Dumbledore. After all these years, the wizard’s uncanny ability to know things he should not still amazed and annoyed him.
“I should think so. To be in the presence of such ancient rites can be exhausting for even the strongest wizard.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to grace me with an explanation?” Severus drawled bitterly.
“Oh no, I’m afraid I can only hypothesize for the time being. I would not wish to trouble you with an old man’s whimsy when I am about to burden you even further. “ Dumbledore gave him a politely apologetic look, then held out a hand in a welcoming gesture for him to take a seat. Warily, Severus complied and pressed the tips of his fingers together in an arch.
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, Severus,” Dumbledore beamed. “It is my great pleasure to inform you that I am accepting your application for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”
Snape winced. A thousand years ago this news would have pleased him immensely. Now, it felt a bit like a slap in the face. Nevertheless, he gave Dumbledore a faint smile, and nodded. “I see.”
Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you rather coveted the position?”
Snape snorted. He had asked to teach the class every year since he had started. “Of course. Thank you, headmaster. I am honored to accept. Who, may I ask, will be teaching Potions?”
“I intend to offer Horace Slughorn the position.”
“Indeed?” Snape pretended to consider this, but in all honesty, he hardly cared. Doubtless, the old coot had ulterior motives for propositioning his old head of house, but Severus was not about to give him the satisfaction of questioning this. Dumbledore frowned faintly, and looked quizzically at Snape over the rims of his half moon spectacles.
“Forgive me, but you don’t seem as pleased as I had expected.”
“How very observant of you.” Snape could not resist biting back sardonically.
“You are still thinking about Miss Lupin.” Albus noted.
“How observant of you.” Snape replied airily.
“You will recall what I said to you the last time we spoke of her?”
“Oh, naturally. ‘Tear your feelings out by the roots?’ How could I forget such a pearl of wisdom?” He snarled, as Dumbledore gazed at him sadly, making him feel a bit like a thirteen-year-old boy again. This only annoyed him further.
“It is a terrible thing I’ve asked of you,” Dumbledore intoned softly. “Please do not think that I would deny you this chance at love, were it not for the greater good. The role that you must play is vital, and must not be compromised. I think you know this.”
“And what of Freya’s role, Albus?” Severus choked, feeling his eyes begin to sting with unshed tears in a rare display of emotion. “Is she to be left to the wolves? Am I to simply stand aside and watch them tear her apart?” He had not slept for several nights, and it was beginning to show, as if his very character was cracking along the edges. It was only too easy to imagine what was being done to his wife at this very moment.
Dumbledore stared at him very intensely, then closed his eyes and shook his head wearily. “You are a brave man, Severus. Sometimes I think the sorting hat must have been under a confundus charm, the day it sorted you into Slytherin. While I would not have put it so crudely, I will be blunt with you. Yes, Severus. I’m afraid I must insist that you not interfere. The risk is far too great.”
“She could die.” Snape whispered croakily.
Albus closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “Many will die.” There was a small, but terrible silence before the headmaster finally spoke again. “You will notice, perhaps that while I have ordered you not to interfere, I have not advised that you give up hope. There is one wildcard left in this dangerous game we play, as you so have so wisely demonstrated.”
“Freya.” Severus said blackly, his lips contorting into a grimace.
“If anyone understands the villain she is up against, it will be Miss. Lupin.”
            Severus looked away, refusing to respond to this. Freya had survived thus far, but she could be stubborn, and terribly reckless. Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Do I have your word, Severus?” Snape scowled, but nodded slowly. “Very well…now for the other reason I summoned you here…”
Dumbledore held up his hand, and Severus recoiled, in spite of himself. The hand was horribly blackened, and emitted a foul odor, as if the flesh was dead and rotting. Even Severus, who was used to such horrors, found it difficult to look at. Nevertheless, he rushed to the headmaster’s side, and knelt before him to inspect it thoroughly.
“The infection is spreading.” Snape hissed, recognizing the pulsating aura of dark magic that emanated from the terrible injury. He flew to the glass cabinet that contained Dumbledore’s private potion stores, and at once seized a cauldron and an armful of ingredients. This was not the first time he had been forced to contain the curse that now spread up the headmaster’s arm, tightening his veins like coiled, blackened ropes. He remembered that first night he had been summoned, the night Albus had flown in, clutching his chest, as his hand shriveled and smoked, curling in on itself like a caterpillar that had been tossed into a fire.
“Ah…” Dumbledore actually had the decency to look abashed. He opened a small drawer in his desk and withdrew a large, ugly ring with a heavy black stone in its center. Snape glanced at it, his heart pounding furiously as he began adding pinches of the ingredients by sight after weighing each in the palm of his hand, a feat that no amateur potion brewer would ever imitate, should they not wish to poison themselves.
“I still can’t believe you were so foolish.” Snape admonished angrily, as if he were speaking to a student. Dumbledore sighed wearily, suddenly looking far older than his hundred and sixteen years. “You should have informed me immediately. I can contain it again, but…damn you.” He glanced at a bottle of Dragon’s blood, made a calculated decision, and upended its entire contents into the cauldron. A quickly muttered charm soon had the contents bubbling. Snape used the time wisely, and began uttering several complicated counter curses with the tip of his wand resting gingerly on Dumbledore’s wrist. The pulsating began to slowly, but steadily diminish. Both men breathed a touch easier. Snape ignored the cool way the headmaster was watching him as he wove the spells expertly around his blackened fingertips.
“You think me cruel? Unfeeling?” Albus murmured.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snapped.
“I too, have known love, Severus. If only…”He gave a great shudder. “If only things were different…I wish I could give you my blessing.”
“Now’s not the time to speak of such things.”
When the potion had thickened into a viscous, golden elixir, Snape seized a goblet, filled it to the brim, and tipped it to the old man’s lips. He did not pull away until every drop had disappeared, then he watched as Albus sighed with noticeable relief, his face regaining a touch more color. He held up the rotting hand, and flexed it experimentally. “Thank you…my friend.”
“Why…why did you put on that ring, Albus?” Severus flopped wearily into the armchair, and rubbed his eyes.
“Ah…who knows? The temptation…” He gave a little moan and shook his head.
“I have contained the curse to the hand. For now.”
“I see. How long?” Albus asked politely, as though the inquiry meant nothing at all.
“A year. Perhaps more, if I were to inform Poppy that you should remain bedridden.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “Even you would not be so cruel.”
“It’s what you deserve, you old coot.” Severus managed a weak sort of smile, but it was quick to evaporate. “What do you need me to do?”
“For starters, I forbid you to speak to me as if I am on my death bed. I find it tiresome.”
“And what else?”
Dumbledore sighed. “There is one thing I must ask you to do.” Here, he fixed Severus with an alarmingly sorrowful gaze. “You still believe that young Mr. Malfoy will attempt to end my life?”
“I do. The Dark Lord wishes to punish Lucius for his failure in the Department of Mysteries.”
“He must not be successful.”
“Should be easy enough to avoid. The boy’s no killer.” Severus snorted.
“Yet I must die, Severus.”
Snape felt icy claws grip his chest at these words. Deep down, he had always known it would come to this. “I think…he intends for me to do it. In the end.” He rubbed at his temples. “I made the unbreakable vow that I would assist Draco. If he cannot complete his task, then I will.”
“I think…that would be for the best.” Dumbledore replied kindly.
“No.” Snape whispered. “As a last resort, only. I will not do it unless I absolutely must."
“You would leave my fate in the hands of someone else? Fenrir Greyback, perhaps? Or lovely Bellatrix, who does so love to play with her food?” Albus said archly.
“I have done EVERYTHING you’ve ever asked of me.” He snapped. “Lilly is dead, and still I’ve obeyed every order. I’ve endured the cruciatus. I’ve sold Freya to her doom. Everything. But this…” Hot tears welled up in his black eyes, making them shimmer like molten onyx in the firelight, but they did not spill over. “You cannot make me.” He hated the pleading edge to his voice. Suddenly, he felt like he was seventeen again.
            “Severus, please.” Dumbledore whispered. “It will be a mercy, in the end. The pain…”He shuddered. “You have no idea.”
            “Stop talking this way.”
            “It must be you. There is no one else I would trust with this. I only ask that you make it as swift, and painless as possible.”
            “No.”
“I will NOT have that boy’s soul torn apart on my behalf.” Dumbledore raised himself up sternly.
“And my soul, Albus? MY SOUL?” He seethed desperately.
“Is protected.”
“Lies.”
“Freya saw to that, the night you drank Malignum Praesidium. Your soul will be safe. It is a mercy.”
Snape and Dumbledore considered each other in silence for a long time. Severus felt the cogs of his brain whirling furiously, trying to churn out any reason to refuse, prodding at the headmaster’s logic, seeking out any weakness, but it was sound. “I hate this.” He whispered, finally. Dumbledore smiled sadly. He knew the argument had been lost. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, choking him for a moment until he swallowed it down. He gazed at his mentor, his friend, and in some ways, his father.
“I am tired, Severus, and if I am not mistaken, you will need to revise your lesson plans before the summer ends.” Albus smiled, and it was full of warmth, and affection. Severus knew that it would be a long time before he slept properly again.

Leave it to the Malfoys to turn something as innocent as a birthday party into a fucking farce, Snape thought bitterly as he took yet another swig of bourbon. He had taken to keeping a flask of the stuff on his person at all times, knowing full well how seedy and paranoid it made him look. He didn’t care. Lucius had hissed a rather snide remark, which he’d happily ignored, but some small effort had been made concerning his appearance. His suit was neat, and form fitting, and his hair clean, though he’d neglected to shave. The stubble on his chin gave him a rakish aura, a tiny rebellion in the face of the lavish society he now faced. The revelers were a gaudy, patronizing lot, many of whom were the parents of some of his Slytherins. They oozed privilege, clad in ornate, flowing robes, and luxurious gowns. Such was expected whenever the most famous pureblood family threw a party. Truly, the Malfoys had spared no expense, though Severus suspected the display of wealth had less to do with their affection for Draco and more to do with appearing strong in the face of their tarnished reputation. A deep wound, now with an elaborate bandage.
The music throbbed; low and pulsating like the beginnings of a headache, and the revelers were just beginning to reach peak inebriation. Elegant platters floated of their own accord, containing food that was arranged artistically, but would doubtless have left him hungrier than before. The décor was extravagant, full of twinkling silvers, rich greens, and lush plums, all illuminated by sensuous candlelight. Snape was miserable, but at least the booze was flowing. All in all, it seemed far too mature for a seventeen year old’s party. No wonder the boy could be such an arrogant little shit. Draco seemed happy enough though, blissfully unaware of the political game his parents played as he enjoyed the company of his closest friends, and several young ladies whose enchanting smiles had clearly been paid for in advance. Here and there, pipes were being passed around, the fumes of which would have the most adept smokers seeing pixies for hours. Had they been at Hogwarts, he would have destroyed the pipes immediately, and taken at least a thousand house points from the offending student, but this was Malfoy Manor, and he found that he couldn’t have cared less. It gave the atmosphere a pleasantly heady feeling, which would have been fine if not for the dangerous company.
An arm snaked through his, the long nails piercing the wool of his coat. When he glanced down, Bellatrix smiled in what she apparently thought was a sweet, demure way. “Come, Severus. Don’t be such a bore. Join us.” He fought the desire to roll his eyes as she led him back to the Malfoys, knowing that around them, he would never be allowed to sulk in the shadows as much as he liked.
Lucius gave him a sallow sort of grin, then leaned in to whisper harshly. “You’re drunk, old friend. I could smell you from across the room.”
“You told me to make myself at home.” He slurred softly. “This is how I do it.”
“Now, Lucius. There’s plenty of time for the rest of us to catch up.” Narcissa quipped, smirking as she downed a glass of champagne to prove her point.
“My dearest darling,” Lucius murmured softly, “Be sure to avoid scandal, won’t you?”
“As if you could sink any lower.” Bellatrix muttered under her breath. Lucius’ grey eyes flashed in anger, and for a moment he was his old self again, but Narcissa elbowed her husband sharply in the ribs, and glowered.
“If anyone has a right to invoke a scandal, it’s me. Draco certainly won’t mind. Look at the way they’re fawning over him. Our little prince.” She gazed sadly at her son, who was indeed enjoying the attentions of his companions. Pansy Parkinson was giggling at some joke he had just made, and was running her fingers through his blond hair.
“It’s not Draco who worries me.” Lucius said darkly into his champagne glass.
Severus did not need to ask about whom he was referring. Taking another swig of bourbon, he eyed Vidarr’s men surreptitiously. There were far more of them than he would have likes, all dressed in what would have been very fine, sleek robes had they not been so ill used, as if they’d been wearing them for several days in a row. They had arrived uninvited, naturally, and were thus far treating the party like their own personal gentlemen’s club, drinking enormous quantities of firewhisky, and leering at any women who passed by. Thus far, most of the guests treated them with delicate disdain, though the death eaters present eyed them warily, still uncertain how to interact with their foreign guests. A delicate balance was in place, and none dared cross the line. Severus was reminded of The Odyssey, and of the foul tempered suitors who had wreaked havoc in Odysseus’ home, harassing his wife and her maids while their king was missing, eating his food and drinking his wine in his absence. The old muggle poem did not end well for the suitors, for when Odysseus finally returned home, he slaughtered every single one of them. Snape’s mouth twisted into a bitter sneer as he secretly wished them the same, bloody fate.
The tall, red haired bastard who had attacked them in Iceland had a name, it turned out. He had introduced himself to Mrs. Malfoy as ‘Tor,’ looking her up and down in salacious manner that had Lucius clenching his jaw in pure outrage. A year ago, no wizard would have dared proposition his wife in his own home, in front of their friends, but Lucius had become something of a joke to them. They mocked him openly, impersonating his haughty glare and sniggering openly, delighted by his fury. However, Tor did not seem to know what to make of Severus Snape. No one did. Not even his fellow Death Eaters. His position was a mystery. Voldemort favored him. Vidarr treated him with gratitude. He was clearly in high standing, but no one seemed to know why. Tor had battled Freya, and had been soundly beaten. Both men knew this for a fact, though it was not spoken of, and to confuse things even further, Severus had turned her over to his master. Yet he could not quite pretend to like the appalling creature. More than once, Snape had caught him eyeing him up, and each time he had returned the look with a masterfully contemptuous sneer, for every time he looked at Tor, he fantasized about smashing in those horrible filed teeth, until he choked on them.
Bellatrix was watching him, watching Tor, and with apparent interest. He didn’t care. An enormous cake was wheeled out, and they were all forced to watch as Malfoy gathered up his cronies, who patted him on the back. Narcissa watched her only child with a mixture of pride, and despair. Lucius smiled, but there was a hard edge to his jaw, and Severus knew that they were all thinking the same thing. Is this the last birthday Draco will live to see? All seventeen candles were extinguished in a single breath. The guests lifted their glasses, clinking them in hollow applause.
The music swelled. Bellatrix entwined her arm through his, thinking to lead him to the dance floor. He jerked away with a scowl, and did not bother apologizing for the insult. Bellatrix was desperate to return to Voldemort’s good graces, and she knew that Severus was in excellent favor at the moment, but he was hardly in the mood to humor her. She was not the first woman to sidle up to him that evening. Before Bellatrix could protest, there came a loud, metallic clang, and they both turned. The doors to the ballroom had just opened, and he suddenly felt dizzy, as what must have been every single emotion known to him pummeled him all at once. Vidarr sauntered in, looking tall and handsome, with Freya at his side. He was holding her hand aloft, as if they were royalty.
The atmosphere changed immediately, and he knew that all eyes were on her, the long lost apprentice. How many times was Severus to be subjected to these long absences, only to see her again at long last? It was starting to get old. Nevertheless, he felt his heart sink somewhere in the region of his stomach, where it fluttered madly like a drunken hummingbird. His dark, hooded eyes, watched as Vidarr clutched his wife possessively to his side, all while she was wearing the most sinful outfit he had ever seen on a woman. It was a black, strappy affair that crisscrossed her chest to create a revealing bodice. The skirt was long enough to touch the floor, but was split completely down the front, revealing a shorter skirt, and thigh high stockings complete with leather garters. Her tattoos were shown to brilliant effect, dark blue yet luminous, swirling down her arms and spine. She looked strange and exotic. Utterly seductive, yet utterly vulnerable. A slave’s outfit. They walked past him and the Malfoys without a word. Freya’s head was held high, and she did not even glance in his direction. He could feel his heart sinking. It was if he did not exist. Snape’s fingers clenched his flask so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a swig and gulped half of it down, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It burned his throat terribly, but it felt good.
“Merlin…” Narcissa whispered so softly that only Severus heard. She was watching them too, with growing alarm.
Vidarr’s grip on Freya was gentle, but his body language had Severus grinding his teeth. Perhaps no one else noticed the way he towered over her, or the possessive way he kept fingering the small of her back as he led her throughout the room, making casual introductions. Freya did not utter a single word. In fact, Severus did not see her ruby stained lips part at all. She simply smiled, in a cold, unfamiliar way. Draco’s young friends had noticed, and were giggling, scandalized at seeing their former teacher in such a revealing dress. Freya’s eyes slid to them, and she raised an eyebrow imperiously. They fell silent. Draco blushed noticeably, but was quick to divert the conversation to something else.
Vidarr’s men had risen to attention at once, their behavior changing alarmingly fast. In an instant, they became more like quiet and attentive valets, bringing him food and wine. They did not serve Freya the same way. Severus watched with mounting fury as he deftly selected a strawberry, and held it to Freya’s lips. She smiled, and took the fruit graciously with her fingers, silently refusing to be fed like an infant. A tiny rebellion. Vidarr’s grip tightened on her arm.
When they finally made it to their tiny group, Vidarr bowed graciously, kissing Narcissa and Bellatrix on the cheeks and shaking hands with Lucius. “Severus, my friend!” When he took Snape’s hand, he gave it a small squeeze, and swiped his thumb deftly across his skin. There was something obscene about the touch, and it reminded him, sickeningly of the night Vidarr had accosted him, and of his thinly veiled threats. He suppressed a shudder of disgust when Vidarr pulled him in for a fierce embrace, clapping him hard on the back. Snape put on a taught smile when he’d finally recovered from the unwanted contact. Vidarr then turned to the Malfoys, who winced noticeably. “My gracious hosts, you have truly outdone yourselves. Everything is simply enchanting.”
“How kind of you to say so.” Bellatrix demurred in a low, simpering voice. “I was worried that our English customs might seem strange to you.”
“Not so strange.” The handsome werewolf snapped his fingers, and Tor rushed obediently to his side, bearing two flutes of champagn. Vidarr offered one to Freya, who made the spirit disappear in a single gulp. With a cold grin, she held the empty glass back to Tor, but before he could take it, she tossed it nonchalantly over her shoulder. It shattered on the black marble floor with a delicate, tinkling sound. Narcissa gasped, and reached for her wand to restore the glass immediately, but Vidarr held up a hand to stop her, then snapped his fingers at Tor, and pointed at the broken glass, his lip curling into a menacing grin. The red headed werewolf looked utterly outraged as he bent over and cleaned up the mess, glowering up at Freya, who smiled delicately.
“Next time, bring whiskey.” She said silkily.
“I don’t answer to you.” Tor muttered darkly. He looked as if he would have loved to say more, but Vidarr gave him such a sharp look that he resisted.
“My mistake. You’re such an excellent follower.” She purred scathingly. It was clear that they positively despised one another.
There was a terrible silence, until Bellatrix gave a false, tittering laugh to break the tension. Tor looked as if he wanted to wring Freya’s neck. The hatred between them was palpable, but it was nothing compared to the pure loathing that crackled around her when Vidarr chuckled, and waved over a floating platter containing a bottle of Ogden’s Old. Severus tried not to stare at her, but it was impossible. As breathtaking as she was, he could see that beneath the heavily lined eyelids and the scarlet lips, she looked dreadfully pale. Without thinking, he seized a nearby tray of hors d’oevres, and offered it to her. She looked away, refusing to acknowledge his gaze, though he caught her eyes flickering desperately to the food, as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Cold fury leapt up inside of him when he realized that she was not permitted to take anything Vidarr did not offer her himself. It took every ounce of self control not to bash the tray into his smug, handsome face, but reluctantly, he waved the tray on and it floated away.
Vidarr watched with amusement as Freya tipped the glass to her lips, and drank greedily. “Here…another.” He passed her a second glass. She stared at him, blue eyes locking hard with grey ones, and without a word, downed the second glass, though not as quickly as the first. He waved another over, and handed it to her. She looked as if she wanted to break it against the wall and thrust the remaining shards into his throat, but she smiled, and accepted.
“Now now, the party’s just begun.” Narcissa said nervously. “ We wouldn’t want our darling Freya to become too intoxicated, would we?”
Snape caught the fleeting, pained look in Freya’s eyes, and he realized that was precisely what she’d been hoping to do, but she toasted Narcissa silently, and gulped it down.
“Not at all, my dear.” Vidarr said silkily, smiling gorgeously with an awful lot of white teeth. “My apprentice has an excellent constitution.”
Snape felt icy tendrils curl nastily around his brainstem as he absorbed these words. “Indeed?” He heard himself asking.
“She’s a willful creature.” Vidarr lifted a hand, and placed it on the back of Freya’s neck. “But she learns quickly.”
“I’ve had an excellent teacher.” Freya murmured, tilting her face to her captor. He smiled ruefully. Severus stared at her, feeling completely aghast, but unwilling to let it show on his features. He fingered his wand as he watched Vidarr lean in, as if to kiss her.
“Perhaps I could interest you both in something stronger?” Lucius asked suddenly, producing a delicate pipe, woven of intricate white glass. Severus sighed inwardly with relief at the interruption, thinking he may have vomited if he’d had to watch his wife kiss her tormentor. Lucius crooked a finger, and summoned a tray containing a small, silver pot. Vidarr lifted an amused eyebrow, and smiled at Lucius patronizingly.
“’Stronger’ perhaps than that swill you English call whiskey. Freyja, you may indulge, if you wish.”
Snape stiffened at the subtle pronunciation of her name. It was very similar to what the elder had called her, that night in the hot tub. Something like “free.” He watched forlornly as Freya accepted the fragile pipe, and packed it with a generous pinch of fata lactis. She wrapped her swollen, ruby lips around the tip, and he shuddered, feeling sickened with himself. He would have sold his soul to seize her by the wrist, and apparate right there and then, but he knew it would mean the death of them both, even if Malfoy Manor were not enchanted to forbid such an act. Her bosom heaved as she inhaled deeply, and to Snape’s horror, Vidarr seized her by the chin, and pressed his lips to hers. He closed his eyes. She didn’t, and Snape caught the desperate glint in her eyes. At that moment, Severus Snape made a silent, secret vow. Fuck the Order. Fuck Dumbledore. This will not continue while I still breathe. When Vidarr pulled away, they both exhaled, and smoke swirled around them in tight, purple spirals. Freya’s face was stony, and impossible to read, but Vidarr looked pleased.
            “Lucius, you dog.” He smirked, highly amused. “Such a potent substance for your son’s birthday!”
            “Well, it’s not every day your son comes of age.” Lucius huffed, his voice strained with pride.
Vidarr’s smile widened, and for a moment, his pale eyes flashed gold. “Ahhh yes you English wizards become men at seventeen, yes?”
            Severus did not like the tone of his voice one bit. “We become ‘of age.’ When we become ‘men’ depends entirely on us.” He looked at Freya. “Wouldn’t you agree?” She did not answer, but he saw her eyes flick meaningfully at Vidarr. Snape understood at once, and it infuriated him. It was not safe for her to engage in conversation with him, while her captor was present. He hated this. He hated Vidarr more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.
            “Still!” Vidarr clapped, and rubbed his hands together jovially. “A show, for our young Mr. Malfoy!” He turned to Freya, and grasped her chin, turning her face this way and that, as if admiring a painting. “You will perform.” It was not a question. She stared at him, hatefully. The grip tightened visibly, and eventually she nodded jerkily. “Perhaps that piece you did in Bruges?”
            “That will not be necessary.” Narcissa said at once. It was clear that she did not like this interaction any more than Snape did.
            “Nonsense! A gift for your son!” He replied dismissively, then gave Freya a patronizing smile. “My men tell me you put on quite a show at that silly little night club club. Come now. Take off that dress. I desire it.” They all stared at him. He was speaking of the Locke, in which he’d had several patrons brutally murdered, including a friend of Freya’s. She paled alarmingly, and Snape saw her grip the empty whiskey glass with intent. She’s going to strike him, he thought desperately. No, Freya. This is not the time. He had to act.
            “I think not.” Snape said, coldly. Silence followed this statement, and Vidarr lifted an impeccable eyebrow at him and he suddenly knew what it felt like to be a field mouse, staring down an adder.
            “I am sure my ward will not object.” He purred.
            “Narcissa has objected. That is enough. This is her home, not yours. I am sure I speak for all of us when I say thank you for your generous offer, but it must be respectfully declined.” Snape gave him his most convincingly apologetic smile. “You must forgive us. We English can be set in our ways. As charming as your apprentice might be, I’m afraid it simply will not do in present company.”
            Freya looked as though she was trying very hard not to look at him, as though it might actually cause her pain, but he saw the tiny flicker of relief in her face, and it was enough. “I see.” Vidarr murmured softly, gazing at Severus with an enigmatic expression. “Come, Freyja.” Snape watched with hooded eyes as he took her by the hand, and led her to the ballroom floor.
            “Severus, don’t.” Narcissa hissed when Snape began to follow them, but he shrugged her off, and wove cautiously through the throng of partiers. The music was pulsating around him, and the lights flickered.
            It was like a dream, the way the other guests moved sensuously to the rhythm, their richly decorated bodies wreathed in smoke. People glared at him as he pushed his way through, but he didn’t care. The way Vidarr was dragging Freya across the ballroom floor had him seeing red. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He lunged out and seized her hand, and for the first time that evening, she stared directly into his eyes. They widened, and he felt himself falling into their icy blue depths. It was as if a thousand needles suddenly sank into his retinas. A wild, desperate scream echoed in his mind. Freya’s voice. “Please.” The word reverberated inside his skull. He clenched his teeth and nodded to let her know he’d heard. In an instant, he had yanked her out of Vidarr’s possessive hold. The werewolf’s eyes narrowed, but he managed to pull her through the teeming crowd. It swallowed them up, giving them a brief moment. He leaned in close, tickling her with his breath. “Dance with me. Quickly.” Lifting her hand in his, he closed in and placed a hand on her waist. Freya’s eyes widened, and she shook her head adamantly. “Please, Freya.” He whispered urgently. Vidarr was pushing his way through the crowd, his expression thunderous. Thinking quickly, he lifted her hand in his, and wrapped an arm around her waist. As if sensing his intention, the music suddenly shifted in an uplifting, if somewhat old-fashioned waltz. Seizing the opportunity, he twirled her into the surging throng of people, and they were swallowed up.
            “Just follow my lead.” He muttered sharply. Freya was breathing rapidly, her eyes darting with every nimble step. She stumbled once or twice, but caught on swiftly to his movements. Questions began to spill from his lips. “Are you alright? Have they hurt you? Are they feeding you? Freya, where are they keeping you?” She stiffened coldly, and he saw sweat break out across her forehead as she shook her head jerkily. Then, inspiration struck, staring into her wide blue eyes, he thought as hard as he could. “Freya?”
            “He’s going to kill you.”
He stared. The words had echoed so clearly in his mind. “How are you doing this?”
“Severus, I have to-“
“Pardon the interruption.” A smooth voice interrupted.
Severus felt his bowels turn to ice, but thankfully his spy training overrode his dread. Smiling, he turned to Vidarr and said, “But of course, sir. Forgive me, your apprentice seemed to be in need of refreshment.” He snapped his fingers, and a tray of tiny sandwiches floated toward them. Freya looked at them, then glanced up at Vidarr, who frowned, but nodded. Instantly, she seized two of them, and devoured them so quickly that Severus gaped at her. Quickly shutting his mouth, he jammed his fists into his coat pocket and grabbed his wand. He had never wanted to hex another wizard so badly in his life. Every dreadful encounter he’d ever had with those blasted marauders seemed to pale in comparison. Seeing his wife being paraded like an object, hungry and humiliated, was worse than a hundred jinxes. It was nothing compared to what came next.
Clearing his throat, Vidarr seized a serving fork from the tray, and tapped his glass of firewhiskey. Everyone around them stopped what they were doing, and stared at him. The music became strangled, then finally died. The only people who did not seem to notice were Draco and his little gang of friends, who kept carrying on loudly as if nothing had happened. “Thank you, my friends.” His remaining eye flashed golden, giving him an inhuman appearance. He wrapped an arm around Freya’s shoulders, and pulled her in close. She dropped her eyes to the floor. “In honor of our gracious hosts, “ Glasses were raised to Lucius and Narcissa who stared, completely at a loss for how to respond to this sudden toast. “I would like to make an announcement to the English Deatheaters, and to my fellow wolves.” Whispers broke out feverishly amongst the guests, and Severus saw many of them wince at this abysmal display of what could only be described as ‘werewolf pride.’ In such company, to even admit at having tainted blood was appalling, but these were not the forlorn werewolves of England. These foreigners were actually proud of their curse. In Vidarr’s gang, it gave them power. In their mother country, they were not only feared, but respected. Around the room, Vidarr’s men stood to full attention, closing in slowly to surround their master with a reverence that chilled him to the bone. He had never seen a group of werewolves behave so rapturously, and in one horrible moment, he realized that if it had been a full moon, every single person in the room would have been viciously torn apart. Tor came especially close, gazing at Vidarr with such sharp attention that Severus could practically see his wolf’s ears perking up.
“My darling Freyja.” Vidarr intoned in a perfect imitation of warmth and affection as he reached up to cup her face, the way a father might. “My fierce warriors…” He looked at his men and smiled. Each and every one of them bowed, and pressed a clenched fist to their chests, but Severus saw Tor glance up suspiciously. “From now on you will look upon my Freyja with love. Kneel before her, my brothers, for I have decided to make her my Beta.” Somewhere, a glass shattered. No one paid any attention. Whispers broke out at once, as once again all eyes were on her. Freya’s skin became leeched of color, but she stood erect, refusing to look at Severus who was staring at her with such horror that he could hardly think. “In one month’s time, when our mother moon is waxing, I will give her the gift of varulfur.” When he smiled at Snape, there was something cold and victorious in his eyes. “She will become mine, for as long as I am alive. She will become one of us.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a terrible chill ran fingers down his spine as one by one, the werewolved tilted back their heads, and ommitted an eerie, seemless howl.
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Spy vs. Spy