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
- 22
- 23
- 24
Vidarr’s men closed in around Freya, as the rest of the party gawked in amazement and disgust. To make such a bold, public statement without humility or shame was a cultural difference they would never be able to fully apprehend, for to them, to become a werewolf meant that Freya would be forever shunned by wizarding society, but for their foreign guests, it was clear that she would be held with some sort of reverence, or at least that was the impression Severus had, until he saw the dark, strangely triumphant leer on Tor’s freckled face. Suddenly he found himself locking eyes with Narcissa, and he knew that they were both thinking the same thing. The Dark Lord will not be pleased. If Voldemort expected loyalty or servitude from these men, he would be grievously disappointed.
            Freya’s attempt to appear calm was indeed a valiant effort, but terror radiated from her body in waves. She swallowed noticeably as though fighting the urge to vomit, and for a moment it looked as though she might hyperventilate, but Vidarr wrapped a strong arm around her waist, and pulled her close. Severus felt his stomach churn as the handsome wizard placed his thumb between his teeth, and bit down hard. Freya was paralyzed, her hands clenching into fists as he swiped the injured thumb across her cheekbones, leaving dark smears of blood on her face. This barbaric act seemed to momentarily shock her, which made Vidarr laugh before he swooped down to press his lips to hers. Severus tried to look away, but to his horror found that he could not tear his eyes from the sight of this monster tasting Freya’s mouth with unsightly hunger. Veins pulsating with venom, he fought to swallow his anger. He didn’t know what was worse, seeing another man’s lips on hers, or the way her eyes flashed with disdain at the unwanted touch.
Suddenly, Vidarr tensed, and when he pulled away, their lips were crimson with fresh blood. For a horrible, heart-stopping moment, he thought Vidarr had already bitten her, but no, she had bitten him, and was now eyeing him the way Severus Snape might eye one of Longbottom’s disastrous potions. Vidarr snorted with amusement, and drew a silk handkerchief to wipe the blood from his mouth. He did not offer it to Freya. As soon as the delicate cloth had disappeared, the back of his hand had collided with her cheekbone with a sickening crunch. Several guests gasped in alarm, but it was clear he would not tolerate such disobedience no matter who was watching.
Lucius and Narcissa both placed their hands on Snape’s shoulders, thinking he might charge at him, but to their surprise he remained perfectly still as he watched Freya right herself with incredible composure, a strange smirk twisting her mouth. Snape was determined now. The rage that had his blood roaring in his ears like a windswept ocean would be tucked away and nurtured, to be used at the proper moment.
The other werewolves laughed and whooped raucously, delighted by this act of violence, and Tor shouted something scathingly in Icelandic that melted Freya’s smirk into one of abject hatred. Narcissa elbowed Snape gently in the ribs, and looked meaningfully into the far corner of the room. No one but them seemed to notice Fenrir Greyback slinking off into the shadows, doubtlessly eager to be the first to give Voldemort this news. Here, at least was one werewolf who was not pleased by Vidarr’s announcement.
            When he finally looked back, he noticed that Freya’s balled up fists had begun to tremble with rage. Severus took several steps toward her, but her wide, furious eyes snapped to his, and the words seared into his mind like a white-hot knife. “Do NOT interfere.” Her breast rose and fell several times in large shaking breaths while the throng of partiers began to applaud slowly and rather awkwardly, clearly deciding that this was the appropriate response, in spite of having just watched a fully-grown wizard strike a young woman across the face.
A slow, slightly menacing smile oozed languidly across Freya’s lips, and he saw Vidarr raise an eyebrow. To his enormous surprise, she brought his hand to her injured face and with apparent relish, took his wounded thumb into her mouth, and suckled gently. Bile rose in Severus’ throat, but he quelled his jealousy. No one looked more astonished than Vidarr at this suggestive gesture. His men hooted lasciviously, and he smirked at them. Freya ignored them, and pressed his palm to her cheek. “Forgive me, my master,” she murmured. Vidarr’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Severus had a fleeting moment of satisfaction. He had no idea what game Freya was in, but at least she was still playing.
            “Well.” Lucius muttered furiously under his breath. “There goes the rest of our respectability.”
            Snape could have throttled him. Of course that was all Malfoy cared about, his beloved reputation. Narcissa hissed at him to shut up as the gears of her mind turned furiously, for she was the master chess player, not Lucius, and she had sensed the changing of the tide, as had Severus. To make such a speech at a gathering of wealthy deatheaters was practically an act of war. Vidarr was still a guest in their home, yet here he was acting the benevolent dictator, surveying his court and making proclamations to the proletariat. Voldemort would see this as a challenge, as if Vidarr had sauntered up to him and spat in his face. The game was growing deadlier, and thus far, Freya appeared to be the only pawn, except he wasn’t so sure, anymore. He watched her cautiously as the party begrudgingly continued, but was careful to remain out of Vidarr’s line of sight for now, knowing that he had already waded into dangerous waters.
            The revelry limped along well into the night as if the majority of the guests were determined to pretend that Vidarr’s announcement had not even happened. As far as most were concerned, he might as well have stood on a table and announced his intentions to strip himself naked and bathe openly in the Malfoy’s enormous garden fountain. It was highly embarrassing to witness such intimate pack affairs displayed without shame, but in truly English fashion, they swallowed their anger and remained coldly aloof. Finally, the werewolves dispersed, but they never lingered far from their leader, and Severus noticed their eyes constantly sliding over Freya in a way that he did not like, as if they were deciding which portion of flesh to tear off and devour.
            Severus noticed with interest when Vidarr crooked a finger at Tor, who bounded to his master like an adoring puppy. He leaned down and whispered something in his ear that made him turn beet red. Freya seemed determined to ignore this, but jumped noticeably when Vidarr slid behind her, and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply, possessively. Severus could not help but watch them from the corner of his eye. Luckily, he was close enough to overhear.
            “Why must you make me hurt you, my little dove?” He murmured. “Surely you know how much it breaks my heart.”
            Freya snorted. “You know that won’t work on me.”
            “What won’t work?”
            “That thing, where you try to make me think I deserve this. It won’t work. ”
            “We’ll see how you feel after another day without food.” Vidarr’s hands slid down her shoulders, and his fingers reached up to play with the loose tendrils of her hair.
            “Have I not been cooperative?” She asked, her voice shaking with rage.
            “I am pleased, for the most part.” He let his hands wander deftly across her collarbone. “Though I eagerly await your more primitive charms.” One hand fell, and began to travel up her thigh. Freya tilted her face up to meet his, clearly dismayed by this action.
            “I’m surprised at you. You never wanted such trivial things before.”
            “I am an old man.” He said, shrugging. Snape’s eyes narrowed at this, for the wizard did not appear to be a day over thirty. “It is time that I had an heir, and who better than you, to carry my seed?”
            “How very droll.” She muttered.
            “I thought you might think so.” Vidarr smiled.
            “And will you kill me then? After I’ve spawned your bastard?”
            “Possibly.” He shrugged. “I suppose the pup will need suckling.”
            “You’re disgusting.”
            “Mind your tongue, she-bitch.” Vidarr spun her around forcibly, and seized her face with one hand, squeezing her cheeks roughly. “I have been lenient, sweetling. Far more than I am accustomed to. Perhaps I am growing soft.”
            “I doubt it.” She lifted an eyebrow sardonically.
            “Indeed. Do not think for a second that I have forgotten. You took my eye.” He should have sounded outraged at this, but instead he sounded simply put off, as though Freya had borrowed a book and failed to return it.
            “And here I thought you were powerful. I know a witch who can mend a broken spine with a flick of her wand.”
            “It will not grow back, as you well know, volva.” He growled dangerously.
            “Don’t call me that.”
            “I’ll call you whatever I wish. You will come willingly to me, Freya. Eventually, I will have you. If you do not give me an heir, I will eat you. I trust you know this?” He smirked, tilting his head with amusement. “Bit by bit, my lovely mouthful, and rest assured, you will be alive for most of it.”
            “Charming,” She muttered.
            “I have my moments.” He released her with an air of finality. “Fetch me a drink, won’t you?” And with that, he swaggered in the direction of his pack, leaving Freya alone by the punch bowl, looking sick. She drew several shaking breaths, then reached for a glass, and filled it, glaring down at it fiercely as though thinking about spitting in it. When she turned, her eyes flickered upward and caught him staring at her. He saw the fear in them, but there was also anger, and it was directed at him. He did not need to wonder why.
            Severus’ head was swimming. He had already taken several long swigs, and the room was beginning to undulate unpleasantly, the whorls in the marble floor wobbling and churning like a great black leviathan. His pickled mind struggled to fully comprehend everything he’d just heard, but nonetheless, he found himself staggering wordlessly into the corridor just outside of the ballroom, and vomiting profusely into the nearest umbrella stand. He felt horribly weak and disgusted with himself. This was his fault. If only he had run away with her. If only he hadn’t been so bloody loyal to Dumbledore, then perhaps Freya wouldn’t be trapped between deatheaters and a werewolf who had just revealed himself to be completely mad. As for the sickening ultimatum he had proposed, Severus was not quite able to grasp the horror of it. He stumbled to his feet, wanting to run back to the party and begin blasting every werewolf he saw.
            A hand grasped his shoulder, and spun him around. Severus whipped out his wand, but miscalculated the distance from his pocket, and in a rather sad display of drunken dexterity, fumbled the wand and sent it clattering to the floor. Scowling, he stooped to pick it up, mumbling furiously under his breath. Narcissa narrowed her eyes coldly at him, and thrust something into his hands.
            “Sober up before you do something stupid.” She hissed.
            “He has my Freya.” He muttered sourly, slurring the words terribly.
            “I can see that, Severus.” She spat. “Do you honestly think you’re the only person here who cares?”
            “HE HAS HER.” He snarled. “He’s going to turn her into…into one of them.” He choked on the words. “And she’s going to fuck him.” His face contorted with rage, but Narcissa suddenly smacked him sharply across the face, and in an instant he was staring at her in shock.
            “Drink that. Now.” Narcissa said through gritted teeth. He knew better than to disobey. When he drained the contents, she snatched the empty vial away. Severus shook his head as if clearing the dust from his ears. He was still drunk, but he suddenly felt loads better. Narcissa’s annoyed expression seemed to come into sharper focus. “If that’s how you handle problems, my son is as good as dead.” She muttered.
            “Your son is free. Freya…”
            “Is doing what she must to survive. If that means sleeping with that…” Here her face contorted with disgust, “werewolf, then so be it. Or would you prefer her dead, because if you keep ogling her, and getting in their way, that’s exactly how she’ll end up.” She poked him, hard in the chest. “Leave it. The Dark Lord will know what to do.”
            Snape grimaced inwardly, but knew better than to let it show on his face. Narcissa may have cared for Freya once, but she was still a Voldemort loyalist. “You are right, of course.” He bowed deeply to her. She rolled her eyes, and pointed at the befouled umbrella stand before sauntering back to the party.
            “Clean that up before you return.”
            Once again, he knew better than to disobey.
The atmosphere was slowly dying, and one by one, the majority of the revelers began to trickle out into the immense garden where it was safe to apparate. When Draco yawned, it seemed the party was finally over, but to Snape’s surprise, Freya gave Draco as much of a smile as she could muster, and went to sit next to the young Slytherin. Her eyes darted toward Narcissa, who was watching them with a carefully masked expression. “…I brought you something.” Freya said quietly. She hesitated, then handed Draco a black leather-bound book. Draco couldn’t help but sneer suspiciously at it.
            “This is it? A book?”
            “Yes.” She answered somewhat shortly. “Your parents and friends have showered you in sweets and oh so many shiny tinkets. I am giving you a book.”
            Draco shrank a bit at this retort, and nodded, his brow furrowing when he opened the book and read the title. “The Meaning of Relativity, by Albert…” His eyes narrowed.
            “Einstein.” Freya finished.
            “I can read!” Draco snapped, a pink tinge smudging his pale face. Snape could tell he was guilty for speaking this way to a former teacher this way, but he was not about to apologize in front of his pureblood parents.
Freya smiled sadly. “Do you remember my first class, Mr. Malfoy? When I asked you what you were good at?” Draco nodded warily. “You expressed an interest in numbers. Well,” She reached across to turn the page, then pointed to the picture of an elderly man with wild grey hair and an exceptional moustache. “That is one of the most revered mathematicians in history.”
“Really?” He looked dubious. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Time to correct that, I think.” She watched his face as he briefly perused the prologue.
“He’s American?” His lip curled slightly with disdain.
“He took asylum there eventually. He was forced to flee his homeland a long time ago, before either of us were born.”
“Why?” Draco seemed legitimately appalled.
“Because he was different.” She said quietly.
“And he was some sort of…”He struggled to find the word. “Alchemist?”
“Well, the muggles say ‘theoretical physicist’ but I suppose-“
“ARE YOU MAD? You expect me to read some Muggle trash?!” Draco snarled.
“Watch your tongue, little man-child.” Vidarr’s good eye flashed gold for an instant, and Draco blanched. Even he was not foolish enough to cross this man, who was now lounging on the couch like a great panther.
“Ah.” Freya faltered, then smiled apologetically to Narcissa as Lucius reached forward to snatch the book from his son’s hands, scowling blackly at Freya. “I’ve overstepped. Please forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.” She blushed noticeably. Vidarr seemed to find this adorable, and seized her by the wrist, drawing her close to sit on his lap. Perhaps no one else noticed the flicker of humiliation that crossed her wan features, but Severus’ fingers twitched, and he found himself walking toward them alarmingly, blood pounding in his eardrums before Lucius stopped him by thrusting the book into his chest with a deep scowl. It made a hollow thunk as it made contact with his torso.
“Please remove this filth from my home when you leave, Severus.” Lucius frowned at his son. “Draco, BED.”
Draco looked as if he wanted very much to argue, but after briefly considering his options, shrugged with practiced indifference and stalked away. Snape thought he caught the young wizard’s eyes lingering briefly on the book in his hands, with perhaps a touch of reluctant curiosity. He tucked The Meaning of Relativity into his coat, feeling the heat rise to his face as he watched Vidarr’s fingers deftly twirling through Freya’s hair. He could have screamed. Instead, he drew his pocket flask once again, and drained its contents. Narcissa gave him an incredibly exasperated look.
“I suppose I should return to Hogwarts.” He muttered. Lucius rolled his eyes.
“Do try to make it in one piece, will you? You’ve imbibed enough whiskey to drown a goblin.”
“Noted.” He drawled sardonically, but Lucius was quite right. In spite of the pepper up potion, he was still feeling reckless. Better to leave now, before he did something incredibly foolish. The curves of Freya’s profile swam in his retinas, blurring together unnaturally. He would have given everything to take her away with him, right there and then.
“Ah, won’t you stay, Severus?” Vidarr purred languidly. His fingers now danced across Freya’s collarbone. She refused to look at either of them. “I’m sure we could find some way to entertain you?”
“Just what are you suggesting?” Severus murmured, unable to prevent the scowl that twisted his lips. Vidarr’s smirk was incredibly patronizing.
“I can smell the desire on you. If you wish to mate with her, I will not stop you. Soon she will be reborn, and it will not matter.”
His stomach dropped, and he thought he might vomit again. Even worse was the hot stirring of his nether regions. He did so long to touch his wife again, but the way he was offering her to him, as if she was his possession, and not a human being made his muscles tense with rage. Before he could struggle to find the words to respond, he saw Freya shake her head sharply. To his surprise, she leaned down to whisper something inaudibly in Vidarr’s ear. The werewolf chuckled. “Perhaps not. My apprentice has moved on to better things at last, it seems.”
“Freya…” Her name spilled from his lips before he could stop it, but the way her eyes slid to his made his blood run cold. She smiled, but he could see the rage, and the raw hurt behind the expression. He did not need occlumency to know exactly what she was thinking.
“I don’t fuck traitors.” She purred softly, before finally turning her gaze away. Vidarr actually giggled, like a delighted child. Severus could actually feel his heart breaking.
“Tell your little cult leader, if thinks he’ll be prying into my apprentice’s skull and squeezing out her secrets, he is mistaken. She is under pack protection now. If any of you death-fuckers so much as look at her without my permission, I will be very…” His eye flashed gold again, and he smiled his terrible, perfect smile. “displeased.”
His fists clenched so tightly that he felt his fingernails stabbing his palms, hard enough to draw blood. So that was it. Come the new moon, Freya would be bitten, and if she did not die from it, she would be turned into something grotesque, and deadly. Then she would be forced to carry this monster’s child. Severus’ black eyes lingered on the back of her neck, but if she felt his gaze, she ignored it. Another wave of fury bubbled white hot inside of him. He glared into the back of her head, and thought as loudly as he could, “East corridor. Servant’s wing. Midnight. Be there, or so help me I will cut down every bloody werewolf that gets in my way.”
To his satisfaction, she turned her head ever so slightly. Severus took the gesture to mean that she had heard him.
He gave the Malfoys one final, stiff bow, and swept wordlessly from the ballroom, his boots echoing loudly against the cold marble floors. The eyes of a hundred dead Malfoys watched him from their portraits, each with the same bored, arrogant expression. He remembered how awed he had been to see them as a boy, and how much he’d envied Lucius for having such a grand lineage. That was something the blonde Slytherin prefect had always failed to grasp. Severus had never been impressed by the immense wealth on display. It was the family, he’d wanted. More than anything, the young Severus Snape had desired to belong to something greater, and to have friends who loved him. The adult Snape was beginning to realize that it was this desire that had made joining the death eaters so irresistible, but he had failed to recognize them for what they were until it was far too late. Lilly was dead. Freya was perilously close. When the time came, would he be able to choose between saving the wizarding world, and the woman he loved?
When he stepped out into the garden, the large, wrought iron doors closed behind him with a clang, startling several immaculate white peacocks that fluttered their feathers obstinately at him. He briefly considered kicking one of them, but instead took a deep lungful of crisp, night air.
               “Gott kvöld.” A snide voice called to him. Severus’black hair whipped his face as he whirled around to face the tall, slender werewolf. Tor was leaning casually against the stone wall, cleaning his fingernails with a long, thin dagger. His keen eyes were shining with delight, and the smug expression he wore had Severus’ fingers itching to throttle him. It reminded him of the look James Potter used to wear when he knew he had just gotten away with something. Severus gave Tor a cold sort of smile, and was about to turn away when the werewolf spoke again. “Alright. Only trying to be polite, deathfucker.”
               Severus shook his head as if he were trying to shake off a fly, feeling his muscles tense. Normally he could shrug off such crudeness, but the firewhiskey had gone to his head, and he was simply itching for a fight.
               “Don’t bother. I’ve seen better manners from a dung beetle.” He drawled. Tor muttered something under his breath, and stood up straight, which made Severus smirk. “Werewolves,” He muttered contemptuously. “Are all of you so testy?”
               “Careful, Englishman.”
               “Or you’ll do what?” Snape leered. “Run off to your leader with your tale between your legs?”
               “You saw what we did at that little nightclub.” Tor’s smile was poisonous. “We tore them apart, one by one. Vidarr is a generous Alpha. He always gives us the choicest bits. Shall I tell you what Englishmen taste like?” Thanks to the indigo stained cuts in his teeth, his incisors appeared black in the pale moonlight.
               “Like steak and kidney pie?” Severus guessed sarcastically. Tor’s lips twitched in annoyance. Clearly his attempt to intimidate the dark potion’s master was failing. Snape considered him with the same distaste he held for some of his students.
               “Tell me, móðurserðill,” His accent was extremely thick, but the inflection made the insult clear enough. “You think I don’t see your little games? You and that she-bitch?”
               Severus eyed him coolly, but his wand arm was ready. If the were-pup wanted to pick a fight, so be it. He may have been drunker than a pixie in a wine barrel, but he was more than ready to take on this young fiend, even if he was seeing two of him at the moment. “You’re growling at the wrong wizard, Tor. Go find a house elf to torment.”
               “I saw you. When we came for her, I saw.” Tor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You were helping her escape.”
               “Are you really as thick as you look?” Severus sneered, but he felt a surge of dread nonetheless. “It was my stunning spell that brought her down. Your own master was there.”
               “Maybe. But I know what I saw.” Tor shrugged indifferently, then pretended to inspect his fingernails. “I’ve already told him you are not to be trusted.”
               “Oh? And he believed that rubbish? I seriously doubt it. Your master can’t be terribly happy with you.” Snape chuckled. “As I recall, Freya had you soundly beaten without even breaking a sweat.”
               “Shut your whore-face English.” Tor snarled.
               “ ‘Whore-face?’ That’s a new one.” Snape chuckled. “Be sure to ask Lucius for a dictionary when you go back in. It might improve your insults.”
               Tor looked positively murderous, but to his credit, he remained perfectly still. “You should have taken his offer. It may be your last chance to taste your little drusla before we break her in.”
               Snape’s lips peeled back from his teeth in an ugly grimace. His wand was in his hand now, which seemed to please Tor immensely. Snape uttered one of the only Icelandic insults he knew. “Kunta.” He wasn’t sure he was pronouncing it correctly, but he didn’t care. The haughty werewolf would shut up if he knew what was good for him. Instead, he laughed loudly and scathingly.
“That’s a good one! Did the she-bitch teach you that, píkusleikir? Tell me, is she red down there, as well?” He gestured at his lap. The meaning was all too clear. Snape growled, and moved a step closer. Tor’s wand was in his right hand now, but the dagger was still clenched in his left. “I’ll be finding out for myself soon enough. We all will, if she survives the bite. Like I said, Vidarr always leaves us the choicest bits.”
Snape stiffened, feeling his bowels turn to ice. “She’ll be your beta, Tor. You can’t touch her.”
Tor snorted and rolled his eyes. “Stupid Englishman. Don’t you know anything about pack ways?”
Snape was so busy glaring at him that he almost missed the hex that came flying at his face. Luckily, he managed to dodge awkwardly to the side, and it missed by mere inches. He raised his wand arm, and was about to utter the nastiest jinx he could think of, when he suddenly felt a hand close upon his wrist, while a strong arm wrapped itself around his chest.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Lucius hissed in his ear. Snape yanked away from him, then turned to face his friend, his fist clenched. “Do you have any idea what the dark lord will do if you…” Snape was about to strike Lucius across the face for interfering, when Tor called out,
“Oi, Malfoy! Think your wife would lick my rassgat if I said there was gold in there?”
Then it was Snape’s turn to hold onto Lucius, who lunged furiously at the foul youth, the unmistakable sounds of an unforgivable curse teetering on the edge of his lips. Snape barely managed to grab a hold of his dark velvet robes. “Lucius, don’t. It’s what he wants.”
“I could pick my teeth with any of you deathfuckers.” Torr snickered. “If it’s a fight you want, you know where to find me.” Still chuckling, he tossed his long, red dreadlocks out of his eyes before slinking back into the shadows. Lucius waited until they heard the unmistakable sound of doors closing behind him, then wrested himself free from Snape’s clutches.
“And what the hell, are you still doing here? I thought I told you to go home.”
“He provoked me.” He snapped, feeling annoyed at being spoken to as if Lucius was still a prefect. “You’re one to talk.”
“Filthy little cocksucker.” Lucius growled, glaring at where Tor had just been. “Insulting me, is one thing…”
“I understand. Obviously.” Snape drawled blackly. Lucius eyed him suspiciously.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re skulking around my gardens?”
“No.”
“You’re trying to see Freya, aren’t you?” He lifted a hand before Snape could answer. “No, don’t bother denying it. You made a complete ass of yourself, Severus. Honestly, the way you seized her earlier! You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” He spat, as if being murdered was some sort of terrible weakness.
“And what would you have done?” He snapped angrily, feeling the heat rise to his face. “What would you have done if some bloody werewolf had his claws on your wife? If he was starving her? Parading her about like some trophy in front of you?”
“I would slit the throat on any man who touched Narcissa without her permission.” Lucius said quietly. “Don’t think for a second that I haven’t been tempted.” He glared at Severus as though warning him to say something, but he knew better. Lucius and Narcissa both enjoyed extra marital affairs, but their marriage was still sacred to them, and as far as Snape knew, there was complete transparency between them. Such was the way of these old pureblood families.
“I’m not like you. I won’t stand by and watch like some coward…”
Lucius punched him. He felt the hard bones of his fist collide with his left eye socket. It wasn’t the worst blow he’d ever endured, but it shocked him nonetheless. Lucius was not one to use such primitive methods if he could help it. “You will do precisely that, Severus, if you want her to live through this.”
“She’s in danger.”
“We’re all in danger, in case you haven’t noticed. There’s a war on. Be grateful you’re on the winning side.”
“That werewolf scum…”
“Has something that the Dark Lord desires for the war effort. I thought you’d be pleased to sacrifice anything for our cause.” He lifted one perfect, blonde eyebrow.
“How dare you?” Snape’s low voice quivered with rage. “How dare you judge me when you’ve sold your own child into service?”
Lucius stiffened contemptuously, glowering imperiously down at his drunk, somewhat ruffled friend. “Be very careful what you say next, Severus. I consider you a friend, and I’ve always admired you, but be very careful.”
The response was instantaneous. Severus seized Lucius by the lapels, drew him down to his level and snarled menacingly into his face. “I have been charged to watch over your son. Has Narcissa told you? HAS SHE?” His fists shook as Lucius gaped at him in horror and confusion. “How could you do it, Lucius? How could you let your own fear get in the way of protecting your only child. How?”
“I…I don’t know.” Tears welled up in Lucius’ wide grey eyes. He looked ragged, shrunken and helpless, unable to fight back.
“I’ve promised to keep him safe.” Snape sighed, running his fingers through his hair as Lucius crumpled to the ground. “I have pledged on my life to protect Draco. I suspect that makes me a better father to him than you ever were.”
“Severus.” Lucius whispered. He scrambled to his knees, and actually clasped Severus by the hand, clutching it feverishly. “My son…my only son…The house of my ancestors will be eternally in your debt…”
“I will collect that debt now.” He snarled in response.
Lucius’ eyes widened. “What do you want from me?”
“Keep your house elves out of the servant’s wing tonight. From now on, I expect you to keep a close eye on Freya, and report to me. I want to know what goes on in this house, especially between her and that bloody mongrel. If anything happens to her…” He hesitated, knowing only too well what was at risk. “I would die for her, Lucius. Do you understand?” Lucius stared wildly at him for a moment, then nodded feverishly. “Good. Go back to your wife. Keep her close to you. Enjoy her while you still can.”
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