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
- 25
- 26
- 27
   Severus knows that he is dreaming, as he so often does. The years he’s spent training his mind has resulted in this simple luxury, though the nightmares still occasionally break through his carefully tended barriers like wild erumpents. Even now he can feel them, twisting and probing at his mind, searching for cracks in his defenses. He knows this is a dream, however, because he is standing in his garden at Spinner’s end, or rather, the garden as it was when his mother had lived, all soft and hazy and scented with the golden musk of the overgrown honeysuckle bush he’d once accidentally set fire to as a child. Tiny bumblebees hum lazily, drunk with nectar, hovering around grass that has been allowed to grow wild. He remembers childishly thinking these tall plants were like a jungle, when he was no more than knee high. The hours he spent fending off imaginary beasts were some of the best of his tumultuous youth.
He gazes down at a patch of grape hyacinths, contemplating how his mother had given him one of her rare smiles the first time he’d made one grow. It was one of the first spells he’d ever learned, from watching her. The adult Severus has no time for such trivial pursuits. When he tends his own plants, they are for practical applications only, though now his personal conservatory is nowhere to be found. Gone are his fastidiously tended nightshades and in their place is the tree he’d loved to climb, the tree his father had chopped down in a bitter, drunken rage. An old fear creeps upon Snape now as he steals a glance back at the house, half expecting to hear his parents’ furious quarrels, the way he always used to when he found himself out here alone.
He closes his eyes, knowing what will happen next, because this is his dream, after all, and he misses her.
            She is lounging in the grass by the tree…his favorite tree… drawing something in the sketchbook he had given her, because of course she is. Why would she be doing anything else? This is who she really is. Freya’s smile is teasing in that coy, feminine way that makes him feel both very hot and very cold at the same time. The smile becomes laughter when he plucks the sketchbook playfully from her hands and pounces on her, burying his nose in the cradle of her neck and loving the scent of her. She is so warm to the touch, and her lips taste like his favorite mead. When he tells her this, she kisses him again and again. His fingers are quick to seek out the smoothness of her thighs, tracing the whorls he finds inked there. A strange feeling stirs quietly inside of him, and with some surprise, he suspects that this might in fact be happiness. She is here. She is with him, and she is safe. He thinks that he would be content to never wake from this. When he enters her, he entwines his fingers with hers, and nuzzles her with an affectionate vulnerability that he has never attempted in life. In this place, he has no fear of telling her that he still loves her.
            She bends her head low and whispers playfully in his ear. “We will burn this house to ashes with your family inside it.”
            Severus blinks, still drunk from the feeling of her, wrapped lovingly around him. “Pardon?”
            “My master will hear of this, and when he does, your pelt will hang in my trophy room…”
            In a moment, his defenses are down. The nightmares break through and the world grows cold and dark. Someone is laughing. Deep, throaty laughter that fills him with despair. Her eyes are no longer her eyes, but two flat, golden discs. A black, twisting vine of some saw edged plant he recognizes but cannot name bursts from the ground and pierces her heart with a sickening squelch. As he tries to pull back in horror, Freya opens her mouth, and a small dark crow peaks out at him with shining black eyes, it’s feathers drenched in blood. It opens it’s beak to caw, but instead speaks with a man’s voice.
            “Innervate.”

            It was like someone had stuck needles into his eyes, and indeed, the wizard who had cast the spell was giggling like a schoolboy as Severus blinked heavily, scowling as his blurred vision slowly came into focus. Somebody thrust him into a chair. It took several moments for him to recognize where he was. Malfoy’s dining room. Not the largest or most opulent one, but a smaller room more suitable for private discussions over brandy. The table before him was littered with the carcasses of at least a hundred fowls, and he was certain Narcissa would have had a fit over the state of her best china. A fire crackled, filling the room with a pale glow, but the atmosphere remained as frigid as a corpse.
The man sitting across from him was a thick, muscular brute with coarse black hair that glinted bluish in the unnatural firelight. As he watched, the werewolf held up a squealing gray rat and bit into its spine as easily as biting an apple. The poor creature stopped wriggling, though he was uncertain whether it was dead or simply paralyzed. The biter grinned at Snape around his mouthful. Severus returned the abhorrent expression with an indifferent, if slightly disapproving glare of disgust. Every alarm in his head was ringing, but he breathed slowly through his nostrils, calming his own instincts to flee. The danger was clear, but if he was about to be murdered, he would not be seen as a coward.
            “Pleasant dreams, Professor Snape?” said a cold voice to his right.
            Snape stiffened, and slid his gaze to Vidarr, who was seated at the head of the table, where Lucius should have been. There was another, monstrously large wizard behind him, blocking the doorway as he casually cleaned his fingernails with a dagger. He was about to say something snarky about invitations and proper conduct but swallowed the words immediately when he saw how perfectly insane the man looked.
            There had been truth to Lucius’ letter after all. Gone was the pristine black suit, and in its place, a savagely stitched amalgamation of leathers and furs. The dirty blond hair seemed wilder, and his jaw was dark with stubble. When he fixed Severus with his one good, grey eye, he suddenly seemed to be a hundred years old. The patch was gone, and Severus could see deep into the hollow black pit where the other eye had been. Vidar’s lips peeled back into savage grin, and Snape thought his two front canines seemed already far sharper than any human’s. They stared at each other for a moment, until Snape could not bear that hungry gaze any longer. There was a horrible sort of lust in that eye that made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.
The rat eater giggled again, and showed Severus the bits of fur and blood now stuck between his teeth. Something about the giggle aggravated him enough to give him an unexpected boost of courage. Straightening his spine, he gave Vidarr the most polite nod he could manage, and muttered a greeting, trying to seem as if this grotesque bit of theater simply bored him. Vidarr’s eye flashed with pleasure.
            “I apologize for the methods used to bring you here, Severus. Lucius here seemed so sure you would refuse, and well…” His lips twitched spasmodically. “I have business with you that cannot wait.”
            “I suppose this ‘business’ you speak of could not be requested in the usual way?” He drawled softly, unable to resist the dig. The rat eater tore another chunk out of his prey with a gut churning, meaty sound.
            “Lucius sent you the last of his owls. The rest have vanished.” Vidarr said this with a hard, feverish glare, and Severus realized for the first time that Lucius was seated next to him. Severus frowned at this. Somehow amidst the chaos it had not occurred to him that for Lucius to send an owl, any owl, was incredibly reckless considering the entire ministry was searching for him after the Azkaban breakout. For Lucius to fetch him in person was sheer madness, and Lucius was not exactly a brave man. The thought made his head ache terribly, and perhaps it showed on his face, because the rat eater grinned at him.
            “And what is it you require that could not await my lord’s return?” Severus asked carefully, gently reminding Vidarr that in England, he answered to Voldemort, who was certain to be displeased by this treatment of his servants.
A loud thunk made him instinctively reach for his wand, which was no longer there. Beside him, Lucius jumped so badly that the other werewolves chuckled. Vidarr had drawn a large, bone handled knife and had sunk it ferociously into the dark, shining surface of the table. Then he hunched over it, and began to carve with an animalistic growl, his lips rippling above his perfectly white teeth. Severus heard a sort of strangled choking noise, and noticed that Lucius was watching with horror as Vidarr violated what was almost certainly a priceless family heirloom.
“You think I care what that ugly snake thinks?” Vidarr growled, not looking up from his task. “I, who watched as they burned my grandfather? I who wrought vengeance upon them, the sweet little villagers? I who ate their volva, even as she cursed me with her dying breath? You think he is the only one who has tasted death and lived? I who was, and am the first Varulfur?” His words became garbled; choked hisses, and Severus stared, realizing that this was not a language he had ever heard in his life. He was like a man possessed.
The scratching of the blade was sharp and aggravating, like talons upon a chalkboard, and it made everyone wince, including the rat eater, who whimpered like a dog. When Vidarr finally pulled back, he threw Severus an appraising look, as if surprised to see him there. The sudden change of demeanor was so startling that Severus cringed.
            “Ah good. You received Lucius’ invitation.” He went back to his carving, and his face twitched oddly as though he’d just had a thought that pained him.
            “Indeed.” Severus replied slowly, with mounting apprehension that bordered on terror. It was as if Vidarr had completely forgotten the past five minutes. He could see the human façade peeling away from him like old wallpaper, and not for the first time, he wondered if there was anything resembling a man’s heart beating in that broad chest. Vidarr jerked his head suddenly, as if someone had sneaked up behind him and flicked him on the ear.
            “There.” He tossed his knife lazily on the table with an indifferent clatter, and blew away the bits of sawdust away to reveal a single word with a large, jagged slash through the center. ‘Frejya.’ The rat eater giggled again. Severus dearly wished to curse him within an inch of his life. “You have no idea how long I waited for someone like her. Named for a goddess, with a wolf for a brother. Touched by darkness. Kissed by the very power that cursed me. And she came to me. She came. Her moon’s blood will sustain my line for generations,” Vidarr whispered all this to no one.
Severus stared down at the carving, and clenched his teeth, feeling his heart race as one terrible though pierced his brain with sharp tendrils that did not let go. “Please…she can’t be dead already. I would know…Sweet Merlin, I would know it,” He thought desperately.
“WINE.” Vidarr snapped viciously at Lucius, who jumped, then glowered with surprising boldness. “Our friend has a sickly pallor.”
“You will not order me about in my own house,” Lucius growled.
“I will fuck you like a starving whore if I wish.” Vidarr replied savagely without even looking away from Severus, who was still staring down at the name on the table. “Pour wine for your friend.” The strangeness of the threat was enough to make Lucius falter, and within moments, a large silver goblet of blood red wine was thrust into Severus’ hands. Then he finally did look up into Lucius’ face, which was very wan.
“You are no friend of mine,” Severus whispered, watching with some small satisfaction as Lucius’ eyes widened ever so slightly. The rage pulsed quietly in the set of his jaw, and in the blackness of his stare. Was this how Freya had felt, when he had turned her over to Vidarr? Suddenly the idea that he could ever win her trust again seemed very childish. The rat eater guffawed rather rudely, and Vidarr gave him an amused grin, which perhaps may have been enough to strike the spark of hatred that emboldened him to ask the following question.
“And where is your charming apprentice this evening?”
Vidarr’s response was nothing short of terrifying. His back became hunched, and his neck cracked abnormally. The veins of his forehead rippled and pulsated with sudden savagery as his jaw slackened and began to elongate. He jolted forward, his nails sharpening into thick black claws that sank deep into the table. Severus leaped from his chair, only to be forcibly pushed back into it by another werewolf, who must have been behind him the entire time. Vidarr looked into Severus’ eyes, and he knew in an instant that the change was upon him, for his normally grey iris was black as pitch. Fear gripped him. For a single moment, he knew that he was staring into the face of his own death. Snape let out a small gasp, and closed his eyes, thinking that at any moment those jaws would find his throat. They never came.
The rat-eater was on his feet, and had wrapped his long, muscular arms around his master’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides, shouting something in guttural Icelandic. A wad of leather was thrust between Vidarr’s teeth to prevent him from biting his own tongue in half. The leather had several punctures in it already. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d had such a fit. The sounds he made were far deeper than any growl a man could create. Snape recalled seeing Vidarr change in a vision once, but that had been controlled, and fluid from years of practice. This was lunatic. Somehow, Vidarr had lost his ability to control the wolf inside of him.
            Finally, after several minutes of struggle, the rat-eater was able to gently lower Vidarr back into his chair, where he sat breathing heavily for several moments with his eye squeezed shut. His minion seized Severus’ untouched wine goblet, and forced its contents between his master’s lips. When Vidarr opened his good eye again, it was light grey once more, and he blinked with apparent confusion. “Where is Tor?” He asked in a surprisingly clear voice. “Someone bring him to me.”
            As if on cue, the tall red haired wizard appeared, striding in with an unpleasant smirk on his freckled face. Lucius moaned softly as he smeared mud all over the antique carpet. He was dragging Freya in by the arm and with a leer, he pushed her roughly toward the empty chair. She hissed something scathing in Icelandic and Tor made a fist as if to strike her. Severus clenched the arms of his chair to prevent himself from lunging at him. The movement attracted her attention, and she stared at Severus, who let out a long, shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re alive,” He thought loudly, hoping she would hear. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Lucius was right. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days and her hair was in desperate need of a brush. Anger twisted her features.
            “The fuck is he doing here?” She snarled. “I had one request, Lucius. One. That was our agreement.”
            Lucius’ face turned faintly pink as he opened his mouth to retort, but he was immediately silenced.
            “An arrangement that I never agreed to. Sit.” Vidarr snapped his fingers, and pointed to the empty chair between him, and the rat eater. She did not bother hiding her sour expression. Clearly she did not appreciate being spoken to like a dog. Severus hardly noticed. The feeling of relief was so sweet it left him dizzy.
In an attempt to conceal any emotion that may or may not have shown on his face, he lifted the goblet of wine, thinking to drain it entirely of its contents. It never made it to his lips. Freya lashed out sharply and knocked the drink out of his hands, sending it crashing to the table. The wine splashed onto Lucius’ robes. For a brief moment, there was a shocked silence, but in an instant, Tor strode to her, seized a fistful of her hair, and backhanded her sharply across the face. She smirked at him, as though his attempt to hurt her was amusing. Then her wide, furious blue eyes found Snape’s, and he suddenly realized how stupid it was to drink anything he was given. He gave her his most contemptuous leer, hoping that they came off as hateful ex lovers.
            “Where was she this time?” Vidarr asked in a bored voice, ignoring the puddle of red that oozed toward his elbow.
            “Library.” Tor muttered, sounding considerably less smug than he had appeared a moment before. Striking Freya had not had the desired effect. She smirked, and made a very rude gesture that had him scowling.
            “Women and their books,” Vidarr snorted. Only Severus caught the impertinent glower she threw in his direction. “Tell our guest why he’s here tonight Tor,” He continued.
            “This one was caught last night.” Tor placed a hand roughly on the back of Freya’s neck. She jerked away from the unwanted touch. “Outside. We think she was sending a...” Tor frowned. “Kattugle.”
            “Owl.” The rat-eater corrected triumphantly. A long, flesh colored tail was dangling from the corner of his mouth. He slurped it up loudly, making Lucius turn a delicate shade of green.
            Freya did not quite meet Severus’ stare as he gave Tor a disdainful smile and asked, “I thought all the owls had vanished.” Tor spat on the floor.
            “I want you to see.” Vidarr said, not to Severus, but to Freya, who was glaring daggers. If looks could kill, Vidarr’s head would have certainly exploded. “Gunnar, hold him for me.”
The man standing behind Snape clamped a strong arm around his throat, choking off his sudden cry of alarm. A knife with a cruel, jagged edge was being pressed directly beneath his left eye, making any attempt to struggle on Severus’ part very unwise. He could feel the edge biting into the flesh of his cheekbone and he dared not even breathe. “I like you, Severus.” Vidarr leaned close, and actually caressed the side of his face almost lovingly. “You remind me of the first man I ever killed.” He chuckled warmly. “The look on your face! So much like the one he made when I tore out his artery. No no, not in the throat. You know the one?” He reached down, and traced a hand obscenely along Severus’ inner thigh, making him squirm.
            “What is the point of this?” Freya asked, sounding bored. Vidarr turned to look at her, his hand still hovering on Severus’ cheekbone while the other werewolf continued to hold the knife to his face. “I hate him almost as much as I hate you. Why bother?”
            Vidarr’s smile was frozen. “Because you’re doing this.”
            “Doing what?” She sneered. “You’re the one who’s insane. Everyone sees it but you.”
            “You’re doing this.” Vidarr hissed, looking quite mad. He leapt for her, seizing her by the throat with both hands. Severus heaved, trying desperately to move his arms, but he was held fast. The blade nicked his cheekbone and he felt the blood dribble down his chin. Freya’s lips pulled back in a snarl, but there was panic in her eyes as Vidarr’s grip tightened. “I don’t know how, but somehow…you’re doing this to me…” He sputtered something in a language Severus did not recognize. “My sons will eat you from the inside out…” Freya’s face began to turn red as she gasped desperately for air. A cry rang out, and Severus realized it had torn itself from his own throat. She was going to die in front of him.
            “Why not sire them on a more willing girl?” Lucius asked softly. It had the desired effect. Severus could have kissed him, in spite of everything. Vidarr released Freya suddenly, and she sat back, coughing horribly. He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up as he took several shaking breaths.
            “It must be her…it must be her…none of the others were strong enough.” He murmured in a strange, almost childlike whimper. A shiver ran through his body, and he squeezed his eye shut for a moment to collect himself. When he opened it again, it pierced Freya with a hard glower. “This is what happens when you disobey.” Again, he sounded like a father firmly reprimanding his child. “You make me hurt you. You make Tor hurt you.” Tor grinned wolfishly at this. Clearly this did not bother him in the least. “Nothing has worked. Now you will see what happens.” He turned to the werewolves holding Snape, and gestured nonchalantly. The blade flashed again.
            Freya coughed again, but her face, so red from being nearly strangled a moment before, was draining of color. “Why should I care?”
            “Oh? It won’t bother you if I take his eye, the way you took mine?” Vidarr asked silkily. Severus gripped the arms of his chair so fiercely he was surprised it did not splinter. Was the knife really that huge, or was it just because it was so very close? Half of his vision was filled with the reflection of his own wide, terrified eyeball in the blade. The other half was Freya, who somehow managed to fill the room with her presence, even in the face of such viciousness. She was watching with what appeared to be only mild interest.
            “Carve him up like bloody chicken if you like,” She smirked, throwing in a shrug for good measure. “I don’t give two fucks what you do to him.”
            “My god, woman, the way you lie.” Vidarr chuckled, sounding strangely proud. “You think I don’t know you are lovers?”
            She shrugged, and pretended to inspect her fingernails. “I’ve had plenty of lovers. One less makes no difference. Keep him, if you’d like. You’d make a sweet couple. Matching eye patches would be a nice touch.”
            “Well if you insist.” Vidarr turned back to Snape with a grin. “The lady has spoken.” The blade sank into the flesh above his cheekbone, and Severus hissed loudly with pain. There was a crashing sound. Freya had stood so quickly her chair had toppled backward. The pain stopped, and Vidarr turned to her with a triumphant smirk. “Who were you contacting, little fox?” Vidarr asked gently.
            “I…” She began to answer, but Severus stared at her hard, unable to even shake his head, begging her silently not to say another word. Freya must have heard the thought because she bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. Vidarr sighed, like a disappointed parent might.
            “Hold her down, Tor.”
Freya made a horrible sort of gasp as Tor did what he was told with apparent relish, seizing her by the hair, and bending her over the table, turning her face and holding it in place so she had no choice but to watch. “Give that to me.” Vidarr seized the knife, and held it so close to Severus’ eye that he could not even blink. “It’s nothing personal, but you know…” Vidarr sighed again. “Women.”
Freya cried out. Severus saw a flash of silver, and heard a terrible crunch. It startled Vidarr so much that he turned back just in time to see Tor recovering from an elbow to the face. Blood poured from his nose, but he still tried to scramble after her as she slid across the table toward them, scattering chicken bones and lunging at Vidarr with a rage Severus had never seen before. Vidarr sighed with annoyance, and for the first time, drew a long, twisted wand from his sleeve and pointed it at her. He did not utter a single spell, but Severus knew the effects of an imperius curse when he saw them. Freya’s eyes grew wide and vacant. He uttered a word that Severus did not know, and she quietly pulled back and sat once more in the chair across from them.
“Don’t let that happen again, Tor.” Vidarr said sternly. Tor grimaced, blood still pouring from his nose. “Who were you contacting, Freya? Tell me this instant.” She fought it. When she opened her mouth, a string of nonsense poured out. This carried on for several moments before Vidarr sighed and waved his wand, lifting the curse. Severus felt an enormous surge of pride at her resilience. “How annoying you’ve become.” Vidarr gazed down at Severus for a moment, considering his options. Then he reached down, and seized him by the wrist. It was like being held in a glove made of granite. Severus strained against the hold of the man who still held him from behind, but the results were pitiful. Vidar pried open his fingers, and held his hand flat against the table, pointing at the tiny symbol tattooed between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you think I’m stupid, Freyja?” Vidarr whispered softly, like a lover might. Snape tried to keep his breathing steady, but his chest rose and fell in rapid succession, making him dizzy. Perhaps if he passed out now, he wouldn’t feel whatever was about to happen. “You think I don’t know what this is?”
The tip sank into flesh. Severus bared his teeth in a strangled hiss, but refused to scream. He stared at Freya, saw the way the color was leaving her. He tried to say her name in his mind, reaching out to her in that new, secret way they had established, but knew she couldn’t hear him, or had blocked him out.
“Vidarr, this is foolish.” Lucius finally managed to say. “Severus is held in the highest esteem. When my master hears what you are doing, he will kill you, and your entire pack.” Snape looked at him, surprised to see his old friend finally growing a spine.
“He’s not here, is he? Where is he now, I wonder?” Vidarr smiled, and sank his fingers into Severus’ long black hair, making a fist. Severus felt his head being jerked back. “Look at me while I hurt you.” Snape squeezed his eyes shut defiantly, then snarled when he felt white-hot pain shooting up his arm. The blade was being twisted ever so slowly. “I said ‘look at me.’”
“I set the other owls free.” Freya said suddenly, in a surprisingly calm voice.
The pain stopped, or rather, lessened significantly. When Severus opened his eyes again, he was greeted with a nauseating sight. His hand had been pinned to the table like a dead insect in someone’s collection.
“And why would you do that, my little fox?”
“To annoy you.” She was looking at Vidarr very strangely. “Did it work?”
“Ahhh of course.” He yanked on the knife still embedded in his hand with a horrible fleshy sound, and Severus groaned with pain, hunching over. Lucius immediately rushed over to him, and in another surprising act of selflessness, began tying his handkerchief tightly around the wound. It became saturated immediately. Vidarr no longer seemed interested in him, but was circling Freya like he was considering the best place to sink his teeth.
“Vidarr, surely you don’t believe-“ Tor piped up, enraged. Vidarr held up a hand in warning, and he closed his mouth, scowling furiously at Freya who ignored him.
“Of course I don’t.” Vidarr considered her for a moment. Freya actually managed a small chuckle. “How long are we going to play these games?”
“How much time have you got?” She asked wryly.
“Not long now.” Vidarr smiled, and reached out to cup her cheek. Severus gaped at her, wondering if she had gone mad. “It doesn’t matter if you are lying. There is no one you can contact who will help you. This place is too well hidden. Too well protected. Only my werewolves may come and go as they please. All others must be invited. Your little deatheater friends helped with that tricky bit of magic. You see Lucius,” His gaze turned to the blonde wizard who looked horrified. “Your usefulness has run dry. Your master no longer cares for you. I have been given your home and your family and in exchange I have given him what he wants. The spell that allows me to change at will. Even now, he seeks the proper sacrifices to present his generals. Your friend Greyback will be the first to receive such honor.” He grasped Freya firmly beneath her chin, and tilted her face to his. “I look forward to your first change. You will be beautiful. And then, little fox, you will feed.” Vidarr looked up sharply, locking eyes with Severus. “And I’ve already brought you your first kill.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she seemed to tremble beneath his touch. The other werewolves hooted and howled obscenely.
Severus heard the blood rushing from his head. It roared in his eardrums like a river. His heartbeat was throbbing in his wounded hand, which he clutched to his chest, feeling the blood seep through, staining his robes. Too much blood, far too quickly. His vision became filled with tiny pinpricks of light, and he inwardly groaned, thinking that the last thing he would see was Vidarr wrapping his arms around Freya in a lover’s embrace.
“Don’t let him pass out, Tor, “ Vidarr quipped, almost like an afterthought. In two strides, Tor had reached him, and had slapped him so hard he staggered. Wiry though he was, there was iron strength in those ropy arms. The smirk Severus gave him was bloody. The blow had split his lip. Snape poured every drop of malice he could muster into that smile. Tor sneered at him, but there was a satisfying glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. Snape had been living with Pettigrew for too long. He could smell the cowardice in Tor like a dead mouse rotting in an overgrown field.
“Malfoy,” Vidarr crooned, playing with a ringlet of Freya’s hair. “Bring me more of that elixir.”
Lucius scowled blackly, but of course, did as he was bidden. Severus could feel his own pulse throbbing hotly in his injured hand. If he’d only had his wand he could have sealed the wound shut in an instant, but as it was, his eyes were growing heavy as blood left his face. Suddenly he felt an odd tingling in his fingers, like a ghostly caress, and he flexed them experimentally, surprised when the movement did not hurt him. He knew that if he were to tug the blood soaked kerchief aside, he would see the wound slowly knitting together. When he looked up, he saw that Freya was staring at the hand intently, but when she noticed him looking, she glared at him and looked away. The message was clear. Don’t draw attention to it. Sweet relief began to creep up his arm. Tears stung his eyes, but he rapidly blinked them away.
Still, there was nothing he could do but watch as Vidarr plucked a vial of potion from Lucius’ hands and turned to Freya with a sour expression. “I’ll admit, these English have perfected one or two things. Their love draughts are far more potent than any I’ve seen.”
“Probably because they’re so ugly.” Tor chimed in. The other werewolves guffawed. Lucius scowled, his pride injured by the insult. Severus might have snapped something scathing, but was distracted by Vidarr seizing Freya’s face, his fingers biting into her cheeks.
“Open,” he commanded darkly. She tried to jerk away but Tor was quick to wrest her arms back, painfully. When she hissed in pain, Vidarr snapped the potion against her teeth, and with mounting horror, Snape watched the potion disappear down her unwilling throat. Freya tried to spit the potion back in his face but it was to no avail. Her wide, furious eyes softened and a faint blush crept to her cheeks. She blinked up at Vidarr and sighed with all the affection of an infatuated schoolgirl. Snape looked away, not wanting to see. When Vidarr tossed the empty vial onto the table, he chose instead to stare at it, rather than watch as the hateful man kissed his wife once again, only this time with a far more willing partner. Then, he glared at the vial as he suddenly recognized his own handwriting. A enamor elixir, of his own design. He’d been intending to patent it. “Ah, so that’s why Lucius came himself. To raid my potions cupboard.” He glowered fiercely up at his old friend, his fingers itching to wrap around his throat. Lucius did not seem to notice, but was staring at the ground, fidgeting uncomfortably. He’d probably been searching for veritaserum, but luckily Umbridge had leeched it dry and his newest batch was still in the midst of its first lunar phase.
“What do you think, Severus?” Vidarr murmured. “Shall I fuck her in front of you?” Freya whimpered, helpless as the potion took its effect. Snape knew that she was feeling its heat curling inside her, making her desperate to be touched. She looked over at him once. Only once. It was enough to see the anger and the helplessness she felt.
A fury leapt up inside of him that he had never before experienced. All control dissipated and in an instant he was on his feet, lunging at Vidarr with a strength that he should never have possessed, but two pairs of hands grasped him by the shoulders, and a blow with the force of an iron rod fell upon his unprotected head. The last thing he heard before his vision went black was Vidarr’s cold voice. “Wait for me in my chambers, little fox. Tor, take Severus to the adjacent chamber. When he does wake up, I want him to hear us as we make my sons.” The sound of their hooting and jeering echoed inside his skull as the darkness took him.

A cool damp cloth was dabbing at his split lip. Without opening his eyes, he seized the wrist that held it, and heard a gasp of surprise followed by a sneering voice.
“Awake are you? Can’t say I’m pleased, exactly. You’d be better off asleep, though I suppose you missed the worst of it. Lucky for you.”
“Since when do you play nursemaid, Narcissa?” Snape asked groggily, peering up at the pretty blonde witch.
She snorted. “Since those blasted werewolves ate all of our servants.”
He winced. Severus had never held much more than indifference toward house elves, but he would never have wished such a cruel fate upon them. He glared ferociously at Narcissa, thinking that she could have at least sent them away to spare them, but no…of course she had been too proud. Damn the Malfoys to hell.

“There’s no use glowering at me like that, Severus. You brought this upon yourself.” She sniffed, clearly misinterpreting the reason for his disdain.
“Did I?” He sat up, and looked around at the guest room he had been taken to. As far as dungeons were concerned, he could hardly complain. It had been stripped of all furnishings save the bed, and sunlight poured in through a single high window. Narcissa frowned as he touched his lip experimentally. It had been healed.
“My handiwork. Vidarr wants you healthy before the biting.”
“How very generous of him,” He growled, smacking her hand away rudely as she leaned in to blot the sweat from his brow. She scowled and tossed the washrag at him in his disgust, but the scowl melted into a look of alarm when he threw off the blankets and stalked toward the door. “What are you doing? You can’t leave!”
Snape ignored her and seized the handle. There was a sharp hissing noise, and the smell of scorched flesh. When he pulled back, snarling in pain, his palm was already covered in angry red blisters. It was a stupid thing to do, but he hardly cared. Something broke inside of him. Howling with rage, he rushed at the door, throwing his weight into his shoulder. Narcissa screamed at him to stop, but he barely heard her. He crashed into the door again, until finally she shouted, “PROTEGO.”
The shield charm was strong enough to leave him scrabbling on the floor. When he regained his footing, he whirled on her and gave her a look so fearsome that she pointed her wand in his face. “Severus, you must listen to me…”
“Oh must I?” He snarled. “That monster is fucking my Freya, but it’s you I must listen to?”
“You’re the master’s favorite,” Narcissa said in a soft, dangerous voice. “No one would dispute that. You are the best of us, Severus. But when it comes to Freya, you are a complete moron.“ She did not bother to hide her disgust. “She’s weakened you.”
“He said it himself. He’s going to force his bastard pups on her and come the full moon…”
Narcissa raised her finger to her lips suddenly, and with such seriousness that he stopped to listen. There was shuffling outside his door, followed by boisterous laughter. When the noises subsided, she exhaled heavily in relief. “I’m not supposed to be in here without supervision. If they catch us talking like this, they’ll most likely kill me, and Lucius.”
“Then how did you get in?” He asked suspiciously.
She gave him a stern look. “What a stupid question. This is my home. Most of those mongrels are too stupid to look for hidden passageways. Except for him, of course, but he can’t be bothered these days. Most of the time he just locks himself in his chambers. With her.”
“Was he always insane, or is this a recent development?”
Narcissa considered him from the corner of her eye. “Now that is a much better question.”
He stared at her. “From your enigmatic response, I take it you won’t be answering?”
She shrugged. “If everything plays out the way it should, you’ll find out in due course. Assuming you’re not torn apart by hungry werewolves first.”
“One hungry werewolf.” Snape grimaced. “Have you ever seen a lycanthrope transform?”
Narcissa shuddered in disgust. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
“I have.” He winced at the memory of Lupin’s change that night in the forbidden forest. It was a recollection he preferred not to dwell on at any length, but he knew he would be meditating on it for some time. “A seasoned werewolf will target human prey in a heartbeat, but it has a degree of patience, if you’ll call it that. It enjoys the hunt almost as much as it enjoys the kill.” He closed his eyes for a moment. His head was throbbing with pain. “A freshly bitten werewolf has no time for enjoyment. It feels only pain, and then it must feed. Preferably on the easiest prey available. I am to be Freya’s prey.” Narcissa nodded solemnly, then reached for Severus’ hand, perhaps thinking to comfort him. He snatched it away and glared at her. “I want to see her.”
“Don’t be absurd. You know how foolhardy that would be.”
“Surely a condemned man is allowed a certain degree of foolishness. I want to see my wife before they turn her into a monster.”
“Ahh. So it’s true then. You are married.” Narcissa’s eyes glinted in a way that he did not like, but he hardly cared.
“Yes, and if I die, there will be no one left to protect your son.” He felt some small satisfaction at the way the color leeched from her face. “So do me this last, and bring me my wife. The full moon is in…” He paused and did a quick calculation. “three days?”
“Tonight.”
“WHAT?” He roared furiously. Panic began to rise, unbidden in his throat, but he swallowed it down as Narcissa hissed at him to keep his voice down.
“You’ve been out for nearly a week. It’s been a nightmare, feeding you and clothing you like some mediwitch.” She frowned. “That werewolf must have hit you awfully hard. We though perhaps you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Narcissa…” It took all his strength to calm the furious beating of his heart. “Please. I need to speak to my wife.”
“She doesn’t want to see you, Severus.” Narcissa replied with a cold smile, as if she could see the way the words pierced him, and enjoyed it.
“I don’t care what she wants.”
“Oh but you should. She’s far cleverer than you seem to think.” She tilted her head as she considered him. “My god, you really have fallen for her lies, haven’t you?” The confusion must have shown on his face, for she suddenly began to laugh. “Do you even know what she’s doing at this very moment? No? Oh that is rich.”
“I suppose you’re about to tell me?” He growled.
“Oh no no no. I’d hate to spoil the surprise.” She smirked at him. “She hasn’t asked about you, you know. Not once. This entire week you’ve been in this room, next to hers, crying out in your sleep, and she hasn’t even mentioned your name to me.”
He felt sick. His head felt as if someone had filled it with angry hornets. Still, he fixed Narcissa with his best glare and muttered, “I want to see her. Now. You know how to do it. Tell her…tell her…” He closed his eyes again as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “Fuck…I don’t know. Tell her something. Anything. Just bring her to me.”
“What’s the point?” She asked darkly. “You’re most likely going to die anyway, and then my son will be without hope.”
“Please,” He whispered. “Just tell her…I’m sorry.” He felt Narcissa’s eyes studying his face, but he could not bring himself to look at her.
“I’ll be damned,” she mused. “You do have a soul after all. Who would have thought?”

Snape lit a fire and paced in front of it, feeling more aggravated with every minute. He’d spent the last several hours staring at the door, willing it to burst open, but although he was familiar with wandless magic, it would not budge. His hands were sore and red, blistered terribly from his attempts to open it. Whoever had cast the flagrante curse had done their job well. Even his shoulders, which he had used in multiple attempts to break the door down felt as if someone had whipped them with hot pokers. It was foolish to expend his energy this way, but Narcissa had left him with nothing but his own tormented thoughts. There was nothing in the room to occupy him. He’d already torn the mattress apart in search of springs to pick the lock with, but he’d found nothing but feathers. They still floated around the room, stirred by his every movement.
“Enjoying imprisonment?”
He stiffened, and turned to face her. Freya was sitting on the edge of his bed with her legs crossed, watching him with something like amusement. She looked well, all things considered. In fact, she appeared to be in far better health than the last time he’d seen her.
“Not particularly.” Snape felt an irresistible pull toward her, but stopped himself, not liking the angry glint in her eye. There were no visible marks or bruises on her, but there was an aura of ferocity around her that felt alien to him. “Has he hurt you?” He asked darkly, feeling bile rise to the back of his throat. Vidarr had threatened as much, but he had not heard a single sound from the room adjacent to his.
She lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not really what you want to ask.”
“Did he…force you?” He asked as delicately as he could manage.
“Of course not.” She snapped. “You think I can’t overcome a simple enamor elixir?”
“Not one of mine, no.” Heat rose to his cheeks, and he found himself glowering imperiously down at her. The way she was gazing up at him made him feel incredibly stupid, which he could not tolerate. “You honestly expect me to believe he hasn’t mated with you?” It was stupid and unfair of him to be jealous, but he found he couldn’t help it. He had watched them kiss, and what was worse, he had watched her enjoy it. Knowing that a potion was to blame hardly made a difference to the way he felt.
“Is this a joke? I’m to be bitten tonight, and you’re to be my first kill, but you’re worried that I fucked Vidarr?” She laughed at him. It was a cruel, mirthless laugh that didn’t suit her at all.
“That’s not what I meant!” He snarled. “I only wanted to make sure you haven’t been hurt in some other way!”
“And so what if I had?” She seethed, ignoring his obvious lie. “You think I’m so proud that I wouldn’t spread my legs to save myself?”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT,” Severus growled again. “Forgive me if the thought of that monster touching you doesn’t fill me with absolute joy.” His sarcasm was scalding, but her defiant glare soon had him sighing with exasperation. “Does it please you to vex me like this? I wanted to smuggle you out of here. In fact I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to find a way to rescue you and…” He faltered at the sight of her barely suppressed grin. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, feeling immensely frustrated with the entire situation. “I’m so…I’m terribly cross with you, wife.” He stared down at her, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion.
“You’re a funny man, Severus. And you’re sweet sometimes.” Freya mused sadly. “When you want to be.” She chuckled but not out of amusement. She sounded so tired. “Damn you, Severus.” Freya rubbed blearily at her eyes, then fixed him with a sad little grin. “You weren’t supposed to be here. I did everything I could to keep you away. Yet here you are. I’m afraid I’ve failed you.”
“It was my fault,” He admitted sourly. “Lucius got the better of me. I wasn’t expecting it. He’s no stranger to death threats these days, but I suppose the threat of being bitten was too much for him.”
“Fucking Lucius.” She sighed.
“Fucking Lucius.” He agreed. She patted the ruined mattress, beckoning him to sit by her, which he gladly did. They looked at each other for a long time. It was nice to simply be in each other’s company. Finally, he reached out a hand, and tentatively placed it on hers. “Are you still angry with me for what I did?” He asked quietly.
“That’s hardly important right now, is it?”
“It is to me.” He replied grumpily, then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek with surprising tenderness for a man who claimed never to feel such things. Then she really did smile, and it was small and it was crooked, but it lifted his spirits enormously to see it.
“No Severus, I’m not angry…” She crooked her fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face to hers, and pressed her lips to his. Warmth flooded him. He felt pleasantly dizzy. Then a hunger stirred deep in his belly and he growled into her mouth, wanting to taste more of her. It was even sweeter than it had been in his dream. She responded with surprising aggression, pushing him onto his back and kissing him with an almost feverish desperation that left him gasping when she pulled away. Smiling, Freya reached up with one hand to cup his face. He leaned into the touch and kissed her palm as she leaned in close, making him shudder as her hot breath caressed his ear. “But I am so very, very sorry. Petrificus Totalus.”
He tried to open his mouth, but of course, nothing came out. He had not even felt the tip of the wand she’d pressed to his ribs. His eyes stared, and would have widened in shock had his lids not been frozen. Freya sighed, and gave him a pitying look that kindled an angry fire in his gut. So this was betrayal. Lucius’ treachery was nothing compared to this. He didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her, or throttle her, until he looked down at the wand in her hand, and he realized quite suddenly that it was, in fact his. “Oh, Freya. You bitch.” If she heard the insult, she ignored it quite tactfully.
“They’ve been so careful to make sure I never got my hands on one of these again. They snapped mine, you know. I suppose in a way I should thank you.” To his horror, she reached into her pocket, and withdrew a vial. It, like the elixir Vidarr had forced her to drink, also had his handwriting on it. He knew it at once, and he silently begged her not to do what he already knew she’d made up her mind to do. “I got the idea from you. You should be proud.” Her smirk was maddening. “I suppose marital bliss just isn’t in the cards for us, my dear.” She reached out and playfully pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’ll all be worth it, when Vidarr is lying dead at my feet. Oh and don’t be too hard on poor Lucius. He was going to steal from your stores either way. Narcissa was kind enough to persuade him to bring this along for me. She’s a real treasure when she wants to be.” Reaching up, she plucked a long black hair from his head, and dropped it into the vial. It bubbled and hissed for a moment, then turned a deep, swirling amethyst. In his mind, he screamed at her to stop, but she only smiled in that maddening way of hers, then took a long swig.
“You’re taste is…difficult to discern, in case you’re wondering,” Freya mused softly. “Smoky and slightly bitter, but..not without sweetness.” She was teasing him now. This was all like some sort of game to her, which only added to his dismay, but it was nothing compared to her transformation, which was one of the most alarming displays of magic he’d ever witnessed, in spite of his vast experience with polyjuice.
The deep bloody waves of her hair shrank and stiffened into sheets, and the color bled into a lustrous black as if she’d dipped them in ink. Her breasts appeared to deflate rapidly, and her shoulders widened, the muscles of her arms thickening and elongating as the curves that he’d so lusted for collapsed and narrowed into his own masculine frame. Perhaps most alarming of all was the way her nose grew until it became the very one he’d despised for so long, the one his schoolmates had so enjoyed using as target practice all those years ago. When the pale blue of her eyes faded into darkly shimmering pools, a thin, strangled sound of managed to escape from Snape’s stiff, paralyzed throat. It was like staring into a strangest of mirrors.
Freya smirked wickedly; perhaps seeing the outrage in his eyes, and began to crawl toward him on the mattress until she was hovering over him. Hearing that feminine giggle through his own deep voice aroused very strange feelings in him, even more so when she bent down and pressed a kiss to his still lips. It was even stranger to hear himself mew softly in enjoyment.
“I know, I know,” She sighed. “It’s a dreadful thing I’m doing and you have every right to hate me for it. Think of it as vengeance, if you like.” She stood up, and Snape cringed at the sight of his body dressed in what were almost certainly Narcissa’s robes. He cringed even further when she stripped down to nothing, revealing his long, ropy musculature and ghostly pale skin. She noticed him staring, and smirked meaningfully down at his flaccid cock, then bit her lip and tossed her hair back playfully. “Too bad there isn’t more time to experiment.” He glared at her when she pouted, and he reminded himself to never ever make that expression as long as he lived. “C’mon, I may very well die soon. Might as well enjoy it a bit.” When filtered through her, his voice held the slightest kiss of an Irish accent. Had he been able to speak, he would have warned her of it properly, but all he could do was think it as hard as he could. Freya glanced at him. “Noted,” she said, affecting a far more English intonation.
Then she bent down, and lifted the ruined mattress, pulling out a pair of trousers and a black shirt. “Narcissa hid these for me while she was taking care of you,” She explained as she began to pull them on, buttoning the shirt up all the way under her chin the way he often did. They were clearly Lucius’ and were therefore slightly too large, but the effect was complete. He watched her fumble a bit with the laces, then grimace, and place her hand gingerly down the front of the trousers to adjust the girth that now rested between her legs. This at least, he was certain, no amount of scheming could have prepared her for. “Gods, it seems so vulnerable, just dangling there,” she mused. He would have snorted, had he been able.
Bootsteps echoed softly in the corridor outside, growing louder every moment. Freya wasted no time. Locking her arms around his chest, she heaved him from the bed, and onto the floor with relative ease, causing him to silently curse himself for spending all that time building up his upper body strength. The boots were now accompanied by voices, and Freya took one last moment to brush a lock of hair from his forehead and kiss him, hard. The anger that had hardened his heart melted into fear. She was staring fervently at his frozen face as though trying desperately to memorize every detail, and even though she wore his features, he could see genuine remorse behind them. Her voice whispered in his mind. Her voice.
“Severus. I’m sorry, but I have to do this. If all goes well, I’ll be back to fetch you.”
            If she heard his silent bargaining or his pleading with her to stop, she ignored him, and rose to her feet, quickly arranging the blankets so they would hang over the edge of the bed, effectively blocking his view of the room. This business of being shoved under the bed like an afterthought more than anything else solidified his sense of betrayal. It was highly undignified. He heard the door slam open, and two sets of heavy boots paused.
            “Ah. Is it time already,” Freya drawled bitingly “or did one of you cretins finally see fit to bring me a book to pass the time?” Snape felt a small but undeniable swelling of pride at her performance. It was a creditable impression.
            “Shut your mouth hole, English.” A voice spat.
            “My god, someone’s taught that thing to speak,” She observed. Snape didn’t need to see to know from the pause that they were struggling to figure out the insult like a pair of dumb trolls. They muttered to each other in Icelandic for a moment.
            “You come. Vidarr want.”
            Freya’s noise of disgust was almost too accurate, and Snape wondered just how long she’d been studying his habits and characteristics. “Very well. I hope you both fully understand that when my master returns, he will torture and kill you?” There was a sound like a slab of meat hitting a brick wall. Someone had struck her. She growled something inaudible, then sighed. “Lead the way, minions.”
            So they did. Severus gazed up at the wooden slats beneath the bed, studying the whorls and knots, wondering how long her petrification spell would last. Then he waited. And he waited some more.
            He thought he would die of boredom before he heard the first screams.

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading, and please take the time to review! Nothing quite takes the slog out of writing like feedback.
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Spy vs. Spy