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
- 28
- 29
- 30
“Severus Snape, I demand that you answer me this instant!” McGonagall’s voice was clear and ferocious outside his office door. She had been standing there for at least five minutes, threatening him with all sorts of jinxes and hexes. At one point he suspected she had even transformed into her animagus form, as he heard nothing but angry yowls and scratching. He scowled blackly at the essay he was grading, and tried to ignore her without success. Finally, she bellowed dangerously. “If you do not open this door, I will –“
He rolled his eyes with a belabored sigh and pointed his wand at the door. It swung open, and he saw Minerva standing there with her own wand drawn. Clearly she had been about to blow it to smithereens if necessary.
“Calm yourself, Minerva,” he drawled patronizingly. “One shudders to think what the students might say if they see you in such a state.”
She bristled, making him regret his tone instantly. If there was one witch who could overpower him in a duel, it was Minerva McGonagall. The head of Gryffindor house narrowed her eyes at him, then tucked her wand away inside the sleeve of her emerald robes.
“The minister has arrived. Freya is under arrest.”
Snape raised one incredulous eyebrow. “And?”
Her frown deepened. “You’re going to help me stop them from taking her.”
“And you expect me to do this how exactly?” He pretended to inspect his pile of essays. “As you can see, I’m quite busy.”
“Incendio.”
Snape sat back in alarm as the essays burst into flames. McGonagall was brandishing her wand once again, and was eyeing him with a look that told him quite clearly what she would do if he insisted on testing her. He flicked his own wand, and the flames were snuffed out.
“Surely Dumbledore will stop them. I see no reason why this must encroach upon my valuable time.“
“Dumbledore is away, as you well know.” She snapped angrily. “Severus, I don’t care if your bloody pride is wounded. Freya is one of us, and she’s defenseless, and hurt. Her fever hasn’t broken, and she sometimes thinks I’m still her transfiguration teacher. I practically had to force poor Remus to go home, lest they find some excuse to take him too.”
“Get Shacklebolt to do it then,” he snarled. “He’s supposed to be acting as her lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Do not doubt for a moment that he would be my first choice.” Minerva replied scathingly. “However, he has been sent away. I think they deliberately assigned him to London so they could make the arrest without him interfering. He’s protecting the Muggle Minister, and-“
“Enough.” Severus raised a hand to stop her. “I am sure the witch will be quite safe in Ministry hands if it comes to that.”
“Then you are an even bigger arse than I thought, which really is saying something!” she hissed with an animosity that surprised him. “You think she’ll last a week in Azkaban with those injuries? Even if she does, you think deatheaters won’t murder her in her cell? Azkaban is compromised. We have no allies there. We might as well dress her in a Christmas bow and leave her on their doorstep!”
“Minerva.” He said in a low, dangerous voice. “I have no intention of getting myself involved. I have had quite enough of Freya Lupin, and that is final.” Severus did not appreciate being told what he already knew, and although he would never admit it, he knew that sick or no, it was foolish for anyone, even Professor McGonagall to underestimate his soon to be ex wife.
Minerva raised an eyebrow skeptically, clearly unimpressed. She opened her mouth to retort, but there was no need, for there was suddenly a commotion outside his office. Voices were yelling and he saw Tonks appear in his doorway dressed in her official auror robes, which were buttoned all the way up to her chin. Severus rose at once, spilling an ink bottle as he did. He cursed, and immediately began to siphon the black liquid away from Seamus Finnegan’s dubiously written essay on curses. He stopped when he realized that there was a wand tip barely a centimeter away from his nose. The look on Tonks’ face was positively alarming. It had been months since he’d seen her so fiery and determined.
“Hospital wing. Move.” She said through gritted teeth. He rolled his eyes and went to brush the wand aside. It prodded him sharply on his cheek. “A stunner from this distance and you’ll be seeing pixies for a week.” Tonks warned.
“You must be joking.” He scowled.
“Do I sound like I’m being funny? If you don’t want to wake up an hour from now with a quaffle sized lump on the back of your head, you’ll follow me up to the hospital wing.”
As annoyed as he was, he could tell that she meant every word. So follow her he did, with Minerva not far behind. Up the stairways and winding corridors they went, bickering the entire time.
“You can stop poking me with your wand, Nymphadora.” He felt her prod him hard in the ribs.
“You can stop being such a git,” Tonks growled.
“Such a temper!” He intoned with false amusement. “There’s no need to be so unpleasant. As you can see, I’ve chosen to cooperate.”
“For now.”
“For now.” He agreed.
Two Aurors were stationed outside the door, and within moments Tonks, was arguing fiercely with them.
“I OUTRANK YOU, DAWLISH.” She snarled, the ends of her brown hair turning magenta in her anger.
“The Minister gave us strict orders not to let anyone through until he was finished!”
“Finished with what?” Severus affected a bored tone, but his black eyes flashed dangerously. They all turned to look at him. Dawlish blinked stupidly, then glanced back at Tonks, whom he seemed to think was the safer option.
“We have an outstanding warrant from the Wizengamot. Freya Lupin is to be interrogated, and then…” There was shouting from inside the hospital wing. He recognized Poppy’s shrill, angry voice.
“What manner of interrogation?” Snape barked.
“We have permission to use veritaserum on the accused. By force if necessary.”
“On what grounds?” Minerva cried. “The woman has been gravely injured! How dare you?”
“The law was passed weeks ago.” Tonks answered grimly. “They can use it on whoever they please now. They’re so desperate to find deatheaters they’ve been brewing massive cauldrons of the stuff. ”
Snape towered over the stupid, but decidedly more muscular Dawlish, who tried and failed to meet his gaze. “You will let me pass. The ministry has no right to station guards outside of a school hospital wing. Not without the headmaster’s permission. You’ll recall what happened to you the last time you got in Dumbledore’s way. Step. Aside.” The last words were calm, but had a definite edge to them. The uniformed aurors looked at each other in bewilderment, but did not stop him when he shouldered past them, and flung open the door.
Poppy was standing between Prime Minister Scrimgeour and Freya’s bed, looking as if she was prepared to do battle. Her usually neat grey hair was wispy around her face, and her eyes were flashing with rage. When she saw Severus, she looked relieved, but still furious. She waved him over.
“Severus! Please, you must stop them! She doesn’t understand what’s happening!”
Behind her, Freya was being held down by one auror while another held an uncorked bottle of veritaserum, ready to force it down her throat. As sick as she was, she was putting up a decent fight. She thrashed and kicked, turning her head from side to side. Some of the potion splashed across her cheek, but she pressed her lips tight, refusing to let a single drop enter her mouth. The auror holding her tried to wrench her jaw open with one hand, then howled in pain when she bit him.
“That’s enough.” Snape said in a low, commanding voice. Fury pounded in his eardrums. At the sound of his voice, Freya stopped struggling, and turned her head to stare at him. “This is unsightly at best, even for the ministry.”
The prime minister looked at him archly. “Ah. Professor Snape. I was told you might show up. Here to rescue your lady love, are you?” One of the aurors stifled a giggle. Snape shot him a look that would have withered daisies.
He pointed at Freya. “That woman is in need of further medical attention. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to take her at this time.”
Scrimgeour snorted. “’Allow me?’” He repeated mockingly. “I have a warrant signed by no less than seven members of the Wizengamot. Freya Lupin is coming with us. She will stand trial and answer for her crimes.”
“Which crimes would those be, Minister? Has she been charged with something?” He asked, feigning surprise. The minister bristled noticeably, but Snape saw the way his face flushed beneath his spectacles. To Snape’s surprise, the Minister did not answer. Instead, a tall skinny redhead piped up, adjusting his glasses and looking very pretentious. He had not noticed him among the commotion.
“That is to be determined during the course of the interrogation. Our warrant explicitly gives us permission to administer the most powerful truth serum available.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Percy Weasley, is it? Here to take dictation, I suppose?”
Percy’s smirk was enough to make his wand hand itch. “Indeed. Good to see you again, Professor Snape.”
He ignored this, but he grimaced with intense dislike. “Freya Lupin is not yet well enough to receive veritaserum. She is neither of sound mind, nor of body. Her confession would be compromised. Any lawyer worth his salt would be able to have such a testimony thrown out, and I assure you…” His black eyes glinted. “I am more than qualified.”
“YOU?” Percy gaped at him incredulously. “You’ve studied magical law?”
Scrimgeour’s face twisted sourly. “He prepared his own defense after You-know-who was thwarted sixteen years ago. I remember you well enough, Snape.”
“Then you’ll also remember that I was cleared of all charges.” Snape reminded him smugly.
“You had Dumbledore to vouch for you!”
“And so will she, I assure you.”
“Dumbledore’s not here now, is he? He’s disappeared again.” Scrimgeour snapped. Clearly this was already a bit of a sore subject as far as the minister was concerned.
“He will be!” Minerva replied angrily. “I sent for him as soon as you arrived on our doorstep!”
Snape grinned cockily at the Minister’s look of outrage. “Regardless, I would advise you not to take Miss. Lupin into custody until she has fully recovered.”
“I can take her if I have signed permission from her primary mediwitch!” Scrimgeour roared.
“Which I will NOT give!” Poppy snapped. Rufus whirled on her furiously, but she held her ground, glaring up at the Minister with her fists clenched.
“Then I shall write to the head of St. Mungo’s board of Mediwizards! Any one of them will have more sway than a common school healer!”
“Take…” Freya gasped suddenly. They all turned to look at her. “Take your bloody hands off me,” she growled with such unexpected ferocity that the aurors holding her leapt away in alarm. She sat up, far more easily than she had a few days ago, yet still with difficulty. Her eyes were bright with some emotion he could not name. It was difficult to meet them. She pointed at Snape accusingly. “This wizard does not represent me.”
“Freya, don’t be stupid.” He said quickly, hoping to minimize the damage of this statement. “She doesn’t mean it. Clearly her mind is not yet right.”
“You don’t speak for me. Not ever.” She said through gritted teeth, clenching her side with one hand. “I assure you, Minister, my mind is perfectly clear at the moment.” She tightened her grip on her side. The wound was clearly bothering her.
“Fine. We will send for Kingsley.” Minerva said frankly, giving Freya a warning glance. “Do not strain yourself. We will find a way to fix this. I promise.”
“I’m sick of this,” Freya gasped, swaying slightly. She looked pleadingly at Poppy. “Water, please?” The mediwitch swiftly produced a cup, and pressed it into her patient’s trembling fingers. She drank deeply, then used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. When her eyes reopened, they settled on the tall, gangly redhead who was staring at her with his mouth open. The look she gave Percy was enigmatic. “You’re a Weasley.” She stated. Percy nodded, clearly uncomfortable beneath that penetrating gaze. “I was in school with your brother Charlie.” Percy fidgeted nervously. “He’s a good man, Charlie. Loyal. Kind.” This statement irritated Snape in a way he did not fully understand. “I suppose…sometimes…the apple truly does fall far from the tree.” Percy did not seem to know whether or not he should be offended by this comment. Freya’s gaze slid coolly to the Minister. “Give me your damned potion. I have nothing to hide.”
Snape began to hiss a protest, but the look she gave him stopped him in his tracks. As ill as she was, she looked impossibly dangerous, even without a wand. Still gazing at him intently, she held out a hand. The auror holding the veritaserum looked very nervous.
“You heard the witch.” Scrimgeour growled, but he suddenly seemed wary as well. He had clearly not anticipated this level of confidence from Freya.
When the potion was handed to her, she flipped the latch on the bottle with her thumb, then gave Percy a deranged grin. “You’d better get your quill ready.” Percy flushed, and produced a clipboard.
“Freya, put that down.” Snape said firmly. “You must not do this.”
She brought the bottle to her lips, and before anyone could stop her, she drained it. “Fuck you, Severus,” she said, her eyes glazing over as the serum took hold of her. Scrimgeour leaned in and plucked the empty vial from her fingers, inspecting it thoroughly as if to make sure she had truly taken it.
“Very good. Shall we begin?”
“Yes.” Freya replied dreamily. A soft, pleasant smile curled her lips as the potion wrapped its alluring tendrils around her mind, fogging it completely and utterly. Severus knew that he could have asked her anything, and she would have readily spilled her darkest secrets.
“Proceed with the questions, Percy.” Scrimgeour ordered.
“Of course, Minister.” Percy cleared his throat very importantly, then peered down at Freya through his thick glasses. “State your name for the record.”
“Freya Lupin.”
“Your full name, if you please.”
“Freya Ingrid Lupin.”
“What is your profession?”
“Artist.”
“Have you ever done anything else for money?”
“I was a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for almost a year.”
“Miss Lupin, are you a spy?”
“Occasionally.”
“Aha!” Scrimgeour sounded triumphant. “Mark that down, Weasley,” He added unnecessarily, as Percy was already scribbling furiously.
“When did you become a spy?”
“I was nineteen”
“Who recruited you?”
“Albus Dumbledore.”
“Why?”
“I was surrounded by enemies. My mother had just died. I was scared. He asked me to steal documents from suspected death eater sympathizers.”
“Your name is well known to the deatheaters we’ve apprehended. Scrimgeour said carefully. “Have you ever passed them information?”
Freya smiled lazily. “Not that I’m aware of.” She eyed Scrimgeour with almost drunken amusement. “You’re very ugly, but not as stupid as the last Minister.”
Scrimgeour’s face turned crimson at the insult. “You were arrested last year by the ministry, to be extradited to Iceland. Do you understand why?”
“It was a ploy. The man who came to collect me was my former teacher. A werewolf named Vidarr Losnedahl.”
“Teacher?” Percy raised his eyebrows.
“I was his apprentice. I learned several forms of dark magic from him, including how to make these…” She held up her hands, showing them the delicate runes tattooed on her fingers. He’d always found them savagely beautiful. Her voice was so soft and content that it contrasted strangely with the feeling of dread that surged through him. “I fled from him years ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to help him slaughter an entire village of muggles. I refused. Before I left, I placed a charm around the village to protect them. He has hunted me ever since.”
“What were you doing the night you were arrested? Why were you at the ministry?” Scrimgeour demanded.
“Vidarr was there. He sent me a message, mocking me. I was sick of being terrorized, and hoped to end it. I was very stupid.”
“You still claim you were uninvolved in the events that occurred in the Department of Mysteries?”
“I was nowhere near the Department of Mysteries. Vidarr had made a pact with the deatheaters. In exchange for me, he would give You-know-who valuable information.”
“What information?” Scrimgeour and Percy had leaned in close with anticipation.
“Vidarr is a Varulfur. A werewolf of Scandinavian descent. He is able to change at will, not bound by the moon.”
There was a moment of horrified silence. Percy’s eyes were wide as saucers. “You-know-who has werewolves in his command. If he learns this secret…”
Freya began to giggle drunkenly. They turned to stare at her. “What’s so amusing, Miss Lupin?” Scrimgeour asked, sounding annoyed.
“There is no secret. Vidarr lied. He can change because his affliction was not the result of a bite. Vidarr is a werewolf because he was cursed by the Volva. Nomadic witches. He murdered one, and ate her alive, so they cursed him. He never intended to give you-know-who what he wanted. His ‘pack’ as they called themselves were all hopeless fools. Poor things.”
“You admit to sympathizing with these werewolves?” Scrimgeour sounded desperate now.
            Freya’s face fell. She looked as if she wanted to cry. “Idiots. They worshipped him because he made them feel important. Like they were brothers. He lied. His plan was to turn me, and then leave them to die in this ‘wizard’s war’ as he called it. He no longer thinks of himself as a man.”
            “He was going to bite you?” Percy gasped with horror, then wilted beneath the sharp glare the Minister gave him. That question was not a part of the official interrogation.
            Freya nodded. “He took me hostage. Held me against my will at Malfoy Manor. He was going to turn me and then impregnate me.”
            “Did you murder him?”
            “No.” Her eyes lost a bit of their haze, and she gave Scrimgeour a small grin. “But not for lack of trying.”
            “There! Attempted murder! Write that down, Weasley!”
            “Sir, it was clearly self defense!” Percy protested, surprising everyone, including Snape. Scrimgeour’s face turned the color of sour wine.
            “He’s right, Minister.” Severus decided to double down on Percy’s observation. “The Wizengamot will never charge her.”
            “They will if I have anything to say about it.” He snapped. “Weasley, continue.”
            “Miss. Lupin, how did you come by your injuries?”
            “I was stabbed with an aconite blade that I had been fashioning for weeks.”
            “Ah. Wolfsbane poisoning. Nasty stuff.” Percy shook his head. “And who stabbed you?”
            “A werewolf named Tor.”
            “Must have been terribly painful.” Percy said without thinking.
            “Mr. Weasely, if you are incapable of giving an objective interrogation, then perhaps I will have one of our other young interns assist me!” Scrimgeour growled. Minerva muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “hypocrite.”
            “So what went wrong, Miss Lupin?” Percy asked, blushing furiously. “How did this fellow get a hold of your knife?”
            “He…” Freya began to answer, then stopped and looked at Severus strangely. He realized suddenly that she would have to reveal his role in all of this. He also realized that she did not want to. “He seized it from...from…”
            “Go on. Siezed it from who?”” Percy edged closer, his eyes wide.
            “That is quite enough, Mr. Weasley.” A voice interrupted briskly. Severus sighed with relief. Albus Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, looking very angry indeed.
            “Headmaster.” Scrimgeour nodded, trying to hide the disappointment on his face and failing.
            “As you can see, Minister, Miss Lupin is not well.” Dumbledore took great strides to reach them, his starry robes billowing.
            “Nice try, Albus, but she took the serum of her own free will.”
            “And as you have just learned for yourself, Freya acted in self defense and has no traitorous leanings. In fact, she was working for me. Now unless you wish to accuse me of treason as well, I think your business here is done.” This bit was particularly well done, in Severus’ opinion. The ministry’s last attempt to arrest Dumbledore had been a disaster.
            “The healers claim that when she was brought to St. Mungo’s, she was covered in blood, and not just her own. We must understand where it came from!”
            “Surely all will be clear as soon as your…ahem…excellent staff are able to search Malfoy Manor.”
            Snape grinned to himself as the minister turned bright red. He knew perfectly well that Malfoy Manor was unplottable. More likely than not, they had not even found the place. Scrimgeour was quick to change the subject. “I have every right to take her to trial. I have seven signatures, Albus.”
            “You may request her presence at the ministry, but without the signature of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I’m afraid it would be less of a trial, and more of a…forgive me…a waste of time.”
            “And I suppose you will never provide such a signature?” Scrimgeour asked, sounding angry and defeated.
            “I will not.” Dumbledore smiled. “I have already told you what I think of the matter. Freya Lupin was working for me when she infiltrated a hive of deatheaters and gained critical information on Voldemort’s movements.” There was a collective cringe at the use of the Dark Lord’s name.
            “And made a great bloody mess of things!” Scrimgeour roared.
            “A mess? Yes, I suppose singlehandedly wiping out an entire pack of werewolves and decimating a potentially devastating enemy alliance would be quite…messy. And she has suffered greatly for it. In fact, I believe an order of Merlin should be a sufficient reward for her services.”
            Scrimgeour stared at him, all the color draining from his face. “You must be joking.”
            “Joking? Not at all.” Dumbledore looked at Freya, and spoke gently. “Freya, would you be so kind as to show the Minister your injury?”
            Freya blinked, and to everyone’s shock, she rose to her feet, and in one fluid motion, removed her top. Minerva gasped in shock, and many of the aurors averted their eyes at the sight of her bare breasts. This sudden display of nudity was quite shocking to them. Dawlish however, stared with impunity. Severus briefly wondered how he’d look with a shattered nose, even as he too felt a somewhat guilty flush of arousal. Freya ignored them, and turned, lifting her arm to show the minister the puckered stab wound in her side. Poppy’s stitches were precise, and the unicorn hair shone silver. The last time Severus had seen it, the poison had stained the surrounding veins, reaching out like jagged talons to claim her heart. Now they had faded to a light purple. Freya lowered her arm, and stared up at the minister, who began to sputter incoherently. She seemed very formidable for a half naked young woman standing before one of the most powerful politicians in the wizarding world.
            “Enough. Cover yourself, witch.” Scrimgeour snarled with disgust. Freya shrugged nonchalantly, and pulled her tank top back on. “Fine. We will leave it be. For now. Mark my words, Albus. This is not the end of it. You lot, come with me.” He barked at his underlings, clearly feeling as if his authority had been undermined. Dumbledore usually had this effect on people. The minister threw one more nasty look in Severus’ direction. Snape couldn’t resist giving him a smug grin.
            They watched as Scrimgeour, Percy and the aurors left the hospital wing, looking very flustered. Tonks did not go with them, but instead whirled on Freya as soon as the ministry goons were well out of earshot.
            “ARE YOU MAD? Why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left tit would you take that bloody potion?” Tonks had her hands on her hips as she towered over her friend.
            Freya blinked slowly. “I don’t want Severus to defend me.”
            Severus snorted. “Still incapable of gratitude, I see.”
            “Not incapable. I just don’t want anyone speaking for me. That’s all.” She whispered, swaying strangely. The effects of the veritaserum were still strong, and she had taken far more than she’d had to.
            “Freya, how did Remus end up at Malfoy Manor?” Tonks asked, curiously.
            “You don’t need to answer.” Dumbledore said kindly. “I’ve already spoken to Remus.”
            But Freya was too far gone not to answer. “He infiltrated the Wiltshire pack, on Dumbledore’s orders. It allowed him to get close to the Manor. It took him a week to break through the defenses. He’s brilliant, my brother. People tend not to notice because if his infliction. When he made it inside, Remus took the polyjuice I gave him.” She said, closing her eyes. “He took my appearance. Remus was going to let Vidarr bite him instead. We assumed the damage would be minimal, considering he’s already a werewolf.”
            “That’s…brilliant, actually.” Tonks appeared thoughtful. “But still, incredibly dangerous! Why didn’t you just leave?”
            “I wanted Vidarr dead, that’s why.” She answered through gritted teeth. Tonks looked shocked at hearing such animosity from her friend. “SO much planning. All ruined in an instant. I had been slipping wolfsbane into Vidarr’s wine for weeks. Only a little at first. Just enough to dull his sense of smell so he wouldn’t realize Remus and I had made the switch until it was too late. Then I gave him enough to weaken his mind. It eventually drove him mad.”
            Severus rubbed at his eyes, understanding dawning on him. “That’s why you knocked the wine out of my hands the night I was captured.” She nodded.
            “It made him impotent.” Freya clenched her fists, and smiled coldly. “I am no werewolf’s bitch.”
            “Merlin’s beard.” Tonks said, sounding impressed.
            Severus felt a wave of relief he knew he had no right to. It was oddly comforting to know that she had not actually had to sleep with the enemy.
            Snape glared at her. “Tell her what you did to me Freya.” He wanted to hear her confession out loud, though he knew it would not make him feel better.
            “Vidarr had Lucius bring Severus by force. He tortured him in front of me, sensing that I was doing something to him, but not knowing what. I was desperate, so I changed the plan at the last minute. I came to Severus’ room. He was going to be my first kill, so I knew he’d be part of the ceremony as well. I paralyzed him. Took some of his hair. And I took his place.”
            “Freya, you foolish girl.” Minerva shook her head. “You should have known that Severus would be able to shake off such a simple curse.”
            “Thank you, Minerva,” he drawled sarcastically.
            “Shut up, Severus.” She snapped. “If you had just stayed put…”
            “I wanted to keep him safe, but I also dreaded him seeing what I intended to do.” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked up at Severus. “I took several lives that night, and because of me you had to kill as well. It’s alright that you hate me. I understand.”
            “I don’t want to hear this.” Severus said abruptly as her words twisted his insides like a dagger in his ribs.
            “You were right, Severus. There is something wrong with me.” She started to cry. Real, heart-wrenching sobs wracked her body. Minerva rushed to her side, but Tonks got there first. She wrapped her arms around the quaking witch, and glared fiercely up at Severus.
            “Why would you say something like that?”
            “I put Remus in danger.” Freya sputtered. “He wanted to rescue me. I refused. I wanted to kill Vidarr. I wanted to end it. He finally agreed to help me. When the time was right, I was to send an owl, but I…I used Narcissa’s wand to break into the owlery, and it didn’t answer to me properly, so I accidentally released all of them…stupid mistake, I should have realized…” She was speaking incoherently now. The veritaserum mingled with her fever was making her confused.
            “Hush now. No more.” Tonks said gently but firmly.
            “Professor Snape hates me, Dora.” She observed wistfully. Her brow furrowed and she blinked in bewilderment.
            “Professor Snape is a prat.” Tonks replied cheerfully. Snape scowled at her, but she ignored him. “We’re going to get you better Freya, and then you’re going to come stay with me in Hogsmeade.”
            Minerva frowned. “Nonsense. She’ll be staying in the castle, won’t she Albus?”
            Dumbledore considered this thoughtfully. “She may if she wishes, of course.”
            “I can’t stay here.” Freya whispered.
            “But what will you do, Freya?” Minerva asked gently.

            Snape did not stay to hear her answer. He was already out the door. He had done his part.

******************************************************************************************************************
“Who among you can tell me the difference between a mermaid, and a rusalka?” Snape asked the group of sixth years. They stared nervously at anything but him, clearly dreading that he would call on one of them. He narrowed his eyes, feeling increasingly annoyed. “No one bothered to read ahead I see. Very well then. Mr. Macmillan, pray tell what is the difference between a mermaid and a rusalka?”
            The Hufflepuff fidgeted uncomfortably, but made a valiant effort. “Erm...well mermaids have tails, don’t they?”
            Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Surely the most obvious answer, but… technically correct.” He winced at his own compliment. “Five points to Hufflepuff.”
The students gaped at one another. None of them had ever heard Snape award points to Hufflepuff before, but then again, none of them had heard the threats Pamona Sprout had made when she discovered how many points he had taken from the precious Boy Who Lived. Her delicate implications that she would switch his shampoo with stinksap should he treat any of her students like that had been enough to keep him from being too hard on his Hufflepuffs. Still, the way Ernie beamed at his friends next to him made him regret the feeble reward instantly.
            “Any other trite observations you’d care to make, Macmillan?” He sneered nastily. The boy’s face fell, and Severus instantly felt much better. “No? Very well. All of you, turn to page two hundred and fifteen.” He watched them with the severity of a hawk as they begrudgingly pulled out their textbooks. Granted, the days when they read from the book were far less interesting than their practical lessons, but a sharp mind was equally important to a well-rounded defense. “While both are considered sentient creatures, merpeople are known to have their own dialects, customs, and underwater societies. Their cultural tapestry is considered as richly intricate as our own. Perhaps you will recall from your history of magic lessons that a delegation of merpeople attended the International Confederation of Wizards summit in 1692, and were integral in the decisions regarding the concealment of magical creatures from muggles.” He could already see some of their eyes glazing over with boredom, even the more fastidious note takers.
“In contrast…” The door clicked open gently, and he prepared himself to throw a nasty insult toward whichever student had dared to arrive late to his class. Tardiness was unacceptable, and he was ready to deduct at least fifty points, Pamona Sprout be damned. When Freya stepped in, he looked away quickly, feeling the heat rise to his face. Several emotions began to simmer within him at once, like the contents a copper kettle. How dare she intrude on his class in this manner? Freya kept her eyes downcast.
They had not regarded each other since the interrogation, though he had occasionally glimpsed her slowly walking through the corridors with Poppy to regain her strength. Then there had been that memorable time in the courtyard, where he had accidentally stumbled upon her sketching something in a book, her hair stirring gently in the autumn breeze. Luckily for him, she had been completely immersed, and had failed to notice him slinking quietly back into the shadows. It had reminded him so much of the dream he had had of finding her in his mother’s garden that panic had gripped him, and for a moment he’d had to squeeze his eyes shut and take several very deep breaths, as he was caught horribly between longing and fear. His eyes flicked to her now as she silently found a seat in the back of the class, and folded her hands on top of the desk. She looked somewhat prettier today, or perhaps it was simply that she seemed healthier. He refused to dwell on it.
“In contrast,” he started again, a bit more loudly than intended, “the Rusalka is a water spirit, similar to a nymph or siren, usually found in the Ukraine.” Freya crossed her legs beneath her desk, and the movement attracted his attention. He swallowed hard. She was wearing what appeared to be an amalgamation of borrowed clothes, most likely from her brother and Tonks. Her shabby brown cardigan was far too large, and had frayed patches on the elbows. The tweed skirt was short, but the stockings seemed sensible until she shifted just enough and…merlin help him. The tops of them were lace, and he caught just the slightest glimpse of creamy white thigh. He felt a familiar stirring between his legs, but Freya was not looking at him, and did not seem to have the slightest idea that he was watching her from the corner of his eye. Her indifference annoyed him, and he turned his back on her as he continued.
“By all accounts, the rusalka desires little more than to lure unsuspecting young men to their deaths.” The students leaned in a bit closer, far more interested in this bit of information. “When a victim is in the water, the rusalka entangles him in her long red hair…” he glanced at Freya, and saw her smile quietly to herself as she continued to gaze down at her hands. “…and laughs as her victim drowns.” The smile disappeared. “Survivors have also reported that the rusalka’s body becomes slippery, so that the victim is unable to cling to them, or use them to re-surface.” If this had been any other professor’s class, the students would have giggled at this, or thrown each other knowing looks, but this was Snape’s class, and they restrained themselves.
            “In some cultures, the rusalka is believed to be the spirit of a woman who has drowned herself due to an unhappy marriage. Either she has been abused by her husband, or…”
            “Been jilted by a lover?” Freya mused softly. Some of the students turned to look at her in surprise. Many of them hadn’t even realized she was there. There was a small outbreak of whispers among them. Freya Lupin’s reputation had officially grown to infamy since her antics in the great hall, and many of them stared openly at her.
            “Indeed.” He said through gritted teeth. If this was some other attempt at manipulation of her part, he would not give her the satisfaction. “This however, is simply muggle elaboration. The truth is, a rusalka is a shape shifting creature, similar to a boggart, but with one notable difference. I don’t suppose any of you would care to venture a guess as to what that is?” The students looked at each other and he sighed with exasperation, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “That gelatinous mass you carry inside your skull is called a brain. Do try thinking for once. You know the rusalka delights in luring young victims to their deaths. You know they are shapeshifters, and they are similar to a boggart but with one important distinction. What could it possibly be?” There was another stiflingly awkward silence. None of the students so much as looked at him, afraid that he would call on them to speak as he had done to Ernie.
            “The rusalki are capable of altering their appearances in order to become more alluring to their intended victim.” Freya answered gently. The students seemed to give one collective sigh of relief as the tension was broken.
            Snape glowered at her fiercely, but felt that ignoring her would ultimately draw even more attention to her presence. He tried not to notice the flush of her cheeks, or the fact that a single tendril of hair had escaped her messy bun and was now lazily caressing her collarbone. She had been biting her lip, and it was flushed red. Snape looked away. “That is correct, Miss. Lupin, although perhaps you will find it more prudent to allow the students to answer for themselves.”
            “Perhaps they would answer if you hadn’t just called them all ‘stupid.’” She replied scathingly, not missing a beat. Some of the students began to hide their smiles behind their hands. These were sixth years after all, and they remembered how it had been when she had taught them Defense Against the Dark Arts instead of the now furious Slytherin.
            Snape took several deep breaths to calm himself, then continued. “What Miss Lupin has failed to mention is that a rusalka is not psychic. It does not possess the power to peer within your deepest desires, the way a boggart knows your greatest fears. It must guess. For example, the Rusalka might give herself long blonde hair, not knowing that her victim prefers-“
            “A hooked nose and an unpleasant disposition?” Freya quipped, seemingly unable to hold her tongue. The Hufflepuffs sputtered with nervous laughter, until Severus whirled on her angrily, and slammed both hands down upon her desk, making several students jump in alarm. Freya appeared unfazed as he hunched over her, growling furiously.
            “Is it your intention to sit there and disrupt my class, or do you have a reason for plaguing me with your presence?”
            The smirk died on her lips. She blushed, and he could not help but notice that the color traveled all the way down her neck. An impulse tickled the back of his mind. He wanted suddenly to lean closer and graze his teeth along the sensitive flesh. Then she reached into her cardigan pocket and withdrew a familiar scroll, and the desire vanished immediately. It was the divorce papers he’d had sent to her while she was still in the hospital wing. “Apologies, professor.” She muttered under her breath, her blush deepening.
“Everyone out.” Snape barked, making several students jump. “Class dismissed. Write me a scroll twelve inches long describing the differences between merpeople and Rusalki and the ways in which you might defend yourself against both. Go.” He seethed, glaring down at the students who gaped at him uncertainly. Professor Snape never let them go early. Hesitantly, the first few stood up to leave, and when the others saw that they did so unhindered, they hurried to escape the gloomy dungeon classroom.
After the last one had disappeared, and there were no longer the sounds of feet upon flagstones, Freya placed the scroll gingerly on the desk in front of her and gave him a tentative smile. “Well then. That’s it, is it?” She hesitated, obviously uncertain whether or not she should say more.
“Miss Lupin, if you’re expecting me to suddenly rescind my request, you are woefully mistaken.” His watched her with hooded eyes, the irises glinting coldly.
Freya lifted a single, imperious eyebrow. “Of course not.” She rose suddenly, the chair scraping loudly and unpleasantly against the flagstones. Something about the way she appeared so eager to leave both satisfied him, yet irritated him. Snape wasn’t done with her yet.
“Likewise, if you thought to seduce me while dressed like a sluttish school marm, consider me properly insulted.” He gestured to her short skirt and overlarge cardigan as she bristled indignantly. “The thought that this would appeal to me is laughable.”
“This may come as a shock, but it turns out I wasn’t thinking about you when I got dressed this morning.”
“It seems more likely that you weren’t thinking at all. That does seem to be your prerogative as of late.” He smirked nastily at the look of outrage on her face. Tearing down her clothing was one thing, but to imply that she was unintelligent was quite another. “How is your mind, these days? Do you even know where you are right now? Shall I lead you back to the hospital wing and hand you back to our beloved mediwitch? We used to call your brother ‘loony Lupin’ in our day, you know. Perhaps madness is a family trait.”
“Are you finished yet?” She feigned a bored tone, but he could tell his words had stung. He moved closer, and breathed deeply through his nostrils.
“Your perfume is cheap. How unbecoming.”
“I’m not wearing any, you prick.” She grumbled. “Is there something else you’d care to insult?” Freya crossed her arms defensively. “My hair perhaps? Or the size of my breasts? Go on. Do your worst.”
“You’re…childish.” Snape breathed, staring hard at her collarbone, once more feeling the desire to nibble his way down her neck. Her skin looked so soft. Was she wearing some sort of slip beneath that cardigan? He thought he could see a hint of peach colored silk, and she seemed to have no idea that with her arms crossed it was accentuating her breasts.
“And?” She lifted an eyebrow and fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Wildly absurd.” His nostrils flared.
“That’s fine.” Freya was staring at his mouth almost absentmindedly. He sneered in that undoubtedly sensual way he had perfected, and suddenly he realized that he had moved even closer to her. She smelled alluringly of something like cloves, or perhaps it was sandalwood. His blood pounded in his ears as he recognized the way her eyes glazed over with desire. Between his legs, he was throbbing painfully.
“Am I making you wet, Miss Lupin?” He murmured dangerously. Freya blinked and cleared her throat.
“Does it matter?”
“That wasn’t a ‘no.’ You want me to lift up this silly little skirt and slide myself deep inside your sweet pussy?” Snape whispered darkly, making her gasp. He placed both hands on the desk on either side of her, his breath hot against her neck. Her sudden vulnerability was tantalizing. “And if I’m feeling inclined, perhaps I’ll play with that tight little arse…”
Freya closed her eyes, and shivered. “Please stop.”
“Why?” He breathed, his black eyes hooded. “Don’t you want me to use you, like I used to?”
“Not like this. Not when I know you hate me.”
“Ridiculous witch.” He snarled. “I don’t have to like you to fuck you.” His fingers found the hem of her skirt, and were soon biting into her warm thighs.
Freya reached up and pushed him away. “So that’s it? You’re a cold, Slytherin bastard all the way through now, are you?”
Snape held up his hands in mock surrender, and stepped back. “Here I thought you liked that about me.” His smirk was cruel.
“You’re right.” She said coldly. “I did.”
His mouth fell open, the words suddenly caught in his throat. Her simple use of a past tense echoed in his eardrums like cruel laughter, and for a moment all he could do was stare helplessly as she turned to leave. “You’re not even remotely sorry, are you?” He snapped viciously. She froze.
“’Sorry?’” When she turned back around, the look of furious incredulity actually caused him to take a step back. Her lips twitched into a sneer. “After what you called me?” Eyes bright with rage, she maneuvered around the table, closer to him. Seeing the wary expression on his face, she paused, disconcerted. Hesitantly, she lifted a hand toward him as if to touch him, but whether it was to comfort him or disarm him he was uncertain. He took another step back. The movement was reflexive, but he didn’t realize until her eyes started filling up with tears that he had instinctively drawn his wand. Freya’s hand fell, and she clenched it into a fist.
“Are you afraid of me, Severus?” She asked, sounding so hurt he hastily lowered his wand.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He spat. The question did not sit well with him. Was that the feeling that had been gnawing away at his insides like a rat in a cage? He remembered the look on Freya’s face as she’d fought the men who had tormented her for weeks, her face speckled with blood. She had enjoyed it. And so had he. The memory sickened him.
“Do you remember that night at the Locke? When I drank poison and nearly died?” Snape didn’t answer. A feeling of dread began to quicken somewhere in the pit of his stomach. “You took care of me. You held me when the withdrawal was at its worst, and when I woke, you were sleeping in your armchair. You looked so peaceful, not glaring at me like you’re doing now. That’s when I knew I had fallen for you.” Snape hesitated, feeling the heat rising to his face once more. It felt as if she’d reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart.
“I don’t want to hear this.” He stepped back again, raising his wand even higher.
“Do you know what I told myself that morning?” Freya’s sneer dissolved into a look of pain.
“I said I don’t care.” Snape growled.
“I told myself that I would rather die than let anyone harm you.”
“Well, a lot of bloody good that did!” He snapped. It pained him to hear these things. Severus Snape was not a man who could easily forgive betrayal, and not only had she betrayed his trust, she had attempted to render him powerless, and this he felt was the final straw.
“I’m sorry for so many things, Severus.” Freya said gently. “But I’m not sorry for what I did.”
Severus stared at her, so furious that he sputtered. “Of course you’re not. You’re always right, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter what I think as long as you come out with a clean conscience in the end. I carried your body to St. Mungos! I washed your blood from my hands!” His nostrils flared.
“Yes, you did. Thank you for that.” She conceded with a forlorn look.
“So why did you do it?” He snapped, thinking he had finally seized the upper hand. “Why did you get in the way? That blade was meant for me!” And there it was. The words that had hung silently between them since that night were finally said.
“I don’t know.” She whispered. “You should never have been there. I just…I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t.” His tone was bitter. “And your ignorance nearly got us killed. I’m sure you think it was a brave thing to do. Well it wasn’t. It was completely and utterly stupid. Your reckless actions have compromised everything I’ve worked for! You’re just like…like…”
“Like Lilly Potter?” She intoned quietly. “Is that who I remind you of? All this time, have you been comparing me to a dead woman?”
            Snape’s eyes widened, and his lips peeled back from his teeth. “Get out of my sight.” Snape growled.
            “Oh dear.” Freya lifted an eyebrow. “It appears I’ve offended the great Severus Snape.”
            “I SAID GET OUT.” He roared, feeling his eyes stinging with furious tears he could not control. After all of the horrible things he had called her, she had won with a single, painful observation. Freya’s jaw stiffened, and she gave him a curt nod, then turned on her heels. “I wish I had never met you.” Snape growled after her. Freya stopped for a moment, and he thought he heard a small gasp. For a moment, it seemed she had lost her balance and she swayed strangely, but she quickly regained her footing and hurried out the door. Severus flicked his wand and it slammed closed behind her.
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Spy vs. Spy