Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Vespertine	By : BrownRecluse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 3610 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All characters and elements that comprise the wonderful world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. I’m just borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun. Also, I used to be known as BrownRecluse, but a name change was long overdue. ;D

Chapter List
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A breeze, stirring the vines, snuffed her candle and rifled the pages of her book. Narcissa set it aside. Just as well, she thought, the words had started running into one another and it hadn’t been her intention to fall asleep out here again. She rubbed her eyes and looked about. The sight of so many buds hidden among the leaves gave her hope. Soon there would be clematis in twilight colors and swags of white bougainvillea to curtain the gazebo, but now, only the datura she charmed year-round lifted their proud trumpets to what was left of the night. Though it was still too early in the season to sit outside, she told herself that she preferred the damp, the chill, and even the wormy smell that always arose from the earth before sunrise. Despite numerous purging spells, an uncomfortable essence still pervaded the manor. She could feel it, unpleasant and oily upon her skin, a film that would never wash away.

She still had nightmares about Charity Burbage.

Lucius said she was imagining things, of course, “overreacting” when she insisted on taking meals in her room, “hysterical” when she set the dining room table ablaze, and then, “just plain vindictive” when she moved into the guesthouse at the edge of the Night Garden. Though doing so lessened the frequency of her night terrors, the dark essence remained; Narcissa knew that there were some things even magic could never completely erase.

She quit her wicker chair, pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and hurried down the gazebo steps to a narrow path bordered with moonstones. Although they felt like ice against her bare feet, their glow always comforted her.

She glanced behind her through the gazebo at the manor. Every light ablaze. Typical. She started down the path back to her featherbed in the guesthouse, hoping to catch an hour’s rest, when a sudden fwoosh outside the box hedges set the peacocks screaming on their perches. That would be the paper. Lucius still insisted on receiving his copy of the Daily Prophet before the owl post. She waited for it to hop over the bushes and onto the path, but was taken aback when the hedges parted and Lucius, wearing yesterday’s clothes, burst through them.

“Are you a spirit of health or a goblin damned?” Her voice rang through the murky air.

“What?” Startled, he stopped. “What are you doing out here, Cissy? You’ll catch your death.” He pointed to her bare feet.

Narcissa found herself warming quite fast, although the heatwave was lost on her eyes. “One might ask you the same thing,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“My meeting with Skeeter didn’t go as well as planned.”

“With...Rita?” Her eyes blazed, but her words came out frost-edged in puffs of white: “All night, Lucius?”

Unperturbed, he strode to the gazebo, pulled the paper from his robe, threw it on the table, and lit the candle. “Have you seen this morning’s edition?”

“Why would I bother? There’ll be nothing inside it.” His less than skillful evasion was not lost on her.

“That’s precisely my point, Cissy. Come, take a look.”

Sighing, she joined him but then, as she read the headline, started to laugh: “‘Advice for Antiquers and Artifact Seekers: an In-depth Interview with Messrs. Borgin and Burkes.’ Well, it pales in comparison to her usual subject matter, I’ll grant you that,” she said, shoulders still heaving, “but I like it. Do you think harmless twaddle is a trend she’ll continue?”

“They got to her, Cissy. Weasley and Granger,” he said darkly. “That blasted Mudblood Oblivated her. Rita was just doing her job and he did nothing to stop it. Nothing!”

Now who’s overreacting, she thought.

“By the time I rejoined her—”

“Ran away, you mean.” Narcissa’s face clouded. “You promised me you’d stay away from Hogwarts. I’m surprised Arthur didn’t incinerate you on the spot.”

“I’m still on the Board,” he huffed, “and I have the right to pay my respects—however privately.” Wicker squeaked as he shifted in his seat. “Sybill Trelawney said something I think even you will find quite interesting: someone we thought lost to death’s embrace is not.”

“Not Voldemort?” She paled. “I was afraid Potter couldn’t pull it off. He didn’t have it in him, any more than Draco; they’re just boys.” Shuddering, she said, “He’ll come for us; I know it. Even now, I can feel his presence, cold as a cloud across the sun, his desire for vengeance unrelenting as the beat of my heart.” Rising, she paced behind her chair. “We must plan our escape but where can we go? No place on earth is safe. When I think of what almost happened to Draco, I—” The words caught in her throat. She fisted the folds of her gown. “There’ll be no new life for us, no start afresh. We’ll never be free of him, Lucius. Never!”

“Oh darling, there you go again, jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m not ‘jumping’ at anything,” she snapped.

“I assure you, the Dark Lord is quite dead. This is someone closer to us, a former member of our ranks.” Lucius leaned back in his chair and smiled. “It’s quite fascinating and most opportune,” he said, “considering there’s still a price on his head.”

“You’ve narrowed it down to any one of a hundred or more Death Eaters, Lucius.” She prodded his arm. “Who is it?”

“Someone with whom you made an Unbreakable Vow.”

“That’s preposterous!” Leaning against the balustrade, she laughed. “Severus is dead.”

“An elaborate hoax according to Trelawney and they’re all in on it: McGonagall, Potter, and even Weasley.” Patting her hand, Lucius said, “Why don’t I make us a nice pot of tea and tell you all about it.”

For the second time before sunrise, Narcissa found herself on the verge of incredulity. “You? Make tea?”

“I think you’ll find me quite adequate to the task,” Lucius said, “I’ll even use the service you like so much, the silver one from Borgin and Burkes.”

Her smile guttered like a candle flame in a gust. “In that case, no. I won’t drink from those cups.” She rose. “I won’t touch anything his lips touched.”

“Cissy, please...”

“We’ll drink from my mugs or not at all,” she said, heading down the winding path to the guesthouse. Leftovers from her years at Hogwarts, the mugs were about the only thing on their property Voldemort’s presence hadn’t sullied. “Wait here.”

“She had one of her premonitions—right there at his tomb,” he called after her, watching as she glided down the path around a high trellis and out of sight. He wondered briefly if that was a new dressing gown and why she’d taken to wearing pastels. He preferred her in dark colors, but made a mental note to compliment her after telling her his news, of course. Knowing she’d return soon, he began rehearsing, mouthing the words while attempting to mimic Sybill’s frothy gestures. He hoped the thought of a dangerous wizard on the run would be enough to make her see reason; he wanted his wife back in his house, back in his bed. He tilted the chair back and closed his eyes. Yes, his bed most of all.

A nearby rustling stilled his musing. “Is that you, darling? Would you like some help?” He asked, but did not rise from his seat.

The rustling stopped, but something rattled and ceramic grated against itself. It set his teeth on edge. “Cissy?” Ceramic shattered and silver clattered against stone. “Cissy!” Lucius shot out of his chair.

Too late.

Narcissa crashed through the trellis, blood spurting from the wound at her throat and slopping down the front of her gown like a red river of doom. Mouthing words that ended in gasps and gurgles, she twisted as she fell, landing face up at her husband’s feet, the wound at her throat gaping like a toothless, second mouth.

“Blood will run...Amazing isn’t it, how often she’s right,” said the figure who now appeared where Cissy had last stood. One hand still held a knife. “Sybill’s not the crackpot some would have her be.”

Malfoy drew his wand. “You,” he spat.

“Because I could always stopper Death, she could not stopper me. Well, at least not that easily.” He dropped the knife and licked the blood from his fingers.

Narcissa’s blood. Lucius’ gorge rose but his hand tightened around his wand. “Get off my land!”

“Hmm, it’s quite bitter, not as salty as I’d imagined and lacking an essential warmth. But you already know that, so I’ll come straight to the point. I just wanted to thank you for the memorial gift, however premature; yet there you stand, slack-jawed, like a little boy who’s seen a ghost.” Eyes glittering, he stepped over the trellis, closing the distance between them. “Don’t worry, you’ll be one soon enough.”

“You’ll pay for this,” he said.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who would have gladly sacrificed his only son to curry favor with a madman—and Voldemort was mad, Lucius, only a fool would say otherwise. No, righteous indignation doesn’t suit you; I think six feet of cold earth would be a much better fit. Nevertheless...” Leering toothily, Snape opened his arms. “Go ahead, Malfoy, take your best shot. At this range, even a berk like you couldn’t miss.”

Lucius thrust his wand at Snape and screamed: “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

A fireball shot from its tip and hit Snape squarely in the chest. Lucius howled in delight, but his victory cry quickly turned to one of shocked disbelief. Snape plucked the fiery curse from his breast with his bare hand and threw it back. Rebounding on its caster, it blasted a hole in Malfoy’s chest, killing him instantly. He fell atop the body of his beloved bride.

“A pity,” Snape muttered. “I’ll have to look elsewhere for a bite.”
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Vespertine