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
- 29
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- 31
The scowl that had carved itself across his sallow features could have curdled milk. “Why am I here?” He asked blackly. “Have you gone and fiddled with a cursed cock ring or something? Shall I create another potion to force down your gullet? ”
“While I do not appreciate your crudeness, your disdain has been noted.” The headmaster looked at him sternly over the rims of his spectacles, and withdrew a single, shimmering vial from the sleeve of his robe. “Severus, you seem to be under the impression that when I told you to review Miss Lupin’s memories, that it was simply a request that you were free to dismiss at your leisure. This was a delusion at best, ill becoming of my finest spy. It is time.” He placed his fingertips against the rim of the silver pensieve, and pushed it toward him with maddening deliberation.
“Did you break into my office?” Snape’s lip curled at the sight of the vial that contained Freya’s memories. He had locked it in his desk when he found he could not bring himself to destroy it as he’d initially intended. The thought of perusing these shadows made his skin crawl, for he knew that he would see things he’d prefer to forget. Crossing his arms, he glared down the beak of his nose.
“There was no need.” Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow. “As headmaster, there is no room in this castle which I cannot enter. Not even your office would dare to keep me out.”
“I would have thought,” He replied through gritted teeth, “that you of all people might hold some degree of respect for my privacy?”
Albus smiled, but his eyes did not hold their usual sparkle. “Naturally. Though perhaps you might in turn show some respect for the context in which these memories were extracted.”
“Under duress, which makes this a complete waste of my time.” Snape glared. “No sane jury would ever convict Freya for such evidence.”
“A frightened jury might.” Dumbledore said firmly. “As such, it is our responsibility as her legal defense to review the evidence and confirm its validity before it can be stripped bare in a court of law.”
Snape’s scowl would have curdled milk. “I thought you said the wizengamot would never try her without your signature?”
“Which I would be forced to provide, should Scrimgeour find some other infraction, and convince my fellow warlocks to force my hand.” His brows furrowed. “I have little doubt that he will try.”
Severus shrugged, sneering contemptibly. His eyes focused shrewdly on a small brass instrument that sat on Dumbledore’s desk, and for a moment he pretended to observe its planetary rotation. “Why should I care? It is of no importance to me.”
The sharp sting that bloomed across his face was so sudden that he leapt back in shock, staring at the headmaster with his mouth hanging open. Calmly, the silver haired wizard placed his wand on his desk, and pressed his fingertips together into an arch. “It is of importance, because I SAY IT IS. Sit down, Severus, and listen well.” Not knowing what else to do, and still shocked that the headmaster had used a stinging jinx on him, Severus did as he was told. “I warned you months ago, concerning Miss Lupin. I told you to put her from your mind, to tear your feelings out by the roots and to kill them stone dead. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I had hoped to protect you.” Here he gave Severus a hard look. “Freya Lupin is not Lilly Evans.” In response to Severus’ furious snarl, he held up a hand to silence him. “I knew that it was already too late, but I had hoped that you would take my advice under consideration. You did not heed my warning.” The expression on Dumbledore’s face was enigmatic. “When I asked you to help her brew Malignum Praesidium, it was so she might have protection against the psychic attacks that had plagued her since her arrival. You are still the finest potions master I have ever seen. It would not do for Voldemort’s newest ally to catch a single glimpse of you in the context of her mind. Our work is too important. I thought you knew that. I never dreamed you would be so foolish as to drink it alongside her. Your affections have clouded your judgment.” Severus stiffened angrily, prepared to defend himself against such criticism, but Albus’ stern look stopped him immediately. “I know that it is your intention to divorce Miss Lupin, but it is the equivalent of tearing up a spare bit of parchment. Your very souls have bonded. Her enemies are now your enemies, and likewise…” He fixed Severus with a piercing glare. “Any contract that you may have entered into will now affect her as well. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
A sudden image arose unbidden in his mind of Narcissa’s tearstained face. Red-hot tongues of flame had wound around their clasped hands, and he had spoken the words. Severus felt his ribcage contract. A sharp ringing echoed harshly, somewhere in the distance, raking its invisible claws against the inside of his skull, and in his mind’s eye he could see Voldemort, standing over him with that cold, mirthless smile. Suddenly it was very difficult to breathe. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He did not realize he had fallen to his knees until Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You’re saying… I have…cursed her.” He coughed, and it made a hacking, rattling sound as the words caught in his throat.
“Cursed? No, Severus. Love is no curse.” Dumbledore sounded very sad indeed. “What’s done is done. I simply wish to impart the seriousness of the situation.”
“I’ve doomed her to my fate.” Snape gasped.
“Only if you fail.” Dumbledore replied delicately.
“Does she know?” He heard himself ask, hating the desperation in his own voice. “Have you told her?”
“I have not.” Albus said sharply. “Against my wishes, you have bonded in magic. Now you have bonded in bloodshed. What do you think would happen to your soul, should Freya received the Dementor’s kiss?” An icy chill, far removed from the pleasantly warm office, stole upon Severus as he looked up into the headmaster’s face, which had hardened, the deep lines of his face appearing like cracked marble. “I will not have my finest spy turned into a turnip.”
Rage gave Severus the strength to leap back onto his feet. “So if not for this binding you would happily leave her to the ministry? How can you be so callous?”
“Freya has been useful to the Order. Yet she lacks the ability to remove herself from her emotions.” Dumbledore sighed wearily. “She was, perhaps too young when I recruited her. Too hot blooded. Far too naïve. Her dalliance with the late Barty Crouch the younger is testament to that. I require my agents to be more calculated. Precise.’“
“ ‘Useful.’ “ Snape repeated furiously. “You would have cast her aside in an instant, had I not bound myself to her.”
“I am sure she would survive. She seems to have survived your derision.” Dumbledore lifted a single, scrupulous eyebrow.
Snape chuckled mirthlessly. “And they call me a cold-hearted bastard.” Before he could respond, Snape extended a hand, and snatched up the vial from the desk. “Here, Dumbledore. I yield. Let’s take a closer look, shall we?” He uncorked the vial with a faint pop, and seized the pensieve with a snarl. When the contents were swirling within, he grabbed Albus by the sleeve of his robes, and pulled him under alongside him.
Together they landed in a room that Severus was all too familiar with. The edges of this memory were shrouded in black smoke, and soon enough, they realized why. This was not like the surreal visions he had shared in his nightmares. These were true memories, as Freya could recall them, and at the moment they were shiftless, as the subject in question was barely conscious, curled up in the middle of the cold marble floor. Around her, men laughed and hooted as the vision blurred, ebbing sickeningly in and out of focus. The only thing that was clear was Vidarr, lounging in one of Malfoy’s elaborately carved wing backed chairs with one leg dangling indifferently over the armrest, a goblet of wine held lazily between his fingers. He was smiling in a way that would have been handsome, if not for the steely glint in his good eye. It was jarring to see him like this, as he had been before the madness had taken him.
A bucket of icy water was dumped unceremoniously over Freya’s head, and the memory sharpened in an instant. Suddenly the details of their leering faces were clear and ugly as she gasped and sputtered, lurching to her knees as she wiped frantically at her eyes. The stream of curses that bubbled from her cold lips would have made a sailor blush. Even Severus was reluctantly impressed by a particularly creative insult involving a broom handle. The men howled with open derision, until Vidarr spoke.
“Home at last, my wayward apprentice.” The laughter died in an instant. “Tor, fetch a cloak.” Frowning, Tor did as he was told, but when he held it out to Freya, she glared at him and silently refused to take it. Vidarr rolled his one good eye. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful. Come. Bring her a chair, Tor.”
Clearly Tor resented being made to serve Freya in any way, and it was no wonder. In this memory the young werewolf’s face was still severely damaged from their fight during her capture. His left eye was still swollen shut, and it made Severus smirk cruelly to see it. Freya, though groggy, kept her eyes carefully averted, but did not move. It was clear that her thoughts were racing, desperately trying to formulate a plan. Vidarr gave a great, beleaguered sigh. “Very well. Tor, you may strike her.”
Tor made to do so with obvious glee, but Freya seized his wrist before his fist could shatter her cheekbone. Using the grip as leverage, she hauled herself to her feet, and in one fluid motion, delivered a headbutt so fierce that blood speckled the front of Vidarr’s robes. Tor fell back with a shriek and clutched at his ruined nose, but Vidarr smiled grimly.
“There she is. My little fox has returned to us.”
Someone among the onlookers laughed, and wolf-whistled as Freya snatched up the cloak and used it to dry her wet hair. If she was frightened, she hid it masterfully beneath a contemptuous sneer that would have given Lucius a run for his money. “’Little fox’ is it? Am I to take it you’ve decided to continue my training? Any small animals you’d like me to disembowel?”
Vidarr laughed. “Oh, I see no reason for that. You seem to have far surpassed yourself since last we spoke.” He tilted his head, and regarded her thoughtfully, as though considering how best to prepare her before roasting her over an open flame. “You’ve vexed me terribly.” His lip curled, and Severus thought he could see a hint of fang.
“I was worried you hadn’t noticed.” She replied softly.
“Remarkable.” He sighed, tapping his lips thoughtfully with his index finger. “There you sit, surrounded by my wolves, knowing that any one of them might tear your throat out at my command, and yet you still find it prudent to speak to me with sarcasm?” Tor muttered something scathing, too low for Severus to hear, and Vidarr began to laugh. “Indeed. Perhaps you are not in your right mind. Tell me, little fox…” his eyes shone like mirrors, reflecting golden in the pale torchlight. “Do you wish to die?”
Freya glared and crossed her arms, but did not answer for several moments. The werewolves shook with laughter and Vidarr’s smile widened.
“Why am I here?” She murmured sullenly.
Vidarr’s expression did not change, but his eyes hardened in a way that made Severus shiver. The room fell silent as his men too sensed a change. Vidarr said something in a voice that was impossibly deep, and almost alluringly soft. Freya shuddered, and closed her eyes. It was a language that Snape did not understand.
Beside him, Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Severus flinched. He had nearly forgotten that he was there. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Albus frowned. “I believe his words were ‘the debt must be paid.’”
“And if I refuse?” Freya whispered, her face becoming drained of color.
When Vidarr lurched to his feet, Severus actually stepped forward, forgetting that this was a memory. His fingers nearly brushed the pale shadow of Freya’s cheek before he remembered, and jerked away with no small amount of embarrassment, feeling the headmaster’s eyes on him. Vidarr seized Freya by her hair, and yanked her close so that he could snarl into her face. Once again, the words that poured from his lips were alien to him, and Dumbledore translated.
“You made a promise, that night in the dark when the frost turned your lips blue and death nipped at your heels like a hungry dog. I ripped you from the teat of sleep eternal. You will give me a child.” Dumbledore translated bitterly. “That was the price, witch. You knew that when you came to me.”
Freya stared at him, hatred burning in her eyes. “Fuck you.”
Vidarr whipped out his wand, and pointed it between her eyes. What he growled must have been the equivalent of a cruciatus curse, for in an instant she was writhing on the floor, a deafening scream tearing from her throat. Severus stared down at her body, so helpless and alone. He wanted to cover his eyes, but refused to show any sign of emotion in front of Dumbledore. He knew this pain, deeply. He knew that it raced through her skeleton like fiendfyre, burning everything. Burning reason. Burning sanity.
When Vidarr finally stopped, he nudged her with the toe of his boot until she rolled over onto her back. Her eyes were glazed, almost drunk with relief, even as a post cruciatic tremor rippled through her body. She had bitten her tongue, and blood dribbled down her cheek. “Look at me, witch.” He reached into his breast pocket, and withdrew a second wand. Her wand. Smiling serenely, he held it over her face, and when her eyes had finally found their focus, he snapped it in two. The whimper of grief that escaped her lips was pitiful beyond belief. “I don’t need to see into your mind to know what you are thinking. You are thinking of the dark haired potions master.” The wand pieces clattered to the floor as she sobbed. Vidarr crouched over her, stroking her hair almost lovingly. “His magic is powerful, I’ll admit, but remember this. Your lover sold you to me,” he purred sympathetically. “ Ástvinur, his heart never belonged to you. He serves only his master. I am sure he was paid handsomely for his service. Let that be a comfort to you.” Vidarr’s fingers appeared to brush aside the tears that flowed down Freya’s cheek, but he lifted them to his mouth, and tasted them with apparent relish. “These deatheaters long for immortality, but they are fools. The only way to glimpse ever lasting life, is through the creation of offspring.” His eyes were almost sad. “You broke your promise to me. This, I cannot forgive. When you receive the bite, I will have you. You may want to die, but I shall not allow it. Not until my son is born. Do you understand? You will give me what I want, little fox.”
The memory began to turn black as she lost consciousness.
When the vision cleared, Snape and Dumbledore found themselves standing in Malfoy’s dining room. The highly polished surface of the table shone like a mirror in the torchlight. Freya was wearing one of Narcissa’s deep emerald gowns, trying not to watch as Vidarr, Lucius and Narcissa ate around her. There were shadows beneath her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. Clearly, Vidarr had already taken to starving her as punishment. This was a form of torture, to dress her up in finery like a china doll and have her watch as others ate while she could not.
“Where is your son this evening?” Vidarr asked Malfoy in a bored tone, fingering the rim of his wine glass. His muddy boots were propped up on the table. Clearly it amused him to see Lucius quake with fury over the mistreatment of his family heirlooms. Severus saw the way Freya looked up at the question. She was eyeing Narcissa curiously.
Lucius cleared his throat, and stared grimly down at the tablecloth. “He is…unwell. I had his dinner sent to his room.”
“Are you turning him against me, Malfoy? I had hoped that we might become friends.” The werewolf raised an eyebrow in amusement.
“You are my master’s ally. I would not dream of it.” Lucius replied, carefully selecting his words with deft precision, but the set of his jaw was firm. Narcissa held her breath beside him.
“If I find out otherwise, Lucius…” He flashed his very white teeth. “I will have my men fuck your son in front of you.”
Lucius’ pale face became red with fury, and his chair clattered to the floor as he rose, suddenly incapable of tolerating this creature, who sat in what had once been his father’s chair. Ally he may have been, but Vidarr was no Voldemort. He was still a werewolf, and in Lucius’ eyes, unfit to sit with wizards, let alone lord over them. Severus shook his head at his friend’s foolishness. Vidarr was already smiling as Lucius towered over him. “You foul, loathsome little…”
“Lucius!” Narcissa squeaked with horror, placing her hand on her husband’s shoulder, but it was too late.
“Take his wife.” Vidarr commanded, sounding highly entertained. A brutish thug with mangy black hair that Snape recognized as the rat eater seized Narcissa by the shoulders. “Break her fingers.” There was a horrible snapping sound as he proceeded to do as he was told. The sound was sickening. Narcissa wailed, begging for him to stop. There was a scuffle of bodies, as Lucius lunged, trying to protect his wife, but was forced back by Tor, who was suddenly behind him, pressing his dagger beneath his chin. Lucius froze, staring hatefully down at the ginger haired youth. “Enough.” Vidarr said absentmindedly with a wave of his hand. When it was over, Narcissa’s pinky finger was bent in the wrong direction. “I am sorry, mistress.” Vidarr chuckled. “Sorry that your husband has yet to learn his place. Please, allow me.” He flicked his wand, and there was another snap as the finger popped grotesquely back into place. Narcissa was biting down on a cloth napkin to keep from screaming.
Lucius rounded on Freya who, for the moment, was the least dangerous target for his wrath. Severus thought for a moment that he might throttle her, and indeed, his fingers twitched as if longing to seize her by the throat. “This is all your fault.” He growled, as he wrapped an arm protectively around his shaking wife.
“Oh yes, of course it is.” She drawled softly, her lips twisting into a sneer that Severus found oddly alluring, given the circumstances. “My fault. All mine. Surely, I am part of a vast conspiracy meant to torment you. Surely it has nothing to do with how inexplicably weak you are.”
Vidarr laughed loudly at the look of outrage on Lucius’ face. “My little fox is bold.” He seized Freya by the hand, and she reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled into his lap. Severus felt his own lips curl into a snarl as Vidarr’s fingers toyed with the crimson tendrils of her hair. “Leave us.” He snapped his fingers at Lucius, whose face turned scarlet at the insult. Narcissa was quick to seize him by the lapel, and drag him from the room, and to Severus’ alarm, the other werewolves followed. Freya stared after Narcissa, and there was no small degree of pleading in her eyes, but Narcissa did not hesitate to close the doors behind her. Vidarr chuckled, a low, growling sort of sound. “I wish to kiss you. The way a lover might.” He added, as though the intent required clarification.
Freya lifted an eyebrow, and smirked in a way that had Severus gritting his teeth with an emotion that could only be described as jealousy. He had seen that look before. “Really?”
“I forgot how…” He paused and muttered a few words in Icelandic.
“Formidable?” Freya sounded genuinely surprised by the compliment.
“Yes. I forgot how formidable you are.” The skirts of her borrowed gown engulfed Vidarr’s lap, but his arm was quick to encircle her waist. “You’ve changed, Freyja. I had expected to break you…” His good eye flashed alarmingly for a moment and his grip tightened. He murmured something in a low, sultry voice, and a blush crept across her cheeks. Dumbledore winced, clearly embarrassed, and Severus shot him a glare that clearly meant, don’t you dare translate that. “I could be good to you. Don’t you remember those cold nights alone in the dark?” His fingers made a fist in Freya’s hair, and she gasped. There was a look of hesitant longing in her eyes. “Forget about Severus Snape.” He purred. “He is a spy. A turncoat by his very nature. I can smell it in his bones. What could he offer you? A domicile? A teacher’s pension?” He lifted Freya bodily onto the table with surprising tenderness, but there was a ferocity in his expression, an almost feverish desire that disturbed Severus. Perhaps the wolfsbane had been unnecessary. Perhaps he had already been going mad “I would make you a goddess. Feared. Loved. Respected.” He embraced Freya almost gently. “Give me a son, little fox. Be mine, and together we shall shake the foundations of this earth.” His hands bit into her shoulders. Severus could see that she was tempted. And why not? Vidarr was incredibly handsome, even without one eye, and he desired her. Why not make the best out of a shit situation? Freya shuddered, but nodded her consent.
No, Freya. Snape thought, desperately. I know I hurt you, but please don’t believe his lies.
When Vidarr kissed her, she did not resist, and Severus felt his stomach clench with loathing. How could she have done this? With him? He turned away, unable to watch as Vidarr kissed his wife, his wife, his breath quickening. Freya whimpered softly, and Severus was tempted to cover his ears like a child to block out the noise. When Vidarr’s lips found her throat, she gasped a word that caused Snape to freeze, dumbstruck.
“…Severus…”
His heart leapt into his throat.
Vidarr’s response was instantaneous. He seized her by the hair so viciously that she cried out. “Such a pity.” He said coldly. “You are just as weak as Malfoy.” Snape was sure he would strike her, or worse, but to his surprise he simply took out his wand and slashed it through the air. The food that had been left on the table disappeared, ensuring that Freya would go hungry for the rest of the night. When the door slammed behind him, she slipped heavily to the floor, and began to cry.

The scene shifted, suddenly. Severus’ brow furrowed in angry confusion. What had been the purpose of that memory?
“Did you see?” Albus asked Severus quietly.
“That disgusting display?” He snapped irately. “How could I miss it?”
“The fork, Severus.” Dumbledore said patiently. “It was very cleverly done. I almost missed it myself.”
“What?” He snapped irritably.
“She took it from Lucius’ plate. She must have hidden it somewhere in those voluminous skirts. Even I did not catch the precise moment it was taken.” Dumbledore shook his head admiringly. “I believe we’ve just witnessed when Freya first began to fashion her aconite blade.”
            An aconite blade was a tricky thing to make, even for the most adept sorceress. Snape was, begrudgingly impressed. For Freya to have forged one without drawing attention to it was nearly miraculous. A vein of pure silver had to be extracted, preferably smelted from raw ore that had been buried beneath a waxing gibbous moon. Once formed, the blade had to be impregnated with the finest wolfsbane. Any impurities could mean disaster for the spellcaster. Clearly she had done the best she could with Malfoy’s second best cutlery.
When the memory settled, they were in the darkened library, lit by a single torch, which gave the room an almost cave like appearance. It was strange to stand there without the familiar scents of leather and parchment to comfort him. Freya was deeply shrouded in a cloak, shivering before a small, silver bowl, and Narcissa was standing across from her, staring down at her imperiously. Freya whispered a single word, and the contents of the bowl sparked into blue flame, casting her face in strange light. Narcissa’s eyebrows rose considerably.
“You have wandless magic?” She breathed. “And haven’t used it to defend yourself?”
            “Do you have it?” Freya replied urgently without answering, not taking her eyes off the flame. She drew a thin, ugly blade from her sleeve, and held it steadily over the heat until it began to turn black with soot. Still concentrating, she held out her hand impatiently to Narcissa. “It’s time.”
            Narcissa stiffened, and shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. This plan is suicidal.”
Freya lurched to her feet. Narcissa flinched away from her as the twisted lump of metal fell to the floor, burning a hole in the ornate carpet. Although Severus could not sense it, he knew the air was heavy with dark magic.
            “Give me what I asked for, or so help me...” She whispered, her hands clenching into fists.
            “When did you become such a fiend?” Narcissa hissed, stepping back. “This isn’t like you.”
            “You have it. You wouldn’t have come otherwise. Hand it over, and consider your part done.”
            “He’ll kill us if he catches us.” She whispered. “Please, don’t do this. Please think of my son.”
            “Draco is a smart boy. Tell him to keep his head down, and he’ll live through this.”
            “You can’t promise that.” Narcissa began to cry. “Draco is already doomed.”
            “What?” Freya snapped. “What the hell are you talking about?”
            “The Dark Lord,” She whispered, her eyes wide and haunted. “The Dark Lord has given him a task…”
            Freya struck her so hard across the face that she fell. Narcissa clasped her cheek, and stared up at her through watery eyes, and Severus felt a distinct pang of de ja vu. After this memory, at Draco’s birthday party, Severus would have a similar encounter with Lucius. He watched Freya tower over Narcissa, her fists clenched. “You’ve sold your son to that monster. How could you, Narcissa?”
            “And you’ve promised to give that werewolf a child.” Narcissa spat. “You hypocritical bitch.”
            “A promise I am incapable of delivering, even if I wanted to.” She said scathingly. “I’ve taken precautions, because I would rather die than give that man a child. This blade will be fashioned. You are going to do your part. Narcissa,” Her voice was so soft, but it made Severus shiver to hear it. With one trembling hand, she pulled back her hood to reveal the mess that had been made of her face. He knew that with her wand, she could have healed herself in an instant, but instead she wore it proudly, like a trophy. Even proud Narcissa shrank at the sight of it.“Do not get in the way of my vengeance.” Shuddering, Narcissa reached into her pocket, and held out a tiny black bottle. Freya plucked it from her fingers and held it up to the torchlight for inspection. The liquid inside gleamed like an amethyst. Severus knew from the way the light penetrated the wolfsbane that it was immensely powerful, but Freya was not a potions master, and looked faintly worried. “Is it potent?” She asked.
            “This is the most powerful poison I have ever crafted.” Narcissa breathed. There was pride in her voice, in spite of everything. “It began with a tea brewed from the monkshood my grandmother planted. Those monsters burned my garden until every leaf was ash, but they didn’t know that when I married Lucius, I carried a bouquet of blossoms from the mother plant.” Her eyes gleamed with ferocity. “I’ve dried them, and kept them hidden for so long. They will have increased their potency with every full moon.”
            “How much will it take?” Freya inquired carefully, her eyes burning with purpose.
            “A single drop every day. More, and he will smell it and kill us all. Let us both hope that he does not notice. Give it a week. Two if he’s strong.”
            “Thank you.” Freya sighed, appearing relieved. “You might not see it now, but you’ve done the right thing.”
            “We could wait!” Narcissa hissed, reaching for Freya’s hand. “The Dark Lord will return! We just need to wait until he comes and surely…”
            Freya snatched her hand away, and seized Narcissa by the shoulders, her eyes wide with fear. “No one is coming to rescue us, do you hear me? No one. Listen to me…” She pulled Narcissa in for a fierce embrace that made her gasp with surprise. “We are done waiting for men to help us. We have to save ourselves,” she whispered. Severus felt as if she’d kicked him in the chest.

            The memory blurred again, and reformed. Freya was standing in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The torchlight seemed strangely pale and artificial. She was wearing the dress she had worn the night of Draco’s birthday, but her expression was anything but docile and submissive, as he had thought that night. As they watched, she turned on the faucet so that any sound she made would be masked by the splash of water on marble. With trembling fingers, she measured out a thimbleful of scarlet pigment onto the counter, and began to mix it with the edge of a silver knife until it became a vibrant paste. Then without hesitation, she produced the black bottle of wolfsbane that Narcissa had given her, and after taking a deep breath to steady herself, tapped a single drop into the mixture. Severus could not help but feel a small surge of pride as he watched this memory of his wife, painting her poisonous tincture onto her lips until they were blood red. He remembered the kiss Vidarr had planted on her that night, before a crowd of onlookers. Now he knew that it had been the beginning of his downfall.
            Together, he and Dumbledore watched as she was paraded like a trophy around the Malfoy ballroom, the air hazy with smoke. Snape saw himself, and was immediately discomforted by the angry, drunken expression that adorned his own features. He remembered thinking that she was ignoring him, but now, as an observer it was clear that if anything, she had been hyper aware of his presence, and it was easy to see why. He’d practically stalked her, lingering on the outskirts of the ballroom like a hungry panther. Beside him, Dumbledore shook his head, almost weary with disappointment at his behavior. Guilt seized Severus by the throat as he watched himself stare from across the room with reckless abandon, pulling out that damned hip flask and taking a swig. Vidarr chuckled at this, and pulled Freya in close, his arm tight around her waist.
            “You’ve been noticed, little fox. Your potions master has been undressing you with his eyes since you walked in. Look how desperate he is to use your body again. Perhaps he even regrets selling you to me…but I doubt it. I can tell you still want him. I can smell it on you. How pathetic ” He leaned in and nipped at her ear lasciviously, but she kept her face stony and impassive. “Do be sure not to embarrass me tonight. I’d hate for anything to happen to him while he’s here.”
            The night progressed. Words were exchanged. Vidarr had seemed so eager to dangle her in front of him, but now he saw for the first time that it was not posturing. Vidarr had in no way felt that Severus was competition. In his eyes, they were not equals. He was simply bait. Freya was to be his mate. What were potions and marriage pacts compared to a werewolf’s desires? This was all a game to him. If the prospect of Voldemort’s wrath frightened him in any way, it hardly mattered. He was gone. Severus watched, bile rising in the back of his throat as he snatched Freya aside for a dance, pulling her to him like a possessive fool. What he had failed to notice then was that every single werewolf eye turned to him instantly. He had placed himself in danger needlessly, and what was worse, he had endangered Freya as well. She went rigid in his arms and he remembered her voice, screaming in his mind, piercing his brain like a thousand icy poniards. He’s going to kill you. How could he have been so stupid?
            “Don’t bother.” He muttered dully to Dumbledore, who was watching the scene carefully. “I already know.”
            “ I had no intention of saying anything, as it happens. Ah…” The headmaster became very interested when Vidarr suddenly made his announcement to the entire party, and bit his thumb, sweeping the blood across her cheekbones like some vile baptism. Then he swooped low and kissed Freya on the lips. This time, he felt nothing but black humor as he watched him taste her, knowing that she would bite him, and that her poisoned lipstick would enter his bloodstream. It had begun. His arrogance would soon lead to his downfall. “I believe I may owe Miss Lupin an apology,” Dumbledore sounded very humble. “I’m sure you’ll recall my earlier impression of her character. How very wrong I was.”
            There were words left unsaid, but Severus understood them, nonetheless. If anyone had behaved foolishly out of passion, it was him. Dumbledore started furiously when Vidarr struck Freya across the face. “Monstrous.” He muttered scathingly. Soon after, the memory of Severus stumbled drunkenly from the hall. The real Severus stared at the floor, humiliated, but once again, Dumbledore said nothing. Vidarr’s eyes followed thoughtfully, then he snapped his fingers at Tor, and murmured into his ear, just loud enough for Freya to hear.
            “Follow him out. Hurt him, but don’t kill him. We’ll need him.”
            Freya stared after him, desperation shimmering in her eyes for a fleeting instant before her face became a stony mask of perfect indifference.

            The vision turned black once again, and when it reformed, Freya was crouched low beside the garden wall, stars glaring their judgment from the black canopy above. “Remus? Please let it be you.” She whispered frantically.
            “Thank Merlin.” Her brother’s voice was muffled by the stones. “I received your letter. Are you hurt?”
            She smiled a true, heart achingly sweet smile, and Severus could see the split in her lip where Vidarr had struck her. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Remus, I know I have no right to ask this of you…”
            “Yes. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” He promised, rather foolishly in Snape’s opinion. To his alarm, and clearly to Remus’ as well, Freya began to cry. “My god, what’s the matter? Freya, are you safe?”
            “No one is safe.” She whispered. In her hand, she was clutching a vial of polyjuice potion with Severus’ spidery handwriting scrawled across the label.

            The change this time was jarring. Everything melted together like hot wax then reformed sharply around them into a hallway that Severus recognized as one of the servants’ corridors. He had wandered here by mistake one night as a child, enthralled by his new friend’s wealth and status. A wizard with shaggy blond hair and beard strolled past, and was suddenly pulled into a shadowy alcove by a pale hand. The man grunted in alarm, but Freya covered his mouth with a hand, her eyes wide with fear. The man nodded, and something about the gesture made Severus realize that it was Remus, even before the blond hair began to shrink, and the beard was sucked back into nonexistence. Wordlessly, Freya held up a goblet, and plucked a single long, red hair from her head. The potion began to simmer and bubble, until it turned a bright, silvery blue. Remus shivered, but not from chill.
            “With all this polyjuice I’ve been drinking, I might forget what I actually look like.” His poor attempt at a joke earned him a sour grin.
            “Take this,” she said, drawing the finished aconite dagger at last from her sleeve. It was still an ugly, twisted thing, the silver blackened with soot. “Be careful.” She warned darkly as he took the hilt. “One nick, and I might never see you again.”
            Remus shuddered. “I’ve never killed a man before.”
            “One scratch. That’s all. Then he’ll be dead. Finally.” She muttered, clearly taking little joy at the prospect.
            “And then it’ll be a single matter of battling our way through, what, twenty grown wizards?”
            “Fifteen, but I’ve arranged to be escorted by the stupidest of the lot, so with any luck, they’ll fall like a sack of bezoars!” She replied hopefully.
            Lupin chuckled at his sister’s feigned optimism. “Well that’s some comfort then.” He stared at her for a moment. “Freya, if things should go…poorly…I just want you to know…” he fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, then pulled his sister in for a fierce hug. “I’m exceedingly proud of you. I know I’ve been an arse in the past…”
            Freya whispered. “I love you too, Remus. I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this mess.”
            “Nah, don’t be.” Lupin grinned sheepishly. “I’ve always wanted to have a go at espionage.”
            Freya’s smile was sad. “Is it as exciting as you’d hoped?”
            The grin faltered. “Not exactly. More like terrifying. Remind me to give Severus a firm, respectful handshake when this is all over.” Freya winced guiltily at the mention of her husband, and Remus patted her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, old girl. I’m sure he’ll be, er, well perhaps not amiable, but…well, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually.”
            She shook her head grimly. “Not after what I’ve got planned for him.”
            “Ah. Perhaps not.” He conceded apologetically. “Well…bottoms up.” Remus downed the entire goblet and smiled at his sister. The short brown hair blossomed into thick waves, the color bleeding into crimson. His skin became several shades paler, and his brown eyes became leeched of color until they were properly blue. He took to the change far more gracefully than Severus had expected, and he realized that it was because they looked more alike already than he cared to admit. It was very odd to see two Freyas, but he thought he would have pinpointed Remus immediately for the perpetually guilty expression.
            “Now go to the kitchens.” Freya muttered. “When they realize I’m not in my chambers, they’ll look for you. Remember, they’ve been starving me, so they won’t be surprised to find me there…” she hesitated. “They’ll hurt you. You must try not to fight them. Not yet.”
            Remus smirked, and Severus was mildly alarmed by how attractive he found it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got years of werewolf transformations under my belt. I think I can handle whatever they throw at me.” He hesitated, then looked at her warily. “By the way…if I hadn’t come looking for you, how were you going to…”
            She did not reply, but lifted an eyebrow. Snape knew the answer by the heavy silence, and it filled him with rage. She would have taken the bite herself. Of course she would have. Remus seemed to come to that conclusion as well, but he simply nodded grimly. Doubtless the bloody Gryffindor thought it a noble gesture.
“Go on…it’s time for you to see Severus,” he said darkly.
            The memory faded to black.
            “I don’t want to watch anymore.” Severus growled. “I’m done.”
            “Too late for that.” Dumbledore warned. “We must review everything, down to the last detail.”
            “We’ve seen enough. I can attest to the accuracy of my wife’s memories.” It was the first time he’d spoken of her this way in weeks, but if Dumbledore noticed, he did not mention it, nor did he acknowledge this bit of insight. It was too late.
            They now stood in a stark, familiar bedroom.
            “Enjoying imprisonment?” Freya asked grimly, watching him attempt to break down the door.
            Severus felt a familiar surge of anger, knowing what was about to happen. The banter, followed by a momentary lapse in judgment caused by his own selfish lust, ending with her betrayal. This time, when she used his own wand to petrify him, he heard Dumbledore chuckle softly. He turned to say something nasty, but was distracted by the strangeness of watching Freya transform into him once again. She heaved his frozen body onto the floor, kissed him one last time (an image he would have loved to have burned out of his memory forever,) and waited for her captors to arrive.
            Panic seized him. “No. Dumbledore, I can’t.”
            “You must.” At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. “We must know what happened.”
            “I was there. I lived through it.” He hated the pleading sound of his own voice. “Please…I’m not ready.”
            Dumbledore did not listen, but instead followed Freya, flanked by those two rather stupid werewolves. Severus had no choice but to follow. Through the winding corridors they went, until they reached the same alcove that they’d seen her in earlier that night with Remus. She jerked away when one of them tried to put a hand on her shoulder, and tossed the thick black hair from her face, giving him a highly convincing impression of his trademark sneer.
            “Touch me again, and I’ll have your pelt as a throw rug.”
            Severus thought the insult was rather weak, but knew that she was terrified and was not completely convinced he’d have done better. He also felt a somewhat guilty swelling of pride. That was his polyjuice she had taken after all, and the disguise was flawless. He knew she had a solid forty five minutes before it wore off, which was far longer than many lesser potion makers could boast.
            The feeling popped like a soap bubble once they’d reached the courtyard. Narcissa’s prized garden had been burnt to cinders. The once flourishing oleanders had been reduced to charcoal, and her favorite foxgloves were heavy with decay. Severus felt a stab of empathy. Many of these plants had been lovingly transplanted by Mrs. Malfoy herself from her childhood home, and were the envy of many pureblood families. Vidarr was standing in the center of the ruin. He had expected him to look smug, or even triumphant, but instead he appeared like a man ready to do battle. He was shirtless, and the effect was terrifying. Runes had been tattooed upon every inch of flesh, similar to Freya’s, but far older and more archaic, giving him the look of some vengeful god of old awaiting sacrifice. The eyepatch was gone, and it was difficult not to stare into the void that marred his handsome face. The air was frigid, but Vidarr’s werewolf blood ran hot, and his skin steamed eerily in the cold moonlight.
            He turned to look at Freya, although of course, he only saw Severus. “Thank you for coming, professor Snape.” It sounded as if he truly meant the courtesy. There was no laughter in that soft voice, as if he was truly grateful for his presence. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. “You are unafraid. This is good. Fear makes the meat rancid.” Vidarr said this as though commenting on the weather.
Freya wisely did not speak, perhaps no longer trusting herself to do a worthwhile imitation that would fool this monster.
            “Tor…” Vidarr murmured, and the young werewolf bounded eagerly to his master, who gazed at him fondly. “Tor, you have been by far my favorite pup.” He reached up to cup the other man’s jaw, and Tor’s eyes widened at the unexpected touch. “Tonight, I give you a new mistress.” Tor nodded and looked away, and Severus could feel the jealousy radiating from the young man in waves. “Bring her to me. It is time.”
            And so, Remus was brought, and although Severus knew what was to come, he still sighed with relief to see that the polyjuice was still in effect. It was short lived. Freya had been right when she’d warned her brother.
            Freya snarled furiously, and started forward, but was immediately yanked back by her two brutish captors. It had the unintentional effect of making her disguise even more convincing. The werewolves giggled. Vidarr sighed, and drew his wand, pointing it at Remus’ face. The mottled bruises and the split lip disappeared. Clearly, he wanted his mate to be pretty before he bit her.
            Severus was surprised by the lack of ceremony. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. More posturing? Pretty words? Perhaps a sonnet of some sort? The reality was far more grotesque. One by one, every werewolf tilted back his head, and released an eerie howl, high and sharp into the cold night. Vidarr’s good eye shimmered, and the pupil bled like ink, filling the retina with molten gold. His body remained that of a man, but his jaw widened, splitting at the seams of his mouth as the joints broke. It must have been immensely painful, but he had mastered the pain centuries ago. The nose flattened, and the jaw elongated into something closer to a wolf’s snout. Dark, mottled fur sprouted in patches across his skin, and the tattoos on his flesh began to emanate an archaic glow. Remus did not even bat an eye at the horror before him. This was a curse he knew only too well. Then he did something that appeared to surprise even him. Perhaps it was his wolf blood that compelled him to submit to this stronger specimen, or perhaps it was simply a desire to have it all over with. Remus, still disguised as his own sister, reached up and unbuttoned the front of the dress he’d been forced to wear, revealing neck and collarbone to this beast. The other werewolves howled triumphantly at the sight, and after one awful moment of anticipation, Vidarr swooped low, and sank his fangs into unprotected flesh.
            Freya screamed through her borrowed vocal chords. Severus had never heard such sound from his own body. The sound was accented by the gurgling crunch of flesh. Severus had always imagined a werewolf’s bite to be a simple matter. One quick nip and you were cursed for life. This, he realized, was a childish notion. Vidarr was, to put it simply, eating his victim. He could not look away. His knees felt weak, and his mouth fell open, awed by such horror.
            The door to Malfoy Manor burst open, and almost stupidly, Severus Snape, who had only moments before managed to shake off Freya’s petrifying jinx, stumbled into the courtyard on wobbly legs. The howling of the wolves was cut short.
            Time stopped. Every single eye turned to stare at him. Vidarr, smelling the newcomer, ceased ravaging the flesh before him and presented a face that would haunt Severus’ dreams for nights to come. The eye had turned milky white in his bloodlust. The face had become flesh again, apart from the fangs, which were now far too large for human mouth. Gore drenched his chin, dripping onto his chest, emanating great, billowing wafts of pale steam. His nostrils flared as he sniffed again, this time swinging his face back toward the false Freya, whose hands clutched at her savaged throat. Blood was squirting between her fingers, but she held tight. Vidarr stared into the wide blue eyes that now seemed, perhaps a touch too calm in the face of such monstrousness, and breathed deeply through his nostrils. There at last, through that scent, he realized the truth. Throwing back his head, he released a furious howl that made Severus’ hair stand on end.
            The real Freya was the first to act. Twisting away from her captors, she whipped the stolen wand from her boot, and in rapid succession, fired two hexes at the stunned brutes. The sound of their bodies hitting the ground seemed to suddenly remind Remus why he was there in the first place. He drew the aconite blade, and thrust it at Vidarr’s unprotected chest. Severus’ heart sank as the keen edge sliced only air.
            Freya raced toward her brother, uncorking a bottle with her teeth. Where she had gotten the dittany, he did not know, but as soon as she reached Lupin, the healing potion was tipped to his lips. Normally a mediwitch would smear the salve on an open wound, but Remus gulped it down so that it could heal his throat from the inside. The dream Severus chased after Freya. He did not think. He did not consider the dumbfounded werewolves that surrounded them. He did not watch to see where Vidarr had fled, until it was far too late.
            “Kill them all.” The growl surrounded them, suffocating them.
            Severus did not recall seizing the wand, but he supposed he must have taken it off the body of one of the stunned wolves. He remembered the way the wand had fought him, stinging his hand like a fistful of bees. The three of them, Remus, Freya, and Severus stood with their backs to each other, wands raised, the tips glowing white-hot.
            Chaos. Madness. Blood. The memory could only project what Freya herself remembered clearly. The whirlwind of violence that ensued appeared at times to be a mass of angry shadows, and the rest relied purely on her senses. It was like watching someone paint an impressionistic rendering of battle with no real image to work from. Here, blood. There, teeth. The sounds became dull and ringing, overpowered by the loud pounding of what he supposed was Freya’s heartbeat. Somewhere amidst the carnage, the polyjuice wore off, though precisely when was anyone’s guess. Vidarr was lost. He had fled into the darkness. Severus hoped he died a slow, agonizing death.
            The memory cleared for one clear instant. She looked at him, her brave, foolish potions master, and saw the way his lips curled back into a fiendish grin, saw the blood speckling his pale face. He was enjoying it. Thrusting his wand beneath a man’s chin, he growled, “Crucio. Crucio. Crucio.”
            “Severus?” She whispered, confused.
            “No.” The real Severus whispered back. “Don’t look at me, Freya.”
            They were dead. They were all dead. Save one. Tor was behind Severus, who was now using the cruciatus on a dead werewolf. The body rose and fell limply, but still he cursed him. “Severus, stop. STOP! He’s done! This isn’t you!” Freya placed a hand on his shoulder, but still he fired curse after curse. Finally, she seized his head, and turned his face to hers. The kiss was hard, and he remembered it tasting of copper. He didn’t see Tor seize the aconite blade from where it had fallen. He didn’t see him lunge at his unprotected back. Freya did. Using all of her strength, she ducked beneath Severus’ arm, and thrust herself between them, embracing Tor almost like a friend. The blade sank deep.
            Remus released a scream that would have frozen the blood of any man, and Tor was no different. He gaped at the older man stupidly as Lupin pointed his wand in his face, causing the ugly cuts on his teeth to gleam black in the moonlight. It was the last expression he would ever wear.
            Freya crumpled like a paper doll in Severus’ arms. The edges of the memory began to fade. He could barely be heard screaming at Remus, begging him to fetch more essence of dittany. Freya smiled up at him. Blood stained her teeth.
            “It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t…” She murmured, surprised.
            “No no no. Freya, LOOK AT ME.” Severus growled, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the blade, thinking to wrench it out.
            “DON’T.” Remus placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “It’s the only thing keeping her from bleeding out.”
            Severus’ face became strange, almost blank. “I…I don’t know what to do…Lupin, what do I do?”
            “Hey.” Freya blinked. Her skin was becoming leached of color. “That’s ok. You don’t…Fuck, I feel it now.” She gasped.
            All went black.
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Spy vs. Spy