Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire
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Harry Potter › General
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Adult ++
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
13,011
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story, though wish I did. The only money I have goes toward good wine and chocolate. You can't
47~ Extra Extra, Read All About It: The Killing Fields, Pt 2
Chapter Forty-Seven
Extra Extra, Read All About It: The Killing Fields
Part Two
“Damn.”
It was mild enough to not be cause for concern, but the invective was just the excuse Jasmine needed to stretch her legs and fingers for a quick moment. Avoiding the temptation to toss the lime green dress that someone was going to love, she laid the dress on the back of the daybed and ruthlessly straightened the still unattached magenta sleeves. Satisfied it wasn’t going to fall where Skeevers could kip down on it, Jasmine headed to the window to investigate.
Remus perched himself on the edge of a planter, repairing his already pitifully patched trousers. The rip was wicked and even from the window, Jasmine could see a nasty red scratch on his leg. A popped nail on the side of the porch was the guilty party. The scrap of brown fabric hanging from it bore silent testimony. As she watched, she sighed. The patch job was messy. All of the patch jobs on all of his clothes were messy. To be brutally honest, Remus Lupin was a dab hand at hexes and gathering eggs but he was crap at repairing fabric – especially when he was still wearing it. Sirius’s clothes were even worse. In her pique, she’d ignored them, but really, they were an affront to her delicate seamstress’s sensibilities.
Both men dressed in rags that she wouldn’t even put on someone that she disliked. Orange polyester, maybe, but not clothing that was falling apart. She was reasonably sure that Sirius’s clothes had been stolen from various charity bins over the years since his escape from Azkaban. She shook her head. Really, what Englishman in his right mind (she rolled her eyes at herself, after all, it was Sirius) wore a llama wool poncho to ward off the chill?
Watching as Remus finished the patch on his trousers, Jasmine called out, “Mopsy?”
The little house-elf popped in to view wearing what looked like a lurid mustard and scarlet dashiki from 1965 belted by one of her mother’s cast-off chartreuse scarves. The clothes had been in a basket of Arielle’s play-clothes that were deemed either too small or too ugly. Jasmine had allowed the house-elf to wear them , in case she’d wanted a change from the Hogwarts tea-towel; a privilege that Mopsy had accepted with grateful tears and a million squeaky thanks, after making sure that she was not, actually, being offered her freedom with the clothes. Mopsy did wear the tea-towel any time that Dumbledore visited but other times, chose the weird, out of date things. Jasmine blinked, sure that the colors were scalded into her brain. Momentarily forgetting the men, she asked, “Not that I’m giving you clothes, but do you like that outfit?”
“Oh, yes, Missus! Mopsy loves it. She thanks Missus Jasmine Swan so much for the lovely things in the basket. She knows what treasures they are and is so honored. Mopsy loves all the bright colors!” the house-elf gushed.
Jasmine winced a smile and muttered, “Glad you like them.” Fearing that the house-elf would dissolve into tears or get offended, she didn’t offer to let Mopsy keep the lot. Instead, she just changed the subject. “The gentlemen need new clothes. What they have is falling apart.”
“Should Mopsy repair Remus Lupin and Sirius Black’s clothing, Missus?” she asked in her squeaky little voice. Her eyes were wide with the hope that she could perform such a useful task.
Jasmine contemplated for a moment and answered, “Repair what you can, please. But I am also going to make and buy them some new things as well.”
“Oh yes, Missus. Not everything can be repaired properly, even with house-elf magic. Mopsy will do everything she can to fix them, though.”
Jasmine nodded, “Bring me the worst things after you’ve laundered them. I’ll take measurements from them.”
And thus, a plot was hatched.
A rather vague “shopping for woman things” made Remus hastily Floo fellow Order member, Hestia Jones.
Hestia, a pleasant looking lady with black hair, rosy cheeks and a ready smile, met Jasmine at The Three Flowers and the plot was explained. Jasmine thanked her for being so affable about the small deception.
“Oh, no, dear. Those two men deserve medals for what they’ve gone through these last years. Decent clothing is a wonderful gift!” the witch said as they Apparated to the alley behind the nearest Topshop.
The store yielded clothing from the skin out in the comfortable Muggle styles that both men seemed to favor. Even better, Jasmine was pleased to discover that Hestia was brilliant at finding sales on everything from underwear to coats. A stop at a fabric store – sans Dementors - lightened her purse considerably but she convinced herself that the fancy-dress fabrics that she purchased offset the time that it would take to weave them herself. She also purchased fabric to make several more shirts, trousers and coats for the gentlemen, though they could wait until after the auction robes were due. By the time that she left, she was doubly glad for Hestia’s patience and good humor – and her shrinking spells to carry the lot home.
With many thanks, promises of secrecy and a deep discount on the lime and magenta dress currently in pieces in her workroom, Jasmine and Hestia said goodbye at The Three Flowers, after taking her measurements.
“Jasmine, I sent your orders on to the house. Oh, and please get Severus’s friend in here this week. We need to get the Christmas advertisements to the Prophet and Witch Weekly by the end of the month,” said her mother, Rose as she made final alterations to a navy blue Flowering Jasmine gown. Jasmine bussed her cheek, nodded her assent, smiled at a witch that she didn’t know and Floo’d back home.
Seven hours after Remus ripped his trousers, Jasmine handed the bags of clothes to Mopsy with instructions to remove the tags and launder the lot.
Mopsy took the bags and handed Jasmine four messages written in her mother’s handwriting.
- Heloise Goyle: bolero style jacket to match summer gown (bronze and grey) She’ll bring it in if you don’t remember it.
- Augusta Longbottom: cloak, black wool and black fur (mink maybe?) collar and cuffs. She requested black coque feathers but I persuaded her not to look like her hat had molted.
- Celestina Warbeck: shawl to match her summer gown, but darker, if possible to make it wintery. “Whatever you think is best” Also, please contact her when you’re free to discuss a three-robe costume set for her next concert series.
- Persimina Parkinson: Winter gown, color swatch attached. Mid hand sleeve length. Silver fox fur at cuff, hem, collar. Extremely low, round cut in front, trimmed in fur. Floor length number 2 crinoline with Puffing Spell. Matching cloak and muff. “I want to make Narcissa Malfoy look like she’s wearing rags.”
Jasmine blinked. She’d made the Malfoys’ robes herself last spring and had just finished matching winter cloaks. Poor Mrs. Parkinson was going to look like an overblown, overweight, blue prostitute in the dress she’d described. Mrs. Malfoy, however would be an ice queen in snow white spun unicorn fur and silver Venetian lace.
Shaking her head, she sat to compose a note to Mrs. Parkinson, confirming the specifications for the dress, including a rough sketch of the gown. There was absolutely no way that the woman would refuse to pay because she looked dreadful in her own design.
Once Florentine was sent off to Mrs. Parkinson, Jasmine penned another note to Celistina Warbeck and left it on the table, knowing that if she didn’t get it written, she’d likely forget all about it until after the stupid auction. Twenty minutes later, the singer’s requested shawl sat atop the note with an invoice and Jasmine wore an expression of triumph as she started cutting into the pattern and fabric for Mrs. Goyle’s jacket – the extra fabric was filed right where she’d left it and there was just enough for the bolero, if she was stingy with seams and creative with trims.
Damn it, there was a pin in lime and magenta. She could feel it from the outside; she’d even pricked her finger on the damned thing but she couldn’t wriggle it out. Jasmine looked sourly at the completed gown and matching over-robe on the dress form. Summoning the pin would rend a hole in the dress.
She’d have to go get it and was loathe to take it off the mannequin. With only half a grumble, she twisted her long, auburn hair up to the back of her head so it was out of the way and tapped it with her wand to make it stay up. The last thing she needed was a pricked finger, ripped dress and pulled hair. Jasmine got on the floor and wriggled underneath the skirts, her wand between her teeth for light and gently hunted for the offending pin. They were supposed to be spelled to drop out as soon as the needle flew by, but if it was caught on something, the spell did nothing.
Of course, the only way one can really find a pin in a situation like that one is to stick one’s own finger, Jasmine was sucking on her finger in mere moments. Her wand was on the floor, amid the layers of petticoat – and, as normally happens, the light turned off so she smothered in the dark.
She heard the door open as she spluttered lace out of her mouth, trying not to thrash around and rip the thing.
Sirius called into the apparently empty room, “Jasmine?”
“I’m under here!” she called back and wriggled in an ungainly attempt to escape the silk.
“Mopsy gave us the clothes… where are you?” he asked as he walked further into the room. “Ah!”
“Does everything fit?” she asked, wriggling to get her back on the floor.
Remus asked, “Alright there, Jasmine?”
“Everything is perfect. I’m not sure how you managed, but it all fits perfectly,” said Sirius, walking closer.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. I just lost a pin. I’m glad it all….”
Sirius lifted the hem of the dress, freeing her from the mass. He looked down and murmured, “Hi.”
She looked up at him, fairly sure that her expression was frozen on ‘besotted’. Her whiskey and cream voice sounded breathy when she murmured back, “Hi.”
He offered her a hand, which she accepted gladly, and gently tugged her to standing. After Summoning her wand, he handed it back with a gallant flourish. She did the unthinkable and blushed like a schoolgirl while reclaiming her hands and muttering, “Thanks.”
She looked each man over with an eye for their clothing, trying not to ogle. She tried to ignore that each was gorgeous in his own way. Remus looked rather bookishly rakish in a button-down shirt tucked neatly into wool trousers. The scars on his face made him look mysterious and tragic, as opposed to pitiful as he’d sometimes looked in his badly patched robes. Sirius… she fought to keep herself from running her hands over his wide, tightly muscled shoulders. The black t-shirt he wore was as perfect as she thought it would be. When it was innocently wrapped in plastic, it hadn’t looked like sin, but on him, she almost begged for mercy. The black cotton was tucked in to blue jeans that fit so well that she had to look back up quickly, so that she didn’t faint. She did promise herself that she’d examine their fit later – when no one was looking. Especially him.
Remus jerked her attention away from ogling Sirius when he stepped closer and said, “Jasmine, thank you for the clothing, but I can’t….”
She lifted a hand to forestall his objections and looked at him for her own self preservation. In a tone that brooked no argument, she said, “They were peeving me.”
Remus blushed and seemed to shrink a little bit.
“There are certain things that I just can’t tolerate – and ugly clothing is one of them. Since it was absolutely my issue, I dealt with it.”
Sirius started, “Jasmine…”
“No, not another word.” She turned and walked to her fabric closet to look at nothing but pretended she was busy. She didn’t want thanks and she didn’t want objections. She also didn’t want the men to feel bad. Bravely, she soldiered on, not really knowing how to prevent embarrassment from all parties – especially Remus. “Clothing is what I do. I don’t do much of anything else but I do manage clothing. While you’re living here, you’ll at least have clothes that fit and are in one piece. I’m making more, too, to keep myself busy when this lot is done.”
Remus peeped the beginnings of an objection and she lifted a roll of mink from her stores. She charged over his words. “You’re here, you’re doing me a service and I’ll do this, so leave it.”
Remus ducked his head in a bow and offered his thanks before leaving the room. Sirius crossed to her and removed the fur that she was clutching. He dropped it to the table next to him.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know, but,” she sighed, “I hate seeing you two in rags.”
He cupped her cheeks between in large hands and lifted her chin until she looked at him with startled blue eyes. His calloused fingers explored her cheeks, tracing each line she’d earned and the still rose petal smooth skin. “Thank you.”
Her smile felt like a weak tremble and she breathed in the warm, clean smell of him. Her small hands curled around his wrists in her need to explore the textures of his skin. She felt like she was choking out the words of her response. “You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to embarrass him.”
“He’ll get over it. He’s poor and proud but he’s not stupid,” Sirius said and leaned down to brush his lips over the top of her head.
She barely felt it.
“God, you smell like spring,” he groaned. “All promises and hope. Will you give me hope, Jasmine?”
She could only nod and swallow. Her breathing was in soft, tearing sounds and she trembled in his arms. She clung to his wrists.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and leaned closer, watching her sudden intake of breath. He felt her heart speed up under his fingers. He warned her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I know.” She stared at his full lips, aching for him. This time, it was right. She knew it completely and accepted the desire that rushed through her.
“Not because of the clothes,” he clarified and leaned closer. One of his hands reached back to the red hair still piled at the back of her head. He released the spell and it tumbled down her back like a fire-fall.
Looking into his beautiful rain-colored eyes, she watched his pupils dilate as she smiled and whispered, “I know.”
His lips brushing hers, he murmured, “I haven’t kissed you in a very long time.”
A delicious shiver rolled up her spine and she gave a soft moan. She parted her lips for him and whispered, “I know.”
He flicked his tongue over her lip. His deep voice rumbled over her skin when he made the profane sound like a benediction as he teased. “I might fuck it up.”
“You can’t,” she said and with aching slowness, closed the hairsbreadth between them. She could feel his hard teeth behind his lips before he tilted his head and offered his lips.
A butterfly’s caress on her skin couldn’t have been gentler. Sighing at the touch they’d waited through life and death for, their bodies melted together.
Against her lips, his eyes on hers, he swore, “I never stopped loving you.”
She made a tiny sound and softly demanded, “More.”
Desire leaped between them. He pressed harder and her eyes closed. Lips parting, her tongue welcomed his into her sweet mouth. She moaned her approval and need, begging for even more. Her hands slipped up and over his hard shoulders, tangling in his long black hair as she pressed closer. He took and she gave, demanding as much in return. Ribbons of fire wrapped around her body as his need pressed into her soft belly. His black hair fell forward, catching on her blouse, holding her captive.
A whimper escaped and left her breathless with the knowledge that she was absolutely in love with him. She wrenched her lips away, panting. Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed at him, desperate for more but terrified what more would mean to her already chaotic life. Her body sang for him, her nipples were tight and aching, her panties were soaked and her knees only held her up because she prayed they would.
He pulled back, his fingers still holding her captive. Concern battled with lust on his face as he watched her emotions play. “Sshh, Jasmine-mine.” He rested his forehead on hers and sucked in air. His hands shook as he drew them down the satin skin of her neck to rest on her shoulders. “We have all the time in the world for this.”
She gulped and nodded. Shaking in his arms, she couldn’t form words.
Kiss swollen lips turned up a gentle smile. He murmured, “This thing between us won’t go away.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes troubled and her face flushed with desire. Her tender, pale skin was raw from his mustache and beard.
“You need to work.”
Jasmine didn’t speak and the only word that she could coherently think was a resounding, ‘No!’
He brushed a knuckle over her lips. “You work, Jasmine-mine. The only place I’m going is out to the barn.” He smiled wryly. “I need to cool down before I strip you right here, time and your choices be damned.”
Dazed, she watched as he left the room. The jeans fit perfectly.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Snapping in frustration, Kiaya blurted, “If I sleep with him, will he go away?”
Snape roared his response so loudly that Kiaya shrunk back into her chair in Dumbledore’s sitting area. She couldn’t understand anything but “absolutely not” and cringed anyway. Next to her, Minerva McGonagall winced and reached over to pat Kiaya’s hand.
A raised hand from Dumbledore was all it took to quiet Snape into a plausible imitation of a snorting bull. He jabbed his fists into his pockets and stalked to the window, pointedly ignoring the other three people in the room.
“Kiaya, I think the fact that Lucius Malfoy has already paid over 500 Galleons to ensure that your name is featured prominently in the public eye is reason enough to think that a night or even a weekend … succumbing to his charms would be unsatisfactory.”
“Then what does he want from me?”
Minerva McGonagall looked at her with worried eyes and patted her hand ineffectually. Her Scottish brogue was thicker than normal when she said, “Rumor has it that he may be looking to replace his wife, Narcissa.”
“But why bother to divorce her if he has affairs any….” Kiaya looked at McGonagall’s uncomfortable expression.
Apparently ‘replace’ had nothing to do with divorce. “Oh.”
“Precisely,” said Dumbledore. “However, that is not our greatest priority right now.”
Kiaya rather begged to differ. A woman’s life was at stake. From what she understood, Malfoy intended to kill off his beautiful current wife - the blonde who’d visited the shop to offer financial advice - and marry her instead? That was just stupid. Malfoy was insane. Criminally insane, in fact.
“If Malfoy wants to kill her, though - we have to do something!”
Snape expressed his opinion from his place by the window. He snorted.
Kiaya glared at him.
“Your idealism is as naïve as it is touching,” he mocked.
McGonagall averted the oncoming battle when she said, “Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t accept our help unless Draco was in danger from his father. She’s neither requested it nor would she welcome active interference into her marriage.”
“But…”
“Perhaps the prudent thing on all sides of this would be to keep you out of Malfoy’s hands in the first place,” offered Dumbledore. The twinkle was back in his blue eyes, behind his half-moon glasses.
From the window, Snape said brusquely, “Your logic is faulty. Keeping Roundtree out of his hands won’t prevent him from killing his wife.”
Dumbledore directed an even look at him, “True, but we’d best just keep the lovely Miss Roundtree to ourselves, hadn’t we?”
Snape grunted.
Kiaya wasn’t sure if she should have been offended at his lack of enthusiasm or not.
Dumbledore nodded politely to Snape as McGonagall pointedly ignored his ill manners and Kiaya idly wondered when the next time that she’d be able to run her nails over his shoulders. She caught herself with the thought before it grew into more and bit her tongue in punishment. He hadn’t touched her in days and she’d gone back to taking matters into her own hands again.
“Albus, are you going to take part in this farce of an auction?” asked McGonagall as she fingered the two letters that started the whole conversation.
Dumbledore stretched his face out in an exaggerated expression of not knowing the answer and then said, “They’ve made it rather difficult for anyone to refuse without looking like an uncharitable curmudgeon.”
Kiaya nodded with McGonagall then glared at her own letter ‘inviting her to participate’ from the Ministry of Magic. She didn’t want to do it and was frankly peeved that Malfoy hadn’t taken her refusal as anything but a challenge. The embarrassment of having to be on an auction block, even for fun and charity, warred with the desire not to be a pariah. Sure, it was wonderful that ‘someone’ had donated 5 Galleons per nomination, but really, she just wasn’t worth that much money. Plus, having to stand in front of all of those staring and whispering people and get bid on. She would die of embarrassment. Really now, what if she only fetched a sickle from Lucius Malfoy? According to these people, he’d whisk her off to some evil lair and wash her nude body in the blood of his late wife as he screwed her senseless. She paused on that image, staring off in to space. Honestly, if it weren’t for the blood… well, Malfoy was very handsome and, according to rumor, rather talented in bed. At least she’d be having sex instead of diddling her wand.
“While there would be a few groans and comments about how busy I am for such nonsense and how Harry Potter is a student and thus, of course, is not allowed to take part. I’m afraid that a refusal from Miss Roundtree would be viewed in a very bad light.”
“She’ll have to do it, if only to have any kind of career outside of Hogwarts,” said Snape, watching them with his arms across his chest.
“Well, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same.”
“Tough,” he snarled.
She opened her mouth to protest but McGonagall spoke, “What about Lucius Malfoy? This is just the opportunity he’s been angling for.”
“I’ll buy her, Minerva. Don’t worry.” Snape looked irritated at the lack of faith.
Kiaya’s mind went blank.
“I think that’s going to turn into a lot of money, Severus,” said Dumbledore, “especially with Malfoy’s purse on the other side.”
Snape stalked closer, his face twisted into an expression of revulsion. “The Dark Lord will be giving me 500 Galleons.”
“Why?” she asked, instantly curious.
“I have to do something for him,” Snape said curtly. He looked at Dumbledore, whose face was strangely blank.
“What?” Kiaya was curious. She knew Snape was a spy, but what would he have to do for the Dark Lord that wouldn’t compromise his job with Dumbledore?
“Every once in awhile, even I must prove my loyalties. Never you mind how I manage it.”
It was illegal and likely foul, whatever it was. She read the Daily Prophet, just like everyone else. The Death Eaters and the Dark Lord weren’t playing Gobstones out there. They were killing people. Snape would be killing people. She gulped. “So you’re buying me with blood money?”
“Yes, and you’ll thank me when you’re not tucked up in the Malfoy lake house with him for a weekend,” he said simply.
“I will also supplement it, if need be,” said Dumbledore, cutting off Kiaya’s rebuttal.
Snape’s lips twitched. “I think I can manage, Headmaster.”
“Let’s see what you need, when you need it, Severus,” said Dumbledore with finality.
Snape nodded.
“What are you going to get out of this, besides debt?” Kiaya asked Snape. She was slightly afraid of the answer.
“A gorgeous little slave who does everything that I want,” he replied. His smile was a half sneer.
“A slave!” she gasped. She set aside the “gorgeous” to savor later, when her outrage cooled. “Aren’t you taking this a little bit far? This thing is to fill up someone’s potions closet, not to act as some field hand.”
“Oh no, if I’m going to buy you, I’m damned well getting my money’s worth,” Snape said.
She rolled her eyes. “What money’s worth do you want? You don’t have a field that needs harvesting and you can refill your own medicine cabinet – likely faster than even I can, since you’re had ever so much more practice than I have.”
Dumbledore leaned over to ask McGonagall in a stage whisper, “Do you think that was an age jibe?”
She gave an obligatory titter and nodded but kept her eyes firmly on the two players.
“Oh, this has nothing to do with potions,” he said silkily. “You’re going to make yourself useful for more than just a pleasant bodily function.”
Kiaya blushed. Her glance flicked to McGonagall and Dumbledore then back again.
He continued, “In exchange for protecting you from Malfoy, you’re going to take on the role of that happy little slave and slut for me. It’ll make my life with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters much easier and, frankly, I need all the ease I can get.”
Kiaya was quiet, trying to absorb what he was saying. He didn’t really mean….
McGonagall sighed heavily. “Severus, she doesn’t understand. She’s too innocent.”
“She will.”
“You said it yourself, Severus, she’s innocent,” said Dumbledore. He didn’t look happy.
“She’ll need to be enlightened and un-innocent rather quickly then, won’t she?” Snape sneered. He ignored that she was sitting right there.
“Hello! What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“If I purchase your services,” he sneered the word, “in this auction, it’ll be in front of a whole herd of people who know me rather well. The only way that you’re going to be protected at all, is if those people think that you really do belong to me.”
“Belong to you?” Now she really was confused. “Belong… like owned like some kind of real slave, not just for the auction?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.
“It’ll just be playacting, Kiaya. Don’t worry,” said McGonagall. Her brogue was thick and she was struggling to keep her voice calm. Her eyes were concerned.
“Au contraire, Minerva. It’ll have to be very much real to manage to pull this little deception off.”
“But why?” she asked. Her fingers curled into her tartan.
“Because the Dark Lord digs into my brain on a fairly regular basis to see what I’ve been up to and if he doesn’t like or believe what he sees, I’m going to either be dead or wish that I was,” he said brutally. When she flinched, he continued, “People are going to be watching me – watching us. Every single thing we do will be on public display from the moment the gavel drops on this stupid auction.”
“But….”
“If Malfoy thinks it’s a ruse, he’ll convince the Dark Lord that I’m a liar about everything – then I’ll be hanging dead from the Hogwarts gates for all and sundry to see.”
“There’s got to be another way,” said McGonagall.
“There isn’t. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord knows my tastes rather well. Nothing else would be believed of me now.”
McGonagall lifted her eyebrow in silent censure.
Snape lifted his in challenge.
Dumbledore wore a considering expression and lifted his eyebrow in obvious question.
Snape rolled his eyes and shook his head before saying to the other man, “Good Lord, you don’t know Jasmine very well if you think that would go over. Not that what happens in my bedroom is any of your business, of course.”
“It looks like you’ve just made it everyone’s business!” Kiaya exclaimed, still reeling in shock and confusion.
Dumbledore spoke before Snape could turn on her, “Severus, I would like you to give this some more thought. The emotions involved in that kind of relationship are ….”
“I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Kiaya. “It’s a risk we have to take if your goal to keep her out of Malfoy’s clutches is as important as you say it is.”
“And there’s the potion to consider,” Dumbledore said, as though he’d just remembered it.
“Look, we all know that I’m a virgin and I’ve spent my life stuck in schools and attics playing with potions, but I really don’t get it. Spell this out for me. What does it mean?”
“It means that Severus is kinky and likes to play with leather and chains.” McGonagall’s comment was shirty.
“I prefer silk with my leather, thanks,” taunted Snape, “but I do have some chains down in the dungeons if you’d like to come down for a visit.”
“I’ll pass,” said McGonagall repressively.
“Erm, I don’t really know anything about that kind of thing,” Kiaya said, suddenly nervous. A spanking was one thing – this was totally different, wasn’t it? The memory made her cross her legs.
Dumbledore chose his words slowly and carefully, “Severus will… train you in what it means as you go along. The most important thing is, though, that you will have to give every appearance of being bound to him.”
“Like being married?”
“Some consider it an even deeper connection than marriage,” said Dumbledore, looking at Snape.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose again, Snape added, “The trust that is involved between two people in that kind of relationship is immeasurable.”
“Explain ‘that kind of relationship’ again, please,” Kiaya asked, wanting it spelled out.
Snape dropped his hands and crossed to stand directly in front of her. His hands were on his hips and his fall of hair shrouded his serious expression from the others as he looked down at her. He was so tall and so close that she had to crane her neck back to look into his black eyes. His voice was that deep velvet and brandy that made her shiver when he spoke. “For all intents and purposes, in public and in private, you will be a completely willing, totally consensual erotic slave. You will give over your body, your mind, your heart and your very will to a master who in all ways and in all things, protects, guides and," his lip curled into a snarl, "cherishes you.”
Kiaya felt faint.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Top Nominations
The First Annual Wizarding Service Auction on 29 December has garnered
copious numbers of nominations. The top ten are listed below. The Ministry
hopes that it won’t have to twist arms very much to get these people to “volunteer”
their services for the auction. The organizers of the auction, with much good-natured
humor, request that the people below be gently convinced by their friends and neighbors
to volunteer for this worthwhile cause. Total number of nomination votes has been noted
next to the name.
Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, 542
Celestina Warbeck, singer - 376
Gwenog Jones, Beater, Holyhead Harpies - 113
Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived- 225
Kiaya Roundtree, potions mistress - 114
Myron Wagtail, Weird Sisters singer - 237
Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror - 75
The Weird Sisters – 335
Filamina Malkin – clothier - 33
Gilderoy Lockhart – adventurer – 45
Terror in London
Last night, in a
three-pronged attack,
a large group of black
cloaked men and women (Death Eaters)
attacked the Royal Hospital in Whitechaple.
The Children’s Hospital, The Cancer Centre
and The Maternity Hospital were invaded.
While 25 adult Muggles were killed, another 53
adults and children were cursed, hexed or jinxed.
Three infants in the children’s Hospital died when
their nurses were either killed or incapacitated.
The full team of Obliviators, Aurors and the Office of
the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts was dispatched to make
the wards fit for Muggle use. Four Healers from St. Mungos
were also dispatched to the hospitals to aid in the process.
The Healers fixed many curse-related injuries as well of several
of the Muggle injuries and diseases that necessitated the hospital
stays in the first place.
Muggle authorities have yet to release a comment on the attack.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Severus sprawled in a comfortable chair in the privacy of his own rooms. The lights were out and only a couple of candles were lit on the coffee table in front of him. He decided long ago that he thought best in this very chair, sitting in the dark or leaning against the shower wall, scalding water beating down on him with a scotch in his hand. Since this wasn't the time for scotch, he nixed the shower until he had his plans sorted.
He was completely still, except for a single finger monotonously tapping his thigh. He’d run through it in his head, trying different scenarios in his head. Different ways, different answers, different solutions. Each possibility ranged from this sublime to the ridiculous, the simple to the most complex. Each scene marched through his head, only to be discarded, all for the same reason: no one in this sod-all bitch’s game was stupid.
Fondling a handful of castor beans like worry stones, Severus planned how best to murder a minimum of fifty human beings. He’d forced himself to simply move on and get into the mindset of fifteen years ago. It was a challenge. A test. Nothing more than a test of his intellect, speed and cunning versus everyone else’s. They weren’t people. They were targets. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He conjured a map of Wales from who knows where – it didn’t really matter - and a dart. He closed his eyes and threw. Breichiol Wells. So be it.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Mass Murder in Wales!
Nearly every inhabitant of the sleepy former coal mining village of Breichiol Wells in central Wales were killed over the course of several hours Friday evening and night. Obliviator Arnold Peasegood was also killed while investigators searched. Seventy-eight men, women and children were murdered, Aurors said, though it is being reported in the Muggle press that the Muggles are looking into possible natural or
freak causes for these deaths. An unnamed source in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
said that the town was killed silently and quickly, without using curses or Muggle instruments of violence. Townsfolk were found lying dead in their homes. Oddly, most were found in two places, in their kitchens or bathrooms, slumped over sinks or on the floor near washbasins, though the Aurors report that several children were found dead in their beds. Four children and infants and seven adults were not harmed.
Several people witnessed Ministry Obliviator Arnold Peasegood drink from a drinking fountain,
before clutching his heart and dying within seconds.
The tragedy was discovered early yesterday morning when smoke plumes attracted the attention
of several delivery men approaching the town. The town’s pub and market were found burning. Both were destroyed. The delivery men made the grisly discovery when they began pounding on doors for assistance.
Aurors suspect the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters to be responsible. Muggle police said that a single
castor bean with the letters “L.V.” etched on it was left at the foot of the statue of Miles Breichiol, the town’s founder. Castor beans are the source one of the
most deadly poisons in the world, ricin.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The scotch burned as much as the water beating down on his skin. He hadn’t bothered bringing a glass into the shower. The bottle, a Christmas gift from Minerva, did just fine. The water finally washed away the pool of vomit on the shower floor. The smell, though, lingered in the steam. His nose wasn’t quite dead from the scotch, but he didn’t care as he leaned his forehead against the cold tile wall. His mind was blank – quite deliberately. He thought of nothing and felt nothing as he sucked from the bottle.
It could have been minutes or hours, though it was likely the latter because his feet hurt and his legs were burning from the water and exhaustion. Turning the faucet off was usually a flick of the wrist, but this time, the movement was a slow grind. Water sheeted off of him, as he shivered and lifted his eyes from the deep green marble tile beneath his feet.
He wasn’t surprised to see Dumbledore standing there, in his bathroom. He didn’t even wonder how long he’d been there, looking like some Renaissance vision of God with his long white hair and beard, there in the steam. Severus couldn’t muster any change of expression though he wasn’t sure, nor did her care, what his face was schooled into. He didn’t care that he was naked, either, in front of the one man who he respected above all others – even whatever God was out there laughing at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, bright blue boring into black, reading the mind that didn’t and couldn’t – wouldn’t - protect itself.
With the care of a father and nary a word, Dumbledore trudged forward to rub a thick towel over Severus’s shoulders and back. The bottom of his heavy robes greedily sucked up water from the shower floor as he wiped away the rivulets streaming down his body. The only sound was their breathing and the sound of the towel on skin as Dumbledore dried Severus, who stood like a blank-faced mannequin, staring into space. The old man belied his age as he knelt on the bathroom floor, drying Severus’s long, hairy legs, as though the almost forty year old man was a child fresh from a bubble bath. He even cast a silent Warming Charm over him.
When finished, Dumbledore levered himself to sit on the closed lid of the toilet and offered Severus the towel to wrap himself in. Unmoving, Severus just stared, expressionless and blank until Dumbledore lowered the towel to a puddle on the floor.
Severus’s eyes drifted closed on a long, slow, exhale. When his lids lifted, it seemed to be the lifting of a dam. Fat, hot tears burned his cheeks, but his face remained impassive. A long, slow scream built in his head, drowning out even the sound of his own heartbeat but his mouth remained closed, his throat silent. His eyes closed again and his head lowered until his chin touched his chest. He ignored the prickle of his own beard. Dumbledore didn’t make a sound, but watched as Severus melted in front of him. Shoulders bowing, then his back bent forward as he curled in on himself, Severus dropped naked to the floor, kneeling in penance before the one man who could damn him forever.
His hand, spotted with age; the skin, parchment thin; and knuckles, fat with arthritis; lifted to slowly stroke Severus’s wet head. Fine black hairs tangled around his gnarled fingers, but slipped loose easily as Dumbledore comforted the younger man. Gently, he guided Severus to lean against his long legs, resting his head in his lap as Severus cried. He gave no words of wisdom or condemnation and no platitudes; he offered naught but comfort.
There they sat. It could have been minutes or hours. Neither one knew or cared. As the younger man fell asleep, naked there on the floor of his bathroom, sunlight slowly woke up the sky visible in the magical window. His last thought of the night drifted from his lips on a sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
Tears dried on the old man’s face as he waited for Severus to sleep deeply. “I know and I love you, my boy.”
Extra Extra, Read All About It: The Killing Fields
Part Two
“Damn.”
It was mild enough to not be cause for concern, but the invective was just the excuse Jasmine needed to stretch her legs and fingers for a quick moment. Avoiding the temptation to toss the lime green dress that someone was going to love, she laid the dress on the back of the daybed and ruthlessly straightened the still unattached magenta sleeves. Satisfied it wasn’t going to fall where Skeevers could kip down on it, Jasmine headed to the window to investigate.
Remus perched himself on the edge of a planter, repairing his already pitifully patched trousers. The rip was wicked and even from the window, Jasmine could see a nasty red scratch on his leg. A popped nail on the side of the porch was the guilty party. The scrap of brown fabric hanging from it bore silent testimony. As she watched, she sighed. The patch job was messy. All of the patch jobs on all of his clothes were messy. To be brutally honest, Remus Lupin was a dab hand at hexes and gathering eggs but he was crap at repairing fabric – especially when he was still wearing it. Sirius’s clothes were even worse. In her pique, she’d ignored them, but really, they were an affront to her delicate seamstress’s sensibilities.
Both men dressed in rags that she wouldn’t even put on someone that she disliked. Orange polyester, maybe, but not clothing that was falling apart. She was reasonably sure that Sirius’s clothes had been stolen from various charity bins over the years since his escape from Azkaban. She shook her head. Really, what Englishman in his right mind (she rolled her eyes at herself, after all, it was Sirius) wore a llama wool poncho to ward off the chill?
Watching as Remus finished the patch on his trousers, Jasmine called out, “Mopsy?”
The little house-elf popped in to view wearing what looked like a lurid mustard and scarlet dashiki from 1965 belted by one of her mother’s cast-off chartreuse scarves. The clothes had been in a basket of Arielle’s play-clothes that were deemed either too small or too ugly. Jasmine had allowed the house-elf to wear them , in case she’d wanted a change from the Hogwarts tea-towel; a privilege that Mopsy had accepted with grateful tears and a million squeaky thanks, after making sure that she was not, actually, being offered her freedom with the clothes. Mopsy did wear the tea-towel any time that Dumbledore visited but other times, chose the weird, out of date things. Jasmine blinked, sure that the colors were scalded into her brain. Momentarily forgetting the men, she asked, “Not that I’m giving you clothes, but do you like that outfit?”
“Oh, yes, Missus! Mopsy loves it. She thanks Missus Jasmine Swan so much for the lovely things in the basket. She knows what treasures they are and is so honored. Mopsy loves all the bright colors!” the house-elf gushed.
Jasmine winced a smile and muttered, “Glad you like them.” Fearing that the house-elf would dissolve into tears or get offended, she didn’t offer to let Mopsy keep the lot. Instead, she just changed the subject. “The gentlemen need new clothes. What they have is falling apart.”
“Should Mopsy repair Remus Lupin and Sirius Black’s clothing, Missus?” she asked in her squeaky little voice. Her eyes were wide with the hope that she could perform such a useful task.
Jasmine contemplated for a moment and answered, “Repair what you can, please. But I am also going to make and buy them some new things as well.”
“Oh yes, Missus. Not everything can be repaired properly, even with house-elf magic. Mopsy will do everything she can to fix them, though.”
Jasmine nodded, “Bring me the worst things after you’ve laundered them. I’ll take measurements from them.”
And thus, a plot was hatched.
A rather vague “shopping for woman things” made Remus hastily Floo fellow Order member, Hestia Jones.
Hestia, a pleasant looking lady with black hair, rosy cheeks and a ready smile, met Jasmine at The Three Flowers and the plot was explained. Jasmine thanked her for being so affable about the small deception.
“Oh, no, dear. Those two men deserve medals for what they’ve gone through these last years. Decent clothing is a wonderful gift!” the witch said as they Apparated to the alley behind the nearest Topshop.
The store yielded clothing from the skin out in the comfortable Muggle styles that both men seemed to favor. Even better, Jasmine was pleased to discover that Hestia was brilliant at finding sales on everything from underwear to coats. A stop at a fabric store – sans Dementors - lightened her purse considerably but she convinced herself that the fancy-dress fabrics that she purchased offset the time that it would take to weave them herself. She also purchased fabric to make several more shirts, trousers and coats for the gentlemen, though they could wait until after the auction robes were due. By the time that she left, she was doubly glad for Hestia’s patience and good humor – and her shrinking spells to carry the lot home.
With many thanks, promises of secrecy and a deep discount on the lime and magenta dress currently in pieces in her workroom, Jasmine and Hestia said goodbye at The Three Flowers, after taking her measurements.
“Jasmine, I sent your orders on to the house. Oh, and please get Severus’s friend in here this week. We need to get the Christmas advertisements to the Prophet and Witch Weekly by the end of the month,” said her mother, Rose as she made final alterations to a navy blue Flowering Jasmine gown. Jasmine bussed her cheek, nodded her assent, smiled at a witch that she didn’t know and Floo’d back home.
Seven hours after Remus ripped his trousers, Jasmine handed the bags of clothes to Mopsy with instructions to remove the tags and launder the lot.
Mopsy took the bags and handed Jasmine four messages written in her mother’s handwriting.
- Heloise Goyle: bolero style jacket to match summer gown (bronze and grey) She’ll bring it in if you don’t remember it.
- Augusta Longbottom: cloak, black wool and black fur (mink maybe?) collar and cuffs. She requested black coque feathers but I persuaded her not to look like her hat had molted.
- Celestina Warbeck: shawl to match her summer gown, but darker, if possible to make it wintery. “Whatever you think is best” Also, please contact her when you’re free to discuss a three-robe costume set for her next concert series.
- Persimina Parkinson: Winter gown, color swatch attached. Mid hand sleeve length. Silver fox fur at cuff, hem, collar. Extremely low, round cut in front, trimmed in fur. Floor length number 2 crinoline with Puffing Spell. Matching cloak and muff. “I want to make Narcissa Malfoy look like she’s wearing rags.”
Jasmine blinked. She’d made the Malfoys’ robes herself last spring and had just finished matching winter cloaks. Poor Mrs. Parkinson was going to look like an overblown, overweight, blue prostitute in the dress she’d described. Mrs. Malfoy, however would be an ice queen in snow white spun unicorn fur and silver Venetian lace.
Shaking her head, she sat to compose a note to Mrs. Parkinson, confirming the specifications for the dress, including a rough sketch of the gown. There was absolutely no way that the woman would refuse to pay because she looked dreadful in her own design.
Once Florentine was sent off to Mrs. Parkinson, Jasmine penned another note to Celistina Warbeck and left it on the table, knowing that if she didn’t get it written, she’d likely forget all about it until after the stupid auction. Twenty minutes later, the singer’s requested shawl sat atop the note with an invoice and Jasmine wore an expression of triumph as she started cutting into the pattern and fabric for Mrs. Goyle’s jacket – the extra fabric was filed right where she’d left it and there was just enough for the bolero, if she was stingy with seams and creative with trims.
Damn it, there was a pin in lime and magenta. She could feel it from the outside; she’d even pricked her finger on the damned thing but she couldn’t wriggle it out. Jasmine looked sourly at the completed gown and matching over-robe on the dress form. Summoning the pin would rend a hole in the dress.
She’d have to go get it and was loathe to take it off the mannequin. With only half a grumble, she twisted her long, auburn hair up to the back of her head so it was out of the way and tapped it with her wand to make it stay up. The last thing she needed was a pricked finger, ripped dress and pulled hair. Jasmine got on the floor and wriggled underneath the skirts, her wand between her teeth for light and gently hunted for the offending pin. They were supposed to be spelled to drop out as soon as the needle flew by, but if it was caught on something, the spell did nothing.
Of course, the only way one can really find a pin in a situation like that one is to stick one’s own finger, Jasmine was sucking on her finger in mere moments. Her wand was on the floor, amid the layers of petticoat – and, as normally happens, the light turned off so she smothered in the dark.
She heard the door open as she spluttered lace out of her mouth, trying not to thrash around and rip the thing.
Sirius called into the apparently empty room, “Jasmine?”
“I’m under here!” she called back and wriggled in an ungainly attempt to escape the silk.
“Mopsy gave us the clothes… where are you?” he asked as he walked further into the room. “Ah!”
“Does everything fit?” she asked, wriggling to get her back on the floor.
Remus asked, “Alright there, Jasmine?”
“Everything is perfect. I’m not sure how you managed, but it all fits perfectly,” said Sirius, walking closer.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. I just lost a pin. I’m glad it all….”
Sirius lifted the hem of the dress, freeing her from the mass. He looked down and murmured, “Hi.”
She looked up at him, fairly sure that her expression was frozen on ‘besotted’. Her whiskey and cream voice sounded breathy when she murmured back, “Hi.”
He offered her a hand, which she accepted gladly, and gently tugged her to standing. After Summoning her wand, he handed it back with a gallant flourish. She did the unthinkable and blushed like a schoolgirl while reclaiming her hands and muttering, “Thanks.”
She looked each man over with an eye for their clothing, trying not to ogle. She tried to ignore that each was gorgeous in his own way. Remus looked rather bookishly rakish in a button-down shirt tucked neatly into wool trousers. The scars on his face made him look mysterious and tragic, as opposed to pitiful as he’d sometimes looked in his badly patched robes. Sirius… she fought to keep herself from running her hands over his wide, tightly muscled shoulders. The black t-shirt he wore was as perfect as she thought it would be. When it was innocently wrapped in plastic, it hadn’t looked like sin, but on him, she almost begged for mercy. The black cotton was tucked in to blue jeans that fit so well that she had to look back up quickly, so that she didn’t faint. She did promise herself that she’d examine their fit later – when no one was looking. Especially him.
Remus jerked her attention away from ogling Sirius when he stepped closer and said, “Jasmine, thank you for the clothing, but I can’t….”
She lifted a hand to forestall his objections and looked at him for her own self preservation. In a tone that brooked no argument, she said, “They were peeving me.”
Remus blushed and seemed to shrink a little bit.
“There are certain things that I just can’t tolerate – and ugly clothing is one of them. Since it was absolutely my issue, I dealt with it.”
Sirius started, “Jasmine…”
“No, not another word.” She turned and walked to her fabric closet to look at nothing but pretended she was busy. She didn’t want thanks and she didn’t want objections. She also didn’t want the men to feel bad. Bravely, she soldiered on, not really knowing how to prevent embarrassment from all parties – especially Remus. “Clothing is what I do. I don’t do much of anything else but I do manage clothing. While you’re living here, you’ll at least have clothes that fit and are in one piece. I’m making more, too, to keep myself busy when this lot is done.”
Remus peeped the beginnings of an objection and she lifted a roll of mink from her stores. She charged over his words. “You’re here, you’re doing me a service and I’ll do this, so leave it.”
Remus ducked his head in a bow and offered his thanks before leaving the room. Sirius crossed to her and removed the fur that she was clutching. He dropped it to the table next to him.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know, but,” she sighed, “I hate seeing you two in rags.”
He cupped her cheeks between in large hands and lifted her chin until she looked at him with startled blue eyes. His calloused fingers explored her cheeks, tracing each line she’d earned and the still rose petal smooth skin. “Thank you.”
Her smile felt like a weak tremble and she breathed in the warm, clean smell of him. Her small hands curled around his wrists in her need to explore the textures of his skin. She felt like she was choking out the words of her response. “You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to embarrass him.”
“He’ll get over it. He’s poor and proud but he’s not stupid,” Sirius said and leaned down to brush his lips over the top of her head.
She barely felt it.
“God, you smell like spring,” he groaned. “All promises and hope. Will you give me hope, Jasmine?”
She could only nod and swallow. Her breathing was in soft, tearing sounds and she trembled in his arms. She clung to his wrists.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and leaned closer, watching her sudden intake of breath. He felt her heart speed up under his fingers. He warned her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I know.” She stared at his full lips, aching for him. This time, it was right. She knew it completely and accepted the desire that rushed through her.
“Not because of the clothes,” he clarified and leaned closer. One of his hands reached back to the red hair still piled at the back of her head. He released the spell and it tumbled down her back like a fire-fall.
Looking into his beautiful rain-colored eyes, she watched his pupils dilate as she smiled and whispered, “I know.”
His lips brushing hers, he murmured, “I haven’t kissed you in a very long time.”
A delicious shiver rolled up her spine and she gave a soft moan. She parted her lips for him and whispered, “I know.”
He flicked his tongue over her lip. His deep voice rumbled over her skin when he made the profane sound like a benediction as he teased. “I might fuck it up.”
“You can’t,” she said and with aching slowness, closed the hairsbreadth between them. She could feel his hard teeth behind his lips before he tilted his head and offered his lips.
A butterfly’s caress on her skin couldn’t have been gentler. Sighing at the touch they’d waited through life and death for, their bodies melted together.
Against her lips, his eyes on hers, he swore, “I never stopped loving you.”
She made a tiny sound and softly demanded, “More.”
Desire leaped between them. He pressed harder and her eyes closed. Lips parting, her tongue welcomed his into her sweet mouth. She moaned her approval and need, begging for even more. Her hands slipped up and over his hard shoulders, tangling in his long black hair as she pressed closer. He took and she gave, demanding as much in return. Ribbons of fire wrapped around her body as his need pressed into her soft belly. His black hair fell forward, catching on her blouse, holding her captive.
A whimper escaped and left her breathless with the knowledge that she was absolutely in love with him. She wrenched her lips away, panting. Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed at him, desperate for more but terrified what more would mean to her already chaotic life. Her body sang for him, her nipples were tight and aching, her panties were soaked and her knees only held her up because she prayed they would.
He pulled back, his fingers still holding her captive. Concern battled with lust on his face as he watched her emotions play. “Sshh, Jasmine-mine.” He rested his forehead on hers and sucked in air. His hands shook as he drew them down the satin skin of her neck to rest on her shoulders. “We have all the time in the world for this.”
She gulped and nodded. Shaking in his arms, she couldn’t form words.
Kiss swollen lips turned up a gentle smile. He murmured, “This thing between us won’t go away.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes troubled and her face flushed with desire. Her tender, pale skin was raw from his mustache and beard.
“You need to work.”
Jasmine didn’t speak and the only word that she could coherently think was a resounding, ‘No!’
He brushed a knuckle over her lips. “You work, Jasmine-mine. The only place I’m going is out to the barn.” He smiled wryly. “I need to cool down before I strip you right here, time and your choices be damned.”
Dazed, she watched as he left the room. The jeans fit perfectly.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Snapping in frustration, Kiaya blurted, “If I sleep with him, will he go away?”
Snape roared his response so loudly that Kiaya shrunk back into her chair in Dumbledore’s sitting area. She couldn’t understand anything but “absolutely not” and cringed anyway. Next to her, Minerva McGonagall winced and reached over to pat Kiaya’s hand.
A raised hand from Dumbledore was all it took to quiet Snape into a plausible imitation of a snorting bull. He jabbed his fists into his pockets and stalked to the window, pointedly ignoring the other three people in the room.
“Kiaya, I think the fact that Lucius Malfoy has already paid over 500 Galleons to ensure that your name is featured prominently in the public eye is reason enough to think that a night or even a weekend … succumbing to his charms would be unsatisfactory.”
“Then what does he want from me?”
Minerva McGonagall looked at her with worried eyes and patted her hand ineffectually. Her Scottish brogue was thicker than normal when she said, “Rumor has it that he may be looking to replace his wife, Narcissa.”
“But why bother to divorce her if he has affairs any….” Kiaya looked at McGonagall’s uncomfortable expression.
Apparently ‘replace’ had nothing to do with divorce. “Oh.”
“Precisely,” said Dumbledore. “However, that is not our greatest priority right now.”
Kiaya rather begged to differ. A woman’s life was at stake. From what she understood, Malfoy intended to kill off his beautiful current wife - the blonde who’d visited the shop to offer financial advice - and marry her instead? That was just stupid. Malfoy was insane. Criminally insane, in fact.
“If Malfoy wants to kill her, though - we have to do something!”
Snape expressed his opinion from his place by the window. He snorted.
Kiaya glared at him.
“Your idealism is as naïve as it is touching,” he mocked.
McGonagall averted the oncoming battle when she said, “Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t accept our help unless Draco was in danger from his father. She’s neither requested it nor would she welcome active interference into her marriage.”
“But…”
“Perhaps the prudent thing on all sides of this would be to keep you out of Malfoy’s hands in the first place,” offered Dumbledore. The twinkle was back in his blue eyes, behind his half-moon glasses.
From the window, Snape said brusquely, “Your logic is faulty. Keeping Roundtree out of his hands won’t prevent him from killing his wife.”
Dumbledore directed an even look at him, “True, but we’d best just keep the lovely Miss Roundtree to ourselves, hadn’t we?”
Snape grunted.
Kiaya wasn’t sure if she should have been offended at his lack of enthusiasm or not.
Dumbledore nodded politely to Snape as McGonagall pointedly ignored his ill manners and Kiaya idly wondered when the next time that she’d be able to run her nails over his shoulders. She caught herself with the thought before it grew into more and bit her tongue in punishment. He hadn’t touched her in days and she’d gone back to taking matters into her own hands again.
“Albus, are you going to take part in this farce of an auction?” asked McGonagall as she fingered the two letters that started the whole conversation.
Dumbledore stretched his face out in an exaggerated expression of not knowing the answer and then said, “They’ve made it rather difficult for anyone to refuse without looking like an uncharitable curmudgeon.”
Kiaya nodded with McGonagall then glared at her own letter ‘inviting her to participate’ from the Ministry of Magic. She didn’t want to do it and was frankly peeved that Malfoy hadn’t taken her refusal as anything but a challenge. The embarrassment of having to be on an auction block, even for fun and charity, warred with the desire not to be a pariah. Sure, it was wonderful that ‘someone’ had donated 5 Galleons per nomination, but really, she just wasn’t worth that much money. Plus, having to stand in front of all of those staring and whispering people and get bid on. She would die of embarrassment. Really now, what if she only fetched a sickle from Lucius Malfoy? According to these people, he’d whisk her off to some evil lair and wash her nude body in the blood of his late wife as he screwed her senseless. She paused on that image, staring off in to space. Honestly, if it weren’t for the blood… well, Malfoy was very handsome and, according to rumor, rather talented in bed. At least she’d be having sex instead of diddling her wand.
“While there would be a few groans and comments about how busy I am for such nonsense and how Harry Potter is a student and thus, of course, is not allowed to take part. I’m afraid that a refusal from Miss Roundtree would be viewed in a very bad light.”
“She’ll have to do it, if only to have any kind of career outside of Hogwarts,” said Snape, watching them with his arms across his chest.
“Well, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same.”
“Tough,” he snarled.
She opened her mouth to protest but McGonagall spoke, “What about Lucius Malfoy? This is just the opportunity he’s been angling for.”
“I’ll buy her, Minerva. Don’t worry.” Snape looked irritated at the lack of faith.
Kiaya’s mind went blank.
“I think that’s going to turn into a lot of money, Severus,” said Dumbledore, “especially with Malfoy’s purse on the other side.”
Snape stalked closer, his face twisted into an expression of revulsion. “The Dark Lord will be giving me 500 Galleons.”
“Why?” she asked, instantly curious.
“I have to do something for him,” Snape said curtly. He looked at Dumbledore, whose face was strangely blank.
“What?” Kiaya was curious. She knew Snape was a spy, but what would he have to do for the Dark Lord that wouldn’t compromise his job with Dumbledore?
“Every once in awhile, even I must prove my loyalties. Never you mind how I manage it.”
It was illegal and likely foul, whatever it was. She read the Daily Prophet, just like everyone else. The Death Eaters and the Dark Lord weren’t playing Gobstones out there. They were killing people. Snape would be killing people. She gulped. “So you’re buying me with blood money?”
“Yes, and you’ll thank me when you’re not tucked up in the Malfoy lake house with him for a weekend,” he said simply.
“I will also supplement it, if need be,” said Dumbledore, cutting off Kiaya’s rebuttal.
Snape’s lips twitched. “I think I can manage, Headmaster.”
“Let’s see what you need, when you need it, Severus,” said Dumbledore with finality.
Snape nodded.
“What are you going to get out of this, besides debt?” Kiaya asked Snape. She was slightly afraid of the answer.
“A gorgeous little slave who does everything that I want,” he replied. His smile was a half sneer.
“A slave!” she gasped. She set aside the “gorgeous” to savor later, when her outrage cooled. “Aren’t you taking this a little bit far? This thing is to fill up someone’s potions closet, not to act as some field hand.”
“Oh no, if I’m going to buy you, I’m damned well getting my money’s worth,” Snape said.
She rolled her eyes. “What money’s worth do you want? You don’t have a field that needs harvesting and you can refill your own medicine cabinet – likely faster than even I can, since you’re had ever so much more practice than I have.”
Dumbledore leaned over to ask McGonagall in a stage whisper, “Do you think that was an age jibe?”
She gave an obligatory titter and nodded but kept her eyes firmly on the two players.
“Oh, this has nothing to do with potions,” he said silkily. “You’re going to make yourself useful for more than just a pleasant bodily function.”
Kiaya blushed. Her glance flicked to McGonagall and Dumbledore then back again.
He continued, “In exchange for protecting you from Malfoy, you’re going to take on the role of that happy little slave and slut for me. It’ll make my life with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters much easier and, frankly, I need all the ease I can get.”
Kiaya was quiet, trying to absorb what he was saying. He didn’t really mean….
McGonagall sighed heavily. “Severus, she doesn’t understand. She’s too innocent.”
“She will.”
“You said it yourself, Severus, she’s innocent,” said Dumbledore. He didn’t look happy.
“She’ll need to be enlightened and un-innocent rather quickly then, won’t she?” Snape sneered. He ignored that she was sitting right there.
“Hello! What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“If I purchase your services,” he sneered the word, “in this auction, it’ll be in front of a whole herd of people who know me rather well. The only way that you’re going to be protected at all, is if those people think that you really do belong to me.”
“Belong to you?” Now she really was confused. “Belong… like owned like some kind of real slave, not just for the auction?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.
“It’ll just be playacting, Kiaya. Don’t worry,” said McGonagall. Her brogue was thick and she was struggling to keep her voice calm. Her eyes were concerned.
“Au contraire, Minerva. It’ll have to be very much real to manage to pull this little deception off.”
“But why?” she asked. Her fingers curled into her tartan.
“Because the Dark Lord digs into my brain on a fairly regular basis to see what I’ve been up to and if he doesn’t like or believe what he sees, I’m going to either be dead or wish that I was,” he said brutally. When she flinched, he continued, “People are going to be watching me – watching us. Every single thing we do will be on public display from the moment the gavel drops on this stupid auction.”
“But….”
“If Malfoy thinks it’s a ruse, he’ll convince the Dark Lord that I’m a liar about everything – then I’ll be hanging dead from the Hogwarts gates for all and sundry to see.”
“There’s got to be another way,” said McGonagall.
“There isn’t. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord knows my tastes rather well. Nothing else would be believed of me now.”
McGonagall lifted her eyebrow in silent censure.
Snape lifted his in challenge.
Dumbledore wore a considering expression and lifted his eyebrow in obvious question.
Snape rolled his eyes and shook his head before saying to the other man, “Good Lord, you don’t know Jasmine very well if you think that would go over. Not that what happens in my bedroom is any of your business, of course.”
“It looks like you’ve just made it everyone’s business!” Kiaya exclaimed, still reeling in shock and confusion.
Dumbledore spoke before Snape could turn on her, “Severus, I would like you to give this some more thought. The emotions involved in that kind of relationship are ….”
“I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Kiaya. “It’s a risk we have to take if your goal to keep her out of Malfoy’s clutches is as important as you say it is.”
“And there’s the potion to consider,” Dumbledore said, as though he’d just remembered it.
“Look, we all know that I’m a virgin and I’ve spent my life stuck in schools and attics playing with potions, but I really don’t get it. Spell this out for me. What does it mean?”
“It means that Severus is kinky and likes to play with leather and chains.” McGonagall’s comment was shirty.
“I prefer silk with my leather, thanks,” taunted Snape, “but I do have some chains down in the dungeons if you’d like to come down for a visit.”
“I’ll pass,” said McGonagall repressively.
“Erm, I don’t really know anything about that kind of thing,” Kiaya said, suddenly nervous. A spanking was one thing – this was totally different, wasn’t it? The memory made her cross her legs.
Dumbledore chose his words slowly and carefully, “Severus will… train you in what it means as you go along. The most important thing is, though, that you will have to give every appearance of being bound to him.”
“Like being married?”
“Some consider it an even deeper connection than marriage,” said Dumbledore, looking at Snape.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose again, Snape added, “The trust that is involved between two people in that kind of relationship is immeasurable.”
“Explain ‘that kind of relationship’ again, please,” Kiaya asked, wanting it spelled out.
Snape dropped his hands and crossed to stand directly in front of her. His hands were on his hips and his fall of hair shrouded his serious expression from the others as he looked down at her. He was so tall and so close that she had to crane her neck back to look into his black eyes. His voice was that deep velvet and brandy that made her shiver when he spoke. “For all intents and purposes, in public and in private, you will be a completely willing, totally consensual erotic slave. You will give over your body, your mind, your heart and your very will to a master who in all ways and in all things, protects, guides and," his lip curled into a snarl, "cherishes you.”
Kiaya felt faint.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Top Nominations
The First Annual Wizarding Service Auction on 29 December has garnered
copious numbers of nominations. The top ten are listed below. The Ministry
hopes that it won’t have to twist arms very much to get these people to “volunteer”
their services for the auction. The organizers of the auction, with much good-natured
humor, request that the people below be gently convinced by their friends and neighbors
to volunteer for this worthwhile cause. Total number of nomination votes has been noted
next to the name.
Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, 542
Celestina Warbeck, singer - 376
Gwenog Jones, Beater, Holyhead Harpies - 113
Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived- 225
Kiaya Roundtree, potions mistress - 114
Myron Wagtail, Weird Sisters singer - 237
Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror - 75
The Weird Sisters – 335
Filamina Malkin – clothier - 33
Gilderoy Lockhart – adventurer – 45
Terror in London
Last night, in a
three-pronged attack,
a large group of black
cloaked men and women (Death Eaters)
attacked the Royal Hospital in Whitechaple.
The Children’s Hospital, The Cancer Centre
and The Maternity Hospital were invaded.
While 25 adult Muggles were killed, another 53
adults and children were cursed, hexed or jinxed.
Three infants in the children’s Hospital died when
their nurses were either killed or incapacitated.
The full team of Obliviators, Aurors and the Office of
the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts was dispatched to make
the wards fit for Muggle use. Four Healers from St. Mungos
were also dispatched to the hospitals to aid in the process.
The Healers fixed many curse-related injuries as well of several
of the Muggle injuries and diseases that necessitated the hospital
stays in the first place.
Muggle authorities have yet to release a comment on the attack.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Severus sprawled in a comfortable chair in the privacy of his own rooms. The lights were out and only a couple of candles were lit on the coffee table in front of him. He decided long ago that he thought best in this very chair, sitting in the dark or leaning against the shower wall, scalding water beating down on him with a scotch in his hand. Since this wasn't the time for scotch, he nixed the shower until he had his plans sorted.
He was completely still, except for a single finger monotonously tapping his thigh. He’d run through it in his head, trying different scenarios in his head. Different ways, different answers, different solutions. Each possibility ranged from this sublime to the ridiculous, the simple to the most complex. Each scene marched through his head, only to be discarded, all for the same reason: no one in this sod-all bitch’s game was stupid.
Fondling a handful of castor beans like worry stones, Severus planned how best to murder a minimum of fifty human beings. He’d forced himself to simply move on and get into the mindset of fifteen years ago. It was a challenge. A test. Nothing more than a test of his intellect, speed and cunning versus everyone else’s. They weren’t people. They were targets. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He conjured a map of Wales from who knows where – it didn’t really matter - and a dart. He closed his eyes and threw. Breichiol Wells. So be it.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Mass Murder in Wales!
Nearly every inhabitant of the sleepy former coal mining village of Breichiol Wells in central Wales were killed over the course of several hours Friday evening and night. Obliviator Arnold Peasegood was also killed while investigators searched. Seventy-eight men, women and children were murdered, Aurors said, though it is being reported in the Muggle press that the Muggles are looking into possible natural or
freak causes for these deaths. An unnamed source in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
said that the town was killed silently and quickly, without using curses or Muggle instruments of violence. Townsfolk were found lying dead in their homes. Oddly, most were found in two places, in their kitchens or bathrooms, slumped over sinks or on the floor near washbasins, though the Aurors report that several children were found dead in their beds. Four children and infants and seven adults were not harmed.
Several people witnessed Ministry Obliviator Arnold Peasegood drink from a drinking fountain,
before clutching his heart and dying within seconds.
The tragedy was discovered early yesterday morning when smoke plumes attracted the attention
of several delivery men approaching the town. The town’s pub and market were found burning. Both were destroyed. The delivery men made the grisly discovery when they began pounding on doors for assistance.
Aurors suspect the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters to be responsible. Muggle police said that a single
castor bean with the letters “L.V.” etched on it was left at the foot of the statue of Miles Breichiol, the town’s founder. Castor beans are the source one of the
most deadly poisons in the world, ricin.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The scotch burned as much as the water beating down on his skin. He hadn’t bothered bringing a glass into the shower. The bottle, a Christmas gift from Minerva, did just fine. The water finally washed away the pool of vomit on the shower floor. The smell, though, lingered in the steam. His nose wasn’t quite dead from the scotch, but he didn’t care as he leaned his forehead against the cold tile wall. His mind was blank – quite deliberately. He thought of nothing and felt nothing as he sucked from the bottle.
It could have been minutes or hours, though it was likely the latter because his feet hurt and his legs were burning from the water and exhaustion. Turning the faucet off was usually a flick of the wrist, but this time, the movement was a slow grind. Water sheeted off of him, as he shivered and lifted his eyes from the deep green marble tile beneath his feet.
He wasn’t surprised to see Dumbledore standing there, in his bathroom. He didn’t even wonder how long he’d been there, looking like some Renaissance vision of God with his long white hair and beard, there in the steam. Severus couldn’t muster any change of expression though he wasn’t sure, nor did her care, what his face was schooled into. He didn’t care that he was naked, either, in front of the one man who he respected above all others – even whatever God was out there laughing at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, bright blue boring into black, reading the mind that didn’t and couldn’t – wouldn’t - protect itself.
With the care of a father and nary a word, Dumbledore trudged forward to rub a thick towel over Severus’s shoulders and back. The bottom of his heavy robes greedily sucked up water from the shower floor as he wiped away the rivulets streaming down his body. The only sound was their breathing and the sound of the towel on skin as Dumbledore dried Severus, who stood like a blank-faced mannequin, staring into space. The old man belied his age as he knelt on the bathroom floor, drying Severus’s long, hairy legs, as though the almost forty year old man was a child fresh from a bubble bath. He even cast a silent Warming Charm over him.
When finished, Dumbledore levered himself to sit on the closed lid of the toilet and offered Severus the towel to wrap himself in. Unmoving, Severus just stared, expressionless and blank until Dumbledore lowered the towel to a puddle on the floor.
Severus’s eyes drifted closed on a long, slow, exhale. When his lids lifted, it seemed to be the lifting of a dam. Fat, hot tears burned his cheeks, but his face remained impassive. A long, slow scream built in his head, drowning out even the sound of his own heartbeat but his mouth remained closed, his throat silent. His eyes closed again and his head lowered until his chin touched his chest. He ignored the prickle of his own beard. Dumbledore didn’t make a sound, but watched as Severus melted in front of him. Shoulders bowing, then his back bent forward as he curled in on himself, Severus dropped naked to the floor, kneeling in penance before the one man who could damn him forever.
His hand, spotted with age; the skin, parchment thin; and knuckles, fat with arthritis; lifted to slowly stroke Severus’s wet head. Fine black hairs tangled around his gnarled fingers, but slipped loose easily as Dumbledore comforted the younger man. Gently, he guided Severus to lean against his long legs, resting his head in his lap as Severus cried. He gave no words of wisdom or condemnation and no platitudes; he offered naught but comfort.
There they sat. It could have been minutes or hours. Neither one knew or cared. As the younger man fell asleep, naked there on the floor of his bathroom, sunlight slowly woke up the sky visible in the magical window. His last thought of the night drifted from his lips on a sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
Tears dried on the old man’s face as he waited for Severus to sleep deeply. “I know and I love you, my boy.”