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Shadows of an evil past	By : Werecat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 946 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: 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.

Chapter List
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Author's notes and warning: References of sex play and substance abuse later on. Avoid if you object, review if you decide to read on.

CHAPTER 6: A matter of control.

The Devil: enslavement, addiction and unbridled passions.

~*~

Cassandra left shortly after lunch. Before leaving she embraced Hooch, promising to stay in touch this time and folded a small parchment in her pocket, with 'flatt tire repair' spell written on it. If Flitwick had been disappointed by her lack of attention during his classes, he was kind enough not to show it.

The trip back home was an uneventful one and it gave her the opportunity to empty her mind from disturbing thoughts, indulging in the seductive sensation of the open road. A couple of times she called on the Eye and allowed her father's similar feelings of freedom to reach her through the bike's heavy metal. When she finally reached home she was tired but her mind was at peace. And after a long awaited shower she fell into a dreamless slumber.

The next day, she went through the Ministry's archives to dig out everything around the Dark Mark. The combined reports were no more than five pages in total. Most of it consisted of descriptions, of its location inside the left forearm and the way it signaled its bearer when the Dark Lord required his -or her- presence. But Cassandra wd tod to know more. What was the bond between the two parties involved that could result in the Mark? Was there any ritual of loyalty, of devotion? Could any Death Eater mark another, or could it be done only from the Dark Lord? And why the forearm and not any other part of the body?

All these questions could be answered only by someone with personal experience. Thinking that Snape must not have been the only one whose name had been cleared, she searched the files for more. And the details of the trials returned slowly to her memory. Malfoy. His name cleared, just like Macnair's. She'd rather avoid them both. The Lestranges, imprisoned in Azkaban. Another trip she'd rather avoid. And every name she saw was equally unappealing. She was certain none of them would co-operate more than Snape had.

Defeated, she sat on the floor among the files. The only path open for her was the one she was unwilling to take. She had to see through the dead woman's eyes and feel her thoughts. She shivered, knowing that this could be far worse than the experience of her parents' death. However, until she could gain access to the Muggle police resources, she could do nothing but wait. Seeing the dead body and the evidence of the crime scene was still out of her reach. She decided to call on some favors. The thought of a slight blackmail crossed her mind, using her skill to unravel dirty little secrets and use them to her advantage, but she pushed the thought away. She would keep this as her final resort.

On her way home, she decided on calling Justin later that night. The big guy always managed to distract her. He was obedient, with lots of stamina and easy to keep satisfied. She thought with a faint smile of her black dress robes and of the effect it had on him. And, again, Justin's simple mind and equally simple sex drive found everything about her arousing. And she liked it that way. She could have her pleasure and remain in control: in control of the affair, of her feelings, of her life.

The next couple of days went by completely uneventful. No words from her Muggle contacts, no progress on her case. On Friday morning she escorted another Auror to a field trip, but it proved out to be a false alarm. By nightfall, she had grown really restless. Knowing that staying indoors could easily drive her crazy, she put on her black robes and headed toward Knockturn Alley.

Old habits are hard to break.

~*~

Severus Snape had an equally bad week. Breaking the promise he had made himself not to return to the 'Burning Skull' this weekend, he apparated in Knockturn Alley. Keeping his face hidden under the heavy winter cloak, he resumed his usual place in the back of the room. It was crowded as usual, but most of the attendants stayed either in the front clo close to the fireplace or in the secluded private booths.

He drew out a small flask and added a couple of drops of a brightly green liquid to the cup before him. They had several strong brews here, but nothing nearly as strong as the tincture that came out of his own cauldron. Having mixed the green liquid with the local alcohol, he brought the cup to his lips and allowed the green fairy of the absinthe work her magic. In a matter of minutes, he felt his spirits rise, even for a little. The weight of the day was lifted from his shoulders and for a while he forgot about his life in Hogwarts, his annoying students and the retired Auror who stalked his steps.

He allowed his eyes to fly around the room and study the other customers through the dense atmosphere, heavy with smoke from the candles. Under the cover of his hood, he saw all the usual types here. He saw those in search of their darkest fantasies, and those who came with promises of fulfilling any wild dream. He knew first hand that it was a complete deception. The dream quickly turns into a nightmare from which one finds impossible to escape. Dark dealings were made in every corner around him; deals of death and pain were sealed, and the price that came with each was always more sinister than the original agreement. No one can shake hands with evil and expect to walk away with one's soul intact. Apparently, few seem to be aware of this little detail.

He sighed and brought the cup back to his lips. He closed his eyes and allowed the poison to fill his veins. The heat reached his body, but it still could not penetrate his heart. He smiled bitterly; aware that the same thing that helped him live through the dark hours of the night was stealing away his life, in the sweetest of deaths. He opened his eyes again, to continue his silent observations.

And then he saw her.

She was the last person she had expected to see in this place at night. In official business perhaps, but she was clearly engaged in an obviously unofficial affair. And she was completely different from their last encounter. Almost attractive, in a long black robe that fitted her tall frame perfectly. And her hair was not that sweaty mess he saw a week ago, but shone in the candle light. She was seated just across the room from him, in the last of the booths, concealed from the rest of the hall but him. And she was not alone.

The man beside her was tall, big and hairy. With a smirk, Snape thought that he could easily pass for Hagrid's younger brother. He was huge with a round face, a curly beard and, most probably, the mental capacity of a chimpanzee. And his face was glowing with a happy smile because he was in the company of a woman who, in any other case, would never turn and look at him. The man brought a mug of ale in his mouth and drunk in greedy gulps, some of the foam still staining his facial hair after putting the mug down.

Sipping from his cup, Snape tried to find some sense in the scene before him, but he could not. Not a surprise, really, since the green fairy had numbed his neurons along with his emotions as well. He played with the probability that she was on a field job, an investigation of some sort. And then he realized he could not see both of her hands. The big man beside her had closed his eyes with a ridiculously happy expression in his face, and the woman reached out with her left hand under the table, to assist in whatever task righright one was occupied.

For a moment, Snape was dumbstruck by surprise. She was giving him a hand job in a public place, completely ignoring the fact that anyone might walk up in them at any time. And perhaps this too was a part of the game. After all, he was the only one who had view of that booth and he prudently kept his hood down, pretending he was too occupied in his drinking. The stakes were high for both of them. Neither of them could afford to be seen in this kind of place, both indulged in their own vices. With the wormwood running wild in his blood, he slightly shifted to the left to get a better view.

The man's eyes were still closed, but now his expression had changed. A small frown had appeared along with drops of sweat on his forehead. But her face was calm, centered. He could see her hands move in a familiar pattern, sometimes fast, sometimes agonizingly slow while her eyes never left her partner's face. She seemed to study his expressions as her hands changed pace, to feast on the sweet torture she was inflicting on him. Then the man clenched his teeth and the muscles of his thick neck stiffened, and it was evident he was reaching his release. Unable to tear his eyes away, Snape watched with fascination as the man came in her hands, with his face turning brightly red, trying hard not to growl loudly. Her own expression hardly changed, though, apart from a slight flush in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She wiped her hands on a tissue, kissed lightly the breathless man and walked out.

Snape looked at the cup before him. Somehow it had lost its appeal. And he felt the need of fresh air really badly. He knew he shouldn't get up yet, for he could easily run into her and he'd rather avoid such a confrontation, not with this much absinthe running wild in his blood stream. Sighing, he fell back in his seat, wondering what kind of demons she was carrying on her shoulders. And he was more than certain that the little play he had watched this night would linger in his head for long.

~*~

Outside the 'Burning Skull', Cassandra covered herself in her cloak, lifted the hood over her face and sat on the doorsteps of a nearby building, lighting a cigarette. Here I go again, he thought bitterly. It was always the same urge that drove her into the dark streets, in search of the nameless men who could fulfil her need of control. The sensation of the power she had over them, of the authority she was given using their male hormones to put them under her spell, that exhilarating feeling of control was more addictive to her than any drug could ever be. And so sensational, that her own physical pleasure seemed less important. When she had met Justin, she had h tha that it could finally be over, seeing in him a fitting partner in her games. Apparently, she was wrong. She adjusted the hood lower on her head, as another man came out of the 'Burning Skull' and passed before her.

Severus Snape didn't even notice the crouched figure on the doorsteps as he walked away.

The Fates have indeed a perverted sense of humor.

***********************************************************

The "green fairy of the absinthe" concept is not mine. It comes from Copolla's film Dracula - the ultimate love story, in my POV.

Wormwood is the main ingredient of the above mentioned drink.
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Shadows of an evil past