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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's notes: Once more, sexual and substance abuse references later on. Avoid if you object, read and review otherwise.

Snape and Cassie get more ...intimate. Candlelight, violins, romance... And if you expect any of these, you're in the wrong story.

CHAPTER 7: A very long week.

Saturday night. The High Priestess: The need to listen to and trust your inner voice.

Cassandra had spent the day in bed feeling really tired. Not so much physically, as emotionally. She had promised herself to visit Jane at St. Mungo's Hospital, but she soon realized she lacked the courage to do so. She had made no progress in solving the mystery behind the murdered woman and she had no comfort to offer to that poor, insane creature.

She looked out of her window, wondering if it was a full moon outside. She felt strange tonight. It was nothing more than a tingling sensation on her fingertips, the familiar warning sign that the cards wanted to be spread. Over the years, the deck her aunt had left her had developed a unique bond with her, as it often happens with Readers. When something was waiting at the door, the cards would let her know. Too bad she had never managed to see through their sense of humor. Usually the true meaning was revealed after the event in question had come to pass.

Sighing, she put out her cigarette, promising herself she'd quit first thing on Monday. She emptied the beer can down her throat, making an additional vow to cut down on alcohol too. And she took out the cards, dealing in the seven cards spread; one card for every day in the week. As she turned them over, she frowned. None of them was good standing on its own. Their combination could only mean a very hard week.

~*~

Sunday. Eight of swords: bondage, forced restraint.

Inside his cold cell, the young man tied his arms around him, trying to protect his naked body from the cold. He didn't mind cold much, but tonight he could fell icy fingers creeping under his skin. Warmth had long lost its appeal; for more time than he could remember, warmth had been accompanied by the smell of burning flesh. His burning flesh.

He once had a name and a life. But he had long forgotten them, his memories stolen by pain and darkness. He had been a human being once, but now he had been reduced to an object. His captor would visit him occasionally to use him for his pleasure. He had grown used to the sexual perversions of his master, sometimes even allowed himself to find some comfort in it. But then the real suffering would start, the torture that followed comfort with burning irons and razor blades.

There were others imprisoned in nearby cells. At nights he would sometimes hear their screams, when their captor had chosen one of them for the night. And he would feel happy for a while; relieved that it was not his turn, that the screams echoing in the dungeon were not his. And this was the worse torture of all, at least for him; to find joy in someone else's torment.

~*~

Monday. Five of swords: embarrassment, wounded pride.

Severus Snape woke up with the worse of headaches. Emptying a vial down his throat, he hoped it would take effect before his first class of the day. No way he could endure a double class with Slytherins and Gryffindors feeling as if he had taken a bludger in the head. On top of this, during breakfast the Headmaster kept staring at him, looking rather concerned.

At the staff meeting right after breakfast, the Head of Slytherin House found himself in the most embarrassing situation since the beginning of the school year. Apparently, four of his seniors had been caught up after curfew by Mr. Filch. This alone would be a minor inconvenience. However, the circumstances around this made Madame Sprout blush and Professor McGonagall stare at him with a hint of gloat in her eyes. The four students had been caught in the boys' bathroom with their pants around their ankles engaged in a 'distance' contest.

Snape was cursing inside him his House Prefect for not having notified him as soon as the incident had been revealed. The fact that he was one of the four perpetrators might have something to do with this, though. And so the Potions Master found himself in a defensive position, having to justify his students' behaviour, if such a thing was ever possible. Blaming it all on hormones, he had to sit through a long lecture from Dumbledore and McGonagall on "inspiring moral standards" to the young people of Hogwarts.

By the end of the meeting, the headache was back. And it had brought its friend migraine with it.

~*~

Tuesday. Five of Cups: frustration, poor choices, unrealistic expectations.

Cassandra left Fudge's office with trembling hands, needing desperately a cigarette. This week was getting worse by the minute. The minister had requested a personal report on the progress of the murder case and she had found herself trying to make things appear better than they originally were. Putting her Ravenclaw imagination and resourcefulness to work, she managed to present a ten pages report which, under careful examination, would prove to be vacant of hard facts and progress. However, from her past experience she knew it was highly unlikely that the Minister would actually read past the third page, so she was off the hook for the moment.

Returning to her office, she threw away this week's resolutions and lit the much-craved smoke, promising herself that she would start fresh next Monday. She went through her options once more, considering another trip to Hogwarts. But unless she had more facts in her hands, she was almost positive that the former Death Eater would keep his secrets sealed. She scribed a note and owled it to the chief resident of St. Mungo's requesting permission to visit Jane on official business. She rarely had any readings from live creatures, but this woman seemed to be an exception.

A new idea had come to her mind. She would attempt to 'read' the woman's mark.

~*~

Wednesday. The Five of Pentacles: the need for rest and relaxation.

After a very long day, Severus Snape sat back on his chair, staring at the paperwork before him. He felt the urge to throw the lot of them in the fireplace and spare himself of the torture of having to read the fruits of his students' efforts. If he came across a single essay worth anything more than a 'C' he would be really surprised. He summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and moved his armchair to face the fireplace.

His turned his attention to the dancing flames. He needed some time off. He needed a vacation, away from Hogwarts, away from his annoying students and his intruding colleagues. He let the spirit warm his blood and started to feel somewhat better, when he heard a knock on the door. Sighing, he got up to see who dared to disturb his time of rest. Not surprisingly, it was Julius Sanders, his House Prefect.

"What is it, Sanders?" he hissed. "Please don't tell me you were caught with your breaches down again."

The boy blushed and shook his head.

"No, sir, this is about Malfoy," he said in a low voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Malfoy got caught with his breeches down?" This would be fun. Especially when Lucius would find out.

"Oh, no, sir. He has been the victim of a prank. Can't prove it, but we believe the Weasleys are behind it. And now he is suffering from a strange figure alteration," he said, blushing even more.

"And why are you wasting my time? Do I look as a mediwitch to you?" he spat, starting to lose his patience.

"Can't do that, sir. Malfoy would rather die than let this be known outside the House." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "You see, Professor Snape, it seems that Draco has grown breasts."

Trying hard to keep his face straight, Snape closed the dungeon door behind him.

"Ok, Sanders, lead the way."

He really, really, needed a vacation.

~*~

Thursday. Nine of swords: a feeling of being overwhelmed, and hopelessness.

Cassandra hadn't slept all week. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw visions of dark hooded figures with white masks closing on her. The prospect of reading Jane's mark had taken its toll. On top of this, she had not had any reply from the Muggle police on her request to have access to the murder victim and the scene evidence. She got up, stretched her muscles and walked to the window.

She studied the lights of the street below, wondering what it would feel like if she moved to a different house, perhaps somewhere in the country like Arthur Weasley. Knowing she would miss the interaction with the Muggle world she walked back to bed and tried to force herself to sleep. But she dreamed again of the Death Eaters. Only this time, it was just one of them, a man with dark eyes. He did not pursue her, but he held out his left arm to her. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve and she saw the Dark Mark on his forearm. She approached the masked man and touched his arm.

On waking up the next day, she could clearly remember kissing the Dark Mark in her sleep. A shiver ran down her spine, as she feared to think what the dream might have meant.

~*~

Friday. The Moon: things are not always as they appear.

Severus Snape left Hogwarts on Friday evening, seeking some solitude in his usual place in Knockturn Alley. He had left firm instructions to Sanders that if anyone else grew breasts he'd either have to see Madame Pomfrey or wear a bra and wait for his return on Saturday morning. Knowing when the Potions Master was in a really foul mood, Sanders nodded and headed back to the Slytherin common room, hoping he would have no nasty surprises during the night.

Cassandra threw her cloak over her Muggle jeans and shirt and apparated on Knockturn Alley. It was rather early in the evening, and the 'Burning Skull' had cus customers. She liked it better this way, since she could crawl to her usual table unnoticed. Ordering a bottle of her usual firewhiskey, she fell back in the seat, lighting a smoke - the first of many. And for a long time, she sat watching the shapes of the smoke as it rose in the air, lost in her thoughts.

A couple of hours passed by and the place was getting more crowded. She could hear the voices of other people around her but the words never reached her brain. Feeling relaxed for the first time this week, she brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply.

"This is a bad habit that will eventually kill you," she heard a familiar voice.

She raised her eyes and saw none other than the former Death Eater and present Potions Master. He stood before her, a figure in black dominating the narrow space of the booth she was seated in. She studied his eyes, dark, deep and with the pupils slightly dilated. He sat down next to her, not waiting her reply. And as he placed his cup on the table, she picked it up and brought it to her lips. After the first sip, she grimaced, recognising the stinging aftertaste of wormwood tincture.

"This bad habit will kill you faster," she replied, leaving the cup back on the table.

For a while, they sat silent, engaged in a staring contest. His knee was casually touching her thigh, but none of them made any move to break the contact. Finally, it was him who broke the silence.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked, a hint of a smirk on the corners of his mouth.

"What boyfriend?" she replied with a frown.

"Hagrid's long lost twin," he darted back.

Her frown deepened.

"The hooded man... That was you," she said, denying embarrassment to shutter her self-control. Instead of an affirmative reply, his smirk became more definite. "So, you saw us. And what of it?" she dared him.

"Does Fudge know of your little secret?" he asked her in a velvet tone.

"Does Dumbledore know of yours?" she replied in the same tone.

He brought his cup to his lips once more, taking a small sip of his poison.

"Tell me, Ms. Blackthorn, is this form of ...interrogation approved by the Ministry?" he asked her, the smirk clear once more.

"Why? You wish to file a complaint?" she asked back, as she moved closer to him. She placed her palm on his thigh and he made no effort to remove it.

"And why would I file a complaint? I haven't been interrogated yet," he said, and his voice was getting heavier. Perhaps due to her hand that was resting on his crotch by now.

"Would you like to be?" she purred, reaching out to unbuckle his pants.

"And what would be the nature of your questioning, Ms. Blackthorn?" he asked, raising no objections as the second button was undone.

"The Dark Mark," she whispered, reaching out for the third button.

And then his expression changed. It was the slightest of changes, but it was clear. His body stiffened just a little, his eyes narrowed just a hint. And he took hold of the hand on his crotch and gently pushed it away "Not here," he said in a low voice. "But I want something in return, should I answer your questions on the subject."

Aware that the moment was lost, Cassandra retrieved her hand and lighted another cigarette.

"And that would be?" she asked in a more formal voice.

He fixed his dark eyes to hers.

"I want to know the identity of the person who has connected my name with the murder," he said and his voice was venom.

"I will see what I can do," she replied, thinking she would very much like the same thing herself. "However, this is not entirely up to me. I will tell you everything that I'm allowed to."

"Fair enough," he said, his body relaxing back to the seat. He emptied the cup down his throat and stood up, straightening his robes. "Be at Hogwarts on Monday morning. I will answer any questions you may have." And he turned and left, before Cassandra could utter a word.

Reaching out to her own cup, she thought that it would be a very interesting Monday morning.

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

Well? Did you like it? Let me know!

And, in case you're wondering, there's a reason for Snape's change of mind...
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Shadows of an evil past