Cloaked in Shadows Black

Chapter 26: Cloaked in Shadows Black

Hermione’s heart raced, then stopped entirely when a familiar silhouette blocked her view of Snape. Lucius paced the Arglist laboratory, mere metres from where she stood outside the double doors not daring to breathe. She removed her wand from her robes by touch alone, never once shifting her gaze from the scene before her.

It was not the first time she’d hidden at Arglist, listening to a conversation never meant for her ears. She had thought nothing could be worse than the minutes she had passed in that cramped cupboard, learning of Lucius’s true intentions for her research.

She had been wrong.

“There are fewer specifics than last time,” Snape said, his quill racing across the pages of an open notebook, “but the team should know where to focus their attention.” He slid the journal across the table and folded his arms.

“And this will enable us to isolate the Muggle-born gene?” asked Lucius, flipping pages.

“I have no idea,” Snape said. “I never claimed to be a scientist.”

“No, you claimed to be a Legilimens.” He tossed the book onto the table. “Perhaps your skills aren’t quite as masterful as you’d have me believe.”

“My skills have provided you more data in two months than your team has produced in two years.”

“Yes, and I’ve paid you more than I’ve paid them.”

Snape raised one hand from his forearm and studied his fingernails. “If you have doubts, I can cease my efforts right now.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lucius said. “My doubts are a result of the girl’s skills, not yours. I wonder if she hasn’t distracted you from our goal?”

“As you well recall, I do not tolerate distractions.”

“Granted,” Lucius said, “but I also recall you having rather repugnant taste where women were concerned.”

“So you find her repugnant now, do you?”

“I find her … in need of tutelage.” He turned, and even from her hidden corner, Hermione recognised the madness she had glimpsed during her last visit to Arglist. “Miss Granger has cost me a great deal of time and expense, and one way or another, she shall be made to pay. I have plans for her future.”

As chilling as she found the prospect, it was Snape’s reply that froze her blood.

“Her future does not interest me,” he said, “so long as your plans do not hinder my ability to coax the research from her memory.”

“Your concerns have been noted.”

“I am quite serious, Lucius. No more threats, no more foolishness with her parents. That latest stunt may prove more costly than you realise.”

“The Minister does not frighten me.”

“I’m referring to more than just Ustinov,” Snape said. “She has already threatened to Obliviate her memories of Arglist.”

“She … she what?” The heel of his boot struck the floor. “What a reckless thing to suggest. I assume you were able to dissuade her?”

“I was,” he said. “But I must urge you to exercise patience in the coming weeks. Once I have finished with her mind, you shall have ample time to seek whatever reparations you desire from her.”

“How cold you are!” Lucius said. “Haven’t you even the slightest regret to see her go?”

“What possible use could I have for keeping her?”

Lucius made a tsking noise. “After all these months, I would have thought the answer obvious. Surely, you will mourn the loss of your eager bed partner?”

“Quite the contrary, I assure you. After all these months, I shall welcome the return of peace and quiet.”

“But she will be most desolate without you, yes?”

Snape shrugged.

“Come, now, Severus. Modesty does not suit you.” Lucius moved beyond her line of sight, but not before she had seen the sly smile on his face. “I have heard she’s formed quite an attachment.”

“Mm.”

“Perhaps more than a mere attachment?”

“She fancies herself in love, I believe,” Snape said.

The sound of laughter made her jump, so close it seemed only the thickness of the door separated her from Lucius. Her wand grew warm beneath her fingers. She did not doubt her ability to curse Lucius, but duelling Snape was another matter. She wasn’t sure if she’d be unable to hurt him—or if she’d want to hurt him far too much.

“How delightful,” Lucius said. “Even you must appreciate the irony, Severus. But why aren’t you laughing?”

“You’ve not yet paid me enough to find this amusing,” Snape said. He slid off his stool and walked around the long, stainless steel worktable.

Lucius joined him and retrieved the journal. “Very well. I’ll have the next instalment transferred to your vault in the morning. Perhaps then you will share my humour.”

He mumbled a reply she couldn’t hear, then he said, “It’s nearly midnight, I must return to the castle. We really should curtail these late-night sessions.”

“Very soon, we’ll be able to stop them altogether.”

Both men started for the doors.

“We’re getting close now,” Lucius said. “I can feel it.”

Hermione stepped back, focused on her destination, and spun.

Nothing happened.

She blinked, remembering too late the Anti-Apparition fields surrounding Arglist—only employees and visitors would be granted access past the charm. Pitty’s magic must have been able to penetrate the barrier, just as Dobby’s had at Malfoy Manor. Lucius had learnt very little since the war if he still underestimated house-elves.

The sound of their footsteps spurred her into action.

She gripped her wand and took several steps back, one hand upon the wall to keep her from stumbling. Her breath caught when their bodies blocked the strip of light from the laboratory. She quickened her pace, still walking backwards. The door opened. A blur of black robes appeared, and then she rounded the corner. She fled down the new corridor and prayed they hadn’t heard her.

Everything looked different than she remembered. She scanned her surroundings for familiar sights as she ran, desperate for a way out. The night cast heavy shadows, and each hallway presented a new obstacle course. She nearly cried out when a cloaked figure blocked her path, only to realise it was nothing more than a potted tree. She heard voices behind her as she rounded another corner. Her step faltered when a deafening clap followed a flash of light. She thought a spell had been cast, but another flash of light illuminated the corridor, revealing the large windows of the south lobby and the raging thunderstorm beyond. And freedom, provided she could escape the security guard yawning behind a long wooden desk.

The shadows became her allies, dark friends who sheltered her position. She aimed her wand at the guard. It was rather unsporting to curse someone when their back was turned, but she spared no time for niceties. Her silent spell shot a beam of red light across the lobby. The guard’s body went stiff for a moment, and she worried that a shield charm had been cast around him. But then he slumped forward like a rag doll and lay sprawled across his newspaper, unconscious. She hurried through the glass doors and into the driving rain, not daring to look back.

For the second time in four years, she fled Arglist under cover of night. Betrayal joined regret this time, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. She gauged the range of the Anti-Apparition field while she ran, her lungs burning. The journey of mere minutes felt like hours. At last, she stopped beside a low hedge and held her sides. She squinted through the downpour and studied the grounds she’d just crossed for movement. No one appeared to be following her.

Her gaze rose to the building nestled against a wooded mountainside, its façade far too generic to foster such depravity. No one would suspect the plots that had unfolded within those innocent walls. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to still the trembling that had begun in her hands and spread through her limbs. Cold rain stung her skin. She welcomed each drop, her face lifted to the sky as if the rain could wash the scene from her memory. But it was too much to ask. She pushed sopping hair from her brow and forced her senses to clear enough for Apparition. Unlike the night she’d left Arglist four years ago, her mind did not hesitate to offer a destination. The setting would have been unacceptable in any other circumstance, but tonight she did not pause to question it. Eyes closed, she clutched her wand and disappeared without a sound.

The rain that had fallen at Arglist was gone. Silence ensued, broken only by her clothes dripping puddles onto the floor and an occasional rumble of thunder. Either the storm had just passed, or it would soon be upon her.

She opened her eyes and sneezed.

Lumos, she thought, and light poured from the tip of her wand. The room had been painted grey by years of dust. If she had cared more, she could have performed a brief cleansing spell on the entire Shrieking Shack. She decided a little dust wouldn’t hurt her. Nothing could hurt her now. She was numb.

Lightning flickered through the room like a strobe. In one corner sat a sagging chair, its shredded upholstery the handiwork of many a rodent visitor. She sank into the rotting cushions and stared out the window.

“Nox,” she whispered. Darkness engulfed her.

Facing south, the window provided an excellent, albeit grime-smeared view of the approaching storm. The violence suited her mood and matched her wild thoughts. If only the thunder would reach a decibel loud enough to drown the memory of Snape’s cold voice.

She fancies herself in love.

The scene at Arglist replayed through her thoughts, more incriminating with each viewing. Her chest ached, and she wondered if she wasn’t quite as numb as she had imagined. She recalled the arguments she had used earlier, when she had searched for a way to explain Snape’s visits to Malfoy Manor. Did they still apply—had she just witnessed the master spy in action?

Of course she had. He had proven the breadth of his talents tonight, just as he’d proven precisely where his loyalties rested. She needn’t have worried whose side he was on. His devotion extended no further than his own worthless hide. Hadn’t he tried to tell her how selfish he was? She had refused to listen, refused to see him as anything but the tragically misunderstood hero she’d created after having watched his memories.

She wondered how much Lucius had paid him. What price had they put on the elimination of Muggle-borns? She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her stomach. It all made sense now. The inexplicable absences, his anger when she’d returned to Arglist, his accusation that she could have ruined everything. At last, she understood: she would have ruined his access to the Malfoy fortune.

She’d been such a fool, believing he cared for her. All those times she’d caught him studying her, all those long, meaningful glances when anything had seemed possible. She had almost convinced herself he was on the verge of some personal revelation, some proclamation of his true feelings.

Her hollow laughter pierced the room and sent tiny feet scurrying through the darkness.

She should have known better. He hadn’t been searching his soul—he’d been searching her mind. Each tender gaze had been a ruse. Each lingering touch had been nothing more than a distraction to hide his true intentions: Legilimency.

She massaged her temples and remembered how painful her experience with Legilimency had been the night of the Malfoys’ Christmas Eve ball. He had proclaimed her mind too difficult to penetrate without detriment, and she had trusted his expertise. But it had been just another lie, a cunning way to tap her memories for months without fear of detection. Had she not been so hungry for his approval, perhaps she would have questioned how her untrained mind could be stronger than a highly skilled Auror’s.

She drew her knees onto the chair and hugged them to her chest. The book she had received tonight was just one more example of how desperate she had become. She’d been so eager for proof of his feelings she had likened the gift to an engagement ring, convinced he wouldn’t part with it unless he believed their futures entwined. How naive. It seemed so obvious now—once she was out of the way, he would simply take back the sodding book. How could she have been so blind?

She fancies herself in love.

There was her answer, of course. She bowed her head and waited for tears that never came. She hadn’t just fancied herself in love. No man had ever challenged her the way he had, and her feelings for him were different—stronger—than any she’d experienced before. Perhaps that was why a persistent voice in her head still demanded she find another explanation. Despite the conversation she’d overheard, despite the mounting proof against him, a part of her could not help but rebel against the obvious answer.

She told herself she was an intelligent woman, far too wise to fall for someone who could be so callous with her affections. But there was little room for IQ in matters of the heart. Clever women still made mistakes, still trusted deceitful men who turned their dreams into pathetic, feeble things. She certainly wouldn’t be the first bright woman to make a poor choice. Yet something still didn’t feel right. If anything, it all felt a bit too familiar.

She abandoned her chair and walked through the empty house. Each step stirred the dust and left a clean mark upon the floor. She hadn’t been inside the Shrieking Shack in more than fifteen years, yet nothing had changed. She opened doors until she found the room where she had watched Snape die. Lightning revealed the dark pattern where his blood had stained the floorboards. For several long minutes, she stared at the spot where they had left him for so many hours, believing him dead. He had languished alone in the sorry old shack, no friends to mourn him, no relations to claim him. A proper death for a traitor.

Fifteen years ago, the evidence against him had been irrefutable. He had chosen sides the moment he had murdered Dumbledore, and he’d given them further proof when he had nearly killed George in the flight from Privet Drive. She had trusted the evidence fifteen years ago. She had believed him capable of the worst crimes imaginable. Nothing had changed.

The floorboards groaned as she crossed the room and stood above the dark outline. Fifteen years ago, she’d been wrong. If nothing had changed, was she wrong again?

Her eyes burned, but doubt still choked her. When the truth had been revealed all those years ago, his allegiance to the Order had been the result of one thing: Lily. Or, as Dumbledore would claim, love. The same argument couldn’t be made now—Lily had nothing to do with Lucius, and the Order had been disbanded long before Arglist had become a threat.

She was left with the same questions she’d had earlier. Was he lying to Lucius and hiding it from her? Or had her entire relationship been a lie?

There was only one way to find out.

She squared her shoulders and left the crippled old building. Rain soaked through her clothes once more, but she had far more pressing matters on her mind. Beneath the streaks of lightning, she found the muddy path to Hogwarts and splashed up the hill towards the castle.

It was time for answers.

Only six chapters left! (Might have a wee epilogue, as well.) My thanks, as always, to Little_Beloved and Karelia for beta-reading, and to Melenka for an alpha pass.