34: Spinner's End

It seemed that all of Britain was doomed to suffer from the Dark Lord's humiliation at the Ministry. The dementors were spread far and wide, creating unseasonably cold weather, and major attacks on Muggles were becoming commonplace. All in all, Snape found it an absurd waste of resources, but he did not care to criticize the Master--not even regarding Peter Pettigrew's current assignment. Instead, he made his opinions known only to Pettigrew himself.

"Wormtail, I do not want to find another of your socks anywhere but your feet from this day forward." "Precisely how long do you intend to let that pot 'soak' before you wash it?" "Merlin's balls, man, how did I end up with the moniker of 'Snivellus' back at Hogwarts? Given your proficiency at whining, surely you have spent a lifetime perfecting the technique!"

Pettigrew was useless as an assistant in any context, mainly because his private service to the Dark Lord had left him a walking anxiety attack, too strung out to concentrate on anything more complex than picking his nose without injuring it on that sharp metal hand. It was no wonder the Master pawned him off for the summer.

Perhaps the worst aspect of this unwelcome company was that there was no possible hope of seeing Hermione until the term at Hogwarts resumed. With that Floo spell, she might have been able to visit him now and then, but there was no getting rid of Wormtail. The sneaky little git was there to observe him, after all, and he was damnably quiet when in his Animagus form. Snape had only caught him snooping after the fact, while Pettigrew was desperately trying to reattach that silver hand to the stump of his arm. It was not made to accommodate his rodent form, which was most fortunate--Snape would never have otherwise suspected that his walls now had ears, eyes, and a pointy, whiskery snout. Unless he could convince Wormtail to sleep in a cage, it was just too risky even to contact Hermione, and he doubted Pettigrew would find that acceptable--not even with a little wheel and some lovely chew toys.

Thus Snape was relegated to a summer of insomnia, with more waking hours than he wanted, all filled with Pettigrew's constant complaints and nervous tics. Within three days, he decided he would have preferred to share his home with Dolores Umbridge. At least she would only leave doilies sitting on the coffee table, or so one would think.

He was awake at midnight in mid-July when a delicate chime signalled that one of his wards had been crossed. "Wormtail!" he shouted, not knowing if Pettigrew was asleep in his own room, or peeking at him even now with beady eyes from behind the lathe and plaster. "We have visitors. Make yourself presentable for a change!" He heard a distant thump, but there was also a telltale skittering under the floorboards. Snape hoped that whatever made the thump had sealed the nasty git withing the walls for a while. Let him eat insulation for a few days; perhaps that will regulate his bowels once and for all.

Had it been an enemy approaching, the ward would have signalled with a klaxon, so Snape merely buttoned his collar and went downstairs to wait. There were no disgusting items from Wormtail's wardrobe anywhere in the sitting room, a welcome change. He lit the single candle in the overhead lamp with a flick of his wand and spent a few moments irritably replacing books that Wormtail had browsed back into their proper positions on the shelves.

At last, the knock. "Narcissa!" It was too dark to identify her companion. "What a pleasant surprise!" More pleasant if you were alone--oh, Mother of Merlin, may it not be Draco!

It was not. "Bellatrix," he replied to her cold salutation, automatically forcing himself not to shudder. The woman was nearly as insane as Pettigrew, but twice as unpredictable. He had once admired Bella, back in his distant youth, but not all people have the proper constitution for the Dark Arts, and she was living proof of it.

Narcissa asked, "We are alone, aren't we?"

He nearly pointed out that Bellatrix was there, but caught himself. They were sisters, after all; that was a bond that even Bella's frayed mind must still acknowledge. Wormtail, however, was surely slinking about somewhere; Snape took a chance and opened the door before the attic steps. Gotcha, you sneaky little rodent. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests."

He ordered Ratso to fetch the good wine in deference to Narcissa, though he loathed to spare a drop of it on Bellatrix. When he offered Bella a glass, she had the nerve to look down her nose at it! My wine not good enough for you, Miss Black? We shall see. He raised his glass. "The Dark Lord." Turn that down, I dare you! For some reason, such manipulation always felt more satisfying in his sitting room than his office at Hogwarts.

Narcissa was clearly dying to speak, and he soundly wished she had invited him to Malfoy Manor instead of coming here. It wouldn't do to openly admit that Pettigrew was spying on him, at least not in front of Bellatrix. Fortunately, a recent pair of dirty underwear left on the kitchen floor had provoked Snape into certain preparations. He pointed his wand at the attic entry, hidden again by its bookcase, and wordlessly set off the tiny Wildfire Whiz-Bang he'd sewn into the crotch of Wormtail's 'tighty-whiteys.' It had galled him to pay cash money to the Weasleys and their Wizard Wheezes, but that yelp and subsequent retreat up the stairs were worth every Knut. There was truly no substitute for reliable merchandise.

"My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors. I don't know what he means by it... You were saying, Narcissa?"

As usual, Bellatrix dominated the conversation. Snape had been down this road many times; it was useless to attempt a civilized discussion until Bella either had her say or was intimidated into silence. In happier times, Narcissa would have engaged her in a most entertaining shouting match, but she was obviously far too distraught. It was a testament to his love for the Malfoys that Snape diverted Bella's attention fully onto himself, giving Narcissa a chance to compose her thoughts.

Here go the accusations. This is beyond tiresome. "Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions?" Or have you truly come unhinged in the past few years? Snape went through the standard litany, so well-rehearsed by now that he could spew it forth without concentrating, except that she kept interrupting. When she started boasting of the Master's complete confidence in her, he decided to bait her a little. "Does he still, after the fiasco at the Ministry?"

"That was not my fault!"

So says the woman who refuses to accept MY excuses. Bella tried to suggest that Lucius had fumbled the mission and, true to form, Narcissa went off. Sadly, it was much too late to let a catfight develop. If he was to hear Narcissa's story, it had to be soon, lest Ratso put out the fire in his pants and return for more snooping. "There is no point apportioning blame. What's done is done."

"But not by you!" Hellfire and damnation, now it's the "You Never Pull Your Own Weight" bit. Snape sighed inwardly. This was just making Bellatrix agitated. It was best to stick with the stock answers; when dealing with a lunatic, the familiar and comfortable usually produce the optimal result.

He made his way through the litany of "How I Spent That Night At The Ministry" (the Generic Version, not the Truth. Voldemort had insisted that he keep mum about carousing with the centaura. A bloody shame in many ways, but a political necessity. The other Death Eaters did not share the Dark Lord's sense of humor and would be rankled, to say the least, if they knew Snape had been busy nailing four odalisques while they were being shamed by Potter and crew). Unfortunately, Snape inadvertently mentioned the Order, and that put a new gleam in Bella's misaligned eyes. "You still claim you cannot reveal the whereabouts of their headquarters, don't you?" she squalled.

That the Most Noble House of Black And Other Dark Gloominess now housed the movement against Voldemort was one of Snape's favorite ironies in the whole war. He switched effortlessly to the "I Am Not The Secret Keeper" routine. He even took the high road by congratulating her assassination of Sirius Black, hoping that would lull her into a quiet complacency.

No such luck. Apparently the evening wouldn't be complete without discussing The Little Prat. "You could have killed him at any point in the last five years," Bellatrix grumbled. "You have not done it. Why?"

He smirked. If Bella knew how keenly he longed to wring The Little Prat's neck, she'd undoubtedly begin lobbying for Potter's preservation. Snape launched into that standard litany as well, wrapping it up smoothly and soothingly. "... He has never stopped trusting Severus Snape, and therein lies my great value to the Dark Lord." Cue music, fade to black. In the name of Merlin, you insane skank, can we finally get down to business?

He peered closely at Bellatrix. She seemed subdued at last. Closing his eyes, Snape listened for any indication of Wormtail's whereabouts, wishing he'd purchased some of those blasted Extendable Ears from the Weasley catalog. This is punishment for your pride, Severus. There was some distant rumbling up in the attic, and Snape suddenly recalled that those fireworks multiplied when magic was used in attempt to squelch them. He grinned; that would surely keep Ratso utterly disoriented for the rest of the evening. As long as the attic doesn't catch fire, we shall be free and clear.

"Now... you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?"

The poor dear. Snape hated to see Narcissa cry, and it was clear that she'd done quite a bit of it lately. She always wilted when Lucius was absent, and the other Death Eater wives were probably ostracizing her. Having a mate in Azkaban was surely no picnic. If it weren't for Wormtail, I could go to the Manor and keep you company... although I suppose I'd have to set a bear trap beside my bed to keep Draco out of it. Perhaps Pettigrew's presence wasn't entirely a nuisance after all.

To Snape's chagrin, Narcissa started by informing him that the Master forbade her to speak of this matter. There was only one "correct" response to such news, particularly in front of Bellatrix, and he dutifully gave it. "The Dark Lord's word is law," Snape chided her gently.

Bella suddenly looked more smug than Albus at his worst, however, and even if he were not a spy, he could not let it go at that. "It so happens that I know of the plan." Telling this lie set his teeth on edge; Narcissa deserved better from him, not to mention that it was unsportsmanlike to bluff someone who trusted you so implicitly. For that reason, he was actually glad when Bellatrix butted in; at least he could justify wheedling the facts out of her.

"Draco should be proud," she blathered with her usual tact. "He seems glad of a chance to prove himself..."

So Draco's head is on the chopping block, then? Narcissa confirmed it out loud: "This is vengeance for Lucius's mistake, I know it!"

In the vernacular, my poor dear, 'No Duh.' He avoided Narcissa's eyes, unable to offer any comfort in his gaze--at least not until he knew what in seven hells she was talking about.

"If Draco succeeds, he will be honored above all others," Snape prompted, hoping that optimism would be contagious.

"But he won't succeed! How can he, when the Dark Lord himself--"

Naturally, the Drama Queen chose to gasp theatrically, interrupting Narcissa before she could spill the beans. Damn it, Bellatrix, you are roughly as helpful as a fart in a windstorm. Now he'd have to start a brand new attempt to extract information about this Big Plan, and one could only tug on that line so many times before arousing suspicion. He let Narcissa ramble for a moment, waiting for a promising segue to come up. She finally asked him to intervene with the Master on Draco's behalf. Not perfect, but I can work with that.

"The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it." He mumbled a bit of claptrap regarding Lucius's failure at the Ministry, both to fluster her and to placate Bellatrix. In a few minutes they should both be too distracted to notice a peaceful return to the subject of Draco's assignment.

Whoops. Narcissa got a bit too flustered. Instead of sensing the need to calmly and quickly develop a plan, she began begging him to do Draco's task on his behalf. Pay attention, Severus, you insensitive idiot! The woman's on the edge already, a toothpick was all she needed, not a Bludger! He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. It was time for some serious manipulation.

Calm her down. "He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first." He rambled on autopilot, spouting some sentiment about holding back his aid, so as not to compromise his position as a spy, but the unstated message was clear: You see? Old Uncle Severus will take care of everything in the final hour--provided we discuss the preparations now.

He had thought it was clear, anyway. Unfortunately, Snape knew he'd blown it again when he saw Narcissa's eyes narrow. Shit, what did I just say? He carefully replayed his own words in his mind: "in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds..." That's when she turned sour and replied, "It doesn't matter to him if Draco is killed?"

Ah, a suicide mission? It took all of Snape's discipline not to curse out loud. Death generally served as the ultimate punishment in the Master's mind. He must be furious beyond reason with Lucius, to force him to outlive his only son. Snape suddenly felt a bit sick to his stomach and had to backpedal for a moment to regain his composure.

"The Dark Lord is very angry. He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily." She started sobbing in earnest, but there was nothing for it; when the Dark Lord went on a vendetta, there could be no time wasted on niceties. The assignment is something I could survive, but Draco could not. That wasn't particularly informative, but it was a good sign. In surrendering secrets, the first detail was always hardest; once it slipped out, the rest were sure to follow.

Snape scooped Narcissa up carefully and steered her to the sofa. Do NOT hug her, nor rock her side-to-side. This would be all business from now on. A little more wine will help loosen your tongue. He had to open her hand to make her take the glass, and then demand that she drink it. When she'd swallowed a sip of wine, Snape pressed on with his next tactic.

"It might be possible... for me to help Draco." She perked up immediately, her eyes bright with desperate hope. Come now. Help me to help him, my dear. Tell me more.

"Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?"

"I can try." ... but I need more information. Come on, Narcissa, must I spell it out for you? She could connive and scheme with the best of them; she must be chomping at the bit to formulate the plan for Draco's redemption. Snape looked deep into her eyes, willing her to calm herself, trust him, and confide in him, in that order and as soon as possible.

Instead, she fell to her knees with the sort of histrionics he normally associated with Bellatrix, and began to kiss his hand in hysterical gratitude.

Oh, bugger! This was downright embarrassing. Her head was practically in his lap, and even though Narcissa was obviously too distraught to realize what she was doing, Bella was beginning to smirk. He fumed silently, thankful that she didn't have a camera; it was hard to imagine how this could get much worse.

"If you are there to protect him... Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?"

I was wrong; it's worse. "The Unbreakable Vow?" he repeated, feeling about as transparent as one of Trelawney's crystal balls. Bellatrix leapt onto that display of weakness like a fly onto manure. "Oh, he'll try, I'm sure... The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action..."

Up yours, Bellatrix. "Certainly, Narcissa." Snape was annoyed, but not too concerned. He'd done many unspeakable things to suit the Dark Lord; he could surely do one more on behalf of the Malfoys. He was also certain that, no matter what Draco's task, there would inevitably be a way to exploit it and twist it to his own advantage. Besides, a Vow would bring a quick end to all the mystery; Narcissa would have to state precisely what she needed, so that he could Vow to do it for her. A tidy solution, indeed.

He knelt and took Narcissa's hand, inwardly gloating at Bella; he'd never seen her speechless before, and it was delightful to behold. Snape gazed at Narcissa fondly.

"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"

Good, clear establishment of the involved parties. "I will."

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"

Damn it, Ciss, you're getting off topic. I already protect him from harm. Focus, woman, on fulfilling his assignment! "I will."

"And, should it prove necessary... if it seems Draco will fail..."

Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana, fail at WHAT, already? He nearly crushed her hand in frustration.

"...will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

Fuck!

For a moment, all he could do was stare. Only a Malfoy would come up with such phrasing--binding him completely while maintaining her own "plausible deniability" of the entire matter. This was sketchy, Vowing to do Merlin-only-knew what.

Well, how bad could it be? "I will."

As Bellatrix cast the final Bond to whip around their wrists, Snape took a deep breath. He felt the Bond settling into his blood and permeating him. The magic would lie dormant until the Vow was fulfilled, but if he threatened to break his word, the spell would literally take control of him. It would force him, even against his will, to carry out the Vow.

Yet he still had another option, though he was loathe to undertake it. Snape knew full well that there was one other Vow that could supersede an Unbreakable: a Vow to the Death. He would pay a terrible price if he had to make a conflicting Vow, but he could still be released from this unknown task. The longer he waited, the worse it would be--the time for bluffs and gamesmanship was over. He needed to use Legilimency, tonight.

Wormtail had belted down the last drop of Calming Draught in the house eight days ago. I can send Bellatrix to fetch some for her sister, an onerous chore at 1:00 AM. In the time it would take her to rifle through Narcissa's medicine cabinet, or better yet, force some unlucky apothecarian to open his shop, Snape could easily scan Narcissa's mind and Obliviate the act from her memory. It was distasteful to violate a friend in such a way, but his choices were rapidly dwindling.

The whirling Bond was nearly invisible at his wrist. Snape tilted his head back, ready to send Bellatrix on her way as soon as the spell was complete. He had just enough time to register that she was making a series of complex motions with her wand before his heart sank.

"Edificens," she said.

"BELLATRIX!" they both shouted. Narcissa's voice was deep with outrageous indignation, but Snape's was a horrified squeak. He glanced back at Narcissa, whose wide eyes undoubtedly mirrored his own. A small part of him was relieved that they both had good reason to be shocked, as all of his self-discipline had failed him at this latest twist.

Bella had Edified the Vow, taking it to the one step beyond Unbreakable; it was now a Vow to the Death. Or it would be in short order, when the final ritual was complete. The magic of the Bond flared white-hot within both of them, taking hold of them completely. Snape caught only one more willful glimpse of Narcissa baring her teeth at her sister before the spell took her, forcing her to soften her features and reach out to him. Her eyes flashed one last apology before glazing over, and he did his best to produce a sympathetic shrug before succumbing himself to the magic. He never would have guessed Bella would stoop this low, and undoubtedly neither had Narcissa.

He was barely aware of their clothing Vanishing, or of Narcissa's body colliding with his as if he'd Accio'd her. He was rock hard in seconds, without even a hint of passion in his heart. She knocked him onto his back, scrambled up awkwardly to straddle him as she pulled him into position, and slammed her hips down onto his with no further preliminaries.

He could almost feel the slick heat of her body, but barely so; the spell was siphoning away all of the vital energy between them. Narcissa looked positively bored, although he knew she was livid behind those blank eyes. He could not turn his head to see Bellatrix, so he spent the time locked in an internal debate over the merits of her running away immediately versus sticking around until they recovered their self-control. The thought of her watching was most unappealing, but at least they wouldn't have to chase her down to exact retribution. Either way, her ass was grass, and he and Narcissa were the lawn mower.

A few more violent, mechanical thrusts of her hips and the fiasco was over. The magic released them as soon as the Vow was consummated, abruptly leaving them staring at one another as though the whole event was a lewd dream from which they'd suddenly awakened. Narcissa gave him a remorseful glance (which was thankfully devoid of loathing), and disimpaled herself, shooting toward her sister's last known location with her fingers curled into talons. She howled something that was probably meant to be "Bell," but could easily have been some other "B" word, it was impossible to tell.

The front door was half-open, letting in the unearthly chill and fog of dementor droppings. Bellatrix, demonstrating that she still posessed some remaining sense, was nowhere to be seen. Narcissa tripped over her own robe as it attempted to coalesce about her rapidly moving body, and charged through the door before he could say, "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am."

Snape slowly sat up, shaking his head as if clearing it of cobwebs. In truth he was quite alert, but his reflexes expected him to be dazed, and reacted accordingly. He toyed with the notion of roaring after Bellatrix, but there wasn't much point. Narcissa would be mauling her in short order, and Merlin-only-knew she had a lot of tension to work off. Letting her eviscerate Bella was the least he could do.

He jumped a bit when the attic door crashed open and Wormtail raged into the parlor, a mass of angry red welts dressed in soaking wet tatters. "Snape, you bastard, you've gone too far this time! How dare you plant explosives in my..." Wormtail's voice trailed off as he registered that Snape wasn't even giving him the usual glower. "What's the matter with you?" he finally peeped, his voice a strained falsetto.

Snape took a deep breath and slumped his shoulders before replying, "Pettigrew, tonight I am well and truly fucked."