kizzy7 - Supernova Seeker

***

The clearing was quiet, the dying embers of a fire glowing dully nearby the tent. Hermione coughed...the smoking logs and scattered, dusty footprints denoted someone was still awake. She pushed aside the thick canvas flap of the magically-expanded tent.

"Who's there?" came a demand, dark and rough, and the tip of a wand was at her neck.

"Ron," she sputtered. "It's me. Come on."

His wand emitted a feeble light into the darkness of the tent, and she could see he wore the Horcrux and it was alive, pulsing like a heartbeat against his flesh.

Pale skin and bruises, she thought. Oh, Ron!

He lowered his wand infinitesimally and rubbed against his chest, right at the spot where the locket touched his heart. He flinched as his knuckles brushed against the burnished gold, bringing his fingers to his mouth as if they bled.

"Where've you been?" he asked, flopping next to a deeply sleeping Harry. "I mean, would it kill you, Hermione, to fucking tell us what you're doing instead of just thinking we're too stupid?"

"Oh, come off it, Ronald!" she said, rolling her eyes even as she could feel the outline of her fake Galleon in her pocket. Crouching next to Harry, she gently shook her friend awake.

"Sup?" he mumbled, reaching automatically for his glasses. "Hermione?" His hair was sticking up at all possible angles, crisscrossing against his lightening-bolt scar. For a blessed minute, he looked like a child, such a child. She poked him playfully in the ribs.

"Wake up, Harry. I've something to tell you."

Ron abruptly stood up and crossed his arms. "Well, obviously I'm not invited to your little gossip session. So I'll just go and leave you two... alone," he spat. "Cause you don't want me anyways," he mumbled as he left the tent.

The inrushing blast of cold nighttime air and the venom laced through Ron's voice made her shiver. "Ron's been acting weird lately, huh?"

Harry shrugged. "Meh. It's just Ron. So...?"

Again fingering the outline of her Galleon...it had become almost a talisman for her...Hermione began to tell Harry what she'd learned that night.

******

He almost never slept. Not anymore. Prowling the castle had become an obligatory routine...catch any foolish children before the Carrows could, await summons from the Dark Lord...and so through the Dungeons and up, up to the Astronomy Tower he stalked, scouring every magical inch of Hogwarts. Excepting his own office, where the saddened portrait of Dumbledore haunted him, it seemed, through the endless parade of nights and days.

Into the Room of Requirement now, and the DA must have had a recent meeting. A fire still cracked and popped in the grate; half-eaten sandwiches and jugs of pumpkin juice littered the tables.

Kids, he thought as he eyed the mess. They're just kids.

Snape stiffened. Was that...?

Yes, a sound, the soft tread of footsteps. And then...

Outrageously, he could feel a wand digging into the lower part of his back.

"What are you doing here, Snape?" came a voice. "Give me a reason not to curse you right now. I know... I know a bunch of hexes now!"

"Mr. Longbottom," he responded, turning slowly, his arms outstretched.

For moments, they stared at each other, and Snape was amazed that Longbottom's gaze not once wavered. Snape could efficiently neutralise the boy with a bit of nonverbal magic, but he didn't. Wouldn't.

Finally, Neville lowered his wand. "You shouldn't be here, Professor Snape."

"And neither should you, you foolish boy. Amycus patrols these halls, as you and your... friends well know."

Neville sheathed his wand and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a glowing golden coin.

"Bugger," Neville muttered, his eyes shifting guiltily between the Galleon and Snape. "Erm, I'll just go then...."

Wordlessly, Snape Summoned the coin, and it flew confidently into his open palm.

Guns, Neville, was emblazoned across the dragonhead. They have guns.

"You run along now, Mr. Longbottom," Snape growled in his most threatening of timbres. "Or it'll be detention and house points.

"But sir, I need that Galleon..."

"I think not," he said, gesturing for the door. "Now go."

Neville left, lumbering arms and legs and his face tweaked suspiciously, and Snape turned his attention to the mysterious coin. Had he perhaps discovered how Granger was communicating with the unfortunate inhabitants of the castle? And idiot boy...he had simply pulled the coin from his pocket without any consideration of the consequences. Good lord, what if...

But no matter. No good thinking of such things. He pressed his wand to the coin, inscribing a message onto the gold.

With whom am I speaking?

A brief moment...undoubtedly, the recipient was confused by the inexplicable appearance of proper grammar and correctly formatted sentences...and a reply boldly appeared, warm in his palm.

Professor Snape? This is Hermione.

Another moment, and then...Hermione Granger, sir.

A part of him was tempted to ask the girl precisely how many 'Hermiones' she imagined him to know, but he only touched his wand to the coin in reply.

Miss Granger, worry not about the Muggle weaponry.

When she didn't reply, he slipped the Galleon beneath his frock coat and left the Room, the soles of his shoes clacking loudly in the emptiness.

***

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted red in the oppressed opulence of Malfoy Manor, and the tall, golden candelabras glimmered like stolen jewels in the shadows. Snape counted twelve... thirteen of his compatriots.

Good.

"Severusss has asked us here tonight," came a hiss, high-pitched and sputtering. Snape winced behind his expressionless mask. To him, the Dark Lord's voice was nails on a chalkboard, the dying shrieks of tortured children, the wails of the eternally damned.

A cough, and Snape tilted his head. Across the way was Slughorn, his chin wobbling precariously beneath the silver Death Eater's mask.

"He believes," continued Voldemort, "that these... Muggle... armaments are unworthy of our mission. Now," and here he tucked his spiny, grey fingers underneath his chin, and his lipless mouth smacked in anticipation, "thoughts? My followers?"

Silence settled like a thick, strangling quilt over the room...Slughorn's chubby, bejeweled fingers ceased their incessant drumming, shuffling and whispering stilled. Eyes shifted...who would speak first? And risk defying the Dark Lord?

Snape suppressed a laugh. Cowards, all of them. "Though I do not doubt that my Lord's intentions were noble, these... guns... are beneath us as wizards of the purest, highest order," he said smoothly.

Voldemort's expression did not change, and Snape knew with chilling certainty that he could die here tonight.

"Well," said Goyle, his gruff voice shaking with uncertainty. "I think... I think it's bloody well nice to pull that tribble."

"Trigger, you fool," said Lucius. "My Lord. I believe you know how I feel concerning this matter. I despise anything... Muggle."

Snape could well imagine the look of contempt curled on Lucius' lips.

"Don't want to soil your purty hands, eh, Malfoy?" spat Goyle.

"Precisely. I..."

"Silence." At Voldemort's command, the dining room again stilled. "I have made my decision... My supplier? Slughorn? What say you?"

Should have known, thought Snape.

"Well," said Slughorn, shifting in his seat. "We've had reasonable success with the killings, though some... some claim it's a bit too messy. And no problems with the supplies..."

"Load of tripe, that's what that is!" interrupted Avery. "Why, just last night we had..."

Avery's whiny voice was cut off with abrupt wave of Voldemort's hand. "I agree with Severus. I will not have Purebloods wielding Muggle weapons any longer. Horace, make the arrangements."

Finally, Snape thought. Somehow... I'll have to let her know.

***

It was late that night, and he was exhausted. Too exhausted to even think properly straight. The Galleon still rested in his pocket, but he hadn't heard anything from her since the previous night.

Not that I care much about pathetic Potter or the Weasley moron, was his vicious thought. His shoulders slumped as he meandered slowly up to the Headmaster's office.

By the stone gargoyle near the foot of the stairs, Luna Lovegood danced in the moonlight, her blonde hair flowing in the still air as she twirled.

"Headmaster," she said dreamily, as if she had expected him. As if she had been waiting for him. "Do you by any chance know where I could find a pillar box?" She gestured airily towards a stack of addressed envelopes sloping on the first step. "I'm mailing all the Muggle newspapers, you know..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I wrote a treatise. About the guns."

He pressed two thin fingers against his temples, hoping to ward off the impending headache. "Miss Lovegood... No. It's past curfew. You should be in Ravenclaw Tower, not dillydallying in the stairwell. I do not have time for this."

He made to brush past her, but she grasped him round the forearm with surprising strength in her light, bony fingers. "Professor Snape." And she was staring at him with large, luminescent eyes that reflected the moonlight in the empty corridor. "Just remember, sir, keep the antidote on the interior. The interior."

Impatiently, he shook his arm loose from her grasp. "Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. Now."

She was still twirling when he entered his office, and the sad, wizened eyes of Dumbledore's infernal portrait greeted him, jolting him with guilt so painful, so visceral, he doubled over.

"Severus..."

He shook his head. "Not now, Albus."

Slipping quickly into bed, he clutched the Galleon between his palms and closed his eyes.

Much later, he slept.

***

A/N The words I used for this week were dillydally, tripe, and pillar box. Big thanks to blue_paris for beta'ing! I also just want to thank the members of Team Jupiter. It was lovely to meet you.