5: The First He Cared For

Chapter 5: The First He Cared For

Barty was just about to hand Nadezhda her robe when the door opened and the soft light of the candle fell onto Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

'The Dark Lord awaits you, Barty,' Lucius said quietly, waving his wand and thus dressing the young man in his own clothes. 'Make haste.'

'But Nadezhda ...' Barty started, looking at his bride as if parting from her would rip his very soul apart.

Lucius, however, cut the young man short. 'The Dark Lord wishes to see you straight away,' he declared. 'The girl is to be taken back to Hogwarts. Snape, that will be your job. Hurry up now.'

Barty seemed torn. His feet were carrying him towards the door to follow the master of the manor, but his eyes continuously darted back towards his bride.

'When will I see her again?' he asked, looking at Lucius but addressing everyone in the room.

'When the Dark Lord sees it fit,' Lucius hissed and impatiently grabbed Barty by the arm. 'And unless you want to suffer his anger, you'd better come along now.'

Reluctantly, Barty let himself be more or less dragged from the room, and after the door had fallen shut behind him and her husband, Narcissa turned towards Snape. Her nose was slightly wrinkled. She seemed disgusted by something.

'The Dark Lord wants you to take the girl back to Hogwarts and await his orders to escort her back here some time next week,' she announced.

Snape accepted his orders with a slight bow. He had already suspected that he would be given the dubious task of bringing the girl to her so called fiancé whenever the Dark Lord saw it fit. There were appearances to keep up, after all, and even if the girl was a pureblood and expected to be betrothed as soon as she was of age, she would still need a chaperon when leaving the castle during the school year.

Already pondering how he would thwart those plans, Snape studied the woman in front of him. He had expected Narcissa to take her leave as soon as she had delivered the Dark Lord's orders, a task which she obviously considered to be beneath her. But the lady of the manor didn't move. Instead, she was eyeing Snape just as intently as he was eyeing her, and had he not known better, he would have believed that she was trying to use Legilimency on him. After a while, however, she simply gave him a curt nod and turned towards the girl, who was still silently standing beside the bed, her robe pulled tightly around herself and her head – once more – slightly bowed.

'I see it worked,' Narcissa commented after casting a quick glance at the crimson drops on the white silk sheet.

'If you are talking about your sister's deranged plan ...' Snape started, but Narcissa cut him short.

'No, Severus. This is not what I am talking about,' she said coldly. 'You did well,' she added, once more addressing the girl. All of a sudden, her voice was much softer.

Nadezhda nodded silently and handed the older woman a small phial. Its inside was still coated red.

'Good girl,' Narcissa said and nodded towards the door that led to the en suite bathroom. 'No one noticed. Bella is convinced that everything went just as she wanted it to. Now, go wash yourself. Your clothes are already in the bathroom.'

'You faked this?' Snape hissed once he and Narcissa were alone, staring in disbelief at the receptacle Narcissa was holding in her hand. Certainly, part of him was glad that Bellatrix's deranged plan had been foiled, but another part of him was concerned by the risks that had been taken. What if Bellatrix found out?

'How do you think McKibben would have reacted had he found out that his daughter wasn't as innocent as he wanted to believe?' Narcissa asked quietly, not yet looking at Snape. 'How do you think he would he have reacted if there had been no proof of the girl's chastity while the room was full with witnesses?' She more or less spat out the last word, and Snape frowned.

'McKibben vouched for his daughter's chastity,' he interjected. 'He was most convinced.'

'The girl lied, Severus,' Narcissa exclaimed, turning around to face Snape. 'She lied as so many other women of ancient and noble families have been forced to do before her.'

She took a shuddering breath, and Snape saw something change in her otherwise so cold eyes. Was that compassion he saw?

'I, too, had parents who vouched for my chastity and a father-in-law who demanded it,' Narcissa continued in a tone that was so bitter that Snape could almost taste the bile in his own mouth. 'I, too, was forced to present proof after my wedding night. I know what it means to fail in delivering said proof.' A muscle twitched in her jaw, and she drew herself up to her full height, fixing Snape with a look that made it impossible for him to look away. 'I couldn't let this girl take another beating. What happened in here tonight was bad enough.'

'Another beating?' Snape enquired. He was at a complete loss.

'You didn't see her scars?' Narcissa's eyes widened. 'By Merlin, you really did not watch. Lucius said you hadn't, but I ...' She covered her mouth with her hand. 'Forgive me, Severus, but when Lucius told me you had volunteered to assist Bella, I assumed ...'

Snape didn't react. For the time being, he didn't care if Narcissa believed him to be a pervert or a saint. He was too amazed to see that she, Narcissa Malfoy, trophy wife and perfect hostess, actually seemed to possess a heart, that she cared for a girl she barely knew.

'Of course, our little deception poses a slight problem,' Narcissa went on, lowering her hand to straighten her robe. Her momentary display of compassion seemed to have passed, and once more, her face did not show the slightest trace of emotion. 'Bella's plan ... Her spell now has no effect on the girl, as it was not cast on her blood. And as sweet as Barty might be ...'

Snape snorted. Barty Crouch, sweet? He might look that way to Narcissa, since he had seemed so reluctant to leave his bride. But Narcissa had only seen that. She had not seen him drive into his bride like a man possessed. She had not seen him act on Bellatrix's orders and take what wasn't rightfully his.

'As sweet as Barty might be,' Narcissa repeated, ignoring Snape's reaction, 'I doubt Nadezhda likes him enough to convince Dumbledore that she cannot survive a week without meeting her fiancé. And if she is not allowed to leave Hogwarts ... Severus, I am scared for the girl. If she is not allowed to leave the castle, I wouldn't put it past McKibben to take her out of school and lock her up at home.'

'What do you know about McKibben, Narcissa?' Snape enquired.

'Nothing,' Narcissa admitted. 'But I saw how terrified this poor girl was at the thought of her father finding out that she is not a virgin anymore. Severus, this girl seems more afraid of her father than she is of the Dark Lord.'

Snape nodded slowly. It sounded odd, he had to admit that. But he knew how it was to be so afraid of one's own father that the Dark Lord's inner circle seemed like a safer place than one's own home. And still, his own father seemed positively saint-like compared to Duncan McKibben.

'I will do everything in my power to ensure the girl is kept safe,' he assured Narcissa. And if that meant hiding her in the dungeons and being punished, so be it.

~ ~ ~

Snape eyed the girl intently as she exited his fireplace. Her black hair was immaculately braided and her robes unwrinkled. Her back was straight and her head, as always, a little bowed, just as her eyes, as always, were respectfully lowered to the ground.

Snape contemplated her posture. At the beginning of the school year, he had interpreted it as a sign of shyness. After having read her student file, he had taken it as a sign of an old-fashioned, pureblood upbringing. But now, Snape knew better. This was the posture of someone who once too often had been shown her place. It was the posture of a girl who had never received as much as a single ounce of love from her father, but only orders, threats and beatings. He could sympathise. He had known a boy with such a posture once; a pale boy with hair just as black as hers, a boy who had always kept his head low. That boy, too, had been shown his place, by his father, by his schoolmates, by his so called friends. And that boy had ended up making all the wrong choices. Heaven forbid the girl was already beyond salvation.

He watched her brush the ashes off her robes and then tore his eyes away from her to sweep towards the cabinet where he stored his potions. A minute later, he placed three phials onto his desk.

'A Sleeping Draught,' he explained, pointing at the first phial. 'It has been a long night.'

The girl nodded.

'Essence of Dittany,' Snape continued, relieved to see that the girl once more nodded in acceptance. He had no desire to explain why he was giving her that particular potion. Neither did he want her to know that Narcissa had told him about her scars.

'And this,' he said, pointing at the third phial, 'is smartweed and cotton root. A contraceptive.'

For the third time, Nadezhda nodded.

'You may return the empty phials to me in the morning,' Snape instructed. 'For your own sake, I recommend you keep them hidden from the students you share your dormitory with. Unless you are in the mood for uncomfortable questions.'

A fourth nod.

Snape felt a muscle twitch at his jaw. He really wished the girl would say something now. Anything. But she kept silent and did not once meet his gaze. Instead, she pocketed the three phials, and as Snape didn't have anything else to say, he told her to return to her dormitory. She bid him goodnight and left. Snape didn't return her wishes for a good night. He didn't have the words to tell her to sleep well. He didn't feel like he had the right to tell her anything, even though it felt as if he should tell her that if she couldn't sleep or needed someone to talk to, she could come and see him. But he couldn't tell her that. Had he not told her that once they returned to Hogwarts, he would be nothing more than her teacher and Head of House and that he would know nothing about what Snape, the Death Eater, had seen at Malfoy Manor? Not that he would ever be able forget what he had seen or had been told. But he felt that he needed to draw this line between Snape, the Death Eater and Snape, the Potions master. Because the latter did not want Nadezhda to feel self-conscious in his presence. He did not want her to be afraid of him. He did not want her to hate him. How he could achieve that, however, he didn't have the faintest idea.

~ ~ ~

Dumbledore buried his face in his hands, and Snape watched him, silently appreciating the older wizard's gesture. The news he had just delivered, his description of the night's events, was too horrific to be ignored yet at the same time too gruesome to be commented upon. Silent shock was the only reaction that seemed fitting.

'The girl is in bed, you say?' Dumbledore finally enquired.

Snape nodded. 'I sent an elf to check. She says Miss McKibben is asleep.'

'Good. Good.' Dumbledore conjured two glasses out of thin air. A moment later, they filled with an amber liquid. 'Not a Dreamless Sleep potion,' he commented, 'but this, too, has the power to chase some demons away for the night.'

Snape gladly accepted the Firewhisky and drained half his glass in one gulp. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all night. He never did at Malfoy Manor or any other Death Eater gathering. But now, Dumbledore's promise of dreamless sleep was too alluring to pass.

'The magic you described, Severus, have you experienced something similar before?'

'Are you suggesting that I have been involved in all kinds of abominations just because I carry the Dark Mark?' Snape snapped, quite quickly regretting his words. Dumbledore was only looking for answers, answers which he hoped that Snape had. It wasn't the Headmaster's fault that Snape was feeling tired and helpless.

Apologetically, Snape shook his head. 'I have no idea what it was, Headmaster,' he confessed. 'For the better part of the evening, I was convinced that there was no such spell as the one Bellatrix performed, but ...'

'Blood magic is old magic,' Dumbledore explained. 'Very old and very powerful.'

'But there was no blood,' Snape interrupted. 'Not the girl's anyway. And still, something happened in that room, something sinister. The spell did work.'

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'You see, Severus, I think the spell Bellatrix used did not necessarily require blood. I think what it required was something living, the sheer essence of life.'

Snape didn't follow. Most probably, his mind simply didn't want to.

'I am afraid, Severus, that Bellatrix's spell found a victim even without the blood of a virgin. I think it chose Barty.'

'When will I see her again?' Barty's words suddenly rang as clearly in Snape's ears as if the young man were standing right beside him, and he could once more see the desperate look on the freckled face. Barty had not wanted to leave. He had wanted to stay by Nadezhda's side and keep her safe, just as he had promised her. The spell had chosen Barty then.

'Bellatrix will throw a tantrum the likes of which have never been seen before when she finds out that her own spell tied her lapdog to another woman,' Snape commented drily. 'She does not appreciate competition.'

'Then we have to make sure she doesn't find out.'

Snape frowned. 'With all due respect, Headmaster, I do not see how Barty Crouch's well-being is any of our concern. He is a grown-up and has chosen his ways on his own.'

'Has he now?' Dumbledore asked, looking at his Potions master over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. 'Or has he simply not had a choice, like so many others?'

The line between Snape's eyes deepened. Dumbledore was not seriously expecting him to feel sorry for a spoiled pureblood brat like Barty Crouch, was he?

Dumbledore shook his head and waved his hand, signalling that he had no intention of discussing the topic of Barty's choices any further. 'You have to remember, Severus,' he went on instead, 'that Barty's fate and Nadezhda's are now linked. How do you think Bellatrix – or Voldemort for that matter – will react when they find Barty yearning for his bride? Don't you think they will become suspicious?'

Snape just gave a non-committal grunt.

'We will have to forestall this, Severus. We have to make sure Barty gets to see Nadezhda before he turns into a lovesick puppy.'

'You want me to bring Miss McKibben to Malfoy Manor?' Snape burst out. 'Headmaster, this was exactly what I was planning to avoid. Why would you want me to put her into danger in order to keep Crouch out of trouble?'

'Barty getting into trouble will mean trouble for Nadezhda as well. Don't you see that, Severus? If anyone finds out that the girl is not under the influence of any spell, they might try something else to ensure she wants to spend time with Barty so he can teach her the proper way for a Death Eater to think, to use Voldemort's words. Besides, Barty is smitten with Nadezhda now. I doubt he will be anything but nice to her.'

~ ~ ~

The early hours of Saturday morning found Severus Snape in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. He had been there for the better part of the night, leafing through tome after tome, looking for answers.

He had tried to go to sleep after his meeting with Dumbledore. By Merlin, he had. But every time he had closed his eyes, his mind had brought him back to Malfoy Manor, to the pretty chamber that was painted in soft pastel tones, to the bed with the white silk sheets. He saw Bellatrix, and he saw Barty. But first and foremost, he saw a pair of green eyes; a pair of eyes that stared blankly into the night. Fixed, broken, lifeless.

When not even his own Dreamless Sleep Potion had been able to give him any peace of mind, Snape had given up on sleep, dressed and left the dungeons. A goal he hadn't possessed. For an hour or two, he had just haunted the corridors of the castle, striding along like a man who had somewhere to go with his gaze fixed in the darkness some feet ahead of him. He had not once wondered why he didn't encounter anyone, not even a ghost. Had he seen his face, he would have understood that a scowl like his even put the undead to flight.

He was furious, to say the least. At some point during the night, he had considered rousing Dumbledore and giving the old man a piece of his mind. How dare he suggest that Barty being under the influence of Bellatrix's spell had any good sides at all? But obviously, the Headmaster was seriously convinced that Barty would be nothing but good to the girl. In fact, Dumbledore had even suggested that Barty would do anything in his power to make sure Nadezhda did not receive the Dark Mark. He had, after all, promised to keep her safe.

But Snape didn't like the idea of putting the fate of the girl into the hands of a young Death Eater who was not only under Bellatrix's spell but also her influence, and so he was now in the library, searching through pages too horrid for any student to read. But even the most dusty books, books so old that their pages carried spells and counter-spells that already had been forgotten centuries ago, seemed to be mocking him. It seemed that there were no answers. It seemed that Bellatrix's spell had a firm grip around Nadezhda even though it had been cast on Barty.

Snape was just about to slam the thick, leather-bound book shut, when hushed voices from the corridor outside the library made him freeze in mid-movement.

'Stop following me.'

'I'll follow you until you give me an answer.'

'I've given you an answer already. It's not you. It's me.'

There was a snort. 'Such a worn-out phrase and totally meaningless. I think I deserve more than that, Nadezhda.'

Snape peered around the corner of a shelf and just about managed to see the entrance to the library. There, in the dim light of the torches that were burning in the corridor, stood Nadezhda McKibben and Charles Herrington.

'You better leave now, Charles,' Nadezhda said quietly, obviously wanting to get her House mate to leave her alone. 'Madam Pince will flay you alive if she catches you here at this time of day.'

'And what about you? You're not supposed to be here either.'

'Actually, I have a note signed by Professor Snape that allows me to be here. I have to catch up on my Defence studies.'

She turned to enter the library, but Charles grabbed her by the arm. 'Naddie, please.'

'Let go of me, Charles. It's over.'

Over? Snape frowned. This almost sounded like ... Were the two breaking up a relationship?

'I'll let go of you if you tell me why you don't want to be with me anymore,' the boy insisted.

They were indeed breaking up.

Snape soundlessly closed his book and shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, it felt as if he were intruding. This was a private conversation between two young adults. Obviously, they judged it private enough to not have it in their common room, but away from curious ears, in a deserted corridor. But Snape had nowhere to go. The library had no back door, and the only way out was through the very door outside which the youngsters were standing. What would be worse, Snape contemplated: unintentional eavesdropping or interrupting them?

He was just about to choose the latter option, when Nadezhda spoke again. And what she had to say made Snape stay and stare at her in disbelief.

'We can't be together, Charles. We never should have been. We're ... too different.'

'Too different?' Charles seemed as surprised and shocked as Snape. 'I'd like to think we have a lot in common. We read the same books. We both hate Quidditch. We're the only studious people in our House ...'

'I am not talking about our hobbies, Charles.'

'Then what are you talking about?'

'You ...' Nadezhda paused, and Snape saw her once more try to pull free from Charles' grip. But the boy held on. 'You're Muggle-born, Charles.'

Her voice was so cold that Snape felt a shiver go down his spine. He couldn't detect any hint of disgust or contempt in her voice, and she hadn't used the word Mudblood either. But still it was very clear that Nadezhda's statement was not well-meant in any way.

Charles let go of her as if burnt. 'Muggle-born?' he exclaimed, his voice almost cracking. 'You must be joking!'

'I'm sorry, Charles.'

The boy started to back away. 'Muggle-born?' He shook his head. 'One night at Malfoy Manor and you suddenly think I am not good enough for you anymore because of my bloodline? I never thought that you of all people ...'

'I'm sorry, Charles,' Nadezhda repeated. But her apology reached deaf ears. Charles was too disappointed, too hurt. And he walked away, still shaking his head at her and not once looking back.

Go after him, girl, Snape thought, painfully reminded of a similar incident not too many years ago. You don't want to lose him. Go after him, and tell him you didn't mean it. He hadn't meant it either back then.

But Nadezhda didn't go after Charles. Instead, she turned on her heel and entered the library, back straight and her head held high. And the cold look in her green eyes made Snape retreat deeper into the shadows. Nadezhda never noticed him, and that was just as well. He wouldn't have known what to say to her anyway.