Chapter 2

It wasn't until two weeks later that Snape had the opportunity to make good on his promise to Lestrange. Classes had been progressing at their normal pace, which meant that he was currently bogged down in a pile of poorly written and ill-thought-out essays from his third years. To be honest, he'd hardly given Bellatrix a spare thought. But the Dark Lord never let his followers forget that they were bound to his every whim, and he rarely let them go longer than three weeks without calling them to his side.

Sure enough, Snape was summoned to the Dark Lord's feet only an hour after his last class of the week, where he bowed and scraped before the hem he was meant to kiss. Bellatrix was located, as usual, at the Dark Lord's right elbow, waiting for the moment where she might be able to torture someone for him. Snape ignored her for now; he had to get through the summons before he could consider tailing her with the hopes of finding a juicy tidbit to throw to Lestrange.

The Dark Lord was, admittedly, crazy. Bellatrix was perhaps more so. Her fingers curled around her wand as if she dreamed of cursing everyone around her. Her eyes were constantly open wide, as if she believed she might miss something important if she blinked just once. Her long black hair was no longer as lustrous as it had once been, although Snape had to admit she still put herself together well, considering the years she'd spent locked away in Azkaban. And she doted continuously on her spoiled nephew, Draco Malfoy, as if she missed not having a child of her own to coddle and cater to.

Snape didn't even want to imagine what a child borne by Bellatrix Lestrange would be like.

The summons was brought to an end when the Dark Lord beckoned for Pettigrew to feed Nagini something that looked suspiciously human-shaped, and the Death Eaters began to drift from the room. Snape followed Bellatrix at a distance, so that he might merely be accused of going in the same direction as she. Bellatrix ignored her husband, who was making only a half-hearted attempt to gain her attention anyway, in favour of advancing to the fireplace, where she gathered a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the hearth. Her black-booted feet stepped inside, and the green flames whisked her away.

Dammit. He'd been too far away to hear her destination. Well, there was nothing for it.

"Lestrange," Snape said, striding up to Rodolphus. "I rather fancy a cigar."

Rodolphus glanced away from his brother to stare at Snape. "I have some Cubans at-"

"Excellent," Snape cut in. "Shall we?"

Lestrange nodded curtly at Rabastan, then turned to the fireplace to leave. Snape followed moments later, the flames spitting him out in a darkly furnished sitting room. Rodolphus was already opening a box on his desk, removing two cigars and a clipper. A quick glance about the room did not reveal Bellatrix; Snape sunk into the proffered chair and accepted the cigar.

The men went through the steps of sniffing the tobacco before lighting the tips. They puffed a few times in silence, the smoke wafting about their ears. Finally, Rodolphus lowered the cigar to the ashtray, where it balanced neatly on the edge. "You didn't come here for cigars," he said. It was not a question.

"No," Snape agreed readily. "Where has she gone?"

There was no need to clarify who 'she' was.

"Her mother's, likely. Disappears there more than I like. Druella is a fine woman, mind you, but as harsh as Bella and not nearly as clever. A brutal woman, you might say."

Snape gave his cigar another puff before laying it down as well. "And where might the Black residence be located?"

"Unplottable, is my guess. Likely in London, near the other Black house. I think you know where that one is."

Oh, Snape was familiar with the other Black house, all right. Grimmauld Place was a musty, dank, rotting structure that hardly passed for a house, in his opinion. Not to mention it had, until recently, contained Sirius Black on a regular basis. Now Snape was forced to visit it regularly for Order meetings, which he could be not be less thrilled about.

He gave a small grunt in reply.

They sat in silence a minute longer, Rodolphus tapping his cigar against the edge of the ashtray as he stared into the flickering orange flames of the fire. Snape wondered if Bellatrix would be returning home anytime soon; would she accept his presence as easily as Rodolphus, or become even more suspicious of him than she already was? He wasn't sure if the answer was worth the hassle it would inevitably incur.

Snape pushed himself to his feet and made a small bow towards Rodolphus. "Thank you for the hospitality," he said generously. "But I fear I must make a journey to London tonight. I'm running low on bicorn scales, you understand."

Lestrange nodded once. "Pleasant evening, Severus."

Snape gathered a handful of powder from the fireplace mantle and tossed it in. "Leaky Cauldron!" he called out, feeling himself pulled away from one location into another.

He stepped out into the pub, which was nearly as dark as the Lestrange's household had been. Behind the bar, Tom was polishing glasses in preparation for a long night ahead. Snape exited into the small courtyard behind the pub, tapped the appropriate bricks with his wand, and stepped out in Diagon Alley. He strode to Slug and Jiggers, where he did indeed purchase some bicorn horn powder before stepping back out into the approaching dusk, unsure of where to head next. It was unlikely that anyone was at Grimmauld Place at the moment; Lupin was off to convince the werewolves against joining Voldemort, and the Weasley matriarch was long frustrated with trying to clean the house to any reasonable standard. The only person he would have to worry about, if you could call him a person, was Kreacher, who could be dealt with by means of a strict word and a bribe of Black cutlery.

Snape spun on the spot, vanishing from the alley and reappearing in the park across from Grimmauld Place, hidden by the overreaching tree branches and their drooping leaves. The house stood quiet before him, the windows dark. Snape stepped up to the door and let himself inside, creeping past the portrait of Walburga Black.

It was a long shot, what he hoped to find. The desks had long been cleared out by Molly Weasley and her gang of servants, or rather, her children. The tapestry on the wall, which clearly pictured Bellatrix sneering next to her much-younger husband, lent no clues as to her current whereabouts. If he wasn't so certain that Bellatrix would detect any tracking charm he might leave on her and then slaughter the wizard who dared to spy on her, Snape would have gone that much simpler route instead. But no, here he was, poking around for clues.

Nothing.

Snape prodded at the corners of the desk with his wand, hoping for a secret compartment that might have been missed.

Nothing.

He stepped back into the main hall, ready to leave before someone arrived and questioned his presence in the house. He was halfway out the door when a drawling voice spoke up behind him.

"Half-bloods never did learn their manners."

Snape froze in the doorframe before turning. "Walburga."

"And what could you be doing, skulking around my home like a common criminal? Trying to decide what you'd like to steal on your next return?"

"I'll leave that to Mundungus Fletcher, not myself." Snape snapped the door shut behind him. "You're a paranoid old bat, although I understand your dismay at having strangers traipse through your home."

The portrait sniffed. "No respect for the old families anymore. Simply no respect at all."

"While this has been... lovely, I must be on my way." Snape was half-turned back towards the door when Walburga's pitiful voice transformed.

"NO! I will not have you leave until I know why you have been in my house!"

"I shall enjoy watching you attempt to stop me, you wretched spot of paint."

"Well, I never! It is my right as the pureblooded woman of this household-"

"Mrs. Black," Snape interrupted, forcing his voice to ooze politeness. Walburga stopped her tirade, raising her eyebrows at him in surprise. "Perhaps you might bestow upon your grateful servant a small favour."

She pursed her lips as she stared down her nose at him. "A favour," she echoed.

"Indeed. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might know where Druella Rosier, pardon me, Black, lives. Your sister-in-law, if I am not mistaken."

"No, you're quite correct." Walburga paused, thoughtful. "And what is your business with Druella?"

Snape cleared his throat. "I had hoped to approach her on a matter concerning the well-being of her eldest daughter."

"Dearest Bellatrix? I do hope she is not in any trouble." Walburga seemed to have forgotten that she had been shouting at him not two minutes previous.

"None, you can be certain of that. But do you know where I might find her?"

"Bellatrix? Why-"

"No, her mother."

"Ah, yes, of course."

She paused. He waited.

"Madam?"

"And why on Merlin's green earth should I tell you? Did you really think I would give up my brother's address so easily, you stupid boy?"

It had been a long time since someone, besides Dumbledore, had deigned to call him a boy.

"My apologies. I see I was too forward in my request."

"Don't pretend at politeness with me, you filthy half-blood. Now get out of my house!"

Snape whirled in a flurry of robes and left.