Chapter 12: Two Steps Away From Cruciatus

Chapter Twelve: Two Steps Away From Cruciatus

I awoke to find Hermione gone. I did find a letter next to me, however, written on my own stationary. I opened the heavy parchment with a yawn and sat up to give it my fullest attention.

Severus,

–H

My heart sank further and further as I read the shaky font and scanned the tear-stained page. The bed seemed to sink under the weight of my heavy heart. I stood and dressed myself in my teaching attire and placed the letter in my pocket. I strode out of the castle and stood at the edge of the lake. I let myself brood under a furrowed brow.

The next month passed with no contact from Hermione at all. She did not speak to me, she did not look at me, and it seemed to me that she did not think about me either. I was not sure what my feelings exactly were towards this recent absence in my life. But as was my custom, I tucked away every loose end and emotion into my chasm of self-loathing. I blamed myself for everything.

At the end of the month, my Dark Mark seared white-hot as I was locking up my classroom for bed. I left the room and strode down the corridors to get to a place where I could Apparate unnoticed. But my plans were thwarted when I ran into Hermione in the Great Hall, quite literally. She stumbled backwards, and I saw that she was wearing the necklace I had given her. I knew that I couldn’t have her touch on my mind when I was about to face my Master, so I went past her without a second glance.

I climbed the final hill in Hogsmeade and Disapparated into the night. I found myself in Tom Riddle Senior’s mansion. The dark, foreboding place was used when the Master had some grand scheme in mind. I stood in the entrance hall until Nagini slithered in and brushed against my bare ankle to signify that I could come in to the former sitting room.

“Severus,” regarded the Dark Lord, inclining his head as I stepped into the room.

“My Lord,” I responded, bending on one knee to kiss the hem of his robes.

“Rise,” he said. He sat himself at a chaise lounge that would have been lavish and comfortable one hundred years prior. He gestured for me to sit, and I chose the stiff-backed wooden chair facing him.

“Severus,” he began. I attentively looked him in the eye as he spoke. “There is a plan in action involving the younger Malfoy. I trust you are somewhat aware of this.”

“Yes, Master,” I replied.

“You obviously do not know my intent for the boy at Hogwarts because I desire it as such. But you will be needed soon. At my next call, you must be ready.”

“To fight?” I inquired.

“Yes, inside the walls of the school itself.” He reclined against the back of the chaise, looking out the window. “Great things will happen at Hogwarts.” He gave a smile at this.

“Yes, Master,” I rattled off. “If you will it so.”

“Is that sarcasm I hear, Snape?” I cringed internally. If he was on a surname basis with me, I was two steps away from Cruciatus.

“No, Master,” I responded. He was standing over me, breathing raggedly into my face.

“Good,” he sneered. “Be ready for your next call.”

“Of course, My Lord. I am always ready—”

“—And willing to do what needs to be done, say what needs to be said and serve you as best as I can serve,” he finished mockingly. “Where you all get off parroting Bellatrix, I will never…” he trailed off.

“Of course, Master,” I responded, giving a slight bow as I stood.

“You may go,” he announced, waving his hand at me. I left.

When I reached the entrance hall, I recognized Fenrir Greyback soiling the tasteful area rug. He was snarling and smelled putrid. I tried to step past him, but I wasn’t so lucky.

“Snape,” he growled, “what’s your rush?”

“I have none,” I said, stepping back to look him in the eye.

“Good then,” he said, but was escorted into the Dark Lord’s room before I was forced to respond. I was truly frightened. If Greyback was involved, then it had to mean there was something extremely dangerous about to happen; Voldemort was pulling out all the stops.

I returned to my office in great need of a stiff drink. But when I opened my liquor cabinet, I found it devoid of every bottle. It was entirely empty save for a torn scrap of parchment. I looked at it and saw a heart drawn upon it—and a letter H. I shook my head; the girl always thought she knew what was best for me.

The next few months passed without a sign from Voldemort or Hermione. I therefore reverted to my old habits. I spoke to no one at meals, brewed potions on weekends and gave out more than my fair share of detentions during the week to keep myself occupied. I didn’t dare look at Hermione save for one time when I caught a glimpse of emerald around her neck.

The Dark Mark burned more frequently as time wore on. I was constantly alert. If a window slammed shut unexpectedly, I would whip out my wand. Fear lurked around every corner as I imagined what the Dark Lord could possibly be plotting. So it was no surprise that I nearly killed an owl that flew onto my shoulder one night as I paced the grounds.

Hog’s Head. Eleven. Do not be seen.

The parchment in my hand was in a script I did not recognize. I did not know what to expect. I obviously would not be meeting with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in a pub. Perhaps a lesser-known Death Eater was bringing a message. Whatever would happen, I strode up to my office and pulled on a traveling cloak, slipping out of the castle without a trace.

I climbed the gently sloping hill through the dark to see that the dodgy inn was alight. I shook my head and was about to open the door when I was grabbed by a hand and pulled back to the dumpsters. I whipped about, seeing no one. But that was when a stretch of fabric fell to the ground, and I saw Hermione standing before me.

“It was you,” I began.

“Who sent the note, yes,” she said, flustered somewhat. “Listen, Professor, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Anything,” I responded, eyeing her suspiciously.

“The potion you gave me, well, I read about it in a book, and I found out that I had to keep taking it.”

“What are you saying?”

“If I didn’t take three of them per day for three days, it would merely delay—”

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“I’m—” she stammered. “Severus, I’m pregnant.”