Chapter 15: A Most Curious Parcel

Chapter 15: A Most Curious Parcel

Author’s note: Alas, Shakespeare’s work is not mine. If it were, I would feel more comfortable in tights, would have no problem with eating fly-infested roast mutton, and would be long dead by now.

“Severus, would you please eat something?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Snape. Just—”

“No.”

The blond pair turned their gaze back to the mouth of the cave. It was still pouring rain outside. It had been a whole day alone in the shallow cave, and I was going mad. With each passing moment, I recognized more and more the weight of being away from society. Hermione was pregnant and in the care of Potter and Weasley, captains of the Incompetent Arseholes Association. And I, Severus Snape, the father of her child, was stuck in a bloody cave in the middle of Germany.

“Is that an owl?” Draco asked suddenly, pointing to a snowy white figure that was advancing towards us.

In moments, the whole floor of the cave was covered with rain, and the bird was lying in my lap. I was immediately soaked and pushed the wretched thing off. It laid on its back in exhaustion, and I took the opportunity to ease the parcel off of its leg. A precisely wrapped package sat in my lap with my initials written on it in all capitals. I unwrapped it to find a red and blue book underneath with a pair of blond-haired Muggles on the cover.

“Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” I read aloud. “The new Folger Library.”

I saw a hastily ripped piece of parchment sticking out as a bookmark at the top of the book. I flipped to the page and saw a line at the bottom was underlined.

Love’s heralds should be thoughts, which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams.

The bird stood and flew out the mouth of the cave before I could write a return letter. I flipped through the pages and saw no other writing save for another underline in the prologue. The line, “The fearful passage of their death-marked love,” was underlined so that the ink from the line bled to obscure the next passage. I wondered truthfully if it was a threat on my life, but then realized I was merely being paranoid.

I raked through the book over and over for the scribbled ‘H’ that I held so dear, but I found nothing—not a trace of the sender but for the two underlined messages they wished to convey to me. And so, having nothing else to do, I accepted a sausage from Narcissa and began to read. I reached the end of Act One and found that I needed to rest my eyes.

I often found that romance stories were insipid and dull, but this Shakespeare fellow really knew how to weave a tale. I did not relate at all to Romeo, what with his pretty-boy attitude and his nearly bipolar outlook on life. But Juliet, on the other hand, reminded me greatly of Hermione. She was clear-headed but was often swept away by her emotions. And she was so controlled by her family that she had to learn to love her enemy for herself. That aspect of the relationship appealed to me greatly.

I reached inside my cloak to search for a pen, but instead found a glass vial. I extracted it and held it up to the firelight. I immediately recognized it to be the Felix Felicis that Horace had given me. My mind, as it had been well trained to do, jumped to Hermione’s image. What if I could use this potion to get to her? What if I could be with her and protect her this very day? I cursed any magic that would alter my actions ever since my unspeakable deeds done under the enslavement of the Unbreakable Vow. But nevertheless, the potion was there, and I was at a near perfect liberty to use it.

A pop startled all of us, and we looked up to see a surly Death Eater had appeared in the cave with an owl on his arm. Draco got to his feet, determined to look good for a liaison of his master. Narcissa remained seated and stared coldly up at the man. I joined Draco, but not with the same motivation.

“Jugson.”

“Snape, Malfoy,” he leered.

“What do you want, Jugson?” I asked, quickly getting to the point. He had a tendency to wander if not directed. He swayed a bit on the spot and put the owl on the floor before speaking. The creature immediately snuggled into Narcissa’s lap. She permitted its presence but did not stroke it, as any female who wasn’t in Voldemort’s inner circle would have. What that man could do to people was beyond words.

“The Dark Lord sent this for you.” He had an accent in which all R’s were lost in the indulgence of each syllable.

“Did he now?” Malfoy sneered. He apparently was uncomfortable with the creature showing affection towards his mother.

“Oh, Severus,” the man said, perhaps a bit too excitedly, “the Dark Lord is in such a wonderful temperament since your triumph. We are ever so grateful.”

“That’s very nice, I’m sure—”

“It’s been almost like a party at headquarters! No talk of Potter, no talk of the Order of the Phoenix, just languid relaxation and happy tales of the good old days.” I nearly snorted at this; I could hardly imagine anything taking place at headquarters being described as ‘happy’.

“What of my sister?” asked Narcissa from the stony floor. The bird was nuzzling into her leg and was cooing.

“Oh, Missus Malfoy! My deepest condolences to you—your sister is not in a good place with the Dark Lord, not a good place ‘tall.”

“What exactly do you mean by that, Jugson?” I snapped, not out of consideration for Bellatrix, but rather out of a long-accepted irritation with this lesser servant of my Lord.

“The Dark Lord has sent her to live in the settlement in the woods,” he replied glumly, shaking his head.

“The woods?” shrieked Narcissa, standing up. The poor owl went flying and burrowed into my sleeping bag indignantly.

“Yes, ma’am, the woods,” he replied, still shaking his head.

“She could be raped,” Narcissa said frantically. “She could be molested. She could be attacked!”

“No, ma’am, not since everyone knows she has been the Dark Lord’s favorite for many years. You have heard the rumors, Missus Malfoy…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she began, sticking her nose in the air. “My sister is a married woman with no shame to her name!”

“‘Cept being a Death Eater and on Voldemort’s inner circle…”

“How dare you say service of the Dark Lord is shameful?” cried Malfoy.

“I didn’t, sir. I only meant—”

“Would you have said that to the face of the Dark Lord himself?”

“Draco, are you likening yourself to our Lord? Dare you insinuate that you of all people—”

“No, I am not, Jugson,” said Malfoy with an underlying fury in his voice, “and I won’t have you spreading that about…”

“Well you’re not in a position to make bargains are you? You were almost killed the other night! Saw it with my own eyes!”

“You best be going, Jugson,” I said quickly so to stop the exchange from escalating. He nodded and Disapparated. I looked about, suddenly alert. The fact that he had violated the magic of the rune was beyond my comprehension. I had an owl.