Reveal

Disclaimer: JK still owns them all.

AN: My eternal thanks to my beta, my author, Ariadne, who rocks with the polish, and to everyone on LJ who voted for me to return to the fandom and finish this story. I can only hope it was worth the wait.

Loud, jovial voices reverberated through the cell block as the conversation turned light-hearted, further buoying an undercurrent of feral hatred amongst the inmates. Then the tone turned casual as the sound of a hand slapping cold stone was followed by a girlish voice shrilly proclaiming confidence. Murmurs of agreement accompanied the footfalls, no longer obscured by stone, individual voices falling away. Their steps told where they were, dusty shuffling sounds marking which cells they passed.

Through filthy, stringy hair, Lucius watched, his head held high.

He held onto the cell door's frame, arms stretched up, as the visitors drew to a halt in front of him.

A look of disgust passed between Scrimgeour and Umbridge before she appraised him sarcastically, “My, my – Mr. Lucius Malfoy…”

Lucius’ thumb slipped over the end, passing where the last branch joined, binding it together.

After all, it wouldn’t do to have it snap at the pivotal moment.

“The hygiene here in Azkaban is not quite to your high standards, is it?” she asked, passing a skeptical eye over his torn and dirty robes, the edges germinating a layer of mold where they dragged over the endlessly damp floor.

He remained still, his head tilted back, pale eyes narrowing a fraction.

Scrimgeour flinched and, watching Lucius, moved his hand toward his wand, his other reaching for Umbridge's sleeve.

“You always were arrogant, strutting about as if you owned the Ministry. Now look at you!” Umbridge crowed, ignoring Scrimgeour’s warning and jerking her arm away from his hand.

Lucius’ gaze moved slowly from the rusty ledge where his hands rested, down the length of the bars and then to where a small, ornate belt loop rested at Umbridge’s hip, her wand sitting neatly, its handle leaning forward.

“Perhaps if I had taken more interest in the more upstanding members of the Ministry – Dolores – I wouldn’t have been led astray so easily,” Lucius said emphatically. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Scrimgeour’s hand.

Umbridge gestured grandly. “See? Arrogant!” She waved her finger admonishingly toward Lucius as she turned toward Scrimgeour.

The blood that was slowly coating Lucius' forearms, however, riveted Scrimgeour, and his mouth fell open slowly.

Lucius suddenly thrust his hand through the bars, snatched hold of Umbridge’s sleeve and viciously jerked her forward to crash into the bars. The sickening sound of fine facial bones breaking echoed as Lucius pushed her away, sending her head to snap backwards, and then pulled her even harder toward him, a murderous sneer spreading on his face as she again slammed into the bars.

This time, however, something was waiting.

Umbridge emitted a surprised, “Oh!” A look of indignation crossed her face, as if Lucius’ taking her wand was far more important than the fact that he had just plunged a piece of wood straight through her neck.

Scrimgeour, once a great Auror, reeled to one side in shock as he frantically drew his wand.

“Avada Kadavra!”

They both cast at once, Scrimgeour’s spell flying wildly above Lucius’ head and bouncing back at impossible angles from ceiling to floor, sending other Death Eaters to take cover in their cells.

Lucius’ spell, however, hit home, felling the former Auror, sending him backward onto the cold floor, his arms splayed upward in an almost comically delayed gesture of surrender.

Laughing, Lucius tossed Scrimgeour’s wand to MacNair and, even as the alarm sounded, paused to lean over Dolores Umbridge, who lay sprawled in the center of the aisle, the same shocked expression on her face, her mouth hanging wide open.

“We all bleed the same,” Lucius crooned softly.

He held his blood-covered hands out in front of her.

“All the same.”

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Minerva leaned back in her chair wearily, the wood creaking loudly in response. Her eyes wandered to where Dumbledore’s portrait hung, still slumbering, his hands peacefully clasped on the frame’s edge. The other portraits, however, were well awake and leaning forward with rapt attention, watching Harry, who was sitting slouched in a chair across from Ron.

Harry was absently fingering a pawn, setting it on its edge and turning it around.

Ron looked up irritably. “Going to make a move, are you?”

Harry shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “No.”

Suddenly, Molly burst into the room, hair flying, a parchment clutched in her fist. Arthur was close behind, looking worn beyond his years. His usually calm demeanor was shattered, his face a blotchy mass of red.

“Minerva,” Molly said breathlessly. She reached the desk and leaned on it with her free hand. “Scrimgeour is dead, at Azkaban… Death Eaters…. ”

Minerva closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. When she opened them, she saw Harry stand to stare out the window.

“Anyone else?” Minerva asked, gesturing for them both to sit.

“Umbridge,” Molly said flatly, taking a cup of tea from Arthur.

Minerva nodded. “Ah.” She turned to look at Harry, who was now looking in Hermione’s direction.

“Where’s your informant now, Hermione?” Harry said, plunging his hands deep into his pockets.

Hermione sat at a small parchment-covered table near Remus and Tonks, a large inkpot anchoring it all against the strengthening fall breeze.

She looked up but didn’t respond.

Harry turned. “Well? You’re the one with the answers, yeah?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

Molly made a movement, but Minerva’s hand on her sleeve stopped her.

“I haven’t heard since we moved,” Hermione said coldly.

Harry shifted his weight and started to pace. “What now? Face him now, and there’s still a Horcrux.”

He stopped, and the shuffling from the portraits stopped as well. Minerva shot an irritated look at those closest to her.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Suicidal.”

Silence fell between them with neither giving way.

Harry stared down at the chessboard as if contemplating a next move.

“What now?” he muttered.

It was Ron who spoke, though, setting his king on its side.

“We surrender,” Ron declared.

The portraits let loose shocked gasps and erupted into argument. Minerva raised a hand and stood, hushing them.

Harry slumped down in his chair and looked at Ron incredulously. “What?”

Ron leaned forward. “The arrogant git will buy it. We surrender, he comes here.”

“And the Horcrux?” Hermione reminded him, but then dawning comprehension took over. “He’ll need it and reveal where it is.”

She looked at Ron with near wonder. “Shockingly simple.”

“That’s me all right,” Ron muttered. “Shockingly simple.”

Harry picked at the arm of his chair. “Will never work.”

“Doesn’t need to,” Hermione said. “If Voldemort thinks he’s readying for a battle, he’ll be sure to make the location of the Horcrux known to someone in his circle.”

“Your informant again?” Harry said sarcastically.

Hermione’s eyes sharpened as she replied, “Have a better idea?”

Awkward silence followed, the portraits rustling softly as they leaned toward each other, arguing in loud whispers.

Finally, Harry tilted his head. “How?”

He looked toward Hermione, but she was already leaving the room, watching an owl that was flying toward the castle.

“Leave that to me,” she called, slamming the door behind her.

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Rust crumbled into his palm as he placed a hand on the railing. After Apparating in the middle of an overgrown clearing under a threatening sky, Severus had released his hold on Draco, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder until he was sure Draco could stand on his own. Their Marks had burned with a searing heat that conveyed in no uncertain terms that the Dark Lord wished to see them. Now.

Severus left Draco behind, his sense of self-preservation overriding any sense of charity toward the young wizard. Draco was a liability, a chronic failure drawing the Dark Lord’s rage. It had already been over a week since the order to kill Granger had become his sole purpose, and he had nothing new to report and no reason why.

Pushing open the front door, Severus entered what had once been a great foyer. Black and white marble was largely black now, covered in mud and something resembling moss. In the corner, a grandfather clock stood cloaked in cobwebs, surprisingly still keeping time. A smear across the glass revealed the face, showing five minutes to midnight.

Draco entered the foyer and immediately made his way up to where a shape stood at the top of the stairs. Severus looked up to see Narcissa and returned her glance with a nod as he started up the stairs, his hand dragging wearily up the banister, ignoring the gritty dust.

A large room opened off of the landing where the soft glow of lamplight threw tall shadows on the walls. In the corner sat Lucius Malfoy, sullen and pale, his eyes shifting to where Voldemort was pacing. When his wife and son entered the room, his hollow gaze fell on them, prompting Narcissa to place a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Lucius' homecoming from Azkaban had been a less than happy affair, with him staggering into the hall, covered in blood, raving about revenge and blood purity, then leaving as suddenly as he came. The others stood completely still, painfully avoiding calling attention to themselves.

As Severus entered the room, Voldemort immediately turned and spoke. “Severus. The Mudblood lives.”

All eyes fell on Severus.

“Yes, my Lord. I believe the Order has returned to Hogwarts.”

Voldemort stepped closer. “I want her dead.”

“My Lord, with the Minister of Magic dead, we may take over,” Severus offered. “Surely, the Mudblood is of little consequence now.”

Voldemort bared his teeth a fraction and leaned forward. “Protecting her, are you, Snape?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Then do it!” he roared, sending a collective flinch through the room.

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus said.

Circling around, Voldemort observed Severus, who remained impassive. An end table shifted slightly, a low shadow winding past and behind the wall of robes.

Voldemort halted, then passed his gaze around the room.

“Malfoy,” he said softly. “As a reward, you may kill the Aurors.”

At first, Lucius simply looked blankly at Voldemort, then a disturbing smile slowly spread on his face. He inclined his head. “With pleasure, my Lord.”

Raising a hand, Voldemort added, “Except for dear Nymphadora. I do believe Bella would love to have that honor.”

Bella’s expression was of pure rapture, her hands clasped together eagerly. “Yes, my Lord!”

Voldemort’s look of amusement at Bella’s reaction disappeared. “If any of you dare to betray me…”

Immediately, looks of denial spread amongst the Death Eaters, some even taking a nervous step backwards. Bella fervently shook her head, then looked toward Severus and then Draco.

Without another word, Voldemort left the room.

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"I do not trust you, Snape. I want you to know that," Bella said to Severus’ back as he left the house and descended the outside stairs.

"You have made your feelings plain on that matter. The Dark Lord, however, does not seem to share your opinion,” he snarled over his shoulder.

"I do not care – "

Severus turned, hissing, "Do not care? You would do well to remember that what you care about means nothing."

Bella narrowed her eyes and roughly shoved her hood back. Her voice started as a harsh gasp. "And you would do well to remember that some of us doubt your loyalty, Snape. Someone is providing the Mudblood information. It is obvious that someone is you!"

"It certainly requires an impressive amount of intelligence to reach such an exceedingly incorrect theory."

Bella rushed forward, her voice rising, and snatched hold of his sleeve. "Don't taunt me!"

Severus spun, tore her grip from his arm, twisted her robes around her throat and shoved her against the side of the house.

The rain had intensified, leaving Severus' hair in twisted strings pasted along his face and neck. His breath warm in the cool rain, Severus snarled, "I may not be so cruel as to taunt you – dear Bella – however, murder is not outside of my limits."

"You wouldn't dare," she gasped, her long nails clawing into his shoulders.

He shrugged apologetically.

"No honor among thieves, Bella. I would gladly go before the Dark Lord and explain how you interfered with my duties, how I was forced to respond with the appropriate level of force."

Bella's mouth hung open, jaw working for a moment before some rational part of her brain told it to close.

“Do we understand each other?” Severus growled, his hand twisting tighter.

Instead of agreeing, with a narrow breath, Bella gasped, “It’s Draco! You’re protecting that failure – he’s the traitor!”

Severus shook her and leaned closer, but Narcissa was suddenly at his side. “How dare you?! Draco is a loyal as you or I!”

A strangled laugh escaped Bella as she clawed at Severus’ fist. “Your son is a complete failure! First, he fails to kill even when the old fool is surrounded and helpless, and then he refused to kill a lowly Muggle!”

Severus shoved Bella away, leaving her stumbling and clutching at her throat. When Narcissa lunged for her, Severus took hold of her arm.

Bella staggered backwards, hissing, “It’s one of you. I know it is and I’ll find out!” then Disapparated.

Severus released Narcissa, and the two of them turned to see Draco standing in the doorway.

“Take him,” Severus said as he turned away. “There’s nothing I can do for him now.”

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Walking through an open corridor, Hermione turned the parchment over in her hand, touching each corner, running the edge over her fingertips.

Turning a corner, she stopped and laid the parchment out on a ledge. A raven nearby cried out, spreading its wings and throwing them angrily when the owl tried to take a perch nearby. The owl awkwardly corrected its flight and kept going, leaving the raven to fold its wings and turn its shining gaze back to Hermione.

One word written at the top of the page…

Reveal

She stared at the page, thinking – then gasped.

Drawing her wand, she took a deep breath and tapped the parchment.

At first, nothing happened, leaving her to furrow her brow; then slowly, as if a silken curtain was being drawn down the page, scrawled words appeared.

And at the end was a time.