Chapter Fifty-Four—Under Duress

Lycanthropy does not discriminate.

He knew that to be true. In his time at St Mungo's, Snape had never learned of any person who manifested immunity to the disease. It was voracious, highly infectious, and insidiously successful. No literature held either cure or prevention against it other than prudence. A few medi-witches and –wizards had lost years of their professional lives trying to combat it...a scourge that extended far back in time, perhaps even before the formation of magical society.

He devoted a portion of his awareness to the conversation taking place in front of him and left the rest free for speculation. Lupin was giving a fairly dry yet accurate report on what they had found at the abandoned den to the other occupants of the room, offering up no information that Snape was not already aware of, so he felt secure in focussing on other matters for the time being. It was, however, interesting to note the rather distant expressions of most of the listeners, as if the information was of mild interest but nothing impactful. Dumbledore's aged expression was analytical, as if he were absorbing the words to be mulled upon, categorised and filed away for later advantageous usage. Doge and Shacklebolt seemed politely attentive, no more than that. Tonks was the most absorbed, probably because she wondered if Lupin would eventually end up being a member of such a sorry band of diseased outcasts. Parr sat in her chair, her head bowed in such a way to throw shadows down and over her face, giving her a faintly skull-like appearance. Her eyes were closed, but Snape seriously doubted that she was not paying attention to what was being said. If anything, she probably had the strongest idea of what was going on in the room, if the faint flaring of her nostrils was any indication.

Lycanthropy does not discriminate.

Parr's statement, whilst somewhat ambiguous, was enough for Snape to make the necessary connection. People discriminated on the basis of one factor: difference. What that difference was varied, but there were common elements: race, beliefs, appearance, choices, and gender. The symbol scratched into the wall in the derelict building was a simple blend of two others: the Greek script for Phosphorus, appropriated to represent the female gender, and a crescent moon, a lunar phase that in past civilisations had also stood for the feminine. However, when the current situation was taken into account, it also carried with it the flavour of something greater. Female lycanthropes.

The realisation made Snape's heartbeat quicken. Another party playing their hand in a very convoluted game. His eyes flicked back and forth between Lupin and Parr. Of course, it was possible that female lycanthropes had been influencing certain current events for some time. Parr's obliteration of the symbol and withholding the knowledge of its presence from Lupin suggested a deeper, wider involvement than a one-off action. But what was their role in this game? Had they caused the evacuation of the den or merely investigated the premises after the squatters had left?

The symbol itself suggested organisation; an identifier of a specific group...a group who had deliberately left a marker of their presence. For whose benefit was this marker?

Macnair and Greyback's plan to use lyc-females to control the males would have been very unpopular to the former. There was something of a deep-seated, ancient enmity in the way lyc-females and lyc-males interacted...the usual sexual attraction was overwhelmingly one-sided. The disease didn't require sexual transmission to spread, so what possible advantage could there be in alienating the infected genders from each other? Snape had some experience with the animosity that existed between the two genders, although the circumstances would have been highly fractious even to those not afflicted with the disease. There were few widely agreed-upon answers, and some medical practitioners were so staunch in their theories that any concerted effort into objective research fell by the wayside in favour of argument. As with all infections, it was believed that the disease sought to spread itself as widely as possible. Breeding between already infected individuals did little to aid such a spread, especially considering the long gestation period in human females; far quicker for the pathogen to push the infected genders to seek out those without the disease. Indeed, lyc-males showed an almost mindless streak of rutting tendency as they neared transformation, but the females? So few had ever been observed, and what little research had been done suggested that whilst the push to breed was just as strong, if not stronger, than that in lyc-males, the females had a much better grip on their libido. They were no less capable of violence, but sexual need seemed to play little part in it.

On the surface, it seemed that lyc-males significantly outnumbered lyc-females. Estimates had been as high as ten-to-one, and none lower than four-to-one. It was a statistic that sat poorly with the evidence of the reckless, brutal violence inherent in male lycanthropes that fought and killed as many of their own number as they did healthy victims, their rationality eroded and restraint increasingly weak as the moon waxed. It made little sense that they existed in greater numbers than lyc-females, which led to the conclusion that the reverse might be true. Observed behaviour reinforced a theory that lyc-females had gone even deeper underground than the males. Far slyer. Far more cautious. Invisible. And smart enough to steal their own from right under Macnair and Brachoveitch's noses.

Was it truly a coincidence that right after the desertion of the den that the disused warehouse was slated for redevelopment? In Snape's experience, coincidence was merely situation where the facts were not fully revealed to the outsider. Dumbledore had appeared to dismiss the idea that the desertion and the redevelopment were connected... unless there was someone in the local council's planning department who was affiliated in some way with the group of infected squatters. Snape made a mental note to do a little digging in the council's offices. Theoretically, he'd have no problems in accessing information pertaining to the location, but would all the relevant data be there, and would he be able to determine who it was that had a foot in both worlds?

Snape wondered if Parr had found the same sign at the warehouse where the prospective harem of lyc-females had been held. It was clear to him that she had withheld information from Dumbledore after reporting back from the site, but at the time, Snape hadn't known what it was she was refusing to reveal. What would the reasons behind such a refusal be? Undoubtedly reasons that he was currently not privy to, and it was highly unlikely that would change. After all, Parr would categorise him with those that she felt no need to be fully open with. There was her claim that he was seevy, but Snape wasn't sure how much he could push that angle and get anywhere.

What Snape couldn't quite figure out was why she had let him see the lyc-female symbol in the first place. She could have destroyed it before he'd even entered the room she had found it in. There was no question in his mind that she had waited just long enough for him to spot it, but why? And if the lyc-females had been responsible for clearing out the den, what was the purpose?

The value of seevy to wizarding world was incalculable, which was reason enough for Dumbledore to find ways to entice them back. They were strong, smart and steadfast with the potential to be terrifying adversaries. However, Snape got the impression that they were a people with very, very long memories. If their previous treatment had been as distasteful as Parr had claimed, it was no wonder that their recruitment was proving to be a slow and arduous task. Lupin's peculiar research was surely tied in with it all. Who knew what he was managing to collate on seevy that the MLE had not previously been aware of. Parr could be feeding him all sorts of misinformation, and the werewolf wouldn't be any the wiser.

Parr was plainly using the shelter of magical society to avoid Greyback's clutches, and in return for that protection, she hired herself out as a Tracker under Dumbledore's wishes. Parr's maudlin attitude at finding nothing but dead bodies was mildly surprising to Snape. It was not that she manifested squeamishness at it. Distress was closer in categorising her reaction, but he felt it was more like disappointment or disgrace. She had told him very emphatically that she did not kill, the murder of her Screen aside, and seemed deeply insulted that she could be accused of such. But he'd seen the violence in her, felt the utter certitude that she would destroy anything that stood between her and her Handler. There was a raw, desperate hurt in her that she had killed, even if it had been at the behest of the victim...to kill or be killed. Who could honestly say they would stay their hand when faced with such a decision? Considering the strong probability that the Screen would have been dispensed with after murdering Parr, the choice really had come down to whether or not it would be two people dying that night. That was the first rule of assassination: kill the assassin. Snape wondered if Parr had learned who it was that had turned her most trusted confidante against her. Perhaps she had accepted Dumbledore's offer as a way to get close to the perpetrator and exact revenge, but it was clear her most pressing priority was to locate and rescue her Handler. She would surely not risk anything that would see the Handler killed in retribution, but once her sister was back safely at her side, all hell would break loose, and woe betide whomever got in the way.

Snape wondered if Dumbledore knew that seevy were already woven into magical society and likely with the collaboration of those already entrenched in that society. There was no way that seevy would have been able to achieve such an infiltration unaided. That they would baulk at overtures from the MLE yet collude with other witches and wizards meant that there was an underlying benefit to both parties, one that an alliance with the MLE would fail to provide. That wasn't saying much. The MLE was a government department after all, operating with its own hidden agendas and scant concern to the morality of some of its decisions.

Snape's cursory examination of the drug materials collected from the abandoned den had yielded no surprises. He informed the group of as much, keeping his words to the facts as much as possible rather than straying into areas of speculation. Dumbledore had pressed him on it, attempting to gain an insight into Snape's interpretation. The narcotics were street-grade, cut together with some extender chemicals that were fairly inimical to the user, but not particularly unusual. There was little to definitively suggest that the lyc-males were under the stupefacient control of Macnair, unless the Executioner was choosing to use Muggle narcotics instead of those that could be found in magical society. Substances that lycanthropes were normally dosed with by Death Eaters didn't appear to have been used by the den's recent occupants, so the most likely explanation was that they had not come under Macnair's close scrutiny. The other Order members shuffled about momentarily after Snape's conclusion, plainly uncomfortable, though their reasons for such would be varied.

Standard Ministry procedure was to assign the MLE to keep a reasonably close watch on all known lycanthropes. Little actual assistance would ever be extended to them...the observation was merely to protect wizarding world citizens. If they ever became a threat, they would ordinarily be dealt with swiftly and permanently. There was little concern for Muggles or the lycanthropes themselves. Undoubtedly some lycanthropes would slip through the MLE's net, and as long as they weren't directly bothering any witches or wizards, they'd be allowed to survive in whatever pitiful way they could manage. After all, one didn't need to be able to wield magic in order to be infected, and Muggle lycanthropes were even lower on the ladder of social importance than wizarding ones. Trash. Desperately unwanted trash.

The meeting, such as it was, broke up. Doge wheezed off down the corridor and out of the house, to be followed not long after by Shacklebolt and Tonks who were discussing the likelihood of being able to convince the Auror department to ramp up their lycanthrope observations. Lupin and Dumbledore put their heads together briefly, speaking at a level that escaped Snape's hearing. Parr remained, unmoving, in her chair. Waiting.

Dodge what you cannot block.

Her words came back to him. Interesting. There had been nothing in his prior experience that had indicated it was even possible to shift a mind spatially in the manner that she had suggested, yet the evidence had been straight in front of him. When he'd tried to find her awareness at her behest, there had been nothing for him to find. What other mental gymnastics were possible? Even more importantly, which ones would she teach him?

He stared hard at her, trying to push his awareness forwards. It was far easier to do so now than before, as if ridding the knot in his mind had released a tether, allowing him to range farther and farther from the mental territory he'd been previously restricted to. Snape half expected to find nothing, but the steel wall was resolutely up. There was little need for Parr to dodge...her block was so impenetrable that it could withstand the incursion. It hulked in front of his perception: a promise of stoic impassivity. He'd found a gap before, though. Twice. A gap that he'd not been able to get through. The deflection had been effortless on her part, though he might have succeeded had he been quick enough. She hadn't expected him to be capable of finding such a crack in her defences and consequently had been lax. Would the gap still be there? Unlikely. And even if it were, did he really want to be poking around in there?

He squinted as he thought he saw Parr's mouth curve upwards at the corners. Or perhaps he was becoming so paranoid at his potential transparency of thought that he was imagining she could hear his rumination. Regardless, prudence was wise.

She was up and out of her chair in one swift motion, her overcoat flaring out as she donned it. She towered behind Lupin, her eyes still trained on the floor as she nodded once at Dumbledore's words. And then they were gone. Out to track. Another dead body for Parr to find? Perhaps tonight would bring better luck. If so, Snape hoped such luck would hold out long enough for him to benefit from its graces.

He absorbed the details that Dumbledore gave him in silence: Beresford's address, his routine, some of his common associates, his appearance, and his proclivities. Information that was strangely explicit for an Unspeakable, someone whose livelihood was conducted behind the strictest security and thickest obfuscation. Dumbledore had ears in many places. It seemed he had an ear against the very heart of the MLE. Snape wondered if this ear had been willing or even conscious of a parasitic listener.

There was something that concerned him far more than evidence of the range of Dumbledore's information network: why did the man give him the required information now? Why had he not imparted it back at Hogwarts when he had made the initial request for Snape to locate this allegedly missing Unspeakable? Why give the task to him in two pieces? Was it in order to deliberately lead or to see who followed?

In the death-like stillness before dawn, he found himself back at Hogwarts in his own private quarters, seated in almost exactly the same posture he'd been in a few hours before, but this time the focus of his apparent attention was on Folter.

The house-elf gave no indication that she was aware of his study, preoccupied as she was in feeding the Pewtinellas that she had taken to setting free from their bamboo cage. The tiny silver birds had proven to be model animal companions, making little mess and imparting a charm with their sauciness of behaviour that Snape found oddly appealing.

Right now, one of the birds sat on Folter's shoulder, half-hidden behind the strands of her hair, its head peeking out to watch him closely, black-bead eyes glinting. One always watched him whilst the other fed. He could never tell which was the male and which the female, though Folter had tried to show him on a number of occasions. She seemed to determine the difference as easily as if one had an extra head. The feeding bird sat in her hand, its head a glittering flash as it pecked at the seeds. The little crackle of de-husking was the only sound in the room.

Snape's incursion into the council building had gone without a hitch, the information he needed quite easily found: four names, three of which were female. Nevertheless, he gave all four names to one of his contacts to check out with the warning to be especially careful. If one of those names led to the lyc-female group, an unwary snooper could easily find themselves mortally punished. He had briefly considered handling the matter himself, but taking into account his past experiences, he felt it prudent to avoid as much potential awkwardness as possible. The whole situation awakened memories he would rather have kept buried. He had enough on his plate as it was.

"Folter."

He saw her mouth compress into an even thinner line at her name. She had been expecting this, and from that minute shift in expression, she hadn't been looking forward to it.

The Pewtinellas gave a small burst of tinkling notes and flew up to their bamboo cage, leaving the house-elf to face his questioning alone. Folter rolled her fingers around the seed, removing it to who knew where...house-elf magic was very much an enigma. She clutched her flour sack clothing with both hands, head bowed to the floor, refusing to look at him.

"I am under the impression that you are privy to information that I am not."

There was a long pause before her non-committal reply.

"Sir?"

Snape tapped the ends of his fingers together, his elbows propped on the armrests of his chair. Folter wasn't garrulous by nature. She kept his secrets well; at least, as far as he could tell, but there was a withholding going on that he had to discover the reason behind.

"I place great trust in you, Folter. It would be egregious if that trust were misplaced."

That brought her head up, eyes wide and her mouth slightly open at the veiled accusation.

"Folter says nothing! She does not tell any others, even if they ask."

He frowned at the strange response. Her tone suggested that she was scandalised at his words, which alone was highly unusual for a house-elf when it was directed at the person they served. But then, Folter was an unusual house-elf.

"You're hiding something from me, Folter."

He delivered the statement as carefully as he could, curling it away from reproach. He still trusted her, but he needed to know.

Folter's brown eyes dropped from his, and she shuffled slightly on the spot.

"Folter keeps secrets," she replied quietly, her hands tightening on her clothing.

"Mine? Or someone else's?"

Her face hardened at that. And she didn't answer.

"You know Chara Parr?"

The house-elf went very still.

"Folter has seen Chara Parr."

A calculated response that, whilst not a lie, failed to answer adequately.

"Do you know what she is?"

"Chara Parr is a student at Hogwarts."

"That is not what I meant, Folter, and you know it."

He allowed a sliver of irritation to taint his words. The house-elf's expression shifted back to consternation.

"Folter keeps secrets," she whispered, almost inaudible.

"Why?"

She sighed. "Folter has been asked to."

"By whom?"

"Folter cannot say."

"For what purpose?"

"Folter cannot say."

"You know of seevy."

It wasn't a question. The diminutive figure's shoulders slumped.

"You must tell me what you know of them."

"Folter cannot say."

"This is becoming tiresome, Folter," he snapped, making her flinch. "Your stubbornness makes me doubt your intentions. Must I go over your head and speak to Kapshot?"

"No!" The light in her eyes was desperate. Her small body was rounded-in on itself in her anxiety.

"Then you must tell me."

Her hands were clenched so tightly that Snape could almost see the bones through her skin. Everything about her screamed distress.

"The Professor must know Folter cannot say!"

The words were ripped from her, a desperate entreaty to him not to pursue the subject. Snape narrowed his eyes to slits.

"Look at me, Folter."

She dragged her gaze back up with an agonising slowness, her disproportionately large eyes seeming to take up her entire face.

"You know that I am seevy?"

She did not answer him.

"I shall take your silence as an affirmation."

Folter pressed her lips together briefly. Yet she did not correct him.

"You are being kept silent under an agreement I do not know the particulars of?"

The house-elf tipped her head ever so slightly to the left.

"Is this agreement between you and Chara Parr?"

Folter squinted hard at that as if trying to wriggle out of a very tight gap.

"Folter cannot say."

"Does it involve Chara Parr?"

Silence.

Snape tapped his fingers together gently.

"Is there any way the restrictions of the agreement can be circumvented?"

Silence. Surprisingly.

"Should they be circumvented?"

Folter spent a long time considering that question.

"Folter cannot say."

The tenor of her voice suggested doubt.

"Would Folter say if my life was in danger because of what she cannot speak of?"

It was the first time ever he had seen anger on the house-elf's face. Not just a hint of anger, but full-blown outrage, transforming her features into something altogether foreign. Snape had to admit to himself later that in that moment, he actually felt fearful of her.

"Folter would permit no harm to come to the Professor! L'rihlla i Hr'rihlla! No harm!"

The deferential, almost cowering posture was gone, her hands still clenched but no longer twisted in the fabric of her poor clothing. The mettle he had learned over the years that ran deep inside her was bared like the teeth of a dragon, one that had slept so long that it had been thought dead. He wondered how many more secrets were being kept, what house-elves were truly capable of under the right circumstances.

He stood and swept past her, prickly and ill-at-ease at this revealed side of one of those closest to him. He hoped, desperately, that she would not betray him the way so many others had.

Her voice stopped him before he slammed closed the door to his bedroom.

"The Professor knows that Folter would allow no harm."

There was no rise in tone at the end to suggest it was a question, but he knew it was. He kept his back to her.

"Yes."

"The Professor still trusts Folter."

He allowed some seconds to pass in order to reach a decision. He permitted more to pass to wonder why. He forced the passage of even more out of childish spite and then wished he hadn't.

"Yes."

"Folter serves the Professor."

Snape didn't know why those words made him feel the way they did: sad, adrift, bitter.

"Agreements do not last forever," Folter stated.

"So I have learned. Time and again."

She must have heard the disappointment in his voice.

"Folter's loyalty does."

That made him feel better. If only a little bit.