Chapter Thirty

He held the dirty cloth...more rag than handkerchief...in trembling fingers. He had always had the idea it was more than what it was... and treasured it. It was impossible to remember when he had acquired it, but he knew, knew beyond doubt, it had belonged to his master Regulus. The green embroidery had long since pulled free from the off-white material, but tiny holes disclosed the letters that had once been there: R, B and O.

The 'O' had been a mystery... still was, although something nagged at the back of his mind, a feeling which intensified whenever the dark-haired witch spoke to him. She had expected some response, some recognition from him, and it disturbed him. It disturbed him in ways that having the Mudblood filth and Pureblood traitors in the house couldn't. Smoothing Regulus' hankie flat on his pillow, Kreacher tried to latch onto the feeling of recognition that had caught him off-guard in the kitchen when she had pleaded to him about her identity.

It was foolish, but for the length of a breath, he thought he knew her. A name had almost leapt to his lips. Elves weren't supposed to forget; they were supposed to remember and serve. The idea he had failed to serve was burrowing into his mind like maggots seeking rotten flesh. But she was with the Order; she was a traitor, just like Sirius and the others, so why should he care about failing her? If only that flutter in his chest and the nagging sensation would be so keen to dismiss her.

Kreacher traced his gnarled fingers over his keepsake and inhaled slowly. He had known someone... from ages ago. On the cusp of recollection, he thought he could hear someone crying. Straining to hear, he closed his eyes, but the sound slipped away. Sighing softly, he pummelled the pillows and lay down to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

The thought of tomorrow was enough to incinerate any feelings about the strange, broken witch. His lips thinned into a grim smile. Tomorrow saw the start of things returning to how they should be: no Mudbloods, no traitors and no shame upon the House of Black.

ooXoo

The thought of returning to Hogwarts seemed to squirm unpleasantly in his mind, as though he were in danger of introducing something foreign and dangerous within the comforting and solid walls. On the threshold to Hogwarts' grounds, Snape paused and pondered his dilemma, resting his forehead against the wrought iron gates. Everything had seemed in some way tied to Hogwarts: the terrible and the beautiful. Ophelia, on the other hand.... He'd never really had something to lure him away from his home, and he felt in some way... unfaithful.

His pale hands gripped the metal, and he stared up at Hogwarts hulking against the black sky. Lights peppered the dark building, their glow softened by the slight fog creeping in. Hogwarts was his bastion, his home, and his reason for being. Everything he cherished had been or was cradled within her grey stone. It had been safe and comfortable for so many reasons... once. He sighed and closed his eyes. It had been so because there had never been anything else outside to satisfy his needs.

But was that it? Was it as simple as just having something else, something better? Swallowing his bitterness, he glared up at the dark form. Why hadn't he seen it before? The castle had been deceitful, promising there was nothing else other than its stony hold to shelter him. She'd dished out pain and pleasure, light and dark, and convinced him that his portions were fair. He moaned softly and felt sorrow crush his chest. Choice was a luxury no longer afforded him. Until the war ended, he had only one place to leave his heart.

Sneering, he pushed on the bars, feeling the hinges protest, as if they sensed his reluctance and felt in some way narked by it, trying to shun him, just as he had. With one strong heave, the gate swung open with a plaintive squeal, and Snape forced himself to forget the warmth and life he had left behind at Grimmauld Place. Stepping into the grounds, he let the gate swing shut. It seemed the castle leered at him, as a greedy and selfish lover would gloat over the control they had. Shaking off the feeling of powerlessness and entrapment, he upped his pace and headed for Hogwarts' embrace.

ooXoo

She knew now why she had felt numb after Sirius had evicted Severus. If she had felt like this then, she would have hurtled after Severus into the rain. How odd she could see so much and yet be blind! Perhaps Veronica had left her with something after all: twenty years of observations on human interaction and an objective overview of Severus and Ophelia. Her sixteen-year-old self may not have noticed...indeed, hadn't noticed...but now, she could see it. Those furtive glances, the time sharing coffee and the restraint in his form as they brewed together suddenly spoke volumes. She smirked into her pillow like the cat who not only had the cream but also the supplier's name and address.

She had taken his curtness and distance as being his nature, not understanding that his feelings for her had changed as she had. It explained quite a lot about their last months together: his anger over Regulus and her loyalty to him. Severus had been jealous. She could recall mentioning her feelings for Severus with Narcissa...she smiled sadly at the memory of her cousin...and how she had never considered her feelings being returned. On reflection, it was laughable that she'd been so blind to it all! Hadn't he been all hot and bothered in the crystal cavern?

In her bed, she stretched, luxuriating under the covers and in the sudden power she felt coursing through her. She had power over Severus Snape, and it felt divine. A chill trickled down her spine as some deeper part of her mind doused her with cold reality. Severus Snape was a Death Eater; he was cold and dangerous. She had seen firsthand some of the things he was capable of, and she knew his moods were dark and deep. Swallowing, she gripped her pillow and curled up. She found herself mildly perplexed at how... compelling that made him.

ooXoo

Sirius sat nursing his cold tea when a cold Lupin stomped into the kitchen. He lifted his head to watch the sodden man peel off his jacket and drape it over a chair-back. They shared a morose look before Sirius dragged his bones from the chair to make his friend a cup of tea. It seemed that the events of the night before had sapped his strength, leaving him physically weak and emotionally despondent. Even Lupin's wearied sigh couldn't inspire anything in him. He never would have thought that helping his cousin would be so challenging.

Now that thought elicited something! It slashed through him, hot and sharp. Why in Merlin's name she should respond to that hook-nosed, slimy, greasy Death Eater when he was here, offering her the warmth and love of her home that she had been denied for two decades was beyond belief. He slammed the teapot back on the hob at the thought of helping his cousin and all its surprising consequences. It was laughable that his most-hated enemy was doing more for her than he could, and it also hurt.

"You okay, Padfoot?"

Sirius inhaled slowly at the tenderness in his friend's voice. It was a soothing balm against his stinging bitterness.

"Yes," he managed to rasp out.

"It's just that you've given me five sugars and forgotten the tea."

Sirius jolted and glanced down to see the pile of sugar at the bottom of Lupin's mug.

"Damn!"

Movement in the corner of his eye heralded Lupin taking the cup from his hands to scoop out the excess sugar. With swift and precise moves, Lupin rectified the tea problem and linked arms with Sirius to lead him back to his chair.

"It's okay," he said while Sirius collapsed onto the seat. "Last time you were this distracted, you put bladderwrack in Slughorn's potion and very nearly took Potions off the curriculum for a month."

Sirius' lip quirked. "It was one hell of a bang."

"That's just what Slughorn said before dishing out a month's worth of detentions."

"He let me off after two weeks," Sirius said with a grin. "It didn't take long to get the potion off the ceiling and out the rafters." Lupin's eyebrows shot up above a sceptical gaze. "Okay, so I cheated and didn't use the toothbrush."

They paused to sip their tea; Lupin looked like he'd tasted nectar, and Sirius shuddered. Powered by his need for a decent cup of tea, he left Lupin and made himself a fresh cup.

"How is Ophelia?" Lupin asked of Sirius' back, ignoring the spine stiffening and the grunt. "It's been several months now since she woke from the potion." He tactfully ignored the second, more disgruntled grunt. "Molly said that she's having a tough time of it."

He could have held onto it; he wanted to. The anger and bitterness were ready to be wielded, but he couldn't, not when Lupin looked like hell. And at the end of the day, what did it matter? It wasn't as if he'd expected his little cousin to be reborn. He sighed and turned to face his friend.

"She'll do better now," he said softly. "Dumbledore has asked Snape to help her."

Lupin lowered his cup and frowned. "I see."

Casting a quick glance up at Sirius, he saw the tension etched into the grey and unshaven face. Lupin sipped his tea and thought about Dumbledore and his motives. He had suspected something when Snape had come to Ophelia's aid. It wasn't that the enigmatic wizard had accepted the task and done his duty; it was the way the dying witch had responded.

"How are things with the pack?"

Lupin sobered instantly and grimaced. He would rather have discussed Ophelia's attraction to Snape with Sirius and risk personal injury. "They don't trust. Not that I blame them," he added. "The promises being made to them by Voldemort are very tempting...hell, if I didn't have the Order, then I'd be tempted." He ran a thin hand through his greying hair. He didn't want to talk about this, but the words were pouring out of him. "It's hard. The Ministry are starting to round us up. They say that our reluctance to register as dangerous creatures is proof of our moral degradation, in that we don't care about decent Wizarding folk."

"What rubbish!" Sirius snapped out harshly.

"Is it?" Lupin replied bleakly. He knew he should be quiet and smile, drink his tea and go to bed, but this was like some abscess beneath his skin, and it craved lancing.

The empty look on Lupin's face made Sirius uneasy; the sensation twisted his guts and snatched his breath.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Some packs are proving them right," Lupin hissed out softly, shrinking in the chair. His eyes went wide, as though the words terrified him, and he focused on some dark and distant memory. "They have no control, and they... they..."

Lupin bent over, clutching at his mouth, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Strange mewling sounds emanated from him, and he started to rock back and forth, the chair creaking in ominous sympathy. Fretful, Sirius launched from his chair and sped round the table to grip his friend's trembling shoulders.

Lupin tried, for some unfathomable reason, to push him away, but the strength Sirius had thought depleted returned with a vengeance, and he held onto Lupin until the man calmed and allowed himself to be held, to be comforted.

"You shouldn't have to do this," he whispered. His throat tightened around his despair and desperation. He tried to swallow, but he couldn't. Was this what it had been like before? he thought wildly. Had it been this terrible and soul-destroying? He scrunched his eyes up. He recalled days of glory. He had spouted crap to Harry about the Order: how it had stood valiantly against the forces of a Dark Wizard! He felt sick. He had made it sound so gods-damned noble.

"I know," Lupin moaned, clutching tightly at Sirius' tatty gown. "But there is no one else."

He said it so simply. Sirius blinked and felt his mouth drop open. It shouldn't be that horrifically simple. There should be choice. The thought crashed around his skull. Lupin, everybody, should have a bloody choice whether to suffer or not.

His hurtling thoughts headed upstairs towards the old guest bedroom to ruminate over the new guest. She hadn't had a choice either. The Order had decided, and so it had been. Who else would be sucked in to serve the Order...Harry!

"He's but a boy," he muttered, his voice stifled by the terrible conclusion.

Despite his protestation, he knew it wasn't enough to spare his godson. Nothing seemed enough. He looked down upon Lupin's head, the face still buried in the folds of his clothes, and gently stroked the damp and dishevelled hair. Everyone was suffering due to what they had to do... and... and he was suffering because he couldn't do anything. The irony was just too vicious.

Sirius felt the scream pour into his throat, it rumbled angrily just behind his tongue, and then it erupted. Again and again it spewed out, each hastily in-drawn breath fuelling the next eruption. He slumped to the floor, clutching his head, and as the screams continued, they echoed like manic laughter: the kind he'd heard and tried to forget from his time in Azkaban.

Another string of screaming laughs pierced the house. Freedom from that terrible prison had managed what the walls themselves hadn't. Freedom had driven him mad.

ooXoo

Kreacher had woken early; Black's bitter and frantic laughter had banished sleep as effectively as any nightmare. Knowing that he wouldn't be missed, he'd followed his so-called master's orders and left the house. It went against every elfish fibre in his body, but he abandoned the household he had sworn to serve. Twitching and nauseous, he had travelled to another who had some claim to the Black name. It was a tenuous link, but one he had found sturdy enough.

The witch smiled pleasantly and knelt down on a luxurious rug before a magnificent fireplace. Her long, black hair fell in waves about her pale, oval face, and her dark eyes glittered in the firelight. The elf bobbed nervously, not accustomed to such attention, and tugged on his soiled smock.

"You have been most helpful, Kreacher, and we know how much you want to tell us all about those blind fools and their pathetic plans but cannot due to your unfortunate bondage to that traitor Sirius Black." Her voice was soothing and compassionate.

"Yes, Miss Bella," Kreacher said quickly, conveying his gratitude that his mistress was so understanding.

"There is one more thing you can do for us," Bellatrix whispered breathily, her eyes wide and wild, but Kreacher was only thinking of serving his mistress; her intentions and motives were not his concern. "It is important that Sirius Black does not interfere with a plan to benefit all the noble houses. When the time comes, you must ensure that the traitor cannot do anything to prevent us from restoring the House of Black to its rightful place."

She watched Kreacher's face as he drank in her words, how his eyes glimmered with pride and awe, how his mouth hung open in eager, desperate loyalty. "You must think of a way to keep Sirius Black occupied and to stop anyone from talking with him; do you understand?" The Elf nodded vigorously. "We suspect the Potter brat will try to reach him; you must tell him that Sirius has gone." She reached out and gently patted Kreacher's shoulder. "Can you think of something to keep Sirius out of the way for half an hour at the very least?"

Kreacher frowned, and then his face lit-up; he bounced on the spot and smiled maliciously. "Master has a hippogriff in the attic; he is fond of the beast. Kreacher could hurt the foul thing."

Bellatrix smiled, and Kreacher flushed with pride at pleasing his mistress. "Perfect! You could at that."

"Oh yes, Miss Bella," he said, his voice laced with disgust. "Vile beast it is! Free to roam, to drag his claws across the floor, making such a mess with all that straw."

"Yes, yes!" snapped Bellatrix, her patience drying up as Kreacher bemoaned his domestic duties. "It's about time Sirius is punished for his disloyalty and our family honour restored."

"Oh, Miss Bella," Kreacher cried out, holding his hands and grinning with glee. "It is!"

Bellatrix beamed and gently patted the old elf on his wrinkled head. "Excellent, Kreacher," she said brightly. "You still serve the House of Black as faithfully as ever; Aunt Elladora would be so proud of you."

The elf seemed to vibrate with joy; his thin mouth was split into a grin, and his small eyes twinkled merrily. Bellatrix laughed out and stood, her eyes alighting upon Lucius, who was studying the House Elf, his expression wooden and indecipherable. He seemed to sense being watched, and his sapphire gaze met hers; was that disgust flittering across his fine features? Not about to let her mood be quenched by Lucius' envy of a loyal elf, she thought about the chaos that was waiting to be unleashed. She shivered at the thrill, and her body thrummed in anticipation: months of planning and plotting almost ready to be fulfilled. She had never felt so alive, never felt so powerful. All that her master strived for was almost within her grasp, and it would be her hand that handed it over to the Dark Lord...no one else's. She would secure her master's victory and be adored.