House Hunting

The ravens closest to the melancholic wizard turned their black heads towards their ward. Others, who had not heard, played amongst branches, and the remaining few, those sitting furthest away, were intently focused on something in the sky.

"They all said I would go to hell," Snape continued softly.

The wind was now rather sedate after venting its fury; it didn't pummel and batter. It still whipped his hair around his face and tugged at his coat, but not near as ferociously as it had just before yesterday's storm. Bah! Yesterday! Had it really been yesterday? It could have been last week, or this morning; he had no way of tracking time in this place.

He surveyed the battered landscape. Gorse bushes had been ripped up, leaving raw holes in the ground, and were strewn haphazardly over the landscape. A spindly tree had nose-dived from the swirling heavens, impaling itself into the streambed. Even with the roots in the air, it looked no different to those that had passed through the storm unscathed. It did, however, prove to be a useful roosting site for some of the ravens.

Sitting on the bank, Snape held his shins, pressing his chin into his knees, and stared out across the ravaged alien landscape. He knew this wasn't some distant land; this was out of regular time...the lack of new facial hair had been a big clue... That and the fact that he hadn't felt any particular need to nip behind a bush, and he recalled feeling a rather pressing need before his... death?

This really was a form of purgatory. Or was this one of the levels of hell? Which one? he mused. There was one for murderers, one for blasphemers, one for liars and cheats... One for all the sins. Where would the Good Lord have put him? In the devil's mouth? Or would it be the one where you were chased by leopards and torn to shreds, never dying, so it could happen over and over again? And wasn't there one about carrying a weight and being forced to march for eternity?

"I would have liked to have had the option to plead my case. It may not have been worth a damn, but I'd have enjoyed the rant," he said wryly. "Maybe someone would have come to my defence." He snorted. "Knowing my luck, I'd have only managed to secure a character reference from the Dark Lord."

He picked up a small stone and hurled it into the stream, watching as it caught the surface and skipped once before disappearing into the flowing water.

"The ironic thing is that He still considers me to be his most loyal servant," he said bitterly. "The ones I worked with...not intentionally, I admit...still think me a murderer and a traitor. I, who died for the benefit of the Order, will never have a grave or plaque; my name will not appear on any list, or be whispered from any mourning mouth. My name will be a curse, and it will be spat out onto the mud."

Another, larger stone broke the water's surface, and a few more ravens turned their beaks towards Snape.

"Not that that means anything. I never did it for fame."

Why did you do it?

"Ah! You again," Snape said with a smile. "I thought that you'd be lurking around somewhere."

There was a chuckle on the wind. I'm never far away. But tell me, friend. Why did you do it?

"You'll have to define 'it'?"

Always the Slytherin, eh? Okay, Slytherin, why did you serve the Order?

"You make it sound as though I had a choice."

Choice was a luxury you had at the time. You could have refused.

Snape frowned and picked up a flat stone. It was black, flecked with grey and highly polished from the gallons upon gallons of water that had once rushed daily over its surface. He sometimes felt like the stone he held: worn down and moulded by the impact of others until he was something that someone else could use. Nothing but a smooth and featureless item, waiting for the moment when it was deemed useful. He had wanted to skim the perfect stone held between thumb and forefinger, but now, he had no inclination to discard it.

"It never occurred to me to decline," he said after a long and thoughtful pause.

It was true. He had been driven by undeniable needs and motives. The flight to Dumbledore's office after hearing of Lily's murder had occurred almost unconsciously: one minute he was hearing of her death, and the next, he was on his knees at the old wizard's feet.

He could imagine her screams, her panic and her frantic efforts to save her son. He closed his eyes. Killing her must have been easy; just as easy as it had been for him to tell the Dark Lord of Trelawney's prophecy. And probably just as satisfying, he thought, as a wave of anguish crashed down on him...how he had rejoiced in being able to pass that snippet on! He had glowed with pride at being able to serve. Bitter bile burnt his mouth, and he spat it out. He could not loathe himself enough, and a vow forced upon him by Dumbledore meant that he could not end his own disgusting life. Dumbledore had been merciless.

Even now, he thought ironically, I am forced to exist with my regrets and pains. Death was meant to be an end to it! It was grossly unfair, and all he could hope for now was insanity to smooth the edges of his pitiful and painful afterlife.

Your acceptance was due to passion rather than sense? the voice asked slowly.

"You mean, was I hasty?" Snape inhaled and rubbed his temple. "My response was quick and certainly passionate, but it was one that had been at the ready for quite some time. The circumstances surrounding my choice were emotive and... more than enough of an incentive to declare my loyalty without hesitation."

To the Order? came the unrelenting voice.

The laugh which erupted from his lips was dark and bitter. "Never to the Order. Only a fool would consider me willing to do that." His black humour fled as quickly as it came. "I swore loyalty to Dumbledore."

Dumbledore had not been surprised about his reticence to join the Order...despite the far more lenient terms of membership: a handshake rather than a brand...but he had certainly revelled in having his own personal spy. Snape had become Dumbledore's secret killer and saboteur; even using him to scupper the Order, when their hotheadedness risked other, more sensitive plans.

Snape benefitted from the arrangement. If it all went wrong, if all the plans and efforts failed, then he'd have his way out. Not that he intended to flee. He was no coward, no matter what Potter thought of him. He would have played the role of devoted Death Eater to the death... Voldemort's!

It had all changed when Dumbledore had thought Potter a Horcrux. Snape had been brought into the fold, and his role as double-agent exposed, but he had maintained his distance...he had to remain... ambiguous. He knew where it had all been heading; he knew that he'd have to kill Order members. It was simpler if they despised him from the outset. Besides, Dumbledore had only forbidden him from killing himself, not from cultivating those who would be eager to do it for him.

The wizard who allowed you to be blamed for so much through your school life? The wizard who declared his disgust for you? The same wizard who made you kill in...

"Enough!" Snape shouted.

The voice quietened, or was smothered by the sound of flapping wings as the startled birds took to the skies. The switch from melancholic mutterer to maniac had been sudden and violent. Pebbles still clattered from where he had angrily scooped up handfuls from the bank and hurled the stones.

Slowly, Snape settled and daintily brushed off the grit from his palms. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glittered disturbingly.

"I know what Dumbledore was and did: what he asked me to do," Snape continued more softly; his sudden fury held in check. "But I swore I'd never be at the beck and call of an organisation again; joining the Death Eaters was more than enough." His lips pulled back into a vicious scowl. "Everyone expecting and wanting something from you just because you shared the same so-called glorious agenda. It is far better to serve one man than be forced to serve many."

The silence dragged. Despite the voice's annoying habit to pry, it had been a welcome companion in such a quiet place, and Snape found the silence to be more than just uncomfortable. Looking up, he saw the disturbed ravens circling high up, gliding on the wind while the others either played or watched the sky.

Needing a distraction, Snape followed the direction of their gaze and peered up into the sickly-yellow clouds. Some of the clouds seemed to converge, spiralling down to a shadowed core. The black heart seemed to be in the same place as the patch of blue from yesterday... or whenever!

Did that actually mean anything? Did anything in this place mean anything? The birds seemed to think that it was something of great importance, judging by the way they stared at it. Knowing that this place wasn't a geographical location as such had altered his perceptions of the ravens considerably, and he felt hairs prickle on his nape. What had caught their attention?

Interesting, isn't it?

He was relieved that the voice was back, but his curiosity outweighed it. "What do you know of it?" he snapped out.

No more and no less than you, Slytherin.

"Perfect!" Snape muttered. "The only one talking to me has no bloody clue about anything either."

There was another chuckle, and Snape wished that the voice had a body, just so he could punch the infuriating thing in the mouth.

We have more of an idea than you think, but you're too obsessed about being suitably punished to consider it.

Snape harrumphed and focused intently on the dark spot in the sky.

You're doing it again! You're dismissing the obvious in favour of wallowing.

"I do not wallow," Snape replied tartly.

Oh, forgive me, the voice sneered. You endure!

Snape felt the muscle under his left eye begin to twitch, but he wouldn't rise to such puerile tactics. He and he alone knew what his life had been like; some irritating voice wasn't about to belittle all that pain and misery.

Was teaching really that bad, Slytherin?

There was a moment, one terrible moment where he could have easily slipped into the anger that had once too often grabbed hold of him; an anger that had vented its fury upon his own body. He could have pummelled the earth until his knuckles bled and his bones shattered. The gorse bushes could have provided him with sharp edges to slash at his skin, and the pebbles could have smashed out his teeth. The rage could have reared up and consumed him, as it had several times in the past before Dumbledore had discovered his problem and helped him.

"You have no idea," Snape said with a shudder, letting the anger slip away.

The voice gave a quiet laugh, but nervously, as though it had sensed the looming horror and was relieved that it had passed.

Look at the sky, the voice suddenly whispered.

Snape looked and gasped. The black circle was expanding rapidly, and the clouds were spinning violently around it. It looked as though the heavens were being devoured by a giant vortex.

The ravens still perched quietly, but it seemed they were now bored by the savage onslaught. In fact, every pair of black eyes were on him! Confused and fearful, Snape backed off towards the cave. This was beyond him; he couldn't fathom what this was, and that terrified him. Crawling away was something he rarely did, but this was like nothing he'd had to face before. He had no foe to defend against, no target to strike out at. He was lost.

The vortex was stealing more than just the sky; it was taking the light with it. Snape scurried into the cave. Was it stealing the very air too? His lungs burned with the effort of drawing in scraps of air. His eyes ached from trying to catch the remaining light. Outside, he heard the cawing of the birds and saw patches of black shoot across the cave mouth, and then... nothing!

~X~

"How many more?" he griped as Hermione shut the door behind her.

"None, if you could make up your mind!" she snapped back. "Honestly, Draco, one of these houses must have appealed to you." She sighed and glanced down at the collection of house details held in her hand. "I thought that we'd have done by now," she muttered tiredly. "But it's gone...Oh my!...six. We've been at this for hours!"

"It can't be," Draco said with a frown. "We arrived at that pub to meet Meadowes around twelve, and he didn't seem to go on for that long."

Hermione giggled. "He was certainly more direct than he usually is."

"Oh well," he said. "Don't they say that time flies when you're having fun?"

She knew that he hadn't had fun, and she hadn't had enough to make five hours pass by so quickly. Hermione studied him. He genuinely seemed overwhelmed, and she'd caught his eyes glazing over at some of the things she'd discussed, but there again, central heating and condensing boilers were alien concepts to someone who had just had to yell at a house-elf if they were cold or wanted a bath.

"Okay," she said, rubbing her stomach...must have eaten something that doesn't agree with me. "Let's think about this logically, considering that we've lost most the afternoon. What don't you like about the ones you've seen?"

His face twisted, as though the question pained him. "Nothing," he finally mumbled. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for." He bowed his head and hugged himself.

Something about his manner made Hermione oust her frustrations so she could focus entirely on him. She knew that Lucius had some nagging fear about Draco...with increased Occlumency came a corresponding skill with Legilimency...he worried almost unrelentingly over his son. What was going on with Draco? What had happened to him during his trial and subsequent punishment? She shuddered; she wondered what it had been like. It was obvious that the experience had damaged him. How many would be sympathetic though? The Malfoys had done terrible things... and paid for them! she reminded herself.

"I would have inherited Malfoy Manor," he said quietly, "just like my father and his fathers. My life was pretty much set from birth; house waiting, job set up by my father and his cohorts; my political affiliations determined for me." He grimaced and laughed bitterly. "I had a wife lined up, did you know that? I didn't even have to look for that."

Hermione remained silent...what could she have said anyway? Her concerned gaze followed him as he turned away, and she felt cold to the core. Beneath the cool exterior, she caught a glimpse of an uncertain and lost boy struggling to cope with the rules of the game suddenly changing.

"What am I supposed to be looking for, Hermione?" he asked plaintively.

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes, and she bit down hard on her lower lip. "I don't know, Draco. But I know that this is whole new start. You can make your own life now."

Draco nodded and smiled. "Maybe Professor Hardwicke is right; maybe I do need a better map." He thrust his hands in his pockets and turned to look at the house they'd just left. "I don't like this one, solely for the reason that it has those fake plastic bits on it to give it a Tudor feel. I don't want anything fake; I've already had a life of it!"

Glad to see him thinking positively, she pulled out the relevant house details and held them up to him. "Say goodbye to house number six." Casting a quick glance along the road, she Banished the offending paperwork. "Next!"

Draco chuckled. "It'd be easier if I told which one I liked."

"You actually liked one?" she teased.

"I liked house number three." He shrugged at her questioning look. "It was the only one with a big enough lounge for three chaise-longues; you can't expect us to share just the one," he said with a smirk.

Hermione smiled and linked her arm with Draco's. She led him down the garden path and onto the pavement. That particular house had been her favourite from the start. It was a corner plot on the very edge of a small housing estate. The back garden was only overlooked by one neighbour, and the side and back gardens backed onto rolling fields. A footpath led down from the house to an arcade of small shops: butcher, hairdresser, newsagent and convenience store. Not the cheapest of shops, but the easiest option. The same footpath branched off and led to a local common, and although Hermione would prefer them to stay indoors, they would no doubt enjoy the secluded woodland.

The house was also a new-build, which meant that they shouldn't have to call out any engineers or workmen to fix any problems, and luckily, the houses around were empty, awaiting buyers. They could settle in without causing any neighbourly suspicion. And when neighbours did start moving in, the Malfoys would be firmly established.

She had already determined how she could go about securing the property; it was a case of signatures and money, and when you were a witch, those were easily obtained. The lack of chain meant that the exchange could happen almost immediately. It was inherently dishonest, but they desperately needed their escape. She would spend time focusing on how to get the Malfoys financially independent and self-supporting, but she fervently hoped that living in the Muggle world would be a temporary measure.

Buoyed up by Draco settling on the best house of the bunch, she sauntered happily down the road. Another excellent feature of the house was that it was a four-bedroomed goliath of a house; easily big enough for two guests and a potions lab.

Draco walked into his new home. It was rather elegant. A square hallway, about the size of their current living space, led to some under-stair storage, the kitchen, a dining room and a lounge. Two small windows either side of the door meant that the hallway was light and welcoming. The walls were slightly off-white, and the carpet was a soft apricot colour. All very neutral and very neat. The staircase was along the right-hand wall, leading up to a galleried landing; it was painted white and well-crafted.

The lounge was a long room, which went straight from one end of the house to the other: a large bay window at the front and patio doors at the back. Surprisingly, there was a fire, but no chimneybreast...made the chimney pots on the roof rather redundant. The hearth and mantelpiece were made from pale stone with what looked like leaves carved into it. The fire inside was actually a gas fire; although it looked enough like an open fire. Again the colour scheme was the same.

The dining room led directly into the kitchen, and the two rooms, like the lounge, went from one end of the house to the other. Draco had never spent much time in a kitchen...save to sneak the odd biscuit or cake...so he was rather reticent to think about using the sink. He felt rather proud of himself that he recognised the refrigerator and the freezer, but that was effectively stomped on when Hermione spoke about hard and soft water; personally, water only seemed hard when you hit it at great speed. Hermione continued with her confusing Muggle babble and told him that the washing machine and tumble drier were simple to use, but he hadn't quite decided which of the white boxes she'd indicated were which. He hoped Mother would solve the riddle...and he certainly hoped she wouldn't 'boil his smalls' in there... whatever that meant!

The upstairs had six rooms in total: four bedrooms, one study and the family bathroom. He felt on safer ground; there was only so much you could do to those rooms, and he was fairly sure that he had a sufficient grasp on Muggle plumbing.

The master bedroom had an en-suite with a toilet, sink and shower. He had to admit it; Muggles knew how to indulge. The view from the bedroom was another stunning feature. There was no house directly opposite, as with the other properties along this street, and it afforded him a lovely view of gently curving hills, groupings of trees and verdant fields. It was so different from the grounds in Wiltshire, yet it plucked at his heart; he'd never really admired the land before.

The study was a much smaller room, and he wondered what they would use it for...they had no books, no desk... nothing. In fact, how would they furnish this place? They had no money, no property, and no chance of acquiring either. Suddenly, the empty rooms seemed to mock him.

The other bedrooms were pretty much the same, apart from the one sited over the kitchen. It was more of an L-shape than a square, and the roof over the smaller leg of the L sloped downwards slightly. It was this unique and quirky feature which appealed to him; that and the view. It seemed to go on forever with no house or building in the way. He guessed that the sun would set behind the distant green belt of trees, and it would be glorious. This would be his room. And that settled it. This was home.

"I can cast the Unplottable spells before you move in and the anti-Muggle charms after." Hermione spoke as she descended the last few steps into the hallway. "I'll need to refresh those about twice a month, but I hope that you'll be somewhere better before then."

"Better?" Draco queried softly. As far as he was concerned, there could be nothing better than this Muggle haven.

"I think your father is trying to restore what you had," she said simply. "And for what it's worth, I hope he does."

Draco blinked. "You're a Mudb...Muggleborn, and yet you want to help us? The very family who worked against you!" He waved his arms emphatically. "If I recall correctly, my father cast the Cruciatus on you."

Hermione paled at the memory and sank down to sit on the bull-nose. She knew all that, and she had questioned her ability to seemingly forgive what was essentially unforgivable. Somehow, and strangely, it just didn't seem that important. Not when the man who had hurt her had also been the one to save her from her own darkness. She nibbled her lip and rested her head against the newel post. Had she been manipulated into letting this go? Had Lucius twisted this situation to suit his own purposes? She closed her eyes, battling the sudden surge of suspicions and insecurity. There was no way of satisfactorily answering those questions, but she had some bizarre faith that Lucius was indeed a friend... of sorts.

"It does seem odd," she said slowly. Opening her eyes, she focused on Draco's impassive features. Just like his father, she mused fondly, hiding his feelings behind nonchalance.

"I don't want to discuss it further," she continued equally as indifferently, "but your father helped me through a bad patch."

Draco nodded; he knew about 'bad patches'. It just seemed so remarkably unlikely that two people such as Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger should become... acquaintances. His scalp tingled with a new and sudden realisation; were he and Hermione friends?

"Now," she continued brightly, and with a hint of impish glee, "you need to go shopping."

"Shopping?" he croaked out. Just when he thought all this wandering around was at an end, she thrust the very worst thing upon him; it made his insides roll.

"Don't worry," she said. "It won't be all that bad; Muggles have mail-order."

~X~

The darkness was complete. It stole his breath, his senses, and whatever control he thought he had. Curled up and whimpering, Severus Snape was lost in mind-numbing fear. If it wasn't for the cold pressure of the cave floor against his side and the fingernails that scratched at his face, he would swear that he no longer existed. Any delusions that he was still alive had been snuffed out with the light; he was dead. He was some petty shadow waiting to fade away.

Slytherin?

He jolted at the sound, but dared not reply.

I know you can hear me, and I can feel your fear.

The voice sighed, and Snape thought he heard...yes...footsteps!

Listen to me, Slytherin,the voice pleaded. You are not dead. Neither are you truly alive.

"Then what am I?" Snape whispered.

You are Severus Snape.

"You're no help," Snape muttered bitterly.

You're trapped. They're trying to help you, but you need to meet them half way, I think, added the voice with a degree of uncertainty.

"They?" Snape snarled out. "Who the hell are they?" The rising anger helped defeat the fear, and Snape used every ounce of it.

I don't know; I just hear voices.

"Great!" he sneered. "My delusion is having delusions!"

Why are you always so crabby?

"I'm not crabby; I'm complicated."

There came the sound of cloth dragging over stone, and Snape stiffened...delusions shouldn't be real! Licking his lips, he slowly unfurled from his foetal position and strained to catch any more sounds.

I don't hear them anymore. But I heard a woman's voice... so full of pain and anguish. She vowed to help you. And there was a man; he used to beg and rant, but now, when he comes, he tells you of his wife and son.

Snape remained silent. The sound of footfalls was getting closer. A few more steps and the owner of that damned voice would be his. He lunged into the darkness, but instead of the fleshy target he had expected, he crashed into the cave wall. Dazed by the impact, he slid down the smooth wall and crumpled into a woeful heap.

Snape grimaced and fingered his swollen lip. Perhaps he was going insane; hearing things was certainly a sign of impending madness, as was talking to oneself. To be honest, he was too tired to really care. It had been emotionally and mentally exhausting to handle such high levels of stress for so long, and his body was shutting down as a definite reminder that he needed rest. His head felt light, and blue spots danced in the darkness.

Don't fall asleep! the voice demanded fearfully.

Perhaps the voice was the same as the leopards; something to slowly tear him to pieces. His eyelids drifted closed, and he felt the exhaustion smother him. He couldn't help but ponder the delusion's words. The only man with a wife and son who would visit him was Lucius, but what would he beg from him? The answer tormented his mind while he teetered on the cusp of sleep, and although he strived to examine the answer, fatigue won. His last thought before his mind shut down was that he was Lucius' Secret Keeper.