Characters are property of J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter Universe. Thankfully, she allows me to borrow them for a bit of fun.

Chapter 31

No Rest for the Wicked

Severus awoke with a sudden jolt to the sound of shuffling footfall echoing down the hall. He listened carefully, despite the beginnings of a vague headache, and heard the door to the loo click shut.

So much for a lie in, he thought, and dug the heel of his hands into his closed eyes. He could have very well spent the remainder of the morning asleep. It had taken him very little time to drift into unconsciousness even though he had been sitting upright with his back against the headboard for the better part of four hours. Severus swung his legs off the bed with wince, taking care not to disturb Hermione, who still lay snoring with her head pillowed on her arm.

Sleep, when it would have anything to do with him at all, rarely left Severus feeling rested, but rather seemed to accentuate the fact that he was running on fumes. Today was going to be no different, it seemed. He put on his boots, not bothering to properly lace them up, and walked across the room to peer out of the window.

It had snowed massively during the night and was still snowing, the tiny, iridescent flakes blanketing the dingy streets. The bitter cold had set in sometime during the night, and had seemed to draw Cokeworth's vagrants from their holes. Severus counted half dozen of them—all foreign to him—shambling around a makeshift burn barrel, beating their arms to encourage circulation or drinking from dark coloured bottles in paper sacks to maintain a suitable temperature.

With very little warning, a creeping chill descended down his neck, causing the fine hairs to stand on end. Severus let the thick curtains fall back into place, blaming the cold air for the sudden uncomfortable feeling, but knew deep down it was something else entirely. He turned for the bedroom door, his unlaced boots falling heavily on the floor. Hermione stirred at the sound of his foot treading on a loose board, but did not wake. He stalled just as his hand touched the door latch and stared at her, watching as she lay there peacefully oblivious, alive, and for the most part well, and felt the same sharp flutter of dread again.

He did not know what to do, and he was running out of time to figure it out.

Severus let himself out of the room, closed the door as quietly as the aged hinges would allow, and slammed directly into the dark-haired figure waiting behind him. In the span of a breath, Severus had drawn his wand and had pointed it directly between a pair of bespectacled eyes. Harry held both hands up in surrender, his face a ghostly pale as the tip of Snape's Hawthorn wand that grazed the bridge of his glasses. "For God's sake, Potter," he snapped. "I almost had your head off."

"How is she?" Harry ducked away from the wand and adjusted his glasses. "Did she wake up?"

Severus frowned, then said, "She's fine." He sidestepped past Harry and headed for the stairs, and feeling wonderful relief not to have to tell another lie. "She woke last night, not an hour after I sent you off to bed."

Harry followed him like a shadow, his tone accusatory. "Why didn't you wake us?"

"I didn't see the point. Both you and Mister Weasley needed sleep, and she was in no state for company. Miss Granger was coherent long enough for me to give her something to reduce the fever."

"You should have—"

"Give it a rest, Harry."

Severus looked over his shoulder to see Hermione standing in the doorway, and Harry, who appeared to have forgotten his quarrel, turned abruptly at the sound of her voice. She took a cautious step out into the hall as if she did not trust her own feet only to have Harry throw his arms around her in an embrace. Hermione gathered the fabric of his shirt in her hands as though holding onto a lifeline, and began to cry, apologizing over and over for her lack of judgment and decent sense the previous evening.

For a moment, Severus felt a pang of poisonous resentment, and was thankful his back was turned to both of them. He knew his reaction was not only ridiculous, but unfair given the circumstances. The two Gryffindors had been inseparable over the last six years at Hogwarts. They had jeopardized life and limb—though Severus felt the scales tipped heavily in Hermione's favour as opposed to Potter's—to ensure that they made it safely out of whatever crucible they faced at the time.

The implication of such a chaotic relationship was unmistakable. They were solid pillars in each others' lives—an altogether foreign notion for someone accustomed to acting as a stepping stone. Severus swallowed whatever ill feelings still ingered and descended the stairs, leaving them to their reunion.

It was absurd to indulge in such thoughts, especially considering their current circumstance. Time had not been on their side, and now it seemed even less so with Narcissa Malfoy lost in the wind. Narcissa had taken precedent in his mind as of late, but still he believed she was not as threatening as her absence suggested. Narcissa Malfoy was in a rotten situation that had even more precipitous consequences, and that, Severus believed, would be the only thing that would keep her mouth shut.

Severus rekindled the fire in the sitting room, and pulled the curtains to block out the chink of light that had broken through the grey haze. There was very little chance of someone finding the house, what with all of the protective enchantments, but there was no point to risk it in light of recent events. Satisfied, he went to the kitchen in search of a strong cup of tea.

The tea kettle and mismatched cups still sat on the kitchen table, forgotten in the previous evening's excitement. Severus could have easily sent the dirty dishes to the sink with a spell, but instead busied himself by clearing the table and running dishwater as a means to have something productive to do. He was able to think more clearly, when his hands had something to do, even if it was completing some thoughtless task.

He had little time alone with his thoughts, however, as Hermione soon joined him in the kitchen. "Good morning," she said in an obviously forced attempt to brighten the mood. For a moment he wondered if he was truly that transparent or if she simply had a knack for reading between the lines. Severus gave her an appraising look and returned her greeting with a nod. "There's no breakfast yet, I'm afraid," he said as he motioned toward the dishes in the sink.

"That's fine," she assured him. "I don't particularly feel like eating, anyway."

"I do," a voice said from over her shoulder, causing her to jump. She turned to find that Ron had made his way to the kitchen as well.

"Shocking," she replied with a sarcastic smile. "I'll see what I can find in the cupboard." Hermione made her way to the cupboard and set to work making breakfast. Harry joined them not long after that and soon the four of them were sitting around the small kitchen table eating in relative silence.

"Well," Harry said eventually, breaking the awkward hush that had settled on the room, "shouldn't we discuss what we're going to do next? We probably don't have much time now. Narcissa is probably on her way to tell Voldemort exactly where we are. That is, if she hasn't already."

"Yes, Potter, I'm very well aware of the direness of our current predicament," Severus said, his voice cross. "However, we cannot afford to act hastily. We must be calculated in our planning, or we run the risk of playing right into the Dark Lord's hand."

"Well, we can't stay here much longer," Harry said. "And we still haven't decided what we're going to do with Bellatrix."

"I know what to do about her," Ron said with a mouth full of scone, drawing a harsh glare from Hermione. "What?" he said incredulously. "She'd do the same to us in a second."

"That's not the point, Ron," Hermione admonished.

"Then what is the point, Hermione? We can't let her go, and we can't just put her on a leash and bring her with us. It's too dangerous. So, what's your plan?"

"If I had one we wouldn't be sitting here arguing about it, would we?" Hermione snapped, and slammed her teacup on the table. From the look of her, Severus could tell she was on the brink of leaving the room to avoid the squabbling. He started to say something, to attempt to diffuse the situation before it could get out of hand, but a loud crash emanating from the corner of the kitchen caused the words to die on his tongue.

Severus, out of panic more than instinct, jerked Hermione off of her chair and into the floor and positioned himself between her and whatever had just made its way into the house. Ron and Harry were several seconds behind him in reaction, but had and pointed their wands on the now-toppled potato bin and the few dozen red potatoes rolling across the floor.

"Show yourself," Harry commanded, and when the intruder did not acquiesce right away, he sent a Stunning Spell barreling toward the bin. The spiraling red beam never reached its mark, but was deflected back in the opposite direction, causing the three wizards to duck for cover when it splintered a rather crude painting that hung on the wall behind them.

"Potter!" Severus roared. "That is enough!"

"Harry Potter, sir!" squeaked a painfully adenoidal voice. A moment later, a pair of large green eyes and shaking, bat-like ears appeared from behind the wooden box. The House-elf wore a baffled expression, as if he had found himself suddenly lost. "Dobby is a friend!"

"Dobby!" Harry lowered his wand and moved quickly to help the struggling creature bring the wooden bin upright. "What are you doing here?"

The elf tugged at his oversized socks and rocked back and forth on his heels trying in vain to keep from stumbling on the potatoes. "Dobby came as soon as he could, sir, to warn Harry Potter and his friends."

"Warn us?" Hermione repeated, making her way to her feet. Severus offered her a steadying hand, which she accepted with a faint squeeze. "Warn us about what?"

"About Mistress Malfoy," Dobby replied. The elf gave an ominous sigh as if to prepare himself for what he was about to say. "Dobby tried to come sooner, but could not risk being seen sneaking about."

Severus took an abrupt step forward, descending on the House-elf like a malevolent storm cloud. "Well, what is it?"

Dobby shot an incredulous look at Severus before speaking. "Mistress Malfoy has been to Hogwarts. The Headmaster," he continued slowly, as though the words were sharp in his throat, "knows that Harry Potter and his friends live."

The kitchen became silent and cold.

There it was. The moment Severus had dreaded but expected all the same. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair, allowing the words to gather meaning. The atmosphere shifted the longer he sat there staring at the elf, though his eyes seemed to be elsewhere, somewhere distant. The room seemed to be closing in around him.

"Did she tell him where we are?" Ron blurted, breaking the silence. The colour had drained from his face. He looked as if he were about to be sick. "Do they know where to find us?"

Dobby tugged on his socks once again, shaking his head. "Dobby only heard Mistress Malfoy speak of Harry Potter and Severus Snape. Dobby heard Narcissa Malfoy say she could deliver Harry Potter and his friends to the Headmaster."

"This doesn't change anything," Hermione said. Her voice was odd and flat. Severus felt her hand go from the wooden back of the chair to his shoulder as she went on. "We expected her to do this. We've taken every precaution in terms of protection."

"We have to leave," Harry disagreed.

"Where are we going to go?" Hermione asked. She looked to Ron helplessly, and when he only shook his head without a word she said, "I don't like this situation anymore than the two of you, but we've got to face the facts here. Severus says this place is protected against—"

"Like the Burrow?" Harry snapped. He gave Severus a level look, and Severus found it hard to miss the poorly-hidden bitterness on his face. "I guess you've forgotten how that ended, and that was with the Order and half of the Ministry behind it!"

"We are not leaving," Severus said, as if the argument was settled.

"Give me one damn reason why we should stay!" Harry yelled.

Severus made his best attempt to keep a level head amidst all the panicked stammering swarming the room. "Give me a moment's respite from your ceaseless squabbling, Potter, and perhaps I can figure out what to do." Harry shot him a harshly acidic look, but nevertheless fell silent. Severus turned to face Dobby. "Did you see anything else, anyone else? Did they say or do anything peculiar during the exchange?"

Dobby froze, his pointed face screwing up in a manner that suggested he was trying very hard to recall every detail of what he had witnessed. "Mistress Malfoy swore him to secrecy," Dobby admitted finally. "She took his thoughts on the matter and left with them in the Headmaster's own teacup."

Harry made a face. "Why would she do that? Why would she tell him only to take the memory of it immediately afterward?"

Severus ignored Harry, his attention instead on the House-elf. "You must return to Hogwarts at once and alert Minerva that things are progressing more quickly than we had imagined. Tell her to forget the Portkey we discussed previously. That is out of the question." Severus rubbed at the side of his head as he began to pace. His headache was anything but vague at this point. "Say nothing more. Lucius cannot know that Minerva has had any contact with me. If he were to find out," he paused, unable to form the words.

"He'd torture her," Hermione finished, the graveness of the situation heavy in her voice.

"Dobby, do you understand?" Harry asked, stepping forward. "It's very important."

"Dobby understands, Harry Potter," the House-elf brimmed with confidence. "Dobby will deliver the message to Professor McGonagall and say nothing else. Dobby will not let Harry Potter and his friends down." With a nod of assurance and a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished.

"This has gone straight to hell," Ron said. Unable to supress his displeasure of the entire situation, he kicked one of the potatoes across the room, where it connected with the wall with a shallow thumping sound. "We should have never brought them here."

"We couldn't leave them there," Hermione said after a moment of hesitation. "They would have gone to You-Know-Who the moment we left them. We would still be in this position, but without Bellatrix Lestrange sitting above our heads in chains." She turned to Severus, her eyes searching his face, as though she was trying to tease out his plans. "That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

Severus found that he had no answer to that. As far as he was concerned, Bellatrix Lestrange was out of the picture until he found a use for her. What continued to puzzle him, however, was how grievously he had misjudged her sister's character. He recalled the last time he had spoken to her about her intentions—her true intentions. Severus had thought he had seen the possibility to sway her opinion. He had seen the way she had looked at him when she considered his words. He had either overestimated his assumption of her, or Narcissa Malfoy was prepared to go above and beyond when the situation called for it.

"Perhaps," Severus said after a moment of reflection, "the elf did not see what he thought." Such a statement drew three skeptical looks, but before anyone could protest he went on. "She knows where we are. She can lead the Dark Lord through the front door, but she prevented it by taking the memory from Lucius before he could act on it. There is a reason for that."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Ron said. He scratched his head as though trying to force the meaning behind it all to take shape. "I mean that sort of defeats the purpose of escaping, doesn't it?"

There was a split second of hesitation in which Severus considered his options. He had purposefully withheld what he had seen in Narcissa mind when he searched her thoughts, and what he knew about her for a very specific reason: Narcissa, at that present time, had not been given the choice to choose the path she wanted to take. Severus had seen it, felt it, hidden away in the part of her mind where he imagined she kept a great number of secrets regarding her family and their doctrines.

Severus did not doubt her beliefs concerning Pure Blood ideology; they had been too deeply engrained in her youth to ever be fully expunged, and were unlikely to change regardless of the outcome of the war. No, what he saw in her was the desire to be rid of it all, the overwhelming tiredness of having to constantly fear for her safety and the safety of those she held most dear. Her life had become a mess of bare, frayed threads, and it had taken the events of the previous evening and the blistering encounter with her sister for her to finally decide which threads could be cut and still allow her to survive the fall. It was with that logic and the strong inclination that Narcissa had made a decision—and the right one, it seemed—that he simply shook his head and said, with dispassionate clarity, "I let her go."

It was as if all of the air had been sucked from the room. "What?" Harry said with equal parts disbelief and outrage. "Why in seven hells would you do that? You've doomed us all."

"Don't be so dramatic, Potter," Severus cut in, his tone as sharp as flint. "Do you honestly think I would do something that would put us in danger? I have reason to believe that Narcissa's allegiance has changed. Letting her go makes that proposition even more likely."

"What on earth would make you believe that?" Ron asked. "The Malfoys have been loyal to You-Know-Who for ages. What makes you think she'll change now?"

"Ron's right," Harry added before Severus had time to answer. "I don't trust any last one of them, Narcissa Malfoy included. She's a cornerstone of a family that would deceive you if they had the first chance—especially if it is to save their own skin."

"Exactly," Severus said and with an air of self-satisfaction. "The one thing Narcissa values above all else is Draco. Now, he's been put in harm's way more than once by the Dark Lord and his followers. She knows there is very little chance of her family coming out of this war intact, especially if they continue to be important pieces in the Dark Lord's plans, and she has grown tired of it."

"But why tell Lucius?" Hermione asked. "Better yet, why tell him only to take the conversation straight back?"

"Narcissa Malfoy is a great many things, but an idiot is not one of them," Severus said. "If she took some memory from Lucius's mind, she is obviously trying to conceal something from the Dark Lord should he choose to go probing for it."

"Then why tell him in the first place," Hermione persisted. "What is there to gain from that?"

It galled him to admit he did not know the answer to that himself, but he said it anyway. "Of that, we can't be sure. We don't even know which memory she took, or how much of it. But I can assure you, Narcissa was given the opportunity to hand us over to the Dark Lord, yet she chose not to do so."

"Not yet," Harry said, scornfully. "It could all be for show. A ploy to make you think she's developed a righteous streak. Mark my words, we'll pay for this." He shot Severus one more look of white-hot loathing before he turned and stormed out of the room, swearing as he went.

"I'll go talk to him," Ron said. As he was leaving, he looked in Hermione's direction, widened his eyes and nodded almost imperceptiblely toward Severus, a poorly-disguised admonition that she needed to talk some sense into their former professor.

The remainder of the day progressed in the manner Severus had expected following the rather eventful breakfast. Unease permeated the house like a dense fog, yet no one had the desire to discuss it. Instead, Harry and Ron had taken a passive jab at him by packing their rucksacks and keeping them close should the situation arise that would merit a quick escape. He had ignored the plotting, and even the snide remarks whispered just loudly enough for him to hear, but when Harry had positioned himself by the front room window and remained there with his eyes upon the roaming drifters, Severus had had enough and stalked out of the room. Hermione had, on several unsuccessful occasions, attempted to act as the arbitrator for the group, but the churlishness of the situation had only succeeded in her giving up and largely ignoring the lot of them.

It was now nearing dinner, and Severus found himself still sitting at the kitchen table with nothing but a months-old Daily Prophet issue and a half-empty tea cup. Hermione had joined him not an hour before with her beaded purple bag and a cup of tea of her own, but had very little to say. He could tell she was torn between trusting his instincts and her own, and more than once she stopped organizing the contents of her bag and would look up at him as though she intended to say something. She never did, though Severus was at a loss as to whether she was too weary to pursue it, or simply could not quite make herself do so.

He had half a mind to ask her what she wanted to say outright, but another voice penetrated the silence to which they had both grown accustomed so sharply that they both jumped. "There's something strange outside," Harry said. "You might want to take a look."

Severus and Hermione followed Harry to the window at the front of the house. Ron had the curtain pushed back and was staring across the street. Severus moved alongside him and traced his gaze to a man standing beside a barrel that had once contained a roaring fire.

"He's been there all day," Harry said. "All the others left hours ago when the fire went out, but this one…he's been standing there, staring. He hasn't moved and he never spoke to the rest of them. He just keeps staring right at us, almost as if he can see us."

"That's impossible," Hermione said. She shot Severus an nervous glance. "The house is Secret-kept. There's no way he could see us."

Severus stared at the man for a few moments and saw that Potter's description was accurate. The man's eyes seemed to bore holes through the front door of his home. Something was quite odd and quite unsettling about the man's presence, and he determined to find out why.

"It seems very strange indeed," Severus said at long last. "I'm going to figure out what he's doing."

"I'll go with you," Harry added at once.

"No," Severus rebutted quickly. "We can't have you out in the open. We have no idea what agents the Dark Lord may have milling about."

"If he sees you," Hermione protested, "he could hex you on sight."

"That's why I require something from Potter—his Invisibility Cloak."

Harry seemed taken aback, but nonetheless fetched the cloak from his rucksack by the door and handed it to Severus. "I agree with Hermione. It's bad idea for you to go alone."

"Don't worry, Potter," Severus said with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I'll make sure your father's blessed cloak gets back to you safely." He slung the cloak over his shoulders, and with just his head visible to the three of them he said, "Do not leave the house under any circumstance." With that, he disappeared fully beneath the cloak and a loud crack shook the room.

The wind made it nearly impossible to stay hidden beneath the cloak as it whipped down the darkened street. Overhead, the pitiful street lamp was swaying violently, casting ominous shadows on the nearby façades. Severus, who found himself waging a fierce battle with the gusts, was now only a few feet from the man and the barrel that had once provided much-needed warmth for the vagabonds of Spinner's End. He had expected the man to give a sudden jump when the sharp crack echoed down the lane, but the drifter remained steadfast and unmoving.

As he approached, Severus could see that the man was visibly shivering—and quite violently at that—but he also could hear the faint sound of his voice mumbling something incomprehensible. Severus was nearly upon the stranger before he was able to make out what he was saying.

"Sanctimona Vincet Semper …" the man mumbled. The streetlamp overhead caught his eyes, giving the impression that they were glazed over, almost porcelain-like. Severus stepped around him in a prudent circle, sensing something was indeed very wrong. "Sanctimona Vincet Semper …" he said again. His misaligned pupils darted to the gloomy houses on the other side of the street, as if searching the darkness of their own accord. Severus realised after the light caught him again that the man had something knotted between his frozen fingers. It looked as though he held what once had been a brown paper sack. Now the thing was soggy, crumpled and frayed to the point it was almost useless. Severus made to prise it from his trembling hands, but the man, sensing someone closing in on the sack, staggered back.

"Sanctimona Vincet Semper of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," he sputtered. His sandpaper voice shook from shivering and his grip tightened around the sack. "Sanctimona Vincet Semper of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Beseech to Charing Cross Road by way of the carrying key." The man's eyes grew wide in their sockets; He looked as though he had been struck by lightning. "Through the Cauldron and up the stairs with phial of faith and key!"

To any Muggle the message would have been a senseless string of words muttered by someone who was obviously mentally unstable, but for Severus the meaning was already beginning to take shape the longer he gave it thought. Narcissa Malfoy had gone above and beyond after all, though her methods were somewhat questionable.

Severus lowered the Invisibility Cloak, and the stranger simply stared at him as though trying to puzzle through how someone could simply appear out of thin air. After a moment of reflection he gave a maniacal grin, revealing a mouth of rotted and missing teeth simply said, "Severus Snape must make haste, Sanctimona Vincet Semper has not long to wait." He dropped the paper sack at Severus's feet, and stalked off down the street as though he had just remembered that he had somewhere very important to be.

With his foot, Severus tore away what was left of the paper sack to reveal what appeared to be a small antique snuffbox with the Malfoy Family crest and corresponding family motto: Sanctimona Vincet Semper. "Purity will always conquer," Severus said to himself. He picked up the silver box and opened it.

He recognized almost immediately the round phial containing one of the most deadly concoctions of the Wizirding word—Bloodbane. He had only ever read about the poison derived from cursed blood, but had never known of anyone ignorant enough to actually fasten themselves to something that was so insidiously dangerous. It was used for blackmail or murder. For good measure, he held it up to the light and saw a hank of yellow hair, the binder Narcissa had used to tie herself to the poison. She had just gifted him her life in a bottle, so to speak. He stowed the phial in his pocket for safe keeping

Inside the box, there was also a skeleton key baring the image of the Leaky Cauldron on one side and a room number on the other. He left that in the box and secured the lid before making his way to the house. Just as his feet were about to take him in the direction of his house, however, the box had taken on a ghostly blue hue. Severus felt the sudden sickening jolt behind his gut, but was already gone from Spinner's End and Cokeworth before he had time to react.

His feet connected awkwardly with the icy pavement running along Charing Cross Road moments later, and he staggered against a nearby store front to catch his footing. The weather was just as dismal in London as it had been in Cokeworth, which had kept the number of Muggles traveling by foot to a minimum; he may well have been the only person on the streets. As a precaution, he ducked under the Invisibility Cloak once again.

He knew the others at Spinner's End were likely beside themselves, and he knew he ought to go back and explain things properly, but the sight of the Leaky Cauldron sitting on the opposite side of the street made him reconsider going back. The unfortunate stranger Narcissa had cursed to do her bidding had been standing outside all day, and possibly the majority of the previous night. This also meant Narcissa had likely been waiting for him to take notice of her request. With thoughts of risking an opportunity to speak with Narcissa, Severus cast a Patronus Charm explaining his sudden disappearance, and sent the silver doe on its way to Cokeworth with the message.

Severus spotted the familiar façade of the Leaky Cauldron across the street. He decided it was best to remain under the Invisibility Cloak, but faced the problem of gaining entrance as a door opening and closing on its own would be sure to attract lots of attention, which was the last thing he needed. As he drew near to the entrance, he saw his opportunity – several wooden crates had been stacked next to the door. Severus kicked the bottom crate, sending the rest of the crates toppling over with a loud crash. The crash was sufficient enough to prompt the innkeeper Tom to open the door swiftly. He looked around and, after seeing nothing, began to restack the crates while muttering curses under his breath as Severus snuck in unnoticed.

Severus navigated the crowded pub carefully and somehow managed to make it to the staircase without bumping into anyone, at least not hard enough for them to notice. The old, wooden steps creaked noisily under his feet, but no one paid it any attention. He hastened his pace as he neared the room indicated on the key. Without knocking, he opened the door and saw a familiar blonde woman seated at a table in the room's center. Narcissa Malfoy stood at once, her face solemn yet somehow oddly relieved. "I didn't think you would see me."

"After an invitation like that, how could I refuse?" Severus said. "Though I must ask; why something so fatal as Bloodbane? You might as well have bottled your own soul."

"Don't speak to me like I'm a child, Severus. I knew you would never agree to see me unless you held the upper hand, so I gave it to you."

Severus watched as her gaze traveled from the phial in his hand to his face. If she was nervous, she did not show it with the mask of indifference she wore. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion it was not above her to leap from where she stood and try to tear the phial away should their meeting end badly. She had taken a massive risk; he just did not know her motives yet.

"I would also like to have the phial back once we're finished here," she continued as if such a request had been a nagging afterthought she had only recently remembered. She turned, leaving Severus standing by the door, and walked away toward a nearby serving table.

"That could be arranged if what you have to offer me proves to be more valuable," Severus said. The words were dripping with venomous sincerity, and he waited, rolling the corked bottle between his fingers, for the threat to reach its mark. Narcissa looked up at him in an instant, frozen halfway through the act of pouring a glass of Port Wine.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes and sat the wine bottle back on the table with an emphatic smack. She hesitated, though Severus could sense it was not out of a conflict of conscience, but rather her trying to control her tongue, lest she say something she would come to regret. "Shall we get down to the business side of things, then?"

Severus gave her a wry smile and strode over to the seat opposite Narcissa. He was not entirely prepared for her sudden display of moxie, especially considering she fled like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs just the day before.

The host eased herself into the nearest chair with all the nonchalance of a spoiled cat, folded her hands in her lap and said, "I told Lucius I know where Bellatrix is. He also knows that you and Harry Potter are alive."

Severus looked astonished. Then he laughed. "You give me a bottle of your blood that you cursed yourself—knowing what I could do with it—only to tell me something I already knew? I expected more from you."

For a moment, Narcissa seemed to be stunned by the reaction her revelation provoked, then her lips pressed into a thin line and she glared at him. "You wouldn't know significance if it struck you in the face, Severus Snape. Don't you see what I've done?"

"I'd rather you just explain it to me," he answered. Severus poured a glass of Port wine for himself and settled more comfortably in his chair. "Whenever you are ready."

"Can we not just call this reluctant tolerance what it is?" Narcissa snapped. "I can get you on the inside, and you can keep my family safe by putting an end to this." She sniffed and took a liberal drink from her glass. "The groundwork has already been laid with Lucius—"

"How is that possible, exactly? I was under the impression that his memory has been wiped of your encounter," Severus cut across her. "Is there any truth to that?"

Narcissa stalled, looked at him with a mixture of shock and panic. "How do you know that?"

"Let's just say I have a reliable presence at Hogwarts and leave it at that," Severus said. "At any rate, what did you take from him?"

"Only the conversation we had about the fiasco at the Manor. If the Dark Lord knew that he and Draco had let Bella escape that would have been the final straw. He knows that you are alive, and he knows Harry Potter is alive. Like I said, the groundwork is there."

"I let you go for a reason, Narcissa, and it was not to play games. I let you go because you and I both know your situation has become something undesirable as of late." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I trust that you've come to the understanding that your time of hiding in the shadows is at its end, what with the threats from Bellatrix and the Dark Lord."

Narcissa nodded, but remained silent.

"If you intend to survive this, sacrifices will have to be made." Severus swirled the rose-colored liquid in his glass, testing her resolve. Her face remained stern, unreadable, despite the lingering silence. She would not be breaking any time soon, he guessed. "Bellatrix is a problem. I can't say with certainty that I'll allow her to live, nor can I speak for the Dark Lord, but I can tell you that I have a plan in mind that involves her."

Narcissa hesitated, taking a liberal sip of wine, then frowned. "She has made her choice, as I have made mine. As much as it pains me to say it, I doubt any amount of mending can repair the damage she has done. Do with her what you will."

"Look at you," Severus taunted. "You've grown quite the spine since we last spoke."

Narcissa offered a cold smile and finished the rest of her wine. "My so-called spine has very little to do with this if you can't muster the testicular fortitude to see to what needs to be done. We're all dead if you don't."

Severus gave her a pointed look and drained the Port from his glass. "Still, I need to know without a shadow of a doubt that I can trust you."

"Have I not done enough for you?" she hissed. "Tell me, what more—"

"Enough, Narcissa," Severus said. When she saw the look on his face, his fist clasp edaround the phial, she seemed to shrink back in her chair. "We've both been surrounded by this madness long enough to know that you simply have to play along until it is finished. Can I trust you to deliver a convincing performance when the time calls for it?"

"You and I both know there is no rest for the wicked, Severus—you have my word, though it would be easier for me to play along if I knew exactly what it is you are planning."

"All will be revealed in due time," Severus said. "But what I can tell you is that there is something of great importance at Hogwarts, and that we will be going there to retrieve it in a matter of days."

"Another Horcrux?"

"I can't say with certainty, but Potter is sure of it," Severus admitted. "It is crucial we retrieve the item before we act against the Dark Lord. Should he discover our intentions, things could go quite badly very quickly."

"What do you need me to do?" Narcissa asked.

"Lucius cannot be in the castle when we arrive, nor can any of the other staff that would pose a threat. Invite them to your home, keep them busy. We need time to find what it is we are looking for without interruption."

Narcissa stared down at her hands, twisting the ring that bore the Malfoy family crest around her finger. She looked up after several seconds and eyed him carefully. "That is easily arranged if you are certain it will work."

"If my instructions are followed to the letter there will be little chance for error. The Dark Lord will not know something is amiss until it is too late, and by that time we will be gone." Severus stood abruptly and turned for the door. "I'll contact you discreetly by owl to let you know when we intend to move."

"Severus, wait." Narcissa said sharply and held out her hand. "We had an agreement. I'd like the phial."

Severus stopped just short of the door and turned to face her, the phial still in his hand. He regarded it thoughtfully, the placed it in his front trouser pocket with a smile. "Consider it collateral, Narcissa," he said, and before she could protest, he Disapparated on the spot with deafening crack.

— — —

Bellatrix Lestrange had always thought she would die as she had lived, with a wand in her hand a curse upon her lips.

While she believed that wholeheartedly, she knew with much stronger conviction that she was to spend the rest of her waking days walking beside the Dark Lord. Bellatrix had planned it from the start, scheming and plotting like some lovesick schoolgirl the moment she had learned of the wizard who called himself Voldemort.

It had been foolproof in her mind, the glorious idea she had devised in her youth, but the longer she thought on it, especially in the current circumstances, the less likely it seemed. In her perfect world, she would have helped him solidify a strong, Pureblood Wizarding society by any means necessary, and proved herself loyal to him in the process. When it was all said and done, when they had defeated his enemies, Bellatrix would have been by his side, all of those who opposed them and their reign lying in a heap at their feet.

I would have not only gained his respect and gratitude, but his devotion as well, she thought, testing the cuffs around her wrists for what must have been the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Just as they had the last nineteen times, the shackles remained steadfast, and her patience dwindled further. She knew she should have given up squirming, saved her strength for when the golden opportunity to flee presented itself, but she had grown too restless to simply bide her time.

Bellatrix sagged against the wall, her arms hanging over her head. It had been hours since she had last spoken to Narcissa and learned of Snape's intentions to destroy the goblet. It was quite obvious they had failed to do so, considered she was still chained to the wall. What are they waiting for?

She closed her eyes, straining to hear even the slightest sound coming from beyond the four wood-paneled walls. The combination of the silence and the thudding of her pulse in her own ears was not only enough to hurt, but enough to cause a tiny flicker of fear to settle in the pit of her stomach.

Bellatrix Lestrange had never been a woman to fear things. Fear, she had always thought, was a temperamental mistress that had potential to work to one's advantage one day and cut them down the next. It was quite easy to dwell upon if one was not careful. Fear was a strange, twisted story of uncertainty people told themselves when they were alone with their thoughts. Bella rarely had the time for fear with the Dark Lord so close to achieving his ambitions, but unfortunately all she had in the current moment was time and her thoughts.

She had failed, and failure carried a heavy and sometimes deadly sentence in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Severus Snape, I know you can hear me!" Bellatrix shouted, jerking the cuffs and chains taut. The metal bit into her wrists with renewed force, cutting off the rest of her angry tirade. Bellatrix took a ragged breath as her body drew up into a tight knot frustration and she released an ear splitting scream that would have set the windows to rattling had there been any in the room.

"It will not end this way," she said through clenched teeth, ignoring the fact that the words felt woefully inadequate. There was a very real chance it was going to end this way, despite the fact that she refused to think on it. Looking up at her hands which were cold and numb from lack of proper circulation, her eyes caught sight of the Dark Mark peeking out from beneath her sleeve. Something, a faint glimmer of hope perhaps, seemed to reach deep into her chest and squeeze, and for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, the tides appeared to be changing in her favour.

She only needed to reach the Mark and she was free.

Author's Note: I hope those of you who follow this story enjoy this update. I know it has been a long time in coming, and I apologize for that. I can blame it on any number of things, but the bottom line was that I needed a break to recharge and work on some new stuff. This story will never be abandoned, and I swear the end is in sight. At any rate, please remember reviews are always welcomed and greatly appreciated. I wish you many hours of happy reading and a splendid New Year!