twenty-six



The Man Who Sold the World
by Meggory

Hermione had never once in her life thought to see Severus Snape jump as if goosed, but it happened all the same when she whipped off the Invisibility Cloak in front of him in the library stacks. The books he held in his left hand slid to the precarious perch of his fingertips but did not quite fall, while the hefty tome in his right was unexpectedly launched towards her suddenly visible head. Unprepared, she ducked too slowly; the blunt corner of the spine struck her crown and caused an explosion of sharp, quick pain. Her knees hit the floor in her downward swing of momentum. “Jesus Christ, Severus, what is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he hissed back. “I don’t go sneaking up on former spies. I could have killed you.”

“Yes, with your deadly book arts,” she snapped, rubbing the rather large bump forming on her skull. “God, it’s amazing Harry didn’t get himself hexed while wearing this thing.”

“That’s Potter’s Invisibility Cloak?” Severus queried, his part in her current headache forgotten. Suddenly he narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you been hiding this from me? From the beginning?”

The accusatory tone of his voice stung more than her injury. “I most certainly have not,” she growled. “What the hell do you take me for, some kind of cheat?”

The glare disappeared as quickly as it formed, and Severus took a conciliatory step back. He refused to meet her hurt look. “I--I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” Before she could reply, he rushed on, “Where did you find it? It couldn’t have just been laying around.”

“Vovo found it in the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore sealed it before he left--”

“I know. He couldn’t take everything he wanted with him to Headquarters, not after we had to move out of Grimmauld Place, and sealing it shut protected the portraits. I suppose Potter left his Cloak there for safekeeping.”

“Not exactly.” A touch of hesitation held her hand back before she pulled the note out and handed it to Severus. The Potions Master read the scrawling note quickly, his brows drawn, before passing it back to her. “Before you make a snide remark about Harry--”

“I was going to comment on Potter’s apparent forethought,” he interjected. “However, I may wish to make a snide remark about your--”

Hermione cut in rudely. “I know where they’re keeping Vasiliy.”

Raking his hand through his hair, Severus shot her an exasperated glare. “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

“The book must have pushed it out of my brain,” she retorted. “Vasiliy’s being held at the Death Eater headquarters in Hogsmeade. I guess someone converted the Shrieking Shack into a structurally sound building.”

Severus tapped his free fingers against his lips in rhythm, as if he were playing piano keys. He whispered under his breath, too quiet for her to hear even in the silence of the library. The books never left his grip while he began to pace. Hermione watched him, a bit disturbed, and tentatively said, “Er, Severus?”

“The dungeon,” he blurted. Wildly, he grabbed her hand and started to drag her through the stacks. “What we need is in the dungeon.”

Too shocked to fight for several minutes, Hermione let herself be hauled to the library entrance. Finally, she tugged her arm away in resistance. “At least let me put on the Cloak. One person lurking about is slightly less suspicious than two in this situation,” she muttered. At his absent nod, Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over her head and shoulders, then followed Severus dutifully into the castle corridors.

It was at once clear how Professor Snape had managed to sneak up on nearly every misdeed, naughty act, and rule breaking throughout his time at Hogwarts. Hermione had to step quickly to keep up as he stole through the maze of side halls, small, secret passageways, and narrow wooden stairwells. Idly she wondered how many of these unknown paths had been friends to Fred and George Weasley. A bit of time passed before she realized Severus was not leading her to his old classroom, as she had suspected.

She hurried to close the short distance between them. “Severus,” she whispered, “where are we going?”

He turned to chastise her, but before he could open his mouth, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching startled both of them. Severus suddenly dashed into a crevice Hermione did not even see behind her; she gasped as he grabbed her from behind and pulled her into his hiding place. She managed to avoid making any more noise by biting her bottom lip. The dim light of the corridor revealed a glint of auburn from Hermione’s vantage point.

Ginny, wearing her professor’s robes and looking both dangerous and anxious, strolled past their hiding place without looking like she was in a hurry. Hermione strained against Severus’ iron grip, wanting to speak to the woman, but Severus held her fast. Once Ginny disappeared around the corner, Hermione started counting in her head; she reached fifty the moment Severus let her go. Although Hermione wanted to follow her old friend, Severus waved a silent hand in front of her face, motioning intently for her to attend him.

Severus stopped at a door Hermione did not recognise and tugged back the cuffs of his shirt. “Let’s see, old man, whether you were the greatest wizard of the age,” he muttered under his breath. Puzzled and anxious that Ginny might return, Hermione poked him in the back with an invisible finger.

“Hurry up,” she hissed.

Ignoring her completely, he pressed his palms against the door, one near the top hinge and the other just under the door knob. From his mouth flowed a litany of hushed Wizarding Latin, so rapidly that she could not pick out an eighth of the words. Suddenly, he snatched his hands away, fluttering them as if burnt. Hermione nearly gasped as she watched the door darken, then turn to mottled white ash, then disintegrate all without smelling of charred wood or leaving smoke in the air. Behind the demolished door sat a second, identical door, dull from a lack of polish.

This time, Severus poked his carved wand into the keyhole and commanded it to open. Hermione let out a breath she did not know she was holding when the lock clicked and Severus pushed the door open. He waved her inside.

The room he had unlocked was obviously a set of quarters, not a classroom, and Hermione would have bet chocolate that these rooms had belonged to Professor Snape, being so close to the old Potions classroom. The only thing left in the bare room was a mahogany wardrobe sitting across from a cold, barren fireplace. Hermione could see marks on the neutral, boring carpet where pieces of furniture once stood -- a chair, a table, a desk. As she pulled off Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, Severus headed straight to the wardrobe, pulled it open fiercely, and extracted a large bundle wrapped in black broadcloth.

Severus untied the bundle with one hand and pulled back the folds of cheap cotton. Underneath lay black fabric with a silky, luxurious texture. He divided the bundle and offered her half. “Put this on. We’ll have to alter it.”

Pressing her lips together, Hermione unfolded the garments with mounting dread. The tunic and pants she now held were a Death Eater’s uniform. Severus carried an exact copy in his arms with a blank expression. “We came all the way down here to get clothing--” a twist of hatred deformed her mouth, “--we could have transfigured?”

He glared at her. “How well would our disguise work if someone cast a Finite Incantatem in our direction?”

“That’s your only reason?” she snapped, angry at his carelessness. They could have easily been caught before anyone cast anything at them. She noticed through the haze of her anger that Severus had become ashen. Still clutching his old uniform, he fingered the scar tissue marring his flesh where his Dark Mark used to be. Hesitantly, he said, “It’s difficult to remember some things. Sometimes.”

Upon seeing his distress, Hermione held the uniform up for closer inspection. The silver pins and buttons of all Death Eater officers decorated the black fabric, but red braid circled the cuffs. Hermione knew from her time in the London Headquarters’ kitchen that anyone wearing this uniform was to be obeyed instantly, never questioned or put off. Severus Snape had the uniform of a general, identical to that of Rodolphus Lestrange. She had not realized how important Severus had been among Voldemort’s followers, how far he’d fallen. She was starting to understand just how badly he had been treated for his betrayal.

“Well, if it will help Vasiliy,” she said suddenly with a falsely genial acquiescence. Severus nodded and disappeared into an adjoining room, leaving her to put on this repulsive garment. Pretending she was dressing in a costume for a play made her hands revolt less as she buttoned the crimson shirt over her camisole. The plain, black silk tie went on easily as she imagined tying the full Windsor knot in her Gryffindor tie. The pants were comically long and too wide for her slender frame, but Severus Snape had never been a fat man. She secured the pants with a stiff leather belt decorated with a silver snake head buckle. The tunic came last, heavy, fine wool lined with silk. As she shrugged into it, Severus emerged fully dressed.

The clothing was baggy, a reminder of his lean times living as a Wraith, but he looked every inch a Death Eater, down to the hard countenance and real wand tucked behind his red sash. His boots shone. She could only imagine how terrifying he would be with the cold face of Severus Snape instead of his new potion-features. As he glanced over her costume, he hid a snort behind his hand.

She glared at him, haughty and frozen. “What is so bloody amusing?” she demanded dangerously.

“There! Exactly. Keep that up and no one will dare question you. But we can’t both be generals.” He grabbed her arm and waved his wand over the red braid circling her wrist. The top cord disappeared; he repeated the technique on her left cuff, making her a colonel. “Better.” He leaned in close. “This is what we’re going to do.”



*



The Shrieking Shack had never looked in better shape. The building no longer appeared rundown or deserted. A tall chain link fence, topped with barbed wire, surrounded the perimeter, while rows of semi-permanent canvas tents filled the formerly empty land around the building on the top of the hill. Hermione tried her best not to tremble as they marched towards the two guards flanking the large gate.

“Halt!” cried the first guard to spot them, drawing his wand. “This area is restricted to officers and soldiers stationed here.”

Severus threw his shoulders back and drew himself up to his full height. Hermione felt dwarfed, but kept her face cold and flat. He marched right up to the guard, nearly touching the outstretched wand tip in the man’s hand. His eyes flashed with frozen anger. He opened his mouth, and a torrent of irate Russian spouted from his lips. The guard’s face became perplexed as the unfamiliar sounds went on, then his eyes pleaded helplessly to Hermione.

That was her cue. “The general would like to see the prisoner taken today,” she said coolly, with a clipped accent a bit unlike her own. Acting was starting to come naturally to her.

The guard shook his head, but his reply was polite as to not offend a far superior officer. “The prisoner is in isolation, sir. No one but Regent Malfoy is to speak with him, and the Regent has not yet arrived.”

Severus pretended to be upset at the lack of obedience, which involved a rather interesting demonstration of eyebrow waggling and hand gestures. Hermione lifted herself onto her toes while he leaned down; she spoke softly in his ear, too softly for the guards to hear. “Shall I try a name drop now?” she asked.

He nodded once to her as they regained their stiff postures. Briefly, he babbled in Russian. To the guard, Hermione said, “The general has been sent to question the prisoner. We have just spoken with Captain Weasley, Regent Malfoy’s personal attaché, and we are to speak with the prisoner in his native tongue. Regent Dolohov is considering making an example of the prisoner.” As the man hesitated, clearly torn between upholding his orders and disobeying a general in Lord Voldemort’s army, Hermione leaned a bit closer to him. “I would do it, should you value your career. The general is an impatient man, and he has a temper famous from Vladivostok to Saint Petersburg.”

The scowl on Severus’ face deepened; even without the famous features of Professor Snape, the effect was intimidating. The young man gulped audibly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said shakily. A quick motion with his wand opened the gate, and the young man motioned them anxiously through. His partner at the gate watched them go in before turning his attention back to the empty field in front of him.

Hermione had to march quickly to keep up with the brisk, impatient pace of the “general” ahead of her. As Severus had counselled her, she tried not to move her head from side to side while taking in the details of the camp. Her eyes moved constantly under her lashes, but her head never strayed. To her right, lines of perfectly aligned canvas tents ran at least twenty deep, while to her left was a perfectly flat, open field of trampled grass. The wide, packed-dirt road they walked led directly to the front door of the Shrieking Shack. The guard led them up a trio of wide wooden stairs and held the front door open for Severus and her. Hermione unconsciously inhaled and held her breath as she crossed over the threshold into the heart of Death Eater territory. She had done so every day in London, but this was a place with new dangers and new inhabitants.

The interior of the Shrieking Shack was barely recognisable from the ruin she had witnessed as a child. Gone were the old and ropy spider webs strung from every surface; the mouse holes were gone from above the baseboards and the peeling wallpaper had been replaced with new. Wooden banisters leading to the upper floors gleamed with polish, reflecting the light from evenly spaced sconces holding magical lights. The corridors were devoid of moving bodies, although Hermione could hear booted footsteps creaking upstairs.

The guard led them straight down the main hallway, past closed doors on both sides, until he stopped at the last door on the left. Another young man stood easy next to the door knob, leaning up against the jamb. Upon seeing the three approach, he snapped to attention. “This is a restricted area,” he told the guard in a tone that belied his respectful posture.

“Private Mallowly, the general,” he emphasised the word slightly and nodded his head minutely in Severus’ direction, “wishes to speak to the prisoner. Immediately.”

“But--”

“I said immediately, Private,” their escort said firmly.

Mallowly nodded sharply. “Yes, Corporal.” He withdrew a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stood aside.

Their escort turned the knob and pushed the door open. “He’s all yours, General.”

Severus thanked the man brusquely in Russian before stepping into the room. Hermione followed with a haughty look on her face and slammed the door closed behind her. She suddenly wished she had not when the stench of blood hit her nostrils.

Red spatter dotted the walls, the floors, even parts of the ceiling. The small room was completely empty save for a plain wooden chair and a limp body draped across it. Severus practically leapt across the room and knelt down to check Vasiliy’s face. “Vasya? Vasya, can you hear me?” he whispered anxiously.

His arm twitched slightly, but Vasiliy made no sound. Severus glanced up at Hermione with terror and worry in his eyes. “Come, help me!” he insisted.

Hermione rushed over and helped Severus ease the shirtless Vasiliy into a sitting position on the floor. A barely audible moan escaped from Vasiliy’s pale lips. “Vasya?” Severus said gently. He spoke quietly in Russian, but Hermione could hear the panic in his voice. When he stopped talking, Vasiliy weakly raised his head and breathily whispered something. Severus put his ear down to Vasiliy’s mouth and smiled. “Sorry we’re late, Vasya. We couldn’t find a thing to wear.”

Vasiliy’s body racked with silent, painful laughter, and Hermione took an inventory of his injuries. Darkening bruises were already covering his ribs, and she could only imagine the damage covered by his pants. Blood had fanned down his face and dried in a thin crust; she guessed the blood on the walls had come from the long, shallow gash on his forehead. He appeared pale and exhausted.

“Do you think you can walk, Vasya?” Severus asked his friend in English.

“I can try,” the wandmaker replied. “You’ll have to help me up.”

Gently, Severus and Hermione put their arms around the Russian and pulled him into a standing position. Vasiliy groaned with the effort. Severus shifted, letting Hermione take the brunt of Vasiliy’s weight. “Go stand over there,” he directed. She nodded, and hobbled along with Vasiliy into the corner.

Severus stood in front of the chair and drew his wand. He began to mutter strange words without pause or breath, then wiggled his wand in a complex pattern of circles. Long moments passed as the ritual continued before he silenced himself, knelt down, and drew a symbol in the blood on the chair with his index finger. Hermione blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, a human figure was draped over the chair, dripping blood on the floor.

Vasiliy’s hand tightened around her hip. Hermione stared. “Severus, what did you do?”

“I’ve created a dummy. A copy. A monster,” he replied quietly. “A golem. I once met a rabbi in Sofia who taught me how to do it.”

Hermione peered at the creation closely, marvelling at the spell he had cast, when the golem twitched its foot. Surprised, she gasped. “It’s not alive, is it?”

“Of course not. It is a very sophisticated emulation of life. It should fool these idiots long enough for us to escape.”

“Severus,” she said hesitantly, “I don’t think Vasiliy will be able to walk that far back to the castle.”

He thought for a moment, tapping a finger against his lips. “Then we’ll take another way. Get the Invisibility Cloak on him.”

Hermione pulled Harry’s Cloak out of the inside pocket of her uniform and shook it out with a flourish. “Here, Vasiliy. Let me help you.” Carefully, she wrapped the silvery fabric around his shoulders, leaving only his bloodied face visible. With a smile, she pulled the hood over his face, leaving nothing but a soiled wall visible in front of her. She could still feel his hand around her hip.

Severus adjusted his tunic. “Now, for an unprecedented performance by Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. You ready?”

He stormed to the door, wrenched it open and started yelling in Russian; as he gesticulated wildly, Hermione started howling in English that the prisoner was dead, that the guards had killed Regent Malfoy’s prisoner!


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Author’s Notes:
1) Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, especially for your patience with my infrequent updates. Life has been hectic.
2) To “stand easy” is a military command, during parade generally coming after “stand at ease,” meaning to stand normally with the restriction of not moving from one’s place.