The Man Who Came In From The Cold

JK Rowling's characters and Wizarding Universe are all uniquely hers. Plot, new characters, new magical terms and abilities etc. are my intellectual property. If you want to borrow then please kindly ask.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. If you are looking for strict Canon or even a slight deviation from Canon you won’t find it here.

Summary: The war has carried on well past Harry Potter’s 7th Year. Snape is on the run from Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic, both of whom will stop at nothing to silence him. He finds unexpected refuge in the most unlikely of places.


The Man Who Came In from the Cold

Chapter 014: La Femme Nikita

Esmé walked through the cold, snowy streets of Paris thinking of the man she’d left behind in Jersey. Sebastian Ravenscroft had to be an English Wizard, he just had to be. Twice he’d called out the name Merlin and that was surely no coincidence. But only because of an English friend was she even aware of the terminology in the world she was sure Sebastian had to have come from. How ironic that a man who was so controlled in every other aspect of his life could truly let go in the heat of lovemaking.

‘He’s English, a wizard and on the run…’ she thought to herself wearily.

The young woman tried not to think of the reasons for Sebastian’s predicament. But one thing did rankle at the back of her mind; the second war of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the metaphysical terrorist who was once again phenomenally out of control and seemingly unstoppable. There were others just as bad as him that wizardkind had fought against in other parts of the world, and they had been stopped. Yet the British Ministry of Magic seemed completely at a loss as to what to do with the disaster they had on their hands.

It made no sense; it made no sense at all.

xxxOOOxxx

Esmé crossed Boulevard Edgar-Quinet, heading south. When she reached the gates of Montparnasse Cemetary she looked around before entering. Once in she walked quickly to Baudelaire’s crypt.

A lone figure was sat nearby as though mourning for some long-lost loved one. He was tall and slim with graying wavy hair. As though sensing her presence, he half-turned on his seat and never took his eyes off her as she came closer.

‘We could have met in Patisserie Valerie you know,’ Esmé said softly as she took a seat beside him. “It’s too damn cold out here…’

The older man looked down at her and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind fashionable Dior glasses.

‘I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you,’ he murmured before leaning down and giving her four bisous as was customary in the City of Light.

His lips hovered dangerously near hers and Esmé pulled back and watched as he opened his eyes. They were the loveliest shade of blue-gray and she’d always felt she could get lost in them forever – but things had changed considerably since what was turning out to be a fateful trip to Jersey.

‘What’s that expression les rosbifs have – I am as tough as old boots,’ she answered carefully. ‘You seem to be holding up well…’

‘Mmm; let’s take a walk, shall we?’

He was nothing less than calm. As always, his baritone was even and soothing; Esmé relaxed just by being with him. The whole world could be crumbling around them – and still he would be the epitome of cool. But behind the calm, gentle exterior beat the heart of a lion.

He had seen so many horrors in his life, personally and professionally. And to be so calm even in the worst of adversities made her admire him even more. Christian Brassens stood and then helped Esmé to her feet. He tucked her arm through his and then placed his other hand on it as they walked slowly through the gloomy city of the dead.

‘You still aren’t convinced that your early retirement may have been premature,’ he commented.

‘I did the right thing Christian. ‘We both know I did.’

‘You always did have far more strength than I.’

‘I had to; I know how it would end and it’s not a road I can travel deliberately.’

‘Unlike your sister.’

‘Very unlike my sister…’

They continued to walk and left the cemetery. After a short trip on the metro the couple ended up in a spacious loft apartment that overlooked the whole of Montmartre. Both tried not to think about the times they had spent here, the times when their closeness took them into dangerous territory. Christian spent a lot of time here with work as the convenient excuse. There hadn’t been anyone before or since Esmé and she supposed that if she had been another type of woman it would feed her ego and she’d make it work for her. Instead, it made her even more determined that she would never marry or give her heart to a man who would never be truly free to be with her. The way that Christian lived was just as bad as the D’Arcys and Michel. It was an all too common thing, really. But it was a reality that she did not want for herself. If a relationship wasn’t working it needed to end and she couldn’t understand the reasons they all had for why they just didn’t do what they needed to for the sake of their own sanity and happiness.

‘So – what’s going on then?’ Esmé finally asked after Christian handed her a steaming cup of tea.

He looked at her, curled up on his futon. In this moment he wanted to do nothing more than lay down with her and make love to her. He wished a lot of things for her and for him and for them as a couple. He wished they could go back to how things were between them once upon a time.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave his marriage because of his children and he knew Esmé didn’t want that. The bare truth was that he also couldn’t leave his marriage because his wife was the daughter of the Deputy Minister. Christian valued his career in Le Palais de la Justice Magique et Métaphysique and couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The fact was that he would not have risen so high in the ranks had it not been for his wife setting her cap on him; and him yielding to the possibilities the alliance offered him. She had been very well connected, coming from an esteemed magical family. It had served him well over the years but at a very high cost.

In principal his life was a very good one given the privileges it afforded him. He managed to do as he chose and was never questioned. As far as anyone was concerned he was a devoted officer of the Ministry and family man. He played his part well – after all it was part and parcel of being an elite spy. Christian was married to a woman he didn’t love. Marianne was a decent enough person; but he just didn’t feel about her as he knew he should. Now that they had children, he would have to wait until his offspring were grown with lives of their own before he could do anything about it. He would be too old by then and there was no way that Esmé or would endure that.

The day he was bonded to his wife was the day his life ended. He said the words and performed the ritual knowing he didn’t love his wife. Then Esmé came into his life, completely by accident not long after she’d left Beauxbatons. He met her in Bayeux at the behest of an old school friend under the pretense of being interested in her needlework. The luck of the gods must have been with him because after a few months of trying along with their friend he managed to convince her to work for him as an operative as and when the need arose. Her simple life provided ample enough cover for the work she did for the French magical government. In a short time Esmé proved his faith in her had not been misplaced and neither was that of their mutual friend. She had done extremely well at Beauxbatons and it made no sense to anyone why she preferred needlework to magic.

And then came that fateful night when they began to get close. And then the night she first stayed over here. It didn’t matter that she was young enough to be his daughter; the only thing that mattered was her. Then she met that god-awful Michel person who had very nearly destroyed her. In the end she didn’t really have her family to lean on as much as she should have, there was only Christian. Esmé had hidden herself away in this flat working on her tapestries and recovering after her illness, the illness he still felt very responsible for.

He didn’t know it was possible to love someone the way he loved her, or for it to hurt so much to not be able to be with her. But he knew Marianne; she would do something stupid if he left her and his career would be in ruins. Esmé was stronger than he was – she was the one who ended it all. But he still was still convinced that Michel had been a horrible mistake of a rebound.

‘First, les documents…’ Christian said after crossing the room to his briefcase and taking out a package. “C’est tout.’

‘Everything? What do you mean – everything? What are you talking about?’

‘As far as anyone is concerned your Sebastian Ravenscroft never existed in his current identity or his previous incarnation. He is Sébastien Rochechouart. He was born and bred in France, in the Ardèche where he attended l’école Première and secondaire, rather than Beauxbatons. He achieved his Joint Master’s in Mathematics and Science at La Sorbonne and went on to complete his Doctorate in Research. You have here his school records, medical history, degrees, identity card, passport and everything he could possibly need. There will be, here and there, those who will have little memories of him, but I don’t sincerely believe that it will ever be necessary to call on them for their cooperation. These are very real, Esmé; and as such they are invaluable to him. For all intents and purposes he is just another man with extraordinary gifts who chooses to live an ordinary life; not a bad thing in such dangerous times.’

Esmé looked at him blindly as he sat next to her. She’d figured it would take her a few hours to sort out everything for Sebastian’s new identity. But Christian was still very much plugged into the world she’d turned her back on – when he said ‘jump’ anyone who was smart said ‘how high’. He could do things off his own back and no one would ever be the wiser. There were plenty of things they had done in the time she worked for his department in the French equivalent of the Ministry of Magic which had they become known would have cost them their jobs at the very least. He had come to see her on Jersey and taken a couple of the passport photos of Sebastian with him back to France. She should have known that he would do this, it was very much their style and she’d learned it all from him.

‘His previous incarnation? What are you talking about?’

‘You are taking an unbelievable risk for a man you know nothing about. And for a man we both know is a Wizard. Any one of them that can is trying to leave and by any means necessary. It’s very difficult for them because they live in a very isolated existence. They aren’t like us – they are not fully integrated into ‘ordinary’ British society. Your friend is damned lucky the immigrations controls were so lax. If he had left it even a couple of says later… I don’t think it’s worth mentioning.’

‘So you think I’m stupid then? Do you think he’s one of them? If that’s what you think then why do all this?’

‘I don’t believe any such thing about you – I trust your gift, Esmé. It has never let us down before and I won’t stop believing in it now. If your ‘instinct’ says that he is trustworthy then I must believe it. You were among the best of any intelligence and security experts who ever served under me. I also trust your sister hasn’t totally forgotten what she learned at Beauxbatons either. But unlike her, I know that you know better where affairs of the heart are concerned and I have to trust that too. So I have complete faith that at some point you took measures to check what you could – undetected of course.’

Esmé nodded ‘yes’, her big brown eyes welling up with tears. There was no such thing as unconditional love, ever. Not when you were a spy.

Christian tilted her face up to his.

‘I know he has managed to win your affection in a way that is impossible for me to have – and it’s OK. But you can’t let your heart over-rule common sense. And if I thought that was possible in any way we wouldn’t be here now.’

‘He’s not married and he doesn’t have obligations.’

‘Unlike me.’

‘Yes – unlike you.’

Esmé put her arms around him and hugged him tight as tears started to fall.

‘That doesn’t change how I feel,’ Christian murmured as he held her. ‘I will always be here even when you don’t think you need me, ma chérie. But you will need me if it is a Death Eater you are sharing your bed with.’

‘You’ve always been really good to me and I’m grateful. Just please trust me on this, Christian. I need you to…’

‘I love you, Esmé. No matter what happens that will never change.’

Just then his mobile telephone rang and he crossed the room again to answer it. There was no denying the erection clearly visible through his heavy wool pants. She ignored the memories of their times together here that taunted her and began to put her boots back on. Christian clearly wasn’t happy with whatever he was being told and was frowning as he listened. In the time it took for him to deal with whomever that was, his erection deflated.

‘I need to go,’ she murmured as he ended his call, thankful to whoever that had been on the phone.

‘So do I; apparently all hell is breaking loose in Britain.’

Esmé looked at him with wide eyes.

‘When are you leaving Jersey?’ Christian asked darkly.

‘Friday…in the morning I hope.’

‘Good. I’ll give you a call over the weekend before we get settled into our holidays.’

‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’

Christian stopped rifling through his suitcase and looked up at her.

‘The kill has been confirmed. You haven’t lost that talent of yours. Never let your guard down Esmé; it will keep you alive.’

‘Yes, just like we agreed. It was just a little too easy once I dealt with his bullshit, but I guess I shouldn’t complain.’

The Frenchman let out a sigh of relief.

‘Good – then that’s the last of them then. Thank you – there really wasn’t anyone else left I could send out. It’s taking all our effort to contain this and now it’s coming to a head.’

‘So he was a Death Eater…’

‘The last one of five to have made it to the Continent. This one was a peculiarly nasty piece of work, as you found out this morning. The British Minister of Magic is oddly detached from the situation – and that has raised some alarms.’

‘I don’t understand it! Voldemort isn’t even necessarily the worst of the lot that ever walked – look at the situation in South America! I don’t understand how that one was stopped in his tracks with far less effort and to me he was more dangerous than this one is! And why are his minions allowed to just walk when everyone and their mother knows where these people are? Is there anything they are really bothered about besides making sure the great British wizarding unwashed buys their latest spin!’

‘I agree – and believe me we aren’t the first who have had this idea. But something is about to break over there and I need to get back to the office.’

Christian stopped what he was doing and looked forlornly at Esmé.

‘If British wizards were more like us and les Jèrriaises, their lives would be far different. They set themselves apart from non-magical people and don’t know how to get along in this world because they don’t really want to. The one course of study they have at Hogwarts is useless. They don’t know Hitler any more than they do that supernatural viper that they nurtured in their bosom. They know nothing about even the simplest technologies and still use owls and talking fires. That is why the British are always at risk even amongst their own. You walk down the streets here and on the continent and we don’t stand out. We embrace the world that we exist alongside of and it has served us well. You always had the right idea about what your life should be like and it’s fortunate that you have the father that you do. It’s the thing that has kept your head above water.’

‘Papa has always been far more pragmatic than maman; the only thing she cares about is our “rightful place in society”…’

‘Just promise me you won’t leave later than Friday or Saturday at the most. If what I think is coming, no doubt some of the inhabitants of neighbouring islands in the Channel will try to cross over to Jersey. We will be sending in the Bastille Guards to patrol our borders and those of Jersey. Jersey may be a Crown Dependency to Britain, but in her affairs she is truly French. She has formally allied with us and the British are seeing red over it.’

Esmé nodded numbly. For their Ministry to be sending in its elite cadre of investigative combat officers, the situation in Britain had to be bordering on anarchy.

‘And the press over there,’ she said. ‘How are they playing this?’

‘As far as we know, it’s business as usual with the various Prophet papers. The publishing is controlled by the Ministry of Magic so we expect nothing less. However, the cracks are beginning to show. I will know more when I hear from our operatives. We also have an informant who is proving to be quite interesting, to say the least.’

‘So you’ve managed it then?’

‘Yes. I would have preferred for you to have been one of them, but I am more than confident that the job will get done. Everything is falling into place.

Christian sighed.

‘It’s good to be able to talk to you about these things.’

‘I can do my bit for the cause in giving you a sounding board. But I can’t go back to that life. And I only did what I did this morning for Sebastian.’

‘You’ve done far worse things for me so I can’t hold it against you, not that I ever would.’

They both put on their coats and then left together. Christian walked Esmé to a small, but discreet park where she could Disapparate. He was going to have to find a way to tell her all that had not been said to her.

He knew her situation better than she thought she did, but before he took decisive action there were some determinations he needed to make for himself.


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Author's comment:

I just wanted to thank each of you that has taken the time to read and offer descriptive feedback. It's making me think about my story as I write it and that is what I want. I must confess that though it may seem as though Ive done intricate planning, I haven't. As always I start out with the overall idea, certain things that have to happen along the way and where I want the story to end up. I just sit down and write. I research as I go where I think its necessary, but for the most part this is very spontaneous as are my other stories.

With regards to this chapter - what Esme is and her background was at the forefront of my mind when I conceived of this story. It was always my intention that the reader would know be clued in about Esme long before Snape would.