Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy

Author’s Notes: My beta, melusin, makes these chapters nice and shiny for your enjoyment.

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Chapter Sixteen - To Be Weak is Miserable

As Macnair extended his hands toward her face, the Muggle woman flinched widely in an effort to escape the blood on his fingers. He smiled at her. He wanted to enjoy this, but was growing increasingly distracted in his effort to ignore the groans by the door.

“No one is asking you to stay, Severus,” Macnair chided.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Snape lazily leaned against the doorframe. “Every time you’re left alone, Walden, plans do tend to go to shite.”

“Stop thrashing,” Macnair bellowed at the woman, “before I force you to stop!”

The Muggle woman opened her mouth again, testing her voice, shocked that her ability to scream had indeed been taken from her. Her face showed the horror and disbelief at such a thing being remotely possible.

“Did you get what we came for?” Macnair asked Snape irritably without looking at him.

Severus patted the bulge in his pocket. “Every picture and name of every Muggle belonging to this blood line,” he drawled.

“So I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Severus groaned impatiently again.

“If you don’t want to have a little fun, then fucking wait outside!”

Not needing to hear anymore, Severus quickly turned on his heel, leaving the small Muggle parlour room and exiting though the front door. “I’m throwing up the Dark Mark in ten minutes,” he said, sneering over his shoulder.

A wry smile graced the corners of Macnair’s mouth at the idea that he was finally alone. Reaching out toward the Muggle one more time, he slid his index finger down her cheek and along her jaw.

“What is it about the colour red that makes all Muggle whores so appealing…?” he drawled. Towards the end of his sentence, he thrust his broad chin out, forcing the woman to flinch in reaction.

Macnair leaned in very close, making a show of smelling her. “Stop looking at him like he’s going to wake up and save you!” Macnair suddenly barked. When the woman’s bloodshot eyes once again darted towards the lifeless body of her husband on the floor, she mutely screamed as the brutal man backhanded her across the cheekbone.

The chair she was tied to buckled under the harsh blow, sending her sideways and colliding with the tiled floor. If she’d had a voice, she would have been shrieking due to the pain of her arm being crushed beneath her.

Her breath hitched when the chair was quickly kicked upright.

“I can see the question…” Macnair rasped wetly. He grasped her chin to make the woman look at him. “…the fear in your eyes. I know what you’re thinking.”

The woman had a strong feeling that this man possessed no clue as to what she was thinking. What she was thinking felt unbearably inappropriate here and now as the blood of her husband pulled away from him, soaking up the beige carpet they had picked out together in a department store catalogue.

This deranged man standing over her with the weird clothes and stained hands was very handsome. That was what she was thinking. Broad shouldered, dark haired, tall with a chiseled chin. Almost beautiful. Beautiful people don’t commit murder, right? She thought all this and prayed God wouldn’t punish her for it.

“You want to know why I am doing this,” he told her. It sounded much more like a concrete statement than a posed question.

Standing up, he drew back to get a better look at her face. “Yes?” he hissed through clenched teeth, yanking the back of her hair to force her answer.

The woman began to desperately nod.

Smiling openly, Macnair waved his arm dismissively in the air, releasing a booming laugh.

“Because I can.”

*** *** ***

“I’m sorry, Remus, but you can’t.” Dumbledore exhaled resignedly.

Pulling his hand away from his taut brow, Remus instantly straightened himself in his seat.

“No. What I can’t do is leave him there. He’s the perfect age to begin schooling.” When the Headmaster continued to stubbornly shake his head as Remus spoke, his mind quickly sought a different approach. “Check the student log! I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sent a Hogwarts letter sometime within the last year or two.”

Remus groaned in frustration when the old man silently shook his head again. Remus pointed an accusing finger at the Headmaster. “I know you can falsify his records, Albus… admit him as a transfer student from Durmstrang….”

“You’re supposed to be gaining Greyback’s confidence, not challenging him!”

Despite the fact that the Headmaster felt very drained, his bones physically aching in pain, he was very good at hiding it. When he demanded his authority be obeyed, it never ceased to catch others off guard.

Remus blinked, taken slightly aback. “P-please, Headmaster,” he stuttered quietly. “You should have seen him. You have no idea....”

“Haven’t I?” Dumbledore barked, his pale-blue eyes widening. “If my memories serve me correctly, I can imagine he looked very much like you did when I found you.”

Remus narrowed his eyes defiantly. This was exactly where he wanted to lead the discussion, but the Headmaster was supposed to be swayed by empathy.

“When you found me,” Remus said slowly, “you saved me. You brought me to Hogwarts.” Remus glared at the Headmaster through the messy, greying hair covering his eyes. “But now you’re forbidding me from doing the same?”

“I forbid you from starting an all out war with the werewolves by challenging their leader! You cannot bring him here.” The coldness in Dumbledore’s voice told Remus that this decision was final.

Remus remained silent, shaking his head wretchedly. A few nights ago, after he had found and spoken to young John, all Remus was able to think about was snatching the boy and bringing him to the castle where he would remain safe under the protection of this very man. But after speaking to the Headmaster, Remus had found that wish to be impossible. And for what purpose? Let one poor boy endure the hell, which Remus knew of very personally for the sake of the war effort?

Finally pulling his distant gaze from the polished floorboards of the Headmaster’s office, Remus locked eyes with the leader whom he knew was waiting for an exclamation of agreement and acquiescence. Dumbledore gazed back at him, unmoving, stony and almost dangerous.

Lupin felt more exposed than ever when Dumbledore glared at him like that. This old man knew Remus, inside and out, and Remus could easily imagine what he was thinking. The moment Remus had spat out his concern for John, a quick flash of hungry excitement distantly clouded the Headmaster’s eyes. Or, perhaps, it had only been a glare flashing across his spectacles.

Either way, both knew that this boy was the link to Remus finally completing the mission that had been assigned to him over a year ago. Fear of confronting his past, fear of sparking a friendship with his childhood abuser, had stilted Remus from putting all of his effort into locating Fenrir Greyback.

But now Remus was faced with the brutal realisation that this wasn’t only about him and his pain. There was young John in the equation now. If he were safe at Hogwarts, Remus would have absolutely no reason to go back to the underground hideout that he knew was harbouring the homicidal werewolf.

So the Headmaster forbade Remus to bring John to Hogwarts.

Remus’ fear had quickly been put on the backburner… if it would prevent another boy from living a life saturated in that dread he knew far too well.

Because John still lived in that cave, with him, Remus felt absolutely no hesitation in returning.

Swallowing thickly, Remus thrust himself out of his seat with a curt nod of goodbye, quickly closing the door behind him so he wouldn’t have to endure Dumbledore’s heartfelt gratitude.

*** *** ***

It was nothing but a bad dream.

That’s what Hermione kept telling herself, over and over again. She would wake up gradually, saturated in a thick grey haze quite similar to the weather outside her window, every morning for the past few days since….

…bad dream…

Her empty eyes slowly closed as the rest of her body sank with the weight of unwanted memories.

Bad dream… all of it: Grimmauld Place, Hogsmeade, their first kiss, the feel of his hair — of his hands on her. And of course, that horrible argument in his chambers.

It was the morning of Halloween. She’d been lying awake in bed long before her Muggle alarm-clock started screeching. With a tired moan, Hermione rolled on her back, absent-mindedly pushing her wild curls off her forehead as she stared up at the canopy of her four-poster bed.

What the hell had she been thinking? Of all people for her to fall for… Severus Snape? She should have seen it coming. Maybe not the exact argument that had taken place, but definitely some type of disturbance in the waters.

No, that was a lie. She truly wasn’t that naive. Hermione had some idea of what she was getting herself into. She knew more about this man than most. Knew of his nature and of what he was capable. And yes, Hermione truly did believe she had glimpsed an unselfish amiability in his centre. Nothing incredibly kind or exposed, but a misery that she yearned to touch.

Maybe she was the only one who had done all of the yearning?

She cringed as the vivid voice of Ron Weasley entered her head, calling her a series of names from “bonkers” to “mental.”

With a deep sigh, Hermione rolled across her expansive bed, reaching for a thick pillow and stuffing it between her knees.

She missed him.

She cringed again, eyes clenching painfully as every inch of her skin felt heavy.

She didn’t even want to imagine what Severus was thinking. Hermione honestly believed she had made a very good show of acting the typical focussed student in his classes. Cool and indifferent. But it wasn’t so difficult when Professor Snape completely refused to look at her except, of course, when he was insulting her.

The first day of classes after that horrible night, he had made it look very easy. As if she were nothing more than an irritable and vivid bad dream. And it made her want to cry.

All of it made her want to cry: her pain. His pain. His words, his physical and mental violence. But most of all, the ignorance and arrogance she had shown towards him.

Without realising it, Hermione had taken so much of Severus for granted, and she truly did want to apologise. But despite the grief that was overwhelming her, to the point where she was contemplating making the first effort to go to him, Hermione knew she was playing into his hands.

He had been far more abusive than her. Going to him would only guarantee it would happen again. She had seen enough of it first-hand at home.

Stop it, Hermione, she scolded herself, clenching her fists against the mattress. She had witnessed far too many girls in her year morph into walking zombies over something as silly as a boy. She refused to allow herself to be such a victim.

Get up.

And so she did. Kicking her duvet off, Hermione padded her way to the bathroom to shower and dress for the day’s Hogsmeade visit.

*** *** ***

Albus was slowly killing him, Severus thought. Or maybe, very carefully driving him to the brink of insanity.

Or both.

On second thoughts, Minerva had to be the one behind it all.

No, definitely, it was a combined effort.

Snape easily imagined the two of them up in the Headmaster’s office, laughing at his expression when they had given him this idiotic task.

Hogsmeade patrol. He sneered.

“Stop your horseplay this instant!” Severus bellowed menacingly at a group of fourth-years passing him as he marched past Hogwarts’ gates. “What the bloody hell do you think this is? An outing?”

This was an outing, so the terrified and confused looks the group sent him sated his bubbling irritation.

The evil smirk plastered across his face vanished at the sight of a curly-headed mane a few metres in front of him. Severus fought the temptation to inspect the female more carefully. Clenching his jaw, he quickly turned his head to distract himself elsewhere.

Snape knew he could easily forget about Hermione if he truly wanted to. He knew his nature all too well, and indifference was a hair’s breadth away from consuming him at will.

But there lay the question… did he want to?

It had been a very long time since he had unwillingly been besieged with emotions such as guilt and regret. But that night, with her, such sensations had inundated him so strongly, he’d had to fight off the temptation to run after Hermione as she had fled from his chambers.

Severus tightly clenched his jaw as he thought of her that night.

He didn’t know what to say to Hermione; he didn’t even truly know what he wanted from her, but he couldn’t let it go just like that.

After his guilt had subsided considerably the next day, Severus had been forced to teach a full day of classes surrounded by dunderheaded hormonal teenagers.

Poor girl, and curse Minerva’s diligent schedule making! Hermione’s last class of the day just had to be his as well.

Full of anger and resentment, Severus intentionally relieved his frustrations on her. He didn’t fully understand it, but Snape hadn’t felt any measure of contentment all day until he had driven Hermione to the brink of tears.

Oh, he had made other students cry throughout the day, as per usual. But none of the reddened and sad faces were quite as pleasing as hers.

Maybe he just needed proof that she still possessed a measure of emotion for him that did not consist of pure malice and contempt. If she hated or was disgusted with him, anger would have been her first response, not sorrow. Or maybe he was just a sick bastard who got off hurting people he knew he could affect the most.

Either way, they had certainly needed space… and time. And Severus believed enough of both had adequately passed.

But one thing was certain, that one sentence he had thought when he’d woken at Spinner’s End to the feel of an ample witch half-covering his body had repeatedly turned in his mind.

He wanted to keep her.

*** *** ***

Harry had walked to Hogsmeade alone, so he did not find it difficult to ignore all of the welcoming glances as he entered the Three Broomsticks. Without a moment’s hesitation, he looked beyond all of the fake grins for an available empty table.

Slowly sipping his bottle of Butterbeer, the loud ruckus of the younger students muffled the steady footsteps approaching him from the side.

As a body stood very near to Harry’s seat, a wad of rolled up paper whacked Harry clear across the back of the head. He fell forward, sputtering his drink all over the table.

“What the…?” Turning around, he was shocked to see those familiar radish earrings on a young woman brandishing a rolled up copy of the Quibbler. “Luna…?”

He grunted as the paper smacked him sharply on the bridge of the nose.

“Whaf the fucg?” he bellowed thickly, holding his sore nose.

“I TOLD you not to hurt Ginny!” Luna scolded with a hand on her hip. She waved the paper in his face as if he were a naughty dog who had just relieved himself on the carpet.

Shaking his head from side to side, Harry widened his eyes in the hope she would explain further. “How did I hurt Ginny?”

Not thinking it possible, Luna’s protruding grey eyes widened further. “Ha! How, you say? Lavender!”

Harry went pale. He lowered his hand from his nose, suddenly feeling like such corporal punishment was deserved.

He nervously glanced at the floor. “Did Lavender say—”

“Of course not,” Luna said haughtily. “I never go near the girl. That gunk she cakes on her face is infested with cochineals.”

“What are coch—”

“Never mind!”

Luna yanked the bottle of Butterbeer out of Harry’s hand and pulled up a seat across from him. She took one deep swig then sadly shook her head.

“Oh, Harry.” Her monotone voice cooed his name pitifully, no longer possessing that sharp bite she’d had seconds ago. Besides his godfather, Luna was the only other person that Harry knew who could produce such odd fluctuations of emotion.

Luna’s head continued bobbling, but now she was humming to herself. Harry had a suspicion that she had become distracted in her sorrow and invented some random tune that matched the rhythm of her head.

He really didn’t want to have this conversation here, surrounded by nosy glares. In truth, Harry didn’t want to have this conversation at all. He groaned loudly, dropping his head into his outstretched hands as the memory of Lavender’s furious glare gazed down at him.

He had moaned the wrong name.

And of course, he hasn’t talked to her since.

“Gods, I’m such an idiot.”

“No,” Luna announced flatly. “You’re just a boy.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry spat dryly. “You really know how to be uplifting, you know that?”

“Have you ever seen him die in your dreams?”

Harry’s heart skipped a full beat. He swiftly turned in his chair to see if she was talking to someone behind him, but their table was right by the wall.

“Excuse me?” Harry gasped.

“Your dreams… visions… what have you.” Luna dismissed her stutter with a wild shake of her hand. “You wake up when the Muggle dies, not the wizard. Have you noticed that?”

“Well… I….”

Harry wanted to bellow out “WHAT?!”, but he had to remind himself that this was Luna to whom he was speaking.

Just go with it.

“I don’t exactly enjoy that dream, so the last thing I want is to view an extended version.”

Luna slouched in her chair and sighed loudly. “You really need to learn how to stop fighting your nature, Harry.”

Harry groaned as he threw up his hands.

Success! Another honest attempt at a conversation with Luna Lovegood, and he was left confused beyond belief. As always.

Harry lowered his head onto the table more harshly than he had intended to. As a pain shot across his temples, he decided to just stay that way. His ears prickled as he listened to the chair across from him scrape loudly against the floor, right before he received a light pat of goodbye on the crown of his head.

*** *** ***

“It’s fucking shite!” Nott bellowed, kicking a stray bottle down the man-made gutter running the centre of the alley.

A silver flask was gradually passed around the small group of seventh-year Slytherins. Nott swallowed one deep gulp of the firewhiskey, grimaced sickeningly, and handed it to his fiancée.

Distracted, Pansy adjusted her dress around her as she balanced her narrow bum on her perch of stacked fruit crates. She grasped the cool metal and immediately passed it down to Daphne, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against her calves. Pansy was half-tempted to ask what Nott was talking about, but most likely, it would concern a topic that would fail to maintain her interest.

“I know,” Goyle agreed dumbly. “What’s the point of being a Death Eater if we can’t even join in the fun?”

Zabini clenched his jaw at the idea of where this conversation was heading.

Thinking silently a moment, Nott leaned against the brick wall of a shop behind him. He pointed his finger in the air, stressing the obviousness of his train of thought. “I bet you… I bet you Macnair is going to have something good planned. He told me to ‘keep my eyes peeled’, today. And when have you ever seen Snape patrol Hogsmeade?”

Pansy’s back straightened in curiosity as Zabini turned to send a longing gaze up toward the castle.

“All I know is,” said Goyle, “whatever happens, I’m sure as hell not going to sit and watch.”

“Me, neither,” Zabini mumbled. Glancing casually at Nott, Zabini waited until Theodore was distracted elsewhere before sending a piercing gaze at Pansy.

Following suit, Pansy’s eyes swiftly darted from Nott to Zabini before she vaguely nodded her head.

The tense group sat together a few moments in silence. As the silver flask continued to make its rounds, Daphne pulled her left leg out from under her and lifted her sapphire dress to expose her ankle. A square mass bulged under her knee sock.

One hand steadily removed the packet of fags as the other reached into her cleavage for a lighter.

Nott’s foot shifted suddenly on the floor beside her. Daphne glanced up in time to catch his sickening glare.

“What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?” Her petite voice did not take away from the viciousness in her manner. “It’s not Muggle-made!”

Satisfied, Nott relaxed slightly and returned to his mount against the wall, gazing out into the streets of Hogsmeade for some sign of action.

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Author’s Notes: Chapters continuously beta’ed by the incredible melusin.

-Chapter title taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, book i. Line 157

-Thanks for the review, Lauriurix! Glad you liked it!
-Hermione does cry a lot in the books, Lucy, but she's also getting older. And all the plots in this story are there for a reason, even if the reason might not seem obvious... yet! Glad you liked it. Thanks for the read and review!
-Happy you enjoyed it, girl_with_wings! Thanks for the review!

-Next up: Macnair makes a memorable appearance in Hogsmeade.