The Love You Take

A/N: Okay, AFF readers, you are now all caught up with the other archives hosting this story. You'll be receiving your updates now as they are written.

This chapter was beta read by DeeMichelle and Brit-picked by MagicAlly. It was alpha-read by Sshg316 (Shug!) and by minuet99.


The Love You Take

Chapter 20: Consternation

The girl sagged, and Severus caught her, laying her out upon the rumpled bedclothes as Morgen continued to cackle her mad laugh.

'Shut up, you stupid cow!' he roared, and she stopped instantly, gaping at him in amazement.

'How dare you speak to me like that!' she gasped. 'How dare you?'

He turned his back upon her with supreme indifference. 'Go. I shall bring her with me.'

Morgen moved next to him, and he was subjected to her cloying perfume. The girl never wore such nauseating scents. She …

No! He could not indulge himself with mooning over the girl. There was desperate work to be done.

With the mere flick of his fingers, he Summoned the required accoutrements, and he cloaked and masked himself, ignoring the irritant at his side.

'I am to bring her with me, Severus—get out of my way,' Morgen insisted.

Now the Mark on his arm burned, and Severus was out of time. He grabbed the girl from the bed and threw her over his shoulder, so that her head dangled below his shoulder blades. Without speaking again, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

---

In a forest clearing, he knelt by her side and touched her face. ‘Wake up,’ he commanded sternly.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocussed and confused.

‘Do not speak,’ he said tersely. ‘Listen to me.’

She struggled to sit, accomplishing it after a moment, clearly making every attempt at coherence.

‘I am taking you into the presence of the Dark Lord,’ he said. ‘Do not move unless I or the Dark Lord tell you to do so. Do not reply to anyone but him or me. Do not listen to what others will say to you or about you.’ He took her chin firmly into his hand and looked into her eyes. ‘I will do all I can to prevent lasting harm from coming to you. Every action I take will be toward that aim. Do you understand me?’

She nodded once, her large eyes wide with fear; he could feel an erratic pulse beating in her throat. ‘Yes, Professor.’

‘He may invade your mind. Make no effort to block him. His primary interest will be in Potter; I would suggest that you offer up those memories straightaway to spare yourself the discomfort.’

Severus released her and stood, cradling his burning forearm. He had wanted, had argued to make her proficient in Occlumency, but the headmaster had disagreed; if she were taken, Dumbledore wanted her to be guileless under the probing of the Dark Lord’s Legilimency—towards which end she had steadfastly been denied insider knowledge of the Order’s war plans since she had been cursed with Eternus Perturbatio. She, however, was unaware of the innocuous nature of what she knew; she would do all she could to defend her knowledge, believing it vital. Severus dared not enlighten her now.

‘Come,’ he snarled. ‘He does not care to wait.’

The girl scrambled to her feet and gripped his arm tightly. Feeling like Judas himself, Severus Disapparated to the Dark Lord’s side.

---

They arrived in a large, ill-lit room Severus immediately identified as the ballroom of the Black family townhouse in Mayfair. His masked, hooded compatriots were grouped about the walls, and the Dark Lord stood upon the orchestra dais, with a triumphant Morgen at his side.

Severus pushed the girl roughly from him. ‘On your face!’ he barked to her, and she immediately prostrated herself upon the highly-polished ballroom floor, the evening’s hairdo half-hanging from her head in tangled disarray, the shoulder-baring white dress ghost-like in the candlelight.

Without glancing at her again, he advanced and fell to his knees, raising his lord’s robe hem to his lips.

‘My Lord,’ he said.

‘You took your time, Severus,’ the sibilant voice observed coldly.

Probably had to button his trousers! a voice from the crowd muttered, audibly enough for those surrounding him to chortle.

‘Explain yourself,’ His Lordship commanded Severus, ignoring the ribald jests of his followers.

‘I paused to instruct the Mudblood in the proper form of behaviour for an audience with you, My Lord,’ Severus responded smoothly, forcing himself into the mindset which had always served him well in the presence of the Dark Lord. There was no room for fondness for the girl in that frame of mind, but such concerns were of no moment now.

‘I see,’ His Lordship responded. ‘We shall discuss the Mudblood later, perhaps.’

Severus tensed as the buzz of excitement around him increased in volume. What was toward?

‘Get up, Severus,’ the Dark Lord said testily.

Severus rose obediently, his eyes never straying towards the girl, who had made no sound he could hear. The Dark Lord looked him over critically, but forbore to comment upon Severus’ appearance. Instead, he smiled his eerie, serpentine smile. The susurration of anticipation amongst his fellows increased, and Severus willed his stiffening body to relax; whatever was coming, he could ride the storm more effectively if his muscles were loose.

‘You have been a good and faithful servant, Severus, and I believe that you deserve a reward for your long, exemplary service.’

Severus schooled his expression to polite inquiry and fought the rising tide of dread within him. Anything which caused the Dark Lord to mouth such insincere platitudes—and which also excited the bloodlust of the Death Eaters—could not be a good thing for Severus.

‘My Lord, you flatter me,’ he responded. ‘You know I ask only to be allowed to serve you.’

Old Snape isn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this one! a gleeful voice whispered.

Severus felt gooseflesh break out over his arms and was thankful for his layers of clothing.

‘Yes, Severus, Lord Voldemort knows who is worthy of his praise,’ the Dark Lord said meaningfully, causing a fearful hush to fall over his Death Eaters. ‘Therefore, I must insist that you accept your due.’

Severus cautiously raised his eyes to the Dark Lord’s face. ‘I will, of course, accept any gift you bestow, My Lord,’ he responded obediently.

The Dark Lord’s horrible smile widened, as if the viper had trapped his prey in a corner from which there was no escape, and he held out one white, spider-like hand to Morgen. Morgen laid her hand in that of the Dark Lord with a blush. Severus restrained himself from snorting in disgust. Morgen had been bereft of the ability to blush at age fourteen; now, more than twenty years later, such a delicate colour on her countenance was an abomination.

‘Severus, in answer to your heart’s dearest wish, I have decided to give you Morgen for your wife.’

Severus drew himself erect, his posture no longer suggesting that of the cowering supplicant, but rather that of a man unjustly maligned.

‘My Lord, you must excuse me from receiving such a signal honour. I respectfully decline.’

There was a group intake of shocked breaths from the Death Eaters.

‘Come, Severus,’ the Dark Lord said, choosing coaxing from his repertoire of persuasion. ‘You have desired to have Morgen as your wife for the last twenty years!’

Severus bowed courteously. ‘The operative word, My Lord, is “desired”—I have, thankfully, been free of the desire to marry Madam Leclercq since the day she married her late husband.’

Impossibly, the Death Eaters gasped again, and Severus wondered vaguely if they would all expire from lack of oxygen.

Morgen’s face had gone pale, and her anger was becoming evident. She had undoubtedly made a huge contribution of her deceased husband’s gold to the Dark Lord’s war chest for His Lordship to have agreed to sell Severus to her. Idly, Severus wondered if his price now were higher than it had been when Morgen had bought him the first time, so many years before.

‘Lord Voldemort is not amused by this levity, Severus,’ the cold, high voice warned.

Severus bowed again. ‘Respectfully, My Lord, I must ask why you believe that Madam Leclercq will be any more likely to keep faith with me today than she was then?’

The Dark Lord’s ghastly smile touched his lipless mouth. ‘Is that your concern, my boy? You need have no fear. I shall not permit such a thing to happen, this time.’

Trying for simple sincerity, Severus looked into the Dark Lord’s face, concentrating upon the snake-like nostrils. ‘I understand that you wish to offer a valuable reward, My Lord, but I must ask you, as one man to another: Would you wish to be gifted with another man’s leavings?’

The silence in the room was complete. Severus’ eyes never wavered from the Dark Lord’s hideous face, but he was acutely aware of the lack of sounds from either the Death Eaters or from the girl. Never, in all his servitude, had he stood up thus to the Dark Lord, but in this instance, he would not back down. His very masculinity was in question.

The Dark Lord seemed to consider this question, but Severus well knew that the older wizard was calculating how best to bring him to heel.

‘So,’ His Lordship hissed, ‘this is your Mudblood slut.’

Severus felt the cold grip of fear clutch at his belly. ‘It is, My Lord,’ he agreed.

‘You have enjoyed having the use of her,’ the Dark Lord observed.

Severus shrugged. ‘A wizard has needs, My Lord. And it convinced Dumbledore that I was ever more his tool, to take on this distasteful task.’

‘Bring her to me,’ the Dark Lord commanded.

The ice in his gut began to rise, touching upon his lungs, impeding his ability to breathe. Turning sharply, Severus strode to the girl and nudged her none too gently with the toe of his boot.

‘On your feet,’ he snapped.

The girl rose, her extremities visibly trembling. Her eyes were dilated black with terror; there was little brown to be seen. She gave him a look of entreaty, and he was certain that in spite of her mortal fear, she was trying to put on a good show. Severus grasped her upper arm and dragged her forward to the dais, then shoved her down.

‘On your knees to the Dark Lord,’ he ordered.

The girl sagged obediently to her knees.

‘What is her name?’ the Dark Lord inquired, as if he didn’t know.

Morgen, still standing at the Dark Lord’s side, shifted impatiently, but she was ignored.

‘She is Hermione Granger, My Lord,’ Severus replied.

‘Hermione,’ the Dark Lord said in a grotesque parody of kindness, ‘you may look up and speak with Lord Voldemort.’

The girl’s chin came up, and Severus could all but read her dilemma on her parchment-white face. She was torn between doing what she could to protect him, and doing what she could to be loyal to Potter and the Order.

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ the girl replied, her voice thready but clear.

‘Insolence!’

Bellatrix Lestrange lurched from the crowd of Death Eaters, and for the first time the lot of them seemed to take a breath. The crazy woman had her wand levelled at the girl, and her lips were pulled back from teeth in an ugly grimace, making her appear more than usually skeletal.

‘Shall I kill her for you, My Lord?’ Bellatrix asked, her wand never wavering from Hermione.

Severus stifled a yawn and examined the cuff of his robes.

‘That will not be necessary, Bella,’ the Dark Lord reprimanded. ‘Severus can issue any necessary correction.’

‘Then why does he stand like a statue while this filth spews her disrespect?’ Bellatrix said, her tone just short of petulance.

Severus flicked a glance at the witch who had been his enemy ever since he had first obtained the attention of their master. ‘Perhaps it is because I know that our Lord is perfectly capable of interrogation without my assistance, Bellatrix,’ he purred, turning the accusation back upon her. ‘He will tell me if he wishes my active participation.’

Abruptly, the Dark Lord asked, ‘Hermione, are you fond of Professor Snape?’

The girl jerked as if she had been struck, and the Dark Lord swept down the dais steps to tower over his victim.

‘Don’t even think about lying to me, Hermione,’ the Dark Lord said, bending until his abhorrent red eyes were mere inches from hers. ‘I’m sure you know I can compel you to tell the truth.’

Severus fought to maintain an impassive countenance as the ice within him rose ever higher, encroaching upon his heart—and surely, if his heart were so much as touched by such arctic cold, it would seize in his chest. He parted his lips to help bring air into his lungs and kept his attention on the girl.

Hermione drew back from the serpent face, obviously repulsed. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said.

The Dark Lord looked to his enthusiastic gallery of observers. ‘She’s not afraid of me,’ he said drolly, and his sycophants laughed appreciatively at his scintillating wit.

The Dark Lord considered the girl. ‘Should I use the Imperius Curse?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Or Legilimency? Or perhaps I should use a few drops of Professor Snape’s Veritaserum, Hermione.’ Then, with a suddenness made more surprising because he seldom moved about in the presence of his followers—it was quite easy to forget that he was agile and quick—he lunged for Severus and pushed the tip of his wand into Severus’ throat. ‘Or shall I use the Cruciatus Curse on Professor Snape, Hermione? Would that be the best way to persuade you to answer my questions?’

Severus did not react. He had no fear of the Dark Lord hurting him; this little charade was entirely for the amusement of Death Eaters. There was no surer way to guarantee the girl’s willing participation, and unfortunately, the Dark Lord knew it well.

‘Yes!’ the girl cried, beginning to rise to her feet. Bellatrix came forward and pushed Hermione down again, but the girl continued to speak. ‘Yes, I’m fond of Professor Snape!’ The last word ended on a sob, and tears began to fall unchecked down her face.

The Dark Lord nodded. ‘I see that you are,’ he said. ‘But is Professor Snape fond of you?’

‘N-no,’ the girl stuttered, and Severus was amazed that she managed to infuse the word with a plaintive quality. ‘He…’

The Dark Lord prompted her. ‘He …’

She ducked her head, and Severus realised that she was recouping, even as she faced down the most frightening Dark wizard in all the world.

The Dark Lord’s patience deserted him. Pivoting from Severus, with the flick of a wrist, the madman sent a Strangulation Hex at the girl, and she fell upon the floor, her fingers scrabbling uselessly at her throat, her eyes bulging.

The Dark Lord glanced at Severus and nodded toward the writhing Hermione. ‘Have you ever cast this one on her?’ he asked, sotto voce, though he need not have bothered, for the Death Eaters were loud again, entertained by the floor show. ‘I found it invaluable in training Bella.’

Severus watched the girl thrash about, every instinct screaming for him to release her from the discomfort of the hex. He pushed the impulse down, deep within. With the faintest ghost of a smile, he responded in a man-to-man way, ‘I shall have to add it to my catalogue, My Lord. Thus far I have employed … other methods.’

The Dark Lord leered knowingly, and Severus responded in kind, dimly realising the girl would never forgive him for engaging in lewd discussions over her thrashing body.

Apparently bored with the diversion, the Dark Lord released the girl from the hex, and she rolled into a protective ball, hoarse sobs issuing from her contused throat.

‘Put her on her feet,’ His Lordship ordered, and Severus stepped forward to comply.

He grabbed the girl by her upper arms, which already showed marks from his earlier rough handling, and jerked her upright, his every action against her a deeper condemnation—how could she ever forgive him for this barbarity?

‘Finish your sentence,’ the Dark Lord commanded her, ‘or I shall find another way to compel you.’

Standing immediately behind her, his hands still upon her arms, Severus took advantage of their proximity and stroked his thumbs soothingly along her skin, willing her to hear him. Don’t stop now! he thought, his eyes averted from his master. Stay strong! You are a warrior.

Hermione responded instantly to his feathery touch, seeming to derive strength from his mere presence. Although it obviously hurt her to do so, she forced words out, her voice croaking. ‘He isn’t fond of me, but he likes to fuck me.’

A violent rush of admiration welled in Severus, even as he steeled himself for the next attack upon her. She would be punished—and he would responsible for allowing it to happen, for to defend her would be to condemn them both.

A frightening hissing sound began, becoming louder and louder, a high-pitched, sibilant wheeze.

The Dark Lord was laughing.

After the Death Eaters exchanged cautious looks with one another, they began to laugh as well. Only Morgen, Bellatrix, and Severus refrained. Severus stood quietly by, his hands still upon the girl’s flesh, continuing the feather-light contact, as she rubbed her throat with one hand and stared silently at her feet.

The Dark Lord strode again onto the dais, and his followers quieted. He stared down at Severus and the girl, and Severus ceased his soothing gestures.

‘Severus,’ the Dark Lord said, his sibilance was marked, ‘we are but wizards and witches; I doubt there is one amongst us all who has not, at some time, loved a pet or a familiar.’

As if in answer to her master’s call, the slithering of Nagini’s great sinuous body could be heard across the room, and His Lordship’s snake moved to join him. The Death Eaters were careful to give the snake a wide berth. Bellatrix showed no sign of revulsion, but a tic began to jump in her cheek, giving her the bizarre appearance of a person who was grinning and winking. Gliding past Severus, Nagini came for the first time into Hermione’s view, and Hermione cried out in terror.

‘Basilisk!’ she croaked, then swooned at Severus’ feet.

The Dark Lord’s eyes fused with his, and Severus launched himself into the encounter, sure of his Occlumency. He flooded his mind with imagines of the girl: naked on her knees upon the floor while he, fully clothed, fucked her from behind; bound to his headboard, her legs propped upon his shoulders as he pounded into her; spread facedown across a table in his laboratory, her schoolgirl skirt tossed up, her glistening slit open and ready to be fucked.

Abruptly, the Dark Lord disengaged and Severus staggered back a bit, as if he had been pushed, then steadied himself, the adrenaline singing in his body like a drug.

‘There is no shame in being fond of your fuck-toy, Severus,’ the Dark Lord said quietly. ‘She has been a willing pet, but now you can have a wife in your bed—an equal, to share your life and bear your children—the wife your master has chosen for you.’ He raised his wand and pointed it at the girl. ‘I can relieve us all of her unfortunate stench,’ he said, ‘or Morgen could do it for me.’

For the first time in several minutes, Morgen stirred, moving forward with alacrity, her wand drawn, the mad intent to kill glittering in her green eyes.

‘No!’ Severus roared, his silent Shield Charm disturbing the air in the room with the force of its casting. The forest green aura settled over Hermione’s prone form, and Severus addressed the Dark Lord. ‘If the girl dies, My Lord, my usefulness as your spy at Hogwarts comes to an end.’

The Dark Lord motioned for Morgen to lower her wand, which she did with every evidence of disgust. ‘I understand, my boy; a wife may not be so accommodating as a Mudblood whore under the influence of a lust curse. She is important to your comfort …’

‘My Lord, not at all,’ Severus replied. ‘I never asked for this duty given me by Dumbledore. I do what I must to keep myself in his good graces so I can bring information to you.’

Voldemort smiled his dangerous smile again. ‘Excellent,’ he said. He looked into the crowd of Death Eaters, his red eyes flicking from face to face. ‘Wormtail,’ he said, and Peter Pettigrew detached himself from the crowd and came forward, his air of suppressed excitement setting Severus upon high alert. The Dark Lord, however, was still visually riffling through his followers. ‘Antonin,’ he added, and the brutish Dolohov came forward as well.

The tense, blood-sport atmosphere in the Black family ballroom increased tenfold, and Severus, in response, deliberately relaxed his muscles even as his senses sharpened.

The Dark Lord beckoned to Pettigrew and Dolohov, and the two wizards climbed up to join him on the dais. ‘As the Mudblood is not necessary to your happiness, but her continued existence is essential to maintaining your position with that Muggle loving old fool, Lord Voldemort shall provide a solution to the dilemma.’

Severus kept his eyes attentively upon his master while his mind roiled, attempting to guess what new catastrophe the Dark Lord would next generate. Severus had known for all his adult life that it meant taking his life into his hands every time he stepped into His Lordship’s presence, but never before had he experienced the nerve-wracking horror of being responsible, additionally, for the life and well-being of someone he … cared for.

‘Severus, I shall release the Mudblood from the compulsion curse and free you of her. Would that please you?’

Severus’ adrenaline high flew directly into the iron wall of the question posed by the Dark Lord and thudded to the pit of his stomach, joining the acid terror. Whether he would like it or loathe it was immaterial—what was important was what the Dark Lord wished to hear.

‘Certainly, My Lord—particularly if I am able to intimate to Dumbledore that I was instrumental in having you remove the curse.’ He spoke with his usual measured calm, but his attention was divided now between not only his master and Morgen, but also Wormtail and Dolohov. Why had those two been called forward?

‘Now, Severus, you can help me decide. After I have lifted the curse and freed you from your burden, upon which of your brothers shall I have her imprint when I curse her again?’ The Dark Lord spread his arms as if to gather them to his side. ‘Wormtail, who knew her when he was a rat, or Dolohov, who tried and failed to kill her in the Ministry of Magic?’