Plan B

A/N: Thank you to everyone who left feedback; I found your concrit very helpful. This chapter should answer many of your questions.


Chapter 3 - Possession is 9/10ths of the law.


Suction. It feels as if one is being drawn through a vacuum cleaner to travel by portkey. Of course that might just be my muggle brain rationalizing it out. But as I skidded to a halt, even though by all appearances I simply 'plopped' in the midst of my living room, I still felt the feeling of perpetual movement in my body. Thus proving that even in the wizarding world Newton’s law of inertia still applied. A minor triumph.


Snape arrived similarly, though perhaps not as harassed looking. Honestly, the man could look perfectly composed in the midst of a waterspout. He glared at my middle class living room as if he could intimidate the furniture, but it was obvious that he was also looking for deception... or perhaps for Harry to pop out from behind the overstuffed ottoman. Really was he still expecting deception at this point? Wasn’t I the vulnerable party? He could probably hex me six ways to Sunday before I could draw my wand.


I signaled for us to move into the back kitchen. For some reason sitting around the kitchen having a cozy chat, or the illusions of a cozy chat, while plotting destruction and mayhem struck me as being ideal. Mum and I always had our best conversations sitting on the counter tops. I internally winced as the painful feeling of being separated from those I loved washed over me. Best not to think of that now.


We walked into the delightfully cheery retro 1950s inspired kitchen, the black and white tile floors gleaming smartly, and I sank ungracefully into my seat at the table. Snape took the seat typically occupied by my father. His eyes lingered momentarily on the kitchen witch hanging over the sink, but mercifully he made no comment. I mean honestly, how was I supposed to explain that bizarre muggle custom of having a witch doll to protect pots from burning?


We hadn’t said a word to each other and he was studying me intently. There was very little point for small talk. He already knew my family had been evacuated and the house was empty. All of that happened before his betrayal. He would never have asked me how my day was, or comment on how frighteningly unseasonable this summer has been. No, I suppose it was best to get right to it.


I fished around beneath my shirt, drawing a curious look from the man seated across from me, though I seriously doubt he was checking me out. Instead I pulled out the locket and held it up by my fingers close enough for him to examine, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch.


“This,” I said in my best analytical voice, “is an antique that once belonged to the Slytherin family, though I’m not certain who. I have a hard time picturing that Salazar himself wore such dainty things.”


Ah, a hard implacable glare. We were getting someplace. Or at least I was cutting through the bored look of disinterest he sported.


“It also happens to be a horcrux.”


Well there was a different reaction. Hmm… so Snape doesn’t know about these. Interesting. He looked like a deer in headlights. I wish the Creevys were here to capture the Kodak moment. Caption: Snape befuddled.


“Which explains just how your Master keeps popping up, uninvited I might add. We figure that he’s split his soul into seven pieces. Or at least that’s what Dumbledore hypothesized. Me? I’m not too certain and I’d rather not take the chance that there are any more of the little buggers floating around to summon basilisks, or raise armies of darkness, or whatever.”


I smiled as I had Snape’s full and complete attention.


“The point being, I rather wish him dead. Completely. Right now the boys and I are running around aimlessly trying to solve the riddle, pardon the pun, of where he dropped the pieces of his grotty soul, and I have to say I don’t like it one bit. I want what’s behind door number two.”


Hmm… lost him with that one. Time to just go in for the kill and see how he reacts. “It suffices to say that I have determined a way to kill the bastard once and for all without any big melodramatic showdown, and I’d like your help.”


I held my breath, searching his unfathomable eyes for some kind of reading. A sign was too much to hope for, but maybe, just maybe I’d get a reading off this guy. Something to tell me he was still interested. It did cross my mind that he was loyal without a fault to Voldyshorts, but I doubt that seriously.


Just because he killed the Headmaster didn’t mean he wouldn’t willingly take the chance to kill his other Master. Like I said before, I didn’t need him loyal to the Order.


It would actually be best if the Order had no idea about my plotting. They pulled the party line so tightly that they were unable to consider other options, other methodologies. They were so close-minded and impractical. Whoever thought that running a war by way of a committee should have been summarily shot. And Dumbledore who devised this harebrained plan (that sent me tromping through the woods with only a children’s bedtime book to guide me), spoke to the Order from beyond the grave in that even in death, his word was absolute. Obviously, he had no idea how much I detested the woods. Or how much I hate with unending passion mosquitoes. Honestly, if hunting horcruxes could have been accomplished while staying at the Four Seasons there was a chance I might have played along with the Headmaster’s plan.


But as it is, I cannot.


“How?” he said archly.


“Before I can answer that I need your sworn oath that you won’t divulge any information from this point forward. I could care less if you let your Snake God know what I’m up to, not that it’ll do him any good, but if I can’t have your commitment from here on out, I need your silence.”


I held up a preprepared parchment with the oath I’d written to be as airtight as possible. And to my ever-loving joy and satisfaction he read the damn thing verbatim. Swirling essence of shimmering oath and all. It was nearly enough to squeal like a little girl.


“Now,” he intoned in his bored and surly voice, “What precisely do you have planned Miss Granger. I can ill afford to waste my time here.”


I pulled a tattered copy of a dark arts tomb filched from the Black library from my handbag and dropped it between us on the table with not a hint of revulsion. Snape just glanced idly at the title unimpressed. I flipped to page 342 and pointed my finger half way down the text.


“I own his soul,” I stated. “It’s in my possession.” For good measure I lifted the locket again. “It doesn’t matter that his soul is fragmented, a fragmented soul is still a soul, and this belongs to me. Ergo, I can sell it.”


Snape’s eyes widened to where I could see every bit of his dark impenetrable eyes opened so clearly I could drop into them. Had I been a legilimens he would have been an easy target.


“To a demon?” he asked hoarsely.


I nodded and repeated, “To a demon. Once the demon owns the soul he will collect the other pieces. As I’m told demons are rather ruthless and possessive of their souls. I have no doubt that a demon will be able to hunt down whatever horcruxes still exist, and if there’s any justice at all in the world, take your Master into the depths of hell with him.”


The air between us was thick with whirling thoughts and calculations. I nearly thought I’d lost the deal when he spoke up again, softly this time.


“What would you have me do Miss Granger?”


“Help me. Help me call this demon and sell this damned soul. After that we both walk away. I’ll tell the Order, the Wizengamot, or anyone else you’d like me to inform of your help. Hell, I’ll even take out a full page in the Prophet extolling your virtues if you’d prefer. But by then we’d both be free to walk away. Let me end this now.”


Though I didn’t expect it, Snape picked up the book and began reading. After the first five minutes I left him to it. I’m not sure why I expected him plow headlong into my idea as if he’d summoned hundreds of demons hundreds of times, but the fact that he appeared to be carefully doing his homework as I had was strangely reassuring. I had heard he knew more about the dark arts than most dark wizards, and oddly I couldn’t think of the man as dark, but somehow I expected this was to be easy for him. And yet, from the deeply pinched lines on his face, it was obviously not.


Whether it was the act of drawing a demon that worried him, or defying his master that vexed him I could not tell. But he was taking my suggestion seriously, and that heartened me more than anything else. When the evening approached I reentered the kitchen to find Snape still running through the book, he had several pages marked by a shredded napkin. And I didn’t bother him. Instead I turned to the pantry and rummaged for tins and dry goods that would make a decent meal for the boys. Once I had everything assembled I turned to him and cleared my throat.


Snape looked up startled by me and the passing of time as twilight descended. My how similar we were in the quirkiest of ways. Not that it mattered.


“I have to return to the boys. You can keep the book if you’d like, though I’m sure you have more just like it.”


“Miss Granger you insult me if you believe I’ve ever read one of these texts with the intent to damn a soul to immeasurable suffering.”


“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply that, only that I expect you had a much better library to your disposal.”


He seemed to accept that response, though why he should get upset by the idea that I thought poorly of him before boggles my mind. Surely he’d heard the rumors about him, rumors propagated by his own House. I only hope that he’s offended not because it’s an insult, but because it’s an insult from someone he respects. Not that it was meant as an insult at all, but then he’s the thin skinned one apparently.


“Call me if you need me.” Sheepishly I dropped my hand as I realized I was making the muggle hand signal for holding a phone to an ear. Sometimes I astound myself with how stupid I can be.


Snape grunted, already back into the book and probably hadn’t seen my silly gesture. Well, maybe that was a sign from the heavens that my mission was blessed. Although, ecumenically speaking my proposal was at the very least worth a one way ticket to hell. 'Morally ambiguous,' I corrected myself. Avoiding the so-called Final Battle would save countless lives.


I apparated to the forest somewhere close to the vicinity where the tent should be, not that I could see it, and proceeded to play a game of Marco - Polo with Harry’s disembodied voice until I found the entrance. The boy’s questions about where I had gotten off to hushed when they saw food. Thank providence that teenage boys are so easily distracted.

*Thanks for staying with me, A.V.