Of Death and Fire

Beltaine


A/N: My attempt to be humorous. If it sucks, let me know. If not, let me know as well. As for the dark stuff, don't worry, it's still here. Bad words down the road, so consider yourselves warned.
 
 
CHAPTER 31: Will you cross my Beltaine Fire?
 
 
It was a warm Sunday morning in mid April. Morgaine was cuddled next to Severus, purring like a happy cat under the covers. He was reading from a scroll, catching up on the latest news on Alchemy. No classes today. No annoying adolescent students, and hopefully no intruding teachers as well. They both savoured a lazy, quiet moment together, determined to miss breakfast and probably lunch and dinner as well, ignoring any disapproving comments from Dumbledore and McGonagall for being careless.
By now, they should have known there's no rest for the wicked.
An eagle owl flew in and dropped its load on Morgaine's lap. Severus looked up from his parchment, and raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't know you had subscribed to the Daily Prophet", he commented, a hint of irony in his voice.
Morgaine sat up, examining the folded copy of the Sunday edition of the paper. There was a note attached to it. She unfolded the note and recognized Alexander's handwriting.
"I had warned you. Happy now?"
Frowning, ope opened the paper and searched through the pages. She stopped, and read through the middle section column. After a brief moment, the silence was shuttered by an outburst of cursing from her lips.
"That bitch! That cock-sucking whore from hell! Now she'll get fucked like she has never been fucked before and, when I'm done with her, she'll consider getting screwed by a horde of double-pricked ghouls a minor inconvenience!" She stormed out of bed, while Snape looked at her with renewed interest.
"Interesting vocabulary, Ms.Greenleaf. Might I ask why I haven't heard this sort of language before? Preferably during our most intimate moments?" He wasn't smiling, but he was clearly amused.
"Shut up, Severus, and read this", she hissed, throwing the paper on his head.
He opened the Daily Prophet and tracked down Rita Skeeter's column. Towering over the article, he saw Morgaine's close-up photo. It was taken during the second task of the Tournament, with her sitting next to Hagrid, slightly leaning over to see who was coming out of the lake. Her skin was shinning and the movement allowed the viewer to get a good glimpse of her cleavage, enhanced by the low-cut dress she had on that day. He studied the photo for a moment, wondering if he could get to keep that picture before she threw the paper in the fire. No doubt that the majority of the male readers were thinking the exact same thing right now.
He read on. The article was titled "The elf-teacher of Hogwarts: A woman of mystery". The first two paragraphs were a brief account on Morgaine's life as a teacher, pretty com common knowledge to everyone. But as he moved to the last paragraph, he frowned.
"Morgaine Greenleaf has earned the respect and admiration of her colleagues and students. However, as a very reliable source has informed us, this is not all she has earned. With the undeniable beauty of her elfish det, st, she has stolen the hearts of many of the male population of Hogwarts, including some of the females as well. Aware of the fact that most of the members of her Order, the infamous Necromancers' Guild, have a tendency to dark practises, we can only assume that her tastes are as dark. Quoting from the same source: "She might look like an angel, but she's a demon in bed". And there's more. There seems to be substantial evidence that Ms.Greenleaf has been spending her nights during the past few months away from her own chambers.
To whom has she offered her favours? Who's the lucky man? Or men? Or woman?
Stay with our story to find out!"
This was not good. Dumbledore would be furious. Snape looked up and saw her writing a brief note, attaching it to the owl's leg and sending it on its way, whispering "Elric Argentum, the Necromancer's Guild." She looked back at him, and fires were dancing in her eyes.
"I'm going to London. Don't wait for me, I probably won't be back until noon tomorrow". She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I think you should grace the Main Hall with your presence. See the reactions this piece of shit has caused and remove any suspicions from yourself".
She walked back, focused on the transfiguration and flew away as a huge black raven.
~*~
As expected, the article had stirred quite a few discussions around the school. Dumbledore stared quite annoyed at Snape's direction, tapping his long fingers on the table. McGonagall was as displeased and Flitwick, although he was probably unaware of the affair, looked miserable having one of his favourite people disgraced. Madame Hooch had a low voice discussion with Madame Sprout about who those 'female admirers' might be, and Hagrid couldn't look at Snape without blushing. Unaffected by the Headmaster's disapproving gaze, Snape turned his attention to the students.
By reflex, his eyes first stopped on the Gryffindor table and particularly Potter and his redheaded sidekick. He felt a small del on on seeing them turn to a lovely shade of green, sinking in their seats, looking guilty as hell. However, no matter his personal aversion toward the brats, he could not see any of them as Rita's informants. He turned to the Slytherin table. That was more like it. Draco Malfoy had the paper opened before him, commenting loudly on Morgaine's photo in a rather vulgar way. On noticing Snape's venomous stare he turned down the volume, but the content was still obvious.
Snape left his cup of coffee on the table, sending to Malfoy Junior a very fluent glance. If either you or your father are involved in this, I'll make you pay dearly. Draco finally accepted he was out of his league and dropped the subject.
At least until he was out of Snape's sight.
~*~
Morgaine didn't return that day, or the morning after. However, by lunchtime, the ay pay paper was out. And the Daily Prophet has published a front-page apology to Morgaine and anyone else they had offended by their article, claiming that their source wasn't that reliable after all.
By dinnertime, word from London had it that Rita Skeeter had received a late night visit from the Head of the Necromancer's Guild and enjoyed an overnight performance of their "dark practices", including the manifestation of several unholy creatures. She had now taken a sick leave for the rest of the week, due to an uncontrollable attack of repeating exploding vomiting.
Morgaine resumed her place during dinner, looking exactly like a feline warlord who had just returned after the successful genocide of a rat colony.
And Draco Malfoy prudently avoided crossing her path for the following week.
~*~
By late April, things had quieted down, with Cedric and Harry practising daily the their last task. Meanwhile, Morgaine was not feeling very well. She felt dizzy a lot, and her appetite had increased significantly, just like her sudden attacks of nausea. With all her resources coming to a dead end, she finally decided to consult with the Medi-Witch.
She sat uncomfortably on the examination bed, describing her symptoms to Madame Pomfrey. When she finished, the Medi-Witch was staring at her quizzically.
"Morning sickness, increased appetite, dizziness; In Merlin's name, Morgaine, you're a woman. Doesn't all this ring a bell?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Poppy, I can't be pregnant", she exclaimed, pushing back the terror that rose in her heart.
"You can't be pregnant as in 'I haven't had sex lately' or as in stubborn denial?" Pomfrey looked quite unmoved by Mogaine's statement.
She gulped.
"My fertile days are limited to once every year, and this happens two weeks after the Summer Solstice. And I can assure you that I hadn't had any sex during that time. I was still in a coma back then", she replied firmly, trying to convince herself as well.
"Unfortunately, traumatic events such as being in a coma can alter a woman's cycle. It might have caused yours to move forward", replied Pomfrey just as firmly. "But there's no need to speculate over this. Lie back and we'll know right away", she said, reaching inside her medicine cabinet and taking out a large clear quartz crystal.
Feeling really uncomfortable now, she lied back on the examination bed and watched as Pomfrey moved the crystal over her body. Just above the pelvic area it turned bright blue, pulsating softly. And Morgaine turned completely white.
"It's positive all right, and by the looks of it, it's a boy", announced the Medi-Witch, keeping her tone formal. "When will you tell the happy father? If you're going to tell him at all, that is", she continued, looking at Morgaine with surprising sympathy. Poppy too was a woman, after all.
On the bed, Morgaine tried to concentrate on this new development, when she was finally hit by a horrifying thought. Whose child was it? It had only blessless than three months since her last sexual encounter with Malfoy. And Gods knew that the world had no need of another Malfoy junior. Gathering her courage, she faced Pomfrey.
"Poppy, can this crystal of yours determine of how advanced the pregnancy is?" she asked, as if her whole life was depending on this answer. And it probably was.
Poppy made another passing with the crystal over her body, carefully watching the changes in colour and in tone.
"By the looks of it, you must be in your sixth week. Meaning the conception took place sometime in mid March", she said simply.
Morgaine thought she would faint, remembering the spirit's warning: "Beware of the Ides of March". That's what it had tried to warn her about. At least, it was Severus child. Not that it would make things easier for her.
Pomfrey took Morgaine's cold hand ins ans and looked her in the eye.
"Morgaine, is this good or bad news? Will you keep the child?" Her voice had the tone of both a woman and a health care witch.
"I don't know, Poppy. I really don't know", she replied feeling really tired.
~*~
After a long time meditating, she decided to tell Severus. But she had to orchestrate the perfect environment for this revelation. With the Beltaine celebration just a few days away, she thought she had the best chances on this night. Dumbledore had announced that Mayday would be a holiday, and the feast would start form the previous night.
Similar celebrations were held all over England, both in the Wizarding and the Muggle world. People would gather in the forests at night, lighting fires and dancing around poles, celebrating the spring. Lovers would meet around the fires, crowned by flowers, speaking the ancient line of courtship: Will you cross my Beltaine Fire?
But for those who knew, this was more than a flirting line. Since time immemorial, it had been the ceremonial question with which the May Queen would invite the Green Man to her bed, both of them being the avatars of the Gods. The male would cross the fire and mate with the Queen, becoming her King for a year and a day, willingly walking to his death after his time was over. In more recent times the ancient ritual had lost it's morbid aspect, but the question had never lost its meaning to the initiated ones. If you spoke that line, or accepted the offer, then you would mate for life.
Whatever that meant.
~*~
Walpurgis Night. The witching hour of Beltaine's Eve, and everyone was out celebrating. Well, almost everyone. Filch, for example, had a hard time keeping his temper with the Weasley twins on the loose among roaring fires. Most of the other people were having a good time and it was past midnight when Morgaine could sneak away to Snape's dungeon.
She found him alone in his chambers, having his own, private celebration near the fireplace, reading one of his alchemy journals with a glass of aged brandy in his hand. Morgaine sneaked up behind him on the couch, hugged his neck and kissed him, as she removed the flowers from her head and placed them on his. Somehow, they felt completely wrong on his hair.
"Come and dance around the Maypole?" she teased him.
He looked at her with a rather annoyed expression.
"I'd rather hug Potter in public and tell him what a great godfather he has", he hissed. "As for flowers, the only way I like them is dried, grounded and stored in air-tight containers", he added, throwing the wreath in the fire.
She sighed in defeat. But then his eyes lit up, as he raised his hands around her neck, pulling her on his lap.
"However, if you desperately need a Maypole, I can provide one", he said with a wicked smile. She giggled, loosening his collar with her teeth.
"So, are we going to play 'The Virgin Huntress and the Stag King'?" she asked trying to sound innocent.
"I hardly think you would qualify for a virgin anymore", he mocked her, and she slapped him tenderly pretending to be insulted. "Anyway, I thought your favourite game was 'Detention with Professor Snape'", he reminded her, moving his hand inside her shirt.
"It is", she agreed, "but I can't have detention every night now, can I?" she teased him.
"True", he admitted. "It isn't as if I haven't taught you anything", he added, pushing her hand on his crotch. She smiled, feeling his erection. "So, would you like to play 'Filch nails the Weasley twins' instead?"
"Do I get to be Filch this time?" she asked.
"No, I think I'll stick to this role. I rather enjoy the 'nailing' part", he purred.
"Thanks, I'll pass. What about 'Gilderoy Lockhart meets a horny demon'? But this time, I get to be the demon", she insisted.
He seemed to consider the possibility for a while, and then his face lit up.
"I have to propose a variation of this last game", he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Morgaine looked at him with interest. "What about Lockhart meets a ...ticklish demon", he cried, and moved his fingers in Morgaine's armpits. She screamed and jumped out of his lap.
"Severus, no, you've promised", she cried, her face filled with terror. She had been very embarrassed when he had found out this weakness of hers. She considered nothing less dignifying than a ticklish necromancer.
He jumped after her and she climbed in bed in a desperate attempt to evade him. But he had already had her cornered, and he grabbed her, pinning her body on the bed underneath him. But instead of tickling her to tears, he closed his hands around her face and kissed her. It was a tender kiss, one of affection and not lust. His lips caressed hers, with his tongue dancing lightly inside her mouth, not demanding, but offering. Her heart lost a heartbeat and the kiss became a wave of warmth that spread from her lips to the tips of her hair and toes, reaching out to her soul. When he ended the kiss and looked into her eyes, there was a new, gentle expression she had never seen before. Her heart melted and she breathed out the words without really thinking.
"I love you", she whispered.
She had hoped for understanding. She had feared anger. She had expected irony and harsh words. But she had never, never, foreseen the haunted darkness that clouded his eyes. She felt his body stiffen as he pushed her way, turned his back and sat on the edge of the bed, his head hidden inside his hands.
"Don't say that!" he hissed. Seeing his crouched back, she felt her heart sink into an abysmal pit. It fell and fell and there seemed to be no end to the void. She reached out to touch him, but before she could touch his trembling shoulder, his harsh voice stopped her.
"You cannot love me! You should not love me", he spat, his voice coming out of the same abysmal pit. He raised a hand toward her direction, without facing her, urging her to keep away. "You have no idea of what I've dome in my life, of the blood that stains my hands. If you did, you'd never come near me again".
It was too late to stop now.
"Tell me", she whispered in a trembling voice.
And he did. His voice never faltered when he unfolded the bloody tale of his years as a Death Eater, the murders, the rapes and the unholy orgies of pain and death he had been a part of. He left nothing out. And with each confession, More fee fell deeper into the pit, reliving with him the morbid artwork of his youth. He had enjoyed every evil game. He had devoured the pain of his victims, feasted on their fear, drunk from the cup of their torment, everything for an approving nod from his Dark Master. In him he had seen a father, a teacher, a God and he had worshipped him with blood and torture. Until the night he had sex with a dying teenage girl and her silent scream of agony woke up something inside him, something he had considered the first victim of his dark path: his humanity.
Then he became a double agent for Dumbledore, but when he was in the presence of the Dark Lord, he still had a hard time controlling his devilish urges. And then Voldemort vanished and Albus vouched for his loyalty. He had been given a second chance, but his heart had been imprisoned for good. He had failed in contributing in Voldemort's fall, his victory stolen by a toddler. He had failed in proving himself to Dumbledore, who had trusted him, and he had never really forgiven himself, neither for his acts nor for the pleasure he had derived from them.
When his account came to an end, Morgaine was sitting on the floor at the opposite side of the bed, holding her head and crouched in a foetal position. She pressed her legs tighter on her belly, as if she was trying to keep her unborn child from hearing the sins of his father. Her heart was a burning void in her chest. She could feel nothing and knew that the pain would soon hit her like a shower of molten lava. She wished she could run away, run to the haven of the Silver Wood and live in oblivion, leaving behind the mortal realm and its horrors, bringing up her child in a place where he couldn't touch it. But every time she would look in her son's face she would see him and the pain would start all over. She wished for death, for she knew there could be no pain in death but relief and reunion with her family and Aurion, sparing her child from growing up to follow his father's path; or hers, since she wasn't as proud of her choices either.
But the moment came to pass and neither death or flight won her heart. She pushed the pain back, locking it inside her heart, a beacon to light her way in the war ahead. With her legendary stubbornness taking over, she refused to give in, neither to death nor to retreat. She stood up, feeling her muscles ache as if she had been carrying a heavy load. And she was, for his burden was her own now as well. She walked over to his place, knelt before him and tried to make him face her.
"Why are you still here?" he asked coldly. "Why haven't run away, outside, with the people who can dance, and laugh, and love? Haven't you heard a single word?" And he avoided meeting her eyes, turning his face away.
She raised her hands to his face, forcing him to look at her.
"I'm still here. This is where my life has led me, and I will hold my place", she said steadily.
He finally turned and looked at her wet face, his eyes still dark, still haunted.
"How can you forgive me?" he whispered, moving his hands to wipe her tears.
"I don't know. But I'm willing to try", she replied. "One day at a time", she added, reminding him of how their affair had started.
"One day at a time", he confirmed, and the clouds were dissolving from his face.
Her hands closed on his hands. She looked straight at him, her eyes backlighted by burning pits of flame, of the fire that burned in her veins, the purging fire that could cleanse his soul.
"Will you cross my Beltaine Fire?" she whispered.
He said nothing, but he smiled and he pulled her up, accepting the offer with a kiss.
In the sound of laughter and merrymaking from the celebrating people outside, in the dancing flashes of the Beltaine fires, they made love. Slowly, carefully, rediscovering each other as if they had just met, adapting to the new phase of their life. And they fell asleep in a deep, dreamless sleep, safe from the terror of their own minds.
It was only later that Morgaine realised that she had never told him she was expecting his child.