The Pet

The Pet

Chapter 4


Snape Apparated back to the abbey and put his salvaged goods in a locker kept under his cot. He left out the Polyjuice. The timing was just right for the Death Eater’s meeting coming soon. Planned months ago, Snape was quite sure that nothing would have changed the date or meeting local. And, yes, there was just enough Polyjuice for three doses. Snape considered how he would use it.

He sat and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. It was warm and almost gone bad—just the way he loved it. His fingers rapped a tattoo on the side of the table as he made his plans.

He laughed more from nerves than humor. Time to choose a victim.

Now, whom should he select from his old associates? It needed to be someone on the fringe, someone who wouldn’t be noticed or called up in a meeting. Problem was--beggars couldn’t be choosers. And he’d need to do this tonight. Tomorrow and Tonks would be back from what he guessed was a tryst with Lupin. He sighed, and his heart gave a pang of regret before he brought himself back to the matter at hand.

Time to go fishing to see what matter of Death Eater he would catch.

As he stood up, his leg gave another twinge. He needed to leave quickly while the night was still young and before he was downed by another attack of his ailment.

A simple charm cast on his bed would make Tonks believe he was there if she should return before he came back. He smiled because it was one that he could see through in a minute having been a housemaster, but it should fool her quite well. Again he lost his humor when he thought to where she probably was. In the arms of that animal! He shook his head. She was a mere slip of a girl pretending to be all grown up and playing with fire. Remus Lupin was a very dangerous man and Auror or not, Tonks was going to get hurt if she kept up her game for long with that cursed one!

Throwing a last longing look at his bed and fearing that his leg might fail him, Snape Apparated to the alley outside the Hogs Head in Hogsmeade. He stood in a shadowed nook just outside the back door, glad that he had come on a night when the cold seemed to have even put off Red Girl, the whore who usually plied her trade in the alley. But the same cold that kept his privacy also stung his lungs and set his leg to aching. He couldn’t simply wait and hope that his prey would come to him. He’d have to risk actually going inside.

Covering his face with his hood, he entered the pub. It was half empty. As usual, the denizens of the lice ridden and odoriferous establishment all looked up and tried to determine the identity of the stranger who had just entered. Snape immediately spotted one of the Death Eaters, Sproelanger, a not very bright member who didn’t rate very high in the ranks. Snape heaved a sigh of relief. He was in luck. It wouldn’t be noticed at the meeting if this Death Eater didn’t act like himself or didn’t speak up, since he was so low in the ranks of the organization.

Snape went to the bar and in a quiet voice ordered Blood Gin. He downed it quickly and left. Snape had studied his victim, just as he kept tabs on all the various members of the group. Sproelanger lived in a small house just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He lived alone and that was perfect.

Snape gritted his teeth and limped ahead, searching for just the right place to ambush his erstwhile acquaintance. The most direct path between his home and the Hogs Head took him through the alley behind Honeydukes. Snape waited, eyes tearing at the pain that was searing through him. He hissed through it and was determined that he should be the master of it. Pain was no more than a tool to sharpen the wits, not dull them.

The wait was unpleasant, but at least when he heard the Wizard coming, the unsteady gait indicated to Snape that there would be no duel--only slaughter. Sproelanger walked right past him, and Snape stepped out behind the man. A few words whispered and the old man was on the ground, silent for all eternity. Snape clipped a lock of the hair; mostly grey with a splotch or two of stubborn brown, and put it in an envelope for safekeeping. Quietly and efficiently, he stripped the dead man and bundled his clothing. There was one last step to be done. Snape whispered the spell that would transform the corpse into a small cord of wood. Holding the wood and the clothing, Snape Apparated back to the abbey. He’d be lighting a warming little fire with his booty sometime later when he was not exhausted and throbbing with pain.

He noted that Tonks had not yet returned. He undid the spell on his cot and got himself to bed. His leg kept him awake until he got up to rub on the salve that he’d gotten from his stores at Hogwarts.

“Stupid girl. Well, I’m glad she’s gone. Who needs her?” Unfortunately, the words spoken aloud had no magic to change the fact that Snape missed her.

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“But why can’t we search for her?” Harry asked. He paced the tiny room with the energy of a trapped panther before flinging himself down on a wooden chair.

Harry had been brought to the tiny stone room by Portkey and had no idea where he was. Shuttled about like so much chattel, he could almost imagine a label on him stating: Property of the Order, Hands Off. He was still young, but how had he spent his life so far? Trapped with the Dursleys for all those hideous years and then summers, and now sent from hiding place to hiding place. At least when he was at 12 Grimmauld Place he could pretend it was his home. And it really would be his home some day when he had the opportunity to do a proper fix up. But for now--he sighed loudly.

Dumbledore looked up from where he had been in a quiet tête-à-tête with Prof. Snape, “Harry, dear boy. We have cast a wellness detector charm and wherever she is, she feels safe and is well. However, to search for her, even to mention her name could put her into danger.”

Harry looked from Prof. Dumbledore to Snape’s impassive face. As much as he distrusted Snape, and doubted the ex-Death Eater would help him, he still asked, “Prof. Snape, you haven’t said a word. Isn’t there anything--”

The professor shook his head. “The headmaster is correct. I’ve interrogated Draco and he admits to casting a curse on Miss Granger, but then someone knocked him out.” He stretched out his hands before him, examining the rough and ragged nails. “At this point of time, we need to stay focused and direct our energies to winning this war.”

Harry was too old to pout, and he wasn’t about to throw a wobbly, either. Though Ron was seriously injured, and Hermione missing, his ‘job’ was unchanged. Harry chaffed under the burden that had only increased over the years since he had come to Hogwarts.

“Right, then,” he swallowed his annoyance, “stay focused and get on with things. So, what are we waiting for?”

Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other. Harry was their weapon and he had, after all was said and done, been trained well. Tempered between Dumbledore’s gentleness and Snape’s petty cruelties, they had forged a fine weapon. Snape remembered the turning point, had watched the boy turn into man--it had been the summer after the cur Black had died. Snape smiled to himself, yes, what a pleasant summer that had been! With the boy going from rage and hatred of Snape, to self-condemnation and reproach, and then finally an icy acceptance that it was war and in war loved ones died. Quite pleasant indeed!

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Snape watched Tonks storm out of the abbey. He chuckled when she tripped over a tree root en route to a walk around the perimeter of their spells. She was so entertaining, so predictably gullible—Funny how even the most beautiful women were sensitive about the size of their hips, he mused.

He looked up at the full moon. She wouldn’t be going to him tonight, he thought. No, the beast would be out, ready to rampage and perhaps kill or maim some poor helpless soul. Creatures like Lupin couldn’t be trusted to police themselves. At the least they should be forced into monthly custody. He was glad that he was no longer asked to make the potion for Lupin, since it increased the chances that some citizen with good aim and a silver bullet would hit the mark, thus ridding the land of one more threat. Yes, it was a shame that the order had to rely such filth as Lupin.

Snape pulled out the clothing he had so recently acquired and removed the stasis spell on one of the doses of Polyjuice. He was more than ready for tonight’s meeting of Death Eaters.

Moonlit nights meant meetings in Dartmoor, usually in a small, protected valley outside of Venford. He dressed himself in the recently deceased Death Eater’s robes, making a sound of disgust over the combined reek of alcohol, garlic and sweat on the clothing. His pungent friend obviously hadn’t put much stock in such recent inventions as the bath, ah yes, smiled Snape, as a cord of wood he now was much more sweeter smelling.


&&&

“I’ll be fine Remus. Remember, I’ve seen your transformation,” Hermione blushed at the memory of that night four years ago, when Harry had met his godfather and there had been a horrible mix up, with Remus forgetting his potion and resulting in him leaving Hogwarts.

“Well, you won’t be seeing it this time. I’ve put a small cage out back to keep me secure throughout the night. I will lock the door and throw the key out of reach.”

“And I’ll open the door for you in the morning?”

Remus blushed. He didn’t want to even imagine her seeing him in the buff as he would be after his transformation, not to mention all bleeding and scratched from the self-mutilation that he couldn’t help performing. “No, I can actually manage a bit of wandless magic to open the cage.”

“But what if you are feeling too ill?” Hermione was becoming alarmed.

Remus rolled his eyes and sighed, “then I’ll yell out for the cavalry and you can come save me? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Hermione felt a bit shocked at his oversensitivity, but realized that he wasn’t a Professor anymore and perhaps the change in their status meant he was able to drop his mask a little.

Remus felt bad about what he’d said and gave Hermione a stiff hug, “I’m a grown man, Hermione. I’ve been handling this on my own for many years.”

“Of course you have. Well, I think I’ll just turn in. Goodnight.” And she practically flew upstairs.

Remus cursed under his breath.

She was very intelligent but still just a girl, and he had just trampled her feelings. However, though a child, she had always been remarkable. One of the brightest and best, and she was here with him, trusting him to keep her safe. This island had been his shelter, his protection against the horrible guilt, which followed him because of his curse. How much risk was she in from being here?

He looked at the window and his stomached lurched. In only about an hour the sun would have set and he’d undergo yet again his monthly hell.


When Hermione reached her room, she closed the door and locked it. She still felt his arms around her and she’d wanted so much to have the courage to hug him back, to maybe even kiss him. She blushed at the feelings his touch has engendered in her and tried to put it out of her mind as she got dressed for bed.

Her desire turned into an attack of nerves, as she awoke to the sound of shrieks from round behind the house. Shivering, she gave into tears of frustration about not being able to somehow help him. Then her mind turned to how much she missed her family and friends. Crookshanks curled his large body around her and purred, as if to say cheer up, it will all be over in the morning. And, having given vent to her feelings, she finally fell back asleep.

She awoke yet again in the night, this time to a strange keening. It was a creature in extremis. There was a crack of lighting and she was sorely tempted to put the covers over her head, but then she heard it again, ten times worse than the normal sound of a werewolf.

Throwing on a thick blue robe over her night shirt, Hermione ran out of her room before she could change her mind and headed to a window that looked out the back of the house. In the dark she could see nothing, but the noise she had heard had been replaced by a weak whimpering. There was another crash of thunder and a streak of lightening and the night was momentarily lit up.

During that split second of light cast by the storm, what she saw forced her to gasp. A pine tree struck by lightening had broken in two. The top half fell on the cage, and its weight must have snapped through the metal of Remus’ prison. He was impaled on one of the bars. She wondered if the nature of the injury was life threatening because Remus was reverting back to his human form.

Hermione ran to the linen cupboard and grabbed a quilt. Feeling dizzy with fear, she ran back to her room for her wand before continuing full speed down the stairs and through the back door.

The outside air hit her like a wave from the North Sea. She then slid in a mud puddle that had formed by the door and thought that she had to take more care.

Even partially transformed his bite could infect her.

“Lumos,” her wand gave just enough light to let her see that Remus was now almost completely returned to human form. Wide eyed with terror, she stepped closer to him and touched what was left of the bent and broken metal cage. It was too heavy to move but a bit. She thought about which spell she needed to lift the cage, but almost dropped her wand when a heart-wrenching cry came from him. She looked down and realized that the not only had a metal bar pierced his shoulder, but splintered branches had trapped his legs. She’d have to be very careful how she moved him, if she were not to kill her old professor.

Her mind dashed through several spells she could use, some more advanced than others. The simplest were certain to work in spite of her nerves. She couldn’t use a spell to simply float the cage to float off of him, because of the impalement. But she was wasting time with her indecision. The light of her wand showed huge quantities of nearly black liquid soaking into the ground and she was thankful for the darkness as in the day, his blood would have been too horrible to behold in it’s true color.

Various possibilities continued to dart through her mind. Finally, she decided on a transfiguration spell. It was not an easy one and she had to start over twice, but eventually the metal of the cage bent to her will and changed into white chicken feathers. The feathers she then transformed into water. The clear liquid mixed with his blood and trickled away from him. She did a similar series of spells to remove the splintered wood.

He had gone horribly pale in the wand light and Hermione felt the additional seeds of panic sprout and bloom in her. He was dying. She uttered a stasis spell but it was the wrong one and nothing happened except a spark or two. She threw the quilt over him for warmth, and left him to fetch a medical wizardry book. Should she try to Apparate him off the island to St. Mungos’, she wondered. No, his condition and her fear could lead to them splinching. She didn’t think it was even safe to move him out of the rain. She’d care of him in situ until he was stabilized.

Hermione returned with the book, grateful that she had something to help her. It was one of the newer spell reference guides, one that aped the Muggle world and actually had a useful index. She found the correct stasis spell and cast it. She then created a spell to keep the rain off of them.

She sat next to him and relaxed a little having felt she’d managed to stabilize him. She went to the first aid section and found quite a lot of information on Wizard Impalement.

Smiling she got to work.


The first rays of dawn spread in the Eastern sky before Hermione felt Remus could be safely moved. Rather than use Mobilicorpus, she preferred a stretcher spell from the book, which would allow him to be supine and cushioned. She wished she remembered more on werewolf anatomy, because she suspected that his accelerated metabolism might have more to do with his healing process than her spells. She thought the crisis had ended when she had cast the proper stasis. It was what kept him alive long enough for his own healing to then take over.

He was in his own bed now, and Hermione was forcing a bit of water down his throat. Most of it spilled over onto his pillow. She stroked a lock of grey hair from his eyes and felt a stab of emotion. She accepted that the feeling flooding her was not only relief, but also love. She kissed his forehead and realized that he was fevered. For the first time she had the courage to unwrap the quilt from around his body. Her breath sped at the sight of him. It wasn’t just that he was naked, and that she’d never seen a naked man—it was that she had the most inappropriate desire to touch him and explore him when he was so obviously ill and unable to respond.

The place where the broken cage bar had thrust into him was an angry, seeping wound. She realized her possibly fatal mistake--the stasis spell only held back infection for the period of time that it held life in his body. The spell had worn off buying him enough time to recover his vitality, but she should have also done a spell against infections. His lycanthropy was forcing his body to heal but the infection was there and threatening to spread throughout his body. The wound was tinged with orange bubbling ooze and the flesh smelled of death.

She was out of her depth, but she pulled herself together and decided it was time for potion making. She hated to leave him up here and alone while she worked. Yet obviously, there was no time to agonize over her decisions or her recent mistakes. If the infection spread, she couldn’t be sure if even Remus’ lycanthropy would save him.


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Snape awoke to a bright new day, one of the best that the Lake District had to offer. He looked in on Tonks who was still abed and quietly snoring. She had returned from her stroll last night to find him gone and had been in a right foul mood by the time he had returned in the wee hours of the morning. There had been words to the effect that Snape was a stupid, stubborn git who was bent on self-destruction. He had said nothing, in fact, even the pain in his leg couldn’t erase the pleasure he felt in having completed his mission with the Death Eaters and seeing Tonks beside herself with worry over him.

Long years of potion making had trained him to take as little or much rest as he needed. Though he had only slept two hours, it was time to track down Potter and, sans Dumbledore, convince him of the value of his plan to kill the Dark Lord and end the war.