A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

Chapter 48- Threshold

Rabastan was bone weary as he stepped into his private chambers. He was too tired even to strip for a shower. The hot tea had revived him somewhat for the solemn discussion that had taken place at the Weasley’s, but now he just wanted to sleep, hard and long, in his own bed. He was sick of Hogwarts, duties to others, the pressures from the Ministry, and now the revelation that the stakes had just risen that much higher now that they knew Shacklebolt was under coercion of Lucius Malfoy.

He rubbed a rough hand down his face and looked into his enchanted mirror over the mantle. Grey stubble had appeared overnight. I’m getting old’ he thought. Although he was technically the same age as Severus, roughly, his service to the Dark Lord, and then Dumbledore had appeared to age him considerably. He felt twenty years older than he should have, and it showed in his face. Not being a vain man, he did nothing to hide his visage from others. Life had not dealt him a kind hand and he felt no shame in having lived his life.

It occurred to him that this was how Severus must have felt, being in this position. In that moment he gained a new grudging respect for the man. Maybe they had more in common than he realized. It was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. Time would tell if this common experience would make friend or foe of the man.

He grimaced at the man staring back at him. Severus was a deeply private and jealous man. Everyone in the Order knew of his weaknesses. A few of them knew of Rabastan’s brief, but stunning, encounter of the same girl Severus had bedded. Potter knew, but he doubted even the Golden Boy was stupid enough to put his nose into that kettle of fish any further than the previous encounter the day before.

It irked him to think that if he was in Snape’s position, finding out about Hermione’s tryst with another Death Eater would cause him to cast her out like a common whore. Then again, Rabastan was a fairly straight forward, unforgiving sort of man. He told it like he saw it, kept his mouth shut when warranted, enjoyed a good drink, some good banter and a good woman under his cock. It wasn’t so much to ask that a woman remain faithful if he took her for his own. He knew the sentiment was a double standard, but it was what it was. Men had more liberties than women in his mind when it came to following what was between their legs. Men were respected for sowing their oats. Women were loose for the same reasons. However unfair it was, he didn’t care.

An unwanted coldness crept into his belly. He suddenly wished he had never bedded the clever young witch. She had been confused, feeling very much alone when separated from the one person she had shared most of the past year with, nursed back to health and then was intimate with since. He had taken advantage and thoroughly filled her with his seed. With a start he realized he had never asked her whether she had taken any sort of precautions.

Damn! He’d done that several times in the past month or so; let his guard down. It never would have kept him alive if he was still under the rule of the Dark Lord. He’d have been dead by now. Why did he care if the wench ended up with is brat? Surely there were other wanton witches who had bore his offspring. It had never bothered him before.

Shite, I’m going soft. This witch has addled my brains.

Shrugging off his useless introspection, he started when he saw Hermione’s motionless form in his bed.

What the hell is she doing here?

It made him very angry for some reason. Hadn’t they all done their duty and played the part on behalf of the Order that night? A man was not relieved of duty because of her thoughtlessness. Longbottom had probably only lasted as long as he had through sheer determination. The lad’s constitution certainly wasn’t made of the same stuff of the other men of the Order, but he could hold his own.

“Wake up, witch!” he barked at her, grabbing her by the arm.

“Wha?” came the sleepy reply.

She was naked. Fuck. He could smell the lingering aroma of her arousal on the sheets. When she lifted delicate fingers to shove the curls past her ear, the scent wafted to his nostrils. She had very recently frigged herself in his bed and not bothered to wash. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His loins stirred beneath his trousers, a grand awakening springing to life.
He ignored his cock for once and dragged her painfully out of his bed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

“Hey! Stop hurting me like that!” she protested, regaining her feet while unsuccessfully trying to pull herself from his vise.

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” she shot back indignantly. “You told me if I wanted to come here and fuck I was always welcome. What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” he ground out, “has to do with the Order doing the dirty work and you off traipsing into my private quarters while Severus was supposed to be attended by you should we find him. As it stands, Longbottom is probably ready to collapse right this instant because you apparently forgot about tonight’s little adventure. Much as I’ve enjoyed fucking you, Hermione, this little stunt chaps my hide. It’s one thing to shirk a few duties for a shag, but people were depending on you. You let them down. I suggest you get your robes on and get the fuck out of my bedchamber immediately.”

Hermione felt her heart sink. How had she forgotten about the rescue? She tried to think back to the day’s events. They had had a meeting, she had fucked Rabastan, and then it came to her. She had decided to have a drink. Just one. Molly didn’t seem to have the standard spirits on hand, having been busy with the twins while Severus had drunk himself into oblivion that first week, using up their supply.

An innocuous looking bottle labeled “The Good Stuff” was the last thing on the shelf. The last thing she remembered was taking one shot of it before her memory went blank. Now she was in Rabastan’s chambers and he was clearly irritated with her. This was definitely not good.

“S-sorry R-rabastan ,” she stammered out pathetically. Hurriedly gathering her clothing and slinging it on, she didn’t look back as she left his chambers and apologized to a bleary Neville upon her return.

After being assured Teddy was fine, she sat on the bed next to Severus, tenderly tracing his gaunt cheekbones with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she whispered. She continued to stroke his cheek, horrified at his pallor, the burn scar on his cheek and shallow breathing.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, unfocused. “Hermione?” his sore throat managed to scrape out.

“I’m here Severus. You’re at the Weasley’s. You’re safe.”

“Safe,” he laughed bitterly. “Safety is an illusion. There is no such thing.”

His eyes fell closed again. She rested her head next to his shoulder and held his hand for the next two days, only taking leave for meals when Ginny or her brother was able to relieve her. Minerva had come and gone. Everyone had had to go back to work so there were very few people that came into the room the first couple of days. Snape’s only coherent efforts at speech were once to insist on using the loo when George was on watch, after which he promptly passed out again. The other time was on Ginny’s watch. He had asked for Hermione, mumbled something about Lucius and fallen asleep again.

Potions were ladled in small amounts into his system. Clothing and blankets were changed. The vigil was kept.

Teddy seemed unchanged, a normal little boy for all they could tell, but Hermione could see there was a profoundness to the way he looked at Severus or stared intently out the window in the direction of the woods. He seemed to have forcefully grown up during the time away. He refused to talk about what had happened with the Malfoy’s, and no one forced him to talk.

Remus was overjoyed to see his son. There was not a dry eye in the kitchen.

“Teddy!” he shouted, running to clasp the lad in his outstretched arms.

“Papa!” screamed the ecstatic child. “Papa! I love you Papa! Never leave me Papa!”

Teddy clung to his father the rest of the day. They talked quietly in Teddy’s room, simply sitting together, playing with his son’s toys and reading books. Everyone was put at ease with the joyous reunion of father and son. Ava had had to stay behind at Hogwarts, but Remus assured Teddy she would come to visit him soon.

The waiting in the house was centered on Severus. The tension was palpable within the very walls. They needed him to fill them in on what had happened before any course of action could be taken. The information he could provide would provide most invaluable to the Order and their understanding of the man behind the Minister’s treachery.

Hermione was the one sitting with him when he came fully awake. The fourth day had come and gone. That Thursday morning dawned bright, steam rising from the grass outside while the sun quickly scorched the dew from the petals of Mrs. Weasley’s potted plants. She was smiling down at Teddy playing pretend Quidditch with his dad. Molly was bouncing a baby on each leg and Ginny had the day off, putzing around in her pajamas after having a lie-in. His comment cut into her reverie.

“I see the insufferable know-it-all has seen fit to drug me with every potion in the Weasley apothecary stores,” his acid voice shot out to her from the bed.

“Professor!” She ran to his bedside, seeing him propped up on one arm.

“How are you feeling?”

He seemed to eye her critically. “Obviously, Lucius Malfoy has failed to send me the way of the Dark Lord. That would suggest I am doomed to suffer the fate of recovering invalid once more.”

Her gigantic hug caught him off guard. “I’m so happy to see you, Severus,” she said into his hair.

“Indeed,” he quipped, albeit more softly. “If you are done with theatrics, I could use some mild nourishment. My body requires something easy to digest. See if Mrs. Weasley has soup available. A hot cup of Earl Grey would be acceptable as well.”

He thought Hermione was going to burst with happiness as she ran from the room to oblige his request. I think I could get used to this for awhile. Taking stock of his surroundings, he realized he had been bathed and dressed. Although he had chastised Hermione about the potions, he concluded that the ones they had given him were well thought out. They certainly could have done worse. His soft grey flannel was bunched about his waist under a handmade Weasley quilt that looked as if a thousand pieces of fabric had a wild party and joined together in a mad frenzy and stayed that way. He did not have trousers on, of any sort.

Not trusting his balance, he gingerly slid his legs off the bed and reached for his trunk. Hooking his fingers through the buckle, he dragged it marginally closer and rummaged around until he found a pair of suitable drawers. It just wouldn’t do to have his bits inspected any longer than was necessary. Surely ever bloody Order member had seen them by now. It would be difficult to keep a straight face in front of Ginny Weasley from here on out.

Hermione returned with a piping hot bowl of soup and his Earl Grey. He gratefully tore through it, giving a satisfied belch when he was finished. “Excuse me,” he said primly, wiping his mouth on the linen that was provided on his tray.

“Do you want anything else?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“I am not a doddering old fool that needs a nursemaid. Quit hovering like a mother hen. It irritates me.”

He shoved the tray towards her, indicating he had finished. “If you could summon Minerva at your earliest convenience, I urgently need to speak with her. I am also in need of a Healer, but will need someone discreet. Minerva will know who to contact.”

“Is there something wrong we don’t know about?” she asked, trying to sound less concerned but failing miserably.

He impatiently gestured to various unnatural bulges under his skin. “If you must know, Lucius has broken so many bones in my body they have not all healed properly. I will need at least a half dozen broken and re-set.”

Hermione winced with the calm brevity he issued the statements. Only a former Death Eater could casually refer to such extensive injuries and be so nonchalant.

“It must have been terrible,” she breathed, settling her hand on his arm.

He caught her gaze and held it, letting her concern for his well being past his staunch defenses. “It was.”

He lay back on the pillows, letting sleep take him now that his stomach was full of real food. Severus let his mind wander. The information he would provide them would undoubtedly thrust them all into a frenzy of activity. Fate was a vortex sucking him into an unwanted reality of obligation and disgust for its continued madness. He wasn’t in the frame of mind he had been in after the Manor. On the contrary, he felt quite filled with purpose. A deep bond had developed between him and the boy. Teddy. The child had become dearer to him than any he had ever taught during his time at the castle. It was imperative the boy be kept from the clutches of their collective nemesis.

They had been entirely lucky Draco felt a greater sense of obligation to those that had helped him than his father. It was likely Lucius would have killed him by now and skewered the boy within an inch of his life. The Prophecy. Lucius had spoken of the boy’s importance in his plans. He would do anything to get the child back. Severus would not allow that to happen. He would staunchly thwart the imperious slug at every opportunity. Now, it was personal; a vendetta. He would not rest until he saw the elder Malfoy humiliated, tortured and destroyed. Yes, his demise would be a source of great satisfaction.