Silence is the Price

She finished quickly and headed slowly back to the sitting room.


“Henry I-” she began, but the words died in her throat. Her heart lurched and she swayed dangerously, grabbing the door jamb for support. Henry looked up from the book he was flipping through. And behind him, Snape smiled mirthlessly from the open entranceway.


“Amy?” Henry began, but was interrupted by Snape’s cold drawl.


“Ms Price, feeling better, I see.” Henry whirled to face him. Amy gripped the door jamb harder, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, face set. “And Mr. Abbot, still popping up where you’re not wanted. Nasty habit, you know.” He closed the door with a soft click and indicated the small couch before the fire.


“Please, sit.” Henry snorted and raised his wand.


“Give us the letters.”


Snape sighed and rubbed his temples impatiently.


“Apparently Ms Price has not explained to you the terms of our arrangement. I will tell you what’s to be done, and you will sit down.”


Amy wasn’t sure what spell Henry had meant to cast, because Snape’s cry of “Expelliarmus!” was quicker. Henry’s wand, and Amy’s as well, were yanked across the room into Snape’s waiting hand. He pocketed them.


“Amy,” he said, and she jerked. “The door behind me is the only exit from my private quarters. It will not open without my permission. You are both trespassing and in serious danger of expulsion, among other things.” His eyes narrowed. “Please convince Mr. Abbot that it would be in his best interest to sit down and take tea.”


Amy looked at Henry. An unspoken exchange took place between them; a battle of wills between blue eyes and brown. In a moment, blue eyes acquiesced and the two took seats on the couch, joined by Snape, who sat across from them in an armchair. With a wave of his wand he conjured a steaming silver tea service and poured a cup for each of them, adding cream and sugar to both Henry and Amy’s cups.


“Drink,” he said, and waited, staring at them, until they sipped obediently. He smiled, the way a reptile might smile, then drank from his own cup and set it down.


“I’d intended to call the two of you to my office this evening, but I think this will be better.” Amy eyed him warily, trying to take comfort in the fact that Fred and George Weasley, at least, had known of Henry’s intention to come down here.


“I realized, of course, that Amy wouldn’t be able to keep our little encounters secret.” Amy blanched, Henry clenched his fist in rage as Snape turned to him. “You’re far too nosy for your own good, Mr. Abbot.” Amy laid a restraining hand on Henry’s arm.


“I also realized that once you figured it out, you wouldn’t be able to stand idly by.” He sneered at Henry. “Heroes are like that. And it’s far more difficult to allow those around you to be hurt than it is to shoulder the burden yourself. I suppose that makes you lucky, Amy.”


With a cry of outrage Amy sprang to her feet, reaching for the wand that wasn’t there. Snape’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He leaned back in his chair and allowed his gaze to wander insolently down her body and back up again. When he spoke, his voice was hard as steel.


“Sit down, Ms Price.”


She sat, shaking with barely suppressed emotion. Beside her Henry coughed and laid a hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him; he was as pale as she was. Snape leaned forward and spoke again.


“Naturally this puts me in somewhat of a predicament. Ms Price has the good sense to keep quiet, but you, Mr. Abbot, would ruin our arrangement and destroy the lives of everyone involved. All for the sake of your clean conscience.” He gave Henry a look of disgust. Henry’s coughing had worsened, Amy glanced at him, concerned, but he waved her away. Snape continued, unperturbed.
“Therefore, I’ve decided I have no choice but to return the letters to you. They are no longer a powerful enough threat. They’re worthless.” Snape withdrew from his robes the small packet of letters he’d taken from Amy. Her eyes widened, hardly daring to hope this was true. Snape held the letters out for her inspection, then crossed to the hearth and dropped them onto the fire where they blackened, curled, and were gone. Amy could have cried in relief. Snape returned to his chair and fixed Amy’s gaze with his hard, dark eyes. Beside her, Henry doubled over, but Snape did not look at him.


“Mr. Abbot is the dangerous one,” he said softly. “I will modify his memory. He will not remember any of this. But you, Amy.” She swallowed dryly. “What could I do to keep your silence? I had to find a way to show you how important this is. How important you are.” Henry slid off the couch. He was now curled on the floor, his coughing progressed to strangled gasps, Amy saw blood at the corners of his mouth. With a cry she fell to her knees beside him. She glared up into Snape’s dispassionate face.


“What have you done?” she shrieked. “Stop it! You have to help him!”


Without changing expression, Snape pulled a small, stoppered bottle from an inner pocket. He rolled it between his fingers speculatively, but otherwise did not move.


“Please,” said Amy, and tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks. Finally, as Henry clutched at the rug under his fingers, his gasps beginning to weaken, Snape leaned across to him and took his head in his hands. He poured the contents of the little bottle roughly down Henry’s throat, whose breathing immediately began to ease. He collapsed back on the rug, clutching his middle, but seemingly better. Amy looked at Snape.


“Anacolite.” He said. “It isn’t even magical. It’s a muggle poison from Africa. It’s administered in two parts. The first part, Anamin, lies dormant in the system, you see, perfectly harmless. But if the second half, Colamin, is ingested, well.” He gestured to Henry, who was breathing normally now, laying weakly on the hearth.


“The antidote is very difficult to make. I expect that if poor Henry were to ingest a bit of the second poison without having the antidote immediately to hand, he’d die before anything could be done.” Amy stared at him, horrorstruck. He stared back, his intense gaze piercing her. “Let us hope that never becomes necessary.”


Henry pulled himself up into a standing position, leaning against the arm of the couch for support, and glared at Snape, quivering with fury.


“YOU BLOODY BASTARD!” He shouted, his voice hoarse and shaking. “YOU BLEEDING, SODDING, SO-”


“Obliviate!” said Snape. A jet of red light hit Henry in the chest, knocking him back against the couch. A look of empty confusion crept across his face and Amy cried out in dismay. He looked at her, then at Snape.


“Professor?” he said distantly.


Snape rose and hauled Henry to his feet. “Up you get Mr. Abbot. You seem to have taken a wrong turn in the dungeons.” He led Henry to the door, then through it, Amy following in dazed silence. “If you take this passageway, and turn left at the gargoyle, you’ll be able to find your way back to the stairs. Why don’t you go into Hogsmead? It’s such a fine day, weren’t you going to meet Ms Patil at the Three Broomsticks?”


“Right,” nodded Henry vaguely. Snape walked him a few yards down the hall, leaving Amy standing at the doorway.


“Thank you Professor,” Henry trailed off, walking slowly down the hall without a backward glance. Snape turned, faced Amy, and began walking back toward her. With a gasp, she stiffened, and cast him a terrified glance before turning quickly and sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her the other way down the hall, further into the darkness.





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This chapter is so short I almost attached it to the end of chapter 7, but I thought it would be easy to miss the update, so I gave it its own page. That\'s all I have so far, but I\'ll write more... just as soon as I figure out what happens next. Thanks for reading!