Silence is the Price

----- Harry Potter and his wonderful world belong solely to J.K. Rowling, who has my apologies for mangling her brilliance like this.





Just a preface - although the trio don\'t appear in this story (I just coudn\'t do that to Hermione!), I don\'t think the characters have much Mary Sue in them. Amy was originally a Hermione placeholder (hence the Henry/Harry, although Padma is actually supposed to be Padma Patil), but eventually she became a separate (hopefully unique) character, and because of the two year age change and a few conversations later it would have been very difficult to change her to Hermione at this point. I hope anybody reading can enjoy the story anyway.

This is my first fanfiction, and my very first post anywhere ever. So please read, please review, please enjoy, and please don\'t throw things!





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The fire crackled quietly, the only sound in the room as Amy fed it the papers one by one. She paused each time, reading the incriminating letters and committing them to memory before relinquishing them to the merry flame. Although not addressed to her, they were precious to her; proof that he lived, and that he was safe. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Snape enter the room. He watched her burn two more letters before he spoke.


“The library has been closed for several hours, Ms Price,” she dropped the letters with a gasp, her heart in her throat. “What are you doing?” he asked softly.


“I’m sorry sir,” she fumbled for the letters with clumsy, trembling fingers, “I dozed off… I didn’t know it was so late. I’ll go back to my common room right now.” She took the pile of letters in hand and reached for the fire, to burn them all at once. She had to hurry before Snape –


“Accio parchment,” he spoke almost lazily as the sheaf flew from her weak grasp and sorted themselves into a neat pile between his long, pale fingers.


“P-professor, please!” She cried wildly “Please, those are mine.” But it was too late. Snape started a bit and his eyes widened as he scanned the topmost letter. Amy felt a trickle of ice slide down her spine and come to rest in the pit of her stomach as Snape’s mouth slowly curled into a sneer of malevolent glee.


“No, Ms Price, these are addressed to Mr. Abbot. You’re mentioned, but of course you knew that,” he glanced at her, burned her. “You’ll also know that aiding and abetting a criminal is a serious offense. It’ll do more than get you expelled from Hogwarts.”


With a cry of despair she lunged, grabbing uselessly for the letters. He deflected her easily, being a foot taller and two stone heavier, and she fell against him, her back to his chest, his arm around her waist as inexorable as iron. She struggled against his grasp as he set the letters down on the desk and brought his other arm around her collarbone, holding her to him as if in an embrace, but there was no warmth, no tenderness here.


She squirmed against his arm, trying to free herself. Suddenly she froze, barely breathing. There was an insistent pressure in the small of her back that gave her an idea of where Snape was planning to lead this altercation. She began to tremble slightly.


“Let me go,” she whispered hoarsely. She cleared her throat and spoke again, forcing her voice to ring clear and strong.


“Let me go or I’ll scream” No matter the hour, a scream would bring Filch down on them within minutes. Amy was sure Snape knew it too, and waited for his grip to release. To her dismay his arms tightened instead.


“By all means, Ms Price. And when when Mr. Filch arrives you can explain to him, and then to Professor Dumbledore, exactly why you and your little friends are helping a murderer to evade capture.” His hands began to roam, and a small whimper escaped before she clamped her lips tightly closed. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her hair. He cupped one breast in his hand as the other traveled down her body toward –


“No!” She wrenched herself away from him, could feel his hands reaching for her, grappling at her robes. She stumbled toward the fire, reaching blindly for something to defend herself with. Her hands closed on cold iron as he lunged for her and she swung blindly.


“Ow!” He shoved her against the fireplace and she felt her head smash against the mantle as she fell to the floor.


And then he was on her; she could feel the weight of him, the smell of his breath and his voice in her ear like oily poison. She couldn’t hear what he said over the roar of her own fear and she clawed wildly as she felt him tearing at her clothes. He caught her wrists in one hand and pinned them to the floor above her head, stretching her arms, arching her back, leaving her painfully exposed to his remaining wandering hand as it slid along her thigh and up under her skirt.


“Please!” Her voice cracked. “Don’t do this.” He looked at her, and his eyes were chilling. He smiled down at her. A quick, mirthless flash of teeth.


“Why don’t you scream, if you want me to stop? One sound and it all stops; Mr. Filch would be here to rescue you within the minute.” Her gaze flicked momentarily to the letters still on the table nearby before they were pulled back with a gasp as Snape forced her thighs apart with his knee. He followed the direction of her gaze before turning back with the same malevolent grin to look into her eyes.


“I see,” he said, and thrust.


She cried out, but was silenced quickly with a bruising kiss. He was motionless inside her for a moment, then he moved, setting a steady pace and pounding into her brutally.


Amy was crying openly now, still struggling, but weakly as her body tired. She bucked beneath him with the last of her strength in an effort to throw him off, but he merely groaned and redoubled his efforts. His free hand slid beneath her blouse and she turned her head away as he moved to kiss her again. He nipped painfully at her earlobe.


“Do you know how frustrating it is to see the three of you?” His whispered voice was raspy and warm on her ear. She clenched her eyes shut against the tears, clenched her jaw against the sob in her throat. “To know you’re up to something and not be able to prove it? For five years I’ve watched you and your little friends get away with murder and I haven’t been able to do a thing. It’s so nice to finally have an outlet to vent some of that frustration.” He sped his pace then, his face twisting in a mockery of pain. The only sounds in the room were his rhythmic and heavy pant and her stifled sobs.


Finally he thrust into her and she heard him groan, felt him stiffen above her momentarily before he sighed, his head dropping to her shoulder.


He rested for a moment before rising silently, leaving Amy on the floor before the fire, her crying subdued but her breath still ragged. He straightened his robes and crossed to the table where the letters lay. “Effingo,” he said softly, laying his wand across the packet. A duplicate copy appeared next to the original, which he collected, folded, and tucked into a pocket. He turned and looked at Amy.


“The thing I like best about blackmail Ms… Amy,” she flinched as if he’d cut her and a smile crawled across his lips, “is that it’s forever. So many lives depend on your silence, and I could always have another copy, I could always have told someone. The hold information gives me never goes away.” Snape’s words hung in the air between them. He turned to leave.


“See you in class tomorrow, Ms Price.”




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Amy walked stiffly. After Snape had left she’d sat up slowly, straightened her robes, then collected Henry’s letters and placed them on the fire to burn. She’d watched until they were ash, stirring the fire occasionally with the poker retrieved from under a couch. When they were nothing but cinder she’d risen quietly from the hearth and left the library.


Now she walked silently and clumsily to the Ravenclaw girl’s lavatory. She drew a bath, scaldingly hot, then peeled off her clothes – she was missing a blouse button, she noticed disjointedly – and stepped in.


She scrubbed her skin until it was a brilliant pink, but no matter how much she washed she couldn’t seem to get clean. Finally she dropped the soap into the water and sat, knees drawn up under chin, as the water cooled. She had yet to make a sound.