The Hunter

A Viviane Chance/Severus Snape fic by Juliane and Hecate
This story is a sequel to Still Time for Mischief, or Heroes Behaving Badly by La Société des Femmes Dangereuses

Viviane sat in her room, watching the sun set and the shadows lengthen across the back lawns of Hogwarts. It had been two days since the ill-fated adventure at the Malfoy mansion, but she couldn’t shake her feelings of suspended animation, confusion and a strange sense of grief that lay on her heart like a nesting bird of prey.

For the second time that afternoon, Minerva McGonagall rapped her bony knuckles on Viviane’s door. Tapping softly had been completely ineffective and Minerva wasn’t quite prepared to pound, but really, the girl was being ridiculous. It’s not as if anyone is dead, thought Minerva somewhat harshly. Of course Remus is upset – how could she expect him not to be – but he will come around eventually and no one should know that better than she. "Viviane, please," she called. "Really, this is stupid. At least have something to eat." She removed her wand from her sleeve and Summoned a tray complete with coffee, currant scones, and clotted cream. Pointing her wand toward the door, she Banished the tray through the heavy oak door and set in on the floor. "Call if you feel up to it, Viviane," Minerva said through the door. "I’ll be in my rooms." The tall witch turned and swept down the hall and out of Ravenclaw Tower.

In the wake of her passing, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the hallway, slipping out from behind a floor-length tapestry. From the rigid set of McGonagall’s shoulders, he could tell that she had been unsuccessful in coaxing Professor Chance from her nest. He walked up to Viviane’s door as Minerva had, but unlike the Deputy Headmistress, he refrained from knocking. Pulling a scrap of parchment and a quill from his pocket, he instead wrote:

Returning the quill to his pocket, Dumbledore pushed the note under the door and walked back to the tapestry, which depicted scholars at work in the great wizarding library at Alexandria. As always, they were pleased to see the Headmaster, who soon stepped into the library scene, joining a group debating planetary movements. After a few minutes, however, he heard a heavy door swinging in on its iron hinges.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Viviane asked in a quiet voice.

"You called?" said Dumbledore, stepping out of the tapestry. "Fascinating," he remarked, nodding back to the Alexandrians. "I really should visit more often."

"Um, that’s nice," said Viviane, who hadn’t spent two minutes together even looking at the Alexandrian scholars since moving into her Ravenclaw rooms.

Dumbledore looked at her expectantly.

"Headmaster, it’s really very kind of you to check in, but –"

"You’re fine and you don’t particularly feel like talking about any recent events," Dumbledore concluded for her.

Viviane nodded, glumly.

"As long as you are comfortably situated here, that is quite all right with me, my dear. Just be aware that not everyone is taking your current seclusion so calmly."

"I know."

"Get some rest, Viviane. I’ll let you know when I require anything else from you."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled. As he walked away down the corridor, Viviane could tell that he was tempted to return to the scholars’ debate, but as heavier issues were impinging upon his time, he passed them by and disappeared down the stairs.

She turned back into her room, quietly shutting the door and leaning against it. The memories of the debriefing immediately after everyone had gotten safely, or nearly safely, back to Hogwarts flashed into her mind and she came as near to flinching as she ever did. "You are no longer a Devereaux, or so you claim; it is time you stopped assuming the privileges of one," Albus had said. He had been most displeased by her destruction of Malfoy’s basement, unintentional as it had been. And Severus had not met her eyes through the entire meeting. That wretched wizard is ashamed of me, furious that I broke some of his precious rules, afraid to face me after what he did to Remus, whatever it was. Remus is a fool for trying to shield him.

I can't believe I'm skulking in here, but I simply cannot face…what?

She pulled herself away from the door and walked over to trail her fingers over the books lining the walls, remembering her first night at Hogwarts and how scared she'd been. Silly of me, afraid of a passel of half-educated children. She froze at the thought and her fingers tightened on a leather-bound spine.

Fear. For the first time in years, I'm terrified. I don't want to face anyone with fear in my eyes. And failure. Failure in yet another attempt to check Voldemort. Cedric's face came to her mind and she ran her hands down her face in exasperation, wondering if she would ever truly put his death behind her.

Viviane walked over to the chair behind her desk and, dragging it around to face outside, sat down with her feet on the windowsill. What a debacle. What was I thinking, heading off on such a dangerous quest with Sirius Black, of all people? Because it was Remus, and all of my protective instincts were awakened. He is the only person left who knew me from the beginning. She leaned her chair on its back legs and watched Malhereuse dive after some unfortunate creature in the distance.

I must appear an utter fool, caught sneaking around the Malfoy house like a teenager on a lark, walking in on Severus and Narcissa, and needing to be rescued by a squadron of academics. She allowed herself a grin as she recalled the scene in Narcissa’s bedroom, complete with Severus' hands pinned above his head in a sea of purple silk. Mrs. Malfoy certainly has a way with men, when they let her. Well, I've combined business with pleasure many a time; I just have better taste than he does and won't bed a fool even if he asks nicely.

She sighed and for the millionth time rued her decision to join the Order. I'm stuck here through my own headstrong fault. I simply need to make the best of it through some extracurricular activities, but it looks like Severus is uninterested in providing any. A pity Sirius is such an idiot, and that Dumbledore frowns on my leaving the castle for any reason besides business.

Dumbledore. Clever old wizard you are, to have run me to ground. Viviane climbed through her window and onto the terrace, pacing off long strides as anger began to replace the fear and embarrassment she had been feeling. Damn you, Albus, for asking me to get involved in this. And damn you, Severus Snape, for whatever you did to Remus, and for what you aren't doing to me.

Severus paced slowly in his office. Unsteady stacks of rejected books lay across his normally precisely ordered desk, drawers of his file cabinets stood half-open where they’d bounced back after being slammed shut with unnecessary force, and more parchment notes drifted down from his work table toward the floor each time he passed it by. Since returning to Hogwarts, he had been sorting through his Wolfsbane experiments, trying to backtrack to the precise combination that had afforded Lupin his newfound control over the Wolf. That, at least, as Dumbledore had reminded him harshly, was the one unalloyed success of the past week, and the one thing that had the potential to outweigh the consequences of Snape’s deceit. If he could replicate it. And test it. And find a few other Werewolves lurking around to test it on some more. Ferreting out the combination of drafts that had turned the trick might take months, and he would have to continually court Lupin’s cooperation until he found it.

Not that Lupin hadn’t tried to cover for him; the man was too noble to live. He had rushed to Dumbledore, after the fact, overflowing with some farfetched tale of messages gone awry. But in the end, Snape had not been able to hide from Dumbledore the fact that he had commanded Lupin’s cooperation before he had asked it. It was clear that the Headmaster believed that in doing so, Snape had endangered Lupin’s life as clearly as he had risked the mission.

What did they expect? thought Snape, bitterly. I didn’t ask to visit that viper’s den. I didn’t leap up and volunteer to be everyone’s informant again. To play the bait. Stopping short before his lab bench, he flicked a stray scarab beetle into the fire, sending up an acrid stench. He was tempted to send table’s entire contents crashing after it, but the force of long habit held his hand. I must not lose control, he thought, no matter the temptation. That was the source of the problem, after all, his losing control. Perhaps these last years of relative safety had loosened his grip. It was one thing to torture his students, to teach them the importance of never surrendering control in the face of a detested enemy, but it was quite another to have indulged himself so often and so badly over the past few days as to garner the disapprobation of the only people whose approval he actually craved. Dumbledore. And Viviane.

Damnable woman, he fumed, kicking at the parchment sheaves littering the floor. Reckless, pigheaded. . . catapulting herself into Malfoy’s nest with that overgrown hound at her heels. She didn’t even make a pretense at trying to be useful . . . just sniffing around where she was most in the way, worrying over her pet Werewolf. She had sniffed her way to him, all right, right into Narcissa Malfoy’s purple padded love nest. But even that had been his fault. If he hadn’t dragged Lupin before Lucius’ lecherous gaze, Narcissa might not have thrown herself on him. Not that it made it any better. And not that he precisely owed Viviane anything in that regard, it was embarrassing to be caught bedding such a whiny fool; undignified to be spied taking that which wasn’t worth having. Just because it had been easier to indulge Narcissa than to leave her begging for it didn’t make it a good idea. Viviane or no Viviane.

And now she’s locked herself away, sulking. If she’s waiting for some sort of apology, she can damn well sit there until she rots. I’m not going to slither up there and play the remorseful paramour. If she wants to see me, the fire’s burning, and if she doesn’t, well, . . . He slouched against the desk, grinding a pile of billywig stings under his palm. Damn Chance if she doesn’t, he thought, wincing.

Hours later, having finally filed the last of his Wolfsbane notes, Snape retreated to his sitting room and the armchair before the low burning fire. He glanced over the pile of books overflowing the hassock to the hearth and the floor, but no one title commanded his attention. He pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the small room to the wardrobe opposite the fire where he rooted around on the top shelf until his hand reached glass. Grimacing, he pulled out an unopened bottle of Laphroaig. He scanned the room in search of a glass and finding a small beaker above the washstand, he began to pour. He paused, inhaling the warm fumes; Snape had no objections to drinking alone – he preferred it – but drinking alone in his own room was a practice he had heretofore avoided. Let Chance stew in her rooms, he thought. This is my home – I’ll not be cornered just to indulge her sense of drama. Reaching back into the wardrobe, he pulled a flask from a drawer and poured the beaker’s contents into it. A moment later, he left the dungeon, soft footsteps echoing in his wake.

While he was absolutely stalwart in his determination to avoid Ravenclaw Tower, he was unwilling to restrict himself from any other part of the school and he soon found himself settled into a window niche overlooking the castle’s wide terrace. The valley below was filling with a damp gray fog as though the landscape was a giant pensieve, lit here and there by teetering lanterns of Hinkypunks in the twilight.

The flask was more than half empty by the time footsteps disturbed his solitary vigil. So she's not imprisoned herself after all, thought Snape, watching Viviane head for her customary perch on the railing. Is she just bored, or do her rooms give insufficient space to work out her anger? He stared at her, reveling in the sight despite his better judgment.

A rush of feathers overhead made him jump even before Malhereuse keened to a halt on the railing next to Viviane, some poor shrew or rat or vole clasped firmly in one claw. Viviane accepted the offering solemnly before handing it back to the falcon, which then tore into the rodent with a raptor's customary gusto.

Snape pulled himself away from the wall, flask still in hand. "Doesn't he hunt alone, then?" he asked quietly.

Viviane twisted around and pushed back her hair in one quick movement. "Severus. Hunting alone is nearly as bad as drinking alone." Her pale eyes flicked over his unusually relaxed form and Severus noticed a touch of aloofness in them he hadn't seen for some time.

"Who's drinking alone?" he asked calmly.

"You were, apparently, until you decided to interrupt my pleasant evening. Is this the only way you can face me, after whatever dirty method you used to coerce Remus into that Death Eater's house?" Her eyes changed from deliberate coldness to blazing anger, and Severus allowed himself a moment to enjoy the transition before he replied.

"I'm not sure why you're convinced that my indulgences revolve around you," he said, pulling his mouth into the tightest of grins. "But I suggest you take the second matter up with Lupin himself. It is, after all, his story."

"Remus is too busy being thrilled over your breakthrough with the Wolfsbane to remember whatever it was you put into it previously. Oh, don't look so shocked; I can't brew a potion worth using, but I did understand what you so admirably taught me about potions theory. What was it you used to control him? Powdered ants? Pidgeons' heart?"

She swung herself over the balustrade and onto her feet, facing him.

"Not that it matters. Find somewhere else to indulge in your vices and to think up the reprehensible methods you use to get what you want."

Snape lifted the flask to his mouth and drained it. "I was here first, if it comes to that. And as far as getting what I want," he laughed bitterly, "my methods, reprehensible or otherwise, probably could stand a review, as I'm not."

Viviane grabbed the flask, shook it, and tossed it onto the lawn. "Don't get territorial on me; it's an obvious move and one unworthy of your usual flair for nastiness." She walked over to her window and reached in to pour herself a generous glass of vodka, casually sipping it as she returned to lounge back against the railing, arms crossed over her body.

"As for getting what you want, my dear, have you ever? Not as long as I've known you, which granted, isn't a lifetime." She smiled sardonically and gazed at him with narrowed eyes. "If you ever do get the means to satisfy that Slytherin ambition, may the gods help us all."

"Have I ever?" he repeated, looking somewhat covetously at the glass in her hand and the curve of her breast behind it. "Occasionally. Well, once."

Viviane tried to suppress a smile but could not, and finally began to guffaw helplessly, setting down her glass and leaning backwards on her hands, head thrown back. As soon as she could speak, she remarked, "Narcissa was a bit more than you bargained for, eh? What is it you Brits say? Never ask for something, because you may get it?"

She snuffled and wiped her eyes as she tried to regain her composure, occasionally letting out another hoot of laughter. "Oh dear, I think I've nearly descended to your level; the vodka has gone straight to my head. Never drink on an empty stomach."

"Narcissa? I most certainly didn't ask for that, although perhaps I should put in a request to the Order for hazard pay," he said, pulling his head to one side and wincing.

Viviane lifted one eyebrow and glanced down Severus' body with a suggestive grin. "Nearly broke the equipment with her enthusiasm, did she?" A second later she sighed and said, "I came out here to think a few things through, as I'm sure you did. Fine. If you want the terrace, take it. I'd prefer a walk, anyway." She stood up to head towards the steps leading onto the lawn.

"She was enthusiastic," he agreed, liquidly. "Poor woman, married to that . . . despicable wretch." He considered Viviane carefully as she made to leave the terrace. "And I didn't come up here to be alone, but by all means, suit yourself." He gestured toward the swirling mist bathing the grassy slope. "Watch out for the Hinkypunks."

Viviane paused, her fingertips keeping the slightest contact with the railing. "What can we have to say to each other, Severus?" She dropped her hand to her side and turned around. He was standing motionless, gazing at her expectantly, but she didn't know in the least what he was waiting for. "You can tell me I made a disaster out of the Malfoy adventure," she continued. "You can say I'm unable to follow the damned rules, hell, you can point out that I chose to box myself into this narrow little world. I can only agree with you on all counts."

"As much as it pains me to say it, you could, as I'm sure you know, direct all of those charges against me. I suppose I should be glad that you haven't," he said, drawing imperceptibly closer. "I was going to suggest changing the subject."

"Bandying accusations is useless, I agree." She shook off an adventurous Hinkypunk that was clinging to the hem of her robe and walked closer to Severus, hoisting herself up to sit on the railing a few feet away from him. "What did you want to discuss? Recreating the latest Wolfsbane potion?

"That particular subject will be commanding my time over the next few weeks, it's true. And while it's a challenge I'm actually looking forward to, I'd rather not talk about Lupin just now." Leaning against the railing, he crossed his ankles and looked down at his feet. "Or Malfoy. Or any of this ghastly business. Does that surprise you?"

She covered her face with her hands briefly, then dropped them in her lap and looked over at him. "No, of course not. It's been hideous, all of it, from being stuck with Black in the middle of nowhere to now. What subject would you like to start upon?"

Severus reached over and grazed the inside of her wrist with one long finger. "Whether your skin smells more like vetiver or jasmine . . . . why reveling in isolation is, for the moment, probably a bad idea. . . . . what you would most like for breakfast tomorrow, although that may be a bit premature."

She hopped down from her perch and backed a few steps away from him, a distressed look on her face. "Oh, Severus, when I began our- our- affair? Our mutual distraction? - I had no idea - at all - that you would be called upon to insinuate yourself back into that nest of Malfoys and Glossops. Isolation, perhaps, is bad, but not dangerous, as - as your position would be should you be caught bedding Viviane Devereaux."

"Dangerous?" he snorted, shaking his head. "Viviane, I've spent the last fourteen years living as though under glass for the benefit of that herd of swine, and I'm not prepared to go on that way, regardless of the consequences." He looked at her wearily, reaching out for her hand. "I am quite ready to believe that you find me objectionable, and if I did believe that, I would accept it and be gone. But I am not prepared to sacrifice a thing of beauty for any consideration as sordid as Roderick Glossop. Besides, you're the last person I would expect to shy away from what was merely dangerous."

She had the grace to look embarrassed, and replied in a near whisper. "And what happens when they demand my head - or all of me - on a platter to prove your loyalty? I'm no Harry Potter, but a minor prize for Voldemort all the same. Or if you're caught on the wrong side at the wrong moment and we're facing each other across a battlefield? An affair with you would be one more complication, and my head is already reeling, my concentration nil, as proved by recent events."

She placed her hand in his and swallowed hard. "I don't find you objectionable, most of the time, anyway. And even when you are, I find you highly diverting. But even though dangerous never stops me, my instincts are telling me to step away."

"Don't do that," he asked, drawing her to him and sliding an arm around her waist. "Voldemort must, of course, be stopped and we will stop him. But I will not become like him in the name of this war, Viviane. At least not moreso than I already am," he said, looking away.

"I won't pretend that I know how you feel; I can only tell you that what you choose to do or not to do at this point will not change what I feel. I can't predict every exigency of war, but you will never have reason to fear me." He ran a finger down the line of her jaw, careful to maintain only the lightest touch. "While neither of us has been the perfect soldier as of late, even I'm not such a masochist to think that denial will improve that situation. After all, look at the last place your instincts landed you."

Viviane shivered at his touch, shocked by the revelation of how deeply she craved him. It made her unaccountably shy, and she said, "I think you're being sanguine, especially considering the scope and frequency of both our mistakes," as she tried to unobtrusively wriggle out of his grip.

He released his hold on her just enough to gently push her backwards toward the edge of the terrace. "Sanguine, hmm?" he murmured, running both hands down her sides and boosting her onto the railing. "Stick around -- you haven't seen anything, yet."

"Er, Severus, you got the sanguine part, but conveniently forgot the mistakes issue -- oh, must you do that-"

"Mmmm, this?" murmured Severus, edging his hip between her knees. "Yes, I think so," he said, bending to take a deep whiff of her neck.

Viviane tried to think of danger, instincts, mistakes and Death Eater basements, but found she could do nothing except respond to Severus' breath on her neck and to his hands as they began to tentatively explore her body. "Damn," she swore softly. Then she gave up, laying her lips against Severus' temple and closing her eyes.