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MetroVampire & Rhosymedre

Part 31 - The Sound of the Other Shoe Falling

Even faced with the incontrovertable reality, there was some part of her that still did not connect the increasing discomfort in her arm with the darkening tattoo; its presence had become so familiar to her that over the months she had almost come to disregard it. Or, if not precisely disregard it, at least repress any conscious consideration of its significance. Therefore, when her arm had begun to itch, and then ache, and then burn, she had simply put it down to careless students. When Snape had asked to see her arm she had mentally queried his motivation, her mind supplying a number of interesting possibilities - but not this one.

Making full use of the apparently unique ability of the human mind to generate self-delusion, she had simply managed to persuade herself that as the summons had not yet happened, it never would happen.

The Mark on her arm was currently busily dispelling that little myth.

She looked at Snape, praying that she was wrong, seeking some slender chance that there was another explanation for this, other than the obvious one; the one that involved a visit with....

His face was white and set, telling her that there was no convenient alternative; no solution that would rescue them in the nick of time. She met his eyes and for a long moment there was complete stillness. She could see emotions, uncharacteristically exposed, but her brain was too frozen to be able to analyse what they meant. He made an almost imperceptible movement and for an instant she thought that he was going to reach for her, but he abruptly turned away and stood up, breaking both eye contact and the uneasy feeling of stasis.

"Follow me," he snapped.

Numbly, she obeyed, not even bothering to roll her sleeve down.

Swiftly, he led her to his - her - rooms, hustling her through the door and across the living area into the bedroom. Awareness of the meaning of the pain in her arm seemed to have intensified it. From the elbow down the limb felt bloated and alien; something disconnected from her and not entirely under her control. It was almost a surprise when it responded instinctively, taking hold of the garments that Snape roughly pushed in her direction; among them a cloak and a mask - two things she had not found when exploring his rooms previously.

"Put these on." Another terse command, cold and off-hand.

Swallowing, she refastened her shirt and put on the less sinister of the items - the fresh jacket and robes that Snape had also dumped in her arms. She glanced down at her left sleeve, half expecting the Dark Mark to be visible through the cloth. It looked no different to her right one.

"The Mark been there since you were eighteen. One would think that the novelty of it would have worn off by now."

Instinctively, she straightened a little. The high-handed, almost contemptous tone was insulting, but steadying; any hint of sympathy would have had her curling up on the floor, whimpering. Snape, meanwhile, appeared to have retrieved everything that he - or, more properly, she - needed and was heading back out of the bedroom. He paused at the threshold to glare at her over his shoulder.

"In your own time, Professor."

She considered the mask and the cloak for a moment and then her returning common sense told her that she couldn't apparate from his rooms and she could hardly walk the corridors of Hogwarts dressed as a Death Eater. She concealed the mask under the heavy folds of material and followed him.

They covered the distance between the dungeons and the boundary of Hogwarts in what felt like record time. Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the barrage of staccato instructions that Snape was giving her as they swept through the corridors and out into the night. The snows of Christmas had melted to be replaced by a sharp stinging rain that seemed colder. She barely registered the chill or the wet as they approached the cursus of the school.

When they finally stopped Hermione was slightly out of breath, partly due to the adrenaline and partly the exertion. She made a conscious effort to return her breathing to something like normal. It wouldn't do to arrive in front of... him... puffing like the Hogwarts Express.

"The rest of it," Snape said shortly.

She unwrapped the mask and shrugged on the cloak. It settled snugly around her shoulders and fell to the ground in incongruously graceful folds. Reluctantly, she put the mask over her face. Her peripheral vision narrowed, and Snape retreated to being merely a shadow in a night that was now defined by two eye holes.

"Where do I go?" It was the first words she had spoken since he had looked at her arm in the dungeons.

"Just apparate. The Mark will take you to the correct location."

She nodded and slowly drew the hood up over her head.

Snape looked at her, apparently having run out of things to say. Then he reached forward and gently adjusted the hood of the cloak, pulling it further forwards to better conceal her face. Then he stepped away from her.

"I'll be here when you get back."

__

Apparating without a visualised destination was a nerve-racking business, Hermione decided. Sufficiently nerve-racking that it - for a very brief moment - took her mind off what might be awaiting her at the end of the trip. That distraction, and the desire to make a convincingly smooth appearance, almost made her first sight of a Death Eater gathering an anti-climax.

Almost.

She apparated into a dark clearing - he likes to hold his meetings at night, preferably in the open air - the lack of any fixed location makes him that much harder to track; she heard Snape's voice in her head, coldly instructing her. Her eyes, already accustomed to the night, quickly made out figures within the shadows, grouped in a loose circle. Moistening her dry lips, she wondered which one was... Voldemort. She forced herself to think his name. She wasn't going to get very far with this deception if she couldn't even think the name of the lord that she was supposed to serve. Voldemort, she thought again. Voldemort.

As if the thought had truly alerted the owner of the name, a hissing voice sounded into the darkness.

"Severus. I'm so glad that you you could join us."

And all thoughts of anti-climax fled.

Harry had, from time to time, attempted to describe Voldemort to her and Ron, but he had always floundered. Hermione now understood why. The Dark Lord was certainly ugly - bleached bone white skin, burning red eyes, serpentine nose - but there was more than that. A crackling presence that spoke of intense power and a fierce desire to dominate. She knew, in a way that was beyond conscious, that this was a creature with no ethical or moral boundaries whatsoever, and moreover, one possessed of total self-knowledge; one who knew precisely what he was, who embraced it, forged it and wielded it as a weapon.

It was repulsive and terrifying and utterly compelling.

She sank to her knees, obeying Snape's voice in the back of her head, unwilling to examine how much of her action sprang from other impulses within her. She crawled across the ground towards the standing figure. With a hand that was trembling very fractionally, she grasped the hem of Voldemort's robe and kissed it. She could hardly swallow again at this point, and betray her nervousness. She murmured "master... master...", her dry throat roughening her voice. Then she backed away, stood up and took a place in the circle, hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Voldemort watched her intently as she moved into her chosen position and for a hideous moment she thought that he was going to address her. Don't speak unless he speaks to you first. Then make your answer as short as possible. Use as many honorifics as you can get in, but be careful not to overdo it - Voldemort is evil, not stupid - Snape again. That was going to be easy advice to follow, she thought, standing upright, forcing herself to breathe evenly and not to shake. Then there was the swish of a cloak in the darkness and Voldemort's attention was distracted. He turned away, and it was as if a tangible force had been removed from her.

The new arrival gave her the opportunity to try to get her bearings, as much as that was possible. Concentrate, she told herself firmly. Note the details. It may be useful when you get back. Yes, that's it. Think of getting back. Think in terms of survival. She made herself look around, deliberately recounting the scene to herself in her head, distancing her mind from anything that hinted of emotion or reaction. Describe it like an experiment, she thought, like a scene from a film or a play; do a critique.

It was a clearing, that much she had established. The air was still chill although the rain appeared to have ceased. In fact, the ground she had crawled over had been dry, although cold and hard. She moved her head as if she was easing a stiff neck, and tried to sneak a look over the treetops at the sky; it was clear and her brief glance showed a familiar pattern of stars. She surmised that they were probably in England, possibly towards the South. The air had a crisp woody smell to it, and in the distance she thought she heard a very soft whinny. That would provisionally place them somewhere in the New Forest, she thought, unable to stifle a fleeting sense of triumph at having solved a problem, even under these conditions.

Heartened by that small piece of analysis, Hermione turned her attention to the rest of the scene in front of her. The other figures in the darkness were waiting as she did; in silence, waiting for instruction. It appeared that the Death Eaters did not go in for idle conversation. She found this something of a relief; she didn't think that she was up to making social chit-chat with a group of psychopathic power-junkies.

It's a shame staff meetings aren't a bit more like this, she found herself thinking and then abruptly pulled herself up short at her flippancy. This wasn't some midnight trip with Harry and Ron; lives were at stake - hers and Snape's to be precise. She suddenly realised exactly what it was about the three of them that so infuriated Snape; not their belief in their own invulnerability, but their lack of appreciation of just how grave the repercussions of their actions could be - not to themselves, but to others.

The thought of Snape gave her pause.

I'll be here when you get back. Emphasis on the when

He expected her to get through this. More, he trusted her to get through this; trusted her not to act without consideration of the consequences, because if she did they were both dead. Her heart lurched for a moment, all levity gone. When the charade had started, she had acted to protect him because to do otherwise would have gone against her own personal ethics. But now.... Now, protecting him was as important to her as saving her own life.

Her chance to pursue this insight was cut short by Voldemort's voice; clearly all the expected attendees had arrived.

"Gather closer, my Death Eaters, for we transact important business this evening."

The figures in the shadows drew closer. Hermione did as they did, noting that they were thirteen in total. Were it not for the gruesome subject matter, it could have been any committee business meeting anywhere in any world, Muggle or magical. There were details of recent activities, persons that the Death Eaters were watching and some heavily cryptic hints of things to come in the future. Hermione concentrated intently on memorising every word, not knowing if some chance remark would make sense to Dumbledore or Snape.

"And what of Hogwarts, Severus? How goes our work there?" She felt the full force of Voldemort's personality fall on her.

Her throat went dry again and she was conscious of the mask sitting uncomfortably on her face. Deliberately thinking past what was about to happen, she raised her head as she had seen the others do.

"It progresses, my Lord. I see many promising candidates in Slytherin House." Her heart was beating so fast that she was astonished that it couldn't be heard in her voice. She tensed her body and forced her voice into her throat to keep the volume and steadiness. It harshened the tone painfully, but Voldemort didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"And the plans of the Other Side. What of them?"

Hermione tried to sound dismissive.

"The Old Fool amuses himself with parties and jokes and sweets, master, believing that these will be enough to hold back the inevitable. He has no strategy and no plan. He seems to place his entire faith in that Potter brat."

She hoped that was enough. Snape had given her the "party line" on the staff and students at Hogwarts.

Voldemort smiled and his eyes sparked; it made the hairs prickle on Hermione's neck.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter. How is he faring at the moment?"

She fought not to swallow; she hadn't wanted to draw Voldemort's attention to Harry. Thinking of Snape, of Harry, of all she loved at Hogwarts, she met the scarlet gaze of the Dark Lord.

"Arrogant as ever, master" she managed, forcing her voice even more. "He believes that he is a match for you and his acolytes encourage that ignorant belief. He has become indolent and slapdash."

That piece of information appeared to delight Voldemort.

"Splendid," he crowed. "An arrogant opponent is a weak opponent. He will learn his error and die."

"Of course, master," she murmured under cover of the sounds of approval from the other Death Eaters. She braced herself for more questions, but the Dark Lord appeared to be satisfied with her responses.

He stepped away from her and back into the centre of the circle, although his gaze did not move from her direction, nor did his pleasure appear to diminish.

"And now we come to the serious business of the evening." She didn't dare look away in case it was interpreted as weakness, or worse - disrespect. "My Death Eaters, it is my sad duty to inform you that we have... a traitor in our midst."

Hermione went ice cold, her earlier confidence evaporating, leaving the carefully buried terror exposed and quivering. She heard snatches of Voldemort's remarks past the roaring in her ears and the certain knowledge that she was about to die.

... information... Other Side... trusted... betrayal... death....

She wondered if it would be quick. She wondered if it would hurt. She wondered if Snape would ever forgive her.

She remembered the oddly caring way he had settled the hood around her face before she left - I'll be here when you get back - and with an effort she pulled herself upright. If she was about to be tortured and killed, she would face it with some kind of dignity. For the honour of both Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Voldemort had apparently finished his diatribe, for his gaze swept the company.

"Step forward - Rudd."

Hermione could feel the muscles in her leg tense; the slight shifting of weight to one side that prepared the body to move forward without losing its balance. She felt every single tiny impulse through her nervous system, saw herself take that literally fatal step into the circle, before her brain shut the process down with the improbable information that Voldemort had spoken someone else's name.

Mercifully, the attention of the rest of the Death Eaters was focussed on the figure that took a few staggering paces to collapse on its knees before Voldemort; her slight shift in position went unremarked. She, too, watched the man - Rudd - as he alternately denied his faithlessness and begged for his life. Voldemort let him continue for a few moments - long enough that he might think that there was some chance of mercy - but but both refutation and plea were ultimately ignored.

She had the answers to at least two of her questions. It was not quick. Neither was it painless.

She watched as the man who was Rudd writhed under Crucio until blood seeped from his eyes and his ears and his mouth, and his fingers were torn to the bone from his useless clawing at the ground. She watched as his mask and hood fell away, revealing a vaguely familiar face - a distant, detached part of her mind thought that he might have been a Hogwarts prefect when she was in her first year; whether that meant that he was another one of Dumbledore's hidden spies, or simply a scapegoat, set up by Snape to take the blame in case any of his activities were discovered - and Snape was more than capable of doing that - she didn't know. She watched, learning for the first time how it was possible, even necessary, to observe without intervention; there was no action that she could take that make the slightest difference to Rudd's fate and she would simply get herself killed. Her life was hers to deal with as she pleased, but Snape's was not and neither were those who might be saved by the information that she had gathered here tonight.

She watched, wondering whether the same fate awaited her, when Voldemort had tired of this particular sport.

Her mind gradually dissociated itself from any feeling part of her to such an extent that she felt as if she were becoming two separate people. It was within this bizarre stereo world that she registered the words 'Avada Kedavra' and knew that it was finally over for Rudd. Voldemort looked at the robe-covered carcass in front of him, and kicked it once. "Avery, Crabbe - deal with this." Two figures moved forward quickly, murmuring obedience.

Hermione waited, still braced against the pain that had not yet come. Voldemort looked around the assembled Death Eaters again, this time with a hint of fatigue and almost of distaste.

"Learn from this night," he hissed. "Treachery will not be tolerated. Now go. I weary of the sight of you."

From the detached part of her, she noted that the other Death Eaters were begining to move away, leaving only Avery and Crabbe dealing with the remains of Rudd. Clearly, they had no more desire than she to remain in the presence of their lord. Copying their movements, she backed away until she was entirely hidden by the trees, telling herself that all she had to do was get back to Hogwarts, all she had to do was perform one simple apparation, all she had to do was stay standing long enough to get away from this place.

She closed her eyes and visualised the spot from which she had departed earlier that evening, when she had been so much younger.

When she opened her eyes again, it was cold and raining and the boundary wall of Hogwarts stood in front of her.