A Woman's Weapon
by Oni Jade

Chapter 9

Despite the fear, confusion and worry inherent in her situation, there were two aspects of being in Slytherin House that Hermione felt she could quite easily get used to: the books and the creature comforts. The books went without saying. Despite the general monomania of Snape’s library (artificially dictated, she suspected, by what he let her see), there was enough variety to keep her occupied for far longer than she expected to be stuck there. She even found herself enjoying some of the caustic marginalia; Snape’s sense of sarcasm was closer to amusing when viewed from a safe distance.

Her collapse into decadence, on the other hand, rather surprised her. She'd never been aware of any lack of luxury in her life before. Now she found that she was worryingly capable of sinking into it up to her neck, and enjoying every minute of it. At first she’d found it disconcerting to smell the coffee at her elbow an instant before she realised she wanted it, but she got used to the oddity fast. It was a great improvement over brewing it in her room using a portable flame and a Potions kit. In any case – being served with whatever you wanted, as soon as you wanted it, was predictably addictive.

Then there were the clothes. At first she’d restricted herself to the simpler garments; things that, for all their superior cut and hand, were much the same as her normal wardrobe. Slowly, and against her better judgement – she was still a bit afraid to be caught by surprise in something totally unsuitable – she’d worked herself up to an actual formal gown. Blue silk, it was, whispering flattering half-truths about her figure, with an accompanying splay of diamonds glittering from her ears and throat. The effect, admired at some length in the mirror, was undeniably dramatic.

The wedding dresses, however, she’d firmly rejected as being a step too far. Fantasy was nice, but it wouldn’t do to get completely detached from reality.

To add the final touch, there was the bed, which through some mixture of extreme luxury and real magic seemed to be able to lull her to sleep, however tightly wound she was when she forced herself into it. Since arriving she'd never had less than a full six hours sleep.

It was a surprise, then, to be woken in the dead of night by a sharp pain in her shoulder to come awake to find Snape shaking her roughly, almost dragging her out against her instinctive recoil. When she sleepily protested, his grip tightened even further.

"Get up, Miss Granger, and get dressed. I need you to come with me. Wear something warm." Then he turned and walked out, apparently relying on fear or curiosity to ensure she followed him. It was an effective tactic, and she had plenty of both.

When she reached the study he nodded once. Whether this signified approval of her choice of clothing – dark jumper and trousers covered with a long woollen coat – or mere acknowledgement of her presence, she couldn’t tell. He didn’t look back as he made the door to the outside appear. The door opened onto a tight spiral staircase which he began to descend, with her hurrying to follow. As they walked Snape began to speak.

"I have received a communication from the murderer." Her stumble was either unnoticed or ignored. "He demands a meeting, in the name of the Dark Lord. He has orders for me."

"What…" He rode smoothly over her attempted question. He might as well have been talking to himself.

"I do not intend to meet him without attempting to gather further information. A blind meeting, with my loyalty in question, would be madness. Avoiding that forces me to take other risks. I intend to contact another Death Eater who may have some information, and be willing to share it.

"I must leave Hogwarts for a few hours. The magic that keeps the sanctuary safe is bound up with my position of Head of Slytherin and my presence here at Hogwarts. It is safer to bring you with me than leave you here."

If Snape was aware that this was a less than reassuring speech, he didn’t let it slow him down. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the stairs, with the draughty door which she presumed led to the outside, that he stopped and turned to look at her directly. He drew a silver wave of fabric from his pocket and handed it to her without comment.

The sight of the familiar Cloak made Hermione’s heart skip a beat and her jaw clench. It didn’t seem likely that Snape owned a Invisibility Cloak of his own – he’d never have been able to resist using it for this long for one thing – which meant he must have taken it off Harry. His look of badly repressed smugness confirmed that. And if Harry had been using the Cloak … what the hell had been going on? More importantly, how was she going to find out without giving away her communication with the boys?

Not by standing there looking goppy, that was for sure.

Nor, she thought, by asking any direct questions, and she couldn’t think of any plausible indirect ones. Better to get under the cloak before Snape could draw any conclusions from her guilty expression and let the situation play out. Nothing too bad could have happened, surely. Not if Snape had left with the Cloak and a superior attitude. Most likely the boys were in bed, chastised and frustrated with whatever had gone wrong but quite safe. It was a shame that whatever they’d tried hadn’t worked, but at least they should be alright.

It was easier to convince herself of this, once they’d stepped outside. Snape pushed her out ahead of him, keeping one hand on her shoulder. She noticed that he had his wand in hand. Thoughts of other people’s hypothetical, and improbable, danger receded rapidly when she realised that a crack team of Aurors was presumably still scouring the school for her, not to mention a stray killer tossed in for good measure. It made for an uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades and a tendency to see things in the shadows that might not be there. She managed about a hundred yards down the path before her nerve broke.

"Are you sure –" she started to ask. Snape’s hand went tight on her shoulder, bruising even through the layers of clothing.

"Shut up, Miss Granger. Unless you have grown so enamoured of your confinement that you wish to make it permanent."

After that she stayed quiet. She still felt as if she had an illuminated target on her back, but she was dammed if she was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fret about it.

Despite her concerns, she reached the gates with nothing worse to show for it than slight shortness of breath – his legs were longer than hers, and she hadn't been getting enough exercise during her sojourn in Slytherin House. Snape took the Cloak from her. In the next instant she was somewhere else.

'Somewhere else', in this case, was the edge of a wood looking out over the grounds of a large house. Dimly in the moonlight she could see a nineteenth century glazed front and projecting bay windows behind formal gardens. It took a long moment for her to connect her tingling familiarity with the oil painting plate in Votis Subscribunt Fata Secundis: A Family History of the Malfoys.

Snape handed her the Cloak back and she was only too glad to take it.

************

Even Snape was able to feel a twinge of conscience after leaving a scared child in the woods alone. Enough of one that it lasted all of a dozen steps down the bank. Once he entered the gardens his mind moved onto other things.

He was met at the door by the usual obsequious house elf who ushered him upstairs to the study. That was a comforting sign. One didn’t have people killed in the same room as one's incalculably valuable collection of magical antiques, if one could avoid it.

Well, Lucius might have. But Narcissa would consider it beyond the pale.

It was a shock, then, to find the study gutted of its trappings. The outward signs of extreme wealth had been replaced with empty space and blank walls. Even most of the furniture was gone. The large table in the centre of the room which had hosted so many planning sessions seemed isolated and alone; divested even of its chairs. He rode out the first instant of paranoia, then managed to turn round slowly to see that there was no one there. He had no more time to think about it because at that moment Narcissa broke her invariable habit and failed to keep him waiting.

She was dressed casually by her standards; dark robes with only the simplest jewellery. There were even noticeable creases and the slightest trace of dust at the hem.

"Severus. What a pleasure to see you." She extended a hand to be kissed, and he obliged her automatically. "I had a letter almost ready to owl you. You've saved me the bother."

She declined to notice that he’d arrived without warning at four o’clock in the morning. He ignored the fact that she’d met him fully dressed within minutes of his arrival in a gutted room. Their association had always depended on such tact.

They regarded each other carefully. Her careful make-up had not quite managed to hide the signs of fatigue. Her straight posture was even more rigid than usual and there were dark smudges under her eyes. Centuries of breeding might keep fear and exhaustion under control, but they did an incomplete job of hiding them. Presumably, she had noted the same things in him.

At the last moment he lost his nerve and resorted to pleasantries.

"How is Draco?"

"As well as can be expected." She smoothed some of the creases out of her robes. "He is naturally concerned about Lucius."

He managed a polite half-nod. She continued.

"Events have exposed him to considerable pressure, at an earlier age than I would like." Which was understatement taken to an almost artistic degree. They both knew that Draco would need a large reserve of previously hidden moral fortitude to escape the next few years without becoming horribly warped.

"And Lucius himself?" he asked.

"I expect to have my husband returned to me shortly."

For such an indirect statement she infused it with considerable force - although it was hard to determine its direction. Snape had never been able to decide how Narcissa felt about her husband. That uncertainty was enough to turn him back to more immediately pertinent questions.

"I need some information – unofficially and in strict confidence – about the Dark Lord’s operations at Hogwarts."

"The murder? Certainly, Severus, whatever you need." She paused. The convulsive swallow and clenched fists gave him a mere half-second warning. "But – I really think that we should wait for Miss Granger to join us."

There was a brief moment of simple panic. Snape’s first concious thought was the realisation that he’d lost control of his expression. His next was that Narcissa had made no movement towards her wand to follow her words. Then instinct replaced thought, until he had his wand pointed at her throat. He was breathing too heavily and unable to think of anything to say.

"Wait." Narcissa had kept her hands still and held them slightly apart from her body. "Wait. I don’t intend to harm either of you. Hear me out."

Snape had spent as little time as he could manage thinking about the consequences of discovery. Which was a great deal of time indeed. He had not, however, expected to be forced to make any more decisions. His imagined scenarios were full of dire inevitabilities, not half-hopes and more impossible choices. Shock combined with fear made rational thought impossible a fact of which he was only vaguely aware. Questions echoed in his mind, but when he attempted to answer them or even place them in order they turned into meaningless nonsense.

In the end he made his decision selfishly. He had no desire to harm Narcissa. It was easier to do nothing than it was to act.

************

There were four of them, they were large, and they were strong. They took her by surprise. Not only did they arrive without warning, it took her almost a full second to realise that they could see her. She’d only managed to get one of them with her wand; a bright flash of magic in that horrible moment of shocked panic when they’d loomed out of the darkness. Then the others had grabbed hold of her and taken her wand away.

After that she’d been dragged struggling through the gardens and down to the house. For the first part of that she’d been aware of little more than a confused welter of impressions, mostly physical pain and yet more sick fear. Panic, however, proved to a temporary escape. Soon her rebellious mind started working again. Why hadn’t they used magic to stun her? How had they seen her through the Invisibility Cloak?

Then, out of the irrelevancies came a fully formed plan. Not much of one, but it would do until she thought of something else.

Her struggles had been getting weaker as she tired, and they didn’t seem to be doing her any good. So she stopped – until, just before they’d got her inside, she took advantage of their inattention to twist away, doing something unpleasant to her wrist in the process. One of them blocked her way. She kicked him as hard as she could, and felt the impact ride up her leg to her hip. It gave her a slither of a chance to run, but she wasn't fast enough. They caught her before she’d got half way back through the gardens.

After that they didn’t take any more risks. Wands were touched to her wrists, words were mumbled, then the wands were withdrawn trailing thin strands of magic with them. She tested the bonds just enough to confirm that it hurt. They stood far enough back that anything else would have been pointless. She was brought back into the house - past the man curled up and moaning on the steps, and up to the second floor.

The room she was pushed into was some kind of storage room, but she was too scared to see the details. Snape was there, standing rigid as he looked out of the window. His expression when he turned was closed. It was impossible to tell from his demeanour whether she’d been horribly betrayed, or whether they were both in danger. He wasn’t bound though, and his wand was held so casually, so loosely, in his hand that she only noticed it after she thought to look.

"Leave her here. Give me her wand, and the Cloak." The voice was deep, almost a contralto, but unmistakably female. It switched her fear-narrowed focus onto the woman. Narcissa Malfoy crossed the room to Hermione. Her direct, assessing gaze was uncomfortable and Hermione was only peripherally aware of her arms being forced down to press her wrists together. As she focused on keeping her returning stare steady, she was even less aware of the footsteps leaving the room.

Long fingers grabbed her chin and pain stabbed at her wrists as her instinctive movement was curtailed by the restraints. Narcissa’s nails pitted her skin as she held her steady before forcing her head the left, then right. Hermione’s first urge was to spit in her face, but her mouth seemed to have gone dry.

"Yes. Not pretty, but interesting. I can see why my son hates you." The verdict was delivered without heat. "Join us, my dear, but do keep quiet. Severus and I need to talk."

It was surprisingly hard to walk with her wrists tight behind her back. Her balance felt unreliable. Narcissa and Snape matched eye contact across the length of the table. She managed to walk to somewhere between them, shooting rapid glances towards each of them in turn. It was like some cruel parody of a family scene. Narcissa spoke first.

"I know you are Dumbledore’s spy."

Hermione swallowed convulsively, battling to keep her head above a torrent of emotions. She wasn’t alone, Snape was still on her side. Which meant nothing but that they were both in terrible danger.

Snape didn’t deny the statement. He didn’t do much of anything, simply stood watching them both carefully. Narcissa continued to speak into the silence.

"The unfortunate explosion last year? Goyle and the rest? Bringing the Gryffindor girl here? You must have known that someone would realise eventually." Hermione was surprised to realise that Narcissa’s voice was more sad than mocking, although there was mockery in it. She took a carefully slow step around the table towards Snape, then froze as they both looked at her. Defiance made her take another quick step, putting the corner of the table between her and Narcissa.

"What do you want?" Snape said finally. Apparently, though Hermione couldn’t imagine quite why, this was the right thing to say. Narcissa relaxed infinitesimally and leaned forward across the table. For another moment they exchanged Slytherin smiles, like hungry hyenas.

"I want to come to an arrangement."

Snape’s grip on his wand shifted slightly. The movement would have been too subtle to be a threat, except that it contrasted so completely with his previous stillness. Narcissa’s eyes flicked to the door and then to Hermione. Snape went back to being still and Hermione’s pulse thundered in her ears.

"I am willing to provide you with information." Narcissa said, after several dozen heart beats. "A great deal of information. In exchange –"

"In exchange," Snape interrupted. "you want the Ministry’s assistance to transfer the Malfoy fortune overseas; the Order’s protection against Voldemort’s retribution and everyone’s promise that we won’t hunt you down ourselves. Would that be accurate?"

"Along with your promise that you’ll help me take my son with me, and my husband."

Snape returned an ironic nod to that. Despite his pose of indifference though Hermione saw the slight twitch which she interpreted as repressed pacing.

"Why?" It was an effort to get the words out, but she managed to ape her most earnest, school girl tone. "I though Draco’s parents supported the Dark Lord." If she had no idea get them out it was clearly up to Snape. The least she could do was run interference.

Narcissa turned to answer her, only the flicker of eyes towards Snape betraying the direction of her remarks.

"I have come to believe, as Professor Snape does, that the Pure Blood traditions will be destroyed regardless of the outcome of this war. Decades ago Lord Voldemort appeared to offer a solution to the dilution of our blood by outsiders. It is now apparent that what he offers is worse than the original crisis." Hermione thought that that had been apparent for some time – from the start if one had the slightest knowledge of history and the psychological underpinnings of the myth of the benevolent dictator – but managed to refrain from saying so.

"We are being out-bred by the Muggles. A mere one of them in two hundred thousand shows the slightest magical ability. Yet, as their population increases, they will force us into the minority. The policy of assimilation is doomed by that simple fact. Unless something is done eventually, they will outnumber us. If intermarriage doesn't dilute our culture unrecognisably even before that, that is. Thousands of years of tradition and culture, destroyed by the barbarians." Narcissa’s expression was alive with conviction, albeit despondent conviction. Hermione bit the inside of her lip against the near compulsion to start arguing. "Lord Voldemort would protect us from that, but will ultimately destroy everything which is worth protecting."

Snape’s voice cut across them.

"You will not convince Miss Granger, Narcissa. She lacks the required frame of reference."

"Perhaps so." Narcissa shrugged. "It is sufficient that I now believe that Lord Voldemort will doom us. Nor can I stomach the Ministry’s appeasement of the Muggles who threaten my way of life. I wish to take my family and leave."

"To live quietly on the continent?" Snape tone indicated polite scepticism.

"I was thinking of St. Petersburg. To begin with."

"I have my own conditions." He replied. Narcissa nodded. Hermione caught the flash of triumph in her eyes and felt something cold skitter down her spine. "Most importantly, I require the information relating to Hogwarts tonight. Otherwise you may not have anyone to negotiate with for very long. The rest ... you must realise that I can guarantee nothing."

"I will accept your word to extend your best efforts on my behalf."

She had little choice, Hermione realised;as soon they'd admitted their betrayals neither of them had the luxury of turning back. A form of Mutually Assured Destruction.

"You have my word as Head of Slytherin. Where is Draco?" As an oath Hermione thought that sounded less than convincing. But since Narcissa seemed to accept it she was willing to put that down to Gryffindor prejudice.

"Very well." Narcissa took a too rapid breath before speaking. "Draco is with Lord Voldemort in Dartmoor. He expects to step into his father's shoes." There was a long pause before she started to speak again.

"I have no knowledge of the attack on Trelawney. I do know that you are the only Death Eater at Hogwarts. There have been a number of attempt to infiltrate further. None have been successful. Dumbldore's insanity apparently extends only so far."

"You can be certain of this?"

"Absolutely certain. Some of the students could be considered sympathisers, even agents. You know better than I who. But I have accounted for the whereabouts of every Death Eater and none of them has been closer to Hogwarts than Hogsmeade in the last six months. Except for ..." Narcissa's voice trailed off delicately, although from Snape’s hasty nod she’d made herself understood.

There was another long silence.

"Thank you. Miss Granger, I believe we are leaving."

It was too abrupt for her to absorb all at once. Her balance wobbled a little as her hands came free. It was more of a surprise to have her wand, placed carefully on top of the folded Cloak, handed back to her. She wrapped her fingers around it, feeling the smooth wood, perilously close to a caress – and looked up into Narcissa's smile. It was sad, cold, barely there. It gave away nothing of what she was thinking. Snape had to call a second time before she could break away, his irritation with her only echoing her own.

They stepped out into the cold, heedless of it. She was careful not to look back towards the house as they walked away.

Notes

Votis Subscribunt Fata Secundis: Destiny makes wishes come true

Many thanks to Anna, for her consistently heroic efforts to keep me from embarrassing myself.