DiSnaper: Everything besides further plot development, Impenetratum
Completus and Mortificatum Primogenitur belongs to JK Rowling
and Reive. Exaudio spell belongs to RJ Anderson.
When Fleur came to her senses, she was still lying on the cold stone floor, and moonlight was weakly
streaming at her somewhat sideways. Apathetic as she was taking into account her prostrate position
and miserable state, she became interested in the pitch-black object that screened her from twilight.
She stirred and tried to see what it was, but her eyesight, so keen a few hours before, was now
blurred. Starting from below, the object, positioned behind her feet, seemed to possess black
trousers, voluminous cloak and a shoulder-length haired head. It was a man. A man in her
cell; how inconceivable. She couldn't see his face, as he stood motionless with his back to the
feeble source of light.
Fleur exhaled and closed her eyes again. Man, woman, Muggle, vampire or Boggart, she didn't give a
damn. Let him go and leave her in her misery.
"Oh, stop this pitiful show, Mademoiselle Delacour," said the man impassively, "You are in full
consciousness. I suggest that you make an effort and heave yourself to the vertical position."
The manner in which he exercised his wits, this void-like clothing and this low voice were enough for
Fleur to acknowledge Professor Snape. The first feeling that occurred to her was shame.
"If you are unable to offer lady your hand, than turn away," tried to say Fleur, but mere whisper
escaped her lips.
"My, my, what a wretched state you are in, my dearest Mademoiselle Delacour," intoned Snape, shaking
his head with mock compassion, "Look what you have done to your pretty little self."
"Turn away!" shouted Fleur and managed to sit.
"You are forgetting that I am a Potions Master at Hogwarts, my little Mademoiselle, and this is quite
close to being a medical man… who in his turn feels neither shame, nor disgust, but is motivated by
mere strive to heal."
Fleur was too exhausted to resist. She couldn't even cry, though she could hardly imagine an extent
of cold cruelty akin to what she heard in this soft voice. But in the end, they were all Death
Eaters, this she had to bear too. Will he Cruciate her now with the curse the same way he's been
doing it with words? Snape bent down at her and grabbed her by the chin without much
delicacy:
"So are we getting up?"
But before he finished, Fleur had already been on her feet.
"Don't you dare touch me!" croaked she, broke free from his grip and pressed herself to the wall.
"Good!" summed up Professor Snape, and it seemed to Fleur that he smiled. First thought that occurred
to her immediately after her seemingly successful escape from further humiliation was to try and run.
She had been unconscious when he entered, what if he hadn't put a spell on the door? It was worth a
try.
"Do you mind my sitting down?" asked Fleur with best haughtiness she could afford under the
circumstances.
"Not in the least, Mademoiselle, pray make yourself comfortable," said Snape, pointing at her cot
with unnatural grace and scoffing generosity, "Personally I could never understand how people put up with such
circumscribed facilities".
"I haven't enough voice to speak to you, Professor; and it's disgraceful of you to take advantage of
this," managed the phrase Fleur, not sure that she would be able to say anything else.
"Oh! You are not familiar with the primitive Exaudio charm, are you? Then again, it was not included
in the popular school spell-books." At last Snape left his place and made a few steps along the cell
with his usual fluidity of movement. "As far as the disgrace is concerned—let us not plunge into the
dubious depths of wizarding ethics."
"I know the charm, but I don't have the wand!" longed to object Fleur, but changed her mind. If Snape
was going to taunt her like this, let him do it. Sooner or later he ought to explain the reason of
his coming. So she remained silent.
"You don't have a wand, I presume," echoed her thoughts Snape. "Verily, without that famous Veela's
hair in your possession, you've lost the greatest part of your lure".
"You won't disturb my equilibrium", thought Fleur, still unable to speak and trying to breath
evenly.
"So, we are ready for a little chit-chat, aren't we?"
"We are," mimicked Fleur, more articulating, than letting out any sounds, "if you at last stop
clowning around and start with your much anticipated chit-chat".
For a split-second ire burned in Snape's eyes, and Fleur shrank, awaiting the agony of Cruciatus. But
Snape merely rotated the wand in his fingers and stayed it from aiming.
"So—shall I remind you on whose behalf I am speaking?" asked Snape.
"No, spare your energies," Fleur decided to be rude.
"Excellent. And now you will have to drink this," he extracted a tiny dark-blue crystal vial from a
small pocket in his vest and approached Fleur.
"I will take none of your wretched potions," whispered Fleur, suddenly feeling more helpless then
ever. She could do nothing besides hideously attempting to wrestle him, which was obviously of no
use. So she slipped out from the cot and rushed to the door, which proved to be unlocked, just like
she hoped. Fleur thrust the door open and was ready to fly when she saw Nagini coiling at the door.
Fleur gradually receded and turned to face Snape.
Snape's face was annoyed; he made a usual economical move with his wand, and the door closed—very
slowly and with a distinct click of the lock. Then professor gave his wand a short vertical
cork-screw rotation and muttered something like "Impenetratum Completus".
"Quite happy now, I presume," mumbled Snape, put his wand away, and folded his arms, still holding
the vial in his hand. "You will have to drink this," repeated he, "or else I'll be forced to kill you
because if I perform Cruciatus on you in your present state, I will not be able to eat for the next
three days".
He paused for a few seconds and again made an attempt to approach her, and again Fleur's instincts
forced her to dash from him and hide her face in her hands. She was shaking, but she still couldn't
cry. In a few moments she felt a hand stroking her hair slowly and—without menace. Fleur desperately
shook her head, clearly uneager to believe in sudden change of heart. Then she heard Snape
whisper:
"All right, Mademoiselle Delacour, let me administer the potion to you. You should trust me", and
the tormentor stroked her hair again.
Fleur twitched and managed to knock the vial out of Snape's hand. The vial fell to the floor and
burst into thousand sapphires. Snape froze, his hands in fists, his jaw set, slowly shifting his
black gaze from his broken treasure to Fleur. Now he'll kill her, oh the glorious moment of death, it has
come! Snape obviously read this simple reasoning in her expression, sighed and snapped his fingers,
pointing at her. The gesture was supplemented by the Mortificatum Primogenitur spell. Unlike the
Petrificus Totalus jinx, this allowed Fleur to retain consciousness and flexibility, but she couldn't
move on her own, and fell on the floor again like a rag-doll.
"...Why me?" muttered Snape, "Why is it always me and a woman to be subdued?.." Luckily Fleur was
too shocked to pay attention.
Snape took another dark-blue crystal vial out of his vest, twin of the first one, for the second
time during the last half an hour bent over her and poured a few drops of cold tasteless potion
into her mouth.
"And now we finally chat," concluded Professor Snape and carried Fleur to the bed.
DiSnaper: Everything besides further plot development and Evanescere spell belongs
to JK Rowling and Reive.
"I'll wait until you feel better", said Professor Snape and started to pace the room impatiently.
Fleur closed her eyes and listened. She did what she could in this deadlock situation, and now she
felt like a clean parchment to write on. All right, let's wait.
"Your body will now start healing after the adventures of the last fortnight, and you should at least
feel that you are not thirsty any more—" Fleur analyzed her condition and saw that she was not
thirsty indeed, "your mind begins to clear up," continued Snape, and Fleur was not sure what it was
that helped her emerge from the depth of her half-death—the potion, or the hypnotism of Snape's
voice.
"Better?" asked Snape. He stopped and looked at Fleur with obvious satisfaction. Yes, she was feeling
better. Snape pointed his wand to Fleur's throat (she winced; he sighed) and whispered "Sonorus".
"You'll be able to speak, but not move yet". Fleur immediately tried to speak. "Yes, yes, thank
you", interrupted Snape, "I know everything about the effects of Sonorus spell both on healthy and
husky-voiced people, and you need not bother. You've practically lost your precious elvish voice, so
the Sonorus coupled with my potion will restore some of it. Hope it's clear enough." Fleur licked
her lips.
"What?" asked Snape rather irritably. "No, it's not what you think. It's not Veritaserum.
I need to converse with you, not to weasel your nasty little secrets out of
you".
"Stop insulting me," said Fleur wearily.
"You are a foe, so you'll have to bear it. And you may insult me too, if you prefer. But you are
right, it's not going to lead us anywhere."
"Sorry about your potion," said Fleur, "I didn't know."
"You still do not know," remarked Snape, "and neither do I".
"What are we talking about?" asked Fleur. "Besides, could you please unpetrify me back?"
"Tut-tut… 'Unpetrify'! You Bachelors and Masters of late are not even capable of using elementary
magic vocabulary properly. To think that you were one of the best in Beauxbatons!"
"Professor Snape? Please..?" begged Fleur.
"What? Freedom of movement? It'll come in due time," answered Snape reluctantly.
"So, Mademoiselle Delacour, we've finally met in Lord Voldemort's headquarters, and you will
obviously need to make up a legend about your presence here for our venerable Headmaster Dumbledore,
whom you are to meet very shortly."
"So… is it supposed to mean that you haven't told him anything about me? You helped me out with
Nagini that day—"
"I know, I know!" interrupted Snape; forbearance has never been among his virtues. "If it was not for
myself, my Great Master Voldemort and my dear friends the Death Eaters would have let our precious
worm of a snake squeeze you up and swallow. You are grateful? Don't be. You know I'm aesthetic, not
compassionate."
Fleur smiled. Oh, but she could smile?! She shifted a little on her bed and understood that she could
again feel her body. Very carefully she sat down and straightened her hair and clothes a little.
"Right, a lady should never neglect her looks…" started Snape, at last glancing sideways.
"Stop bullying me, Professor, or I'll think that you are trying to be cruel out of fear to look
frustrated," said Fleur distinctly.
Snape pretended to applaud:
"Frankly, I wasn't aware how very entertaining such a porcelain-looking little girl like you could
be. And though I enjoy our vivid exchange enormously, I should mention that I'm extremely short of
time. To be candid with you: presently I'm staying in Italy, sleeping soundly in my hotel suite, because
it is only four o'clock in the morning by Mid-European time, which, as you very well know, differs
from our beloved Greenwich meridian by one hour. So… I'm due to wake up in an hour, and my time is
running short. Yours too, if you allow me to be sincere."
"What does He want me to do?" asked Fleur. "What is the idea of this all?"
"Again, I have to repeat that you are going to Florence to meet me…" Snape lingered, "and not me
alone. Headmaster Dumbledore is to make his key-note address at the Conference, so we'll have this
little reunion in the lobby, at which I don't want you to show any signs of recognition besides those
from the old Triwizard Tournament times—"
"Speaking of which…" started Fleur.
"Yes?" asked Snape, and Fleur again sensed something menacing and horrible in his manner, which
reminded her of her dark dreams.
"Nothing."
"Good."
Snape again took a short stride back and fro along the room, then half sat on the table and silently
looked at her.
"Why do you call me a foe?" asked Fleur one of the most urgent questions. "I'm the Dark Lord's
slave".
"Don't be stupid, Mademoiselle. We are all his slaves, which does not contradict the presumption that
we have different goals. And besides I don't trust you. You very well can be Dumbledore's double
agent, and as such you annoy me to the greatest extent."
Fleur was silent: his point was quite clear.
"Now, the last thing. You asked for the Dark Mark. You will have it. I simply want you to prepare
yourself."
Snape again took his wand and muttered Lumos. The light from his wand gently illuminated
her face.
"So—" drawled he, clearly studying her face, "are you ready to get your Dark Mark?"
Fleur was silent. Was it going to happen now? No, she was not ready.
"Well then, get ready for Florence, and be prepared," Snape took the light away from her face; he
sounded sad, "You are the only woman among the Death Eaters, and you'll have to bear a lot."
Then there was another bout of silence, during which Snape stood up and was standing, plunged in
thought. Fleur felt blank, her mind stuck on his last words, when she once again heard the faint
scratching from the window. Snape looked up in surprise.
"Oh, it's nothing," said Fleur with annoyance, "It's just a local bat".
Snape gave her a quizzical glance, then turned away to the window, pointed his wand to the glass and
muttered "Evanescere!" Next thing Fleur saw was Velocite, flying in with an agitated screech, and
landing on her lap. There was a letter tied to her leg. Fleur stroked Velocite and looked up to face
Snape. Then she carefully placed Velocite on her shoulder, stood up and came up to him, peering
tensely into his face.
"Professor Snape—" began she.
"No," said Snape.
"Professor…"
"No, I won't say anything to you," snapped Snape.
"Of course you won't," acknowledged Fleur, "but—I'll still ask you."
"No," cut short Snape once again.
"So, this is the answer," said Fleur gravely, "Because my question was—does Voldemort know that you
are here?"
Snape stood still for a moment. Then, putting his lips almost to her ear, he said: "He knows, dear
girl. He knows," and with a final swish of his cloak he was gone.
Sunshine, not fleur-de-lis, should be the emblem of Florence. Or maybe
crossed daggers. Treachery in the bright sunshine has always been the
routine of this city's life. Pazzi's dolphins trying to swallow Medici's
palle, the Medici hanging the Pazzi, this being the supreme act of curing
the Republic's headache amidst Michelangelo's masterpieces and next to the
Brunelleschi's Duomo—all this was Florence, full of dark history and all
sorts of magic to the top of its now nonexistent walls. The walls were
nonexistent for Muggles; however the wizards, gathering for the Conference,
could both see them and feel the presence of mediaeval forces at this
gathering.
Fleur enjoyed comparative freedom in Florence. Voldemort hadn't shown up and
hadn't instructed her, as promised. Fleur suspected that he hadn't been
present in the Castle at all. So in the morning after Snape's departure
Peter Pettigrew unlocked her cell, waved her to follow him and led to her
room. There he showed her the things she had to take with her—her new wand,
a generous allowance of galeons, her letters of recommendation, some Muggle
clothing, and her IWRADE books. The new wand was seemingly the same as she
used to have, but merely an imitation, a first level wand of a village
housewife, suitable for taking away kindergarten evil-eye curses and brewing
primitive toadstool hallucinogens.
Fleur still preferred to stay at the wizarding hotel "Borgiano", occupying
the attics of the Palazzo della Signoria. Thus she could enjoy the best
views in the city even in the visible seclusion of her room.
First thing after Apparating in Florence and checking in the hotel Fleur
send Velocite to Dumbledore, notifying him of her arrival and explaining
that she decided to take advantage of the opportunity which this bit of
scholarly tourism offered in order to renovate her international contacts
in her new status of Hogwarts IWRADE professor. Dumbledore answered promptly
with a kind note, to which on behalf of the Organizing Committee he attached
her guest invitation to all the WISP panels and extracurricular activities.
There was going to be a grand opening reception, and also a vast tourist
and historical programme and, most importantly, the closing reception
traditionally conducted in the form of a costume carnival.
Involuntarily Fleur felt that she gradually began to take interest in the
world, in the coming events of the Conference and in her future role—both
as a Hogwarts teacher and Voldemort's spy. She had always loved Florence
(even their names were related) in contrast to Venice, because Florence was
a city of personalities, whereas Venice was a city of masked merchants and
blank lovers, sang dumb by the gondoliers and smelling of humid stone and
rotting algae. All the Italian principal genii were produced by Florence,
and Fleur took her time to find newly obtained pleasure in solitary strolls
along Via Cavour, speaking to the memories of the dead in Chiesa di San
Lorenzo—Medici burial-vaults, shopping in Ugolini, and putting on some
Muggle attire to practise her disguise skills. If she were to become a spy,
she was determined to be the best spy of all. Oh, but she wanted to become
the best again! Presumably, she was on her way out of depression. Fleur had
a goal, she had the means, and though she was not quite sure whether she
would survive this travel to the end, and whether her means were going to
justify the ends, it was good to get started.
So she put on a white silk blouse, a linen silvery suit (with a very long
skirt though), arranged her hair under a grey hat somewhat resembling that
of a Muggle gentleman, and went to explore the battlefield. She was sitting
quietly in a little cafe in Piazza della Signoria, drinking her fifth
coffee, when she saw a group of three strangely looking people crossing the
square.
They were a tall man with rather long black hair, a pale pretty woman with
dark hair cut short and a baby-boy, juggled by his parents. They
obviously enjoyed Florence, sightseeing, sunshine and each other. Their
dresses looked a little weird from Muggle point of view. Fleur slowly
realized that the man who at this very moment was taking the boy was none
other but Severus Snape. Now a thing or two about him and her task became
clearer to her.
That was why Wormtail said "the Snapes", that was why Voldemort wanted to
knock her and Snape together both in this Dark Mark affair and in Hogwarts.
Married and having a child, Snape became as vulnerable in the face of
Voldemort, as ever a wizard can be. And Fleur presumed that his son couldn't
obtain the hitherto unparalleled powers of Potter-boy in case Voldemort
preferred to blackmail him (or just put him under control). Fleur felt
sorry for Snape's desperate position, especially here outside the stronghold
of Hogwarts, where he could successfully hide all his treasures before,
secured by ancient layers of druidic magic, enforced by the generations of
the best British, and not only British wizards. Guarded by Dumbledore.
Catching merely a glimpse of Snape with his family, Fleur understood in an instant
that he was with Dumbledore, with this beautiful and lively woman, who still
seemed head over heels in love with her husband, and that he would prefer to
suffer a most painful death than let this boy be harmed.
Oh, yes, and she was his foe indeed. She complicated matters even more for
him. She was destined to play his role in his domain. And perhaps, "aesthetic"
as he was, he still could not believe that she was as evil as the rest of
Voldemort's retinue. His doubts were quite well grounded: she didn't hide
her distaste for the Death Eaters' pastime, which was dangerously close to
his own attitude.
All in all, still a lot was left to think about. Snape was her immediate
job: to decipher the codes that were left, to untangle the lies in which he
strayed, to interweave her own unsteady course of actions with his game.
"All right, Professor Snape…" muttered Fleur, following the Snapes across
the square with intensive gaze, "all right… Let's play".
The three people stopped, Snape clearly showing something to his wife. He
slowly turned to mark something in the direction where Fleur was sitting.
His hand pointed to some architectural peculiarity on the higher storeys of
the building, and then he stood still. His wife was for a moment or two
absorbed in the exchange with their son. Professor Snape was looking at
Fleur, and Fleur was looking at him. Fleur smiled, Snape didn't. Then Fleur
touched her palm with her lips and blew a light kiss to him.
"I wouldn't do it, if I were you," threatened his voice in her head; he
still was able to perform the elementary charms without the wand, just with
his fingers snapping and pointing
.
"So, luckily for you, you are not me," just had time to answer by Exaudio
Fleur, and they were gone. Snape's back seemed a little tenser than before
and a little more protective for his son, his wife was cautiously peering
sideways in his face. Sensitive woman. He was lucky to have her for his
wife.
Fleur for her turn enjoyed herself. Unwinding Snape's path was something
interesting to do, and she was free to do it. She preferred not to think of
the future; the only thing she knew was that she was not going to be
miserable again. Now, when she had money, freedom, the new wand from
Giovanni di Averardo's (maybe not with Veela's hair, but with the so-called
Orpheus' string in it) and a rather clear task, she felt at ease with her
destiny.
"No more tears," crooned a Muggle lady-singer somewhere from behind, and
Fleur agreed. After all, they were all heading for the bridge, and she
planned to accomplish a thing or two before the bridge was broken.
(4-6) | Contents |
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