Forever Knight [Harmione]

Chapter 37: Captivity

Snape had resisted believing in Harry for a long time, and even after Snape—destined to betray, had murdered Albus Dumbledore, he was bitterest in the thought that he had to destroy the one man he had ever felt true loyalty for, because Albus’s death paved the way for Harry to take up the Order of the Phoenix while it rose from the ashes. 

Harry bloody Potter.

Snape still wasn’t sure if he believed the hype, but he had pushed his proverbial cart off the top of the hill, and he was powerless to stop its decent.  He had begun the series of events that would lead to Harry and Voldemort’s confrontation, now all he could do was assist Harry all he can, because Albus could not—absolutely should not—die in vain. 

I’ve put up with too much shite for it all to just crash and burn at that blithering Boy Who Lived’s wake, he thought sourly.  I have come this far.  I will not let it all go to waste. 

He spied Peter Pettigrew emerging from the basement doors and he wondered momentarily if he should risk it.  His time was quickly coming to an end.  He could feel it.  The Dark Lord was hardly telling him anything anymore, and Lucius, Bellatrix, and Dolohov had barely bothered to acknowledge his presence when he dropped by the study to give them a courtesy visit.  They had been stiff and guarded, and their body language suggested his impending total ostracism.  They didn’t want to get too close, as if what he had was contagious.

Snape could only turn up his nose at such treatment.  They were all smiles and platitudes when Voldemort was relying on him for the “ultimate” potion, but now that his use had waned, so did their so-called good graces.  Not that Snape was hurt by any of it.  The truth was, the arse-kissing had gotten terribly old, and Snape was only too glad he didn’t have to put up with the shite any longer, but he had to admit it was convenient being secure in the fact that they weren’t going to kill him yet. 

Right now he didn’t have that security.  It was making him a tad constipated.

Peter walked past Snape’s hiding place, and with hardly any effort, Snape grabbed the back of Peter’s collar, pressed a pin-head sized tracing charm on the rough fabric of his undershirt, and dragged him into the shadows.

Peter gave a ratty little squeak, caught absolutely off guard.  His pudgy nose wiggled in agitation and his beady eyes shot to Snape’s face, like a mouse, caught by the tail in the jaws of a Kneazle. 

Snape stuffed him in a corner and stared soullessly into Peter’s terrified eyes.  How many times had Peter hidden behind James and Sirius, laughing as his two “popular” friends humiliated Snape in the hallways of Hogwarts?   How many times did Snape think, You, Peter, are nothing without James, Sirius, and even Remus?

It would be so easy to crush the pathetic rat beneath his boot, but that would serve nothing, because even Voldemort didn’t think much of rodent-faced Peter.  Peter was Voldemort’s gopher and nothing more.  Peter would wipe Voldemort’s arse if Voldemort asked him to.

“Hello, Pettigrew,” said Snape in a silky tone.  “Sprung any mouse traps lately?”

Peter’s beady eyes narrowed to slits, and a soft whistling hiss escaped the space between his two protruding teeth.  “What do you want, Severus?”

At least the little snitch doesn’t beat around the bush.  “I was told by Bellatrix that it is to you the keeping of the Know It All Mudblood was given.  I want to know where the Mudblood is being held captive.”

Peter scowled, his un-manicured fingers twitching with annoyance.  “And why would you want to know that?”

Snape stepped threateningly towards him, and Peter gave another squeak, shrinking further into the corner.  “That is my business, which means I need not explain anything to you.”