Chapter 6: The Heartbeat
Hermione could not remember ever having been more content; she sat on her comfortable floor with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, a series of books - her books - piled at her feet, and her back resting against the chest of her extremely satisfactory pale blond companion. That there was a war going on, or that her primary reading goal was to investigate the nature of ripping one's soul to shreds, seemed for a moment little more than a minor triviality when compared to her newfound bliss.
Malfoy stirred behind her. "Turn the page, Granger."
She shifted to smile over her shoulder at him. "I didn't realize you were reading, Malfoy."
He bore a feigned look of airy indifference on his face that she had to fight not to laugh at. "I hadn't planned on it," he sniffed. "But I can only sit quietly and admire the back of your head for so long."
The quiet, dignified laugh she intended came out as a girlish giggle. "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy," she replied, shaking her head and flipping the page. "Though I don't think this one is particularly helpful."
He pressed his lips to her shoulder. "What are you looking for?"
"Right now? Nothing specific," she commented, her hand resting on the page. "Though I'm still trying to figure out what the Ravenclaw horcrux could be."
"Wouldn't 'Hogwarts: A History' be the best place for that?" Malfoy asked pointedly.
There was a rustle at the entrance to her tent and they both jumped.
"She has that one memorized, Malfoy," Ron said smugly. "Don't forget it's Hermione you're talking to."
She could feel the disgruntled blond wizard tense up behind her. "I know that," Malfoy replied impatiently, his arm around her tightening possessively. "And you'd better learn to knock, Weasley, or the next thing you walk in on might not be so innocent."
Ron made a face. "Spare me, Malfoy."
Hermione sat up slightly, though she let Malfoy entangle his fingers in hers. "Is there something you need, Ron?"
"Yes," he said simply, inviting himself to sit on the edge of her bed. "I'm bored."
Behind him, Harry made his way into her tent, and she elbowed Malfoy sharply before he could say anything.
"Hi Harry," she said, moving the book from her lap onto the floor. "You're bored too, then?"
He shrugged. "A bit restless," he admitted. "I don't much like sitting around while there are horcruxes to be found."
She frowned unhappily. "This isn't a matter of sitting around," she reminded him, waving her hand over the books. "There's still so much we don't know - what the Ravenclaw horcrux could be, whether there are other Gryffindor artifacts - how to destroy a horcrux - "
"That one's important," Harry said thoughtfully. "I'll give you that one." He looked around her tent, eyeing the many leather-bound spines that lined the walls and littered the floor. "Though do you think you're going to find that here?"
"You're right," Malfoy commented drily. "Surely what she needs are more books."
"Actually," she said, biting her lip. "I've been thinking that there's one book in particular I'd like to find, and I suspect it would be somewhere else."
Malfoy gave her a look. "Somewhere else?" he asked sharply, his tone edged with a poised, aristocratic skepticism.
"Yes." She looked up at Harry and Ron. "Remember the curse I got hit by in the library?"
They nodded, while Malfoy went pale. "Curse?" he asked, clearly bothered.
"It was while you were . . . recovering," she told him. "I went to the restricted section to find out what horcruxes were, and there was a book missing. When I tried to use a locator spell, I got picked up and thrown across the room."
Malfoy looked appropriately alarmed, but Harry interrupted before he could say anything. "I might know where that book is now," Harry said, his brow furrowed with thought. "Dumbledore said there used to be a book about horcruxes in the library, but that he removed it after Tom Riddle found it."
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "That explains why Snape didn't know what book was there," she realized. "It would have been removed before his time."
Malfoy rubbed his forehead wearily. "You were cursed and talked to Snape while I was gone? I'm never going unconscious again."
She patted his knee absentmindedly but returned her attention to Harry. "Where do you think it is, then? Did Dumbledore say?"
Harry grimaced. "I'm almost positive it's in his office."
"You mean the new headmaster's office," Ron pointed out, grumbling.
Harry shrugged. "Whatever."
"That makes sense," Hermione said softly. She straightened. "Well. We'll have to go there, then."
Malfoy cleared his throat loudly. "Is this something you three do often?" he asked with labored impatience. "You realized you're talking about breaking into Dumbledore's office, then, and somehow not being seen by any of the elves or ghosts or - I don't know - cats?"
Harry grinned widely. "You haven't spent much time with us," he noted with amusement. "We have things to take care of all that."
"An invisibility cloak," Ron said, ticking the items off on his fingers. "The Marauder's Map - "
"Right," Malfoy mumbled. "How could I forget."
"There's a reason you've always had such a hard time catching us, Malfoy," Harry reminded him, a smug look on his face.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't exactly relish the thought, but I think we need to get our hands on that book." She pulled out of Malfoy's reach slightly, angling herself to be able to look at both him and Ron. "And while Harry and I are gone - "
"Wait, I'm not coming with you?" Malfoy asked, rattled, just as Ron made a face.
Ron groaned. "You'd leave me here with him?"
Harry, on the other hand, looked happily entertained. "What are you planning, Hermione?"
She sighed loudly. "Well, I think Harry should come with me - he knows Dumbledore's office really well," she pointed out. "And I don't want to be in there forever."
"Fair," Ron pronounced loudly. "But - "
"And," she continued, "I think Malfoy should have a look around the Room of Hidden Things." She eyed him carefully. "I'd be willing to bet there's a horcrux in there."
"Maybe," Malfoy replied curtly. "But which one?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But for you to be in there, nobody can be in this room, so you might as well take Ron with you to have a look."
"Or," Malfoy suggested moodily, "the two of you can just take him with you."
Ron glanced at them sharply. "By all means, keep talking about me like I'm total deadweight," he muttered. "I'm not at all offended."
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Oh stop," she said irritably. "I think you should go with Malfoy because it would be useful for both of you to be there."
"I agree," Harry said, nodding. "Another set of eyes would be helpful." He glanced at Ron warily. "Especially since I can't be there . . . "
His voice trailed off and Hermione could tell Malfoy had latched onto an unspoken implication.
"You want Weasley there to watch me, Potter?" Malfoy said, his expression placid. "What, you don't trust me to be alone with You-Know-Who's playthings? Worried I might find a piece of his soul and have a change of heart?"
"I just think it's better to have both of you," Harry replied stonily, and even Hermione could tell that this was not a sufficient answer to the question Malfoy had asked.
The mood around them was abruptly tainted, the atmosphere soured. She realized they still had a long way to go as a group, and sighed dejectedly. Things had been going so well just a matter of minutes ago - but then, could she really be surprised? She'd taken three people who hated each other - particularly these people, with their easily ruffled feathers - and forced them into an enclosed space, all while their lives were at risk. Conflict was bound to fester.
"We trust you, Malfoy," she said vehemently, and she cut Ron off shortly as he made a vaguely protesting sound. "We all do."
But by then his face had taken on his signature cool, and she knew it'd be a while before he softened to them again.
. . . . . . . .
Theo eyed the door carefully for several minutes, wondering what had possessed him to make this his first stop after leaving the disappearing pub. Shouldn't he have just gone home?
No, certainly not. He would only have been restless there, and agitated.
Couldn't he have found someone to comfort him? Someone who loved him?
Well. That was a fucking laugh.
This entire neighborhood - if you could even call it that - was dingy and disgusting, the very air itself swampy and unpleasant, with all of the houses identical except for this one, the last at the end of the row. Theo had never been in a muggle neighborhood, much less an impoverished one; to be present at a residence that was unquestionably both, surrounded by perhaps the most toxically littered river he had ever seen, was unspeakably repulsive.
It wasn't too late. He could just turn around and leave. He shifted his feet, too consumed by second thoughts to notice the door cracking open.
"Theo."
He swallowed uncomfortably. "Snape," he replied, nodding his head.
Snape stepped aside to allow him entry, but Theo still hesitated.
"I don't mean to intrude," he said quietly.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't expect that you would," he noted calmly. "I can only assume that if you've found yourself here, it must be a last resort."
Theo nodded, but didn't move.
Snape took a deep breath, his generally unfriendly nature visibly battling his sympathetic interests. "Just come in, Mr. Nott," Snape said impatiently, sighing. "Personally, I would not confidently trust your lungs to survive much longer in Spinner's End, should you choose to remain outside."
Privately, Theo agreed. "Fine," he said, as though he was making a concession, and followed the dark professor inside.
The sitting room belonging to Severus Snape of Spinner's End had the distinct air of a place that was not well kept, and Theo found he was surprised. Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts office at school had been relatively pleasant - or at least, it had certainly lacked the uncomfortable feeling of solitary confinement that this house so regrettably possessed. But, Theo supposed, there were only so many ways a person could make Hogwarts feel unpleasant, even for a young Slytherin who'd spent six years in its dungeons.
The room was small, dark, and felt incredibly crowded, due to the shelves of black and brown leather-bound books covering the walls, and Theo couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped within a darkly padded cell, though he supposed it could be worse. It could always be worse. The room, after all, was no more imprisoning than the confines of Theo's mind.
"Sit," Snape instructed, gesturing to an old threadbare couch near where Theo was standing, and Theo complied. For his part, Snape chose to lower himself rigidly into an armchair that looked as though on the brink of impending collapse.
No wonder the man was never comfortable.
"Would you care for something to drink?" Snape asked uneasily, his attempt at hospitality so visibly unnatural that under other circumstances, Theo might have laughed. As it was, all he could manage was a sullen shake of his impeccably groomed head.
"I wasn't able to procure what the Dark Lord wanted," Theo said flatly, weary of the charade. "He sent me after something from Gregorovitch, and the guy disappeared before I got what I needed."
Snape's expression never wavered. "Which was?"
Theo grimaced. "Yeah - sure Severus, because the Dark Lord informed me exactly what he wanted, in detail, and then we braided each other's hair and talked about cleaning spells." He grunted irritably. "I don't fucking know what it was."
If Snape was annoyed by this answer - as he almost certainly was, or should have been - he didn't betray himself. "And what did Gregorovitch say?"
"I didn't know it was him right away," Theo said guiltily. "In retrospect, I should have. But I talked to him for a few minutes and right before he disapparated, he told me whatever it was the Dark Lord wanted had been stolen from him a long time ago." He looked up at Snape hopefully. "That should be enough, right? How can I help it if it was stolen, if Gregorovitch himself doesn't know what happened to it?"
Snape looked uncomfortable, but not particularly sympathetic. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has punished others for less," he commented gloomily. "I'd try to spare you the agony, but it hardly seems worth it. I did warn you," he reminded Theo regretfully. "I warned you not to get involved in this."
Theo looked down; he suddenly felt quite sick. "I know," he managed weakly.
Snape sighed. "But," he said, leaning into the echo of the word as it rang out in the silence between them, somehow brightening the room, "the Dark Lord also has a pattern of forgiving his favorites. Lucius Malfoy, for example, has committed unspeakable errors, as has Bellatrix Lestrange, and yet he has spared them both multiple times."
Theo shook his head. "I'm not sure I consider Lucius Malfoy to have been spared," he said darkly.
Snape made a gesture that was difficult to interpret, somewhere between a grimace and a shrug. "Ah, but to the Dark Lord, to keep one's life is the ultimate forgiveness," he reminded Theo warily. "There is nothing the Dark Lord values more than life. His own life, of course," Snape clarified, "but to allow someone to live is the extent of his mercy. The quality of life, the burdens of the soul - those things he does not concern himself with."
"So you're saying that he might let me live, and punish me some other way, if he likes me?" Theo asked, trying not to hear how ridiculous that sounded.
"Yes," Snape said curtly. "Though to be frank, sometimes death would be preferable."
The older wizard looked as though he knew what he was talking about, and Theo wondered for the first time what Severus Snape must have done, what he'd had to have experienced, to be the enigma that he'd so unquestionably become.
Surely he hadn't always been this way. A man without demons doesn't say such things - and being himself a man with many demons, Theo felt he would know.
"I'm probably fucked, then," Theo deduced unhappily. "I'm not a groveler. I won't do it."
For once, Snape's eyes showed a flash of interest. "No," he agreed. "Though I don't necessarily think that's a problem."
Theo looked at him sharply. "You don't?"
Snape shrugged. "No," he replied easily. "I think the Dark Lord has as many grovelers as he needs, considering he's taken to killing off the ones who displease him. I don't doubt that you possess other qualities that would appeal to him - though I would caution you not to lose yourself, if you choose to focus on whatever those qualities are."
"Lose myself?" Theo echoed, uncertain.
"Older, wiser men than you have certainly done so," Snape said ominously. "The Dark Lord's original Death Eaters were once powerful men - great leaders and skilled wizards. Mulciber, Rosier, Lestrange - even your father," Snape pointed out, and at that, Theo found it difficult to meet his eyes. "Constant fear and frequent exposure to unspeakable horrors wore them down to faint shadows of themselves."
That, at least, must have been true. His father had not always been a monster.
"And you, Snape - you think that will happen to me?" Theo asked quietly. "You think I'll become like them?"
Snape paused for a moment before answering, pursing his lips with careful thought, and Theo braced himself for disappointment.
"The Dark Lord has the ability to affect us in ways we cannot necessarily predict from the start," Snape said warily. "All I can tell you is that you do, unquestionably, possess qualities he admires - intelligence, ambition, and not insignificant skill - and he will try to leverage those against you. Whether you submit to his expectations or not is just another facet of who you are, Mr. Nott," he concluded, "and it is that which I encourage you not to lose sight of."
"What about you?" Theo ventured, suddenly curious. "Did you lose sight of yourself?"
Snape did not answer right away. "I am not half the man you are, Theo," he said quietly. "I would not waste your time attempting to compare yourself to me."
. . . . . . . .
Granger was shaking him awake, and it was only then that Draco heard the terrible sound of screaming outside their door.
"It's Harry," she said urgently. "Come on!"
He hurriedly dressed and followed her, walking briskly as she sprinted to Harry's tent, ducking inside. Weasley appeared in the doorway shortly after they did, looking pale and nervous.
"Harry," Granger cried, running to his side and shaking him awake. 'Harry - Harry, it's alright - what's happened?"
"It's - it's him," Potter said, his hands shaking as he brushed his messy black hair off of his sweat-slicked forehead. "He's - I saw him - he was torturing someone - "
"Harry!" Granger exclaimed nervously. "You're not supposed to be seeing these things - remember what Dumbledore said - "
"He can't help it, Mione," Weasley snapped, jumping to Potter's defense. "He was bloody sleeping - "
Privately, Draco agreed, though when Granger looked to him for support he wordlessly took hold of her wrist, pulling her to him.
"Just let him explain what happened," he breathed in her ear. As much as he couldn't stomach the thought of taking Weasley's side over hers, he felt anything else he said would be disingenuous, and thus, unhelpful. Granger seemed to have forgotten that Potter wasn't the only person in the room to have had his brain unwillingly invaded by the Dark Lord while he was trying to sleep.
"He's not supposed to let him in," she whispered back urgently. "You don't understand - "
"I know," he agreed, tightening his arms around her. "You can explain it to me later." She whimpered slightly but gave in, her protestations fading as he held her.
When Draco looked up from trying to mollify Granger, Potter was eyeing him distrustfully.
"What?" Draco snapped, and Potter hesitated.
"I thought I saw - " he stopped, shaking his head. "Nevermind."
"What?" Draco repeated, annoyed. "You thought you saw what? My father?"
"No - "
"Then what - "
"Just tell us what you saw," Weasley urged, interrupting. "What happened?"
Potter took a deep breath. "Voldemort - he was in a house. A muggle house, by the looks of it, and it was on fire."
Draco felt Granger's entire body shuddered violently in his arms. "Torturing muggles himself now, is he?" she asked, her voice both angry and fearful. "I thought he left that to his minions."
Potter shook his head. "It wasn't a muggle. He kept calling him Gregorovitch."
Weasley frowned. "The wandmaker?"
"I think so," Potter said, nodding. "I assume so, since he didn't get what he wanted from Ollivander. Voldemort was using legilimency on Gregorovitch - I saw a vision in his mind, one of Gregorovitch's memories."
"What was the vision?" Draco interrupted. "What did the Dark Lord see in Gregorovitch's mind?"
All three seemed to be uncomfortable with the title he'd used for Voldemort, and Draco stiffened, regretting his choice of words. He'd forgotten who he was with, and he was glad he couldn't see the expression on Granger's face.
Potter looked especially uneasy, but seemed to choose to overlook it. "It was a young man, blond, kind of mischievous looking, like Fred and George - I didn't recognize him," Potter said, his face contorted in thought as he tried to call the image to mind. "He broke into Gregorovitch's shop and stole something. Something small."
"A wand, I would assume," Granger said quietly. "Right?"
Potter shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded. He looked at Draco again, the same narrowed look on his face.
"Spit it out, Potter," Draco said angrily, and did not take his eyes away from Potter's even as Granger put a consoling hand over his. "Tell me whatever it is you obviously need to tell me. Was You-Know-Who in my house? Was my father involved? Did he mention me? What is it?"
In response to Draco's escalating temper, Weasley moved closer to Potter, a silent warning. Granger, Draco could tell, was holding her breath.
"There was someone else with Voldemort," Potter said quietly. "Gregorovitch was begging for his life and Voldemort was laughing at him, telling the other person to torture him. And then - " he stopped, swallowing nervously. "And then the other person cast an Avada."
Weasley let out a slow breath. "Gregorovitch is dead?"
Potter nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said faintly. "The person with Voldemort killed him."
Draco eyed him blankly. "I don't understand what this has to do with me," he said adamantly. "Who was it?"
"I'm not positive - I couldn't really see his face clearly, or hear him," Potter said, and Draco felt a chill travel up his spine as he waited, simultaneously wondering who Potter could name that would hurt him the most while also hating him mercilessly for not just coming out and saying it. He'd already said it wasn't Lucius - who else could it have been? There were so few people in the world that Draco truly cared about that he could count them on one hand, and he felt quite certain that none of them were capable of murder.
"I'm not positive," Potter repeated, his initially distrustful expression turning vaguely saddened as he watched Draco wrestle with his anxiety. "But - I'm pretty sure it was Theo Nott."
Draco's knees unexpectedly buckled and Granger gasped sharply, suddenly forced to bear the majority of his weight as he went limp against her.
. . . . . . . .
"You know, Theodore," the Dark Lord mused, addressing his youngest associate while holding his wand to Gregorovitch's face, "I am not often so quick to overlook it when my Death Eaters fall short."
Theo was sweating profusely, and not exclusively due to the fire Voldemort had set to the muggle residence where at last he had found - and trapped - Gregorovitch.
It had not been Theo who had forced Gregorovitch out. In a surprising twist, it had been Voldemort himself. It seemed that torturing some of Gregorovitch's proximities had been sufficient leverage for that purpose, and Voldemort, in his infinite wisdom, had brought Theo along for the show. If Theo had been able to think straight, he would have been thinking about what it meant, that the Dark Lord took it upon himself to run what had turned out to be a rather messy errand. Clearly, whatever Voldemort desired, it was more than fleeting whimsy.
Theo had found at first that he couldn't meet the old man's fearful gaze, guilty as he was for having any part in leading the Dark Lord to the wandmaker. But once he'd caught Gregorovitch's eye, Theo found himself unable to look away, his conscience searing as he stood unwillingly transfixed beside the soulless wizard who held the strings. He wondered whether one or both of them would have to die that day - whether they might both be sacrificed, both being the disappointing pawns in the twisted ambitions of lord without conscience.
"Normally I would not go to such lengths to test one of my Death Eaters. But," Voldemort continued, "I have to admit, I'm curious about you, Theodore. You are obviously resourceful. But more interestingly, you do not blame others for your failings."
Theo said nothing. How could he? There was nothing to say.
Nothing to do but wait and see.
"You do not fear my retribution, do you Theodore?" Voldemort asked, the corners of his mouth twisting up eerily in a malicious smile. "You do not fear death, do you?"
Theo swallowed. "No, I don't," he said, and the moment he said it, he found it was true. He'd grown numb to the thought, over time. Perhaps he'd been numb to it for years now.
Voldemort made a faintly contented humming sound, as though he was pleased with Theo's anwer. "But that's not true for all of us, is it, Gregorovitch?" Voldemort said, turning to the wandmaker. The Dark Lord's voice took on a high pitched whine as he toyed with his prey. "Some of us do fear death, don't we?"
The old man whimpered as Voldemort's eyes glowed. "Please - I told the boy - I no longer have what you seek - "
Gregorovitch turned to Theo. "Please," the old man begged. "Please - "
What had the wandmaker said to him? I would warn you, then . . .
"Don't talk to him," Voldemort spat, flicking his wand to lift Gregorovitch off the ground by his ankle, leaving him suspended in the air.
It's best to stray towards the light.
Theo's blood went cold at the sound of the old man's agonized howl. "I don't have it - I told you, I don't have it - "
"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch," the Dark Lord said coldly. "He knows . . . He always knows."
The hanging man's pupils were wide and dilated with panic and Theo could only watch helplessly, somehow numb amidst the horror.
"I'm sorry," Theo mouthed soundlessly, knowing that he was only making it worse as Gregorovitch continued to plead with him for help. "I'm so sorry - "
"Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?" the Dark Lord interrupted, oblivious to Theo's haunted stare.
"I do not know - I never knew - please - please - "
He says he doesn't know, Theo thought urgently, willing himself to say it out loud. Find your voice, Theo. Say it.
But he couldn't. He was paralyzed with fear.
It's not his fault - he doesn't know - he's not lying to you, let him go -
"A little Crucio to loosen the tongue, don't you think?" Voldemort suggested, gesturing to Theo as casually as though he were suggesting they play a little quidditch, or duck out for some tea. "Go ahead."
Theo looked at him, speechless.
No, he thought violently, though his brain remained unable to move his mouth. No, no - I can't - No, I won't -
"If you don't," Voldemort said simply, responding to Theo's unspoken thoughts as he gestured to the weeping wandmaker before them, "I will."
No.
No.
"You got the answers you needed," Theo said finally, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "What else do you want from him?"
Voldemort laughed coldly. "Oh, but you're only half right," he said, his tone harsh and grating with cruel amusement. "I got as much from him as I'm going to, yes. But I hardly got what I needed."
"Besides," Voldemort added, flicking his wand and ignoring the renewed screaming from his tortured victim, "This isn't for him." His slitted eyes flicked dispassionately to Theo. "It's for you."
Voldemort made another movement with his wand and raised Gregorovitch higher in the air.
"Please!" Gregorovitch cried, his screams echoing in the blazing room. "Please - help me - "
No more. No more.
Theo raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra," he shouted, shuddering as the spell left him, closing his eyes before the body hit the floor.
Finally, finally, the screaming ceased. In the wake of deathly silence, Theo heard nothing but the sound of his own thundering heartbeat.
. . . . . . . .
a/n: This chapter does not have dedications; it broke me a little bit and shouldn't be on anyone's head but mine. The next one will be lighter and contain more gratitude.
Because this one was late, expect another chapter a little bit sooner this weekend. Also, I will be writing a one-shot of one of the days in Clean from Chapter 14: The Seven for cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky and Little Chmura, which Little Chmura has agreed to illustrate (!). Requests have been for Day 3, 4 or 6 but I haven't decided between those three, so if you would like to weigh in, let me know your thoughts. Thanks as always for reading . . .