The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 28

By Pigwidgeon37

Two tall, black figures, oddly incongruous amidst the sunshine, dappled shadows and late-summer fragrance of the forest, were standing motionless, waiting. It was early afternoon, but almost the end of August, and thus the sunlight already had a certain autumnal quality; the angle of its rays was sufficiently oblique to enhance shadows which, two months earlier, would have been mere careless strokes of a brush dipped into a slightly darker shade of the same colour. Now they were sharp, and black, ominous contrasts in a rich, chromatic symphony of blue, green and gold. The stillness of the two black-clad men—one of them was a man, the other more of a boy, although a mere three or four inches shorter than his companion—was emphasized by the heavy fall of their robes; the air was quiet, no breeze moved the leaves and blades of grass, and thus the folds of black velvet and a strange, black fabric with a bluish glint did not budge. To Severus, who was approaching them together with Nimue, they looked like a memento mori in the baroque opulence of this August day. Two deaths, still, blonde and handsome. Not beckoning, waiting. They did not carry scythes or hourglasses, but their motionless presence was enough to remind him that he had, indeed, re-entered time.

When they had almost reached the two figures, Severus took the Invisibility Spell off himself and Nimue. Lucius, who had already turned his head in their direction, probably alerted by the rustle of their footsteps in the grass, smiled and nodded. The smile did not wipe the traces of tension off his face. “You’d better go back to the castle immediately, Sev,” he said. “I’ve activated the communication device, so you’ll hear at least my part of the… er, conversation.” Severus merely nodded, without letting go of Nimue’s hand. “It’s time, Sev. I promise…” He paused and shrugged. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Draco, who had evidently been puzzled by seeing Severus holding Nimue’s hand, looked from one to the other, and finally grinned. “Am I right in assuming that this is Miss January Blossom?”

“Draco, really…” Severus shook his head. The boy had inherited his father’s unholy sense of humour, but somehow it was reassuring.

“And… you, er…” Lucius did not finish his question but merely raised an eyebrow at Severus.

“Yes.” He cast a sideways glance down at Nimue, who had understood perfectly what Lucius had been asking, and blushed a deep crimson. “Lucius, I…” Impossible to put into words what he was feeling. How pathetic it would sound to say something like ‘I entrust to your care the woman I love—just bring her back alive and sane.’ So he fell silent and, after a short embrace which he hoped expressed his emotions, gently shoved her towards Lucius. “Good luck. To all of you.”

A short nod from Lucius; he closed his eyes, so he did not have to see them vanish into thin air. To his ears, the popping noise of Disapparition sounded like an explosion. He remained standing on the same spot, eyes still closed, cherishing the illusion that, if he opened them, he would be back in their shadowed bedroom with her in his arms. A sudden gust of wind made the leaves rustle, and a few chestnuts hit the ground near his feet. He kicked one of them away, a small green hedgehog flying into a nearby cluster of hazel shrubs, and immediately regretted that he had not picked it up, split the spiny hide and extracted the chestnut, still humid, glossy and exuding its bitter fragrance. And reminding him of her hair because of its reddish shimmer. Her hair…

Lucius’s face, suddenly, somewhere in his head, a moving image suspended behind his eyes. “My Lord. I have brought to you my son and my ward, as you commanded.”

But his mind refused to let go of the memories it had accumulated during the last few hours. Not that he made any effort to banish them. He wanted to savour them, to re-evoke her scent, her taste, every word she had said or muttered or cried out. Two universes, Azkaban and his bedroom, each full of darkness and whispered words, only different, so different… they spun out their tendrils and coiled them around his mind, twisting and tangling around each other, binding and tethering him.

“Yes, My Lord, this is Nimue Lestrange.”

He made her come, with his tongue, lips and fingers, twice, thrice… The third time he used his right hand and held her tight, kissed her eyes and nose and lips, his left arm tight around her shoulders, her eyes rolling back, her mouth wide open, gasping…

“I think she has potential, My Lord. She is a powerful, intelligent witch. Believe me, I will continue to do my best to develop this potential.” 

The sun had moved, and a slice of white light fell across her face. It made the golden flecks in her pupils spark for an instant, before she closed her eyes. “I love you, Severus…”

“I love you too, Nimue. And I wish I didn’t have to hurt you now.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and the tip of her tongue glided over her lower lip.

“You heard the Master, Nimue. You may rise and approach him.”

“I won’t hurt. I’m so relaxed…” She opened her eyes, squeezed them shut again. “And so wet.”

The delicate, moist skin of her inner thighs stroked his hips, her hands were on his shoulders, holding on to him. He lowered himself, to kiss her and feel her breasts against his chest. “My love. I wish…”

She giggled into his mouth. “You’re not going to amputate my leg, Severus. And I want it. Now. I truly want it.”

Only now did he realize that he was seeing Lucius’s face without the mask he was wearing. Lucius without a mask… It was almost frightening. Endearing too, in a strange kind of way, because he had never yet seen naked, unveiled emotion on that pale face which seemed impervious to the sentiments of lesser humans. A smirk, a twitching eyebrow, a hardening of the mouth… but never this. An image without sound, all the more disturbing because of the complete absence of noise. Then a whisper, almost inaudible. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I can’t speak any louder. He’s asking her about Potter. And only Black is present.”

If to enter heaven was like this, he wanted to die here and now. That slow gliding into her, the twitching of her vaginal muscles. “Relax, love. Try to relax.”

“I’m trying to. But somehow my body doesn’t obey.”

The head of his penis was already inside her, the desire to just push on startling in its intensity. And now her feet were caressing the hollows of his knees… her hands rubbing, kneading his back. He had to close his eyes for a moment, stay completely still and recollect himself. Finally, when he felt he had regained his grip on himself, he moved on, tentatively, further in and a little further. Suddenly, her body tensed. “Severus!”

“What, my love? Did I—”

“No, no! Severus, I forgot… I might get pregnant, I haven’t taken any—”

“I’ve put an infertility spell on myself. How irresponsible do you think I am?”

“Oh.” She relaxed, smiled up at him. “That’s… oh, God!”

“Did it hurt?”

“Just a bit… oh God, Severus, move! Yes, like that, oh…”

“She’s holding up admirably. Just the right note of deference and defiance. He smiles—Yes, My Lord. I intercepted her mail. There never was a letter from Potter. The Ministry, too, is unable to locate him. Fudge is most displeased.”

The Cruciatus curse lasted maybe ten seconds. Lucius closed his eyes and emitted a soft moan, nothing more. A drop of blood trickled from his lower lip when his eyelids rose again; his pupils had contracted into small black points less than the size of a pin’s head. “Yes, My Lord. I won’t disappoint you.” And, whispered, “Bastard!”

“That’s a lot of blood for so little pain.”

“I’m glad there wasn’t more pain. Now let me clean you up.”

“Is it that late already?”

“No, we’ve got one more hour. But you’ll have to take a shower before you leave—Voldemort has become so reptilian, I’m not sure whether he might not pick up my scent on you.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, stretching languidly. “Severus? How long does it take you to recover?”

“I’m not sure…” He lazily circled a rosy nipple with his thumb. “But let me heal that tear first, and then dispose of the blood. And then, maybe…” He bent to take the nipple between his lips and suck gently.

“Sev, this is completely absurd. Now he’s asking her which subject she prefers… Playing the benevolent uncle… as if this were afternoon tea at Fortescue’s and not Azkaban. She’s on her guard, though… good girl… Of course, My Lord. We have been training both her and my son.”

A short pause, Lucius’s breath hitching slightly. “Not yet, My Lord. My son is able to perform the Killing Curse, of course. Nimue is… a little behind.” A deep sigh, slow and cautious. “Merlin help us. I hope she’ll be able to kill that rabbit. Keep your fingers crossed, Sev.”

Inside her, once again. Rocking gently, watching her face, listening to her laboured breath. Holding her, cradling her. “Good?”

Her eyes fluttering open. Smouldering, melting. “Good doesn’t… doesn’t even…”

He reached down, changing the position of her legs, so that the soles of her feet were now firmly planted against his thighs, her legs spread wide and her hips slightly raised. Mentally thanking Sophisticated Wizard for this useful hint, he changed his rhythm to faster, more shallow thrusts. The increased pressure and friction on her clitoris made her cry out and cling to him more firmly. “Oh, this is… don’t stop, please don’t stop, I…”

“She did it. I don’t know how, but she did it. Thank you, My Lord. You are very kind.”

The grey eyes closed briefly, while the tip of his tongue rubbed over the trickle of coagulating blood.

“She is not yet fifteen, My Lord. Are you sure—” Again, his face was disfigured by a sudden spasm of pain. “I beg your pardon, My Lord. I did not mean to question—”

He had wanted to make it last longer, but had underestimated the effect her orgasm was having on him. Impossible to describe that feeling of rippling, pulsing, sucking wet muscle around his cock… impossible to think or try to fight the powerful surge of lust it triggered. Not with her shivering and shuddering under him, restless hands and feet setting every nerve cell on fire. He merely buried his head in the juncture between her neck and shoulders and gave one final, deep thrust, crying out, moaning “I love you, I love you…” A few more gentle thrusts while he was still hard, and then that soaring, leaden, blissful sensation of utter exhaustion… just hold her close, and sleep…

“A time turner? I… I am speechless, My Lord… Forgive me, but how could I have known… Yes, My Lord. I am aware of the importance of a witch’s fifteenth birthday.”

More blood was running down his chin. “Merlin protect us, Sev. Now he’s asking her.”

“Will you promise me something, Severus?”

“I’m counting on your Gryffindor sense of honour. I’d promise anything right now, even that I’ll adopt Longbottom and bequeath all my worldly possessions to him. So have mercy.”

His head was resting on her chest, the thumb of his right hand stroking her pubic hair, which was wet and sticky with both their fluids.

“I couldn’t care less about Neville right now. Listen, Severus, I want you to promise—” she propped herself up on one elbow, making him roll over onto his back, and looked down at him, her face serious and a little sad. “Or rather, I want an honest answer first. Can you absolutely exclude the possibility of Voldemort killing me today?”

He was unable to lie to her. Not now. They were so close… “Not absolutely, no. But—”

“Let me finish. I want you to promise that, if he kills me, you won’t do anything foolish.”

“Foolish…” He traced her jaw with his forefinger. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to go on without you.”

“Please, Severus, please promise. If I die… I don’t want my last thought to be that you’re going to die as well. Please.”

“She should have been sorted into Slytherin. What a convincing liar… Black? What kind of nonsense is that, you silly, impertinent girl? I warn you, if you are lying to Lord Voldemort, I am going—I apologize, My Lord. Forgive me. Of course, My Lord. But I can’t believe… Please, Gods, let him use Veritaserum. And don’t let him turn round to look at Black. That idiot is scarcely able to control—Indeed, My Lord, I completely agree. She is trying to protect Potter.”

“It’s going to be difficult, isn’t it? Umbridge is watching everybody…”

She was looking so lovely, sitting in his bathtub, with her hair piled up on top of her head, which seemed to be growing out of the foam that floated on the water. A talking, exotic flower blossoming amidst mounds of snow. “Umbridge is going to make things more difficult, yes. And she’s a little too friendly with Filch—probably making him spy on the students.”

Nimue pulled a face. “Do you think they—ew!”

“Thanks for the most revolting mental image since I was a student and thought Dumbledore had something going with Minerva. But don’t forget that you are a prefect with a prefect’s rights. You’re allowed to be out after curfew. Come to think of it—” he plunged one hand into the water, found and cupped a breast “—this might even make things easier. Have you ever heard of the Room of Requirement?”

“I told you to open your mouth, Nimue. If Lord Voldemort wants you to take Veritaserum, you will take Veritaserum. Your own wishes are of no importance here. Imperio! Now, open your mouth like a good girl. There. Three drops. Now kneel before our Master and beg his forgiveness for your insubordination.—Just so you know, she threw it off. She winked at me before prostrating herself. Black has finally pulled himself together.”

Her body dripping wet, the skin shiny and sudsy, she truly looked like Aphrodite emerging from the sea. When Severus told her as much, she blushed and waved the compliment away. “I’m neither a goddess nor beautiful. I’m just plain old Nimue, and terribly afraid, to say the truth.”

With a flick of his wand and a murmured incantation, he made the clouds gather and pour forth tepid rain, so she could rinse herself off and wash her hair. He would have liked to join her, but superstition made him resist the desire. If he left something for later, surely there was to be a ‘later’…

There were so many voices in Severus's head, vying for his attention, that he did not immediately acknowledge another one, a little too whining and much too girlish for its owner. From Dolores Umbridge’s unpleasant expression, he concluded that she had already called him—or, more likely, cleared her throat—a few times before he finally took notice of her presence. As unobtrusively as possible, he glanced around and saw, much to his relief, that during the mental dialogue between past and present his feet had indeed carried him back towards the castle. He had arrived as far as the greenhouses.

“She’s telling him all about Black. He’s genuinely surprised about Black being an Animagus. That might have scored her some—”

Severus tried to shut out Lucius’s words as completely as possible—he needed to concentrate on Umbridge, who was standing before him and casting him a shrewd glance. “Are you feeling well, Professor?”

“Perfectly well, thank you.” He gave her a brief nod and turned towards the greenhouses.

But she was not to be shaken off so easily. Not that he had expected it. “You haven’t answered my question, Professor.”

Severus stopped in his tracks and whirled round. “I wasn't aware you had asked me a question.”

“I can't see your face properly, Sev, so I suppose you’re trying to concentrate on something else. I’d probably better leave you alone now, in case it’s somebody you can't get rid of easily. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon.”

By now, Umbridge was positively fuming—in different circumstances, Severus might even had enjoyed taunting her. He had seen her lips move when she repeated her question, but Lucius’s voice had completely absorbed his mind, and thus he had probably given her an empty look. Deciding that it was preferable not to ask for a third repetition, he merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The face, which Draco declared was toad-like—Severus was reminded more of a rhinoceros, mostly because she had very small ears almost without lobes and seemed to be constantly smiling—became that of a very angry rhinoceros. “Professor Snape, I ask you whether you know where the Headmaster is, and all you do is shrug?”

Ah, so that had been the question. “The shrug, esteemed colleague, was merely a prelude. I was going to respond that I do not have the faintest idea as to his whereabouts. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“His son isn’t here, either.”

Scraping together his last remaining shreds of patience, Severus replied, as politely as possible, “My ignorance extends to young Mr. Malfoy as well. Maybe he is with his father.”

“And Mrs. Malfoy?”

Severus balled his fists in the pockets of his robes. “Professor, neither the Headmaster nor his family owe me a detailed account of their movements. I can only repeat: I. Do. Not. Know.”

“Pity,” Umbridge crooned. “Because I caught his daughter…” She looked up at him expectantly, letting the bait dangle in front of his nose, waiting for him to swallow it.

So she was trying to find weak points. Not that it came as a surprise. But he had more than a little trouble maintaining an impassive expression. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” she continued sweetly, “that I caught his daughter—adorable child, isn’t she? I am so fond of children…”

“Which is, without doubt, why you… catch them?” he purred, inordinately pleased to see her face go red with anger.

“You understood me all too well,” she snapped, every trace of sweetness gone from her voice. “The little brat was trying to do magic.”

“Considering that she is two and a half years old, I suppose she must have caused considerable damage.”

“She was using a wand.”

“If you are alluding to her toy wand—”

“Not a toy wand,” she interrupted him sharply. “To be exact, she was using the wand of one of the Weasley brothers.”

“Are you implying she stole it?” Slowly but inevitably, Severus felt his temper become uncontrollable.

“Not at all.  The boys—the twins, of course, those mischief-makers—were watching her, even encouraging her.”

“And so,” Severus said after a brief pause, his voice even lower than before, “you saw fit to… catch a toddler and let those who instigated her go unpunished?”

“Oh, no.” Now she was smiling again, a little too pleasantly for Severus's taste. “They are already serving a detention with Mr. Filch.”

“Professor, unless I am very much mistaken, Fred and George Weasley were to have a lesson with Professor McNair at four o’clock.”

Eyes blazing with triumph, Umbridge shot back, “Which is exactly why I needed to see the Headmaster. And because of his daughter, of course.”

“Then I suggest you see his deputy and leave his daughter to me.”

The bulging eyes widened into what was probably meant to be an innocent expression. “With you, Professor Snape? Why on earth—oh, unless, of course, you are the person she referred to as ‘Uncle Severus’, poor little thing. Of course I thought it might be you, but then you’re not even related to the Malfoys…”

Suppressing the urge to strangle the woman with his bare hands, Severus merely asked, “Where is she?”

“Locked into my office, of course.” Her careless tone belied her earlier statement concerning her fondness of children.

“Into your office? And you are not afraid that she might wreak considerable damage there?”

The cutting sarcasm of his question seemed completely lost on her. “I put her under a body bind.”

“You put—” He inhaled twice, deeply, so as to dispel the surge of rage that threatened to choke him. “Take me to her, immediately.”

“Professor, really, I don't think you are in a position to—”

“Take. Me. To. Her. NOW!”

She flinched, took one step backwards and finally nodded. “Very well, Professor. There is no need to become violent.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Violence, Professor? Why, you are the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, you of all people should be familiar with the definition of violence. I assure you, it is quite different from authority.”

The look she shot him was plain evil laced with hatred, but she turned and stomped off in the direction of the castle, closely followed by Severus, who wondered whether his rage was unleashing enough uncontrolled magic to make her explode.

His fury redoubled when he entered Umbridge’s office.

Looking even smaller than usual, because she had been placed on an enormous, overstuffed ottoman, Selene was lying on her side, legs pulled up, arms stretched out in a gesture of helpless defence, eyes wide with terror. Severus drew his wand so quickly that Umbridge automatically ducked—he gave her a grim sneer before pointing the wand at the child and pronouncing “Finite incantatem!” Without further ado, he scooped Selene into his arms and left the room.

On his way to his quarters, he came across Brown and Patil, who were skulking along the corridor, giggling at Merlin knew what. At the sight of their Potions teacher carrying a sobbing toddler in his arms and evidently trying to soothe her, they stopped and stared at him. For once, Severus chose to overlook their demeanour, which was as idiotic as it was disrespectful, and called them. “Miss Brown, Miss Patil. Kindly stop catching flies—” both their mouths snapped shut “—and go find Professor McNair.” They nodded, still too befuddled to say anything, which, in Severus's opinion, was a blessing. “Tell him that Fred and George Weasley are serving a detention with Mr. Filch and thus unable to attend his lesson. Have you understood?”

Both nodded, and Patil ventured, “But, Sir, why… I mean, school hasn't started yet—I wasn't aware that we could get detention…”

“This is none of your concern, Miss Patil. Just do as I told you.”

“Yes, Sir. Of course. Is she—” she pointed at Selene, who had calmed down a little “—all right?”

“She has had a bad fright, but she is all right. Now go.”

The two girls hurried along, and Severus, shifting Selene in his arms, continued to walk towards his rooms. “Shush,” he said when she opened her mouth to talk, “Shhh, sweet, not here. Wait a few minutes, until we’ve arrived at my quarters. There you can tell me everything.”