In the Dark

In the Dark

The rain pelts down on the crumbling wooden shack, pools of murky water forming around it. A lone cat sits solemnly on the top stairs, carefully hidden under an overturned basket, licking her paw and watching the heavy drops fall from a darkened sky.

With lazy curiosity, she looks up as a flash of light envelops the garden, and green from high in the skies reflects in her feline eyes. Uninterested, she turns her head away and returns to the task of meticulously cleaning her fur of every imaginary bit of dirt.

Heavy footsteps clear the corner, running feet. Two shadowed figures, breathing hard and fast, wrapped in dripping dark cloaks. The cat jumps up and hisses furiously as a boot hits a puddle and showers her in muddy wetness. They never even notice the angered animal.

One of the men slips on the mushy ground and grabs the other's shoulder for support, pulling them both down in a messy heap.

"Bloody --"

"Shh!" hisses the other.

"You don't think they're still following us?" the taller, slender man asks. The hood of his cloak has fallen from his head, and the cold green glow overhead highlights his freckled face and red hair, which would be messy if it weren't plastered to his forehead.

"Shh," the other man repeats and, untangling their limbs, gets up on his knees. The wind beats his wet and dirty cloak against his legs as he tries to move, and he takes it off.

"Bill, what do you think you're -"

"Quiet," he snaps, and holds out his hand to pull the other man up.

He loses his balance once more and falls heavily against his brother's chest. Bill gasps and steps back involuntarily, his back hitting the side of the shack with a thump. As he tries to steady his feet, the younger man straightens himself and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."

Bill makes a gesture with his hand, waving away the apology, when a flash of lightning nearby lights up the garden and the little, ramshackle house. The harshness of the light makes the scars on his face stand out grotesquely as he scans their surroundings carefully.

There. He isn't imagining it; there's something moving near that big old house down the street. He grabs Ron's sleeve and pulls until they are both crouching in the mud, backs pressed against the rotting wood of the wall. Their breaths come rapid as they observe a small group of black-robed figures emerge from the shadow of that house and then split up as they move in different directions, checking every bush, behind every garden fence.

"Bill," Ron whispers suddenly. "Apparate."

But his brother shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the shadowy figures searching the street. "They don't know we're here. We could still get some useful information," he says so quietly that Ron almost doesn't hear him.

A man has separated from the group and is walking in their direction. He comes closer and closer and Ron's knuckles are white as his fingers clench compulsively around his wand. His hand shakes a little as he raises it slowly to point at the dark-haired wizard who is so near, he can see the identifying cruel curl of lips.

The Death Eater doesn't notice them yet, but it's only a matter of time. Ron's lips move to voice the words of a curse, when Bill strikes out, knocking the wand from his hand. There's something strange but not unfamiliar in Bill's eyes as he makes that split-second decision. The wand falls to the ground soundlessly, but the movement must have caught the Death Eater's attention. His dark eyes land on Bill, taking in the disfigured face and the tufts of red hair; they move over to Ron, who is on his knees, frantically searching for his wand in a puddle of mud and rainwater. They look at the small cat, who hostilely watches the proceedings from under her overturned basket.

The Death Eater turns around sharply and, as he nears the others down the road, they hear him call, "Nothing but a cat."

Bill lets out a shaky breath he doesn't know he's been holding.

* * *

Diagon Alley hasn't been the same since the war started. People seem to be afraid of going out and leaving the illusion of safety their homes provide. At this time of night, all the shops are closed, and even those few who still dare to venture out at daytime have abandoned the Wizarding streets to creatures of the night - werewolves, vampires and the minions of the Dark Lord, his Death Eaters, growing steadily in numbers and in power. But they don't wander often out of their familiar Knockturn Alley. Thus, Bill stands alone and undisturbed in the shadows of a doorway, watching the entrance to that street of corruption and evil.

He pulls a vial from the pocket of his robes and downs the contents, grimacing at the vile taste. Holding his stomach and struggling with the urge to throw up, his features transform into that of a fair young man in his late teens.

Flicking long blond hair back with an expert move, he walks into Knockturn Alley with his head held high, a cocky smile on his lips and a confident bounce in his step. He shrugs away the groping hands, the lusting invitations and offers from passersby. When a weathered hand grabs his waist, and he comes face to face with madly gleaming eyes and a nasty tongue flickering out to lick dry old lips, the blond grabs the offending hand and with a swift motion, a crack and a cry of pain fills the air. No one dares to touch him again.

Bill walks up to a seedy little tavern and smiles coquettishly at the doorman who looks him up and down slowly. He receives a sharp nod of approval and the doors open.

He walks though a narrow corridor to a large room. It's noisy inside. There is loud music and young wizards and witches levitating trays full of Firewhisky between overflowing tables. Bill looks over the room and, finding what he's looking for, saunters towards a group of wizards sitting around a table in the back.

He pauses nearby and orders a glass of whisky from a passing waiting-witch in a loud, obnoxiously drunk voice that carries over the music. Many of the patrons of this fine establishment look his way, some with distaste, some with amusement and some with interest. He smiles, glassy-eyed, to the room at large and clumsily pulls up a chair from the nearest table. A heavyset wizard smiles and licks his lips unconsciously as the blond boy settles next to him.

Bill smiles back and says in a slurred voice, "Hey."

The wizard looks at him carefully and then leans in to ask, "How much?"

Bill whispers a number in his ear and as a greasy hand moves to rest on his thigh, the deal is struck.

One of the wizards around the table coughs and points to the pile of cards in front of them. The thick man smiles at Bill, showing yellowing teeth. "You'll be my good luck charm. For now," he adds, and the table bursts with rowdy laughter.

Bill sips slowly from his glass of whisky and leans back to listen to the careless, drunken conversation of the Death Eaters.

The thick wizard, his client, wins the game, and piles of golden coins from the table levitate to his open pouch. "Let's celebrate." His eyes glitter at Bill.

Bill smiles at him and gets up. "I'll just be right back." He walks out of the room without looking back.

He breathes out as the barroom door closes after him, but -

"You, wait! Where do you think you're going?" The old wizard comes stomping out into the corridor after him. "I'm not done with you, boy!"

Bill discreetly reaches for his wand as the wizard gets close enough to touch him. Just as he's about to do something desperately stupid in a house full of Death Eaters, a firm hand pushes the fat wizard away from him.

"He's mine now," someone says, and he finds himself pulled against a warm body. He looks up in surprise.

"Is there a problem?" Snape asks slowly, one eyebrow raised.

The other Death Eater looks taken aback, but then straightens and looks at him challengingly. "I paid for that whore; he's mine."

Snape narrows his eyes and, quite suddenly, Bill finds himself pinned against the wall. Lips descend on him as Snape whispers against his mouth, "Relax."

And then there's only the sensation of tongue finding its way into his mouth, pushing apart his trembling lips, trailing against his teeth. There are strong hands traveling down his body. He shivers and presses himself closer. The kisses turn hungry and needy, and he moans into that sweet mouth, still on his. He wants to grab that dark hair and pull him closer still.

He whimpers a little and opens eyes he doesn't remember closing, when those lips leave his mouth.

Snape's arms are still encircled around him and he's smirking. "He is long gone."

For a moment, Bill doesn't understand what he's talking about, but as he looks around the empty corridor, he remembers. Everything.

His eyes widen as he stares into the fathomless black of Snape's, who raises a hand to wipe red hair from his face. He leans in closer, until his lips are almost touching Bill's ear. "Go home, Weasley," he hisses softly.

* * *

Bill pulls back the covers and settles in next to his wife.

"You're beautiful," she says into his ear. And when he closes his eyes he feels a touch on his cheek; sees wet, dark hair brush his face. Strong, clever fingers unbutton his pajamas.

"So are you," he whispers into bottomless black eyes.

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* The End *