Animalexus

Marie daubed a bit more oil onto the sponge and began working it into the saddle resting on her knee. The school tack she'd found was extremely well-made and expensive, but it had been neglected, the leather grimy and dry. Marie had finished cleaning and oiling three saddles already, and as many bridles, since dinner had ended a couple hours ago. She was relieved to have the stables empty again. Barn chores like this calmed her, she found--though she had found a spell in the library that automatically mucked out all the stalls at once and then replaced the bedding. She'd hadn't tried it yet, but she would once she'd had a little training. She supposed she had to admit that magic could occasionally come in handy. Things like feeding and cleaning tack, though, she'd just as soon do herself. Maybe it was the monotony of the movement, or maybe it was the smell of leather, oil, and alfalfa, but she felt safe here, in this moment, despite the fact that the horrible Mark on her arm glared up at her with each stroke of her sponge.

Marie looked up at the stall opposite. "How long have you been here at Hogwarts, Mash?"

"Oh, a good many years," the horse said, through a mouthful of hay. "Getting up on twenty-five, I am."

Marie lifted the saddle's flap, began to work the leather beneath. "You like it?"

Mash bowed his head, and his forelock swished. "There're a lot of good people here, Marie. Not a lot of attention paid to we horses, but that's all right. They turn us out in the day, and a good paddock's all I need. Every once in a while I still go out on a hack."

"Or take an unwitting passenger over a four-foot jump?" she demanded, glaring. She still hadn't quite forgiven Mash for that little stunt earlier.

"Something like that," he replied, his eyes sparkling. He glanced down and pawed at his hay, exposing the tastiest leaves underneath. "What about you? Do you like it?"

"I don't know, Mash. I...I'm not totally comfortable with it. I mean...wizards... I haven't had a lot of luck with them." She thought of Draco Malfoy's appearance at the stables earlier. Marie assessed all the students who'd had prior riding experience so she could group them into classes, and she had to admit, she'd been impressed by Draco's skills. He had his own horse here, a lithe thoroughbred mare. She seemed well enough taken care of, but she had hardly uttered a word since she'd met her. And Marie did not for a minute believe that Draco wanted to take lessons for any purpose other than keeping an eye on her for his father. Marie turned her attention back to Mash. "I'm so much more comfortable around animals. I mean...it's so nice just to have a normal conversation like this. I never get to speak on my own terms. It's always, do this, do that, and if you don't--get ready for it to hurt." She paused. "Don't think I'm ever going to be quite right."

Mash stopped eating. "You'd be surprised."

Marie looked to him. There was more to that comment.

"I wasn't born and raised here, Marie. I had a really...a very cruel owner. I was unapproachable by the time I was five. Tried to kill anyone who crossed my path. Didn't trust a soul in the world. Didn't think there was good. Then someone new bought me, brought me here. He took a chance on me, had to be really patient. And here I am." He sighed. "This could be your new chance. They do come, sometimes, Marie."

***

Snape slipped down the empty hall, ignoring the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The call had come late, and Dumbledore hadn't seen him leave; Snape could wait to report until morning. For now, a cup of tea--or maybe a shot (or two) of Old Ogden's, if he were honest with himself--and then bed.

The Dark Lord hadn't been terribly pleased with the turn in events concerning his Animalexus' status here at Hogwarts--after all, now that she was in a visible position here, it meant a formal plan would have to be drawn up in order to 'arrange for her return', and that sort of thing took time--but he had believed Snape's claims that he'd known nothing about it before this morning. Or at least, Snape thought the Dark Lord had believed him. Would he even know it when the day came that he didn't? Snape scoffed silently. For all he knew, he'd already lost all credibility, and the Dark Lord was simply waiting for him to muck something up so badly that it merited a truly spectacular punishment.

This is what the Headmaster didn't understand. This wasn't about protecting Snape's cover with the Dark Lord anymore. This wasn't about protecting him. This was about doing the most to help the Order and sabotage the DeathEaters as possible until someone's patience wore thin and Snape ended up dead or worse. It wasn't a possibility, it was an inevitability. Just as it was with Miss Llewellur. She was not going to live out the rest of her days happily here at Hogwarts; she was going to be returned to the Dark Lord--probably sooner rather than later--and when she did, she would not only be a slave again, she would be a slave with a record of disobedience.

And, Snape noted with some surprise, she was now sitting outside the entrance to the dungeons, asleep. He stared down at her for a moment--she looked tense even in sleep, her hands pulled into fists, her jaw taut--and then cleared his throat and prodded her slumbering form with the toe of his boot.

"Miss Llewellur, what are you doing?"

Her eyes went wide, and she scrambled to her feet, simultaneously throwing herself back towards the stone wall behind her. Belatedly, Snape realized what he must look like to her. He'd charmed his silver-and-black DeathEater robes solid black, but the formal cut was rather distinctive, and he wore his hair pulled back, tied at the base of his skull. He didn't look like the Severus Snape the Hogwarts Potions Master, he looked like Severus Snape the DeathEater. He looked the way he had when he'd burst into Marie's house years ago and killed her parents, looked the way he had every time she'd seen him over the past two years at the Dark Lord's manor, every time he'd forced some vile potion on her or assisted with an interrogation or callously discussed murders and plans for more murders in front of her. "Miss Lle--Marie!"

She blinked hard, and then again, before the realization showed on her face. The fear in her eyes didn't quite disappear, though.

"What, might I ask, are you doing camping out outside my dungeons?" He hadn't intended for that 'my' to slip through.

"I was--" She looked behind him for a moment, then back at his face. "I was waiting for you." She lifted her left arm slightly, and Snape realized that she, too, would have felt the call when it came.

"Yes, well. Had it not occurred to you that doing so outside of the Slytherin dormitories was perhaps not the best decision?"

"It's after curfew."

"Allow me to repeat, Miss Llewellur: the Slytherin dormitories."

She shifted, smoothed her cloak. "Yes, right. Right. Sorry."

Snape sighed. This was not going to be a quick conversation. "Very well. Come on." He moved past her, down the dark hall, got several steps before realizing she wasn't following. He spun, his robes swishing behind him. "Miss Llewellur, do you wish to speak with me or not? I assure you, I have far better things to be doing." Like sleep.

"Sorry," she muttered, her eyes darkening.

Snape hesitated just a fraction of a second before opening the door to his private rooms. He did not let anyone in here, ever. "Sit," he told Marie. "There." He pointed to a muted-green high-backed chair near the fireplace. She obeyed automatically, pulling that damned cloak back around her shoulders. Snape moved to the cabinet near his bookshelves. "Firewhiskey?" he asked, without turning around. No answer. "In polite society, when one is asked if one wants a drink, one generally answers."

"Um, I think I'm fine."

He turned slowly, unable to keep the slight smile off his lips. "I have no desire to poison you, Miss Llewellur." He poured himself a shot and tossed it back. She clearly wasn't impressed. "Oh, for...Was it Lucius?" Her eyes flickered. "Don't tell me he told you that nonsense about the madman Potions Master who has consumed tiny amounts of various potions every day for years in order to build up a tolerance."

She blushed, and Snape laughed, not kindly. "Merlin...that man, sometimes. Here." He pushed a glass into Marie's hand, relieved when she took it. He elected not to tell her that Lucius' 'nonsense' was, in point of fact, truth, at least in the case of Veritaserum and several of the more common deadly poisons. One could never be too cautious.

*

Marie accepted the drink, and was immediately glad for it, though she couldn't shake her wariness. Being inside Snape's own rooms did nothing to calm her nerves. They were hardly the torturous chambers she knew many of the students probably believed them to be, but nor were they what Marie would call 'homey'. The stone floors were only partially covered with several dark tightly-knotted rugs, and the walls were bare save for a pair of sconces above the fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls, and Marie was surprised to see that most of the texts didn't appear to be overtly magical. The titles did pertain to potions or Dark Magic, mostly, but the letters didn't shift before her eyes. At least, most of them didn't. There was a low table between the chairs she and Snape sat in, and a large desk stood behind them, its surface covered in parchment, several quills lying on top of the sheets, next to a crystal inkwell. There was a doorway to Marie's right, but it was shut tight.

Snape set his glass down on the table, stood and stretched. He lifted the charm on his robes, and the lining reverted back to silver. He unhooked the clasp on his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair in front of the desk, pulled off the dress robes as well, exposing black slacks and a close-fitting black shirt. He unbuttoned the cuffs of the sleeves, but he left his hair tied back. Snape then pulled two narrow, highly-polished black boxes from a drawer in the desk and sat back down opposite Marie. He opened one box, produced a dark-colored wand seemingly from nowhere, and nestled it carefully into the velvet-lining of the box. He then opened the other and pulled out a similar wand, held it loosely in one hand.

"It is decidedly beneficial to a DeathEater to keep two wands," Snape explained, evidently no longer in a hurry for the conversation to be over. "You have no idea how many times my wand has been subjected to Priori Incantatem in just the last few years by various Ministry officials and rabidly suspicious Aurors and the like." He lifted the wand in his hand in a sort of shrug. "And yet they never find a thing."

Marie tried not to grimace. "Are they identical?"

Snape glanced sideways at her, as though trying to decide whether the question was innocent or not. "No," he said, finally. "This one is an Ollivander's. 'Ebony,'" he quoted, "'Eleven inches, the slightest bit flexible, dragon heartstring core, good for subtle magic, potions and the like'."

He stopped there, and kept his gaze on her. He was going to make her ask. Marie looked away. "And the other one?"

"Also ebony, also eleven inches. Not one of Ollivander's," he added, unnecessarily; it was already clear to Marie that this wand was different. "It's a custom piece, made by a Gypsy wandmaker. Inflexible. Extraordinarily good for curses, thanks to its unusual and rather potent core. Do you have any guesses as to what that might be, Miss Llewellur?" He raised an eyebrow.

Marie took another--long--drink. "Interesting," she managed.

"Very," Snape agreed, smoothly. He stood up, put the boxes away. "Now. What are you doing here?"

Marie steeled herself. "I want you to teach me how to shield my mind. From the Dark Lord. From Malfoy."

Snape didn't sit down this time, instead put his hands behind his back and paced back and forth in front of his fireplace. "I can't."

Marie clenched her jaw. "You're a spy, are you not? I assume you must have some expertise in the area, or you never would have lasted this long, not with the Dark Lord."

"I am an extremely skilled Occlumens," Snape allowed. "And I do have some talent when it comes to resisting Imperius and the like. However."

"What?" Marie tensed her entire body. If he dared to tell her he couldn't teach her because he wanted to save his own arse...

"You're the Animalexus."

She couldn't keep the sarcasm from slipping into her tone. "I am indeed. Very good."

Snape sighed. "I can't teach you to protect yourself from mental curses. Whatever it is that allows you to understand and speak to anyone you might encounter also allows those with ill intentions fairly easy access to your mind. Many an Animalexus has fallen prey to Imperius or one of its cousins and thus had their powers exploited. It's a fairly well-known weakness of your kind, and I am afraid that you would have no hope of shielding yourself against even the most inexperienced of the DeathEaters, never mind the Dark Lord himself."

What did she say to that? What did she say to the news that she was destined to forever be subject to the whims and intrusions of others? That her thoughts and emotions could be known to anyone with the desire and skill to tear them from the privacy of her own mind? That she could be made to do anyone's bidding, no matter how repulsive the orders might be?

Snape settled back into his chair and stayed quiet for a long moment. Patience, Marie realized. He was actually exercising patience with her. But she'd never forget the sound of his voice speaking those words, the words that killed her only family. Wouldn't forget the many times he'd been anything but patient, demanding answers or action.

"Have you even tried that out yet?" he asked, finally.

Marie glanced down. Her own wand had found its way into her hands, held tight between her fingers. "How am I supposed to try it out when I don't know a bloody thing about performing magic?"

"You know plenty," Snape said, softly, his eyes hard. "Stand up. Start with the one you know best." He rose and moved in front of her, spread his arms. "Go ahead."

"What are you telling me?"

His eyelids dropped. "'Crucio', Marie. It's an easy word; I have faith that you are intelligent enough to remember those three syllables."

She pointed her wand at the floor. "I'm not going to cast Cruciatus. Jesus."

He smiled coldly, distancing himself from her further. "Still swear like a Muggle, I see."

"Besides," Marie continued. "If I go...back there...it's not as though the Dark Lord is going to decide to let me have a wand."

"Yes, but as you've already shown a predilection for both resourcefulness and simple theft, I trust that you might find yourself in a situation with the opportunity to cast a curse. And there really is none better, you know."

"Why would you let me do that to you?"

Snape's own wand had disappeared. He folded his arms in front of him, leaned his weight on one leg. "Because you need to learn that spell a lot more than you need to learn to turn a rock into a toad. Because the first time most people cast it they can barely make a spider twitch. I expect you'll do a bit more than that, between your innate power and that wand, but I also expect you can't do worse than the Dark Lord." He waited a beat, lifted his chin haughtily, let his lip curl the way it had that first night and so often since. "Don't you think I deserve it?"

Anger flared in Marie's soul, and she raised the wand without thinking about it and spat the word, ugly and low. She felt a rush inside of her, and in an instant Snape was on one knee, his palms on the floor on either side of him. He stared at the floor a few moments longer, and Marie could hear him breathing hard. She was appalled at her own actions, but still she held on to her wand.

Snape looked up, finally, and tossed his head to the side, a few strands of hair hanging loose from the ribbon. "Good," he said. He pulled himself to his feet, tugged on his sleeves. "There was more to that than simple impulse. You can conjure the hate. Now you need to drain the emotion out of it and focus the power. Use your wand to concentrate the curse before you direct it. Now: again."

"I don't--"

"Again!"

He went down to both knees this time, and she saw his jaw clench and temple pulse and then she lost her concentration and the curse lifted. He stood up slowly, and Marie found his face paler even than usual, a thin sheen of sweat already on his skin.

"Better," he allowed. "That's quite enough of that for one night, though. You may be new to this, but you have a most remarkable reserve of power." Marie was on the verge of apologizing, breaking down completely, begging forgiveness, something. But Snape continued before she could. "I want to see you again tomorrow night. We'll practice. Not here, though. I'll come to you."

She didn't let go of her wand for the entire walk back to the stables. She'd cast an Unforgivable Curse as her first spell--and then done it again. What did that say about her? She hated the Dark Lord, hated him more than she thought she could hate anyone, but here she was learning his magic. And she was going to learn more, and learn it from the man who killed her parents.

She'd hit Snape hard with that curse, harder than he expected, she knew. And yet she'd seen the Dark Lord cast the same curse on Snape and leave him screaming, or on the worst days, beyond screaming. She'd seen him with blood running out of his mouth and ears because of that curse, had seen him left with convulsions that lasted the better part of an hour before he could even lie still, never mind get up. She'd been there herself, though only once.

Could she do that to a man? Did she have the talent, and, more importantly, did she have the heart--or lack of it?