Animalexus

Marie had to admit that the Great Hall on the night of the Yule Ball was, perhaps, the most astoundingly beautiful display of magic she had ever seen. Snow drifted down from the ceiling, the flakes disappearing just before touching the heads of the many people in the room; and yet, the false sky above was clear, the dark points of light that were the stars blending almost perfectly with the tiny snowflakes. Tall evergreens surrounded the perimeter of the room, spiraling up towards the ceiling, draped in shimmering fabrics and garlands, invisible bells chiming musically from within their boughs. Perpetually-full dishes of wrapped candies hovered throughout the room, providing additional treats in case the heavily laden--and, it seemed, ever-changing--platters on the tables weren't enough.

She hadn't wanted to come. If the Headmaster hadn't sent Fawkes to the barn earlier to deliver a rather pointed reminder about attendance at the Ball, she probably would have stayed holed up in her apartment. Ever since Lucius Malfoy's appearance, Marie had been on edge, unable to escape the sick dread that settled in the core of her body and refused to leave. It was all she could do to get up and feed the horses every day; most of the other barn chores had been neglected for nearly a week. Even her refuge, her apartment above the barn, had lost any semblance of security it had once held for her, and she'd taken to sleeping in a pile of fresh straw in Mash's stall, able to feel safe only with her head near his massive hooves, his imposing presence standing guard over her.

But Fawkes hadn't taken 'no' or even 'I'll think about it' for an answer, so here she was, clad in McGonagall's dress robes. They fit rather closely, and the neckline dipped lower than Marie would have preferred, and as a result, she was extremely self-conscious despite the embarrassingly flowery praise her mirror had gushed at her while she dressed. Still, when she'd arrived here, through the staff door behind the dais in the Great Hall, Hagrid had offered a wide grin, Dumbledore's rather grim countenance had given way to a genuine smile, and McGonagall herself had put a hand up to her mouth before collecting herself again. Marie looked for Snape, just to see what his reaction would be, but his customary seat at the end of the table was still vacant.

***

Snape was late. The rest of the staff was almost certainly already at the Ball, and he figured he only had another five minutes or so before the Headmaster deemed it necessary to invade his private quarters and forcibly remove him to the Great Hall. He snarled at the very thought, yanked his wardrobe open with unnecessary violence, and grabbed his dress robes. Didn't know why the hell Hogwarts had to have a bloody Yule Ball every year now. He'd tolerated it just fine when it was only held in Triwizard years, but no, it was so much fun, the students enjoyed it so much, why not have one every year, the day after exams, so everyone can attend? Worst bloody idea Albus had ever had. And that was saying something.

Snape eyed himself warily in his mirror. His dress robes were black, little different from his regular ones except for the silver buttons at the cuffs and the narrow satin piping around the collar. These had been the first dress robes he had been able to find that didn't have some sort of frilly accoutrements or worse, an overabundance of color. They'd cost him nearly half a month's salary, and he wore them only when absolutely required. And the Headmaster had made it quite clear that they were required this year; he would not be permitted to merely show up in his everyday attire.

One more fierce glare at his mirror--which had learned long ago to hold its tongue--and he stormed out.

***

Hermione hurried down the stairs, holding the skirts of her robes above her ankles so as not to trip, and willed the staircases to stay put for another five minutes. It was hard enough to manage a graceful walk in these heels without worrying about the castle moving underfoot. When she reached the main floor of the castle she scanned the crowded corridor for Robin Hawley, the Ravenclaw boy she'd agreed to attend the ball with. There was no sign of him, and she didn't spot Harry or Ron, either. Harry and Ginny had finally gotten together--much to the relief of Hermione; the pair of them had been driving her crazy with their incessant mournful puppy-dog glances at each other--and Ron...well, Ron was going with some girl from Hufflepuff. It's not that one's date was really the point, after all. Almost an accessory, really. And there was nothing to say that one couldn't keep company with whomever one wished once actually at the Ball, after all.

"Hermione!" She turned to see Ginny weaving her way through the crowd towards her. She was wearing yellow robes that looked to be homemade--Mrs. Weasley's handiwork no doubt--but in a painstakingly beautiful way, not shabby at all. "Have you seen Harry about?" she asked, searching the crowd. "I can't find him."

"I haven't seen him, or Ron either. Probably still up in the dormitories." Hermione shook her head. "Honestly, I swear the boys take far longer to get ready than we do."

Ginny grinned. "Doesn't seem right, does it?"

"Definitely not." Without warning, a curl of Hermione's hair sprung loose from the tight coil she'd bound it up in. She tried to tuck it back into place, but it stubbornly refused to behave itself. Hermione knew she should have just given up and used the entire bottle of SleekEazy. It always took more than the label claimed. "I'd better go find a mirror," she said. "Tell Robin I'll be right back if you see him, all right?"

"Of course."

Hermione made her way through the crowd, ducking between a group of preening Hufflepuffs, a Fourth-Year Gryffindor boy who was charming his corsage from yellow to powder blue and then back again, past a crying Ravenclaw and around a couple of Slytherins who had evidently decided there was no time like the present and were engaged in a full-fledged snog-fest. There was a mirror back in a narrow corridor on the south side of the Great Hall, Hermione knew, though it was often left alone, since it never could seem to shut up once it got going.

Someone already stood in front of it, though, and Hermione could hear the mirror's voice from several meters away, rather like that of one of her less-favored aunts, she decided. "Just marvelous," it gushed, "Positively radiant. Tuck that wisp back behind your ear, dear, hurry up now, there we are."

"Would you please just shut up already?" the witch muttered, her voice too low and indistinct to identify.

"Honestly! Such behavior. Young ladies should not be using--"

The witch spun suddenly at the sound of Hermione's approach, and she was startled to recognize Marie. The robes she wore were unlike any she had ever seen in Hogsmeade or even Diagon Alley, a fine, almost floating material the color of the darkest red rose. She wore her hair down--it was the first time Hermione had seen her wear it this way; she had no idea it reached all the way to her hips--with a fine wreath of golden threads woven over the top, reaching from one ear to the other. Very suddenly, Hermione understood why there were always so many boys hanging around the stables.

The girls stared at each other for a moment, but Marie recovered first. She offered a smile that she couldn't keep from looking quite forced. "I don't suppose there's a way to make this thing keep quiet?"

Hermione grimaced. "Not so far as I know. I'm only here because the washrooms are positively packed, and, well..." she gestured to her own hair, which was becoming unrulier by the minute.

"I see." Marie glanced down at the stone floor. Hermione's first impulse was to ask what was wrong; but something in her friend's eyes made her think better of it. Instead, she nodded almost shyly to Marie and said, "You really look very beautiful tonight."

"You do," the mirror confirmed.

"Oh, I don't know." Marie squinted at the glass. "I'd really rather not be...well, never mind." She shifted uncomfortably, then squinted at Hermione's hair. "I think I can fix that. If you'd like to let me try."

Hermione rolled her eyes upwards. "By all means." She turned so her back faced Marie, and she felt the older girl's fingers set to work. "I thought I had it safely sequestered away, but I'm afraid I just can't do a thing with it."

Hermione felt a rather sharp tug and then another, but the mirror made an approving cooing sound, so she waited silently.

"I used to have a friend, lived down the road from us on the next farm over," Marie said, quietly, "Had hair just like yours, only black. We were always trying out one style or another on each other, so I got good at it." Hermione was quite cross with herself for being unable to come up with an appropriate response on the spot, but before she could think of anything to say, Marie announced, "There you are."

Hermione turned to face the mirror, found her hair back in place--better than it had been originally, she dared to say.

"Oh, just gorgeous," the mirror sighed. "I didn't know you had it in you, my dear."

Hermione would have been insulted, but she was still focused on her reflection. The coil was tight and precise, her hair smoothed and sleek, spiraling into a perfectly circular center at the back. Marie had done in five minutes what Hermione had been working at for four years running. Not working that hard, of course--there were better things to spend her time on than her hair--but this was still impressive. She touched her hair gingerly, but it didn't even threaten to burst back into its usual bushy state.

"Thank you," she said, at last, and turned to face Marie.

She was gone, the hall empty.

***

Despite the surroundings, the Yule Ball really wasn't so vastly different than the holiday dances Marie had attended in her own school days. Students stood in groups, hesitantly edging towards members of the opposite sex, or stood whispering or crying or giggling with a friend. Several couples clung to each other as though they were on the deck of a swiftly sinking ship, while others regarded one another with a definite attitude of obligation, dancing stiff-armed, as far apart as possible while still touching. She saw Harry Potter and the Weasley boy's sister, sitting together at one of the tables, gazing rather disgustingly into one another's eyes.

As she scanned the crowd of students from the safety of the staff table, one face caught her eye for a moment before she realized that the person she thought she recognized could not be here. Another glance, and it became clear that no, it wasn't who she thought it was, though there was a definite resemblance to Christopher, the boy she'd just started dating her last year in school. He'd been very polite, very soft-spoken, and very blond. She'd gone to dinner with him at the tiny little one-room restaurant in town that last night, just hours before the Death Eaters had...

She wondered, now, what Christopher was doing these days, if he ever thought about her. What must he have thought when he heard that her family had been killed? Had the Muggle authorities simply announced her death along with her parents', or had they released the information that she'd gone missing?

What would he think if he knew she were still alive?

"Marie?"

She started slightly at the sound of a voice so close, relaxed when she recognized it as belonging to Hagrid. She loved the way he said her name, 'M-rie,' as though there were no 'a' in it at all. She turned, smiled at him. "Hi, Hagrid."

"I jus' wanted to say, yer looking really nice."

She could feel the heat on her cheeks. She never had been good at taking compliments. "Thanks."

The big man had quickly become one of her favorite people here at Hogwarts, in no small part because he treated her little different than she expected he'd treat any other fellow lover of animals. He was more astute than many gave him credit, for, she knew, and his cheerful demeanor concealed a deep understanding of the darker side of life.

"So, how's Critter doin'?"

Marie grinned at the mention of the Thestral foal. Hagrid had overheard her calling it 'critter' one afternoon--her pet name of choice for just about any animal--and it seemed now that it had stuck. "I had to move him down into one of the stalls last week," Marie said. "He discovered his wings, but he's a bit of a klutz with them, I'm afraid. Started knocking things off my shelves faster than I could charm them back together."

Hagrid laughed, a deep, honest sound. "I'm guessin' 'e's about ready to get back to 'is herd, then. Good lad."

"Seems to be in good shape, yes," she agreed.

"It really's a great kindness y'done me, takin' Critter in like y'did."

"Oh, well," Marie glanced down. "I've kind of gotten to liking him, actually. I think Rinnamash is getting a bit jealous."

Down at the far end of the hall, the band--comprised of two witches and three wizards, all with festive red-and-white peppermint-striped hair--struck up a new song, quick-paced and melodious. Hagrid lifted his head, peered through the throng of people on the dance floor. "Now this, M'rie," he said, lifting a heavy hand, "is a great song. Jus' great." He stood up in what Marie was sure he considered a gallant, sweeping gesture. "Dance with me, will ye?"

*

Snape shoved his way through the staff doors and into the Great Hall with an especially sour expression on his face. He refused to meet any of his colleagues' eyes, and immediately went to his customary seat at the end of the table and sat down, his back rigidly straight. He hated parties. All kinds. Always had, always would. It didn't matter if it was a Hogwarts party, or one of Lucius', or one of the older pureblood-only affairs his family had attended years ago. The very thought of it made his blood run hot: everyone putting on a false cheerful face, issuing backhanded compliments to one another, offering condescending kindnesses and goodwill. He refused to partake.

Out of habit he sought out Marie, and was surprised to find her absent from the table. When he finally laid eyes on her, down on the dance floor, Snape was faced with a few seconds of total blankness. His mind had no idea how to react to the sight of the Dark Lord's most prized slave--and that is how he thought of her, still--dressed in elegant robes, a touch of skillfully-applied makeup on her face, moving with a light freedom he hadn't ever seen her exhibit before. As he watched, Hagrid--who was, incidentally, himself displaying a degree of grace Snape wouldn't have expected a half-giant--spun her around his body, lifting her right off her feet, and the smile that surfaced on her face when he did so was unlike any reaction Snape had ever seen from Marie, or expected to see. Spontaneous joy.

Dumbledore appeared quite suddenly in the seat next to him. "She is quite beautiful, isn't she?"

"Indeed," Snape agreed, keeping his tone indifferent. He knew that many of his acquaintances would scoff at the idea of Snape recognizing beauty, but even dark magic had elements of the exquisite in it, and any truly skilled wizard would know it when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw the Headmaster make a small movement, as though he were about to say more, but then he shook his head, slightly, ran a hand down his beard. Snape waited. The Headmaster liked his platitudes; the events to come tonight certainly warranted at least one.

"Severus," he began, his voice low, "Let me first say that I fervently wish that there were some--"

Snape cleared his throat roughly, did not meet the older man's eyes.

Dumbledore stiffened.

In the conversational silence that followed, the cacophony the band across the room was trying to pass off as music beat persistently against Snape's skull.

"These are extremely trying times," the Headmaster began, again, his tone far less certain than Snape was used to. "We can only put our faith in a higher cause--"

"With due respect," Snape interrupted, his tone especially cold even to his own ears, "I am not of a mind to listen to your inanities this night. Headmaster." He turned to face him then, fixed his superior with the sort of hard stare Snape knew unnerved Dumbledore; he'd seen it ever since his days as a schoolboy. Made the Headmaster doubt him, if only slightly. Well, that was just, wasn't it? The fool couldn't expect him to play at both good and evil at once and come out of it merry and sound.

"Yes, well..." Dumbledore sighed deeply, and when he spoke again it was with a far wearier, more honest tone than that of moments before. "I suppose, then, I have nothing to say that you would care to hear, Severus."

Snape looked away. He turned his eyes back towards the main floor of the Hall, ran his glare across the students as a whole, doing his best not to recognize any of them.

Several long moments later, he heard the Headmaster rise and retreat back to his seat at the center of the table. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet.

*

"You look so much like yer mother," Hagrid said, at the end of the dance.

As soon as he let go her hands, Marie became aware again of the throng around them, aware again that this was simply the Great Hall disguised behind simple magic. She swallowed. "You knew her when she was a student here, then?"

Hagrid nodded. "I wasn't teachin' then, but I was around." He guided her back through the throngs of young witches and wizards towards the staff dais. His hand was wide and warm between her shoulder blades, the fabric of her robes so thin the touch might have been skin against skin. "She was so good with th' animals. She used t'go down to the edge of the forest, real late, after curfew--shouldn't'a done that, prob'ly, but I don't think no'ne ever saw 'er but me --and the unicorns'd come out and stand with her, half a dozen all a' once, sometimes." His eye sparkled. "Y'ever seen a unicorn, M'rie?"

"No."

"Ah, that's a shame. They're magnificent, truly they are. So pure they almost glow, y'know."

Marie was sure she didn't let it show on her face, but that single image was perhaps the most magical thing she had experienced in her entire life. The idea that her mother--whom Marie had known as a down-to-earth, kind-yet-utterly-practical woman--had known of unicorns, had in fact drawn them to her...it was simultaneously exhilarating and almost incomprehensible.

Hagrid pulled Marie's chair away from the table for her and waited while she sat. At the far end of the table, Marie noticed the dark, still form of Snape, and though she looked away quickly, the Potions Master caught her eye and inclined his head towards her slightly, his expression otherwise frozen.

"I s'pose y'know that ye look like her," Hagrid was saying.

"Hmm?"

"Yer mother. Ye look jus' like her." He paused. "'Course, you remind me more of yer dad. Not fer looks, but you got the same kind o' personality, I think. If y'don't mind my sayin'."

Marie couldn't disagree with that assessment. She'd been thinking about it a lot, too, since the Sorting Hat had declared her to be a Slytherin and since discovering that her father had been in the same House. People were inclined to compare her to her mother, both because of their nearly identical looks and for their shared skill with animals, but in truth Marie had always identified more with her father.

"Gets me teary-eyed jus' thinkin' about what happened, if y'don't mind me sayin'..." He sniffed loudly as if to underscore his words. "We've 'ad a lot of tragedy in recent years, that's fer sure. Terrible times."

Marie offered a noncommittal sound.

"I guess bein' an Auror was what yer dad was happy doin', but I always used t'think he'd've made a great Headmaster someday. He 'ad that kind of...presence, I 'spose ye might say. Wouldn't that've been something'?" Hagrid smiled gently. "O' course, I think that's a mighty hard job to 'ave these days..."

Instinctively, Marie glanced back down the table to Dumbledore, at the center. He was alone, uninvolved in any of the conversations around him, and Hagrid was right; he did look especially drawn this evening. Marie certainly didn't know much about the older wizard, but she'd seen enough to know that he worked hard to put on a calm front for his students; if he was this preoccupied at the Yule Ball, something of particular importance must be bothering him.

He looked up suddenly, and his eyes moved immediately to meet Marie's. That fact alone made her uneasy, and when he offered a slight, sad smile, it did nothing to ease the sudden disquietness she felt in her core.

*

Snape sneered at the courtyard at large, though there was, at the moment, no one in his direct line of sight. He'd abandoned the Great Hall as soon as possible, taking care to mutter something about 'courtyard', 'rosebushes', and 'snogging' on his way out. It was a convenient excuse, of course, but he had to admit, there was something satisfying in aiming a mild curse at a bush and sending a pair of oversexed adolescents scattering. He'd already come upon bloody Potter--savior of the wizarding world, revered hero--sucking face with that Weasley girl. He'd put an end to that immediately, in the name of public decency. He'd also broken up the romantic interludes of a pair of Ravenclaws engaged in similar extracurricular activities, as well as one of his own Slytherins and a little Fourth-Year Hufflepuff, who was wearing a set of robes with a slit that extended far too high up her leg for even a semblance of modesty. Vermin, all of them. That, Snape decided, was all that he could possibly conclude from these endless displays of hedonism.

He fully intended to stay out here, on patrol if necessary, until the blasted Ball was over and done with. The event was trying enough on its own; he didn't think he could sit through the entire evening in the presence of an Albus Dumbledore suffering from a serious case of conflicted morals. One could almost see the thoughts warring with one another inside his head. There were no easy answers, no; that did not mean one was required to wear one's heart on one's sleeve. It was yet another item in the long list of things Snape couldn't stand about Gryffindors; they had no appreciation for discretion, particularly when it came to their own thoughts and feelings.

This was one arena in which Snape found it entirely possible to believe that Marie Llewellur was, in fact, a Slytherin at heart. Occasional outburst notwithstanding--and Snape had to admit, those usually occurred under extremely extenuating circumstances--she was often nearly as difficult to read as he knew himself to be. A moot point, some might argue, in a world containing Veritaserum, but Snape held to the conviction that there were always aspects of oneself that one might keep private. He did so, as did Marie.

He, however, did it better.

And that would hurt her.

***

The barn was quiet when Marie entered, though several of the horses offered drowsy greetings as she passed their stalls, and Geoffrey raised his head to demand--what else?--oats. Mash looked to be dozing, with head down, ears flopped carelessly out in opposite directions, and one hip cocked, the hind hoof raised slightly. He lifted his head when she approached, though, and perked his ears forward in a gesture she had come to recognize as his version of a raised eyebrow. "And who is this elegant lady I see?"

He managed to draw a smile out of her. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mash."

The big horse shifted slightly. "Will it get me an apple?"

She pretended to think about it. "Oh, I suppose it might."

"IF YOU GIVE HIM AN APPLE YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME OATS!"

Marie looked back down the aisle. "Now look what you've done."

"Oh, you can't blame me for that little prat." He pawed at his straw disgustedly. "So how was the Ball? Surely it wasn't quite the ordeal you'd envisioned?" Marie could hear the knowing note in his voice, and she deliberately ignored it.

"It was quite an experience, I'll admit that."

"They do manage to make the Great Hall look just astounding, don't they?"

Marie frowned. "And, pray tell, how would you know that?"

Mash looked away. "Two years ago. It was a Hufflepuff's idea. They charmed my coat white and my mane and tail red and green, and then I went in through the...never mind."

"I see." She moved her hands up to her hair, began to work at unraveling the delicate golden wreath there. "There was a bit of an odd mood about the place tonight, though."

"Oh, probably just because it's end of term. Transitions to holiday always feel a little strange here, being a school and all."

"That wasn't it." Marie shook her head, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. She certainly hadn't liked the way Snape had looked at her, but when did she? It was more the other professors...McGonagall had been far too polite, cordially distant--but only to her--and Dumbledore, well...up until now he'd taken great pains to speak with her whenever he set eyes on her, and tonight he'd downright avoided her. She shook her head again. "No, something's not right, Mash."

He didn't argue. "Are you going to sleep down here tonight?"

"I think so. I just don't feel right up--"

He snorted. "You don't have to explain it to me, you know. You can just come."

Marie smiled and leaned over the edge of his stall door, brushed her fingers through the old horse's forelock. "I'll bring you that apple," she whispered.

Up in her apartment, Marie changed out of the dress robes, taking care to hang them up back in the wardrobe for safekeeping, and put on her favored Muggle clothes, the ones Snape obviously found so distasteful.

Her rooms were beginning to feel unlived in; she hadn't spent the night up here in a week. She'd tried, but ever since Lucius Malfoy had gone back into her head, every time she lay down in bed and closed her eyes, she envisioned Death Eaters bursting through the door. Never mind that what had happened at her parents' house couldn't happen here, thanks to the wards around the grounds; this wasn't a matter of logic. For whatever reason, she could fall asleep downstairs in the stables with Mash, but not here.

Still, she decided, that didn't mean she had to let the apartment degenerate into a complete pigsty. The kitchen was still a mess, thanks to Critter's overenthusiastic wing-beating, and Marie decided she should at least shove everything back into the cupboards. There was a rather fine dusting of powdered porcelain and the like strewn across the floor when she was finished, despite her best efforts at the reparo charm, so she set about trying to clean that up as well. The sweeping spell gave her a bit of trouble--the first two times she cast it, she could have sworn the mess got larger, not smaller--but she finally got it, just as she heard the tell-tale creak of the top stair outside her apartment.

Marie stood abruptly and held her breath, flinching at each rap on the solid wood of the door. With a quick glance around the room, she wiped her hands on her jeans and moved to the main room.

"Who's there?" she called, knowing perfectly well who it was, thanks to the perfunctory knock and the silence of the horses downstairs.

"Snape," he called, his tone just slightly irritated. Marie noted his use of his own last name as identification.

"What are you doing here?" Marie winced before the words were even all out; she knew how ridiculous she sounded. Still, she couldn't shake that unsettled feeling, and Snape was not one to exactly put her at ease.

Now the man's irritation level was definitely higher than 'slight'. "I am here," he said, very deliberately, "For the same purpose as every other night, Miss Llewellur--or have you decided that your lessons are no longer of importance? I, for one, am convinced that enough time has been wasted for one day what with that bloody Yule Ball, but perhaps--"

"It's just that it's kind of late," she said, interrupting.

"Suddenly chosen to subscribe to an early-to-bed-early-to-rise lifestyle, Miss Llewellur?"

Something in his tone--some warning note--caused Marie to take her wand in hand and hold it out, ready. Nothing about this was unusual, and yet something was not right!

"Sir, I'd just like to--"

"Might we discuss this face-to-face as civilized people?" he demanded. The exasperation plain in his tone startled Marie out of her worries, and she opened the door reflexively.

The instant she saw the look on his face--she'd seen that blank business-cold expression once before--she knew she'd made a terrible mistake. Her wand was still up, but Snape seemed to take in the scene instantaneously, and he immediately disarmed her with an unspoken spell. Marie scarcely had time to understand that her fingers were now gripping at naught but air before he'd moved towards her, and, with a speed and brute force she hadn't expected from him, grabbed hold of her, pinning both wrists with one of his hands, pulling her body back against his. She opened her mouth to scream, but he pressed a cloth to her face, muffling both her voice and her breath.

He didn't make a sound the entire time.

Marie kicked out with one booted heel and made contact with his shin, and Snape loosened his grip only slightly, just enough for her to jerk her head aside and gasp, "Don't do this--" and then that cloth was back over her face, his fingers digging into her temple and cheekbone, and for one brief moment she struggled again, anything to fight it, anything to stay away from where she knew she'd end up if he took her, and then she had to take a breath, and then...

...nothing.

*

Snape held Marie's body upright for several moments after she stopped fighting, and when her form remained limp, he lowered her to the floor. He tucked the cloth back into his pocket, wrapping it loosely around the tiny phial also there. Damned girl! This could have gone much more smoothly...all she'd had to do was invite him in as usual, poured herself her customary glass of wine...a single drop from the phial and she'd have been out without knowing a thing.

Of course, experience had taught Snape that events often did not follow an ideal path, hence the contingency plan. A wand could have done the job more easily, of course, but stunning spells were notoriously unreliable when combined with Apparation.

He wondered how she'd known.

Snape straightened, smoothed his robes. He tucked Marie's wand inside, alongside his own, and he could feel their identical cores humming in response to the other's proximity. He brushed a hand back through his hair and gathered it at the nape of his neck, tied it with a ribbon. Pulled on his gloves. All of the little rituals he'd performed so many other nights.

She lay so very still on the floor, her hair fanned out behind her, mouth slightly open, a row of sharp white teeth just showing. One hand lay outstretched, the fingers curled, and when he laid eyes on it, Snape felt the scratches on his own wrist from her fingernails, her desperation written into his skin.

He could not allow himself to consider what he was condemning this girl to.

No, that luxury was for the Albus Dumbledores of the world, cloistered away in their offices with a cup of tea, no doubt, meditating on pain and sacrifices and nobility and the like.

One more breath, one more glance around the room.

Snape lifted Marie in his arms and carried her downstairs and out of the barns, past a screaming Rinnamash and away...