Animalexus

Marie knew where the Dark Lord had sent her, even before she opened her eyes. She knew the smell of it, the cold chill of it, and the sticky blood she could feel drying on her right hand and wrist only confirmed it.

Malfoy Manor.

The cellars of Malfoy Manor, to be more accurate. Lucius Malfoy had transformed a part of the cellars into a dungeon much the way a Muggle man might turn his own cellar into a hobby woodshop. Not that Lucius was likely to appreciate that comparison, Marie acknowledged.

She glanced at the doorway. There was no door there, and no bars, but the threshold was streaked with blood. Hers, of course. Marie didn't know much about blood magic, but she knew it worked. The blood at the doorway would be nothing to Lucius but a distasteful stain in which to avoid placing his boots, but if Marie tried to cross the threshold, she would hit a block as solid as any stone wall and as hot as a lit burner on a stove. A simple door would have been just as effective. Then again, any Muggle could hang a door.

The binding irons around Marie's wrists continued to feel oppressive. The way they held back her magic made Marie think of what it must be like to have someone's hand at one's throat, just tight enough to make breathing difficult. In a way, she was almost grateful for them. They bound her power, yes, but that power had only gotten her into trouble thus far. And what she had done tonight haunted her.

She did not like Gavin Welton. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But she did know him. She had spent more time with him than with any of the other Death Eaters, and she had become familiar with his habits and his mannerisms. He was not simply an anonymous face behind a mask. He was a person--dangerously violent and morally lacking, but still human. And Marie had ended his life. Quite easily. She would do it again if she could, and it was actually something of a relief to have that option taken away.

Malfoy Manor was not a good place in which to be defenseless, however. Lucius was cruel to Marie when he had no cause at all; she shuddered to think of what he would do to her now that she had murdered his friend.

"You again."

Marie looked up. A sleek gray cat with piercing green eyes sat in the hall outside her cell, his tail wrapped neatly over his forepaws. She recognized him; his name was Shade, and he belonged to Narcissa. Marie was not particularly happy to see him.

Shade narrowed his eyes. "What's the matter, Marie?" he asked, cocking his head. "Cat got your tongue?" He flicked his tail once, obviously pleased with his own cleverness.

"You don't have to come down here, Shade," Marie said. "You've got the run of the place, as you are ever so fond of telling me."

"Jealous?" the cat asked, his tone infuriatingly smug.

Marie didn't bother answering. Most people, Muggle and wizard alike, assumed that she loved all animals; she didn't. In fact, her ability to talk to them meant that there were some she most certainly did not love. Shade, though he wasn't dangerous by any means, was, to put it plainly, a pain in the arse. It was easy to believe that he was a Malfoy's cat.

Shade rose to his feet and sauntered to the very edge of Marie's cell, where he stopped abruptly and regarded the blood on the floor with near-tangible distaste. He looked back to her and paced along the stone outside the cell. "Do tell me, Marie," he purred, "Whatever have you done to put the household in such a tizzy this time?"

Marie met his eyes. "Curiosity killed the cat," she said, flatly.

Shade looked appropriately affronted, but before he could reply, he tilted his head, listened, and then darted away down the dark hall. Several long moments later, Marie heard the footsteps, too.

*

She looked up when he stepped into view, and Draco didn't miss the fear in her eyes. She had been expecting his father, though, and when she recognized Draco, her expression settled into mere wariness. She held his gaze, but didn't move from her place against the opposite wall.

Draco had not known Marie before she came to Hogwarts, and he was startled by the change in her appearance, even over the course of a single week. Her hair was loose and dull, her eyes hard. The Mark on her arm was in plain view--it was the first slave Mark Draco had seen; it surprised him that the addition of two inked chains could make it so ugly--and the binding irons on her wrists could not have been mistaken for anything less oppressive. At Hogwarts, she had always been riding, working, moving. The Marie Llewellur of his memory was always in motion. She should have been ill at ease in confinement, he thought. It should have driven her mad to know that this tiny space was the limit of her environment. But here she was, in front of him, locked up, and she just looked...used to it.

She killed Gavin Welton, Draco reminded himself. It seemed ludicrous, that Marie had killed a man quite literally with her bare hands only hours ago. But Draco had only dared to come down to the dungeons because his father was still at Welton's home, with his family. Draco realized he was pacing, and forced himself to still, clasping his hands behind his back.

After a long silence Marie spoke, wearily. "What do you want, Draco?"

Draco blinked, then pulled himself straighter. He raised his chin and, a moment later than he would have liked to, snarled, "Do not presume to speak to me, slave."

Marie did not look particularly abashed, but she did cast her eyes down, and she did not say anything more. It shouldn't have surprised Draco that she obeyed so readily--she was a slave, after all--but he had a difficult time reconciling the confident horsewoman that Marie had been at Hogwarts with this vulnerable figure in his father's dungeons. It was strange to think that this side of her had been lingering all the time, just beneath the surface. It was a hell of a thing to hide, and she'd done it well.

There was nothing amiss here, Draco reminded himself. Marie Llewellur was the Animalexus, and as such, she was the property of the Dark Lord. Draco certainly didn't dispute that. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a pureblood. The Llewellurs were blood traitors, of course, and had made their position clear from the earliest days of the first war, if the rumors were true, but they were still one of the oldest and most revered families in the wizarding world. Marie had the closest thing to royal blood the wizarding world had running through her veins.

Draco smoothed a hand over his hair and cleared his throat. "I'd like to speak with you regarding Terpsichore," he said.

Marie jerked her head back up. "You came down here to ask me about your horse?"

Her tone grated, and Draco impulsively stepped over the blood barrier toward her, his hands flexed.

And she flinched back, hard. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, clenching her own hands into fists, as though she hated the words even as she said them. "I'm sorry."

Draco towered over her, marveling that he had reduced Marie to this with a mere few steps. It didn't make him feel particularly satisfied.

Marie closed her eyes for a long moment and put a hand up to the bridge of her nose. Draco thought he could see her lips moving silently. When she opened her eyes again, it was as if the last few moments hadn't happened, as if the last few days hadn't happened. Her expression was guarded but not frightened. When she spoke, it was in a tone that was calm and strangely confident. "What about Terpsichore?"

Draco stared down at Marie for a long moment before deciding to accept the sudden change and finish the conversation--if it could be called that. "I, ah, I brought her home for the holiday, of course. I went hunting three days ago and she ran out at jumps twice. She's done it twice more since."

Marie fixed her gaze somewhere beyond Draco for a long moment, long enough that Draco glanced quickly behind himself to see if there was actually something there. Nothing but solid stone. Eventually she looked back at him. "She's running out to the right?"

He nodded affirmation.

Marie nodded, a very slight movement. "You carry more weight in that rein," she said, almost to herself.

"No I don--"

"Not to any drastic extent, but you do." Marie seemed oblivious to the fact that she'd just interrupted him, an offense for which she surely knew she could be harshly punished. "Terpsichore mentioned it once or twice before. It's not a major fault, Draco. It's your stronger hand; it's natural. It's just that she's so very sensitive."

"She is," Draco agreed, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

"She loves hunting, and she loves jumping. She even loves you," Marie added, in a strange tone. "But she also thinks rather highly of herself, and she won't perform at her best unless she's being ridden to perfection."

Abruptly, Marie seemed to realize where she was, and to whom she was speaking. She pushed a hand through her hair, averted her eyes. She pulled her cloak more tightly around herself, and then she was still.

Draco, too, knew that he shouldn't have come down here. He'd been curious, certainly, to see if the girl he'd known at Hogwarts and the slave who had killed a Death Eater were in fact the same person--it hadn't seemed possible. But he never should have said a word to her. He should have come down, cast a steely, superior gaze upon her, and left. Why hadn't he?

Draco stepped back out into the hallway, and spun his cloak once, as though to rid it of any residue of the dungeons. He glanced back at Marie once more--she was wise enough not to look at him--muttered, "Yes, well," under his breath, and strode toward the stairwell.

***

It was the fourth straight day of rain. It had rained especially hard yesterday, at Welton's funeral. Appropriate mourning weather, Snape supposed, however unworthy the deceased. It had been an odd affair, especially since Welton had held a job in the Ministry of Magic. His service had been attended by Death Eaters and Ministry members alike, all unmasked, staring each other in the face.

Kerry Kensington's body had not been found, and his family hadn't yet accepted that it would be better to believe him dead than to hope that he was still alive.

Snape glanced sideways. The damned Auror was still gawking at Nimue.

"It is a bird, Shacklebolt, not a cleverly disguised Dark object."

The other man jerked his gaze away from the hawk. "I know what it is." He pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Can't say I would have pegged you for an animal person."

"I'm only fond of her because she kills things for a living."

Shacklebolt planted his feet. "We're on the same side, here, Snape."

"Yes," Snape agreed, "I know that." He squinted through the rain, past the Auror's formidable frame. "We're nearly there."

The sixth and final cornerstone of Hogwarts' wards was also the farthest from the castle, just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The isolation would do no one in the castle any favors--if the wards came down, anyone would be able Apparate anywhere they pleased--and it left the cornerstone very vulnerable. The stone itself was a dark, smooth block, utterly innocuous in its appearance. Snape had to admit that he did not truly understand the theory behind the warding system; then again, very few wizards did and two of them had been killed recently. Snape did know that the cornerstones, plain as they might appear, were infused with very powerful magic, magic that teetered on Dark.

Shacklebolt laid his hand on the cornerstone and peered into the dimness of the Forest. "Merlin... There's no cover here," he said, more to himself than to Snape. "And you can't see a damned thing in there. This place is just begging to be ambushed." He circled the cornerstone, shaking his head. "I'd have to post a small army here to keep this secure. And that is one thing I don't have." He looked pointedly at Snape.

Snape didn't let his expression change. He well knew that nearly a dozen Aurors had been killed in the last month alone. It was an impressive number even by the Dark Lord's standards. "You've thinned our ranks as well," he said evenly.

The Auror spun and faced Snape head-on, glowering. "'Our'?"

"Oh, come off it, Shacklebolt!" Nimue flapped her wings irritably, and Snape raised his fist. "I'd love to parade around with a big, shiny 'Proud Member of the Order of the Phoenix' button on my cloak, but somehow I think that might be a bit of a giveaway to the Dark Lord." He sneered. "Ah, you don't like me calling him that, either, do you?" He stepped closer to Shacklebolt, uncomfortably close, and as Snape expected, the other man was too proud to back away. "Let me remind you of something, then. I am a spy. For you. If I say the wrong thing here, to you, you scowl at me, maybe run to Dumbeldore for reassurances that I am not, in fact, the devil incarnate. So be it. If I say the wrong thing to the Dark Lord, he tortures me to death. Slowly. So do excuse my semantics."

The Auror glared at Snape. "I'm not going to apologize to a--."

"--Death Eater, yes, I know." Snape lowered his eyelids to half-mast and turned away from Shacklebolt, back toward the castle. "I certainly wouldn't expect you to," he muttered, acidly.

He did find it rather amusing, in a morbid sort of way, that so many people seemed to find great satisfaction in hurling the words "Death Eater" at him as though they were some great insult. That was the point, after all, wasn't it? He was a Death Eater. He wasn't proud of it--not any more--but he had never denied it; only other people, like Minerva, ever seemed to take issue with the label. No, he was a Death Eater, and he was also a member of the Order of the Phoenix. After all, he wouldn't be much use as the latter if he weren't also the former.

As the edifice of the castle came into view through the gray mist of rain, Nimue began to flap her wings and shift her feet restlessly. Snape agreed with her: he was hardly the claustrophobic type, but the thought of going back to the castle right away set him on edge. Every second spent inside those walls was a second spent waiting for a call, waiting for information, waiting for an attack. He changed course.

"Where are you going?" Shacklebolt didn't sound accusatory this time, just confused.

"To see my horse," Snape answered, without turning around. He was quite certain Shacklebolt stopped in his tracks.

"You own a horse?"

"They told me he was a real killer when I bought him, but I've been sorely disappointed so far."

***

"Count your stitches, Hagrid. I think you may have dropped one." Hermione leaned over. "Or more," she added.

"'s harder than it looks, isn't it?" Hagrid muttered, fumbling with his needles and yarn. Hermione had been more than a little surprised when Hagrid appeared in the Gryffindor common room professing a burning desire to learn to knit, but life at Hogwarts had grown astonishingly tense in the last few days, and Hermione assumed that Hagrid wanted company as much as she did.

"Don't worry. You'll get the knack of it."

Hagrid frowned. "Not anytime soon, I don' think. I guess Fang is jus' going to have to wait a while b'fore his scarf is ready fer 'im."

"Er--right. I don't think he'll mind."

Hagrid dropped the whole mess into his lap and turned his eyes toward the windows. "'Course, I'll have plenty o' time to practice if this rain keeps up."

Hermione set her own knitting down. "It is awfully dreary, isn't it?" She scooted her chair closer to the raging fire. The common room was nearly empty; a pair of third-years sat playing chess in a corner, but that was it. Harry had been up in his room since breakfast. He had been unusually quiet the last few days, but, Hermione reasoned, so had she. It was an unusual time, a depressing time. She thought she could handle the tension if only there were something to do.

"Aye, dreary," Hagrid echoed. He cleared his throat suddenly, leaned forward. "Hermione, I want ye to know that I didn' know what was goin' to happen. With M'rie."

She looked up, startled. It hadn't occurred to her that Hagrid might have known.
"Inexcusable, 's what it was," he said, staring at his hands, clasped in front of him. "Ye don' send anyone to face that. Ye jus' don't."

"I didn't think you had anything to do with it, Hagrid," Hermione said, twisting a loose strand of yarn around her finger. "I mean, I know you wouldn't. I guess I just...I just can't believe that the Headmaster did."

Hagrid sighed heavily. "Oh, Hermione." He glanced around the room, then leaned in close to her. "I'm sure ye've heard it said that Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who ever feared?"

Hermione nodded, the words not triggering the swell of pride she was used to.

"Ye don't really believe that the only one he ever feared is jus' a silly ol' man who sits in 'is office eatin' sweets all day, do ye?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't make it right. What he did."

"I don' disagree with ye there, Hermione. Inexcusable, like I said. I'm jus' tryin' to explain the--"

Hagrid was cut off by a loud shout from just outside the entrance to the common room. The large portrait swung open and Harry staggered in, prodded from behind by an Auror. "--not confined to the dormitories! I wasn't going to go outside!"

The Auror, a middle-aged wizard with the build of a professional bludger, scowled at Harry. "And I won't stop you from leaving the dormitory when you do it in plain sight!" retorted the Auror. He raised his right arm and it seemed to disappear. Harry snatched his invisibility cloak away.

Hagrid stood up, suddenly. "Harry! What d'ye think ye're doin'??"

The Auror cast an appraising eye on Hagrid, and, apparently satisfied that he was leaving Harry in appropriately indignant hands, went back through the portrait entrance to resume his post outside the dormitory.

Harry sullenly dropped into the chair next to Hermione. "It's not a big deal, Hagrid."

"Harry, this is a dangerous time. Ye can't jus' go gallivantin' around the grounds right now."

Harry raised his voice. "I wasn't going to leave the castle! How many times do I have to say it?"

"You did just try to sneak out under an invisibility cloak, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

He turned to address her, apparently deciding that she would be a more sympathetic audience than Hagrid. For her own part, she doubted it. Harry was much too fond of putting himself into dangerous situations. "I just want to make sure that I can get out if I need to. If something happens."

Hagrid sat back down opposite them, not looking less angry so much as simultaneously angry and understanding. "It is hard waiting, isn't it?"

***

Snape shook the rain from his cloak as he stepped into the Hogwarts stables. The scent of hay and horses was familiar. He came here more than most of his colleagues knew. It was true; he had no particular fondness for animals, though as a rule he disliked them less than he did most people. He imagined that would change if he could hear them talk. He did like Rinnamash, though. The horse represented one of the better decisions he'd made in his life, during a period when he hadn't made many good or even decent ones at all.

Snape glanced ahead down the alleyway, to the end of the barn and the staircase there that led to Marie's flat. Snape had been here twice since that night he'd returned her to the Dark Lord. Rinnamash was still depressed, at least insofar as Snape could tell, but the horse no longer seemed angry. Snape was reluctant to attribute too many human characteristics to animals, but he and Rinnamash had always seemed to have an understanding. The horse had always shown gratitude towards him for rescuing him all those years ago, and Snape had the feeling that Rinnamash understood more about the reality of Snape's situation in life than many of his fellow wizards did.

The other horses whickered to one another as Snape walked down the alleyway. They reminded him of students in the Great Hall, whispering rumors to one another, as though the professors were deaf. In the last stall, Rinnamash stood facing away from the aisle, swishing his thick tail idly. Snape cleared his throat, and the horse turned his head.

And shied badly at the sight of Nimue, perched on his fist.

Snape took a quick step back himself, and glanced belatedly at the dark corners of the barn. No one else here. He turned warily back to the stall. Rinnamash stood against the far wall, head held high, eyes rolled back, snorting. Snape had often stopped here on his way back to the castle after hunting Nimue. Rinnamash had seen his falcon dozens of times. Never had he spooked.

There was a dread building in Snape's gut, the kind that settled in the moments before he really understood a situation but knew he would soon wish he didn't. He drew his wand from beneath his cloak and raised it at the still-frightened horse, muttered an incantation.

Immediately the big gray horse shifted and changed, and he was no longer big and gray, but small, slight, and pitch black.

"Bloody hell!!!"

***

Marie stared at the wall outside her cell. She had seen no one since Draco left, and that had been days ago. She wasn't sure how many days. Four, maybe five. The light never changed down here, so it was hard to tell. Lucius had not come, which certainly didn't break Marie's heart, but neither had any House Elves, or even Shade. No one had brought her food. The Dark Lord had made it clear to Marie that he wanted her to live, at least for the time being, but Marie's hunger was very real, and so was Lucius' fury.

She had been left alone for long periods of time at the Dark Lord's lair, but never had she been left with this feeling of being deliberately forgotten. Hour upon hour and day upon day spent staring at blank stone left plenty of time to wonder how long she could go without food, how long she could be alone with her own mind without beginning to lose her grip on reality.

"Talking to yourself is the first warning sign, right?" she said, aloud. It triggered a memory, one of the ones she still had, of Hermione questioning her about the nature of her powers as an Animalexus. "What language am I speaking here, with no one to listen?" Marie asked. The words sounded no different to her now than they ever did. Talking to herself, to another person, to a horse or an owl, it was all the same to her.

Hearing words aloud was comforting, though, even if they were her own. She supposed it would be a good time to pray, if she were a believer, but somehow faking faith seemed especially difficult in urgent circumstances.

"So," Marie said, quietly. "Momma. Dad. Things are..." She smiled humorlessly. "Things aren't going so well these days. I did see Hogwarts, finally. Not quite to my taste, I'm afraid. I suppose it would have been different if you'd introduced me to it. Also, I...I killed someone. A man. A Death Eater. I don't even know if it was on purpose or not. It did me no good, in any case." She raised her hands in front of her, studied them. They had the power to help her perform magic--and what an astonishing, astounding power it was--but what caught her eyes were the irons around her wrist, and the Mark sunken into her skin, dark and ugly and forever. Had her parents known this was what they were trying to protect her from? Did they know they'd failed, in those last moments? Marie hid her hands beneath her cloak.

"This is silly," she said. "You aren't listening. You can't." Marie closed her eyes, leaned back against the cold stone. Her parents weren't here, and pretending didn't change that. The fantasy gave her a moment of peace, a moment of respite. But she couldn't hold on to it.

Marie heard someone coming, then, the footsteps brisk, a rough jolt back into reality. Terrifying as the prospect of being forgotten in a dungeon was, Marie had been dreading this moment. These were not the footsteps of a House Elf. She hauled herself to her feet, but she was weak with hunger, and the sudden change of position made her light-headed. When her vision cleared, Lucius was there, striding towards her, scuffing a heel through the line of blood at the door, breaking the spell without ceremony.

Marie had never seen him so angry.

He grabbed her by the arm, hard, and propelled her out into the corridor. She stumbled more than once, but he held her upright and kept her moving. She knew better than to open her mouth. Lucius always terrified her, but today he hadn't stopped to toy with her, had shown no sardonic amusement, hadn't even bothered to cast any curses or hexes. Cold, calculating fury was etched into his still face. At this moment, she would have felt safer with the Dark Lord.

Marie had seen some of the Manor before, the dark wood-paneled corridors, the intricately woven rugs and stately art. She remembered these details, though she'd certainly never been on the lookout for them. She had never been outside, though. Through heavy rain, Marie glimpsed acres of rolling, lush green hills. It occurred to her that she had no idea where she was. She could be anywhere.

Then she was back inside, in what seemed to be a carriage house. Marie saw the cart Lucius had driven to Hogwarts when she had been there. He shoved her around a corner, and Marie found herself in the most elaborate stable she had ever seen. The floors were polished wood, there were skylights in the high, arched ceiling, bolstered by enormous chandeliers, and it most certainly did not smell like a barn. There were a dozen stalls at least, all constructed of glossy wood and wrought iron. She took in all these details in an instant, and just as quickly forgot them, because a deafening bellow sounded through the building. No words, just sound. Marie didn't even recognize the voice at first, but then she heard an oath, uttered low, and she knew it.

"Mash!"

The gray figure at the end of the aisle didn't hear her, and Marie dashed forward, only to have Lucius cut her down with a hex that struck her like a whip. She fell to her knees, riveted to the sight before her.

Mash reared back against the restraints forced on him, and bellowed again. Blood stained his gray coat and ran down his legs and hooves. A narrow, harsh chain was tight over his nose, the other end affixed firmly to the wall. He wore a bridle, and though the reins now dangled torn and loose in front of him, more blood frothed at the corners of his mouth. Sweat dampened his flanks, and his eyes were dark but rimmed with white, panicked.

"Mash!" she screamed, again, and it got through this time. He dropped all of his hooves back to the ground and turned his head as much as the chain allowed.

"Marie," he said, stunned, the name slurred thick through the blood and the bit. His eyes were on her, but his ears flicked back and forth nervously. He seemed as distressed to see her as she was to see him, and she knew she must look just as wounded and desperate as he did.

"Mash...what happened?!" She pulled herself back to her feet, only to be struck again with that hex.

Lucius appeared at her side, eyes blazing. "You will stay down!"

In front of her, Mash set back again, hard, and threw all his own weight against the metal over his nose. He pulled, all of his muscles taut and trembling, his shod hooves sliding over the floor.

"Mash, stop!" All Marie could see were visions of the big gray horse breaking his own neck, or his nose. After a long few moments, he fought his own instincts for flight and quit pulling. Marie was just a few meters from him now, and she didn't even try to stop the tears from pouring onto her cheeks. "God. Oh, God...I'm so sorry, Mash. God, because of me." Lucius chose that moment to step between them. Mash pinned his ears flat against his head--Marie was always shocked by how vicious horses could appear--and snapped at his captor. Lucius responded with a flick of his wand, which sounded a crack and sliced open a new gash over Mash's shoulder.

"Stop!" Marie begged. She almost got to her feet again, stopped just as she saw Lucius' wand hand flex. "What do you want?" she asked, quietly, from her place on the floor. "What do I have to do?"

Lucius' expression finally changed as he allowed a cold satisfaction to settle on his features. "Oh no, Marie. No. This is not a bargain." He leaned close to her. "You murdered a friend of mine. So I will kill a friend of yours."

Marie shook her head. "No..."

"Yes."

He turned back to Mash, and yanked hard on the reins hanging from the bit. Mash gaped his mouth open, red strings of saliva dripping, before dropping his head, his nose no more than a foot off the floor. His eyes, so wild moments ago, were suddenly half-lidded. His ears drooped listlessly. "This used to be my horse," Lucius mused. "When he was young. Worthless thing then as now."

"Please don't...just let him go."

Lucius ignored her. "His breeding is impeccable, but as both you and I know, Marie, even bloodlines don't count for everything. He never knew when to break. Every time I thought he would, he'd fight again."

"Some people call that heart," Marie said, her anger getting the better of her. "Some people call that spirit. They see it as an opportunity to work with an animal, not against it."

Lucius glowered down at her. "Not I," he said. "I call that stupidity." He raised his wand again. Past him, Mash watched Marie, not Lucius.

"No," she gasped. Her last friend. Her last family. All Marie could think was that she was about to lose the only thing she still loved. "You know I'll do anything--"

"Anything, Marie? Bring Gavin Welton back?" He laughed coldly, humorlessly. "You don't get to negotiate. You have no say in this. It is done." A dagger materialized in his hand, magically or not Marie couldn't have said.

"Mash, I can't--" She broke off. What could she say? What was there to say?

"I know," Mash said, his voice low and painful. "No blame."

"I know how to make this better," Lucius said abruptly, turning back to Marie. "You will do this."

Understanding came instantly. Lucius could easily do it. He wielded the Imperius Curse as easily as most wizards did Lumos. And she would give in to it without even a struggle, as she always did. As she had to.

"No. No. No!"

Behind Lucius, Mash continued speaking. Marie was sure he understood the threat, too, but his voice was filled with a peace she couldn't ignore. "No blame, Marie," he repeated. "I am an old man, my dear. I have lived my life, and it has been a good one. I could not have asked for a better friend than you. Would that we had been given more time together, but I am so grateful for what we did have." His large brown eyes were no longer panicked. He raised his head, a proud arch to his neck, and his ears pointed ahead once again. He wasn't going to fight her, when the time came.

Marie's heart had already shattered into thousands of pieces, so that she was hardly able to feel anything more when Lucius turned his wand on her and announced, "I shall enjoy watching this very much."

The wand flew from his hand with an extraordinary amount of force, and Lucius barely managed to keep from being knocked off his feet. Marie watched with a mixture of awe and fear--no time yet for relief--as her captor glanced furiously at his empty hand and cast a positively deadly glare at the source of the intrusion.
"Severus, what in the bloody hell are you doing?"

*

Snape held Lucius' wand tightly in his left hand. It was an incredible insult to disarm a man in his own home, and Snape had taken a dreadful and undoubtedly foolish risk in doing so to Lucius Malfoy. He cast the briefest of peripheral glances at Marie and Rinnamash. It was a start to see Rinnamash again in circumstances so similar to those from which Snape had taken him years ago, in the same place, no less. Both the horse and Marie looked bloody and terrified, but they were also both alive. Snape hadn't been certain that would be the case.

"That is my horse."

Lucius still seemed shocked by Snape's audacity. "You would dare to come to my own home and--"

Snape cut him off. "You stole my horse. Unless I'm mistaken, you were planning to kill him." He allowed himself to arch one eyebrow just slightly, and stepped forward to hand Lucius' wand back, holding onto it just a moment longer than necessary. "You would dare to do that?"

An ugly smirk of self-satisfaction edged onto Lucius' face. "Actually, I was planning to make her kill it," he said icily, gesturing with his wand in Marie's direction.

Snape's stomach lurched, but he didn't allow it to show on his features. "I thought simple theft was beneath you, Lucius."

The other man straightened, and Snape knew he'd misstepped. "I'll buy it from you, then. You got a good price, as I recall."

"He is not for sale," Snape said, through clenched teeth. "Most certainly not to you." Behind Lucius, Snape saw Marie edge toward Rinnamash. When neither he nor Lucius made any move to stop her, she went straight to the horse and pressed her face into his neck, burying her hands in his coat. She was so vulnerable there, in that moment. Relief, intense love, fear, weariness, desperation, despair--all passed over her face, plain to see. Her expression was so deadened most of the time, it was as if a veil had been lifted from her face for the first time in ages. Snape decided it was undoubtedly for the best that Lucius' attention was still focused on him.

Lucius' hand tightened suddenly on his own wand.

In a blink, Snape's own wand was under Lucius' chin, pressing into the flesh there. "I have always been faster than you," Snape whispered.

Lucius snarled and jerked away. "You've become rather fond of lost causes and pitiable creatures over the years, haven't you, Severus?" Lucius looked over his shoulder, to where Marie was fumbling with the tiny buckles on Rinnamash's bridle, whispering to the horse in his language. "Who did you come here for? Your worthless old pet or the girl?"

Snape kept his tone dry. "I am having some difficulty understanding your confusion over my unwillingness to allow you to slaughter my horse."

Lucius curled his lip in a delicate sneer. "You have gone so embarrassingly, obviously soft," he hissed. They were the kind of words Snape would have accepted as a challenge in days past, and the involuntary rush of color from Lucius' face made it clear he knew it, too. Best to let him wonder, then.

"Find another way to get your revenge upon Miss Llewellur," he said, brushing past the other wizard carelessly and heading towards Rinnamash.

*

When Marie pulled the bridle away from Mash's head, the bit came away stained red. "Oh, my poor boy," she said, dropping the bridle and stroking the horse's cheek and forelock.

"I'll be all right," Mash said, in an unconvincing tone. He was unsteady on his feet, but Marie could see him eyeing her wrists. "So will you."

"You're a liar and we both know it," Marie whispered, allowing a small, sad smile. She didn't much care, though, now that she knew Mash, at least, would not suffer any more on her behalf. She desperately hoped that it wasn't too late. Mash was worse off than he would admit, and Marie was well aware that the stress alone could take a terrible toll on a horse of his age. For her part, she was treading on extraordinarily thin ice these days. The Dark Lord needed her for his plan to bring down Hogwarts' wards, but beyond that...she couldn't say. She wouldn't see Mash again, that much she knew.

Snape appeared at her side, ignoring her entirely. He cast an appraising glance over Mash's body. "I'll need a headcollar and a lead," he said, turning to Lucius. Snape turned around again, and he did look at Marie this time. His expression didn't change insofar as Marie could tell, and if he intended to impart any sort of message, Marie missed it.

She stroked Mash's neck beneath his mane. "I will miss you so very much," she told him.

The big horse didn't reply, just leaned into her hand and lowered his head with a sigh.

Beside her, Snape wordlessly accepted a leather headcollar from Lucius and fastened it loosely about Mash's head, taking care to avoid the raw spot the chain had left over the bridge of his nose. He attached the lead and unceremoniously led the horse away without a word to Marie. "I'll have someone send your horse back from the school," Snape said to Lucius, over his shoulder.

As soon as they were gone, Lucius turned on Marie. She had already backed against the wall behind her, and when Lucius produced the dagger again and held its tip to her cheekbone, she pressed herself harder against the wood. He scared her, yes, but she felt a strange sort of power in knowing that the worst he could do was no longer an option.

"If I take you back to the manor, I will kill you," he told her, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. "I can't do that. Not yet." Marie had the sense he was talking to himself as much as to her. It was not a comforting realization.

Lucius steered her to an empty stall, sliced a neat line in her left wrist, and shoved her in. He slammed the heavy door shut and drew the bloody dagger across the front of the stall, casting a spell as he did so. "You like these animals so much," Lucius spat. "You can stay with them."

* * *

As soon as he was out of sight of Malfoy Manor, Snape stopped.

Rinnamash was walking with a profound limp, and when Snape crouched in the mud to see why, he found a deep cut winding its way around the horse's right foreleg, bone and tendon exposed beneath. With some struggle, Snape tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and tied it over the worst of the wound. Rinnamash watched him wearily.

Rain was still coming down with a steady urgency. They were nowhere near Hogwarts. There was no way to Apparate with an animal as large as a horse. "I daresay I wish you were a Thestral right about now," Snape muttered. Rinnamash blinked.

Snape set off walking again, shoulders hunched against the rain. Rinnamash, his lead looped loosely around his own neck, followed half a step behind.

* * *

Marie stood in the middle of the stall, trembling. It was no worse than the cell in the dungeons, certainly--she'd prefer the stable. The deep straw was clean, and would be warm, and there was water in a bucket near the door. She should feel relief. Lucius was gone, at least for the time being, and Mash was on his way back to Hogwarts. And for both things she was grateful. The knowledge of what Lucius had almost made her do, though...she couldn't shake it. This was just another prison, just another in a long series of events leading her life down a darker and darker path.

Marie walked to the front of the stall and held her palm a centimeter from the wood. There was no hum, no tingling, no warning of any kind, though she knew the spell was in place. She shifted her weight forward, made contact, and immediately jerked her hand away from the burn. The spell left no physical mark on her hand, though she still felt the pain and a lingering ache as surely as if she'd touched fire. Marie put both hands out this time, and leaned with all her might against the wood, against the spell, against the pain. Nothing gave, and Marie had to grit her teeth just to stop the scream, but she pushed harder nonetheless. Maybe if she tried long enough, held out just a--

"Stop!"

Marie did stop, startled by the sound of another voice. Abruptly, she realized she was surrounded by horses. They had been silent while Lucius was here, or Marie simply hadn't heard them, or noticed them, distracted as she was. But now she saw half a dozen pairs of large brown eyes watching her, half a dozen pairs of ears perked in her direction.

"Please stop," the voice repeated, though she had. Marie traced it to the horse in the stall opposite, a large bright bay horse with a wide blaze down his face. He was aging, but he had a regal bearing, even standing in a stall, and he had a deep, confident voice. The nameplate on his stall read Gringolet. Marie would have bet good money that he was Lucius' riding horse.

"I didn't see you there," Marie said, finally, though that had nothing to do with anything. The horse let it pass.

"You love Rinnamash very much, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes."

The horse, Gringolet, tossed his head once. "He's my brother. My half-brother. Four years older than I. We had the same mother." Gringolet looked toward the end of the stable suddenly, toward the pouring rain, his ears up and eyes bright and distant. Just as suddenly, he looked back at Marie. "I would have traded places with him just now, Animalexus. I would have done, and not for any noble reason, either. I would have taken his place because I could see your devotion to each other, and I have never in my life been loved the way you love him."

Marie had nothing to say to that. Gringolet's words consoled her, and saddened her, all at once. She took a step away from the charmed walls of the stall, and as she did so she recognized the horse next to her, a fine-boned black mare. It was Terpsichore, Draco's Thoroughbred. "Miss Llewellur," she greeted, in her soft voice.

"Hello, Terpsichore." Marie let her eyes drift around the stable, over each of the other faces behind the stall bars.

"Miss Llewellur." Terpsichore's voice again, almost a whisper.

Marie turned.

Solemnly, silently, the mare lifted a carrot with her teeth from her feeder and pushed it through the iron bars separating their stalls.

Author's Notes: My sincere apologies for not updating sooner. As my regular readers know, I have been busy caring for my sick horse. Just before Christmas, my beautiful nine-year-old gelding, Reuben, lost his year-long battle with a rare autoimmune disease. Godspeed, my boy. I could not have asked for a better friend than you. Would that we had been given more time together, but I am so grateful for what we did have.

Thanks to my readers for your loyalty through my infrequent updates. The story won't die, I promise!