The Long Night

Bellatrix's Hideout

Snape walked slowly in the general direction in which he had seen Draco leave. Picking his way through the undergrowth was a lot harder now. Fortunately he did not have far to go. He soon came upon Narcissa, who was sitting on a fallen log. She was leaning on Draco, who sat next to her, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, the other holding his wand. A bright light at its tip illuminated the scene. Bella was pacing nervously nearby, spinning about with alacrity, her wand out at Snape's approach. As she recognized him, she lowered her wand quickly, looking a bit discomfited.

"Feeling a touch nervous tonight, Bellatrix?" Snape observed mockingly.

"Oh, it is just you, Snape. It took you long enough to find us," she said, venting her annoyance at the alarm he had caused her.

"I am afraid that you should direct your complaints to the Dark Lord," Snape responded silkily. "The Dark Lord and I had much to discuss, Bellatrix."

He could not have felt less like smiling, but he managed a curl of his lip for her benefit. To a fanatical Death Eater such as she, a private audience with Voldemort was the highest reward: public, highly visible proof of his present status as the Dark Lord's favorite. Bellatrix had not missed the implication, and she was not pleased with the circumstances; she looked as if she had swallowed a lemon.

"Severus..." said Narcissa weakly. Snape sat down beside her on the mossy log in order hear her better. It was, he reflected, a vast improvement over kneeling on broken stone before the Dark Lord.

"Was anything further said about Draco?" she asked him.

"Yes, Narcissa. We spoke of the night's events and the Dark Lord agreed that Draco's plan created a singular opportunity to kill Dumbledore. Also, I asked for, and received, the Dark Lord's assurance that I would be permitted to continue watching over him," Snape told her. "For the present, he wishes you to assist me with any potion-making he requires," he added, with a nod to Draco. Narcissa smiled weakly.

"Aunt Bella, now that we're all here, could we go to your flat? Mother should be in bed," Draco said, rising to his feet. He leaned over and half helped, half lifted Narcissa up to a standing position. With the assistance of a nearby tree-trunk, Snape, too, stood up.

"Narcissa, are you certain you are capable of Apparition?" Snape asked. He was not particularly sure of his own ability to avoid Splinching himself in his present condition. Bellatrix glanced at her sister with a look of concern.

"He's right, Draco," she agreed. "Fortunately, there is no need for any of us to Apparate. Hold on." She withdrew an empty leather coin-purse from inside her robe and set it down carefully on the moss-covered log. With her face screwed up in a look of concentration, she passed her wand over it once, causing it to glow faintly for a moment.

"It is a Portkey, I just needed to set it," Bellatrix explained. "All right, gather around; it will activate in thirty seconds." She picked up the drawstring as she spoke. The others followed her example and grasped the purse. Draco extinguished the light, and they waited in the dark and silent woods for the Portkey to transport them.

Abruptly, Snape felt the familiar sensation of being pulled irresistibly upwards, navel first, with his hand glued to the bag. A howling swirl of light and color surrounded him before he found himself slammed back down into total darkness. He fell heavily as he failed to keep his footing upon landing. It seemed that he had arrived atop a rickety piece of wooden furniture.

The surroundings were suddenly illuminated by what was, unmistakably, an incandescent light bulb. Pushing himself carefully up from the coffee table across which he lay sprawled, he saw Bellatrix standing next to a light switch.

"Why, Bellatrix, your flat has electricity! I see that the fugitive life has greatly expanded your horizons," said Snape with a sneer.

"I am sure you will find it quite comfortable, Snape," Bellatrix replied heatedly.

"That is fortunate," said Snape smoothly, ignoring the implied slur on his ancestry, "considering that the Dark Lord himself has ordered you to extend me your hospitality." At a loss for a suitable reply, Bellatrix glowered at him from under her heavy eyelids. Snape watched her, a slightly mocking smile on his lips.

"Actually, I am going to leave you here; this dump simply hasn't room for four. Draco knows where everything is," said Bellatrix, breaking the silence.

"Where is here?" Snape inquired.

"London. What the Muggles call Victoria," Bellatrix answered. "No one should bother you; the flat is protected by Muggle-repelling charms and anti-Apparition wards. I've stayed here before, whenever that puffed up busy-body blood traitor at the Ministry decided to raid Malfoy Manor."

"Ah, yes, the estimable Arthur Weasley. A pity that he could not search here; really, he would love your place," Snape said. Bellatrix seemed unsure what to make of this comment.

"I will stop by tomorrow," Bellatrix said, walking to the door.

"Well, good night, then, Bellatrix," said Snape.

"Good night," she responded as she left.

Looking around, Snape saw the room he was in had one other door. It must be through that door that Draco and Narcissa had disappeared during his little chat with Bellatrix. He limped across the scratched wooden floor and opened the door.

Narcissa was lying on the bed that was the only piece of furniture in the tiny room. A threadbare blanket covered her, and her face was turned towards the cracked and greying wall. Draco sat on a couple of folded blankets, his back against the bed and his knees drawn up to his chest, his expression downcast. Snape walked in and approached the bed. As he reached into his robes and drew out a small, stoppered bottle of dark glass, Draco sprang up, blocking Snape's path.

"Stand aside, Draco," said Snape sharply.

"Or what; you'll Crucio me?" sneered Draco. "You've done enough to her!" His voice broke as he choked back a sob.

Snape gazed coldly at Draco, and assumed a lecturing tone. "The Cruciatus Curse, aside from its immediate...unpleasantness, has also...unfortunate aftereffects. The physical effects include weakness and nausea, as well as soreness and stiffness of the joints and muscles which may last for days, while the mental effects may include insomnia, nightmares if the victim does manage to sleep, and attacks of overwhelming terror. This," Snape held the little bottle between thumb and forefinger at Draco's eye-level, "is an elixir capable of granting her a night of restful sleep and banishing the worst of the physical symptoms."

"And you just happen to be carrying a supply of it?" Draco asked. It did not take Legilimency to sense the boy's suspicion.

"I habitually keep a single dose of it about my person," Snape replied evenly. "I had no reason to suppose, this evening, that I might have need of a larger supply." He raised an eyebrow pointedly at Draco as he spoke.

Draco had the good grace to look abashed. Taking advantage of his discomfiture, Snape stepped to the side and swept decisively past him. Draco turned to watch his former Head of House, his hand straying toward his wand. Snape sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Narcissa's shoulder. She flinched, and a shudder shook her body. She curled up, pulling her blanket more closely about her.

"Narcissa, it is I, Severus," he said. "Look at me."

Narcissa moaned, and rolled onto her back. Snape leaned over and passed his left arm under her shoulders, raising her head up carefully. With the thumb of his right hand, he popped the stopper out of the little vial. "Here, drink this. It will help," he told her, bringing it to her lips.

He tipped the contents in expertly. As her lips pursed to expel the vile-tasting liquid, Snape, who had anticipated the possibility of this reaction, clapped his hand firmly over her mouth.

"Swallow it!" he ordered brusquely. Spluttering, Narcissa complied.

Draco hurtled into Snape's side, knocking him to the floor. He grunted as his tortured muscles stiffened in anticipation of his collision with the bare floor. Gingerly, Snape picked himself up off the floor and sat up against the wall, waiting for the wave of nausea occasioned by the pain of the impact to recede. Draco stood over him, his wand aimed directly at his chest. Snape turned towards Narcissa, who was lying back against her pillow.

"Foul stuff," he said. "I have never taken the time to do something about the taste. It definitely does the job, though." Narcissa raised herself up on one elbow.

"It's all right, Draco. I think I feel it working already," she said weakly. She settled herself back down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow.

Draco looked over at his mother, then back down at Snape. His look of suspicion remained fixed on his face. Snape knew the boy was not actually going to do anything to him. It was, rather, that having watched, and done nothing, as his mother was tortured, Draco now wanted to feel that he was protecting her. Snape suppressed a comment about shutting stable doors that this insight brought to mind. Instead, he remained on the floor, his face impassive. Lacking the energy to engage him in a constructive discussion, he waited for the boy to realize it for himself. Draco watched him for a bit, then lowered his wand and tucked it away. Grudgingly, he extended his hand to Snape.

"Here, get up," he said.

Snape grasped the offered hand and suppressed a groan as Draco yanked on his arm. He staggered slightly and then regained his feet.

"She will sleep, now. It would be best to leave her undisturbed," said Snape.

He left Draco with Narcissa in the cramped, shabby bedroom and limped back into the sitting room of the two-room flat. Taking stock of the layout of the room, he lowered himself gingerly into a timeworn armchair upholstered in a once garish chartreuse floral pattern and raised his feet up onto the battered coffee table in front of it. The chair was hard and lumpy, but it did face the door. Snape took out his wand and cast a quick Muffliato on the room, then set his wand down within easy reach of his right hand.

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. Even the dim light of the bulb overhead was giving him a headache. In an attempt to distract himself from it, and any consideration of the night's events, he began a mental list of the mundane tasks he needed to accomplish in the coming days. He should get a place of his own; he would not depend on Bella for refuge longer than he had to. A trip to a certain little shop in Knockturn Alley for some supplies. No, first a visit to Gringotts; he would need money. No, first a trip to his emergency stash of potions; he could hardly walk through Diagon Alley in broad daylight as himself.

When he was well enough to start carrying them out, he knew, these plans would come to him effortlessly. For the present, however, forcing his tired brain to think about them was infinitely preferable to the alternative.