And Counting || Silvanna Snape

Chapter Five

guys- soz x

It was a cold January night, and the rain pounded down from the heavens, clattering on the London pavement. There was another thing pounding down from above: Silvanna Snape's gaze, watching as the Death Eater's found their positions.

The date of their excursion to the Ministry of Magic had changed at the very last minute, as she'd found at dinner at the Malfoy's the previous evening. Lucius's tongue had loosened with each sip of whiskey, until he mentioned to Narcissa 'the plan for tomorrow night'. She'd shut him down but the jig was up; Silvanna had already heard.

She'd tried to tell Dumbledore, however this storm had raged the south of England all night and all day, and the rain continued to pour even tonight. Betsy had returned a mere hour later, the sodden letter still attatched to her leg.

So she'd sent her patronus. But she wasn't sure how much she trusted that.

Now she perched on a rooftop, her cloak gathered around her and repelling the rain, her hood drawn high. She was invisible too, which always helped. Her wand was drawn. If she had to defend the Ministry all by herself, then so be it.

There was the crack of apparation, and a group of Aurors appeared, the Minister for Magic in the centre of a huddle of hoods. They took a few steps towards their destination.

Spells rained down on them, and the Aurors began to defend themselves, firing every which way. Silvanna began sending stunning spells down, and it appeared Dumbledore had received her message because spells began shooting from the windows of a building that she knew there were no Death Eaters inside.

Trying to get a higher vantage point, she leaped into the air, swooping and diving just like Colette had showed her to. It was exhilarating. Her heart thudded, and her hair was now plastered to her face, the rain sliding down her neck and matting her eyelashes. It was hardly ideal fighting conditions.

A white light shot from the building, off into the distance - whoever was there was calling for backup. There was another crack, and two more figures appeared. She covered them as they rushed into the Ministry, knowing they weren't Death Eaters. Or rather, hoping.

Something landed at the back of her head, white hot, and she fell to the pavement far below, knowing she'd materialised.

It was blurry now. The rain pattered down. Someone was shouting. There were cracks of apparation. She was dragged along the pavement, and the rain didn't touch her.

The rain had stopped. A pigeon was cooing and the air was cold. Other than that, all was quiet. The sky was still dark, and though her head pounded she climbed to her feet, glancing around.

There was one man, hovering near the end of the street, smoking. He couldn't see her.

Shit. What a complete shit-show.

She reached for the locket around her neck, relieved when she saw it was about three in the morning. There was no blood, but she was soaked to the bone and shivering. She cast a drying spell and apparated back to Whitechapel.

No one was waiting for her. No one had even known she was gone. She didn't sleep as she waited until morning for any kind of news. Had she been outed as a spy? Was the Minister still alive?

But as the sun rose and no one came to kill her, she realised all was well. The silence could only be a good thing.

*****

February, March, April, June, July, August. Every month was the same. Every week was the same. She worked, she attended events and dinners and teas, and she reported everything to Dumbledore. There was nothing more to do. Regulus eased the load when he came back from the holidays, with everyone cooing over him, and they were getting on better now, gossiping and insulting people whenever they could, giggling about it after.

It made Evelyn insufferabley happy.

And all the time they inched closer and closer to the wedding. She told Marlene she was concerned she'd actually have to go through with it, and all she could do was console her, reassure her that Dumbledore would never let that happen. And she did it superbly.

Regulus graduated in July. They spent most of August together, but he was quieter than normal, apprehensive. And then it was September.

Three weeks. Two weeks. One week.

She wrote to Dumbledore everyday, asking what she should do, what his plans were.

He didn't reply. Not until two days before the wedding.

She snuck off to Hogsmeade in the dead of night, invisible, untouchable. The gates to Hogwarts were shut, so she waited. A figure appeared ten yards away, getting closer until she saw in the dim moonlight that it was Professor McGonagall, a thick cloak pulled tightly around her.

"Snape?" she hissed.

"Here," she replied. The gates opened and she followed her through, up and into the castle, right through to Dumbledore's office. They paused at the bottom of the stairs, and she tapped her on the shoulder so she knew where she was.

"Are you alright?" she asked, a frown prominent in the lines of her face. "Are you safe?"

"Of course," she replied. "They wouldn't hurt me. I'm too valuable."

The frown deepened. "You don't have to do anything you don't want," she said. "Remember that."

And then she was gone.

She had thought McGonagall was the most stressed person shed ever seen. And then she saw Dumbledore. He didn't have his usual, wisened glow, his twinkling eyes, or shiny hair. He was dull, and crouched over some work, and looked horribly tired.

There was someone else there too. Alastor Moody, the auror she'd seen at the Potters a few years ago. She figured he was involved somehow.

She materialised, and they both stood to greet her. She was a little taken-aback by the formality of it, and the respect they showed her. She knew it had nothing to do with the ring on her finger.

"It's a real pleasure to see you again, Snape," Moody told her, his voice growling. He didn't look as if seeing anyone was a pleasure, but she took his word for truth. The pair of them sat down, but Dumbledore remained stood.

"I'm sorry to ask you Silvanna," he said. He looked at the desk, not even at her. "We're desperate. We're desperate, and we're losing, and as of today you are our only advantage. We can't lose you."

"You want me to marry Black," she said, her voice as dry as her mouth. She was suddenly cold, despite the fire in the hearth. She felt as though the air around her was thick, spongy but impenetratable, like nothing could come in, but nothing could go out either.

He looked at her, and nodded. Her heart froze in her chest.

"If we're losing, I can't be much help-" she began, but Moody stopped her.

"We've thought of everything, Snape. We've been over your options, time and time again. There is no alternative." His face was grim, but then it always looked like that.

McGonagall had known, she realised. She could stop now, back out now, never think about Regulus Black or the Princes ever again.

And then when all her friends were gone, when Marlene was dead, she would look back and wish she'd done more.

"OK," she said, her voice far more shaky than she would have liked. "I'll do it. I can always divorce him after the war."

"No," Moody said, glancing between her and Dumbledore. "No, Snape, witches and wizards don't get divorces. We can't."

"Can't?" she repeated, feeling her brows sink into a knot. "What do you mean can't?"

"During the wedding ceremony," Dumbledore said, his eyes as icy blue as she felt, "your magic is binded. It becomes one. Without the other, you are weaker - more fragile. It is why you never see Rodolphus without Belatrix in battle. It is why Lucius Malfoy cannot kill in a duel."

She thought for a moment. There had to be a way out - there had to!

Finally, she had decided.

"So I'll kill him."