And Counting || Silvanna Snape

Chapter Thirteen

Trying so hard to keep to a schedule rn :)

It was a slow September day, one where Silvanna had rolled out of bed and marvelled at the rain. She'd had two cups of tea with breakfast and hadn't got dressed until she absolutely had to because Evelyn and Colette were expected.

 This meant she'd had to endure two hours of their company (which felt like five), while they commented on the Muggle-born that had gone missing in Hogsmeade. She quickly ended the conversation after Evelyn announced, 'They simply should not attend that school unless they know the risks really. It's Dumbledore's fault.'

 'Most things are,' Colette said. Silvanna couldn't help but agree there.

 'They shouldn't be attending despite all that but he insists on bringing them in anyway. It's unfair on them.'

 'He probably does it to make himself popular.'

 Or because they have a right to an education? She elected not to voice her thoughts.

 She shooed them out, eager to get some recording done before her tea with Walburga and Bellatrix, Narcissa justifying her absence with Draco's needs. Having never been near babies, she wondered if it was true, or if Narcissa was like her and couldn't bear the sight of them.

 But she too was relieved of her duties, when fifteen minutes before she was due to leave she received an owl, telling her not to bother, but in much more polite terms. Her chest swelled with relief, her mind already wandering to an afternoon of reading and cooking the muggle way. But then she had to pause.

 Walburga never cancelled. Never. Something was happening, and it was up to her to figure out what. It was what Dumbledore asked of her after all.

 So she departed nonetheless, coming up with a story about robe alterations at Diagon Alley and how she'd missed the letter.

 Kreacher answered the door with a small bow, and before he could usher her into a living room she headed straight for another one, where voices drifted under the door. Her head was blind, filled with rushing air, not thinking of the consequences of intruding. If she walked into a Death Eater meeting, she'd be forced to do something unplanned, something spontaneous.

 She opened the door.

 'Severus.'

 'Silvanna.' He didn't sound nearly as surprised as she did, and she was sure he felt smug about it. 'You look well.'

 'As do you.'

 He didn't. He looked as scrawny and sickly as he always had, like he was waiting to die or something. She just wished he'd hurry up.

 Barty Crouch was there too, the son. She'd have to report that to Dumbledore. She recalled talking to him on a number of occasions, especially on the lead up to the wedding. There'd been talk of him acting as best man, but Rabastan Lestrange had been given the job instead. Regulus had said it was because he wasn't family. Silvanna had suspected it was because he didn't want to advertise his position within the family, especially with his father.

 She turned her attention to Walburga and Bellatrix, her mind thinking of  thousand questions that would go unasked. With them altogether in one room, her mind couldn't even concoct the many acts of terror they were planning. 'Walburga, Bellatrix, how are you?'

  'Well thank you,' the former said with a stiff smile. She then called Kreacher and berated him for letting her in, in a manner that much reminded her of her father. She suspected Severus did too by the way he inspected the bookshelf before dismissing himself and Crouch.

 'I sent you a letter explaining we were occupied; you must not have received it. But I suppose as you're here...' She trailed off, indicating for her to sit down.

 And as she moved through the room to the sofa, she spotted a rat, hidden in the corner.

 Grimmauld Place didn't have rats.

*****

 This had to be the most gorgeous coffee shop Silvanna had ever been in, and as she walked outside she was sad to leave the warmth of the air and the tones of the book spines. Hundreds of tomes lined the walls, eager to be picked by tea and coffee drinkers alike, and flicked through as they sheltered from the rain.

 The droplets pattered and bounced off the plastic lids of the two coffees she'd bought. Balancing the little cardboard tray in one hand, she used the other to pull her cloak hood over her head. She had a few stares for her funny attire, but nothing too long. She was in Edinburgh after all; there was no one here to see her.

 She disapparated a few miles, grateful to find shelter in the woods. Her wellington boots squelched underneath her weight, comfortable and warm, and a pleasant change from the stiff, tight shoes she was so used to.

 She found a tree with wide branches to shelter her from the rain, the last of the autumn leaves soggy underfoot as she cradled the warm coffee close to her. After a few minutes the was a crack of a branch above, and she saw Marlene on her broomstick drifting to land nearby, drenched with the rain.

 They embraced each other and she shouldered her broom, sipping at the coffee gratefully before turning to Silvanna with a grave face.

 'You know I shouldn't be here.' She was right, she shouldn't. Her family had gone into hiding - all of the Order had, only travelling via the floo network for meetings. The family homes had been vacated, and they'd crossed all over the country, terrified of being hunted. Of their families being hunted.

 But she'd missed Marlene, she had to see her. She had to warn her.

 'I know,' she said, and they stopped under another tree, 'but I know who the spy is.'

 Marlene's face looked older than it ever had, years of war imprinted on it as she frowned, before blinking a few times and leaning forward. 'Who, who is it?'

 Just breathe. It will be okay. 'Peter.'

 'Pete?' And with that question, Silvanna knew she could not win this argument. 'Are you sure? How do you know?'

 'I saw him.'

 'You saw him?' she repeated, as though her brain was so surprised it couldn't think of its own words. 'And you saw him, it was definitely him?'

 'I'm sure-'

 'You saw his face?'

 'Well no-' And how to explain what she'd seen without exposing them all, without sharing the marauders' big secret. 'Please, just trust me.'

 'I'm certain it's Remus-' Marlene began, and they continued to walk.

 'It's not fucking Remus, Remus wouldn't do that!'

 'And Pete would? Silvanna, you're getting so fucking mad at me - what have I done? This is my family we're talking about.' Now she was getting angry too, and all Silvanna could see was red. Not the red of a warm fire, or the red of the Gryffindor tie, or even cherry red lipstick - hot, burning red.

 'Why won't you trust me?'

 'Shush!'

 'Don't fucking shush me! If you don't trust me - if you're so bloody sure it's Remus - tell Peter! Tell him where you've hidden. See what fucking happens.'

 And she disapparated.