Sunday, November 23, 2008

My Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Okay, I'm still surfing the unemployment blues. During this enforced hiatus I've finally gotten around to reading the entire Harry Potter series. Wow! Now I see what the fuss was all about. I am totally stoked for the next movie and I'm thoroughly enamored of Snape. In fact I've been sooo fiending for Snape that I had to troll the 'Net looking for Snape fan fiction. I went on a fan fiction binge this weekend and finally decided to write my own little story posted below.

This story takes place after the Half-Blood Prince, I think. I'm really weak on keeping things in canon so it's probably a free for all in my story, lol.

Well Done, My Good and Faithful Servant

Summary: In reward for service, Voldemort gives Snape something he’s desired seemingly forever.

Disclaimer: Original characters are mine, all else is the glorious property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my use of her characters.

Rating: R -- Includes implied violence and sexual situation. Not suitable for readers under 17. You have been warned. Please do not read if this type of material offends you. Thank you.

Among his sixth or seventh year advanced students there is a favorite of Snape’s. Her name is Ophelia Broomall. She should have been in Ravenclaw. But he’s very pleased she wound up in his house. She is a joy to teach. And joy is not a word Snape would use lightly even in his own head. Like Hermione Granger, she’s a brilliant potions student. Unlike Hermione she doesn’t feel the need to let everyone know it. She is a quiet girl, a pureblood who, like Tom Riddle, wound up in a Muggle orphanage. She was sent to Hogwarts on scholarship.

Snape not only considers her one of his favorite students…he’s developed feelings for her. He doesn’t dare name them. But the last time he felt anything like this was when Lily Potter was alive. And that terrifies him. So he’s very careful to keep a proper distance. But she is an orphan and a very gifted student. So when she comes to Hogwarts in little more than rags and is sorted into Slytherin he takes the initiative to ask Professor McGonagall to help her find some decent clothes. And when she shines in his class he always makes a point of saying “Well done, Miss Broomall.” No more than that, mind you. He’s even careful to then follow up with another challenge just so that no one can accuse him of playing favorites.

But in his mind, he’s christened her his little Raven.

She’s now in his NEWTS class. And it’s the consensus of the faculty that she would make an excellent healer. The younger Slytherins are always chasing her down when they have minor stomach upsets or nosebleeds, usually from something they shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Rather than go to Madam Pomfrey and risk being reported to Snape, they go to her. She never tells unless it’s absolutely serious. He turns a blind eye.

The older Slytherins are not quite as trusting. In fact, they don’t trust her at all. When she first came to Hogwarts, she had all the traits of a student who would wind up in Ravenclaw. She had their insatiable curiosity, their keen intelligence and intellectualism, their expansive imaginations, and their tendency toward the abstract. Yet, the sorting hat put her in Slytherin, the house of ambition and arrogance and no little fascination with the Dark Arts. Everyone was shocked, including Snape. And when she joined the Slytherin table her table mates glared at her with suspicion. Since then they’ve treated her like the enemy. The Slytherins in her own year tend to bully her and Snape has had to suspend several in punishment. Fortunately for her, none have ever been expelled on her account. He feared it would go extremely badly for her if anyone had. And Snape can’t monitor her 24 hours a day.

So Snape makes it his mission to do as much as he can to make sure she has a secure future. If she were a boy he might not be quite as protective. But a young lady with no family to protect her is particularly vulnerable. He would hate to see anything happen to her. So Snape recommends her for further studies at St. Mungo’s and asks Dumbledore to recommend her as well. Dumbledore happily does so. She is accepted before she even graduates Hogwarts. Her professional future is set.

And, loathe though he is to admit it, so is her personal future.

She has found a suitor in one of the Slytherin prefects. He’s a good boy of respectable family and an excellent student although not in his Raven’s league. When Snape became aware of this he came up with a pretext to haul the boy into his office and have a talk with him about how to treat young ladies. Ophelia’s name was never mentioned but they both knew what they were talking about. To his relief and disappointment, the boy gave him every indication and assertion that he would treat Ophelia as she deserved; he believed him.

Snape rested secure in the conviction that he had done everything he could to ensure Ophelia’s future.

And then it all goes down in flames.

Voldemort summons Snape to a meeting of the Death Eaters. He wishes to conduct an experiment and he requires Snape’s service. Of course Snape bows his head, “Whatever my lord requires,” is his response. “Good, good” Voldemort says silkily. Accompanied by Belletrix Lestrange, he leads Snape to a dark chamber filled with Death Eaters. As usual they are in a circle. Curiously, there is a pool of light in the center of the circle and what looks like a long stone altar. As he approaches, he hears snickering and Belletrix gets a fiendish gleam in her eyes. And then he sees her.

Ophelia, his Raven, tied to the block of stone.

He wants to fall down. He wants to throw up. He wants to kill them all and snatch her off that stone and away to safety. He can’t do any of these things. He can’t even blink an eye. He has to remain as detached and cold as he always is among the Death Eaters. They must think she is nothing to him. Or, if she is anything, she is a toy he’d like to play with.

And then he realizes: that’s it. Someone knows. Not what he does for Dumbledore but what she is to him. How they know he can’t fathom. Automatically his mind races through the possibilities and with an effort he stops it. Now is not the time to think of that. Now he has to find a way to free Ophelia without letting Voldemort and his followers think he cares anything about her.

He doesn’t even want to spare a thought as to what they might have done to her. If he, even for one second contemplates those possibilities, he will fling himself howling onto Voldemort and do his best to kill him.

So he remains still. And before he can speak, Voldemort saves him the effort of having to come up with something innocuous.

“I have not forgotten your fidelity, Snape. I reward those who serve me well. Of course, any reward must serve the greater purpose.”

Nothing, not an eyebrow, flickers on Snape’s face, though his eyes never move from the sight before him. “Of course, my lord.” His mind kicks in; perhaps Voldemort will reveal a weakness. “How may I serve your purpose?”

“I require a body.”

Discreetly, Snape swallows past the bile in his throat.

“A female body, my lord?” he chances to ask. “Not even grown. Of what use can she be to you my lord?”

Voldemort smiles. Beside him so does Belletrix. Snape can feel her gaze poring over every detail of his face, looking for…something.

“I should clarify,” Voldemort says. “I require a child.”

The minutest of frowns appears on Snape’s face. Beside him he can hear Belletrix’ swift intake of breath. The sound is like an invisible breeze, too far away from the other Death Eaters to register it. But Snape hears it.

His mind is racing. A child? If that’s what he needs why hasn’t he procured one instead of taking Ophelia? Then his stomach lurches. He swears Belletrix can sense it. He wants to sire a child. Oh gods, oh gods…But it isn’t possible. Voldemort has a body but it isn’t fully functional yet. He could hardly stand, let alone father a child.

Beside him, in his peripheral vision, he can see Belletrix, still staring at him, as she licks her lips and bares her teeth.

“To what end, my lord?” Snape says finally.

“The Boy Who Lived remains a plague on my soul. I created him, to my cost, the only thing that can threaten me. If I can create one, I can create another.”

And then Snape turns his head to look at Voldemort, astonishment clearly written on his face.

“And this one, will be mine.”

Beside him, a maniacal grin erupts across Belletrix’ face.

“Look at her. She’s beautiful,” Voldemort observes.

Belletrix’ smile falters and she glances nervously back at Voldemort who ignores her.

“A pureblood,” Voldemort continues. “A worthy mother. Who requires a worthy father.”

And now Voldemort returns Snape’s gaze. His smile sends tendrils of fear snaking through Snape’s blood. And then Snape utters the rarest of phrases for him.

“I don’t understand.” But the truth is he understands perfectly. The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, is the only thing that can defeat Voldemort. And Voldemort himself created him by attacking him as an infant. His mother lost her life shielding her son from that blast and put on him the charm that protects him from Voldemort even now. And now he knows, as Snape has always suspected, that some part of Voldemort went into Harry; Voldemort’s attack placed it there. If Voldemort can create one powerful threat, surely he can create another. Impregnate the mother with the seed of a servant loyal to him, who can be counted on to stand aside, to throw the mother into the path of Voldemort’s wand when the Dark Lord comes to kill.

The truth is he understands. He simply does not wish to believe.

“You will create a weapon for me, Snape, one that I shall raise and train to serve me well.”

Snape’s mind is spinning faster than almost he can follow and yet he manages to say, “Forgive me, my lord, but the time frame. A baby cannot fight a war. Potter is a threat now.”

He almost blanches as Voldemort’s eyes narrow. “Do you doubt my ability to defeat Potter?”

Immediately Snape bows his head. “Never my lord. But may I not serve you better immediately than to wait nine months for the birth of a child who must be nurtured for yet again at least seven more years before he is of any use to you?”

Voldemort smiles almost fondly. “Loyal Snape. ” He reaches out a cold hand and lifts Snape’s chin so that the Slytherin Head Master meets his gaze. “Fear not. I have more immediate efforts in the making for which I will summon you. But for now, do my bidding and allow me to reward my faithful servant even as he helps me to achieve my ends.”

Snape turned his head back to where Ophelia lay.

And if he doesn’t allow Voldemort to “reward” him, his mind asks. What then? He suppressed a shudder. He knew what the Death Eaters did to those who were no longer of use. That Ophelia still breathed, that her body, what he could see of it, was relatively unscathed, was nothing short of a miracle. But then she was still of use to Voldemort. Are there not any worthier candidates, my lord? The question arose in his mind and he quashed it. If he asked, he opened the door to Voldemort actually considering another candidate. At that point Ophelia’s life would last as long as it took to find someone else. Which still didn’t explain why Voldemort had chosen Ophelia. Gods, why her of all people?! Voldemort’s “rewards” were never simple, never straightforward. There was always a sting in the tail.

As he gazed at Ophelia, he saw her suddenly heave once as if struggling to breathe. He betrayed no emotion. But he knew it was unlikely, undamaged as she appeared to be, that the Death Eaters would have left her entirely unmolested. Unmolested. His stomach lurched at that word.


As if in a trance, he turned back to Voldemort.

“Have you not desired her from the beginning?” he asked, almost kindly.

Snape turned back to Ophelia. Oh but she had blossomed this year! The skinny child with over large eyes and too heavy hair had finally filled out and grown into her own beauty. The bullying of her Slytherin classmates had declined as her attractiveness grew. He had feared it would start again as she rebuffed their sexual advances. But her relationship with Marius Bentlow had drawn her under his protection. They might grumble, but they’d never dare lay a finger on Marius’ girl. Whether they had become intimate he did not know. He’d refused to let his mind dwell on the possibility. He knew though that it was likely to happen sooner rather than later. As it should. She was a young woman, with a bright future. And if she’d had any family to weigh in on the issue, he felt sure that they would have urged her to find a potential spouse at Hogwarts. A Hogwarts graduate, after all, came with a certain cachet, the wizarding world’s stamp of approval as it were. And how many marriages occurred within the years of graduation? He had lost count. Nor were the faculty above encouraging such matches. A marriage between Hogwarts students more frequently than not led to the enrollment of yet more Hogwarts students as the couples sent their offspring to the school where they’d found their happiness.

He’d refused to even consider letting his own desire impede that natural progression.

Never mind that he’d destroyed half his potions cabinet when he’d learned she was dating Marius. Nor would he remember how he’d tossed and turned with dreams he’d be too ashamed to recall even to himself until he’d broken down and pulled from its hiding place the photo of Lily Evans. If Ophelia had had red hair instead of black and green eyes instead of blue, he would have understood his desires better. For she had the same intelligence, the same wit, the same sparkle as Lily. But she looked nothing like Lily. She was not Lily. And yet, just by her presence, she’d unwittingly reopened old wounds, brought him face to face again with the longing and the loss he thought he’d buried for good. He never thought he’d feel that warmth again. And then the Sorting Hat had sent it straight to Slytherin House.

In no reality had he ever expected her to be his.

Why hadn’t he thought about this nightmarish possibility?

“Yes. I want her.”

Beside him Belletrix’ smile widened again at the naked hunger that roared to life in his eyes.

Voldemort smiled almost benevolently. “Then my servant, do my bidding.”

Snape turned back to the altar stone. And then he saw him. There, among the Death Eaters standing opposite, Marius Bentlow, his face unmasked.

He was not surprised. How odd, he thought. Perhaps it was because some small part of him had always thought, no feared, that it was too good to be true, the dĂ©tente between Ophelia and her fellow Slytherins, the appearance of a fiancĂ©. No one’s life is that easy, Snape knew, even if they’re receiving help from the highest ranks of Hogwarts’ faculty.

In another time and place, he would curse the blood from Marius’ body.

But this time and place demanded a choice from him. He could refuse Voldemort’s command and seal both his and Ophelia’s death sentences as well as endanger Potter, Dumbledore and the entire Order of the Phoenix. Or he could do his master’s will and, Merlin willing, buy Ophelia nine more months of life.

He started walking toward her, discarding his robe as he moved.

O, my Raven, forgive me this evil I’m about to do to you.

The End?