Maeve didn’t even attempt to sleep; it would have been an impossibility. She paced around the room for a time, picking up books and putting them back unopened. Several times she pulled back the curtain, and finally opened the window to allow the cold night air in. It was as if, by letting it in, she was letting a small part of the ache she felt fly out in exchange. She wanted to rise above the clouds, leaving all this pain and uncertainty behind. It suddenly felt as if she had swapped one prison for another. This was the price she paid for allowing love into her life, the cost to caring for others, and grief was the currency used to reclaim the debt.
She had known grief before, grief for her mother and for her grandmother. To an extent, she had grieved for the loss of Severus too, at the same time as she had mourned her grandmother. But none of it compared to this awful depression that settled about her shoulders like a cloak of iron. Nothing could come close to this desperate ache she was experiencing as she realised that she had failed to protect Remus and had not been there when he needed her. This was pure flattery, of course, and delusion. There were no guarantees she could have helped Remus, even if she had been there, and chances are she would have been a liability as he tried to protect her. But she didn’t know that, in the same way she didn’t know if he was alive or dead, and it tormented her. She had thought, as a child, that she would always know when people she loved died. But she hadn’t felt her mother’s death, so she had given up on this idea. Now the feeling came back. Would she know if Remus died? Would the visions convey that to her?
At about ten o’clock she heard muffled sounds outside her door and what was most definitely Severus’s voice muttering at someone. She knew exactly what he was doing; he would be placing a Confinement Charm on the door to stop her trying anything stupid in the night. How very Severus-like it was, and she couldn’t help the feeling of love that bubbled up in her throat for the strange, prickly man. She fretted and fussed herself into a light sleep that did nothing to ease her mind, and woke early the following morning feeling even worse than she had the night before.
Breakfast was a strained affair as she moved her unwanted food around her plate, making no attempt to eat. Several times she had seen Professor McGonagall on the point of saying something, but each time the older woman had stopped herself and Maeve was glad of it. She didn’t feel up to the challenge of making conversation with anyone, even the sympathetic Professor McGonagall. As the owls swept into the room there was a buzz of excitement and surprise from the students. Amongst the fluttering owls was a darker, more unusual breed, with sleek black feathers and a murderous-looking beak. The raven wheeled around, its sharp eyes searching the top table. Professor McGonagall was on her feet and wondering what to do about the new arrival. Before she could make up her mind on a course of action, however, the dark bird swooped down and dropped something on the table in front of Maeve, who regarded the glossy bird with sudden interest. There had been birds like that on the estate where she had grown up, and she had often thought of them as guardians of the land, standing watch over her and the family. It gave a loud, harsh croak before rising into the air once more and made good its escape.
The package the raven had dropped was long and thin, wrapped in what appeared to be newspaper. Carefully Maeve reached forward and peeled back the wrapping, catching sight of the masthead as she did so “ it was the Irish Prophet. The wand rolled away from the newspaper and her hand shot out to stop it clattering to the floor. As her fingers closed round the wood she could feel it vibrating beneath her touch, and she knew to whom it had belonged. She gripped it so tightly it seemed as if either her fingers or the wood must break with the force. This was a message from Voldemort. She moved away from the table with a bleak look on her face. As she staggered slightly, a red arm caught her. She found herself being led from the hall by Roderick, while rumours and speculation flew through the children, their breakfasts forgotten. Only one person had recognised the contents of the package, and he made flustered excuses as he left his companions and followed the distressed professor at a discreet distance.
Harry felt sick. He watched as the Auror led Maeve into her room. He waited outside tugging at his hair and pacing the corridor. Something had gone wrong with the potion; it must have. Why had someone sent Maeve Remus’ wand? What could it possibly mean? He slipped behind the statue that stood midway down the corridor as Roderick suddenly appeared from Maeve’s room, sriding off in the opposite direction. With anxiety pricking at his mind, he approached Maeve’s door and knocked lightly before pushing it open, unwilling to wait for permission to enter.
She was sitting at her desk with her head in her hands; the stray wand had been placed reverentially on the oak surface before her. As she heard the door open she looked up and gave Harry a weak smile.
“Hi, Harry,” she said. “I’m sorry, it really isn’t a good time at the moment.”
“That’s Remus’ wand,” Harry said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Why has someone sent it to you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied as honestly as she could.
“Is he dead?” The blunt question made her wince as she tried to look Harry in the eye.
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “Come and have a seat.”
“You must have some idea. Is this something to do with what happened on the lake yesterday?” He sat down opposite her, wondering if now was the time to come clean. If Remus was dead or in danger then the matter of the potion had to be revealed.
“Yesterday I saw something on the lake. It was a projection of something that we believe happened to Remus at roughly the same time.”
“What was it?” Harry asked, his throat dry and constricted.
“Remus has been captured by a Death Eater. It happened yesterday outside some pub in Shoreditch,” she said sorrowfully. “We still have no idea what they have done with him, but this is some sort of message, isn’t it?”
She picked up the wand and touched the wood gently, as if this would, in some way, connect her to the missing wizard.
“What exactly happened?” Harry persisted, his unease growing rapidly.
“He was weak. It was a bad time of the month and he had lost a protective item.” Maeve looked at Harry to try and gauge his reaction. She was unsurprised to see his face was bleached white. She knew how highly he regarded his former teacher and friend.
“What sort of item?”
“His robes. When I saw him, he wasn’t wearing a special set of robes.”
“I know where they are,” Harry said in a very quiet voice.
“What?”
“I know what happened to his robes; they’re here.” Harry stared down at his hands, his face working with agitation. Maeve, by contrast, had grown very still, and her voice was low when she next spoke.
“What happened, Harry?” she asked, placing her hands on the desk, afraid they would do something regrettable if left by her wand.
“We made a potion and…”
“Who’s we?” she snapped.
“Hermione and I. We made a potion to help Remus.” He stopped and looked at her face, but found the anger in her eyes too difficult to take for long so he swiftly looked away again. “It was supposed to stop him becoming a werewolf. Hermione spilled his Wolfsbane so she could substitute ours for the real one. It accidentally splashed over his robes and they melted, so he gave them to me to bring here so I could ask you to mend them.” Harry ran out of steam and sat there waiting for the rising storm of her anger to burst over him.
“Which potion did you u…?” And suddenly she knew the answer to the mystery of her disappearing book. “You stole my book, didn’t you?”
“I borrowed it,” he said, trying to defend the indefensible.
“You stole it, Harry.” She brushed aside his words. “How did you know what was in it?”
“I overheard you talking to Snape in the grounds.”
“PROFESSOR Snape!” she barked, agitation making her correct things that she would normally have let pass. “A little respect wouldn’t go amiss, Harry, for both people and their belongings.” She tried to regain her composure before continuing. “And so you made the potion…”
“Hermione made it. I persuaded her. It was my fault.” The words were like tiny curses, aimed solely at himself.
Maeve needed someone to take her frustration and anger out on, and when Harry said Hermione’s name for the second time, she realised she had found just the person.
“What lesson is Hermione likely to be in now?” she asked coldly.
“Potions,” Harry said, oblivious to the irony.
“How appropriate,” Maeve spat, oblivious to nothing. She rose from her seat, and with rapid strides left Harry sitting in her office with an explicit instruction not to leave.
The journey from her office to Severus’ classroom was a short one, but it gave her sufficient time to work herself into a frenzy of anger at the risks both Harry and Hermione had taken with someone else’s life. She threw open the door without knocking, ignoring the immediate look of anger and annoyance on Severus’ face. All the students looked up from their cauldrons at the sudden interruption and were amazed to see the fierce look of fury on their normally calm professor’s face.
“Hermione Granger!” she shouted. Hermione immediately put her potion making equipment down and looked at the towering rage that had become Maeve O’Malley.
“Professor O’Malley…” Severus began, in his iciest tones.
“Not now, Severus,” she said calmly, her anger making her address him in familiar tones. Hermione doggedly made her way towards her.
“Yes, Professor.” The voice was small, with none of its usual confidence, which only served to enrage Maeve further.
“Would you care to explain to the class why you chose to take it upon yourself to make a very complex and dangerous potion? A potion which has resulted in the capture and possible death of a much respected, and much loved, man?”
Hermione looked as if she was about to be sick and she grabbed at a desk for support.
“No? Perhaps you would like to explain why you believed you had the capability to cure someone of something that all the best Healers in the country had thus far failed to do?”
“I….” It was a croak that died away to nothing.
“Surely you must have realised that, great though your powers might be, there are some things beyond even the spectacularly clever Hermione Granger.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were barely there and Maeve laughed horribly at them.
“You’re sorry? SORRY?” She stepped forward and clasped Hermione’s arms tightly. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to approach the damage you have done with your devious meddling. Did it never occur to you what the consequences of your actions could be? Did it never occur to you that you were about to send someone to their death?”
To her credit, Hermione did not give in to the tears that threatened her. She faced the tirade with her chin lowered and her body trembling. Severus watched with interest at first. It made a pleasant change to have someone other than himself admonishing one of the students in such a volcanic manner. That was until Wolfsbane was mentioned, and then he approached the student and teacher with rather more interest.
“I didn’t know about the robes,” Hermione pleaded. “I had no idea what the Wolfsbane would do to them. I didn’t think.”
“OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T THINK, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Maeve’s fury burst forth and flowed over the miserable girl, who, for the first time ever, was completely lost for words.
“Are you suggesting,” Severus said softly, “that this student substituted the Wolfsbane potion for one of her own?”
“I’m not suggesting anything!” Maeve snarled at him. “Because that’s exactly what she did.”
“Is this true, Miss Granger?”
Hermione realised from his tone she was now facing double trouble; a dangerous combination of fire and ice was raining down on her. She had never felt so sorry for anything she had done in her life. All her reservations about making the potion had become reality, and she had no idea how she was going to get out of this situation. Fortunately for her, the door opened to reveal a concerned-looking Professor Dumbledore.
“Professor O’Malley, Miss Granger, if I may have a moment of your time, please?” He ignored the furious look from Severus, who was annoyed at having his fun spoilt. Most of the students were also feeling a little cheated. It wasn’t often you got to see a teacher go so spectacularly off the rails with a student.
“Yes,” Maeve said in a curt voice as she marched towards the door without a backward glance at the class. Hermione followed at a rather more sedate pace. Whatever was about to happen could only be worse than the scene she had just endured, and she was in no hurry to meet her fate.
Once they were in the corridor and the door had closed behind them, Professor Dumbledore spoke in a very even tone. He had a great deal of compassion for the differing positions of the two people he was faced with.
“I have spoken with Harry. He came to find me as soon as you left him, Maeve.” Dumbledore nodded in her direction and she looked even angrier at yet another infringement of an instruction. “Now, I understand that what Miss Granger has done is very serious.” This time it was Hermione who was on the receiving end of his stern look and she quivered slightly.
“I only did it be…”
He held his hand up and cut her off mid-explanation.
“It doesn’t matter at the moment. The only thing that matters is that Remus is lost to us, and we must behave in a prudent manner in order to attempt to retrieve him.”
“With respect, Professor…” Maeve began, but it was her turn to face a raised hand and a calm look.
“No, now is not the time for arguments. I will speak with you both separately. I’m afraid, Miss Granger, that I cannot entirely overlook your major transgression this time. However, there will be nothing gained from a heated argument in front of a room full of eager eavesdroppers.” He sighed and folded his arms across his chest in an authoritative manner. If any ever doubted that Albus Dumbledore had a firm grip on the school, his current attitude would quickly dispel those thoughts. “Now, I would like you to return to your lesson, Miss Granger, and I will see you in my office at lunchtime.”
Hermione nodded and half-heartedly returned to the classroom, where she would now have to face the bitter rage of Professor Snape, not to mention the gloating stares of the Slytherins and the hundred questions that would surely come from her own house members.
“Maeve, take the rest of the day off. You are too overwrought to be taking classes today. It was my mistake in allowing you to continue normally,” Dumbledore said sadly to his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher when Hermione had closed the door behind her.
“I’m perfectly capable of discharging my duties, Professor,” she said stiffly, a little annoyed at the seemingly easy time he had given Hermione Granger.
“I know. However, I think it would be beneficial both for yourself and the students if you spent the day elsewhere.”
She looked into his steel-blue eyes and knew she had no choice but to concede to his request. She turned on her heel, stalking down the hallway and out of his sight. He watched her go regretfully, knowing she would be feeling let down by his decision to allow Hermione to go back to her lessons, but he didn’t see what else he could do. Punishing Hermione immediately wouldn’t bring Remus back to them.
Once back in her rooms, Maeve kicked the wastebasket over in frustration and threw a whole roll of unused parchment at the fire. It hit the sleeping salamander square on the head, causing it to shoot out of its red-hot home, which sent a shower of sparks onto the rug. A few holes appeared in the weave of the carpet and it seemed to rise slightly from the floor in agitation before being trampled back down as the Salamander scrambled to get back into the heat of the fire. Had Maeve not been so incensed she would have found the little dance amusing, but as it was, she barely noticed.
Flinging herself onto the floating chair, she began a mindless spinning that soon made her feel sick and she had to stop. It was ridiculous, she thought, that a student could do something so awful and completely against the rules and get off so lightly. She knew Dumbledore had said he would give her some sort of punishment, but knowing the benevolent headmaster it would probably extra homework, and Hermione would think of that as a reward rather than a punishment. For a few hours Maeve had complete sympathy with Severus and his frustration that some students appeared to get away with murder.
Roderick was a surprise visitor later that evening. He strode into her room unannounced and plonked himself on her sofa with every appearance of stopping for a good while. She wordlessly uncapped a bottle of Firewhisky and offered him a drink, which he accepted with alacrity.
“Off duty now, so I might as well. Old Titus has set up camp outside your door, and I saw that miserable chappie Snape wandering around with intent. He was very cheesed off when I came in and muttered something about coming back later,” he said, as he kicked off his well-made shoes and hoisted his feet up onto the sofa.
“Oh, he’s putting a charm on the door to stop me getting out in the night. It’s ridiculous really,” she explained with a degree of frustration.
“He’s frightfully keen on you, isn’t he?” Roderick asked and Maeve blushed just a little. “Ah! I thought so. Good Galloping Gorgons, what do you see in him?”
“I ask myself the same question with alarming frequency.” She laughed, momentarily forgetting the cause of all her worries.
“So, what really happened yesterday?”
“I had a moment of madness,” she said, unsure of how far she could trust him.
“Professor Dumbledore seems to think you were the recipient of a message, from Remus Lupin.”
“Yes, he does, and I think so too, although Merlin alone knows how he managed it. What else did Dumbledore tell you?”
“Not much. I think he operates on a need-to-know basis. Although he was asking Snape to do something for him earlier that I don’t think Snape was too pleased about.” Roderick winked at her. “You’re not going to attempt anything silly, are you?”
“Why does everyone think I am going to do something silly?” she asked. “Yes, I’m frustrated and upset by the situation, but there’s nothing I can do. I don’t even know where Remus is.”
“I picked up the newspaper that your package was wrapped in this morning,” he said, not giving the comment much emphasis. Nevertheless he watched her surreptitiously to see whether she had placed any significance on the Irish newspaper.
“Did you?” She met his eyes and looked away quickly, not quite ready to share her suspicions. She had turned over the events of yesterday so many times she was weary of it, but one thing that had returned was the brief glimpse of Abbeylara as the window into Remus’ world closed. She had placed three things beside each other and come up with an answer; Remus had showed her Abbeylara, his wand had arrived in an Irish newspaper, and Voldemort was known to be using her former home. So her best educated guess was that Remus was being held at Abbeylara “ or worse, he had been taken to Abbeylara to be killed.
“I thought you might have had some idea where your friend had been taken,” Roderick suggested gently, and Maeve was struck by the change in him. He had gone from a slightly jolly drinking companion to calm interrogator in one swift stroke.
She chewed her lip as she debated telling him the truth, and in the end decided on a half-truth. There was no reason to tell him about seeing Abbeylara.
“I think he’s been taken to Ireland. I know that Voldemort has a base there and the newspaper suggests that’s where he might be, don’t you think?” She was interested in his opinion. He was, after all, an Auror and had done extensive training, so his input would be worth something. Although, as it happened, he didn’t really have much to say on the matter.
“It’s a possibility, but without further evidence it would be hard to say,” he replied, and she got the distinct feeling that he had got all the information he wanted because he abruptly changed the subject to their respective time at Hogwarts. He was charming and funny company; his anecdotes about the time he spent at the school made her laugh in spite of herself. She had very few of her own stories to swap with him, and what she had mostly concerned her childhood home.
“The gardens were the best bit, especially the vegetable and fruit patches. I stole so much fruit I think our gardener despaired. He would often have to order in extra from the village because whole blackberry bushes would be stripped bare. We had a small orchard too, with some lovely trees. I broke my arm once when I fell from one. Everyone said it was my own fault and let me suffer for a bit before fixing it.” She smiled at the recollections. They were, for the most, part good memories, up until the time her mother had died. Roderick noticed her face change as she thought about her mother and quickly stepped in with a tale of his own to take her mind of whatever was troubling her.
“We had a maze.” He grinned. “It was a huge thing. I would always be getting lost in it. It took them days to find me sometimes, but I always took supplies with me so it was more of an adventure than anything. They never could understand why I didn’t just use magic to get out; they never understood the fun of it. Of course the real fun was to be had in the underground tunnels that a batty great-great-great grandfather had dug beneath the grounds.”
“Tunnels?” Maeve asked with a shiver. “I hate tunnels. I get really claustrophobic. How on earth could you have had fun down there!”
“It was marvellous,” Roderick insisted. “They stretched for miles and miles, and opened up into great, echoing caverns. All the caverns were hand-made, of course, but impressive all the same. They were lit constantly with a huge network of electric light, another silly fancy of an ancestor. Why he wanted electric lights, I’ll never know.”
“And you played down there? How gruesome.” She smiled and finished her drink. Roderick looked quickly at the clock, pulled a face, and made a move to get up.
“I’d better get going or your friend will be getting impatient to put his charm on that door. Want me to have a word with him? It seems a bit of an impertinence, locking you in your room.”
“No, don’t worry about it,” Maeve said indulgently. “It keeps him happy and he feels like he’s protecting me. Coming from Severus, that’s a high honour indeed.”
Roderick smiled as he walked towards the outer door.
“Well, as long as you are sure,” he said lightly.
“Very sure,” she insisted. She couldn’t imagine him coming off better in an exchange with Severus anyway; it would be duelling wands at dawn if the two of them started arguing. “Thanks for dropping in, I really appreciate it.”
“No probs! And don’t be doing anything silly now, will you?” he said.
“No, I won’t do anything silly,” she replied as she swung the door closed. “At least, not what I consider to be silly,” she added in a whisper.
A few minutes later she could hear Severus trying to move silently outside her room and she caught a faint whiff of his magic as he placed the charm on her door again. It was almost seven and she circled the room a few times, trying to focus her mind on something constructive, like marking homework. It was impossible of course; she would never have been able to concentrate on anything. It was a quiet evening, if a little chilly. She found, as she stuck her head out of the window, she could hear the faint noises of Quidditch practice coming to an end, shouts and jeers from the students as they commiserated and congratulated each other depending on how well their practice had gone. Pulling her head back in, she flopped down on the recently vacated sofa and tried to think her way around this dilemma, but she couldn’t think at all and instead she found herself staring into space as the day died around her. She must have nodded off and when she woke a quick glance at the clock told her it was a little after nine o’clock. She could sense something moving closer to her through the night, something beyond the room and yet in the room. Light flickered and faded by the window and she was fully awake now, her skin tingling with expectation. The particles of light seemed to be shifting and struggling to form some kind of recognisable shape, and then with a crack of energy, they created a very familiar image.
“Remus,” she breathed as the ghostly shape hovered by the window. And she knew he was dead and this was his ghost come to tell her so. The apparition didn’t seem to have the power of speech, but as he stepped to one side she could see an image of woods forming and she knew they weren’t the woods outside Hogwarts. They were dense and gloomy, but even in the dark they looked familiar. Remus walked into the image and she saw him sit down on a large stone mound that was lying on the forest floor. No, that wasn’t a stone mound! That was a dolmen, and she knew exactly where it was “ it was in the forest at Abbeylara. And the ghostly Remus was smiling at her and waving. What was going on?
She fought the feeling of optimism that began to surge through her. She had no way of knowing if this was a message or a hallucination. Was it the product of her hopeful imagination and therefore just wishful thinking? The image began to blur and the background disappeared altogether, leaving Remus sitting on thin air looking tired and ill. He managed a weak smile before the image wavered, grew momentarily brighter, and then vanished completely.
Now she knew she had to do something. If there was a possibility that Remus was alive and needed rescuing, then Dumbledore needed to know. But did he? The more she thought of the past few months, the more she grew doubtful at the course of action he would pursue. The recent situation with Hermione was still affecting her judgement and she wasn’t ready to go to Dumbledore with this. Could she go alone? Should she go alone? There was only one quick way to get to Abbeylara and that was by broom, but it was such a long journey and she didn’t know if she could make it.
Her brain was humming with so many possibilities that she didn’t know where to start. She wasn’t fool enough to accept what she had just seen on face value. It could, of course, be a trick on the part of Voldemort aimed at luring her there so that he could dispose of her. But it could also be a genuine plea for help on the part of Remus, who was now wandless, broomless and obviously in the woods at Abbeylara. If she was going to help him, she would have to leave now, tonight, and the door was charmed closed. She suddenly regretted not letting Roderick intervene when Severus had placed the charm on the door, but she hadn’t been expecting a visitation that would change things so utterly.
The window was the only option, but as she was not on the ground floor it could prove tricky, manoeuvring her broom through the window and climbing aboard would be awkward, but not impossible. Where was her broom? She looked with dismay at the vacant place where her broom normally stood, and mentally kicked herself when she remembered she had left it in the general storage hut next to the Quidditch pitch a few days ago. She had been following Remus’ advice to practice and had been doing circles of the pitch to improve her speed, not that it had improved her technique much.
This was a big blow to her rapidly forming plans, and one she felt she couldn’t overcome. She couldn’t just Accio her broom; it would draw too much attention as it left the hut. She was about to start throwing things again to release some of her frustration, a habit she was growing rather too fond of and would have to try to break, when she was reminded of her tantrum earlier in the day and something the salamander had done. Walking across to the fire she stood on the rug and looked down at the scorch marks where the Salamander’s small feet had made contact with the threads. When the Salamander had hurried across it to get back to the fire, the thing had been floating as if it had been trying to get away from the spitting flames.
She bent down to examine it closer, not yet daring to hope that her suspicions could be true. It was definitely Persian, she could tell that by the intricate patterns and the colouring, and the age was about right for what she was beginning to hope for. But it had been a long time since she had studied such things and wasn’t sure she could even make it work. Bending down she touched the fabric gently and there it was! A gentle vibration that ran throughout the rug, which meant it was useable. The magic hadn’t died from lack of use, and if only she could remember the charm that would unlock its potential then here was the perfect way to get out of her room.
Withdrawing her wand she pointed it at the carpet and muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa”. The carpet shuddered and she had the sneaky feeling it was laughing at her. She shook away the ridiculous thought and tried again. “Locomotor Carpet.” This time the edges of the carpet curled, and Maeve knew the carpet was now definitely filled with mirth. In desperation she tried a Hover Charm, but the carpet rolled itself up and stayed there like a huge, fat sausage with a fringe.
“What is the matter with you?” She stamped her foot. These old magic carpets were all well and good, but they could be very tricky to use, unlike the more sensible English carpets. Persian carpets were very fiery and prone to bouts of pique if you upset them too much. A nice Axminster would have been up in the air and halfway to their destination by now. She glanced around the room, wondering if it would be possible to put a Hover Charm on a cushion or her bedspread, but she knew that either the cushion would be too small or the bedspread too floppy.
“Oh, please, Carpet,” she wheedled. “Help me out here. You’re my only chance of getting out of this room.” The thing twitched slightly and unfurled just the tiniest bit. Maeve smiled as she bent down and spoke softly, a cunning look on her face.
“I would really appreciate it if you would unfurl and help me out of the window. I am so sorry about that unfortunate incident earlier, and I hope you aren’t too badly damaged. I will arrange for the very best Persian carpet manufacturer to come and repair the damage as soon as possible.” The carpet flattened itself out fully. “Of course, such a fine carpet as yourself deserves the very best.”
She sighed with relief as the carpet became stiff in the middle and hovered a good foot above the floor.
“Thank you,” she breathed. She grabbed Remus’ wand from the desk and gingerly climbed on board the wobbling rug. It rose majestically into the air and she could see the holes that the fire had caused more clearly now. Light shone up through them and she realised the damage was worse than she had first thought. Still, the thing only had to get her down a few feet and she was sure it would hold. They floated towards the window and she flipped the catch. The chilly air flooded in, causing the carpet to quiver slightly. She found she had to duck down to avoid bumping her head and the carpet gently tucked itself up a little to clear the sides of the window. With a quick, sliding movement they were hanging in the cold night with nothing between them and the ground.
“You can just take me down and drop me on the ground,” she said in the quietest voice she could manage. “And then if you wouldn’t mind returning to my room I’ll see about that repair tomorrow.”
The carpet dropped so quickly that she had to grip its sides to prevent herself tumbling off, and it jerked so hard when it hit the floor she was thrown to the ground with a bump.
“Thank you,” she hissed, feeling slightly less charitable now she had achieved her aim. The carpet rose quickly back to her window and was out of sight in a flash. So far so good, she thought, as she moved silently around the castle and towards the Quidditch pitch. She wasn’t allowing herself the time to feel nervous or have doubts about what she was about to do. If she was going fly across the Irish Sea on a broomstick, the less she thought about it the better. She paid no attention to the fact that Voldemort could well be her reception committee, and she didn’t even think about the fact that her former guardian would be there. All she could think about was helping Remus and getting one more glimpse of her old home. With that thought, she opened the door to the Quidditch stores, cringing as it creaked.
She knew she had been discovered immediately because there was a light on in the room and two figures huddled in the corner poring over an opened book. They both looked up guiltily when she entered and all three froze. Maeve quickly realised she had the upper hand because they should not have been out after nine, whilst she, on the other hand, was a teacher and had every right to be. They had no idea her mission was just as illicit as their being here.
“Harry, Ron…Good evening, gentlemen,” she said smoothly. “Is there a reason for you being out so late?”
Harry hesitated. He had no idea where he stood with her at the moment, not after the way she had treated Hermione. He had a feeling he was included in her intense bad feeling about what had happened and he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her temper again. He was too worried about Remus.
“We’ve just finished Quidditch practice,” he said as Ron shuffled around beside him, stuffing the book back into a bag that sat on the floor.
“Quidditch practice finished a good while ago,” she replied, conscious that she couldn’t make too much of this. She needed to get them back into school so she could grab her broom.
“We stayed behind to talk tactics,” Ron said brightly.
“Really? Well, perhaps you should both get yourselves back into school before someone else catches you.”
By ‘someone else’ they both knew she meant Severus or Filch so they gathered up their things and prepared to leave. Harry was about to walk past her towards the door when he obviously thought better of it.
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” he asked, a mixture of suspicion and interest on his face. Maeve looked uncomfortable then and tried to lie her way out of it, but she was hopeless at lying and Harry knew immediately she had not wanted to clean her broomstick.
“You hate that broomstick,” he said. “Are you planning on going somewhere with it?”
“No,” she lied again.
Harry watched her for a moment, until Ron pushed him slightly in the back.
“C’mon Harry, let’s go before Filch catches us.”
“Ron, that’s an excellent idea. Off you pop, both of you,” Maeve said, edging her way around the room to her broom, which was lying on a bench and poking out beneath someone’s spare Quidditch robes.
“You’re going after Remus, aren’t you?” Harry asked, ignoring his friend, who groaned when Harry mentioned Remus.
“What makes you think that?” Maeve gave a false, high laugh and went a little pale.
“You are, aren’t you?” he said triumphantly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. I bet Snape doesn’t know.”
“What I am about to do is of no concern to you, Harry. Go back to bed and let someone else tidy up your mess.”
“Now hang on a minute,” Ron said, jumping in to stick up for his friend. “Whatever Harry did he did because he wanted to help Remus. Whatever happened happened because… well…because…”
“Did you know about their little scheme too?” Maeve asked as Ron fumbled for the right words. “I suppose you did, didn’t you?”
“Actually no, I didn’t,” Ron replied and Maeve sensed an undercurrent of disappointment in his voice. Was a crack appearing in the friendship of this usually inseparable threesome?
“I want to come with you,” Harry said, his hand tightening around his Firebolt.
“Impossible,” Maeve said shortly and Harry looked triumphant.
“So you are going.” He looked pleased with himself and began to pull on his flying gloves.
“If I am going anywhere, you are most certainly not coming with me,” she insisted. “Can you imagine the fuss caused when Professor Dumbledore realised you had left the school grounds? Quite apart from anything else, he would have my guts for garters.”
“I don’t care,” Harry said as Ron tried to talk sense into him by pointing out he could be sending himself straight into Voldemort’s clutches. “I failed to save Sirius. I’m not going to fail Remus when there is the possibility that I can do something to help. I won’t be a hindrance because I can fly a broom better than you can anyway.” He said this last part to Maeve and for the first time she felt ashamed of her poor flying skills.
“Harry, just think about it for a moment. What does Voldemort want more than anything?”
“You… at the moment,” Harry said. “And you’re going, so what’s the difference in me going as well?”
“Because if I go, I stand a far better chance of getting in and out of Abbeylara alive. I know my way around in the dark and can conceal myself much better alone than if I had you with me.”
“And what if anything happens and you need help. What then?” Harry asked. He didn’t know if she had noticed she had let slip where she was going, but he wasn’t about to make an issue of the fact. “I caused this. I should help make it right.”
“Harry, this isn’t a bruised arm that a bit of ointment can cure. The best thing you can do for Remus is keep yourself safe. You know he will forgive you for the potion incident, far quicker than I will at any rate.” She felt some sympathy for Harry, and she knew that he was mortified at the pain and harm he had caused Remus, but she couldn’t allow him to come with her.
“I’m coming,” he said mulishly, and as she faced him she knew she had a choice to make. Either she could abandon Remus, because without Maeve, Harry wouldn’t have a clue where to go, or she could lead Harry straight to Voldemort and deliver him up on a plate. As she looked at Harry’s strong, determined face and saw Lily’s eyes looking back at her, she knew she really had no choice. There was no way she could lead her friend’s son to his death. As she realised she wasn’t going anywhere, she hoped that Remus would understand. If Remus had been here, she was sure he would have made exactly the same decision.
“Forgive me, Remus,” she whispered under her breath as she put down the broom she had only just picked up.
“I could go,” Ron said in a low, uncertain voice.
“What?” Harry and Maeve said in unison.
“Without help, Remus will die,” Ron said flatly. “Professor O’Malley isn’t going to go if you insist on going, Harry, but I could go in your place.”
Harry chewed this over, but Maeve wasn’t happy.
“This isn’t a game to see who can put the best case for coming. Neither of you are coming,” she insisted.
“Let Ron go,” Harry said. “Voldemort has no interest in Ron, and you will need help. You can’t do everything alone, Maeve, and you would be stupid to think of doing this without some help. What if you get into difficulty flying? What if you find Remus but can’t get him out alone?”
Maeve thought about this, but every fibre of her being was telling her that taking a student was a huge mistake, even a student that had gone through as much as Ron. It was one thing to risk her own neck, but to risk that of a complete innocent was something else entirely. Once Dumbledore found out about it, she would lose her job and her home not to mention having to face Severus’ abject censure. And then, of course, there was Ron himself. His mother had already lost a son and, to all intents, a husband. Could Maeve even contemplate taking another Weasley family member into danger?
“Let me come, Professor O’Malley,” Ron said in a very calm voice.
“I don’t know....” She wavered, and Harry was quick to sense her indecision. He nodded to Ron, who put his bag down and pulled on his gloves and helmet hurriedly.
“I haven’t said yes,” Maeve protested, but she knew the battle was lost. As Harry let himself out of the store room, he gave Ron a quick hug and whispered something that she couldn’t catch before looking at her.
“Good luck,” he said. “And thanks.”
He was gone before she could respond, leaving her alone with an expectant Ron and a world of reservations. She gave Ron a hurried plan of action and tried to instil in him how potentially dangerous this could be and how tiring the journey would be. He just nodded in a resigned way and followed her out of the hut into the night. Maeve checked that there was no one around and rose into the air on her broom in a most ungainly manner. Ron managed the movement far more smoothly, and wondered just how far his teacher would get given her substandard skills. As they left the school behind them and rode into the cold and black night, they both harboured their own different thoughts and feelings about what they had undertaken, but on one thing they were agreed.
They could not fail.