Alice
Maeve’s escapade had been kept quiet from the rest of the school so she was able to resume her classes without any questions being asked. In fact she was the one with issues as she ploughed her way through the mundane tasks of the day. She couldn’t tear her mind away from Severus Snape’s remarkable behaviour. She could still feel the burn of his lips on hers and a hot flush crept over her whenever she thought of the rare flare of passion she had seen in his eyes. He had almost crushed her with the weight of his care, swamping her in what could be if only he would let it happen. When he let her go it had been to berate her for putting herself in danger but his anger had been dulled by the love he finally allowed himself to touch her with.
While she spent the day with him uppermost in her mind other things were happening around her. Ron found himself basking in Harry’s undisguised admiration, for once. Now that the danger had passed Ron was rather enjoying re-telling the tale to Harry and Hermione. He had even recovered from the ear bashing his mother had given him when she realised that the awful smell that surrounded him was coming from his robes. Hermione had been furious with both him and Harry, although she had reserved her real indignant fury for Maeve. She expressed her feeling of injustice quite vociferously to both of them during the day. Hermione was disgusted that Maeve had showed her up so publicly for doing something foolhardy only to go and do exactly the same kind of thing.
“Yeah, well,” Ron said. “You were the cause of Remus being captured in the first place.”
Hermione had ignored this, choosing to believe that she and her teacher were now even in terms of doing incredibly stupid things. She had still been fuming about it as she stomped out of Arithmancy, which was the last lesson of the day. An evening of homework stretched ahead of her and she couldn’t wait to get dinner out of the way so that she could get stuck in. The last person Hermione had expected to see was Professor O’Malley and yet, as she made her way to the Great Hall, there she was. They looked at each other warily for a few moments, Hermione stopped in her stride by the tired-looking, older woman.
“I’m sorry.” Maeve spoke first. Her face was a picture of repentance as she stepped closer to Hermione. “It was very wrong of me to do what I did, especially in front of the class. Although I was extremely angry and upset it doesn’t excuse what I did.”
Hermione’s earlier bluster disappeared in the face of such a sincere apology. She knew that Ron had been right when he said she had caused the events of the previous couple of days. She had foolishly allowed herself to be cajoled into something that she knew was wrong. She had lied and deceived people and almost caused Remus’ death. If Hermione was brutally honest with herself she knew it was her own superiority that had caused this, proving the old adage that pride does indeed come before a fall.
“There’s no need to apologise,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “I was really, really stupid. I can’t honestly believe I did it now I look back.”
“Yes, it was ill-conceived,” Maeve began, much to Hermione’s dismay as she thought she was in for another lecture. “But only as ill-conceived as doing what I did. I am sure Ron has filled you in on all the gory details.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, he told us everything. I think he may have embellished his own part though. Who’d believe that Ron could play the trumpet?” Both of them began to relax in each other’s company and Hermione found herself smiling as she remembered Ron’s proud boast about his musical ability.
“Oh, he can,” Maeve grinned. “Not very well, admittedly. But it was enough to save our lives.”
Hermione looked stupefied. She had playfully suggested that Ron was exaggerating when he had come to that bit but here was the proof that he had been telling the truth.
“Sometimes, Hermione, people surprise us,” Maeve said, stepping aside to allow some third years up the stairs. “Ron surprised me by even volunteering to go. I think he felt a bit left out, especially when he realised that you and Harry had been conspiring over the potion. He has a real soft spot for both of you and he’s feeling a bit adrift at the moment.”
Hermione remembered Ron’s attempts to ask her something about London before the half-term break. Of course, she realised with a sinking feeling, he had been trying to ask her out.
“You don’t think…” Hermione hesitated. She had been about to ask Maeve about Ron but realised it wasn’t an appropriate discussion to be having with a teacher. Maeve, however, could read her quite well and smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I do think. Perhaps you could ask him to go for a walk. I am sure he’s got lots to talk to you about.”
Hermione went bright pink, gripping her bag tightly to her in embarrassment. Maeve gently changed the subject.
“What’s S.P.A.M.M.?” she asked, noticing the two badges on Hermione’s robes.
Fifteen minutes later Maeve found herself two galleons lighter, considerably better educated about house-elves, and the new secretary of S.P.E.W. She had no idea how it had happened. Hermione was an altogether trickier prospect than she had first assumed.
Maeve returned to her rooms and flopped wearily on to the sofa. She couldn’t face the hustle and bustle of the Great Hall so she had asked for her dinner to be sent up. Slipping her robes off her shoulders Maeve couldn’t help smiling as she unclipped the S.P.E.W badge. Ron had warned her many months ago about Hermione’s fervent defence of house-elves but she had forgotten all about it. She tried to read a book but her restlessness and hunger prevented her from concentrating so she gave it up as a bad idea. An hour later there was a knock at the door that promised something more interesting than her own company. Remus struggled in carrying a tray containing her dinner and placed it down on the coffee table. She sat up almost half-heartedly and picked up the tray as he joined her on the sofa.
“You’ll get indigestion eating like that,” he said. Maeve had curled up on the comfortable cushions with her legs beneath her and the tray of food balanced precariously on her knees. She pulled a face at him as she tucked in.
“You sound like my grandmother,” she said.
“Thanks!” He sat down next to her with a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?” she asked, her fork paused in mid air. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“About why you did what you did?”
She shook her head, still uncomprehending.
“You risked your life for me. No-one has ever done that before.”
“Well, they have now,” she said cheerfully. Remus was looking at her with a curious look in his eyes as he tried to find the right words to express the sudden shift in his feelings for her. The sibling relationship had been fine while she looked like his sister but he couldn’t deny the growing appeal she held for him. It had started at Christmas and he had found himself unable to check the growing momentum of his attraction to her.
“It’s an amazingly unselfish thing to do. I just wondered if there was something else behind it?” he asked, his face still uncertain.
“I don’t know what you…Oh! Right.” she nodded. Remus’ heart fluttered a little as she smiled into his eyes. “You mean was I put under pressure to go…” Remus’ heart steadied itself only to be sent soaring again by her next few words. “No, I came because I love you.”
Remus smiled one of the biggest smiles he had ever managed to produce and had she not being wearing a tea tray would have taken her into his arms there and then. Could it possibly be true that finally, finally, he had found someone who could reciprocate his feelings? Remus had never declared his love for anyone before and he had felt so vulnerable harbouring this feeling he now had for her.
“I know, I love you too,” he replied, his words ringing with honesty.
“Of course, Severus didn’t approve,” Maeve continued, between bites of chicken. “But it did finally make him be a little more tactile.” She grinned at Remus and it was his turn not to get her meaning. “Of course, he doesn’t understand the love of siblings. He never had one himself so he doesn’t get it. I think, to be honest, he’s a little bit jealous of our relationship.”
This was all going badly wrong. They shouldn’t be talking about the Potions master. He had thought after the events of Christmas and their continual fighting that she had given up any notion about resuming her relationship with Severus. Remus cleared his throat to speak but Maeve hadn’t quite finished. Oblivious to his true intent she pressed on with the details about Severus and his sudden unveiling of passion the previous evening.
“And it was only when the door clicked shut that I remembered Dumbledore was in the room,” she finished, with an embarrassed giggle.
“Oh,” Remus said weakly. The rose-petal blush that kissed her cheeks just made her all the more striking and it wrenched at his heart.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. He had gone a little pale, which emphasised how tired he looked.
“Yes, yes I’m fine,” he said. “I’m pleased for you. Severus really doesn’t deserve you.”
“I know,” Maeve said, laughing. “But he deserves something better than he has at the moment, which is nothing.”
“I have to go,” Remus said, unable to bear the hurt any longer. She looked up at him innocently with a concerned expression.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” She placed the tray on the table and reached across to touch his arm.
“Yes, really.” He withdrew from her; the touch was like a hot poker.
“Oh.” Now it was her turn to look hurt. “Okay then, I’ll see you to the door.”
“No need,” he said, standing up and turning away from her. Maeve watched him go, wincing as he stumbled against the bookcase. Something wasn’t right there and she had no idea what it was. She was no longer interested in finishing off her dinner and left the tray on the table.
A few minutes later there was another knock on the door. She rushed to answer it, thinking that Remus had come back to explain his strange behaviour, but it wasn’t he. Instead Professor Dumbledore stood there holding a cardboard box that was so large it almost hid his upper body.
“May I come in?” he asked from behind his huge burden.
“Yes, please do” she said as she guided through the door. He placed the box on her desk, almost displacing all of her things in the process. “Dare I ask?” she said with a smile.
“You dare indeed,” he said. “I want you to have a look through these things. They belonged to Alice Longbottom.”
Maeve looked taken aback but allowed him to continue without interruption.
“Severus mentioned something about a possible, previous attempt to cultivate Carduus Amara. We searched the archives at the Ministry to see if we could find any reference to such a project. We almost drew a complete blank until we came across the contents of a broom cupboard.” He smiled at the capricious nature of fate. “In there we found this box of parchments along with other bits and pieces that Alice collected.”
He sat down at her desk so she followed suit and sat opposite him, craning her neck to see his face above the box.
“One of the Order members had a quick look through it and discovered this.” He handed her a piece of parchment, which she took and read.
It contained Alice’s wide scrawl, which swooped and looped across the page excitedly. From what Maeve could make out this was a list of the properties of Carduus Amara. She glanced up at Dumbledore, who smiled at her.
“I am mindful of the connection you have with Alice through your father,” he said.
“My father went to great pains to point out that it wasn’t a connection in the mortal sense of the word.”
“I know, my dear,” he said. “But there is a connection and I wanted to make sure that you would be happy to go through her papers.”
“Yes, that’s no problem,” she nodded. “Have you spoken to Neville’s grandmother about this?”
Dumbledore shook his head. “That’s the other proposal I wanted to put to you. When you have gone through all of this” – he waved a hand at the box – “would you be willing to speak with her about anything Alice may have said about her work.”
“You think that’s likely?” Maeve asked. “Surely she wouldn’t have discussed secret Order business with her mother-in-law?”
“I highly doubt it but it is entirely possible she may had indicated she was going somewhere or talking to someone that may have some bearing on this current problem. It is worth a try if we can discover something that would be of use to us, wouldn’t you agree?”
Maeve nodded as Dumbledore stood to leave. His robes swished gently through the air as he opened the door.
“I don’t need to tell you to be as thorough as you possibly can. There are lives depending on this.”
Again she nodded, wondering if she would get a pay increase to match the added responsibility that seemed to be shifting on to her shoulders. The door closed and she placed a Silencing Charm on it. If anyone else wanted her attention tonight they would not get it. She was tired, emotional and just wanted to sleep. Dumbledore hadn’t given her a time limit so she decided the box could wait until tomorrow. Her bed was far more enticing than the dusty papers contained within the cardboard. She spent a good hour reading the mindless drivel in The Daily Prophet just to wind down and then she took a glass of Firewhiskey to bed with her. She sat, propped up by pillows, going over events in her head. In half an hour she had completely undone the good work of The Prophet and was wide-awake again. This was no good. Without extra sleep she would still be disengaged from her students tomorrow and fit for nothing but staring vacantly into space. She blew out the candles and forced herself to lie down, closing her eyes with the firm intention of going to sleep.
The problem with that plan, however, was that as she lay in bed with the night closing in around her she found she was thinking more of the box than she was about sleep. Maeve tossed and turned for half an hour in her rough blankets before she gave in to the curiosity that the beige container had aroused in her. Padding back out to her office she lifted her cloak from its peg and threw it around her shoulders to ward off the nocturnal chill.
She lifted the box from the desk where Dumbledore had left it, feeling the roughness of the cardboard against her smooth fingers as it almost slipped from her grasp. Maeve sat cross-legged on the floor beneath the window as she reached in to pick up the first item. It was a photograph. She held it tentatively between gentle fingers, watching as three faces peered up at her in confusion. Frank had a protective arm flung around Alice’s shoulders as she clutched the squirming toddler in her arms. Neville’s moon-shaped face gurgled at her, a sliver of yellow goo erupting from his left nostril. Alice frowned as she quickly wiped it away with a tissue before once again gazing suspiciously out of the picture. Maeve wondered how many photographs existed of Lily and Harry in just the same circumstances. Could it be possible that any of them had ever been happy? For the first time she found herself being thankful for her unmarried, childless status. She had no one to worry about but herself.
As she placed the photograph to one side she realised that wasn’t strictly true. She worried constantly about Harry and, despite her father’s protestations, she continued to think of herself as his aunt. Not that she would ever allow Harry to think that. He mustn’t find out about their connection. Remus was another worry, as evidenced by the events of the last few days. And then there was Severus. If things had been different maybe she would have been married and had children. She let out a long, slow breath as she allowed this thought to reverberate through her head for a little while. Children? The idea was laughable really. How did anyone deal with young babies? And yet an image came to her mind, unbidden. A cottage clinging solidly to the side of a remote Irish mountain and a garden. A child playing with rocks and twigs by a frothing stream. A black-robed man opening the gate with a small smile of contentment and an armful of parchments. She could almost smell the aroma of cooking that spilled out as the door opened and she joined the inviting tableau. She blinked away the image and to her amazement found herself also blinking away the beginnings of tears.
To distract herself she took out another photograph. This was Alice’s official Ministry photograph. Neville’s mother sat stiff-backed in a chair as she faced the camera with a defiant expression. Wisps of dull brown hair fell around her shoulders, yet her sparkling eyes contrasted with the lifelessness of her hair. Maeve really couldn’t remember that much about her from their schooldays. She had been too wrapped up with Lily and Severus to notice many other people. She let the photograph fall softly to the floor along with the other one.
There were several hard-backed notebooks in the box, the dull green colour of Ministry-issue stationery. She flicked through them briefly but on the face of it they seemed full of meaningless information that had nothing to do with what she was searching for. Rolls of parchment contained dates, times and names. Some she recognised as Order members, there was an occasional mention of James Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Most of it seemed innocuous though, details of events long past and with no relevance upon current events. The piece of parchment that Dumbledore had given her was still on her desk, separate from the other material, and she went to get it. The handwriting was very distinct, matching the writing in the notebooks and most of the parchments but there was one that was clearly different to the others.
The small, mismatched item was a piece of headed notepaper, cream with deep, wine-coloured text. It had fluttered from a large book entitled Secrets of the Ancients: A Guide for the Modern Witch. Maeve had been surprised to see that Alice had read such fluffy, re-packaged nonsense as this. Its author, Rafaela Haran, had been a well-known self-promoter even back in the late seventies. She had based her work on supposition and invention but it had been lapped up by most of the wizarding world. Maeve had dropped the book to the floor in disgust and turned her attention to the stylish writing at the top of the piece of paper.
Rampton,
Rampton Court
Sussex.
Dear Madam,
I fear I am unable to accommodate your request to come and visit my humble dwelling on the instance of the first of April. I will be away with my son in Klosters, taking in the last of the skiing season. Rest assured that I will make every attempt to play host to you and your delightful family at a later date.
Yours, etc.
Rampton.
(Freddy)
Maeve turned over the paper, as if expecting more information on the reverse, but there was nothing. The letter wasn’t even dated. How on earth did Alice Longbottom come to be on such close terms with Lord Rampton, Freddy no less? She would ask Roderick in the morning. He must be aware of the connection… but then why hadn’t Dumbledore known? She placed the note carefully alongside the information Alice had written about Carduus Amara and delved into the box once again. There were several copies of Witch Weekly, an old Gringott’s savings book in Neville’s name with the grand total of 11 galleons in it, a long-dead house-plant that was so crinkled and withered Maeve couldn’t recognise it, a folded up poster of the Why Fronts who Maeve only vaguely remembered as being the musicians that taste forgot, and a diary for the year 1981. As she picked the diary up she noticed something flutter out of it and fall between her legs. She retrieved the papery objects and was unsurprised to be holding two carefully folded Drooble’s wrappers. She thought immediately of Neville and the strange gifts his mother kept giving him.
Maeve shuddered uncomfortably. As she had been sorting through the detritus of Alice’s life she had been thinking of her as a dead person when, in fact, she was very much alive. How many more people would end up enduring a living death at St Mungo’s before Voldemort and his cronies could be stopped? She picked up the diary and the notebooks, curling up on one of the sofas to read them in greater detail. Late night shifted to early morning and still she scoured them, looking for the slightest reference that could help her understand what Alice’s role in all of this had been. Maybe she should attempt to get Severus to try and remember more details of the vague plan he had heard. It would be uncomfortable for him but not nearly as uncomfortable as allowing Voldemort to succeed with his repulsive schemes. As she allowed her mind to drift towards Severus she felt her eyelids droop against the candlelight. Her fingers loosened their hold on the diary and it slipped to the floor with a gentle thump, but she was already asleep and didn’t hear it or the soft noise the door made as it opened, pushing against the stillness of the air.
Severus paced the room with slow, deliberate movements and his robes snapped around his legs. Normally being in the comfortable surroundings of the dungeon office would have soothed his mind and given him some peace, but not tonight. He had thought of nothing but Maeve O’Malley for most of the day. She was so prevalent in his thoughts that it was beginning to irritate him. For the first time in many years he was undecided on what course of action to take because for the first time he felt weakness. What was it about this woman that brought out the worst in him? Why could he not maintain his emotional detachment whenever the damned creature was close to him? He threw back his second glass of Firewhiskey and immediately regretted it. Severus liked a drink as much as any man but he had not been intoxicated for many years. Drinking was another weakness that showed an appalling lack of self-control and he had learned his lesson as a youth. Alcohol made even the most secure tongue flap dangerously, loosening normally closed mouths to the point of self-destruction.
He folded his robes around him as he sank into the chair by the fire. Bloody woman – he fumed to himself – frustrating, irresistible, preposterous, bloody woman. It was almost worth considering leaving his post just to push away the need to make a decision. But of course he couldn’t even do that. It was necessary for him to remain at Hogwarts, to serve whatever masters ruled the day. The status quo was far preferable to the risky business of upping sticks and returning to the outside world, where it was less safe. But then neither was it safe here with Maeve around, threatening his resolve at every turn. It was altogether too disturbing to keep seeing her burning eyes tearing into his soul and feel the soft yield of her mouth as he had bitten down on it.
He failed in his resolve and reached for the Firewhiskey once again, knowing as he did so that it wasn’t a good idea. He poured the amber liquid into the spotless glass, allowing it to splash against the sides wildly. Severus was very surprised when he heard the door open and he turned, about to berate the ill-mannered trespasser.
Remus Lupin stood there, staggering against the weight of the wooden door. His eyes looked strangely unfocused as he walked unsteadily into the room. Snape was naturally disinclined to help him but he knew that he had an obligation to both Maeve and Dumbledore to do so. Reluctantly he crossed the room and held out a hand to steady the stricken man. As he drew level with his face he could smell the sharp tang of alcohol and Severus knew that whatever ailed Lupin it wasn’t the potion that the Granger girl had inflicted upon him.
“You’re drunk,” he said with disgust as the other man focused on him. “What are you doing wandering around the school in that condition?”
“I’m not drunk,” Remus insisted, although he knew that he had had rather too much wine to be fully sober.
“Then why do you reek of wine? And what do you want with me?” Snape sneered.
“I need to tell you something important,” Remus said as he slumped into a chair. “Something about Maeve.”
Severus didn’t want to discuss anything with Remus Lupin, least of all the one thing that had been bothering him the most.
“Not interested, Lupin,” he said dismissively. “Why don’t you go to your room and sleep it off? Not quite so impressive without your dead friends around you, are you? Not that you ever were impressive,” he added as an afterthought.
If Remus was hurt by the allusion to James and Sirius he didn’t show it. He looked at Snape with bitter sorrow and tried to clear his head of the effects of the wine.
“You will never hold her if you continue to think like that, Severus,” he said. His voice contained only the slightest slurring now as the chill of the dungeon fought the befuddlement in his brain.
“And why would I want to hold her at all? The woman is a liability.” Severus knew he didn’t entirely believe that any longer but he couldn’t let his old enemy know this.
“When I wake every morning,” Remus began, “it is with the dull ache of wanting the touch I can never expect to feel. I have kept my grief close hidden for many years as I fought with what I have become.”
Something in Remus’ voice silenced the words which Severus had been about to utter. The cutting comment remained unspoken as the dark-hearted man recognised the rawness of the anguish in Remus’ pain-saturated eyes.
“For one tantalising moment this afternoon I thought that grief was about to be swept away from me. I was wrong.” Remus locked eyes with Severus and it was as if, finally, there was some understanding between them. “Love will make up for many things, Severus. It will scour away the rough edges of personalities, it will bridge seemingly unbridgeable gaps and it will cause a breach in the heart that cannot be mended. She loves you from the depth and height of her soul, something I did not wish to believe until today.”
He paused, the words almost too painful to speak. Severus waited with a dry mouth for him to continue.
“If you wanted it,” Remus continued, “you could have the safest of havens. Give her what she wishes for, what you wish for if you would only recognise it.”
“How can you presume to know what I wish for?” Severus snapped.
“I know, Severus. One man can see it in another’s eyes. You have what has been denied me.”
“You believe I have stolen this woman from you?” Severus said as Remus finally ran out of words.
“She was never mine to steal. She was always yours and you couldn’t see it. You have been blinded by your own pride and self-importance.”
Remus looked at him as if he didn’t have a hope of convincing Severus of anything, especially the fact that Maeve loved him beyond measure.
“I loved her too,” Snape snarled. “I loved her to the point that I betrayed Voldemort for her. I exchanged my own way of life for her security.”
“What did you do?” Remus asked, his mind now clear. “I never knew and she never told me exactly what happened.”
“Voldemort cast an ancient curse on her,” Snape sighed as he realised he needed that glass of Firewhiskey he had been about to pour. He left Remus waiting as he went to get the bottle and a couple of glasses. It was a strange sight to see them both drinking in the heart of Severus’ tiny empire. “His dark magic invaded her body, sending her into a formless world beyond this one. It was part of an experiment he was conducting into curses. I was living alone in the mausoleum that was my parent’s house and he brought her to me for observation. I could never decide whether or not it was cruel intention on the Dark Lord’s part or whether he was genuinely unaware that I knew her.”
“He brought her to you so that you could watch her die?” Remus asked.
“Yes.” The memory, locked away for so long, was taken out and examined by Severus then. He could still see her lifeless form splayed out on the bed in the master bedroom and it reminded him of her other death just before Christmas. “I watched her for six hours as her skin mottled. Pale, dark patches appeared where her blood used to be as the darkness replaced the life.”
“And what did you do?”
Snape looked annoyed at the interruption. He had no idea why he was even discussing this with Lupin and was on the point of stopping. But memory was a potent thing and he felt compelled to finish what he had started.
“I summoned the only person I had ever trusted beyond all doubt, Dumbledore. He came immediately, with no condemnation or censure. There was only one thing to be done and he did it. Her grandmother arrived from Ireland that evening. I don’t know what passed between her and Dumbledore but he left shortly afterwards with instructions that I was not to disturb the old witch and her dying granddaughter. He came back the following morning with a couple of remains-takers and I thought she was dead.” He drank deeply from his glass as the recollections burned. “Of course, it was the grandmother that died. She drew all of the dark magic out of Maeve with her ancient charms, but it was too much for her own, older body to take and it killed her.”
Remus watched as Severus continued in his flat voice. Here was a description of exactly the sort of darkness they were fighting and this man was so matter of fact about it.
“Maeve accompanied her grandmother’s body home. It was weeks before they told her what really happened and when they did she was, apparently, inconsolable.”
“And did you contact her?”
“Dumbledore forbade it. Her near-death was enough to make me realise that I did not want what the Dark Lord was offering. There were problems before that but when it becomes personal it prompts a greater reaction.” Severus stopped there. He knew he had said enough, Lupin had no right to his memories and he wasn’t sure why he revealed as much as he had.
“Did she know about your part in things?”
“That’s enough,” Severus insisted. “I don’t wish to continue with this discussion. But you were wrong to imply that I don’t love her. I love her more than you or anyone will ever know.”
He rose from the table and poured the remains of the Firewhiskey into the fireplace, causing violent green flames to shoot up the chimney. The strange intimacy was broken and Remus realised he was being dismissed. In the morning both men would regret these alcohol-fuelled ramblings but for the time being the two of them felt they had made their respective points.
“Don’t tell her we have had this conversation, Lupin,” Severus said, as Remus walked towards the door, a little steadier now than he had been on the way in. “It doesn’t change anything between us. I still loathe you with the same intensity I did before, and Maeve will not change that. But I have listened to what you had to say.”
“That is all I ask,” Remus replied. “I will be leaving in the morning and I don’t wish Maeve to know where I am going.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“I need time to accept the truth of the situation and I can only do that by severing our contact for a time. She will not understand. Be kind to her. None of your usual venom, please?”
Severus nodded curtly as Remus wrenched open the door and the ice-laden air swirled in. He had no idea what had prompted Remus’ soul searching or the confession that he loved Maeve, but he did know that Maeve loved him in return and this would not go well with her. As the hunched figure of Remus Lupin left his office Severus didn’t know what to make of any of it. He was hopelessly out of his depth amongst this maelstrom of emotional conflict and longed for the time when life had consisted of marking substandard homework and handing out spurious detentions.
Night crept along every corridor and passageway in the great castle, bringing with it the gentle release of sleep for most of the inhabitants. The frost-sparkled grounds also slumbered beneath a deadened sky and even Hagrid slept silently, his sleep unpunctuated by his usual strident snoring. Saoirse shifted quietly in her stable as her feet pounded a dreamed forest path, strewn with the bluebells of spring.
High up in the North Tower Sybill Trelawney was sitting by one of the high windows, looking out over the inky landscape. She had seen the strange configuration of stars earlier and tried to decipher their meaning but that was a skill better left to the likes of Firenze. She turned tired eyes back to her book, searching in vain for the meaning of her most recent, troubling dream.
Professor Dumbledore slept soundly beneath his embroidered blankets. Gold thread danced across the woollen fabric as his aged hands clutched them for warmth. He had one less worry now that Remus was safe home. Fawkes perched on the bedstead, his noble head resting on his chin secure in the knowledge that Dumbledore was safely in bed.
Harry sat up in bed, startled by something from the subliminal depths of his dreamless sleep. He searched for Ron’s sleeping form and watched for a few seconds as the bedclothes rhythmically rose and fell. Satisfied that all was well he allowed himself to lie back down and before long the silky fingers of sleep reclaimed him.
Remus lay, fully clothed, on his bed. He wrestled with unseen demons as his body tried to burn away the alcohol he had drunk earlier. If sounds came from the room next door he didn’t hear them. His ears were deaf to anything but the white noise of his own unease.
Severus thought he was alone as he moved through the corridors, climbing out of his self-imposed exile in the dungeons to face a truth he had long known. He reached Maeve’s door and tapped as quietly as he dared. He hadn’t expected a response so he tried the handle, surprised when it succumbed to his touch. He couldn’t help the stab of irritation that she should leave her door unlocked at night.
Steeping into the moonlit room he wondered why the curtains had been left undone and the window unlatched. He quickly moved to close it, preventing the bone-chilling wind from penetrating the room any further. He half registered the large cardboard box on the floor as he walked into her sitting room. She was getting untidy he thought, as he saw the notebooks and papers scattered about the sofa. It was only when he peered into the open bedroom that he realised something was wrong. A hunched figure was looking under the bed and as it rose Severus felt a shock of recognition. Without thinking he withdrew his wand and sent a Binding Spell towards the surprised figure. It crashed to the floor as the ropes wound tightly round its body, a croak of surprise escaping the angry mouth.
“Where is Maeve?” Severus asked urgently. A quick glance around the bedroom using the tip of his wand plainly showed she was no longer in her rooms. There was no answer form the bound man on the floor. With mounting apprehension Severus quickly searched the other two rooms to confirm what he had first thought. Maeve O’Malley was definitely not in her rooms. He returned to the bedroom where the man was looking up at him defiantly.
“Don’t ask,” he said, as Severus was about to open his mouth and ask again where Maeve was. “I didn’t even come for her and sure, she’s gone already.”
“How did you get in?”
“Aye well, we have our ways. Dumbledore thinks he is very clever with his wee charms and conundrums but some of us have the gift of by-passing all of that nonsense.”
Severus frowned and crossed to the fireplace. With a flick of his wand, he had the flames licking the chimney and he stuck his head into the fire. Professor Dumbledore was still asleep but he was instantly woken by the spitting of the fire as Severus’ head popped into his fireplace.
“What is it, Severus?” he asked as he struggled to his feet.
“I have just caught a Death-Eater in Maeve’s room.”
The note of discomfort in Severus’ normally cold voice instantly sent bolts of fear through the old headmaster.
“And where is Maeve?”
“She’s not here.”
“I’m on my way,” Dumbledore said calmly, as if this were just a student caught roaming the corridors after dark.
Many, many miles away, on a cold hospital ward a woman stirred in her sleep. She opened blank eyes to the ceiling and watched as the familiar shadows danced to entertain her. Somewhere deep down in her mind she recognised them. The boy was the most treasured shadow, which was why she continued to press him with the gum wrappers in the hope he would understand something that she had long forgotten. He was there now, smiling at her and moving his mouth. She heard him when he spoke but she could never remember what it was he said to her.
A new image startled her almost to the point of awareness but her mind couldn’t quite make it. A face in shadow, dark hair furled against strong cheeks as the eyes peered into hers. A small wormlike memory stirred at the remains of her mind as she realised she knew the face. But not that face, an older version.
And as her befuddled mind finally made the connection Alice Longbottom felt something for the first time since her final confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange. She felt fear.