Chapter Thirty-One
Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave.
Severus Snape had spent just twenty-four hours on the hospital wing after his battering in the forest. A battle of wills had erupted between him and the indomitable Madam Pomfrey over several issues. Severus had won the Firewhiskey debate after insisting it was for medicinal purposes only, which had caused Madam Pomfrey to purse her lips together and unwillingly agree. He had lost the battle over the issue of bringing Potions equipment onto the ward in order to begin working on the Clumpther question but he had finally won the war when he had risen from his bed and stalked from the ward muttering about Azkaban-like conditions. Poppy Pomfrey, it had to be said, was not unhappy to see him go, even if her curative cream was still half-dripping from his rapidly closing wounds.
He had received no visitors during his short spell on the ward apart from Professor Dumbledore, who had dropped by mid-afternoon to give him a little moral support. Severus had shrugged away the headmaster’s words of comfort because they brought no consolation. He felt the pain of Maeve’s words more readily than he did the pain of the flesh wounds. As for Maeve, she had hovered in the doorway of the ward when they had brought him in. Fear and disgust at her own violent outburst had kept her from following him in but she could feel Madam Pomfrey’s disapproving look and it merely exacerbated her own sense of self-loathing. She had spent much of the night walking the corridors of the school, seeking answers to questions that she could not even begin to ask.
When she eventually returned to her room Maeve found it easier to lock herself away and pretend to work. She was struck, however, by the fact that she didn’t have the promised Clumpther with which to work with and she was loath to leave the sanctuary of her room for the possible distress that would come from visiting Severus’ rooms. Instead she found herself drawn to the portrait of her mother, which looked down at her with sad eyes and offered no comfort whatsoever. She sat with her legs drawn up to her chest, head resting sadly on her knees and contemplated the information that had destroyed so much.
It was in this position that the owl found her as it jabbed impatiently at the window with its sharp beak. She raised herself from the comfort of the floor and opened the glass to let the bird in. It whirled round and, with a jaunty flick of its wings, landed neatly on her shoulder, dropping the letter into her hands in the process. It seemed in no hurry to leave her shoulder so she ignored its presence and looked at the address on the envelope. It was Remus’ handwriting so she tore it open with hands that were overeager and managed to tear the top of the letter. Slowly bringing the ragged edges back together she held on tightly to her emotions as she read his comforting words.
Maeve, my poor Maeve,
I am so deeply troubled that I cannot be with you. Professor Dumbledore sent me an owl last night telling me about your mother and about your rather horrified reaction to the terrible news. Please believe that it is not the end of the world or your relationship with Severus. He is so clearly not his father, despite the fact he has some faults. He has always been brutally honest with you and you must trust him now. Do not look into his eyes and see the man his father was but see him for who he is, a man who loves you very much.
There is much talk of blood in our world, Maeve. You and I know that it is mostly prejudiced nonsense. It will take something as forceful as this to finally rid Severus of his ridiculous notion that blood matters, for blood does not matter. You must not allow blood to matter. I wish I could be there with you now. I wish I could enclose you in my arms and give you the comfort that you must be sorely in need of. Sadly, I cannot. You must accept this poor substitute of a letter and hopefully it will bring you some small consolation. I love you very much. We prove that blood is not necessary to have a family tie and when you feel pain, I feel it too.
I wish I could take your ache into my own heart and stop you suffering but I can’t.
Try and be unchanged with Severus. You are not the only one who has received some harmful news. He now has to face the fact his father was a murderer, something he may well not have known.
You are strong enough for this.
My love is with you always,
Your brother, Remus.
She felt warmth through the dry paper. It felt so much more substantial than mere words written to offer a crumb of comfort. If felt as if he were there by her side. She looked up again at her mother, whose vacuous face smiled down at her without any recognition of the pain that her daughter was suffering.
“Why?” Maeve asked in a dry voice. “Why can you speak to me sometimes and not others?”
The sweet face continued to smile down at her with a sad shake of its elegant head.
“I wish I could make sense of this,” she continued, sadly. “I wish my life was so different to this web of deceit and hideous secrets that it has become. I wish you had known Severus… he is not like his father.”
Maeve’s voice caught on his name and she found she couldn’t look at the portrait any longer. Her mother’s accusing stare was too much when placed alongside her last memory of Severus’ damaged face. She resolved to go to Professor Dumbledore and ask him to ensure that she was supplied with the Clumpther necessary for her experiments. Something would have to replace the weight of Severus in her mind and struggling for a solution to the vapour would have to do.
As she dragged herself away from the safety of her sitting room and into her main office she noticed a folded piece of parchment had been pushed beneath her door. It sat on the stone floor like a portent of doom and she had an awful feeling it was from Severus, perhaps severing their relationship in the light of the recent revelation and her subsequent behaviour. With shaking fingers she lifted it from the cold stone and unfolded it. Relief flowed through her as she realised the handwriting was not Severus’ spiky script but it was done in Roderick’s elegant hand.
As she read it she felt a cold sense of betrayal. He had known more than the earlier letter had suggested. Maeve wrenched open the door and peered into the corridor but he was not there. Why now, she thought, as she smoothed the parchment down onto her desk. Why would he allow people to die before revealing what he had always known? Beneath her tattered fingers was the exact solution to the Somnus Funestus vapour. This was no mere approximation, this was the real thing and she couldn’t understand why he had chosen now to reveal it to her. She picked up the parchment and left her rooms with a slam of the door. Severus was tenderly pushed to the back of her over-burdened mind as she fought to keep a grip on what was really important.
Professor Dumbledore was waiting for her. He’d known that the minute he released Roderick the man would form some sort of contact with Maeve and he had been right. What he has not suspected was just what form this communication would take. He looked at the note with a still face, unwilling to betray surprise at this stage.
“And you did not speak with him?”
“No, this was pushed under my door. I can’t believe you let him go. He brought Lucius here and between them they almost killed Severus.”
He looked at her sharply at the mention of Severus’ name, searching for some clue as to her feelings but she revealed nothing.
“I have my reasons for letting him go, Maeve. I cannot expect you to understand but they are good reasons.”
She gave a snort of disbelief. “I have difficulty understanding, professor. I have difficulty understanding a great many things at the moment.”
“He left you this, did he not?” Dumbledore indicated the parchment.
“He should have left me this the moment he arrived here. How can you countenance letting this man go? He has allowed people to die. And not only that but he would have allowed Lucius to kill Severus last night. He stood there and did nothing.” Maeve was trying not to remember much about the trauma of last night and was succeeding, for the most part.
“We are wasting time,” Dumbledore said, rising abruptly from his seat. “You need the necessary materials to begin making the Potion. I shall arrange for them to be delivered to you.” His attitude had become very businesslike and she saw no trace of the weary, uncertain old man of the previous day. “There are things I must attend to.”
“And Lucius? What have you done with Lucius?”
“He is still here. There are reasons for keeping him away from the Ministry.” Dumbledore opened his office door and Maeve was left to ponder his sudden distance. He had been so understanding yesterday, so prepared to spend time with her and yet today he was ushering her out without any ceremony whatsoever.
“What reasons? Surely the Ministry is the best place for him. He shouldn’t be kept here amongst children. Draco is here; does he know about his father?”
Dumbledore looked at her with some consternation. He could tell her the truth and face doing more damage or he could lie and she would be none the wiser. She should be warned but would Meany really try and come back for her? They hovered in the doorway and Maeve knew there was more. She could see the internal struggle play across Dumbledore’s face and she prepared herself for more bad news.
“Malachy Meany escaped from the Ministry just three hours after he arrived there,” Dumbledore said and immediately looked apologetic. “It would seem he has friends in high places because there was inside help to free him.”
“And has he been sighted?” She felt strangely relieved that this revelation was not of the same magnitude as the previous one.
“No, no sightings.” Dumbledore looked down for a moment. The failure of keeping Meany captive had not been his but that did not mean he didn’t feel its effects. “You must continue to be very careful.”
“Perhaps he has gone to Rampton Court,” Maeve suggested and then, with a feeling of horror, she realised she hadn’t shown Professor Dumbledore the photograph of Alice.
“Rampton Court? Why would he be there?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes alert.
“I had some other information; it slipped my mind.” She felt very feeble as she realised she had neglected to tell him something so important. Fumbling about in her robes she found the photograph was still there. It was a little crumpled now but Alice still beamed out with the Carduus Amara swaying in the background.
Dumbledore was silent as he took in the image. If she listened hard enough she was sure she would hear his brain whirring around as it tried to decide what action to take.
“Who else knows about this?” he said after a few moments of deliberation.
“Severus, myself and Neville… but I don’t think Neville understands the implications.”
“You would be surprised what Neville understands, Maeve. It was Neville, was it not, that first planted the notion of the Carduus Amara plant in your mind?”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t connect it to Rampton Court — he would have no reason to.”
“Speak to him, keep him involved. He may well be a boy but his family is closely involved with this and he needs to hear any developments from someone he trusts.”
Maeve nodded and waited for him to continue but when he did it was more of a dismissal.
“I need to decide how best to address this,” he said. “I will let you know of my decision later.”
She took the hint and hurried away back to her own rooms, wondering just how long it would take the headmaster to produce the necessary, promised equipment for her to begin making the potion.
The school was quietly going about its business. The students were all locked away in their lessons and the corridors were empty of life. She felt a shock of loneliness as she realised just how isolated she had become. The past few days had been so intensely involving where Severus was concerned that she seemed to have lost touch with anything else. The fact that she was no longer teaching also made her feel very distant from the school life and she found herself walking towards her classroom for no reason other than to feel alive. She didn’t hesitate or stop as she passed the door, the vague murmur of Charlie’s voice reached her and she felt regretful that she couldn’t engage in the simplicity of teaching her students. It would have been immensely easier than her current mental struggle.
By the time she had returned to her rooms she was amazed to find a package waiting for her. She plonked it down on the desk and began to tear at the brown paper. The faint smell of unwashed feet reached her nostrils as she stripped away the layers. Nestled in a small pot was a sprig of Congealing Clumpther. Finally she had something concrete to distract her mind from Severus’ bloodied face and she threw herself in to the creation of Roderick’s recipe with the sort of abandon usually felt at the end of the school year.
Time passed as she pounded the plant into the potion that would, according to Roderick, cure the Sleepers. It was strange that, despite his apparent disloyalty, she should trust his so thoroughly when it came to this. Despite all of Severus’ concerns she still had faith that something about Roderick was good. And where had he gone? Dumbledore had let him go to whatever mischief he could manage. She only hoped it would all be to their advantage. Meany was another problem but he wasn’t ranked very high on her list of priorities at the moment. If he showed his face in her rooms again she would kill him without hesitation. A quick glance in the mirror as she looked up from the mortar and pestle revealed her face in the candlelight and the fierce anger contained within her eyes frightened her for a moment. When had she become this angry, hate-filled person who was prepared to kill? When had she become the sort of woman who would fling rocks at the person they professed to love? Where, she thought as she smashed the pestle down onto the plant, would it all end?
The shadows lengthened outside, as day turned to night and evening settled around the towering building. Maeve was oblivious to the night that fell around her…she watched as the simmering potion bubbled and congealed in the small cauldron. It turned from pale green to deepest indigo as the ingredients combined to create a thick glutinous mass that clung to the curved metal. According to Roderick’s instructions this thick mess would harden to form a salve that could be placed on the tongue of the sufferer. Fortunately only a small amount was required and from the look of this batch there would be enough to use on all of the known sufferers. She realised she was already assuming it would work and that was a dangerous assumption to make. She could not, and would not, get anyone’s hopes up with this. When it was ready she would enlist Madam Pomfrey to help her administer it and watch for the results. She wasn’t sure what she should do about Severus. He should be involved; this was as much his project as it was hers. But Maeve was frightened of him, frightened of her own reaction to him. She didn’t want to meet his eyes and see Kentigern lurking there, despite Remus’ assurances that she would not. She didn’t want him to see her draw back in loathing when before she would have been filled with warmth and love. Maeve wanted, more than anything, to be sure of her own reaction before she looked into those fathomless black eyes again. And would he forgive her for the pain she had inflicted? Would he be able to look her in the eyes again after what she had done?
A slight pop from the cauldron indicated that the Clumpther had reached the point where it needed to come off the heat and she extinguished the fire. It was very dark in colour now and the other ingredients had been completely consumed into the stronger properties of the main one. She took the five glass bowls that Dumbledore had provided and with the aid of a solid silver spoon began to ladle the substance into each of them. It had the consistency of toothpaste and she placed all five bowls onto the fireplace where the heat would aid the further drying process. It needed to stand for ten hours in the air before she could seal it up and then administer it. The clock warned her it was now very late indeed and she should really have been in bed. Crawling onto the top of her still-made bed she didn’t even bother to remove her shoes as she let her heavy head sink into the feather pillows. Within seconds she was already welcoming the swift sleep that overtook her with all the speed of a rapidly advancing train.
The Whomping Willow shifted in the delicate breeze, its tortured branches dipping and rising on the air. Severus had spent the past three hours staring at it with deepening malice as he drank deeply from the bottle by his side. It was inadvisable, he knew, to be sitting in the relative open watching a tree but it was the only place he had found he could brew up enough hatred and anger at his father. The tree symbolised everything that he loathed in life and it was strangely fitting that he should be contemplating his father in the shadow of its sadistic branches.
His father had often gone on trips overseas; he passed it off as work for the Ministry but Severus had somehow always known there was more to it than that. Kentigern Snape always came back from these trips in a lighter mood. If it could ever be said that there was a time his father was happy then these post-trip weeks were that time. His father’s clothes always smelt strongly of expensive tobacco and on more than one occasion it had been mixed with the undeniable scent of cheap perfume. His mother must have known, he thought, as he broke a branch in two, forcing the sharp edges into the earth with penetrating ruthlessness. She must have known and for all those years she was too weak to act.
His mind shifted to Maeve’s enraged face of the night before. She would never have stood idly by and let a man make such a fool of her. Her foot would have been firmly put down and the trips would have ended, the strange idea of fun stopped dead in its tracks. Severus mouth twisted at the unfortunate choice of words. If his mother had been a little more forceful then Kentigern may never have gone on the fateful trip that resulted in the death of Maeve’s mother. He took another gulp from the bottle and looked up at the castle. What was she doing now, he wondered. She had not visited him in the Hospital Wing and he saw that as a very bad sign. In the red mist of the night before he felt sure she had reached for him but he couldn’t be certain now. That could have been his imagination as he passed out. She may have run as far away from him as possible. And he had told her he loved her! He gave a dry laugh and continued his twig manipulation with a vengeance. Wasted words, they were all wasted words. How could she forgive him for what his father had done? He frowned at the bottle he held in his hand; how on earth had he emptied it in such a short space of time?
He got to his feet and threw the empty bottle at the Whomping Willow. Its branches immediately lashed out and broke the glass into tiny shards that appeared to melt into the ground at the base of its trunk. Severus walked back to the castle not knowing whether to fight or allow her to go. Insecure within himself at the best of times, this wasn’t something he felt up to facing. He raised a hand to his face and felt at the wounds that were now almost healed. No physical pain or humiliation could match the mental degradation that Maeve now had the power to inflict on him. He strode through the silent corridors unprepared for a meeting with anyone, let alone Filch who melted from behind a statue with his usual leering grin plastered across his mouth.
“Good evening, Professor Snape,” he said, wringing his hands gently together. “Been out for a stroll? That’s a few nasty cuts you’ve got on your face.”
“What do you want, Filch?” Severus snapped. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do Filch’s dance tonight.
“Just thought you might like to know that Rampton left the castle this afternoon. Alone.”
“What that man does is of no interest to me.”
“Well you’ve been very interested in him of late, I just thought…”
“Don’t think,” Severus bit back.
“And Meany escaped.”
This stopped Severus’s dismissive attitude in its tracks and he regarded Filch with renewed interest.
“When?”
“The day they took him down. Spent three hours at the Ministry and then he was out. No one knows where he is or what he’s up to. I should guard your young lady well.”
“She’s not my young lady,” Severus replied coldly. “She’s not my anything.”
“Lover’s tiff, eh? It’ll blow over. She’s been up late… I saw her light on just half an hour ago.” Filch watched Severus for a reaction and when there was none he continued. “Rampton left her a message before he went, apparently. Did she not share its contents?”
“I haven’t seen her this afternoon,” Severus said. “I am sure I will learn of its contents tomorrow. That will be soon enough.”
“Might be, might not be… depends on what was in it.”
“Do you know?”
Filch shook a very disappointed head. Without the note’s contents he didn’t really have a big enough bargaining chip with which to extract any payment from Snape and this galled him.
“Well then, in that case I will bid you goodnight.” Severus gave him a sharp nod and continued on his way down the corridor with his unsettled feeling growing.
As he opened his door and entered the dingy room her absence felt like a solid wall that he couldn’t stop himself walking in to. Moving through the space that had so recently been filled with her presence was like being visited by a ghost and it was all he could do not to leave again and go and see her. But he did resist and fell into his bed with a sickened sense that everything was going wrong around him, again.
Harry was walking through a tunnel and he felt anger, anger and another feeling…he couldn’t pin it down until he heard a voice that he thought he recognised.
“It is fortunate, Lord Voldemort, that I escaped; otherwise the consequences would have been far worse. This gives us the opportunity to move to a more secure location.”
Harry couldn’t place the voice, nor could he place the strange subterranean caverns that he was moving through. People were scurrying from other, smaller caverns and rushing around with panic on their faces, cowering if he caught their eye.
“Lucius tried to take down the traitor but Snape has friends. He was lucky. I could do nothing without risking capture myself and when I realised they knew about this place I had to get word to you.”
Harry stopped walking and turned around to face the speaker. He may not have recognised the voice but he recognised the face. He was just about to say something when his eyes cracked open and Voldemort left him. It was dark and all he could now hear was Ron snoring gently in the night.
Sitting up, he couldn’t decide if that really had been Voldemort again or just a dream. It had been a long time since his enemy had pierced his thoughts and so he almost doubted the evidence of his own mind. If that had been Voldemort though it had been a very short experience. Harry wondered if Voldemort had shut him out this time. He contemplated getting out of bed to speak with Professor Dumbledore but it was so late and the events of the dream seemed so bizarre… Lucius had been mentioned and Snape… that couldn’t be real. With a sigh Harry decided that it was a dream and nothing to do with Voldemort. He ignored the faint ache from his scar and settled back down beneath the sheets, making sure that this time his mind was completely empty of any thoughts.
The morning light crept up on the castle, surprising its inhabitants into wakefulness. Some were more ready to face the day than others, even though it was Saturday and there would be no lessons. Harry didn’t give much thought to his dream as he flopped down at the breakfast table and began crunching on his toast. Hermione watched Ron thoughtfully and wished he’d eat a bit less and with a bit more decorum. Ron watched Hermione through the ecstasy of eating breakfast and wished she would tie her hair back a bit more often because she really was quite nice-looking when that mane was off her face.
Draco watched the clock carefully. He had plans for the day and none of them involved eating or girls.
Professor Dumbledore was absent from breakfast and had left for London before even the sun was awake. Things were moving and he had recalled all the Order members to Grimmauld Place for a very special mission. Of all the members only Severus was absent and he was still sleeping in his rooms. Dumbledore knew better than to take the Potions Master directly into the lair of the man who would most like to see him dead and so he had left him unaware of the day’s coming action.
Maeve awoke to the sound of Bran twittering agitatedly in her ear, the owl’s feathers brushing her cheek in an attempt to wake her up. Clearing the sleep from her head she sat up and looked at him in surprise. Bran never woke her up. The bird flew to the window where another, grey, owl was hovering. She jumped from the bed, excited by the prospect of another note from Remus but as she took the letter from the bird she knew it wasn’t from Remus. Wickedness clung to the paper like the smell of rotting flesh and she opened it with unease.
Watch your step
Meany.
“How dramatic,” she said to her own owl as she shooed the grey one out of the window. “How very, very dramatic.” She threw the letter into the fire where it burned with a fierce flame. “We won’t give them a second chance this time, eh, Bran?”
The owl hooted in agreement and fluttered back to its perch, satisfied that its mistress was not unhappy.
Maeve immediately checked on the Clumpther and was delighted to find it was almost set. The dark colour had now become a shimmering pale blue and the smell had changed from bad feet to something resembling a warm, summer breeze. It would be another five hours before it was ready to use and in the meantime she would have to find something to occupy herself with that didn’t involve thinking about Kentigern Snape.
Her mind drifted towards Dumbledore’s words from last night and the suggestion that she should involve Neville in what was happening. He would just have finished breakfast and could probably be found in the Gryffindor Common room. As that was a good a place as any to start she charmed her door closed and headed off to find him.
The corridors were fairly busy as students meandered around, trying to occupy their day without succumbing to homework. She said pert good mornings to quite a few students before finally coming across Harry as he desperately tried to persuade Ron not to hole up in the library with Hermione.
“Tell him,” he implored her. “The library is not the place to spend your life.”
Maeve couldn’t resist laughing as she took in Ron’s face. He was looking at Hermione in the vain hope she would change her mind about the library.
“The library is an excellent place to spend your spare time,” she grinned. “Very productive.”
“Thanks for nothing!” Harry replied with feeling. “I know where not to go for moral support.”
The joking banter wearied Maeve. She was not in the mood and yet she still felt she drawn into their light-hearted world. Harry turned away from Ron with a disgusted look and headed back up the stairs.
“Harry,” Maeve said, following him quickly. “Have you seen Neville?”
“Main hall. He was late for breakfast because he was trying to find Trevor. Why?”
“I just wanted to talk to him, nothing important.”
“Maeve,” he looked hesitant.
“Yes,” she managed a smile for him but Harry could see she was tired and decided not to add his silly dreams to her own worries. He shook is head and told her it didn’t matter before sprinting up the stairs and leaving her pondering what was on his mind.
Neville was still sitting at the long table wolfing down bacon and eggs when Maeve walked into the Great Hall. He looked up and gave her an eggy grin, which made her smile back despite her heavy heart.
“Good morning, Neville,” she said as she sat opposite him. “Busy this morning?”
He shook his head and swallowed quickly. “No, not really. I promised Professor Sprout I would help her in the greenhouses later but I wasn’t planning on doing anything this morning. Why?”
“Thought you might like to go for a walk and maybe have a chat about that photo.”
Neville looked confused for a moment before he remembered the picture he had given to Professor Snape. “Was it helpful? I recognised the plant in the background and, well, Mum was in the picture.” He trailed off a little, looking at the congealing fat of his bacon on the plate in front of him. “I guessed it must have been something to do with her work but I didn’t really understand… Mr Rampton was her friend and that picture was taken at his house.”
“I know, Neville,” she said. “Finish your bacon and we can talk about it.”
“I’ve finished,” he said, pushing away the plate. “It’s cold now and I wasn’t really in the mood.”
Neville had grown in the past few months and instead of the slightly plump, clumsy young man he was now a tall, clumsy young man with legs that were apt to get entangled with things. She watched affectionately as he struggled to free himself from the bench he had been sitting on. He gathered himself together with a great deal of fuss and smiled at her amused face.
“Gran says I’m too clumsy for my own good,” he commented.
“I was always clumsy, I’d fall over my shadow if it got in my way.”
And with that easy companionship they took off for the battlements, a place that Maeve seldom visited but the bright sun was inviting and the seclusion would mean they could talk freely. The warm breeze stirred their robes as they skirted the edge of the roofs and the view was so spectacular that for a few minutes neither of them spoke. Neville was the first to break the silence and he did so with a slightly red face.
“You and Professor Snape…” he began, looking out towards the lake and failing to see her flinch. “Are you…well are you…?”
“We…it’s difficult…”
“It’s just that I saw him with that Auror. They were arguing and Snape said some…well…some things.”
She turned to him with surprise in her eyes. “What sort of things?”
“He stood up for you. That other bloke was being really horrible.”
Maeve felt sadder than she had done in a long time, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Neville said hurriedly. “I don’t really like Professor Sn… well… he’s not my favourite teacher… but he does like you.”
“I know, Neville. I know he does. It’s hard sometimes to explain when things are so complicated.”
“Do you like him?”
She laughed in a strangled sort of way and nodded.
“So what’s the problem? Is it because you are both teachers?”
She smiled into Neville’s innocent eyes. “No, Neville. It’s worse than that. But I didn’t want to talk to you about my problems.”
“I just wanted to say… I think you make him… not nicer…. but less horrible. Whatever it is can be put right… can’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said hurriedly. “Perhaps.”
They both contemplated the relative perfection of the view before Maeve managed to bring herself back to the subject in hand.
“We have a possible solution to the Somnus Funestus vapour,” she said and Neville was instantly transformed from stuttering uncertainty into articulate confidence.
“Really? What is it?”
“Congealing Clumpther. It’s an ingredient in Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum.” She watched for his reaction and sure enough his eyes widened at the implication.
“But Mum is always giving me the wrappers. Is it linked?”
“I think it is,” Maeve admitted. “The fact that she is so concerned about you and these wrappers coupled with the picture you gave us leads me to believe that she has some connection with this.”
“Her work, you mean?”
“Probably. I think she also had some personal connection with Frederick Rampton, the owner of Rampton Court.”
Neville nodded. “Gran has mentioned him a few times. She always said he was bad news and then when he died she said she wasn’t remotely surprised by it. Did Mum find something out?”
“I think so, Neville. I don’t know how it relates to her current condition but I think your mum definitely knew something important.”
Neville looked uncomfortable and turned his face away. He didn’t want to think of his mum as an intelligent, living creature. She might have been like Professor O’Malley, with the same kind eyes and eagerness to smile. She might have made a difference to him if she had been around instead of being trapped in that nightmare with his father. He watched the birds skimming the treetops through blurred vision for a moment before he felt her hand on his arm.
“She would be proud, Neville, if she knew. I would be proud of you if you were my son.”
Neville looked up at her through still shining eyes and nodded gratefully. He couldn’t articulate how much he wanted his mother to recognise him, just once. He wanted to hear her say his name instead of handing over those stupid wrappers. He wanted her to at least know she had a son.
“She probably does know,” Maeve said, startling him with her perception. “That’s why she gives you the wrappers. It’s her way of trying to keep you safe.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
Neville was about to turn away again when he noticed something on the periphery of his vision. A black cloak had just disappeared behind one of the turrets, a black cloak carrying a broomstick in either hand.
“Professor…” he began, as once again the figure hopped into view. “I don’t think we’re alone.”
With visions of Malachy in her head Maeve turned quickly and scanned the rooftop but she saw nothing. Emboldened by her kind words, and by the afterglow of his encounter with Snape, Neville jogged across the perimeter and caught another glimpse of fabric. Maeve followed him, surprised by his sudden turn of speed.
“Shhh!” he said, putting his fingers to his lips. He watched as a hooded figure swung its legs onto one of the brooms and dropped quickly from view. Maeve looked surprised at his commanding attitude but she crouched down by the wall with him and tried to see what he was seeing. It didn’t take long for them to hear the dull thud of a window being opened and voices whispering in a conspiracy of some kind. One of the voices was more strident than the other and Maeve half recognised it but it was Neville who recognised the other.
“That’s Malfoy,” he said under his breath. “What’s Malfoy doing up here?”
Maeve had a very bad feeling and her wand was about before she even thought about it.
“Accio broom!” she called as Neville watched her in surprise.
“Neville, get down and do not stick your head above the wall… this could be serious.”
“But…”
“Please, Neville,” she insisted as her broom came whizzing over the slates. Throwing her leg over it she swept up and down, towards the window and the hurriedly escaping figure of Lucius Malfoy. He looked up as she plunged down, fighting to control the broom and aware that she was not in the strongest position. She reached out her wand and began to cast a stunning spell but Draco reacted quickly and flew at her. She ducked speedily, sending Draco flying at the wall. He pulled up quickly and turned his broom with an excited grin on his face. Draco may not have been the sharpest wizard when it came to wand work but he was extremely good on a broom and she had chosen the wrong weapon for this particular fight. Lucius had thrown himself onto the broom Draco had brought for him and sat astride it, hovering calmly in the air. He seemed to be of the opinion that one witch when faced with two Malfoys was something to be toyed with.
She wrenched her broom up from its descent and tried to steady herself enough to aim her wand. Lucius and Draco swirled above her, father and son laughing at her predicament as the broom bucked beneath her.
“Well, Miss O’Malley, we meet at last,” Lucius drawled. “Amazing what you can do to cause a broom to misbehave, isn’t it!”
Draco laughed even louder and dipped his broom to flash past her, further destabilizing her broomstick. She clung on with desperation and tried to focus on the handsome face of the blond Death Eater as he continued to smile down on her.
“My aim in enlisting Draco’s help was merely to escape, but how delightful that I can take something so special back to the Dark Lord.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said breathlessly as Draco came in for a second attempt at unseating her.
“That’s enough, Draco!” Lucius snarled. “I need her in one piece.”
Draco immediately pulled his broom to a halt and hovered menacingly above her. Maeve’s broom continued to buck and writhe beneath her and she wanted to scream with frustration. Her wand-hand moved erratically as she fought for control but Lucius was moving closer. She had not seen him for a long time and he had matured well, icy eyes set into a well-boned face and complemented by the flowing long hair. She could see how a woman would be bedazzled by his appearance. He smiled at her and she smiled back, her mind collided with his eyes and she understood just what it would take to stall this man.
“I’m sure you do need me in one piece!” she shouted as her broom fell a few feet, leaving her clinging on. “But if you don’t stop this broom from trying to throw me then I will not be in one- piece!”
“It is quite an amusing spectacle though,” he said as she vanished in a whirl of robes and red hair.
Draco laughed in appreciation of his father’s supremacy and pulled his wand from his robes in eager anticipation of using it against a teacher. Lucius rose a little higher, contemplating the best way of securing her whilst enjoying watching her being thrown about by her charmed broom. He remembered her vaguely from her time as Snape’s companion. She had been a charming thing then and age had done nothing to fade her charms. It would almost be a shame to hand her over to Voldemort, for there she would meet her death.
Maeve fell again as her broom fought her and she realised that the more she fought the more the broom kicked against her. Submissively she relaxed on top of it and it ceased its tortured thrusting, relaxing into the wind yet still moving in circles. As she floated free for a few moments she was able to bring her wand up and Lucius reacted immediately, withdrawing his own wand and shooting up into the air.
Draco was the first to point his wand in anger but his sudden stumble over the correct spell meant that Neville got there first. The flash of his wand was so quick that no one had the time to realise where it had come from. Draco was stupefied and found himself plunging to the ground rapidly whilst Maeve’s broom suddenly freed itself from the contortions of the hex with Neville’s effective Braking Charm.
Lucius could not see who the caster was and rose even further into the air. For a moment he still saw the opportunity to take Maeve and he circled high, waiting for a moment when she would appear distracted. As she sought out the source of the charms he thought he saw his opportunity and dipped swiftly, wand outstretched, but as he did so the sun threw a bold ray of light that struck him clear in the eyes. Reeling from the unexpected blindness he pulled away a fast as he could. Lucius was not stupid and he realised that it was either his freedom or the woman’s capture so with a flick of the broom he moved rapidly and left the castle’s walls far behind. Without a backward glance he left his failing son and Maeve behind, soaring higher into the light as he placed as much distance between himself and Hogwarts as he could.