Chapter Thirty-Three
A Detour.
She blinked away the abrupt change between the comfortable gloom of Dumbledore’s office and this piercing, bright light. Maeve moved the box containing the bowls of paste from under her left arm and clutched it tightly in both hands as her excitement built. A child’s elation on Christmas morning had nothing on her current state of giddiness. Standing in front of them was the superior face of Healer Hurtmore, the man who had been so disparaging about Madam Pomfrey’s methods. Maeve felt he was now being forced to eat humble pie as she smiled benignly at him, holding in her hands the solution that he had failed to conjure up.
“Professor O’Malley,” he said, injecting a nasal quality into the way he pronounced her name. It made him sound incredibly pompous, although Maeve knew he was probably doing it to sound condescending. “I was told to expect a slightly altered appearance, quite impressive.”
“Healer Hurtmore,” she responded, in an altogether warmer tone and ignoring his reference to her hair. “This is Professor Lupin.” She waved her hand at Remus. “And Charlie and Ron Weasley, whose father is a patient here.”
“Yes, I know Arthur Weasley,” the healer said slowly. “Well, now that you are here, perhaps…” He held out his hands to take the box of bowls from her and, reluctantly, she let it go. She felt like a new mother handing over her bawling infant for the first time; it was a lot of trouble but she still didn’t want to let anyone else take responsibility for it.
“Has Professor Dumbledore explained why I am here?” she asked as the healer prepared to leave the room.
“Yes, of course.”
“Specifically why I am here?”
“You wish to be the one to administer the cure to Mr Weasley…yes, I understand that perfectly.”
“You mean you have a cure?” Ron spoke for the first time since arriving. Both he and Charlie had been unusually quiet up until now because they had been expecting bad news, this was the last thing they had anticipated hearing. Charlie rested a hand on his younger brother’s shoulders and Ron could feel the sprung tension communicate itself through his bones.
“Yes, Ron, we finally have a cure,” Maeve said. “A very new cure that has only been used on two people, but it was effective in one of those cases and we are waiting to hear about the other.”
“Then why didn’t Dumbledore tell us?” Charlie asked in a voice that was so low it barely caused a ripple through the air. “Why make us wait?”
“Maybe he wanted it to be a pleasant surprise, Charlie,” Remus responded. “There are so few of them around.”
Charlie looked unconvinced as Ron spoke again. “So what are we hanging around for? Let’s find Dad and wake him up…”
“Yes, Healer Hurtmore, why are we hanging around?” Maeve turned her face back to him and wondered why he was hesitating. The door opened and another healer entered, looking surprised by Hurtmore’s presence.
“What are you doing here?” Healer Goldspur asked frostily. “You were not supposed to meet these visitors.”
He held out his hands and took the box from the other healer who now looked distinctly uncomfortable. Hurtmore murmured something about ‘having been in the vicinity’ before leaving the room hurriedly. Turning his attention to the visitors, Healer Goldspur smiled politely and asked them to follow him to the ward. Remus allowed Maeve to take the lead and they snaked out of the office towards the room that contained the slumbering Arthur Weasley. They passed through a bewildering array of corridors that made Maeve feel extremely disorientated and she was relieved when they finally arrived at a door that bore the legends “No unauthorised admittance” and “Please do not enter on penalty of immediate petrifaction”.
Healer Goldspur ignored the dire warning and pushed open the door to reveal a spacious room that contained a bed and very little else. Charlie and Ron had been here many times before but they still felt deeply disquieted by their father’s predicament. No matter how accustomed they were to the situation it still never failed to hurt them. Maeve and Remus were last in and held back a little, out of respect for the Weasley brothers. It was the first time Maeve had seen the vibrant Arthur Weasley in his current condition and she had to clench her fists to prevent herself snatching the paste off the healer and ramming it down Arthur’s throat.
“Professor,” the healer said, holding out a spoon and the uppermost bowl from the box, which he had placed on the floor by the bed. She took the spoon and the bowl with a murmured thank you and approached the bed as the others held their breath. With a gentle movement she tipped Arthur’s head back, just as she had seen Madam Pomfrey do to Imelda, and dipped the spoon into the bowl. With a quick flick Maeve transferred some of the paste to Arthur’s tongue and closed his mouth. As she stepped away from the bed she felt a moment of relief; she had done all she could to save the life of the man who had so charmed her all those months ago. Ron looked confused.
“Is that it?” he asked incredulously.
“That’s it, Ron,” Maeve nodded. “We’ll have to wait. It took our first recipient about three hours to come round. I’ll go and grab a drink with Remus if you and Charlie want to stay here.” She turned to Healer Goldspur. “I take it the rest of the Weasleys are on their way.”
“Yes, we contacted Molly as soon as we knew you were coming. She will be here within the half-hour along with Fred and George. I believe Ginny has been left at Hogwarts until something is more certain.”
“Good, that’s good…although I did think they would have let Ginny come down straight away,” Maeve said.
“She’s studying for her OWLs,” Charlie said firmly. “It’s best not to have her upset too much.”
Maeve looked at the struggling young man and realised that he had seen far too much in his short life. It was making him harsh and brittle, something she couldn’t help feeling regretful about.
“Okay, well, we’ll be…where will we be?” she smiled, looking away from the defensive Charlie to Healer Goldspur for help.
“We have a room where you can wait. You’ll be quite comfortable,” he said, ushering them from the room so that Charlie and Ron could make themselves at home for the long wait.
As he closed the door to Arthur’s room he turned to Maeve and shook her hand, admiration evident on his face.
“What you have done is worked a minor miracle,” he said. “Our own people were floundering badly with a solution to this problem.”
“I had a great deal of help,” she said demurely. “In fact all I did was pull everyone else’s work together. I don’t think I can really take the credit for this.”
“That may be the case, Professor, but it is you who will be credited with this discovery. I daresay you have achieve a small place in the medical history books.”
Her laugh rang down the ward and Healer Goldspur looked very taken aback by it. He had no idea that the solution had been handed to her in a parchment and that someone had beaten Maeve to it. He did have a point though. She had been the first to produce it in the public eye and the glory, for now at least, would be hers.
“I’m surprised you are so blasé about it, Professor,” Goldspur continued. “There are many here who would have been proud of such an achievement. Medical advances are not to be dismissed so lightly.”
“Professor O’Malley has been under a lot of pressure,” Remus said valiantly, recognising the need in the other man to ingratiate himself with Maeve. “Now, this room?”
“Yes, yes,” the healer said, with one last, suspicious glance at Maeve. “Please, follow me.”
Their walk through bright corridors was a short one and the healer opened a white door into a much smaller room than the one Arthur occupied. Remus and Maeve were relieved to be out from under the scrutiny of Goldspur’s searching eyes. Remus immediately took to making the tea while Maeve paced like an expectant father. She barely paused when Remus handed her a cup and she continued to sip and pace while he watched her, with amusement keeping his worry for Arthur at bay.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” he said, patting the sofa. “You’ll wear yourself out like that. It’s getting late so why don’t you try and have a nap?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she insisted, clattering the delicate china cup down on the table.
“I think you could if you closed your eyes.” Remus wanted to ask her about Severus but he didn’t feel like the time was right; no doubt she would tell him when she was ready. The kiss in Dumbledore’s office hadn’t exactly surprised him but he had been curious as to why they suddenly didn’t seem bothered who knew about them.
“No,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Really, I couldn’t. I have too much to think about.” She ran a hand through her short hair, a look of surprise on her face as her fingers quickly ran out of hair. Remus laughed as she grinned back foolishly. “Being a Metamorphmagus has its disadvantages, especially when you forget who you are.”
They talked about France for a while as Remus regaled her with tales of his new office. Apparently he had proved quite a hit with the French ladies and Maeve was delighted to see he had finally found somewhere that, for the time being, he felt at home. She could understand why he planned to go back; it was sometimes easier to be oneself amongst strangers. She listened in comfortable silence as he described Paris and its beautiful scenery. He had already found a grubby café outside which he could sit and drink his favourite cup of tea while strains of lively jazz came from the interior. Remus had found no difficulty in slipping into the bohemian café-society unnoticed; by their standards he was remarkably well dressed. Maeve envied him the experience a little but when she thought of what she had at Hogwarts she knew she wouldn’t exchange it for all the jazz cafés in the world. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
Despite her protestations to the contrary she nodded off on Remus’ shoulder and slept soundly until she felt him shake her into alertness. Healer Goldspur stood in the doorway, backlit by the brighter light of the corridor. He had a fixed smile on his face as he waited for her to wake properly.
“Your friend is conscious,” he announced. “Would you like to see him before you leave?”
“Of course!” Maeve said, looking at Remus with joy in her eyes. “Of course we would. This is more than we could have hoped for.”
“Is his family still with him?” Remus asked quietly. He didn’t want to disturb the family reunion, not after they had been without Arthur for such a long time.
“It’s quite all right,” Goldspur replied. “His wife has specifically asked for you to be brought. His daughter has also just arrived, via Portkey from Hogwarts so the family is complete.”
“Not quite complete,” Remus said regretfully. “That family will never be complete again.”
Maeve rubbed his shoulder in a consoling gesture before heading off after the healer, who had made a swift exit at the mention of completeness. No one needed reminding that the Weasley family was still without Percy and would permanently be without Bill.
The room was a wholly different prospect now that Molly, Fred, George and Ginny had arrived. Laughter mingled with tears and scoldings as Molly welcomed her husband back to the land of the living. Fred and George were busy trying not to find mischief to make although, from the look in their eyes, they had some saved up for later. Charlie was subdued and watched his father from a distance while Ron and Ginny sat on the bed, beaming at Arthur Weasley's pale, but animated face. Maeve and Remus hesitated in the doorway as Molly fidgeted with the blankets and kept repeating that she never thought she would hear his voice again.
“The healers say you can come home soon, Arthur. I can’t imagine the thought of you around the house again. There will be no more Order work for the time being, I shall make sure that Dumbledore knows that. I will not have you running off after who knows what in your condition. It’s hard enough worrying about you when you are home; I don’t think I could manage if you went off again.”
Arthur accepted his wife’s fussing as a measure of her love for him. He couldn’t understand what was going on - his head still a little muddled after his long sleep - but he was trying to make sense of the gabbling that was going on around him. Maeve smiled at the scene before them, not wanting to intrude despite Goldspur’s insistence that Molly had asked for them. It was Ron who noticed them first and he grinned widely as he jogged his dad’s shoulder.
“Remus, Professor O’Malley!” Molly shrieked, making Arthur jump uncontrollably. “How kind of you to come. When Healer Goldspur told me it was you who had made this potion I was so happy. I couldn’t believe you’d made the trip yourself though. Wasn’t that very dangerous?”
Maeve felt her neck grow hot under the Weasley family's scrutiny but she shook her head at Molly and smiled.
“It was nothing, really,” she said, moving towards the bed slowly with a smiling Remus close behind. “How are you, Arthur?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, his face beaming at her. “Thanks to you.”
“I couldn’t let Ron down,” she said. “He’s been very helpful recently.”
Molly frowned as she recalled her son’s little adventure but she kept her mouth closed and didn’t say anything. She had promised Dumbledore she wouldn’t upset Maeve over that little escapade and she had kept her word.
“Ron, helpful?” Arthur laughed and gave his youngest son an affectionate pat. “Now that I have to hear.”
“Not now,” Molly said, stepping in quickly. “Now I think you need some rest.”
“Molly, I have been resting for some time if you are all to be believed. The last thing I feel like doing is sleeping.”
“Well the children need some rest and I’m sure Professor O’Malley and Remus have better things to do than loiter around your bed. I’ll stay and see what the healers have to say about you coming home.”
Maeve took the hint and leant down to give Arthur a kiss. “I’m so pleased things have worked out,” she said. “And you can be sure when you do get out we’ll find a way to come down and see you, either at The Burrow or Grimmauld Place.”
“We’d be delighted to have you, absolutely delighted,” he replied.
It was Remus turn to step forward and he gave Arthur a firm hug. “Thought we’d lost you.”
“You were wrong, my friend,” Arthur managed a weak smile. “Takes more than this to see me off.”
“We’ll catch up soon,” Remus promised as he backed away from the bed towards the door. He wondered if Arthur knew about Bill yet - there was a distinctly happy feeling in the room that he felt may have been a bit more subdued if Arthur had known about the fate of his eldest child.
They left the happy reunion behind them as they found themselves adrift in the corridor again. Healer Goldspur materialised, as if from nowhere, and bobbed his head politely.
“Time you were leaving us,” he said. “If you would like to follow me I will show you to your return Portkey.”
They retraced their steps from earlier and were soon back inside the room they had arrived in. Sitting on the table was a small, lime-green cauldron of the kind found on most wards within the hospital. Goldspur was wringing his hands together in an agitated manner as he closed the door and Maeve got the distinct impression he had seen someone on the corridor.
“What is it?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Nothing, nothing at all… if you would care to…” He passed his hand over the cauldron.
“You seem upset,” Maeve continued, rubbing her throat as she felt a strange stinging sensation. Remus was unaware of her concerns as he walked towards the cauldron, beckoning her to follow.
“No, no, not at all,” he said. “Please, take the Portkey and go.”
“Come on, Maeve,” Remus added. “Dumbledore will be getting worried if we hang around.”
“But...” Maeve began as she crossed to Remus.
“But nothing,” he smiled. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Where’s the egg timer?” Maeve asked suspiciously.
“One way only, for security,” Goldspur said, rather too quickly. “We had this one specially charmed just an hour ago, just to be on the safe side.”
They reached out simultaneously and as their fingers made contact with the smooth, metallic edge of the cauldron the door was flung open to reveal Healer Hurtmore's alarmed face. As they were pulled away from St Mungo’s Maeve could hear the echoing of the word ‘NO!’ follow them.
Severus sat across from Dumbledore and watched the large clock on the mantelpiece tick away the minutes. In the stillness of the night and their own unease the two men kept a silent vigil as they waited for the return of Maeve and Remus. Fawkes slumbered on and, apart from the gentle ticking, the only sound came from the gentle crackle of the fire. Severus couldn’t help reflecting on the nature of time and its tendency to slow down when you least wanted it to. He steeled himself to remain seated. He would not start fidgeting in front of the headmaster, even though his usual tactic of making up puzzles in his head had deserted him. Instead he was playing with the notion of what if. What if, he thought sullenly, Maeve realised she preferred the company of the werewolf to him? What if she decided to stay in London and have fun? What if she didn’t come back at all? What if he had made a complete fool of himself for no reason other than to make her feel better about what his father had done?
“Severus.” Dumbledore's low voice broke the silence. “You dwell too much on things that would be better left alone. She will be back soon enough.”
Severus clutched the arms of his chair and breathed deeply. What did he have to do to get a moment of unbroken peace in this blasted school?
The clock ticked relentlessly on and as it approached the hour of two he began to get increasingly restless. They should have been back by now. What was taking them so long? Even Dumbledore betrayed a little of the impatience he felt by scrabbling around in his desk for something sweet to suck on. As the gentle chimes of the hour rang out Severus raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore in a gesture that demanded an answer.
“They are merely a little late, Severus. They have the Portkey.”
“What if it was smashed? A dragon’s egg timer is hardly the most substantial thing to use. They could have dropped it on their arrival.”
“It will be all right,” Dumbledore insisted. “It had an unbreakable charm on it and should have been kept safe on their arrival. They will be back.”
Severus rose from his seat and gave in to the urge to pace around the room. He circled the desk in a whirl of black, becoming increasingly more agitated.
“I think one of us should go down there,” he snapped finally. “They are fifteen minutes late already. Do you intend to wait all night?”
“I shall give them a little while longer, Severus, and then we shall see.”
Dumbledore didn’t want to alarm the Potions Master any further but he wasn’t happy about Maeve's and Remus' lateness. There should have been no reason for them to be not on time, assuming that their Portkey was still intact.
Maeve lurched wildly against Remus as they found hard stone beneath their feet and she looked around expectantly, wondering why Dumbledore’s office was suddenly so gloomy. But this wasn’t Dumbledore’s office, nor was it anywhere they should have been. Whatever space they currently occupied was in total darkness and both of them automatically reached for their wands. As they did so a cold voice from the corner called out, ‘Expelliarmus’ and their wands slithered quickly away from them, snatched by the unexpected spell that had seemingly come from nowhere.
“Who’s there?” Remus called into the darkness. The only response was the clanging of a door and the heavy sound of a bolt being drawn.
“This is not good,” Maeve said lightly. “Not good at all.”
“A little less understatement wouldn’t go amiss,” Remus replied dryly as he moved into the darkness, carefully trying to feel his way through the fusty air in front of him.
Wherever they were it was very cold with a stale smell of dampness that soon penetrated their lungs and made them feel chilled to the bone. Maeve had a horrible thought that this might be Azkaban but she couldn’t imagine what they would be doing there. She tried to follow Remus in the darkness as he fumbled around and she soon walked straight into the rough stone of a wall, grazing her cheek in the process.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, rubbing away the warm blood. Focusing on nothing she knitted her mind together and obliterated all else. Within a few seconds an orb of light floated up from behind her, illuminating their surroundings so that she could plainly see Remus walking around like an Egyptian mummy from a children’s book, his arms stiff in front of him. It also showed them that there was nothing in the room but four greyish, mottled-green walls and an equally grey floor and ceiling. Worryingly the door they had heard closing was now nowhere to be seen. With a soft hiss the light went out and Maeve gasped in relief at the effort of maintaining it for as long as she had.
“Impressive, Miss O’Malley,” Remus said as he fumbled his way back to her. “And what else can you do without your wand?”
“Not much,” she said as she thought back to Severus’ cup. “Silly things, really. Nothing that will help us to get out of this room, that’s for certain.”
“Is it worth speculating about where exactly we are?” Remus asked as he reached her with a bump of leg against leg.
“It reminds me of Azkaban,” she replied in a hushed tone, although she didn’t know why she was keeping her voice low. If magical ears were listening it didn’t matter what the volume of her voice was.
“Oh no, Azkaban is far worse than this,” Remus whispered softly. “You would know if this was Azkaban.”
“This has to be something to do with Voldemort, doesn’t it?” she asked, voicing the fear that both of them didn’t want to fully face. To admit they were in the hands of Voldemort could be tantamount to admitting they were already dead.
“I think so.” Remus was economical with his words as he reached for her in the darkness. Their cold hands connected in the depths of the hole that they had found themselves in and at least in that connection they could find some scrap of warmth.
“Hang on,” she said, pulling away quickly. With another considerable mental effort she recreated the haze of light and her eyes were drawn to the walls and the stone they were made from. The shade of pale grey with its green thread was dulled by the gloom but she recognised the stone. What had first appeared as mould clinging to the walls in the strange, unnatural light now became clearer for her. Connemara marble was unique and unmistakable. “I don’t believe it,” she said as the light faded again.
“What?” Remus asked urgently.
“We’re back at Abbeylara.”
Roderick couldn’t help thinking that Voldemort looked even more terrifyingly vulgar when he smiled. Thankfully it wasn’t something that happened often but it was happening now and it made Roderick feel slightly nauseous. They had assembled in the drawing room of Abbeylara to discuss the latest of Voldemort’s acquisitions and Roderick was having to talk like never before to keep them alive.
“I agree, Lord Voldemort, that they deserve to die. Of course they deserve to die. However,” he paused thoughtfully and Voldemort’s red slits looked at him with interest. “I would hate to see you do anything rash. Perhaps we should think carefully about the best course of action.”
“What do you mean?” Voldemort said in a cool hiss. “I want them dead, therefore they will die.”
“Yes, you want them dead so they could die… however they might yet prove useful. Surely the knowledge that you could have them killed at any moment is enough for the time being. They are sufficiently secure where they are. There is a certain satisfaction in letting them fear their fate, is there not?”
Voldemort regarded Roderick Rampton with some suspicion but he could find nothing in the man’s mind to suggest that he was in any way disloyal. He was his father’s son but unlike the father Roderick displayed some backbone and had acquitted himself well in recent days with the alert about their discovery at Rampton Court.
“What are you suggesting, Rampton?” he asked.
“Hold them in the cellar for the time being. Let Dumbledore know we have them; it will force his hand. He will attack us on home ground and we have the vapour. We will be able to wipe out many of his cronies and at the same time you will still have O’Malley.”
“I could kill her and they would still come,” Voldemort pointed out succinctly.
“But, Lord Voldemort, if anything goes wrong with the vapour we will not have a cure. You have ordered the paste that was at St Mungo’s to be destroyed and Meany will have taken care of any notes left lying around at Hogwarts. She is useful for that reason alone.” He paused, allowing the implications of this to sink into the snake-like head of the Dark Lord.
“I have no interest in saving anyone if they are foolish enough to expose themselves to the vapour.” Voldemort looked mildly pleased by the idea of people accidentally inhaling the deadly gas. “If that is the only reason not to enjoy killing them then it is not enough.”
“There could be a most tragic accident, My Lord, if you yourself were to be exposed. It is extremely unlikely but not impossible. Imagine how your loyal supporters would feel if we could not rouse you.” Roderick was aware that, by insinuating Voldemort himself could get in the way of the vapour, he was also saying that Voldemort was liable to make mistakes, and this was something Roderick had concerns about. He tempered it with flattery and hoped that it would not be taken in the wrong way. Voldemort taking things the wrong way could result in immediate death, something that Roderick felt would be very unfortunate at that precise moment.
Voldemort hesitated and, as he thought about the suggestion Roderick was making, the door to the drawing room opened with a flourish as Lucius Malfoy's smooth, blond head entered the room. Instantly Roderick retreated to a more subtle position by the window and melted into invisibility by a mahogany table, which was topped by the imposing figure of a harp. As Lucius strode into the room, with all the confidence of one who knows he has achieved something, Roderick ran his perfect fingers across the wire strings that ran from top to bottom of the crafted piece of willow. He remained silently alert to the exchange between Voldemort and Malfoy, as his fingers tried to decide if the harp was an ornament or had ever been played. The strings shrank away from his unfamiliar touch and he knew that they were used to a softer skin than his. Now he had a mental picture of the former lady of the house sitting by the window looking out on - his gaze moved to the dawn and its inherent beauty- her territory. He envisaged her soft neck bent towards the light while her delicate fingers ran along the beauty of this instrument. With the nail of his index finger he scratched a line in the polished wood, marking it forever so that at some point his presence would be felt.
“And so it turned out to be a perfectly simple operation,” Lucius said as he finished his monologue. “Meany was well placed to deal with the Hogwarts end and the healer was completely within our power.”
Roderick watched as Lucius preened beneath Voldemort’s praise. It was always the same with the power hungry. They could be made to do anything with a carrot dangling before them. Without the likes of Lucius Malfoy and that awful, fawning woman Bellatrix, Voldemort would never have risen to power in the first place. Followers were just that, sheep to be led to the slaughter. The harp groaned as he twanged a string harshly and Voldemort turned an angered head in his direction.
“Leave the toy alone,” he breathed and Roderick stepped away from the connection to the woman that was currently trapped within her own realm.
He was almost angry with himself for getting so involved with Voldemort. It had been funto begin with, but the joy had soon faded beneath his own cleverness. Webs constructed of lies and deceit were difficult to maintain and although his current position was exciting in its challenge he found that having her death on his hands wasn’t an attractive prospect. He had played the game and failed by becoming emotionally attached to his prey. She should have been just another pawn in an absorbing game but he had liked her, a rare occurrence in his rather lonely lifestyle. Of course once he realised he enjoyed time in her company he had pulled away, enjoying the viciousness of his own tongue as he taunted Snape with the other man’s own desires. And now, now he didn’t want to see her die like this, tricked by a weak man who couldn’t resist the Imperius curse. The healer had been Voldemort’s for quite some time, that much he knew, and of course his control had finally paid off.
Roderick snapped himself away from the window. He had a lot to do and was wasting time indulging in melancholic sentiment instigated by a wooden instrument that was heavily charged with such feelings. He had to move and move now, a few words in the right ears would be sufficient to plant discord.
It was the only way.
Severus was in a highly agitated state by the time the clock struck five and daylight began laying its claim to the world. He was now back in his own rooms and was busy cursing Dumbledore, Lupin and the world in general. The bats had taken refuge in the chimney, which was sooty but quiet and in a perverse way he missed their vigilance. He knew what had happened without needing to make the enquiries that Dumbledore was making. He had a sneaking feeling that the headmaster was merely going through the motions in order to cover up his own inadequacies. Maeve was with Voldemort and Severus was being slowly consumed by the fact she could be dead. A cauldron of frustration brewed as he tried to decide what to do next. Without knowing where Voldemort had set up his latest nest of vipers it would be hard to know where to begin.
He swept the stack of books angrily from the table with a roar of anger. Why must he always be ignored only to be proved right when things went wrong? Why must it always be he that felt the consequences the hardest? Self-pity wasn’t an emotion Severus allowed himself to indulge in but it crashed upon him now with all the rage of a spurned Siren. Picking his way across the book-littered floor he stuck his head in the fire, speaking rapidly to the person at the other end. He had never before needed to insist upon a favour without something in return, nor did he have the time for bargaining. Severus Snape wanted answers and he wanted them now.
Harry shot up in bed again as the dream slipped away from him. He felt the slick fingers of fear on his brow and wondered how true what he had just seen was. He looked across to Ron’s bed to seek his advice but remembered that Ron had left late last night for London and St Mungo’s hospital. The visions his sleeping mind had entertained had been too disturbing for words and he simply couldn’t dismiss them this time. His dry throat constricted as he remembered seeing the huddled figures of Remus and Maeve standing in a cold cellar. He vision was impaired by heavy bars of metal that ran downwards within a small window frame that was set into a black door. Then there had been a reluctant laugh and a murmur of agreement. He felt like the words were coming from his own mouth.
“Very well, then. You will have your way. But if anything goes wrong you will lose your life.”
With that the dream had blurred, a sharp pain had shot across his forehead and he had woken to the dawn’s early promise. Harry was unsure what to do. He would feel ridiculous going to Dumbledore with this. After all, Maeve and Remus were safe within the school, weren’t they? He realised now that he could do something constructive to dispel the uncertainty of the dream; he could go and see if she was in her room. Despite the early hour she would always answer her door. Harry reasoned that she wouldn’t be too cross with him if she though he had woken her out of concerns for her own safety.
He stumbled from his bed and tried to dress without making any noise. Despite falling over as he pulled on his school trousers the other occupants of the dormitory didn’t stir and he was able to creep from the room unobserved. Slipping his Invisibility Cloak under his arm as extra security, should he meet someone unwelcome on in the corridors, Harry hurried through the silent school, passing slumbering portraits and unmoving statues on the way. It couldn’t have been Voldemort? He had been practising so hard with his Occlumency and was succeeding in keeping his dreams free of anything but winning the Quidditch World Cup and gaining seven NEWTs. But the thought of the dream from the previous night made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. That too had contained a scenario that was only too Voldemort-like in its setting.
He reached her door with a heavy heart. Either his fears were going to prove happily unfounded or he was about to confirm something too dreadful to dwell upon. Harry raised a hand to tap gently on the wooden surface when he realised, with a chill that travelled the length of his body, that the door was slightly ajar. He pushed at it, watching breathlessly as it moved inwards to reveal the dimness of the interior. There was the smell of night in the room. He could feel from the low temperature and fresh slant of air that a window was open. He withdrew his wand and with a muttered Lumos illuminated the scene before him.
The room was a mess of papers and books. The floor contained so many of her things that it looked like a Siamese Dervish had been through at top speed. The soft curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open window, which Harry went to close with a heavy feeling of inevitability about the whole thing. He would have to wake Professor Dumbledore to let him know about the dream. For a fleeting few minutes Harry considered trying to find Maeve and Remus himself but he quickly realised it was hopeless. He had no idea where they were being held captive and even if he did it would have been stupid to go chasing off after them. If only Ron had been here, he thought they could have come up with a plan together. Maybe that dungeon was at her old house. Hadn’t she said that was where Voldemort had set up camp? With all of these thoughts battering his brain Harry hurried away from Maeve’s room and towards Dumbledore’s office.
“I’m telling you,” Filch said, his temper rising in the face of Severus’ disbelief. “She’s with Rampton. Has to be.” Argus Filch was none too pleased at being woken so early in the morning by Severus Snape’s head appearing in his fireplace. He had shuffled his way down to the dungeon just an hour after being roused with some news for the Potions Master and not to be fully believed after all the effort was a bit galling.
“No, I think you’ll find that she doesn’t have to be at all. She is with Lupin.” Severus was very insistent on this point but Filch wasn’t to be swayed.
“And ‘im as well,” Filch replied. “My source tells me that she is with the two of ‘em. You asked for the information, I got it. Now leave me in peace.”
“How reliable is your source?” Severus snapped.
“Very. Muggle mediums are two a penny and completely fake. But there are one or two as aren’t and Millicent Hardie beats even some genuine Seers. I owled her a piece of your woman’s clothing” - Severus inhaled sharply at the use of the term ‘your woman’ but held his tongue- “and immediately she owls me back to tell me that the young lady ‘as gone home. She’s with a wolf and a Lord and she’s suffering from a sickness of the heart.” Filch looked pleased to have such a remarkable Muggle friend but Severus couldn’t hide the look of distaste that rolled across his face at having to get this information from a mere Muggle. Had he known Filch wasn’t going to go through proper, if illicit, wizarding channels he may have thought twice about asking him.
“And why would the lord be Roderick Rampton? Isn’t it far likelier that the lord in question would be the Dark Lord?”
Filch’s face was a picture of scorn as he looked up at the oh-so-superior wizard before him.
“She’s a Muggle,” Filch said triumphantly. “What would she know or care about the Dark Lord? She means a Lord like Rampton. A Muggle Lord.”
Severus now looked thoroughly confused. The temptation was strong to blast Filch out of his way with his wand but he reigned in the impulse. It never ceased to amaze him just how much this creepy little man knew or could find out and at least he appeared to be on Severus’ side - for a price.
“And do we have a definite location?” Severus asked more out of a need to have what he had already guessed confirmed. Normally he would not have bothered with the ridiculous nonsense that was divination but even Severus could not deny its occasional uses.
“I’ve already told you; she’s gone home.”
“That could be anywhere,” Severus said, staring into Filch’s eyes to try and ascertain if he was withholding anything from him.
“You and I both knows that she’s at that big ‘ouse of hers in Ireland. That’s where you-know-who went and now he’s got her there with him. What you need to find out is what Rampton’s doing there too.”
“Oh I think I can guess,” Severus replied coldly before pushing past the grinning Filch and making his way to Dumbledore’s office.
The cellar was growing colder, if that were possible, and Maeve shrank into her robes to try and get warm. The dampness was everywhere, filling their lungs with its cloying fingers, making her cough and splutter into the darkness. Remus rubbed at her arms and although it did little to dispel the ice that was creeping through her veins it did comfort her somewhat.
“Shouldn’t we be attempting some kind of escape,” she said, looking towards the space she imagined his face to be.
“I think escape is fairly impossible, Maeve,” Remus replied. It was not like him to give in so readily but even he had to admit that this was a fairly secure prison. The chances of escaping from a room whose door was charmed into invisibility, especially without a wand, were fairly slight. “Unless you can use that wandless magic of yours to open a door we can’t even see, I think we are stuck here.”
“But there are tunnels under the house,” she said with a voice that lacked conviction.
“What use are tunnels when we can’t get to them?” He tapped the floor with his foot and the solid ring of stone conveyed his message very well. There would be no escape via subterranean means, not from this cellar anyway. “Do you have any idea where we are in relation to the rest of the house?”
“No, these cellars and dungeons run the length of the place. We could be in any one of them. Although I do know we are not near the kitchens. Niall keeps all his wine in the cellars there.”
“Perhaps it has all been drunk,” Remus said, half joking.
They both froze as a noise could be heard from somewhere beyond the walls. In the darkness they felt rather than saw the door materialise and the clang of a shutter being drawn back. In the depths of their predicament they could see two red-hot coals burning through the pitch. Strangely, Maeve found that she was coping with her imminent death rather well. She clutched Remus’ hand and gave it a squeeze, searching for his face with her other hand. She made contact with his cheek and pulled his face close to her own, raising her lips she kissed him on the mouth.
“If I could choose anyone to spend my last moments with it would be you,” she whispered. “At times like this it’s good to have your brother by your side.”
“Don’t say goodbye,” he whispered back with an urgency that belied his calm demeanour. “This is not goodbye.”
“It is,” she said fatalistically. “He’s come to gloat over his final triumph. You know, I feel all right, all things considered.”
And she did. There was none of the shuddering fear she had expected to feel when she faced death. She focused on the figure that held her against the evil of Voldemort and she felt peaceful for the first time in a long while. Her father would be waiting for her; ready to leap down and catch her soul as it escaped her would-be tormentor. She would find some harmony in the place she was destined for, and who knew, she might be able to take Remus with her. As she closed her eyes against those of Voldemort she saw another face, a white face staring at her from the backs of her own eyelids. There was sorrow and anger written there, a fierce protectiveness that leapt out from somewhere she could not reach. What was she doing giving in so easily? This was not the behaviour of someone born to an immortal. Her eyes cracked open and faced Voldemort with hatred, as her mouth opened to speak she heard him laugh in a very strangulated manner before the shutter slammed closed and the door once again could be felt to vanish.
Remus continued to hold her, feeling her fury burn within her chest. For one moment there he thought she had accepted her fate and he was very relieved to see she had pulled back from surrender at the last minute. She had made the right choice.
“I never thought I would see such evil again,” she said, keeping hold of her impotent rage. “Those eyes? Where did those eyes come from?”
“They are part of his re-incarnation,” Remus said. “You will find that any trace of the devious charm of the old Tom Riddle is now gone and in its place stands what can only be described as a demon.” Remus was busy replaying the moment when he too had accepted his fate at the hands of the demon that was Voldemort and he could understand Maeve’s behaviour but he was pleased to see she had overcome the inevitability that he had succumbed to.
“Why didn’t he kill us?” she asked. “He knows of my part in the prophecy, that’s why he wanted me dead… so why hesitate?”
“Perhaps he has bigger fish than you to fry at the moment,” Remus guessed. “Or perhaps someone is persuading him not to.”
“I can’t imagine anyone persuading that creature to do anything.” She could still see those two circular pieces of fire burning in the darkness. Maeve couldn’t imagine what the rest of his face looked like.
“He has vulnerabilities, it’s just a question of finding them.”
“You think they can be found?” she asked, scepticism evident in her voice.
“Yes, I have to think that or this situation would be hopeless.”
Harry arrived at the statue that guarded Dumbledore’s office at the same time as Severus. They both looked at each other with narrowed, distrusting eyes, neither one wanting to speak before the other. Severus was the one who lost patience with the brittle silence first.
“What are you doing roaming the corridors so late, Potter?” he asked, his usual acerbic manner immediately putting Harry on the defensive.
“I could ask the same thing of you,” Harry replied.
“You could however I am a teacher and you are a … pupil.” The word pupil carried with it such so much revulsion.
A vision of Maeve in his bedroom floated in front of Harry’s face, quickly followed by an equally disturbing image of her in a dark cellar. He couldn’t trust Snape; he would have to see Dumbledore.
“I need to see Professor Dumbledore,” he said. “I know something he needs to be told about.”
“Regarding what?” Severus’ interest rose. Potter may have been an odious creep but Severus was desperate for news and he couldn’t deny the boy did have an insight into the mind of the Dark Lord.
“I’d rather tell Professor Dumbledore,” Harry insisted, looking towards the statue and desperately trying to remember the password.
“Sugared Almonds,” Snape said. The statue remained immobile and Severus frowned. “Sugared Almonds,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. Still the statue remained unmoved. It snapped open weary eyes and roared at them.
“I would like to get some sleep! Professor Dumbledore has gone out and won’t be back until later today. Now leave me in peace!”
Severus blinked and stepped back. The fact that Dumbledore had gone out without telling him did not sound like a good development. He turned cold eyes on Harry.
“If your news has anything to do with Professor O’Malley I suggest you tell me immediately.”
The snarl on Severus’ lips brooked no argument and Harry found his tongue loosened by Dumbledore’s failure to appear.
“She’s in a cellar, with Remus. Voldemort’s got her.” He searched for a reaction in Severus’ clouded eyes, but there was none.
Severus gazed down at the boy with something close to gratitude but he quickly shook himself free of the feeling. The news was too dark for any emotion but grief.
“Then we are already too late,” he muttered.
“You can’t just leave her to her fate!” Harry yelled. “I’ll bet you know where she is, don’t you? You can’t just walk away like you did with Sirius…”
“I did not walk away from that little nonentity!” Severus bit back. “You know very well I did no such thing.” But despite his protests Harry’s words had struck home. Severus knew where she was; she was at Abbeylara. There was nothing else to be done; he would have to arrange a means of getting there. The quickest way would be a Portkey but it would have to be made illegally and he knew there would be consequences of that. He laughed wryly as he realised if he went to Abbeylara he probably wouldn’t be coming back to face any consequences anyway.
“Very well, Potter. You may go,” Severus said, looking at the boy with impatience. “I have things to do.”
“Like what?” Harry asked. “Sit in your room drinking and crying over what you’ve lost, again.”
“Hold your tongue!” Severus shouted. “I will take care of this.”
Harry watched him carefully and knew, without being told, what he was planning. Well, if Snape was going he was going too.
“Fine, you do that... it’ll make a change for you to do something brave.” With that final barb Harry turned and walked away down the hall until he reached the end of the corridor. Once there he hid behind a conveniently placed statue and waited for Snape to walk past him on his way to his rooms. Once he felt sure that the teacher would not turn round again he slipped the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and stepped out from the shadow of his hiding place. Following at a relatively safe distance he managed to keep pace with his quarry and was thankful for the foresight that had caused him to pick up his most treasured possession.
By the time Severus had reached his room Harry had caught up with him. Harry was barely breathing as Severus opened the door - one noise now and he would be found out. Harry was just trying to work out how he could divert Severus’ attention from the doorway long enough for him to sneak past when the spitting figure of Mrs Norris shot down the corridor with her tail ramrod straight and her eyes blazing. Whatever was pursuing her was lost to the concealed boy as Severus paused on the threshold of his room allowing Harry to slip in unnoticed behind him.
Harry permitted himself a small smile of triumph as he took his position in the corner of the room, taking care not to trip over the jumble of books on the floor as he did so. Clearly, he thought, Snape was not taking Maeve’s disappearance very well. He watched fascinated as Severus picked a book up room the floor and set it down on the table. Harry stepped forward to watch as Severus pointed his wand, rasping out the word ‘Portus’. The book trembled slightly and then rose from the table just a few millimetres. It glowed blue before dropping back and resuming its normal, innocuous appearance. Severus watched for a few moments before reaching out his hands towards the charmed object. As he did so Harry flung himself towards the book. His fingers connected at the same time as Severus’ and before the teacher had time to react they were both tearing their way through space towards the battered walls of Abbeylara. It seemed that the grey house was a popular Portkey destination all of a sudden.
As he felt solid ground beneath his feet he turned to look into the livid face of his Potions Master. Harry knew he had more to fear from Snape right at that moment than he did from anything Lord Voldemort could manage.