Chapter Thirty-Four.
Towards Deliverance.
Harry’s green eyes peered out from the unexpected gap in the Invisibility Cloak, flinching at the naked disgust on Severus’ face. They were standing beneath a heavy covering of trees, still clutching at the book that had brought them here. For Severus the appearance of Harry at his side had a horrible inevitability about it. He wanted to crush the offspring of James Potter beneath his increasingly damp feet, but he forced himself not to draw his wand. If the boy got himself killed then so be it. Severus would not be risking his own neck for that of a thoughtless child again. He allowed his hatred of Harry to cloud the fact that without the boy they could well be defenceless against Voldemort. Severus tucked the book under a pile of soggy leaves, covering it completely, in the hope that he would be back to use it at some point in the near future.
Harry watched him in silence, allowing the Invisibility Cloak to fall from his shoulders and into his hands. He still had no idea where they were but he didn’t want to provoke the angry man into speaking to him so he remained stubbornly silent as the teacher hid the Portkey. Severus finally finished patting the leaves into the semblance of a natural pile, straightening up with a grunt of satisfaction. Harry continued to watch in silence, the disadvantages of being here with the person who hated him almost as much as Voldemort were beginning to make themselves felt. At least with Ron and Hermione by his side he had always felt in the company of allies. Now he felt he had just leapt into the lion’s den with a hyena at his heels.
“What do we do now?” he asked, finally breaking the rigid silence.
“What do we do, Potter?” Severus sneered.
“Well,” Harry hesitated. He had not considered the possibility that Severus would abandon him. After all, he never had before.
“Well what?” The teacher felt unable to stop himself being harsh with the boy.
“I thought that… “ Harry trailed off again, words failing him completely.
“But you don’t think, Potter. You dive into things blindly, with little thought for the consequences of your actions. Not only do I have to worry about Professor O’Malley, I now find myself babysitting a reckless child.”
“I wanted to help… Maeve’s my friend… I’m worried about her. I just wanted to help,” he said miserably.
“She is your teacher.” Severus was quick to gouge out boundaries for Harry, boundaries that he didn’t have the power or the right to create. Harry felt the familiar rush of temper replacing his cowed approach as he raised his head, more certain of Maeve’s friendship than he was of Severus’ hate.
“I-can-help-you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You would be stupid to think I can’t. Do you have access to Voldemort’s thoughts?”
“No, of course not.” Severus looked up quickly as several ravens crashed through the canopy of leaves and perched on a low branch. He couldn’t help thinking that that was curious behaviour for birds. Returning his attention to Harry he scowled again. “However, your own access seems fairly patchy, does it not?”
“And my wand can fight his,” Harry said.
“It’s not that simple, you foolish child! Your wand cannot fight his… it is its brother; it can only counteract whatever spell the Dark Lord is casting, and even then only with a huge effort of will. Do not flatter yourself that the Dark Lord will be so easily defeated now that he knows about your wand.”
“Then at least I can be of some use, if only as a sacrifice through my wand.”
Snape looked at him, relishing this foolish yet brave gesture. “I would hope it wouldn’t come to that,” he said; although his face displayed the possibility that he might actually quite enjoy it.
“But it might,” Harry insisted. “We might have to face Voldemort to get them out.”
“You say that as if it is an adventure, one of your little escapades that results in chaos and leaves you the hero. If we meet with Voldemort then we shall both die, of that I have no doubt.” Severus’ sour face displayed a degree of resignation that made Harry feel that they were dead no matter what happened. “This is not a game for boys who cannot keep their imagination in check.”
Harry thought about this for a moment. He discovered that he didn’t care much about what Snape thought of him. He didn’t care if Voldemort did his worst to him and he didn’t care if he died, all he really cared about was helping his friends. He was old enough, and had seen enough, to know what was the right thing to do. Looking at Severus Snape’s cold figure he knew that he had chosen the right course in coming here, but he was aware he would have to be agreeable to Snape to achieve anything at all.
“I know what Voldemort can do,” Harry said. “I’m prepared to face the consequences if you are.”
With the ball firmly back in Severus’ court the agitated man knew he would have to accept Potter’s presence and try to work with it rather than against it. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but he gave Harry a sickly smile.
“Very well, Potter. You can put that ridiculous toy away.” He gestured towards the Invisibility Cloak. “We will not be skulking around like rats unless we absolutely have to. The first thing to do is find a way out of this morass of trees.”
So the strange alliance of Severus Snape and Harry Potter began to make its way through the tangle of unruly undergrowth towards a place that would allow them to get their bearings. Neither quite knew what they would find in this place that teemed with rot and the bad stench of Dark Magic. Severus felt the change that had fallen over it; it had been oppressive the last time he was here but now it was suffocating.
Roderick sat across from Lucius Malfoy in the very masculine atmosphere of the library. Roderick felt all this dark wood was overpowering — it gave off an aura of depression that he could well have done without. Lucius was sipping tea from a nice piece of Belleek porcelain while Roderick had opted for brandy. He felt it was never too early to fortify his brain with a little liquid amber. Lucius was nervous, it didn’t take a genius to work that out. His foot tapped incessantly against the floor in a staccato rhythm that was irritating beyond belief. Roderick found he wanted to scream at the fool to stop but instead he took a larger swig of brandy from his glass and smiled.
“So, Lucius. What do you make of the plan to keep the prisoners alive?” Roderick allowed himself to smirk at the use of the word prisoners; all this drama was so over-the-top.
“I understand it was the Dark Lord’s idea,” Lucius replied, glancing towards the door fretfully. “I’m not sure, myself, that it’s such a good idea to have those two alive. O’Malley does know her way around this house after all.”
“Are you disagreeing with Lord Voldemort’s plans?” Roderick asked. His face displayed disbelief that Lucius should be so daring.
“No, no… absolutely not.” Lucius put the cup down and picked up a chocolate digestive. “I merely think we should have killed them immediately. If the Dark Lord has other plans for them then I am sure they are well-founded.”
“I think Bellatrix was the one who suggested the whole thing.”
“Really?” Lucius looked momentarily frustrated at the mention of Bellatrix. “She follows him around like a dog.”
“She does indeed,” Roderick agreed. “Perhaps it is time to sever the dog from its master.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lucius was cautious. He liked Rampton; there was something about the flamboyant man that appealed to Lucius’ own sense of the devious. However, that inherent appreciation did not mean Lucius was about to throw himself into a plan to rid Voldemort of his right-hand woman without first testing the ground.
“I just think that without Bellatrix egging him on to ever more – what shall we say – debatable - decisions then his cause would be furthered. And it’s not as if he doesn’t have someone to step into the position if something unfortunate were to happen to her.”
“Meaning?” Lucius wondered if Rampton was suggesting what he thought he was suggesting.
“Meaning you, of course. Who better than one of the most pre-eminent Purebloods to stand by his side. You do, after all, have one of the best brains when it comes to the darker side of things.” Roderick liked men like Lucius for their inherent ability to believe people who appealed to their narcissistic side. As long as he kept the praise restrained and sincere, there would be no reason for Lucius not to agree with him.
Lucius placed his cup carefully on the table and allowed Roderick’s words to confirm his own deepest feelings. It was clear to him that Bellatrix was an entirely unsuitable deputy for the Dark Lord, and he had been formulating plans to oust her from her vaunted position for some time. The problem was she was extremely clever and extremely loyal to Voldemort, which made it incredibly difficult to drive a wedge between them.
“And how do you propose I achieve this?” The foot tapping stopped as Lucius leaned towards his co-conspirator. Well-maintained leather upholstery creaked slightly as he moved, slithering forward the better to hear what the other man was about to propose. Roderick grinned as his fish grasped the hook in its jaws; all he had to do now was reel it in.
“Niall O’Malley,” Roderick said. He was careful to keep his voice low, allowing its intimate tone to draw Lucius further into his plan. “He wants his daughter dead.”
“And how can we use that?” Lucius looked sceptical. He had met Niall O’Malley only twice and didn’t think much of what he had seen. As far as he was concerned the man was a non-entity whose only use was as a temporary landlord for the Dark Lord’s schemes.
“If we can convince Bellatrix to give him the woman then I do not think Lord Voldemort would look on that too favourably, do you? When did you ever know anyone go directly against the Dark Lord’s wishes and survive?”
Lucius began to see the possibility in what Rampton was suggesting. Not only would Bellatrix be removed, the O’Malley woman would be killed into the bargain. He began to get that familiar feeling of triumph that so often came when he made a good decision. “And how do we get her to do that?” he asked.
“Leave that to me,” Roderick replied with a jaunty wink. “I’ve never failed to charm a woman yet.”
“Don’t overestimate your charm, Rampton. Bellatrix is not like ordinary women.” With that warning still hanging in the air, Lucius rose from his seat. He needed to check on the prisoners before reporting back to the Dark Lord. He was also aware that they were expecting unwelcome visitors, and that alone was proving a mammoth task of organisation in getting the other Death Eaters ready for the potential assault. Voldemort had threatened to use the Somnus Funestus if things got too tricky and the thought filled Lucius with dread, knowing as he did that all the antidote created by the O’Malley woman had been destroyed.
“Bellatrix is human,” Roderick said.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Lucius’ parting shot as he closed the door behind him made Roderick smile, in spite of himself.
The lack of light in the cellar was irritating Maeve. Her eyes were tired with straining against the darkness but she couldn’t maintain any light for very long without her wand. Remus had taken off the top layer of his robes, folding them up and placing them on the cold floor so that they could sit down. Maeve wasn’t sitting down though; she was walking the stone floor in a seemingly random pattern of turns.
“What are you doing?” Remus asked wearily.
“I’m walking.”
“I can sense that,” he retorted.
“I’d rather keep moving.”
“You’ll walk into the wall,” Remus warned as he felt her pass him again for the umpteenth time.
“No I won’t, I’ve counted the paces I can safely walk.”
The door clanged, stopping Maeve in her tracks. By pure chance she had been walking directly towards it when the shutter was raised. She found herself just a few inches away from a barred window, which framed the face of Lucius Malfoy. Only a dim light flickered in the passageway behind him but it was enough for Maeve to get a good idea of where the door actually was. Lucius quickly slammed the shutter closed again and there was total darkness once more.
“Remus, bring my your robes,” she asked, taking one more step forward and reaching out to touch the wall where the door had been.
Remus struggled to his feet, grabbing his robes and crossing the room to where he sensed she was. Maeve took the robes from him and placed them on the floor by the door. She wasn’t sure how they could use this new-found knowledge but it was better than nothing and at least it felt like they weren’t entirely helpless. She had been cursing herself for the past few hours over not having learned to Apparate so at least this made her feel better.
“We still can’t do much without our wands,” Remus said, stating the obvious.
“I know, but all the same.” She continued to stare at the black space in front of her, reaching out cold hands to touch the stone. Her fingers ran up and down in a methodical pattern but found nothing on the hard wall to suggest an opening. “I just wish there was some way I could use wandless magic to do something with this.”
“We are going to have to play a waiting game, Maeve. Dumbledore will know where we have gone.”
“But we may not have that long,” she mused, as her fingers finally found what they had been looking for.
Dumbledore stood in a high-ceilinged office in the depths of St Mungo’s. Before him stood Kinglsey Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks, who both wore looks of grave concern on their faces. Healer Goldspur had been taken away for questioning just ten minutes earlier after Tonks had pronounced him under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Dumbledore had watched, fascinated, as Tonks had produced her Imperius Indicator, waving it in under Goldspur’s nose. The dainty hands had whirled frantically for just two seconds before both pointing directly to Completely Controlled on the little dial.
Healer Hurtmore was also in the room, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He knew some difficult questions were going to be asked and he was in no hurry to answer them. He’d known for some time that Healer Goldspur wasn’t quite himself. The Imperius curse was good but not so good that it could completely fool someone who had worked with its victim for the last forty years. There had been a few small things at first; the surreptitious removal of documents, a treatment gone slightly wrong and even moments of vagueness that were quite out-of-character for the experienced healer. But it was only when he had seen the man use the Portus spell on the cauldron that he had become really concerned that something was wrong. His attempts to intercept the visitors that morning had gone badly wrong.
“So, Healer Hurtmore,” Dumbledore began. “Just when did you suspect Healer Goldspur of being unduly influenced?”
“I didn’t,” the healer said, “not really. I just thought he was perhaps getting a little old. I had no idea until today that something else might have been going on, and even then I didn’t quite know what it was. I tried to deal with the visitors myself. Healer Goldspur was called away unexpectedly to deal with another patient, something I orchestrated in the hope of taking care of the two professors myself. For some reason my plan failed and he caught me.” All of Hurtmore’s earlier bravado and condescension were gone now.
“So why did you not alert a higher authority to your suspicions?” Dumbledore wore his most patient expression in the face of this man’s discomfort.
Tonks slipped clumsily off the end of the desk, standing on Kingsley’s foot. The momentary distraction gave Hurtmore a few moments to gather his thoughts.
“I had no real proof. Once he had allowed the cure to be administered I thought my suspicions where unfounded. I went for a quick nap in my room and when I came back Goldspur was nowhere to be found. When I entered his office I realised what he had done. The paste was completely destroyed; all that was left were the smashed bowls in his rubbish bin.” Hurtmore paused and looked from face to face, searching for some understanding in his listeners.
“So, then what did you do?” Dumbledore needed to hear the story right up to the moment Maeve and Remus had been removed from the building.
“I went to find him, to ask him why he had done something so cruel. I checked with the Weasley family and they said the visitors were on their way home. I found their Portkey in his room… and the cauldron was gone. I knew then what he had done but by the time I got there it was too late. As I shouted to them they had already touched the Portkey.”
He came to the end of his story with a heartfelt sigh. This was the worst day in his long career and he just wanted to go home, lock his door against the world and forget about it all.
“Very well,” Dumbledore nodded. “I will need you to go with a member of the Magical Law Enforcement Department and have your version of the events officially recorded. But that will be all I need to know. There is a wizard waiting outside to escort you.”
Healer Hurtmore looked again at the faces of the people in front of him and wished he could say something to ease their worry about their friends. He had failed in some way and he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Once he had gone, Dumbledore turned to Kingsley and Tonks and when he spoke it was in clipped tones.
“They are at Abbeylara,” he said, completely convinced that this was the only place they could be. “ We will have to gather a very select few of our most trusted members. Kinglsey, can I trust you to have five people waiting for me at Headquarters, including Tonks.”
“Surely the more people the better,” Tonks said, not understanding what Dumbledore was planning.
“No, my dear. This will have to be a stealthy undertaking. Voldemort will be expecting us to go in with a great many people. We cannot risk so many for the lives of so few.” These words clearly pained Dumbledore and he looked into the eager eyes of Tonks with regret. “I think, whatever we do, we may well be too late.”
The knock at the door prevented Tonks for answering and a young medi-witch scurried into the room carrying a parchment.
“This just came by owl, sir,” she said, holding it out for Dumbledore to take. “It’s from Hogwarts, sir.”
Dumbledore read the contents of the letter before turning it into dust with the tip of his wand.
“Professor McGonagall informs me that both Professor Snape and Harry Potter are no longer in the school or anywhere to be found on the school grounds.”
Tonks looked horrified while Kingsley waited for further information.
“They will have gone to Abbeylara, of that I am sure.”
“Why would Snape do something so stupid?” Kingsley asked as Tonks squeaked in horror.
“Because he loves Maeve and love makes fools of the best of us. Why he has taken Harry with him is another matter entirely. But let us not despair too much… if Professor O’Malley is still alive then this could be good news for us and very bad news for Voldemort.”
“How?” Tonks said, jumping off the desk in preparation for their imminent departure.
“Because with both of them together Voldemort will not be so confident. Combined, they have the power to kill him without too much fuss. I just don’t know how and neither do they.”
He patted both of them on the shoulders, moving slowly towards the door. The time had come for him to face Voldemort again, if only to save Harry from his clutches. He prayed very hard that Maeve was still alive, although given the knowledge that Voldemort had he very much doubted it.
Bella, meanwhile, was busy seeing straight through Roderick’s charm. After Lucius had left him in the library he had immediately gone to seek her out, eventually finding her walking through the rose garden at the back of the house. He couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t the best place for her; when set against the natural fresh-faced beauty of the flowers she looked distinctly faded.
“You are a charming man,” she said, her voice scratching through his mind in a most unpleasant way. “But forgive me for not being in any way interested in you.”
“Have you always been this direct?” he said, throwing her one of his most charming smiles.
“It’s the only way to be,” she said. He was flattering but if he thought he was going to use her to get to her Master then he was very much mistaken.
“And I admire you for that, it makes life so much easier.”
“Indeed.” She stopped walking and plucked one of the pink heads from the bush nearest to her. Its fresh beauty crumpled beneath her fingers as she allowed the crushed petals to float to the ground.
“Which makes me wonder why you tolerate Lucius Malfoy.” Roderick kicked the dead flower back into the bed, keeping his eyes firmly away from Bellatrix.
She looked at him quickly, wondering where this was leading. “I don’t tolerate him at all, not unless I have to. Unfortunately the Dark Lord needs to use him from time to time.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” Roderick began walking again, forcing her to follow him as her curiosity was aroused by his words.
“What do you mean?”
For the second time that day Roderick Rampton had succeeded, quite easily he thought, in bringing one of Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eaters to the point of believing in him completely.
He gave a small, nervous-sounding laugh as he replied. “Dear me, I do forget myself sometimes. Disregard my ramblings, please.” The cough that followed was perfectly placed as he trained his attention on the fountain in the centre of the flowerbeds. At one time it had spouted crystal clear water but now it was struggling to dredge up some awful black sludge that slopped down its sides, turning the marble black and greasy.
“You must have meant something,” she said in a sharp tone. “Are you perhaps allied with Lucius?” Roderick liked the tone of suspicion in her voice; it would make planting the seed even easier.
“Of course not!” he retorted. “Although not for want of his trying.”
“Really?”
“He’s ambitious, that one. Very ambitious.”
Bellatrix was very close to him now, their arms brushed slightly and Roderick steeled himself not to withdraw from her withering touch. Her greying hair was scraped back harshly into a tight, round bundle at the back of her head and it accentuated the cruel line of her profile. Roderick found her presence very unsettling indeed, and not in a good way.
“I know the man is ambitious,” she hissed. “What I want to know is why he is trying to enlist your help and what he intends to do with it when he gets it?”
“I think he is planning on having Niall take the O’Malley woman.” Roderick had lowered his voice and was leaning in towards Bellatrix intently. There was a vague smell of death and decay on her breath that made bile rise into his throat, but he swallowed slowly and resumed his tête-à-tête. “I think he wants the Dark Lord to believe it was you.”
He felt the air shift as she breathed in deeply, her face wearing a grim smile. Roderick knew that now was the time to leave her to create her own interpretation of what he had told her. He glanced at his watch and gave a low whistle.
“Well, would you look at the time? I really do have things to do.” He smiled at her again, giving just the hint of a bow as he strolled rapidly away through the bushes in the direction of the house.
Roderick was well aware that if the two prisoners were to get out he would have to somehow warn them of his actions. The moment that door was opened they would need to be in a position to move and move quickly. The unselfish thing for him to do would be to open the door himself but that carried too many risks to his own safety. If Voldemort found out he had let the prisoners go then he would be killed. He wandered into the drawing room; his feet subconsciously taking him back towards the harp and its beauty. He had to get Niall to open that door alone because there was no danger of him performing any magic to keep the pair of them captive. As always Roderick knew things that no one else did — eavesdropping was his speciality. On more than one occasion he had heard Maeve bemoan the fact she couldn’t do magic at home because her father was a Squib.
Looking out again over the lawn, he blinked at the blur he had just seen in the far distance. The trees swayed just a little in the wind, but what he had just seen was not leaves or bushes. It had been the tiniest bit of a black cloak. He damned Snape into oblivion as he realised he would have to move much more quickly than he had first thought. He had to get them out before anyone tried any heroics or they would never be free. Bellatrix and Lucius would both have to be given a mighty shove into getting Liam to release Maeve and Remus into his care. As long as they could be given the blame he would be safe… no matter if he were the one that undid the enchantment on the door.
“What is it?” Remus asked eagerly.
“It’s the point where the magic begins and ends,” she said, waggling her finger into the small nick in the wall. “There is always a weak spot when casting this spell on solid stone. It doesn’t respond like wood or fabric. There has to be a weak spot for the spell because the stone is too strong for the magic to expand properly.”
“You learn something new…” Remus began, but never finished as she snapped her hand away from the wall. He couldn’t see what had happened but he had felt the charge of energy explode from the wall. Reaching into the darkness he could no longer feel her standing there. “Are you all right?” he asked nervously.
“That bloody, sodding hurt,” she mumbled. Remus could tell from the direction of her voice that she was on the floor. Fumbling around he managed to grab her arm and pull her to her feet in a flurry of robes and dampness. “I forgot that would happen.”
“What would happen?” Remus was floundering a little. He knew about these sorts of charms, of course, but this was the first he had heard of there being a weak spot in stone.
“I tapped directly into the magic using my finger as a channel,” she explained, rubbing at her hand, which was still pulsating with the effects of the strong spell. “And this marble contains residual magic anyway so the kick was twice as strong. If I can withstand that a few times then maybe, just maybe, I can weaken the spell enough to break it. By taking on the energy it might also make my own, wandless, magic more powerful.”
“Can’t I try too?” he asked, concern mounting for the amount of damage repeatedly sticking her finger into the magical charge could do.
“Afraid not,” she said ruefully. “It has to be a sustained pull from one source, and given your condition I think it’s best coming from me.”
Once again Remus felt the bitter taste of his situation rise in his throat. He couldn’t even take this burden from her shoulders; the pain would be borne by her and her alone. He was glad of the dark then — it kept her from seeing his own self-loathing. He heard her breathing, which brought that denied feeling of love back into his heart. Her smell transcended the damp smell of the cellar and he found that, just when he thought he couldn’t hate himself any more, he plumbed new depths.
“I’m so sorry,” he said into the blackness.
“Don’t be silly.” Her laugh broke through his sadness, pushing it back into insignificance. “I used to do this when I was a child. Occasionally Mum would put these charms on rooms in the house that she didn’t want me to go into. Once you get used to the initial shock it becomes rather nice. Eventually I would go looking for charmed doors just for the charge it gave me.”
Remus was grateful for her kindness but he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. The crack of the magic had sounded hard and unforgiving; he couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying that. Indeed, Maeve hadn’t been telling the truth but she could feel Remus’ hatred of himself and had to say something. She had worked out how to lift these charms because of her mother… but she had only done it once because the effects had lasted for days and the contents of the forbidden room really hadn’t been worth the effort. A few Banshees, caged and enchanted into sleep, hadn’t impressed her. There was a Banshee that visited her in the woods sometimes and at least that one spoke to her… the two her mother had captured just snored loudly.
“I’ll try again,” she said, trying to reassure Remus that she would be fine. He wasn’t convinced and went to stand behind her in case she was thrown back again. If cushioning her fall were all he could do to help then he would do it willingly.
Once again Maeve’s fingers sought out the weakness in the wall. This time she was better prepared and was able to concentrate more on receiving the magic than being caught out by it. Maybe it was the fact she was now an adult, but as she once again wormed her fingertip into the hole she felt the surge but not the pain. The heady feeling that rushed around her body, touching every part of her, was almost pleasant, which made her feel much better about having lied to Remus. It only lasted a minute and as she withdrew her finger the connection to the magic was broken, sending her stepping backwards into Remus’ waiting arms. He clutched her exhilarated body as she wobbled in the after effects of the magical excess. She turned within his arms, a bubble of laughter escaping as she did so.
Remus had no idea why he did it — later he would blame it on the situation, the darkness, the closeness of her body and the uncontrolled magic in the air — but really it was just lust for her that made him bring his lips down heavily on hers, bruising them beneath his need for her. For one exhilarating, blissful moment she responded and he felt his love for her, the love he thought he had buried, return unequivocally.
Maeve’s mind finally gained mastery of the Dark magic, turning it into a force within her that she could control. As she opened her eyes to lucidity she was confused by Severus’ presence. When had he arrived and how on earth had he got through that door? But something was wrong, Severus was taller, more forceful… with horror she pushed back and realised what had happened.
“Oh, Remus, no,” she breathed. Her back was now right against the wall and she faced into the darkness, unable to see his face or judge his frame of mind. “I thought you understood. I thought you accepted that we are what we are and nothing more.”
He didn’t respond, too ashamed of his uncontrolled behaviour to be able to speak to her.
“Severus and I,” she began, before hesitating over whether she should tell him. “We…”
“I know,” Remus said, finally finding his voice. “I know that you love Severus and I thought I had accepted that. I think the magic and the situation has affected my judgement.”
“It’s more than that,” she said quietly. “Severus and I are getting married.”
The silence stretched to devour the space they stood in. It bounced off the walls and off Remus’ heart. It was so profound it was deafening. Was he hurt or happy? Did the thought of her committing to that man tear at his soul or was he thankful that she had finally found the contentment she deserved? Would she ask him to attend? Could he attend? Would he be able to bear it?
Maeve endured the silence as long as she could. Remus was the first person she had told, and it was enormously important that he should respond favourably, but given what had just happened, it was highly unlikely.
“Remus?” her voice was small in the encircling quiet, a tiny protestation in a sea of stillness.
“I’m here,” he replied, matching her tone with sombre comfort.
“I’m sorry you heard about it in these circumstances.” She was pushing him for a response, something she could be happy about. It was selfish, she knew it was, but she wanted him to be pleased for her despite his own feelings.
“Don’t be sorry,” he insisted, moving forward with the realisation that he was happy for her. It was not her fault she loved someone else. She had always loved Severus. Since their school days their lives had been intertwined and ripped apart by the years. Why should he be anything other than deliriously happy that finally this had worked out for her? As he reached for her he felt her stiffen at his touch and he knew then that he had damaged something between them, something that would have to be put right. “I am so glad that you and Severus have finally managed to be together. I’ve known for so long that you are deeply attached to him and I was so very wrong to imagine I could come between something so elementally strong.”
She relaxed a little, reaching her hand out to touch his arm in a gesture of reassurance. She wished there was a charm that could rid Remus of this attraction, flattering though it was. She wished that she were free to love him the way he loved her but she wasn’t, and it would never work.
“Thank you, Remus. I love him very, very much… don’t ask me to explain why, but I do. It’s important to me that you are happy because I love you too and you wouldn’t be happy with me.”
Remus begged to differ but wisely kept his mouth closed on that subject. Instead he steered them back to where they had been before he had stupidly overstepped the mark with her.
“Shall we get back to the problem in hand?” His voice was a little more normal now.
“Yes,” she smoothed her hands down the front of her dress in an attempt to retain her composure. “Yes of course we should.”
Severus and Harry reached the edge of the trees, affording Harry his first real view of Maeve’s former home. He had always known she came from a rich family but he hadn’t been expecting anything quite so grand as the grey facade that stood proud at the end of the sweeping landscape before them.
“Is that her house?” he asked stupidly, as they tried to keep within the boundaries of the virginal greenery.
“That’s Abbeylara, yes,” Severus replied. “Don’t be fooled by looks, boy. It’s a pretentious place with delusions of grandeur.”
“It’s massive.” The awe in his voice irritated Severus, who had seen plenty of big houses in his lifetime and never ceased to be under-whelmed by them. They cost a lot to maintain, echoed with disapproval at their owners and trapped him within their vast halls of emptiness.
“It’s an illusion of worth,” he snapped back. “Only the empty-headed need such large displays of wealth to prove themselves.”
“And I suppose you live in a terrace with one bedroom,” Harry replied archly, his mind shuddering back to the thought of that twee house in Privet Drive. It was Petunia’s pride and joy but she would die of happiness if she could live somewhere like this.
“I live at Hogwarts; it suits my needs.”
Severus was not about to describe Darkacre, his own house, in any detail. It was a vast residence set in gloomy grounds and he could hardly bear to visit it any longer. It was only slightly smaller than Abbeylara but there the similarities ended. At least Abbeylara had experienced some love over the years.
“So, what now?” Harry asked.
“The house will be well watched so we will have to decide which is the best way to get in. I don’t suppose you can Apparate yet, can you?” Snape knew full well that Apparation wasn’t an option in this heavily guarded place, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to belittle Harry
Harry shook his head to be rewarded by a satisfied sneer from Severus. “So there are things that even the famous Harry Potter can’t do?” His pleasure couldn’t have been more evident.
“I could if I tried!” Harry retorted.
“You’d splinch yourself in an instant, boy,” Severus said with a cold stare that made Harry feel deeply inadequate. It was like being back in Snape’s dungeon trying, and failing, to boil wormwood and stumblewort into a convincing weather-predicting potion. “No, we will have to approach from the back of the house. Perhaps we may even have to wait for the cover of darkness. If we use magic Voldemort will sense it.”
What Severus didn’t realise was that Voldemort already knew something was afoot. Voldemort had retired to his bedroom after briefing Bellatrix on what to do if any of Dumbledore's nasty little followers were found anywhere near Abbeylara. Now he was sitting by an open window, satisfied by the breath of slightly humid air that wafted in from outside. Voldemort liked the damp conditions he had found in Ireland. Indeed he had been most uncomfortable in the dry atmosphere during his brief visit to Rampton Court. He watched the forest with his snake-like eyes, searching for something that he couldn’t be sure was actually there.
Meany had told him the traitor was missing but he hadn’t been able to say for sure whether or not the Potter boy was still in school. If there were a chance that Potter was here then the prisoners would have to be killed immediately. He watched as three Death Eaters patrolled the garden perimeters, their heads turning constantly as they looked for uninvited visitors. Voldemort’s breath became shallow as he anticipated a final duel with that dithering Dumbledore. Finally, finally he was in a position to outplay his old headmaster. He rose from his seat and began to cross the room in great strides, going round in circles of agitation. To kill her or not to kill her, that was most definitely the question. Hanging from the battlements of her former home she could well prove to be an irresistible weakness for Dumbledore and his pathetically heroic followers. But alive she was dangerous as long as the Potter boy lived too. He let out a low hiss of annoyance at the seeds of doubt planted by Roderick Rampton. He did not doubt the man’s loyalty. Next to Bellatrix and Rodolphus he felt that Rampton was the most loyal follower he had come across in a long time and yet he refused the Dark Mark. Why, the Dark Lord wondered to himself, had he not insisted on branding the young man? How had Rampton persuaded him that the procedure was not necessary to retain his fidelity?
The knock at the door interrupted his musings and he hissed out a sharp “enter” before pulling himself up to his full, impressive, height. Bella stepped into the room with her usual, striding gait, her robes following at a close distance to her hurried form.
“Yes, Bella?”
“Master, I think we have a problem,” she said calmly.
“A problem?” Voldemort would let her take her time. There was delight playing with the corners of her mouth that indicated to him whatever was amiss wasn’t entirely displeasing her.
“With Lucius Malfoy, Master.” The smile was there, a quiver on her thin lips. “I think he has betrayed you with regard to the prisoners.”
“And how has he managed that?” The dangerous glow in the scarlet of his eyes made her feel she was standing before a particularly dangerous and out of control fire.
“I believe he has plans to allow Niall O’Malley to kill the prisoner,” Bella said.
“Why would Lucius do that?”
“Because, according to Rampton, the woman refused to sleep with him. We all know how vengeful Lucius can be when he doesn’t quite get his own way with his women.”
Voldemort returned to the dampness of the window, smiling at Bella.
“Now why would Lucius risk death for the sake of vengeance on a mere woman?”
Bella flinched at the word mere but she recovered her composure quickly and moved closer to Voldemort.
“I believe he also wanted to discredit me by having you believe that it was I, and not he, who ordered the release of the prisoners into Niall O’Malley’s hands.” Bella watched carefully for a response but it was impossible to judge what he was thinking with that expressionless face. Until he spoke she would have no idea if she were believed or not.
“And why,” he began, “ would he want to discredit you? Surely he doesn’t believe you have anything to fear from him. You are my most loyal servant.” The word loyal was like a caress as Bella found herself being praised beyond all her dreams.
“I don’t know, Master, but I think we need to go and investigate the situation.”
“Very well, find the father and see what he has to say… after you have checked that the prisoners are still secure.” He stopped speaking as he felt a feeble hand squeezing his heart. He glanced at her quickly, wondering if this were some foolish charm she was using to bewitch him. Bella looked back and nodded.
“Of course, Master. I will do that right away and report back immediately.”
With that she turned and left the room as swiftly as she had entered it. By her businesslike attitude, he knew that she was in no way responsible for the abrupt clutch at his chest. Could it be that the spell he had used to reclaim his body had side effects? He had researched the Dark Magic carefully; once done it was done. There should have been no problems, especially after all this time. He returned to his window seat and took up the pile of communications he had had from his spies at the Ministry. It was more satisfying to read about the problems caused by the Dementors and the increasing number of giants allying themselves with his side than worry about an odd sensation in his chest. Within minutes of picking the parchments up he was feeling the constriction again. This time it wasn’t a weak grasp; it was a firm, painful squeeze that made him frown in pain.
As he looked down at his chest he missed the black flutter in the trees. Fortune, for once, favoured the prey and not the hunter.
The final charge of magic made Maeve feel even more euphoric than the last. This time, as she opened her eyes, she was able to spontaneously create an aura of light that was as good as anything created by a wand. In the yellow glow they could both see something that made them very excited. Where before there had stood a solid marble wall there now appeared the outline of a dark wooden door. Remus’ eyes widened in admiration as she grinned back at him.
“Amazing what stealing magic can do,” she said, proud of her crime. “And there is no doubt about the power of the magic that created that spell. It came from a great witch or wizard.”
“Can you open it?” Remus asked.
“I can try,” she said as she focused her mind on the problem of the locked door. The light faded a little and Remus watched quietly as she reached out her pale fingers. About halfway up was were she felt the bolt to be. Re-directing all the magic she had just taken from the original concealing spell she managed to force the bolt across, the powerful charge firing back into the dark oak and moving the seemingly immovable. As the bolt finally released the door it opened inwards just a fraction, hinges creaking ominously.
“Now what?” she whispered to Remus. Her inchoate plan had never moved beyond this point.
“Now we get out,” Remus said, relieved that he could finally play a part in their escape again.
“You make that sound so easy,” she said as he picked up his robes, putting them back on despite their slight wetness.
Remus opened the door fully and peered cautiously out, his heart hammering heavily against his chest. Once he was sure the dimly lit corridor was empty he stepped out and Maeve followed him. She tried to get her bearings but she knew that the cellars were a maze of interconnecting corridors. It would take something more than this anonymous stone before she could say with any confidence where they where.
“We’ll just have to walk until we find something I recognise,” she said with a shrug.
They set off cautiously towards one end of the corridor, natural fear making them very alert to any sound. Unfortunately for them, Bellatrix Lestrange made no sound when she moved or they would have heard her approach. Unfortunately for Bellatrix, she was not the only person making their way to the dungeon. As she appeared at one end of the corridor to face the startled faces of Maeve and Remus, Roderick appeared at the other end with the excited figure of Niall O’Malley beside him.
Maeve and Remus were unaware of the presence behind them as they raised their eyes to Bella’s. Death suddenly seemed just a wand-flick away.