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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Chapter Ten



The Missing Malfoys



Severus had spent the whole night in Lucius Malfoy’s well-appointed library, his head bent low over open books as he searched for information. Hundreds of miles away Hermione Granger was doing exactly the same thing, but she was doing it in the comfort of her own bed and with her wand lighting the pages. Severus was considerably more irritated and uncomfortable than the student he had once taught. He didn’t dare use the Floo network to communicate with Maeve when the house’s fires were more than likely being watched and he was worried about her, more shaken by what had happened than he cared to admit to himself. He had diverted all his energies into trying to understand what the Dark Lord had alluded to in their last conversation.

Of the three remaining Horcruxes, Severus knew the location of two of them. The location of the third was as much a mystery to him as it was to Harry. The Dark Lord was not often open to reminiscences and Severus had been increasingly perturbed by his erstwhile master’s sudden tendency to talk about his time directly after leaving Hogwarts. As the story of his time at Borgin and Burke’s unfolded, Severus knew that the Horcrux could have been placed in any one of the items contained within the shop. A thousand dark objects could have passed through the young Riddle’s hands and any one of them could have proved significant enough for him to bury a part of his soul in it.

Severus flung the catalogue of wizarding antiques across the room and watched as the pages became detached from the spine. This was getting him nowhere and he still didn’t know if Maeve was recovering or relapsing. Irritatingly cheerful light was beginning to filter through the window. Unusually, he hadn’t bothered to close the curtains last night, and he could now see the first eager wisps of dawn slink across the early morning sky. To cap it all he knew that time was running out for them to be safe here. He would have to move Draco today and he was running out of options. Yesterday he had even considered feeding Draco Polyjuice Potion and turning him into someone else for a while, a ridiculous idea that he had quickly dismissed.

He stood up, his thin legs stiff from being cramped beneath a desk all night, and hobbled towards the door with the intention of waking Draco. An unwelcome noise broke the still silence of the house, the sound of wood splintering and heavy footsteps in the hallway made Severus alert to the possibility of disaster. If it was the Ministry he was in danger and if it was Death Eaters then Draco was in even more danger.

“I don’t see the point in this.” The voice was young, male and annoyed.

“You know what the Dark Lord said; leave no stone unturned, even stones that have already been turned and replaced. Let’s put our heads down and get on with it and then we can get back to bed for a few hours.” This voice was older, more controlled, and it was moving up the stairs.

Severus was having a gargantuan battle with his own conscience as he tried to decide whether or not to abandon Draco to this particular fate. It would be simplicity itself to quickly Disapparate away from this house of memories, relieving himself of the baggage that was Lucius’ son. Narcissa’s pitiful face flickered before him, the tears pricking at his principles. He would never be able to face her again knowing that he had abandoned Draco to two Death Eaters. It would also mean he would have to accept the fact that he had broken a promise made many years ago.

Disapparating quickly, he reappeared in Draco’s room and saw immediately that it was empty, the bed made. With a flash of irritation he realised that the boy was going to make his life very difficult. Why couldn’t he have simply gone to bed and not complicated matters?

The footsteps were closer now, pounding down corridors as the people making them began throwing open doors. Severus tried to remain calm and work out where Draco could have disappeared to but the sounds of doors being destroyed was somewhat distracting. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead as he decided the best course of action would be to pretend to be on the same mission as they were. With a flick of his wand he turned the immaculate room into a minefield of disarray: the bed was torn asunder and wardrobes ripped apart. He flung open the door and roared down the corridor at the two intruders in a voice that was so commanding they stopped their violent door-smashing immediately.

“What is the meaning of this?” To his credit Severus was always able to give off the aura of someone in complete control of a situation, apart from the occasional problem with Harry, who had the ability to bring out the worst in him.

“Who are you?” the younger one asked in a defiant voice.

“More to the point,” Severus began, striding down the corridor towards them, “who are you?” His wand was drawn and he held it stiffly by his side, ready for action if need be.

“I know you,” the older one cut in. “You’re Severus Snape. What are you doing here?”

“And again… I could ask you the same thing.” Severus stopped and addressed the older Death Eater, choosing to ignore the younger one completely. “I am trying to locate Draco Malfoy, a task that the Dark Lord regards as of the utmost importance. I did not expect to find two… two… hoodlums storming into the place and making such a ridiculous amount of noise. If the boy were here I think we can safely guarantee that he will have made good his escape given the advance warning he has had of your presence. Did no one ever teach you the importance of stealth?”

“Look, we didn’t ask for this job. It’s tedious and we were dragged out of bed to do it. In and out, that was our plan.” The older one picked his teeth as he spoke and Severus looked on in disgust at the lack of manners and the absence of any sort of quality in these two fools.

“Is the Dark Lord aware of how useless the pair of you are?” Severus watched them exchange worried glances, all the time hoping that Draco would have the good sense to keep his head down and not make an appearance. “Shall I make him aware?”

“All right… We get the message. We’ll calm down a bit and have a quick shufty round and then be out of here. The lad would have to be stupid to hide out in his own house anyway.”

“Indeed. Well, allow me to make a suggestion. You go back to the Dark Lord and tell him you found nothing. I highly doubt you will find anything now anyway. I’ll finish my investigations and report back to the Dark Lord myself.”

Again, worried looks were exchanged between the two.

“And don’t worry,” Severus drawled. “I won’t mention either of you.”

“I dunno, I think we should do our job, Richard.” The younger one looked to his companion for advice.

“Nah, it’s all right. This is one of the Dark Lord’s top men. If he says he’ll look, then he’ll look. Let’s get back to bed.”

They turned around to leave and Severus watched them go with a frown. “I have one more question, gentlemen,” he said. “Why exactly have you become Death Eaters?”

Richard was the one to answer, diving straight in before his friend. “It’s easy to kill, isn’t it? Anyone can kill a few Mudbloods or Muggles. And it keeps you safe with the Dark Lord on the up and up. Sorted.” And he turned around again and patted his friend on the back. “Might just manage a bacon sarnie before bed, eh, Gerry?”

Whether Gerry was happy with this suggestion or not, Severus never found out. The dark-cloaked men were down the stairs with such speed that Severus was appalled by their total unsuitability to be servants of Voldemort. Whatever side a person opted to take, they could at least do their best. As far as he were concerned they were even worse than the likes of Bellatrix. At least she had been true to herself right to the end, misguided though that may have been.

He approached one of the large windows that shed light into the corridor and watched them leap onto their broom and ride off into the ever-lightening sky. Sure that they were leaving, he turned again and began a very thorough search of the house, looking for the errant Draco.

Three hours later, and several fights with the brambles that fenced off the gardens, Severus had to accept that Draco was no longer at Malfoy Manor. Even Colly hadn’t been able to find her master’s son and she was the one who finally convinced him that Draco had flown the coop. His face was darker than an approaching storm as he gathered together a few things and prepared to leave. If Draco survived whatever he had decided to do then Severus would see to it that he regretted his actions in deceiving him.




Maeve woke late in the afternoon to the sound of gentle music that ached with the sounds of home. She felt very disorientated as she tried to sit up; for a moment she thought she could see the mountains that surrounded Rathgael and she blinked away the vision. Her eyes were sticky and it was only after she rubbed the dried tears away that she could see. Her chest was heavy, as if she had cried in her sleep and still felt the pain of it. Instinctively her hand went to her wound, feeling the slight bump of the skin that Severus had so recently mended. Unsure of how she came to be in bed she flung her legs to the side and wobbled to her feet, tottering like a toddler towards the other room.

The source of the music soon became apparent. Sitting on the table was a music box with a miniature band of Irish musicians sitting in the middle playing away to their heart’s content. She smiled, wondering where the trinket had appeared from, and sank down onto the sofa, content to watch the tableau on the table for a little while. It was hunger that finally drove her to do something constructive as she realised with a sweep of relief that her throat no longer felt sore and she could contemplate putting something down it without immediately retching. Wrapping her outdoor cloak around her slightly shivering shoulders, she headed for the door and the Great Hall.

She made it as far as the main staircase, where Roderick headed her off.

“And where are you going?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I’m hungry,” she said hoarsely. “I was going to go and get some food.”

He trotted up the stairs and placed a very rigid arm around her shoulder and steered her back in the direction of her room. She protested weakly, not wanting to go back to her room and the constant reminder of her husband.

“Can’t I just go and eat in the Great Hall?” she pleaded, her personality still quelled by her ordeal of the previous night. “The company might perk me up a bit.”

“The only perking up you need is the sort that comes from spending a quiet evening in your room with a good meal inside you. Your stubborn need to put on a brave face is rather silly, you know.” He could feel her unsteadiness transmitted from her weak body and knew she was in no state to face the barrage of questions that would come from the inhabitants of the Great Hall.

When they finally arrived back at her room they found Hermione waiting by the door, her nose in a book. She looked up as they approached and paled a little when she saw Maeve’s scarred face.

“You look terrible,” she said unthinkingly. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m all right, really,” Maeve insisted, but Roderick overrode her.

“She’s extremely tired and needs something to eat. Would you mind popping down to the kitchens and terrorizing those house-elves into rustling something up for her?”

Hermione looked scandalized at the prospect of terrorizing house-elves and lost no time in telling Roderick exactly what she thought of him and his attitude to the poor over-worked creatures. Maeve even managed a small smile as she watched the founder of S.P.E.W. in full defensive flow.

“Well, ask them nicely then,” Roderick said in an impatient voice. “Just get Maeve something to eat.”

“When did you become such a mother hen?” Maeve croaked. “It’s terrifying, really, it is. I think I preferred the selfish, vain Roderick.”

Hermione sped away to forage for food while Roderick opened the door and ushered Maeve inside. “Selfish?” he queried, pushing her towards the sofa that she had so recently vacated. “Vain?”

“Yes… I’ve never known a vainer man.” She pulled her cloak around her again, waiting for the warmth of the fire to reach her bones. “Not that you are unattractive; you simply appear to be rather too aware of it.”

“Are you trying to chat me up?” Roderick had an impish grin on his face as he pointed his wand at the fire and made the flames burn brighter. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for that to happen?”

“If I had the strength I would hex you,” Maeve said, managing a grin for him.

“Well, fortunately for me you don’t.” He came across and snapped the music box shut, looking at her with affection. “And I’m rather glad we don’t have that sort of relationship really. It has a nasty habit of spoiling perfectly good friendships.”

“Yes, it can if you let it.” Maeve looked away towards the fire and thought fleetingly of Remus. “Still, sometimes friendship is all you need.”

Roderick came and sat beside her, hesitating before speaking again. “So, what did you get up to last night?”

“Nothing much.” She tried to be evasive but Roderick continued to watch her equivocal eyes and waited patiently for her to continue. The warmth began to make her feel a little sleepy, Severus’ potion still keeping the pain, and some of her astuteness, away. “I had something to help Harry with and it didn’t turn out as we expected. Nothing we couldn’t take care of.”

“What were you doing in the forest?”

“How do you know we were in the forest?” she asked, remembering something from earlier that had puzzled her. “Where you out and about too last night?”

“Might have been taking a stroll around the grounds.” He winked at her and took his turn at being evasive. “Came back from Hogsmeade and didn’t fancy turning in immediately. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” She watched him carefully. “And that doesn’t explain how you knew we were on the forest.”

“Saw you all taking off. You weren’t exactly careful about being seen. I want you to be cautious. There are things out there that you cannot even begin to comprehend and throwing yourself willingly in their path is asking for trouble. I don’t want you ending up dead; what the hell would I do with old mother Malfoy then?”


Hermione struggled back into the room with a tray containing a bowl of porridge that was giving off a small plume of nutmeg-spiced steam, and a glass of milk that seemed to have a slightly yellow tinge to it. Lying down by the silver spoon was a small tube that Maeve instantly recognised as coming from the hospital wing.

“I ran into Madam Pomfrey as I left the kitchen and she asked who the porridge was for. When I told her, she Summoned a Pepper-Up Potion from the ward.” She set the tray down in front of Maeve. “Dobby says the best thing for you is soup, although I thought that would be a lot of trouble for them so insisted they make you porridge. A big bowl of soup would have been too much for you, don’t you think?”

“This is wonderful. Reminds me of when I was little.” Maeve picked up the spoon and skimmed the warm layer of nutmeg off the top and stirred it into the creamy gloop. Blowing away the steam she took a mouthful and sighed with pleasure. “Perfect.”

Hermione sat opposite them and waited while Maeve finished the food. Roderick was eyeing the student suspiciously, as if he had decided her motives for being here would lead to more trouble for Maeve. “Don’t you have homework?” he asked, as Maeve scraped the bowl.

“I’ve done all the homework I’ve been set,” Hermione responded as if she had been stung by a particularly irritating wasp. “I never leave any outstanding.”

“Well, don’t you have Head Girl duties then. First-years to round up, corridors to patrol?”

“No, I don’t.” She glared at Roderick. “Don’t you have homework to mark or students to chase up?”

It was Roderick’s turn to glare and he was about to speak again when Maeve intervened. “Roderick, you go. I’ll be fine with Hermione for company. I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“Hmmm…” Roderick was clearly not convinced but knew better than to argue with two females. “If you need anything stick your head in the fire, and do not go out again. You’re in no fit state.”

With a good deal of huffing and puffing he swished his cloak in Hermione’s face and left them to it.


Maeve took the Pepper-Up Potion and immediately began to feel more clear-headed. She settled back, tucking her feet under her, to drink the lemony milk that Dobby had prepared. It was an unusual combination and she did wonder how Dobby had managed it without curdling the milk, but she couldn’t deny it was rather soothing.

“Did you want to see me for anything specific?” she asked.

“I did, but I don’t think I should bother you with it now. Professor Rampton is right; you need to rest.” Hermione hesitated but curiosity got the better of her. “What happened after Remus took you – if you feel up to talking, that is?”

“We went to a safe place and I managed to release the Horcrux. I don’t really know much of what happened next because I was in and out of consciousness. Remus seems to have done a disappearing act again so I can’t ask him.”

“Harry saw Remus this morning,” Hermione informed her. “Said he was going to try and find something useful to do now that Dumbledore had gone.”

“He’s developed a habit of vanishing without saying goodbye.” Maeve appeared regretful about this but she quickly moved on to better news. “At least we have one less Horcrux to worry about.”

Hermione nodded and then toyed with the idea of showing Maeve what she had discovered. Hermione had been given the idea by Harry’s visit to Godric’s Hollow. She didn’t know whether it was a sense of solidarity with what Harry was doing or whether it was because she genuinely believed she might find something there, but she couldn’t deny the investigation of the graveyard at Hogwarts had proved fruitful.

Her old friend the library had furnished her with the basic information and from there it had been a simple matter of taking a very brisk walk in her lunch hour, despite the fact that she should have been taking care of Head Girl duties, to investigate in person. The name on one of the gravestones had surprised her so much that she had immediately rushed back to the library to check other facts against the carved words on the headstone.

“I think I might have found something out about R.A.B.,” she blurted out, her subconscious making the decision for her. Maeve was instantly interested, putting her glass down and sitting upright again. “I think I know who it is.”

Unwilling to puncture Hermione’s balloon of happiness, Maeve knew she would have to tell her what she already suspected, or rather what Severus suspected, before allowing her to continue.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” she said, making Hermione look deflated for the moment. “Sorry, I should have mentioned it but with finding the cup I didn’t get the chance. At least, that’s who we think it is.”

Hermione gathered her wits again and pulled one of the foot soldiers in her own particular army from her bag. She placed the book on the table and once again Maeve knew that Hermione’s rabid consumption of information might be about to pay off.

“Regulus Black’s whereabouts are currently unknown; no one knows if he’s alive or dead.” Hermione could quite easily have been a teacher with her lucidity and direct approach. “However, there is a grave in the Hogwarts graveyard that bears the initials R.A.B.”

Maeve watched as the Head Girl began to warm to her theme and her interest steadily grew.

“The graveyard is restricted, naturally, but if you know the right place to look you can occasionally get the rules to bend for you. The headstone doesn’t actually say that the remains of Regulus are there; the initials are part of the dedication. But I think it’s too great a coincidence. I think there is a possibility that Regulus died here at Hogwarts.” Hermione waited for the verdict as she flicked open the book and pointed to the part that explained the requirements for interment within the school’s cemetery.

“What’s the inscription?” Maeve asked, not quite ready to believe in coincidences.

“To commemorate a man who met with a tragic end. How he fell, we cannot tell, but his body rests at peace beneath the sacred soil of Hogwarts. R.A.B.”

“But that could mean the person who wrote the words was R.A.B. and not the person in the grave. If it was Regulus buried there then surely Dumbledore would have mentioned it.” Maeve wasn’t at all convinced by the whole R.A.B. business and she wasn’t about to believe that this ambiguous inscription on a headstone could be in any way an indication of Regulus’ presence at Hogwarts.

“But Dumbledore wouldn’t have realised the significance of R.A.B., would he? He never got to see the note in the locket. Perhaps something unfortunate happened to Regulus here and the family didn’t want to bury him so Dumbledore took pity on them.”

Maeve had picked up the book and was reading the requirements for burial. The book was quite definite about the conditions that had to be fulfilled. Either a person must have been a teacher, student or on the staff at the time of death or they had to have more than one hundred years service or they had to have died on the grounds and have some connection to the school. The candidates in recent years must have been few and far between.

“If this is correct then he must have died while still a student,” she said.

“Or,” Hermione said with a gleam in her eye, “he died on the grounds.”

“Yes, that’s possible. But even so… This is silly. We have no proof whatsoever that Regulus is R.A.B. and that the person buried in that grave is Regulus. I think it’s commendable research, Hermione, but I don’t see how we can use it because there’s nothing certain in any of our information. Even if Dumbledore hadn’t realised the significance of the initials he would surely have told Sirius that his brother was dead and buried here.”

Hermione looked only slightly disappointed. She had expected doubts to be cast. But she held on to her ideas and was determined not to let it drop. Somewhere in this school there was something that would connect Regulus Black to that grave and she was going to find it.

“Do you fancy a quick walk around the lake?” Maeve asked when Hermione didn’t respond to her dismissals. She had to get out of this room and breathe fresh air or she felt she would go round the bend.

“Professor Rampton said you weren’t to leave,” Hermione said, privately agreeing with him. Maeve still looked pale as an iceberg and there was the hint of perspiration on her face.

“And you think I’m going to listen to him,” she laughed. “He’s trying to make himself feel worthy.”

“Let me get my cloak.” Hermione got up and took the book back. If Maeve was going to insist on going out then she had better go with her and pick up the pieces if the teacher collapsed. “I’ll meet you by the main doors, and don’t go without me.”





Harry and Ron jumped out of the car as Arthur performed a rather hasty braking manoeuvre, pulling in to the kerb with a sharp twist of the steering wheel. Grimmauld Place was, as usual, deserted and Arthur was able to sit and watch the two boys enter the house safely. Once the black door had been closed and melted away into the wall he put the car in gear and sped back to the Ministry to complete his onerous tasks for the day. He had his doubts that Harry and Ron could adequately fend for themselves in a domestic environment but he didn’t have the time to stop and see to them. Molly had insisted she couldn’t leave The Burrow and Ron was equally insistent that he was sticking with Harry. Arthur remembered the scene when Ron had told his mother that he wasn’t going back to school and it hadn’t been pretty. Molly had tried every argument in her arsenal to try and persuade him but unfortunately for her Fred and George had set a dangerous precedent by leaving before their exams and she found Ron equally as determined not to go back.

Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had no domestic concerns. As soon as they were inside Ron marched to the kitchen and foraged around for sausage rolls and pumpkin juice. They polished off their meagre rations in the drawing room, Harry wondering if he ought to check on Maeve.

“Do you reckon Hermione will stick it out at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, licking the puff pastry off his fingers. “I mean, she doesn’t seem to be missing me all that much.”

“Hermione won’t neglect her N.E.W.T.S., not for anything.”

“I thought she might have, for you at least. We’ve been through loads of things together and it feels a bit like she’s abandoned us.”

“Hermione is useful where she is,” Harry said. “It’s better that she stays at Hogwarts.”

Ron looked dubious. If truth be told he was missing her more than he dared admit to himself. She might nag him a good deal but she was also comforting to have around, familiar, like an old pair of slippers. He was about to mention this comparison, which he was rather proud of, when the fire crackled and a familiar head popped into the fireplace.

“Ah, good,” Professor McGonagall said as she saw Harry. “I was hoping you would have returned from your visit. I think I have discovered something rather unusual.”

Harry was instantly alert and walked across to his former Transfiguration teacher’s flickering face, lingering memories of Godric’s Hollow instantly forgotten. “What is it?”

“Something is missing from an artefact in Professor Dumbledore’s office and I’m not sure how long it has been gone for.” She looked more puzzled than worried but evidently she thought it important enough to seek out Harry. “And I wondered if you would take a look at it for me. You are the only other person I can think of that has handled this particular object recently, apart from Professor Dumbledore himself and he can’t be…well, he can’t tell us.”

Harry frowned as her hand appeared, a sword in its vice-like grip. He recognised it instantly as the weapon he had used against the Basilisk in his second year at Hogwarts. Stepping forward he took it from her and Ron looked on in amazement as Godric Gryffindor’s sword gleamed in the firelight.

Turning it over in his hands he felt its weight and watched as the rubies nestling in the hilt burned with inner light. Looking at it now he had the time to study it closely and it looked exactly the same as it had done five years ago; the silver was the same, the huge egg-like rubies were all there, its edge was as sharp as ever. And then he turned to the back and realised that as well as the large rubies there was a thin line of much smaller ones at the place were the hilt joined the hand guard. They circled it in a uniform line with one small exception. At the back, dead centre, there was a small concave gap. He looked up and met Professor McGonagall’s expectant eyes.

“There seems to be a ruby missing,” he said.

“I know that, Mr Potter. What I do not know is when the ruby was removed. I was hoping you might be able to tell me whether or not it had been there when you had your unfortunate meeting with the Basilisk?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, looking back down at the weapon. “I honestly don’t even remember seeing that row of smaller rubies when I last held it. They are pretty tiny.”

“If its only one ruby,” Ron interrupted, getting up to have a look at the gap for himself, “then does it matter that much. It’s at the back anyway. Who’s going to see it?”

Professor McGonagall gave him such a pained look that he closed his mouth and sat back down hurriedly. “There is a jewel from Godric Gryffindor’s sword somewhere in existence and I am not sure how it will effect either the sword or the person that holds it. These things carry magic of their own, powerful magic.”

“The Sorting Hat brought it to me,” Harry recalled. “Maybe it can help you.”

A hand thrust itself from the fire and Harry offered her back the sword.

“The Sorting Hat cannot see in the same way we see, Mr Potter. I doubt it will have much light to shed on matters. Very well, I am sorry for disturbing your… meal.” She looked askance at the crumbed plates on the floor. “If you need anything you know you only have to ask.” But before she could give Harry the chance to ask anything at all she had disappeared back to her office and left the fire to resume its normal state.

“She needs to lighten up, that one,” Ron murmured. “Wants to get a glass of Firewhisky down her. Fancy worrying about a bloody tiny stone like that. Dad’s got an old sword in the attic and it’s got none of its jewels left but no one worries about it.”

Harry couldn’t help wondering if the jewels had been gradually sold off to pay for things like uniforms but he didn’t mention it. Instead he bent towards the fire and stuck his head into it, peering out at the gloom of Maeve’s office. She wasn’t there and he didn’t quite know where to look next. He couldn’t very well stick his head into the girls’ dormitory; there would be a riot. Bringing his face back into the room his eyes alighted on Hedwig and he knew if he wanted to get in touch with her he would have to rely on the faithful bird.

“I want Maeve to talk to the Sorting Hat,” he said, walking over to the bureau and taking a piece of parchment and a quill out of its polished interior. “I think it might know more than McGonagall thinks.”

“Blimey, you’re at it now. It’s only a little ruby, Harry, I wouldn’t bother about it.”

“Ron, we’re at war. McGonagall thought it was worth disturbing me for so there must be something about it. It won’t cost us anything to keep it in mind, will it?”

He scrawled the briefest of messages onto the parchment and attached it carefully to Hedwig’s leg before throwing open the window and allowing the bird out.

“Surprised you still trust Owl post with You-Know-Who’s lot around so much. Never know what might happen to Hedwig.” Ron was grumbling just for the sake of it now and Harry was tiring of his attitude.

“Thanks for that Ron. Fill me with confidence, why don’t you?”

Harry wandered out of the room and left Ron contemplating the seemingly unnecessary fuss about the tiny missing stone.




Narcissa looked out of the rain-streaked window and wondered how she had managed to get herself into this situation. Neatly flicking a tea bag out of the stained mug she opened the bin and dropped it in. As accommodation went this had to be pretty much the bottom rung on the ladder. A two-roomed bedsit in the heart of a nondescript Muggle town, the name of which she didn’t even know. The wallpaper was slowly working its way off the wall, damp was rising from the ancient carpet and there was an ominous scratching that came from the walls at night. When she felt particularly low she almost wished for a quick death at the hands of Voldemort than this humiliation.

At least the tiny bed was clean, its sheets laundered and ironed, but it was about the only thing that was. Roderick had visited her the previous evening and she had begged him to allow her to have Colly with her so that she could at least make the place habitable. So far he hadn’t been back, no doubt spending his time lounging around and trying to pick up women, nor had Colly materialised.

Narcissa was going a little stir crazy with nothing but that awful little box in the corner for company. Every time she switched it on there seemed to be people trying to either sell her something pointless or going through emotional trauma that involved screaming at each other. Although she had found the early morning antics of an antique dealer rather interesting, there were a couple of things on the programme that she thought she had recognised as belonging to her distant relatives, but she couldn’t be sure. Of course, the news programmes had proved the most uncomfortable things to watch, Muggle deaths all over the place. Not that she minded a few Muggles losing their lives, but each time she saw an act that was clearly the work of Voldemort she worried for Draco and she worried for Severus.

Carrying the mug of weak liquid across to the part of the room that she optimistically called her lounge area she sat down on the moth-eaten sofa and switched the box on. Strains of now familiar music came from the gradually illuminating screen and she settled down to watch the rather crude activities of a group of people living on a street in somewhere called Manchester. She had half an idea that it was up north somewhere but it looked too grimy for her ever to have visited. Narcissa settled herself in for another night with her new friends and opened up the little packet that contained a chocolate bar, although why the Muggles had named the thing after a planet she couldn’t quite work out.

Half way through the programme, as the advertisements broke into her avid viewing, the screen suddenly went blank to be replaced with rumbling music and the serious face of a news announcer. Behind him there was a small picture of a blazing building.

“We interrupt your normal viewing to bring you this news flash,” the announcer said in his gravest voice, which was usually reserved for state funerals. “There has been some sort of explosion on the sea-front at Blackpool and the building you can see burning behind me will instantly be recognisable as the famous Blackpool Tower. Although terrorism is suspected the police are refusing to either confirm or deny these reports.”

Narcissa looked at the metal structure that was located over his left shoulder and watched as the screen flicked to a live broadcast to see the effects of the fire in glorious colour. The building twisted and tore at itself as the heat caused the iron to buckle. A cameraman was going beyond the call of duty by dodging police cordons to get a close up shot of the burning base. People had been evacuated and Narcissa could see what she assumed were the Muggle equivalent of Hit Wizards bearing down on the cameraman shouting instructions for him to get back. On the floor by what had once been glass doors lay two bodies, alive or dead she couldn’t tell.


As the cameraman backed away from the police his camera swept by the faces of the two casualties and Narcissa’s upper lip curled in distaste as she saw the blood-encrusted forehead of the first, a man in his late twenties with black curly hair and a ruddy complexion. As the camera picked up the other man her lip snapped straight and pulled her mouth wide in shock. There, lying at the foot of a burning Muggle building, was the unmistakable white-blond hair and cold features of her husband. Half of his face was marked with a fierce burn and his arm was thrown clear of his body at a peculiar angle.

Narcissa didn’t notice the remainder of her chocolate that she had been saving for the second half of her now forgotten soap opera as it melted into the fabric of her robes, or the fact that she had knocked the dregs of her tea onto the mouldering carpet. She was too busy wondering what Lucius was doing in Blackpool and why he appeared to be dead on Muggle TV. With a sickened gurgle she walked Inferi-like across to the television and pressed the switch that would turn the distressing screen blank.

Sitting in the twilight of a place she was unfamiliar with, completely alone and friendless, Narcissa did what every Pureblood witch with half a degree of self-respect would do; she burst into tears.

And when she had finished crying she knew that she could no longer sit around and wait while her family faced death and destruction. Stepping over the disgusting carpet she collected together the few meagre belongings that Roderick had furnished her with and she opened the door to the vast hallway that must have been a fine example of Victorian opulence at one time. Gritting her gleaming teeth she left the malodorous accommodation behind her and walked straight into the darkness of a town that she did not know with a plan that she had not yet formulated.





Maeve arrived back at her room at the same time as Hedwig did. The bird was sitting calmly on Jezebel, the statue that stood outside in the corridor, as Maeve rounded the corner.

“Hello,” she said to the owl as it fluttered across to her. “Fancy saying hello to Bran and resting your wings for a while?” She scratched the soft head gently and opened her door.


“And about time!” was the snapped welcome that came from the fire, where Severus was busy trying not to singe his hair with the amount of time he had spent in there waiting. “Have you any idea how worried I have been? You have been gone for hours.”

“An hour, actually,” she said, allowing Hedwig to flutter across to share Bran’s perch. “And you took your time.”

“I haven’t been able to find a secure fireplace. I’ve had to break into a house and it’s not ideal. I thought you might have been taken to the hospital ward and here you are looking perfectly healthy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, sitting heavily on the sofa, glad to rest her legs. The short walk had been welcome but tiring all the same. “I haven’t been at work today.”

“I should think not. You would have been in no state after you were moved back to Hogwarts. You should rest for the next few days.”

“Possibly,” Maeve said, evading the question. “So, are you all right? You look worried.”

“Of course I’m worried,” he said, his voice rising almost manically. “You would be worried if your wife had recently suffered the effects of a Horcrux and you couldn’t be with her. You’d also be worried if the person you were supposed to be protecting had managed to disappear into thin air.”

“Draco has gone?” She looked intrigued.

“Shhh… For Hades’ sake, woman, keep your voice down.” He looked over his shoulder nervously. “You never know who’s listening. I need you to make sure that Narcissa tells you if her dratted son makes contact with her.”

“Even I can’t make contact with her,” Maeve pointed out. “So how on earth will Draco manage it?”

“Never underestimate the bond between a son and his mother,” he replied hurriedly. “And have you seen Lupin today?”

“Remus? No, should I have? He’s gone walkabout again and left Hogwarts this morning.”

Severus made a strangled noise and looked furious. “One thing I ask him to do! One thing and he can’t even manage that.” He looked behind him again. “There’s someone coming. I have to go. Be careful, Maeve. You have no one guarding you.”

There was a noise from behind him and his head disappeared abruptly.

“Well,” she said to no one in particular. “Thanks for that lovely message. I’m not worried about you now. No, not worried at all.”

As if to take her mind off her husband, Hedwig flapped down from her perch and held out her leg for Maeve to see. Half-heartedly she removed the parchment and wondered what Harry had to say.

The note was extremely succinct:

Maeve,

Please try and speak to the Sorting Hat. Ask it about Godric Gryffindor’s sword and something that might be missing.

Hope you’re feeling better.

Harry.


“I wonder what he’s up to now?” she said to the owl as it nibbled her fingers. “And I wonder how he thinks I’ll be able to get access to the Sorting Hat?”

Hedwig offered a helpful hoot and Maeve gave her a smile. “I wish I could speak owl,” she grinned, allowing Hedwig to return to the perch so that she could cosy up to Bran.

Taking her cloak from the hook she began to formulate her diversion for getting Professor McGonagall out of her office so that she could nip in and have a quick word with the tatty old hat that was so revered at Hogwarts.


Fortunately she found she didn’t need a diversion of her own. The Slytherins had apparently done her work for her by allowing a fire to burn too long in their common room. An Ashwinder had been produced and had slunk off to lay eggs. Naturally the Slytherins were in uproar and Professor McGonagall had been called to supervise the destruction of the nest. She had learned this from Mr Filch, whose slimy presence had manifested itself as she approached the Headmistress’ office. She had cheerfully informed him that she would wait for Professor McGonagall in her office and had whispered the password at the door. At the mention of ‘Trossachs’ the door slid open and she stepped onto the staircase and away from Filch’s probing gaze.


The office was slumbering gently in the absence of its owner. None of the portraits were awake and even the air felt heavy with sleep. She immediately approached the shelf that held the Sorting Hat and looked at its battered brown material for a few minutes before coughing gently. She contemplated poking it, or even putting it on her head to get it to speak to her. The Hat took pity on her and shifted gently without her having to take either course of action.

“So, what can I do for such an attractive young lady at this late hour?” it asked, its brim opening and closing like a well-worn mouth.

“Oh,” she managed, taken aback by its sudden decision to speak. “Sorry to bother you but…well… I have a strange question.”

“Do I remember you?” It seemed to inhale deeply. “Ah yes, young Miss O’Malley. I seem to remember you were in Ravenclaw, weren’t you? Fine addition to that house, albeit a late one.”

“It’s Mrs Snape now,” she said. “Professor Snape actually.”

There was a throaty laugh from the old hat swiftly followed by a coughing fit. “You must excuse me,” it rasped. “Filthy moths keep trying to set up home under my brim. So, you married a Snape, did you? Not THE Snape, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “The Snape.”

“Interesting. Always knew you had the Ravenclaw intelligence but I didn’t realise you had quite so much Gryffindor recklessness and bravery.” There was another rakish laugh and then it became serious once more. “So, times must be hard for you. You’ll need your wits about you. Now, you haven’t come her to while away the hours in idle chat. What do you want? Why don’t you pop me on your head so I can better understand you?”

Businesslike, Maeve lifted the hat and placed it on her red tangle of hair before relaying Harry’s brief message and the hat was silent again. Somewhere in the room a clock ticked and outside in the darkness owls hooted nighttime messages to each other.

“I can’t see what you can see,” it said after a period of reflection. “I can only feel what comes beneath my brim. I have held Godric Gryffindor’s sword in me only twice. The first time was many years ago and we need not concern ourselves with that. Suffice it to say, the sword was whole then.” It paused and Maeve waited as its voice shrank. “The second time was when I came to Harry Potter’s aid in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Maeve didn’t really understand the significance of any of this but she listened closely anyway.

“When I gave it to young Potter, something was missing. I don’t know what it was but it felt lighter, less whole.”

Realising she had been given the information that Harry sought, she knew she had better make her excuses and go before she had to explain herself to Professor McGonagall. With a muttered thank you to the hat she lifted it carefully from her head and popped it back on the shelf before turning and hurrying from the office. She barely heard its parting shot.

“I can’t see, but I can sense things. The thing that has gone from the sword is closer to home than anyone would care to think.”

Maeve may have stayed to answer but she could hear noises on the corridor below and rushed down the stairs to meet Professor McGonagall as she opened the door.

“Professor Snape,” the older witch said in surprise. “You are out late.”

“I wanted to tell you that I would be able to resume teaching tomorrow,” Maeve said, not even blushing at the lie. “But you weren’t there, obviously.”

“No, indeed I wasn’t. Some small problem with the Slytherin common room. I see you appear to be feeling quite well. What was it?”

“Just a cold, I think. I was given a Pepper-Up potion by Madam Pomfrey and I’m quite all right now.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

“As long as you are sure you’re quite fit to teach,” Professor McGonagall said, a shrew look in her eye.

“Quite sure,” Maeve insisted. “So, goodnight and I will see you in the morning at breakfast.” She ducked out of the door and was gone in a swirl of green robes.

Professor McGonagall watched her go with a frown on her face and wondered what was really going on around her. Could it be that Professor Dumbledore had felt such alienation from the day-to-day activities of some of the people he regarded as friends? She hoped with all her heart that nothing bad would come of all this secrecy and skulking as she made her weary way up her stairs to do some more work on organising the files that Professor Dumbledore had left in such a muddle.