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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Weddings and Woes.





“Don’t you think Neville’s looking a bit peaky?” Ron asked Harry as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Probably a bit of a cold,” Harry said, approaching their table with a wistful expression on his face. He hadn’t been able to find Ginny the previous night and she didn’t seem to be in evidence at breakfast. Now that he had decided to make his feelings plain, he rather wished he could get it over with.

“Although, come to think of it,” Ron continued, “you’re looking a bit pale yourself. Coming down with something?”

“Nah, just tired.” Harry looked away from Ron, knowing that they would have to have the conversation soon in which he would inform Ron of his feelings for the youngest Weasley, and Ron would get outraged for a little while before seeing sense. At least, that was the plan.

“So, you thought any more about talking to Filch?” The plate in front of Ron filled with toast and scrambled egg and his face brightened.

“I don’t see what good it would do. Hermione was right “ where is Hermione anyway? “ we should leave him alone for now. I’m more interested in finding out who the person was at the cemetery yesterday.”

“What does it matter who it was?” Ron started ploughing into his breakfast with gusto. “It’s not like they would have been after the same thing as we were.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Harry cogitated, picking at his toast. “Hermione said that the cemetery is always empty… So why was that person there when we were?”

“C’mon, Harry! Unless Hermione has turned into a cemetery-haunting lunatic who stalks the undead morning, noon and night, then she can’t know how often people visit. It could be the star attraction of the school for all we know.”

“Hmm… You all right, Neville?” Harry called, changing the subject and addressing the nearest Gryffindor to them.

Neville started a little and spilled some of his pumpkin juice onto his plate of cold beans. Harry was pretty sure they hadn’t been cold to begin with, and wondered how long Neville had been sitting there staring into space.

“F-f-f-ine,” Neville spluttered, having been hauled out of his reverie. “Just thinking, you know.”

“About what?” Ron asked dubiously. Ron didn’t mind thinking, certainly not when Quidditch or wizard chess was involved, but he didn’t think Neville had been thinking about sport.

“Gran… and Mum and Dad. I think she’s getting a bit obsessed about going to the hospital. All her letters ever talk about now is Mum and Dad and the state of the ward and how it’s not like it used to be.” Neville looked down at his plate with a gloomy expression on his face. He poked at the orange globules listlessly with his fork, as Harry and Ron stared at him, not knowing what to say for the best.

“It’s hard,” Harry said, looking at Ron for help.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed. “It’s probably just something she feels she’s got to do. Mum spent forever at the hospital when Dad was sick. She’ll come round.”

“But your dad got better though,” Neville said, placing the fork carefully on the plate and making to stand up. “My parents are there for good. Does that mean Gran will be too? I’m beginning to think she’s forgotten she has a living relative.”

He stepped away from the table and gave them a rueful smile, absolving them of the need to offer him any further comfort.

“Poor bloke.” Ron looked genuinely sympathetic as he wiped tomato ketchup from his chin. “His Gran was a bit of a monster, but at least she cared about him.”

But Harry had already stopped listening. As Neville walked through the great doors he gave a wan smile to a red-haired girl, and Harry’s heart was dancing in his chest. Ginny was walking straight towards them with a smile of greeting on her face and a parchment tucked under her arm.

“Morning, you two,” she said, flopping down a little too close to Harry and placing the parchment down. “Muggle Studies homework,” she explained. “Forgot all about it last night and it needs to be in first lesson.”

She asked her plate for a bowl of cornflakes and pulled a quill out of the bag that she had slung to the floor. Her head bent over the work and she didn’t notice Harry’s discomfort. Ron did, though, and he once again enquired after his friend’s health.

“I’m fine,” Harry snapped.

“All right,” Ron snapped back. “Bloody hell, no need to bite. I’m off to find Hermione. Coming?”

Harry gave a grimace. “No, thanks. You and Hermione can have the time alone.”

“Cheers. See you later,” Ron grinned, and grabbing his last piece of toast, disappeared from the hall.

Ginny was engrossed in her essay on the various types of entertainment in the Muggle world and looked up to ask Harry a question about television. She was surprised to find him already looking at her, and even more surprised by the anxious expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked immediately, her work temporarily eclipsed by his face. Ginny had been trying to come to terms with the fact that Harry was happier without her for now, and was planning on playing a careful waiting game. She knew Harry, and knew that pestering was not going to make either of their lives any easier. She had resolved herself to only being with him when it really mattered, and she trusted herself to know when it would really matter.

“I was…” Harry once again found himself at a loss for the right words. “I just…You know that Professor Lupin is getting married?”

“Yeah, I saw him on the way back from Hogsmeade last night. She must be something else; he looked exhausted.” She gave a smile at the insinuation, but Harry just looked even more worried.

“And Ron and Hermione seem to be getting closer…”

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, although what she sees in that dolt of a brother of mine, I will never know. I would have thought she would have gone for someone with a little bit of class, at least.”

“Ron’s got class,” Harry said, taking time out of his dilemma to stand up for his friend. “It’s just a different sort of class. Hermione could do worse.”

Ginny placed her quill down carefully on her parchment and looked at him closely. “What are you getting at, Harry? You seem very down.”

“I just wondered why everyone was suddenly getting close to someone. Even Seamus is seeing a fifth-year on a regular basis. Is it the war?” He searched her face for answers to a question the he could not properly articulate and her eyes softened a little.

“Maybe it is,” she said. “Who knows? Perhaps everyone is just getting older.” She didn’t dare hope that her patience was paying off so soon.

“But that doesn’t explain Lupin…or even that murderous bastard Snape. Why are they getting involved, now of all times?”

“I guess it’s because they think it’s the last chance they’ll get. I mean, Snape doesn’t have much chance of a life when the Ministry catches up with him. The war is making everyone’s lives really precarious. I often wondered why you never talked of it, of us, again after the summer… at Maeve’s wedding. We became really close then and I thought… Well, you probably know what I thought.”

“But if I get involved with you now…” He sighed. “Ginny, there is so much danger. I have to face Voldemort and you know how cunning he is. He has spies everywhere and if it became known that I was seeing you…” He paused and amended his phrasing. “If he knew that I cared for you…”

“Are you worried for my safety or are you scared about what he will make you do because of me if he ever captures you?” Her question was a leading one, and Harry didn’t feel like being led.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore, Ginny. When Dumbledore went, I felt really sure of myself; knew what I had to do. But things have happened that have made me feel out of it. And then Professor Lupin came home with a girl and, well…”

“You’re feeling a bit useless.” Ginny finished his sentence for him. “I don’t know all the details “ you’ve been distant since summer “ but if you ever wanted to talk to me, Harry, all you had to do was ask. I know there are things that I could help you with if you would let me.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think I made a mistake. If you “ if you love someone, or care for them, then I think instead of shoving them away, maybe you should hang on to them a bit harder instead.”

Ginny leaned towards him, her elbows on her knees and her earnest face looking up into his. “I think shoving is always a bad idea. I’ve never liked being shoved anywhere, myself. If you want to hang on though, well, I can cope with hanging.” She was carefully resisting the temptation to touch him in any way, although she would have dearly loved to reach up and give him a hug. “Harry, if Voldemort finds out about us, so what? You know that I feel the same way as you do about this war. We are just little pieces of it all. If he wants to threaten me then fine, but I’d rather have a few weeks or months, or years even, of… well… of being your girlfriend than nothing. People want to be happy, and being with people they love makes them happy. Why don’t you allow us to be happy and let me worry about what happens if Voldemort’s spies get to hear of us?”

Harry moved closer towards her and was about to hesitantly touch her hair when a little cough made him sit up sharply. Percy had obviously just finished his breakfast and was now walking past, not looking at them, but acknowledging their presence in a derogatory manner all the same.

“You want to get that cough looked at, Percy,” Ginny growled after him. “It might just kill you.”

Percy’s retreating back stiffened slightly and Ginny turned her attention back to Harry.

“We might not have much time… Make what little we have matter, Harry.” She rose from her seat and allowed her hand to rest on his shoulder for a moment. “I’m here.”

Harry watched her scoop up her parchment and quill, powerless to say anything. There were, he reflected, some things worth sacrificing your good intentions for. Ginny Weasley was worth any sacrifice.




Severus was diligent in his attentions were his wife was concerned. With her father’s disapproval still echoing in his ears, he was going to great lengths to see that she was comfortable, and Maeve was becoming irritated by it. The last few days, in which Severus had refused to leave her side, had become troublesome for both of them as they snipped and sniped at each other.

She sat in the drawing room, her feet resting on a well-padded footstool, with coffee and a beautifully baked slice of cake by her elbow. She watched the sun travel across the narrow view that the window afforded her and felt dissatisfied with everything; her husband’s efforts seemed too much, the house too still, the world too narrow for her to breathe. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she was being haunted, but in a much more profound way than by any conventional ghost. Severus brought her a salve for what was left of her wounds and she almost gave him a tongue lashing for no reason other than that he was there.

Severus saw the haze that sometimes clouded her vision and wondered if the gods had been wrong in their assurances. They had told him categorically that no harm would come to her from that necklace, and yet she was changed. Two Horcruxes, two pieces of tainted soul had entered her being and she had defeated them, but at what cost? And worst of all, on more than one occasion he had felt himself preparing to draw the veil over his thoughts in the way he did when in the Dark Lord’s presence. But what really convinced him all was not well was the fact he really didn’t think she would have noticed if he had used Occlumency to block her. Was her mind becoming as obscured as her vision?

She had been polite with Remus Lupin the previous night, on yet another of his visits, but Severus knew his wife well now, and it had not been a normal interview. Lupin had told her of his impending nuptials with the Forfex woman and Maeve had smiled blandly and offered her congratulations, but there had been nothing behind her eyes. It had been a relief when Lupin had left, but Severus had still not been able to get through to his wife in a way that he would have liked. She had gone to bed alone, tugging protective blankets around her to keep him at bay.

And today she was getting even more quarrelsome.

“I want to sleep,” she snapped, as he moved to clear away the uneaten cake.

“Then sleep!” he found himself hitting back, the last of his patience scraped from the bottom of his being.

“How can I sleep with your infernal noise? Clattering plates and going on and on about how I’m feeling. You never used to whine quite so much.”

“Go to bed!” He snatched the plate and cup from her side and turned.

“If you would leave me in peace maybe I would go to bed. Always here, always interfering; it’s a wonder I put up with it.”

Severus stopped and looked back at her, the cup and plate balanced precariously. This was not right ” she was not right.

“Look at you! Mr Perfect, trying to make up for things with stale cake and bitter coffee. You think you can make up for my scarring with a few futile gestures?”

He watched her, his black eyes recognising what he saw. There was an echo of Voldemort’s cold calculation lurking on her face, a reverberation of his vindictive spitefulness. This was something that should not be happening and he was sure it was to do with the thing that hung around her neck. In the back of his mind he saw Potter’s face, cocky and confident and full of itself. Well, if Potter wanted the fight, he could have it.

“Maeve, this is not you.”

“What would you know? You don’t know me. You never knew me!” Her voice was filled with poison and Severus found himself recoiling from it. The Dark Lord was here, was filling the air with his hatred, and now, more than ever, Severus felt sick with it.

He moved so quickly that Maeve didn’t have the chance to drag her tainted mind into action. With one swift movement he had ripped the necklace from her neck, causing the magical clasp to give and release her from its bonds. He felt the jewel burn him, sear the skin on his palms, but he dropped it to the floor and looked at her.

Maeve had taught him many things in the past year. She had taught him that unconditional love was a secret only available to a few lucky souls and she had been his talisman. Without her he was a hapless drifter and with her he was anchored. For all his studied ideals and his promises to Dumbledore, he realised with a lurch that none of that mattered. He would give it all up just to retreat into hiding with this woman, and he could not stand by and see her poisoned by the Dark Lord, by Voldemort. The one thing he could do for her was release her from her fate. The gods, her father, had gifted her this burden, and he was unburdening her. If this brought their censure down on him then he would have to deal with it, but for now he wanted his wife back.

Maeve looked down at the floor in astonishment, watching the magical, milky jewel glint against the rug. She was astounded at his audacity and yet brought her hand to her neck to feel the liberating sensation of having nothing weighing at her throat.

“You can’t do that!” she exclaimed, bending to retrieve it. He caught her and pulled her away from it.

“I just did,” he snarled. “I don’t care what grand schemes these beings have constructed. You will no longer be tainted in this manner. It was bad enough when the thing was weighted with their own power, but now it contains a Horcrux… Now it contains a part of the Dark Lord.” He released his grip and swept a hand through his limp hair. “That last piece of soul… It must have triggered something within the jewel contained in the centre of the pendant. You are becoming more like him, more malicious, more spiteful.”

“Just like you then!”

He looked to her with dread in his eyes, wondering if he had been wrong, if the hardness was deep in her already, but her own bewilderment at what she had just said made him realise that it was the fading effects of the Horcrux leaving her.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I don’t know what made me say that.” She glanced once more at the necklace. “But I have to wear it, Severus. We both know that.”

“No, not as it is. You have suffered too much. We will find a way to remove the jewel and let Potter take guardianship of it. Lupin tells me he is sulking about this whole business anyway, so it is time for him to prove himself a man. Once the Horcrux is removed you can take it back.”

“I’m not sure,” she began, thinking of the disappointment that would be evident on her father’s face when he learned of what Severus had done, “that we can do this.”

Severus seemed to draw himself up in stature, his natural height giving him an advantage over many. “What we can and cannot do is irrelevant. I have done it and it will not be undone. We will arrange for the ruby to be removed and for it to be given to the spoiled child who desires it so. I will not see you eaten away by a hatred that is unnatural to you. I will face your father if need be.” He recalled Lugh Lamfada’s stinging anger and could imagine how much more intense it would be the next time they crossed verbal swords, but his true loyalty lay at his wife’s door. Destroying Voldemort’s soul to recoup the immortality loaned by the gods was secondary to the need to protect Maeve. There were other ways of bringing the Dark Lord down, and he would put all his strengths into exploiting them. Already there were murmurs of discontent on the part of some of the younger Death Eaters. Severus would have to be very careful and find their ringleader. Rumours abounded that Nathaniel Derhem was one to watch, and watch him he would.

“It cannot be this easy,” Maeve said, feeling her naked neck creep with the air that was now allowed to flow around it.

“It can,” Severus insisted. “I was just a fool for not realising it sooner. Walking away from an unlooked-for destiny is quite simple when you realise that the way you have been shown is not the only way. The Horcruxes must be destroyed; the gods’ will must be acted upon… But theirs is not the only way of accomplishing the task.”

She shook her head still, wanting it to be a realistic prospect but knowing her father was determined to see this fulfilled. “If it can do this to me, what will it do to Harry?”

“Potter is determined to find out, so I suggest you share the burden. I will find a way to have this stone returned to the artefact it came from.”

“Filch?” She looked at him with a look of inevitability on her face. “It always seems to come back to Filch.”

“Filch will probably be the method I choose. I can trust no other who could gain access to the school.”

“You could trust Remus,” Maeve said with indignation.

“No, Maeve, I could not. At least, I could not trust him to deliver the object to its home and then allow Potter to get at it. I rather fear he may try to interfere. Lupin has proved to me already that he lacks the required measure of detachment to do things that involve or endanger his friends.”

“I think you could give him a little more credit than that,” she said, rubbing her hands together to encourage the heat that seemed to be returning to her veins.

“I have seen his weakness with my own eyes,” Severus insisted. “He would not be able do it. Filch can be persuaded and has no interest in who is put at risk by any of his actions.”

“Apart from his cat,” Maeve said.

Severus nodded and removed his wand from his robes. He pointed it at the necklace and watched as it began to glow with a soft violet light. Lifting it up, secure in the knowledge that he had rendered it temporarily impotent, he placed it in his pocket and looked at her once more. “I need to take care of this quickly,” he said, “and with as little fuss as possible. It may take me a night or two. You will be safe here now.” It was not a question and she knitted her hands fingers together anxiously.

“Very well.” she agreed with some reluctance, her mind awash with all sorts of possibilities that may arise from her husband’s action, and she couldn’t say she found any of them attractive.

Severus was gone within the hour, having redoubled the strength of a few of the Charms that protected the house and made sure she would be comfortable in his absence.

“And do not,” he said, as he prepared to depart, “open that door for anyone, even Lupin. I will communicate with Lupin myself and tell him to use only the Floo to speak with you.”

“This is risky, going back up there. What if you are recognised?”

“I will not be. Now, no foolishness. I will find you here, intact, when I return.”

She kissed him warmly and for the first time resolved to do exactly as she was told with no deviation from her instructions. Worry would be a constant enough companion, without seeking other nuisances.




Felicia was nervous, as any bride would be on her wedding day. She paced her room at the Three Broomsticks impatiently, her eyes constantly dragging to the clock that ticked pleasantly on the wall. Almost ten, and Remus said he would collect her at half-past. She played with the little tendrils of hair that she had teased from its prettily arranged knot and fretted over the dress she had chosen. Now that she had it on she wasn’t sure the delicate shade of blue really suited her, and was her make up a little overdone?

Once she had finished worrying about her appearance she turned he attention to what she was about to commit herself to. She was in love with Remus Lupin, and had been since she had first seen his sheepish expression in the summer. There was a delicacy about his eyes that was completely at odds with his ravaged face and they had captured her with an immediacy that was surprising. The time she had spent with him in France had been magical and she had enjoyed every moment of it, well, every moment until the time had come for her to return to Ireland and Remus had delivered his little bombshell about not being ready to be with someone else in the way that she might envisage. There had followed a tearful (on her part) and mumbling (on his) parting in which she had accepted that he meant what he was saying and she had been furious that he had allowed her to have such a wonderful time, unconvinced that he hadn’t planned this all along.

He had expressed a hope that they could still be friends and she had replied, rather indelicately, “Friends, my arse!” At which Remus had been genuinely upset and Felicia had relented, promising him that if he ever found himself back in Ireland he would be more than welcome to look her up. She had scribbled her address down on a small piece of paper and Disapparated to the terminal from where the magical Flying Ferry sailed. It would have her back in Ireland in under an hour as long as there weren’t too many people wanting to get off elsewhere, although at that time of year the Flying Ferry was always fairly packed.

She smiled now as she thought back over their parting and subsequent reunion. Life could be very surprising sometimes, she reflected, crossing to the window once again to look outside onto the street below for any sign of him. He had certainly surprised her with his dramatic reappearance and proposal. She wondered how much the war was really affecting him and whether it had somehow prompted him to do what his heart dictated rather than what his head did. Still, he had gone through the last war and not gained a wife, and he must have been younger then, less unsure of himself.

There was a knock at the door that broke her away from her little world of concerns and she opened it to reveal a tall boy whom she instantly recognised.

“Mr Potter,” she said, opening the door a little further to allow him in. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Remus is going to be slightly late,” Harry said apologetically. “He’s asked me to come along and escort you to the village hall.”

“Oh.” Felicia looked so disappointed that Harry grew quite concerned.

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “Remus really has had something very important crop up, but it won’t take long. With the war and everything… these things happen. Don’t worry, it’s not like he’s changed his mind.”

Felicia looked even more agitated at Harry’s words and Harry couldn’t help wishing that someone else, someone with a little experience with brides-to-be, could have passed in the message. “Look,” he said, “my… my girlfriend is downstairs. Why don’t we have a quick drink before we set off? May calm your nerves, and Ginny would be much better at this sort if thing than I am.”

“Sure, and that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a good while,” she breathed, relaxing into herself a little. “And won’t it serve himself right to be kept waiting a wee bit.”

“I suppose so.” That wasn’t really what Harry had intended. He didn’t want to get the blame for delivering a half-cut bride to the hall. “But just the one drink,” he added, to be on the safe side.

“Aye, just the one,” she said, picking up a small handbag and leading the march to the bar, where Rosmerta hadn’t even opened the pub’s doors yet. “And maybe one for the road.”

“It’s a very short road,” Harry called after her. “Not even a road really.”



Rosmerta was more than happy to supply the three of them with an early drink, and watched with satisfaction as Felicia and Ginny cooed over the bride’s outfit. This was exactly what Felicia needed, the friendly input of another female to set her mind at rest. As Ginny began to insist that she had seen Remus that very morning and he looked full of beans and ready and raring to go, Harry began to lose concentration. His eyes drifted to the windows and the street beyond as a dark-cloaked figure passed by, swiftly followed by someone that looked suspiciously like Argus Filch. He excused himself, although he didn’t think that Ginny or Felicia noticed him going, and slipped out of the door that was Rosmerta was just unlocking.

“Good idea, Harry,” she called after him. “Get a bit of air. These ceremonies can go on for ever and I hear it’s Maximillian Tubthumper that’s officiating… his ceremonies have been known to go on for hours.”

Ignoring Rosmerta’s unsettling information about the length of time he could be cooped up in the tiny village hall, he headed off in the direction that Filch had gone. For a moment he thought he had lost the odious little man, but he caught a glimpse of him turning down Hackett’s Lane and hurried to catch up. He followed into the gloomy lane and once again saw Filch, who had now caught up to the figure and Harry held his breath, perching in a doorway lest he be seen by either of them. Just as the other person was about to turn and acknowledge Filch’s presence, the door behind him was flung outwards, buffeting him out onto the street.

“What the ‘ell d’you think you’re doin’!” a wizened old witch asked in a high-pitched squeak. “Lurkin’ in my doorway like it was some sort of a hidey hole. Gerrout of it!” And a broomstick was wielded at him, jabbing at his face with prickly menace. Harry looked away from the grey-haired harridan and found that Filch and his erstwhile friend had disappeared, no doubt alerted by the screeching of the banshee, who was still wobbling her broom at him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, “thanks a lot.”

The witch glared at him before pulling back into her house and slamming the door. Harry contemplated going to the end of the lane to see if he could catch a further glimpse of them, but he knew it would be pointless. Filch and his friend would be long gone now they knew they had been rumbled. With a discouraged sigh he turned and headed back to the Three Broomsticks, suddenly aware that he had left Ginny and Felicia with a full bottle of Firewhiskey on their table.



Fortunately for Harry, Ginny had managed to calm Felicia’s jangling nerves down to the point where she didn’t need Firewhiskey. Their mouths had been too busy gossiping to drink, and so they were in good spirits as they left the pub. Harry walked warily ahead of them, wishing that Remus had shown up earlier and that he didn’t have to traipse through Hogsmeade in such an exposed fashion. As they stepped into Sheepscar Avenue they could see the open doors of the village hall ahead of them and Felicia increased her step, eager to see if her intended had finally turned up. She overtook Harry, leaving him to fall into step with Ginny.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Ginny grinned, linking her arm through his in a very comfortable way. “Good on them both, I say.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, feeling the warmth of her arm through his coat. “Who’d have though that Remus would get married?”

“Shame on you!” she admonished. “Remus is not an unattractive man.”

“Fancy him, do you?” Harry asked, suddenly in playful mood.

“You know I don’t.” Ginny grinned widely as they finally made it to the open hall and looked into its musty depths.



Inside, it looked considerably larger than outside. A ceiling loomed over them, at least twice the height of the outside, and its dark walls appeared to have doubled in size. Remus had claimed Felicia and led her up to the small stage that rose from the wooden floor. Harry was curious to see how this wedding would work after the rather grand affair in Ireland in July ” an event, he remembered sadly, that Dumbledore had attended and had presided over with patrician glee. From the looks of things, this would be a completely different kettle of Grindylows. A few small wooden chairs had been lined up before the stage, and a lectern placed up on it. The Ministry official who was in charge of things stood by the lectern, talking earnestly with Felicia and Remus, who both wore expressions of intense concentration.

No one seemed to be directing the guests, who numbered just Harry and Ginny at the moment, so Harry ushered Ginny to the first row of seats and they sat down, finding the chairs to be hard and uncomfortable.

“Rosmerta said this bloke goes on forever,” Harry said gloomily. “I don’t fancy sitting on these chairs for long.”

“Shhh!” Ginny mouthed, nodding towards the door.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had just entered along with a pale-looking Tonks and they made their way towards Harry and Ginny. Kingsley gave Harry and Ginny a quiet hello while Tonks sniffed slightly and nodded towards them before sitting in the row behind them. There followed a very light flurry of people through the door: Professors Rampton and Sprout, Seamus Finnegan, Luna Lovegood, two men and a woman that Harry didn’t recognise, but given their resemblance to the bride he assumed they were her family, and finally Madam Rosmerta, who had managed to get her pub watched while she slipped out for an hour. She took a seat next to Tonks and Harry could hear the two women talking in hushed tones. He couldn’t pick up all they said but it sounded like Tonks was upset about something and Rosmerta was telling her she shouldn’t have come. Ginny was looking straight ahead as the bride and groom stood on either side if the lectern and didn’t seem interested in the hurried talk behind them.

“Good morning, delightful ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this very special and, hopefully, joyous occasion when this witch” “ Tubthumper nodded to Felicia “ “and this wizard” “ the nod went to Remus this time “ “will be joined together by the special and unending bond of marriage. In my opinion this is one of the better aspects of my job and one I undertake with the greatest of pleasure. To see happy people declaring their commitment to one another in these dark times is a reminder that though evil stalks the land, love still endures and blossoms. It takes a great deal of courage to declare your love for another person in such a public manner…”

Harry realised that Madam Rosmerta had been right and that Maximillian Tubthumper was indeed a verbose man with at tendency to wander. He slipped his hand into Ginny’s, who gave it a quick squeeze, and settled himself as best he could on the hard chair, preparing to be here for quite some time.




Narcissa watched the sun setting through her drawing room window and tried to hold her tears in check. The Minister of Magic, pompous woman that she was, had visited that morning and informed Narcissa that should she hear from either her husband of son “ a son who was, at the time of the Minister’s visit, hiding in the cellars “ she was obliged to contact the Ministry straight away. Narcissa had looked on as she was given a lecture on the rights and wrongs of hiding criminals, even if they were related to her, and that she must bear the full weight of her civic duty and help the Ministry out with these matters. She was in no way a suspect, but of she were found to be harbouring fugitives, she would be treated as such. Narcissa had almost exploded as the foolish Bones creature had droned on about the leeway that the Malfoy family had been allowed over the years, and that it had to end. It was obvious that the son had now followed the father, and the Ministry had to act accordingly.

Narcissa had been so outwardly incensed that she had not even offered her visitor a cup of tea, and had sat there with her hands in her lap, stiff-backed, waiting for the woman to leave. All the while she had been inwardly cursing her recalcitrant son and her foolish, careless husband. Once the Minister had left, she had stomped down to the cellars to find Draco readying himself to leave, a small bag in his hand. There had been a brief discussion that had descended into an argument, which Draco had walked away from with a backwards shout that he didn’t give a damn about her and that she was a stupid woman for trying to stand in his way.

And so Narcissa had let him go. She had gone over things in her mind all afternoon and had repeatedly come back to the fact that she had been unwise to allow Lucius a free rein with their lives. She had been ridiculous to allow herself to enjoy the trappings of his lifestyle while ignoring the possible consequences, consequences that had led to her sitting alone in the shell of a house that had once been a celebrated as the place to be invited to for the weekend. No longer did the halls ring with the sounds of guests enjoying themselves. The kitchens were cold and the bedrooms unaired. Narcissa wondered if it was time to give up this grand house and move to something more suited to her reduced state. She had no income now and no idea how much money sat in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. Narcissa had never thought herself to be practical before, but she soon found that once left to her own devices, with no men to consider, she could take control.

She got up as the last orange tinge left the sky and swept up to her bedroom. With a few efficient movements she had packed her bag and was standing before the large fire in the master bedroom with a set look on her face.

“Time to get on with it, Narcissa,” she said, as if trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. “Time to admit he doesn’t want or need you anymore. Let’s wait until he comes back to you for help, begging.” The last word was a strangled mutter, as she finally accepted that that was the only way her son would come back to her. The anger in his rigid face as he had left had done much to convince her that her child was gradually moving further beyond her reach.

With a flick of her elegant wrist she clutched at some of the powder that sat by the fireplace and tossed it into the fire. Stepping in after it, she called loudly, “Grimmauld Place!”




The light had completely faded from the room that she stepped into, although the curtains had not been drawn. Shaking her clothes free of any dusty residue, she almost smiled to be back in this grand house, although it didn’t appear to be so grand now. There had been some lovely weekends here, with her Black relations and their friends. It would break the dead woman’s heart to see the state of the place now, Narcissa reflected as she ran a tapered finger over the dusty sideboard. And how useful it was to have the ability to drop in via the Floo network when this was supposedly the most heavily-guarded house in London “ it proved that Severus had many uses. She doubted even Dumbledore knew that she had the ability to use the Floo network to access this building, but Severus could be exceedingly clever when he chose and had bypassed the complex Charms on her behalf many years ago, just in case she was ever in need of a safe haven. Narcissa had never been in real need of one during the time she could have got away with turning up here. She rather thought that had she turned up while the Potter boy was here, she would have been treated very badly indeed and so she had never used this little route. But Severus had told her Potter was gone and that Maeve was here alone. Much as Narcissa disliked the woman, she might prove useful again; time would tell.

Narcissa slowly opened the door, wincing at the lazy creak it gave. Memories drifted down the corridor to greet her; Lucius, alive and smiling with his blond hair casually lying over his shoulder, his blue eyes made relaxed with the rivers of wine that always flowed in the house. This was where she had told him she was pregnant with Draco all those years ago. He had been delighted, immediately talking about the son they would have; Draco had always been a boy, long before Lucius had really known the sex of the baby. The corruption had passed directly down the family line, probably from both families. They were all cursed with what she had once thought a blessing.

The stairs were also unlit, and she took them slowly, wishing that the O’Malley woman had lit the gas light in the hallway. Once she reached the covered portrait of Constance Black, Narcissa found herself tempted to pull it back and look on the old matriarch’s face one more time, but she resisted. Light seeped from under the study door so she moved towards it slowly, wondering if she should knock or just open it. Politeness dictated she should knock, but she wanted to see the surprise on the woman’s face when she realised her fortress was not impregnable.

She grabbed the handle and pushed the oak door inwards, stepping into the gentle candlelight and scanning the room for its inhabitant. Narcissa might have decided she was up to this skulduggery, but in reality she was hopelessly out of her depth, a fact she realised when the wand pressed into her back as Maeve stepped out from behind the door.

“Who else is with you?” the Irish witch’s voice asked.

“No one,” Narcissa replied haughtily. “I’m completely alone.”

“Why should I believe you?” Maeve snapped. “And how on earth did you get in?”

“Your husband gave me a little present quite some time ago. It seems it still works.”

“What do you mean?”

“He bypassed the Charms that protect the house to allow me, and me alone, to use the Floo network.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, you should care. It’s not me with a wand at my back. If you can get into Grimmauld Place at will, why didn’t you? Think of the damage you could have done on behalf of Lucius… And ultimately Voldemort.”

“It was a secret between Severus and me. There are some things that should never be sullied by using them for a purpose for which they were not intended.”

Maeve felt her guard slipping and relaxed her wand hand, which gave Narcissa the opportunity to step away from her and turn around. Both women regarded each other for a moment, neither really knowing what to say, both feeling like they had something to lose if they conceded anything. In the end it was Narcissa who spoke first.

“I have nothing of value left,” she said, the words simple.

“Has the Ministry taken Malfoy Manor from you?” Maeve thought the idea was faintly ridiculous, but given the way the Ministry was operating at the moment, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

“There are more valuable things than bricks and mortar,” Narcissa replied, the incredulity at finding herself expressing these opinions clear from the despondent sag of her face.

“Have you only now realised that?” Maeve was unprepared for a repentant Narcissa; it was a side to the high and mighty woman that she had so far not really seen. “Did it take losing your husband to make you wake up to the fact that being rich and pure of blood means nothing.”

“Not jut my husband; I fear I have lost Draco too.”

“How so?”

“He left today and I really do think he meant the horrible things he said. I think I allowed Lucius to influence him too much. But it is done and I don’t wish to talk about it. I am here to offer you my help, should you need it.”

“Your help?” Maeve was reduced to two-word questions by this volte-face on Narcissa’s part. “How can you help?”

“I know what Draco’s latest task is.”

“So do I,” Maeve said. “You forget who my husband is.”

“How could I forget, with you flaunting it at me every time we meet. What happened to your face, by the way?”

“It’s nothing.” Maeve felt heat creep into her wounds at the thought of Narcissa’s appraising gaze.

“The scars look painful. Has Severus looked at them?”

“Of course he has!” Maeve was snappish, having been put on the defensive.

“Do you know how he intends to achieve his new task?” Narcissa graciously allowed the subject of Maeve’s face to drop and moved back to Draco. She had to admit that she had a certain vested interest in Draco’s task; preventing him from achieving it would help him without her having to help him, which satisfied her sense of indignation at his behaviour and Draco’s refusal to be helped by her.

“No,” Maeve admitted, “we were waiting for more information or a sighting.” Although, in truth, she hadn’t given Draco a second thought since coming to Grimmauld Place.

“Well, it is no secret that he has spent the past few days perfecting the Imperius Curse.”

Maeve’s eyes widened. “And who is he intending to use it on?”

“That I don’t know. For that we will have to work together.”

And the thought of them working together filled both women with an awkwardness that they couldn’t quite shake.