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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Chapter Twenty-One


Harry’s Encounter




Maeve woke to find her eyes sticky with dried tears; crying oneself to sleep was not something she found she could recommend. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was only just after seven. An even quicker glance at the bed told her that Severus had not come up to bed that night. She felt weighed down with worry as she dressed, pulling her clothes over head with such force that she heard a seam tear. Ignoring the small hole that has appeared down the left side, she splashed her face with water and headed for the door. The gentle flicker of the gas lamps mollified her somewhat, and she felt some of her tension easing in the calm morning’s quietness. A sound night’s sleep had left her better able to deal with her husband, and she now felt that she could talk to him without getting too angry or upset.

The drawing room was empty so she padded down to the kitchen, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maeve was just about to go in further search of him when she noticed the small envelope on the kitchen table. Her name was on the front of it, in Severus’ spiky handwriting. Tearing at the seal, she pulled out a small letter and sat down at the empty table to read.

Maeve,

It is necessary for me to go out, and I may be gone for most of the day. I greatly dislike the bad feeling that is bound to be in the air, so you will have to forgive me for choosing not to be a part of it for now. I will be back tonight, I promise you that much.

I did not wish for you to be upset by what I told you last night. I need to consider it a little more before I make my decision, and will take your feelings into account.

I will say this, though. I once asked you to come to me before you went to anyone else. I’ll ask that of you again. No matter what you think of me, or the mistrust you place in my motives for doing this, I only want what is best for us, and for the world we would live in. You must believe that of me.

I love you dearly. Please, do not continue the argument when I return tonight. Our time together is so little that we need to treasure what we have, not fritter it away with disagreements.

Your husband, Severus.



She ran her finger over the place where is quill had touched the paper, tracing that tenuous connection between the two of them. It pained her that the war could reach them, attempt to divide them. They should have been bigger than the events that were raging around them, should have been able to speak in a calm manner about these things.

But there was always tonight. She wondered if Narcissa had been true to her word the previous day, and opened cupboards in search of the herbs she had asked her new housemate to buy. Sure enough, they occupied the third cupboard she opened, lined up in neat little bundles. So here, at least, was something constructive she could do; the Iocshlainte Gra was a clever little potion that her mother had occasionally slipped into her Niall O’Malley’s late-night Whiskey. It brought about a feeling of intense ease with the person you happened to be with, something her mother had probably found very necessary with her ogre of a husband. It did occur to Maeve that Severus might notice the presence of a potion in his drink, but she was confident she could disguise it if need be.

Making herself some coffee offered a short distraction from the problem of how to fill another day. She found that Narcissa made an interesting companion in very small doses, and that you had to be in a suitable mood to listen to her chatter. Maeve was not in that sort of mood today, a listlessness settling about her shoulders that would have made her anti-social with most people, let alone Narcissa. She took her steaming mug and wandered out of the kitchen, allowing the feeling of safety that the house provided irritate her for a moment. What use was being involved with a war, if all you could do was read ancient texts and make coffee? She could go out for a quick fly around, but flying without a destination seemed pointless to her, given the fact that it was so tiring and offered little by way of a view. For such a journey to be worthwhile, it needed a destination.

Somehow, without her really being conscious of their effort, her feet carried her back up to the third floor, and to the empty bedroom that she had left so abruptly yesterday. Sure enough, the door was still firmly closed, and she withdrew her wand and ran through her repertoire of unlocking charms. On the third attempt she felt the shudder as the magic was undone, and the lock clicked free. Pushing open the door, she looked around for something to prop it open with and, finding nothing, quickly Transfigured the door into a hat stand, which stood in the gap where the door had once been looking bemused, or as bemused as a hat stand could given the circumstances.

The painting was still there; for some reason she had half-expected it to be gone, a figment of her over-active imagination. Sirius was sleeping, his head lolling forward on his chest and his hair flopping over his forehead. Maeve walked right up to him, narrowing her eyes at the ring he wore on his left hand; she could have sworn she had seen that somewhere before, or something similar. Her eyes travelled up his arm until they reached his sleeping face. It had been wrong to get angry with him yesterday. Everyone she knew had had the benefit of living since those simpler school days, whereas Sirius had found himself stuck in that time, unable to let go of the past.

A gentle snort erupted from his nose, and his head bobbed up, startled. He glanced around a room he was already heartily sick of seeing, before finally turning his attention back to Maeve, who squirmed just a little under his piercing gaze.

“You’re back,” he said, stating what was painfully obvious. “I thought you would leave me here to fade.”

“I don’t really know what brought me back,” she replied, sipping the hot coffee without noticing the look of longing on Sirius’ face, a look that was very reminiscent of Nearly Headless Nick’s when faced with a feast at Hogwarts. “My feet just found their way here.” She glanced back at the door. “And I wanted to sort that door out.”

“A hat stand?” he said, looking at the polished wood with some amusement. “Couldn’t you come up with something more appropriate?”

“Transfiguration never was my strong point,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“No, you were always a bit of a Potions swot, as I recall. Along with Snive…” He stopped and looked warily at her face, as if sensing that this woman was the only alleviation he would get from the boredom of looking at an empty space. “Along with your boyfriend. Not that being sub-standard at Potions bothered me much; never could stand old Slughorn.”

“He was a bit of an eejit,” Maeve agreed with a smile. “And he simply couldn’t get enough of certain well-connected people who could offer him endless boxes of sweets and a lot of status.”

“He liked you,” Sirius pointed out. “You were one of his stars.”

“He liked my family, idiot that he was. He was one of the things I didn’t miss when I left.”

“Which implies that you did miss some things.”

“I missed my friends, and I missed Severus very much. My so-called father was very cruel in doing what he did. But he knew that Severus’ father had a reputation, one that he didn’t like… and later I found out that there were other reasons for him not wanting me to associate with the Snapes.”

“Oh? And what were they?” Sirius had crossed one leg over the other and was now lolling in a most attractive way against the frame of his portrait. Something in his interested eyes made Maeve rather more talkative than she ordinarily would have been. With a flick of her wand she produced a comfortable-looking chair from the air and settled down to tell Sirius her story. He proved to be an excellent listener, interjecting when appropriate with a soothing noise or an outraged expression, and she found it rather cathartic to tell a complete stranger the story of her time between Hogwarts and now. It was only when they reached Harry that things became rather more difficult for Sirius to hear, and his interjections grew more precise, question on top of question slowing down the story.

As she chased the story down to its end, Sirius looked weary. He sank down to sit on the velvet that formed the background to his portrait and rested his head on his knees.

“How long was I in Azkaban for?” he asked eventually.

“Twelve years,” she muttered. “I never met you afterwards, but people tell me “ Harry tells me “ that you were still the same old Sirius, if a little battered around the edges.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great thing to be,” he said, looking out of the painting with something close to regret. “I let him down, didn’t I, running off to the Department of Mysteries like that. I should have stayed where I was, shouldn’t have let Snape’s taunts get under my skin.”

She raised her face crossly, but he gave her a conciliatory smile.

“It wasn’t Snape’s fault, he was just being his normal crabby self. I shouldn’t have listened to him, but he always could wind me up.”

“Well, you both should shoulder a bit of the blame. Harry has suffered because of your endless bickering. I wonder if I should tell Harry about you?”

“I wouldn’t,” Sirius said doubtfully. “I can’t really offer him anything; I wouldn’t know him from Adam.”

“Oh, you would,” Maeve smiled. “He looks remarkably like James.”

“I bet he’s got Lily’s eyes though,” Sirius mused. “And I bet his bloody hair is all over the place. But I still don’t think you should bring him here.”

“Not least because Severus is here,” Maeve pointed out. “He’s after his blood after what happened between Severus and Dumbledore.”

She had expected Sirius to be as livid as Harry was over everything. From what she had been told, Sirius was the most hot-headed of the Marauders, and as such she had anticipated he would explode out of the portrait at the news of Severus killing Dumbledore. But this replica of the real Sirius was taking everything remarkably calmly, as if he was distilling all the news with the benefit of seeing a much broader brush stroke on this painting of events.

“I hope, for your husband’s sake, that there was a lot more to what happened than Harry believes,” he murmured. “And I shouldn’t let your husband know you have been consorting with me, even me as a portrait. He hates me, you know.”

“I would hate you if you had tried to feed me to a werewolf. He takes it out on Remus; not a nice legacy for you to leave. But he won’t know I am here, things are already strained enough as it is.” She glanced down at her watch and gave a little cry of alarm. “It’s almost two in the afternoon! How can I have been up here for seven hours?”

“My charming personality,” he said, giving her a flirtatious little wink. “Makes for better entertainment than Severus’ droning.”

“He’s not here, had to go out.”

“A-ha! So, you’re sneaking up here behind your husband’s back to talk to me. This gets more and more clandestine by the second.”

“It’s not like that at all,” Maeve insisted. “Just because you were a ladies’ man when you were alive doesn’t mean you’ve retained the skill as a portrait.”

“See, that’s a sad misconception about me. I never was much of a ladies’ man really. I had a few girl-friends, but the way they used to talk about me, I was seducing a girl every night. I don’t think I would have had the energy to be quite so prolific a lover as they made me out. Although you did catch my eye, but I soon realised you were hopeless when you attached yourself to the least attractive man in school.” He softened the words with a lopsided smile of apology, and she found herself smiling back.

“Yes, well, Mr Black, you wouldn’t have stood a chance. I require my men to have brains as well as looks.” She would never have believed she could have found him quite so charming, or so honest, and it was easy to forget that this was just a painting.

“If I wasn’t merely a collection of pigments,” he said, as if he had delved into her thoughts, “I would have given you a slap for that.”

She laughed a little, glad of the light relief in her monotonous days.

“Maeve?” The female voice carried up the stairs, and Sirius looked at her questioningly.

“Oh, damn!” Maeve leapt up from the sofa and immediately Vanished it, looking at Sirius with concern. “It’s Narcissa “ she must have only just missed me.”

“Narcissa Malfoy?” he asked, looking disgusted. “Please tell me she’s not holed up here too.”

“I must have omitted that little bit of the story,” Maeve said, managing a smile as she headed for the hat stand. “I have to go, before she finds you.”

“Please don’t let her find me,” he pleaded. “The last thing I need is that fool chewing at my ear for hours on end.”

“So, you don’t mind me chewing your ear?”

“You’re welcome to nibble my ear any time,” he said, looking regretful as she quickly turned the hat stand back into a door, and gave him a jaunty wave before disappearing.

Narcissa had reached the end of the corridor when Maeve emerged, and she shot her a look that suggested she knew Maeve had been up to something.

“Anything wrong?” Maeve asked, walking swiftly down the corridor. “I was just exploring these rooms, seeing if they could be put to any use.”

“What use could you possibly have for them?” Narcissa said, looking down the corridor with a puzzled expression at the possibility that anyone would want to use these forgotten dust traps.

“I thought I might make one into a sewing room.”

Narcissa turned to follow her down the stairs, leaving Sirius’ secret safe. “A sewing room? What on earth would you want one of those for? Surely the drawing room gives you enough light to sew in?” Narcissa was very adept at making such activities sound like the preserve of feeble-minded people.

“Because it would get me away from your non-stop banalities,” Maeve snapped quickly. “What did you want me for, anyway?”

“I came to see if you would like a sandwich, and to tell you that Remus is here to see you.”

“What? How long as he been here?”

“About an hour. I’ve been entertaining him in the drawing room “ or sewing room “ and I think he’s getting a bit restless.”

“A sleeping sloth would be getting restless with you for company.”

“You can be so insufferably rude when you try. I’ll make you some sandwiches and add some belladonna, just to give it a little kick,” she said spitefully.

“Thank you so much,” Maeve sniped as they parted company, Narcissa heading for the kitchen, while Maeve made to join Remus. It was a Saturday, so he would be free from school duties, but she would have thought he would want to spend time with his new bride. As it turned out, his new bride was with him, a fact that Narcissa had neglected to mention.

“Hello,” she said, greeting them both with a smile as she stepped into the room that still reeked of Narcissa’s dreadful perfume. “Sorry you had to suffer that; I had no idea you were here.”

Maeve crossed to Felicia and gave her a kiss on either cheek, commenting on how well the blushing bride looked. She gave them both a quick apology for not attending their wedding, and Felicia immediately told her not to worry about it, she quite understood.

“So, is there something wrong?” Maeve looked anxiously at Remus, who shook his head.

“We just thought we’d pay you a visit. It must be very lonely here, especially with Narcissa for company.”

“It has its moments,” Maeve grinned, offering them both drinks, which they accepted gratefully. She attended to the comforting business of pouring the liquid into glasses while Remus quickly filled her in on the news up at Hogwarts, of which, it turned out, there was little.

“So Harry seems to be getting itchy feet again and is muttering about leaving soon if developments aren’t made. I have to say, I do understand his sense of futility. The Death Eaters grow bolder, take more lives. They managed to turn the White Cliffs at Dover black last night, and that caused wide-spread panic on the south coast, not to mention the ferry they sank as it sat in the harbour. Thankfully all the passengers had disembarked or there would have been many fatalities. They say Voldemort is getting more reckless, and that he is using Fenrir Greyback to greater effect than he has in the past.”

Maeve glanced quickly at him for any sign of the hurt that the connection with Fenrir might cause him, but she should have known better. Remus had long since passed the point where Fenrir’s name could cause him upset. All the same, Felicia had slipped a comforting hand over her husband’s.

“And there is talk of several groups of vampires coming across from Turkey and Romania, old descendants of Drakulya himself. That will prove an interesting, and frightening, problem for the Ministry.”

“Is there nothing he will stop at?” Maeve shook her head. “Next thing, he’ll be after the banshees and pookas, not that they carry much weight when set beside vampires and werewolves.”

“There is also talk of the goblins being swayed by the arrival of the vampires. It seems they have some ancient allegiance going back many centuries with the Romanian lot. It’s all going to get very nasty very soon, unless we gather together the remaining Horcruxes.” Remus accepted the drink she offered, and took Felicia’s too, handing it to her with a smile.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to get at Nagini?” Maeve said, glad to steer the subject away from Voldemort, given Severus’ news of the previous night. “It strikes me that we will need to kill the serpent anyway, given its connection to Voldemort.”

“That’s were Severus is going to come into the equation. He will need to set this up for us. But there is one other to be found, and until we do that we cannot try for Nagini or Voldemort. Then there is the question of your own legacy. We need to work that part of the prophecy out. We can kill Voldemort, but without repaying the debt to the gods, he will not die, no matter if the Horcruxes are destroyed.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” she said. Her chat with Sirius, and the long explanation of her history, had brought all these problems back into focus. As she looked at Remus, the thought occurred to her that she really should tell him about Sirius’ portrait. There was no chance that he would tell Severus about it, but perhaps it might be too painful. “Did you know that Dumbledore’s portrait as woken?” she blurted out suddenly, looking for a reaction of sorts.

“No.” Both Remus and Felicia looked towards her, Felicia murmuring something about how Dumbledore had been a lovely man. “Professor McGonagall has not mentioned it, although she is really under a great deal of pressure at the moment, what with running the school and trying to keep some sort of control over the remnants of the Order.”

“Well, he has, if only briefly.” Maeve wondered if she had said too much, not feeling that she was able to offer any more information without compromising Severus in some way.

“How do you know?” Felicia asked. “You haven’t been back to Hogwarts for days.”

Maeve frowned at the question, and Remus seemed to understand her discomfort. “I’m sure that we will find out in due course. Not that I suspect Dumbledore’s portrait will tell us much; portraits tend to be quite taciturn.”

“Oh, I don’t know, some of them can be talkative.” She looked from Remus to Felicia and then back to Remus again. She hovered on the edge of the decision for a few moments before making her mind up. “Remus, would you come with me for a few minutes? There is something you need to see.”

“Of course,” he said, placing his glass on the table. “Is Felicia…”

“No,” Maeve said quickly. She liked the young witch, but was not sure how far she trusted her personally, although Remus clearly trusted her or she would not have been here. “Just you, Remus, if Felicia doesn’t mind.”

“No, not at all, away with you.” Felicia genuinely seemed untroubled by this sudden request, and smiled at them both. “I’m sure you’ll let me know what it is in your own time.”

Remus followed Maeve up the stairs, his curiosity forcing him to ask what this was all about. As they turned onto the third floor, Maeve stopped and looked at him carefully.

“Did you know that Sirius had a portrait?”

Remus appeared flummoxed by the question for a few minutes. “No,” he finally said, “but it wouldn’t surprise me if there were a few from when he was a child. Before the Blacks decided he was persona non grata, that is.”

“What if there was a later one?”

“There wasn’t. Why would Sirius have a portrait done, and his family certainly wouldn’t have commissioned one.”

“But they did, Remus. That’s exactly what they did. Maybe we’ll never know why, but there is a portrait of Sirius, and it’s here.”

Remus looked stunned. “From when?”

“He’s about twenty, and he’s very chatty. He’s been covered by a mirror for fifteen years and I think he’s trying to make up for lost time.”

“Where is it?” Remus suddenly seemed to have trouble clearing his throat. Maeve took his hand and led him to the door that had caused her such trouble earlier. They hesitated on the threshold for a few minutes, Remus gathering himself.

“Just remember, Remus, this isn’t Sirius, not really “ but it’s the best we’re ever going to get of him. I’ll let you go in on your own. I’ll be downstairs with Felicia.”

And she left him there, with a warning to be careful of the door.



Day was gradually giving way to night when Harry and Hermione left the protection of the castle’s walls to head in the direction of the cemetery. They had hurried down the path that Hermione had become so familiar with, but just as they were about to turn the corner of the large west wall of the castle they heard raised voices, and stopped to see what the commotion was about.

“That’s McGonagall,” Harry said, and Hermione rolled her eyes at his statement of the obvious. “But I’ve no idea who those men are.”

Two broad-shouldered men stood by the main doors, their shadows cast to the ground by the distant, dying sun. From their half-sheltered position by the wall, Harry and Hermione could just about make out that one had blonde hair and sharply-defined features, while the other was darker, his face a crumpled prune that was at odds with the width of him. Their voices carried well across the softer sounds of the early evening, so the two students were able to pick up a little of what was said.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Professor McGonagall's voice said, its Scottish burr more evident when her temper was gathering steam. “But that simply will not be possible.”

They missed the beginning of the reply, but heard the words “papers” and “immediately”, to which the headmistress said that “immediately was quite out of the question”.

“I have enough to do, what with the running of my school, and my other duties, to be chasing around after Professor Dumbledore’s records and journals. Items which, I feel I must add, are private.”

Harry stiffened when one of the men mentioned Severus’ name, moving closer to them to try and catch everything. Hermione pulled him back into the lee of the stone, hissing that he was being stupid. “Do you want us to get caught?” she asked furiously.

“They are talking about Snape and Dumbledore in the same breath,” he snapped back. “It must be important, and I want to know why.”

“My guess is that they are Ministry officials investigating his death. You know how hopeless they are. It’s probably taken them this long to realise that Dumbledore even had private papers and stuff. Just let it be, Harry. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“What are you two up to?” The voice behind them made them jump, and they turned to see Ginny’s curious face looking at them. “I’ve just finished Quidditch practice. Shouldn’t you be safely tucked up in the castle? You don’t get to come out at dusk without a really good reason.”

“We have got a good reason,” Harry said, his irritated mood dispelled by her face and the brush of her hand against his own.

“Yeah, but your good reasons and the professors’ good reasons are two different things,” she said mischievously. “So, what are you doing?”

“We’re just going to look at something,” Hermione said, with a vague motion towards the grounds. “You should get inside before you get in trouble.”

“Actually,” she began, looking at Harry’s furtive face, “I think I’ll tag along. I’m up for a little excitement.”

“Ginny, go inside. This could be a bit risky, and I don’t want you getting caught up in it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you; I’m not afraid of a little danger. I’m coming, and that’s that!”

The voices, that had been the recent object of their attentions, had now faded, and Harry stuck his head around the corner. There was no sign of either the headmistress or the men. Whatever their altercation had been about would have to wait. He looked at Ginny’s stubborn face and made a quick decision.

“Okay, you can come, but if there’s any sign of trouble, you leave. Understand?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking like leaving at the first hint of trouble was the last thing she would do. “Where’s Ron?”

“He had a little issue with what we’re doing,” Hermione informed her.

“And what are you doing?”

“We’re going to look at the Hogwarts cemetery,” Harry said. “And there may be some digging involved.”

“Digging?” She looked incredulously from one to the other. “Digging as in digging up something?”

“That’s exactly right,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down the path, with Hermione bringing up a reluctant rear. Now that he had decided to do this, he was determined to see it through, reckless though it appeared to be,





Remus and Felicia left just before six, leaving Maeve to rush down to the kitchen to prepare her potion. Narcissa was just clearing up after cooking them all dinner, and was appalled at another woman attempting to use a kitchen that she was beginning to think of as hers.

“You will ruin my worktops,” she wailed. “And think of the mess! This is a kitchen, not a laboratory.”

“I will not leave a mess, and I have no intention of ruining anyone’s worktops. You can buzz off upstairs and leave me in peace. If Severus arrives home, tell him I will be up as soon as I am done here.”

“You’re going to leave me alone with Severus? You are a brave woman.”

Maeve looked at her with a toe-curling grimace. “I think I have nothing to worry about as long as you continue to smell like the wrong end of a sewer.”

“As if you would recognise a decent perfume,” she retorted. “Your skin would curdle the finest ingredients.”

Maeve had been pulling out a cauldron from the cupboard beneath the sink and bumped her head with a crack in her attempt to deliver a speedy riposte.

“And that is what I believe they call poetic justice,” Narcissa announced triumphantly, while Maeve rubbed the sore point on her scalp. “Perhaps you will think twice in future before being so caustic.” And with that, she was gone from the kitchen, leaving Maeve to grumble to herself.

She moved gracefully amongst her ingredients, chopping and stripping leaves with care. This was what she did, it had been her life, and she found peace with a bubbling cauldron and fresh ingredients that she found nowhere else “ well, maybe just one other place. The smell that began to fill the kitchen was the most soothing, heavenly smell imaginable, conjuring up images of soft, lush hillsides, creamy moons, and deep, velvet grass. It provoked the senses into an orgy pleasure that rooted her to the spot as she stirred the contents of the cauldron. The final flourish was to add the Passiflora Alata, the ingredient that made this little potion so effective. She smiled as the sludge-green mixture turned into an iridescent pink, before gently fading to a translucent fluid that could easily be blended with a glass of Firewhiskey.

“Perfect,” she said to the cauldron. “Just perfect.” After their earlier altercation, she wondered of she should take some herself, but decided against it. Her love was enough to make the night a happy one.



Severus returned at eight, slumping into one of the chairs in the drawing room. Narcissa had been calmly sitting reading when he had appeared on the rug in front of the fire, and she looked at him with a sly smile on her face.

“Good evening, Severus,” she said, her voice a caress. “Would you like me to un-knot those tense shoulders of yours with a little light massage.”

He looked into her pale eyes and something deep inside him shuddered. “Get out, Narcissa,” he said, his voice a dagger of ice.

“You and she are so alike,” she said, her tone still light. “Bad-tempered and rude to the point of being intolerable.” She slammed the door on her way out, something she would not have done to Maeve, making it a measure of her frustration with the man she left behind.

He rubbed his face with pale hands, as if trying to force some blood back into the flesh. It failed, however, because by the time Maeve entered the room, with a tray containing a decanter of Firewhiskey and a glass, he was still a ghost of a man.

“Hello,” she said, almost shyly. “I brought you a drink.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” He managed the politeness, despite his fatigue. “It has been a somewhat lengthy day.”

“I thought it might have been, so I have a drink, and I thought a little music...”

She set the tray on the small table at the side of his chair and watched him lap at the glass with satisfaction. “Music?” He had never been much of a music fan, certainly not what passed for music in the wizarding world.

“I charmed the wireless; it now picks up music from the station in Dublin. A little light charm work can do wonders for these little things’ reception.”

Severus started at the small black box suspiciously. His few short sojourns to Ireland had been eventful, and he had noted that they were an unpredictable breed, so who knew what sort of torture passed for music over there? If it was anything like that fiddling he had heard at the wedding, he would be forced to take drastic measures with the Wizarding Wireless that Maeve was proudly switching on with the aid of her wand.

“Have you eaten, or would you like me to make you something?” She was skirting carefully around him, dutiful, and yet something else. He watched her carefully as she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, that bright smile of hers not yet in evidence.

“I’ve eaten,” he said, although the stale stew that he had thrown back in the Leaky Cauldron was an insult to the idea of cuisine. “You look a little different. Have you changed your hair colour?”

And there it was, a laugh that shook him. “You silly man, of course I haven’t! What would I be meddling with my hair for? You must be more tired than you thought, if it’s affecting your eyes.”

Severus moved to re-fill his glass, and Maeve watched as he settled back in the seat. Just as he was relaxing into the moment, the Wireless burst into life, a particularly raucous beat that meant a fiddle somewhere was being played with vigour, and not a little drunken fervour. He shot up in his seat, all thoughts of relaxation vanishing with the recently-shattered quiet.

“What in Hades is that?” he spluttered, coughing at the Firewhisky that had lodged in his airway.

“That’s Colm McKinnery, if I’m not very much mistaken. He’s a top fiddle back home. He’s fabulous, isn’t he?” Her feet were tapping beneath the folds of her dress and Severus looked down at them in amazement.

“Maeve, I feel that my eardrums are starting to bleed.”

She looked at him, wondering whether she should compete with the music, but instead she walked over and poured him a fresh glass. “Just relax,” she insisted, taking her hands to his shoulders and claiming what Narcissa had failed to capture. But Severus couldn’t relax, although the Firewhisky was making his muscles feel distinctly languid. He caught the scent of her, that freesia again… and he would get it. He inhaled deeply, his mind almost distracted from the music for a moment. Something fleeting, something precious, what was it? She leaned into him, her neck not far from his nose, and again he felt the rush of the scent.

“Linden,” he breathed.

“What?” Her breath seemed to envelop him, ensnaring him within its warmth. The music was receding to a place that no longer seemed to matter to him, and he smiled up at her.

“You smell of freesia and linden.”

She gave a gentle laugh. “Yes, it was my grandmother’s recipe. The linden flowers have to be the very first of the season to make it just right.”

He seemed to think about the properties of linden blossom and freesia for some time, his face puckering into a slight frown. “Simple,” he commented after a moment, “and unassuming, yet extremely potent. Perhaps I have tried to be too complex.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked, her fingers curling gently around the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh, just a project that I thought I had finished, but it appears I have not.” He allowed the progress of her fingers. They eased beneath the fabric, pushing it back, and he could feel her unbound hair brush against his chest. Severus found the sensation not a little pleasurable.

“You know,” he began, watching as she moved round the face him, her dress suddenly seeming to have parted company with the rest of her, “I could almost enjoy this music with such a distraction before me.” The Wireless was now issuing forth a soft, mournful tune, which spoke of damp weather, deepening sorrow, and the vast, grey skies of Maeve’s native land. Severus allowed himself to be transported by the music and close scent of her, giving in to the release of stolen pleasures such as these. Her skin felt like a breath of the finest gauze as she moved ever closer, perching on his lap to complete the task of undressing him. They moved quickly, carelessly, towards the sofa, discarding the rest of their clothes, and their inhibitions, as the power of Severus’ desire for his wife, and the love tonic, took over. With fast, decisive movements they erased the argument of the previous night and were left breathless in each other’s arms.



Daylight had finally been swamped with night by the time the three students reached the entrance to the cemetery. They moved slowly, picking their path to the entrance with care. Silence reigned, none of them wanting to risk discovery “ by what, they did not know “ on this strange mission. Hermione caught the glances that Ginny and Harry exchanged; secret, wary glances that indicated a surge of feelings she knew only too well. She couldn’t help the slight twinge of nervousness about these newly formed romances. Hers was considerably less risky than Harry and Ginny’s though. What would Voldemort do if he knew?

Just behind them, a stealthy pair of eyes kept their distance. Hermione, Harry and Ginny had no idea they were not alone, were completely unaware that their every move was being watched. In the weak light of Harry’s wand, they sought little beyond their own immediate vicinity. The cemetery was in its usual state of other-worldliness, slumberous beneath the unmarked sky, and again, Harry was perturbed by the unnatural silence. But then he halted, because the silence wasn’t quite as absolute as it had been. He couldn’t quite pick up the exact nature of the noise, but he glanced around him hurriedly. Their shadowy companion immediately halted, melting into the scenery, watching for them to move off again.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, the sound of her clear voice really shattering the silence this time.

“Shh!” Harry looked at her sternly, his face a mask of concentration. “I can hear something.”

“Well I can’t,” Ginny said. “It’s really quiet down here.”

“There’s a Charm to keep it that way,” Hermione explained, before looking at Harry. “I can’t hear anything though, other than the sounds we’re making. Are you sure?”

Harry suddenly didn’t feel very sure, in fact, he felt rather silly. The atmosphere of the night and the nature of their mission were filling him with silly, creepy feelings that he could well do without. “Maybe I’m imagining it,” he said, shrugging. “Come on, let’s get this over with.

They moved off quickly, Harry leading them in the direction of Regulus’ grave. Ginny didn’t seem remotely bothered by her surroundings, but Hermione was casting nervous glances around her.

“We should really hurry up. I’m beginning to think Ron was right.” Her allegiance to her boyfriend was evident in the sudden deepening of the shadows around them.

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny said. “Frightened by a few bats?”

“It’s not the bats I’m worried about,” she retorted, looking around her for signs of anything bigger than a bat. “It’s what else could be lurking… Oh!”

She didn’t need to explain her sudden exclamation; the others had seen what she was looking at. They were only a few feet from Regulus’ grave now, and it was immediately apparent that they were not the first to have the idea of poking around in his grave. A miniature mountain range of untidy earth was scattered around the grave’s edge, evidence that it had been very recently disturbed.

“Don’t!” Ginny advised, as Harry made to step towards the edge. “You don’t know what’s down there.”

“An empty hole, I should imagine,” he said, disappointment evident on his face. “Looks like we were too late.”

He moved towards the mounds, kicking one of them back into the grave, frustration making him a little less careful than he might otherwise have been. As he peered into the black mouth at his feet, he assumed the movement was the soil he had just sent tumbling back from whence it had come.

“Is there anything there?” Hermione asked, moving to join him, Ginny still hesitant. “A coffin?”

“Nothing I can see. It looks completely empty.” His feet were now hanging over the edge as he strained to see ever deeper into the hole. With a little jump that brought gasps from the two girls, he dropped down into the vacant space and kicked at the earth. “Gone,” he shouted up. “But at least it proves we were right. There was something in here of interest.”

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione called down nervously. “Let’s get out of here if there’s nothing to see.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry agreed, grasping at the edge of the grave to pull himself out. Soil crumbled beneath his hands, but he managed to maintain his grip and haul himself free of the rather macabre place. The earth had shifted beneath his feet, and he was rather glad to be back on firm ground, joining his two disappointed friends.

A voice from the entrance made them all turn. “What do you think you are playing at?”

It was loud and angry, and they all recognised it immediately.

“Just out for a walk, Professor Lupin!” Harry called back as they hurriedly moved away from the scene. “Seemed like a clear night.”

“Harry, you never cease to amaze me with your impetuous behaviour. You know you are not allowed to be out at night.” He was striding towards them, reprimands falling from his lips. “And you have not only risked yourself, you have risked these two young ladies as well.”

No one noticed the dark shadow that emerged from the grave, sliding towards Harry with malicious intent. They were all too busy concentrating on Remus’ approaching figure to see the cool, black line that coiled around Harry’s feet, too pre-occupied with coming up with a good reason for them being here. It was only when Harry felt the fangs bury themselves in his leg, disengage and then bury themselves in his groin, did anyone realise something was badly wrong.

Hermione immediately withdrew her wand, shrieking “Stupefy!” to send a bolt of red at the snake. Nothing happened and Ginny also had her wand out.

Diffindo!” Ginny targeted the snake and still nothing happened. Harry was falling now, hitting the ground with a dull thump that sickened both girls as they fought to think of something else.

Remus was running, the sight of the huge serpent filling him with dread and the knowledge that this was no ordinary beast. He reached Harry just as the snake released its fangs, the huge head rearing up into the night to look directly at Remus. And the man knew that there was nothing he could do to fight this beast; it would kill them all, or it would leave them.

The serpent’s head nodded slightly, as if acknowledging that its work here was done, and with a hefty flick of its tail, it slunk quickly into the night, as if called by an unseen master.

“Oh, Harry!” Ginny was on her knees, grabbing for Harry’s hand as he began to slip from consciousness. “Harry, please, don’t close your eyes.

He looked up, almost smiling. “I can’t keep them open,” he rasped. “I’m so… I can’t stay awake. It doesn’t hurt,” he whispered. “Really, Ginny, it doesn’t.”

“I have to get him help,” Remus said, moving Ginny gently to one side. He looked to them both. “You need to go back to the castle, NOW!”

“I’m not leaving Harry,” Ginny protested.

“I said NOW, Ginny!”

“He’s right, you know. There’s only one person who can help Harry now, and you two need to scat.” Roderick appeared from the shadows, his lean face looking at Harry with slight concern. “Or do you want him to die?”

“Go!” Remus insisted. “And you too, Rampton.”

“No, no, no, Mr Lupin. I am coming with you. I have always wanted to see the famed Order of the Phoenix headquarters, and I think this is the perfect opportunity. Besides which, I rather think you need me to stop either of them killing each other.”

Remus sat, impaled on the horns of a dilemma, but as Rampton made no effort to move, and as he was now the Secret Keeper, he hissed the words number twelve, Grimmauld Place at Roderick, who was instantly gone, Disapparating to the street in question.

Once there, he waited for the door to appear, and once it had knocked lightly on it. It was late, he knew that, but he also knew someone would answer, if only to make sure that Snape was safe. It was Narcissa who came to the door, her blue eyes widening when she saw who was standing on the doorstep.

“Roderick,” she breathed, “what a pleasant surprise. Do come in.”

He stepped into the hallway and wrinkled his nose at the stale smell.

“Bit of a dump,” he said, surveying the fading wallpaper. “Still, I suppose faded grandeur always does reek of despair. Where are they?”

“Drawing room,” Narcissa nodded up the stairs. “Just follow the dreadful music. And come and see me when you are done. I’ll make you a nightcap.”

“You can count on it,” he called, sprinting up the stairs.

It was easy, as Narcissa had said, to follow the music, and when he got to the door he didn’t knock, merely threw it open in his haste to warn them about Harry’s imminent arrival. What he saw brought a smile to his lips and he cough at the two entwined still bodies on the sofa, that were covered only by Severus’ cloak.

“Put some clothes on, the pair of you, you are about to receive guests.”

Severus and Maeve immediately shot up, Maeve clutching the robe to her chest.

“What are you doing here, Rampton?” Severus snarled.

“Giving you fair warning that Lupin is bringing someone here for help, someone who has just been bitten by Nagini, of all the ruddy snakes.”

“Who?” Maeve asked, wishing Roderick would stop focussing on the place just below her neck.

“Harry Potter.” Roderick delivered this last piece of information with a dramatic gesture of his hand. “So try not to kill him, Snape, and get dressed.”