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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Chapter Notes: I'm so sorry that this has been so long in coming - and I know it's shorter but I wanted to give you something. I promise the wait next time won't be quite so long.
“It’s not your place to tell him,” she said, quickly gathering her thoughts. There were implications. What those were, she wasn’t quite sure yet, but there had to be repercussions. “You will let me tell him.”

“There’s no fun in you telling him,” Roderick argued. “You will be all gentle and supportive. What do I get out of that?” He gave her a wicked smile and she stepped away from him.

“You need to leave.” Her face was set firm. “Leave us alone, Roderick. I don’t often insist on anything with you. I’m insisting now.” She wasn’t sure he would acquiesce, and for a moment he hovered before her with mischief in his eyes. But in the end, her unequivocal tone won, and he inclined his head towards her.

“You always spoil the best of my fun, darling,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his lips. “You will tell me how he takes the news, what with him being such a confirmed Slytherin? I want all the gory details.”

“You are quite unbelievable.”

“I’ll take that as a complement, lovely. Toodle-pip!” And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the cold morning, feeling suddenly vulnerable and alone.

The graveyard was still deserted, the calm presence of death guarding the quiet. She looked around and her eyes were naturally drawn to the newer graves, one of which contained the bones of her friend, Lily. Could she face the truth etched on the stone? She highly doubted it. Moving through the granite monuments, her eyes deliberately avoiding the inscriptions, she found herself standing by the cool church walls. Stained glass windows were embedded solidly in the stone, their colours dull without sunlight to breathe life through them. Images could still be discerned there; saints, their pious faces looking down with high expectations of the flocks that routinely occupied the cold interior. And the end one was the Virgin Mary, an image Maeve was well used to seeing in Ireland. In her arms was the Christ; a mere babe in arms.

And then more of Roderick’s words registered with her. The Christ child was a boy, a son “ the only son of a god? And now she too could only have one child. She had only thought about children once or twice, but those thoughts had always contained several, boys and girls tumbling over each other, arguing, fighting, comforting, sticking up for each other. Not the loneliness of one. As an only child herself, she wanted to give her children siblings. She wanted them to have the comfort of brothers and sisters. Her ambitions in that department had been thwarted, and in a way that she could never have anticipated.

She turned away from the Virgin, walking quickly down the steps that led out onto the road that ran past the church. They had never really talked about children anyway. Perhaps they were destined to have none. But knowing Severus, he would feel the weight of history on him and feel obliged to keep the line going.

The village was waking up around her, curious children watching her progress with undisguised interest. Maeve kept her head down and hurried on to the cottage, where she was just in time to see Severus step from the threshold, a weak handshake the only form of farewell he would allow. From this distance, she thought that Albert had made a movement to embrace his grandson, but she couldn’t be sure, and Severus backed away quickly. He nodded when he saw her, and she reached him, slipping a hand into his to pull him to her.

“I have something I need to show you,” she said, “if you have nothing else you need to do.”

“I must talk to you.”

She nodded. “I need to talk to you too, but you go first. We can talk as we walk.”



They walked slowly. If Maeve had drawn attention, Severus drew even more with the harsh, black lines of his clothing and stern face. The glances, which had been curious, were now fearful, and the children scurried back to their gardens and the safety of their parents.

“It is about Albert,” he began, oblivious to the undercurrent of concern that surrounded him.

Maeve’s heart quickened at the mention of Albert. She wasn’t quite sure what she had been expecting; something to do with Harry, perhaps. She wondered if now was the time to step in and tell him what she knew, before he started.

“Severus, about Albert.”

“I need to tell you this first,” he insisted.

“But what I have to tell you might have an impact on what you’re about to tell me.” She frowned at him, not sure that starting off with an altercation was the best way to broach the subject.

“Maeve, you need to hear me out.” They continued walking, but her attention was no longer on the path.

“Roderick told me something today, something important, about Albert.”

“Maeve! Will you let me finish.” He stopped then and turned serious eyes on her.

They both opened their mouths at the same time, Maeve getting her words in first by the narrowest of margins.

“Albert is Godric Gryffindor’s heir.” The words burst from her quickly, drowned beneath Severus’ slightly slower admission.

“I am Godric Gryffindor’s heir.”

They stood in silence for a moment, relief that the news was not a surprise for either of them evident on their faces.

“How did you know?” she asked, breaking the stillness.

“I have known for a long time about Albert Gryps. Voldemort also knows. He has kept a watch on the old man for as long as he has known. Albert suspected that someone was following him, but he didn’t understand the true nature of it.”

“Then Voldemort must not discover that you two are related. He will surely try to attack you.”

“Possibly, possibly not. Either way, it is best he does not find out immediately. We have a little time to do something with this information because Voldemort is still out of the country, although his spies are still everywhere. It is highly possible that my visit today has not gone unnoticed.”

Maeve thought of Roderick, out there with all their secrets in his head; a looser cannon there had never been. “How do you feel, about being Gryffindor’s heir? It changes things, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t feel anything about it. I am no different than I was. What does this change?”

“Children, for one thing.” There it was again, that little, impossibly-hurtful, number.

He looked bemused. “Why would it affect our children?”

The use of the plural was a further wound. “Because you can only have one. Did Albert not mention that? It’s part of the Gryffindor legacy.””

His face did not change. Maeve couldn’t detect the flicker of any muscles, and couldn’t help thinking he hadn’t truly understood what she had just told him. She almost opened her mouth to clarify, but then she saw the faintest darkening of his eyes.

“Who told you “ no, let me guess. It was Rampton.”

“And he must be right. He has known everything else.”

“Maeve, would it be so important to you to have more than one child?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she lied.

“I think that that is not entirely the truth, is it?” He could always see beyond her words.

“I don’t think I want to talk about this now.” Maeve found she no longer wanted to take him to the grave, or discuss it any further. Her bones ached with all the problems they were facing up to, and this was one they didn’t need to deal with at the moment.

Severus was about to reply, but instead something appeared to catch his eye and he looked over Maeve’s shoulder towards the lane that ran away from them to the North. His face became rigid and he stepped around his wife, a hand forcing her behind him.

“Draco,” he said. There seemed little else he could say as Draco Malfoy strode purposefully towards them. Maeve withdrew her wand, her mistrust of Draco still overriding anything else. She shook off Severus’ hand, standing to one side of him, her face a question mark.

“Snape.” Draco’s tone was clipped and his eyes didn’t leave his former teacher’s face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where’s my mother?”

“She is safe.”

“I’m sure she is. I didn’t ask if she was safe, I asked where she was. So, where is she?”

“She’s in London,” Severus snapped, his annoyance at this interruption clear from his tone.

“Take me to her.” Draco’s words rattled out, his lack of manners making it clear he did not care what either of them thought.

“I think she should be warned you are on your way first,” Maeve said, stepping into the discussion gently.

“No one asked you.” The boy didn’t even look at her as he spoke, but Maeve thought she saw a flicker in his eyes that betrayed a heavy conscience.

“Draco, have you been at Hogwarts recently?”

He did turn to her then, blank eyes washing over her. “Of course not. I don’t think I’d be very popular at the moment, do you?” There was a hint of his familiar smirk as he turned back to Severus.

“I will arrange a meeting,” Severus informed him coldly. “You will not be taken to the place your mother is staying, but I will see to it that you have a place to go to in order to meet with her. Where are you staying now?”

“Not important,” he drawled, a little too slowly. Maeve began to wonder if he had perhaps been drinking; there was a lack of rigidity in his limbs that seemed unnatural. “You can owl me when you’ve arranged something.”

“Why do you need to see your mother so urgently, Draco?” Maeve asked. “You couldn’t wait to be rid of her, by her account.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” he said. “You don’t have a mother to see, so what’s the point in trying to explain.”

An unexpected blow sent him to the floor, his body flying back with an ungainly twist. Severus loomed over his floored form, fury flowing from him.

“No more, Draco. I will do nothing more for you. Whatever was left between us has gone. I would rather take the consequences of disowning you than allow you to continually disturb my wife with your vindictive mouth.”

Draco rubbed at his jaw and cheek with shock, looking up at the pair of them with bewilderment.

Severus grabbed Maeve’s hand, and before she could protest, had Disapparated, taking her with him.



Neville was not his usual self, of that Hermione was certain. He was lying, pale-faced, on a bed in the Hospital Wing looking blankly at her and ignoring her questions. She was trying very hard to be patient, but with Harry missing, presumed dead, she needed Neville to talk to her.

But Neville seemed to be in deep shock after the snake attack and merely blinked whenever she asked a particularly awkward question. Even Madam Pomfrey, with her steely gaze and no-nonsense attitude, failed to elicit a response. Professor McGonagall had done her best to strengthen the security around the castle, but even she had to admit that Hogwarts was probably as secure as it would ever be, which was of little comfort to Neville.

No one had yet told Neville that Harry was gone. No one could quite bring themselves to form the words that would send him into even deeper depression.

Professor McGonagall paced her office, casting sidelong, irritated glances at Professor Dumbledore’s portrait; the old wizard had, once again, taken to slumbering. She had tried standing before it, concentrating all of her energy on releasing her friend from his sleep, but she had come to the conclusion that he wanted to sleep.

“You always were quick to allow people to understand things for themselves, giving only a token reassurance,” she said under her breath. “Letting us rumble on and make mistakes, or worry when a word from you could have set our minds at rest.”

A knock at the door announced Percy’s presence. He stepped purposefully into the room with an armful of letters that tumbled onto the desk as he looked at her with cold eyes. “The latest batch,” he informed her in low tones. “Thirty-six owls arrived in the last half hour.”

She sighed and looked down at the various envelopes that now littered her desk. They would have to be tidied up and placed with the other missives that had been pouring into the school ever since the early edition of the Prophet had gone on sale. The first few that had arrived had been demands for the full story from worried parents, and they had quickly been followed by more general enquires and messages of condolence. The letters almost obliterated the front page of the newspaper with the headline ‘Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived Dies.’ and all that she could now see was the word dies. She flinched and looked at Percy. Could she trust him to take care of this? More to the point; could she deal with it?

“Mr Weasley, I would like you to answer these letters on my behalf. Placate worried parents, tell any reporters we have no comment, and send a general thank you note to those expressing their sorrow.”

Percy nodded and scooped the letters up once again, dropping them down into the box that contained the rest of them.

“Use my old office,” she said. “It is still empty and will mean you are free of interruptions.”

“And if there are any “ unusual “ letters?”

She raised an eyebrow, unsure what Percy was getting at. “Deal with them all, Mr Weasley.”

Percy left the room just as Remus entered it. He didn’t acknowledge the professor and glided down the stairs to complete his task.

Professor McGonagall sat heavily in the chair that stood guard by the desk, looking at Remus with sorrow.

“I fear the news has not quite sunk in, Remus,” she said sadly, “despite the arrival of so many reminders.”

“The sky has been dark with owls,” Remus replied, sitting opposite her. “Several parents have turned up to remove their children, and we have had to let them go.”

She shook her head sadly. “I cannot blame them. Such an attack in the grounds of the school, especially after the loss of Dumbledore, may well prove to be the undoing of us.”

“This will pass,” he said. “Some parents will allow their children to stay.”

“The question is, should I allow them to stay if I cannot protect them?”

“Neville has survived the attack. Harry was deluberately targeted, of that I am sure. There is no general danger to the pupils at this school.”

Professor McGonagall frowned, glancing again at Dumbledore. “He won’t talk to me. He spoke to me briefly, but now he sleeps again. Why will he not help us, Remus?”

“Because he knows we have to find our own way. He is allowing the living to control their own fate.”

“Fate? Have we a fate, or is there little point in fighting. I feel defeated; completely and utterly defeated. Harry was our last hope; our one hope. He is gone and we do not just weep for him, we weep for what has been lost with him. Perhaps the weight was always too great for the poor child. Perhaps it is better this way.”

“Minerva, this is not you speaking. I have never heard you so despondent. This is not the end of things. There are still people prepared to fight, and fight we will. Severus is still working for us, despite what you might think about the events of last night.”

“I would like to trust you on this matter, but I trusted Dumbledore, and look what happened. Severus killed him.”

Remus looked away from her and she wished that the she could believe him, she wished with all her aging heart that she could feel the same degree of certainty that Remus did. But she didn’t.

It was almost a relief when Remus announced that he had something to attend to and left her with some more empty words of comfort. She turned to the fire and immersed her head in it, knowing that the time had come to talk to the Minister for Magic.




Remus moved through empty, echoing halls that felt the lack of students keenly. Could one boy leave such a shadow behind him? His pace quickened as he approached the hospital wing, knowing that what he had to do must be done quickly. He pushed open the doors to find Madam Pomfrey administering a black, viscous liquid to Neville, who was swallowing it meekly. She glanced up at Remus and gave him a brief look of disapproval.

“He’s not well at all, and you’re not likely to make him any better,” she said waspishly.

“Give me a few minutes, Poppy,” Remus said, his voice unusually firm.

“I’m not at all sure all this coming and going is helping. You can see how pale he is- ”

“Poppy!”

She looked alarmed for a few seconds, before bowing her head slightly and scurrying from the ward. The news of Harry’s demise was making everyone confused and angry.

Remus felt sorry that he had had to shout, but he needed to deal with Neville quickly. He could feel the storm approaching, gaining ground on the school. His words to Minerva had been comforting, but he knew full well that they needed to act to prevent the worst of the damage.

“Neville.” He knelt by the bed. “I need to take you to safety. Do you understand?”

Neville stared at the ceiling with disinterest.

Remus moved his head very close to Neville’s and brought his lips to his ear. Neville barely moved as Remus spoke to him, but when the older man had finished speaking, Neville scrambled up and looked alert for the first time since he had been brought into the Hospital Wing.

“We need to get out of the school and out of the grounds,” Remus said. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, I think so. How will we get away?”

“Once we are out of the grounds, we can Disapparate.”

Remus held out his hand and helped Neville to his feet. Neville scrabbled around in the locker by the bed and pulled out his uniform, but looked dismayed at the huge tears in the trousers. With a frown, Remus twitched his wand in Neville’s direction and the pyjama-clad boy found himself clothed in a fresh set of plain robes.

“Come on,” he encouraged, “we need to escape Poppy’s clutches.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Neville said, breathing a little unsteadily as the wound to his leg sent shooting pains into his groin.

“You’ll see when we get there,” was the reply. “Even walls have ears.” Remus nodded towards the portrait of an ancient matron, who glowered at them from her ineffectual place on the wall.

Neville gritted his teeth as he stumbled his way with Remus down the ward, each step driving a bolt of pain further into him. His companion was worried on several counts; the first was that Neville really wasn’t fit enough to make this trip, the journey from the school being the most strenuous part. The second worry was that his information was wrong and that he was taking the boy on a wild dragon chase across countryside that was dangerous, to a place that may not be what it was supposed to be. He had to trust his source, though, as he always had in the past.

They reached the door and Remus poked his head into the corridor. The coast clear, he helped Neville hobble out of the hospital wing and into the empty school.

“Couldn’t you just transfigure me into something,” Neville puffed, wincing as his foot tripped over a crack in the stone floor.

“Not in your state,” Remus replied nervously, every creak of armour and gush of wind making him turn nervously one way and another. “Goodness knows what would happen to your wound.”

With many small murmurs of discomfort, they managed to make it to the great doors, which Remus pushed open, allowing them to step into the bright day. Another cloud of owls was passing by, heading for the Great Hall, and Neville looked up in bewilderment.

“That’s an awful lot of owls, Professor Lupin. Did something happen?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Remus replied cryptically, but he refused to elaborate and steered Neville towards the fringe of the forest, hoping to avoid the open drive that led to the school gates.

They were only halfway there when Remus realised he would have to carry the whey-faced boy the rest of the way. The staggering and tripping had grown progressively worse, to the point that the journey was more of a stumble than a walk. He hoisted Neville onto his back, fearful of using any undue magic when he would have to Disapparate with the boy, and he was hoping that no further damage would come to him in the process.

Finally, the gleaming gates came into view, and once more Neville was left to find his feet.

“I feel such a burden,” he stuttered. “I always feel like a burden.”

“Nonsense,” Remus retorted. “Think of all you have done. Think of what you did last year with the Cardus Amara. Never underestimate yourself.”

He reached up and pushed the heavy metalwork away from them, the gates swinging free with a smooth action that stood testament to their superior workmanship. The moment they were free of the magically secure grounds, Remus reached for Neville with conviction, and within seconds they were being pulled to a destination that both were unsure of.



The weather in Cambridge was not quite as clear as the weather at Hogwarts. A dishwater-coloured mist sagged low against the ground, giving a theatrical, gloomy dullness to their surroundings. Remus allowed Neville to slip from his grasp, and was pleased to see that the effects of Apparation had not made his wound any worse. The nature of the serpent that had bitten him was still unknown, and the wound had so far defeated Poppy Pomfrey, but at least it wasn’t making him sicker.

“Wh- wh- where are we?” Neville peered around him, trying to make sense of the hunched bushes and leering trees in the low light. “It looks creepy.”

“This is where I was told to come,” Remus said, trying to keep the doubt from his voice. “Although…” He looked around, trying to orientate himself. In truth, the directions had been very vague. Three miles South-East of Cambridge on the outskirts of a village that was spliced by a river, he had been told. He could hear the river, and knew he had accurately judged the distance “ but what was he looking for?

“Professor Lupin.” Neville had moved away and was standing, or rather wobbling dangerously, by a slab of something that looked even uglier than the threatening mist. “I think I’ve found it.”

Remus came across and ran his fingers across the concrete, feeling the magic that protected it. There could be no doubt about it; this was what they had been looking for. How he was going to let the inhabitants know he was here was quite another matter.

Before Neville could ask, however, the mist took fright and began to dissolve quickly, seeking safety in the ground, where the grass was only too glad of the extra moisture. Remus turned from the unwelcoming door, immediately reaching for his wand.

“Who is that?” Neville asked, his hand shakily reaching for his own wand, which had transferred itself from his pyjamas to the new robes he wore.

Remus shielded his eyes against the bright glare of the man who now stood before them, stepping out of the atmosphere as if called.

“Good day, Mr Lupin, Mr Longbottom.” His smile drew a gasp of longing from Neville, which made the man smile even wider. “You seem to be having a little trouble with the door. Allow me, but we must be quick.”

He swept past them, flecks of light falling from his robes as he did so. “A little tap here should “ ah, yes, there we go.”

The door permitted them entry, and they moved from the now sun-filled clearing into the darkness beyond, their new companion bringing light to the darkness.

“I do not believe we are expected, although I think that we shall not be made unwelcome.”

“Mr Lamfada,” Remus began, but he was silenced by a hand.

“There will be time enough for questions. I had not expected that things would move quite so quickly, but the attempt on both Mr Potter’s and Mr Longbottom’s life has made things a little more urgent.”

Doors began to open, hurried, alarmed footsteps making their way to the entrance. As three figures flew into view it would have been hard to say who was more surprised: Severus, Maeve and Harry or Remus, Neville and Lugh Lamfada.



“So,” Lugh began, once they were all settled in what must have once been a recreational area. “The time has come to act. It is clear that Mr Riddle is moving against you in the hopes of destroying the joint threat. He has tried many ways to protect his mortality and has so far succeeded; this time he must not succeed. “

The gathered company sat uncomfortably on mildewed chairs, regarding him with interest. Harry felt his excitement rise; this was what he had been waiting for, the chance to act.

“But there are the Horcruxes,” he said. “They haven’t all been destroyed.”

“I am aware of that, young man. You will need to hurry with that task. There are two left, if we do not count Riddle himself. It should not be difficult to destroy a jewel and a serpent, especially now you share a bond with the serpent.”

Harry looked surprised. “A bond?”

“When it bit you, it filled you with its poison. A person skilled in potions will be able to extract what remains of the poison from your blood and create something to counteract it. The serpent, Nagini, feeds off its own poison. Without it, it will die. The arduous part of the task will be to administer the antidote to the beast. I suggest you call on the services of your most loyal friends to accomplish this.”

Harry looked uncomfortable at the thought of his loyal friends; Ron and Hermione had pledged to help him with the quest to destroy the Horcruxes, but this was as dangerous as the battle at the Ministry. Nagini was quick, and a killer, they would stand no chance if she gained an advantage on them.

“I understand your concerns, Harry, but sacrifices have to be made in order to bring this to an end. As I understand it, we also have the heir of Gryffindor in the room with us.” He turned to Severus and smiled, while Harry, Remus and Neville looked at each other in alarm. “Only the heir can remove the jewel from where it currently rests, but the heir is a wanted man. How will you achieve this task?”

“There are ways. The sword will have to be removed from Hogwarts. I believe I can organise that.” Severus looked to Remus, who understood what was being asked of him and nodded.

“And Voldemort.” It was Maeve’s turn to speak. “How do we destroy Voldemort?”

“You will understand that in good time,” he replied enigmatically. “You have the means at your disposal to weaken him, and once he is weak and betrayed, then you will be able to strike. He has run out of chances, my friends. He tried too hard.”

Severus bowed his head slightly, while the rest shifted in their seats, restless now that they had received a definite call to arms. Maeve knew from experience that this visit would be a short one; in truth she was surprised to see him at all, although she resisted asking him how he knew so much. He was an immortal; he knew more than the world.

“I can give you no more help. I hope that when we meet again you will have defeated this shadow over the world. It is time that this evil was conquered for perpetuity. Good luck.” With a small bow, he vanished from the room, quietly seeping back to whence he had come.

“The heir of Gryffindor,” Harry said quietly, watching Severus for a reaction.

“I cannot help my ancestry,” Severus snapped back, “anymore than you can help yours.”

For once, Harry allowed the slight against his parents pass. “But I thought your father…”

“He was not my father. Now, I have things I need to do. I must make the most of Voldemort’s absence and plan ahead. Maeve, I leave it to you to organise things here, Lupin, come with me.”

Remus had long since given in to Severus’ authority and followed him from the room, leaving Maeve to look at Harry and Neville with sadness. She knew that the day when lives would hang in the balance was hurtling towards them at breakneck speed; and she had no doubt that necks would be broken, along with many other things.

“Hermione and Ron need to be summoned from Hogwarts,” she said in a dull voice. “I assume you realise that they are who my father was referring to when he said loyal friends.”

Harry nodded. “Who will bring them here?”

“I will go,” she said. “It will be safest. But first I need to take a portion of your blood in order to begin extracting Nagini’s poison. We can only hope there are still sufficient traces to work with. Neville, I will need your help with this.”

Neville spoke for the first time, his voice creaking from the pressure of being at the heart of the attempt on Voldemort’s life. “Do we have the right equipment?” he asked doubtfully, looking around the former Muggle dwelling. “It looks a bit bare.”

Maeve was quickly adopting a business-like attitude. “We have Severus’ equipment here, and there is running water. We need little else for this. Harry, come with me to the bedrooms so that I can draw some blood from your arm. It won’t take more than a few seconds, and it won’t hurt.”

“I know, I’ve had this done when I was a child and the Dursleys thought I had an infection. I was taken to hospital, although they didn’t really want to take me, but then, they didn’t want me to die on them either; there would have been too many questions.”

Harry followed her, leaving Neville alone in the damp recreation room.

He took in his surroundings carefully: moth-eaten billiard table, darts board hanging lopsided on the wall with a photograph of a stiff-looking man pinned to it, a crate of empty beer bottles in one corner, rat’s droppings, chewed paperwork, and the overwhelming sense of decay and fear. Neville had never been anywhere like this and it made him feel chilled right down to the bone. Maeve hadn’t told him what to do or where to go, so he stayed where he was; no doubt they would come and find him when they needed him. There was a tatty book on the floor which he picked up and flipped open. It was a spy thriller entitled The March of Time, and he supposed it was better than staring at the walls waiting for that same time to pass him by.