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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Steam filled the cubicle, coating the glass of the shower screen with a thick mist. The water swirled towards the hole in the floor, its clearness marked with streaks of pink and the froth of soap bubbles. The shower’s occupant ran the soap over his body, paying particular attention to his hands and neck, rubbing hard enough to make shards of the soap embed themselves beneath his nails, nails that recently had been encrusted with blood.

He examined his naked body carefully for signs of injury and found only smooth unbroken skin. His head moved from side to side, as if trying to clear a blockage from his ears, and then he pushed back the screen and stepped into the grimy bathroom. His feet made contact with the dirty floor and he padded across to the chair. Slumping onto the fraying wicker seat he stared blankly at walls clammy with mildew. This was his life; this was what it had become. Somewhere, somewhere in the past, there was a point when his fate had been sealed, but it escaped him now. All he had left was this room, and the room adjoining it. A shower, a bed, food “ if the runny porridge made with stagnant water could be so termed “ was all he could lay claim to in the world.

From another room he could hear sounds of a struggle and then a raised voice, first angry and then despairing. The thud of a few well-aimed blows could be heard and then silence. With a shrug he stood up and pulled a threadbare towel down from the hook on the back of the door. Running the harsh fabric over his legs Draco began to plan his next move; getting out of the bathroom and into the bedroom without calling attention to himself was currently all he had to occupy his mind.




Harry and Hermione had discovered an old dart board and a pack of darts in one of the cupboards. Neither of them had the first idea of the rules or scoring method so, looking at the bewildering order of numbers circulating the coloured wedges, they decided they would make up their own system. Whoever chucked the darts and got closest to the small hole in the centre would be the winner. They stuck the board to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm and began to throw the pointed arrows with mixed success.

Neville occasionally raised his head from his book when one of them roared with disappointment or gave a muted shout of triumph, but it was clear that neither of them had their hearts in it. His book was proving to be a dull disappointment, the characters flat and the plot full of so many holes it was as bad as one of his gran’s knitted scarves. He knew that scoring darts was rather more complicated than simply lobbing the shafts at the board and hoping for the best, but he found he couldn’t summon the energy to explain it to them. This protected limbo was unnerving him, making him listless and tired. Now that his wound was fully healed he was struggling to suppress the urge to go and blast things out of his way with his wand. This urge rather surprised the young Gryffindor, for it was fervent and growing more frequent. And now that he felt this way he was confined, made impotent by grey, Muggle government buildings and two companions who were throwing harmless sticks instead of powerful hexes.

He sighed and turned the page, waiting with low expectations for the spy hero to get the girl. Remus had left earlier to seek out news of Ginny, and Neville wondered if he had met Maeve on his travels. These missing Weasleys were a constant source of worry; one that he could see working its mischief on Harry’s careworn face.

As if his thoughts had pulled Remus to them, the door clanged and footsteps could be heard in the corridors. All three looked to the door, unsure of who to expect. It opened, creaking a little with regret, to admit Remus into their bored circle. Here was another face riven with shadow.

“Well?” Harry dropped the darts immediately and crossed to where Remus stood. They faced each other for a few seconds, seconds that passed too slowly for Harry and too quickly for Remus.

“Ginny is safe and well with her parents. They have been removed from the Burrow to a place of safety. There is no hope that she will join us, a fact that she is, apparently, most annoyed about. My wife has gone to stay with them too. It seems the Ministry is keen to protect those whom Voldemort might use as bargaining tools.” He smiled, a weak effort that did nothing to cheer the others.

“And Ron?” Hermione asked, joining them. “What about Ron?” Her fingers tightened around the tiny missiles in her hand.

“There is no word on him. He was assumed missing during the fall of Hogwarts, as were you.” He nodded to her. “They are searching for you both.”

Hermione looked to Harry and it was only with a great deal of willpower that she prevented tears from falling. “It’s strange, to be missing presumed dead when you’re quite alive,” she remarked, looking down at her robes as if to check she really was there. “Ron will be safe, won’t he? Maeve will have found him by now, perhaps taken him to Grimmauld Place.”

Neville observed the glances they exchanged and knew that they were kidding themselves. This was a war; people got hurt in war, hurt badly. Ron did not have a protective charm around him just because he was their friend, in the same way that his parents had not been protected because he was their son.

“There is something else,” Remus began before grinding to a defeated halt.

“Someone else missing?” It was clear from Harry’s face that he expected to hear the worst.

“In a manner of speaking.” He dropped into the chair that faced Neville. “The tomb has been attacked and Dumbledore is gone.”

No one quite knew what to say to that. They looked at Remus as if he were quite mad. It was Hermione who recovered first.

“Was it…”

“No one knows,” Remus answered, not needing her to say Voldemort’s name, “but there was next to nothing left of the tomb and the remains were taken.”

“Is nothing sacred to the monster,” Harry said quietly. “Can he leave nothing that is good and honest, even when there is no life left in it?” He paused, a horrified thought lodging itself in his brain and refusing to be shook loose. “You don’t think that he wants Dumbledore for anything, do you?”

“I don’t know, Harry, but we have to be prepared for that eventuality.”

They all flinched as the door banged closed again. Remus drew his wand as a matter of course, only dropping it when Severus entered the room.

“You can put that away, Lupin,” he barked. “Nagini is dead. I am going to sleep for a short while and then we must make plans.”

“Plans?” Remus asked, unwilling to let him stalk off to bed without some advance warning of what was to come.

“Yes, Lupin, plans. Those things one makes in order to accomplish things.” He seemed to be on the verge of adding an insult to the end of the sentence, but stopped himself. “Plans. I’ll need you, so I suggest you get some sleep too. There is one last thing to accomplish before Potter destroys the final Horcrux.”

“Oh, you’re finally going to let me at one of them after all this time. I was beginning to think I wasn’t needed in this whole adventure.” There was a hint of the old petulance back in his voice.

“Adventure?” The word slithered from Severus’ mouth and he turned to Harry with a particularly gruesome look upon his face. “You think this is an adventure from a storybook, Potter? I would have though you of all people could have found a better word choice than that. Do you know what scene of adventure I recently took my leave from? Let me enlighten you as to the nature of my latest adventure? I left the body of Narcissa Malfoy, still warm but very dead, at Grimmauld Place. I had to send my wife and that idiot Rampton to the Ministry to sort out the mess. I discovered who killed her. Draco Malfoy killed her. Now, how much of an adventure do you think this really is?”

Remus was visibly shaken at this piece of news, whilst Harry merely looked indignant.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Snape, and you know it. I lost everything in this war, everything!” Harry snatched the darts from Hermione’s hand, turned, and fired them at the board with what finally proved to be deadly aim; all three struck straight into the heart of the bullseye. With that done he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I’ll go after him,” Hermione said, although from the look on her face it appeared that that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Yes, go and hold his hand,” Severus bit.

“We are all exhausted,” Remus said, playing the placatory role once again. “Severus is right and we should rest. Whatever plans we make should be made with clear heads not muddled and heated ones.”

“Very good, Lupin.” It wasn’t clear if Severus was entirely sincere when he said it, but no one wanted to challenge him. “Tell Maeve where I am when she gets here. Oh, and make sure that Rampton man is as far away from our quarters as possible. He’s the last thing I want to encounter when I awake.”




Maeve and Roderick emerged from a string of trees and stumbled slightly as they crossed a ditch onto the rough track that plodded off into the distance. Roderick tutted as his shoes became crested with mud, muttering a charm under his breath to remove the offending dirt.

“Couldn’t you have hidden out in one of the five-star Muggle hotels? Last place Voldemort would think to look for you.” His face was a picture of wry disgust.

“I think our credit is rather limited in those places, don’t you?” she replied, sidestepping a rather large heap of horse dung. “Besides, the place does have some charm, in a grey, utilitarian sort of way.”

“Ugh!” Roderick shook his head. “Utilitarian is damned ugly and unnecessary. Soul-destroying in so many ways.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is, but not quite as soul destroying as a Dementor sucking on your face. You only have to be there a short while and then you can go find whatever luxury you desire.” She waved a hand in the opposite direction from that which they were going.

There was the rattle of a cart in the distance and Maeve glanced about her nervously but could see nothing. Roderick stopped complaining and adopted a thoughtful air. Maeve sensed that he was itching to say something and eventually had to snap, “Out with it!” to alleviate the suspense.

“I know I sound like a frightful bore going on about these Deathly Hallows,” he said in response to her command, “but I really think it would be to our advantage if we sought them out. We have a little time before the black gloom expects us back, so what about it?”

She stopped and looked at the ground intently for a little while before raising her eyes to his. “You are like a child, you know that? Once you get an idea stuck in your head you don’t give up. We have no idea how to get there. We have no idea of the sort of the response we will be treated to “ and you have no idea what funny ideas the gods get into their heads when humans invade their cosy little world “ and worse still you won’t tell me exactly why you want to go there.”

“My father.”

“I thought your father was dead.” The look he gave her was one of incredulity and for once she was ashamed of her stupidity. “Of course, he would have to be to be there. Sorry, I didn’t think. But why? Why is he there and why do you want to speak with him?”

“You asked a question and I gave you an answer. We both have our reasons for wanting to go there. Please, help me to do it?” There was a rare look of need in his eyes.

She hesitated and in doing so realised the old proverb. She was lost. The sound of the cart grew louder, hooves thundering along the lane as if pursued by the vehicle rather than pulling it along.

“We should hide,” she said, urgency flooding her words. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Have you made your mind up? You will help me?”

“Yes, I’ll help you! Now come on, hide.” She was amazed at his stubborn refusal to take cover, tugging on his arm in an effort to pull him into the bushes.

“I think that cart might be for you. I think it might be someone who has just heard you make up your mind.” There was a smug note to his voice that she didn’t like.

Maeve glared at him and let go of his arm. “What do you mean?”

“Fathers never can say no to their daughters.”

The cart careered into view, a tall man clinging to the reins, heaving back on them with a sawing motion and a look of complete joy on his face. The horse skidded to a rather startled halt, making the cart swing dangerously on its shafts. There was a great deal of snorting from the animal and a yelp of rather cowboy-like delight from the man in the driving seat.

“That felt rather good,” Lugh said, smiling down at his daughter and her friend. “Fancy a ride.”

Maeve looked up at her shining parent and despaired. She was getting the distinct feeling that she had been well and truly stitched up. Her father driving a farmer’s cart was one of the last things she ever expected to see and she lost no time in telling him so. He was crestfallen by her disapproval.

“Do you know what it’s like up there?” He rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Tedious is a rather adequate word for it. Occasionally it’s nice to get down here and have a little fun. I haven’t driven a chariot in anger since… a very long time ago.”

“That is not a chariot,” Maeve said wearily. “It’s a bloody death trap and the poor horse looks as if it’s been driven half to death.”

“You haven’t always been in possession of that attitude, my child. I remember a time when you were given a car by Professor Dumbledore; terrified that young man, didn’t you, although I must say, I was proud of you. Now, come on. It’s very much against the rules for me to take you wandering around distant realms but we’re a little higher in the godly stratosphere than the Hallows so they can’t argue too much; just don’t create a fuss and don’t make your thoughts too loud so that you can be heard beyond the place we’re about to go to.”

“This makes no sense,” Maeve muttered as Roderick helped her into the back of the cart. There was distinct odour of wet pig in the back and she refused to sit down, clinging instead to the slatted sides. “My father has taken leave of his senses and I’ve persuaded you to let me go on some wild-goose chase to the gods know where so you can have something out with your father. How many people have the Hallows collected over the years?”

“As many as they need,” Roderick explained. “They feed off the mental agility of the souls they collect, find nourishment in discourse. Though Merlin alone knows why they wanted my father.”

The cart jerked forwards, and then, disconcertingly, upwards, leaving the ground behind it in a confident way, as if cart and horse had been prancing across the skies for all of their existence. “Madness,” she grumbled darkly. “Complete madness. Severus is going to be livid about this.”



Their journey did not take long, the cart landing not far from a large wall that was constructed almost exclusively from corrugated iron. A sign hanging loose proclaimed it to be Frank’s Scrap “ Good Prices Paid. A vague smell of burnt rubber hung about the place, almost as off-putting as the grey-green mist that skulked above the whole area.

“Interesting,” Lugh said as he nodded towards the sign. “I’m guessing that’s not your mental image so it must be your friend’s. You consider your father’s soul fit only for the scrap yard, Mr Rampton?”

“I don’t consider it fit for anything,” he replied.

“What do you mean?” Maeve was curious. The one thing she hadn’t anticipated was a scrap yard. She’d quaintly imagined a forest glade inhabited by spirits that would come when called or at the very least comfortable furnishings. For a second an image of a leafy oak appeared where the sign had been and she could have sworn she saw a velvet upholstered armchair instead of the barbed-wire covered gate.

“The Hallowed place appears as you imagine it to be. For some it is a place of clouds and sunshine, for others a dark and forbidding forest. If more than one person approaches it takes the strongest image and appears that way to all. In this instance, Mr Rampton has by far the more powerful preconception. Now, go on, in you go. I shall wait here. You have half an hour at the very most.”

They jumped down onto the ground and the horse shifted a little. Roderick opened the gate with his wand and the barbed wire fell away. Maeve hesitated, turning back before entering the gate.

“What do you normally see?” she asked.

“Oh, marble, fancy pillars and urns, that sort of thing. It’s become rather a cliché for the gods, but it’s what’s expected of you. Endless lines of marble. That’s why I prefer to see places through the eyes of others; it is always very interesting to see things from the human viewpoint. Watch him carefully; if he perceives a scrap yard you could be in for a fight of some description. Disgruntled sons are a terrible burden to fathers, even beyond the grave.”

“Right,” she said, groaning inwardly, “thank you for that.” With reluctance hanging on to her every step, she followed Roderick through the gate and was instantly assailed by a thousand voices at once. There was the definite sensation trickling into her over-stimulated brain that this was going to be a long and difficult half an hour.