Chapter Five
The Fox and the Raven.
Darkness had a stranglehold on the small harbour town as they flew in, arriving separately and by different means. Maeve had managed to spread herself across a strong current of air that took her a rather circuitous way around the tip of Scotland before sweeping her down along the jagged coastline of Northumberland, past the re-developed waterfront of Newcastle and the topmost part of North Yorkshire. She eventually parted company with it on the very cliff that she had seen in the background of the photograph of Draco earlier that day. Staggering slightly from the reformation of her body she waited for Remus to join her. The abbey was lit by a few halogen lamps that poked from the ground and offered sufficient light to see the thin path that skirted the top of the cliff, a short verge of grass leading to the edge. She prowled this path; fretting at the length of time it seemed to be taking Remus, conscious of the fact that he was worried about Apparation. Her ghostly figure was just visible from the town below, cloak billowing against the backdrop of light, and she looked like the figurehead of some proud ship as it ploughed the rough sea.
Maeve paused by the huge Celtic cross that appeared to grow from the very rock of the cliff itself, monument to an early saint, and scanned the still landscape of the hill, searching for movement that didn’t belong to the crowd of rowdy revellers leaving the local hostelries across the water. And then her heart gave a glad leap as she saw his tatty figure climbing the seemingly insurmountable steps that crawled their way up the cliff to the ruined building at its summit. High in the crumbling stone she could see bats dipping and weaving as they played whatever games they devised when they weren’t hunting. The cool air that came in off the sea made her shiver despite her cloak and she hurried to meet him halfway.
“I landed on the wrong cliff top,” he said, gulping air into lungs that were straining from the steep climb. “I didn’t realise there were two of the bloody things.”
She smiled at his frustrated expression. “Sorry, I should have warned you. There are two arches of sorts, the whalebones and the abbey, we picked the opposite ones.”
“So, what’s your plan?” he asked, eager to be getting on with something productive.
“Plan?” She looked flummoxed. “I never had a plan. I just know he’s here. I’ll find him though. How hard can it be?”
“Maeve, have you any idea how maddening you are at times! I can’t believe this is the best you can come up with for a location.” Remus looked quite cross and she turned away from him and began to stamp back up the steps.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said over her shoulder. “You insisted, or have you forgotten?”
“Don’t be silly,” he called after her. “If you don’t have anything to go on other than this town then it’s a good job I did come.” Hastening to catch up with her he caught sight of the view from this vantage point and it dizzied him. He grasped at the stone cross to steady his weak legs and Maeve saw he was having difficulty.
“What is it?” she asked, rushing back to him, filled with remorse that she had been so quick to snap.
“I don’t know,” he said, letting go of the cross and standing upright again. “I’m not normally bothered by heights; perhaps it’s just tiredness. I’m fine, don’t fuss.”
“Okay.” Maeve wasn’t convinced, but was so used to Remus being slightly off-colour that she didn’t argue. “Maybe we should find somewhere to rest before we start looking, I doubt Severus meant the message to be urgent anyway, the Patronus didn’t communicate anything.”
“And where do you suggest we stay in a Muggle town like this?” He gazed down at the crowded streets below him, smelling the warm aroma of fish and chips that rose into the night, hearing the loud shouts of people who had had a touch too much to drink.
“I’m sure there is a wizarding family somewhere in this place. It’s an old magical community and there must be some left. Hang on.” She withdrew her wand and gave it a flick, producing a small olive-coloured book from nowhere. Taking hold of it she flipped through the pages quickly, stopping about halfway through.
“Here we go,” she announced. “Madam Marb’s Hotel for the discerning Witch and Wizard, Number 15a, Harbour View. Shouldn’t be a problem getting a bed for the night, late as it is.”
Remus took the book from her hand. “The Green Leaves: Wizarding accommodation throughout the British Isles. Where on earth did you get that?”
“Always good to know things like this,” she grinned, taking the book and snapping it back to where it had come from. “So, let’s find Harbour View and we’ll be able to rest until morning.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t turning the town upside down looking for Severus,” Remus said, as they began to walk down the steps towards the harbour. He had seen her eagerness to leave Rathgael as eagerness to find her husband, find her answers, so he was surprised to see her suddenly stall at the last minute.
“We’ve been apart for four days. A few more hours won’t make much difference. Besides, he’s kept me in the dark all this time so it won’t kill him to wonder whether or not I am coming, will it?” Maeve didn’t admit to Remus that she was suddenly afraid, afraid of what she might find in this shadowy, sea-sapped town.
“Sometimes I am glad I’m not married to you. You’d run rings around me.” Remus linked his arm through hers as they reached the cobbles that spanned the gap between the steps and the road.
The harbour twinkled before them; lights webbed from lamppost to lamppost in a colourful display of jollity that tried to lighten the grave severity of the sea. Harbour View was obvious from its position overlooking the deep basin of water and they walked slowly towards their hidden destination, enjoying the quiet away from the noisier parts of town.
Out towards the vast expanse of water that was the North Sea the cliffs huddled together, sheltering many things in their shadow. The water swirled in eddying currents towards the bay, gradually cutting through the marina and continuing its attempted progress inland, only to be checked by the outward swill of water from the hills. Had Maeve walked in the opposite direction, away from Harbour View, following the waterfront across the bridge and along the long line of boats, past the large supermarket and the vast field of a car park, had she followed a branch of the river that wound its way through a mat of trees and towards a secluded clearing that sheltered a ruinous boat house, then she might have slept better that night.
But she didn’t. She walked, with Remus, towards the house that bore the number fifteen in chipped slate and looked at the front of it carefully. As she waited, she could see a large flight of stone steps appearing from the whitewashed bricks, straining against the crumbling paint. They sat parallel to the wall, rising to another house that floated serenely above number fifteen. She climbed the steps, thankful the little directory she had discovered when she was still a young woman in Ireland had served her well in this instance. Remus followed close behind her, wondering what on earth he had got himself into. Still, it was better than chasing a pack of werewolves around France.
The front door of 15a was much prettier than the door of its companion below, tiny pink roses coiled around the frame and the number was stencilled in cerise on the cream paint. Tiny crystals swung in the breeze, tinkling gently at their arrival.
“Ermm, Magenta and Malcolm Postlethwaite, room for two,” she announced to the sweet scene before them, as Remus looked to her in astonishment. “Well, I’m not going to register in our real names, am I?” she hissed under her breath at him.
“I know,” he whispered back. “But Malcolm?”
“I don’t know! It just came to me.”
“Do I look like a Malcolm?” he asked, worriedly.
“Of course not. Shush,” she said as the door swung open and they went through to the pastel entrance, immediately getting the impression they had stepped into a candyfloss explosion. A coral-coloured reception desk faced them with a huge vase of roses half covering the face of the person who stood behind it.
“Good evening, my delightful guests, Magenta and “ what was it “ ah yes, Malcolm!” Remus gave Maeve an I-told-you-so glance as the outrageously bright woman, who had moved from her cover of flowers, looked at him with dismay. “And you have such a pretty name, too,” she said to Maeve consolingly.
Madam Marb was a tall, willowy woman covered from head to foot in a diaphanous gown of the most startling shade of fuchsia. Everything about her was pink, from her lipstick to the nail polish that covered the toes peeking out from bright-crimson sandals she displayed as she walked across to them. She reached out an arm that jangled with vermilion bangles and stroked Maeve’s hair, shaking her head sadly.
“You’d never be able to take a good colour with hair that shade,” she commented. “Green would be about your limit, wouldn’t it, love?”
“I happen to like her in green,” Remus said in Maeve’s defence, already feeling sick from the overpowering floridness that was surrounding him.
Madam Marb turned a judgemental eye to him and sniffed contemptuously through her long nose.
“Yes, I can imagine you would, but then you’re called Malcolm. Come!” She clapped her hands together. “Your room is waiting ” our best view, I might add.” Here she gave a glance at Remus that suggested the best view would be wasted on someone with such an ignominious name. “Room number four, top of the stairs turn right. Have you no luggage?”
“It’s coming along later,” Maeve lied, trying not to look Remus in the eye in case she started laughing at his indignation. “We’ll run on up. No need to show us to our room. We’ll find it.” She grabbed Remus’ hand and dragged him away from the attentions of the extravagant witch.
“Goodnight then!” Madam Marb called after them. “Sleep well,” Turning to the flamingo that was slumbering in the illuminated pool of water by the door she stroked its feathered neck. “Magenta, such a beautiful name. Perhaps I should have called you Magenta?”
Doris the Flamingo raised a somnolent head to her owner and blinked drowsy eyes, wishing the dotty old bat would just leave her in peace. It was bad enough being prodded by every passing witch and wizard that stayed in the guesthouse, without enduring a name like Magenta to boot.
The room was a very pleasant one, towering, as it did, above the harbour. From the vast window the view was spectacular, offering an uninterrupted view of the seascape before them. Remus was more interested in the bed than the view, realising, with a sinking sensation, that it was a double and he was going to end up sleeping on the uneasy-looking chair in the corner.
“This will do us, won’t it?” she grinned, pulling her head in from the window where she had been gulping the salty air.
“Of course,” he said cheerfully, eyeing up the small jumble of tea-making things on the dresser and wondering if he could put off the moment when he would have to cram his limbs into the wicker nightmare.
“Double bed of course, but that was to be expected. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, not at all,” he said, with a bright smile on his battered face. “I’ll take the chair.”
“Silly man!” she laughed. “Of course you won’t. We can share the bed. It’s just a place to grab forty winks until the sun comes up. Nothing compromising in that. Sleep on the chair indeed.” Maeve had forgotten the events of Abbeylara, the desperate kiss that Remus had planted on her unwary lips. There was too much on her mind to make her consider Remus and his latent feelings of love for her.
And Remus had to accept the fact that in order to get a few decent hours’ sleep he would have to lie on a bed next to Maeve and attempt to sleep. He wasn’t convinced it would be that easy with the smell of her hair just a few inches from his nose, but he resolved to try.
With the light off and the scratchy bedclothes pulled up around their noses they both faced in opposite directions, eyes open, playing with their own demons in their own ways. Severus danced before Maeve’s sleepless eyes, the knowledge that he was in such close proximity keeping her from the sleep she had thought she could summon. Remus felt the bed move as she shifted in her restlessness, felt the occasional brush of a leg against his own. He gritted his teeth against the urge to turn over and wrap his aching arms around her restive shoulders. The lights from the harbour filtered in through the muslin curtains, touching Remus’ face with patches of watery blues and reds. He sighed heavily, trying to think about Felicia, the attractive young witch he had met at Maeve’s wedding. She had spent a week with him in his now abandoned flat in the South of France and they had had fun, of that there was no doubt. But she was so young, so vivacious. It made him feel old, watching her running along the beach with the wind in her hair and her whole life ahead of her.
It was Maeve’s turn to sigh as various, unpleasant, scenes played out in her mind. Severus appeared in a variety of situations that were either uncomfortable or dangerous, and her sleeping peacefully just a short distance from him. She turned onto her back and stared at the night-washed ceiling, watching the same lights that danced across Remus face as they came through the curtain.
Giving in to the ache Remus turned too and Maeve took the comfort he offered, allowing him to draw her into warm arms that brought her just enough comfort to allow her to drift off into a gentle sleep that was remarkably untroubled for as long as it lasted, which wasn’t as lengthy as she would have liked.
Her eyes opened of their own accord at three in the morning, startling her from sleep. Maeve felt the presence of something else in the room, something pale and insubstantial and when she looked to the window she could see the fox, its albino eyes watching her carefully.
“Severus.” The word was a breath, as frail as the Patronus that stood before her. And she knew then that the Patronus was not a cry for help, there was no urgency in its quietude. The Patronus had come as a reminder that its caster was friendless, knew she was there and needed her presence as ease for his wearied soul. It waited, unmoving and she understood that it was here to lead her to the place that Severus hid. If there was any reproach in its eyes at finding her with another man’s arms around her body it did not show it. The communication was one-way only.
She moved like a wraith, untangling herself from the mesh of Remus’ arms and padding gently across to the fluttering curtain. Eschewing her breeze-bound option of movement for the moment she stepped onto the balcony beyond the window and with a gathering of all her energy she closed her eyes and muttered a spell under her breath. Into the ink-spattered night two creatures burst forth, a fox and a raven. Silver-gilded and joyous they hurled themselves out to sea before being pulled back by their casters’ bidding and they were gone with a burst of fury that made Maeve’s heart sing. She knew where to go, what to do, and with one last regretful look at Remus she slipped once again from the bonds of earth and threw herself onto the first air current she could find.
Hogwarts was sleeping too, but a more uneasy sleep than that which Remus now enjoyed. Inside its troubled walls the teachers rested, wondering how many of their pupils would return after the death of the man who had kept the school safe all these years. The Forbidden Forest and its inherent darkness had begun to encroach on the school even more over the past month or two, bringing with it a dour mist that swirled incessantly around the grounds. Hagrid had tried to cheer up his assortment of creatures, including Maeve’s horse, which had remained in its custom-made stable for the summer, but he had admitted defeat and had resorted to feeding them double rations instead.
Professor McGonagall had brought Harry back late that evening and found Remus’ Patronus waiting for them. She tutted over the fact they had gone elsewhere when she had been expecting them to arrive tomorrow, at the latest. This was not a good time to have Order members dotted all over the country. She did wonder though how long the Order could continue without Dumbledore, wondered if the will would still be there and who could possibly lead them now he had gone. Harry kept pace with her as she entertained these thoughts, not wishing to intrude on the deep contemplation of the new headmistress. His darkened eyes took in the familiar surroundings without really noticing much; torches still flickered, suits of armour still shifted in the shadows; no doubt once the new term started children would still pound the corridors, late for lessons. But no longer would Dumbledore sweep through on his way to deal with the latest transgression or difficulty. No more would there be the customary start-of-term speech with the usual warnings and invitations. Everything was utterly changed and Harry was glad he had decided to have none of it. He wondered if, even without the Horcruxes and the small matter of Voldemort, he would have returned without Dumbledore. What did being an Auror really matter when the world was being tossed and battered on a wave of evil that threatened to eclipse all else?
Professor McGonagall showed him to Dumbledore’s office “ no, her office, Harry thought, painfully correcting himself. It still contained many of the old headmaster’s things and there were items that Harry would forever associate with Dumbledore. Godric Gryffindor’s sword still hung proudly in its cabinet, the Sorting Hat was sitting in its usual place and many of Dumbledore’s magical trinkets were still lying around. The most notable absence was Fawkes, whose perch was still there; the phoenix itself was nowhere to be seen. Harry noticed, with a painful lurch of his heart, that there was now a new portrait on the walls, a slumbering image of the most recently deceased of the Hogwarts heads.
“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Professor McGonagall was solemn as she spoke. “It always takes awhile when they first - when they go.”
Harry gulped and nodded, moving his eyes away from the sleeping Dumbledore towards Professor McGonagall.
“So, Professor,” he began, no longer feeling like a pupil. “What next?”
“In what way, Mr. Potter?”
“What next for Hogwarts?”
“Hogwarts will endure, just as it always has. There will be headteachers many years from now that are as distant from current events as we are from the founding. None of this will affect the institution of Hogwarts, unless Voldemort wins, of course.”
“Voldemort will not win,” Harry said forcefully.
“And when do your friends return? Surely Miss Granger will finish her education even if you do not.”
“Hermione will be back, I’m not so sure about Ron. I think he intends to follow me on my -”
“On your what, Mr. Potter?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said with a guarded expression on his face. Dumbledore had trusted so many people, and he had been betrayed. Harry wasn’t about to trust anyone apart from the two people that had been with him since the moment he set foot in Hogwarts, and Maeve. He had to trust Maeve, simply because she was who she was.
“Secrets are all well and good, but take care they don’t assail you from behind. We all know that even the greatest can have failings in that department.” Professor McGonagall once again looked to Dumbledore’s portrait and Harry thought he detected a hint of emotion on the normally impassive Professor’s face.
“I don’t trust easily.” Harry stood up and decided that the interview was over. He couldn’t concentrate in the room with Professor McGonagall there, couldn’t search the room for something, anything, that Dumbledore may not have had the chance to tell him.
“I know, Harry. Nor should you. But you can trust me if ever the need should arise that you need a confidante. I know you had a great connection to Professor Dumbledore, as do I - did I,” she stumbled and Harry was gone. He felt that tears were not far away for the austere teacher and he didn’t want to see them, didn’t want a display of emotion that could force one from him too.
As he walked out into the deserted corridors he felt a shiver of disquiet run down his spine. Something was abroad that night and he couldn’t grasp what it was or what it meant.
Maeve could see her fractured reflection in the deep, deathly water. She had stepped off the wind at a point where the main river had fragmented, sending a finger of murky water pointing into a dense cluster of trees. A stoat slithered across the thick vegetation that choked the riverside and she stopped to watch the creature for a moment, sensitive to all movement around her. It was cold here in this pocket of conflict, the clash of salt and freshwater creating a strange taste in the air as the river forced its will upon the inward tide.
There was no path running alongside the narrow channel, just frayed grassy edges that ran close to the lapping stream. She trod carefully, the glimmer of the fox and the raven just visible through the undergrowth ahead. Using the tantalising fronds of the willows that banked the river as a steadying hand she worked her way through the thicket, her foot only occasionally gliding over the glassy surface that she was trying to avoid. There was no sound now, no murmur of leaves or splash of water, not even the noise of the town behind her could be heard as she plunged further and further into the night ahead.
A good twenty minutes later and she began to despair of the tree-lined stream ever ending. It felt like she had been feeling her way through the darkness for ever and she was sorely tempted to use her wand to give her some direction. Only occasionally now did she glimpse a pearlescent tail feather or silvery cocked ear. And then her foot plunged into cold liquid and she cursed quietly. Bringing her soggy foot out of the slow-moving water she replaced it further along and again she failed to find dry land. After several attempts at this splash and withdraw method of finding her way forward she had to accept that there was an end to the crumbling earth and grass. The river had opened out onto a small lake that was only just discernible in the starlight. The fox and the raven became visible once more, dipping towards something in the centre of the lake. Their light showed a tumbledown building sitting in the middle of a small island, its roof stretching precariously across the top of weak walls.
Maeve knew this was the place, knew that she had finally reached her husband, and she was afraid of him. It had been four days, four long hurt-fuelled days, and she was so near the truth now that she found herself not wanting to know. In the lightless building nothing was stirring, at least nothing appeared to be. As the fox disappeared, slowly followed by its partner, Maeve saw a shadow move across the front of the structure, and then all was dark as the light of the Patronuses faded. A gentle ripple passed through the air and she was on it, floating high over the water and skirting the island, before dropping gently to the rear of the building. Her father hadn’t warned her just how tiring this wind-riding could be. Her limbs were beginning to ache quite badly from the effort. The lack of light was making her eyes hurt from straining against it and it was only nervous energy that kept her alert to her surroundings. She hadn’t heard anyone move, there was no light from the building, and it appeared that she was alone with only the wind for company.
“I knew you would manage the Patronus.” The silky words leapt from the darkness, emotionless and expressionless.
She almost jumped from her skin at the sound of the voice she had been wanting so much to hear, the voice she had last heard hurling a Killing Curse at Dumbledore. She still couldn’t see, the all-obscuring night around them was absolute, so she had no real idea of where he was. Turning her head to the place she imagined his voice had come from, she squinted into the shadows but could see no figure outlined against the blackness.
“Are you frightened?” His voice was not gentle, was a challenge. “Do you believe the worst?”
The power of speech deserted her as she clung to the veil of night to prevent him from seeing the hot tears that had sprung from the well of her sorrow.
“Maeve, I know you are there; I can smell you on the wind. Am I such a monster that you can no longer find the words to address me?”
She wiped away the sprinkling of tears with the sleeve of her cloak and realised she was now shivering. Fear of Narcissa’s words being true was making her tremble more than the truth about the night in Godric’s Hollow.
“Maeve!” her name was a command, a demand for acknowledgement that she could no longer ignore.
“I’m here,” she said, her words feeble. “You knew I would come.”
“I knew no such thing,” he replied, their blind conversation perhaps making it easier for both of them. “I had only the constriction of my wedding ring to bind me to you. I didn’t know if that would be enough.”
The silence deafened him as Maeve fought for words to express her indignation that he could believe the only reason she had come was the bond of a gold band.
“You believe I came because of a pair of rings that chafe under pressure? You don’t think I came because I love you?” The water-chill stole through her bones, replacing her own shivering with one caused by nature. “You do not think I had enough faith to wait until I heard it from your own mouth?”
“I couldn’t hope for that much. You must know by now that I was not altogether truthful with you, did not reveal everything that I should have. I made a mockery of the vows we intended. I have betrayed you. I would forgive you for walking away.” His matter-of-fact tone was almost worse than the words he was saying.
“Is that it? You accept that you have betrayed me and you want me to walk away to allow your conscience the space to breathe easy. Well, it’s not that easy, you bastard! If I could see you I would hex you into your next life. I have been through hell these past four days. Sheer, unadulterated purgatory. What with your secret house in that Muggle hellhole, your gloating mistress, being taken on a journey through Harry’s memory to watch you kill Dumbledore -”
She did not, could not, see the pain that crossed her husband’s face at the mention of Dumbledore. Had she seen it she would have ceased her torrent of personal woe and gone to him, comforted him.
“And nothing, I heard nothing from you. You left me to believe the worst. Left me to fend for myself with the Ministry, with the accusing stares of Remus, with my own worst fears. You abando -”
“My gloating what?” The words cut through the sightlessness like a loose curse.
Maeve paused her rant for a moment before spilling out all the frustration she had felt over Narcissa. “Your gloating mistress. She took so much pleasure in flaunting her little bedroom at Spinner’s End. Rubbed my nose in the fact you had been a good friend to her son, took no end of pleasure in telling me that you had been lovers. How do you think that -”
“Be quiet!” he snapped suddenly, bringing her volatile outburst to an end. “Who exactly are we talking about?”
“You know who we are talking about,” Maeve flared. “You made her a perfume, after all. Perfume that, I might add, is not one of your better potions experiments.”
“Maeve.”
And she felt him move, heard the firm shift of fabric and grass as he closed in on her. And then he touched her shoulders, grabbed them, and pushed her backwards, the back of her head making contact with the hard bark of a tree. For the first time she felt tangible fear of him, felt the power of what he could do to her if he chose, and she regretted leaving Remus back at Harbour View, regretted her faith in her husband, wondered if she would die here with no one to know that she had found her nemesis in her own kin.
And the world watched, waited for the calamity of anger that was being born before its eyes.
The air that came from his lungs was whisper-cold as he opened his mouth to speak; she took his breath into her as her lips parted to let loose a scream.
“I have never loved anyone else in my life but you,” he snarled. “I have not had another woman in my bed for a very long time, and even then certainly no one you would know. I expected you to question me about Dumbledore, about what caused that, about Draco, about my continued service as a Death Eater.” His hands were on her wrists, squeezing painfully, cutting into her blood. “I NEVER expected you to question my fidelity to you. I certainly never imagined for a moment you would think I could turn my attentions to another woman while I had you to grant me everything I could want in a companion.”
“But,” her voice was a croak, a whimper of protest. “But Narcissa said that -”
“Narcissa.” the name spluttered between them like a failed firework, suddenly impotent in its ability to explode into their world. “You believed Narcissa Malfoy?”
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
“You believed her!”
“You’re hurting me,” she shouted, tugging her wrists free and feeling the sharpness of his fingertips still on them even when his hands no longer made any physical contact.
“No, you are hurting me!” he said. And she felt him withdrawing into the night, his presence melting into the void beyond her senses.
“Severus!” Her anger made her reckless, made her lose all sense of what she was saying or doing. “What was I supposed to believe? You left me. YOU left ME! I had no idea what was going on. You were still a Death Eater. You still had contact with Voldemort and you let me believe that you had left that behind.”
And there was no reply. Nothing stirred. And then her heart moved. It shifted painfully as she realised she had been a fool over Narcissa. She had believed the dreams of a foolish, embittered woman who had a failure for a husband. She should have listened to Roderick when he had laughed at the notion of Severus and Narcissa being lovers, should have ignored her own foolish doubts. She had done her husband a great disservice by believing the nonsense that Narcissa had fed her and, worse still, she had confronted Severus with those fears.
She graced the night with her tears once more, wishing she could weep away the stain she wore at allowing her own fallibilities to be voiced at such a delicate juncture. And he was still gone from her, the pain of her wrists turning into a longing for his hands to take them again.
“I’m sorry!” she shouted into the night. “We should both be sorry! I can’t be sorry on my own and have it make any difference. Love won’t make us perfect. It won’t help if there is distance between us. If we are going to make mistakes we need to make them together!”
And the whisper came in her ear, startling her with its nearness. “For some ridiculous reason I have missed you and your infernal habit of making me forget myself.”
It shouldn’t have been that easy. There should have been more recriminations, more bitterness. Narcissa’s blonde head should have been between them, niggling them, but she was banished in the fleeing of Maeve’s doubts. And then he bent to her, bowed his self-reliance before her will in order to make things right. She was indulged by the depths of his sorrow-encompassing cloak, wrapped into his smell and his touch and his taste as he stooped to meet her lips.
Contentment dictated that she would have sheltered there all night, breathing easily the same air that he did, allowing a few hours to pass before they talked about the reality of the matter at hand. But there was no room for contentment now. Summer had taken it and used it all up, leaving only a few scraps for the autumn table. It was the first few drops of rain that intruded into their reunion, making them pull apart as the splashes of water brushed their cheeks.
“I did what I had to do,” he said, turning back to practicality. “I knew you would be witch enough to deal with the aftermath, and I was right.”
“You were lucky,” she smiled into the emptiness. “I could have failed to live up to your expectations.”
“Unlike me, Maeve, you have true friends who would not see you suffer. I understand you brought Lupin along.”
“He insisted. And I did not resist.”
“I do not profess to understand your attraction to such a man, but I have to accept it. The events of the past few days have clarified my mind somewhat.”
“Your mind does not need clarifying,” she said through the now steady rain. “Is there shelter in that building?”
“Draco is in there,” he said. “Awake I think, if the light was anything to go by.”
“What is your relationship with Draco?”
“Difficult, at best, but it is necessary.” He withdrew his wand in the dark and pointed it at her. “Impervius.”
“Why?” She felt the shake of the raindrops as they flew off her cloak and hair.
“There were things, things that happened that are long past and cannot be undone. I also know the type of man that Lucius is, know that he only cares for things that can further his own status. Draco holds no interest for him.”
“And you were interested in him?”
“I did not want him to go down the same path I did. I wanted Draco to see the Dark Arts for the complexities they were. Not to gain dominion over others. My interest was not entirely unselfish because I wanted to see if a child like Draco could be prevented from following his father.”
Maeve was not wholly satisfied by this but didn’t want to risk their newfound ease by pushing the Malfoy question.
“And Voldemort? What does he believe we are now?”
Severus brought her close once more, running a cold, damp hand down her cheek, sensing the discomfort.
“He believes what I have told him. You need not be bothered by such lies. You, at least, know the truth.”
“Come home,” she said, wanting to recreate what they had had just a week ago, when none of this mattered. “There are protections that we can place over Carrowdore. We could keep Draco safe.” There was no time to think about what she was saying. She had already arranged shelter for Narcissa and now she was offering the same to the boy.
“Nothing will keep Draco safe from the Dark Lord. Your good intentions are not enough,” Severus said. “Had Lucius not been so foolhardy then his son would be happy enough following a slow and steady decline into the Dark Lord’s employ, not suffer from this spectacular act of vengeance caused by his father’s failing. No, even the protections of a cottage in the mountains cannot keep him safe now. The Dark Lord knows where I live, knows about our home. He would look for Draco there if he had a mind to.”
“I see.” Maeve didn’t think there was much difference between a small, albeit well-concealed, island near a Muggle town and their home. She also didn’t allow herself to dwell on the fact that Voldemort could have been watching her at any point during the past few weeks, had her watched, could have harmed her whenever he chose. And she didn’t pause to wonder why he hadn’t. “And why has he not found this place?”
“Because he has not thought to look, yet.”
“But he will, surely, and then what will you do?”
Severus paused in his answer, unwilling to admit defeat but knowing he must do so.
“I cannot protect Draco forever. At some point his father will have to step forward and accept responsibility.”
“Lucius has been captured by Voldemort. That’s why I had to...” She paused, wondering if the mention of Narcissa could cause fresh pain.
“Had to do what?”
“I’ve arranged for Narcissa to be hidden in a safe house. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought that’s what you would have wanted.” She winced, waiting for another blizzard of recriminations, but none came. She felt her damp body pulled even closer to his as he recognised the sacrifice she thought she was making.
“You have a considerable capacity for doing what is right. I doubt many would have done the same. Where is she?”
“I don’t know, didn’t want to know. She is safe though.”
Severus nodded into the darkness, both of them silent for the length of time it took them to reassemble their thoughts. It was Maeve who spoke first.
“And what happened with Dumbledore?” She felt his body flinch as she said the words, felt the scouring of the pain that ran through him.
“It had to be done. He would have died anyway.” For the first time she heard weakness in his voice, a tremor of something palpable. “He knew.”
“What passed between you in the moments before he died? I saw something.”
“How could you have seen something?” he said coldly. “You weren’t there.”
“Harry has Dumbledore’s Pensieve. He used his memory to allow me to see the truth of the matter.”
“He did, did he? I suppose he thought he was being clever, thought he could use my own actions to turn you against me.” Severus had forgotten, along with Harry, that they had spoken truce-like words in Ireland. Maeve knew that they were back to open hostility, even worse than that. Harry’s murderous thoughts about Severus had the potential to end in tragedy. “And did you understand what you saw? Or did you fall for Potter’s tricks. I presume the former, since you are here and more concerned about Narcissa Malfoy than about the death of an old man.”
“I saw what I saw, Severus. Dumbledore was asking you to “ well, he appeared to be asking you to “ do something that he wanted and that he perhaps thought you might fail at.”
“Your eyes did not deceive,” he said. “I know what Dumbledore was concerning himself with over the summer, helped him when I could. He knew I had other things on my mind.” He smiled at the precious memories of the time he had managed to spend with his new wife, regretful that at the same time he had been conscious of the pull Dumbledore could exert over him at any time. It had been a hard summer, a hard year, a hard life, always being at the behest of two masters and Severus had grown increasingly more tired by it, had increasingly wanted to step down from his position as eavesdropper for Dumbledore. Perhaps the woman at his side was part of the reason for this escalating discontent; perhaps he was just growing more conscious of time running through his life-stained fingers in a steady spill of wasted years.
“Harry mentioned the Horcruxes,” Maeve said, lowering her voice without realising it. “Did you know about them?”
“Of course I did. How do you think Dumbledore found out about the cave, the place where they found the locket? It was my information that led to that, my information that has discovered the whereabouts of the cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff.”
“You know where the next Horcrux is?” She was astounded by this piece of information.
“The Dark Lord has never told anyone where they lie but there are ways of finding things out. Dumbledore found the ring on his own, but he needed help with the cave, needed a little more background information than he already had. So three are gone and one is located, although I don’t know how we will remove it now that Dumbledore has gone.”
“But only two have been destroyed!” Maeve exclaimed, wondering if he knew about the locket and realising that he probably didn’t. “The real locket had been stolen. What was left in the cave was a fake, someone called R.A.B had beaten Dumbledore and Harry to it.”
When Severus didn’t immediately respond she paused, wondering what he was thinking. After a minute of waiting she grew impatient and spoke his name softly. “Severus?” Reaching out for him she found he was not there and yet she could feel him close by. It was only when she almost stumbled over his crouched figure that she realised he had sunk to his haunches. Her fingers found his head buried in hands that had believed they had performed an act that meant something. Crouching close to him she had had enough of the lack of light and drew her wand, throwing caution to the wind she illuminated the shattered figure of her husband.
“Severus, what is it?” she asked, placing her forehead close to his.
He shook his head, words lost in his crushing despondency. She had never seen him like this, with no fight or resistance, without the ability to stand unbowed.
“Please,” she begged. “What is it?”
“It was all for NOTHING!” he said angrily. “I killed him for nothing. He died for nothing. The whole sorry drama was for nothing. We have lost, lost to Regulus Black, of all people.”
She waited until he removed his hands from his face, waited until he looked at her.
“Severus, it was not your fault that this happened. Some things are so intent on being lost that it would be impossible not to lose them. Dumbledore knew there might have been failure at some point; he was nothing if not a realist. He would not want you to blame yourself.”
“I’m not blaming myself,” he snapped, standing up and recovering his posture, his face closing on his momentary grief. “I’m bemoaning the waste, that is all. What was Regulus doing stealing a Horcrux? How could he possibly have hoped to dispose of it? Regulus was a foolish, foolish boy who ultimately brought about his own downfall.”
“How do you know it was Regulus Black? That’s Sirius’ brother, isn’t it?”
“Was. The Black brothers do not seem to have had the knack of staying alive. His middle name was yet another stellar reference, Regulus Arcturus Black. Both of them were supported to a degree by their uncle, Alphard, who was overtly sympathetic towards the family. Alphard was a fool though, he lacked the mettle to be fully appreciative of what the Dark Lord intended and was soon scrubbed from the family history. He gave money to his feckless eldest nephew, Sirius, so that he could leave home. I think he also created a conflict within Regulus that may have led to Regulus acting so unwisely in trying to take on the Horcrux. Although I could be wrong, but I seldom am.”
His face was tight with concentrated thought; she could see the memories flashing across his brain as he searched for something that could add meaning to Regulus and a possible connection to the stolen Horcrux.
“What’s going on?” The familiar voice was hoarse from lack of use, and yet Maeve could still catch the hint of cold Malfoy confidence in it. “What’s she doing here?”
They turned towards the light that fizzed at the entrance to the building and Draco stood dishevelled in the toothless mouth that led to the interior of the boathouse.
“Watch your tongue, Draco,” Severus said. “Remember who you are speaking to. This is my wife and you would do well to bear that in mind.”
Maeve could see Draco struggle to control his feelings at being confronted with someone so obviously connected with all that he hated. But Draco appeared to remember that he depended on Severus for his safety and swiftly changed tack.
“Who were you talking about? That traitor Black? Father always said he got the end he deserved.”
“What we were talking about is no concern of yours, Draco. Go back to sleep.” Severus was firm and Maeve expected Draco to do what he had always done and accede to his former teacher’s wishes. But he didn’t; he strode across the springy turf towards them, his hands thrust roughly into the pockets of his well-cut trousers.
“So now she knows where we are, we’ll have to go,” he said, addressing Severus directly.
“You think my wife will betray me?” Severus face was hard with incredulity, incredulity that had nothing to do with Maeve’s trustworthiness.
“Well, she’s good friends with Potter.” Draco sneered with every inch of his face. “She’s probably as unpredictable as he is.”
“She’s the one that has saved your mother from the effects of your father’s incompetence.” Severus waited a few seconds for that to sink in and watched as Draco’s face blustered with disbelief. “She’s the one person that set aside her personal feelings to help someone who needed it. Your mother needed it. You should think about that carefully before you decide to question her in any way.”
Draco cast a cold glance at her from his frosted eyes and for a brief moment Maeve thought she saw the briefest glimpse of regret lurking on his face. He banished it as quickly as he had allowed it to form and its place was taken by the familiar Malfoy pride.
In the silence that hung in the air Maeve realised that the first strains of sunlight were starting to banish the dew-dropping hours of the night. Remus would be waking soon, alone, and know that she had deserted him. She knew there was much more to learn from Severus but she had to make things right with Remus prior to continuing this difficult conversation.
Before Draco had the chance to say anything further she drew Severus away from him, extinguishing her wand as the sunlight grew ever stronger.
“I have to go back and see Remus. I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him. Do you need me to bring anything back with me?”
“What do you mean you have to see Lupin?” Severus said, gripping her arm gently.
“He will wake and think I have sneaked off to see you to avoid him knowing where you are. He will think I don’t trust him.”
Severus gave a dry smile. “And do you?”
“I do, although I’m not ready for him to see where you are hiding. So do you need me to bring you anything?”
“Not at the moment. I have been surviving by paying late night visits into the town. They do not notice one more black-robed figure amongst so many others.”
Maeve recognised again that he had been very clever in choosing this place as a hiding place. It attracted many Muggles who liked to dress in dark clothing and adorn themselves with body-piercings and hairstyles that stood out from the normal Muggle styles. Severus would have been seen as just one more face in the crowd.
“You have Muggle-repelling charms in place?” she asked, knowing that the close proximity to the town could cause problems.
“No, they are not necessary. There are folktales about this place that work better than any charm could, and a charm would smell of magic. Better to do without and risk the occasional Muggle.”
“I have to go. It’s getting late. I’ll come back as soon as I have arranged things with Remus.” Maeve wasn’t quite sure how she would ‘arrange’ things with Remus but arrange them she would. Now that she had seen Severus she was sure that she didn’t want to involve anyone else at this stage. The whole house of cards was too fragile to blow strange winds at it.
“And what if I didn’t want you to go. What if I insisted you stay?” Severus’ face was half lit by the rising sun and it lent a certain depth to his normally shallow black eyes.
“I would stay. But you would not insist that I do anything. Do you want me to stay?” Maeve challenged him, gave him the opportunity to detain her.
“No, you need to do what you feel is necessary. If Lupin needs the salve of your presence then so be it. I can wait a little longer to be truly at peace with you.”
“You were never at war with me,” she said, reaching up and drawing his mouth to hers. “I will come back in a few hours and we can decide what we do next.”
“You know we will need to be apart for the foreseeable future. It is not what I want but it will be necessary for your sake and Draco’s.”
“And you go on, not knowing your fate,” she smiled at the heroics of it all, the masquerade of bravado.
“Oh, I know my fate. The feat I must perform is to avoid my fate so that I can live a life with you. Go, if you must, and sort out Lupin. I will not be going anywhere.”
“I wish, oh, I don’t know what I wish. I want to take this weight off your shoulders, want to bear it for both of us, and I can’t.”
Severus looked at her worried face, lost himself for a moment in the woody depths of her eyes as they strafed his soul with sadness.
“You’ve been the only thing that’s true in everything I have done.” He hesitated, his face washed with the new sun, and seemed to struggle for more words, for something that he couldn’t articulate. “Go. Just go.” There was a tremor at his throat and Maeve knew he was holding back emotion, not wanting to appear weak in front of her.
With one last brush of her lips to his, she caught the current and was swept away from him. He watched her dissolve and felt a rush of pain at seeing her leave that he had not felt since that hideous day when her grandmother had taken the Dark Lord’s magic from her body. Severus needed her more than he would ever admit, and seeing her leave was like having a splinter of sorrow chipping at his heart.