Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 54
The Circus Maximus
“What do you mean, you want me to throw the match?” Hermione screeched.
“You really can’t be serious, mate!” Ron’s tone was low and ominous.
Glad that he’d had to foresight to cast a muffliato spell in the direction of the stone scone, Harry wondered whether an Imperturbable Charm was also needed. He doubted Hermione would appreciate becoming the subject of gossip between the Fat Lady on the floor below and her friend, Violet.
“I know how it sounds,” Harry sympathized. “But look at the big picture. Destroying the Horcruxes is a lot more important than a student dueling match.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit capricious on Snape’s part?” Hermione shot back.
“I thought he was just going out of his way to be difficult at first, also,” Harry admitted. “But his plan does makes logical sense. It might not a popular choice, but it’s a well thought out one.”
“It just seems so dishonest,” Hermione objected at a more normal volume.
“What about all those people who have money riding on this?” Ron ventured.
Hermione turned on him like a hornet. “Tell me you’re joking, Ronald! Did you not hear the Headmistress warn us that there was to be no handicapping, no odds making, no gambling of any sort? If you ask me, they deserve to lose their shirts “ or whatever. It’ll be less of a penalty than what the Headmistress will exact!”
“She’s got you there, chum,” Harry conceded with a small lift to his eyebrow. “I know it’s asking a lot. I didn’t like the idea so much when Snape tossed it at me, either, but it grows on you. And it’s certainly a lot less taxing than meeting up with him in the wee hours of the morning.”
“You’re sure the Headmistress has a Marauder’s Map of her own?” Ron asked in a dubious tone.
“Saw it with my own eyes. Lupin made it specially for her.”
“What about this deserted passage that we’re using?” Hermione still had reservations. “Are you certain it doesn’t appear on McGonagall’s Map?”
“I only got a brief look, but I don’t think so,” Harry supplied. “It’s not something that I can double-check, all right? Lupin was not about to provide me with the incantation to activate the Map. Believe me, I asked him point blank.”
“But you know where it’s kept,” Hermione urged. “Perhaps we could play around with it a little bit.”
“Hermione, no!” cautioned Ron. “There’s no way to get into the Headmistress’ private library unseen tonight.”
“Not only that,” Harry added, “but I’m not going to risk getting Lupin in trouble when he went out of his way to help me. Considering how many times he’s bent the rules for our benefit, he doesn’t deserve that from us.”
“Won’t Lupin be suspicious when you get up and walk out before the match is over?” Hermione prodded.
It was a promising sign that she was beginning to work out the details, Harry thought to himself. If she was going to shoot him down decisively, there would be no point in considering other factors.
“I doubt that he’ll even notice, to tell you the truth,” Harry remarked. “He already warmed me that the Headmistress was demanding that all teachers join her in the skybox.”
“Who’s going to be guarding the front doors, then?” Ron threw up at him.
“Filch, I suspect,” Harry replied. “Maybe even Hagrid. I really don’t know, but I doubt that such an obvious detail will have been overlooked.”
“Looks like they’re going to a lot of trouble, though,” Ron commented. “Flitwick ended our afternoon chess match early to help with the set up.”
“Lupin said something similar to me. Had to help with the Transfigurations, was how he put it,” Harry volunteered.
“You mean that they’re already engaging the Room of Requirement this evening?” Hermione gasped. “How are you going to retrieve the Prince’s book?”
“One step ahead of you.” Harry grinned as he held up a bundle that was wrapped in his Invisibility Cloak. “I know you can’t see it right now, but trust me, it’s in there.”
“How will you ever be able to get back into the Treasure Room, mate?” was Ron’s immediate concern.
“I left something else to be hidden instead.”
Confident that Hermione had properly set the jinxes at both ends of the corridor where they were to meet with Snape later, Harry slowly made his way down the stone steps of the arena. Although the others had gone on ahead, Harry had not lingered in the common room much longer himself. He wanted to be assured of a seat in the Room of Requirement where it would not be so difficult to slip out unnoticed.
Even though the start of the event was nearly an hour away, the stands were already teaming with activity. The resemblance to bees buzzing industriously in a honeycomb was striking. Harry’s attention was immediately arrested by the so-called skybox where the teachers and staff, Hogwarts’ elite, were to congregate. A whole section of the tiers had been hollowed out to accommodate a large half-moon area. It had been furnished with gilded chairs and lounging couches, much in the style that the Romans had popularized at the height of their power. In the very center were two high backed chairs that had been set up for the arbitrators of the event.
He found the perfect spot, just where he had told Hermione ahead of time that he would be. Unfortunately, it was already overrun by a gaggle of giggly girls. Gryffindor girls, Harry noticed, then recognized Leah’s familiar features smiling up at him.
“Hi, Harry!” she called merrily, patting the bench next to her. “We have room for you to sit with us, if you’d like. We noticed that all of your best pals are contestants today.”
“That would be great!” Harry agreed, thinking that they would provide just the perfect camouflage for his hasty plan.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of today’s group,” Leah offered. “That’s Becca, Lauren, Claudette and Simone.”
The four other acolytes waved jauntily as Leah called out their names. Harry dreaded that he would never keep them straight.
As if sensing his thoughts, Leah whispered loudly, “If you get confused, just call them the Layettes. It’s incredibly lame, I know, but they seem to think it’s an outrageously funny pun.”
The sound of giggling approval was clearly audible as Harry confided back, “Sounds like the name of a day care nursery.”
Leah giggled in return. “No one in their right mind would leave infants in the care of this group. They’re all much too cheeky for their own good.”
Harry did his best to hide his incipient smirk; after all, she was no more than eleven or twelve herself. And already the ringleader, he reminded himself.
He allowed his eyes to stray once more towards the skybox where much of the boisterous activity seemed to be centered. Draped in their nymph outfits, the Slytherin girls were floating to and fro with trays of food and drink.
“They did a pretty good job of setting up Mount Olympus, didn’t they?” Leah commented sagely.
Although archways connected the teachers’ area to the main stands, there was a subtle ring of misty vapor that seemed to designate its boundaries.
“Are you sure that was what they intended?” Harry asked conversationally, although he would have been hard pressed to come to any other conclusion himself.
“Absolutely,” Leah returned. “Just look at the teachers that are socializing in the back area. See how they’re dressed.”
Harry squinted more carefully at the vague figures he could see in the shadows. Many of those flashes of white he had mistaken for Slytherin nymphs were actually teachers dressed in togas. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was able to distinguish the rotund form of Professor Slughorn who was bustling about making sure that everything was in order. But what was he doing with one of Hagrid’s pitchforks? Catching the glitter of gold paint, Harry concluded that Slughorn was the mighty Poseidon, ruler of the oceans, armed with his trident. Good choice, he had to admit.
He felt a gentle tap on one shoulder and looked up into the earnest eyes of one of the Layettes. “Here, this should make it easier for you. We’ve all had our turns already,” she offered, handing Harry a pair of Omnioculars. These seemed to be a more sophisticated model than his old familiar one. Noticing Harry’s initial bewilderment, she added, “Be sure to set it to low light so that the special polarization filter is activated.”
Harry adjusted the knob that she indicated and the scene leapt to life before his eyes. The only thing missing was the soundtrack. Almost immediately, he located Professor Hooch who was wearing a most unusual headdress composed exclusively of snakes. Of course, she was the demon, Medusa. Chatting amicably to the right was Professor Sprout in a dark green toga, a basket of fruit and vegetables hung over her arm. Noticing that she wore a golden crown of leaves, Harry deduced that she must be Juno, goddess of hearth and home and wife to the fearsome, Jupiter, the great overlord. With a pang, Harry regretted that there was no one worthy of that role present; it had been tailor-made for Dumbledore himself. With a small sigh, Harry toasted the Headmaster’s memory with his last swallow of Butterbeer.
Noticing that Professors Flitwick and Vector were setting up the refreshments on the far side of the stands, Harry offered to get some for everyone. Leah immediately announced she would help since there were only so many bottles a man could carry at once. Truth be told, he was glad of the assistance; it was already too chaotic to risk using a locomotor charm.
As they took their place in queue, Harry regretted that he had left the Omnioculars back in his seat. He attempted to improvise by shielding his eyes with his hand but could discern no more than flitting shadows.
“Did you by any chance see Mister Stevens?” he asked Leah casually.
“I believe he was in charge of guarding one of the school entrances.”
“Too bad, I thought he might have made a nice Narcissus holding an overwrought mirror.”
Leah giggled appreciatively, then added slyly, “Or Endymion. They were cut from the same cloth, you know.”
Harry was stunned by her knowledge of ancient mythology. “Leah, I’ve wanted to ask you this from the first day that you helped me in class. Please don’t be offended, but were you cloned from Hermione Granger?”
With an overly dramatic sigh, she intoned, “I only wish.”
“But you’re just like her,” Harry affirmed. “The same matter-of-fact tone, the same encyclopedic knowledge that leaves the rest of us mere mortals gaping. It’s just like I’m back on the Hogwarts Express for the first time.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Harry.” Leah smiled. “But I could never compare to Hermione. Just look at her down there on the field warming up. Even in athletic gear with her hair braided back severely, she’s still so, so beautiful.”
Harry noticed how Leah’s eyes were surrounded by lashes so long that they seem to reach her cheekbones, her raven hair falling in a thick ponytail down her back. Knowing that he wasn’t just flattering her, he returned, “Hermione’s just grown into herself; there’s a lot of beauty in poise and self-confidence. You’ll be just like her, if not even more striking.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Trust me. Just give yourself time.”
Finally it was their turn to be served and Harry ordered their Butterbeers cold. With a flash of her wand, Professor Vector caused a layer of ice to form outside the bottles as they were instantly chilled. To her left, Professor Flitwick was doing much the same for those that preferred hot Butterbeer, although he was removing the caps first to allow for escaping steam.
“Good to see you, Harry.” Flitwick winked in his direction. “Always with a pretty young lady on your arm, I see.” As the professor turned away to attend to the next person, Harry noted that he was sporting a small set of horns on his head and had an elaborate golden flute hanging over his shoulder.
“I think he’s dressed as Pan,” Harry whispered to Leah as they worked their way back to their seats.
She nodded her agreement, then whispered, “I wonder if he’s wearing cloven hooves and a tail as well!”
“We’ll have to wait for him to stand up!” Harry laughed at the image.
As they distributed the Butterbeers among the Layettes, Harry’s attention was piqued by sudden movement near the edge of Mount Olympus. Professor Sinistra was deep in conversation, a golden bow and quiver slung over her back identifying her as Diana, goddess of the hunt. Considering that Diana was also goddess of the moon, it was a fitting role for an Astronomy teacher. Leaning slightly on the railing, Lupin was dressed in full Roman garb, his scarlet cloak clasped at the shoulder. He smiled to see Harry looking in his direction and toasted him with a golden goblet that smoked ominously.
“It doesn’t look like they’re drinking Butterbeer, does it?” Harry remarked to the Layettes.
“They should have nectar and ambrosia,” the girl that Harry thought was Becca announced with authority.
“I don’t think nectar is supposed to billow like that,” added another.
“Professor Slughorn must have gotten creative with the punch, again,” a third one commented. “The Slytherins were in charge of the refreshments.”
“Well, the ambrosia wouldn’t have been that hard to prepare,” Becca rejoined. “My mum makes that all the time in the summer. It’s a bit like a trifle but with pineapple and coconut mixed in as well.”
“Look, there’s Professor Tonks.” Leah nodded in the direction of the steps leading down from Mount Olympus. “And she’s headed this way!”
Tonks was indeed maneuvering down the stairs, the multi-colored layers of her tunic floating in the air as she moved gracefully from one gold sandaled foot to the other. As she drew near, Harry could see that she had sparkly jewels encrusted in her hair. Her unusually dark waves shimmered in multi-hued iridescence just like a raven’s wing caught in a shaft of sunlight.
“Wotcher, girls.” Tonks smiled as she came abreast of them. “I wonder if I might have a quick word with Harry….We’re trying to work out some of the details for next week’s classes.”
Despite her dazzling smile, Harry caught the serious look in Tonks’ eye and excused himself to speak with her a few feet away. The arena was filling up fast and there really was no place where they would have any sort of privacy.
“I spoke to the Headmistress at great length yesterday evening,” Tonks whispered softly, smiling and nodding at the constant greetings that she received from students trailing past. “She shares our concerns. For now, we’re keeping to the status quo.”
“Nothing new?” Harry asked, not daring to say more.
“No, but we’re not going back to the old methods, either.”
“You’re winging it?”
“For now. It seemed the safest course of action,” she confided so softly that Harry had to strain to hear her over all the surrounding noise. “I’ll give you more details as soon as I know.”
As Tonks made to return to the skybox, Leah interjected, “Excuse me, Professor, but we couldn’t help wondering about your attire…”
“I’m Iris, the goddess of rainbows,” she supplied. “Let me demonstrate.” Tonks quickly stepped onto the stone bench as the rest of them jumped to their feet to give her room.
With more grace that Harry would have ever expected from a girl who used to send dustbins clattering every time she walked past, she effortlessly spiraled so they could see the different layers of her garment lift and form the gradient colors of a rainbow. The Layettes cooed their approval.
“You look iridescent.” One of the girls smiled at her own acumen.
“So Remus has been telling me all day,” Tonks confided, then caught herself. “I mean Professor Lupin, that is!”
Everyone giggled at her faux pas as Harry dared to whisper in Tonks’ ear, “Luminous is the word I would use.”
With an extra little smile directed at Harry, Tonks bid farewell and returned to the domain of the gods. Harry noticed that Lupin watched her every move from on high as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her for very long.
Once again, Leah caught the import of his thoughts effortlessly and commented, “They’re so romantic.”
As Lupin turned to speak to Tonks, a flash of light captured the intricate silver cuff that he wore across his upper arm. There was a sharp intake of breath from Leah.
“Harry, around Professor Lupin’s arm… It matches the bracelet that Professor Tonks wears all the time.” Leah’s voice was an urgent whisper.
“Yes, they have wedding cuffs instead of rings. That was the custom on the tropical isle where they were married.”
A collective sigh came from the Layettes. Harry momentarily regretted having spoken, then realized that Lupin could have easily clasped his cloak on his other shoulder to hide the cuff but he hadn’t.
“How luscious,” Lauren commented dreamily.
“How utterly Bohemian,” was echoed.
“How unconventional for a man who likes to pretend he’s so buttoned down in public,” Becca observed knowingly.
Harry smiled thinking that Lupin would not be so overly amused at their assessments. But it was Leah who totally floored him with her next comment. “It’s a shame he doesn’t show off his calves more often.”
Everyone tittered and nodded as Harry decided he should speak up before they forgot he was present. “As his hiking partner, would you like me to suggest to him that he wear short trousers on occasion? Strictly on your recommendation, of course.”
The girls gasped in unison.
“Please tell me you won’t!”
“He’d give us detention for sure!”
Harry suspected the punishment that Tonks would exact would be far worse, but he kept that to himself.
As the magical hour of two approached, the robust figure of Reggie Smithwick, their Ancient Runes teacher, made his way down to the green patch of grass below. He was wearing a rustic tunic cinched with a wide studded belt that Harry remembered from his Viking ensemble. Without the Nordic helm, the effect was much more Roman. Second only to Hagrid who was on guard duty, Professor Smithwick’s imposing physique made him an ideal candidate to referee today’s events. It was easy to picture him in the full Scottish regalia of his ancestral clan, leading a charge for the glory of Caledonia.
Smithwick blew his whistle to gain everyone’s attention and then amplified his voice with a wand to the throat.
“Friends…Romans…countrymen of all Houses, we are gathered here today to celebrate another first for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Through the talents of the mighty gods on high--” He motioned with a grand gesture towards the skybox. “--we present to you three contests of great magical prowess and endurance.
“To those of you who may still feel this presents an ideal opportunity to rid yourselves of that ugly jumper Aunt Martha gave you at Yuletide, take heed! The mighty Oracle has proclaimed that there be no gambling of any sort at today’s event. Those found violating this edict will find their spoils confiscated as well as their personal freedoms seriously curtailed.”
“It would still be worth it!” yelled a tall Slytherin lad that Harry did not know by name.
“I have my eye on you, Nigel!” Smithwick announced, pointing directly at the heckler.
As the crowd erupted in laughter, Harry could see that the carnival atmosphere was taking hold once more.
Turning to face the skybox, Smithwick intoned, “All hail the Ladies Caesar!” accompanied by a sharp salute of a closed fist to the heart. The other teachers followed suit as they faced the golden thrones now occupied by the Headmistresses.
As McGonagall rose to address the assemblage, Harry noted that her steel grey hair had been elaborately styled to cascade down her back regally and that a golden circlet rested on her brow. In gleaming white adorned only with a replica of Gryffindor’s sword fastened at the hip, she was the very image of the warrior goddess for which she had been named.
“Let the Circus Maximus begin!” McGonagall proclaimed as she tossed a mighty handful of confetti from the railing.
Aided my magic, the scintillating sparkles softly fell to the grassy tournament field where they dissolved into dust.
“The first contest pits Luna Lovegood against Hermione Granger,” Smithwick announced. “Will the contestants please line up back to back.”
As the brief refereeing rules were explained to the multitude, Harry took the opportunity to confide to Leah, “If the Headmistress is wearing Lupin’s sword, then he can’t be Mars, the god of war, like I originally surmised.”
She nodded knowingly. “I think he’s an altogether different deity. See how he’s lounging on that couch,” she added, handing the Ominoculars back so that Harry could get a better look. “When he lifts his ankles just so, you can see that the backs of his sandals have little fluttering wings on them.”
Harry confirmed her powers of observation for himself. “Then he’s…” he urged her to assist him.
“Mercury, of course,” she finished for him. “The winged messenger of the gods. Makes perfect sense when you take into account that Iris was also a messenger from the heavens to the earth. The rainbow represented the path of her journey.”
“How clever of them to wear costumes that compliment one another,” Becca added from Leah’s other side.
Harry’s attention was drawn to the contestants counting off for the commencement of the duel. Hermione’s expression was one of intense concentration as she turned to confront Luna. The extra sparkle in Luna’s eyes was the only indication she gave of coiled menace. Each took the measure of her opponent as the opening gambits flew fast and furious from one to the other. Hermione’s reflexes were lightning quick but it was clear she was having difficulty anticipating Luna’s next move. Luna remained unfazed as she returned to a calm oasis after every spell. Hermione played Luna out for a reasonable length of time before she allowed herself to make a fatal error and Luna immobilized her. The referee’s whistle blew to indicate the conclusion of the first round.
As Harry waited for Hermione to join him in the stands, he offered some insight to the girls. “With all the trouble that the teachers have taken with today’s festivities, it wouldn’t surprise me if you ended up with some sort of writing assignment in Monday’s classes.”
“We already assumed that,” the girl who Harry thought was Simone agreed.
“You should probably get an idea of the menu the Slytherins prepared then,” Harry suggested as he remembered the oysters, smoked mussels and other delicacies that Slughorn had offered at the similarly themed Slytherin party. “The dishes might tie in with his Poseidon persona.”
“Excuse me, Harry,” Hermione offered as she approached. “Slughorn would be dressed as Neptune, not Poseidon. Keep in mind that this is the Roman pantheon, not the Greek.”
The Layettes nodded and giggled at Hermione’s astute comment. Harry scooted over on the bench to allow her to join them. They spoke about meaningless things in an undertone so that they could not be overheard as Hermione conveyed with her body language just how upset she was with having been bested. As she buried her head on his shoulder, Harry encircled her with his arm protectively. It was a credible performance for someone who had little practice with being in second place, he decided.
“Would you feel better if we got some fresh air?” he whispered just loudly enough to be overheard.
Hermione nodded “tearfully”.
“Will you excuse us, girls?” Harry asked, turning briefly to face them. “Hermione hasn’t had a lot of practice when it comes to losing, if you know what I mean,” he whispered in Leah’s ear, confident that she would pass it on to the others just as soon as they were out the door.
Ron and Neville were lining up back to back for the next contest as Harry took one last look at the tournament field. He escorted Hermione into the empty corridor, sneaking a peek at his watch that showed it was already a few minutes beyond the half hour mark. They maintained their ruse until they turned the far corner, then burst into a quick run down to the fourth floor.
From the deserted stairwell, Harry smoothed the Marauder’s Map and double-checked that the dot labeled Severus Snape was indeed waiting for them at the designated site. They found a bench just around the corner from the objective to wait for Ron.
Nervously, Harry reached behind the corner of the alcove and felt around in the dark until he located the copy of the Prince’s Potions book he’d hidden there. He sagged with relief as he gently removed his Invisibility Cloak that had shielded it from prying eyes. He had been apprehensive about leaving two such valuable possessions unattended, even for so short a time. Hermione folded the Cloak as small as possible, then stuffed it into the pocket of her cover-up jacket as Harry rewrapped the book in an old towel. She rechecked Harry’s watch apprehensively.
It was a few minutes shy of three when Ron appeared.
“Had to make it look believable, guys,” he offered by way of apology. “Neville’s face was so shocked that he’d won; it was priceless!”
With hammering hearts, they double-checked that their accomplice was still in position before turning the corner. The large ornate mirror that dominated the far wall reflected their drawn faces as they drew near. Intoning the password the Map had supplied, the mirror swung forward to admit them into the caved in passage the Weasley twins had pointed out so many years before.
It took Harry a moment to note that it was not necessary to light their wands as a number of iron brackets along the disused passage were already aglow. Hermione’s nod confirmed that her safeguards were still in place before Ron allowed the mirror to shut behind them, effectively eliminating their only escape route. Harry had proposed that they meet beyond the first turn, just before the caved in portion. Hermione established a hasty shield bubble around the exit to slow down anyone attempting a quick getaway, but with the other safeguards that she had used, it was probably redundant.
They tiptoed to the first bend and then Ron boldly stepped forth, wand at the ready. He nodded to the other two that it was safe to proceed. Waiting on a small stone bench was Severus Snape, his wand held forth in his upturned palm.
“Accio wand,” Ron commanded. Handing Snape’s wand to Hermione for safekeeping, Ron warily stepped closer to his quarry as the others backed him up.
“Please stand,” Ron demanded as Snape dutifully obeyed. With a long swirling motion of his wand, Ron invoked the spell that would check for other weaponry. A tingle at the end of his wand alerted him to possible trouble.
“Everyone back,” Ron ordered. “He’s still armed.”
“You must mean this,” Snape drawled contemptuously as he removed a dainty pocketknife from the breast of his tan frock coat. He held it out in his palm for Ron to summon as well. “You may have custody of it temporarily, but I will need it to destroy the object. Its blade is dull as can be; it’s hardly a weapon.”
Ron performed another swipe with his wand and then announced that Snape was clean.
“Did you bring the object?” Snape’s dark eyes seethed as he looked directly at Harry, ignoring the others. “It will help if you place it on that table there.”
Snape pointed to a small square table that Harry was certain had not been in the corridor when he had inspected it earlier today. Come to think of it, the bench that Snape had been sitting upon hadn’t been there, either.
Catching the import of Harry’s glance, Snape offered, “I took the liberty of making the surroundings a bit more comfortable for our purposes. I hope you don’t mind.” The acid in his tone suggested that he didn’t much care one way or the other.
Not taking his eyes from Snape’s face, Harry gently placed the towel wrapped bundle on the faded tabletop. Snape made as if to lunge for it almost immediately, but was forestalled by a pair of wands pointed menacingly at his chest.
“Not so fast,” Harry warned with deadly intent. “I’ll allow you to see that it’s the correct object, but you are not to take one step closer to it until I agree. Do we understand one another?”
“But of course.” Snape bowed with a disdainful flourish.
Harry could actually feel the charged particles of distrust in the air. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had guided his hand with unerring accuracy towards the documents pertaining to Lupin’s potion. With deliberate slowness, Harry eased the soft dragon-hide gloves over his hands before flipping back the edges of the towel to reveal the worn cover of the Potions book. He turned to the back cover and held up the flyleaf that had been inscribed as “Property of the Half-Blood Prince.”
“Does that convince you?” he shot back at Snape.
“It appears to be the genuine article,” Snape acquiesced in a sullen tone.
“Tell me how one goes about destroying Horcruxes,” Harry demanded. “I want to hear the theory before I allow you to demonstrate.”
Snape sighed in resignation. “You’ll permit me a bit of comfort then,” he announced silkily as he resumed his earlier position on the bench, crossing one leg over the other. “Certain objects share a resonance of sorts with the Horcrux. When you bring them into close proximity, you can sense their barely contained anticipation. It may be a bit of vibration or the object may inexplicably become hot or cold to the touch. Go ahead and try it with the little switchblade,” Snape urged.
Warily, Ron placed the captured switchblade in the palm of Harry’s glove. Harry did not close his hand over it in case it became necessary to drop it quickly. Instead, he simply held his palm an inch or so above the book cover.
“It’s like a buzzing sensation without the accompanying sound,” he agreed to Snape’s satisfied nod.
Ron and Hermione followed suit, each protecting his or her hand with one of the gloves.
“How did you identify the complimentary object?” Hermione asked doggedly. “Please tell me it isn’t a totally random occurrence.”
“Not entirely,” Snape addressed her for the first time. “Nor it is a unique relationship, either, so it won’t be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Many objects exist that could potentially destroy a given Horcrux, but you still have to locate the potentials.”
“How? Still sounds pretty random to me,” Hermione returned.
“It will be an object that shares some sort of tie with the Horcrux, be it that it was property of the person who was killed, something associated with the memory that may be trapped within, a similarity in materials or usage. Any sort of potential tie. It’s rather like the association that a person exhibits with his Patronus.”
“But that could be anything--” Ron sighed.
“Sounds like a potentially daunting task to me.” Harry was unconvinced.
“Not when you consider all the possibilities,” Snape returned with obvious impatience. “For instance, the Potions book in question was imbued with the memory of my late wife--” Hermione’s gasp echoed in the narrow passage. “”hence, an object that belonged to her could be used to effect the destruction. It just so happens that the only souvenir I kept was the small switchblade.”
“What if you hadn’t kept that?” Harry threw at him. “What then?”
“Then I would have explored a different avenue,” Snape growled. “Since the object is a Potions book, a knife used to chop ingredients or even a caustic solution may have done the trick. What’s more, they could still do the trick. It’s not a unique relationship. It’s rather like a lock that has multiple keys scattered all over the place. Not every key will work, but many will.”
“Where is this information contained?” Hermione took an oblique tack. “If I wanted to verify the truth of your words, where would I go to find this explanation?”
Snape laughed derisively. “If you had access to such dark writings, you wouldn’t have gone through all the machinations to get me here. Really, Ms. Granger, how stupid do you really think I am?”
“Obviously, your answer implies that I’m the stupid one!” Hermione’s temper was barely in check.
Snape chuckled with triumph.
“Don’t let him get his jollies at your expense, Hermione,” Harry soothed. “Severus doesn’t get out to play as often as he once did.”
Harry heard the sharp intake of breath from both Ron and Hermione. Such words would surely have gotten him detention until the next millennium when he had been Snape’s student, but that was no longer their dynamic.
Instead, Snape smirked as he looked Harry up and down appraisingly. “So the puppy has teeth after all,” he remarked softly.
“Enough talk, show us how it’s done,” Harry barked, taking a small step back from the table to allow Snape to close in with grim determination.
“May I?” Snape leered as he held out his hand expectantly.
Checking that the blade was indeed dull with tarnish, Harry gently placed the small switchblade into Snape’s unturned palm. Then he took another cautionary step backwards, seeing Ron and Hermione do the same out of the corner of his eye.
Snape stood motionless for a few long moments, taking slow deep breaths to steel his resolve. Almost tenderly, he removed the towel that encased the Potions book and hesitated once more. Slowly Snape’s features became fixed like stone as his eyes shone with a maniacal light. With an incoherent yell, he plunged the open switchblade into the book, grimacing as he twisted the blade forcefully as if to extract maximum pain.
The candles in the brackets faltered momentarily but when they returned, it was as if they could not hold back the darkness as before. The feeling of menace that rose like a miasma from the tabletop made the pores in Harry’s skin tingle unpleasantly. From the wound that Snape had inflicted in the book’s cover, the pages seemed to blacken and curl back to expose an oily, noxious black liquid beneath. The surface of the liquid frothed and then began to boil, releasing a strange sparkling vapor into the air of the enclosed passage. Harry felt the vapor sting his eyes as he raised a hand to cover his nose and mouth instinctively. In hindsight, he wished they had planned for a better ventilated area.
Snape stood as still as a statue, rooted to the spot expectantly as he held both fists at his side. Harry heard the unmistakable sounds of sobbing coming from the tattered remnants of the book. The sound grew louder and then garbled voices joined in. Without any warning, a burst of dark light shone forth. Imposed upon the inky backdrop was the figure of a young woman bound in chains and struggling against her captors. Harry recognized her from the photograph in the Daily Prophet archives.
“Constance,” Snape breathed involuntarily.
“Severus, please,” she implored through eyes that seemed impossibly large. “Promise them anything, just make them stop!”
“They will not stop no matter what I say.” Snape’s unmistakable baritone sprang from the sinister recording. His voice sounded ragged as if he had been shouting for hours on end.
There was a brief shuffle where the image wavered and then a man threw himself prostrate at Constance’s feet, grabbing her ankles in supplication. Two black hooded figures materialized out of the shadows and yanked the man to his knees, dragging him forcibly away. A brief view of the man’s tear stained face showed that it was Snape in his early twenties.
Constance continued to struggle as if she was trying to twist herself into a pretzel, her cries and words becoming more desperate as it slowly dawned on her that these beasts were not going to set her free.
Not being able to bear the scene any longer, Harry looked at Snape askance, recognizing the man’s humanity for the first time. With a look that mirrored his younger self, it was clear that Snape was capable of profound grief. By the jagged breaths he was taking, Harry sensed that the man was on the brink of his endurance when confronted by the memory before him. A memory with which Voldemort had sought to leash him by entrusting the Horcrux into his care. It was the act of a manipulative monster.
“Turn away,” Harry urged softly. “There’s nothing to be accomplished by torturing yourself all over again.”
Tears were streaming down Hermione’s face as she took a step towards her former teacher, reaching out a comforting hand to his arm.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Professor,” she whispered. “The past is beyond our reach.”
Snape made as if to take Hermione’s hand but was forestalled by the wails of Constance’s ghostly image before him. Peripherally, Harry saw the flash of green light and Constance’s body was still. As her captors allowed her lifeless form to sink to the ground, the modern day Snape staggered as if he could no longer keep his own balance. He caught himself on the edge of the table with knuckles straining white.
As the image faded to black a disembodied voice issued forth, “See, my Prince, don’t let it be said that I failed to show you mercy…”
Harry caught Ron and Hermione looking at him with the same question in their eyes. Grimly, Harry nodded that they were correct: he recognized it as Voldemort’s voice.
Its fury finally spent, the parchment and leather that had once been the Half-Blood Prince’s book crumbled to ashes before their eyes. The only reminder of what they had just witnessed was the tiny switchblade still trembling where its dull blade had been wedged into the wood by the force of Snape’s rage.
“Now you see why,” Snape whispered through papery lips, his eyes still burning feverishly. “No one is safe while such madness holds sway over any of our countrymen.”
Not looking at any of them, Snape turned as if to go deeper within the passage although a small avalanche could be seen blocking the slightly sloping corridor. Harry wiggled the knife blade free and solemnly held it out to him. Wordlessly, Snape slipped it into his pocket.
“Hermione, please release the wards to allow him safe passage,” Harry requested.
Hermione made as if to say something but then relented. Inexplicably, Snape still headed woodenly in the direction of the cave in. Harry motioned for both Ron and Hermione to let him be, wondering whether the man was heading into his own private purgatory. Three steps from the edge of the rock fall, Snape hesitated and held his hands out before him. He whipped around and leveled a murderous look upon Hermione.
“What would the field do to me if I passed through?” he demanded, his voice like ice.
Hermione gulped noticeably and then answered, “Marked you for easy recognition. Marked you in such a manner that it could not be erased, only hidden under a mask. Even the effect of Polyjuice Potion would be hindered somewhat.”
“Like you did to the little sneak who betrayed Dumbledore’s Army?” Snape sneered.
Hermione nodded defiantly. “Except that in your case, it would have branded you as a traitor.”
Snape’s rage flared momentarily and the three of them instinctively took a step back.
“Do not think you have seen me broken,” he hissed. “I only did what needed to be done “ as I have always done, regardless of the consequences to my own happiness.”
With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he collapsed the remnants of Hermione’s hex and sent it back in her direction accompanied by a sharp sting, all without the use of a wand. While she was still rubbing the unpleasant sensation from her palms, he reached up to pluck empty air with his fingers. In the blink of an eye, Snape held his wand triumphantly aloft.
“There was no need for that!” Ron protested. “We would have--”
“You would have what?” Snape turned on him like a coiled spring. “Do you think I want your useless pity?”
“You mistake compassion for pity,” Hermione returned softly, daring to bare her true sentiments before him. “There was no need for you to turn around and bite us.”
“Why?” Harry asked tonelessly. Ultimately, it was the crux of the issue.
Snape advanced dangerously and held his wand almost to Harry’s chin. Harry did not allow himself to flinch or to raise his own wand in retaliation, although he could tell that both Ron and Hermione were within a hair of stupefying the man.
“Because as I told you before, it is what I do best. The old, familiar ways are my one last comfort.”
Turning on his heel, Snape strode resolutely towards the rockslide and with a disdainful flourish of his wand, collapsed the boulders into rubble. By the time the dust cleared in the narrow passage, he was nearly halfway to a pinpoint of light in the far distance.
Ron made as if to go in pursuit, but Harry laid a hand on his arm to hold him back.
“Let him go, Ron,” Harry suggested wearily. “Leave him alone with his grief.”
“You know this proves nothing!” Hermione argued.
“He could’ve had us at any time that he pleased but he didn’t,” Ron returned. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Harry listened to Ron and Hermione try to make sense of what they had just witnessed, knowing that they needed to bounce their ideas off one another before coming to a conclusion. Sitting down on the stone bench in the corridor, he watched the dwindling figure of Severus Snape until it was momentarily silhouetted against the light and then disappeared from view. He supposed that they should collapse another bit of ceiling to reseal the passage, but it seemed like too much effort at the moment.
“What part of his performance do you think was artifice and what do you think was genuine?” Hermione posed.
“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” Ron observed dryly. “It’s always left up to our interpretation. He can never be straight with anyone. Notice how he didn’t even deign Harry’s direct question with an answer!”
“Yes, he did, Ron,” Harry interjected quietly. “He just doesn’t think that he has to spell everything out all the time.”
“But doesn’t he care how people will perceive him?” Hermione argued.
“Not one whit,” Harry replied. “What’s more, if you truly wish to deconstruct Snape, assume that everything he did and said today was true.”
“But he totally contradicted himself--” Ron objected.
“No, he didn’t, he just feels that the debt that he owes to his first wife can only be repaid with his own suffering,” Harry explained dispassionately. “Perhaps he can finally bury some of those nightmares now that he’s destroyed the Horcrux.”
“Harry, did you say first wife?” Ron gaped.
“Yes. As far as I know, Snape is currently married to his second wife -- or at least he was a year ago.”
“Who in their right mind would marry such a greasy “ I mean, troubled man?” Ron exclaimed.
“That, I cannot answer,” Harry remarked. “It may be one of the teachers here, for all I know, or it may just be someone who lives nearby.”
“Where does this passage lead? Does the Map show it?” Hermione asked urgently.
“From the general direction, to the service gates at the back of the school,” Ron speculated. “Where they bring in goods that the house-elves are unable to transport magically.”
Harry nodded. “Ginny told me that’s how they bring in the draft horses for sleighs in the winter.”
“It does make a certain kind of sense.” Hermione’s voice sounded like she was in urgent pursuit of an elusive idea. “His clothes all looked so nicely pressed and elegant. Hardly the look of a man who was a fugitive or even living by himself.”
“How did you have time to notice that?” Ron scowled.
“Think about it, Ron,” Harry urged. “Surely, you noticed that he wasn’t wearing his funereal black attire.”
“Yeah, but…”
“She just noticed a few more details. What else does your practiced eye tell us, Hermione?” Harry asked with sudden interest.
“His clothing looked like it was vintage, but it could just have been tailor-made to his specifications,” Hermione offered. “The fabric of his jacket was unusually soft and supple.”
“Forget the clothing,” Ron hastened. “Aren’t you worried about how he got onto school grounds in the first place?”
“The same way he’s been managing it since fall, I suspect,” Harry allowed.
“You didn’t report him to the Headmistress?” Hermione was outraged.
“He did in the fall, it was during the Quidditch match.” Ron defended his best friend.
“Hermione, please follow my reasoning here,” Harry implored. “Not long after the first sighting, Lupin makes a magical map for the Headmistress. A map that shows areas where students have restricted access, such as teachers’ offices and the like. Why should I continue to act as her sentry when she can watch Snape’s comings and goings for herself?”
“You mean… all this time… he’s been right under our noses,” Hermione sputtered.
“I overheard McGonagall say to members of the Order that she was laying a trap for him and was waiting for him to make a mistake.”
“Snape doesn’t strike me as the type that makes mistakes, mate,” Ron cautioned.
“He would if he got over-confident,” Hermione countered. “And he’s always had an overabundance of ego.”
Belatedly, Harry unfolded the Marauder’s Map to check on the status of the Circus Maximus. Other than the dots in the truncated passage that represented the three of them, only Hagrid and Filch could be identified at the Great Doors and at the door to the side courtyard, respectively. After a bit of searching, he located Mrs. Norris patrolling the vestibule that led to the greenhouses in her usual desultory manner.
“Match must be running long,” Hermione commented as she checked Ron’s watch.
“Ole Reg was announcing a brief intermission when I slipped out,” Ron supplied.
“Do you think we have time to sneak back into the arena? Maybe pretend like we were sitting someplace else?” Hermione suggested.
“Too risky,” Ron replied. “Someone could still see us come in and wonder where we’ve been all this time.”
“Somehow we’re still going to have to blend in with the crowd,” Hermione remarked. “We can’t all fit under Harry’s Cloak anymore, can we?”
After a bit more deliberation, it was decided that as soon as the spectators started pouring out of the Room of Requirement, Ron and Hermione would station themselves on the bench just around the corner from the mirror. The first students coming that way could “accidentally” interrupt them, and after a bit of embarrassment (they wouldn’t have to dissemble too much at this point), they would allow themselves to be swept away in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
“That will leave you free to use the Cloak,” Ron assured Harry.
“Does that plan meet with your approval, Harry?” Hermione asked as she noticed Harry was just staring blindly at the packed dirt floor. “Are you all right?”
“You’ve been awful quiet, mate,” Ron remarked with a note of concern.
Harry looked up as if he could hardly remember where they were. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled weakly. “All I can think about is Ginny…”
“Come on, pal, I’m sure she managed to squeak out a victory,” Ron scoffed.
“Ron, I’m not sure that’s what he meant at all. Did you, Harry?” Hermione sat down on the bench and gently laid a compassionate hand on Harry’s shoulder. When he didn’t turn to look in her direction, she ploughed ahead. “Is this what you fear happening to Ginny?”
Harry felt the breath catch in his throat, afraid that acknowledging the possibility of such a thing would only make it seem like more of a threat. After a long pause, he finally nodded his head morosely.
“I can’t just disown it as a bit of paranoia anymore, can I?” he moaned desolately as he buried his head in his hands.
“That would never happen,” Ron asserted.
“Why not, Ron?” Harry lashed out. “Because you think it’s too monstrous a possibility?”
“I don’t think that’s what he--” Hermione attempted, only to be cut off.
“He did it to his own ranking members, to those from who he wanted to extract loyalty. What could possibly prevent Voldemort from doing the same to me? He hates me!” Harry squeezed his eyes shut in pain.
Harry was so distraught, he could not recall later how he had managed to find his way back to the common room. As the sconce cycled closed behind him, he heard the roar of the crowd drifting up from the Entrance Hall. Vaguely, he wondered about the outcome of the contest.
Hermione stuck her head past the sconce long enough to advise Harry that he had a visitor. One look at Colin Creevey’s face told the whole story: he had not been successful with the old photographs of Harry’s parents.
“We did the best we could, Harry,” Colin supplied with an apologetic smile. “I developed a few others from the negatives of the Halloween Ball if you needed to fill in some gaps. Muggle photographs are generally a lot less sensitive to climate extremes.”
“Please convey my thanks to Dennis as well,” Harry offered in parting, feeling an inexplicable flatness behind his eyes.
He started listlessly at the box before him, inwardly shuddering at what sorts of horrors the destruction of his beloved photo album would bring forth. Luckily, Hermione had understood that he did not feel much like socializing and had offered to make his excuses at Neville’s victory party in the main Gryffindor common room.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the sconce opening once again. He leaned over the back of the sofa expectantly at the sight of Ginny’s graceful form.
“Ron said I might find you up here!” she announced with a sparkle. “I brought you some relief for your upset stomach.”
Harry regarded the golden goblet that she set on the table before him with trepidation. True, the smell wafting towards his nose was curiously appealing, but the billowing smoke from its surface made him hesitate.
Seeing his ambivalence, Ginny urged gently, “What you smell is ichor of licorice. Its effect is so soothing that half the revelers in the common room are lounging about like a bunch of Lotus-Eaters! Slughorn claims it will make your stomach pleasantly relax as well.”
Harry smiled as he confided, “I believe you, Ginny, only it smokes just like the Wolfsbane Potion that Snape used to deliver to Remus when I was a third-year. At the time, I was convinced that Snape was systematically poisoning his rival for the Dark Arts post.”
Ginny giggled at the image. “It’s not so easy to poison a werewolf. Most things that would knock the rest of us flat have little or no effect on them. Other than Tonks, who didn’t care for the taste, Remus is the only one still bouncing around downstairs “ and he’s been downing this stuff like there’s no tomorrow.”
“What about the Crane twins?” Harry suggested wickedly.
“They’re not at the party, unfortunately. Otherwise, I would have ladled the entire punch bowl down their throats personally!”
Harry laughed in spite of himself, glad that she had come to cheer him up. Feeling like an insensitive clod, he wondered again about the final result of the dueling match. He was not sure how she would react if he admitted he hadn’t been present.
She saved him the embarrassment by volunteering, “So aren’t you going to congratulate me on my hard-won victory?” She swirled around so that he could see that she was wearing a tunic made up of diaphanous white layers; only her white stretchy top underneath kept it from being overly revealing. “I left the circlet of gold leaves decorating Neville since he’d won the earlier match.”
“I suppose it would be bad form to issue you a challenge, then?” Harry whispered as he drew her close.
“Not unless you’re willing to be carved up for barbecue!” she breathed in his ear.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: The teachers get creative with the staging of the Grudge Match; a daring plan pits the trio against Snape.